#someone save me from this goddamn series

[catcatb0y]

I ran out of tag... (It's mostly like two things that end up becoming annoyingly intertwined the more the series goes on). He was only powerful when it was convenient to the power scaling, which led to him being constantly put in otherwise intensely traumatizing victim situations solely to spur the main character into saving him no matter the cost. Which normally would have only furthered his unrealistic inferiority complex (and also his fear of weakness as well as distaste for weak people given how many people VICTIM BLAMED HIM, which you'd think would only confirm his fucking bias??) which OOPS was made into a... realistic inferiority complex?? Somehow solely to show that the MC somehow managed to grow past the underdog he never fucking was, and since the fans adored this, that became his only character! Yeah, somehow THAT was his big character growth...

He went from a complex, morally grey character to UwU empty ship fodder, and the fans of the series ate it up SO much that one of the main villains (one of the only people who genuinely acknowledged the strength and horrible treatment of my silly guy) telling him 'You're useless actually, I just want to kill you to make that other kid sad lol-' is seen as his PEAK. That. That's his peak. That's the "good ol days" the shipdom romantacizes. A villain poking at his weakness and deepest insecurity is somehow the canonizing moment of the ship (and it doesn't even happen, MC gets mad at his best friend's death for three seconds and then effortlessly kicks the villain's ass, as like the shittiest cherry on top) < it only gets worse from there!

I was also a shipper back in the day, and, in hindsight, I really should have seen the whole shitshow coming, but unfortunately I went on to dedicate six years to this hyperfixation that continues to haunt me three years after I attempted to quit the fandom cold turkey. It didn't even work.

reblog this with one canon thing you dislike / think is flawed about your blorbo and/or the way they were written

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter ten

⭐︎ Turn me into something tragic, just for you, I let it happen

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, insecurities, jealousy, mentions of past stancy, mentions of cheating, mentions of heartbreak and unrequited feelings. post apocalypse au, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: The aftermath of the drinking game leaves you feeling angry and bitter, and the others confused when you greet everyone with a cold shoulder -- showing a side of you they didn't know you had.

Word count: 12.7k

Author's note: I'm back from vacation and I wrote this in like two days! This and the next chapter are ones I've been excited for the most to write! And me and @hellfire--cult can't wait for y'all to read this hehe. Roe helped a lot with this one, especially with all the dialogues! And also thank you for beta reading and fixing my dumb mistakes bby

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

For the first time in a while, you hate the way the sun shines into your face when you open your eyes this morning. You take deep breaths, glaring at the light. Your palm is pressed against the mattress beneath you. You know you should get up, but you don’t feel ready yet. Your head pounds a little, and your eyes feel sore. 

You barely slept last night. Too many thoughts kept you awake, along with all the revelations you got. 

For months, you had been traveling with them, and no one bothered to tell you of Steve and Nancy’s history. Of what they once were. Of how friendship wasn’t the only thing between them. And you know that maybe it shouldn’t matter, maybe it’s not that big of a deal, maybe it’s not even of importance anymore. He did say that it was only high school love, and high school was years ago. But it still rubs you the wrong way that they didn’t mention it once, especially Steve. He told you of what that girlfriend of his did to him, of how she hurt him, cheated on him, and dumped him to be with someone else. Why didn’t he tell you then that it was her? 

Now you can’t help but feel anger and a sliver of resentment towards her for what she did to him. Even if it doesn’t matter to him now, it mattered to him then. Even if he doesn’t love her now, he loved her then, puppy love or not. She broke his heart. And it pains you to know that he suffered because of her. 

Now they are friends, and he can act like nothing ever happened. How? You don’t understand. 

Nancy’s confession led you to wake up with anger in your heart this morning. 

You turn around and face the rest of the RV. It’s empty. Eddie and Nancy probably left to check out the nearby town, leaving Steve out there by himself. 

You’re not sure if you are ready to face him after your conversation with him in the RV last night. After what he said to you. 

Steve’s confession led you to wake up with sadness in your soul. 

You wish you had known sooner. 

You wish you had known sooner about them and about being a goddamn placeholder for the best friend he lost.

If you knew, maybe you could have saved yourself at least. 

With a sigh, you push yourself up. You don’t hurry out of the RV this morning like usual, desperate for a cup of coffee – even if you are, you aren’t ready to look into his stupidly gorgeous eyes. 

You take your time getting dressed and brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom. This is a luxury you didn’t have when you traveled alone. You didn’t always have a bathroom. You sometimes traveled for days without finding a roof to sleep under. You brushed your teeth using a water bottle to rinse your mouth with. You washed your hair and your body in lakes. If you were lucky, you found houses with water tanks that allowed you to take showers… even if only cold ones, but you were just glad to be able to properly clean yourself. 

You are content here, but you also can’t wait to get home and find comfort again. After last night, you want nothing more than a warm bath, the stew and homemade bread that your dad always makes, a big hug from your mom, and your brother’s stupid attempt to make you laugh. 

You miss them. You miss them more than anything today. 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you braid your hair. You hate how puffy your eyes look today and how those circles under them are darker than usual. You look so different from how you used to look before the world changed. The lack of food is seen on your body nowadays. 

You reach for the hair tie around your wrist, not the lilac colored one he gave to you. Now you wonder why he gave it to you. You know it’s Robin’s. You had a hunch, and now you know. 

A huff falls from your lips, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at yourself for getting your hopes up once more, let alone in a world like this. Of course, he had a reason to give you a chance, to like you. He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t gotten something out of it… right? Why else did he change his mind about you so quickly after getting out of Hawkins? It wasn’t only guilt, it was something else too. 

You put your jacket on and zip it up, and eye the yellow colored scarf on the couch. You want to leave it there so badly. The bitterness inside you is strong… though not strong enough for you to not put it on. 

You don’t notice the way Steve’s eyes light up when you open the door and step outside into the cold. He is standing in the snow with one hand on his hip and a mug in his other hand. The smell of coffee and snow mixes together. The pot is still steaming, your mug is waiting for you on the small table you used for cooking last night. 

“Good morning, Sunshine.” Steve smiles at you, eying the scarf around your neck. 

“Morning.” You mumble, unable to even try and sound more cheerful. 

Steve furrows his eyebrows, his smile fading a bit as he takes in the look on your face. The circles under your eyes, the sad but also… angry look on your face. It’s concerning to see you like this – the only time he saw that facial expression and heard that tone in your voice was when you all just hit the road, after he had snapped at you in front of Robin’s grave. 

“For someone who didn’t drink, you sure do look hungover.” Steve attempts to make you chuckle, though all he gets is a half hearted smile. A weird feeling settles in his chest at that. “Coffee…?” 

He searches for your eyes, for your smile. But you hide from him, looking down as you make your way down the stairs. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve nods and sets his mug down. He grabs your mug and pours the coffee in. He prepares it for you, how you like it – way too goddamn sweet. He stirs it so the sugar dissolves. 

“Here,” he says, looking back up at you, stepping towards you to hand you the coffee.

You take it from his hands, forcing a smile onto your face as you glance at him. You try to ignore the way your heart skips a beat over the way he looks down at you, over the way he put three teaspoons of sugar into your coffee… just how you like it, over the way his touch feels when his fingers brush against yours. 

“Thank you,” you whisper as you wrap both hands around the warm mug. You retreat and break eye contact, missing the way his face falls as worry takes over. 

You sit down on the way too cold camping chair. You take a look around as you take a sip. 

Steve picks up his mug again and makes his way to your side, not hesitating to pull his chair closer and sit down beside you. He turns to face you, not even hiding his stare. 

You said four words. Only four words. You start rambling the moment you smell the coffee in the air. You are never this quiet. Never. You are just looking at the field ahead of you, drinking your coffee in silence. 

“Sunshine, is everything okay?” He doesn’t hesitate to ask. “You’re not feeling sick again, are you?” 

Guilt fills your chest at the worry in his voice. But warmth spreads through you as well, knowing that he noticed. 

You shake your head and slowly turn to face him. “I’m okay, just tired… that’s all.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. You were the first to go to sleep last night and the last to wake up this morning. After the conversation he had with you inside the RV, you got tired and went to sleep. 

“But you slept for 8 hours,” he mumbles as he reaches over to you, placing his palm against your forehead to check if the fever came back, but your temperature feels fine. 

You lean back, avoiding his touch. “I said I’m okay.” You grumble, taking him aback. 

Steve’s eyes flash with hurt. His brows sinking lower. The pang in his chest surprises him too, making his stomach dropa little. Not good. 

You make the mistake of looking at him, and you instantly tense up. Guilt settles inside of you. The hurt look in his eyes causes your tension to disappear. The urge to apologize grows inside you right away. 

His doe eyes gaze into yours, his lips curling into a frown. His shoulders slump, and he retreats a little. In this moment right here, he resembles a goddamn puppy.

Steve Harrington looks like a puppy. 

A sigh falls from your lips as you tilt your head to the side. 

“I-I’m sorry… I just… didn't sleep that well and now I have a headache.” It’s not exactly a lie. You’re just not telling him the reason for it. 

“Oh…” He frowns. “Do you need anything? Tylenol? Or do you want me to make you some breakfast? I can make oatmeal. We got cinnamon and brown sugar now.” He shrugs. 

You shake your head, smiling a little. “No, I’m fine… I promise. Maybe later.”

Steve nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

“The sun is up!” Eddie grins as he spots you next to Steve. 

Your head snaps towards him. You were too distracted to hear his footsteps… or hers.

“Morning, Sweets.” 

“Morning.”

Eddie notices the tone in your voice right away, the lack of a smile confusing him. He draws back in surprise, tilting his head at you.e’s about to open his mouth to ask if you’re okay, but Nancy beats him to it.

“Are you okay?” The brunette asks, concerned as she makes her way over to you. 

You can’t help but feel tense. A sour taste appears on your tongue, not even the bittersweet coffee cannot kill that taste. 

Steve notices the way you clench your jaw at the sound of her voice, the way your eyes flash with something he can’t read, something he’s never seen on you before. It surprises him. 

Your lip twitches, curling into a plastered smile. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You mumble, and before any of them can ask or say anything else, you turn on your heel and make your way back into the RV, catching them all off guard when you slam the door, leaving them all confused and stunned. 

They had never seen you in a bad mood. They had never seen you angry. You had never behaved that way before. They didn’t even know you had it in you. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, his eyes widen. He slowly turns to face Steve after staring at the door for a while. The former jock looks just as confused but also… he looks like a kicked and tossed aside puppy. His lips are curled into a pout, his hazel eyes etched with sadness. 

Nancy turns around, nearly giving herself a whiplash by how fast she does it. 

“What happened?” She frowns. “Did you say something to her?”

Steve frowns at the accusing tone in her voice. Eddie notices it right away. 

“What? No! She just woke up, didn’t even say two sentences to me,” he mumbles as he looks down into his coffee cup. A bad feeling rises in his chest. A mixture of sadness and concern was flushing through him. 

Was it something he said…? Was it something he did? Was it about last night? It can’t be right? You were fine when he went after you to talk, when he explained that he doesn’t feel for Nancy anymore. You were okay, you even shared your KitKat with him before you went to bed. 

“Maybe she’s just… maybe she is just having a bad day,” Steve mumbles, hoping that it is that. “She’s allowed to have a bad day.” He grumbles, feeling protective. He’s had plenty of bad days, and you always gave him space, just like Nancy and Eddie had bad days, and you always respected that as well. 

“So give her the space that she needs.” He tells them, before he sits down on the camping chair behind him, glaring at the snow on the ground. 

You’re allowed to have a bad day. He repeats in his head and yet, he feels rejection coursing through him, not liking the coldness he received from you. 

Though it turns out to be more than just a bad day. 

If it were just that, you would keep to yourself, avoid everyone, and do your thing, but instead, you huff and puff at everything and everyone except for Eddie. Eddie seems to be the one spared by your cold shoulder, even when you grumble in response to his questions, you still talk to him. 

And Steve feels offended by it, when he notices how you still talk to Eddie while you avoid him and behave weirdly towards him, he can’t help but feel a weird ache in his chest. It confuses him and it makes him feel sad. 

He watches how you chat with Eddie when you wash dishes in the sink, and it leaves him with a bitter taste on his tongue because when he carried those dishes to you, you didn’t say a single word to him, not one word. 

And it’s so unlike you. You always talk to him, you talk to him more than you do with Eddie or Nancy, which makes it so obvious that you have some kind of personal issue with him, and it slowly makes him experience an ache he hasn’t felt in so long. He feels anxious, but also… he feels something he didn’t even know he was still capable of feeling. And he doesn’t know what to think of it, he doesn’t know how to let the realization sink in, he is too scared of it. 

And Eddie, despite being the one spared by your odd behaviour, notices everything. He sees the way you roll your eyes at everything that Nancy says, the way you clench your jaw and stare at her bitterly, resentment flashing in your eyes. 

And Steve… Every time you look at him, your eyes flicker with hurt but also with anger and disbelief. One moment, you look like a kicked puppy around him; the next moment, you snap at him every time he offers a hand and tries to help you with whatever task you are doing. 

In return, he always draws back in shock before his face flashes with sadness and rejection. 

If this wasn’t so serious, if he didn’t look so hurt and you so angry, Eddie would have found it amusing, but this is all so unlike you. Even he can’t believe what he is seeing. 

Nobody confronts you about it. Nancy goes out of your way after receiving one too many eyerolls from you. And Steve, he is scared to even ask, scared to touch the ticking time bomb. 

But Eddie grows a little frustrated with you when the late afternoon rolls around and you are still being a snappy brat, acting completely out of character. 

“I can do this myself. Thank you.” You snap at the brunette you are usually following around like a duckling follows its mother.

Steve huffs at you, unable to hide his frustration this time but before he can even respond to you, you grab the basket of dirty clothes that he just took from your hands and stomp away, making your way down to the lake to wash them. 

“Sunshine!” Steve calls after you as he throws his hands up, watching you walk down the hill. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling loudly before he curses under his breath. “What is her problem…” 

Eddie’s face flickers with sympathy. 

Who would have thought that your cold shoulder would be this… cold? 

He places his hand on his shoulder, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

“I don’t know what I did…” Steve murmurs, not hiding the vulnerability on his face. 

“You’re not the only one getting this treatment from her…” Eddie chuckles softly, shrugging. “I think she’s really just having a bad day.”

Steve shakes his head in return. 

“No. It’s gotta be something…” Steve mumbles as he furrows his eyebrows, trying to remember if it was something he said or did. “At first I thought it was because of Nance and I… she didn’t know that we used to be together, but we talked about it before she went to sleep and she was fine…”

Eddie winces at that, just like he did the night before when he saw how you reacted to that revelation. He knows you like Steve. He isn’t blind. It’s written all over your face every time you look at him, but Steve is clueless about it, painfully so. 

“Maybe it took some time to process that information…” Eddie shrugs.

“But why would she be mad at that…?” Steve frowns as he knits his eyebrows together strongly. 

Eddie almost wants to laugh. Yeah, that former playboy has got to be the most clueless guy in history. 

“Did you talk about something else with her…?” Eddie steers the topic away from his history with Nancy. 

Steve purses his lips as he looks down into the snow that is melting due to the warm sun. 

He shrugs as he brings his hand up to his hair again, running his fingers through it. 

“We just… I talked to her about Robin, about how lonely I felt after she died… before she came along.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah… I don’t know, maybe she’s just… missing her family.” 

Eddie nods. He slowly looks in the direction you have left. He now understands why you are acting this way. 

“Hey, listen, I’m gonna go talk to her and you get started on dinner, alright?” Eddie says, looking at his friend intently. “Bet she’s gonna be even worse if she doesn’t eat.” He chuckles, trying to make him smile. 

But Steve’s lip only twitches lightly. 

“Yeah… Okay.” Steve nods, hoping that a talk with Eddie might lift your mood – although he can’t help but feel a little hurt and sour if he does get through to you. 

Eddie pats his shoulder one more time before he walks away, following you to the lake. 

He squints his eyes as the sun shines brightly into his face. The warmth of it feels nice for a change, though. He hopes that it will get warmer from now on. The urge to throw his winter jacket off and away feels strong. 

Just like it does for you. 

You aren’t even wearing yours anymore. You ditched it next to the basket of dirty laundry. At least the pastel yellow scarf is still around your neck, along with a sweater that looks way too big on you. 

You are crouched before the lake, washing one of Steve’s t-shirts… angrily. 

Eddie clears his throat as he approaches you, making you freeze for a second before you continue. 

“Hey…” Eddie mumbles awkwardly as he stops beside you with his hands in his pockets. 

“Hey.” 

You don’t even look up at him. He can see that your jaw is clenched and that you are still huffing. 

Eddie can sense the death glare he is about to get from you, and a part of him feels nervous, even though he sees you as no threat at all. 

“Um… what’s going on?” He asks as he looks at the shirt you are washing in anger, the pink cleaning gloves shining brightly under the sun. 

“With what?” 

“You are acting angry.” Eddie retorts without missing a beat. 

“I’m not angry.” You lie. You are angry. You are hurt. And through the haze, you cannot see the impact it left on the three so far. 

"Yes, you are!” Eddie huffs as he crouches down beside you. “Did I– did we overstep with yesterday's game?” He asks, desperately wanting to know what had troubled you this much. 

“No, Eddie.” You grumble as you stop your task for a moment and turn to look at him. The concern in his eyes makes guilt rush through you. “I just woke up in a bad mood. Can’t I be in a bad mood every once in a while?” 

“I mean, yeah, you can,” he nods awkwardly. “It’s just weird to see… that’s all.” 

“Well, get the fuck used to it because that’s how human bodies work.” You roll your eyes before you look back into the cold water. 

Eddie clenches his jaw in annoyance. He feels a bit surprised by the attitude you continue to give him. 

“Okay, enough of this.” He finally grows frustrated. “What the fuck happened when you and Steve went to sleep last night? Did he do something he shouldn’t?”

You freeze. 

Growing flustered at the way he worded it, you can’t help but flush all over, which in return, leaves you feeling even angrier. 

You get up with the shirt in your hand and turn to face him, frowning. 

“No! He didn’t do anything! What does Steve have to do with anything?” You shrug at him. 

Eddie stands up as well, taking a step closer to you. 

“Because before going to bed you were completely fine, and today you are being a cunt!” 

Your jaw falls slack, your eyes flashing with disbelief as you frown angrier than you did all day. 

Eddie would have laughed at the expression on your face if this weren’t so serious. 

“A cunt!?” 

“Yeah! And I would like to know why!” He throws his hands up, growing frustrated with you. “I thought we were best friends, sweetheart! I thought we talk to each other when shit bothers you!” 

A flash of guilt rushes through you, and your angry expression fades for a second. Your shoulders slump as your cheeks heat up. 

The hurt is still there, burning stronger than before now. You look down into the grass that comes through the snow again. You take deep breaths and contemplate on how to open up, on how to say things without exposing too much, without exposing your feelings and the pain that you have felt since yesterday night. 

It all boiled up and you woke up in anger this morning. 

Steve and Nancy. Steve and Robin. 

It all reminded you of all your failed friendships and your failed relationship. It reminded you of all the moments you have spent playing the placeholder without knowing it, of all the one sided love you have had in the past, platonic and romantic. You thought it would be different this time. You felt that it would be different this time. 

But of course not, you were a fool once again. 

Even with him, Eddie. He called you a best friend when it isn’t the truth, maybe it is to you, but not to him. Nancy is his best friend, of course she is. They have known each other longer. You came along months, years after they had gotten this close. So, you can’t even be mad or hurt.

But it makes you feel bad. You know if a choice had to be made for whatever reason, it would never be you. Not to him, not to anyone. 

And it makes you feel worse to think of him. You thought that he could be the one, a best friend. You even ignored the part that wanted him as something more. You were happy to have him just like this. You were so lost in the delusion that you didn’t realize that you were nothing but a reminder of her, someone he could play pretend with. 

Why else would he have risked his life for you? 

He didn’t want to lose you because he would lose her a second time. 

Tears build up in your eyes as it all comes through you once more. You don’t want him to see, and you don’t want to cry in front of him, so you keep your eyes on the ground. 

“I just found out stuff that I think I should have known a while ago… I’ve been traveling with you for months, and I just now found out that Nancy was the girl that was with Steve…? That she was the girl who cheated on him?” You ask, swallowing the sour taste on your tongue. 

It all clicks in his head. 

“So… this is all because of jealousy?” 

You snap your head up, glaring at him. 

“Jealousy!?” You shriek, causing him to rub his ears as he winces in pain. 

“No need for that screech, that fucking hurt–”

You throw the wet t-shirt at him, not giving him the time to react before it slams wetly against his chest and his chin, making him stumble back in surprise. 

“What the–”

You turn on your heel, abandoning the laundry and him as you stomp away in anger, not giving him any time to react to your sudden outburst. 

Eddie frowns in disgust as he looks at the wet shirt. He scrunches his face up, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks up. 

“Where are you going!?” 

You only flip him off in return after throwing those pink gloves on the ground, leaving him in shock yet again. 

“Jesus Christ…” He mumbles, shaking his head. 

He wants to go after you, but he knows that he will only make it worse. So, as Steve had told him before, he gives you space. Though he can’t help but feel concerned as you walk further away from him. 

He looks up at the hill, preparing for the anger on Steve’s face when he comes back without you. 

-

You need space. You need a moment to yourself, a moment to breathe. You needed to escape. Ever since you were a kid, every time you had gotten into a conflict or felt hurt because of something, you stormed away, escaping into the sunflower field behind your house or any flower field you could find in reach. It always calmed you down, it always gave you comfort, to be surrounded by nature, to be by yourself, even if just for a moment. 

You found no flower field out here but you found a little clearing, a peaceful little place where you could find some alone time. But now that the anger you felt all day slowly began to fade, the guilt started slipping in for how you treated everyone – even if you are still hurt about absolutely everything. 

You are picking at the lilac hair tie, frowning at it. 

You will never be her. 

And you will never be as special to him as she was to him. 

You will never be anything more than a replacement. 

And you are pretty sure that even as that, you are still easily replaceable, no matter how much you remind him of her. 

Your eyes burn once again, and the feeling in your chest that had been suffocating you since last night becomes worse. 

You hate to admit that this hurts you more than any of your past friendship breakups. These people, these three random people that you would have never run into if it wasn’t for the end of the world, have stolen your heart and creeped their way into it so quickly, becoming so important to you that you would do anything for them. 

You wonder if they’d do the same… just for you and not because you remind them of anyone. 

“Sunshine.”

His soft voice doesn’t even startle you, but you still flinch. 

You can feel his eyes on you. 

“I’ve looked for you everywhere.” He states. 

You can hear the concern in his voice along with a hint of anger. 

You take a deep breath before you tilt your head up to look at him. He is standing a few feet away from you. Worry and confusion are written all over his face. He is frowning at you, holding your jacket in his hand that you abandoned when you escaped from Eddie after throwing the wet shirt at him – you will have to apologize… 

“Well, here I am.” You grumble, feeling bitter all over when you look into the hazel eyes you have come to adore so much. 

Steve clenches his jaw at the tone in your voice. He looks down at you, how you sit against the tree, snapping the hair tie against your wrist. Your face is still tense, still bothered. 

“Are you trying to get sick again?” He grumbles as he makes his way over to you, handing you the jacket. 

He halts before your feet, his boots knocking against yours. You look up at him through your lashes. You breathe in, and he expects nothing less than another huff from you. 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, nodding his jaw at your jacket, urging you to take it. 

“I’m not cold–”

“Put the damn jacket on, Sunshine.” He demands, the frustration clear in his voice. 

You push yourself up, patting the back of your legs to remove any dirt you might have sat on. Bitterness curses through your veins to feel him so close, to feel his eyes on you, to feel his anger. 

“I think I can take care of myself, Steve.” You grumble in response as you grab the jacket from his hand and make your way past him. 

Steve feels a pang in his chest. He hoped that you had calmed down, that you would talk to him now about whatever is bothering you, but you are clearly still not in the mood. 

“Can you? Because you dropped everything and stomped away like a bratty child.” He mumbles in irritation. 

You are not telling anyone what’s your problem and instead of talking about it, you threw a wet shirt at Eddie – which honestly made Steve feel a little satisfied, knowing that you got mad at him too. 

You turn around to face him, frowning at his question. A mixture of emotions ripples through you, anger and hurt. That one word goes through your head like a broken record since last night, and it just got louder. Immature, immature, immature. That’s what he thinks of you. That’s what everyone thinks of you. And it bothers you, it hurts you but it especially hurts to know that this is how he feels about you. 

You want to laugh for letting yourself fall for him, for thinking that he could see you as something other than this. 

“Well, I don’t need anyone checking on me or looking after me,” you snap back as you point at your chest. “I wanted space, I wanted a fucking moment to myself but none of you respect me! I’m not a goddamn puppy and I’m not a child! I can handle my own – in case you don’t remember, I was on my own for a whole year!” 

Steve draws back at your outburst. He lowers his head as guilt rushes through him. Though the guilt isn’t enough to mend the frustration in him. 

He clenches his jaw, looking at you intensely as he places his hands on his hips. 

“Don’t do that, Sunshine. We respect you, you know that.” He says through gritted teeth as your anger seems to infect him as well. “But clearly you don’t respect us.” 

Your eyes widen, and your lips part. 

“Excuse me?” You tilt your head to the side, challenging him. 

He takes a step closer to you, not realizing just how much of your personal space he is invading and how his eyes flicker to your parted lips. 

“You heard me.” He mumbles as he now towers over you. “If you respected us, you would have told us– you would have told me what’s bothering you. I thought we were friends, I thought you and I… could talk about anything to each other.” 

‘You and I’. You hate the way your heart flutters at that, like it means anything to him, like it’s something. 

He takes a step closer to you, his hands itching to reach out to you, to grab your hands, to hold them like he did before. Instead, he clenches his fists to hold himself back. 

You gulp, swallowing the lump in your throat. You hesitate as you look into his eyes. The truth lies on the tip of your tongue, but you are too afraid to speak it out loud, to tell him how much it hurt you to find out about him and Nancy, about Robin. 

“Nothing is bothering me, I’m just having a bad day.” You lie through gritted teeth. 

He can see right through you. Your left eye twitches when you lie. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Steve warns you, glaring into your eyes. “We both know that’s bullshit.” 

“It’s not.” You clench your jaw, gripping your jacket tighter. 

“Tell me the truth.” Steve demands, growing restless and impatient. 

It’s not only his anger that shines through his eyes, it’s the desperation. And if you weren’t so blinded by your insecurities, you would see how much it kills him to receive this cold shoulder from you, you would see just how much he cares, that this is why he wants to know. Because he wants to fix it, because he wants to be there for you, to make it better. 

“Or what?” You glare at him, anger and sadness mixing, resulting in an explosion. “You’re gonna call me an immature little girl again? Tell me that my family is dead?” You ask as tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t help but hate yourself for that, for wanting to cry when you want to look brave. 

“Don’t do this now…” He begs as his eyes fill with guilt. 

But you are not done. 

“Tell me that I remind you of your best friend? That this was the only reason why you even gave me a chance…? Because you saw her in me? … And now I’m a placeholder to you and a joke to everyone else?” 

Steve feels like a bucket of ice cold water was dumped over his head. His eyes widen, and he draws back, staring at you, bewildered. His heart drops to his stomach, his chest aching when he takes in the tears in your eyes and the hurt written across your face now that the anger was finally put into words. 

The tension and the anger in him melting right off. His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften and fill with sadness. The guilt in him is worsening now. This is what you think? This is what you feel?

You were never that. There was not a single moment where he thought that about you, where he saw you as a replacement, where he thought of you as a placeholder to Robin. He didn’t realize how wrongly his words came across and the impact they left on you. 

He knows of your past, of the failed friendships, of the shitty first boyfriend you had. How they all made you feel. How they only needed you when no one else was around, how you were the last choice without realizing it, how you kept playing the placeholder for everyone you saw as a close friend or even a best friend. He was so angry at all of them when you opened up to him, and now he led you to believe that he felt just the same as they did about you. 

Steve watches the way a tear slips down your cheek, and he wants nothing more than to wipe it away and pull you into his arms, apologize for how much he hurt you with that wrong impression he left on you. 

“Sunshine…” Steve whispers as his hazel eyes soften at the sight of your sadness. 

Though you don’t give him the chance to explain himself. You don’t need him to lie to make you feel better, and you need no sympathy. You wipe your tears in anger and turn on your heel, walking away… again. 

You can hear the frustrated sigh that falls from his lips as he says your name softly. 

“Wait… please don’t do this,” he murmurs behind you as his footsteps echo. He follows you, contemplating reaching out to you, to grab your hand and pull you back to him, to make you listen, to put it through that thick head of yours that you are not a placeholder, that you could never be one, never. 

“It’s okay, Steve. I get it now.” You mumble, your voice still filled with bitterness. 

Frustration builds up in him again. You won’t listen, not so easily. 

Steve rushes up to you, grasping your upper arm gently, he stops you and turns you back around, forcing you to face him again. 

Your glassy eyes meet his, and you don’t hesitate to open your mouth again, but he beats you to it. 

“Listen to me, Sunshine.” 

But you don’t. You don’t listen to him. Your ears pick up a different sound, one that you can’t make out so well. You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head to the side. For a moment, all your troubled emotions flee away. 

“You were never–” Steve pauses when he takes in the change of your expression, when he notices the concentration in your eyes. 

“What is it…?” He frowns in concern as he begins to look around you both, realizing that he let his guard down, that he didn’t bother to look around and make sure that nothing was creeping up on the two of you. 

“Do you hear that?” You whisper as you take in the struggling sound of someone, something. 

Steve instantly reaches for the gun in his belt, but you stop him. You place your hand on his and shake your head at him. 

“No… just listen…” You whisper as you blink your tears away. 

He can’t look away from that, from the tears in your eyes and the pain he had caused without meaning to. 

You furrow your brows deeper as you look around. 

It sounds like a whine, a pained whimper coming from somewhere close. You turn towards it, hesitating for just a second before you move. 

Steve can’t even react as you turn around and escape his touch.  You start running, making your way towards those sounds, ready to jump straight into danger. 

