#the flannel on the bedpost

[jonathanbyersphd]

The fact that Nancy doesn't have a typewriter on her desk drives me a little crazy tbh

[featherandferns]

day 7/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘I’ll take you for a ride, I’ll be your vixen’ - Sabrina Carpenter, A Nonsense Christmas | smut/suggestive (MDNI) | jj maybank x fem!reader

“Girl. If JJ don’t wanna fuck you, then I will,” Kiara plainly says, combing her fingers through your hair. 

“Yeah, I’m with Kie. If this boy doesn’t appreciate the effort then we’re beating his ass,” Sarah agrees. 

“I don’t look stupid?” you worry, meeting their gaze in the mirror. 

“You look hot,” Kiara insists. You dab on more red lipstick and blend it out with your finger, scared it looks silly. You rarely wear such masses of make-up; there’s little point, living out in Kildare. Nine times out of ten, you end the day in the sea. Kiara finishes toying with your hair and fluffs it so it sits around your face, framing your features enticingly. Sarah is nodding enthusiastically. Your eyes scan your reflection. 

Adorning your figure is a crimson red babydoll. Faux fur outlines the top lining of the cups, brushing against your cleavage. Two pull-strings hang from the centre, with white pom-poms on the end that mimic those on Santa’s hat. It’s lace and hangs just past your ass, trimmed on the hem with white fur. A dainty thong ties everything together. It’s unfamiliar seeing yourself so dolled up but not unwelcome; you think you look pretty sexy, to be honest. JJ doesn't need all the fuss and feathers to get him going but you wanted to give him a special Christmas treat. A rush of confidence blows over you as you let your eyes take in your completed look. 

Kiara’s buzzing phone has everyone’s attention turning to her. After reading the message, she tells you, “Cleo said her and JJ are nearly done hanging up the lights. They’ll be back in the house soon.”

Sarah squeals excitedly and you chuckle at the ludicrousy of the situation. Your closest girl friends helping you get dressed up for your guy to fuck you; that’s girl hood in a unique, wonderful nutshell. 

“You guys better go,” you tell them as they’re already heading for the door. 

“You look hot. You are hot,” Kiara reminds you pointedly as they leave the room. Sarah giggles a ‘good luck’ before they slip out the room, leaving you to sit in amusement, shaking your head. The door now closed, you go about setting the mood in the bedroom. Low, jazz music with a festive flare; scented candles and tea-lights lining the dressers and desk; swiping crinkles out of the bedsheets and pulling the blinds closed on the already darkening day. Then, you perch yourself delicately on the edge of the bed and wait in anxious anticipation for JJ to come back from the tackle-and-bait shop, where Cleo had been distracting him with Christmas decorating. 

You hear the door to the adjoining bathroom open five or so minutes later. 

“JJ?” you call. Your heartbeat picks up just at the thought. 

“Yo. I’m back,” he calls back. You hear the bathroom tap running as he presumably washes his hands. From where you sit, you can just make out a glimpse of his body; dressed in a flannel hooded overlayer and shorts. “Dude, that wind out there is gettin’ crazy. It’s cold as hell.”

“You’re cold?” you wonder, rising to your feet. Antsy, you find yourself moving about until you’re leaning against the bedpost at the foot of the bed. 

“Hell yeah,” JJ replies. 

“I think I can help warm you up,” you tell him, biting back your smile. The tap finally shuts off and JJ wanders into the doorway. His head is hung, focused on drying his hands on the towel, and you wait in bated breath for him to look up. 

“Oh really? I mean, I could definitely do with–”

JJ’s words die on his tongue. You can’t help but smile at the stunned look on his face. His eyes shamelessly consume your body, running over every inch of skin, lingering on your tits. His lips part in a daze until they finally find words. 

“Holy fuck.”

Your body flushes with white hot heat. Fiddling with the edge of the babydoll, you cock your head and smile enticingly. 

“Merry Christmas.”

As if those were the magic words he was waiting for, JJ drops the towel to the bedroom floor and crosses the room to you in three easy steps. You giggle as he grabs possessively at your hips, his eyes unable to stay still on one part of you, especially your eyes, no matter how hard he tries. His lips press to yours in a fiery kiss, his bulge already pressing against your leg. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, grinning. 

You shrug cooly. “An early Christmas gift.”

“Oh really?” he hums, his brows raising in approval. A shiver runs through you as his fingers trace your upper thigh, just under where the babydoll ends. JJ dips his head, his forehead brushing against yours, and he lets out a dark chuckle. His voice is low as he asks, “A Christmas gift for me, huh?”

“All for you,” you whisper. 

“I get to unwrap it?” JJ wonders, a sly smile on his face as his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties. 

Your eyes are innocent and doe-like as you guilelessly tell him, “you get to do anything you want to it.”

Something flashes across his face; twinkles in his eyes. His smirk is there and gone in a blink before his hands are picking you up, grabbing you at the ass and hoisting you into the air and into his arms. You gasp and giggle as JJ playfully tosses you on your back onto the bed, quick to climb atop of you, crowding you with his presence. His lips are on your neck, your collarbones, ghosting over your bulging breasts in the bralette. 

“You like it?” you ask breathlessly, knowing full well the answer. 

In between kisses, as JJ’s fingers fiddle with the button fastening the babydoll at the front, his reply is plain and simple. “Best Christmas present ever.”

It’s safe to say, everybody knew you weren’t sleeping that night - not just santa. 

[leth-writes]

Yandere batfam x reader part 5

The first thing you noticed, peering through your crusty eyelids, was the unfamiliar surroundings. Instead of your small, crapped bed, you were spread out in a large, luxurious one, red flannel draped over you and pulled up to your chin. You groaned and crawled out of the soft prison, coming to your feet in the middle of the sparse room. It was an average sized room, populated only by the bed, a dresser, and multiple posters, as well as the open door into the dark bathroom and what you assumed was the door into the hallway. You walked over to the closed drapes, yanking them open. It felt like a bucket of ice was dumped on your head as you stared forlornly at the iron bars. They were small and thin; from the outside, you may not even not even realize they were there to keep you from escaping. 

The thin, dull light of the mid-morning streamed in, illuminating the walls in bits and pieces. It was then you saw the posters. The walls were lined in posters featuring your favorite films and bands. How were you in a room seemingly decorated to match your interests? Whatever the reason, you didn’t care to find out. Mind made up and thoroughly creeped out, you strode over to the door- or at least, you tried. It was then you noticed the thin leather band connecting your left wrist to the bedpost. You were stuck.

The door creaked open, and Bruce Wayne peeked in. “Oh, you’re up!” He exclaimed, giving you a small smile. He closed the door, approaching you and bringing you in for a hug. “I’m so glad to finally have you in my arms, sweetheart, but I understand you have questions, so why don’t we sit down?” He gestured to the bed and the both of you sat.

“Listen, Mr. Wayne-”

“Bruce, you can call me Bruce,” he interrupted, looking hopeful.

“Mr. Wayne,” you continued, pushing past his weak interruptions. “Listen, I’m really sorry that I took your money, but I promise I’ll pay you back… Just please let me go!” You begged, tearing up. All you needed was to get out.

He sighed, looking off through the window. He was weirdly buff, now that you thought about it. He didn’t look like he would fill out his t-shirt as much as he did, muscles straining against it; on tv he always looked lean and tall, though it turned out he was built more like a boxer than a runner, like you had assumed. Bruce started talking, snapping you out of your reverie. As he talked, his face slackened slightly, losing that almost too bright smile and shifting into a quieter, more authentic expression.

“We aren’t going to hurt you- you’re part of this family now. I don’t mind about the money, in fact, I’d gladly give you as much as you could take; it was all worth it to get to meet you. But you have to work with us, sweetheart. We can’t be the only ones making effort. You’re going to have to stay here until we can trust you, at least…” He continued, starting directly into your eyes and searching for your reaction.

You shivered at the intensity of his expression. “What… what do you need from me?” All you could hope is that you wouldn’t have to sell your soul to save your skin. Scenarios filled with violence and pain flashed through your head almost faster than you could react. 

“Just be patient with us, and don’t shut us out, and it’ll be okay. Like I said, we won’t hurt you, we just want to see you happy.” As long as it was with them, you finished mentally.

All you had to do was trick them into thinking that you weren’t a threat, and then you could escape at the first opportunity. That’s all you had to do.

How hard could it be? After all, even though he was definitely stronger than you were expecting, it was still Brucey Wayne, the man who confused a duck and a chicken and who thought a banana cost $100… It couldn’t be too difficult to trick him. 

At least, that’s what you were hoping.

[madhatterbri]

Daddy's Home | D.M.

Summary: Drew and Y/N reenact a fantasy of hers. 18+.

Author's Note: I miss him, bro.

Happy Monday Night RAW, babes. ❤️

Trigger warning(s): CNC.

Drew McIntyre Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @magicalbuttertarts @keytothewardy @smallestsnarkestgirl @surdelcielo

Drew walked around the cabin with a sinister smile on his face. Inside of her cabin was everything he imagined it to be. Cutesy little wood sayings hung from the walls. A simple rug with a couch on it. In front of the couch stood a coffee table. The warm hot chocolate still steaming from the mug. Large windows allowed the moonlight to poke through. The same very windows that caused her to find him watching her. None of that mattered now. He had her right where he wanted her.

"Daddy's Home!" He called out. The intruder listened for any sound to indicate her whereabouts. Any increased breathing or tiny sound, but there was none. Drew perked up when he noticed a small little detail that pointed him to the right direction. A corner on a rug in front of the hallway closet was lifted up.

"Now where is that little lass?" He pondered loudly. The man made it a point to kick the corner of the rug back to place. A breathy no came from the closet. This was too easy like stealing a bracelet from CM Punk.

He peaked through the small crack in the closet. There she was right for him to take. She was in a ball in the corner of the closet. Her hands gripped over her mouth to keep quiet. A pair of pajamas that happened to be his favorite covered her frame. The girl had no excuse for that one, she wanted this just as much as he did perhaps more. When their eyes met, she started to panic.

"Found you," he smirked. "Did you really think you could get away from me?"

The tone in his voice was so condescending. He appeared to really think her escape was laughable. A cruel chuckle sent shivers down her spine.

Drew grabbed her arm. Any poor attempts to escape his grasp went unnoticed by him. The words coming out of her mouth didn't make sense. Not that he cared anyway. He dragged her to her bedroom and locked the door behind him.

His hand came up to her neck before sliding down the fabric of her pajamas. He cupped her breast in his hand. Thumb swirled around her nipple causing her to whine. "Let me see what we have going on under here. Strip,"

Eyes widened to the size of saucers. There was no way he thought she would oblige to such a request. When she didn't move, the man grew impatient.

"You do it, or I do, and I assure you that you don't want me doing that,"

Piece by piece, her clothes started to come off. Her eyes darted away when she noticed him palming himself over his jeans. His hand went lower the more excited he became.

"It's cold," she complained when the last of her clothes pooled on the floor. Her arms wrapped over her chest to warm herself up and hide herself.

"Don't worry. I'll warm you up soon. I'm going to warm you up really nice. Now get on the bed. No funny business,"

She never took her eyes off of him. Obeying his orders, she crawled backward until her head rested against the pillows. The warm blankets beneath her a nice change from the cold cabin bedroom.

Drew crawled on the bed. The mere sight of her trembling almost ended him. Tonight was going to be the best night of his life.

"Open," he ordered and slapped her inner thighs. It wasn't enough to hurt her, but it definitely made her act quicker. She did as she was told. Drew placed his knees at her inner thighs to keep them open.

He removed his flannel and white t shirt. His light eyes went back to her before finding interesting pieces of equipment attached to the bedposts.

"And what are these?"

She turned her head, and her heart sank. Heat burned at her cheeks.

Black straps hung from the top corners of the bedposts. He grabbed one carefully. She could see his brain think of all the possibilities with these.

"Give me your hand,"

"But I've been good," she objected.

Drew snapped his head towards her. Fierce eyes stared into hers. She only held his gaze for a few seconds before obeying his previous command.

With little fanfare, the intruder bound both her hands securely.

Apprehensively, Drew kissed her lips. She didn't kiss him back, but there was no biting either. He continued to kiss her. Finally, she started to get involved. This was the first nice act he had done since coming into her home.

His lips left hers and started to trail to her neck. She resisted her binds when he found a sweet spot of hers. Drew made sure to stick around. He kissed and nipped at the part. A couple of times, his teeth came into contact with her flesh, followed by a quick lick.

Continuing his journey, he stimulated her breasts. Kisses and tongue laps on each of her nipples. More resistance to the straps. The bedposts creaking as they moved.

Drew wasn't bothered by any of it until he noticed her trying to close her legs. The stimulation was just a little too much for her. An idea popped into his head.

He moved his knees lower to allow her to cut off her sex from him. For now.

There was an act of pretending he didn't notice. He kissed down her stomach and up to just above her crotch. Drew feigned surprise when he noticed.

"Spread these legs, lass. It appears you have been enjoying this so far," he teased. For good measure, he mocked her whimpers and moans.

"But it's as far as they'll go," she lied.

"Not good enough. I guess we will do it my way,"

"Wha- wait!" She called out. The back of her thighs gripped in his strong hands. He bent her in half; her knees were now close to her chest. His prize is now on full display for him. The unmistakable sign of her pleasure started to wet her inner thighs.

"Don't worry, lass, I got you,"

Drew used his body to keep her in this position. Her ass rested against his muscular body. His hands still gripped her thighs to keep her legs spread.

"Shall I play with my food first or dig in?" He asked.

The only response was her trying to get out of her binds.

"I guess I get to choose," he shrugged. "All this has worked up my appetite,"

His hot breath could be felt between her legs. The warmth felt nice from the cold air. She shivered in anticipation. It didn't take long before his tongue lapped at her. He gripped her thighs tighter as a warning when she squirmed.

A moan ripped out of her from the roughness. She nodded in understanding. He wanted her to stay still and suffer. All she could do was obey. Tears poured down the side of her face in frustration.

The way he ate her out made her feel like they had been together before. He knew all the places to tease. Each flick and lick sent another wave of pleasure crashing down on her. Her legs started to twitch.

"Please, stop,"

"Oh no, lass, I don't think I should. Love the manners, though,"

With renewed vigor, he continued on. Each flick and lick of his tongue sent her closer to the edge. Her legs twitched and tensed some more. A curse signaled her unraveling.

His light eyes watched as she came undone. He lapped anything she gave him. Even through her orgasm she wasn't granted any reprieve. Y/N was truly at the mercy of the intruder. Finally, he let her lay on the bed.

"You have had your fun. Now, let me go and leave,"

The half-naked man laughed. He gripped his belt and started to unbuckle it.

"No, darling, it appears you have had all the fun. Now it is my turn,"

Y/N looked away. Every ruffling of clothes made her heart pound loudly in her chest. She closed her eyes tightly. This had to be a nightmare. Maybe if she could just pinch herself, she would wake up.

"Now who is this handsome fella?"

Her eyes immediately opened. She turned to look at him. The now naked intruder held a picture frame in his hands. A picture of her and her boyfriend. They were cuddled together with his head resting on hers. Mountains were in the background from when they visited Europe.

"He looks like someone that could use a lesson or two on pleasing a woman. Maybe we should let him watch,"

"Please, leave him out of this. I've done everything you wanted," she pleaded.

Her pleas went unnoticed. The picture frame was placed back on the nightstand. Her boyfriend's face and bright smile stared back at her. Drew climbed on the bed again.

"I have no ill will towards him. He seems like a guy I'd have a pint with. Who knows, maybe one day we will both be at the bar. I'll buy him a drink. He is going to need one when you think about me from now on,"

He placed himself between her legs. A renewed fight against her binds ended almost as quickly as it started. The head of his dick rubbed between her folds. To prolong things, he started a conversation.

"How rude of me. Do you want short, quick bursts, or do you want to feel all of me?"

"Go to hell," she spat.

"My choice again? Jeez, honey, you are quite giving tonight. It must be the holidays," he commented.

Her knees were bent to her chest again. A strong grip to her thighs to keep her still. The lewd way she was displayed for him made her cheeks burn in embarrassment. He was going to force her to enjoy this. Force her to enjoy every inch of him.

Y/N felt him push inside of her. Her walls stretched to accommodate him. She panted as her body took him. He made her feel so full. Almost filled to the brim, he pushed the rest of him forward roughly. It was to get her attention, and he had it.

"Don't be shy cause he is watching," he told her. His head motioned towards the picture frame. Her face turned to the picture. "Maybe he can learn a thing or two,"

Before any sort of retort, Drew started to pull out. He stopped just when the tip was about to come out before sliding all the way back in. The pace was painfully slow. Her body once again betrayed her.

Whenever he pulled back, she tightened around him. Her mouth parted as her eyes were half closed. Her legs relaxed in his grip. She was completely his for the taking.

Keeping a slower pace allowed Drew to control the situation. His dick hitting all her spots with ease. It wasn't long before she was chasing another orgasm. She could tell the intruder was chasing his. His controlled thrusts were being replaced by shorter, more erratic ones.

Her legs tensed, and for the second time, she orgasmed. Drew fucked her through it. His hands gripped her thighs roughly. She hissed in response. Y/N swore she heard him grunt an apology. He gave her one final thrust before he stilled. His abs tensed as he filled her.

Heavy breathing replaced the previous sounds of pleasure. Drew pulled out when he was ready. Her legs were placed back down on the mattress.

He began showering her with compliments. Y/N watched him take off one of the binds from her wrists. He rubbed her wrist gently and kissed it tenderly. The same was repeated for her other wrist.

"How did I do?" He asked. The doting boyfriend sealed the question with a sweet peck to her lips.

"Daddy's home?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

Drew grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed. He covered them as he laid next to her.

"You didn't seem to mind it," he winked.

[joels-darlin]

Nightmares

Pairings: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! (minors DNI), mentions of anxiety/mental health, mentions panic attack, smut, fingering, grinding, unprotected P in V (keep it wrapped!!), creampie, pet names, dirty talk, riding a cowboy, teasing.

Summary: After waking up from a nightmare Joel helps you find comfort in a way you never thought was possible, all thanks to stealing his favourite flannel.

Word count: 2047

Authors Note: My first time writing smut and of course I had to do my man Joel Miller. I also think this might be my longest one shot to date so yay to smashing goals. Hope you all enjoy! I definitely enjoyed writing it. Feedback is appreciated ♥

As always a huge thankyou to @ladybess-a03 for the help and support on this one, forever in your debt. Also, I finally did it woo!!! ♥

Also posted on AO3.

Every night was the same; broken sleep, pounding heart, waking up in a pool of your own sweat. The vivid memories of those you loved dying in front of you at the hands of raiders and infected. Bleeding profusely or torn apart limb by limb. Horrific images forever ingrained into the cells of your brain.

Gasping for air, you woke with a fright, bolting straight up into a sitting position, lungs burning, breathing deeply to force some oxygen into them. Beads of sweat trailed down your face leading to the uncomfortable burning sensation behind your eyes. A brief scan of the room told you that it was still dark outside, dead of the night, the only light source coming from the old street lamps of Jackson which painted a yellow hue across the walls of the bedroom.

“It’s okay, you're safe, here in Jackson, with Joel and Ellie” you thought to yourself, the words circling around your head over and over again, trying desperately to console your anxious and terrified form. You gripped the now sweat soaked sheets in any hope of grounding yourself, feeling the smooth of the material against calloused skin.

After a few minutes of composing yourself, breathing returning to normal, you turned to the right, your eyes landing on Joel. He was lying on his side, facing towards the wall, clutching a pillow. The sheets draped loosely around his naked torso; quite the sight, you had to admit. The sounds of soft snores that left his lips signalling that he was having a peaceful night's sleep for once.

There was no way of getting back to sleep after that, the dream was far too vivid to even consider closing your eyes again. Feeling defeated you stripped the sheets back, careful not to disturb your sleeping partner. Making the conscious decision to grab one of his flannels that hung over the bedpost, throwing it over your frame, which was only covered in a vest top, the scent of him wrapped around you like a comfort blanket burying your nose deep into the fabric.

It was dark when you stepped out of the bedroom, your eyes squinting with adjustment. Reaching out you followed the curve of the walls with your fingertips, finally grasping the edge of the banister, carefully retreating down the stairs one step at a time and into the living room. The couch being your final destination. ────────

“Darlin’ what are you doing down here?”

You flinched in panic at his voice, close to dropping the book you were buried in as a distraction. Closing the cover, making sure to mark the page, before placing it on the coffee table. Turning your body facing the doorway where he stood, you locked eyes with Joel briefly.

“Couldn’t sleep. I-I, erm…well…I had a nightmare. But I could ask you the same thing?” you said, hoping that your questioning would have him glaze over your admittance to another nightmare.

“Hold up, a nightmare? You should have woke me” he said. You shrugged.

“You looked peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you”.

“Oh sweetheart…”. He approached, taking the seat on the couch next to you. Feeling the warmth radiating off his body, you hopped into his lap, strong muscular arms wrapping around your form. You lay your head in the crook of his neck.

“Next time, please wake me. Don't care if I’m dead to the world or not, I panicked when I woke up to an empty bed” he spoke softly into your hair. “Now…you wanna tell me about it sweetheart?” he asked.

