#the one on the very left was the first attempt and then i thought… what if he had more fish like ears instead. bc he is part mudskipper

[honeyjynxxed]

DeadTired Draft

"You're very good at pretending to be a shadow."

Tim's voice shook Danny from his quiet note taking and he looked up at his study partner with furrowed brows and confusion on his face. "I'm sorry?" It was as much a question as it was an apology which meant it was neither really.

Electric blue eyes pinned him in place, and Tim looked at Danny as if he had just said the sky was green. "If I had not been partnered with you in our ecology class I wouldn't know you exist. No one at this school knows you exist besides the staff and even then you're a name to a face to a grade. Nothing else. You're very good at pretending to be a shadow, a bodiless thing gliding along the edges of society."

Danny bit his lip slightly, mulling these words over. Tim was right of course, he never allowed himself to make waves, he stuck to the background of any place he was in, and really he was surprised that he wasn't more noticeable with how often Tim Drake-Wayne was his study partner. "I guess...I've never really like attention anyway. Why, you stalking me, Drake?" He raised a brow at the other boy, attempting to hide his confusion behind snark. He hardly ever used Tim's last name, either of them, but this seemed like an appropriate time to do so.

"Hiding something, Nightingale?" Tim snarked back but there was a bit of genuine questioning under his tone that had Danny tensing up in his sit, gripping his pencil a little too tightly in his left hand. "I can only contact you through your student email, you don't have a phone number or a phone period as far as I can tell, you have a laptop that barely works and seemingly requires a blood sacrifice to do the most basic of tasks. You live on campus but you never let me see your dorm, you never agree to meet me anywhere but the library on campus and I just-" He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hands through his hair and suddenly Danny is a lot less tense in his seat. When Tim's eyes settle on him again there's genuine concern there and it breaks his heart. "I am worried. Daniel Nightingale doesn't exist outside of this college and it makes me think you're running from something or someone. If that isn't the cause then by all means please tell me I'm overstepping but Danny..." Tim reaches across the table that separates them and grabs at his free hand. "If you need help I'm here, ok?"

And oh...oh Danny's core positively sings in his chest at the admission. Protection was a major obsession for Danny and the way Tim talked, the way he explained his thought process, it made Danny feel warm and fuzzy inside despite the permanent chill in his body. Tim wanted to protect him and wasn't that so sweet? "I-" Danny stuttered before a sad smile was spreading across his lips and he gave the boy's hand a gentle squeeze. "I appreciate that but unless you have a way to somehow get an entire government organization disbanded and legislature revoked then I'm afraid this is out of your ballpark."

And really, Danny should've known better than to open his fat mouth. He should've known that the Fenton luck would bite him in the ass with his first real friend since Sam and Tucker. Tim may have dropped the conversation after that but by no means had he dropped the topic entirely. No instead apparently he had somehow gotten into contact with the Justice League because less than two weeks later Batman, Red Robin, Superman, and John Constantine of all people were waiting for him inside his dorm when he got back from a late night of studying.

What.

The.

Fuck.

[lightseoul]

a/n. pleasantly surprised at how quickly i wrote this bit, it practically wrote itself. glad the first part was interesting for a lot of you—i love writing about psych/therapy stuff (despite my complex relationship with 'em), and ofc bkg <3 i honestly don't know where i'm going with this, but it's been fun so far. (0.8k)

navigation. part 1, (you are here)

thankfully—and to the relief of whatever dignity he had left—that interaction was short-lived.

well, it’s mostly because after you blinked at him for what felt like a torturous eternity and said a shaky hello back, he gave you a curt nod as if he wasn’t the one who just initiated the exchange and bolted it out of there without a single glance back.

that bit haunted him for the next few days, reappearing in his consciousness whenever the topic of therapy or anything remotely close to it was broached. he even snapped at kirishima when the redhead asked how his latest session went during one of their evening patrols together. it was a kneejerk reaction, an entirely out-of-proportion, aggressive response that shocked even him, which says a lot.

he should go ahead and text the guy an apology.

eventually, though, that unfortunate powwow slowly faded into the background of his exceptionally busy mind as the days went on. things got so hectic in the agency that he had to postpone his appointment for the week, which—quite frankly—is an upside to this chaos, because he sure wasn’t pumped about discussing his love life, or the lack thereof, with the jarringly knowing middle-aged lady. being able to definitively avoid you and buy you more time to forget about his stupid social blunder is merely the cherry on top.

okay, maybe the incident didn’t actually slip his mind after all.

“…bakugou-san? are you still with me?”

dazed, bakugou squeezes his eyes shut before fluttering them open, and what greets him is the very same lady against the backdrop of her increasingly familiar office, only this time she’s looking more concerned than perceptive.

right. he’s supposed to be in the middle of a session right now.

“yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of irrelevant thoughts and focus on the matters at hand. therapy is expensive, after all. “i’m here.”

that doesn’t seem to placate the woman who instead prods, much to his chagrin. “you seem out of it today. is there something in your mind that you want us to talk about?”

for a second, he debates caving and just telling her the dumb shit that happened two weeks ago, but then backtracks when it dawns on him how ridiculous everything is. what is he, a prepubescent boy? he died and survived a major war, for fuck’s sake. why is he so hung up on seeming awkward for once in his life?

even hearing it in his head is embarrassing enough.

that settles it, then. his lips are and will remain sealed.

but then his gaze refocuses on his therapist, and the sheer ‘unconditional positive regard’ or whatever the crap is called that she’s radiating becomes so palpable that it just spills out of him.

“i fucked up.”

that makes the lady frown—which, if he thinks about it, is understandable, because he rarely opens up about his failures, let alone this blatantly—although she manages to quickly school her expression into a more neutral one. “can i ask you to expound on it?”

at that, bakugou sighs, because it’s either he just tells the laughable truth or actually cite one of his actual mistakes—which he’s not feeling right now, by the way. or he can expertly maneuver the conversation to another topic, but something tells him there’s no getting out of the current subject. maybe today, there is, but it’ll surely loom over their next sessions indefinitely until either of them revisits it.

he should know. it’s happened to him too many times, he’s lost count.

with this realization, he can only sigh again.

“it’s stupid,” he preempts.

“i’d like to hear it regardless,” comes her classic, supportive response.

and so he does it. talk, that is. it starts off a bit rough—he didn’t know how to even begin without flushing like an idiot, but he managed to get the brief anecdote going. he still ended up blushing anyway—the warmth in his cheeks was undeniable—and if she noticed, she gratefully didn’t point it out. by the time he’s finished with the trivial tale, he’s mildly out of breath, having said everything in one continuous burst.

“i told you,” he spits when she doesn’t say anything for a beat. “it’s stupid.”

“i’d normally ask you to reconsider the adjectives you use for yourself and your experiences, but i think you’ve heard enough of that.”

he snorts. damn straight.

the woman then shoots him a smile, and he has to tamp down the reflex to bristle at an impending attempt to placate him. fortunately, it doesn’t come.

what does, instead, is a question.

one that catches him completely off guard.

“did you find her attractive?”

damn, is his first, immediate thought.

but then his normally trusty and acute brain seemingly comes to life and promptly supplies a second one that leaves him frozen and utterly dumbfounded.

yes.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra | @kalulakunundrum @cheezemanz @gold24fish @lunaryasha

[brightlotusmoon]

A few years ago, I was talking to my dad on the phone when he very happily told me that he had just learned a new word.

On one of his news programs they’d used the word “nonbinary.” Immediately upon hearing it, he said, he “went to the Google machine to look it up” because he really wanted to know what it meant.

He went on to tell me how wonderful he thought it was that language is expanding in order to better describe the human experience rather than pigeon-holing people into boxes into which they do not necessarily fit.

“In my day,” he said, “there were just two terms, but it’s apparent that that was not enough. So, nonbinary … I was very pleased to learn what that means.”

When I first shared the story, I wrote, “A lot of us grew up with pretty rigid ideas about the world, ourselves, and the universality of our own experiences. Eventually, if we’re lucky, we come across something that pushes us to expand, to take in new information, to broaden our perspectives.

What we’ve seen lately is a whole lot of shutting down in the face of that new information. Insecurity masquerading as certainty, fear cloaked in the robes of righteous indignation. Denial, refusal, bigotry (both overt and insidious.)

But then there’s my dad. An 84 year-old man, walking a whole other path. An open, loving, curious path. A path that says, hey, isn’t it wonderful that language is expanding in order to better describe the human experience rather than pigeon-holing people into boxes into which they do not necessarily fit?

A path that does not just accept, but celebrates that progress.”

But there’s important context that I left out. Because while these words and the concepts they represent may be new to some of us, they sure as hell aren’t actually new. They’re not radical or really even mildly progressive. They’ve been around far longer than any of us.

One of far too many examples to count comes from the people whose land we inhabit. The Anishinaabe people have been around since long before the United States existed and their language, Anishinaabemowin is gender-neutral. Rather than relying on a false binary, it contains myriad words to describe an entire spectrum of gender identities, experiences, and expressions.

In that context, our language really isn’t expanding at all. It’s simply returning to its roots.

No matter what happens or what those in positions of power attempt to dictate, human beings will remain who we are, and will continue to exist on a wild, messy, astoundingly beautiful spectrum.

{image is a graphic from Enby Delia featuring a heart in the trans flag colors and reading, “Your validity is not dictated by an executive order.”}

[lillaydee]

Head Over Heels Part 2

Jackson!Joel / Reader

Special Guest Appearance by a Certain FBI Agent who may or may not look a lot like Joel.

You left the loneliness of your home and headed to Jackson with Joel and the teenage girl he was with, hoping your new life would be less lonely. You should've stayed alone.

WARNING:

Non-canon Compliant, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Loneliness, Trauma.

MEGA WARNING: Descriptions of Attempted Sexual Assault.

@copperhalfcent @joelalorian @vickie5446 @peelieblue @nandan11

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 1

---

You watched as Ellie stomped her way into the single bedroom by the kitchen, rather than the very girly one upstairs she had used the last time, slamming the door behind her. Joel looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, stopping in the hallway, opening a door, before walking on, opening another door and closing it behind him. You heard some shuffling and the thud of a backpack being thrown on the floor before a small squeak of a bed followed. By the time you dragged your own feet upstairs, there was no sound to be heard from the room across from the only open door on the second floor landing.

He had taken the master. You guessed this meant this was your room then. The girly bedroom, along with the ensuite that was attached. You closed the door behind you and threw yourself on the dusty bed. The house seemed different now, compared to the first time you stepped in it months before. You remembered wishing you could stay; press the restart button on your life.

But now…

**********

The first couple of weeks on the road was actually okay. Ellie was the definition of a curious child – having grown up in the QZ orphanage and then sheltered behind the walls of the FEDRA school. Every single thing, things that you didn’t even think were odd or out of the ordinary were ‘awesome’ or ‘cool’ to her. You had been worried that things would be awkward, but there was no such thing when Ellie was around. So many questions. So many wonderment. She asked you about your life before the outbreak, asked how old you were, your family, what exactly a secretary did, Bill and Frank, your brothers, if you had a boyfriend, the questions were endless.