“Sunshine!” He whispers, not wasting a second to follow you as you further make your way into the forest. “You don’t know what’s out there, you can’t just–”

But you don’t listen. Of course you don’t. Instead, you pick up the pace, following the sound without hesitation. Moving past the trees and the bushes, making your way down the small hill that leads you to a small waterfall and a big stream that is moving fast. 

You halt in your tracks as you look around, and when you find the source of the sound, your eyes widen. 

Right there by the shore, there is a fallen tree lying in the water, broken branches sticking into every direction. You see the tiny paws holding onto it, the fur wet from the river. The tiny wolf cub is holding on for dear life, but the water is moving fast, too fast for a pup to save itself from it. 

You don’t waste any time jumping into action, ignoring Steve’s calls as you make your way down to the river. You throw your jacket on the ground and lean down to take off your boots, undoing your laces quickly. You never take your eyes off the cub, scared that the stream will take it. 

Steve halts in his tracks behind you after he catches up. He freezes when you throw your scarf and your sweatshirt off before your hands find their way to your belt, watching how you undress yourself before the water. 

“I– what…” He mumbles in confusion, not even noticing the cub in the water. “What the hell are you doing, Sunshine!?” 

“I’m not gonna let the cub die!” You cry out as you point at it. 

“I–” Steve’s words get caught in his throat when he notices the struggling wolf pup. His heart breaks at the sight before him, and he instantly jumps forward as well, ready to get into that icy water. 

The clinking of your belt brings his attention back to you. He stares in disbelief as you take your pants off, stripping down to your underwear. 

“Whoa, wait!” He holds his hands up, ignoring the way his cheeks flush at your bare skin, at the lace covering your skin. “The water is cold! You are still coming down from your cold – sunshine!” 

You stumble away before he can grab your arm and stop you. You dip your feet into the water, and you can’t help but wince at the coldness of it. Shivers rise up on your skin instantly, and you shudder strongly. You know this will hurt after. You know this might make you sick again, but you can’t bring yourself to think and worry about it now. 

Steve’s stomach drops as he watches you get in the water. He brings his hands up to his hair, clutching it anxiously as he clenches his jaw. 

You will be the death of him. 

He makes his way down to the shore, ready to jump in after you in case something happens. 

“I can’t believe you…” He mutters under his breath as he watches you anxiously. 

“Hey,” you whisper to the cub with a shivering voice as you take another step into the water, grateful for the tree for slowing down the stream on this spot. You just hope that it won’t get too deep, not wanting to get into the coldness with your whole body. 

The cub whimpers loudly which leads you to move faster, desperately wanting to save it. 

“I’m coming,” you whisper as you take another step, now standing knee deep inside of it. Your whole body is trembling by now. 

The water, this spot would’ve been a nice little place if it wasn’t so goddamn cold. 

Steve’s concerned face winces when he sees just how much you are shivering already. He wants to scold you, to grab you and yell at you for being so stupid. 

“Be careful.” 

Your hands touch the water when the next step nearly envelopes you fully. A gasp falls from your lips when the water touches your stomach. You need to move fast, and you need to get out of here quickly. The cub is in reach now, and you don’t waste any more time, taking a tiny step closer, you reach out to it, wrapping your hands around it, you pull it towards you, cupping the tiny animal against your chest. 

Steve watches intently as he takes his jacket off. A sigh of relief leaves his lips when you save the cub and start making your way out. 

The ends of your hair are wet, water dripping down your bare back. Your skin is covered in goosebumps. You are freezing. 

“I got you,” you whisper as you look down at it. Its paws cling to your bra straps, claws digging into your skin a little as it shivers and whimpers against you. “I got you… baby.” 

Steve’s stressed figure stands by the shore, his face is etched with nothing but desperation. The second you are in reach, he grabs your waist and pulls you outside, unable to hide the angry frown on his face as he turns you around, forcing you to face him again. 

Not even a minute in the water and your lips are purple and trembling. Your skin is ice cold. 

“You are crazy, Sunshine.” He grumbles as he wraps his jacket around your shivering body. And then… he wraps his arms around your body, enveloping you with his arms completely, pulling you into his warm embrace. He places his chin on the top of your head, holding you tightly as he rubs your back, trying to warm you up. “Absolutely crazy.” He mumbles and closes his eyes. 

You bury your face in his chest, melting into his touch with ease. You welcome his warmth and press yourself against him. The cub is between yours and his chest now, enveloped by warmth. 

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” He says as he holds you tighter. 

You risked your life. You risked your life for an animal, knowing what it could lead to again. You are so good, too good for this world. And it fills him with fear because you jump into danger without thinking, not caring about yourself. 

And despite the concern it leaves him with, his heart flutters and warms at your action. You are so selfless and loving. 

You nod against him as your teeth clatter. You close your eyes and fall into him, embracing the warmth of his body. 

“I got you,” Steve whispers into your hair as he tightens his hold on you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

You breathe heavily against him, taking deep breaths. You search for his warmth, pressing yourself tighter against him and in return he pulls you even closer. 

“God… you’re so cold.” He whispers in concern as he continues to rub your arms and your back. 

The pup between you is shivering just as much, but it’s whines get quieter as it curls into your chest. 

“Can’t believe you did this.” Steve mumbles as he cups the back of your head. 

“Couldn’t let this baby drown,” you whisper against him as you press your head against the spot over his heart, unknowingly making it flutter. 

You don’t know how much time passes as you stand there in his embrace, but you find yourself wishing that you could stay like this forever. It feels nice to be in his arms, it feels safe and warm. Despite what happened before, you don’t want this moment to end. 

You know that this is nothing to him, that this is just a way of warming you up just like that night you spent in the car before you got sick. But your heart ignores your mind. 

But Steve, he doesn’t want to let you go. It feels nice, it feels right to hold you. His heart feels… alive. His skin is burning from where you’re touching him. Your scent, your touch, is driving him crazy. Your cold shoulder was driving him insane all day, making him sour yet sad. And now he suddenly feels calm. With you in his arms, he feels content, like there is nothing else in this world that he needs. Absolutely nothing. 

It’s at this moment that he realizes that he is screwed. 

His heart skips a beat when you lay your hand over it. 

Yeah, totally screwed. 

Your words from before echo in his head, filling him with dread and sadness, knowing how you felt all day, knowing why you behaved so coldly. 

Steve opens his eyes and he looks down at you, bringing his hands to your face, he cups your cheeks as he whispers your name, “can you look at me for a second?”

You hesitate for a moment, standing still for a few seconds before you look up at him.

He nearly feels his knees buckle from the vulnerability in your eyes. 

He briefly looks at the pup in your arms, watching the way it buries itself against you, feeling safe in your embrace. His heart warms at the sight. 

He keeps holding your cheeks, his eyes returning to gaze into yours. He takes a deep breath as he looks at you intensely. 

“Listen to me,” he whispers, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You were never ever a placeholder, you were never a replacement for Robin or anyone else for that matter.”

Your eyebrows furrow as your lips pucker, “but…”

Steve shakes his head at you, “I never meant it like that when I said that you remind me of her. I never saw her in you. You are not some sort of ghost of Robin, Honey.” He promises, telling you nothing but the truth. “Your rambling reminded me of hers, that’s why it was so hard for me to be around you at first. Robin would talk my ear off about the most random things, you did that too and I just thought ‘god… these two together would be the death of me’ cause I know that she would have loved you.”

“Oh…” 

Steve can still see the insecurity flashing in your eyes, the way you struggle to believe him. And he so badly wants you to believe him, to trust him. 

These days, he struggles to be vulnerable, to show feelings, to let them in… but if that’s what he’s gotta do in order for you to believe him, then he will let his guard down for a moment. 

“But in no way were you ever a placeholder. I promise that I have never thought that of you. You are not Robin, and I don’t want you to be her. I like you, I like you for who you are. I like you for how you constantly hit me with the most random facts, for how you stay so hopeful and cheerful despite everything, for how kind you are despite this world, for jumping straight into ice cold water to save this cub.” His cheeks are flushed, and his stomach is filled with nerves. “And you’re not an immature little girl, Sunshine. You are probably the smartest, the strongest of us all. I admire you and for how this world hasn’t tainted you in the slightest.” He admits, feeling his heart race in his chest, and he also fuels it when he brings his hand higher up your face to brush away the stray hair that covers your eye. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your cheeks burn beneath his touch. You don’t even feel the cold anymore, not even the sadness nor the anger from before.

Your heart races strongly in your chest, filling with hope yet again. The rejection, the disappointment that flushed through you before, just vanishes with ease. The look in his eyes makes you feel engulfed in nothing but warmth. The tension in your whole body disappears. 

Were you wrong after all? 

Did you misunderstand everything he said? 

Did the past really leave such an impact on you? 

“Y-You… You admire me?” Out of all the questions you could ask, this is the only one you can come up with. 

Steve’s lip twitches, curling into a small smile. His eyes soften as he continues to look into your eyes. He found his favorite color. 

“Yeah, we all do.” Steve nods. “In case you haven’t noticed.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, and you shake your head slightly. His hand never leaves your face. 

“Oh…” 

Steve’s heart aches a little at your question, at the vulnerability in your eyes, at the confusion because you don’t understand what could make you so admirable. 

You want to ask why, but you don’t, not knowing if you can keep the tears away right now. 

“I’m sorry for the way I worded things last night, for making you feel that way. I never meant to hurt you, and I never wanted you to feel like you’re some kind of replacement for my best friend. You are not and you never will be. She was special to me. You are too,” he admits, biting back his embarrassment as he gives you a glimpse of how he feels about you. 

Your eyes widen at his confession, and your heart jumps in joy.

You know… You know that this could mean something else again, that it might not be what you want it to be. That he means it platonically. She was special, but she was a best friend, there was only platonic love, nothing more, it could be like that with you. 

And yet, you want it to be more, you hope it to be more. 

Your lips part as you stare at him, as you gaze into the eyes you are falling for with no way of stopping it. Your eyes flicker to his lips, making his breath hitch in his throat, making his heart flutter and his cheeks flush. 

His eyes move from your own eyes to your lips, to the scar on your shoulder, and the softness of your neck. His hands itch to touch you more. 

The air between you changes, tension building, but not like before. This is different, this makes you both feel hot but not from anger, no, from something else. 

You are so beautiful, painfully so. He could look at you forever, and he’d only want to look at you more. 

Steve leans closer without realizing. Your breath hits his lips, and suddenly he has to fight the urge to close the gap between you. 

You blink as you gaze into his eyes. You stop breathing, the beating of your heart is so strong, you fear that he can feel it against his own chest. 

The energy between you is burning, the yearning so deep, so strong. It would only take for you to close the gap between you to feel his lips on your own. 

But you are afraid to make the first move, and he doesn’t make it either. 

Steve wonders what could have been if he had met you sooner. If somehow he would have found his way to New York and run into you in one of your favorite coffee shops or bakeries. He would have noticed you right away, he would have wasted no time to make a move on you, to ask you out. 

But he is not that guy anymore. He is not who he used to be. 

“We should get back to the others.” He blurts out. “We gotta get you warmed up better.”

Disappointment floods through you, but you nod, holding back your sigh. “Yeah…” You murmur and look down at the cub who got comfortable in your embrace. “Hold it for me?” 

“Yeah… Yeah of course.” Steve mumbles, clearing his throat as he avoids your eyes. He takes the cub from your hands, holding it gently as he brings it towards his chest. “Hey buddy.” He smiles at the furry baby, cupping the small head. 

You smile as you watch him. Your heart melts at the sight of the cub curling against him. 

You force your gaze away from him and turn to your clothes. You take his jacket off as you lean down to pick up your pants off the ground. You start to get dressed, unaware of the way his eyes find their way back to you. 

Steve can’t look away from the lace covering your skin or the way your hair falls down your back. it's gotten so much longer in the past few months. Your skin looks so soft, his hands itching to touch it so badly. He knows it would feel so good, so right to hold you, to feel you against him, to feel your bare skin against his. 

The whine coming from the cub in his arms pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks down, finding its dark eyes looking up at him. His cheeks flushed red when it dawns on him what he had just daydreamed about. 

He clears his throat, cursing at himself inwardly. 

“Okay…” You mumble as you turn back around, unfolding your scarf, you hold it against your chest. “Come here, I’ll wrap him… or her up.” 

Steve hums, still looking down, not wanting to expose his blushing cheeks. He steps towards you and hands you the cub, helping you wrap the scarf around it. 

“Hey, you’re fine, baby.” You giggle when it wiggles in your hands. 

Steve’s heart flutters at that sound. He looks at you, his lips curling as he watches the way you pull the cub against your chest, cradling it the way you would a baby. Oh boy. Something else inside of him stirs. 

“Come on…” You whisper to him. “Grab the jackets, please?” 

“Why didn’t you put on your jacket?” He frowns, only now realizing that you’re only in your sweater. He huffs as he picks up both jackets, he puts yours under his left arm and throws his own around you. 

“What—“

“I’m not cold right now.” And he likes the way it looks on you. He likes that your scent will stay on his jacket. 

“Now let’s go,” he mumbles as he places his hand on your back. “We need to get you both to the fire.”

“Yeah…” You nod as you start walking. “Do you think the mother is around?” 

Steve shrugs, looking around the forest surrounding the river. 

“If she was, she would have been here by now… maybe something happened, maybe she’s dead.” 

You frown at that, looking down sadly, “I hope not.”

“Yeah… c’mon.” He whispers, wrapping his arm around your shoulder — to give you warmth of course, for no other reason. His stomach flutters when you lean into him, no longer tense with anger or bitterness. 

You walk in silence. The tension between you is gone and your anger has faded away, but you feel guilty for how you treated him.

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?” He looks down at you, noticing the troubled expression. 

“I’m sorry for how I treated you…” You apologize without hesitating. 

His heart warms at your apology, at the soft look in your eyes. 

“It’s okay, Honey.”

The pet name makes you blush strongly. You like that he calls you that.  

“I was mean…”

“I didn’t even know you had it in you,” Steve chuckles, patting your shoulder. “I can’t believe you threw a wet shirt at Eddie.” 

You wince at that, but Steve’s eyes glint with amusement, and he seems to be satisfied with your action. 

“You like that I did that, don’t you?” 

He nods, smirking, “yeah, actually.” 

You huff, but you can’t hold back your chuckle. 

The rest of the way back to the RV is spent in comfortable silence. You pass by the lake to find the basket of clothes gone. Nancy must have finished your task. 

The thought of her leaves you feeling guilty too. You’ve been horrible to her as well. And yet… a part of you still feels bitter to think of her, to know now that it was she who hurt Steve so much. 

You avert your eyes from her when you make it back. Her concerned expression is directed at you. 

“You’ve been away for so long!” Nancy says as she gets up from her camping chair. “Is everything okay?” 

Eddie turns around to face you, looking away from the pot he is stirring soup in. 

Steve nods at her, “yeah, we’re okay.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows when he notices the fur sticking out from behind the scarf you’re holding. 

“What… What do you have there!?” He asks, rushing towards you. His eyes widen when he sees the cub. “Holy shit! Is that a… a wolf!?” 

“What!?” Nancy gasps behind him. 

“A wolf pup, yeah.” You nod as you caress its little head. 

Steve’s eyes flicker back and forth between your face and the animal. 

“She jumped into the water to save it…” Steve explains. 

Eddie’s jaw drops, and he looks between you and the pup, impressed. 

Nancy’s eyes widen, and she makes his way over to you, concern is written all over her face. 

“Oh my god, are you crazy?” She exclaims, eying your body. She only now notices Steve’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders. “You just got better!” 

“I’m fine, Nancy…” You murmur softly. “Steve… gave me his jacket.” 

“But the water is freezing! You must still be cold!” 

The worry in her voice makes you feel even worse, making the guilt much more intense. 

“Come on, let’s sit by the fire!” She says as she wraps her arm around you, glancing at the pup who is looking around curiously. “Eddie cooked soup, I’ll get you a bowl in a sec.”

Eddie and Steve watch as Nancy takes care of you, wrapping a blanket around you before she fetches you a bowl of soup. You don’t look up at her once, keeping your head low and your eyes trained on the ground or at the pup in your arms. 

“So… is she still throwing shirts around or…?” Eddie mutters, narrowing his eyes at Steve. 

“No, we talked it out…”

“Oh?” Eddie raises his eyebrow, turning to face him, noticing the sadness in his eyes. 

“Yeah…” Steve whispers, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll tell you more later but… she misunderstood some things I said. She was hurt.” 

“Oh…” Eddie whispers, looking back at you. You certainly look more relaxed than you did before; your expression is soft, and there is a soft smile on your face as you pet the pup. “Shit…”

“Yeah…” Steve whispers, looking back at you as well. “I think she’s okay now…”

You cradle the pup against your chest and lean back, wrapping the blanket tighter around you both. 

Both men watch you, smiles appearing on their faces. Eddie cannot help but blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Cute.”

Steve turns back to Eddie, his smile fading a bit. A weird pang spreading across his chest. 

Eddie smirks, chuckling at the expression on his friend’s face.

“Don’t worry, she’s all yours.” Eddie grins, bumping his shoulder with his own. “Look at the way she is holding that pup. Bet you’re thinking about putting some babies into her—“

“Dude!” Steve frowns, slapping his shoulder.

The metalhead winces in pain, holding his shoulder, “What’s it with you lovebirds and hitting me today!?” He yells in a whisper, frowning. 

“You deserved that!” Steve rolls his eyes as he makes his way to the RV. 

Though Steve didn’t question before why you hit Eddie in the first place, what he said to you for you to even do that. 

Did he tease you too? 

Did he make some sexual comments? 

Did he comment on your lack of experience?

Or did he tease you about him the way Eddie always teases him about you? 

“Are we keeping the pup?” Eddie calls out before Steve makes his way inside. “Guys?” 

-

Nancy feels your cold shoulder the most. While you talk to Steve and Eddie again, you still don’t even talk to her, only when you have to. 

It’s making the pit grow in her stomach. She wonders what she said or did wrong for you to feel such sudden resentment towards her. 

It’s been killing her all day, but even worse now that she witnessed you acting normal with the guys again. 

You have become a close friend in these past few months, if not her best friend. She never had someone like that again, not after Barb.

She felt hope when she met Robin, hoping to find a best friend in her, but it turned into something more. It was so very different with her. She fell in love with her, slowly but very deeply. The love suffocated her because, for the longest time, she believed it was one-sided, that the other girl could never feel that way about her. 

It turned out that she was wrong about it and that she had wasted too much time worrying. 

She wishes she had talked to her sooner, wishing she could have had more time with her. 

She won’t make these mistakes again, she won’t wait for the last moments. 

So when dinner is over and the night rolls around, she asks Steve to give her a moment with you, so she can talk to you. She didn’t even question him, knowing that you’ve talked to him about whatever troubled you all day. 

He agrees, not even hesitating to. He grabs all the dishes and forces Eddie to clean up with him in the RV, leaving her alone with you. 

It’s quiet between you, only the crackle of the fire surrounds you both. The pup is sleeping in your lap, engulfed by your warmth and your scarf, along with the blanket she wrapped around you before. 

Nancy takes a seat beside you, breathing in nervously. 

“Hey…” 

You stop caressing the pup, turning to face her slowly, you give her a tight lipped smile, “hey…” 

“Why are you so mad at me…?” Nancy asks, throwing it out. 

You tense at her question, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by her. 

“I’m not.”

The frustration that’s been building up all day boils over, and she huffs at you. 

“Bullshit!” 

A frown appears on your face. You tense up further. You know all about how that ex-girlfriend of his called him that, hurt him with that. You could have never guessed it was her. 

“Is that the only word you know?” You snap, unable to hide your anger. 

Nancy looks taken aback, and it’s more than evident. Her lips part, and her eyes flash with confusion.

“I— what…? I-I use it a lot but… what’s your problem?” 

“My problem, Nancy? I’ve been traveling with you guys for months, months! And none of you bothered to tell me that you and Steve used to date. That you were the girl who cheated on him and dumped him!” 

The shock is written all over her face, along with the shame. She knits her eyebrows together, slowly shaking her head.

“I-I… that was so long ago, and it was meaningless—“

“How can you say that about him?” You ask in disbelief, feeling the anger burning hotly once again. 

The realization sinks in quickly. It never took her long to put two and two together. 

“I… Am I getting the signals wrong, or does it sound like you like Steve…?” She asks, careful to be quiet so Steve doesn’t hear in case he is listening. 

Your cheeks heat up, and you instantly avoid her eyes, giving yourself away. 

“I don’t… I respect him, but it sounds like you don’t! I bet… I bet he didn’t deserve what you did to him and yet…”

She cuts you off, shaking her head at you. 

“What happened between Steve and me in the past does not resemble who we are now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you of our history, but we both moved on from it a long time ago. It doesn’t matter in this present time anymore. I… We both didn’t think of telling you because it truly doesn’t matter anymore.” She says, looking at you intensely.

Her words fill you with relief. He already told you that he felt nothing for her anymore, but you didn’t know where her feelings stood, even with her confession about Robin. 

“But why did you cheat on him…?” You ask, disappointed. “Why did you do that to him?”

She sighs, and her shoulders slump. She knows how awful it was, how wrong it was to do what she did. 

“I… there is no excuse for what I did. We were on a rough patch together, and I… I found comfort in someone else. I fell for someone else…” 

Jonathan. She told you about him before, you just never knew the start of their history. 

“That’s so wrong Nancy!” You frown. 

You know exactly what Steve felt like when she did that to him. 

“I know it was!” Nancy throws her hands up. The sudden tears in her eyes take you aback. 

“I know it fucking is! That’s why I was so afraid of telling Robin how I felt! Breaking up with Jonathan to immediately jump to someone else after I did the exact thing with Steve? I know about my reputation! And look at me now…” She whispers painfully as tears cascade down her cheeks. “I never told Robin that I loved her because I wanted to be sure, because I wanted to take time, because I didn’t want to move too fast the way I did with them… only for them both to be the wrong ones for me… I wanted to do right by her, and now it’s too late. And that is my biggest regret… more than anything else.” 

All your anger gets replaced by sadness, by guilt, and pity. You can’t and you don’t want to imagine what she must feel like after losing someone like her. 

Your own eyes well up with tears, and the urge to hug her, to hold her, and tell her that you’re sorry grows strong. 

With the cub on your lap, you move closer to her, careful not to drop it. You pull her into your arms, pulling her into your embrace. Nancy reciprocates the hug right away, wrapping her arms around you tightly as she continues to cry. 

You are a little surprised that she accepted the hug so quickly. She always came across as a little cold, someone who doesn’t seem fond of affection. But now you can’t help but wonder if you got her all wrong. And you also can’t help but wonder if this is the first time someone held her after Robin. 

You stay like this for a while, giving her the chance to say more but even after that confession, you know she isn’t quite ready yet, to talk more about her. 

“I’m so sorry, Nancy… I’m sorry about everything. I wish you could have told her, I wish you still had her.” You whisper, feeling the guilt consume you now. You close your eyes, holding her tighter as she melts against you. “I-I should have talked to you… I shouldn’t have just–”

“It’s fine,” she whispers, cutting you off. “You’re protective of Steve, so I get why you were so mad at me.” 

“I shouldn’t have been… I just… I wish I had known about you and Steve before I got those stupid feelings for him.” You blurt out without meaning to. 

Nancy draws back instantly, her blue eyes widen, and her jaw drops at your accidental confession. 

“Wait…” She whispers, glancing over at the RV to make sure that it’s still just you and her. “Feelings…? Oh… Oh my god! You like Steve–”

You jump forward and cup your hand over her mouth, shushing her as you grow flustered. 

You feel a sliver of regret for letting your mouth run, but another part of you feels relief, for letting them out, for having someone to talk about them now. 

Your cheeks are burning, and your ears are too. Your heart starts pounding against your ribcage. 

“Yes, I do…” You admit, blushing. “But… He doesn’t like girls like me…” Immature girls. He likes women. That’s what Nancy is. And even if he doesn’t feel anything for her anymore, he once did. 

The moment that happened between you two earlier. The hope that lives inside of you doesn’t matter here. You are always hopeful about everything. It doesn’t mean that you will get what you want. You rarely do. You just can’t bring yourself to stop hoping, no matter how many times you fall face first. 

“He likes girls like you…”

Nancy’s eyes soften at the vulnerability flashing across your features, at the way your shoulders slump in sadness, fearing that you have no chance with him. 

But now she gets it even more, why you behaved the way you did. You were jealous and insecure, comparing yourself with her, leading you to let that monster out. 

She can’t help but chuckle as she shakes her head at you. “No, he doesn’t.”

You roll your eyes at her. 

She says your name softly as she reaches for your hands in your lap. 

“He liked me in high school–”

“And after–”

“No, he didn’t.” Nancy shakes her head. “Trust me, he didn’t. We talked about it years ago, and we moved on from that as soon as we did. Now I can’t even imagine that we used to be together. It feels wrong to even think of that, and he feels the same. He truly feels the same.” She tries to put it through that thick head of yours. She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth again. “And that is gonna sound gross considering we used to date, but… You know what Steve feels like to me?” 

You raise your eyebrows at her, tilting your head to the side. 

She scrunches up her nose and her lips curl downwards in disgust, “he feels like a brother to me now, like an annoying older brother.”

“Oh…” You murmur, your facial expression matching her own. Pure Disgust. And though you can’t help but giggle. 

“I know it’s disgusting,” Nancy chuckles as her eyes light up at the crinkle in your eyes. “But that’s how I feel. It’s how he feels too.” She shrugs, holding your hands tighter. 

And it does calm you a little, but only a little. 

“That… doesn’t mean that he likes me back, though. In fact… I don’t think that I stand a chance.”

“What makes you say that?” She frowns, watching how you look down again. “What if you do have a chance…?”

You roll your eyes again, keeping your eyes trained on the pup. “He once called me insufferable… and I’m also inexperienced. There is nothing that someone like him could want in me.” 

“You think your inexperience makes you less attractive, less interesting or something?” Nancy mumbles in confusion, knitting her eyebrows at you. 

You shrug. 

“That’s… No.” She shakes her head, scoffing. “You are worrying too much about it… Besides, you should have seen the look on his face when you told us that you’re a virgin.”

Her words pique your interest. You haven’t really paid attention to him when you admitted that, you were too flustered to catch his reaction. 

You slowly look up at her, your eyes meeting hers again. 

“What look…?”

Nancy’s lip curls into a smirk, her eyes flashing with something you can’t read. 

“Well… first it was disbelief, like he couldn’t understand how someone like you hasn’t fucked ever before.”

You blush deeply.

“Someone like me?” You ask with a small voice. 

Nancy huffs at you, “In case nobody told you, you are hot – like super hot and you are gorgeous too. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d be all up on you.”

“Nancy!” You gasp, blushing even deeper at her words. 

She laughs loudly at the flustered look on your face. 

“It’s nothing but the truth!” 

You are giggling now, looking down with your burning cheeks. You pull the cub closer to you again, snuggling it against your chest. 

Nancy gives you a moment, though her eyes never leave your face and the smug smile doesn’t either. 

“Second, he looked like he was ready to change that for you… You know, that inexperienced part.” 

Nancy laughs loudly when your eyes widen and you try to hide behind your face, growing flustered more than you ever did before. 

“N-No he didn’t!” You squeal. Though you can’t deny the fact that her words stir something inside of you, that they don’t fill you with excitement and hope. 

Because even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you would love it if Steve was the one to be your first… and perhaps your last. 

“Oh but he did, sweetie,” Nancy giggles, unable to hide her grin, unable to stop teasing you after this. 

You stay outside, sitting beneath the stars and next to the fire with the wolf pup in your lap, unable to stop blushing but also giggling at Nancy’s teasing. For a moment, everything feels so normal, like you are hanging out with your best friend, talking and gushing over your crush. 

For a moment, you forget everything that happened today. 

For a moment, you let go again. 

For a moment everything feels… okay. 

Not knowing that tomorrow would change everything. 

If only you knew that your hands would be dripping with blood. 

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx

[ohtobeleah]

Chameleon // Jack Abbot

Summary: When Jack Abbot sees the love of his life has changed her hair colour…it doesn’t go as well as he, or the rest of the ER, would have hoped.

Warnings: Separated Reader x Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot x F!reader. OBGYN Reader. Marriage problems. Mental health issues. Mentioning of divorce. Age gap relationship. Younger female x older male.

Word Count: 2k

Author Note: I’ve used this scene before in a series. But for this one-shot, it was perfect inspiration. I had to revamp and create this little one-shot for my Friday afternoon serotonin boost.

“You know, soon enough you’ll have to sit down and have a genuine discussion about the state of your marriage, brother,” Robby walked with Jack down the bustling ED corridor. The two were getting ready for handover, as they did every morning and night, like yin and yang. “Personally, I think the two of you can work through whatever this is, together. I don’t think a divorce is necessary.” 

There it was…that goddamn word that carried the weight of the world. ‘Divorce’, Jack Abbot hated that word. He always had. But he’d never hated it more than when it became relevant to his own marriage. 

“Besides, I hardly recognise you, all you do is work and go home and listen to that scanner. Then, come back as soon as the sun goes down.” Robby wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong in the slightest bit. But Jack still didn't appreciate it. 

“Who said anything about a divorce?” Jack growled as he caught the back of someone by the nurse’s station he couldn’t recognise. “Look, it’s complicated,” Jack paused his steps. Robby mimicked his friend's stance as the two continued to talk, all the while Jack never let the blonde in pink scrubs out of his sight. “I love Y/n, and I know she still loves me, because if she didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this mess trying to fix what I broke.” 

It’s an inevitable part of depression. The part where you tend to push people away. The part where self-isolation becomes a form of therapy. Jack knew the solace of being alone far too well. He knew it so well that he forgot that he was married…

And that broke your heart. Enough that the love you had for Jack couldn’t outweigh the pain of his behaviour and lack of affection. Attention. Understanding and empathy. He forgot you even existed. So…You left him. But not before you gave him everything you could. And not without explaining in great detail, why you were leaving. 