“Not tonight too vivid, but I don’t know if I will sleep at all if I recount it” you mumbled. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Maybe another time, hmm?” he asked, and you nodded in response. “I’m never getting this back, am I?” he chuckled, pulling at the hem of his, (no, your) shirt.

“Nope” you responded, emphasis on popping the ‘P’, leaning in for a chaste kiss. Joel captured your lips as you pulled away, kissing you deeply for a few moments.

“I like seeing you in my clothes though, it’s…hot” he whispered, brushing his nose against your chin, moving down to place soft kisses at the exposed skin of your neck, nibbling on it lightly. There was only one way this was going, you could feel the pool of desire starting to well in your lower stomach, evident that your thin sleep shorts were now flooded in hot, wet arousal.

“Joel…” you whined, trying to send him a clear message that you wanted, no, needed him. Besides, it’s not like you were likely to be able to sleep now…

“M’yeah, baby…I know…I know,” he mumbled between kisses. Detaching your lips for a brief second, you took control. Pushing off of his lap moving to straddle him, legs either side of his hips, skin making contact with the soft leather of the couch. Moving your arms around his neck, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting a soft moan from Joel.

“God damn, baby girl, you will be the death of me,” he spoke breathlessly. Foreheads touching, his deep brown orbs shone in the dark room with lust and desire, boring into yours. He leaned in virtually smashing his lips against your kissing you passionately.

Completely focused on his lips it took you by surprise when moved his hands up the back of your top, the feeling of the warm, calloused skin against yours causing the ripple effect of goosebumps across your body. He continued, hands now traversing around the front of your top cupping both your breasts, squeezing gently, causing you to moan into his mouth. Taking both your nipples rolling them through his thumb and forefinger, lips detaching and your back arching involuntarily at his touch. Jesus, this man.

Two could play that game. Grinding down on Joel’s lap, his hard bulge protruded through the thin pyjama pants that adorned his lower body.

“Fuck darlin’…” he moaned in response as you continued to grind against his aching length. The friction was so good that you were hurtling towards your own peak.

“You have two choices, cowboy, take me to bed or take me here” you whispered into his ear in a sultry tone, dragging your teeth over his earlobe gently. Joel thrust up in response, rolling his hips into yours multiple times.

“Won’t make it…upstairs…here…now” he stuttered. “Lift up for me” placing his large hands at your waist he guided your hips up so you were hovering over him. In one swift motion he lifted his own slightly, sliding his pyjamas off so they pooled at his ankles. Glancing down you drunk in his thick, hard cock which was glistening at the head with pre-cum. A wave of desire pooling in your stomach at the sheer sight of it.

“Now you are too overdressed for my liking darlin’. Let's get rid of these clothes…the shirt…that stays on though” he growled forcing your gaze up towards him. Taking a fistful of your shorts in each hand he pulled the fabric tearing at the seams as he ripped it from your frame, doing the same with the vest top until you were completely bare; just the flannel hanging from your shoulders.

“Joel…my-” your words were interrupted as he forced his lips against yours again, tongues tangling going to war in the battle for dominance. “Don’t care…will…get…more” he grumbled between rough kisses.

“Please…” you whined, body aching for his touch. It was only when he reached between your frantic bodies that you gasped, head thrown back in pleasure at the contact. His fingers swiping through your folds collecting the arousal that pooled at your entrance.

“So wet for me darlin’ god damn” he growled, dragging his fingers up to circle your clit. He was teasing at this point and it was painful wanting nothing more that his hard length inside you. You continued to moan loudly as his long, slender fingers toyed with the sensitive bud, every nerve in your body standing on end.

“Gotta make sure you are ready for me though” dropping his head into your neck biting and sucking on the skin there driving you wild, his tongue glancing over each mark as if to soothe. Removing his fingers from your clit, whimpering at the loss, traversing down. Lazily tracing two fingers at your entrance before sinking them inside you in one movement, making you moan loudly.

Joel knew what made you tick. The two of you spending countless hours between the sheets exploring the depths of each other bodies. So it was no surprise when he curled his fingers slightly, instantly grazing that soft and sensitive spot inside, knowing exactly it’s location every time. Starting to pump his fingers in and out at a slow pace, the sheer sensation from his thick fingers nearly sending you tumbling over the edge. Only the sounds of your moans and him working away at your hot, wet core filling the room.

“Need you…please” his thick fingers withdrawing from your entrance at your plea’s.

“Lift up darlin’” obeying the command and lifting your hips once more.

There was something enticing about watching him, taking his hard length into his fist and giving it a few pumps before aligning at your entrance. Teasing once again swiping the head through your wet folds and nudging the sensitive bundle of nerves, moans tumbling your lips. Taking matters into your own hands and not wanting to waste anymore time you sunk down on him, full to the hilt, both moaning in unison.

“So tight darlin’ made for me” Joel growled hands moving now to your hips, gently grabbing at the skin there.

Steadying yourself you start moving up and down bouncing on Joel’s thick, hard cock - starting out with a slow rhythm. Feeling the tip of his length hitting just the right spot of your cervix with every movement. Core burning with white hot desire, in this position you were definitely not going to last very long.

Joel dips his head, lips skating over the skin between the valley of your breasts, leaving a trail of wet kisses. You moan, loud enough that the neighbours definitely heard, as he takes a nipple into his hot, wet mouth. Tongue circling around the sensitive bud, it peaking in response.

The muscles in your thighs are burning. But the sheer desire of Joel splitting you open with his cock supersedes that and you continue picking up the pace slightly - hurtling fast towards your climax. Chanting his name like a prayer.

“m’not gonna last darlin’ so—fucking—good” Joel groans hands moving down from you hips to your ass, kneading the supple skin gently. Leaning forward to connect your lips together in a passionate but breathless kiss as you continued to ride him.

He could tell you were getting close, movements getting sloppier by the minute, walls fluttering around his length and he wasn’t far behind either. Taking one of his hands from your behind, traversing round to your front, fingers glancing lightly over your sensitive clit for a few strokes. Lips detaching from his in a instant as you screamed in pleasure.

“I’m gonna—” not getting the chance to finish the sentence before your climax hit quick and hard. Back arching, head thrown back, Joel’s name tumbling from your lips. Swearing you could see stars littering the insides of your eyelids.

In the same moment Joel’s strong arm wraps around your back as he thrusts his hips up to meet yours, length twitching inside your tight cunt as he painted your walls with hot, sticky cum. A throaty moan leaving his lips.

Your labored breaths were the only sounds in the room, both taking a moment to come down for your highs. Body aching, core in particular still fluttering with pleasure, still full to the hilt with him. Moving to lean into the crook of his neck

“That’s one way to get rid of the nightmares I guess” you smiled, whispering against the sweaty skin beneath your lips, pressing a soft kiss there. He chuckled, broad frame shaking beneath you “Anytime baby, anytime”.

[pastelwitchling]

Can I request something? Michael is gone for some reason and Alex promised he wouldn't work cause he hasn't really slept in a while and Michael gets home and figures out alex literally spent the whole time cleaning. Like house smells like straight chemicals and he hasn't eaten or taken care of his leg or anything

@brittz-2123

***

              Michael should’ve known. In retrospect, he should’ve tied Alex down to the bedposts and stripped him of his prosthetic and forced him to rest. A little extreme, maybe, but his husband rarely took a break if he didn’t really, physically have to. And as Michael walked into their home one night and got a whiff of lemon-scented cleaner and laundry detergent, he knew he’d failed somewhere.

              “So,” Michael greeted, leaning against their bedroom doorway with his arms crossed, “was it my mistake to trust you today? Is that where I went wrong?”

              Alex, lying on his stomach and scrolling through his phone, looked up and blinked innocently. “What? I’ve been resting, just like you told me to.”

              Michael fought the grin that threatened to take hold. “Being cute won’t work this time, Manes.”

              Alex’s façade cracked the barest trace as he raised a eyebrow and smirked. “Since when am I cute?”

              “Since always,” he narrowed his eyes, “and stop trying to change the subject. I thought we agreed you’d sleep the week off.”

              “And I did,” he shrugged, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

              “Damn you and your stupid captain riddle talk!” Michael snapped, closing the distance between them and shoving Alex down onto his back. “I told you to sleep the entire day off, not a few hours of it!”

              Alex laughed, hooking his arms around Michael’s shoulders as Michael bent down to swallow the sound, and then remembered he was supposed to be angry and pushed himself up, dragging Alex up with him.

              “Why does the house smell like cleaner?”

              Alex sighed heavily as he rested his forehead on Michael’s shoulder. He said something that came out muffled, his face too smushed against Michael’s jacket.

              He ran a hand down the back of Alex’s head. “One more time, baby.”

              Alex groaned and squeezed Michael close for half a second before he let go, and fell back on the bed with his arms spread out. Michael sat there, straddling him, waiting.

              “It was too quiet,” he finally said, searching the ceiling for something Michael couldn’t see. “I didn’t . . . I just can’t . . . handle the quiet today.”

              Michael nodded, running a hand up and down Alex’s thigh. None of this was new information. There were days, weeks, months even when Alex couldn’t take the quiet because it made the noise in his head that much louder. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped.”

              He shook his head, eyes closed as a weak smile tugged at his lips. “I can’t keep bothering you with this stuff, Guerin, I have to be able to manage it on my own—”

              “Hey,” Michael said, an edge in his voice he couldn’t help as he once again hovered over Alex. “None of that crap. I’m your husband, if you can’t count on me for stuff like this, then I’m just going to assume you don’t think I can offer anything.”

              Alex sighed, his grin widening a little as he caught onto Michael’s ploy. “You know that’s not it.”

              “Too late,” Michael argued, grabbing Alex’s thigh and hooking Alex’s legs more securely around his own waist. “I already feel unwanted. My husband doesn’t want to rely on me. What’s the matter with me, I wonder?”

              Alex chuckled deeply, forearm thrown over his eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

              “Is it the flannel?” Michael was smiling now as he nuzzled Alex’s jaw. “The belt buckle? You think I’m just a pretty face, don’t you?”

              He laughed fully, hugging Michael’s shoulders and pulling him in until his face was buried in the crook of Michael’s neck, and Michael held him back even tighter. Alex’s laugh faded into a deep sigh, and against his neck, he whispered, “I love you so much.”

              Michael lowered himself down until he was on his side beside Alex, an arm around his waist. “I love you more.”

              As Alex searched Michael’s face, his smile dimmed to something smaller, but soft. “I’m so relieved you’re here, baby.”

              Michael scooted closer, until their chests touched, and he cupped Alex’s jaw, his thumb brushing Alex’s cheekbone. “I’m not going anywhere, Private. Is the quiet still bothering you?”

              Alex shut his eyes to Michael’s touch, covering his hand with his own, and that pinch in his brow finally faded. “Not so much right now.”

***

Happy malex Monday ❤️

[liminalhymnal]

The protag runs into the woods. Her heels obviously snap and the BBD (Big Bad Dyke) is able to catch her immediately. As the BBD slowly drags the protag deeper into the woods by her hair, the protag takes out her trusty pocket-knife and hacks away at her own hair until she's free. She runs, her dainty cardigan falls off her shoulders and onto the ground, tripping the BBD as the pursuit begins once more.

The protag manages to reach the BBD's Murder Shack. It's full of grime and dust. With her body cold and her now-barren feet unsuited for the rough terrain outside, she makes use of the dusty flannel hanging off the coat rack alongside the thick boots tucked away by the radiator. She grabs whatever she can make use of before heading out, stuffing her supplies in a raggedy utility belt found around the bedpost, and takes a deep breath. But before she opens the front door to leave, the mirror on the nearby vanity catches both her reflection and attention.

Her hair was roughly cut and jagged. The oversized flannel on her seemed as if it was asking her to grow into it. Despite the various cuts and bruises marring her face, the protag seems to be enchanted by her new appearance. It was unsettling. Yet...completely novel. Like a statue being born from marble, she saw a masterpiece in the works; hindered only by what the artist had originally thought of as beauty.

By accepting her own masculinity, the protag then realizes that she no longer has to run away from the BBD and that she can, in fact, go steel toe-to-toe with her instead.

the big dykey killer as a metaphor for the female protagonist's own repressed masculinity which she fears and sees as monstrous. escape as a series of events that have the latent butch protagonist gradually masculinized by circumstances beyond her control

[thatredheadwriter]

Supernatural Preferences: You’re wearing their clothes.

Here’s a new thing I’m trying, and finally pushing through the massive writers block I’ve been going through lately. I am still working on requests and still taking new requests. Let me know if you like these, and I’ll keep doing more.

Preferences are for Sam, Dean, Cas, Jack, Gabriel, and Lucifer.

Warnings include (but are not limited to):

mentions of/allusions to sex

swearing

making out

alcohol

canon level violence

Sam

You sat up in bed and stretched, but you were immediately taken aback by the chill in the room. The bunker got cold sometimes, but you couldn’t ever remember a time that you could nearly see your own breath. You braced yourself for a moment before sliding out from under the warmth of your covers and let your feet hit the cold cement floor.

Sleeping in your underwear and a t-shirt wasn’t feeling like such a good idea now, so you quickly slipped on a pair of jogger style lounge pants and your favorite fuzzy socks before padding out into the hallway in search of one of the guys, hopefully to figure out what the hell was going on.

First you passed Dean’s closed door. Before you could knock, you heard soft snores from inside, and decided to let him be, knowing he and Sam had been hunting non-stop lately. A few doors down was Sam’s room. The door was open, but Sam was nowhere to be found.

Another chill ran down your spine and you regretted not pulling on a sweatshirt or jacket over the t-shirt you’d slept in. You considered going back for one, but one of Sam’s gigantic faded blue flannels hung on the end of his bedpost, and you couldn't help yourself. You were so cold and it looked so warm.

You pulled it on and took just a second to appreciate the softness and warmth on your freezing skin. Turning your head to the side, you caught a whiff of Sam’s deodorant and shampoo. Suddenly you were feeling warm in more ways than one.

But you shook your head and exited Sam’s room, heading towards the main hub of the bunker. While you were definitely appreciating an excuse to steal Sam’s shirt, it was still too damn cold for indoors. You finally reached the kitchen, but there was no sign of Sam or Cas.

Just when you were getting ready to go back for your phone so you could call the elusive sasquatch, you heard banging and cursing coming from the hallway opposite the one you just came from. 

Sam was in what you’d later identify as the boiler room, an old toolbox on the ground beside him, fishing inside an old, rusted pipe.

“So I’m guessing you noticed the drop in temperature,” you chuckled, and tried to keep your teeth from chattering.

Sam did a double take. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t you standing in the doorway looking absolutely adorable wearing his shirt.

“Uh, yeah…” he stared, obviously distracted. “Is that my shirt?”

You blushed, for the first time since you woke up actually feeling a little warm. 

“Yeah,” you answered sheepishly, looking down at your sock-clad feet. “Sorry, I was looking for you and it was freezing and I…I kinda just couldn’t help myself. I can take it off if you want,” you offered quickly.

“Hell no,” Sam smirked, looking you up and down. “If anyone is taking that shirt off of you, it’s going to be me.”

Dean

Dean’s soft snores and your steady breathing were the only sounds in the dark room as you slowly woke. You sat up carefully, not wanting to wake the sleeping hunter and also being very aware of the soreness that lingered from last night’s recreational activities..

You’d been flirting with Dean for weeks, but last night you finally had the bunker to yourselves. You’d decided to busy yourself with setting up your room, but that was abandoned after Dean found you dancing to Warrant’s ‘Cherry Pie’. Hours later you’d fallen asleep in his arms, wondering what exactly you’d gotten yourself into.

Slowly, as not to wake Dean, you stood from the bed and squinted in the dark room until you found Dean’s discarded t-shirt from the night before. You pulled it over your head and adjusted your hair before slipping out into the hallway.

In your own room, you pulled on a clean pair of panties, black like the t-shirt. Knowing Sam was off on a hunt with Eileen somewhere in Florida, you didn’t bother with restrictive pants. For a moment, you considered going back to Dean’s room, back to his warm embrace, but then your stomach growled and you had a better idea.

You hadn’t been hunting with the boys for long, but if you knew one thing about Dean, it was that he loved to eat, especially breakfast food. In the kitchen you set to work, making pancake batter, cutting fruit, and laying bacon into neat lines in the pan on the stove.

You hummed and swayed your hips, ‘Cherry Pie’ still stuck in your head. With a fork, you turned the bacon in the pan and began pouring pancake batter into another pan on the large industrial stovetop.

Suddenly you were stilled as toned, scarred arms wrapped around your middle, accompanied by a pair of lips  that attached themselves to the back of your neck. You giggled a bit as Dean’s scruff tickled the skin at the base of your neck.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” you grinned as you continued your work over the stove.

Dean harrumphed behind you and released you, making his way over to the coffee station and starting a fresh pot for the two of you.

“You left me,” he grumbled. If his voice weren’t so low and sexy, you’d swear he was whiney.

“I’m sorry,” you finally turned to look at him and had to stifle a laugh. He was in his boxers and Men of Letters robe and his hair was sticking in every direction like he’d stuck his finger in an electric socket. Hickies, bite marks, and scratches littered the exposed skin and you couldn’t help the wash of pride that came over you. “I’m making breakfast though. Pancakes, with bacon. I know you can’t stay mad when there’s bacon involved.”

“M’not mad,” he averted his eyes, and you swore you detected a hint of embarrassment. You could tell he was holding something back, so you just stayed quiet and waited for him to spill it.

“You stole my thing,” he blurted as you flipped the pancakes in front of you.

“I did what?”

He rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, “You stole my thing. I wanted to make breakfast for you. I’ve actually wanted to make you breakfast for a while now.”

“Dean, I promise, you can make breakfast next time,” you said confidently, but as soon as the words left your mouth, your heart dropped. What if there wasn’t going to be a next time? What if for him, this was just a one-night stand? “I mean-”

Dean cut you off with a growl and you turned to see the same devious look he’d first pinned you with last night. “You’re damn straight I’ll be making breakfast next time. Seems I didn’t do my job last night.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, I know for a fact I didn’t do my job if you can still walk. Now let’s eat some breakfast so I can get back to work.”

You swallowed hard and turned up the heat on the stove, eager to finish breakfast as fast as possible.

Cas

“H-he-hey Cas,” you greeted the former angel through chattering teeth as you pushed past him into his motel room.

You’d just taken down a naiad, a greek water nymph who’d been killing off corrupt EPA agents and business men responsible for polluting the local water supply. It wasn’t that you didn’t sympathize with her, hell, first thing you did when you found out was file several reports and turn in copies of your evidence on the remaining sleazebags to the authorities, but you couldn’t let her kill people. Which is why you were now standing in the middle of Cas’s motel room, soaking wet, in the middle of February.

“(Y/N), you’re drenched,” Cas looked you over with concern as you moved to the bathroom, looking for towels.

“Thanks for the update, Cas. I’m aware,” you huffed sarcastically and began stripping off your jacket and flannel.

Cas swallowed thickly and watched your hands unbuttoning your jeans,“What are you doing?”

“I have to get out of these wet clothes or I’m going to get hypothermia,” you clenched your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering. A new wave of chills ran down your spine as you met Cas’s eyes, but you weren’t sure if it was from his hungry look or the cold wet clothes now falling at your ankles.

“Besides, I’m filthy. I’m thinking a hot shower is going to feel awesome,” you grinned trying to lighten the mood.

“What will you wear? After you-”

“I’m not sure. The bag I had got washed downstream, all my clothes were in it, along with my wallet. I’m lucky I had enough gas to get here and a backup phone to call the guys. They’re the ones who told me you’re staying here.”

You had stripped off your t-shirt, leaving you only in your bra and panties. With Cas, you didn’t think much of it, he’d seen you naked before, albeit as an angel and in more of a clinical/life-or-death situation type thing.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, his voice sounding strained as he turned to leave.

You emerged from the shower almost an hour later, too addicted to the feeling of the hot water to get out, but you needed to. The motel soap wasn’t anything fantastic, but you smelled better than the dirty, polluted lake you’d nearly been drowned in.

After drying off, you combed your fingers through your hair the best you could. You were prepared to wrap yourself in the towel and go out into the room, but you were shocked to see a white t-shirt and a pair of red plaid boxer shorts sitting on top of the toilet tank, neither of which was there when you’d gone in.

They were both big on you, but more importantly they were clean and dry. You slipped out into the room to see Cas sitting on the edge of the bed shirtless in gray sweatpants, watching the TV. When you got closer you realized he was watching Looney Tunes, and your giggle alerted him to your presence.

He turned to face you, eyes filled with kind concern. “(Y/N), are you feeling better?”

“I’m much better, Cas,” you smiled softly at him before sitting down on the bed next to him. “Who’s clothes are these, by the way?”

“Mine,” he said simply, as if that answered everything. When your puzzled look didn’t change, he sighed. “Since becoming human, I’ve had to make some adjustments. I now require sleep, which is easier in softer, looser fabrics than my suit. My clothes also require regular cleaning, and I found that most laundromats prefer you wear clothes while washing your other clothes.”

You giggled at the thought of Cas sitting in a laundromat, naked.

“Ok, I understand. Thanks for the loan.”

“This motel offers take-away laundry service. I was going to send your clothes to be cleaned in the morning.”

“Wow, fancy. And to think I was just going to wash them in the bathtub,” you grinned before settling into comfortable silence next to him.

The two of you watched cartoons for a while, but you couldn’t help the occasional shiver from the lingering cold still nestled in your core. When you yawned, Cas broke the silence.