Joel drove and drove. Didn’t speak unless Ellie asked him a direct question. You didn’t even know if he listened. He got flustered when Ellie found Bill’s… special magazine, begging her to get rid of it. You smiled to yourself when you saw the magazine, one of the ones that distracted Bill so much during a supply run that the two of you narrowly escaped with your lives intact, way in the early days, when it was just the two of you. You remembered him trying to hide them from you, blubbering that he got them for you when they fell out of his shirt.

Sure Bill, the men on men magazine was for your private entertainment. He looked panicked at your implication. You just rolled your eyes and told him it’s not like you had anyone to snitch to, Bill.

When Ellie fell asleep, he asked what you were smiling about, shocking the living crap out of you that he actually spoke to you, using words that didn’t involve needing to stop to refuel, change drivers or have a bathroom break. When you told him about it, he actually let out a small huff of a laugh, making you startle.

“What?” he asked, “I laugh.”

You shrugged, “All evidence so far to the contrary.”

You couldn’t say for sure, having your head turned towards the views outside your open window, but you thought you saw his head turn and looked at you for a while when you said that. Of course, when you turned, his eyes were dead straight on the road, his face serious again, all traces of that tiny laugh gone.

Meals were basically canned foods and MREs – Bill had found a stash and insisted they be saved for last, should it come to that. Ellie was shocked at how much food a soldier was given for one meal, the three of you basically flat out on your backs after sharing one. Frankly, you were more shocked that none of you got sick from the twenty years old food, but you supposed those years had somehow strengthened your stomach linings with steel.

Every now and again, you saw a different side of Joel, particularly when it came to Ellie. When she fell asleep in her sleeping bag, he would lay a folded blanket under her head, tightening the bag around her to make sure she wasn’t cold. When she went for a bathroom break, he stood guard with his back towards her, standing way too close for the teenager’s liking, humming to himself when she told him to, so he couldn’t hear her do her business. Whenever he thought he heard or saw something, his body automatically shielded hers. Even the way he reacted to her seeing the less than PG pictures in those magazines gave you a glimpse of the Joel before. The single parent Joel. The one with the teenage daughter.

With you, though, he was a different person altogether.

You were cleaning yourself in a stream when you stopped to make camp, using a small towel to cleanse your body without taking anything off. You had gone down as Ellie and Joel were setting up camp, intending to get water for the night. The bubbling and running of rushing waters had muffled the surroundings, overwhelming your senses. You thought, why waste the water you were bringing up to the camp when you could just clean first and bring more water for the two of them to use? You were dipping your head in the water when you heard a scuffle, immediately getting your gun, only to see Joel sliding a knife across a man’s throat, another already dead from what seemed to be a stab wound to the chest, Ellie standing by the trees with a gun in her hands, her back to the both of you, checking for other threats.

He barked at you to get back to the camp with Ellie, grabbing the gun from her, quickly rinsing his knife and parts of his body with water from the stream. He put the fire out, grabbing everything from the camp and practically tossed you and Ellie back into the car and driving off. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was angry at you. Ellie didn’t say a word, realizing that this was not the time for one of her puns.

You didn’t dare speak. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so strongly you could hear his skin stretch. His jaw was clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind. His breathing was so heavy, his eyes focused on the darkening road ahead. No one spoke for what felt like hours. You got out of the car when he stopped every hour to refuel, gun at the ready, as he quickly poured gasoline into the truck, very quickly jumping back into the car once he was done.

During the last refuel, Ellie whispered to you through the slightly cracked window, telling you she was hungry. You dug your hand in the bed and got her some of the energy bars you made, handing them to her and shoving a few more in your pocket, taking a bottle of water with you back inside when Joel dumped the fuel can back in the truck bed.

You took an energy bar out of your pocket after a few minutes of driving, peeling the baking paper off the sticky meal and broke it into two pieces, handing one half to him as he drove. He ignored you, pointedly turning his body the other way, driving with only his right hand.

“Joel don’t be stupid. I know you’re mad at me, but you hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Eat it. You can yell at me later. But eat, Goddamned it, we don’t need you passing out while driving,” you snarked at him, annoyed that he was being so egotistical to prove a point.

His head snapped towards you, his eyes sharp, his nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m mad at you? ‘Mad’ doesn’t begin to explain what I’m feeling Elena! What the fuck were you thinking? You didn’t tell us you were going to the stream. You were so distracted you weren’t watching your surroundings. Those people were not infected, Elena, they were men. Do you have any idea what they could’ve done to you if Ellie hadn’t noticed you were gone?”

“I was getting us some water, Joel, I just wanted to clean up a little bit. Is that so wrong?”

“None of us smell like lavender, in case you haven’t noticed, but is that worth the risk sneaking off without telling us? They could’ve killed you, Elena, worse, they could’ve…” he stopped talking, turning his eyes back on the road, taking a deep, annoyed breath, eyes closing momentarily, a shiver visible on his body as he controlled his anger at you.

“I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again. You can leave me at the next camp if you feel I put you two in danger, but please, Joel, eat something.”

He ignored you, but you swore you could see his eyes flashed with something in the darkness at your words. There was a few seconds of complete silence in the car, save for the sounds of the engine as he sped through the night.

A loud, crunching noise broke that silence, both you and Joel jumping a bit at the suddenness of it all.

“Sorry,” Ellie mumbled through crunches. “I’m so hungry.”

You were still holding the half of the energy bar out to him, your other hand feeding your half to yourself.

“Joel don’t be stupid. Eat the fucking food,” Ellie sighed out loud.

You could see Joel’s resolve waver, snatching the bar out of your hand and eating it, his face still dark with anger. You finished your half before breaking the other one in half and handing one part to him, which he took. You passed the water bottle around for the three of you to drink before settling in your seat, telling Joel now he could seethe at you in peace. You won’t bother him again.

You fell asleep sometime later, your sleep only lightly disturbed by what was obviously a dream – one where a soft-faced Joel was caressing your face lightly and wrapping a blanket around your body. You woke up with the car in the bushes, Joel sleeping soundly in the driver’s seat, hugging his jacket close to his body, Ellie in the back seat with a blanket of her own. You placed the blanket you didn’t remember putting on yourself on Joel, before quietly leaving to boil some water for his coffee using one of Bill’s camping stove, a pistol in one hand at all times. You stayed right by your door, not wanting Joel to scream at you again. You filled the thermos for him, before taking a cup for yourself. You made breakfast next, pouring the instant porridge mixtures you and Frank made into the small pot enough for the three of you to eat while driving, dividing the contents into thermal mugs before packing the stove away so you could leave as soon as possible.

The sun was nearly up, and you were bursting for a pee. So you went to the back of the truck to cop a squat, pistol still out just in case. You felt the truck sway, before the door was wrenched open, Joel’s heavy footsteps and breathing followed.

“I’m right here, Joel, don’t come back here, I’m peeing.”

He cleared his throat, and you could hear his feet turn, but he didn’t go back into the car.

“What did we talk about last night? Why didn’t you wake me? It’s not safe, I told you that.”

You pulled your pants back up, Joel standing by the driver’s door, facing away from you. Funny enough, without seeing his face, you could see his grumpy expression, thunder-filled, annoyed at you. Again. You rolled your eyes and went to wake Ellie, telling her to go pee so you could get moving.

Ellie staggered out and went into the bushes next to the car, while you got your gun, going to the bed of the truck to watch out for threats for Ellie, telling him his coffee was in the thermos, and their breakfast was on your seat. He stood there, just staring at you, not that you noticed.

“You should do your business too, we should move soon. I’ll keep watch,” you told him.

He didn’t move until Ellie came back. He kept quiet after that, grumbling to himself when you insisted on driving, but let you drive, he and Ellie quietly eating their breakfast as you drove along.

He whisper-yelled at you when you got into hiding after the whole initial incident at Kansas City happened. You came out of hiding to help when he got overwhelmed trying to defend Ellie alone. He had insisted that you and Ellie go into hiding, but it quickly became clear that he was losing. So you came out to help him, sure that Ellie would be safe where she was. Another guy surprised you, and although you managed to take care of him yourself, Ellie was the one who shot the guy overpowering Joel when your gun got kicked out of your hands. Joel finished the guy himself but was far too angry at you for leaving Ellie alone to talk to you after.

Sure Joel, let yourself get killed, why don’t you? Cause obviously that would’ve been the better choice. The two of you were his responsibility, he argued. He needed the two of you to be safe. And how could he protect the two of you if he was dead, you fired back, to which he just glared at you before huffing an exasperated breath and walking ahead to check on Ellie.

He kept telling Ellie she was too young to see something like that, to do something like that. The two of them went to a corner and whispered among themselves, Joel giving in and letting her have a gun all to herself. He spent the rest of the day ignoring you, and you, him. Ellie went back and forth between the two of you, trying hard to keep both the adults who were supposed to keep her safe from killing each other.

When Henry and Sam joined the three of you, Joel kept with Henry, and Ellie with Sam, and for a while, Joel seemed happy to see Ellie with someone her own age group. You could tell then, he was starting to care a lot for her. As was your lot in life, you stayed behind them, the tagalong, just listening in on their conversations, too used to being pointedly ignored by Joel by this point. Heck, being ignored by him was a hell of a lot better than being yelled at.

Despite everything, the two of you seemed to work well together when the army of infected attacked, you helped make sure Ellie was alright on the ground, being there with her, weaving and fighting through them all, making sure she was alright, Joel protecting her from his spot, shooting the infected you couldn’t see as you fought others off her.

That night, Joel asked Henry and Sam to join the three of you, and Henry happily agreed.

You woke up before them the next morning, going out to scavenge for anything you could find for the road, now that there were more of you to feed. You came running back when you heard gunshots, opening the door to a panicked Joel pointing a gun at you, immediately lowering it when he realized who it was, Henry and Sam dead on the floor. Ellie shook uncontrollably when you held her tight, stammering the events of what happened to you and Joel, who was at a loss for words.

She was quiet for days after that, staying close to the both of you, doing what she was told without any arguments. And all the while, Joel remained quiet with you, only speaking when necessary. He spoke to Ellie, though, telling her about his dreams to have a sheep farm, and her about wanting to be an astronaut.

With you, Ellie was more interested in the books you had read, movies you had watched. You were reading your very tattered copy of the Lord of the Rings, the only book you chose to bring with you from home. Your brother Will used to read it to you growing up, and you waited eagerly for the movies to come out, you told her. Such a shame the outbreak happened before the third movie was released, it would’ve been a great movie, you thought. If only cordyceps were generous enough to delay their plans to take over the world another three months.

You only had the first book with you, choosing to leave the other two back home – they were not exactly travel sized. You would do anything to have them back, though, you told her. They were your favourite books, mainly due to the memories it brought.

You told her about the Chronicles of Narnia, shocked that she had never heard of Aslan. You told her you would look for the books, she simply must read them. 