Jack needed time and space to better himself. You wanted him to come back to you when he was ready to love you the way you deserved to be loved. You wanted him to realise what he’d done to drive you away. PTSD, untreated depression. It all became too much. 

“You need help, Jack!” He can still hear your words echoing in his mind. “You save people all day and yet you can’t seem to understand that you’re slowly killing yourself with this fucking bullshit!” He knew you were right, you had been from the start. But at the time? Jack wasn't ready to listen. So he watched you walk out of his life instead. “I can’t keep waiting for you to jump off a building because you don't give a shit who you hurt as long as your pain ends, I can't watch you die because you won't let me help you.” 

It's a haunting reminder of his biggest mistake. Letting you go. But a reminder Jack won't ever forget. 

“Who’s the blonde from OB?” Jack followed up his statement with a question that hung heavy in the air. “There’s no blondes in OB? Did we get a new resident?” 

Robby doesn’t answer right away. He simply studies the way Jack's eyes examine every inch of the woman standing over by the nurse’s station. He has to know, right? It’s the woman Robby had only just seen in the elevator ten minutes ago. The woman who had just been sobbing on his shoulder about how much guilt she felt for separating from Jack. 

He needed it, though. Even Robby agreed that Jack had been teetering on the edge of a full-blown psychotic episode. Your separation was the best thing for him. He needed to realise that he was going to lose the one thing that mattered most if he didn’t get a grip on reality. 

“Uhh—“ Robby knew it was you, the blonde that was. You’d told him about your crash-out. The one that ended with a bottle of hair bleach and some not-so-professional measurements. You’d explained how you’d been missing Jack like crazy, but maybe it was time to think about divorce. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change. To help himself get back to a point where he could love you just as much as you loved him. It killed you every day that passed, but you knew if you went back now, Jack would only revert to his old ways. 

And he’d slowly, but surely, been making progress. Robby had mentioned to you that Jack had been seeing a therapist. He wasn’t sure for how long, but he had mentioned it. That gave you a little hope, and eventually stopped the tears from flowing before you had to get out of the elevator. 

“I’m not sure, but let’s—“ Before Robby could think of any excuse to remove himself, and Jack from your trajectory…the normally brooding attending was excusing himself with a smirk only reserved for mischief. 

“Excuse me.” Jack looked at his best friend with the intent to cause trouble before he walked off in the direction where you stood. Not knowing it was you. 

“Oh, well, now I recognise you,” Robby chuckled as he watched Jack saunter off. “This isn’t going to end well—” He groaned through mumbles as he looked anywhere but at the car crash about to happen right in front of him. His hands were tucked deep into his pockets with fear. 

“Hey—!” Jack started as he approached the nurse’s station. “Are you down here for a consultation? I’m not sure if we’ve met. I’m-“ It was worse than a car crash… it was like a double homicide. But not a soul could take their eyes off the scene before them. 

Emergency Room attending physician. Dr. Jack Abbot verves obstetrician and gynecologist Dr. Y/n Abbot. Separated spouses, who can barely work in the same hospital right now, let alone have a conversation face-to-face. 

As you turned around, Jack swore his heart fell out of his stomach. His heart raced inside his chest. You were stunning. He’d never seen you like this before. In all your years, you’d never been blonde. It looked…you looked beautiful. 

“Ahh!” Jack stepped back a little, fear was evident in the lines on his face. Holy shit, what was he supposed to do now? “What did you do to your hair?” Nope…That wasn’t what he should have said. But it was a question with many layers. 

Much like Jack Abbot himself. 

“I—I-I changed it.” You stumbled over your words as your husband, uh, ex? Husband? Separated spouse? asked with a tone you couldn’t tell was good or bad. Self-doubt immediately bubbled to the surface. “I uh, I coloured it.” You reach up and ran your hand through your blonde hair, not usually the standard issue colour. “I just—“ Then, as you stopped your mind from running off with the idea of shaving your head entirely, you caught onto what was happening... 

“Wait, you thought I was someone else?” Your heart sank. Jack didn’t even know it was you, yet here he was.

Jack immediately turned to look back at where he’d left Robby. Much to Jack's dismay…Robby had vanished into thin air. Shit. This wasn’t going to end well. He’d really put his foot in it this time. 

“You didn’t know it was me? And you were hitting on me!?” There was a tone in your voice that had everyone around you on edge. It made the blood in Jack’s head rush south…he liked you a lot when you were being mean to him. 

Langdon, who was only just getting situated with his patient pool for the morning, looked over at Jack with wide eyes and a shocked expression plastered across his smug face. He was so thankful it wasn’t him in Jack’s shoes right now. 

“No! No—“ Jack tried to explain himself. “No, I just thought you were, you know, some blonde.” But he had nothing to explain as he lowered his head and pressed his lips together. 

God help him. 

“Jesus, Abbot—“ You sighed. It was hard enough to love him enough as it was. Now, the idea of him running rampant around the Emergency Department, flirting with anything that moved, was going to ruin the small ounce of strength you had left. “You’re pathetic, and hypocritical—and slutty!” You whispered, shouted through gritted teeth. 

“And you are no blonde!” Jack retaliated, sending the Emergency Department into a buzzing gossip column. It was rare to ever see the two of you together anymore, let alone arguing like a married couple. 

“What did you just say to me?” It was a loaded question, like you were just daring Jack to continue. You stepped closer to where he stood, matching his intense gaze like you knew the way passed and into his heart. He fucking loved you. Being this close made his heart yearn for you. He just wanted you to be his again. 

You can’t pull that off, sweetheart.” The term of endearment slipped off his tongue like it was something Jack said every day. It was…But he wasn’t supposed to be calling you that anymore. Much like he wasn't supposed to be wearing his wedding band. 

It made your heart race. He still noticed you. He still wanted you and only you. He still cared. But not enough for you to trust he had your best interests at heart. 

“Blondes are either badass, or fun, and you’re—“ Jack paused, he was trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t inadvertently hurt your feelings. He was flirting, after all. “You’re a brunette.” 

“Fuck you, old grumpy bastard!” That was all you said as you collected your things and turned away with quick haste. You needed to leave. You were needed for a consultation, and that's what you were here to do. You weren't here to argue with your ex. 

“Damn—“ You heard it as you walked by. Langdon was looking at you like he’d just witnessed a public execution. “If you want my opinion, I think the blonde looks rad.” He smiled. 

“Oh, shut up!” You hissed with enough conviction that it had him thinking you might actually be venomous. 

“That didn’t end well, did it, Romeo?” Robby reappeared as Jack stood idly, watching you walk away. His heart ached, like he had a school-yard crush on the popular girl at school. 

“When did she dye her hair?” He asked softly, kicking himself for not noticing sooner. 

“Two weeks ago,” Robby replied. He knew Jack would take that as an answer he was hoping not to get. An answer to the question he secretly asked. The question was about your hair, but in reality, Jack had asked how long it had been before he noticed you. 

And the fact you’d been walking around like a totally smoke show for two weeks and Jack hadn’t noticed…made his stomach churn with guilt. 

“She’s too good for me,” Jack sighed. He knew he screwed it up. He knew he stuffed up your marriage. He just wanted to get back to you. “But holy shit, she looks good.”

“I think that’s what she was going for,” Robby smiled as he tapped his friend on the shoulder twice. “C’mon, we got hand over to get through Mr. Casanova.” Teasing, Robby coaxed Jack to follow him. 

Meanwhile, you watched on from where you’d run off to, secretly pining for your husband to flirt like that with you again any time. He was coming back to you. 

Slowly. But surely. Jack Abbot was coming back to life.

[notjustjavierpena]

Needy

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: LONG AGO, @yxtkiwiyxt tagged me in a post about Pedro in a black tee and jeans that reminded her of her hubby. Then this happened. I hope you can forgive the wait.

Summary: Pregnancy comes with horniness.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Pregnancy and hormones, touch-starved, hot sweaty javi, so many pet names in spanish, praise kink, pregnancy sex, light dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, couch sex, slow and intense riding, piv sex, pussy eating, face-sitting, finger-fucking, multiple orgasms, squirting, handjob, pillow talk

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62563027

Needy

A few months ago, a friend from work had asked you how far along you were in your pregnancy over lunch and snickered knowingly when you said that your second trimester would be ending around now. She had leaned close and whispered in a voice only meant for you that she’d not been able to keep her hands off her husband when she’d entered her third trimester. 

You had scoffed with heated cheeks, embarrassed by talking about your sex life with a coworker, and had not been sure what to say to such a statement. However, at 29 weeks pregnant where only sweatpants and dresses feel comfortable, you find yourself grateful that someone took the opportunity to warn you. Why? Because it’s like an itch that you cannot scratch. 

You want Javier Peña all the goddamn time, not caring whether you will be the cause of rug burn to his poor manhood. You are a caged animal, stalking around restlessly in your enclosure because the confinement makes you stressed out and horny. There’s no time for decorum, no time to keep it together because it’s so torturous to have hormones raging through you that you have two options: Either you get down and dirty, getting fucked by him, or have a hissy fit that results in sobbing after flinging yourself onto the bed (a thing that often results in Javier doing his duty and pulling up the skirt of your dress with polite surrender).

Thankfully, not all days are that bad. Some days, the prickle of your skin and the ache between your thighs are nothing more than a dull sensation in the very back of your mind, a simmer that has a manageable warmth. It means you can take on the day without being on the verge of tears, suffering greatly if you aren’t touched.  

Today, however, is not such a day. 

Javier has been out of the house since sunrise, having kissed you goodbye in the morning in a way that has left you wanting more. His reason for leaving you to yourself all day hasn’t been unreasonable, spending his time as an unpaid ranch hand at his father’s farm. 

Meanwhile, you have been listening to the tick of the clock on the wall, waiting like a damsel in distress for him to come home and save you from the curse your body has you under. You have tried everything to satisfy the devil in you and you’ve gone as far as to keep your phone locked up in your bedroom so you wouldn’t text him to come back early. After all, Chucho has had a rough time during spring, and this summer has called for an extra field hand, a thing he cannot afford to pay for in his retirement. The way Javier is committed to his family is actually one of the things you love most about him, and also why you had convinced yourself that it was fine to have a day to yourself this morning. However, as the sun dips lower on the horizon, it becomes more evident that Javier can never leave this long again. 

Finally, as the evening drags on slowly and the sun starts painting the living room in yellows and oranges, you hear the sound of your husband’s truck pulling into the driveway. Your body responds immediately, your pulse spiking in the anticipation of the moment he walks in the door but there’s impatience in you unlike anything you have experienced before. 

You rush to the window to peer out at him and spot him just in time to see him stepping out onto the stone driveway and slamming the old door shut behind him. A thrill goes through you, a longing to be in his arms immediately and it is so profound that you feel your throat tightening with relieved tears at having him here. 

You cannot wait the minute it takes for him to walk inside, you decide, and so you rush to the front door and pull it open. You rush outside to greet him, your dress swooshing along your knees as you take quick steps. 

The second he sees you, you can feel yourself ready to melt into a puddle. He looks dusty and tired yet still smiles softly as his eyes meet yours. He is just about to greet you when you give him no chance to speak, wrapping your arms around his neck and catching his mouth in a deep, fervent kiss. He rests his hands on your hips and you think you might die if he doesn’t have you right here. 

“I missed you so bad,” you confess in a whine and find yourself unable to stop kissing him. You obscenely nip at his bottom lip, brush your tongue against the seam of his mouth, all the while murmuring in a desperate plea, “Don’t you ever leave your horny wife that long again.” 

When in need of catching your breath, you make the mistake of burying your face in the crook of his neck. You pant already from how worked up you are, your mouth feeling sensitive and swollen already from your make-out session. His scent is of the outdoors mixed with the sweat from hard labor, and as you pull back slightly to gaze upon your man, you see the damp patch on his black t-shirt around his neck, a testament to how gorgeous he has looked as he worked under the sun all day. 

Finally, as he is allowed to take a breath, a low chuckle falls from his mouth. There’s a tinge of desire in his voice as he speaks, “Let’s get you back inside the house, mi amor (my love). I fear what you might do out here.”

“Promise me you’ll fuck me,” you groan against his shoulder, at the mercy of your body and therefore not strong enough to play coy, to tease and make him chase you. You’re all his because his touch is the only remedy for your relentless yearning. 

“Te prometo, mamacita (I promise, mamacita),” he promises. He locks up the car, smiling to himself as he sees you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. When he has pulled the handle a few times to make sure the truck is locked, he urges you to go back into the house.

When you start walking, you feel his broad hand rest on the small of your back and the car keys jingling from his thumb. You have to catch a feeble noise in your throat, your palms laying on your swollen belly to keep them busy. 

Once inside, Javier throws the car keys into a bowl on the side table next to the door. He marches across the room, boots heavy on the floorboards, and then lets himself fall down into the couch with an exhausted grunt. He reaches up to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands, sighing deeply from the satisfaction. 

You follow him around like a puppy would follow its owner, and when he doesn’t make any moves to fulfill your every desire this instant, you take matters into your own hands and show him that you are not playing around when you display your desperation. 

You waste no time straddling him, hiking up your dress enough for the only fabric between him and your core to be the cotton of your panties. It’s visible, the way his mouth goes dry, the way your beautiful pregnant body turns him on in a ridiculously short time. When his left hand touches your hip again and his right rests on your belly, rubbing soothingly, he silences every voice in your head. 

“Mi niña (my girl),” he coos when he has regained his composure and your whole body buzzes. He has a coy smile on his face, “You’re so beautiful up there.”

“How beautiful?” You ask, reaching between your bodies to undo the zipper on his usual jeans to get his cock out. He doesn’t protest, simply lets you take what you need from him until the edge has been taken off. He knows better than to dismiss your urgency when you have been deprived of his dick for an inhumanely long time. Instead, he reaches to slip a finger into the front of your panties and moves them to the side.

“More beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in all my years on this Earth.” he charms with immediate success because you drag his jeans and underwear down just enough to be able to sink down on his bare cock and with no concern for his gnawing zipper. 

He groans while you gasp, your mouth falling open and your eyes blinking closed at the immediate relief of being stretched out by his generous size. He fits inside of you, large and pulsing against your fluttering walls and you find yourself already moving on top of him. 

“Fuck, you’re drenching me,” he murmurs gruffly beneath you, and yes, you are. Your pussy is soaked for him, squelching obscenely each time it takes him to the brim, “Is this all because of how I left you alone all day? How cruel of me. I made this pussy all wet.”

Usually, you would reply with something but you have been so desperate during the last few hours that you find yourself completely fucked out already. You move faster, greedy for release, and Javier says your name to no avail. 

Suddenly, his hand slides up your forearm and over your shoulder. It settles right at the base of your skull and it holds onto you firmly until you come back to him. He tilts your head so he can lock eyes with you. 

You whimper when his other hand stops your movements on his cock altogether, and it borders on embarrassing when your desperation causes you to tear up, “Please, Javi.”

“You’ve got such a greedy pussy today, mi amor (my love),” he tuts disapprovingly and holds you still. He seems almost like he would be content with just having your warm heat wrapped around him, squeezing him occasionally when you think about what he could be doing.

“I just want you so much, papí,” you moan pathetically and wiggle slightly in his lap. He nods while dragging his nails down your spine, testing you to see if you will behave in the seconds it takes to place his palms on your sides. 

“I know,” he says gently while cupping your waist, “Listen to me.”

You are wide-eyed and at your wit’s end. You’ll do anything to have him make you come. 

“I’m going to make you come on it,” he says and fucks up into you once, nearly making you fall off his lap from the surprise. He steadies you with his hands sliding across your skin to firmly hold onto your lower back, urging you to start rolling your hips back and forth instead of up and down, “And then I am going to make you sit on my face until you come on that too.” 

You swallow thickly, tiny mewls and moans escaping your mouth as you ride him slowly. You thoroughly love it when he directs you, takes care of you, and since getting pregnant, he knows how much you need him to make decisions before you throw a tantrum in your horniness. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He taunts without any meanness behind his words, clutching your body in his grip to keep you from falling into another vigorous pace, “To make your pussy feel good, hm? She happy now?”

“Mhm… Very happy,” you nod with a tiny smile, moving slowly in his lap because he isn’t allowing you anything more. He fills you repeatedly with each movement of your hips over his, the head of his cock threatening each time to slip out of you before he guides you to take him all the way again. It feels like heaven, your orgasm building slowly but steadily instead of rapidly. He knows you so well, knows how disappointing it would have been if it was over too soon. 

“You’re all I thought about today too,” he murmurs against your mouth when you dip down to kiss him, cupping his face and letting your thumbs caress his cheeks before you go further up to tug at his hair. Your hands are made to slide between the soft tufts, just like your body is made to melt into his arms. 

“Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero (I love you, I love you, I love you),” you repeat breathlessly, a little firmer in your pace. His cockhead catches at something just right inside of you and it makes you nearly double over into him. 

“Don’t rush it, mamí,” he tells you gently and maneuvers you to tilt your hips ever so slightly, “It’ll come. You’re so close. Fuck, I love you so much.”

You come so intensely from that slight change of angle that your vision blurs. It is deep and overwhelming, everything below your navel pulling at you before going off into squeezes of pure, indescribable ecstasy. Your voice cracks, your moans pitch, and you can hear Javier’s name tumble from your lips while you repeat just how much you’re there.

“I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming,” you groan with furrowed brows, pulling his face into your chest and feeling him kiss on top of the fabric of your dress. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he moans while you ride it out, “Fuck, I know you are. You’re taking it so fucking well.”

It takes a few long seconds for your climax to start fading. You rock in his lap until you cannot do it anymore, and then you come to a halt with him still settled deep inside you. He rubs your thighs to soothe and draws back a little to look at you while you pant from exertion. 

“Eres perfecta (You’re perfect),” he mumbles with awe, “Did that help, huh?”

You nod with a blissed-out expression, suddenly very aware of how much you were actually in distress because there’s a lightness to your very core. Your cheeks are warm, your heartbeat slowing after having pounded in your chest. 

“Let’s take this off,” he coos, helping you out of your dress completely. You haven’t worn a bra today since your breasts are sore and firm with milk, and so he has you in nearly all your glory while you are warming the length of his still-hard dick too. 

“That better?” He asks again, kissing the bare skin of your upper chest where you feel like you are burning up from not having undressed earlier. Eagerness comes with a price.

“Sí (Yes),” you mumble and inhale his scent while resting your cheek on top of his head. You swirl your hips to make him growl beneath you, “Your turn.”

“You think I’m done with you?” His voice is smug as he stills you on top of him again before his hand rubs along the curve of your pregnant belly, “You think I’d break my promise and let this pussy be all touch-starved? She needs more.” 

“But Javi,” you say with your brain still fuzzy, mind a jungle from how well he touches you. 

“Shut your brain down and take off your panties. I want to take care of my pregnant wife,” he orders with a peck to your slightly parted lips. He groans when you drag yourself off his cock, leaving a wet shine on the smooth skin. It slaps against his belly and forms a dark stain on his black t-shirt. 

You stand, albeit a little wobbly, in front of the couch and shimmy out of your underwear in the most elegant way possible with a pregnant belly. Then you watch him tug his jeans down his thighs and kick them off. He follows it up by ridding himself of his t-shirt too before rearranging himself on the sofa to make it easy for you both. He chooses to lie flat on his back, stretching his body, overworked from today’s farmwork, with a satisfied grunt while he waits for you to climb onto him. 

“Come here, mamacita,” he says when you straddle him carefully. He coaxes you to crawl forward by pushing gently on the back of your thighs. You always worry about smothering him like this, especially when pregnant, but he doesn’t ever complain, actually gets more enthusiastic about it than you. 

“¿Así? (Like this?)” You ask shakily when you hover just above his ravenous mouth. His breath ghosts over your cunt, cooling the slick slightly and driving you crazy. 

“Así, yes, just like that,” he replies. He reaches up and runs his index finger across your clit before spreading you open for his tongue, your body responding with a sharp intake of air, “You want me to touch you here, baby?” 

“Yeah, so badly,” you swallow around nothing and close your eyes, waiting patiently for him to stop his teasing. He is so good at this that the wait is awful.

“Yeah,” he repeats without mocking you, “My gorgeous wife is insatiable.”

Luckily, he doesn’t keep you waiting. His nose nudges you first then his mouth. He kisses your sensitive clit a few times before tensing up his tongue, it feeling silky smooth where you need it the most.

One of his strong hands rests on your swollen belly while the other scratches along the length of your thigh, creating nail marks that he soothes with his rough palm afterward. Simultaneously, his touch makes you relax further and settle more onto his face. 

“Use me, honey. I deserve to be used for how cruel I have been,” he hums below you before he stretches his neck and dives in to practically devour your cunt, You rock yourself back and forth with tiny gasps at the heat already tightening in your belly, his nose catching on your clit with every other grind of your hips to build another orgasm steadily. 

But despite how much he’d claim that he’s not aching to come, you wouldn’t believe it for a second. With a stretched-out arm behind you and your palm on his thigh to steady you, you lean back slightly so your other hand can reach for his still hard and ready cock. You wrap your fingers around him to earn a gasp against your core, the work of his tongue faltering for just a second.

You stroke him with the same hunger that he is showing you, working him to the edge while both of your moans bounce off the walls even if he is muffled by how enthusiastically he eats your pussy at the same time. 

He comes with his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, his body tensing up for a second until it releases with a groan. The sound is so hot that you grind a little harder on his skilled tongue, feeling how he pulses in your hand and coats it in thick stripes of his seed. 

He responds almost gratefully. Both hands settle on the small of your back to pull you forward onto your hands and knees. You try not to get come onto the couch, giggling in surprise through a moan of his name. But the laughter dies in your throat when he holds you firmly in place and slips one hand between your thighs again. 

He pushes two fingers into you while suckling expertly on your clit. You see stars begin to form on your eyelids, almost wail when he makes a come-hither motion towards your belly. 

It’s too much. It’s not enough. 

“I think… Javi, I’m gonna— Stop, I’ll—“ you cry when your thighs start to shake. He doesn’t relent, apparently knows exactly what he wants and he isn’t shy about it like you are. His fingers work fast, enough for your cunt to drool into his palm. 

And with that, you come one more time and the pressure it releases inside of you is so good that it makes you gush all over his chin. Your voice breaks into a high-pitched cry and he holds his fingers against that perfect spot inside of you, keeps them there while your orgasm peaks and you can’t help but apologize for how much you’re wetting his face.

When you think it is over, he drags the digits out slowly and shoves them back in. The pads of his fingers have you hunching over and gasping his name, another gush forcing its way past his fingers. He drinks your come as if he were a man in the desert, desperate and starved. 

You take it like a champ, trying not to squash him with how your thighs tighten around his head during the last few shocks of pleasure that he brings out of you, and eventually, you sag enough for him to help you back down into his lap. 

You are horrified by the sight of him at first, red-faced and bathed in your slick and come. However then you see the glint in his eyes, the lopsided grin that he gives you as he props himself up on an elbow. He is pussydrunk out of his mind. 

“How are you feeling now, mi vida (my life)?” He asks while reaching for his t-shirt with his free hand. He wipes his face with it, his eyes still glazed over with bliss and pride; the combination that only exists in a man who has just made his wife orgasm let alone gush all over him. 

“Forget about me,” you laugh breathlessly and use the t-shirt for your messy hand too, “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Very good,” he sits up to face you and lets you take the t-shirt out of his hands. He looks completely at your mercy, “You’re so fucking hot.”

“I bet,” you find a clean side of the garment to wipe at a spot he has missed then playfully swipe at his nose, “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome, mi amor (my love),” he whispers as he comes closer. He takes your wrist in his hand until you drop the t-shirt and then leans in for a long, drawn-out kiss that has your whole body weak. He guides your hand to his face and mirrors it with his own on your cheek. The look he gives you causes you to chew on your bottom lip, “Lo siento por hoy (I’m sorry about today).”

“You don’t have to apologize for your wife being a little crazy because of hormones,” you brush it off - after all, the aftermath always makes you look back on it and feel silly - but he just rests his forehead against yours and nods. 

“I know but I should have cleared it with you and with the baby, or at least have taken you with me,” he kisses your forehead and you feel how tired you are now, the sweet gesture grounding you even more than sex ever could. 

“As if we could have done anything about my little problem at your dad’s,” you try once again to let it slide. You rest your face in the crook of his neck, content with your naked vulnerability in his presence. 

“I would’ve found a way,” he jokes and earns a slap to his chest but then his tone grows serious. He buries his nose in your hair, “Eres todo para mi. Eres mi vida, mi esposa hermosa, la madre de mi hijo (You’re everything to me. You’re my life, my beautiful wife, the mother of my child).”

“Javi,” you look up at him shyly from where your head rests. He smiles down at you but mirrors your tone to tease and says your name. 

“Hablo en serio (I’m serious). I would do anything for you, mamá,” he adds, “And for our bebé.”

“Even fetch me - I mean us - a snack?” You grin, glowing with fondness for him but feeling nearly overwhelmed by his words in your state of bliss. He knows how much you love him though, knows it especially by how you look at him right now. 

“Especially fetch you a snack,” he wraps his arms around you to hug you tightly, your belly bumping against his, “What does the queen of this household want?”

“A strawberry milkshake?” You suggest hesitantly as if to make the request optional, “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“A strawberry milkshake!” He repeats enthusiastically and makes you laugh, making the way he detangles himself from you easier even if you want him to never leave your side again.

“Who knew that growing a baby came with having a househusband,” you say while he gets up from the couch and helps you to lie down comfortably. He puts a pillow under your knees and one behind your back. The couch’s mess will have to wait. 

“It’s the full Javier Peña experience,” he leans down over you for one last kiss before he pushes himself to stand up straight once more. He doesn’t look at you as he continues, has already turned his back. You watch the way his muscles flex as he heads for the kitchen, shirtless and only in his boxers, “And I plan on doing it forever, mi reina (my queen).”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[satkru]

੭* ‧₊° ichigo kurosaki x male reader

*๑♡՞ . rough sex , enemies to lovers , barely legal adults , little to no respect for one another during sex , raw sex , public sex

p.s . i have literally little to no idea how accurate my writing abt ichigo will be as i've really only watched the series until like ep 8-9(??) i'll probably pick it back up once i find the motivation to but rn im freeballing this 💔

ichigo and y/n had a rivalry known throughout the entirety of the whole school. a rivalry so bad that the administration of the school had to put them on two different floors with two different schedules in order for them to not engage with one another, otherwise it would end in an intense scrabble of sorts.

but that still didnt stop the two from sharing nasty glares at one another from time to time, no one really knew how they started such a rival-ship, but some just say that they stepped on the wrong foot and never recovered from it.

the true reason for such an intense relationship is that they both had an eye for the lovely lady known as Orihime. Her gorgeous orange eyes paired with her flowy ginger hair was a match made in heaven. Both of them could not keep their eyes off of that girl.

but one faithful day, after school had ended and the halls were empty. the two were set up to clean the rooms, with a teacher on the scene of course. Each time they came close to the others proximity, it was like watching two territorial dogs growling at each other, waiting for the other to strike.

but that strike never came as long as the professor was around. Eventually, the period of peace had to come to an end, as the teacher exclaimed they needed to use the restroom. "dont you two dare lay a hand on each other while im gone, or else you two are suspended for the rest of the year", the words burned into the nerves of the two.

"so, do you still like orihime" y/n asked as he swept the remaining dust on the floor, "why is that any of your business" ichigo spat out, a hint of anger laced his tone. "just wondering, you know. she has been looking at me twice now".

ichigo gripped onto the handle of his own broom, trying to contain his anger. "shes been getting quite.. close, to me" y/n said with a chuckle, he knew what he was doing was ticking off his rival, but the sensation of pissing someone off just called to him.

"she asked me to go to her house today, but dont worry, i'll make sure to save some space for you" kurosaki couldnt hold his jealously anymore, although he knew y/n was bluffing, the thought of him with his crush agitated him. and with that, he found himself throwing the broom across the room, almost hitting y/n in the process.

the man grinned, an annoying feature ichigo had always hated whenever he and y/n got into disputes. "uh oh, did i make sweet kurosaki angryy" y/n said with fake innocence in his voice, pouting his lip and laying a finger on his chin to enhance his "sweetness".

"shut your mouth already" kurosaki growled, his hands clenched into fists as he watched y/n continue to piss him off. "you'll never be with such a girl, soon enough, she'll be begging for me and my dick soon, her pussy will remember the shape of me and make enough room to fit me. she'll never think of you again after i go over to her house."

each word out of y/n's mouth pissed ichigo more off than before, his eyes were glued to the floor to not meet eyes, otherwise, the situation would get out of hand. the teasing man began walking towards kurosaki, his face still in an annoyingly smug expression.

"c'mon kurosaki, look at me, remember my face for the rest of your goddamn life. remember that i'll be the one taking care of who you thought was going to be your future wife." ichigo couldnt take the amount of disrespect he was experiencing, causing him to throw an unexpected punch towards y/n, making him fall to the floor with blood dripping from his nose.

although it was sudden, y/n expected such a reaction, this was all apart of his plan of course. ichigo reached down and grabbed y/n by the throat and pulled him up so they could be eye to eye. "you fucking bitch, youre getting me all riled up for what? huh? do you get off of this?" y/n chuckled dryly, "and what if i do?". such a response threw ichigo off guard, causing him to receive a heavy punch to his cheek.

"dont tell me youre gonna kink shame me, kuro" ichigo steadily hoisted himself up with the help of the desks, his breath more heavy than before. "god do you ever stop talking" the ginger haired man whispered under his breath, barely audible but still loud enough to be caught by y/n's hearing. "dont be so mean ichi-" before he could finish his sentence, kurosaki lunged forward and managed to grab a hold of y/n's hair, twisting his hair enough and slamming his face into the desk.

"i can see you've gotten a bit more intelligent when it comes to fighting now, is that black haired girl training you?" kurosaki froze, how the fuck did he know about rukia? ichigo tumbled over his words, trying to make up excuses and babbling on about stories that made no sense. "you know, there is a way to keep me from outing you" y/n said, his voice drenched in hunger and lust. the ginger sneered, "oh fuck it"

and with that, ichigo hurriedly unbuckled his belt and shuffled his boxers down. leaving no room for hesitance, "god, all of your teasing has made me rock fucking solid.." kurosaki said as he watched his own cock puylse and twitch. y/n hummed as he too began to undress his lower half, slipping ichigo's hard on between his ass.