“I will sleep on the couch tonight,” he said matter-of-factly and walked over to the closet to retrieve the extra blanket and pillow.

“Why?” you scoffed, earning a heart-melting confused puppy look.

“Well, there is only one bed. You’ve been through a trauma and I am a gentleman so I thought-”

“Cas, you can sleep on the couch if you want to, but there’s no rule that says we can’t share a bed. And it’s sure as hell going to be more comfortable than some crusty motel couch.”

You could see the wheels turning as he processed what you were saying. For a moment you wondered if you’d pushed him too far, but he slowly put the bedding away.

You moved to the head of the bed and pulled the sheets back and crawled underneath. Cas copied your actions on the other side and turned off the tv and lamp before settling in, leaving you in complete darkness.

Small shivers wracked your body, and you tried your best to stay still, but Castiel’s gravelly voice broke the dark silence. 

“(Y/N), are you shaking?”

“Yeah, sorry Cas,” you whispered shakily, “I’ll try to stop.”

“Is it because you’re cold?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Would it help if we shared body heat? I believe humans call it spooning?”

Your heart sped up at the suggestion and the side of you that insisted on one night stands and prevented you from admitting you like rom-coms was screaming ‘NO!”. But your romantic and practical sides won out. Without saying a word, you rolled over so your back was facing Cas and backed up on the bed until you hit his solid frame.

He carefully wrapped his arms around you, like he was afraid you’d break if he grabbed you too roughly. As you settled into a comfortable position, you pressed your feet against his clothed shins, eliciting a small hiss.

“Your feet are very cold,” he whispered in your ear, but you only hummed in response, feeling warmer and sleepier already. As your breathing slowed, Cas sighed and buried his nose in your hair, content with his lot in life for the first time in a very long time.

Jack

If anyone was going to unleash a supernatural flu virus, it would be a Winchester. Dean opened a box he found in one of the storage rooms and accidentally broke the bottle inside. The next day he came down with nasty flu-like symptoms that neither Cas nor Jack could cure. It wasn’t too severe, not life-threatening anyways. With some research, you found that the vial had contained a version of the flu virus from 1918 that was impervious to methods of supernatural cure. 

A couple days later, Dean was worse and Sam was starting to get sick. Cas and Jack seemed to be immune, despite the fact that they couldn’t heal either of them. You weren’t sick yet, and when the boys questioned it, you just chalked it up to being young and still having things like a liver and immune system.

“Here,” you shoved a shot glass full of amber, syrupy liquid towards Dean and began pouring another one for Sam. He picked it up with a sniffle and looked at it warily.

“What is it?” His voice was thick with congestion and his nose was red from sneezing. Despite his usual tough-guy act, you could tell he was miserable.

You shoved the other glass towards Sam, who looked halfway out of it. His eyes were glazed over and he was breathing heavily through his mouth.

“It’s rock n rye, an old family recipe. It’ll help with the cough, congestion, sore throat, and it’ll help you sleep. Take it, then take a turn in a hot shower, and then off to bed, both of you,” you ordered, giving them a hard look. These boys had saved your ass too many times to count, hell they were family, and now it was your turn to pick up the slack.

Both boys downed their shots. Sam gave a grimace and looked at his empty glass in disgust while Dean gave his glass a look of thoughtful consideration. You took back the shot glasses and rinsed them in the sink as the boys went off to follow your instructions.

You filled a pair of water bottles with fresh, cold water and screwed the lids back on tightly before carrying them off to the boys rooms. Dean hardly ever drank water, Sam would more often, but you kept on both of them to stay hydrated, knowing it would make them feel better.

On your way back to the main hub of the bunker, you ran into Cas.

“(Y/N), can I help you with anything?”

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ as you pushed past him to put the boys' dirty dishes you’d collected from their rooms into the sink. “Just taking care of the sick and elderly.”

You winked at Jack who was sitting at the dining table, tearing into a bowl of his favorite cereal. Cas never understood your obsession with calling the brothers old, but he did find amusement in their irritation with it. You pulled a bowl down from the sink and filled it with the cereal Jack had left on the counter.

“How are they?” Jack asked once he swallowed.

“They’re doing fine. I gave them some of my home remedy and sent them to clean up and go to bed. They should be better in a week or-” you found yourself clearing your throat, coughing as you tried to finish your sentence. Cas and Jack both looked at you with concern.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Jack asked, real concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’m totally fine,” you shrugged off their concern and poured milk into the bowl.

-----------------------------------------------

You were not fine. By bedtime you’d developed a sore throat, but you knew you were really screwed when you woke up at four in the morning freezing to death but covered head to toe in a sheen of sweat.

Groaning, you made your way to the kitchen in search of a glass of water.

“(Y/N), what are you doing up?” Jack stuck his head in from the library. 

You gave him a pitiful look before groaning, “I think I’m sick.”

Jack made his way into the kitchen and you closed your eyes as Jack rested the back of his hand on your forehead. You whimpered at the loss of contact when he pulled away.

“You’re burning up,” Jack frowned and looked over your disheveled appearance. “You should get back to bed.”

“I came to get some water.”

“I’ll get you whatever you need, just go back to bed.”

You trudged back to the bedroom and climbed back into your bed, but just couldn’t get comfortable. You were starting to wonder where Jack was, but soon he appeared in your open doorway, holding a tray of assorted items.

He set the tray on your desk and you could see a glass of water, cold and flu medicine, the jar of rock n rye you’d poured from earlier, and a shot glass. He poured out some of the bitter solution and handed you the glass which you downed quickly with a shake of your head. Next he passed you the medicine and water, which you also took immediately.

“Can I get you anything, do anything else?”

“I’m still so fucking freezing,” you groaned, drawing your knees up to your chest, trying to build warmth.

Jack frowned a bit and moved over to your closet.

“Where are your sweatshirts?” he asked after a few seconds of shuffling through the clothes hanging there.

“Two of them are dirty. My other one got ruined with Leviathan goo on that last hunt.”

Without another word, Jack walked out of your room, leaving you on the bed confused. He returned a moment later with something in his hands. He held it out to you and you recognized it as his favorite hoodie.

“Jack, you don’t have to-”

“No, I want to, (Y/N). Please take it.”

You took it from him and slipped it on over your head, and began feeling warmer almost instantly.

“Better?”

“Better,” you offered a small smile, accompanied with a sniffle.

Jack didn’t look at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something. When you finally caught his eye, he sheepishly asked, “Can I stay?”

“Of course…but why?’

“I can’t cure you, but I want to help you feel better. Whatever I can do. I want to watch over you.”

You smiled at the sentiment and scooted over in the bed, wordlessly patting the empty space beside you. You grabbed your TV remote from your nightstand and clicked it on as you settled into Jack’s side.

“You should go to bed,” he commented as he wrapped his arm around you and watched you navigate over to Netflix.

“I will,” you said with a yawn, “But you’ve got to watch a movie made since 1986.”

That earned you a laugh from the young nephilim. You settled on ‘The Addams Family’ and let the remote get lost on the bed before finally relaxing into what would turn out to be your best sick-day ever.

Gabriel

You woke up in a large four-poster bed. For once, your body wasn’t sore, your mouth didn’t taste like stale whiskey, and your head didn’t ache with the memories of your last hunt or too much Jack. The bed was dressed in plush white linens and sat in the middle of a large room.

Doors opened to balconies on either side of you which created a nice cross-breeze, one looking out over a wooded area, the other showed clear cerulean blue ocean that disappeared off into the horizon. Through a doorway, you saw a room that was clearly a bathroom, adorned in blues that matched the water outside and crisp white. There were a pair of double doors directly across from the foot of your bed, but they were closed.

For the first time, you looked down to see your usual clothes had been removed and replaced by a large men’s button down shirt. It was crisp white like the bed linens, and the top three buttons had been left undone. You cautiously stood from the bed, wary of your serene surroundings.

Standing, you were relieved to find you were still wearing underwear. You strode into the adjoining bathroom and looked in the mirror. Your hair was clean and while it wasn’t styled, it wasn’t as messy as it usually was when you woke up. The dark circles under your eyes had mostly vanished as were the few bruises you’d accumulated on recent hunts.

After using the facilities, washing your hands, and splashing some water on your face, you wandered back out to the bedroom. You wondered if you should see what was outside the room, but you hesitated, wanting to enjoy the small slice of paradise just a bit longer.

Your curiosity got the better of you and you made way out to the balcony facing the beach. People were lying on the sand, some in various states of nudity. A few of them splashed in the shallows and the sounds of laughter and music could just barely be heard over the crash of the waves.

“Like what you see?” a sultry voice asked from behind you. You jumped into defensive mode and struck out at the unknown individual.

A large, soft hand encircled your wrist gently, but firmly. You looked up into honey eyes that held an extremely familiar mischievous glint.

“Easy there, sugar. It’s just me,” Gabriel raised his eyebrows at you, waiting to see if you’d try to attack him again.

You sighed and pulled free of him, “Gabriel, what the hell is going on?”

“What’s going on is I saved your ass, back in Albuquerque no less. What the hell were you doing in Albuquerque?”

“Tulpa hunt,” you thought back, remembering what happened before you’d woken up in some beach-front resort. “Some dumbass game developers put the symbol in their new MMORPG. Suddenly people who were dying in the game were dying in real life.”

“And…” Gabriel spun his fingers, prompting you to remember everything that had happened.

You’d tracked down the tulpa, found a way to summon it in its corporeal form and kill it. But of course it got complicated. One of the developers wasn’t such a dumbass after all, he’d invoked the tulpa on purpose, and wanted free press for his games. He sicced the tulpa on you and you were nearly dead. Suddenly there was a white light and everything went blank.

“Wait, so you saved me?”

“Killed the tulpa and the nerd that created him,” Gabriel looked pleased with himself, “I think I’d make a pretty decent hunter.”

“So, what were you doing in Albuquerque?” you questioned, your suspicions arising. You didn’t exactly believe in coincidences.

“You really don’t remember?” Gabriel dropped the smug facade for the first time since you’d met him. “Let me show you,” he reached out two fingers and you allowed him to place them on your temple.

You saw yourself lying on the ground, bloody, the shadowy form of the tulpa standing over you.. The game developer was speaking to his attack dog, but that wasn’t what you heard. Instead you heard your own voice, your thoughts.

“Damn, guess this is it. “

The tulpa turned back to you and lunged.

“Gabriel…” was your last thought as you raised your arms in a feeble attempt to fend off the monster.

Suddenly you were back in the resort, chest heaving as you processed this new information.

“You prayed to me,” Gabriel’s voice was just above a whisper as he spoke.

“And you came,” you looked at him and saw something in his face you hadn’t expected: vulnerability.

His hand moved up to cup your jaw with the lightest of touches, “I couldn’t just let my favorite little human get hurt.”

You reached up and placed your hands on either side of his face, pulling him down so you could press your lips to his. They were just as soft as they looked, and he of course tasted like candy. It started to get more heated, but Gabriel pulled away with a playful smirk.

You frowned, which only made him laugh.

“There’s plenty of time for that, later,” he pecked your swollen lips once more before turning and pushing open the double doors and striding through them. If you wanted more, answers or attention, you’d have to follow. You found him pulling food out of a stainless steel fridge in a gorgeous kitchen.

In the living space, floor to ceiling windows offered more panoramic views of the beach and greenery.

“Where are we exactly?” you asked, taking a seat on a barstool, careful to adjust the shirt you were wearing so not to expose anything too important. “And what the hell is with the outfit?”

Gabriel grinned through a mouthful of pistachios, “We’re in Mallorca, my own personal hideaway. As for the outfit, I don’t exactly have things in your size just lying around.”

You rolled your eyes at his excuse, “Gabe, we both know you can create anything you want. So, really, what’s with the outfit?”

He sighed as he set a large pot in the sink and turned on the water.

“Let’s just say I’ve been imagining how you’d look in my shirt, and just my shirt, since the first time I met you. I saw the opening, and I took it.”

“And what’s with the, uh, Food Network here?” you gestured at the ingredients strewn about on the counter.

“I thought I’d make you a decent meal. Don’t you remember the first time we met?”

You thought back to when Gabriel had pulled you and the Winchesters from the warehouse in Biloxi just before a bomb went off. When you all got your bearings in a field a few miles away, you realized Gabriel’s hand had either accidentally or not so accidentally made its way to your ass. And you had told him…

“You owe me dinner first,” he finished your thought, making you smile.

“Well then, let’s get cooking.”

Lucifer

Lucifer didn’t understand a lot of things about humans, and there were even more things he didn’t understand about you.

For instance you’d recently been obsessed with shopping. Not for yourself, no, but for him. Every chance you got you’d drag him off to the local mall of whatever town he’d whisked you off to or surprise him with bags of various and sundry loungewear.

He didn’t say anything about it, not at first anyways, he was always afraid of hurting your feelings. But he hated watching you spend money on things for him, especially when he couldn’t care less about them. One day when he was particularly frustrated, he’d caught a pair of demons tailing you and fought off three different angels in less than 36 hours, he just couldn’t pretend to be excited about the three sweatshirts and two pairs of jogger pants you’d bought him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice small and shaky in a way that he hated. He hated it even worse when he was the one who made you sound that way. His anger at the demons, at the angels, at himself, it all boiled over and his hands slammed down on the table in front of him.

“Dammit, (Y/N)!” he stood abruptly and the chair went flying back into the wall behind him. “Stop buying me this stupid, petty shit. I don’t want or need it.”

His eyes glowed red and his chest heaved. Without another word, you dropped the bags and stormed out, slamming your heavy front door behind you.

He didn’t go looking for you, not right away. He’d never been the best at controlling his temper, hell he was the devil after all. But the look in your eyes, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

When he did go looking, he found you at your favorite spot. The local botanical gardens had a Japanese tea garden, you’d told him about it the first time he stayed the night at your place.

He had been on protection detail, helping the Winchesters hunt some low-level monster who had developed a taste for psychics, psychics like you. Instead of being scared of him, like you should have been, you spent the entire night talking his ear off about your favorite music and painters and places. He never would have admitted it, but it was that night that you first had him wrapped around your finger.

“I’m sorry,” he said, waiting for you to turn around and acknowledge him.

“For what, exactly?” you asked him coldly, watching the leaves of a Japanese maple flutter in the wind.

“For everything,” Lucifer sighed, “For yelling at you, for calling your very thoughtful gifts stupid,” he wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled you back towards him,  placing an open-mouthed kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“And petty,” you added, not caving to his advances just yet.

“Yes, I called them stupid and petty,” he said between sloppy kisses moving down towards your shoulder, moving the fabric of your cardigan aside.

“And?” you prompted, making him halt his motions.

When he didn’t answer, you pushed his arms apart and walked down the path, needing to get away from him. He of course followed, like you knew he would.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t like them in the first place?” you snapped at him, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as you spun to face him.

“I didn’t ~not~ like them,” he insisted, “I just don’t understand why you insist on buying me things I don’t need, wasting your hard earned money. I was afraid I’d hurt your feelings.”

You scoffed, “Do you want to know why I bought you those things? Most people, when they have a boyfriend, a partner, the partner gets a drawer at their place, or better yet, they move in. But you’re an archangel, Luci. I don’t…we don’t get normal. I just wanted to wake up in the morning and know that you’re still here, still coming back to me at the end of the day. I want to wear your shirts down to breakfast after our nights together.”

As you spoke he closed the distance. When you were finished, he fixed you with a look. It wasn’t a rare look, but it was one only reserved for you.

“All you had to do was ask,” he whispered. His teeth grazed the shell of your ear and you were suddenly whisked back to your bedroom at home.

-----------------------------------------------

You woke up the next morning to the scent of coffee and bacon wafting up from the kitchen. From the floor, you picked up Lucifer’s discarded henley from the night before and slipped it over your head.

Downstairs, Lucifer pulled a tray of danishes from the oven, singing along to ‘Highway to Hell’ that was pouring out of the retro radio you had sitting on the counter.

“Hey sexy,” you grinned as you realized he was wearing the gray sweatpants you’d bought him a few weeks ago and a black t-shirt with the words ‘Maybe today Satan” printed on it that you just couldn’t resist.

“Hello gorgeous,” he answered without looking at first, but when he turned and saw you there in his shirt, he let out a throaty groan.

“Like what you see?” you wiggled your eyebrows.

“From now on, I think you should only wear my clothes. Gives me an excuse to steal them back.”

thatredheadwriter’s Masterlist

[buckgasms]

Heyyy!!!!!! First of all, congratulations on your 1.5k!!!!! That's so awesome:)

Second, idk if you're still taking this kind of requests anymore, but if you are could you please, please, please with a cherry on top write something with sub!lumberjack!Bucky. Just imagine that huge hunk of a man, with muscles bulging underneath the flannels, whining desperate for mommy to let him come. Know that he could overpower you easily, that that's not how good boys behave. With tears in his eyes because he's been right on the edge far to many times, but still taking it because he knows mommy with give him a treat later. Pegging being the treat, because getting his ass stretched by mommy, is his favourite.

If you don't feel comfortable with this, it's fine, but I feel like this would be such a fun thing to explore 💜💜

Anonymous said may we have edging with your lumberbuck pls and thank you

Ok this is something very new for me because I am totally a submissive and a pillow princess so please bear that in mind when reading this fic!

Having said that I could not get this thought out of my head so I figured it would be worth a try! I suppose it's an AU of an AU 🤣

I changed the 'mommy' bit of the request just because that was too much for me, but hopefully it still works 🤞🏻

Come celebrate 1.5k with me!

-----------------------💋----------------------

When you went out with Bucky, people always assumed that the big beefy guy, with muscles bigger than most people's heads and towered over you would be the boss at home. But as you watched him struggle against his bonds, tears leaking from his eyes and his cock making a mess over his stomach, you smiled to yourself, knowing that you very much had that man under your thumb.

"Angel please? Please let me come?" You hushed him, running your nails gently up and down his thighs, as he moaned and strained against his ties. "Not yet sweetie, you gotta wait or you won't get your treat." You leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to his aching cock, and he hissed again. "Let's give you something else to think about hmm? Instead of being so greedy" you mocked and climbed up his big body so you sat with your pussy on his mouth, nose in your ass and you could still play with his cock. He immediately started licking and sucking at your folds and you occasionally would land a few spanks to his throbbing dick, which would only spur him on.

"Ooh that's so good, much better" you sighed as his tongue fucked you and licked around your clit as you pumped at his cock. "Please baby, gonna come" he muttered under you and you squeezed him a little harder, and he groaned as you dragged him away from yet another orgasm. "Ooh naughty!! You have to behave Bucky or we'll have to stop!" You teased him and watched as the cuffs that held his hands bent the wood of the bedpost. If he wanted to, he could easily break free and take what he wanted. But he would never. He loved this and you far too much.

You ground down on his face and chased your orgasm, moaning loudly and praising his excellent tongue work as you came, drenching his face as you did. "Thank you angel....thank you...please? Please?" Was all he could say as you dismounted and got off the bed, walking around and watching him.

You'd been doing this for nearly two hours and whilst you could make him go for more, he really did deserve a nice treat. Besides edging was fun, but so was overstimulation.

"Ok Bucky, just relax, m'gonna make it all better and give you what you want" you headed over to your little box of goodies and pulled out your favourite strap. He watched enraptured as you stepped in and fitted it snugly to your body. You took your time making him suffer as you lubed up the silicone. You mostly used lube but you also made a show of spitting on it and rubbing it in, his growl spurring you on.

"You can come when I'm all the way in. Not a second before ok? If you do, I'll lock that big cock up and you can stay like that for a week..." You warned him as you unlocked his feet and helped him spread his legs wider to accommodate you. You then pushed his thighs upwards so he was folded over a little and dropped another line of spit down onto his asshole, making you both moan as you pushed it in a little. "Angel please, please I can't....."

You hushed him again then lined up the silicone cock with his puckered hole. You eased in and you watched him grip the sheets as he tried not to come. With some mercy you pushed all the way in, stretching him around you until you were fully seated. With that he came, making a mess over his muscled stomach, and shouting out his pleasure. You praised him and began fucking him in long, deep strokes that had his eyes rolling. "Doing so well Bucky, keep coming, wanna see you make a mess for me.." you cooed and he could only oblige as you gripped his cock and pumped it in time with your thrusts. He writhed beneath you and you had a sudden surge of energy as this powerful man writhed and moaned beneath you. His come dribbled down your hands and he thrashed as he came again, over and over, his whole body wrought with pleasure and pain.

"Oh fuck baby, itssogood" he strained as you hit is prostate over and over, still jerking his cock. "I know Bucky, give me one more hmmm? Just one more little one?" You thrust fast and hard and played with his balls before gripping his cock once more and dragged one more orgasm from him.

You pulled out and climbed up his body, undoing the cuffs on his hands and sat against his side, stroking his face and hair as he panted. His hands gripped your wrist and pulled you forward to meet him in a sloppy kiss which you hungrily returned.

"Oh baby, that was incredible..." You rubbed his wrists and kissed his fingers as he lay watching you, as if you'd hung the moon. "What do you say naughty?" And he blanched, "thank you angel, thank you so much!" You giggled and pressed more kisses to his lips, "that's better, thought I'd have to start all over again."

[ssahotstuff]

Aaron Hotchner Playlist Collection 💕

All Too Well Taylor’s version by Taylor Swift can be found here

Word count: 13.8k

This is PART ONE, it was too long to post so I’ll be posting the other half right after this!