She slept close to you at night after the incident with Henry and Sam, clutching onto your jacket while at it. You heard her mumble Sam’s name in her sleep a few times, sometimes a Riley, other times Tess. Every now and again, you thought you could see Joel looking at the two of you. When it was your turn to stand watch, you often caught him lying awake with his eyes on you, closing them only when he knew you caught him watching. You wondered if he still thought you were going to harm the teenager, slightly offended at the thought. He had known you for 15 years, and still, he didn’t trust you enough to have his and Ellie’s back. You chose to ignore him, not wanting to worry Ellie about it with more bickering.

You looked at his sleeping form one more time, and of course, his eyes were opened and on you, his lips twitching and you could just see him take a deep breath before settling his head further into his backpack, closing his eyes again.

**********

When you got to Jackson that first time, Tommy greeted you enthusiastically, finally meeting you after hearing about you from Tess all this while. He had never visited, Bill was far too weary to have two men visit – he wasn’t even happy Joel was privy to the place at all, even after 15 years. Maria took you to the house across the street from theirs, showing you around. Three bedrooms on the second floor – two with bathrooms attached, one bathroom at the end of the corridor. It was obvious the owners had a girl, the bedroom painfully girly. One single bedroom was on the first floor, a bathroom right next to it. There was a garage, a nice-sized garden too. Whoever lived here had money.

While she had you alone, she kept asking you if Joel was making you stay with him, if he was coercing you somehow, if you were being held against your will. She seemed to have a certain… opinion of him, telling you of the stories she’d heard from Tommy about her brother-in-law. She tried to ‘get you to see reason’, but you told her she was lucky if she hadn’t had to do what they had to do to survive, and if she was thankful to have found Tommy, maybe she shouldn’t judge the man responsible for him being alive. He travelled all this way to find Tommy, convinced that he needed rescuing. And while you were glad that he didn’t, you had no doubt that Joel would’ve done anything, including giving up his own life to keep Tommy safe.

She seemed to back down after that, staring at you a while, deciding whether or not she liked you. You didn’t know if she did, but she seemed to let her judgment of Joel go while she was with you. She told you where you could find Joel, the town bar, called the Tipsy Bison, taking you to the back door. You needed to ask him the plan for the next day. You were about to go in when you heard Tommy say your name.

“So, that’s Elena, huh?”

You didn’t hear Joel answer, but whatever he did seemed to confirm it with Tommy.

“I see what Tess meant. She’s real pretty. Are you two… uh…”

“Don’t be stupid Tommy. What would I do with someone like her?”

“Hey… I was just asking…”

“Well don’t.”

You turned around and left as quietly as you could.

God. Even with the way he ignored you throughout the journey here, barked at you when you didn’t do things to his liking, drew a much deeper breath than he needed to when he got impatient with you, you couldn’t deny – you were still crushing hard on him. You even wondered, after the few instances that he let out what passed as a laugh with you, if he would ever feel the same way for you one day.

Well… there you go. You didn’t have to wonder anymore. You had your answer. You heard him, loud and clear. The idea of him being with you was a stupid one. You heard him say so yourself.

Right. Of course it was.

You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a little at your own stupidity. Get your head out of your ass, Elena. The man closed his heart when his daughter died, and now, his partner of more than 15 years died. What were the odds that he would ever look at you as anything other than Bill and Frank’s neighbour?

You were here because he didn’t want the responsibility of leaving you alone to die. And he needed a woman to help out with Ellie. That’s all.

And now, you had arrived at this place. Maybe you could come back here once the whole thing with Ellie was done. Start over. Make friends. Get a job. Live out your life. Have a purpose again.

You went back to the house, running into a freshly showered and dressed Ellie who was going to Maria’s. You were bone tired, so you decided you were going to take a nice, hot shower and rest. Power up for tomorrow. You went into the master bedroom. Maria had left you some clothes to change into. She must’ve had the same idea as Tommy, seeing as she left the clothes for him next to yours on the bed. Your heart ached a little at the insinuation, given what you just heard, but hey, you repressed this for 15 years, you could do that a little longer; until you got over this stupid feeling you had.

As much as you had decided to try and get your crush on Joel over and done with, you couldn’t help but weep a little in the shower. 15 years you had a crush on this man. 15 years you cried every time he left, knowing that he would never want you. He had Tess, who was nothing short of wonderful. And he didn’t even acknowledge her as his girlfriend. Bill told you he referred to her as his. That’s all. His. The word girlfriend didn’t even make it out of his lips. 15 years he ignored you, so why the fuck would that change now? You must be some kind of stupid for still crushing on him.

Enough. Stop. Delete. Restart. Reset.

You wrapped the towel around your chest and stepped out into the room, only to find Joel standing next to the bed, staring down at the clothes Maria left for him. He stared at you for a second, before seemingly realizing it was you standing there in a towel, quickly turning around, grabbing the clothes and leaving, muttering a gruff apology as he did so, going into the bathroom in the corridor instead, slamming its door behind him. You rushed over to shut the bedroom door, shaking your head to get the stupid fantasy you used to have about him out of your head. The fantasy that he would tear the towel off your body and ravage you. Now that you knew what he really thought of you, you needed to grow the fuck up and get that out of your stupid, vapid brain.

You got dressed and threw yourself on the bed, closing your eyes, willing the tears not to fall again. Enough, Elena, enough.

But your mind betrayed you. Your nap was filled with dreams of you, Ellie and Joel living in this house, him sharing the bed with you. A family. A real one. With neighbours and everything. You woke up in the dark, disappointed in yourself. It’s okay, you coaxed your heart. 15 years was a long time. It’ll take some time, but you will get over him. You just needed some time.

You’ll finish your mission, then come back, restart.

And you will get over this stupid crush on Joel Miller, the man who thought the idea of you and him ever being together was stupid.

**********

That night, as you were repacking your pack, you heard Joel and Ellie yell at each other from the room across from yours. Apparently, he had asked Tommy to take her to the Fireflies instead, insisting that he would do a better job. Ellie had protested, understandably. She didn’t know Tommy from Adam.

And then, you heard her mention Sarah.

Shit.

Joel stormed out after that, slamming the door across from yours. You heard Ellie sob. You waited a while before going to her, holding her close as she cried her heart out, telling her that he was just going through some stuff. He will see sense. Let’s wait until tomorrow, okay?

“Are you going to leave me too?” she asked, not looking at you.

“Never.”

The next morning, Tommy came to get Ellie. You stepped out too, telling him he’s not taking her alone. He nodded, leading the way to the stable. Once there, Joel was waiting, telling Ellie he was giving her a choice. Ellie didn’t hesitate, immediately dumping the bag of supplies into his arms, going to the horse he was about to steal.

As you were saddling the mare Tommy had lent to you, Joel came over, cleared his throat and gruffly asked if you knew how to ride. You grew up in the suburbs, you told him. You took horse riding lessons. It’s been a while, but you knew what you were doing. You promised Ellie you wouldn’t leave her, so you won’t. If he’s worried you’ll slow them down, feel free to leave you by the roadside, you won’t hold it against him, you said, pulling on your horse’s rein and walking out, leaving him standing there alone before he could say anything back.

You remained quiet with Joel throughout your journey, just standing by looking out for threats whenever you stopped. Ellie seemed to have forgiven him rather quickly, laughing and joking with him as he taught her how to shoot. The journey was not as long, being on horseback, and those two merrily chit chatted throughout. Once you got to the university, though, all chatter stopped.

For a place that was supposedly a port for the Fireflies, it was quiet. Far too quiet. Eerily so, despite the monkeys that roamed. And of course, upon finding the information you needed, your luck ran out.

You will never forget the way your head went cold when you saw the piece of broken bat in his torso. You wanted to yell at him to leave it in, but it was as if all the clamping up you were so used to practicing around him overpowered you. You watched helplessly as he pulled it out, blood gushing from the wound. You helped him up onto his horse with Ellie, and told her to ride, turning around to shoot as many as the men that came running after you, cursing yourself when two managed to escape.

When you turned around again, Ellie and Joel were way ahead of you, Ellie screaming for you to come along. You caught up to them, riding hard until the horses were sweating before slowing down when you came to some housing area. You let Ellie and Joel ride in front of you, looking around, gun at the ready, just in case anyone or anything jumped out at the three of you. As you were looking behind you, you heard a loud thud, turning around to see Joel on the ground, his face ashen.

You needed to get him out of there. You told a teary Ellie to get her gun out, going into the nearest house, finding an old mattress, dragging it out as fast as you could, Ellie coming to help you as soon as she saw you. The two of you rolled him onto the mattress, tying it to his horse before slowly riding into the most discreet house you could find, practically dragging his body down into the basement before going back to cover your tracks before bringing the horses in and closing the garage door. You went back into the house to Ellie scrambling around, looking for something to help Joel out with, tearily telling you he told her to leave him there and go back to Jackson. She found a spool of thread, a needle stuck to it.

You told her to calm down and follow you back down to the basement. You took out the small first aid kit you had with you, courtesy of your neighbour Bill. You cleaned his wound as best as you could with what little you had before wiping the needle with an alcohol swab, stitching him up as best as you could as he silently screamed from the pain, holding on to Ellie’s jacket for dear life. This won’t help much, you thought. He needed antibiotics. You didn’t have any. But this’ll have to do for now. You will go out and find some once he’s settled. Please be a skin wound. Please don’t bleed internally. Please don’t die, Joel. Please don’t die.

After stitching him up, you were relieved to find that he was no longer bleeding. He needed rest. You were not worried about hydration, there was plenty of snow on the ground. You needed to hunt. The rations won’t be enough if he had to recuperate and survive. He needed the calories to heal. Think, Elena, think.

You couldn’t sleep that night, or the night after that, or the night after that, watching him like a hawk, Ellie sharing the mattress with him to keep themselves warm. Every now and again, he opened his eyes, watching you as you sat right next to him, worry written all over your face. It was never for long, though. His eyes would close again as soon as you noticed he was awake.

Hmph, even in this condition, he didn’t trust you enough to have his and Ellie’s backs to properly rest.

The next day, you told Ellie to watch him as you went around scavenging the nearby houses for medicine. It was all in vain, and you knew it as soon as you walked into each and every one of them. You had done enough scavenging to know the potentials a new location held. Food and medicine were always the first to go. Clothing and blankets next. Especially in areas as cold as this. You did gun down a rabbit, boiling it in a house a few streets over to avoid detection before bringing the meat back to Ellie and Joel.

The third morning you were there, his temperature skyrocketed. His wound, as you feared, was infected. You told Ellie he needed penicillin. Antibiotics. You were trying to remain calm, but the lack of sleep and the avalanche of worry was getting to you. Joel was a constant in your life after the outbreak, despite his indifference to you. You couldn’t let him die. Not like this. You wet some rags with snow and placed them on his head, trying to get his temperature down. You gave him some 20 year-old Tylenol from your kit, hoping they would help, but with the infection still raging, all they did was reduce his temperature for an hour or so, before he was shivering again. At one point, he shivered so badly, groaning and whimpering in pain, you laid next to him and covered part of his body with your own, hoping to stop his shivering at the very least, not daring to start a fire to keep him warm in case it alerted others to your location.