"i cant take anymore of your games" ichigo growled as he then thrusted himself into his once rival, earning a loud moan from him. each thrust was ravenous, filled to the brim with both anger and frustration. "youre so tight.." kurosaki groaned, his hand intangled with y/n's hair strand then sharply pulled back, earning another ear piercing moan.

"yes..! just like that ichigo! fuck me harder!!" y/n screamed as he reached back to spread his ass more, helping ichigo's long and hard cock reach more places y/n didn't even think could be reached. both kurosaki's and y/n's loud and lustful noises could be heard throughout the entirety of the hallway.

"you never were actually after orihime were you.. fuck.. you were after me" ichigo said with a strained voice, his time was ticking and he knew it. y/n's obnoxiously loud noises never quieted down, instead, they grew louder, more hungry for action. "use me ichigo! use me as if im your sweet orihime! fuck my ass as if its her pussy!" y/n yelled on the top of his lungs, his body was becoming heavier and sweat drenched him entirely.

"im cumming..! goddamn your tight ass feels too good!" kurosaki exclaimed as his grip on y/n's hip grew tighter, and his hand incased in the locks of his rival began to waver in strength. "youre going to take my cum.. like the slut you are. do you hear me?" y/n eagerly nodded, feeling the knot in his own stomach begin to untie.

with a few more ass-reddening thrusts, ichigo's load quickly filled y/n's hole, traveling deep through his guts. as ichigo was dumping his cum into y/n's ass, the once smug and arrogant man was at his own witts end. spreading his own cum across the desk in front of him and crying out in pure bliss.

the two men stood in silence, the only thing heard being heavy breathing and the squelching of cum escaping y/n's ass. "dont think.. that im done with you yet y/n.. meet me at my house tonight, 10pm sharp.. got it?" ichigo said between huffs. "got it..!" y/n said with cheerfulness in his tone. he'd finally gotten what he was hoping more, good for him.

[mari-positas]

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[godmadeaterribleerror]

The Best Thing - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Main Masterlist - Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This was so much fun for me. I love writing the chapters where they're just livin' life. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Mine by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary/Warnings: Sorta-Request from @myladyship! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat. Takes place ten months post-series.

That thing hadn’t been there, when Ben left the house this morning.

He was pretty goddamn certain it hadn’t.

But, as the mangy little creature stared at him from the couch, Ben ran back through the day in his head. Just in case.

He’d gotten up, fucked Her until she burst into flames, then made breakfast while She got ready for work. Normal morning. Perfect morning. Ryan had gotten on the bus—She’d be hesitant about him using that thing, worried about bullying, but it was working out pretty damn fine—and She’d come downstairs in a skirt that Ben had wasted no time in ripping off Her body. He’d buried himself between her thighs and tongue-fucked Her until she squirted all over his face, then he’d pulled out his cock and bent Her over the counter until she was screaming his name.

Normal morning.

He needed to buy Her a new skirt. She’d liked that one, and She liked Ben more, but he should still make sure She was a happy as fucking possible, all the damn time, because She was perfect and he fucking loved Her and there was nothing better in the world than taking care of Her and-

The creature yowled at him, and Ben scowled. It was looking at Ben like he was intruder, when this was his goddamn house, that had been bought with his fucking money—technically Her money, but as She frequently reminded him, the thing about marriage was that it was Ben’s money as well—and this thing didn’t have a single fucking say about where Ben did and didn’t go. 

It hadn’t been here when he’d left this morning. He was fucking positive. After the kitchen sex, he’d made Her eat, then driven Her to work. She’d given him a blowjob in the car—Christ, he was the luckiest man alive—and he’d had to go back to the house to change his pants, because of what Frenchie was calling the No Cum near the Chemicals rule. Apparently it was dangerous, and not the fun kind of dangerous. The that’s how Homelander happened kind of dangerous. 

So he’d changed his pants. 

Everything had been good. She’d been humming and peaceful in Ben’s body, Ryan’s turtle had been in its tank, and when he’d left the house, that had been it. Nothing else.

This place was supposed to be fucking secure. More secure than the fucking White House, because Singer was replaceable, and She and Ryan weren’t. Hughie had promised this place was fucking secure, and She’d pointed out that even if it wasn’t, none of them could be killed, and there wasn’t a single place in the world someone could take Her that Ben couldn’t find, but She shouldn’t have to be taken. She should get to fucking rest, and if this place could be broken into, even by an animal, Ben was going to brutally maul a lot of people. 

He couldn’t even be sure it was an animal. It might be a supe. Or a supes pet, sent to do something to them, and- 

What’s wrong with you.

He scowled into the air. I’m fine, Sunshine, go-

I can feel you, Benjamin. Your throat is getting tight, and it feels like the world is spinning. There was a brief pause. You’re home for the day, right? I know Butcher’s been trying to put together that clean-up mission for some of the stray Vought scientists, but he promised to give me a week heads up before you left-

I’m home. Ben needed to cut Her off there. She’d hurt herself. And Butcher’s still flailing around like a fucking pussy with that mission, cuckfuck can’t do paperwork to save his life.

Then what’s wrong.

Nothing’s- He let out a long breath, glaring at the cat. He couldn’t lie to Her. Don’t lose your damn mind, beautiful. I’m going to handle it.

He could hear Her frown. Handle what?

Intruder. In the house. Ben’s fists curled, and the creature yawned. Like Ben was fucking nothing. Calling him a coward, in his goddamn house, sitting of his fucking couch-

Ben, there are no intruders, I was home an hour- There was another second of silence, then She snorted. You’re talking about Maeve, aren’t you.

Ben frowned. I thought you said that lady went to fucking Florida or some shit-

California. And she did. I’m talking about the cat.

It stretched, then curled into a tiny ball in the pillows. 

Ben-

Ben grunted Her name down the connection. When the fuck did we get a cat. 

Um, about two hours ago. And before you get mad-

His eyes narrowed at the air. He had to shut that shit down, now. I’m not mad. I don’t get fucking mad at you, I just didn’t expect a goddamn cat. 

But-

No. I love you, and I’m not mad. 

She sighed in the silence. I know. I love you, too. 

Good. Explain.

Remember last month, when I said that I wanted a cat, and you said I could have ‘whatever the fuck I wanted’, and I said that I love you, and that’s very sweet, but if you don’t want a cat, you could just tell me?

Ben didn’t remember that. When did-

After Parent night, at school. Another Dad was talking about how hard it was to get gifts for his wife, and you got, um- She swallowed down the silent line, and Ben smirked. Her tone was growing softer, the way it only ever did for him. She was flushing, probably tapping Her fingers on her desk, and thinking about Ben with an infinite love he could feel, through his whole body.

Sunshine-

You told everyone that gift giving wasn’t hard at all, when your wife made you harder than anything else.

Ben remembered that. He specifically remembered how She’d wrinkled Her pretty nose and whacked his chest, and how all the dumbfuck parents had looked mortified—good word, maybe MM was onto something with this word of the week shit—at his words, like they hadn’t already all fucked at least once to get their stupid fucking kids. 

She sighed in Ben’s ear. After that, when that bitch of a mom-

Fake Face-

Yeah. She asked you exactly how you were such a perfect husband, you told her that I was a perfect wife, and after she left I asked you the same thing, and you said that it was what I deserved, and you’d shoot yourself before you didn’t take care of me right, and taking care of me right meant fucking me right and getting me whatever I wanted and-

I ate you out in a supply closet. Ben grinned into the air, and the cat gave him an odd look. You nearly made the damn building burn down-

Yeah, because you decided that three orgasms ‘wasn’t enough’- 

And I was right, brat. I remember you begging to cum for me one more time, saying please and taking it like a good girl-

Fucking- I’m at work, Ben- 

Lock the door. 

I can’t, I’m in a meeting-

Then why the fuck are you talking to me-

Because I’m trying to explain the cat, you horny old cunt.

Smartass.

You love it. The point I was trying to make is that, after the, um, supply closet sex, I made a joke that you’d never need to get me anything at all, as long I had you and your, um- She coughed between their heads, Her voice suddenly a little breathy, and Ben could really see that flush over Her cheeks. Cock. And you took that very seriously and told me that I’d always have your cock, but you’d also give me the goddamn moon, if I asked. And I said that I’d settle for a cat, and, yeah. 

Right. Ben grunted down the connection. That tracked, and even if it didn’t, he didn’t really give a shit. If She wanted the cat, the thing could stay. Are you wet, Sunshine?

Benjamin- She sighed in his head. Meeting. We can’t have mind sex during another meeting. 

Nobody fucking caught you last time-

Yeah, but I have to stand up and talk this time- She cut Herself off, and Ben could almost see Her pretty frown. Is that it? About Maeve?

Ben shrugged. You want to keep the thing?

Yes, but-

Then that’s it. He shot the animal another glare. It was really fucking ugly. Why the fuck did you name it Maeve-

I don’t know, it looked like a Maeve-

It looks like a fucking Frankenstein-

That’s rude, Ben. Apologize to her. 

No. 

Benjamin-

It’s a fucking cat. It can’t even hear our conversation-

Yeah, but you’re probably glaring at her and making her feel nervous. Calm down and apologize. 

Ben let out a long, slow breath. For Her, he’d apologize to the fucking cat, because She wasn’t doing it to make fun of him. She was just perfect and kind and good, and genuinely wanted Ben to get along with this ugly creature on his couch. 

“Sorry.” He grunted to the thing, and it just blinked at him. I apologized.

Thank you, my love. There’s food for her in the kitchen-

I’ll handle it, darling. Have a good meeting. Kick all their fucking asses up their heads. 

She giggled down the connection. Gross.

You love it.

I do. I love you.

She did. And Ben could always feel it.

I love you too, Sunshine. 

She hummed, and faded back into only love, deep and permanent in Ben’s body. 

He’d feed the cat. For Her. 

But he’d also do fucking anything for Her, so a cat really wasn’t that bad at all.

——————

“Where did you find her?”

Ben didn’t have to look up to the wonder in Ryan’s voice. The kid loved the damn cat. He’d come home and his jaw had dropped, his eyes lighting up the moment he’d seen the ugly thing sitting in the middle of the fucking hallway. 

She’d shot Ben a smug grin, and he’d rolled his eyes, planting firm kiss on the top of Her head before stomping into the kitchen. 

They could fawn over the damn thing all they fucking wanted. Ben would not fall into line like a fucking pussy for an animal. Over the weekend it had eaten all its damn food in a second, jumped up on their bed twice, and—worst of all—managed to distract Her from sex. 

And after She’d let the fucker out into the yard, She’d come right back. Returned to their bed and crawled over Ben’s chest with a sweet, happy smile, laughing when he’d flipped Her over and pinned Her between his body and the mattress, then moaned his name when he’d fucked Her stupid.

“You’re jealous of the cat.” She’d whispered onto his lips, when he was still buried deep in Her cunt, and he’d scowled.

“Shut up.”

She’d laughed, holding Ben’s face between Her hands and looking perfect and beautiful and thoroughly, properly wrecked below him, and Ben had shut Her up with a long, deep kiss.

“I love you.” He’d muttered against Her still-parted lips. “Next time, let the damn cat out before you suck my cock.”

“Jealous-“

“I’m not jealous of the fucking cat,” he’d drawled Her name, pushing up on his elbows to give her a pointed look. “I just don’t want our fucking neighbors to see all my cum on your face, beautiful.”

She’d flushed, Ben had laughed and hauled Her up into his arms, and they’d taken a long, warm, uninterrupted shower.

But now the cat was back. She’d said it was an outdoor cat, and that it would do that, but still.

Now Ben had to listen to Her and Ryan fawn over it for doing nothing, while he cooked their fucking dinner.

“She was in the alley, outside my office.” Ben glanced over to see Her scratching the cat’s ear, and tried not to let it knock the breath out of his fucking chest. How beautiful She was. How fucking perfect She was.

He didn’t succeed.

He didn’t really fucking care, either. 

“We’d all been feeding her, for a few months. And Ben and I had been talking about getting a cat-“

Ryan looked over to Ben with wide eyes. “You have?”

“Yes.” Ben grunted. “Listen to your mother talk.”

There was a brief moment of silence that Ben didn’t understand, and then—like nothing had happened at all—She continued. Explaining to Ryan how rescues were always better than breeders, and She’d been able to feel the cat’s joy when She’d held it, so she figured giving it a good home with them was the best possible option. 

Ryan was asking a lot of questions about cat care, and the apparent fact that She could feel animal’s emotions—She’d explained that one before, something about them being slightly muted, but mostly through a barrier that was about biology or some shit—when the reason for the silence hit him.

He’d called Her Ryan’s mom. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that in his head, or at school meetings or senate hearings. But he’d never done it at home. 

He wasn’t fucking wrong. She was, in every fucking sense but biological, Ryan’s mother. And the kid’s biological mother was long fucking dead, so as long as Ryan didn’t hate it, he’d keep doing it. 

“You made Ryan really happy.” She told him later that night, and Ben frowned at Her from the dresser.

She was wearing one of his shirts, sitting cross legged on their bed. After they had this conversation, Ben needed to rip it off Her perfect body.

“I didn’t fucking do anything.”

“You accepted Maeve.” She hummed, smiling at him as he got changed. “And you called me his mom.”

Ben pauses, scanning over Her carefully. Her heart was at its normal rhythm, and she was happy and easy in his body but-

“I don’t mind that you called me that, Ben.” She whispered, tapping Her fingers on her knee. “I- It’s nice. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing a good job with him, and I’ve been really worried that Ryan’s going to think we’ll love him less, now that we’re thinking of having another kid-“

“That’s fucking insane-“

She shook Her head. “It happens a lot, when someone gets a divorce and remarries, then has kids in the new marriage. And this isn’t that, but it’s adjacent, and I know he still worries about us waking up one day and deciding he’s too much like-“ 

She swallowed, Her heart picked up slightly, and Ben didn’t need Her to finish the sentence. There was only one pussy fuck in the universe who was able to make Her fearful and quiet like that, even when he was long gone.

So Ben moved to kneel before Her, brushing her hair out of Her face and muttering Her name until she met his gaze. 

“I’ll talk to Ryan.” He muttered. “Make sure he knows we’re never fucking replacing him, get that just like his father shit out of his head. And you are doing the best fucking job. You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, and Ryan fucking knows it.”

She nodded, leaning down to press Her brow to Ben’s, soft tears falling from Her eyes.

Ben had long learned that he couldn’t stop it. That these were the storms that She just needed him to be there for, to ride out at Her side and then hold Her for as long as She asked after.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to bring Homelander back to life, punch the fuckhead into the goddamn sun, then chop him up and feed him to sharks. 

“He’s dead.” Ben muttered. “Gone. Ryan’s safe, because you fucking killed him-“

“Technically Butcher killed him-“

“Technically Butcher can gargle my balls. You did all the damn work.” Ben wiped Her tears off her cheeks, holding her gaze as he continued. “Ryan wouldn’t want another mom. You’re fucking perfect, Sunshine, so stop losing your damn mind.”

She gave him a soft smile, nodded, and kissed Ben gently. Like they had time.

And they really fucking did. This was going to be forever, so Ben could unravel Her slowly when she started to almost fall over him and scratch at his back, ripping his shirt off Her body just like he’d promised, taking Her nipple into her mouth until she was moaning his name-

The cat yowled. Outside the door. 

It wanted to go outside again. And there wasn’t a fucking chance Ben was letting Her leave the bed, so pressed on last kiss to her brow, stomped outside, and opened the back door.

The cat trotted up behind him, looked between Ben and the yard, and sat down.

“Go.” Ben grunted, and it didn’t. It started licking its ass.

He gave up fast. His wife was waiting for him in bed, and She was far more important than the fickle animal—fickle, another good word, he was going to shove that one in MM’s face—so Ben slammed the door closed and returned to his bedroom with a scowl.

She slept easy that night. Wrapped in Ben’s arms, breathing even and heartbeat in perfect time with his. 

When he woke up, he peeled Her off his body with a kiss to the top of Her head, gave himself plenty of time to admire how fucking beautiful she looked—happy, peaceful, almost glowing in the morning light—and forced himself out of bed.

She needed coffee. And Ben could give that Her, easily.

But he opened the door, and the fucking cat was waiting for him. Circled up outside their bedroom door, so comfortably settled that Ben would bet a lot of damn money it had been there all night.

“Fucking pervert.” He grumbled, stepping over its tail and walking to the stairs. 

The cat only stretched, yawned, and followed Ben down the hall.

—————

Ben had the house to himself for the night. She was out with Annie and Kimiko doing whatever women did to have fun—crime? probably crime—and Ryan was back at Butcher’s, so Ben had the whole fucking house to himself.

He hated it.

It was empty. Quiet. Too damn much like life before the Russian’s got him—when the world had been boring and flat and he’d hated every single fucking pussy he had to talk to—and Ben fucking despised it. He’d agreed to a nice, big house in the suburbs because that’s what She wanted. Something simple, and normal, because the rest of their lives would always remain in pure fucking chaos. Ben would’ve lived anywhere She told him to, as long as She was there.

And She’d be back tonight. Ben knew She’d be back tonight, and he could feel Her halfway across the city—and there was no danger or distress down the connection, so everything was good—but he still fucking missed Her.

He should’ve damned the custody agreement and taken Ryan back for the night. It wasn’t even a legal thing, it was just Her being too kind, too good, and giving Butcher alternate weekends. Ben could’ve told Butcher to suck his fucking dick, because he wanted to take Ryan to an arcade, or watch a movie, or just go out in the yard and do some baseball-

But Ryan liked going to Butcher’s. 

And Ben was a grown fucking man. He’d fought in a war. Two, if he counted all the shit with Homelander. He could survive for a goddamn night while his son and wife were gone, and then they’d come home, and everything would be good again. 

Bonus, when he tackled Her to the floor and fucked Her dumb in the hallway, then on the stairs, then anywhere in their bedroom that She asked, Ben be able to grumble all the praise and teasing comments he wanted, and She’d be twice as perfect and needy for him than usual. Which was fucking saying something, because She’d already been an hour late to Her dinner, after a hand job, Ben ruining Her first outfit to fuck Her against the door, and fingering in the shower. 

He fucking loved Her. 

He could survive the night.

Dinner was steak, but he made too much and put some in the fridge for Her later. He did some training, and showered, and ended up on the couch, flipping through the shows to try and find something that he could watch alone.

Everything was better when She watched it with him. When they watched documentaries, She’d make little smart mouthed jokes that were funnier than the program, and when they watched dramas, She’d curl right up into his side, where She fucking belonged. If it was something She loved, She’d spend half the time talking over it—telling Ben a million little facts and opinions—and he didn’t care that he couldn’t hear the show, because She was more fucking important by a mile.

The best was when Ben would watch baseball and She’d pretend to know what the hell was happening. She was fucking adorable—trying to act like She understood the rules—and She’d get all damn riled up on his behalf when the ref made a shit call. Then Ben would explain it to Her, she’d stare up at him with parted lips and a slack, wanting expression, and he’d just chuckle, pull Her further into his lap, and kiss Her until she was writhing in his hold-

Ben started with a grunt as the cat jumped up onto his lap. A month living with them instead of the alley had done it well—smoother, cleaner fur, a lighter step, a proper stomach—but it had also seemed to grow, annoyingly, fond of Ben.

Fucking Ben.

He fed it the most. It was the only explanation. Ben was usually up first, so he fed the thing more than She or Ryan did, and that’s why it liked him. 

He also let it outside the most, but that was just so She wouldn’t flash the neighbors. She cleaned its litterbox, and pet it more, and it should fucking love Her because everything should love Her, and Ben was not the one who had rescued it from a damn alley.

“I don’t know, Pretty Boy.” She’d smiled at him yesterday, when he’d grumbled about this over dinner. “I think you’re very lovable.”

“You’re fucking bias, Sunshine, you don’t count-“

She’d shrugged. “Agree to disagree. If I was a cat, I’d follow you around all the time.”

“Because you goddamn love me-“

“Maybe Maeve loves you.”

“It’s a fucking cat,” He’d grumbled Her name, and the cat walked into the kitchen, rubbing against Ben’s ankles and looking up at his like it fucking expected something. “See, it just wants my food-“

“I’m eating the same thing.” She’d hummed, giving him an amused look. “Why isn’t she trying to get my attention?”

That had been a good point. She was so fucking beautiful and smart—Her wedding ring shining on Her finger and all of Ben’s love radiant in his chest—and that had been a damn good point.

So Ben had just rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“This a fucking calamity,” He’d grumbled Her name, and Her smile had widened.

“Word of the week?”

He’d grunted, and She’d giggled, leaning Her head on his shoulder. “You used it wrong, my love.”

“The website-“

“The website was wrong. I sent MM a new one to use a few days ago. Calamity is for disasters, it’s not intangible with just a bad thing. Like- A hurricane, or a war. Those are calamities. Not our cat loving you.”

“It doesn’t love me.”

“Yes, it does.”

She’d smiled up at him, pressed a kiss right over his beard, and Ben had let it go.

But now the cat was on his fucking lap.

Looking at him with big, shining eyes in the dark, starting to kneed on his leg like it was going to-

Christ on a fucking cross, the thing sat down.

He should shove it off. Stand up. Get it away. 

But it was Her fucking cat. She adored this thing, and harming it would be, in a way, harming Her-

Ben narrowed his eyes at it. “One-time thing, you fucking pussy, got it?”

The cat blinked at him. Ben decided it understood. 

It fell asleep on his lap. Ben fell asleep on the couch. And when he woke up in the morning they’d been joined by Her, tucked into Ben’s side with her arms wrapped around his torso. Still in Her dress from last night.

Ben grinned, running his fingers through Her hair until she let out a soft, happy sound, and still didn’t move. 

There were much fucking worse places to be trapped.

———

Butcher’s days were fucking numbered. 

The cuckass had said four days. This mission would take four days. They’d fly out, finish it in two, clean up whatever mess they left behind, then fly back home. The pussy scientists wouldn’t know something was wrong until Ben was punching them square in the face, they might catch a rogue supe or two in the process, and then Ben could go the fuck home.

But then the FSAB agents got fucking cocky, and tried to join in, and they’d had to spend a whole fucking day reworking the plan. Then they’d gotten into the lab, but one of the head scientists had seen them coming—none of the team had said it aloud, but they’d exchanged sharp looks of we did our damn jobs, this is the government’s fault—so they needed to track the pussy down. And the scientist had hid all his research, so they had to fucking find that as well, and if one more pussy suit from the FBAA asked Ben about a single goddamn thing, he was going to start throwing nukes out and crushing fucking skulls-

“That’s not very nice, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring at Her pretty face on the tiny screen of his phone. “I’m not trying to be fucking nice, I’m trying to come home-“

“I know, but I’d still appreciate not having to visit you in prison.”

“Prisons can’t fucking hold me-“

She sighed, giving him a flat look. “Ben, you know they’ve been developing things to hold all of us down if they need to, right?”

He sat taller in his chair, and the radiance in his chest growing white-hot, because nobody was allowed to fucking touch Her, not a single fucking pussy in the universe, Ben didn’t give a shit about them trying to put him back under, but She’d been held and broken too many fucking times, and Ben would be damned if he let it happen again-

“I’m fine, now, Ben.” She gave him a soft smile through the screen, and Ben really wished he could touch Her. Hold Her. Kiss Her and let Her melt into his arms, where She was fucking safe. “You’d feel it if I wasn’t.”

He would. That was true. 

It didn’t make him relax, though.

“What the fuck do you mean, hold us down.”

“I-“ She let out a long breath, and Ben could see Her fingers tapping on the table. “We’re the most dangerous group of people on the planet, Ben. And we’re all friends and co-workers and it’s been established based on previous patterns that we’d do anything for each other. To the government, that’s a threat, especially because we haven’t exactly played nice with them historically.”

“We would’ve played nice if they weren’t fucking idiots.” Ben grumbled, and it got an adoring smile and easy laugh, so now he was mostly sitting tall with a glowing pride in his chest.

She continued, Her voice a little lighter than before. “Yeah, but to them it’s just not playing nice. It’s the threat thing. Butcher’s a known loose cannon, and now he can shoot laser out of his eyes. Annie’s sweet, but she can still fly and create electrical storms, and she killed the Deep. Kimiko can’t be killed, and she does have a terrorist background, and they-“ She cut Herself off with a long sigh. “I know for a fact that a lot of top officials in Singer’s cabinet are still trying to get Ryan taken away from us and locked up.”

“I won’t fucking let that happen, Sunshine.” Ben muttered, his hands moving forward on a useless fucking instinct to touch Her, but She was just an image in a screen. He did the second-best thing instead. I’ll fucking kill them, all of them, before they lay a single goddamn finger on you or Ryan-

I know. She gave him a small, sad smile. But they know that. We’re the biggest threat, Ben. They know what you’ll do for Ryan and I, they know Ryan’s attached to us and won’t voluntarily leave, and they- I’m the problem. The big one.

Ben scowled. She could be a problem, but only in the way where She’d get on Her knees and beg Ben to suck his cock, or become a pleading, needy mess below him. She gave him a million fucking problems every goddamn day, and he fucking loved it, but the goddamn government didn’t know that, so-

They haven’t gotten anything for me. She sighed. There’s literally no way to incapacitate me. 

Good. 

No, Ben, it’s- They’re well aware that if they knocked you down, I’d come get you in ten fucking seconds, and all bets would be off. 

He grinned at Her. You’d break me out of prison, darling? 

Of course I would, you smug ass-

You love me.

I do, but-

Ben said Her name, firm and strong down the bond, and She blinked at him through the screen. Nothing’s going to fucking hurt us again. Ever. Or Ryan, or any of our other kids.

She raised Her brows. Other kids?

He rolled his eyes. I fucked you full of my cum last week, smartass.

Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.

What, that I’m going to fuck you so good you’re never going to empty of me? Ben smirked, leaning a little closer to the phone so he could see Her flush. That I’m going to make you so cockdrunk you never come down, that I’m going to take such good fucking care of you while you’re carrying our kid that they’ll come out fucking glowing-

Babies don’t glow. She mumbled, but Ben knew that voice. And that flush. 

He’d won. She was distracted from thoughts of the government, and looking at him with dazed, adoring eyes through the phone, and nothing was wrong in the entire world. Our babies could glow. Frenchie said they’d be supes-

Yeah, but- Actually, that’s a good point. This would be the first completely supe baby in history, and the first one with our V-

So it would glow.

We don’t know that it wouldn’t, but I doubt-

It’ll glow. Ben grinned at Her. It’s your baby, beautiful. It’ll glow.

She rolled Her eyes, the flush deepening. Kiss ass.

Brat. I’m going to fuck you so good when I get home, He drawled Her name between their heads, and could fucking feel Her want for him through his whole goddamn body. Make you fucking stupid on my cock-

Ben, please-

Save it, Sunshine. He winked at Her in the phone. Need to hear it when I’m buried in that perfect fucking pussy-

Ryan’s home, you asshole-

He laughed. Kid’s used to it.

Yeah, but- She cut Herself off, her gaze dropping away from the phone to something on the floor. “Hi, baby, do you wanna say hi?”

Ben frowned. “I didn’t give you a baby yet-“

She laughed, shooting Ben an amused look. “It’s Maeve. She heard your voice.”

“I was talking on the- How the fuck did she hear me.”

“I’m sorry, Pretty Boy, you were talking on the what?”

“The Ben’o’phone.” He grunted, leaning forward in his chair to see what she was looking at, Her attention remaining on the floor. The movement wasn’t helping. The image wasn’t moving. “Answer my damn question-“

“We were talking aloud earlier,” She shrugged. “And I’m wearing one of your shirts, so maybe she can just smell you.”

“Why the fuck would that matter-“

“Because she loves you. I get it.” She smiled down at the floor. “Come here, you can talk to him as well.”

Ben grunted Her name, and half a second later he was staring at a cat ass instead of his wife. 

Then Maeve turned and started head-butting the camera, and Ben would be pissed if he couldn’t also hear Her laughing in the background. 

The point of the call had been to fucking see Her. And, because She was perfect, she did pull Maeve into Her lap after a few seconds, continuing as if nothing had happened. 

It kept looking at him, the whole call. She was petting Maeve’s ears as they talked, and it kept fucking staring at him-

“She misses you, Ben.”

He shook his head. “It’s a fucking cat, Sunshine, it’s forgotten I exist-“

“No, she misses you. Yesterday she was yowling at the door, and then she was disappointed when I opened it instead of you.”

“How the fuck-“

“I can feel it. She misses you.” She paused, and gave him a small smile. “I miss you. Tell Butcher to hurry up, or I’ll punch him.”

Ben snorted. “I don’t think he’s going to be that perturbed by that, beautiful.”

“Then let’s fucking test the theory-“ She paused, Her smile growing. “Perturbed. That’s good. Do you want me to tell you if MM uses it?”

“He fucking has to, that’s how word of the week works-“

She laughed. “It’s Thursday, my love, have you used it multiple times?”

“No.” Ben grunted. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her smile could build new universes, and the love in Ben’s chest was so fucking powerful, he was convinced it might. 

“I love you, Benjamin.” She whispered, and Maeve made a little sound on Her lap. “We both do.”

Ben grunted. “I love you too, Sunshine. Just you.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, dropping Her voice to a mocking, fake whisper. “He loves you, Maeve, he’s just grumpy.”

He didn’t.

But he did love how fucking happy She was, wearing his shirt and being beautiful and sitting, safe and easy in their home. 

If he didn’t get home soon, Butcher was going to have to die.

———

The flight had been too fucking long. Too many goddamn hours stuck on a plane sitting next to fucking Butcher, because the pussy was somehow the only person on the whole goddamn plane that wasn’t either talking shit about how dumb those scientists had been—Frenchie and Kimiko had holed up in the corner, and Ben wasn’t good enough at that sign language shit to keep up, so he couldn’t participate in the conversation if he wanted to—or trying to hit on him.