Warnings for the series: drinking, cursing, mentions of food, mentions of pregnancy and allusions to fertility issues, abandonment, SMUT pretty early on(readers first time, choking, penetration, oral f&m receiving, breeding kink with the intentions of pregnancy, birth control slip up, spanking, squirting, slightly dom Hotch, bondage, if I missed anything let me know)

Also: Jack does not exist in this universe. Haley has still been Reaper’d though.

IMPORTANT: text messages and flashbacks will be italicized

It was colder than you remembered. You supposed that having been locked up for a year, untouched, unloved, it was as cold as you, frigid, bitter. You hadn't always been that way, and there had been a time that the wood burning stove in the corner had warmed all of the rooms in your hideaway, but time does things we don't always recognize, and it had taken its toll everywhere that you had stepped.

You stepped over the threshold to be met with eerie silence, the woods covered in snow outside, and that just added to the soundless environment. You had beat most of it on the drive up, but unless there was a break in the weather, you'd be snowed in for the weekend. You'd checked the weather; it had been your plan, to clean it out over the weekend so you could sell it, closing the chapter that would forever be unwritten so you could move on with your life somewhere that wasn't the woods of Virginia.

Your first task was to start a fire; you knew there was plenty of wood, it had gone untouched after you left, covered with a tarp out back. You flipped on the light and sat down your bag, sighing heavily at the scent wafting through the air. It was his phantom, come to haunt you once more. It was earthy, rugged, his cologne left on a shirt somewhere in a closet, your nose trained to pick it up like some sort of blood hound. It filled your eyes with tears that you brushed away immediately, trying to stay focused on warming up the house. It didn't take long, you'd done it exactly the way he showed you, and after a few minutes, there was a bright orange flame flickering inside the stove. You held your hands up, trying to rid yourself of the chill, although you were certain it would stay regardless of the cold. You had the kind of shivers that could only be healed by leaving and never coming back—it was your nerves, the tremors ailing your entire body.

You added some more logs to the growing embers, closing the door to the stove and taking a peek around. You needed to cook something to eat, so you decided on a can of soup, letting it warm slowly on the stove while you crept around, afraid of stirring whatever ghosts you two had left behind. You turned on the bedroom light and immediately decided you wouldn't be sleeping in there. You were heading for the couch when you spied his flannel shirt, still on the bedpost where he'd left it. You found yourself gravitating towards it, reaching out to touch the fabric. It was soft, worn, but still vibrant. The forest green fabric and tan stripes had suited him, the sleeves rolled up halfway when he was focused on a task, but otherwise rolled down and buttoned on the ends. You were chilly, so you slid it on and inhaled deep, taking a breath of his presence for just a moment, a guilty pleasure, self indulgent.

There was a time you wouldn't have thought twice— you craved the smell of him, the way it lingered in the air and left it's mark on everything. Now it was unnerving, making you choke up. You padded down the hall to the living room and made yourself comfortable while you waited on dinner to cook, checking your phone mindlessly. You sent Penelope a text to let her know you'd arrived and you were likely going to be snowed in, and not to worry if you weren't back in a day or two. She'd worry anyway, because she knew the kind of headspace you went into at the cabin—she'd witnessed your love and the swift pang of heartbreak after. She'd seen the worst of him and still had to look him in the eye afterward. You were lucky enough that he'd left without so much as a call; he'd left a letter in the cabin that you'd found a year ago today, which is why you decided the weekend would be a ceremonial one. You were finally ready to let go of the pain that he'd caused—forever.

"Babe, this place is perfect. It's the right size, and look at the wood stove!" He was more than excited as he took a self guided tour through the cabin that you'd purchased together—your first step into a life of normalcy. He was ready to retire, ready to settle down. You'd had one too many talks about a baby, about being together everyday, and now it was finally becoming a reality. It was hard to put into words how whole you felt, like you'd made the best decision of your life.

"I love it," you beamed, kissing him lightly as he buzzed around, rolling the sleeves of his flannel shirt up so he could start a fire. He'd learned from the former owner how to clean the stove pipe, how to maintain it through the summer months—he'd learned it all, and eagerly too.

"And the bedroom is big enough for a crib. The bedroom across the hall from ours would make a great nursery," it was him that had suggested it in the first place, carefully, because he wasn't sure how you felt about kids. You were ready, happy to become a mother. You weren't pregnant yet but at the rate you were going, you'd be there in no time.

"I noticed that too. What do you want for dinner?"

"We can cook later, let's try out the new bedroom," he was already grabbing your waist, planting his lips on yours. It was starting to warm up, whether it be from the wood stove or your bodies smushed together, you'd never know. You were shedding clothes faster than he could keep up, in your underwear by the time he reached the bed.

"Let me look at you," his eyes raked over your body before he dropped to his knees, peering up at you through his lashes. His hands snaked behind you to pull you forward, lips planting gentle kisses just above your panty line. You pulled his shirt off and felt your mouth go dry at the sight—you'd never grow tired of looking at him. From his broad, toned chest all the way to his toes, he was a masterpiece, made perfectly for you.

"This has been a perfect day," you breathed, letting him roll you panties down your legs; you stepped out of them and he wasted no time diving headfirst into your center. You cried out, covering your mouth immediately before you remembered you weren't in his tiny apartment anymore; there was no one around for miles.

"You can make all the noise you want out here, sweetheart."

It sent heat straight to your core, his sensual words and expert tongue, flicking lightly at your clit as you braced against the dresser for support. His hands were secure around your thighs, so you weren't going to fall. You found your release as he sucked on your clit, groaning into you simply because he loved to pleasure you, and he always had. He enjoyed touching you, marking you up in hickies, anything to show the world that you were his. You would never get used to the attention he gave you, it made you feel like the most special person in the world.

"Feels so good," you could barely keep your eyes open, but you didn't want to miss a second of him between your thighs. You tugged at his shoulders, trying to get him to move to the bed. He didn't budge, instead he shook his head, tongue still tracing circles over your bundle of nerves.

"We'll move after you cum again," he told you, easing a finger into your entrance as you exhaled shakily. He made sure his fingers were coated in arousal before he added another, his thumb circling your clit as he watched you closely. He was obsessed with the way you looked when you were sent over the edge, chest heaving, your hair a mess. It gave him more satisfaction than anything, it made him cocky. You loved his headstrong, bossy attitude more than anyone else, but you also got to experience a side of him that no one else saw.

Your legs shook in his grasp as you came, your thighs slick and destined to become even more so at the rate Aaron was going. He gave you little warning before he picked you up, bringing you to the bed.

"Time to make a baby," he whispered, situating you on the edge of the bed, your legs fully extended against his chest. He let his belt and pants clatter to the floor, furiously pushing down his boxers so he could line up with you. It was slow, filling. You felt every second of the stretch, clenching around him as he pushed further into you, bottoming out in you after a moment. You inhaled sharply at the feeling, biting your lip as you looked up at him. His brows were pulled tightly together as he began to rock back and forth, ducking down quickly to give you a kiss. You smiled up at him, watching him mimic your actions, beaming back at you in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I love you, Aaron," you could barely choke the words out, his hips slammed into you repeatedly, making you cry out in pleasure. It only pushed him to go faster, your moans echoing together throughout the brand new house you were going to start a family in.

"And I love you, gorgeous girl. More than anything," you couldn't help the orgasm that rocked your body, making you clench your teeth and fist the pale blue sheets that he'd insisted on for the new bed. You bought them on the drive up; they'd been on the bed maybe an hour, and they'd be ruined even quicker. He was finishing deep inside of you, hunched over as he groaned loudly, his tongue between his teeth. You took a moment to admire how he looked, more in love than you'd ever seen him, his eyes twinkling as he cupped your face.

"I'm going to tuck your legs together. Keep them up," he instructed, telling you to prop them on the headboard. You felt a little silly, but he laid down next to you as if he thought it were a normal occurrence.

"You're serious about a baby, huh?"

"Of course I am. You'd be such a great mother, and now that I'm not working, I could spend the entire pregnancy being obsessed with you."

You playfully rolled your eyes, shivering lightly. The stove was warm enough but it hadn't reached the bedroom yet. Without missing a beat, he was retrieving his flannel to cover your upper half up with.

"You're already obsessed," you teased, but really, it was true, and you loved every second of it. You were convinced no one had ever loved anyone as much as he loved you. You watched him brush your hair behind your ear, his nose brushing yours before his lips lightly touched your own. You threaded your hands in his hair, keeping him in place so you could cover him in affection. He was the kind of man who wanted to be attached at your hip, wanted you to be close to him all the time. Despite how serious he was when he was at work, with you, he wanted his hands on you constantly, he wanted to take you everywhere, show you off. You went everywhere with him, dinner parties, lunch dates, the golf course, even though you didn't play. He'd let you day drink and ride around in the cart with him, cheering him on. You'd spent more time with him than you ever had with another man.

"I can't get enough of you. You're my favorite person in the world," he breathed, barely coming up for air before his lips connected with yours again, only getting more desperate by the second.

"And you're mine. I love you so much. I hope you stay forever," he moaned into your mouth before fixing his gaze on your naked body, his fingertips teasing your sides as he moved his lips to your cheek, then down the expanse of your jaw until he reached your neck. He sucked gently at your skin, leaving love marks in his wake. His hands made it to your center, parting your thighs so he could tease your entrance. You whimpered, bucking your hips lightly, aching for him to relieve some of the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. You had expected your first night to be spent unpacking, but the sun was setting and so far the only thing you'd worked on was making a baby.

"Forever. Would never want anyone else to have you," he mumbled against your skin, fingers connecting with your clit. He rubbed slow, precise circles on your sensitive skin, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth and sucking lightly. When he got in moods like this, you'd spend the better half of the night touching, learning, exploring one another's bodies like it was your profession. He loved finding new ways to pleasure you, to make you come unglued beneath his touch. There wasn't another person alive that knew your body like he did.

"Only you. I'll never want anyone else," it was a promise, a guarantee. It was the one thing that remained constant in your life—your love for him, the way he invaded your every thought.

"Could spend all day watching you just like this. So gorgeous," you felt the heat rising to your cheeks as you came, cursing lightly. He let out a chuckle as he patted his lap, his cock already throbbing against his lower stomach. You straddled him, lining him up with you before you sank down on him, the two of you sighing in unison as you slid down his member. He was usually the one in control, it wasn't often that he let you take the reigns, but you didn't waste a second of the opportunity. You leaned forward slightly and bounced on his dick, making him grip your hips tightly. You watched his eyes flutter shut, his arms outstretched, palms up. He had surrendered to you, letting you do as you pleased.

"That's it, baby. Feels so fucking good," he said it through gritted teeth, his hands helping to move your hips. You went faster, watching his mouth fall agape as he sputtered into you, raising up to meet your lips. He sat up, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You kissed his cheek, holding him tightly. The house was quiet, but you'd not set up the tv yet, so the only sounds were the crackling of the wood stove.

"God, I love you."

You'd never get tired of hearing it. For the last year, you'd gotten used to it, and now it was music to your ears. You'd fallen quickly, and so had he. It had seemed perfect at the time, circumstances and mutual friends bringing you together. Now, you were living together, trying to start a family. His job was long behind him and you could focus on life with him.

"I love you, Aaron. You hungry?"

"Maybe a little. We can make a pizza and set up the tv. Watch our show," you'd made a habit out of a corny ghost hunting show, watching it late at night in the dark, when the rest of the world was still. You didn't watch much tv, but you loved the ritual of sitting in bed with him and listening to the host tell the history of the different locations.

"We can put the tv in here for now if you want," you had another for the living room, but it was back at the apartment.

"I'll do that while you make the pizza," he suggested, pulling up his boxers and bringing you up out of the bed with him. You put on his flannel, buttoning it near the middle so it would stay on and made your way to the kitchen to preheat the oven. While it warmed, you searched for dishes among the piles of boxes, and Aaron checked the fire. It was heating the house nicely, but there was a backup source of heat as well for the especially cold nights, or for when you had a curious toddler and didn't want them burning their hands on a stove.

The idea of motherhood thrilled you, becoming a parent with your best friend seemed like the best way to do it. Your thoughts had been swimming with a baby all afternoon, wondering what kind of parents you two would be. You'd been talking about it for months but you finally quit your birth control and you were actively trying.

Aaron set out on a mission to hook up the tv, so you explored the rest of the house. There was a basement down below that you were going to convert into a playroom eventually. Aaron had the idea as soon as he saw it, somewhere for your babies to hang out for years to come, once they'd mastered the steps of course.

You could hear him down the hall working in the bedroom while you checked out the room across from yours. It was spacious, with a walk in closet, and beautiful hard wood floors. You wondered what it would be like to have a miniature version of the two of you running around, playing and growing up surrounded by love.

You made your way back to the kitchen, grabbing your phone and turning on music to fill the empty silence. You stood waiting on the ding of the oven, and after a moment of tinkering, Aaron was joining you, telling you he'd set up the tv. He nodded to your phone, reaching for your hand.

"This is a good one," he loved to listen to your music. He secretly profiled you based on what you were listening to, but you didn't mind. He twirled you around before bringing you into his arms, spinning you around the kitchen. It was dark, only the light above the stove to shine on you. For a minute you just danced around the kitchen, listening to the steady drum of his heart beating in his chest.

You woke to the chill of a forgotten fire, your breath visible as you scrambled off the couch and rushed to the thermostat on the wall. You turned on the heat so you could get warm quickly, flipping on the coffee maker as you stretched and yawned the sleep away. The first thing you did while waiting for coffee was check your phone, the only notification from an unknown number. It had left no voicemail, so you called it back, only to be sick at the sound on the other end.

"You've reached Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—"

You hung up immediately, dialing Penelope's number as quickly as possible.

"You okay?"

"No, Pen. He called me."

She gasped on the other end which was a clear sign that she hadn't known anything about it.

"When? Why? You haven't heard from him in a year," she reminded you, but you knew that you hadn't imagined it; it had been his voicemail that you heard.

"Sometime last night. I—I don't even know what I would say to him."

Truthfully, you wanted him to call back so you could scream every obscenity you knew at him, but that wouldn't help you in this stage of recovery from him. You were still angry, yes, but it wouldn't help anything.

"Not that he tells us about his private life, but I don't think there's been anyone since you."

"I'm not surprised. He loves the BAU more than he'll ever love a woman," you scoffed, remembering the letter he'd left you, and his reasoning for leaving in the first place.

"He did love you though. That's undeniable."

It was true. While you had him, he loved you more than anything. That was, until one day, he just didn't anymore. He shut off his feelings and returned to his shell.

"You don't do things like this to people that you love."

✨✨✨

Your conversation with Penelope had you shaken up; you had no clue what you'd do if he called again, but you wanted to be prepared for if it happened again. You knew being rude to him would only make things worse so you decided you'd hear what he had to say, and go from there.

You managed to get a little bit of packing done; there wasn't much left that you wanted to keep, so you were sorting everything into two stacks, your things to get rid of and his stuff. If he wanted it, he could come get it when you were done cleaning.

It was lunch time before you realized it, but you'd gotten a lot accomplished. You sat down on the couch to take a break and noticed that your phone was lit up with messages. Your recognized them as his, quickly opening it up to see what he had to say.

Are you busy around noon?

I just wanted to call and talk.

On one hand, you were curious as to what he had to say, but you were also terrified of speaking to him again. It was too easy to let him back in, too easy to forget the heartbreak if it meant having him back. You were weak, powerless to him, and he knew it.

I'm just at the cabin. We needed to talk at some point because I need to know what to do with your stuff.

You poured a cup of coffee while you were waiting on his response, the floor creaking beneath your steps. You hadn't remembered the house having so many quaint little qualities, or maybe you were just trapped in the nostalgia that it left behind. It was almost noon already, the shrill ring of your phone making you jump. You sat down on the couch and steadied your breathing, hitting the answer button, putting him on speakerphone.

"Hi."

"Why are you at the cabin alone? The weather is supposed to get bad tomorrow night."

You should never have told him where you were. That was your first mistake. You prayed he didn't show up, because that was the last thing you wanted to deal with.

"Because I'm selling it and moving somewhere it's warm all the time. I hate the snow."

You had only recently begun to hate the snow. Before, you and Aaron spent hours playing in the snow, watching it fall from branches, throwing snowballs, acting like kids.

"You're moving?" He sounded shocked, because you loved Virginia. You came to school here and stayed after because you liked the atmosphere.

"So what did you want to talk about, Aaron?"

You tried to change the subject, and he cleared his throat awkwardly on the other line.

"I wanted to apologize."

You laughed, although you didn't mean to; it was just ridiculous of him to do something like this after a year. Bringing up old wounds never helped anyone.

"I don't need it, but thank you."

"You deserve one though. And I am sorry that I put you through all of this. I thought I was ready and I wasn't."

In his letter he'd explained it all, albeit loosely, and as vague as possible. He'd never be able to truly leave his job.

"You're forgiven. Do you want your things?"

"I'll come help you, if you want me to."

That was the last thing you needed, but you really couldn't stop him if he decided to come. His name was on the paperwork just as well as yours was.

"You really don't have to do that. Like you said, the weather's getting bad and the last thing either of us need is to be snowed in together."

You heard him sigh on the other end of the line, but he wasn't finished, not by a long shot.

"Please, Y/n. Just let me come help. I'm only thirty minutes away."

"You aren't at work?"

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line as he tried to find the words to say. You had no idea that he was still hurting too, that his actions left consequences on his end too.

"I took today off. I— I don't know why I thought I'd see you today, but it felt inevitable."

You'd felt it too, although you'd never admit it to him.

"You're really coming, huh?"

He made an 'mhm' sound, and you felt all the air leave your lungs at the idea of being stuck with him, forced to fight with him; none of it sounded like fun to you.

"I'll bring lunch."

"Well I'll turn off the heat so you can play with the wood stove one last time. I'm going to miss this place."

You hadn't meant to say the last part out loud, but you couldn't take it back. You missed a simpler time, when all you needed were these walls and the man on the other end of the line. You were anxious to see him, shaking at the mere thought of being trapped alone with him. Hopefully you could work quicker and be gone before the bad weather hit.

"Me too. It'll be nice to see you again. I know the way I left things wasn't easy for you and again, I'm sorry."

You didn't want his apology. You wanted the last year back, the life you'd mapped out with him, you wanted it. You didn't want to live alone, not when you had a house that was meant to be shared. You discovered that seeing him was going to be a lot harder than you ever anticipated.

"It's okay, Aaron. Let's just drop it. Everything's fine now."

It was a lie, but you didn't want to talk about it anymore, and you hoped he got the hint.

"Is our bottle still there? Maybe we can finish it," you could practically hear the smile in his voice at the thought of finishing a 300$ bottle of scotch, a bottle that Rossi had gifted you two. It was still on his bedside table.

"It's here. I wouldn't drink it alone," you wouldn't have even thought about touching his stuff, not if you didn't have to. What you truly wanted was him to decide he didn't want you to pack up anything—but you'd never get what you wanted.

"I'll see you soon, okay? Don't start without me," he was hanging up before you could protest, so you could only sit and wait, and think about the way things were before.

✨✨✨

"It's too cold for you to be out without a coat,"  you'd just stepped outside with your coffee, the sun creeping over the mountains edge in the distance. You wanted to see it before it rose, the pinks and purples of the horizon glorious as the leaves faded into yellows and oranges. It wasn't that cold, but you were barefoot, and he was always afraid you'd get sick.

"I'm fine. Look," you nodded towards the sunrise, so he stood behind you, wrapping his arms around you so he could watch too. It was stunning, and you were glad you hadn't missed it. You took a sip of coffee and leaned up on your tip toes to kiss him, the air growing crisp as the wind blew slightly.

"What a view. We picked the perfect place," it had been three days of unpacking, fucking, organizing—but mostly, you'd just been filthy, taking advantage of the seclusion. You'd had so many neighbors before that you had to keep quiet, and Aaron loved that you didn't have to do that anymore.

"We sure did. We have to try to get something done today. At least one room," you decided, turning to face him so he knew you were serious.

"Or I could bend you over, right here. Fuck you over the railing," he countered, his eyes gleaming back at you. He took your mug, taking a sip before he sat it on the barstool behind him, bringing you forward and smashing his mouth against yours. You realized he'd been serious too when his hand slipped past your drawstring to play with your clit. There wasn't anyone around for miles, not here, tucked in your little hideaway. You were completely alone, so there was no one around to see him making good on his promise to fuck you over the railing, your arms holding tightly to the post as he slid into you and fucked you mercilessly. Your moans got lost in the whistle of the wind, your body no longer registering the frigid temperatures around you, only the erotic chaos captivating you.

"What was that about getting something done today?" He teased, and you could only giggle in response, because you were struggling to form a sentence. It was hard to think about anything but his hips slamming into you making your legs shake and the floor beneath you creak under your weight. You could feel yourself getting close, his cock buried deep inside of you, his fingertips gripping you tight enough to mark your skin.

"I'd rather be doing this," you admitted, spreading your legs slightly to give him better access. He shifted behind you, slowing down a bit, rolling his hips against you. It was a drastic, heavenly change from how rough he normally was in this position.

"Of course you would, dirty girl. We have forever to get settled in. Quit worrying and let me take care of you baby," you knew he was close, his hips were getting more urgent, he was a moaning mess, giving you every ounce of passion he had. When he came, he slipped out of you and pulled your pants up so he could take you inside. The temperature continued to drop, and you'd get sick if you stayed out any longer.