With how tired you were, you fell asleep, your head on his chest, your arms wrapped around his torso, desperately trying to keep him warm. You dreamt that he woke up and wrapped his arms around you, caressing your hair as he did so. You woke up almost instantly after that, Joel still asleep. It’s strange, you thought. Your body felt the remnants of his dream hug and caresses. Wow, you must’ve been really tired if a dream seemed that real to you.

You didn’t hunt the day before, snowfall too heavy for you to go out. Your rations were gone, both you and Ellie surrendering your portions to Joel, hoping that they would help him fight the infection. You turned to pick up your gun, wanting to go hunting.

But your gun was gone.

So was Ellie.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!

You couldn’t leave Joel alone. How long had she been gone? How long were you asleep? Which way did she go? You went outside, realizing that she had taken one of the horses. You followed the hoof prints to what was the main road, seeing how far she had gone, knowing you couldn’t possibly catch up to her in time, not without leaving Joel in a vulnerable state.

So you went back inside, worry clouding your head, and waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited.

You wanted to scream at her when she came back, but she excitedly told you she got the penicillin, handing them to you, dropping the leg of deer she was carrying. All you could see was the antibiotic, giving Joel the shot he needed, telling Ellie with a stern voice to stay with him, to never disappear on you like that again. She reasoned that you were too tired to go out, so she did it for you. You were asleep, and you needed rest too. Let her do what she could.

All you wanted to do was knock some sense into her, what if she was followed? What if she was attacked? What if she was taken? Killed? A slew of horrible imageries invaded your mind, before abruptly stopping, looking her in the eyes.

Where did she get the penicillin?

She was silent for a beat, but ultimately told you about the guys she ran into after killing the deer, the ones who were looking for what could only be described as the three of you. You wanted to knock her head into the wall, but she told you it was snowing again, and the hoof prints would be covered. She went a ways away, she said, you should be okay for a few more days.

In truth, you were devastated. You had let two of the men escape. They alerted their camp, and now, the men were looking for the three of you. And Ellie just led them back here.

It’s not like you could do anything. Joel was weakened. You now have food, and Joel received his first dose of penicillin. Make the best out of a horrible situation. You sliced the deer meat into thin slices, taking some a few houses over and roasted them before stripping them down into threads to make it easier for Joel to eat.

After a few more dosages, Joel’s fever receded. The wound was drying. Not fully, but enough to give you and Ellie hope. The whole time, you were uneasy. You knew those men would track her down. You knew they were coming. You kept telling yourself to think on the brighter side, but you couldn’t.

You were a few houses over, boiling some of the meat when you heard hooves. You put the fire out and ran back, only to see only to see one of the horses gone again.

Ellie! You wanted to yell but saw someone sneaking over. You ran inside, waking Joel up, dragging him into hiding. Ellie, he whispered, she had gone to divert the men, he told you, showing you the knife she had given him. Let’s get you hidden first and I’ll go find Ellie, you told him, guiding him behind one of the nooks in the basement.

There was a flash of something in his eyes, but you had no time to decipher anything. The man you saw was slowly making his way downstairs. You put yourself in front of Joel, your own knife out, hoping to God this man was really as malnourished as he looked, and that you had the chance to overpower him, even if it was only to stab him. You knew it was a vain effort, but you needed Joel to be okay. He could protect Ellie better than you ever could. So if you could weaken this man before Joel could come in to help, it would be better for him.

You stabbed the man in the kidney when he walked past, pulling the knife out to stab him again, but he had turned and came at you, snarling. You managed to stab him one more time in the stomach before he swungthe butt of his rifle to your head, and then all was dark.

**********

When you woke up, your head was throbbing. You were still in the basement, only you were on the mattress Joel was lying on the past few days, a blanket wrapped around your body. No one else was there. Not Joel, not even the man. Certainly not Ellie. You sat up, disoriented for a bit, slowly getting up to a standing position. Your gun was next to you, so was the knife you used. Your pack under your head. You gathered everything, slowly walking up the stairs, trying to get your bearings. There was no one in the house, and when you went out to the garage, none of the horses were there. It was hours after you blacked out, you realized. It was nearly dark, and it was morning when you went to boil the meat.

There was something sticky on your face. You swiped your hand on it, realizing you had blood all over. You went to the nearest car, swiped the snow and dirt off the side view mirror and looked. There were bloody handprints on both sides of your face, and a massive bruise on your forehead. Right. The guy had hit you on the head with a gun. Whose bloody handprints were those? And why weren’t you dead? Where’re Joel and Ellie?

You sat on the snowy ground, taking some snow and cleaning your face off the blood, icing that bump on your forehead, gathering your thoughts. Once you calmed down, you noticed a massive lump of clothing by the garage. It was the man. Dead.

It was then you realized what happened.

Joel went after Ellie.

He had left you behind. Injured and alone.

---

Part 3

[genderqueerdykes]

I recently saw a post comparing the progress pride flag to the american one, essentially saying it was gaudy and over representative so all the symbols were just noise.

Like listen, I get that statement of the OG pride flag "encompasses all" but I feel it just completely missed the point of what it stood for.

Is it that bad that our trans and intersex peers wish to be seen? Is it that bad that we show respect to our BIPOC peers and remember they are among us especially when frontline queer voices and representation in media is overwhelmingly white?

Like idk maybe I'm overreacting but as someone part of those communities the progress pride flag shows it made me want to scream. Is it too much to want to be seen when queer people have and will turn a blind eye to us?

I'm NOT saying this flag needs to be everywhere. It'd be nice but it's unrealistic but hell, with the amount of stupid infighting and dangerous ideologies spreading within the queer community, it sure is a sight for sore eyes when I see it.

We're still here, we're still queer, and you cannot separate us from that.

Sorry for the rant I think I'm just tired of people getting hung up on "inclusivity politics" as if acknowleding people existing is some great pain and we're "ruining" their pride flag.

you're 100% right in pointing this out and i'm tired of this behavior. thank you so much for taking the time to send this ask, because this is something i'm actually also very deeply bothered by.

i've seen that post too and i've tried to figure it out and i just can't parse what the hell kind of point they're trying to make. that post makes no sense they thought they made a point and they didn't. just because the design is visually complex doesn't make it like the flag of the United States. there's chevrons on the left hand side of the flag and stripes on the right- that doesn't make it a copy of or homage to or some kind of subliminal messaging that calls back to the flag of the USA. this website has some of the lamest conspiracy theories i've ever seen that are just cooked up to make other people feel like shit.

some people are so hateful and bitter that they view inclusion as a bad thing. i'm calling it for what it is. some people are so goddamn miserable and up their own asses that they literally HATE it when people are included into what they think are their little cliques and groups. some people see like, any attempt from another group of people to be inclusive and inviting as an insult and an attack because they're just "pandering" or sucking up to us or trying to look progressive or whatever. like people will write this shit off every time no matter how good the intentions are. i'm sorry that you're being forcefully made aware that trans and intersex people and queers of color need a platform to speak on and a community to stay in, but you're the one causing a problem here if that bothers you. i'm sorry that people of color in specific need to feel safe in queer spaces, but you're the reason that we don't.

first of all, as an intersex trans person of color, i literally teared up the first time i saw the version of the progress pride flag that included the intersex pride flag. like. that's literally the FIRST TIME IN QUEER HISTORY THAT WE'VE SEEN WIDESPREAD USAGE OF THE INTERSEX FLAG!!!!!!!! THAT'S FUCKING HUGE. THIS IS SO FUCKING IMPORTANT FOR US! we NEED that visibility on such a grand fucking scale!!! we NEED TO BE SEEN LIKE THAT. i don't really care if jaded bitter assholes are like "it's pandering" "its ugly" fuck OFF it's NOT! i don't care how disconnected from your feelings you are, but the first time i saw an intersex flag in PUBLIC, i cried. it was on a progress pride flag. i was in an airport. and then i saw another in a grocery store. and then i started seeing them all over town.

second of all, i am so sick of queer people focusing on aesthetics over function. this attitude has gotten out of hand and honestly it feels like its a lot of white queers who don't understand how important flags are for representation and signaling safety and solidarity and how they're not just a bunch of pretty colors to look at. each part has meaning. this is just the "tooth paste gay flag" discourse bullshit all over again. the stone cold truth is that some people literally fucking HATE it when they see people they don't like gain visibility. these are people who fucking hate intersex and trans people and queer people of color and are so fucking angry that we're daring to occupy space, and making their precious flag 'gaudy' and 'ugly'. also white queers love to bitch about how the brown and black stripes are "UGLY", do i really have to say anything here?

the philadelphia pride flag is a flag made by queers of color living in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, a historically largely black city, to be explicitly inclusive of black, brown and all queers of color. black queers in philly were the first ones to add black and brown stripes to the traditional rainbow flag. the creator of the progress pride flag took notes from this and decided to honor that and carry it over, as they felt leaving out those stripes would be a slap in the face. and they're right, it would be a slap in the face- it IS a slap in the face! the philly pride flag wasn't made so what white and racist queers can sit here and bitch about how it's "pandering" or "trying to include too many people". this shit was made by and for people of color. this behavior is so fucking disrespectful and racist

stop fucking fighting over flags. queer flags aren't here to be "aesthetic" or "pretty"- they're here to serve a purpose. to give people a banner to unite under to find community, love, partnership, friendship, safety, and a space to talk and organize. it's so that you can easily recognize that someone else is part of the same family as you. it's not there to be pretty, it's there to be visually striking, and to instantly convey a message. the progress pride flag WORKS because it contains several pride flags and grabs your attention. maybe you're intersex but have never seen other pride flags before. maybe you've never seen the intersex flag before but have seen the trans and rainbow flags before. it will convey the same message, but now with a greater message which is to explicitly say "we want to include everyone".

if you don't like the progress pride flag:

it was not made for you, and you don't have to use it.

thanks for taking the time to send this i really appreciate your thoughts. people have got to stop manufacturing discourse because they want to sound smart. i have no way to put it other than some people literally just cannot form or articulate a point. and that's fine. that's okay. but some will still try anyway and the argument just falls flat. if you encounter talk like that where they don't really have a lot of ground to dislike it other than personal opinion, it's all hot air and has nothing to do with the matter at hand, but rather, their feelings.

[aziraphales-library]

May be an odd request, but do you have any fic recs where Anathema is characterized really well?

I don't see much of her, and when I do, she tends to be there to fulfill a role that may be lacking for what I'm after

I went through my bookmarks and picked fics I remember Anathema from, not just as a prop to get Aziraphale and Crowley together, but as a full character with her own stuff going on...

Friendship is Demonic Magic by Shadow0kana, whtbout2ndbrkfst (T)

After Crowley interrupts Aziraphale and Anathema’s phone conversations one too many times, Aziraphale suggests the two have their own meetups to discuss what they have in common. Cue monthly coffee dates between a witch and a demon who can passionately discuss (debate) anything from Halloween to Astronomy to Hamlet… while also conspiring to form a book swap aimed at getting Aziraphale to read anything written after 1950.