All these dumbfuck BSFA agents kept hitting on him. 

“You look like you got a stick up your fuckin’ ass, gov-“

“Shut up.” Ben grunted, shooting Butcher a glare. “I want to get the fuck home, not have a conversation.”

Butcher just shrugged. “I ain’t tryin’ to talk to you either, but it’s lookin’ like it’s either that or leavin’ you to the bloody wolves over there.”

Ben didn’t have to follow Butcher’s gaze to know that he was talking about the giggly FSSB agents in the corner of the jet. He could fucking hear them, hear them talking about him like he was fucking meat, and he missed Her-

“Don’t know why they’re botherin’.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Half the shit you’ve said the whole mission is about how fuckin’ perfect your girl is-“

“Because she is perfect-“

“I know that, Gov, but I ain’t tryin’ to ride your dick, either-“

“Nobody rides my dick but-“

Butcher cut him off with Her name, giving Ben a flat look. “I told you. I know. We all fuckin’ know.”

Ben scowled, jerking his head to the agents. “They don’t.”

“Well, that’s their fuckin’ heads, ain’t it. She’d kill ‘em if she heard.”

It was impossible to stop the grin on Ben’s face. She would kill them. She was a lot more fucking possessive than people gave Her credit for, and She’d burn them all to ash, looking fucking beautiful doing it, then jump into Ben’s arms and ride him until She was moaning his name and cumming all over his cock-

“Bloody Christ, Mate.” Butcher grumbled. “I can see your fuckin’ hard-on.”

Ben didn’t really give a fuck. The conversation moved on to Ryan, and some book the kid was reading, and he got boners about Her around the team all the damn time. This was a lot better than when they had brain sex in front of everyone, so Butcher could fucking deal.

It only became a problem when one of the FFAA agents got real fucking bold, stood up, walked in front of Ben and Butcher, and cleared her throat. 

“Mr. Soldier Boy-“

Ben grunted, shooting her a glare. “What.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you were really brave out in the field today.” The agent batted her lashes at him, and Ben almost felt fucking bad for her. She wasn’t ugly, but compared to his wife—more beautiful than all the fucking stars and planets and works of art in the universe, holy and sacred and fucking perfect—she was nothing. 

“Well, I’m good at my fucking job.” He muttered, turning back to Butcher, and the asshat looked like he was going to start laughing. 

The woman didn’t give up. “Yeah, you- you really are. I was just wondering, if you have any post-mission rituals to help us-“

“Gov’s gonna go home, ain’t he. Gettin’ his dick wet.” Butcher was grinning as the agent blushed, and the pussy was looking far too fucking amused for Ben’s liking. “Or he’s just knockin’ right out to bloody hell-“

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher.”

“Sorry, agent.” Butcher winked at the woman, and Ben was going to throw him out of the plane. “Old men ain’t good to sleep well when they don’t got their own bed.”

The woman sighed, giving Ben a look of fucking pity. “I’m so sorry, is it-“ She looked around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Nightmares?”

It was. Without Her there, the nightmares about Homelander rising up from the dead, locking Ben in a box, and fucking hurting Her always returned.

“I miss my wife.” He grumbled, and Butcher snorted.

“Your-“ The woman’s eyes widened. “I- I’m sorry, I just heard that your marriage was a front for, um, for the-“

“Sweetheart.” Butcher cut the woman off with a bored, amused tone. “I’m tellin’ you from firsthand experience, they’re the two horniest cunts alive, that marriage is a sham just as much as my tits ain’t real.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and the woman swallowed.

“But- I’ve heard the Anomaly’s story, with Homelan-“

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Ben snapped. “And you don’t know goddamn shit about her. I fucking-“

“You love her, Gov. We’ve heard.”

Ben scowled. “I do. I’m fucking rife with it. Love.”

Butcher raised his brows. “Word of the week?”

Ben nodded, and he was only vaguely aware of the agent, shuffling back to her friends with loud whisper about how, apparently, Soldier Boy and the Anomaly were really married.

Butcher hummed. “That’s a good one. You beatin’ MM?”

“It’s not a fucking competition-“

“Not with that shit attitude, it ain’t.”

Ben snorted, and he was almost home. So fucking close, Her presence over his skull calling him closer, because he was almost fucking home, and it didn’t goddamn matter what some pussy agents thought, nothing in the world was fucking better than going home, to Her.

Although he might have to start fucking Her in public more. Or at least kissing Her stupid and dizzy where the world could see it. That agent wasn’t the first to doubt, for some stupid fucking reason, that She and Ben weren’t really together. It was one of the hundred reasons why he never took his ring off, so everyone fucking knew, just a little more, that Ben was Her’s. That the tabloids and useless fucking gossip websites could talk all they fucking wanted about how She and Ben were just a front marriage, and Ryan was actually Her biological son with Homelander—that timeline didn’t fucking add up at all, but none of the damn idiots seemed to care—or that Ben was Homelander, in fucking disguise or some shit, but the truth was pretty damn plain and obvious.

She was perfect. Ben loved Her. And he’d launch himself into the fucking sun before he even thought about looking away from Her for a fucking second.

And when he got home, Ben knew She was already asleep. Ryan was as well, when Ben poked his head in the kid’s room, and Ben was a little fucking thankful about it. He’d hug Ryan and make him breakfast in the morning, but it was late. They needed sleep. 

Ben needed sleep. He needed to sleep next to his wife, in his bed, and never fucking let Butcher take him on one of those mission again,

But when he got to their room, half tearing off his clothing as he walked to the mattress, his spot was fucking taken.

The cat was on his side of the bed, sitting tall and vigilant over Her body, eyeing Ben carefully as he glared at it. 

“Move.” He grunted.

Maeve looked back to Her, stood up, and walked over to Ben, rubbing his hand with sudden purrs. 

She rolled over in Her sleep, and Ben grinned. Christ, She was beautiful. A little drool falling out of Her pretty mouth, wearing his fucking shirt, a little makeup still on Her face that told Ben she��d been waiting for him. To come home.

Back to Her. 

Something nipped at his hand. The cat.

He’d started petting the cat without thought, and it had fucking bit him-

Because he was staring at Her. 

Maeve had been watching over Her, while Ben was gone. 

And he could deal with that. Work with it. 

When Ben crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Her, Maeve was still letting out soft hisses. Right up until She rolled over and buried her perfect face in Ben’s chest with a small, happy sigh.

And Maeve backed off, stretching and laying back down near Her legs, tangled in with Ben’s.

The thing was obviously damn smart, and it was still fucking ugly, but so was a lot of Ben’s life. 

The best, most beautiful thing was Her. The most important thing was protecting Her, caring for Her, making sure She was happy all the fucking time.

So as long as the cat got that She was the whole fucking world, Ben was good.

End Note: Btw the cat is names Maeve because I miss her. Shoutout Maeve, none of this would've happened if she didn't tip Butcher off about Sunshine's existence. Our unsung hero.

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[romancherry]

caged in silk (2) – escape attempt

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ your escape attempt fails. after they bring you back, marcus punishes you himself.

warnings ➝ smut, spanking, dark!fic, manhandling, aftercare, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 2.940

author's note ➝ hi again! came back with a longer chapter for this series. hope you like it and if there are any warnings i forgot to include, please nudge me 🩷

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

you don't know when you started planning it. maybe it was after one of joel's suffocating lectures about how dangerous the outside world is, or after javier kissed your forehead and whispered a honeyed threat in your ear, "don't run, cariño. it won't end well for you." maybe it was when marcus gripped your wrist just a little too harshly, his cold eyes telling you that resistance was pointless.

but you refuse to accept this life with these sick men.

so, you wait. you watch. you memorize their schedules.

the way joel double-checks the locks but gets sloppy when he drinks.

the way javier smokes out on the porch at night, lost in his own thoughts.

the way marcus dissapears for hours at a time (thankfully – he's the hardest and scariest to deal with).

then, finally, your chance comes.

joel's passed out on the couch, whiskey bottle loose in his grip. javier is in the backyard, smoking a cigarette and distracted by a phone call. marcus is gone.

now or never.

you move quickly, heart hammering as you unlock the front door, slipping barefoot into the night. the cold air bites at your skin, but you don't stop. you run; past the old fence, the trees. past the point where they ever let you go alone.

and for a while, you feel free. but not safe.

you make endless plans for when you arrive in the city. where it's safest to go, who to approach, how you should behave in order for someone to take you seriously.

you follow the road religiously. you run, and when your legs almost give out, you stop running and instead walk as fast as you can. always looking back, checking your surroundings and hoping for a car to stop by and save you.

you do hear a car. a truck engine, roaring in the distance. tires kicking up dirt. headlights slicing through the darkness.

your stomach drops.

you push yourself harder, lungs burning, but it's useless. the truck skids to a stop in front of you, cutting off your path. the door swings open, and joel steps out first. he looks... devastated.

"goddamn it," he breathes, raking a hand down his face. "why'd you do this, baby? why'd you make us come after you?"

javier is next. he doesn't say anything at first; just leans against the truck, watching you. when he finally speaks, his voice is too soft.

"you really didn't think this through, hm? did you, cariño?" he pauses to light up a cigarette, the stress evident on his furrowing eyebrows and tense stance. he looks like he held his breath the entire trip and finally relaxed when he saw you in flesh and bone.

and then there's marcus. he looks so fucking angry, dissapointed. he looks at you, slow and deliberate, like he's already planning your punishment.

when he takes a few more steps towards you, you shake your head, turn around and make a useless run from it. tears fall when joel grabs you, his arms caging you in, crushing you against his chest as he shushes your frantic cries.

"shh, baby. it's over now. we got you. we always got you."

javier moves in next, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. his fingers are gentle, but his eyes burn.

"tell me," he murmurs, "who put these stupid ideas in your pretty little head? hm? who made you think you had a choice?"

you don't answer. you can't.

"you see, sweetheart, you broke joel's heart tonight. you dissapointed me too. but most importantly, you made marcus very, veeery angry," he points a finger towards him and your lip trembles in fear as your eyes follow. "and you know what happens when marcus is angry, don't you?"

as you close your eyes and more tears fall on your cheek, you barely flinch when javier hesitates before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

he remains at your level as he whispers, "i can't promise he'll be gentle, sweetheart. but i can promise that next time, you'll think twice about running away."

---

they don't take you back right away.

joel is still holding you, his grip tight enough to bruise, his heart pounding against your back. javier is standing so close you can feel the heat of his body. and marcus hasn't stopped watching you, his sharp, assessing gaze taking in every little shake, flinch and desperate breath.

you feel cornered, trapped. because you are.

joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening around your arms. "you scared the hell outta me," he mutters, his voice shaking. he turns you around, forcing you to face him. his expression is tight, his jaw clenched.

"you coulda got yourself hurt. you coulda died. or worse – someone else, a bad man, coulda taken you 'way from us. do terrible things to ya. that what ya wan', doll? don't we treat ya good enough?"

"fuck. you." you snarl before spitting in joel's face.

you don't get a chance to see the anger on his face because he hauls you over his shoulder so suddenly it makes your head spin.

you scream, thrashing against his hold, but it's useless.

javier laughs, "guess we're doin' this the hard way, huh?"

---

the ride back is suffocating. you sit between joel and javier in the back of the truck, your legs trembling and your hands curled into fists. marcus drives, his grip steady on the wheel, saying nothing. he doesn't even glance back at you. not even once.

joel keeps an arm around you, pressing you against his side, his other hand resting on your thigh.

javier says nothing. keeps his mouth shut for once and decides to glance at the surrounding views through the window.

when you get inside the house, the atmosphere shifts. it's heavy. tense.

javier clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "now what do we do with you, cariño?"

joel sighs, dropping on the couch and rubbing his forehead. "she needs to learn."

marcus finally speaks. "she will."

that's the only warning before you get shoved against the wall by marcus. your head got hit so abruptly you felt like your conciousness was slipping between your fingers. there's no sweet talking your way out of this. no escaping.

"what were you fucking thinking, huh?"

"marcus," javier warns carefully.

"no," he bites back at his younger brother. "she needs a fuckin' lesson."

"i... i just wante-"

"to leave?" marcus interrupts.

you swallow. nod.

marcus lets out a humorless laugh. "that ain't ever gonna happen, stupid girl. you're ours," he ranks a hand through your hair, his touch so soft it almost makes you want to lean into it. but this guy is a fucking psychopath, worse than his two brothers. he barely talks, but when he does, he switches between different personalities so quickly you can barely process his intentions.

"you should be thankin' us. we gave you an escape ticket from the shithole you called living, and brought you to fucking paradise," he leans in towards your ear and practically screams the last two words, his voice hurting your brain. "ain't that right, boys?"

joel rises from the couch and comes next to marcus to graze his thumb from the apple of your cheek to your bottom lip, stroking it carefully and not liking the way a small amount of blood seeps through the chapped borders of your pouty lip. his eyebrows are furrowed in concern but his gaze remains stern. "he's right, doll."

a short moment of infuriating silence occurs. you study marcus' gaze and by the look of it, he's most likely thinking of all the possibilities to hurt you. punish you for your disobedience and trying to decide of a way or more on how to make you behave. because if there's one thing marcus hates, it's disobedience.

"what are we gonna do with you, hm?" he hums dangerously, cocking his head to the side. his tone seems mocking, inhuman. as if you're a stray dog in urgent need of taming.

"please," you try to beg, hoping for mercy. he fucking laughs in your face.

"please? no, baby, begging won't do. it just... won't do. you wanna act all innocent? you should've thought of that before trying to fucking escape," he is sincere. straight to the point. unyielding. his eyes are following your trembling eyes, glossy with tears you fight holding back. he sees right through your failed attempt to hide the regret of your unsucceeding plan.

"you wish your plan worked, huh? you wish i wasn't here, leavin' you to play the victim card with joel. hell, he might've even believed you, baby. he's the only one keeping me from choking you right where you stand."

you take a slow look at joel and you let a few tears fall free on your cheek. he looks dissapointed, broken. he was the only one who tried to make your stay as comfortable as possible. he held you tight at night and kept you warm, dressed and fed. and you failed him.

marcus taps your cheek twice with his rough hand, turning your attention back to him. "he ain't gon' save you now, sweetheart. he knows you fucked up. and now, he's gonna watch you get disciplined."

"no!" you let out a broken yell when marcus grabbed you by your arm and hurried you towards the couch. you try to slow him down by tugging on his arm and putting all your weight upon your feet, pressing the soles straight on the wooden floor, but his strength outranks yours.

he sits down on the couch and wastes no time in molding your body to his will to succesfully manhandle you over his knees. your abdomen presses painfully over his big thighs while your head hangs down beside the couch, your left cheek barely grazing the soft cover. marcus contorts your hands behind your back and locks your wrists together using his left hand while the other one tugs harshly on your sweatpants, revealing your ass.

"oh, would you look at that piece of cake," he groans in pleasure, his calloused right hand coming down to massage the plump flesh of your buttcheeks. "and this little string," he tugs at your panties, pulling them upwards and then quickly releasing the material so it slaps against your pussy. "looks so good, baby. beautiful body you got on ya. such a shame to ruin it."

he pulls your panties down in one brutal move, the cool air of the room hitting your bare pussy and making you shiver. marcus spreads your asscheeks and brings his face closer, staring between your legs. you can't see him, but the way your smell invades his nose makes his head dizzy. he fights the urge to bury himself in your cunt and absolutely devour you like a man starved. but tonight is about making you feel sorry, not good.

"come here, boys. look at this fuckin' treasure." he gestures to joel and javier and they both come behind you to glance at your wet cunt. all the stress, thrill and danger left not only a traitorous transparent spot in the center of your panties, but also evidenced your swollen pussy in the light of the room. you feel their hungry gazes staring directly in your center, and you have never felt more ashamed. you try to shield your dignity by clenching your asscheeks and thighs together, but marcus had none of it. he swatted your right cheek as a threat, the abrupt and fast contact with his hand forcing you to instantly relax and let him spread you apart even further.

"don't you fuckin' do that again, sweetheart. we have every right to see what's ours."

"jesus, cariño. you're fucking soaked," javier sighs.

"i know, right? barely touched her and she's drenchin' my lap," marcus mocks, and you roll your eyes in disbelief, wishing you had the guts to throw the snide remark that sits on the tip of your tongue. definitely not soaked because of you, fucking old creep.

"but this ain't 'bout makin' you feel good, darlin'. no. tonight i ain't gonna take care of your pussy. but that bratty attitude you got goin' on..." he slowly massages your ass, warming up the flesh, preparing you for what's to come, "oh yeah. now that's a fucking problem, huh? you gotta know your place."

his hand rises up from your flesh and before you can even think about bracing yourself for the impact, his hand comes down just as fast and brutal, making the soft skin ripple in waves from his touch. your body slightly shifts forward but the tight grip he has on your wrists holds you still. a warning. a threat. the more you move and struggle, the longer this will take.

he repeats his assault on each asscheek. his strikes are quick and they fucking sting. he doesn't hit you with his entire hand yet. his fingers are enough and prove to be very efficient.

you wonder that, if his fingers leave such a pain in their path... how much would his entire palm hurt?

it will surely leave marks. red hot and bruising. so painful they will remind you of the aftermath of your punishment for days to come.

and as if he can hear your thoughts, he makes them come true.

he swats three more speedy slaps on your left cheek, one after the other, leaving you no time to recover. and then, as you barely caught your breath, his palm connects with the right cheek so hard the sound vibrates against your ear.

he massages the tender area in a soothing manner, but it is useless. in fact, what he considers as a tender action, actually makes the pain worse; incorporating it into your entire fiber. making you bite your lip, flowing your head with high hopes that this will be over soon. if you behave, he might take pity on you.

joel comes forward and kneels on the ground in front of you, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. you can tell he feels sorry for you.

"good girl," he coos softly, "such a good girl. just take it," his free hand wipes the tears and the hair off your face. he tries to distract you while marcus' unrelenting assault never ceases to stop. his soothing voice does nothing to stop the horrifying feel of being completely held down, helpless and used like a rag while marcus keeps his promise to the very end.

after what feels like a long time, you slowly drift towards unconciousness. your lower half goes completely numb as your body accomodates to the pain and perceives it as normality. all you feel is an immense amount of warmth enveloping your asscheeks and an irritating, disgusting feeling of a slick liquid dripping slowly from your cunt and making their way down your legs. imprinting on the rough material of marcus' jeans.

your head is dizzy and you can barely form coherent thoughts inside your mind. joel's soothing words fade like background noise, and the awful smell of javier's cigarettes becomes your only source of oxygen. marcus hits, and slaps, and swats relentlessly until he's utterly pleased not only with his artwork, but the way you become soft and pliant underneath him.

you didn't even notice how he let go of your wrists so long ago. yet you still keep them in place as if he still holds them.

if you had eyes in the back of your head, you'd scream in agony at the sight of your ass. the colour of your skin is unknown, overshadowed entirely by a sea of red which marcus carefully crafted with the skill of his hand.

he isn't oblivious to the river pooling down your legs either. but you don't deserve to be satisfied yet. he isn't pleased with joel's weakness for you anyway, and the fact that you will be sleeping in his protective embrace tonight is enough of a reward for you. if it were marcus' choice, he would have you sleep on the wooden floor all night. no blanket, pillows, or even clothes to keep you warm.

when joel notices that his brother is finally done, he immediatelly sweeps you into his arms and carries you to his bedroom. he is careful in maneuvering you into the mattress, arranging you on your belly so that your ass is protected. he brings a small bottle of aloe vera gel from the bathroom; he collects a small amount on his fingers and warms the content in his hand before applying it featherly soft on the affected areas. you shift and sniffle in pain, and he comforts you as best as he can.

joel joins you in bed after he's done tending to your wounds. he notices the way you reach for him in your sleep and mumble inaudible words from your dreams. he hates how soft he is for you and how you have succeeded in affecting him so much in the short time you've been around and you don't even know it.

he dreams of a near future where you are happy and content in their presence. where you cook and tend to their every need while they take turns in worshipping your body and building your happiness.

he wants to spoil you so bad. hell, all of them do. but you have to earn it. you have to accept your new reality and the fact that they're never letting you go.

once you do, you'll be their queen. and they will do anything for you.

[touchme-teezme]

Last Pick.

PAIRING | collegeboy!mingi x fab!reader

TAGS | angst, smut, friends to lovers(?), p0rn with a plot with a cliffhanger (oopsie), lots of kissing, oral, reader was angry then h0rny…and then sad :( oh! and mingi’s lowkey a hoe

RATINGS | NSFW 18+ (minors DNI!)

SONGS | Cherry Hill - Russ, That's why I love you - SiR & Sabrina Claudio

SUMMARY | you and mingi are best friends. he likes you, but you love him. one fight changes the trajectory of your friendship forever.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ i didn't know if i wanted to write angst or smut... so here's both? a bonus fic to celebrate the hard (pun intended) launch of my blog! it’s a bit more dramatic than i’m used to but that’s what creative writing is for. i have a few other members in my drafts. i plan to update sometime this week. might just spam them idk. i've been in such a writing mojo lately; i think i just miss ateez haha. also if you’re new, english is not my first language so if i get some terminologies mixed up, sorry!! that's all, enjoy ya freaks.

+ 💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

inspired by a quote from ‘save me an orange’ by hayley grace. “Stop looking at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like I’m someone you could actually love.”

It was getting late, and you were growing tired.

Mentally tired. You were tired of hearing the same stories, the same kind of complaining, and most of all, tired of pathetically waiting on the sidelines. You’ve been avoiding the truth for so long that you didn’t notice it consumed you.

You weren’t Mingi’s type. He liked their personalities, bright, funny, and effortlessly interesting. Feminine, sexy and confident. Girls that could lead and had interesting hobbies. Compared to his colourful dating history, you felt like you weren’t anything particularly special.

You finally accepted that tonight, while drinking on your balcony as you listened to how his tinder dates this month went. At the mention of the second girl (whose name you already forgot), you were already dying inside.

Before you thought it wouldn’t get any worse, he went off topic and started talking about his future and what he actually wanted.

He blurted out that he should just marry you if he was still single at 35, declaring he had officially given up on the shrinking dating pool.

He looked at you with a mix of admiration and bliss in his eyes. That stupid, goddamn part of your brain convinced you it could happen. He acknowledged that small 0.0001% possibility of you and him ending up together, so there was actually a chance you could actually be with him.

But reality sunk in and drowned you.

Song Mingi would never love you.

That’s when the little glimmer of hope you’d carried throughout your friendship shattered. The shards had cut you and hurt bled out.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You sighed.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m someone you could actually love.”

Mingi didn’t know what to say at first, but at least a hundred responses came to his mind.

His face (which usually said whatever he was thinking for him) settled into a look that screamed Where did THAT come from? for him.

That was enough to discourage you altogether. You let silence grow between you two, quietly finishing your last sip with nothing but the sounds of midnight Seoul traffic beneath you.

You set the glass bottle on the table and rose from your chair. “I’m going to bed. You can hang out here or just leave or whatever.”

Mingi took a few seconds to process the shift in mood before he ran after you inside. He thought you two were having some decent conversations, but he got ahead of himself like he usually does.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

You paused and turned around slowly. You were trying to carefully pick out the right words from what you were feeling.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“I know, that’s why I came. You weren’t really replying to me and San said he hasn’t heard from you. I…I just wanted to see you.”

“Well, you saw me. You can go.” You shrugged.

Mingi furrowed his eyebrows. “If this is about what I said about marrying you, I wasn’t serious. I know you don’t believe in marriage and—“

You let out a wry scoff, cutting his weak explanation short. You could’ve been mean, throw him out, laugh it off and say you were kidding. But you couldn’t ignore that feeling in your chest anymore.

With eyes shut, you murmured, “I hate how you make me feel sometimes.” and when you opened your eyes, they were already watery.

Mingi's face fell. "Hey, c’mon, I didn't mean to upset you."

He approached you delicately, his large hands encasing yours with a gentle touch. If he were to pull you in for one of his bear hugs, you might explode.

You quickly stepped back, creating distance between as you refused his hands. “That’s all you do lately. You don’t even realise half of the shit you say and how much it hurts to hear.”

His eyebrows furrowed, he was now growing very concerned. “I thought we were friends.”

“Do friends make each other feel like they’re the last pick of the litter?”

Mingi's eyes widened. "Last pick? Hey, what is going on with you?"

You laughed, but it was devoid of humour. "Let me break this down for you. All I have been hearing about these days are your dates, your perfect girls, how you have no connection with them so you’re going to die alone and yet you’re still choosing to sleep with the entire city. Then you throw out this ridiculous idea of how you want to settle down eventually, and when you’ve had your fun, you would marry me. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

He looked taken aback. “But… what I said, that was a joke and—“

"A joke?!” Your voice rose. "My feelings are a joke to you? Do you have any idea how long I've been…”

You stopped yourself, your mouth hanging slightly open as you realised there was no point. You had no business convincing a man to want you.

Still, the volume and hurt in your voice stunned him into silence despite you not finishing your sentence.

"You know what? Just get out." You seemed firm and dismissive, yet your heart was breaking. "I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with just being your friend if this is how it’s going to be until you… decide to settle. You have to go."

Mingi stood there, shock and confusion written all over his face. "You don't mean that. Please, we can talk about this.”

"No, Mingi. Just leave," you insisted, your voice cracking as you further widened the space between you, your hands held up in surrender as you walked away. "I'm done."

Yet another awkward silence grew between you. For a moment, Mingi didn’t move. He just watched you slowly walk towards your closed bedroom door disappointed.

Then, as if something snapped inside him. He finally realized what this was about.

You had feelings for him.

You didn’t say it out loud, but it made sense and Mingi felt like the biggest asshole in the world. He crossed the distance between you in two quick strides, desperate to reach you. His hand grabbed your shoulder first, turning you around.

“No, we’re talking about this.”

“I have nothing else to say to you. Go fuck someone new on tinder and just leave me out of it.”

“Dude, come on this is not how we talk to each other.” He was getting way too close to you.

“I couldn’t give two shits about how we talk to each other when you’ve pissed me off. So now, you have to go.”

“You almost said it a minute ago. Tell me why the girls bother you, why what I said bother you. I need to hear it.” He demanded.

Okay, that pissed you off more than you already were. Your chest heaved with the intensity of your emotions, the words bubbling up from a place you had kept buried for too long.

“This is stupid,” You whispered, shaking your head as your eyes continued watering as your gaze pierced into his. “You’re stupid, and you make me feel stupid.”

“Say what you wanted to, and I’ll go, and we never have to speak again.”

“So that’s it? You want an ego boost? You wanna feel on top?!” You practically yelled in his face.

“If that’ll make you be fucking honest for once, it might be worth it!”

“You’re so pretentious. I can’t believe I ever stuck around this long!”

“Why did you then, huh? Tell me exactly why you did!”

His yelling echoed in your apartment. You felt your heart beating in your throat as you stared at his lips.

Fuck it.

You closed the final few inches of distance between you in a swift motion. Gripping onto his shirt, you pulled him towards you forcefully, crashing your lips onto his with all the built-up anger and frustration pouring out.

Mingi was completely caught off guard by the intensity of the kiss. But the second you tried to pull away, he grabbed you back in. His hand gripped your waist tightly, pulling you against him as the kiss deepened.

He lifted one of your legs up to the sides of his hip as he pushed you up against the bedroom door, cushioning the impact with his palm on the back of your head. The heat between your legs was growing and rubbing against his crotch was making it worse.

Your hands were exploring his chest, his shoulders, his face and his hair. You finally gasped for air, tilting your head up which invited him to kiss down your chin to your neck.

“I hate you, I fucking hate you.” I whispered out, shaking your head. Baffled at how good of a kisser he was, but with how he was spending his weekends, it wasn’t exactly a mystery.

He bent down to hoist you up by your thighs, effortlessly wrapping them around his waist. With one of your arms snaked around his neck for support, the other reached behind to open the door.

“Hate me later.” He muttered, kissing you again as he carried you into your dark bedroom.

He laid you down, sandwiching you between his chest and your mattress. You could feel him getting hard through the tin fabric of his Adidas shorts.

He smelled so fucking good. His natural scent mixed with a hint of the cologne you got for him for his birthday made your imagination go wild. Your hands reached the hem of his shirt like an animal instinct, tempted to rip it off him if he didn’t take it off in the next few seconds.

He pulled up and tugged his shirt over his head when he noticed your neediness. In the faint light of the opened door behind him, you could see the outline of his toned body.

Soft streetlights from outside the window above the bed frame gently illuminated his face that looked down at you like you were a full course meal and he was starving.

You have found Mingi handsome since the first day you met. Hell, even he knew he was handsome but something about how he looked at that moment sent chills all throughout your body.

When he leaned back down over you, you couldn’t resist reaching out to his face to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing back and forth near the beauty mark on his face.

He took your hand gently, kissing the back of it. Guiding your hand to his chest, he let you trace your fingertips down his body.

You almost forgot why you were angry.

“Do you want to do this?” He asked, still sounding a little breathless from the escalation.

You looked up from your hand on his lower abdomen, “If you leave now I might actually kill you.”

almost.

He took in bottom lip with his teeth to hide an excited smile, before leaning down to capture your lips in another kiss. This time, he moved slower, savouring whatever was left of that cherry lip balm you had on. “I wasn’t planning to.”

You smiled into the next kiss. Typically you’re not supposed to enjoy having the tongue of the person you were just screaming at in your mouth, but you wanted it there for as long as possible. In fact, you wanted that tongue everywhere on you.

Mingi on the other hand was trying really hard to focus but he could literally feel your nipples through the t-shirt you still had on.

Why the fuck was it even still on, he had no idea.

He was now thinking about how you did not have a bra on the entire time he was hanging out at your house, wondering how often it had been happening without him realising.

You grabbed onto the sides of his hips, and groaned in his mouth. He flipped over, positioning you so you were centred on his hard cock. You readjusted your legs to straddle him comfortably, your arms crossing behind his neck for support as he was sitting up.

His hands found their way to your ass, squeezing it in encouragement as you started bucking your hips against him. Your nails scratching up his shoulders as you started to wonder if the rumours about his dick size were true — all while the friction was driving him insane with arousal.