"Ready to start?"

He looked questionably at you as you headed for the bedroom, taking a box with you on the way. You heard the swift pad of feet behind you, stopping in the doorway to stare at you.

"One room and then we'll watch the ghost show?" He stepped forward while you considered his offer, nodding at him in response. He set to work on hanging up his clothes and you organized the closet on your side of the room. You worked mostly in silence, but you got finished quicker, just in time for dinner. He'd already decided to cook, so you left him to it while you took a shower.

By the time you were finished, he was nearly done with dinner, a pasta specialty that Rossi had taught him. You loved when he cooked—it was so out of character for him, but he enjoyed it.

"Smells good in here," you snaked your arms around his waist while he finished plating your food.

"You smell good. Is that the new body spray you got?" You couldn't believe he recognized the scent because you'd only used it once before, but he'd really liked it when you bought it.

"Yes! How'd you know?"

He turned around, kissing you before he took your plates in the direction of the bedroom.

"You smell like sugar cookies. Come on, you promised we'd watch the show," he raised his eyebrows at you, so you followed behind him, climbing in the bed after him to eat dinner. He was normally really particular about eating at the table, but he'd been in rare form the entire time at the cabin so far. He was breaking all of the rules; starting with fucking you outside. As much as he loved showing you off, he'd never been into exhibitionism before, and you found it strange that he'd start now, but you assumed it was because he could—it's hard not to get caught in the city, but here, there was no one to watch you.

"This one is in Virginia," he said excitedly, watching the men talk about a haunted mansion near Manassas, close to where he grew up.

"Oooh, Halloween is coming up. We should go," he'd never go for it, but it was a nice thought.

"You're kidding. You'd be terrified," he chuckled, and he wasn't wrong. You scared pretty easily, and a haunted house would be no exception.

"But I'd have you to protect me."

"I thought you wanted to do scary movies on Halloween?"

"You're right, I forgot," you told him, taking your empty plates to the kitchen. You grabbed the bottle of scotch Rossi had bought for you and two glasses, retreating back to the bedroom.

"You read my mind," he sat up, rubbing his hands together excitedly as you poured you both a glass, handing him the bottle so he could examine it. You knew it was fancy, but judging by Aaron's expression, you had no clue how expensive it truly was. You handed him the glass and he clinked it against yours, smiling wide before he took a sip.

"That's good," he mused, but you weren't impressed. It tasted like mint and fire, smooth but strong. You drained your glass quickly as opposed to him, who would sip on it for as long as possible.

"Gotta drink it fast or I'll gag," you made a face and he burst into laughter, pouring you another drink.

"It's not your taste, I know, but it's so expensive. Would be a shame not to drink it," he reasoned, and you gave it another try, sipping it slowly so you could try to pick out the different flavors; it didn't work, so you tossed it back and went to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Aaron was thoroughly amused, albeit a bit bewildered that you slammed two glasses of scotch back to back.

"We'll save the rest for a special occasion," he topped off his glass and sat it on the table on his side of the bed, patting his lap for you to climb into. You went happily, straddling his lap, your head resting in the crook of his neck.

"Feel all fuzzy," when you drank, you got the cuddles, which meant you wanted to be as close to him as possible. He loved it— it gave him the giggles, which was always a special treat for you.

"Good fuzzy?"

"Mhm. Wanna be close to you," you played with the hair at the nape of his neck, kissing lightly at his skin. He shifted beneath you so you could feel his cock, already growing hard beneath your hips. You tugged at his shirt before it made its way to the floor, your mouth sucking tenderly across the expanse of his chest, your nails dragging lightly down your shoulders. He shivered, grabbing his drink from the table and taking another long sip, exhaling deeply afterward.

"I love being close to you. You make me go a little crazy if you haven't noticed. I can't believe you let me fuck you outside! You're so naughty," he laughed lowly, kissing your lips, cupping the back of your head with his hand.

"You make me a little crazy too," you admitted, climbing between his legs, taking his black boxer briefs with you. He groaned as you lowered yourself below his belt line, taking his cock in your hand. You let a stream of saliva drip from your mouth to the tip of his dick, looking up at him curiously. His eyes were wide, mouth open slightly as he licked his lips. You used your hand to make him slick, before taking him into your mouth, pumping him lightly with your free hand. He used his hand to guide your mouth, a string of profanity falling from his lips as his hips bucked wildly into your mouth. You gagged on him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you did it again, loving the reaction it elicited.

"Fuck, baby. You're such a good girl, letting me fuck your mouth like this," he was doing all of the work, slowly thrusting into your mouth, reaching the back of your throat for a moment before slipping back out. He'd found a steady rhythm, bobbing in and out of your warm, wet mouth, his eyebrows pulled tightly together in concentration. You flattened your tongue against him and took him completely, letting him fill your mouth with his sticky, salty cum. You looked up at him, and he seemed dumbfounded as he stared back at you.

"That was really fucking hot," he was breathless, tugging you to the pillows lazily, laying you down flat. He placed himself between your legs, using your thighs as a pillow as he lowered himself down to your center. The look of determination on his face told you all you needed to know; he had a one track mind in that moment, honed in strictly on pleasing you.

"Such a sweet, gorgeous girl," he cooed, planting a trail of kisses from hip to hip, making you wiggle against the mattress. He ran a finger through your slick folds before settling on your clit, his thumb brushing it lightly as he watched your face closely. Within seconds he was slipping his fingers into you, pumping slowly until you got used to him, and then he changed his movements, curling into you at an angle. You cried out, clutching his arm as your body shook, your orgasm rattling through you.

"Going to taste you now, baby," he didn't give you time to respond, he was already attaching his lips to your clit, wrapping around it and sucking lightly, making your body go limp as he pleasured you. There was nothing quite like it; it was an indescribable feeling. Your arousal covered his chin as he took his time between your legs, his fingers still pumping inside of you. You barely saw the second orgasm coming, your back arching off the bed as you tried to steady your breathing.

"So sexy," he purred, sitting up so he could fuck you, folding your legs up towards your chest. He slid into you easily, watching his cock glide in and out of you; you were mesmerized at the sight of him filling you repeatedly. You often caught yourself stuck on the sight of him fucking you, absolutely starstruck that you got the chance to have him in the most special way.

"You're so hot, Aaron. Look at me," his eyes met yours briefly before he leaned over to kiss you quickly, the new angle causing a familiar sensation to spread out over your body. You gritted your teeth, dragging your nails down his back as he fucked you senseless. You saw stars as you came, moaning his name, staring into his eyes. You could feel the love, strong and hot as fire radiating throughout the room, filling you with wholesomeness that you'd never experienced. Aaron was an answered prayer, someone you could always depend on. He was a man that would never let you down if he could help it, someone who wanted a life with you.

"At the speed we're going, you'll be pregnant before winter," he murmured as he came inside of you once more, the two of you quickly working towards a new record.

"That's the plan," you said cheekily, pulling him forward by the neck to kiss him. He slid out of you to lay next to you, pulling the blanket up around the two of you.

"You know I love you, right? More than anything," his voice was sweet as honey in your ear as he snuggled in close, the stove finally doing its job by warming the house.

"And I love you, Aaron. We really have to unpack tomorrow," you told him, but he was already snoring lightly, his arm wrapped around your waist.

✨✨✨

You stood on the porch, waiting for his arrival. You could hear a car on the empty stretch of road leading to your house, so you knew he was close. If you had a minute before he spoke to you to prepare yourself, you were convinced it wouldn't be so bad. You spied the familiar black top of his car hood and gripped the porch for support as he pulled in the driveway. The snow was melting, but soon it would freeze, and there were already flurries starting up. He stepped out of the car with a bag of takeout, staring back at you like it was the first time you'd ever seen him. You tossed your hand up awkwardly, and he took a tentative step forward before stopping again, his eyes trained on your every move.

"Hi," you tried to keep your voice steady, neutral, so he didn't think you were secretly crumbling at the sight of him.

"Hi. You look so good. I hope you don't mind me saying that," you weren't sure what to think, especially considering he was complimenting you after a year without seeing you.

"So do you. Do you want to come in?"

He was still frozen in place, the snow starting to blanket the space around him. The weather was growing bad by the second, the sky cloudy and the sun nowhere to be seen.

"I have some stuff in the back," he walked up the steps to hand you the food, so you sat it inside on the coffee table and then went outside to help him carry the rest in.

"You plan on staying here a week?" He had a duffel bag full of clothes, a box of snacks and drinks, and a couple of really thick blankets.

"You should look at the weather. There's a blizzard moving in. We're here for a few days, at least."

You hadn't checked it since before the drive up, but he had no reason to lie; you carried in the food and blankets, sitting them down by the door.

"Well if that's the case, we'll have to start liking each other really quickly," you deadpanned, dreading being stuck arguing all week. Things were going okay so far, but he'd just showed up.

"I'm ready to be friends if you are," he held out his hand for you to shake and for some insane reason, you took it, hoping it washed away all prior issues that you had with him. You didn't want to fight with him about anything but he'd done you so shitty, and he deserved to know it.

"We can be friendly without being friends. I haven't seen you in a year, Aaron. Let's not pretend that we know anything about each other now."

His face fell, so you sat down on the couch, waiting for him to join you.

"I knew I'd have to see you and try to make things right eventually. I know there's not an apology in the world that will make what I did okay. You don't have to forgive me, but I'd like to try to make it right."

He handed you a box of food, and you were shocked to know he still knew your order after a year. You ate in silence, growing chilly from the lack of heat. You realized you still had his flannel on, so you shrugged it off quickly, sliding it across the couch.

"Looks better on you," he handed it back, so you left it laying on the couch. Truthfully, you wanted to keep it; you wanted to wrap up in it everyday, have a little bit of him around at all times. You weren't sure how to act; it was almost uncomfortable, but you could tell he didn't feel the slightest bit awkward. He was fine, and it killed you. He'd probably moved on quickly, finding someone more his age to settle down with. He deserved someone good, someone that would fulfill all of his needs. You longed for it to be you more than anything, but you knew he didn't want you anymore, and he never would. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing you didn't mean anything to him anymore.

"I got an offer to work as a makeup artist on a soap opera. I think I'm going to move to New York and do it," you said finally, tired of the eerie silence.

"New York? You hate the city," he sat down his food and started working at the fireplace; he could start a fire quicker than anyone you knew.

"It's a good job though. I could buy a condo, see what it's like."

"You should do what makes you happy. What about your book, are you still writing?"

You shook your head; you'd lost all of your inspiration when he walked out the door.

"I don't really write anymore."

He looked back at you, perplexed.

"You love to write. What do you mean you don't do it anymore?"

You shrugged, taking you food to the fridge. You didn't want to be having this conversation; you didn't want to admit he was the reason.

"Sometimes loving something isn't enough."

He nodded, working quietly at the stove until the stove was piping hot, smoke billowing out the pipe; you could see the puffs of smoke through the window.

"I took an office job. I'm not in the field anymore."

You knew it was hard for him not to be in the middle of the action, and you wondered what kept him from doing what he loved the most. You hoped it was because he was trying to live a more normal life, not such a fast paced existence.

"Do you miss it?"

"Not as much as I thought I would. Do you miss writing?"

"No."

It was a lie; you felt deprived of your purpose. But without Aaron around, you simply hadn't felt like pursuing your passion anymore. You hoped to get the spark back eventually, but it still hadn't came back yet.

"So, New York. Do you have a place lined up?"

You shook your head; you still had a few months to decide what you were doing. For now, you worked freelance, and made more than enough to afford your apartment.

"I'm still not decided. I've debated a bunch of different places but I'm afraid none of them will feel like this place."

The cabin held a certain nostalgia for you that was hard to describe; your best and worst memories all involved these creaky floors and outdated floral wallpaper. No matter how hard you searched, you'd always be looking for the feeling that it gave you.

"I've missed this place. I wanted to come back, but it didn't feel right. Not without you."

You'd avoided it for the same exact reason.

"Well we're here now. Maybe by the time we leave, some of the magic will come back," you said sarcastically, heading to the bedroom to retrieve the bottle of scotch. You needed a drink—maybe three. Aaron knew exactly why you went to the bedroom, because he was grabbing two glasses, joining you on the couch. He poured you both a glass, and you clinked your glass against his out of habit before you drained it, wincing at the taste.

"Still not a fan?" He savored the taste, letting it sit on his tongue; you loved how relaxed it made him, the way he'd loosen his tie after a drink, and shed it completely after another. You had to admit, even now, in a black sweater and jeans, he still looked just as good as he did a year ago. You'd always think he was gorgeous, no matter how infuriating he was.

"Not exactly but I'm willing to make an exception today," you held out your glass for a refill, quickly emptying it once more, deciding you were done for the moment. Aaron didn't know you bought another bottle and had it tucked away, because you'd seen it in the liquor store and just couldn't help yourself, despite the price tag. Your plan now was to drink it with him if you were going to be snowed in for more than a couple of days.

"If Rossi were here, he'd be mad that we didn't toast with a scotch this expensive," he poured himself another drink, and despite your better judgement, you held your glass out for another.

"We can. I'll let you do it, so it's official," you could feel yourself lightening up around him, although you weren't sure if it was a good thing or not.

"I've never done a toast before. So we can just toast to the past, and fixing what's broken."

You weren't sure what he meant but your glass dinged against his anyway, and you had to avert your gaze away from his eyes or else you'd cry.

"So tell me what it's like not being in the field anymore," you wanted a distraction of any sort, even if it meant listening to him talk about the one thing that had driven you apart.

"It's different. The thrill is gone, but having a regular schedule is nice. I only go if they really need me." You were really curious as to why he left the field, maybe it was guilt; he was supposed to be retired anyway.

"At least you always know you'll get to be home for the night. I hated when you were in the field. You were always gone," you regretted it as soon as you said it, because your feelings on the subject didn't matter anymore.

"It's not retirement, but it keeps me stationary. When I was in the field, having a life was impossible."

"I know. That's why we held off—" you stopped yourself before you could get too carried away. You'd refused to entertain the thought of a baby until he pulled himself out of the field, because you weren't raising a child alone.

"I know. Being in the field held me back from a lot of things."

It had ended your relationship; he couldn't stay away, no matter how hard he tried. It was like a drug, pulling him in, and away from you in the process.

"I'm giving JJ the crib," you'd bought it at a yard sale, Aaron just had to have it. It rocked, and was clearly handmade, and for $20, it was a steal. He'd sanded and stained it himself, and it was meant to be for the child that never came.

"No. We bought that together. We should keep it," he poured another glass, and instead of declining, you took the final bit, finishing it off.

"You planning to have a family sometime soon? Take it, I don't want it, Aaron."

"Well, no, but it's special to me."

You scoffed, polishing off the last of the harsh liquid, nearly drunk already.

"I know. It is to me too, but I don't want it. I'll probably never have kids."

He shook his head, turning towards you.

"Don't say that. We didn't even try very long."

You laughed lightly, tucking your legs beneath you. You felt almost normal, talking to him. It felt good to get some things off your chest. You were feeling bolder than usual, thanks to the alcohol.

"It's not that. I don't want—I just don't see myself settling down with anyone."

He understood. You'd only had him—he was your first, and your only. You didn't want anyone else to ever know your body the way he had. You felt momentarily exposed, because he'd known you in the most erotic of ways and could still look you in the eye.

"Not that you asked, but I haven't been with anyone since you."

It made you feel a bit better, although he could have anyone he wanted. You could too—you'd had plenty of opportunities, but you only wanted one person, and it was him. Even now you found yourself drawn to him, tethered in a way that could only be described as soul snatching, all consuming. He was irresistible, and you hated it.

"Me either. I don't want anyone else knowing me like that. It's too—I don't know. I just can't open up like that again. It was hard enough the first time."

He'd been more tender than you could've hoped for, taking your virginity. It had been a cold night, much like this one. You dated for months before you ever let him, and by the time it happened, you'd been begging for it the entire day prior. You remembered the spectacle he'd made out of it too; roses and candles filled your memory, and the bubble bath you'd taken together beforehand was still fresh in your mind.

"Do you ever think about us, all the plans we had for this place?"

You looked around, and the vision of a dark haired toddler running around flashed by for a second before you blinked away tears that you hoped went unnoticed.

"Every single day."

You stood and went to the kitchen, grabbing you both a bottle of water so you had a minute to breathe away from him. You could tell he was unsure of what to say by the ticking in his jaw, the way it was clenched tightly. When you rejoined him on the couch, he set his gaze on you, still wearing his flannel. He touched the hem carefully, chuckling to himself.

"You wore this more than me. You should keep it."

"I love this shirt. I loved it in the store when you bought it."

He checked the fire, adding another log. When he joined you again, he was closer, purely by accident. You could tell he was feeling the effects of the alcohol by the pink in his cheeks, and his talkativeness.

"I really wish you'd reconsider selling this place."

He sounded genuinely hurt that it wouldn't be yours anymore, although it went unused and likely would remain that way forever.

"What should we do with it? Take turns using it as a vacation home? What reason do we have to keep it?"

"I don't know— I was thinking maybe now that I'm out of the field we could reconsider—"

"Oh, you're not serious! You came up here because you want me back? That's awfully bold considering the way you left me!" You didn't fight back the tears this time, he deserved to see the mess he'd made.

"I know how badly I fucked up. But I can keep promises now... I know that was important before and I couldn't do it but I can now, if you want to consider it. You don't even have to decide now. We can clean this place up and go from there if you want."

You rubbed your temples, confused at the entire situation. On one hand, you wanted to fix things terribly, but there was still a matter of forgiving him for what he'd done.

"I don't know Aaron. You really hurt me. I'm still trying to figure out who I am because without you, I don't know. None of my hobbies make sense anymore. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss life with you."

It was a lot to take in. You stood, heading for the front door so you could step outside and cool off. The snow was coming down in thick sheets, so you stood on the porch and watched. It was a gorgeous night, the moon big and blue in the sky, leaving a glow on everything below it. The door scraped open and closed just as quickly, Aaron coming to stand next to you.

"Can't see this from New York," he said softly, wrapping a jacket over your shoulders. It was too cold to be out barefoot but you didn't care—the cabin was hot and stuffy and you needed a quick way to cool off.

"You're right. I only wanted to go to New York because there's nothing there that'll remind me of you," it was so quiet it barely came out, but he heard it anyway.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done. Don't act like it was easy for me to forget everything that we've been through. We were together nearly two years, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't regret what I did."

You turned sharply on your heel, instantly furious.

"You could've picked up the phone and changed your mind then! You had a year to say something—anything! You waited until now. I want to know why. Why now, after everything you put me through, would you ever think I wanted to do this again?"

He took a step forward leaned against the post, crossing his arms over his chest.

"There hasn't been anyone for either of us in a year. I know plenty of guys throw themselves at you—so why didn't you just move on? I'll tell you why I didn't. There's no one else for me— I realize that now. I'll never find another person like you. We both know that. You're too good for me, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. I know I don't deserve another chance, but I'm really hoping for one anyway because whether you want to admit it or not, the last year has been just as hard on me."

You'd never stopped to think that maybe he regretted his decision immediately but knew you wouldn't have him back. Your head was spinning with possibilities that he'd debated calling as soon as you'd found the letter— who knew how shortly after he'd changed his mind. There was no telling with him, but you were getting the honesty from him that you'd always needed before.

"Why didn't you just call?"

"It wasn't that simple and you know it. I went back to the BAU. I didn't see my apartment for 8 months. I didn't even know if you were still in town until a few weeks ago when you came up in a conversation that I never expected to have. There... there was a girl on a case we worked and she looked just like you. Unidentified for the first week. Her hair was a different color but otherwise I couldn't tell you two apart and I was terrified. I called Garcia then and she told me you were living in her building and that it couldn't be you and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since. I left the field right after that."

You hadn't even been around, but you were his reasoning for leaving the field twice now. You hoped it was a permanent change otherwise, he'd only ever be committed to one thing, and it wasn't you. You shivered slightly, so you slipped on the jacket he'd brought out for you and tried to make sense of what you were feeling. It was hard coming to terms with the fact that he'd missed you just as much, because you thought surely he didn't care anymore. It wasn't an easy year for either of you. There was, however, room for growth, and understanding. You were still on the path to actual forgiveness but you were closer now than you had been when he arrived.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I know it couldn't have been easy."

You hated that he'd been afraid something terrible had happened to you— you hated the thought of him being worried that you were dead and then he'd have to figure out why.

"It was hell not knowing if it was you or not. I stepped away from the case before she was ever identified. As soon as I knew you were okay, I remembered why I left in the first place. I'm sorry that I couldn't be the person you needed me to be. I couldn't just be content with what I had and I lost you as the result. I'm so sorry, sugar. I was supposed to keep you from getting hurt, I was supposed to protect you. I'm sorry I gave up the life we had together."

You sniffled lightly and turned away before he could see the tears. The reality was, you loved him and you'd never stopped. It was hard not letting him right back in; but you needed more than an apology. You deserved more than words.

The wind filled up the silence, howling in every direction. The flurries had quickly turned into billows of white, the temperature far below freezing. You were thankful Aaron was around to work the stove, because the power would go out if the storm got any worse.