Reluctant Hospitality by brionypoisoned (G)

Anathema Device comes to stay at Aziraphale's book shop after breaking up with Newt. She doesn't know that Aziraphale and Crowley are romantically involved, and Aziraphale attempts to keep it that way. Everything goes very badly.

It's Not The Journey by cosmya (T)

It had been going so well. They’d averted the apocalypse, averted their punishments, averted further investigation or attention by their respective organizations. They were left with little to do but bask in the happy ending. Therein had been the problem. Another champagne, sir?” interrupted the flight attendant. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. Oh, I shouldn’t, he thought. “Yes, please,” he said. “Thank you.” Anathema and Newt are getting married, and two of their wedding guests are in a bit of an awkward place. An all-inclusive resort with unlimited alcohol is precisely what they need to re-break the ice.

Do I wanna know? by KissMyAsthma (M)

Aziraphale and Anathema are both closeted queer people, and they decide to do what any sensible closeted queer people do - they form a fake relationship, to shut the mouths of their families and shoo away unwanted suitors. Their comfortable arrangement is put into question when a school reunion makes Aziraphale reconnect - or connect, really - with his school crush, Anthony Crowley. But past is past, and now that they’re both adults, Aziraphale is just glad to make a friend. If the friend finds himself interested in Aziraphale… Well, there’s nothing for him to do since Aziraphale is taken, right?

what the water gave me (we'll watch the sun kiss the sea) by sabraneadaz (T)

“What’s your name?” Pepper asked, jumping to crest the next wave. She’d drifted further out to join Adam where he stood between the Them and the stranger. “All these questions,” the man said, “next you’ll be asking me if I’m an animal, vegetable, or mineral.” “Go on then,” said Adam. “Which one?” (The Them find their summer holidays spoiled by fly-tipping. A woman struggles with life without prophecy. A bookshop owner learns to love, and a mysterious man navigates 21st century courtship. In other words, it's the selkie au no-one asked for.)

Married at First Sight by Aracloptia (T)

“Well, that was a thing,” Crowley said once they were out of earshot. Without talking about it, they were both heading down the field, towards the lake where the photographer (and likely a few more people from the TV crew) was waiting. “That was a wedding,” Aziraphale replied, surprised at his own annoyance that somebody called a wedding a ‘thing’. “Yeah, obviously, didn’t miss that part,” Crowley said with a shrug, and waved abruptly in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Neither did you, from the looks of it, since you’re dressed like a wedding bride and everything.” “Excuse me, I am a—“ Aziraphale stopped himself, and started over. In which Aziraphale ends up marrying a rude stranger who wears sunglasses.

- Mod D

[ashes-writing-corner]

And we are back, literally on time for Nosferatu to come out! Yall gifmakers are gifts from the gods I swear! Thank you for all you do! And to those who read my story and enjoy it, yall are gifts too and I love all of you ^^

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, and @landlockedmermaid77

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know ^^

On to chapter 3!

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 3

You're not my homeland anymore. So what am I defending now?

Ellen was at a loss. She honestly had no idea what to do. How could this have happened? How could she have been so blind? Ever eternally…and the Beast had seriously meant it. Even in death they couldn't be parted. There had to be a way…something…anything. This was not how she wanted to spend her eternal rest, lying next to the monster who made her life a living hell.

Not just her life. Thomas’ too for the brief time he knew of the situation. Her beloved Thomas…she couldn’t help but wonder about him now. Where was he? Was he even alive? Ellen didn’t take him for the sort to take his own life, and she would be devastated if that were the case. He had been her everything after the Beast abandoned her initially.

Oh yes, he left her. He left her alone when she needed him most. Left her with nothing but trauma and a severely scarred soul and a heart to match. It had hurt, even if Ellen wouldn’t admit it aloud. She didn’t understand why he had pulled away so harshly, so suddenly. But he stopped answering her, stopped visiting her, leaving her with this numbing sadness. She had waited, and waited, weeks turning to months, before she met Thomas.

He had been one of the few suitors her father had found for her. He wasn’t rich, nor did he have a well known name, but Thomas was hard working, honest, and decent. All were qualities her dear papa had liked and respected about him. Despite her oddities, he was so kind to her, so warm, courteous, and gentle. A better suitor couldn’t be asked for. So no surprise they courted and finally Thomas asked her to marry him, which Ellen was quick to accept.

With her acceptance, she thought that was the end of it. The Demon was gone, she was happy, and had all she wanted. Ellen didn’t need wealth or a nice house or material things. She just wanted a peaceful, happy life with her sweetheart. That was all.

But of course, the dead can never stay dead for long…

Furie whined softly next to her on the bed, his ears flattened as if sensing her emotions. For a hound literally named Rage, he seemed to have very little of it. The wolfhound had literally stayed by her side for the past two days, keeping watch over her for his master. The Beast hadn’t come back, just as Ellen commanded, and it made her wonder: Was he bound still by her power? Did she still hold some sort of sway over him, even in death?

Ellen had tried to be kind in a sense. She had to kill him, there was no doubt in her mind about that. He needed to die. But she had tried to be kind as it happened, for the sake of what they once were to each other. That was only fair wasn’t it? Ellen had tried to give him one last kiss, one last small gesture of love before they were both gone. It was only meant to be kind, as a way to let go of what once was.

She gently pet Furie. “It’s okay. I’m alright. I promise. I just…have a lot on my mind”.

The wolfhound looked at her, his ears perked as if he were listening intently. Ellen chuckled, her first laugh since her death.

“I don’t know if you’d be able to understand. But…I don’t really have anyone else to talk to I suppose-”.

Furie whined, as if attempting to remind her there was someone she could talk to. Ellen shook her head.

“Trust me, I would rather much talk to you more than him. At least you don’t try to tell me I did the right thing for the wrong reason” Ellen paused, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. I know what the covenant said but I thought with death it would be done. I could be free. But I’m not and I don’t know why”.

She knew why. It said Ever Eternally…but she didn’t understand why that meant even after death. Ellen got up and looked out the window, peering out the expansive, glistening surroundings. For a second she thought she heard a voice, a soft collective of voices, on the wind calling her name somewhere in the distance. It sounded like the whispers of every person she ever knew: Thomas, Papa, Freidrich and Anna and their children, even the Demon’s voice could be heard among them. Ellen felt her mind go blank a moment, her eyes going a strange milky white color as though she had died again. Furie rose from the bed and growled, followed by a sharp bark, pulling Ellen back to herself.

She took a deep breath and blinked several times to recollect herself. Ellen turned to the dog, calming herself a little as he came to her side and whined, nuzzling her hand. She pet him, breathing deeply as her mind and spirit settled back into her body. What in the world was that, that strange call?

Ellen kept a hand on Furie’s head. “Good boy. Thank you…thank you so much. I think I might’ve been in a little bit of trouble had I somehow answered that”.

Furie whined, wagging his tail at her praise. He had sensed something was amiss and had been quick to pull his mistress back from what he thought was something that could and would seriously harm her. He was entrusted with her safety after all, and the wolfhound clearly took that job to heart.

“It’s always snowing here” Ellen looked outside again thoughtfully, “How about we go outside and do something fun?”

The wolfhound cocked his head curiously and Ellen smiled as she got up to change. She wasn’t sure if she really needed to dress warmly in this world, but she figured it was better to be safe than sorry. The wardrobe was shockingly full of clothes she remembered wearing in the other world…and there were others in there she had never seen. Older dresses, some furs that looked like they hadn’t been touched in ages. These weren’t hers. But yet, somehow, they felt familiar. The texture, the smell hiding beneath years of unuse…she knew these older articles of clothing somewhere. Again, it was like a memory from a dream she had a long time ago…

“Let go” she heard a voice sound in her head, one that was eerily similar to her own, but not quite hers, “Please…you have to let go…for me…”

In her mind’s eye, Ellen could see the image of a woman with a face like hers, but her hair was a shining copper color, and her eyes a deep blue tinged with green. She looked pale, deathly so, laying in bed looking at her dead in the eye. Her pale blue-purple lips trembled as she reached a quivering hand out to her.

“Please…love…I’m afraid…”

Ellen dropped the fur coat immediately, frightened by the dream. It was like looking at her own pale, dying face in a mirror. Only the reflection had spoken to her. She set the coat back in the wardrobe and grabbed one of her own warmer outfits for her outside activities, which Ellen wasn’t even sure if she wanted to do anymore.

No, no, she did want to. She needed to get out of this castle, out of this room, even for a short while. Even if it was to do something silly and childish with a large wolfhound at her side. Ellen redressed herself and motioned for Furie to follow her, something akin to excitement blooming in her chest. She hadn’t done this particular activity since she was little and she always loved doing it.

She made her way outside, surprisingly avoiding the Demon. Ellen glanced around, rendered breathless by the glistening snow around her. It was as though the grounds of the castle were being purified under a blanket of white. Ellen stepped out, the soft snow giving out a satisfying crunch under her booted feet. Furie followed behind her, his tail wagging in excitement. He liked being outside, but liked it even more with her it seemed.

Ellen found a nice, clear spot to begin her work. She made a ball, small enough to fit in her gloved hand and slowly started to roll it around to increase its size. Her troubles seemed far away as she worked, her mind drifting to happier times. Furie moved the ball too with his head and Ellen laughed.

“Trying to help me now?” She asked and gave him a pet, “such a good, sweet boy. I don't get why he called you Furie. You're anything but” Ellen stopped in her work to give the wolfhound pets along his chin and chest. All the while his tail kept wagging in delight.

“You are the sweetest thing I swear” she put her nose to his and giggled, feeling very much like a little girl again.

Ellen turned back to her task, and Furie joined her in pushing the ball around. Little did they know, the third hound, Durere, had spotted them outside and ran back in to tell his sister and master about it.

He let out several barks to Orlok, as if trying to articulate what he saw. The vampire glared.

“She's outside?” He got up and glanced out a nearby window.

Lo and behold, there was his Little Soul, rolling a large ball of snow around with Furie, before finally settling it somewhere. What in the world was she doing out there? Chaos still called for her, and she was still susceptible to its call. It wasn't safe to be out there alone. Orlok turned from the window, grabbing his enormous coat to go out and keep an eye on her…

“I think we can start on the body now, hm Furie?” Ellen asked, to which the wolfhound barked and wagged his tail.

She turned to start a new ball, this one to be slightly smaller than the other, when Ellen felt her blood run cold. An all too familiar shadow fell over her, and she knew it was the Beast. She sighed and stopped rolling the ball as Furie barked a greeting to his master. Ellen stood, facing him fully for the first time since they found themselves here to see him petting all three wolfhounds.

“You’ve named him poorly” she dared to say, “There’s not an ounce of rage in him”.

“Because you haven’t seen him angry…yet” Orlok replied, looking over at the large ball of snow, “What is it you’re doing, Micul Suflet?”.