He helped you take your baggy t-shirt over your head. Delighted that you weren’t wearing a bra, he even fixed your hair once it was off, carefully flipping it behind your shoulders. He slid a hand to the small of your bare back, stealing a quick glance at your face.

You were the prettiest girl he knew. He had told you that a few times, but stopped once he realised you were never going to believe him. He’d be lying if he said he was never attracted to you, he just could never find the courage to cross that line. He was afraid of losing you more than anyone else he’d ever met.

“What?” You simply asked.

Doe eyed, topless, in his arms. Mingi could’ve sworn he had a wet dream about this once. His eyes dipped to your chest without saying a word, and he buried his face there. You rolled your eyes, but inside you were screaming with joy.

He caught your left nipple between his swollen lips while he massaged the other in his free hand. You squirmed when you felt him nibble, and twist you like a personal bop it. You even felt the fucker smirk against your skin at your reaction.

Your hand moved to roughly grip on the hair on the back of his head and your back arched towards him, feeling his tongue licking on your chest in a circular motion.

His eyes looked up at you, as he sucked on your breasts sloppily and kneading them with his hand, admiring his view and the feeling it came with.

You felt the tip of his nose brush up across your collarbone to return to your neck. You were getting so wet, it’s a miracle you managed to restrain yourself from taking those eager hands of his and shoving them in your shorts.

“I-I’m still mad…a-at you.” You managed to choke out, shuddering from the tingling feeling of him sucking on a sweet spot you didn’t know you had.

“I know.” He groaned.

Your hand reached down to the rock solid boner you had been grinding up against. He took a sharp hiss of breath at your touch.

He flipped you over again before you could’ve tried to slip off his pants. He guided you a little higher on the bed and then sat up to pull your shorts and your underwear down in one firm swift motion.

With his hands gently on your knees, he parted your legs. “Fuck…” He whispered.

As you lay on the bed, propped up on your elbows, you were a little embarrassed that he was seeing that part of you at first, but the way his eyes looked into yours and raked down your body made you grow a little more confident in your skin.

“Are you gonna just stare?” You nodded your head at him.

“I’m taking my time because you have no idea how often I’ve thought of doing this to you.”

“Slut.”

Mingi cracked into a grin, his tongue cheekily running across his top teeth as he shook his head and took your leg over his shoulder. He pushed your other knee further out when he started to lean down, coming closer to your dripping cunt.

Took his time, he did.

He cherished every kiss, and the way his nose slid up and down against you made your breathing shaky. Your hands fondled your own tits that were still a little damp from his licks from earlier.

When he started basically making out with your clit, your head threw back and you couldn’t hold back your breathy moans. Your hips started to rock into his tongue.

“Who’s the slut now?” You heard him coo from under you. He watched you with fox-like eyes, keeping a vigilant gaze while you stimulated yourself and something about it made it ten times hotter.

“S-still you—Ah, Mingi!” Your head dropped onto the bed.

Your clit was swollen, and his fingers invited themselves between your folds before entering. There’s no way you could’ve held in that loud moan, or mask the look of absolute pure pleasure that contorted your face.

Something about how you were unravelling at the curl of his finger inside you, with your heel dug in lot his back and the sound of you moaning his name over and over had him excited for what’s to come.

Figuratively and literally.

Mingi’s dick had never been harder.

You reached for his hand that was gripping on your thigh to keep your legs parted. Your mouth dropped open as your eyes squeezed shut to feel the electrifying sensation throughout your entire body. His fingers and the upper inner part of your thighs were coated in your release.

Holy shit, Mingi actually made you cum. And he sucked and licked every last of it as you were riding it out.

He sucked on your clit one last time, giving a quick kiss goodbye before crawling up your body to meet your face.

His hand was beside your face as he tilted his head to the side. Mingi hovered over you and though you felt a bit dizzy, you managed to mirror the grin on his face.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Furious.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

As you sat up slowly, he started to retreat to reel you in with your faces mere inches apart. Placing a hand on his chest, you pushed him down to get onto his back.

Who knows when’s the next time you would ever to be able to do this? In the back of your head, you knew this was a heat of a moment kind of thing, eventhough it made you a little sad, you wanted to kiss him again and again.

And he was more than willing to entertain it.

You could taste yourself off his lips. The dirtiness of it all made it hotter. His nails running up and down the side of your thigh as your chest pressed against his.

You moved down, planting little kisses down his gorgeous physique, you hands gripping on his sides as he watched. His hand reached out stroking the top of your head.

This had to be a dream.

You looked up when you reached the drawstring of the shorts he had on.

“Okay, okay, just be gentle,” He asked softly. “I’m a little… uh…”

With your teeth, you undid the little bow and tug his shorts down. Rumour confirmed: he was huge. Girthy, long, with cum already dripping down its sides from tip.

You thought you were seeing things wrongly so your hand reached out to hold it by the base and stroked up.

“Needy?” You teased.

Mingi’s brain electrocuted for a second, unsure if it was the tone or your hands. He flinched, “S-shit, baby, I’m really… hold on—“

You leaned forward, wrapping your hand comfortably around the base as you started to return the treatment he just gave you — tenfold. Mingi’s flustered face transformed into a look of pure satisfaction.

The way you licked, kissed, and sucked all over his shaft, he’d float if he could. The lewd noises you were making made him hiss, bitting in his lower lip as he watched from above.

“S-shit you’re doing so good.” He managed to say, leaning over to comb back your hair in his hands as you steadied your pace.

When his tip scratched the back of your throat, he was done for. You almost ended up choking on the cum that bursted out of his wet hard cock that pooled warm in your mouth, and swallowed.

The noise he made was unlike anything you’d ever heard in your decade long friendship, and it was the best he’d ever felt out of all his past experiences.

But that wasn’t why he had to take a breather. He realised how wrong he’d been doing you. Knowing how you felt about him, and how he’s been treating you made him wonder if he even deserved to see you this way.

He moved in behind you, gently guiding your face toward his for a soft, sweet kiss that made you smile. He trailed playful kisses along the side of your face as your hand caressed his. His large hands traced lightly over your waist.

If foreplay was this good already, he could only imagine how mind boggling actually fucking you would be. But he seemed to enjoy finally being able to shamelessly kiss you and touch you wherever he wanted more though.

You, however, had a different thought. The lines of your friendship were already blurred. Being with him like this had been a fantasy, but now you were stepping into uncharted territory, where everything about your relationship with him might change — if it hadn’t already.

That’s when reality hit, your smile fading. You needed a moment to pull back.

He started slowing down when he noticed you or your body weren’t really responding to him anymore.

It hit you like a cold splash of reality—his stories of conquests, the way he casually shared tales of his past flings, and how effortlessly he moved on from each one.

“Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

In that moment, you realized you were just another number on his hit list, a fleeting moment in his game, and the weight of that truth settled heavily in your chest, leaving you feeling small and insignificant.

Even with his own doubts, Mingi was still ready to take things further right then and there, but seeing that look — the one you make when you have a lot on your mind — he couldn’t bring himself to continue.

His hand reached out, caressing the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear in comfort, “We don’t have to, you know.”

You nodded, “I know. I’m sorry, I just… I’m thinking a lot right now.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He smiled at you, shaking his head in reassurance before closing in to kiss the side of your head.

He shifted on the bed, pulling you into an embrace and brought you close to him under the sheets.

You’ve shared this bed several times over the years, but never this intimately, without a pillow barrier or clothes on. This easily felt very new to both of you, yet still comfortable enough.

As you cuddled facing eachother, you turned to the ceiling as your thoughts began to swirl. You had settled the argument from earlier with your bodies, but the confusion in your heart still remained.

“Are you okay?” Mingi finally asked, concern in his eyes as you took your time to answer.

“Yeah, just…” The room felt colder, smaller, and you could feel tears pricking at your eyes as you turned to look at him. “I don’t want to be like the others. I don’t want us to end up being… nothing.”

“You’re not like the others,” Mingi said softly, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. “I’m serious. I’m sorry for the stupid things I said. You are… you’re everything to me. You’re it, and—”

You’d heard it all before. You knew his usual pretty words for his pretty girls thanks to his stories but what you didn’t know was how he actually meant what he said this time.

“Look, Mingi…I just can’t do the whole friends-with-benefits thing. I can’t just stay friends after this. I need you all in if you’re going to be in my life.” Your voice trembled, and each word felt like a struggle. This boy had a grip on your heart that made the thought of losing him hurt. “If you can’t do that, you really need to go tomorrow morning, okay?”

He took a moment to let your words sink in, the silence stretching between you. Then, quietly, he leaned in and kissed you—a soft, gentle kiss. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The warmth of his skin soothed you in the cool air as he pressed a light kiss to your forehead.

[matt-murdockk]

Killshot 0.1 | Welcome to New York

it's been waiting for you

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matt murdock x black widow! reader | fluff | words: 2.7k | fic from reader's pov

summary: Killshot, meet Nelson, Murdock, and Page (ft. a very special appearance from Yelena Belova— we'll be seeing a lot of her).

I don't think there was ever a place I could call home. Be it the constant torture, shit ton of missions and moving around or whatever, I either never stuck around at one place long enough to call it home, or when I did, it didn't exactly go well. The closest thing I had to a home was my family. Not my mom and dad or whatever, never met them, don't care. My family, as in, the people who made even hell feel okay. The Avengers.

New York chewed me up and spat me out more times than I can count. I’ve bled in these streets. I’ve fought aliens, assassins, war criminals, gods. I’ve lost friends. I've lost Natasha. I've lost Tony. I've lost... a version of myself I don't think I’ll ever get back.

And still— here I am.

You’d think I’d run far away from this place. Most people would. But there’s something about this city. Something about the way it doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t care what you’ve done or who you were before. As long as you keep your head down and pay rent on time, New York minds its own damn business.

It’s loud. It’s grimy. It smells weird. But it’s honest. And after everything, I think that’s what I wanted most— something that didn’t pretend to be something it’s not.

So I found a shoebox apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s not much. Leaky ceiling, noisy neighbors, the usual city soundtrack of sirens and someone yelling outside at 2 a.m. But it’s mine. My furniture. My mugs. My books. My life.

And now— my bookstore.

Yeah. A fucking bookstore. Can you believe it?

Turns out peace and quiet isn't a myth. It's just extremely underrated and criminally underfunded. But I saved up. I fought for it. And now, every morning, I unlock the door to a space that smells like coffee and paper and safety. It's quaint, it's cozy, it's so goddamn peaceful.

It’s the first thing I’ve done for myself in a long, long time.

And for once, I think I’m okay.

——————————————————————————————————

It was just past nine when I got to the bookstore— keys in one hand, half-spilled coffee in the other, hoodie sleeves still damp from where I accidentally elbowed the sink while washing my hands. So yeah, a normal morning. I almost tripped over a cracked bit of sidewalk again— mental note: report that or, I don’t know, start lifting your feet when you walk, I guess.

The shutters were halfway up, like always. I kept forgetting to pull them all the way down before I left. It wasn’t like anyone was dying to break into a place full of paperback classics and dusty murder mysteries, anyway.

I was halfway through unlocking the front door when I heard someone clear their throat behind me.

“Hey— bookstore?”

I turned around and found myself facing a woman with a leather satchel slung across her body and a smile that was… genuine. Not that fake retail smile. Not the “I’m-being-polite” one either. Just— nice. Blonde hair, neatly styled. Sharp eyes, a little tired. She looked like someone who saw everything and didn’t let it startle her.

“That’s what the sign says,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at the window decal I painted myself in a fit of DIY confidence and three cups of coffee. In retrospect, that looks awful. What the fuck was I thinking? Remind me to get one professionally made, yikes.

She smiled, holding out a hand. “Karen Page. I work next door.”

I shook her hand and followed her nod toward the office just to the right of my shop. Nelson, Murdock & Page. Huh. I’d seen the name a few times, but I hadn’t stopped by yet.

“Lawyers,” I said, accepting her handshake. “Brave of you to admit that before ten a.m.”

She laughed, warm and easy. “We try to keep a low profile.”

“I’m (Y/N),” I said. “Owner-slash-cashier-slash-bookshelf-assembler. Opened the place last month. Still figuring out if I need a real receipt printer or if handwritten notes give it a rustic vibe.”

“Well, it already looks amazing,” Karen said, peering through the window at the front table. “You’ve got ‘Little Women’ sitting next to a hitman memoir. Bold move.”

I shrugged. “I like balance.”

“Hell’s Kitchen could use more of that,” she said, and something about the way she said it made me pause. Like she knew.

Karen shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “We’re next door— Nelson, Murdock, and Page. If you need anything, or just decent coffee, come by.” A pause. Then, more casual, “Or if you just wanna talk. No pressure.”

I blinked. “Thanks. That’s… actually really kind. Seriously, everyone here’s been so nice. I didn’t expect that.”

Karen raised an eyebrow. “In Hell’s Kitchen? Seriously?” Then she laughed, shaking her head. “Man, you must’ve moved in on a good week.” I did not want to explore what that meant. Nope. Only peace in my life starting now. Hell's kitchen better become my happy place or else.

And with that, she turned and headed into the law office, leaving me alone in front of my shop, coffee gone cold in my hand and a faint, weird smile pulling at my mouth.

For a second, I just stood there.

This place… it was starting to feel like something.

Not home. Not yet.

But something. And I liked it.

As my train of thought arrived at a halt, I went in and let myself glance around the shop.

Stacks of books waiting to be shelved. The soft creak of the wooden floor. The faint smell of cinnamon from the candle I left burning yesterday. It was quiet— still. That kind of still that sits on your chest but doesn’t press down. The kind you could almost mistake for peace if you weren’t paying too much attention.

And then the door burst open.

I mean burst.

The bell above it didn’t jingle— it screamed for its dear life.

“HELLOOOO, LITTLE BOOKSTORE!”

I nearly dropped my coffee.

There she was. Sunglasses. Combat boots. Too much attitude for 9:00 a.m. And a wide, shit-eating grin like she was about to punch me or hug me and hadn’t decided which.

“Yelena,” I said flatly, setting my cup down before it could tremble out of my hand. “Jesus Christ.”

She threw her arms out like I should be applauding. “I heard my favorite little assassin opened a bookstore, and I had to see it with my own two judgmental eyes.”

“You mean the bookstore I told you about four months ago?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t believe you,” she said, striding in like she owned the place. “I thought you were definitely joking, but this? You? This is… cute.”

“You’re cute,” I muttered under my breath.

“I know,” she said immediately, already wandering toward the front table. “Wow. You really did it. You actually retired.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I said, watching her poke at the table display like she was searching for hidden weapons. “It makes me sound old and boring.”

“You are old and boring,” she said sweetly. “But this is adorable. Like— look at this. Aw, paperbacks. So soft. So non-lethal.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright. Why are you here?”

Yelena blinked, all faux innocence. “What, I can’t drop in just to say hi?”

“You don’t do anything ‘just’ to say hi.”

She plopped onto the arm of one of the reading chairs. “Okay, fine. I’m genuinely here just to hang out. No weapons. No missions. No ulterior motives. Okay, maybe like one weapon. Two tops. Three if we're being technical.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Missed me, huh?”

“I’m not going to say yes and let you gloat.”

A slow smile crept up my face. “You know you love me.”

She shrugged, picking up a book like it hadn’t just gotten incredibly obvious in here. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

I leaned against the counter, watching her pretend to read the blurb on the back cover upside down.

Peace and quiet, my ass.

But honestly?

I’d missed this too.

——————————————————————————————————

Cut to: greasy takeout containers, chopsticks in hand, legs kicked up on mismatched stools in the back room of the store.

Yelena slurped a noodle and pointed at me with her chopsticks like she’d just remembered something important. “Wait. Have you met the hot lawyer next door yet?”

I blinked. “Karen?”

“No, the hot one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Karen is hot.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Not that one. The other hot one. The tall one. Broody. Looks like he hasn’t slept since 2004. That one.”

“I haven’t met anyone else,” I said. “Just Karen. She was really sweet.”

“You need to meet the lawyer,” she said, like it was an emergency. “How have you not met the lawyer?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I’m running a bookstore and not casing the neighbors for eligible brooding bachelors?”

She popped another dumpling in her mouth. “I’m just saying. You’re doing your whole normal civilian thing now. He fits your aesthetic. Tortured, morally conflicted, probably has a tragic backstory— he’s perfect for you.”

I gave her a look. “Why do you know this? And how do you know this?”

Yelena pointed at herself, smug. “Baby girl, this is what I do.”

I groaned. “You are unbelievable.”

She grinned. “You’re welcome.”

I shoved a takeout box at her. “Eat your food and shut up.”

She did. But she was still smiling like she knew something I didn’t. And I fucking hate that look because that means she already knows she's right.

——————————————————————————————————

I was rearranging the front table display— again— because apparently, that was my new favourite hobby when I didn’t want to deal with actual work. My knee hit the corner of the shelf and I cursed under my breath, just as the bell over the door jingled.

I didn’t even look up. “Yelena, if that’s you again, I swear to God—”

“It is,” came her unapologetic voice. “But this time, I brought friends.”

That got my attention.

I looked up and, sure enough, there she was. Standing just inside the door like she owned the place, grinning like a menace, flanked by two men I definitely hadn’t seen before. One looked like he'd be someone’s favourite lawyer— pressed suit, hair barely out of place. The other stood slightly behind, cane in hand, expression unreadable. Curious, but guarded.

“Friends?” I repeated, squinting. “That’s new.”

“They’re real,” Yelena said, completely unbothered. “I checked.”

“You check everyone.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m here.”

She turned like she was introducing royalty. “This is Foggy. He talks a lot but somehow it works. And this,” she gestured to the man with the cane, “is Matt. Doesn’t talk a lot, but when he does, you should listen.”

I looked between them. “Lawyers?”

“Unfortunately,” Foggy said, smiling like this wasn’t his first time deflecting that. “We work next door. Karen told us you opened up shop, figured we’d stop by before she shamed us into it.”

I tilted my head. “Ah. So this is a guilt visit.”

“Strong coffee and guilt,” Matt said. His voice was low— smooth in a way that made it hard to read. “Two things we run on.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Fair enough. I’m (Y/N). I own the place. Unless Yelena somehow tricked me out of it and this is an intervention.”

Yelena held up both hands. “Hey, I only scam warlords now. Relax.”

Foggy was already halfway to a display table. “This is cool. Real cozy. I didn’t even know this was here.”

“Yeah, it’s new,” I said, sliding behind the counter like it would ground me. “Still figuring things out.”

Matt trailed his fingers along the shelf edge. It was subtle, but it felt… intentional. Like he was reading more than the titles.

“Quiet in here,” he said.

“Don’t jinx it.”

Yelena dropped into the chair by the window like it was hers. “I told you this place was legit.”

“You also told me there’d be pastries,” Foggy said, eyeing the plate beside the register.

“There were!” she said, pointing at the two sad, leftover cookies. “You’re just late.”

I caught Matt’s hand hover over a spine before he let it drop.

Foggy glanced over. “He does that in every bookstore, by the way. It’s freaky.”

Matt turned slightly toward me. “It’s relaxing.”

I glanced at his hand tracing the edge of the shelf. “What is? The books?”

“The quiet,” he said. “The way everything’s… still.”

I nodded. “Yeah, well. Kind of the point. Some of us open bookstores instead of going to therapy.”

He smiled — soft, but real. “You might be onto something.”

“You say that like it’s the first time I’ve been right today.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, just under his breath. “I’m reserving judgment.”

“Careful,” I said, tilting my head. “You come back too often, I’m gonna start charging you rent.”

Matt turned toward me slightly more, something curious behind his expression. “Is that your way of asking me to come back?”

I shrugged, meeting his gaze. “Is that your way of dodging the question?”

His smile widened, and just for a second, it felt like the rest of the room went quiet for real.

Yelena, of course, ruined it.

“Okay, wow. Should I leave? Or are we all just pretending this isn’t happening?”

I didn’t look away from Matt. “You could pretend harder.”

He grinned. “I think I’ll take that as an invitation.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling too.

He smiled— just slightly. Not the kind that asked for attention. The kind that slipped past your guard before you realized it. I caught it anyway. The curse of being observant— you catch everything.

"Wait so, how is it that you've already met Yelena?"

“He represented me once,” she said lightly, walking to the counter like she owned the place. “Long story. There were knives involved. And some yelling. Matt’s very good at not looking surprised in a courtroom.”

I raised my eyebrows. That feels like something she should've told me earlier, but I let it slide cause I was in a forgiving mood.

Matt smiled faintly. “It was… a unique case.”

“I was innocent,” Yelena added. “Mostly.”

Foggy sighed. “She was technically not guilty.”

“See?”

“So how do you know her?” Matt asked, nodding toward Yelena.

I blinked. “Yelena?”

“Please don't say prison,” Foggy added.

“Classified,” Yelena chimed.

I deadpanned. “She showed up in my life one day and never left.”

Matt nodded like he wasn’t sure if I was serious. Which was fair.

“She’s the clingy one,” Yelena added helpfully.

“I’m literally not.”

She gave me a look from behind Foggy’s back. One of those looks. Eyebrows up, lips twitching. She might as well have yelled "He’s cute" across the room. I stared at her. She winked.

Foggy looked between the group of us, grinning. “God, I missed normal human interaction.”

“This is your idea of normal?” I asked.

Matt smiled again, a little more noticeable this time. “You get used to it.”

We didn’t talk about anything important, but it didn’t feel awkward either. Just easy. No pressure. No masks, surprisingly. Just enough banter to feel human.

They didn’t stay long— lawyer things to do, apparently— but as Matt reached the door, he turned back.

“Nice meeting you,” he said.

“Likewise,” I replied.

He gave a small nod— one of those subtle ones that meant something even if you weren’t sure what.

The door closed behind them.

Yelena immediately turned to me, arms crossed and smug.

“Well?”

I shrugged. “They seem alright.”

“You think Matt’s hot.”

“I think you should get out.”

“I think I’m gonna hang out by the window in case he comes back.”

I sighed and threw a cookie at her.

She caught it without blinking. “You know you love me.”

God help me— she wasn’t wrong.

I watched her kick her boots up and settle in like she planned on moving in. And yeah, it wasn’t quiet anymore. Not the kind I thought I wanted. But when I glanced back at the door— just for a second— I didn’t mind it so much.

Not anymore.

Mental note: Get some books in braille.

[iamthatonefangirl]

Hii, I wanted to ask for some "boys being boys" kind of one-shot. The setting is: Sam, Tony, Bucky and Bruce were arguing about how they could make the Winter Soldier some safety protocol for Bucky's gf since she's also a fighter and go with them in the missions (All of this happening while they were drunk, so OF COURSE IT DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A BAD IDEA.) Bucky also doesn't know that the WS knows gf and is already very protective of gf, so when Steve and Reader (who is Bucky's gf and some kind of Steve's little sis) appear, things get a little… weird with WS being a possessive bf.

(Can I be annon ✨🐍/sparkilin snake?)

~✨🐍

bad luck - nsfw bucky barnes/winter soldier

hey anon I love the emoji combo omg. I went a slightly different direction from your ask but this is my interpretation of it :)

disclaimer: mentions of homicide, bucky turns into the winter soldier obviously, fully consensual smut by both parties although not explicitly stated.

for those of you who follow my winter soldier fics - I will list this in my winter soldier masterlist and my bucky masterlist. this will NOT be correlated with my pre-existing winter soldier series.

~~~

you'd only seen the winter soldier emerge twice, so far.

one time in a hydra base on a mission.

a second time in an ambush he wasn't prepared for.

~~~

you were with him the first time it happened.

in the case anything had gone wrong and somehow it happened, you'd been briefed ahead of time to make a run for it, not to engage the soldier. they would be able to find Bucky later and subdue him.

Bucky gave you a different set of instructions.

if somehow he turned, he instructed you to shoot him on sight. don't hesitate, don't wait. do what you had to in order to stay alive.

"goddamnit, Bucky, I'm not going to fucking kill you," you hissed at him, wishing you could just smack him upside the head. "there's a million other options before that."

"listen to me," he pled with you, "if it comes down to it, you shoot me. you do not hesitate. do you understand me?"

you were appalled.

"I'm not going to-"

"no," he interrupted you, voice stern. "either you promise me you'll do this, or I'm telling Steve to send someone else with me."

you almost felt like crying.

you thought about it. you thought about saying hell no, have him send someone else.

but you didn't trust anyone else to not shoot him if it came down to it.

so you lied.

"I'll kill you if I have to."

~~~

you didn't think it would actually happen. no way in hell.

you were roaming the base, trying to find the information you'd been sent for. you separated from Bucky in the attempts of getting in and out quicker.

after a few minutes, you heard a stark cry of your name from the distance, and your heart fell to your stomach.

you ran as fast as you can, hoping to stop it, do anything at all-

you run up to him, grabbing his arms and shaking him.

"Bucky? goddamnit, Bucky, look at me!" you yell at him.

you're met with those cold, dead eyes that you were told meant run for your goddamn life.

you're too late.

so you began to back up, following the orders you'd been given, trying to run. they could save Bucky, they could, but you had to get the hell out of there. you started to back away, ready to turn and bolt.

it was just your luck that you tripped and fell flat on your ass, all while the soldier was stalking towards you ominously.

you didn't have time to get up.

so you unholstered your gun, pointing it at him, tears coming to your eyes. you held it shakily, trying to make the split second decision,

what do I do? what do I do?

this was not supposed to fucking happen. you weren't about to kill the love of your life.

you were met with the greatest surprise of your life when he didn't rip your arm off, or reach out to choke you to death with his bare hands, or anything of the like.

he grabbed the gun from your hand with ease, and threw it to the side, then reaching for your hand and hauling you to your feet.

you stood there, face to face with him, wondering what the hell was going on. why didn't he immediately attack you?

the sound of gunshots filled the room. someone knew you were there, whoever was left of hydra, surely operating under the assumption that the soldier would kill you and then they could take back their precious asset.

you scrambled for your gun, but he picked it up first, pushing you behind him while he easily decimated the agents running at you.

you were stunned. Bucky never killed anyone, he wouldn't do it. but you had just watched him, not him, kill a dozen people without a second thought.

you prepared for him to turn around and shoot you, but he didn't. he looked you up and down for injuries, saw none, and his face relaxed.

you scrambled for what to do next. "the team, they'll come running at the sound of gunshots. you have to go, they can't know you're..."

you trailed off. your thoughts were a mess.

"I have to go."

he let you make a run for the exit.

~~~

obviously, you lied.

you told everyone that you never saw him. all you saw was the mess of dead, bloodied bodies, and no Bucky. which pointed to the obvious: he turned.

no way in hell were you going to admit anything.

a few sleepless nights passed without Bucky by your side, and with each passing day, you worried more and more that you'd never get him back. that by lying, you'd somehow messed up, and that it was somehow your fault you'd never see him again.

when your apartment window opened in the middle of the night a few days after the incident, you grabbed your gun and watched as the dark figure made its way into your apartment.

Bucky, finally.

"fuck, oh my god, you're okay," you say, running towards him, putting down the gun. you bring your hands to his shoulders, taking in his disheveled appearance.

"you've got to be starving," you comment, but then you look back up at his face.

it's not Bucky.

he's staring at you, looking into your eyes so intensely you'd think it's all he knew how to do.

"are you hungry?" you ask tensely, unsure what else to say. he says nothing inn response, but reaches out to you for the second time, this time gripping your waist tightly in both hands as though he owns you.

"mine," he growls.

your breaths become shallow, and you debate your options.

he didn't hurt you last time, he protected you. he let you go. he hasn't hurt you this time.

mine?

you don't fight him when he pulls you into his arms and hauls you to your bed.

you would never admit to a single soul that you were eager, that you were excited when he started to yank at your clothes and began to suck at the skin of your neck.

"no marks!" you exclaim in a panic. you can't have Bucky see it, he'll freak. you're most certainly not sure how you're supposed to explain this to him, but you will.

eventually.

clearly, your request pisses him off, but he lets up on his ministrations, running his mouth across your chest without leaving a single bruise in his wake.

his hands are more firm on your skin than Bucky's. he's not giving, he's taking. he's going to do what he wants.

you moan at the realization.

his hands yank your sweatpants off, not wasting any time as he shoves his hands in your underwear, only to find you absolutely dripping for him.

you hear him grunt at the discovery, quickly pulling his own pants out of the way, not wanting to wait another minute to fuck you.

you've taken Bucky a million times, only a few of them this quickly, with this little prep.

you don't let yourself think about the fact that you've never gotten this wet this quickly before.

he tolds you tightly by the waist underneath him, pinning you to the bed, taking what he wants. he's careful not to leave any marks, just as you asked.

"mine," is all he says, over and over again, the whole time he fucks you.

all the while, you're sobbing out with how fucking good it is, prepared for the neighbors to bang down your door the next day and demand you shut the fuck up.

you don't care. right now, all that's on your mind is that you're his.

~~~

when you wake up the next morning, you're not sure what to expect. you see him laying there next to you, dead asleep. at some point, you both must have stripped off the rest of your clothes to sleep.

you slip out of bed, pulling on your pajamas, telling yourself to not think about how you're going to explain this to him until after you've had coffee.

you're looking out the window above the sink, sipping your beverage, when you hear a familiar voice say your name from behind you.

you whip around, lukewarm coffee sloshing over the sides of the mug, to see him standing there.

"Bucky," you say in relief and run to him.

when he begins to ask questions, you lie. you shouldn't lie to him, but now isn't the time to tell him. you have to wait until he's come to terms with the fact that he was turned again.

you'll tell him when he's ready.

you feed him the same story you fed the rest of the team. you never saw the winter soldier, you only saw the mess he left. when he came in the window last night, you were asleep.

you never saw the winter soldier.

and that's what you told everyone when you brought Bucky in to show everyone that he was alive and himself again. that's the story you stuck to when everyone began arguing over what they were supposed to do, how they were supposed to deal with this. they fought over how to keep you safe going forward, assuming that you would be the first person on the winter soldier's kill list.

you bit your tongue as the anxiety of keeping the secret broiled in your stomach.