"Want to go inside? We could watch the ghost show. I've got a bottle of wine in my bag," he said coolly, but you didn't want to mix wine and liquor, so you decided to tell him about your secret bottle of scotch you'd hidden away.

"We can watch the show but I've got another bottle of the good stuff hidden away. Might as well keep drinking the expensive shit," you joked, letting him lead you inside. You retrieved the bottle from the top of the fridge and followed him to the bedroom where the tv was. He had your glasses, so you let him refill them while you got comfortable. Your side of the bed was still yours, and he slid onto his like the two of you had never missed a single night in the cabin.

"You bought this? You don't even like it," he questioned, and you shrugged, flipping on the tv and going to the last episode you'd started. You still remembered where you were in the series, because you'd recorded every episode in hopes that one day, he'd be back around to watch them with you.

"I was feeling nostalgic on my way up."

He didn't press further, so you sat back and let the show play. It was more entertaining than you'd remembered, capturing your attention quickly. You almost didn't notice how his shoulders were leaned against yours, parallel on the bed. Your legs were a safe distance apart for now. He excused himself to change, which left you alone for the first time since he'd gotten there. You took the time to breathe deeply, grounding yourself so you wouldn't lose your mind. You couldn't handle being so close without touching him—you wondered if it was hard for him too, not to reach out and hold your hand. It took everything you had not to play with his hair, absentmindedly tracing your fingers over his skin. You'd never been in your current position; close but not quite. You weren't even sure if he really wanted you back, or if it was just because you were together again, and he was lonely. There were so many things you were uncertain of.

He returned in his usual pajamas, black sleep pants and his t-shirt, also black. You trained your eyes on the tv so you wouldn't stare at him, but it was almost impossible given he was in your favorite color combination: black on black. Anytime you went out somewhere fancy, he wore all black—and now, in his coziest clothes, he looked effortlessly sexy, his hair spiked up slightly in the front.

"What did I miss?" He was handing you a freshly filled glass, and then filling his own.

"It was the mother, she drowned the kids and shot the husband because he had an affair," you explained, tossing back your glass. You were nearly drunk, and soon you'd be dying to touch him. You were already, but there was plenty holding you back.

"Oh, so this place is going to be really haunted. How'd you remember where we left off?"

You handed him your glass, your fingertips brushing his lightly during the exchange. You tried not to notice the spark, but it was there in full force, taunting you.

"I recorded them all this last year. I thought maybe if we ever got the chance, we could watch them."

You had a slight moment of bravery, curious as to what he'd say back.

"I'm glad you did. Now we can catch up. You're a genius," another brief touch when he handed you the glass, so you weren't imagining things. You yearned for more, leaning back on the headboard as you tried and failed to pay attention to the show. You understood the basics, but so far nothing exciting happened. It wasn't until they were in the barn, the sight of the first murders, when things got creepy. The barn door slammed shut, and it made you jump, your hand on his thigh before you could stop yourself. His hand instantly found yours, clutching it tightly.

"This is getting good," he made no effort to move either of your hands, so you turned your palm up and felt him lace his fingers through yours. Your heart pounded in your chest, the memories of the last year seeming a thousand miles away. Right now, everything was okay. You were with him again, and things had never felt more right.

"I forgot how jumpy this show makes me," you giggled, your cheeks warm from the alcohol. He turned out the lamp, the only light on in the house was the one above the stove, all the way down the hall. You found yourself moving closer to him, tucked in at his side.

"We, uh— we can cuddle if you want. It's kind of cold and we always cuddle, I just thought maybe—"

You cut him off, securing yourself into him, letting go of every worry you had prior. He tossed his arm over your shoulder and pulled your legs into his lap, and you let out a sigh of relief. There was no more tension, right now, it was still, perfect. You couldn't have asked for a better way to spend the evening. You'd wanted it for a year now and you finally had it again. You knew there were things to be discussed, boundaries to set, but you were content.

"This feels normal." You were feeling honest, looking up at him for the validation that he felt it too. You knew he did; he was practically tripping over himself at the opportunity to be with you again.

"Mhm. I'm glad we're doing this. Do you want to share the bed tonight? If not, I can sleep on the couch," he offered, but you shook your head no.

"We're grown ups, Aaron. We can share a bed. It's fine," you gave into temptation and let your hand creep up to the nape of his neck, playing with his hair. He scooted down slightly to give you better access, leaning against your shoulder as he watched the show.

"I'm going to go check the fire. Keep the bed warm," his thumb brushed your cheek before he went down the hall. You climbed under the blanket and waited for him, lifting up the end for him to crawl under when he came back. His legs tangled with yours beneath the covers, just like normal—he was trying to warm up, laying flat on his back. He held his arm out for you to lay on, so you put your head on his shoulder, buried into the crook of his neck. You tried to stop yourself from kissing his neck lightly, but you did it anyway, watching as he inhaled sharply, moving his jaw so you could do it again. His arm came to rest around your middle, pulling you into him.

"Do you think we can go back to normal? Be honest," you mumbled against his skin, his grip on you tightened, the vein in his neck throbbing beneath your lips.

"Can you forgive me? If you can, there's no reason we can't try again." He sounded certain that you could fix things, so you went a step further, reaching out to cup his face with your hand. You didn't hesitate to kiss him, and he kissed you back expectantly, like he also couldn't wait any longer to have you back.

"Just promise me things won't end like last time."

He raised up, pulling you into his lap. You straddled him, taking a deep breath as he stared back at you hungrily, like he'd been waiting all this time to have his hands back on you and he didn't know where to begin.

"I don't want to lose you twice. You... you're who I want. I've always wanted you, sweetheart, I never stopped. I just couldn't give you what you wanted. I can now, so long as you can handle the job."

You knew he was out of the field, so you could deal a lot easier than before. You nodded, leaning forward to kiss him again. This time he didn't let you stop; your mouths connected and you suddenly felt the massive weight lifted from your shoulders, because you could feel him beneath you, he was here.

"I'll handle whatever it takes to keep you in my life. I've missed you so much, Aaron. It's felt like a lifetime without you," you pulled his shirt over his head, taking turns undressing each other until you were both in your underwear, looking back at one another with more want than you ever thought you had; your desire for him only grew as he sat up, his fingers mapping out your skin. It was time to relearn one another.

"I'll never leave you again, baby. God, I've wanted this for so long. I never thought I'd get to see you like this again. So beautiful," you felt yourself blush as he turned on the lamp, desperate to see you.

"You're the only person I trust like this," you confessed, but he already knew. You'd only ever belong to him; no one else could satisfy your hunger the way he could.

"This feels like the first time," he said softly, your hands brushing against each other's bodies slowly, taking your time in exploring one another.

"It really does," you breathed, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. He reached out to touch you, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Soon after, he was sucking at the skin on your chest, your nipples entering his mouth one by one. He swirled his tongue around them, and you were eager for more.

"Can I show you how much I missed you?" He asked, laying you down flat, positioning himself between your legs. He pulled your panties down, groaning once he had you completely naked. He kissed your body possessively, from your neck to your navel, before he laid between your thighs. His own hips rutted against the mattress in desperation, but his eyes were trained on your center.

"There's no going back after this. I won't be able to keep myself away from you and you know it," he warned, kissing your clit lightly enough to have you writhing against the bed.

"That what I was hoping for. It's always been your for me. I don't mind being inseparable again," you were weak and he knew it, but he nodded his head anyway, grinning from ear to ear as he licked a stripe up your center. You cried out immediately, your hands finding the back of his hand instinctively to guide him where you needed him. He loved it, loved to see the needier, more longing side of you.

"That's it, baby. Use me," he pleaded, letting you use his tongue however you pleased. He flattened it against you before flicking your clit lightly, repeatedly, making your legs tremble as you came. He groaned as the sweet rush of your orgasm hit his tongue and it only encouraged him to keep going, faster, with more urgency than before. Your back arched off the bed as you watched him with wide eyes, because you'd never seen anyone so turned on by pleasuring another person. He truly enjoyed every second of touching you; when you let him use his mouth on you, it transported him to another place, one where his only objective was to make sure you were satisfied to the fullest extent.

You were swiftly losing track of how many times he'd brought you over the edge with his mouth when he added his fingers to the combination, slipping them slowly into you. You propped up on your elbows to watch, brushing his hair back with your hands. He gazed up at you long enough to shoot you a dazzling smile before he was sucking at your clit, taking it between his lips. Your head hit the pillows as you came again, tugging at his shoulders to come and kiss you. He crawled up you slowly, meeting your mouth wildly, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

"Will you ride me? I want you to be in control of everything," to say he had you stunned was an understatement. He only let you ride him occasionally, when he didn't feel like doing the work, and he'd certainly never asked before. You nodded slowly, climbing on top of him, taking a deep breath as you sank down on him. He moaned loudly, his fingertips digging into your thighs as you adjusted to his length. You'd forgotten how big he was, how much of him there was to get used to. You slowly started to bounce up and down, his member slipping in and out of you at one of the best possible angles. You watched him slide in and out of you, your breathing ragged and unsteady as you fucked him. He was enjoying every second of it, letting you take charge.

"I won't last long, sweetheart. It's been too long and you feel too good," you were already close, shifting your hips so you could rotate back and forth, going a bit faster with the help of his hands working your hips. You came nearly at the same time, letting him fill you without a second thought. You'd never started your birth control again, because you weren't having sex with anyone. You debated whether or not he'd be mad when you told him, so you cleared your throat awkwardly and got it out of the way.

"I'm not on the pill anymore so we should—"

"Christ! Why didn't you tell me?" His entire mood shifted instantly. He was springing out from underneath you, finding his clothes.

"I'm sorry! I didn't expect this!"

He scoffed, tugging on his shirt. You tried to locate your clothes as quickly as possible, finding them by the time he'd grabbed his pillow.

"I'm going to the couch. That was really immature of you, you know. We're barely on speaking terms, we can't be parents right now!" He shouted, making you feel small and vulnerable. He left you standing alone in the bedroom, slamming the door behind him on the way out.

You laid in the bed and tried to fall asleep, but when the sun crept over the horizon and your eyes still hadn't closed, you gave up. You went to the kitchen, making a cup of coffee as quietly as possible because Aaron was still sleeping peacefully on the couch. You took your coffee outside, where the weather was still freezing and harsh. Snow blew all around, covering every inch of the woods surrounding you. Aaron would have a fit if he caught you out in the cold, but it didn't matter right now; you were able to watch nature in full swing, trapping you on the mountain with him for the foreseeable future.

You released a breath you didn't realize you were holding before the tears came. You cried for the baby you should've been able to give him, for the future you once had that you were trying so hard to get back. You hadn't meant to blindside him with the lack of protection but you hadn't been thinking about it in the moment. He had every right to be mad; you just hadn't expected him to become so cold after a year apart.

"You're going to freeze," he was standing in the doorway, waiting for you to come inside. When he saw the tears, his first reaction was to reach out and grab you, wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

"Don't cry, sugar. Everything's alright," he murmured against your hair, cradling your head with his hand.

"It's not. You're already mad at me. I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I know it was irresponsible but I just wasn't thinking about it," you'd never be able to take it back, and you'd never know for certain if your unprotected sex would be effective, not for at least a couple of weeks. It's not like you could just drive to the pharmacy and get a Plan B; you weren't worried, because you hadn't ever been able to successfully get pregnant. You knew he was just being paranoid, but you weren't convinced there was anything to stress out about.

"I'm not mad anymore. I was at first until I realized there was no reason to be. It's already happened and it's bound to happen more than once while we're here. I suppose if you don't mind, there's nothing to be afraid of, right?"

You weren't sure what to say. If he wasn't mad anymore, then you were back to square one. You were still in the baby steps of starting over, and it was a delicate process. It had been an entire year, so you'd have to relearn everything about one another.

"I think kids are the one thing I can't give you," you said, sadness thick in your voice. The thing you'd wanted most of all would never be a reality; eventually he'd want someone that could give him a family.

"Then we'll adopt. But we won't ever stop trying. I know what you're thinking—I'll still want you even if you can't have any kids. Don't worry about that."

But you would always worry that you weren't enough for him; he deserved a woman who could give him the experience of a pregnancy, the initial shock and surprise and the thrill of waiting afterward. You secretly hoped it would still happen one day, but you'd be content until then.

"I really am sorry that I didn't tell you."

He led you inside, which was much warmer than the frothy outdoors. You went to the coffee maker and poured another cup, pouring one for him as well. He stood at your side, sipping his mug.

"Things felt so familiar that it didn't seem necessary. We both got caught up in the moment. I reacted badly, and I know that. From now on, it'll be intentional," he winked, making you smile softly. You didn't feel as bad anymore, not now that he was acting normally. You hated that your first night back together had been ruined, but you could always make up for it tonight.

"If we're fixing things, where does that leave us on packing this place up?"

You looked around at the boxes you'd already started on. Either way there was a lot of stuff you could get rid of.

"We're not. We unpack officially. I think we should stay here," he said finally, taking another look around.

"Just like that? Move back in together?"

It was an insane idea. You needed to take your time, work up to staying together again; but on the other hand, you'd already stayed with him, and you would be for the next couple of days.

"Why not? We're already spending the night together. We could just spend the rest of our time here getting reacquainted, like our first week here, remember?" He pulled you in by the waist, kissing your forehead. You couldn't forget; it had been a week of pure pleasure, being as lazy as possible.

"We'll see. Surely you don't want to spend the next few days watching tv," he shook his head, gesturing towards the living room.

"We still have all the paint. Let's turn it into the place we wanted it to be before. I recall you wanted this kitchen to be yellow," it had been the one thing you insisted on when you talked about decorating; your sunset yellow kitchen.

"You're serious? You want to live together like, all the time?"

"We can either keep paying rent where we live now or drop a handful of bills entirely, and get to keep the cabin too," he'd been so upset when you told him you were selling it that it almost made you regret the thought of it.

"What the hell. We may as well, right? I can't believe we're doing this again," you hugged him tightly, but this was just the beginning; there were still doors left to close.

✨✨✨

"Your phone is ringing."

You were painting the kitchen while he worked on the living room, but he hadn't heard his phone from where he was standing. You didn't miss the shrill ring, but you were closer to his jacket, which is where his phone was. He looked at the screen before excusing himself to step outside. You assumed it was work and continued to paint, until he began to raise his voice outside. You could barely make out the words, but he told whoever it was not to call again.

When he came back inside, his mood had visibly changed. He was pale, like he'd seen a ghost while he'd been outside. You wanted to question him, but you stayed quiet, letting him go back to his task without another word. He'd laid his phone on the table, and you wondered who would be bothering him on his time off and why, if it wasn't work. Your mind went a hundred different places, but the first was to another woman.

"Who was on the phone?" It took every ounce of courage you had to ask.

"No one important."

You knew it was a lie but you let it go. You were in no position to be questioning him, not this early into your new budding relationship. He obviously didn't want to answer any questions about the mystery caller. Against your better judgement, you decided to snoop at the first available moment. He went down the hall to use the bathroom and you checked his caller history. The only name other than your number for the last three days was definitely not a man.

Beth.

Taglist: @ssamorganhotchner I think you said you wanted on the Taglist but I don’t remember lmao @thenewnormalforensicator

Next part can be found here

[incorrectbatfam]

We’re Okay (We’ll Live This Way)

Kon-El Week day 2: Soulmate | Rarepair

Summary

Classic AU where you don’t see color until you look into your soulmate’s eyes.

“Should we tell them?” Tim asked.

–

Kon yelped as he stepped on another LEGO. “Jon, please pick up your stuff. Tim’s gonna be here any minute and I don’t need any toy-related injuries!”

“Riiight, your soulmate’s coming.” As the ten-year-old picked up his blocks, he chanted, “Tim and Kon sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Just pick it up,” Kon said. “Humans are breakable.”

The farmhouse was nowhere near ready for Kon’s partner’s arrival. The couch cushions weren’t straightened and there was a cobweb on the ceiling and Krypto wouldn’t stop shedding. Tim was probably used to a spick-and-span mansion without a speck of dust in sight, and the thought of not being able to deliver the level of perfection he deserved made Kon want to tear his hair out. Except if he did that, he’d look like a scraggly bridge troll and Tim would leave him for someone more attractive.

He hadn’t noticed he was hyperventilating until he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Crinkles formed under Lois’s kind eyes as she smiled softly. “Don’t worry, Kon. Tim is your soulmate—he’ll love you no matter what.”

He gulped. “Right. Yeah. He loves me. He loves me.”

Kon repeated that as he made his way upstairs and changed out of his pajamas. Lois was probably going to make him do at least one chore, so he went with a simple pair of jeans, a vintage music festival shirt, and a single hoop earring. And, just for giggles, he threw on a pair of Batman socks Tim had gotten him as a gag gift.

Farm work meant no leather jacket. His flannel shirt was draped over his bedpost. It could be taken as either country flannel, hipster flannel, or gay flannel. He tied it around his waist so people knew it was gay. 

Sunlight bounced off the dresser mirror as Kon fixed his hair, castling narrow beams along the wall. He really should get a haircut, but that notion was quickly replaced with an image of Tim playing with Kon’s curls whenever they were working late on Mount Justice. Kon loved when Tim did that. Bart and Cassie poked fun at them all the time, but Kon didn’t mind so long as he had his Robin in his arms. 

He applied his strawberry lip balm before setting the tiny container down next to his sunglasses and wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, unable to quell his rising nerves.

Pinned to the bulletin board was a calendar; the current date had been circled over and over. Most people didn’t make a big deal of an anniversary because soulmates were forever and blah blah blah, but Kon begged to differ. One year was a big deal.

He tossed his dirty laundry into a hamper which he then shoved into his closet. He made his bed with a little help from his TTK, which he also used to open the window and let in the crisp early October air. Hopefully no leaves would blow inside.

Lois had designated inside as a no-fly zone, so Kon slid down the banister into the kitchen where he found his mother figure assembling sandwiches and fruit salads. A picnic basket sat on the counter. Kon popped a raspberry into his mouth as he slid across the tile in his socks. His brows furrowed when he counted the number of Tupperwares she’d set out.

“Wait, what’s with the extra two?”

.

.

Read the rest on Ao3

@kon-el-week

[oakandcirrus]

you know i actually love my room aesthetic i didnt even try to make it pretty, it just happened. the subtle accruing of plants crowding my desk, picking up old, free books from the school library. getting hand-me-down furniture or building it myself. the quiet greytones and olive greens breaking up the reds and oranges and browns. the christmas lights, the flannel hanging from the bedpost, the mirror from my great grandma and my record player. my photos and film negatives hanging on my walls along with my paintings and drying herbs and flowers and poetry scribbled on scraps of papers. the tubes of paint and the perpetual tea mug and the cafe du monde coffee tin filled with pens on my desk. idk i just think im very hot and sexy and cute and everyone should fall in love with me and also i should open a rustic homey bookstore

[leslie057]

part 2 because i hit the image limit and did not even get to my favorite items yet. this is way too long MY BAD.

ballerina music box with kittens on the side. 10/10. she lovessss ballet. and on the topic of athleticism, peep the wilson tennis ball can on the shelf in the background! what a tennis champ.

ballet slippers necklace, which i love so much that its rating would break the scale more than i’ve broken it already. she wore it in her sleep even and i miss it.

jonathan’s flannel (part 1)! 8.5/10

jonathan’s flannel (part 2). going 9.5/10 on this one because of placement. does she just sleep with that every night and hang it back on the bedpost in the morning. because aww.

we’ll keep the boyfriend donations theme going here. BOWIE RIMBAUD POSTER 100/10. this is bisexual on all accounts. bi of him to have Gay Poet Poster. bi of her to hang up Gay Poet Poster in her bedroom. is she reading his poetry now?

if she is, i’m actually going to have to deduct a point i think. not bad like xanadu but who is this turning on?? no one. soo bowie rimbaud poster gets a 99/10? actually no, 100/10 still because i’m sure his nonsexual poetry is good.

koala picture is 10/10. he’s always watching over her from his little tree. in s4 she moved this to the wall facing her bed. so i can only assume she was lonely enough that she started talking to her wall koala. he looks like a good listener though.

0/10. i don’t know what i am looking at but 0/10. it’s a little scary lol.

chemistry flashcards. as bad as i wanna give them a 2/10 for the whole strip studying idea they inspired, i do admire her organization and how much she cares about school. 8/10.

scrunchie! 7/10, very fun but i wish it were way bigger. 

teddy bear. i can’t decide but maybe 7/10. nothing wrong with sleeping with stuffed animals as a sophomore in high school BUT this bear is nothing special to me, not like pluto. i do love though in 1x06 when karen breaks into nancy’s room and they’ve put the teddy bear where jonathan slept.

straw hat on the coat rack. it’s still there in s4 but tilted the other way so safe to say she is using this hat for decorative purposes. 6/10 for how wide the brim is. good sun coverage.

very small detail, but her scallop edge socks are so cute to me. 10/10. her boots aren’t in this screencap but i love those too.