Ellen stifled the urge to glare at the nickname. “I would appreciate it if you used my name…And what does it look like I’m doing? I’m making a…a snowman”.

He raised a brow. “A what?”

“A snowman. Have you never…” she stopped when he just looked contemplative, as if the concept of such a winter activity was foreign to him, “You’ve never made one before, have you?”

“Such things were considered a waste of time back in my youth. I spent the winters studying, learning and preparing for my role” He told her, almost avoiding her eyes.

“You never even got to do such things? Just…do childish things like this?”.

Ellen didn’t need an answer. His silence and avoidance were more than enough of an answer. Honestly it hurt something in her to know that. Maybe that was a part of the problem, why he turned out like this. Ellen took a single step toward him, a hand reaching for his.

“Come…join me. Help me with this” she requested, “Please?”

He pulled his long clawed hand away from her, shaking his head. “It’s a childish waste of-”.

“Stop. Right now. Time doesn’t mean anything anymore. It’s okay. We can do things like this. No one’s here to stop us or judge us or anything. Who cares if it’s childish? A time spent in merriment isn’t wasted time, even if time was still relevant to us” Ellen looked in his eyes, “A passionate hour is never a wasted one. Help me with this…Just once”.

Orlok narrowed his eyes at her and then the huge ball of snow. He sighed in annoyance and shook his head.

“Fine…Once, and that’s it” he conceded.

“Once is all I ask” she smiled coyly, like a cat who had just caught her prey. Her first genuine smile since they appeared here.

But even that was enough to make something in his chest feel awfully warm…

If you guys enjoyed this please feel free to like, reblog, and comment! If you wanna read more of my work, feel free to follow! Thank you all so much for reading and I'll see you in the next one ^^ <3

[michiruxbna]

I'm wondering something and it's something that was left unanswered in a Scarlet Witch story.

so let's continue with my crazy theories (mainly why they forgot the story)

Magda and Natalya are the same person

Magda's design has always changed and the main detail that Wanda has always had is Magda's life image, even today they continue to resemble each other.

Likewise, Pietro is the spitting image of Magnus (literally his younger version)

then in a scarlet witch story, where she discovers who her mother could be, being natalya (the original scarlet witch)

First of all, I saw people who confuse the relationship between Natalya and Django and they are brothers, in the same comic they say so

both were witches of the Maximoff family

and here are the details, when wanda finds the spirit or whatever of her mother, she says: "and I am known by many names, the most used... scarlet witch"

and that's where it's hinted that she had another name than "Natalya" and she did try to get her children back from the high evolver.

dying in the attempt, although it was revealed later that her partner (Pietro and Wanda's father who knows nothing about him) killed her.

Although Agatha knows about Wanda's mother and she knows things and she asked Wanda not to look any further.

and here the high evolver takes a role, we know how very son of a bitch he can be and we know that it was because of him that the whole mess between Pietro and Wanda started

so it makes me think about several things and this is my own chronological order of things

Magda and Django are born (I don't even know how old they are) both witches from the Maximoff family, Natalya being the most prominent being "Scarlet Witch"

She at one point moves away from her family, becoming better known as "Scarlet Witch." She decided to change her name several times and eventually met the father of her children Erik Eisenhardt Magneto in the future.

They had their first daughter Anya and then the fire would happen but... what if it wasn't for Erik that caused the fire? What if it was by Magda (Natalya) in an attempt to teach Anya magic so that she could also be a witch like her?

Feeling guilty and in an attempt to protect her love, she called him a monster and walked away from him even though she knew she was pregnant with the twins.

And here it would be confusing to arrange things and it makes me think, Boba did help Magda give birth but she thought she was a magical creature and as a result the High Evolutionary ended up snatching her children and doing experiments with them

Magda tried to get them back and the High Evolutionary took the opportunity to emotionally manipulate Magda (Natalya) and make her think that Magneto killed her when he was the one.

and let's see it's still a crazy theory and in my opinion it fits

Yes, Wanda's spell only affected Prieto, but think about how many experiments the High Evolutionary did on them? There could have been too many to even change their DNA in such a way that their magic could only detect Pietro as familiar.

Also, how many versions the High Evolutionary gave of the twins' past, they even still look like Magda and Magneto

Even another theory I have for this theory is that Anya could have been a Witch because of her mother.

Anyway, thank you for reading my Theory, all crazy but with some sense (at least for me)

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch. 

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday. 

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went. 

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy. 

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was. 

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over. 

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it. 

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted. 

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else. 

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.  

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then. 

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased. 

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten. 

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh. 

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went. 

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns. 

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out. 

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough. 

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice.  So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon. 

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.  

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips. 

 He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper. 

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison. 

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world. 

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought. 

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them. 

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this. 

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away. 

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him. 

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now. 

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it. 

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away. 

What has that shame ever done but made you worse? 

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled. 

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her. 

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose. 

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame. 

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

 If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh. 

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

 It’s always the ones you trust. 

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her. 

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it. 

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside. 

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always. 

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.” 

 Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt. 

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening.  His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it. 

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile. 

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…” 

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right. 

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves. 

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven. 

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born. 

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it. 

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp. 

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose. 

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself. 

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things. 

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door. 

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake. 

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left. 

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when… 

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be. 

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him. 

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door. 

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident. 

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense. 

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory. 

 And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back. 

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible. 

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again. 

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to. 

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought.  Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature. 

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him. 

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it. 

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

 He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him. 

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door. 

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.  

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl. 

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world. 

“Please, I-” 

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged. 

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

 But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her. 

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Lucy comes home.

Word Count: 7,411

Warnings: Sexual content, trauma around finding a loved one attempting suicide, suicidal thoughts, codependency, insecurity, past suicide attempt, and references to pregnancy.

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Chapter 19: Your Home is Here with Me

Lucy fought the urge to fiddle with her fingers or the edges of the bandages still wrapped around her wrists, watching Arrow House slowly draw in closer, the car bumping along the drive. Beside her, Tommy reached over and took one of her hands in his, thumb stroking over her knuckles.  

The car finally pulled up beside the front doors. Tommy stepped out first, a stabilizing hand held out to her as she climbed out after him. Her strength had steadily been returning over the days she’d spent in the hospital, but she was still a little unsteady on her feet sometimes. 

Frances was there to greet them at the doors and take their coats. She smiled kindly at Lucy, informing Tommy of the arrangements made for dinner before leaving them be. 

Lucy wrang her hands together, looking around the big entryway. Nothing seemed to have changed from the last time she had been there, but it all still felt oddly foreign. It was strange to be back. Especially after she had been so sure that she never would be. 

The house seemed even quieter than usual. Echoing with emptiness. Lizzie and the kids weren’t there, and the silence that their lack of presence wrought was deafening. 

That was, until the skidding sounds of approaching nails on the floor sounded, and then Asher came bounding into view. He practically charged at her, tail wagging furiously, rubbing and bumping against her legs. 

“Hey, buddy,” she let out a breathless laugh, stroking his soft black fur. Asher’s tongue lolled from his mouth, half raising up onto his hind legs to try to lick her face.

Just as he was starting to calm, merely nuzzling at her palm, there was a soft meow, and Trouble came prancing into view, her little paws not making even the slightest sound as she jogged towards Lucy to rub against her legs with a loud purr.   

“Hey, babies.” Lucy bent to give them each scratches behind the ears. She was distantly aware of Tommy coming up behind her, reaching out a hand to the animals. Asher let him stroke his big black head happily, but Trouble promptly stuck up her nose and dodged his attempts to pet her, trying to bat at him with one of her paws before he managed to pull his hand away in time. 

“She’s been cross with me since you left,” he explained with a soft huff of amusement. 

“Troubs, come here,” she coaxed the cat towards her. “Now that wasn’t very nice, was it? I told you that you were to take care of your daddy when I left.”

Trouble just looked up at her and meowed, tail flicking. Lucy rolled her eyes. Children. 

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour.” Tommy turned to fix his gaze on Lucy. “What do you want to do? We could just go up and rest, or we could take Ash out, or play a game in the library–”

“Actually, I…” she paused, well aware that what she was about to say may very likely– and justifiably–not be taken all that well. “I’d like to wash the hospital smell off of me.”

Tommy went still, a bit of the color going out in his cheeks. 

“I promise that I’m not going to…” she trailed off, biting her lip. He had every right to be wary and jumpy when it came to that topic. But, she had to bathe sometime. “You can sit with me, if you’d like.”

He relaxed a little at the suggestion, but still eyed her nervously. “If you’re sure that’s alright…” She could see him at war with himself; wanting to respect her space but scared to leave her out of his sight for too long should he run the risk of losing her. 

“Yes, it’s alright.”

“Bath it is, then.” Taking her hand, he led the way to the stairs, Asher trailing behind them. 

“Tommy, this isn’t the way to my room.” She pulled him to a stop when he turned right at the top of the stairs rather than left, jerking slightly where their hands were still joined. Tommy looked over his shoulder, lips pulling up a little at the corners. 

“It is now.”

“What…?”

“Come on,” he gave her a light, almost playful tug, pulling her back into movement down the hallway. They passed Lizzie, Charlie, and Ruby’s rooms and a few more doors before Tommy came to a stop at one near the end of the hall, fumbling with the knob. “Here,” he moved back, holding the door open to let her in first. 

The room was bigger than the one she’d previously been staying in, with larger windows and significantly more space between the furnishings. It didn’t seem so cramped and dark. All of her things had been moved into the room, even the portraits on the walls.   

“You should get more light during the day.” Tommy was standing by the door, fiddling with his cigarette case. “And you’ll be closer to everyone.”

She stepped deeper inside, examining the view out the window of the front drive.  

Tommy shifted from foot to foot, nervous. “If you don’t like it, we can move you to somewhere else…”

“I like it.” She looked back at him, and he smiled at her softly, gesturing with his head towards the door to his left. 

“Washroom is in there.”

While she went to investigate, she could hear him ushering Asher and Trouble in before closing the door to the bedroom, encouraging them to lay down in their respective beds. Listening to him talk to the dog and cat made a semblance of a smile pull at her lips. 

Going to the bathtub, she twisted the knobs, testing the water with her fingers before putting the plug in place. Straightening, she watched the water slowly rise, a cold shiver going down her spine at the memory of the last time she’d done this.

“You alright?” Tommy asked from the doorway. 

“Yeah.” With shaky hands, she started to unbutton her shirt. 

She could feel his eyes burning into her as she undressed. Another shiver went down her spine, this time for completely different reasons. This was the first time that he’d seen her naked since she’d moved out. 

He pulled up a chair to sit beside the tub after she got in. Lucy let her eyes slide closed, head tipped back against the rim of the tub, arms dangling over the sides to keep her bandages from getting wet. Movements careful to avoid accidentally tugging on the red strands, Tommy set to work washing her hair for her. His stocky fingers felt nice against her scalp. Warm and big and gentle.  

It was nice to be looked after and doted on. And he had been right, when he said that she needed him. Much as she tried to hide it. 