~~~

the second time it happened, you weren't there to stop it.

he was only a few blocks from the compound, going for a run around the city, when the ambush happened.

another handful of rogue agents grabbed him, this time intending to set him loose on everyone in the compound. surely they could prevent what happened last time, that they could direct him to kill whoever they pleased.

they were wrong. in the same fashion as the time before, he killed them all without hesitation, the only thought in his mind: you.

you were alone in the fifth floor kitchen, thinking about how it was long past time for you to tell him. it'd been weeks, and he deserved to know.

you just hoped he wouldn't leave you when you told him, that he wouldn't try to convince himself you were better off without him, safer without him.

suddenly, you hear the door slam.

you turn towards the noise, having scared the living daylights out of you, when you see Bucky walking in.

"fucking hell, don't do that, you scared me," you say, tending to your food on the stove, building up the courage to bring up the subject weighing heavy on your mind. "I made lunch. I was hoping we could talk."

he doesn't say anything in response, walking up behind you and wrapping his hands around your waist in the same manner as the time before.

"mine," he whispers in your ear, and you freeze.

not Bucky.

you barely flick the stove off before he's grabbing you all over, a metal hand running up your shirt and his other hand dipping into your pants.

"fuck, how did you-" you begin to ask him, but you know he won't answer you. he probably won't even know the answer.

you lean back against him, letting him carry your whole body weight as he gropes at the flesh of your breast and begins to rub circles over your clit.

"mine."

you almost wonder if it's the only word he knows with how much he repeats it to you.

"yes. yours," you affirm, spurring him on.

this time, he leaves a mark on your neck.

"yours, fuck, I'm yours," you whine as you come too quickly, giving yourself over to him willingly.

"you belong to me," he growls in your ear, wrapping a metal hand around your throat and gently squeezing. the unspoken implication of "not him" is not lost on you.