10/10!! someone get this girl a cat! they're all over her room.

last but not least, just the entire risky biz costume. she looked great. if it was steve’s idea, 3/10 for technically getting your girlfriend to go as a sex worker for halloween. if it was her idea, 10/10 because it’s such a look!

this post is way too long but what are your favorite nancy possessions? what did i miss?

rating things owned by nancy elizabeth wheeler

because she’s got a lot of little things. mostly they are very cute and strange little things.

starting off strong we have the prettiest tissue box in the world. 9/10, i think if i were sick it would make me feel better to have such a nice tissue box.

i’m fairly certain this is her diary beside it because her diary looks pink in the upside down version of her bedroom. so this is probably it? 11/10, i want to read it so bad. and very sweet pic with mom—7.5/10.

next up these pinstripe pants !! 10/10 i love them so much. oh and the index finger ring is there obviously, 8/10, such a consistent piece of her character.

a ribbon for being the bestest girl ever in the world. 10/10. also the card of cardinals: 6/10, probably just a christmas card or something rather than a symbol of her love for birds. but i still like it.

mr rabbit gets 11/10 for the name alone. and why does he look dead. i love him. he’s me.

descent from xanadu: QUITE LITERALLY 0/10. at first i was SO excited to cheer her on for reading a sex and drugs book at school but as it turns out? bizarre and gross. seems to go heavy on nonconsensual stuff. i snagged a free pdf and command f’d for whore and bitch. lots of results obviously (one use of c*ck crazy bitch…lovely). it seems men in this book say a lot of sexist stuff that the women pretend to hate but love which i can’t imagine is great for a teenage girl to consume. also just not sexy at all.

literally so bad, and this is not the worst of it.

sooo bad. the author was what 70 (??) writing that his female character got clinically DIAGNOSED with being a slut for every guy she comes in contact with. i know options for sexy literature were probably limited at this time but…please go check out something else. i wanna bonk her on the head with this book (paperback) and hug her. you don’t need to read this to be cool and sexually aware. moving on.

on the other side of that, the blondie calendar gives us a sense of the GOOD media she’s consuming!! a 10/10 no questions asked. we don't really get to see many of her hobbies or interests outside of investigation so this is a much appreciated detail.

of course like all good things in life the blondie calendar does get replaced. its replacement is what i will call Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #1 seen in her room in s4. i give it a 4/10 because idk what’s going on really.

and here is a very crunchy screencap of Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #2 from s4 which i will give a 5/10. note the boyfriend typical photography above it, for sure a 10/10.

there is also Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #3 which gets an 8/10 because i like the composition and the piano player. where did she get this and why. interior decoration is her passion.

the sleeping bag and crochet pillow setup. 7/10. would take a cat nap here.

pluto!! 15/10, the best mickey mouse character i would say. i hope her cousin is taking good care of him.

bulletin board 10/10. i love how obvious it is that she has had this up for forever. probably a nice constant in her life.

and my favorite pic up there is this precious one. look at herrr. 5000/10.

her floral weekender bag. 6/10, i like it, but not as much as i like the speedwalk and the toss into the backseat. she was SO ready for her lab takedown road trip.

trapper keeper is a 9/10 because they probably put anything and everything on trapper keepers back in the day and yet still she chose this lovely understated hot air balloon. elegant.

tom cruise poster is 1000000/10 actually. she is so loyal to that man. actually though not a great pic of him all things considered so maybe i give it a 999999/10. (i love it so much because i know for a fact that jonathan byers works proactively to never acknowledge this poster, because he is more mature than that.) (he is not more mature than that, in fact he is a little pouty about mr cruise.)

KITTY FIGURINE. 10/10. i thought it was just in s4 but i found it on her other nightstand in s1. very very adorable. i imagine it is now one of the first things she sees in the morning (well that and her blue telephone: 8/10) which is bizarre and cute. the mixtape drawer gets a 10/10 for reasons that i don’t think i need to get into.

white fingerless gloves! 10/10. so chic for monster hunting.

black fingerless gloves from s4. hmmm 3/10, they're cool i guess but they don’t feel very nancy and the white ones are so much better. especially because you may get the splatter effect of monster blood on them in a battle scenario, which would be badass.

piggybank (with her name on the side). 2/10 unfortunately i don’t like him. he looks at me like i took out his whole pig village and i just need some quarters. also did she paint this herself? in that case, 3/10 for customization lol.

pastel underwear drawer: 10/10. her committment to the hollistic aesthetic and color palette of her room is impressive here. it was a good idea to use this drawer as a deterrence against her little brother and a money hiding place but clearly he has no manners and is a THIEF.

STRIPED SOCKS. 10/10. i realize it's hard to see because she's moving so fast (slow down he is not going anywhere) but they are indeed stripey even though i would have guessed solid white. and wow what good sleeping socks. stripes are just cozier. hope she got lots of sleep in those.

[elderkale]

chapter five

tell me we’ll never get used to it - chapter five

Sometimes he wondered if he had her in his trap, or if she had him in hers. And then he’d wonder if it mattered.

*

Her truck more ground than screeched to a halt and she was thrown forwards, face colliding painfully with the steering wheel. Theta swore and pushed her glasses up onto her forehead, rubbing her nose.

A rapping sounded by her ear. She pushed the hair out of her face and squinted through the window. Jack waved, holding up a cup of what Theta prayed was coffee.

The door squealed as she threw it open and Jack made a noise of distress, nudging a scratch against the blue paint with his hip. “What have you done to her?” he asked, a look of dismay on his face.

“Been busy,” Theta grumbled, snatching the cup out of his hand. It scalded her throat as it went down and she wrinkled her nose. Decaf. Shame.

Jack huffed and took a sip from the bigger cup he’d been holding out of her reach. Bastard. “That’s neglect, Doctor,” he said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Who do I send the complaint to?”

“Oxford.” Theta took another gulp of the barley-coffee and smacked her lips. Two arms, she noted. She glanced down at his leg. “Good day?” she asked.

“It was.” He scowled and glanced up, the sunlight bouncing off his dark lenses. Not that many people would have need for sunglasses in mid-October, but, well, Jack. “You good for this?”

“Will be when you stop asking that.” The drink in the cup rattled as she took another sip. It wasn’t doing much to wake her up, but at least she was warm. “Lead the way, Captain.”

*

It always surprised Theta just how many people they could manage to scrounge up for a body. Nothing but contamination, in her opinion (See the scuff marks you just walked over? The eyelash that fell from your cheek when you shook your head? The dust in the carpet, the group arguing over the splatters? Yes, Johnny, even if it is just mildew). Good for her, she supposed, but also really, really bad for her. Not that she could reasonably argue too much. No stone unturned, and all that.

“Motels,” she grumbled, pressing up against the wall to let a man toting a bucket walk by (See? Contamination! She wasn’t even wearing a hairnet!) (Which wasn’t really anyone’s fault other than hers, but it wasn’t like anyone had offered her one, either). “Why’s it always a motel? Can’t anyone ever leave a body in a park, or a nice ballroom, at least?” She wrinkled her nose. “One that doesn’t stink of asbestos?”

“I think that’s the air freshener, Doc,” said Jack, lifting the tape for her to slip under.

“I think I know what asbestos smells like, Jack.” He ducked after her awkwardly. She sniffed again. Blood. Lots of it. It clung to the air, the smell, giving it a weight like the lightest veil. She could almost feel it seeping into her pores.

“End of the hall.” Jack pointed around the bend. “I’ve got SOCO to clear out. Five minutes?”

She ignored the gloves a passing officer tried to hand her, tucking her spare hand into her pocket instead. “See you when I see you.”

“Five minutes,” said Jack wryly.

She winked and flounced away, pivoting around the corner.

Ah. She stopped dead (oh, no, bad phrasing). Well, that explained something.

She crept down the hall, tiptoeing around the splotches of blood seeped so deeply into the carpet they looked like they’d been there from the beginning. There were still puddles in some places. She wondered whether, if she stepped on a dry spot, it would crack, or simply bend.

Not just the floor, either. The walls were dripping and crusted with red, like a gruesome parody of a bad paint job, and there were even flecks on the ceiling, frozen mid-drip and dried into tiny brown stalactites.

And there, at the end of the hall, the pièce de résistance, the crowning glory, the centrepiece, the highlight. The ebony jewel in the middle of the crimson crown, and whatever passed for a gallery in a world blinded by blood.

Wrong was the first word to pop into her mind. Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong. Her hair was too bright, too verging on yellow, her fingers just barely too long. Chin too sharp, legs too short. Nails painted sloppily, pink polish staining the skin around the cuticles, a shirt that didn’t fit. Wrong.

Imitation.

Of what? who? what? ???

Pieces of hair tucked behind ears with deft hands, rings  cleaned carefully of blood before being slipped back on. Thorns woven into braids like silken ribbons, eyes that were only just too green pried out with care and locked gently between bleached white teeth, jeans cuffed neatly at the ankles. Anchors driven through flesh and bone with what you could even call tenderness.

This, she heard it who her him him whisper, my dear, is love.

A eulogy is not an epilogue. She licked her lips. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?

She lifted her hand and held it next to her face—the icy chill of death against burning human heat. Drained—no question about that. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d loaded it into water pistols and sprayed them willy-nilly.

No cameras, obviously. It’s what she would have done.

She couldn’t find the door, for some reason. She couldn’t find any doors. In fact, she wasn’t even in a hall. The windows spiralled around her, and then they shattered. There was nothing behind them.

It was in her hair, too butitshouldn’thavebeen, turning flowing blonde strands into stiff brown spikes ithadbeeninherhairtoo.

She was running towards the door, and then she was running along it, and then she was banging her fists against an empty wall, and then there was no wall.

She stumbled, and heard something break.

No walls no floors no doors and what was she standing on because it sure as hell wasn’t a sea of shattered glass so whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwh

                               atwhatwhatwha

She fell to her knees and the world turned white.

*

She didn’t know how long she stayed balled-up in the corner, arms tight around her legs like a vice, face buried in her knees. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it could even have been days—she didn’t think she would have noticed. The movements of the other people were to her like flies buzzing behind an inch of glass. She felt, rather than heard or saw, them passing in front of her, like shadows in a pitch-black room. They gave her a wide berth, inching around the invisible barrier with the care of treasure-hunters trying not to wake a sleeping dragon, or children creeping around a swollen balloon, pins held behind their backs.

Most of them already thought that she was mad (which she was—just not in the way they thought they thought she was) anyways. No harm in cementing the notion.

She felt like she’d been there for days. At the same time, she felt like she’d just sat down. When she was approached, it felt both like it was too soon and that she’d been waiting for far too long.

She’d expected Jack, or maybe Martha. She’d expected someone to crouch down next to her, to duck away from a gentle hand and leap to her feet like a coiled spring. She’d expected to plaster a smile as fake as the light in her eyes across her face and sweep out before anyone had time to ask her anything else. She’d expected to shiver and stumble her way out of the building and make the hours-long trek home down the side of the highway. Maybe she’d even have the good fortune to be murdered on her way. Or to commit one. She hadn’t decided yet.

That wasn’t what she got.

A shadow fell over her, and the hair on the back of her neck bristled. “Get up,” said Koschei. “I’m taking you home.”

Theta managed a muffled noise that could have been a groan, and a minute twitch of her head that might have been a shake. She heard Koschei sigh, and imagined his nostrils flaring in exasperation as he rolled his eyes to the heavens in search of divine guidance. “Christ’s sake,” he growled. She heard the rustle of fabric as he crouched down, and felt surprisingly gentle hands unwind her arms from around herself. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut as he slung one of her arms over his shoulders, and wrapped one of his own around her waist. She was just glad he didn’t try to carry her. If he would even be able to manage. She let out a faint, high-pitched giggle at the image.

“You’re not going into hysterics, are you?” Koschei asked drily. She was walking, she noted. Knees bending, bones rolling in joints. One foot in front of the other, muscles tightening and contracting and loosening and stretching. So much put into the simple action and, yet, humans did it with less effort than breathing. Neat. “Fuck. Fine.” She half-stumbled when he stopped, feet dragging against the carpet. “Hey.” He patted her shoulder. “Stairs. C’mon.”

His car was just as ridiculous as she’d expected. She thought she might have been blinded a bit by the vibrant purple (or maybe that was just her—she was still dizzy), and it had no business having that much leather inside it.

The driver’s side door slammed shut and Koschei turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and Theta felt her seat rumble beneath her. “Address,” Koschei demanded.

Theta squeezed her eyes shut. Deep blue door, paint chipped and worn from where it kept slamming into the wall. Purple couch, strewn with rainbow cushions and worn flannel blankets. Counter, stained with rings of tea and spilled soup. Bedroom. Office, books on the ground and jackets slung over the desk, and photos turned down on their faces. She shook her head and dragged her hands down her face. Where was that, again?

Koschei sighed, and Theta heard gravel crunch beneath wheels (crunchy crunch crunch). “Fine,” he said. “Alright, then. Don’t get on my case about it later, then.”

*

She didn’t remember what her dorm had looked like. Had she pinned up posters, or photos, or strung scarves and tinsel from the bedposts to the walls? What had the ceiling looked like when the curtains had shifted and let slivers of sunlight shoot through? She’d had a recorder, she remembered, and a habit of leaving it on her roommate’s dresser or her desk in the morning, and finding it on the ground in the afternoon.

Not that she’d cared. She hadn’t spent nearly enough time in that room to call it home, and wouldn’t have even gone back had she not been frog-marched every night. A place to sleep, to work, to sit in silence and contemplate whatever it was people spent their time contemplating. And dreadfully wasteful, she remembers saying. She could have done any of that just as well, if not better, on the roof, on a bench, or in Magnus’s bathtub, and given no one any reason to complain (except Mortimus, maybe, but they’d all known that he didn’t shower anyways).

At most, she thinks, it would have been a mirror of Koschei’s. His had been an impersonal one, she remembers, even in contrast to Vansell’s monotone, showroom sheets and pillows. No point, he’d said, and she’d agreed and forgotten about it.

Koschei’s house wasn’t small. Normal-sized, a jogger passing by might call it. Average. A bachelor’s pad would be the words on a real estate agent’s tongue, and condo on the lease.

The Koschei she’d known wouldn’t have given it a second thought. The Koschei she knows tosses a throw out of the way and deposits her on an overstuffed brown armchair smelling faintly of cats.

He didn’t sit down across from her. She didn’t know whether or not she was grateful for that. “Tea?” he asked, tossing his coat over the back of the couch. “I’ve got chai, ceylon, and some weird pink stuff I got on sale.”

She cleared her throat. “Pink stuff,” she said, a bit hoarsely.

He vanished. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, resting her elbows on her knees. The chair was soft, even softer now that she was thinking about it. Soft enough that she was actually a bit worried about sinking into it. And that was definitely a cat smell.

She’d had a cat once, in a sense. A stray that used to wander around the grounds sometimes that she would throw chunks of biscuit at, until Millenia told her that they were bad for cats. She’d called her (the cat, not Millenia) Stinky, Tyche, O Mighty Ball of Rage, and, on one occasion, after being scratched, Irving (she had later gone back and apologized for her actions—Theta, not the cat).

She puffed her cheeks out and let her breath out until her lungs were sagging and her chest ached. She leaned back and dragged her hands down her face.

She peeked through her fingers and let her eyes roam around the room. Walls the colour of a robin’s egg (She’d never actually seen a robin before, but their eggs always looked very pretty in pictures.) (They sounded quite nice, too—the birds, not the eggs. She’d searched up a recording of their song and listened until Max from next door had banged on the wall and yelled at her to turn it off.), a coffee table covered in scratches and stains sagging under the weight of more books and magazines than she could count (she tried, then got distracted by a headline about a unicorn, Sherlock Holmes, and Jesus), heavy brown drapes she could have drowned in, and an almost-carbon copy of the rug in his office that had definitely seen better days. Faded elegance and false mosaics. About as far from his Baroquian office and tailored suits as she could imagine.

Cramped was a word. So was messy. Cozy was another.

“Tea.” She jumped. “Here.” She took the mug that was, indeed, full of steaming pink liquid. She sniffed it suspiciously.

Koschei leaned against a wall, next to an unframed painting of a desert scene. Theta felt distinctly like the tumbleweed should have been bouncing through the room, not the canvas. He shifted his own mug from one hand to the other. Theta raised her own and took a cautious sip. It tasted, to her (pleasant) surprise, more like lemons than boiled Pepto-Bismol. She took another, larger sip.

Koschei tugged idly on the string of his teabag, watching it bob up and down in his mug. “Wanna talk?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Don’t know,” she said. “Is this therapy?”

He swirled his teabag around in his cup. “This is me trying not to be an arse.” A few drops slashed over the rim, and he caught them on his finger before they fell to the ground.

“Huh.” Theta took another sip. “Needs work.”

“Yeah?” The floorboards should have creaked when he walked around her. It felt like they might have, at least. It felt like they did.

They didn’t, of course. Koschei probably wouldn’t have lived in a house with creaky floorboards even when held at gunpoint. Probably. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She took a gulp of tea, then coughed as it scalded her throat on the way down.

“Bullshit.”

“Is that any way to talk to a patient?” she asked sardonically.

“You’re not a patient,” Koschei pointed out. “Not right now.”

Theta scowled down into her pink stuff. “Bad day,” she muttered.

“How?”

She shrugged. “Tired, I guess. Unprepared.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever chucked a body out a window?” Theta asked sarcastically, scratching the back of the head. “Bet you anything someone down there screams.”

“You’re not a pedestrian.”

“Analogy, Doctor,” Theta grumbled, dragging her hand through her hair. Her fingers caught on a knot and she tugged at it irritably. “You know, that might just be the nicest thing you’ve said to me lately?”

“A pedestrian, Doctor, a pedestrian.”

She snickered. “Sure.”

“You’re tedious. A lifeless lump. I can feel myself falling asleep already.”

Theta dragged air in through her teeth. “He—there was a serial kidnapper,” she told him. “Sounds a bit silly, saying it like that, now I think about it. ‘Serial kidnapper.’ Most people don’t talk about them, you know? Not in many crime shows, I reckon. Doesn’t sound like the brightest idea, either. Serial kidnapper. Kidnapper, but serial. What’s one person going to do with that many people, anyways?”

She was rambling, she knew. It was the most she’d ever said at one time about it since she’d given the report, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “It wasn’t hard, in the end, to find him. Wasn’t too clever. Not clever enough, at least. You know?”

“I know,” said Koschei.

“It was a house in Leeds,” said Theta. “His house. The house wasn’t the kidnapper. That’s where he was keeping everyone. House in Leeds, on Satellite and Fifth, in the basement. Cliché, I guess, but if it ain’t broke. . .” She waited for him to cut her off. He didn’t. She took a big, harsh gulp of her tea, and coughed when it went down the wrong way.

“I didn’t—” Her fingers turned white against the mug. “It was my fault,” she said. “I know that. Jack knows that. She probably did, too.”

“Who?”

Shit.

Theta drained the last few drops of tea. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Obviously it does,” said Koschei sardonically.

“You know.”

“Not from you.” Was it her imagination, or was that softness in his voice? She tried to take another sip from the empty mug. “What are you afraid of?”

Not you, she didn’t say. Not myself. Not her.

Slowly, carefully, she lowered her right hand into her lap. She turned it palm-up, shakily uncurling her fingers. “Her name was Rose,” she quietly. “She was my—” Girlfriend sounded wrong; young, trivial, insouciant. Fiancée hurt. Partner made her want to scream. “She was my friend,” she said softly. “She was my best friend. More than that. She was everything. More than that, even. And I don’t think I ever even told her.”

“Why?”

She bared her teeth bitterly. “Because I’m an idiot,” she said, the mug hot beneath her palm. “Isn’t that what you always said?”

His fingers twitched against his knees. “What happened to him?” he asked. “The kidnapper.”

Theta shrugged. “Ran,” she said. Ran past right in front of me and I couldn’t even get up to stop him. “I don’t think he knew what he was doing, not really. He was half-mad to begin with. They caught up with him a day later.”

“What else?”

She closed her eyes and bodies laid out neatly like books on a shelf metal doors swinging shut blonde hair vanishing behind cold unforgiving steel pain in her hand weight inside her heart and another one in her pocket against it let her breath out through her nose.

“She looked like her,” she said. “That girl. On the wall. She looked like Rose.”

“Do you ever think about revenge?” The question burst forwards abruptly, like water from a split balloon.

She frowned. “Where’s that coming from?”

“It’s a question,” said Koschei, eyes never moving from hers. “Do you?”

Theta tapped her fingers on the rim of her mug. “No point,” she muttered. “Just causes more trouble.”

“That’s changed,” Koschei muttered.

“Be bad if it hadn’t, though, wouldn’t it?” Theta put the empty mug down on the coffee table, then instantly regretted it. She settled for picking at her fingernails instead. “I think that’s what people call growth.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Too bad. It’s all I’ve got.”

“Hypothetically?”

She prodded at a hangnail, and imagined peeling it away. She could see it in her mind, clear as day: the thinnest strip of skin hanging from her hand like a loose thread and a trail of red in its wake. “I hear pushing them off cliffs works great.”

“Yeah?” he said almost before she’d finished speaking.

“No.” She pried at the tip of one nail with another. “It’s shit, by the way. The cliff thing.”

He shrugged. “Same goes for most split-second decisions, I’d wager.”

“Split-second.” He shrugged again.

“I’d assume.” He moved around her, and she shifted back in her chair as he bent over the coffee table. He swept a newspaper from last month and a magazine headlining an article about a man with twelve fingers out of the way and sat down in front of her. “You still haven’t said.” He put his mug down next to himself.

She watched it teeter precariously on the stack of magazines, pinching the tip of her finger until it turned red. “Does it matter?”

“Will you tell me if I say yes?”

She huffed. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that.”

“Oh, go on, Theta.”