I’m so fucking selfish. Here they were, in the midst of planning what was perhaps the most high stakes strategy in the gang’s history, and she was off monopolizing all his attention.

“Dip,” Tommy’s voice, soft and low, interrupted her thoughts. She did as instructed, dipping her head back into the water so he could rinse the soap from her hair. 

His declarations of love while in the hospital had begun to stitch the broken pieces of her heart back together. But the wounds that had left it broken in the first place were still raw. Still tender and healing. She expected that they would continue to ache for a while. 

“Tommy?” she asked once her head was lifted from the water.

“Hm?”

“Was moving me to a new room your idea?”

One side of his lips quirked up. “Actually it was Lizzie’s.”

She felt her brows crease at the revelation. A part of her felt horribly bad for agreeing to return to Arrow House before actually talking to Lizzie about it first. But Tommy had simply been too persuasive. She couldn’t say no to him anymore. Not when he was begging her to come home. And especially not after it became clear how much pain she’d caused him by leaving. 

She couldn’t keep hurting him like that. 

Overall, she was feeling much better than she had been. It was almost like a fog had lifted from her mind and she could finally think clearly again. But there were still a few hitches, here and there. A few things were still bothering her. 

“Are you in love with her?” The question burned on the way out, but it needed to be asked before they could move fully forward. She needed to know what she was stepping back into. 

Tommy froze. “No. I’m not.”

She felt awful for the little sigh of relief that left her at that.

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. He’d pushed up his shirt sleeves to his elbows to keep them from getting wet. Warm lips pressed to her neck. “I told you that I love you.”

“You can love more than one person at a time.” With a sigh, she pushed at the water in the tub, watching the way that it rippled. “I still can’t help but feel that if it weren’t for me–”

“I still wouldn’t fucking love her.” He wasn’t shouting, but his voice was firm. Definitive. “We’re not…good together, Lucy. You ought to know that better than anyone with how much you’ve seen of us together.” He blew out a deep breath. “It’s no one’s fault. Not hers. Not mine. And certainly not yours.” 

She was trying so hard to believe him. She was so fucking tired of feeling so guilty all the time. She just wanted to let it go. To let herself be happy. Didn’t she deserve that, after all the pain that she’d been through? 

As if reading her mind, Tommy turned her face to look at him. Concern shown brightly in his eyes. “You have to stop punishing yourself, love.”

A little sob left her throat. “I don’t think that I know how.”

His face softened. “I’ll help you. Eh? Just talk to me. Tell me where you’re feeling guilty. Let me help you carry it.”

“I can’t ask that of you–” He already carried so much guilt inside him. She could not possibly ask that he shoulder hers as well. 

“I can take it. We help each other, remember? That’s what we do. So let me help you, sweetheart.” 

She sniffled, chest spasming, reaching up to cradle the back of his head, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking, love.” His hand stroked through her damp hair. “But…you know, if it really is too much to take, I can still divorce her…”

Lucy sighed. “And take a hatchet to your reputation in the process? No, Tommy. She’s too important.”

“So are you.”

“She’s the mother of your children. For that alone, she will always be more important than I am.”

“But I love you.” His expression was baffled. “I love you. Not her. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Of course it does. I just…” she slammed her eyes shut, realizing that she was teetering dangerously close to spiraling again. “I just don’t want you to throw away everything else in your life for me.”

“I know. And thank you for that, love. Really. But understand that if I have to choose…” he sighed. “She doesn’t have a chance.” He smoothed some of her hair back. “I can’t be happy without you. She’s not more important than you. She never will be.”

Taking hold of his hand, she raised it to her lips, pressing kisses to each of his fingertips. When she was done, he stroked the back of his knuckles across her cheek. 

“I need to talk to her.”

He frowned, protectiveness flaring up in his eyes.

“If I am going to come back to live here, I need to know that she really is okay with it.”

“She told me to bring you home.”

“I know. But…you know what she can be like.”

“Yeah.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I really do think that she’s started to accept things, love. For real, this time.”

“We can only hope, eh?”

“And I’m not putting up with anymore of the shit with her taking swipes at you, or being cruel towards you, or trying to make deals that fuck you over. I’ve been too lenient on her about it.” He shot her a look of regret. “I’m sorry.”

Lucy frowned. “You’ve never failed to tell her off when she’s been unpleasant towards me. What else can you do? Put her in a timeout?”

“Maybe. If she insists on continuing to act like a child.” The look in his eyes had turned stubborn. The kind of stubborn that meant it would be more likely to get the earth to start spinning in the opposite direction than to get him to change his mind. “I’m not letting her get away with that shit anymore.”

Lucy reached out to touch his face, tilting her head up to brush their lips together. “Thank you for protecting me.”

“Always.” He turned his head to give her neck a little kiss. “Come on, let’s get you out of there before you start to prune.”

He let her hold onto him for stability as she stepped out of the tub, then immediately helped towel her off and swaddled her in a big, comfy robe, looking her up and down to make sure she was warm and comfortable. While he tended to draining the tub and putting the soaps away, she went to get dressed. 

Dinner was a quiet, simple affair. They sat at the dining table, eating the steak, potatoes, and vegetables that the chef served them. 

Tommy told her about a new horse he was thinking of offering a home to at the mansion’s stables. The poor thing was a racehorse who had suffered an injury on the track and had to be retired early. A white, sweet, even-tempered if shy stallion, intelligent enough to have caused his previous owner some trouble here and there. 

Lucy thought it was an absolutely splendid idea. 

“Are you sure that you’re feeling okay?” he asked, while they were out taking Asher and Cyril for a brief walk around the grounds before they turned in for the night. Lucy wasn’t all that surprised at the question. She’d probably spooked him a little with all her talk whilst in the bath. 

“It…all feels really…raw, still. But…” she worried at her lower lip. “I think so.”

His arm had found its way back around her at some point while they walked, palm rubbing soothingly up and down her bicep. The warmth from his touch made her feel comfy and drowsy. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Tommy said softly in her ear when he noticed her yawning.

They went inside and took the dogs off their leads. Cyril lumbered away, probably to go sleep in Charlie’s room. Asher followed them to theirs. 

Tucked into one corner of the room, where she hadn’t noticed them before, were her suitcases filled with her things from Charlie’s. 

“Lizzie picked them up when she went by to get Asher,” Tommy explained at her quizzical look. 

She pulled one up onto the bed, opened it, and immediately felt her face turn approximately the same shade as her hair. Tommy looked down into her suitcase, brows furrowing, and then his face broke into a delighted, smug grin. 

“Ah. So that’s where all of my Henley’s went.”

Shit. She’d forgotten about them. 

“They…they’re soft,” she defended. “And…” Tommy raised an eyebrow. She fumbled with her rings, suddenly bashful, voice quiet. “They smell like you.”

After a few wears of the first henley she’d nabbed when she left Arrow House, the scent of him started to fade away. So she’d snagged another while they were staying at the London apartment one night. And then another. And another. She always meant to start switching them out, but she kept forgetting them at the yard. 

She looked at the little mountain of white shirts sitting in her suitcase, shifting from foot to foot and feeling her embarrassment burn from her ears all the way down to her toes. 

“It’s pathetic, I know–”

“I sprayed your perfume around our room every night and on your pillow after the scent in the sheets started to fade.”

She felt her lips twitch upwards at the revelation. It was oddly sweet; to know that he’d missed her that much.

Neither of them spoke as they got changed. Though she did aim a light swat at him when he snickered as she slipped into one of the several henley’s she’d stolen. When she turned around after depositing her clothes into the hamper, it was to find Tommy shirtless, unbuckling his belt with one hand while running the other through his hair. She felt her throat go instantly dry, a little pulse starting to ache in her core. His muscles flexed as he pushed down his trousers to leave him in just his white underwear. 

She quickly looked away. Before he could catch her staring. 

She was far too tired and emotionally drained for sex. But still…

She’d fucking missed him. 

The doctors had ordered her to take it easy, at least until the stitches came out. Taking into account how long it had been, she was pretty sure that once she and Tommy started fucking again, they weren’t going to be stopping for a good long while. 

They’d have to restrain themselves. Just for a little while longer. Maybe a week or two. 

Crawling into bed, she hummed contentedly at the soft mattress, snuggling down into the pillows. A moment later, Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. Still in just his underwear and nothing else. Because apparently he liked to test her self control. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, large hand resting on her thigh over the blankets, gaze darting to the space next to her on the bed. 

Lucy nodded, wrapping her hand around his wrist and giving him a little tug. “Yes.” 

He sank in beside her eagerly, immediately hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her to lay her head on his chest. She tangled her legs with his without even thinking, simply running on instinct as she settled into him, letting him snuggle against her. 

“Fuck, I missed this,” Tommy whispered, face pressing into her hair and inhaling deeply. The smattering of hair on his chest tickled her cheek, and she caught herself breathing in his exquisite scent of cologne, smoke, and pine.

“Mm,” she hummed unconsciously in agreement, letting herself get lost in the feeling of being held by him. 

She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be squished against his firm muscle. How safe. It had been so long since they last laid beside each other in bed. The warmth from his torso seeped into her, the steady stroke of his fingers at the nape of her neck helping to lull her. 

“Tommy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

She swallowed. Just two more things. There were just two more things that she needed to ask him. And then she could rest. 

“Tell me you weren’t choosing her over me that night you made that deal with her.”

She felt the muscles in his chest go stiff. And then he was using a finger to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. In the dark, his blue eyes were even more piercing. 

“Of course not. I can see why you’d think that. But I swear, that wasn’t what it was. I was just being drunk and stupid.”

She nodded, but he must have sensed that he had not wholly convinced her, because he persisted. 

“I’d never put her before you. I don’t care if that makes me an awful person or not. You’re my priority. Always.”

“You said you were going to kill Mosley for her.”

His brows pulled in. “I what?”

She nodded. “The day that the opium shipment came into the yard. You told Arthur that you had other strategies in mind for dealing with Mosley. But he’d spoken badly to Lizzie, and that was why you had decided to kill him.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment, processing. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He cleared his throat. “Right. Listen. There’s something that I didn’t tell you. Because we weren’t really talking much after it happened, and I didn’t want to worry you or push you away anymore than I already had.”

A foreboding chill washed over her. “What is it?”

“Mosley threatened to kill you.”

She stared at him, mouth slightly open. “He what?”

Tommy nodded. “He said I was to sack you or marry you off to someone else, or he would have you killed. That was why. I didn’t…I wasn’t going to tell Arthur that. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“Oh.”

“He was rude to Lizzie. And I’m annoyed about that. But I didn’t decide to kill him until after he threatened you.”

She nodded slowly. “I have to tell you something.” He was being open and honest with her, and it felt only right that she do the same. “But you have to promise not to completely fly off the handle.”

Tommy’s brow rose. She looked at him expectantly and he huffed. “Alright. I promise. What is it?”

“During Lizzie’s birthday party, I escorted Mosley to your office. I told you that he just touched my hair and made a lewd remark?”

“I remember.”