you don't have it in you to disagree.

~~~

do we want an angsty part 2?

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[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 12

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All Falls Down (Prequel)

Series Masterlist

Bean = Kamari

Bear= Kaiden

Bug = Kairo

Josh chewed on the inside of his cheek as he got the notification that the roses had been delivered to Kiyana’s  job. He kept checking his phone to see if she had texted him and frowned every time his notification center was empty. 

He sighed and stood up from the folding chair in the locker room and decided to start getting ready. He was starting the show tonight and no matter how often he did it he still got nervous. After drenching his hair in water, he checked his phone again and frowned when he still had no message from Kiyana. It was 7:50 pm in the UK so it was at least 1:50 in Pensacola, and the flowers were delivered. What the hell was the hold-up?

“Aye Uce! Showtime.” Someone banged on the locker room door. Josh was almost out of the door when his phone dinged with a notification. Josh felt his heart rate spike up once he looked and saw it was Kiyana. She thanked him for the flowers and said that she would see him on Friday and they could talk then. Josh had a smile on his face as he sent her a thumbs up and a heart emoji before rushing towards The Gorilla just in time for his theme to start playing. 

Josh had just finished his match and got the W against Drew McIntyre when he walked back into Gorilla and froze at the sight before him. 

“Hey, baby.” Shanté giggled and rushed towards Josh, jumping on him and wrapping her legs around his waist while her arms went around his neck. 

“Shanté, what the fuck!” He growled, trying to push her off of him, but her crazy ass was strong. “Get the hell offa me!”  Shante frowned her face up at him. 

“I’m not liking your attitude. I gave you a couple of weeks to cool down, and this is how you treat me after not seeing me.” Shanté scoffed and unwrapped her legs from his waist. “You didn’t miss me?” Josh sucked his teeth and tried to move past her, but she latched onto his arm and started walking with him. 

“Ayo, for real?” Josh scoffed and pulled his arm out of her grasp. He stopped walking and turned to face her. “I told you the last time I seen yo’ crazy ass that we were over!” 

“But you didn’t mean it, right?” She asked softly, cupping his jaw with her hand. She narrowed her eyes as she saw the hickey on his neck. “What the hell is that?” She exclaimed, moving his head to the side so she could get a better look.

“Stop touching me.” He seethed, grabbing her hand and slinging it away from his face. He then backed up to put more distance between them. 

“You've been with someone else," she accused, Josh frowned and looked around, he had to be getting Punk’d right now. There was no way this chick was this deranged! 

“Yeah I've been with someone else, my wife. The fuck is you on?” Shanté's eyes widened in disbelief. 

“She actually took you back.” She didn’t but Shanté didn’t need to know that. Josh just shrugged. She opened her mouth to retort but was cut off by Josh's saving grace. 

“Hey bro, is everything okay?” Trinity asked, walking over in her ring gear, looking Shanté's up and down with disdain. “You got a problem?” Trin asked, stepping closer to Shanté whose eyes widened before she quickly shook her head scurried off down the hall. 

“Goddamn” Josh huffed out, running a hand through his damn curls. 

“What's up with that?” Trinity asked him, folding her arms over her chest. “I thought you and Key were trying to mend things.”  

“I am, we are. . She just came out of nowhere, Trin. I ain't even know she was back on the main roster.” 

“Yeah, well, she sure didn’t waste time finding you,”  Trinity’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “If you tryna get your family back, you can't go back to your old ways, Joshua. I mean it. I already talked to Key and she already voiced her concerns to me.” 

Josh looked taken aback. “She did?” 

Trinity sighed. “Look, I'm about to break girl code here but, Key doesn’t want to let you back in just for you to break her heart again. You gotta nip this Shanté shit in the bud ASAP. You gotta show Key that you are serious about this and not just wanting to get back together because you’re lonely and not used to living alone.” 

“I hear you, Trin. I don’t want to hurt her again. I need to prove myself.”

“Exactly,” Trin stated, nodding her head. “You need to prove to her that you deserve this second chance. Cause lord knows, if I was in her shoes, Jon wouldn’t even be able to contact me.” Trin sighed and pulled Josh into a hug. “Just don’t hurt her again Josh. She doesn’t deserve that.” 

Kiyana rolled her eyes with a small smile, as Kamari and Kaiden were buzzing with excitement as they waited outside the airport for Josh. He was able to catch an earlier flight and instead of coming close to midnight, he was now about to land in Pensacola at noon. 

“Guys, relax.” Kiyana laughed, unstrapping Kairo and Kaiden out of their car and booster seats. “You're gonna combust.” 

“Where’s daddy?” Kaiden whined, stomping his little foot. “I want my daddy!” 

“He’s coming, Bear. You gotta relax okay.” Just as she said that, Kamari dropped her hand and started running towards Josh, who had a big smile on his face as he dropped his suitcase and carry-on so he could catch Kamari. 

“Hey Bean.” Josh said. Opening his arms as Kaiden ran over to him too. “I miss you guys.” Kaiden practically launched himself into Josh’s arms, giggling with excitement. 

“Daddy! I missed you so much” Josh stood up with Kaiden and Kamari still in his arms and walked over to Kiyana who arched an eyebrow and looked at his bags he left behind. 

“Ain’t nobody gon take ‘em.” He said, chuckling when she rolled her eyes playfully.  He set the boys down and took Kairo out of her arms. “Little Bug!” Kairo let out a screech  as Josh started tickling his belly. Kiyana felt her heart flutter as Josh turned his attention back to her. “I missed you.” He muttered, gently pulling her into a side hug because he was still holding Kairo. 

“I miss you too.” Kiyana whispered back, leaning into his embrace. “Thank you for the flowers too,” she added softly as she stepped back slightly, her eyes meeting his. They stood there, getting lost in each other's eyes.

Kiyana stood before Josh, her heart and her brain were telling her to do two different things. Her heart was telling her to forgive him and give him a second chance, but her brain was singing a mantra that her own mother had said right before her and her boys left to pick up Josh from the airport. ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater.’ Josh watched her closely, sensing the internal struggle within her. He wanted to reach out, to hold her and plead his case once more, but he knew words alone couldn’t erase the pain he had caused.

Kiyana cleared her throat and took a step back from Josh, she took Kairo out of his hands and put him back in his carseat. Josh sighed and jogged over to grab his discarded luggage. Josh had put his stuff in the trunk and walked over to the driver's side, grabbing her hand, stopping Kiyana from getting in.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly. This thumb rubbing soft circles on the top of her hand. “I fucked up, badly and It’s not fair of me to expect you to forgive me overnight.” 

“No, you can’t,”  she cut him off. “ I need time, Josh. Time to figure out if I can trust you again.”

“I understand Key,  I know I have a lot to prove to you. And I understand if you need time to trust me again. But I want to try, I want to make things right between us. Lemme take you out on a date. Just like old times. Let me prove to you that I'm serious about us.”  Kiyana’s immediate response was to tell him no. The last time they went on a date he had told her about his affair.  She had opened her mouth to decline his invitation but it was something in his eyes that stopped her. 

“I- okay.” She nodded and Josh smiled. 

“Okay, tomorrow night.” When she nodded, he let go of hand so she could get into the car. Once she was in the car, he did a little fist pump, before hurrying over to the passenger side and getting in before she could pull off. 

👀..... soo Kiyana agreed to go on a date with Josh. Y'all think thats a good idea?

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[bellaxgiornata]

There better not be any love triangles! And it's really only gonna work with Frank x Karen bc I don't think Matt is or ever was in love with her. He loves her and cares for her, of course, maybe before she knew about Daredevil he liked the idea of being in love with her or someone like him but it was never gonna work. And even after, she was way too angry at Matt for so much and so long that unless they got together between DD & DDBA I just don't think it's gonna work. Maybe they slept together between then bc obviously they have chemistry but Matt has chemistry with everyone (that scene with him and Dex!) and I don't think he would do that to Karen bc I think she's probably just got some unresolved feelings and is still crushing on him (bc who wouldn't, that man is 🥵). And I also don't think she would be happy with Matt. And she just seems to get Frank. Matt needs to go to therapy and get his shit together before he's actually with anyone (but he can go ahead and be the whore we know and love and literally fuck around). I dunno. Just my opinions as always and would love to know yours 💕

Ohhh, interesting! I am die hard Kastle--there's a reason it is FFTD canon that Karen and Frank are together. And I've got no hate for Karedevil shippers, but the chemistry between Karen and Frank is undeniable. Those two just have a tension that Matt and Karen do not--and yes, I agree, Matt had more chemistry with Dex in that prison scene 🤣

Unfortunately, I'm definitely getting love triangle vibes from the finale, but I hope I'm wrong. There was clearly something going on with Matt and Karen in DDBA episode 1 when they're at the bar. What it was? We have no idea. What happened between the end of Netflix OG series season 3 and DDBA season 1? We also have no idea. Elektra has been gone for quite a few years, so I'm guessing Matt's not as hung up on her as he had been (though I refuse to believe she's really dead--Black Sky and no body = I'm not buying it because she totally saved Matt from Midland Circle before disappearing, you cannot convince me otherwise). So maybe he tried to move on and eventually Matt and Karen patched things up a little in the years after? We have no idea. We're missing years of information. So there was probably a little something happening between them.

But Frank and Karen? He crawled out of his hole to do a favor for Karen AFTER THE MAN GOT A HAIRCUT, SHAVED, AND THREW ON AFTERSHAVE. He literally made himself look presentable for Karen just to go save Matt for her. HE ASKED HER TO STAY FOR COFFEE. And thanks to Matt, we know that their heartbeats when they saw each other was quite telling. But at the same time, so was the fact that Karen asked about her heartbeat when she saw Matt before she quickly wrote it off as "adrenaline." Love triangle vibes. I hate it here.

My fear is that Frank has gone so far off the rails violent and vengeful (which was wonderful to see in the finale, I mean, goddamn Frank 🔥), that Karen might be too hesitant to be with him now.

Either way, I think it's safe to say that both Matt and Frank need therapy. Badly.

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑙𝑦-𝑘𝑛𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑜

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes.All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

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It seems like Naoya is in the middle of an existential crisis, and you honestly don’t even feel guilty about it.   

He keeps looking down at his hand with a look of sheer disbelief, as if the injury might magically reappear if he stares at it long enough. You suppose, in his mind, your existence alone contradicts everything his clan has instilled in him. He’s only six years old, but a certain worldview has already been pushed onto him. And now, you’re watching it unravel in real time.   

Much to Naoya’s regret, he still isn’t able to come up with what to say, and by that point, it’s already too late.   

Zen’in Naobito steps into the room.   

Toji’s face immediately twists into a scowl. Well, not that he wasn’t scowling before, but it’s suddenly way more pronounced. Naobito is strong, of course, but if Toji were to let loose and fight him without holding anything back… he’d definitely kick his ass.   

Naobito is younger than when he appears in the canon series, but other than that, his appearance is largely unchanged. He’s even carrying a flask with him, the goddamn drunkard. The first thing he does upon plopping down on the cushion seat in front of you is throw his head back and take a big swig of god knows what alcoholic concoction he’s got in there.   

“So,” he eventually says, glancing from Toji, to Satoru, then to you . “What’s this nonsense I hear about training someone from the Gojo Clan?”   

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Toji replies with an icy gaze. “This girl asked me to train her, and I agreed.”   

“Why?”   

“Just because I felt like it.” 

“Ha,” Naobito scoffs. “Being an embarrassment to our clan wasn’t enough for you, it seems. You’re determined to make fools out of us all. To go as far as to sell yourself out to the Gojo Clan… how distasteful.”   

He proceeds to take another large gulp from his flask, and you wonder how he manages to stay somewhat sober with all the drinking he does. Well, that’s beside the point. You can practically feel the hatred radiating off Toji right now. This whole meeting wasn’t supposed to even happen canonically, and you actually wonder if Toji might lose control and start some shit. There’s really no guarantee how this will go.   

Still, you’d rather not create even more strife between clans, so you offer a reassuring smile as you gently squeeze Toji’s hand. Perhaps you’re reading into things too much, but the gesture seems to pacify him, at least for a little bit.   

“And you ,” Naobito says, looking even more repulsed all of a sudden. He’s staring pointedly in Satoru’s direction now. “I don’t recall inviting the esteemed Gojo Satoru for a visit. You just waltzed right in without permission, did you?”   

He really hates Satoru’s guts. Asshole leaders like him only care about one thing, and it’s elevating their own status. He can’t stand how much power and influence Satoru has, despite his young age. Jealousy, hatred, and bitterness seems to run rampant in the world of jujutsu sorcerers. Why can’t everyone just be chill?   

“I came here to protect [Name],” Satoru states, visibly unfazed.   

“Why would the girl need your protection? What exactly are you accusing the Zen’in Clan of?”   

“Nothing, really. I’m not sure why you’re getting so defensive. Unless you really did have something unpleasant in mind.”   

…ugh. The tension is so thick you wouldn’t even be able to cut it with a knife. You’ll need a goddamn chainsaw at this rate. As much as you trust in Satoru, he unfortunately has a tendency to pick fights left and right. Both as a child and an adult.  

You can see Naobito’s expression taking a slow and steady turn for the worse, but before he can respond, someone else cuts in.  

“That girl, [Name]... she knows how to use reverse cursed technique,” Naoya mumbles.   

You blink. Huh. Honestly, you thought you’d rendered him mute for the rest of this visit. He looked like he’d gone into shock. Actually, you forgot that he was still here at all, because Naobito’s presence just about takes up the whole room.   

“What?” Naobito frowns, casting his son a glance. “ She does? Don’t be ridiculous. Her cursed energy is incredibly scarce. She clearly doesn’t have any skill or talent. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have chosen someone as inept as Toji to train her.”   

“I-It’s true,” Naoya insists. He pauses for a moment, clearly hesitant, but he eventually works up the nerve to point to the broken plate lying on the table. “I… accidentally broke that plate and cut myself on it. And then she healed me. I still can’t really believe it, but… it definitely happened.”   

It’s rather satisfying, you have to admit. Being able to render someone like Naobito speechless. Then again, you seem to do that to pretty much everyone. Maybe you secretly do have an innate technique. The ability to confuse the absolute shit out of people.  

“Impossible,” Naobito glares. “You must have played some sort of trick on Naoya. He’s still young and foolish, so he doesn’t know any better.”   

“It’s not nice to say that your own son is foolish,” you frown. “I mean, I kind of called him stupid earlier myself, but that was for a different reason.”   

“You called my son stupid ?”   

“...nevermind.”   

Toji barely manages to stifle a chuckle, and Naobito takes yet another swig of his drink— angrily , this time.   

“I don’t mean to cause any trouble,” you say. “But I need Toji to train me. He fights with cursed tools, and I’m trying to learn to do the same. I have to do this. In order to gain the ability to use reverse cursed technique, I made a Binding Vow. I’m not allowed to use my own cursed energy to inflict harm upon anyone, or I’ll instantly die. Toji is an expert at using weapons. No one else even comes close to being as good as he is. So… please let him continue training me. I really need his help.”   

“Whether he supports it or not, I’m going to keep training you regardless,” Toji scoffs.  

You know he will, but that being said, you’re not trying to start an all-out clan war. You’re supposed to be the peacekeeper in this world. That would be a little, um, counterproductive .   

“A Binding Vow,” Naobito mumbles. He crosses his arms and laughs, crudely. “Ha! I knew there had to be a catch. You’re far too weak to have learned such an advanced technique through normal means. So, you’ve staked your life on it, huh? I suppose I should applaud your determination, if nothing else.”   

You grin. “I’ll take the applause, thank you very much. Go on. You can start clapping now. Don’t be shy.”   

Much to your dismay, he doesn’t start clapping. Talk about weak-ass applause. It’s like he’s not even trying.   

You don’t notice it since you’re so focused on Naobito, but all the while, Naoya’s eyes are widening more and more. He seriously doesn’t know what to make of you. He thought you were all out of surprises, but apparently, he was wrong.   

A Binding Vow where you’ll instantly die if you break the terms of your contract? He’s never heard of such a thing. Jujutsu sorcerers actively risk their lives by fighting cursed spirits, yes, but no one has ever gone that far. What if you hurt someone with your cursed energy by accident? One tiny misstep, a single moment of negligence… and just like that, you’re dead ?   

“Why would you make a vow like that?” Naoya suddenly asks, his voice wavering as he utters the words.   

It’s not the first time someone’s asked you that question, and you doubt it’ll be the last. But it’s fine. You’ll explain yourself time and time again if that’s what it takes. There’s no shame in the choice you made. You believe in it wholeheartedly, and you will never, ever regret it.   

“So that I can help people,” you say simply. “I’m learning to fight with weapons so that I can hold my own against cursed spirits, but the most important thing is keeping everyone alive, right? That’s what I want to prioritize. Making sure that no one has to suffer.”  

Naoya’s cheeks redden, and suddenly, it’s as if a wave has crashed into him, drowning him in shame.  

He was so quick to ridicule you. To dismiss you as helpless and weak. He always thought that being strong meant the ability to fight and overcome opponents. At least, that’s what the Zen’in Clan has always taught him. But maybe… there are different kinds of strength.  

Maybe kindness is a strength of its own.   

The room goes silent for a while. You stare right into Naobito’s eyes, refusing to look away for even a moment. You may appear to him as a child, but he needs to see how serious you are about this. It doesn’t matter if he dislikes you. You don’t crave his approval. But at the very least, he better not stand in your way.   

“...fine.”   

You blink, somewhat taken aback. Naobito throws his head back and downs the remnants of his drink, then wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.  

“Do as you please,” he says, already standing up. “I won’t involve myself with this farce anymore. It’s a waste of time. As far as I’m concerned… neither you nor Toji are proper jujutsu sorcerers.”   

He leaves without another word. It figures that he made sure to sneak in one last insult before disappearing, but you don’t really care. At least he’s not going out of his way to persecute you, and for that, you’re thankful.  

“Phew, what a relief,” you sigh. “That went a lot better than I was expecting, to be honest. Probably because I’m so charming and charismatic. People find it difficult to say no to me.”  

Toji chuckles, and Satoru does the same. Naoya is still in the room, unable to overcome his disbelief, and you glance over at him, grinning widely.   

“Right, Naoya?” you muse. “Don’t you agree that I’m super charismatic? And charming? And pretty?”   

“I see you added something else at the end,” Satoru snorts.   

“Well, I only said it because it’s true.”  

The longer Naoya stares at you, the more twisted up and funny his stomach feels. Also, his chest is awfully tight. And warm. Does he have a fever? Is he getting sick?   

“Y-You’re weird,” is all Naoya can think to reply, and without warning, he books it out of the room.  

He hates that he secretly agrees with everything you just said.  

Especially the part about you being pretty.

You could train for all eternity, but even then, you doubt you'd ever be able to keep up with Toji.   

His Heavenly Restriction is something else. For a human to be able to move the way he does, without even an ounce of cursed energy… it's honestly kind of broken. No wonder the author had to kill him off so quickly. He was way too powerful for his own good.  

“I’m so tired ,” you half-sob, and rather than looking sympathetic, Toji merely chuckles.   

“I thought you were the one who said you'd never complain, no matter how hard it gets,” he teases. “Or did I just imagine that?”  

“I-I’m not complaining. I was just stating a fact. I'm tired, but I never asked for a break or anything! So technically I've stayed true to my word.”  

“If [Name] needs a break, let her take one,” Satoru scowls. “I'll seriously fight you, old man.”  

Toji arches a brow. “Is that a challenge?”  

“Why don't you test your luck and find out?”  

You swear you can see sparks flying between them—and not the good kind. As reassuring as it is to have two of the strongest people on your side, it feels like they're always just shy of clawing each other's throats out.  

Toji rolls his eyes. “Alright, well, since the brat is throwing a fit like always, I guess we can take a small break.”  

“I wasn't throwing a fit, asshole!”  

“This kid’s got a real mouth on him. [Name], are you sure you wouldn't rather pick a better friend? He's kind of annoying.”  

Satoru grits his teeth, just shy of popping a blood vessel, so you hurry to step in before the situation can escalate any further.   

“Toji said I’m allowed to have a break, so let’s all sit down and relax for a bit,” you suggest. “I packed bento boxes for all of us. I’m really proud of how they turned out!”   

You plop down on the grass and start unpacking the provisions you brought along with you for the day. Satoru and Toji both sit down beside you. Other than the fact that they’re still glaring at each other, it kind of looks like you’re all having a picnic together. You still can’t really believe this is actually real life.  

“Here you go, Toji,” you say, passing him a bento box with a bright smile. “You may already be super strong, but even you need your nutrients.”   

“If you say so,” he chuckles. He opens the box up, and you watch as his eyes widen. “Did you really make all of this yourself? Or did someone from the Gojo Clan help you put it together?”  

“I made it all by myself! I like cooking. It’s a talent of mine.”   

You proudly puff out your chest, and Toji can’t help but smile. It’s strange how your boasting comes across as endearing, rather than arrogant or insufferable. Your most impressive talent of all is clearly the fact that you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger.   

Toji separates his chopsticks, and for some reason, Satoru is staring at him rather intently. He’s not glaring anymore, though. Rather, he looks like he’s determined not to look away, even for a second.   

Toji shrugs before lifting an egg roll to his lips and taking a big bite of it.   

“...”   

It takes a few seconds for him to process everything. At first, he’s just so confused that he doesn’t even understand what he’s tasting right now. The flavors are clashing with each other so forcefully, so violently , that before he even realizes it, he’s spat his food right onto the ground.   

When he looks up, he finds Satoru grinning ear-to-ear.   

“Haha! You really ate it, you stupid old man!” The boy hugs his sides as he throws his head back and lets out another howl of laughter. “Man, your expression is to die for! How is it? It must taste awful, right? Is it so awful that you feel like crying? Hahahahaha!”   

Toji’s expression darkens. He clenches his fists while glaring at Satoru, and he ends up gripping down on his chopsticks so hard that they snap right in half.   

You frown. “Hey, that’s no good, Toji. If you break your chopsticks, you won’t be able to finish your food. Thankfully, I brought spares. Here you go!”   

“No, I’m fine,” Toji insists. His face is several shades paler all of a sudden. “I think… you might be trying to poison me or something.”   

“What are you talking about? My bento box has the same stuff as yours. I just split up the food I cooked into three different boxes.”   

Toji watches, horrified, as you proceed to eat the same egg roll that nearly ended his life just a few moments ago. Unlike him, however, you do it without so much as flinching. In fact, you look like you’re enjoying it.  

“Is she insane?” Toji asks.   

“Probably,” Satoru reluctantly nods. “It was funny watching you eat that, but if you value your life, you’ll stay away from [Name]’s cooking from now on.”  

“Both of you are big babies,” you scoff. “I’ve said it before, but the food I make is ahead of my time. I’m an innovator. Culinary experts would definitely acknowledge my talent. Just ask Gordon Ramsay.”  

“If Gordon Ramsay ever tried your food, I think he’d retire from cooking altogether. That’s just how bad it is.”   

You shrug, unbothered. It’s sad that genius so often goes overlooked, but whatever. You’re not here to be the next MasterChef. You’re here to keep everyone happy and safe, and so far, you’d say you’re off to a good start.   

Eventually, you finish eating, which means your break is over. You let out a faint groan as you stand up. Your muscles are unbelievably sore. Setting aside your weak cursed energy, physically-speaking, you’re stuck in the body of a seven-year-old. Being a badass doesn’t exactly come easily at this age.  

“You’re not getting discouraged, are you?” Toji asks, likely remarking upon your downcast expression. “I hope you didn’t expect to get stronger overnight. It’s going to take more time than that. And it’s up to you not to give up.”   

“I know. I’m not giving up, don’t worry. I wish fighting and stuff came naturally to me… but it’s alright. I’ve got more than enough to be thankful for already. Like the fact that I’m lucky enough to have both of you as my friends.”   

“Huh?” Satoru gapes. “No way! Did you seriously just put me and this old man on the same level? I thought I was your friend, not him!”   

“There’s no rule that you can’t both be my friends. But I guess Toji is more like an older brother,” you acknowledge. “Either way, no matter how many new friends I make, you’ll always be my best friend, Satoru.”  

He crosses his arms and grumbles something under his breath. It’s always a treat to see him act so pouty and adorable. To think that Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, likes you so much that he wants to keep you all to himself.  

“Silly Satoru,” you muse, and without warning, you lean in and kiss him on the cheek.   

“ W-What? !”   

He practically leaps away from you, and his face is redder than you’ve ever seen it. He’s like a little tomato. You can’t help but giggle at his innocence. In spite of the heavy responsibility he’s been burdened with, he’s still just a kid, underneath it all.   

Of course, Toji just watched the whole thing unfold, and he looks less than impressed.   

“Let me know when you two are done kissing each other,” he sighs. “So that we can get back to training.”  

It’s safe to say that Satoru will remember that kiss for the rest of his life.

“...okay, [Name]. You said this machine is the one you had a good feeling about, right? Time to find out.”   

You nod, expression stern, as Toji balances you on his lap, both of you facing towards the machine in question. Toji pushes a few of the buttons to get started, and after a moment’s delay, he reaches out and pulls the lever on the side.   

Toji stares at the machine’s screen, which is shining with bright, fluorescent lights, as he barely even dares to blink.   

One, two, three, four of the same symbol, and… can we get a fifth?   

“Yes!” Toji suddenly exclaims. Echoing his outcry is a message that appears across the machine’s screen—which states that he hasn’t just doubled, or tripled, but rather, quadrupled the money he put in.   

It’s safe to say that your good feeling paid off.   

“Attagirl,” Toji praises, grinning widely as he pats you on the head. You beam up at him, and he scans his card to redeem the rewards he just earned. It’s nice to see him so happy. From what you know, in the canon timeline, there was little to nothing that he actually had to look forward to in life. He was always bitter, jaded, and resentful. Seeing that he’s able to genuinely smile around you makes you happier than you can put into words.  

Unfortunately, not everyone seems to share in your enthusiasm.   

“Excuse me, um, sir…? Th-This is a casino. Children aren’t allowed in here, so I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave…”   

You turn around, locking eyes with a very nervous employee. He’s outright trembling, the poor thing. Probably because Toji is a walking mountain of a man, and it doesn’t help that his eyes are sharp enough to cut glass.   

Toji pockets his casino card and picks you up in his arms. “I’m not leaving yet,” he says. “I’ll be on a win streak today, I can feel it. If I walk out now, it’ll kill my momentum. Also, [Name]’s my good luck charm. Don’t worry about her. She’s a respectful kid. And she’s extremely smart for her age.”   

“It’s true,” you nod eagerly. “I’m way more mature than I look.”   

“Even supposing that’s the case, we simply cannot allow anyone inside the casino unless they’re of legal age,” the employee insists, and you know you aren’t imagining the way he takes a hurried step back when Toji gets out of his seat.   

Toji stares at him for a few moments, which must be increasing the employee’s heart rate exponentially , but after a little while, he just shrugs.   

“Don’t worry about it. Anyways, [Name], where to next? Should I try my hand at blackjack today?”   

“S-Sir!” the employee calls out. He nearly trips over his feet as he (reluctantly) chases Toji through the casino. “Excuse me, sir ! If you don’t leave right now, I’m seriously going to have to call security—”  

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”   

The employee freezes in place, and you watch, somewhat amused, as he glances all around him, trying to locate where the new voice is coming from.   

Eventually, he looks down, only to immediately jump.  

“Ack! There’s another kid? Where the hell are all of you coming from?!”   

“Don’t call security,” the kid—who, of course, is none other than Satoru —repeats. “I’m warning you. Just let the old man redeem his money and then we’ll leave. We’re getting out of here, but if you stir up a fuss, I promise you won’t like what happens.”   

Gojo Satoru is renowned in the world of jujutsu sorcerers. There’s practically no one who hasn’t heard of him. However, in the regular world, filled with regular people, he’s just a kid. He’s not supposed to be particularly remarkable.   

And yet, the longer the employee stares into Satoru’s bright, piercing blue eyes, the more he gets this strange feeling. As if maybe, just maybe, this kid might not just be making empty threats. Maybe getting on his bad side is the wrong move.   

The employee would rather not fuck around and find out.   

“H-He’s just going to redeem his rewards,” the employee swallows, backing away from Satoru in a hurry, the same way he did with Toji a few minutes ago. “After that, he really does have to leave. O-Okay?”   

“But I don’t want to leave,” Toji frowns.   

“It’s okay, Toji,” you reassure, gently cupping his cheek. “We’ll come back another day and sneak in properly. By the time we’re gone, they won’t even know what hit them.”   

“Um, I heard that.”   

“No, you didn’t!”   

Toji lets out a heavy sigh. Regretfully, the fun has already come to an end, but at least he won. You never really thought of yourself as the lucky type, but you suppose you kind of are . After all, you met both Satoru and Toji before the main plot of the story was set to begin. You were fortunate enough to have been born in this world at the ideal time. You could have been isekai’d during the Shibuya Incident. Or worse yet, in the middle of the Culling Game.   

So, yeah. Maybe you really are a good luck charm. Not just Toji’s, though. Satoru’s, too. And hopefully, whoever else you meet from now on.  

You’ll be everyone’s good luck charm.   

It’s hilarious, because you swear the employee’s hair has turned gray in the few minutes since this interaction began. He watches, biting his nails from anxiety and dread, as Toji cashes out for the day, and finally, your mischievous little trio bids farewell to the casino.  

“Do you think we’ve been blacklisted?” you frown.   

“I doubt it,” Satoru says. “I warned that guy not to make a fuss. But even if we are blacklisted, we can just go to another casino. Although I’m not really sure why we have to babysit this old man in the first place…”   

Toji flips through the bills in his hand with a bright expression. He’s not even correcting Satoru for calling him ‘old man’ again. That’s how good of a mood he’s in right now.   

“You did good, [Name],” he praises yet again. “As a reward, how about I get you a treat? What about ice cream? Kids like ice cream, right?”   

“Ice cream sounds perfect,” you grin.   

You proceed to cling onto Toji’s arm while he affectionately ruffles your hair. Satoru watches with a slight pout, as jealous as ever, but as long as you’re happy, he supposes he’s happy too. As long as you’re happy, healthy, and safe. That’s all that matters.   

It’s rather ironic that he’s having these thoughts, because right then and there, he feels not one, but two unfamiliar presences.   

The bastards must think they’re hiding from him. They must think they’re tucked away, out of sight, not at all at risk of being found.   

How dare they underestimate him.   

You and Toji continue walking ahead, but meanwhile, Satoru stops in place, and ever-so-slowly, he turns around. His eyes are gleaming brighter than ever, filled with a hatred so deep, so fierce, that even from this distance, the two assassins can’t help but cower in fear.   

“Weaklings like you would never stand a chance against me,” he mutters. He continues staring, gaze growing darker by the second. “And if you ever dare to lay a hand on [Name]... I’ll kill you faster than you can even blink.”   

They can’t possibly hear what he said from so far away. But it doesn’t matter. All it takes is one glare from Gojo Satoru; one cold, chilling display of strength, and the assassins decide that very second that they’ll never go near him ever again.   

Satoru waits for a few moments, but sure enough, it doesn’t look like they’re going to try anything. Good. They may be weaklings, but at least they’re not entirely stupid. Anyone who would even think of attacking while you’re nearby is either missing a brain, or they have some sort of death wish.   

“Satoru, what’s taking so long?” you call out to him from up ahead. “Didn’t you hear? Toji said he’s buying us ice cream! Come on!”   

It’s amazing just how quickly the darkness in his eyes clears, and instead, a smile rises to his lips. You’re like the sun, shining straight through the clouds, even on the murkiest of days. He swears he’ll never get tired of seeing that pretty smile of yours.   

Satoru pauses for a moment, chuckles inwardly, then runs up to you and grabs you by the hand.

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

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[cinematicnomad]

cinematicnomad's steddie fic recs

i've been reading a lot of stranger things steddie fics over the past 2 months so i've decided it's time for me to make one of my requisite fic reclists, both for myself, and for anyone else interested. here's my usual reminder that i prefer lengthy fics, and that i am also a sucker for canon divergent fics (which basically all of these are bc eddie is alive post s4 obviously unless it's a time loop fic—if i tag a fic as "canon divergent eddie lives", assume this means the fic is compliant through the end of s4 except for eddie's death) and happy endings. all these fics are complete, though it's possible that if the fic is part of a series the series may not be complete. i will try to always add appropriate tags!

T = teen M = mature Ex = explicit NR = not rated

bracing for impact by writersagainstwritersblock (1/1 | 9k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; wayne POV; steve has bad parents; outsider POV

wayne watches as eddie falls hopelessly in love, with of all people, goddamn steve harrington.

it's not a big deal by aidaronan (1/1 | 11k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; mutual pining; angst w/ a happy ending

eddie survives, but his entire life is locked away in the upside down forever (his books, his dnd stuff, his guitar.) everything that wasn't on eddie when steve carried him into the ER, gone. so naturally steve starts giving him things. handing eddie back those little outward markers of who he is.

you oughta know by thisapplepielife / @thisapplepielife (1/1 | 12k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; future fic; angst w/ a happy ending

days stretch out, long and slow. steve tries to ignore the only thing he’s sure of: eddie ran. he ran from him, ran from all of them. or: steve's having a rough couple of years, thanks for asking. compliant fic: i'm brave, but i'm chicken shit (1/1 | 13k+ | M) eddie POV; eddie centric; 1990s; recreational drug use

introduced me to my mind by alchemystique (2/2 | 16k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; mutual pining; getting together; happy ending

"eddie," wayne says, and eddie fights the urge to scream, or laugh, or cry. "i'm not running," eddie tells him, even though that is a fucking lie. "you should call him more," wayne says, and eddie rubs the meat of his palm into his eyeballs until he sees stars. doesn’t think about what 'call him more' means in context—do they talk about him? series: sweet leaf (4/4 | 16k+ | T) outsider POVs; rockstar!eddie; period typical homophobia

steve harrington's guide to making it work by eggbertsheggbert (8/8 | 23k+ | NR) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; bad harrington parents; steve is kicked out; angst w/ a happy ending

steve harrington has never been good at asking for help. especially not since he started being seen as the protector of the group. so, when his parents kick him out after discovering his sexuality, he figures he can get extra shifts, save up, and get a place before anyone realizes anything is wrong. join steve as he takes on the weight of the world. he's got it figured out, he's definitely NOT struggling, and—above all else—he can make this work.

the power of love by lacerta26 (8/8 | 27k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; outsider POVs; series; post-canon; coming out

jim gets mostly to the end of the house and then someone speaks. "i came out here for a smoke," eddie, his voice low, hushed. "yeah, but this is much more fun," steve now, almost laughing but not quite. * jim had only stepped out for a cigarette when he learns something new about steve and eddie and if this was one of the boys bringing home a girl, he’d have the exact stern words to make sure they were being a gentleman but his usual shovel talk isn't quite going to cut it because he has to let them know it's fine, more than fine, for them to be who they are, here. 

hands where i can see them by SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan (12/12 | 29k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; multiple POV; established relationship; emotional hurt/comfort

eddie thinks that he and steve have a good thing going; being friends with benefits is honestly a pretty sweet deal. steve is a great friend, the sex is great, everything is great. except for the fact that steve hadn't realized they were only friends with benefits. except for the fact that steve thought they were in a relationship. except for the fact that eddie doesn't realize how much he'd valued that relationship until it's gone (and he's trying his damnedest to get it back).

it's alright if you love me by alivingfire (7/7 | 31k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; outsider POV; character study; 5+1; steve-centric; hurt/comfort

"oh, haven't you heard? steve harrington doesn't cry." in which steve harrington breaks up, breaks a few hearts (including his own), breaks free, and finally gets to break down. or: 5 times steve didn't cry, and 1 time he did.

off the beaten path by pukner (6/6 | 34k+ | M) canon divergent post s3; alternating POV; queer awakenings; cliffhanger ending (must read sequels)*

"i'm saying this," says steve, loudly, cutting him off, "because someone i love is, uh, gay. and i love them, but like, platonically. and also me calling you a queer might've been a little hypocritical, in retrospect." there is a long, baffled pause. "what," says jonathan, "steve, are you—are you coming out to me?" steve frowns, "oh, yeah, i guess i am. cool." or, post season 3, steve manages to figure out that he's bisexual, despite his best efforts to repress it, comes out to robin and jonathan byers of all people, and figures himself out. also, there's a cute guy who might be actually insane running the kids' dnd club and he's got his eye on him. and his bandana. too bad eddie munson hasn't had a similar revelation. he's still under the impression that he's a straight man obsessing over steve harrington for normal, extremely heterosexual reasons. OR: steve figures out he's bi before eddie figures out that he's gay. eddie still manages to fall first. series: *off-script (2/2 | 67k+ | Ex) eddie POV; internalized homophobia; mutual pining

a tattoo is worth a thousand words by writersagainstwritersblock (18/18 | 40k+ | M) canon divergent post s3; eddie POV; babysitter steve harrington; getting together

"ambidextrous, princess, it’s what makes me so good with my hands." eddie wiggled his fingers. "you mean for guitar?" steve asked, completely missing the innuendo, and also nearly knocking eddie flat at the thought that steve harrington knew he played guitar. "you stalking me or something?" eddie asked. steve frowned. "uh, no, but your band played in the middle school talent show, it's pretty hard to forget a thirteen year old screaming death metal before his voice dropped." eddie almost laughed at that. almost. "you saying i'm unforgettable, princess?" "if that’s how you want to take it, munson." eddie realized this was turning towards something far more dangerous than taunting a boy known for getting into fights, like flirting with a very, very straight boy known for getting into fights. OR after the events of season three steve shows up on eddie's doorstep asking for a tattoo... and then keeps showing up much to the dismay of eddie's traitorous heart. sequel: visible ink (12/12 | 57k+ | M) outsider POVs; firefighter!steve; tattoo artist!eddie; found family

the one in which a time loop is fucking exhausting. by badpancake (12/12 | 41k+ | T) canon compliant; time loop; steve POV; temporary character death; suicide; angst w/ a happy ending

it’s the first time in a while that he doesn’t know what comes next. he’s dove into the water hundreds of times. screamed as his flesh was torn apart, heard master of puppets in the distance and held back tears. felt max’s cold, small hand in his as she laid in the hospital bed. there are things that always happen, no matter how hard he tries: el doesn’t arrive in time. eddie dies. max is put in a coma. steve fails. they lose. "steve, how many loops have you been through?" his head is nodding, and his eyes are watery, and eddie has approached him like a spooked animal. "i lost count.” AKA: the one where steve harrington is stuck in a time loop, and eddie munson is really fucking hard to save, or: fuck volume 2, these bitches are in love.

steve the reluctant by rachtay13 (7/7 | 46k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; oblivious steve; steve plays dnd

robin raised her brows.  "you know what, harrington?" she nodded her head. "yeah, you know what? i dare you to make a friend. i dare you." read for steve in denial, excessive d&d gameplay, robin as a mermaid, and eddie's glinting rings. as one reader said "the most frustratingly dense version of steve i have ever read and i am HERE for it."

you're so fucked up and i love it by genericfanatic (18/18 | 54k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; eddie POV; accidental relationship; hurt/comfort

eddie munson hated steve harrington. he'd apparently saved his life, dragged him out of hell and got him to a hospital while nancy rushed behind him working on alibis and half truths to prove he couldn’t have murdered chrissy. and here he was, doomed to live for the foreseeable future, in debt forever to steve fucking harrington. but eddie really hated how normal steve fucking was.

where do we go from here? (quietly fading away) by allandmore (9/9 | 60k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; angst w/ a happy ending; non-graphic violence

"what's scarier than saving the world? figuring out what to do afterwards. i get it," eddie turns on his side, one shoulder on the wall, and grips the front of steve's shirt. His face is so close steve can feel the warmth of his breath. "but we've got time now. right, steve? we bought us all time. time to figure all our shit out. isn’t that what matters?" OR steve harrington struggles to find purpose after the upside down. (but maybe purpose doesn't have to be big. maybe it's helping dustin navigate sophomore year. maybe it's reminding robin to send in college admission letters. maybe it's eddie munson. maybe).

star of the masquerade by glorious_spoon (6/6 | 64k+ | M) canon compliant; eddie POV; time loop; temporary character death; angst w/ a happy ending

steve jerks awake, sitting up so quickly that robin almost topples over and staring wildly around the room. when his gaze lands on eddie, he blanches visibly. "oh, shit," he mutters. "come on, no. come on. not again." "harrington?" eddie asks slowly. he does not love the way that steve is staring at him right now. he really doesn’t. steve looks like he’s staring at a ghost, a bloodied monster, like eddie is something that should not exist in the light of day. "you good, dude?"

one size fits all by entanglednow (10/10 | 65k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; fake/pretend relationship; misunderstandings; slow burn

steve just wanted to do something nice for a friend, he doesn't mean to get eddie's ring stuck on his finger, and it's definitely not his fault that everyone he knows is jumping to conclusions.

renegades (leave a light on) by queerofthedagger (13/13 | 66k+ | Ex) canon divergent s2; eddie POV; road trip; slow burn; strangers to lovers

eddie doesn't expect to get into trouble for his recent drug business, although he probably should have. even less does he expect steve harrington of all people to save his sorry ass with a nail bat that looks awfully at home in his hands. least of all, though, does he expect harrington to insist on skipping town for a while to avoid the fallout. the winter holidays of '84 seem intent on proving him wrong on all fronts. thrown into a spontaneous road trip-slash-cut-and-run to san francisco—just until things back home blow over, munson—eddie has all the time in the world to confront such questions as: why would harrington care to help him? why does he wake up from nightmares more often than not? and, maybe most importantly, why is the former king so ready to leave hawkins behind on a whim? or: idiot boys make impulsive idiot decisions, and along the way—reluctantly but inevitably—they fall in love. a story of endless winter streets, finding family, and leaving home to find a new one.

falling without caution (people watching) by super_skam310 (10/10 | 66k+ | NR) canon divergent eddie lives; eddie POV; slow burn; eventual happy ending

steve harrington is a man that demands your attention; whether your give it willingly or not is inconsequential. eddie's camp tended to be in the latter category. OR eddie's borderline obsessive watching of steve spanning from steve's freshman year to season 4, culminating in the unfortunate realization that the king had been dethroned the moment nail bat hit monster flesh and that maybe steve harrington was lovable all along.

in the margins by foxy_mulder (4/4 | 70k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; angst w/ a happy ending; suicidal thoughts; hurt/comfort

steve is having a hard time adjusting to the new normal, after everything that went down. he doesn't want to bother his friends with his problems, though, when they've got so much weight on their shoulders already. steve stumbles on an alternate version of hawkins, where none of it ever happened. everyone’s alive, his headaches are gone, his friends actually want to hang out with him, and he’s…happy. (the party has to fight another monster. but this one doesn't prey on people's fears. it preys on their deepest desires.)

skull rock era by chattrekisses (11/11 | 71k+ | Ex) canon divergent s2; steve POV; slow burn; internalized homophobia; fix-it

steve harrington never planned for eddie munson. steve was supposed to marry his high school sweetheart, have 2.5 children, and take over the family business. he was supposed to live a blissful life on a nondescript cul-de-sac, complete with a white picket fence and a closet full of tasteful polo shirts. he was supposed to make a graceful transition between being the golden boy and being the american dream. mediocrity was what destiny had designed for steve. reality had other plans. (or, steve and eddie, against all odds, fall in love.)

roll for seduction by spikeisthebigbad (37/37 | 74k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s3; steve POV; steve plays dnd; fix-it

when steve reluctantly agreed to play dungeons and dragons with the hellfire club he expected to hate every second. he did not expect to spend his friday nights flirting with eddie munson. what if eddie and steve were dating during season 4? starts after season 3, and eventually ventures into season 4. not canon compliant.

in over my head by staymagical (16/16 | 75k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; head trauma; temporary amnesia

one moment, steve is entering his room, ready for bed, and the next he's in forest hills staring at a very confused very concerned eddie and the run-down remains of the old munson trailer. three hours later. thus begins a secret shared between friends, steve leaning on eddie as they try and understand and navigate this new terrifying post-concussion symptom of steve's. with vecna dead and the gates closed, it can only be steve's own scrambled brain giving up on reality. it's a race against the unknown, trying to find answers and search for solutions before it happens again and steve isn't sure how long he can keep pretending he is alright when he is anything but.

leave the light on sometimes all night by anniebibananie (7/7 | 78k+ | M) au—no upside down; steve POV; hurt/comfort; slow burn; eventual smut

june 1986 steve is lonely. he’s always been lonely, honestly. an empty house, absent parents, friends that didn’t really know him. frankly, he probably doesn’t really know himself, either. it used to be easier to ignore—between sports and parties and searching for the next girl to hang around with. then nancy wheeler told him he was bullshit. in the wreckage of the storm, he realized she probably hadn’t been that off base to call his life bullshit. [life in hawkins, indiana is boring, ordinary, no supernatural entities. steve still changes. luckily, he still makes some new friends, too. certain people are simply meant to be in the same story.]

the lathe by palmviolet (13/13 | 82k+ | M) canon compliant; steve POV; time loop; fix-it; angst w/ a happy ending; implied self-harm

"this time, do it right. this time eddie won’t bleed out in his arms, in anyone’s arms. this time, steve will do it right." — or, steve relives the day they try to kill vecna over and over, and eddie just can't seem to stop dying. steve finds this totally unacceptable. sequel: disaster / lucky (1/1 | 7k+ | M) coda; eddie POV; implied/referenced self-harm; trauma recovery

it's got what it takes by rose235b (20/20 | 83k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; friends to lovers; slow burn

“i can walk you to your car if you need to go though.” eddie’s hand stopped moving. robin’s eyes snapped towards steve as if it wasn’t a nice thing to offer. “i’ll just maybe grab the vest so i can leave it for tomorrow.” he was undeterred though. if he could help eddie munson after the worst period of his life by literally just walking, steve would walk across the entire state of indiana. eddie looked back at him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he seemed to search for something on steve’s face. “okay.” it came out softer than steve was used to eddie being. steve's on his never ending quest to make up for past mistakes. eddie's post-vecna mess of a life seems like the perfect place to start. - or, two idiots fall in love very slowly to the tune of 80s music.

(something happens and i'm) head over heels by gibbouslunation (11/11 | 94k+ | T) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; head trauma; angst w/ a happy ending

eddie made a strangled disbelieving noise, expression flickering. "you are not apologizing to me right now, for like, feeling a normal way about stuff. i can’t believe you." steve pushed a shaking hand through his hair. his heart rate no longer in his ears meant he felt he could at least think a little more clearly. "maybe it was the heat. doesn’t always have to be something messed up, right?" eddie gave him a placating nod. "sure, heat exhaustion is a helluva thing." it had been happening a lot recently. the…forgetting. zonking out. whatever. he was pretty sure he was just extra exhausted, it had been a few weeks since everything but it might have just been the adrenaline or something finally wearing off. sometimes it was like he just forgot someone was speaking, or couldn’t remember for a moment what they’d been talking about. like blinking out of a fog maybe. it does not get better, in fact, it actually continues to get worse.

water closet by stillmadaboutpetra (7/7 | 103k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; found family; slow burn; character study

steve's heard that a lot of life changing conversations usually happen in the kitchen or on the porch, but in his experience, it's the bathroom. a series of bathroom conversations (plus a whole lot of everything else) that slowly change steve, and his little world, in the wake of surviving vecna.

burned on the pyre by oklahoma (13/13 | 105k+ | Ex) canon compliant; steve POV; time loop; temporary character death; angst w/ a happy ending

"i’m gonna save your life, eddie munson." - caught in a time loop created by eleven where he is forced to relive the same day over and over, steve has to come up with a plan to kill vecna entirely while also making sure eddie and max don’t lose their lives in the process.

the beat has just begun by forgetthemoon (12/12 | 106k+ | M) canon compliant; steve POV; period-typical homophobia; fix it; slow burn

vecna dies. so does eddie. the world doesn't split open. in the aftermath, steve goes home to an empty house. well. almost empty. steve sighs, hanging his head. one more thing. then he can go to bed. the dirty towel can wait until later. he tosses it towards the bathtub without looking and turns to the sink, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste. when he looks in the mirror, eddie's staring back at him.

lonely is the night by intrajanelle (23/23 | 109k+ | T) canon divergent post s2; canon rewrite; eddie POV; hurt steve; angst w/ a happy ending

harrington had fallen, splayed in front of his preppy little beemer, like the jock equivalent of a fallen fucking angel. eddie, not having thought this through, watched harrington’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and said, "well, crap." or: post-season 2, eddie and steve get to know one another.

i can give you a heartbeat by soupbitchin (14/14 | 113k+ | T) canon compliant; eddie POV; ghost!eddie; happy ending; fix-it

being dead isn’t like eddie thought it would be. for starters, he’s a lot more alive than he expected. or, the ghost of eddie munson’s still hanging around, and he’d really appreciate if someone could notice him, thanks.

the end is here (and we do it a hundred times over) by placebythering (13/13 | 125k+ | M) canon compliant; steve POV; time loop; temporary death; suicide; angst w/ a happy ending

steve jolts awake, staring up into the dull beige of the camper’s ceiling. there’s a distinct brown stain, likely from a leak. the cushion of the back seat is hard against his back, and if he strains he could hear yelling and laughing from the outside. he wonders if he’s finally lost his fucking mind. —or, steve relives the day of the end over and over again.

caught in the middle, helpless again by margosfairyeye (14/14 | 131k+ | Ex) canon compliant; eddie POV; time loop; angst w/ a happy ending; canon-typical violence

fuck, eddie has been here before. the deja vu was bad enough but this is like, double, this is like deja deja vu or deja vu vu or something, this is unprecedented shit here. and eddie knows what comes next, knows like the roiling ache in his stomach that they’re going to go in, go though the portal and into the upside fucking down and didn’t they already do this? -- -- eddie loops through the time from lover's lake to his death, over and over again.

blood, love, and rhetoric by sourpastels / @lesbiansidney (18/18 | 143k+ | M) canon compliant; alternating POV; eddie lives; canon typical violence; accidental roommates

eddie believes three core things about the art of performance. 1. all the world's a stage. 2. performance is both a weapon and a shield, he wields it as both. and 3. you can’t act death. to quote stoppard: “it’s not gasps and blood and falling about—that isn’t what makes it death. it’s just a man failing to reappear, that’s all…” and eddie had gasped and bled and fell about, and was foolish enough in that moment to believe that was death. but he forgot a crucial step: he reappeared. or: steve is taking it day by day, flitting between the high school and the hospital and hopper’s cabin, locking any thoughts of eddie munson away at the back of his mind. meanwhile, eddie is just trying to get out of the upside down, with nothing but a nail-shield and the world's worst company.

sleight of hand by smithereen (19/19 | 143k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s2; alternating POV; internalized homophobia; slow burn

steve needs a weed dealer. he gets a bit more than that. (this is an AU set a couple months after the snow ball in season 2.)

take the money and run by thisapplepielife / @thisapplepielife (22/22 |143k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; road trip; getting together; future fic

"rules. like, there’ll be no eating in my car. you're not driving my car. no heavy metal," steve keeps listing, "you’re not picking up women and fucking them in m—" "i'll try to control myself," eddie interrupts with a quip, a smirk. fucking girls in steve’s car, or anywhere else for that matter, isn’t going to be an issue, unless something pretty fundamental shifts in him. steve continues, completely ignoring eddie, "you’ll wipe your feet. you're not dragging dirt all over my car. no hitchhikers. no cutesy road games. no smoking in the car. i'm not paying for all the gas." "ass, gas or grass, got it," eddie says, like he's taking this very seriously. he is not taking this seriously. or: road trip!

if your heart surrenders by asbealthgn (39/39 | 163k+ | Ex) canon divergent pre-s1; alternating POV; slow burn; secret relationship; angst w/ a happy ending

“that one’s on the house, okay?” eddie says, and steve opens his eyes to look back down at him. on his face is the slightest hint of concern, and something else steve can’t place. he’s still holding his hand. "thank you," steve says. he’s not sure exactly which thing he’s thanking eddie for, the weed or the hand in his or the lack of judgment at his fucked up head. he just knows that he’s grateful. eddie gives him a smile, a gentle curve of those pretty lips. "anytime, harrington."

tuesday's gone with the wind by thisapplepielife / @thisapplepielife (9/9 | 184k+ | Ex) alternate universe – no upside down; eddie POV; rock band; drug use; plane crash

corroded coffin's leased plane went down on june 13th, 1995 in the woods of louisiana. ten people on board died. eddie munson survived. before he survived, he really lived. companion series: wildflowers...and all the rest (15/15 | 151k+ | Ex) gareth POV; original female character; one shots; growing old; slice of life

gossip by jcmadgirl (11/11 | 213k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; pre-canon; sexual assault; angst w/ a happy ending

steve's whole life story, told through multiple snapshots of the events that made him into the person that he is today. or, a rewriting of stranger things from steve's POV.

i never did believe in miracles (but i've a feeling it's time to try) by cuoredimuschio (26/26 | 215k+ | M) canon divergent eddie lives; multiple POV; slow burn; mutual pining; getting together

eddie is beginning to think that, somewhere in the helter-skelter of surviving the upside down, being swarmed by possibly rabid but definitely rancid demobats, and charbroiling vecna’s slimy ass, he accidentally tripped through the wrong gate and landed in an alternate dimension. well, a different alternate dimension than the one he was already in. because steve harrington is flirting with him.

vignettes of lost connections by hardlyhalcyon (halcyonfrost) (50/50 | 229k+ | Ex) canon divergent pre-s1; alternating POV; secret relationship; angst w/ a happy ending

steve harrington and eddie munson had met long before dustin henderson dragged steve down to reefer rick's cabin. hawkins wasn't a huge town, and there was only the one high school, but the two were never friends. didn't even like each other. in all their darkest moments however, they somehow found company together. or the one where steve has depression, eddie becomes his safe space, and when eddie encounters battles he can't fight, steve reminds eddie of his own strength. a pre-/peri-/post-s4 fic with steddie before s4 events, continuing through and after.

as the world falls down by daeneryske (36/36 | 245k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; steve POV; bad harrington parents; period typical homophobia; angst w/ a happy ending

after saving eddie from the upside down, steve hides him at his house while the party concocts a plot to clear eddie's name. what steve doesn't expect is how much he likes hanging out with eddie as they get to know each other. under the looming shadow of the mind flayer threatening to destroy hawkins, steve and eddie realize they're each grappling with their own darkness, from steve's father's impossible expectations to eddie's feelings of worthlessness. their friendship develops into something more even as the party prepares to fight Vecna and his monsters one last time. steve must decide if he's ready to shrug off the rigid roles assigned to him and become his own person. eddie must learn to embrace what steve has been trying to show him every day since nearly dying: that he's worth saving.

nothing else matters by bigskyandthecoldgun (31/31 | 279k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s2; steve POV; secret relationship; period typical attitudes; everybody lives

"you ask a lot of questions about me," steve tells him. "because you're interesting," munson says, quiet and honest. "you're a lot different than what i've heard." steve hums, eyes closed. "yeah," he says, eyes fluttering open when munson takes the joint from him again, "you are, too." or: steve ditches the prom to get high.

since you've gone (i've been lost without a trace) by steddieeddie (7/7 | 300k+ | M) canon divergent s4; multiple POV; comatose steve; grief; angst w/ a happy ending

may 31st 1986, two weeks until graduation. robin, eddie, and nancy are all set to walk across the stage, eddie being given a free pass after the whole ‘almost framed for murder’ thing. the three have been trying to be excited about their graduation, but it feels almost mundane to be excited when steve wouldn’t be there. they would be sat out on a football field in the blistering heat while waiting for their names to be called, with dustin and max in the crowd, cheering them on in steve's place. there would be fake smiles plastered to all their faces, no matter how realistic they tried to make them. none of them have genuinely smiled since steve got vecna'd. sixty-five days. steve had been in a coma for sixty-five days. the doctors keep telling the party that it doesn't look good, that steve's injures had been severe, and that they didn't know if, when, he would wake up. but they refused to lose hope. he'll wake up. it's just a matter of time. OR five times steve harrington didn't wake up, and one time he did.

the most dangerous thing (is to love you) by brokebeatle (21/21 | 304k+ | Ex) canon divergent eddie lives; alternating POV; shared trauma; slow burn; period typical homophobia  

"i know you care about what those little twerps think of you, and i can assure you they think way too highly of you," eddie says with a wink, and steve gives a half-hearted smirk for just a moment. "but look…i know i can’t ask you to stop worrying about those kids, so how about this? you worry about them, and you let me—actually let me—worry about you." steve pushes his hair back, and yet again, gravity instantly pulls it back down, since he’s looking at his feet. "…i don’t need anyone to worry about me." "too fucking bad. someone’s gotta do it, and it’s gonna be me." "why?" steve replies with a raspy laugh, shaking his head slowly. "why? why." eddie crosses his arms tightly across his chest, knocking his foot into steve’s again with a bit more strength. "because we’re friends, dipshit." —in which eddie's got a reason he's been planning on leaving hawkins since long before the world almost ended. the only thing keeping him in town at this point? his promise to be friends with steve harrington. and eddie doesn't break promises.

the man that i could be by ohstars (26/26 | 325k+ | Ex) canon divergent post s3; steve POV; secret relationship; period typical homophobia; angst w/ a happy ending

"steve harrington isn't straight. it's been a few weeks since he sat on that bathroom floor at starcourt with robin, where she shared her biggest secret with him and unintentionally unlocked an entirely new side of steve. since he’s had to come to terms with being open to exploring that side of him, but he's finally acknowledged that he's most likely, definitely, without a doubt into guys." -- after coming to terms that he may be queer, steve harrington does a little exploration on his own and meets the one and only eddie munson. just as things are going well and accepted the fact he's falling for eddie in their own little bubble, steve's world is shaken by a tragedy he can't quite talk about. and when the dust settles and he's nearly ready to put the pieces back together, his worlds collide when he realizes his eddie is the same eddie playing D&D with the kids. the same eddie who's now wanted for murder thanks to another upside down monster. how will he save the day when he can barely focus watching his ex mingle with his monster fighting team? series: the men we've become (4/4 | 45k+ | M) future fics; alternating POVs; domestic living

[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

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