She shrugged. “Kill him, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“It’s not like I’ve thought about it.” Not actively, at least.

“How?”

She dragged a breath in through her teeth. “I don’t know,” she said.

“But you would.”

“I would.”

He cocked his head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?”

He shrugged. “Ethics?” he suggested. “Moral code? You’ve got one, haven’t you?”

“You know, sometimes it sounds like you’re one bad day away from being Harold Shipman.”

He snorted. “Well?”

Theta pressed her finger against her palm. The crack echoed through the room. “Hannah,” she said, “said it’s alright. That it’s cathartic.”

“Hannah?” Koschei asked sharply.

“Yup.” Theta popped the knuckle on her next finger. “She’s a therapist. Maybe you’ve met?”

“I thought you didn’t see anyone,” said Koschei, sounding very much like he’d just been tricked and wasn’t too happy about it.

“I didn’t.” Theta cracked her pinkie. “Ianto tricked me into picking Jack up. She was very nice to talk to.”

“Yeah?”

“‘Course. Lovely woman. Like cats. Your chair smells like one, you know?”

“A woman?”

“A cat.”

“Mhm. Would you like me to arrange the funeral now, or later?”

She kicked at his shin, and he stomped on her toes. Theta’s scowl deepened, and Koschei just managed to yank his leg out of the way in time. Theta flopped back in her seat and glared at him.

Koschei leaned back on his arms. His eyes followed the faint shaking of her right hand. “Would you?” he asked softly. And then, “I would.”

Did.

Theta looked down, letting her hair fall over her face. “They thought it was me,” she said suddenly. Her nail throbbed where she’d tugged at it. “They thought it was me that—you know. Glospin.” The name felt foreign on her tongue, misshapen in her mouth. “Somehow.” She dug her nails into the back of her hand until her fingers shook.

He reached forwards and stilled her hands with his. They were warm, feverish, almost, against the cold of her fingers. “Did you ever read my letters?” he asked. “I thought—” He took in a deep, rattling breath, then let out one that sounded like a laugh. “I don’t know. No one else ever said anything about it to me, but I thought that the others were writing you, too.” His hands tightened around hers. “Did you even open them?” he asked, sounding very much like he already knew the answer.

She tried to clench her fists, and he tightened his fingers around hers. “Wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities,” she muttered.

“What was?”

“Believe it or not, Koschei, you’re not the centre of the universe,” she bit out. “Or mine, either.”

He didn’t let go of her hands, and she didn’t pull them back, either. He toyed with the tip of her pinky—the crooked one, from when she’d broken it punching a cabinet when they were twelve. “Why?” he asked again.

She looked down at their hands. His were fine-boned and calloused, the skin around his nails darkened and bruised. Hers were smaller, but rougher, the dirt under her nails a stark contrast to his careful manicure, and shaking like leaves in the wind.

What a pair they made.

“You’d want to talk,” she said. “You’d want to talk about it.”

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, twining like leaves of grass reclaiming what was theirs. Serpents drawn to the light, closer and closer until the toothy jaws could snap shut over them. “Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black to me,” said Koschei. “You’re the talker. Always yammering.”

She rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t have let it go,” she said. “You know you do that, right? Grab onto something and just hang on?”

He rolled his eyes. “Pot,” he said, holding up their hands, “meet kettle.”

She snorted, and tugged her hands back.

He let it go. For now.

*

It hadn’t been a gift. Not to her.

He wasn’t an idiot; he knew that.

Still.

Still.

It had been something.

He tugged the oven door open, and a wall of heat hit him in the face. He grimaced and squinted through the wavering haze.

She’d never been good at taking care of herself. He’d bring her something tomorrow.

[kotakhrome]

The following is a work of fiction.

"The Surprise"

Greta and I had been friends online for years. We met back in the day of AOL chatrooms.

We had been there for each other for everything. Bad breakups, deaths in our families, and even when she was stuck in a very abusive relationship.

Greta had been hospitalized. I couldn't get ahold of her. I couldn't find any trace of her. I began panicking. I called her boyfriend. He told me she disappeared and didn't know where she was.

I didn't believe him at all. I knew the horrible things he did to her. Beating her, forcing himself on her, she was his legitimate slave. So I booked a flight. I needed to go find her. Deep down, I knew the love of my life was in trouble.

During my cross country flight, I made note of every hospital, police station, and morgue in a 30 mile radius. I would check every single one until I found her.

After landing, I grabbed my rental car, and found a small hotel to spend the night. I set my alarm for 6 am. No way could I function tonight, I needed sleep.

As I drifted away to sleep, I fell into a dream instantly. I was in a room of all white. Warm, bright sunlight filled the room. I looked towards the doorway as Greta stepped through, her blonde hair flowing past her shoulders. The black lingerie clashed with her bronze skin. As she walked closer I threw off the pure white blanket. I was completely nude. My nipples stood erect and my legs were bent, spread out waiting for her.

Greta crawled towards me as she got onto the bed. Crawling past my legs, dragging her hand up my body, from my pussy, up my stomach, stopping at my breasts. She circled my nipples with her finger. Giving each one a gentle pinch. Grinning, she kissed the middle of my chest. Leaving a trail of kisses up to my neck, stopping at my ear. The room suddenly went black. Confused I looked around but could not see anything. An audible, yet very quiet voice suddenly whispered to me. The voice sounded distressed, labored. The voice weeped. I could feel her tears, the warmth of her breath.

"Help me" the voice sobbed. With that my eyes flew open. I was in my hotel room. I was instantly filled with rage. I got up out of bed on a mission. Stripping off my pajamas and changing into my black combat boots, blue jeans, and a flannel shirt. I threw on my army green jacket, and grabbed my keys. I went to the hotel office and told them I would be staying a few more days and put down a deposit to hold the room for me.

Speeding away from the hotel, I came across a 24 hour department store. I pulled into the parking lot and checked the time. 5 am. Much earlier than I had planned on getting on the trail. I wouldn't be creating much attention. Very few employees would be paying attention to customers. On a b-line, I went to the sporting goods department. I grabbed the the heaviest metal softball bat I could find. Giving it a few test swings I knew this would work in a pinch. I turned around to go to checkout and I spotted it. A large hunting knife. The 8 inch black blade somehow glistened under the flourecent light of the store. It was now 5:30. I needed to get moving. Grabbing the knife, I walked with a purpose, baseball bat and knife in hand. I approached the self checkout. The gentleman watching over the registers looked at me with wide eyes. He sputtered out in a nasally voice "Sure is an odd combination at 5:30"

The kid couldn't have been older than 20. I looked at him and smiled politely. "It's for protection," I explained. "I'm from out of town, and I don't know the city well. " With that being said he pondered for a moment, then nodded acceptingly.

Moving quickly to my car I was almost running. A light jog. I had to find her. As I started my car, I heard my phone make a ping. I checked my notifications. It was Greta! Her message said, "Home. Help." I put the car into drive and pulled into traffic, cutting off at least 3 other drivers. I was only 5 minutes from her house. Pulling up to her home, it was completely dark. I got out and slipped the sheathed knife into the back of my jeans, hidden under my coat. I grabbed the bat from the backseat and stormed towards the front door. A few years ago, Greta had told me where the spare key was.

Unlocking the door quietly, I slipped in the door and pushed it closed. I heard noises coming from down the hallway. Stepping carefully, making sure not to make any noise. I got to the corner of the wall, looking down the darkened hallway. I could see the silhouette of her boyfriend pacing back and forth across the open doorway to a bedroom. He was muttering to himself. Inaudible whispers spewed from his mouth. He was visibly angry. I heard him loudly say, "Fuck it!" He turned down the hall and was stomping my way. With one swift, fluid motion, I channeled my skills from my years in college softball. I swung the bat with all my strength, hitting him square in the stomach. The man instantly dropped to his knees. In one quick movement, I kicked the tip of my boot straight to his mouth. Knocking him unconscious.

I sprinted down the hallway and burst into the bedroom. Greta laid bloody, and beaten. Her phone was smashed to pieces next to her. Her nude body was laying motionless, wrists tied to the bedposts. I rushed to her side, knife in hand. I cut the rope that bound her. I wrapped her up in a blanket and pulled out my cellphone. Dialing 911 I heard her boyfriend stirring.

I went to check on him. He was starting to get up. He struggled on his hands and knees, blood flowing from his mouth. The first thing he saw was my shadowy form running down the hallway towards him. I kicked him full force across his face and in one swift motion, I was straddling him, punching like an MMA fighter. Each punch landed, a left, a right, one after another. I could feel the bones in both my hands and his face breaking as I made connection.

I got up off of him and spit on his motionless body. Kicking him in the ribs, I picked the phone up off the floor, I could hear the operator yelling. I answered her. Breathing heavy and out of breath I replied, "I'd like to report an assault."

Within minutes, police busted into the house, guns raised and shouting instructions. When they got to the bedroom, they found Greta and I on the bed. She was crying as I held her in my arms, stroking her golden hair. I heard the clicking of the handcuffs from down the hallway.

As the officers approached the bed, their guns were still raised. Pointed straight at me. They shouted instructions for me to stand slowly and drop any weapons I had. I leaned in and kissed Greta as I was yanked from the bed. Smiling at her, I promised her I would come back for her as soon as I could.

I eventually had the charges dropped. My story held up to the confession of her boyfriend. Greta pleaded with the police that I was innocent.

I took Greta home with me. At first, we had separate rooms. Building a relationship and friendship. The days of spending hours chatting online were over. Instead, we spent hours at the kitchen table, talking, sharing stories from our lives.

Over the time of a year, Greta and I grew closer. Our relationship flourished. We became lovers, and even got married. We attended therapy together to help with her anxiety. We even started a group for battered women to attend and share their survival stories.

We were called to a group members home one night. When we arrived, there was a note on the door. It said,

Sleeping.

Living room.

Recliner.

Let yourself in.

At my mom's.

The last thing the woman's husband saw was Greta holding him down and my gleeful smile as my hunting knife cut smoothly across his throat.

The End.

[bookworlders]

the wedding date - chapter 8

percabeth fake dating!au based on The Wedding Date movie

part 1 | FFnet | ao3 

note: this story contains adult content :) 

Annabeth woke up alone.

And sore. She stretched and her muscles ached in protest. The light streaming in through the windows of Cabin 3 brought attention to the pounding in her head in addition to her sore muscles. Annabeth suddenly remembered why — actually more like two, three, and an earth-shattering fourth reason why her body ached so much this morning.

---

It was the briefest of post-hook up naps. Annabeth bristled as Percy roused her awake with light kisses up her jaw.

“Wake up, sleepy head. I don’t think you want to sleep on a stable floor, especially with those dance lessons in the morning.”

Annabeth tugged one of the tangled flannel blankets tighter around them, enjoying Percy’s warm weight on top of her, “Hm, someone’s been paying studying Leo’s itinerary.”

“I never thought I’d meet someone who can turn me on by saying the word ‘itinerary.’”

Annabeth grinned, rolling them over so she was on top of Percy. The blanket slipped down her back and she shivered when the chilled air in the stables hit her bare skin. She kissed him deeply, hands threading into his hair. She couldn’t tell if she was still buzzed from the bachelorette party or drunk off Percy. She only pulled away when her lungs were screaming for air. She stared at him.

“What?” Percy asked, “Why did you stop?”

Annabeth settled her hands on his chest, “Is this too much like prostitution? It feels like prostitution to me. I feel like I’m sexually harassing you, with the whole I’m paying you situation.”

“Trust me,” Percy replied between kisses on her neck, “I’m only doing what I want to do. Also, you’re the drunk one.”

“I’m not that drunk. Anymore.” Annabeth added.

“Good, because since you are paying me, let’s just say this is, uh, an intimacy charge. And it’s on the house,” Percy suggested, resuming kissing her. Annabeth obliged.

They gathered their clothes that they could find (Annabeth’s bra was lost to the stables forever) and stumbled half-clothed back to Cabin 3. Annabeth swore she saw Will sneaking into Cabin 13.

---

Her sore body alongside the pillows and blankets strewn all over the Cabin made sense if Annabeth’s recollection was correct. She and Percy had barely slept last night.

But Percy’s side of the bed was empty. She sat up, searching for her clothes in the bedding. She found her camp shirt hanging off the bedpost, but it was, shall we say, quite rumpled after their late-night escapades. She settled on a casual sundress that was at the top of her suitcase. Annabeth heard the rumble of Percy’s low voice outside, noticing the screen door of the cabin was propped open. She slipped on some flip flops and peeked her head out the door.

“Yeah, the wedding’s on Sunday. I’ll be back in the city by Monday morning.”

Percy was on the phone. “It’s going pretty great actually. We had a lot of fun last night, if you know what I mean.” He chuckled, switching ears. “Yeah, her friends are pretty cool. No, I don’t think they realize.”

Last Annabeth checked, none of Percy’s friends new about their arrangement, even their mutual ones like Rachel. Annabeth’s face flamed.

“I’m her plus one. Good work experience. Haha. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrow, crossing her arms as she waited for Percy to notice her standing out on the porch with him. Percy ended the call as he turned around and noticed her.

“Oh, hey, morning,” he said, an adorable grin sliding onto his face when he saw her. She was not amused.

“What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, that was just—”

“Who are you blabbing to about our arrangement?” Annabeth lowered her voice, looking around the circle of cabins. It was still early enough that no one was milling about yet, but she pulled Percy back into Cabin 3, regardless, and slammed the door.

“Annabeth–“

“We sleep together once and you’re going on to the world about how I’m paying you to be my wedding date? I can’t believe you told someone! I am paying you to be discreet and this is not discreet.” She marched over to their bedside table, wrenching the drawer open a tossing a thick envelope at Percy, “There’s your fucking intimacy charge.”

Percy frowned, glancing at the cash inside the envelope, “What the hell is this? Well, now you are treating me like some kind of prostitute, if that was what you’re worried about.” He tossed the envelope onto their bed, “For your information, that was my roommate who thinks I’m at a wedding with a girl I’m dating. For real.”

Annabeth scoffed, “’Good work experience,’ ‘my friends don’t realize’?”

“My roommate and I were cast in As You Like It at Shakespeare in the Park! And I told him I don’t think your friends have realized that I’ve never been to a wedding before. It’s like you want this whole thing to fail. I have no stake in this wedding except to be here for you!”

Annabeth was about to retort when their door flung open and Piper barged in, “Oh, thank gods you two are awake! It’s time for the dance lesson, let’s go!”

Annabeth, arms still crossed and exasperated, muttered, “Piper, we’re in the middle of something.”

“You can finish up your something at dance class.”

“Come on, Pipes, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

Piper shrugged, “Well, you should have gotten up earlier, Chase. She grabbed Annabeth’s arm. “Oh, Percy, you’re coming too. Nico’s super hungover and hasn’t stopped throwing up and Annabeth is gonna need a dance partner.”

---

Annabeth was fuming, arms crossed and refusing to look Percy in the eye. Percy was also fuming, however she could feel him glaring at her head.

The rest of the wedding party were gathered in a makeshift dance studio in Cabin 7. The bridesmaids and groomsmen were going to join Piper and Jason after their first dance and open up the dance floor to everyone. Jason insisted on the wedding party taking a dance lesson from his sister, Kayla.

The bunks in Cabin 11 had been pushed aside to make a clear dance floor in the middle and the cabin’s décor had mirrors and bars along the walls already. Kayla had partnered them off and positioned them around the room — Piper and Jason, Reyna and Leo, Frank and Hazel, Thalia and Luke, and Annabeth with Percy as Nico’s stand-in, and Drew with Will who was standing in for Dakota, Jason’s friend from California who wasn’t flying in until tonight for the rehearsal dinner.

Kayla clasped her hands together, “Alright, everyone! We’re going to learn some ballroom basics so you guys can waltz to Piper and Jason’s wedding song. What is it again, guys?”

Jason beamed. Annabeth had heard them arguing about their first dance song for months, and it was clear that Jason had won. Piper rolled her eyes, “Tell her, Grace.”

“Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers,” Jason announced to the room.

“Only the whitest song in the world,” grumbled Piper.

“It’s the song that inspired Lover by Taylor Swift and since you wouldn’t let me choose that-”

“Let’s get started!” Kayla cut them off, thankfully. Annabeth could sense a fight starting if they continued. Taylor Swift was a soft spot for Jason. “First, we need to learn how to do a proper basic hold. That will be our base. Gentlemen, lightly take your partner’s right hand.”

The only thing that gave away that Annabeth had heard Kayla was the sharp exhalation through her nostrils. When Annabeth didn’t uncross her arms, Percy rolled his eyes, prying her right hand and taking it in his own.

“Now ladies, left hand slightly below your partner’s shoulder, and guys, right hand on her back. The holds should be very light,” Kayla continued.

“You’re gonna have to look at me for this to work, Annabeth,” Percy muttered, settling his hand on her back. “I don’t even understand why your still mad. I haven’t told anyone anything.”

“Shut up,” Annabeth hissed under breath, bringing her hand up to his shoulder, “I don’t want anyone to hear anything.”

Kayla was circulating the room, correcting each pairs hold. “Ooh, Annabeth, loosen up. You’re so tense. You don’t want to restrain Percy.”

Percy smirked, “You did last night.” He whispered in her ear.

Annabeth’s mouth gaped open. She stomped on his foot.

“That hurt, you’re being so childish,” Percy whined.

“What’s childish was your little kiss and tell stunt this morning.”

Kayla continued on teaching them the basic steps and counting, Percy and Annabeth bickering with each box step. They were actually pretty good at it. They were the first couple to nail down reverse and natural turns in the waltz, while most of the other pairs were struggling with who was leading.

“For the last time, Annabeth,” Percy said, spinning her, “I haven’t told anyone anything. Just believe me.”

Annabeth met him with silence, even refusing to look at him as he dipped her. Percy met her silent treatment in stride with their waltz.

“I’m surprised you’re actually letting me lead,” Percy said, moving them across the Cabin floor in time with the classical music Kayla had put on through the speaker, “I wouldn’t pin you as someone who lets other people take control after last night.” He guided them away from Thalia and Luke whose shoelaces had somehow ended up twisted together. Kayla was trying to unknot them.

“You don’t even know me, Percy,” Annabeth rolled her eyes.

“I know a lot more than most now.”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t want you spreading things around!”

“I haven’t said anything to anyone! Seriously, you just woke up ready to be pissed at me, didn’t you?”

“Might be because I woke up alone-”

“Hey, you two,” Kayla said, walking over to them after helping Piper and Jason with their counts, “Your turns look great, but I think I need to review the steps with the others a couple more times.”

Annabeth glanced over to where Hazel and Frank were struggling with their waltz. It may be that one of Frank’s strides were double of Hazel’s, “Fine. I could use a break anyway.” She dropped Percy’s grasp and strode to the other room in the cabin where Piper had set up drinks and snacks.

Percy followed her, scooching past Drew and Will who seemed to be tango-ing rather than waltzing and Reyna who was most definitely the one leading Leo around the cabin, “You can’t be mad at me forever, Annabeth. I’m not sure Nico will be able to deal with you stepping on his foot every five seconds.”

“Will you just quit it already?” Annabeth roughly twisting the cap off a water bottle off.

“You weren’t saying that last night.”

Annabeth choked on the water she was gulping down. She coughed, “You’re so goddamn frustrating!” She pulled a hair tie off her wrist and threw her hair up into a tight ponytail.

“Uh, Annabeth—”

“What! What now, Percy?”

“You, um,” he motioned to his own neck, flushing. Annabeth had a huge, purpling hickey above her collarbone.

Annabeth’s eyes narrowed. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, turning on the camera to view the evidence of her drunken tryst. She gasped. Percy swore she was exhaling steam from her nostrils, “Percy!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Look what you’ve done!

“Hey, you weren’t complaining last night!”

“The wedding is tomorrow-”

“Hey, you guys?” Kayla called out, peeking her head around the corner.

Annabeth tugged her hair back out of the ponytail, effectively hiding her hickey, “Hey, sorry, we’ll be back out there in a sec.”

“Actually, I think I’ll be a little while longer with everyone else. You guys can leave, though, you did great! I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” Annabeth said. “Okay.”  

Percy followed her back out into the main room of the cabin. Kayla’s dance lessons had since descended into further madness. Reyna and Leo had given up. Drew was in tears. Nico had finally shown up looking more gaunt than usual, and Will was yelling at him. Hazel seemed to nursing a bruised toe. Frank was fumbling with an ice pack and paper towels. Percy winced, he would not want a guy the size of Frank stomping around anywhere near his feet. And Piper and Jason were arguing in the corner with Kayla.

“Tell him, Kayla! We can’t waltz to Lover by Taylor Swift!”

“Actually-”

“It’s more waltzable than an Indie crap you want us to dance to!”

“Indie crap? What the hell did you just say to me, Sparky?”

Percy quickly followed Annabeth out of the cabin, he did not want to witness that argument. She stalked ahead, not bothering to wait up.

“Annabeth!” Percy sped up to meet her stride. She didn’t acknowledge him as she beelined back to Cabin 3. She pushed open the door, letting it swing back on Percy. He rolled his eyes, following her into the Cabin. “Annabeth, come on.”

She finally turned to face him. With the look on her face, he wasn’t sure if she was going to punch him or-

“What are you doing?” Percy pulled away after returning Annabeth’s fierce kiss.

Annabeth pulled her hair into a ponytail, exposing the hickey on her neck, “Getting you back.”