“That wasn’t…all that happened. He, erm. He grabbed my breast.”

Tommy was silent for a long time, just staring at her. “What.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. Lucy could hear thunder brewing in his voice. 

“Yeah. He…he touched my hair, and then he grabbed my right breast. I had bruises from his fingers the next day.”

Both of Tommy’s hands flew up to touch her face, stroking her hair out of the way. Fury was still apparent across his features. But she could see horror there as well. 

“You should have told me,” he said quietly.

“I know. You’re right. I should have.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t do anything else?”

“No. He suggested that we could…you know…” she felt Tommy’s grip on her tighten a little. “But I told him no and got out of there right after he grabbed me.”

Tommy’s lips smacked together. She could see him thinking hard behind his big blue orbs. She poked him in the chest. 

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to figure out if it’s too late to change our plans for him to something more…bloody.”

“You promised you wouldn’t fly off the handle!”

“Oh, believe me, love, that is tame for what I really want to do to him.”

She huffed out a laugh equal parts fond and exasperated, dropping her head to press a kiss to the center of his chest. Wrapping both arms around him, she snuggled back into his body. Tommy petted and kissed her head. 

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m sure.”

He pulled her closer, grip tightening protectively. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he growled. “He will never touch you again.”

Lucy stroked her fingertips across his ribs. “Thank you.” She nestled down into him. He was so warm. Like her own personal little furnace.  

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said softly, kissing her hairline and wrapping himself a little tighter around her. Exhaustion was rushing up to meet her, leaving her with little energy to do more than nod and let her eyes flutter closed, drifting off with his warm touch all around her.  

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy stirred, letting out a soft groan as wakefulness snuck upon him sluggishly. His body felt heavy and relaxed, comfortable against the mattress and warm under the blankets. Eyes cracking open to stare at the canopy, he grunted at the realization that it was still the middle of the night; no sunlight yet filtering in through the curtains. He turned, stretching as he did, burying his face half into the pillow, fully intending to fall back to sleep. Arm shifting, he reached out across the mattress. 

The space next to him was empty. 

Immediately his eyes snapped open, sitting bolt upright, all residual drowsiness leaving him in seconds. 

Further investigation only further confirmed that Lucy was not in the bed with him, nor anywhere else in the room. His gaze darted around frantically, squinting through the darkness at the armchair and the windowsill to see if she was seated at either. Nothing. 

The door to the washroom was closed. 

Panic flooded over him in a massive tidal wave, sucking him in and out to sea with nothing to keep himself afloat. His heart leapt into his throat, breaths hitching, dread spreading through his veins.

No, no, no, no, no, not again, Lucy!

He scrambled out of the bed, almost falling over himself when his legs got tangled in the sheets. Imaginings of opening the door to find her laid out in the bathtub again danced across his mind. Her blood overflowing the white porcelain to drip out onto the floor, her head lolled back, hair as crimson as her blood hanging down, her eyes closed, never to open again because this time he was too late and now he’d lost her forever. 

He practically hurled himself at the door, hand just closing around the knob when it opened and he nearly crashed into her. 

“Lucy–” he choked out, throat too constricted with panic to manage anything more. 

She looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking hugely. 

For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other. 

“I, erm,” Lucy spoke first, “I had to use the loo.”

Tommy blinked slowly, processing, realizing that he could still hear the sounds of the toilet running in the washroom behind her.  “Oh.” A relieved breath left his lungs, some of the panic draining from him. 

She looked at him guiltily. “‘M sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She kept looking at him like that, ever since she woke up in the hospital. Like she felt truly horrendous for what she’d done. The expression made his heart twist. As if she had anything to actually be sorry for when it was his boneheadness that threw them into this whole mess in the first place.  

“It’s okay. I just…I woke up and you weren’t there.” He must have been even more tired than he originally thought for her to be able to sneak out of bed without him noticing. Normally he slept so lightly that even the smallest of noises or twitches from her was enough to have him springing awake.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said again, wrapping her arms around herself. Tommy shook his head, reaching out to her, grateful when she let him pull her into his arms. Touching her helped to soothe his still pricked nerves. 

“Don’t apologize,” he said, pressing his lips to the bare skin of her shoulder. “Let’s go back to bed.”

She let him guide her back over to the mattress, laying down and settling her head in its spot on his chest. Tommy could have cried at the feeling of her nestled safely back in his arms. It felt so right having her there. As if the missing piece of his heart had been returned to its right place. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you…” The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he didn’t have faith in her. He just worried, that was all. 

“I know.”

“C’mere,” he said, even though she was already pressed so close to him that he could feel her heart beating against her ribs. One of her arms slipped around his waist as he drew her tighter against him, burying her face in between his pecs while he stroked her hair. “Comfortable?”

She nodded wordlessly, and he had to suppress a smile to himself. She was far too cute for her own good. 

He was half tempted to roll her over onto her back, slot his hips between her thighs, and…

No, no. She needed to rest. 

There would be plenty of time for love making later. 

He watched over her as she drifted off, growing heavier in his arms until her body fully relaxed.

His gaze shifted to the white bandages still wrapped around her wrists, and the guilt he had momentarily forgotten boiled back up. 

She seemed to be doing okay. And at least she was talking to him again. Giving him chances to explain where she had misinterpreted him. So long as she kept coming to him with her insecurities, he could help her. He could set them straight.

But were most of her insecurities not a result of his fuckups? If he hadn’t gotten Lizzie pregnant, if he hadn’t married her, then none of this would have happened. Lucy wouldn’t be so depressed and doubting her self worth at every turn. If he’d been a good lover to her, she never would have fallen into such a dark pit of despair. 

There had once been a time when he had vowed that, despite knowing he could never deserve her, that he would try to. He would always love her, and treat her well, and cherish her as long as he had her. 

How badly he had fucked that all up. 

She would be so much better off without him. They all would. Maybe, she’d even stand a chance at being happy. 

At the end of the day, that was all he ever wanted for his Lucy. For her to be happy. 

He’d hurt her. Deeply. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t intentional. He’d broken her heart. That was something he would never, ever, be able to forgive himself for. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

He knew that he was hovering, but he didn’t really care. When Lucy was out of his sight, even for a few minutes, he found himself growing anxious, memories of finding her in the bathtub, of the weight of her limp, almost-dead body in his arms, dancing through his mind. So he stuck to her like glue, keeping near her as often as he could. 

She didn’t seem to really mind, thankfully. If anything he suspected that she was secretly enjoying the attention. Considering how lacking of it she had been until recently, he supposed that it shouldn’t be all that surprising. 

He flinched with guilt at the reminder of how shitty of a lover he’d been to her.

After Lizzie returned home with the kids, he’d been on his guard, but as promised Lizzie had remained on her best behavior, giving them space and allowing ample time for Charlie and Ruby to spend with Lucy. 

Both kids were ecstatic to have her back home. It was good to see, especially considering he knew that Lucy often fretted over what they thought of her. He hoped their reaction to having her back would put at least some of those worries to bed. They loved her. She was their other mom. 

“Tommy?”

“Hm?” He was lounging on a couch in the drawing room, reading the newspaper and sipping a glass of whiskey while Lucy dozed with her head in his lap. He looked up at Lizzie where she stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow. 

“There’s a gentleman named Mr. Harken here to see you.”

He frowned, then felt his features smooth into dismay and exasperation when he remembered. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to have a meeting with him about the foundation today.”

“You didn’t reschedule it?”

“I forgot.”

Lizzie rang her hands together. “I can send him away, if you’d like…”

He pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his face. It had been an ordeal to get on Harken’s schedule at all. If he canceled, he would have to wait months before seeing him again. If he managed to even get another meeting with him. Harken was known for being fickle, and rudely canceling an appointment when he’d already driven out all this way was unlikely to endear him towards Tommy. 

He looked down at Lucy still slumbering in his lap. The thought of leaving her alone for a prolonged period of time made his throat close up. 

“I can stay with her.” Lizzie took a cautious step into the room. Tommy shot her a wary, suspicious look, and she held up her hands. “I promise I’ll be nice.”

He looked her up and down, weighing his options in his head, then glanced back at Lucy. Asher was laying on the floor by their feet, and Trouble was curled up against her side.

“I won’t be long,” he said, both a promise and a warning. Lizzie nodded, going to sit in one of the armchairs across from the couch.

“We’ll be here.”

He eyed her for one final moment before carefully maneuvering Lucy’s head from his lap without waking her, resting a cushion under her cheek instead. She stirred only slightly when he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Asher lifted his head as Tommy stepped around him, and he gave the dog a scratch behind the ear while he passed. 

You keep an eye on her for me, eh, boy?

The dog’s tail thumped against the rug, and Tommy half wondered if he really was able to read his mind. 

With each step further away from Lucy, his anxiousness grew, fingers slipping into his pocket to procure his cigarette case as he stepped out the door.

He’d make this quick as he could. She might not even be awake by the time he got back. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

When Lucy opened her eyes, the first thing she noted was that she was considerably less comfortable and warm than when she’d fallen asleep. Instead of resting on Tommy’s thighs, her head was tucked on top of a pillow, laying on her side on the couch with a blanket laid over her and Trouble curled up against her stomach, purring.   

The second thing was that Lizzie was sitting in the armchair across from her. 

Wincing at some stiff pain in her shoulders–she really ought to know better than to try to nap anywhere that wasn’t her bed–Lucy sat up, rolling her neck to try to encourage her muscles to loosen. Trouble meowed at the movement, standing, stretching, and promptly settling herself into her lap. She gave the cat a few scratches under the chin, noting the way that Trouble eyed Lizzie suspiciously, the tip of her tail flicking back and forth. 

My own little protector, she thought fondly. 

“Did you sleep alright?” Lizzie asked, setting aside the magazine she’d been reading. Lucy shrugged noncommittally. 

“Where’s Tommy?”

“He had a meeting that he forgot to cancel. Something about the foundation with a man named Mr. Harken. He’ll be back soon.”

“Oh.”

She focused her attention on the cat in her lap, stroking her soft fur to try to help calm the nerves that sprang up at being alone with Lizzie. She could feel the other woman watching her, shifting back and forth in her chair. Awkwardness permeated throughout the room. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve been such a shit to you.” That had Lucy’s eyes finally darting up to meet Lizzie’s, widened at the sudden, wholly unexpected apology. Lizzie had a cigarette clutched between her fingers, digits shifting against it anxiously. “I think that I just…got lost.”

Lucy’s lips parted, face pinching with confusion. “You don’t have to apologize…”

“Yes. I do.”

She shook her head. “I’m the one who’s been a selfish cunt. I should have left the moment he told me you were pregnant. You all could have been happy…”

Lizzie cast her a bewildered, sad look. “No, love, I don’t think we could have.”

“I can pack a bag. I can be gone before he even gets out of that meeting. Neither of you will ever see me again,” she offered, borderline frantic. Anything. Anything to alleviate the guilt that she felt for what she’d put Lizzie through. 

“Lucy…don’t you understand? He’s been distraught since you left. I think…I think he’ll die without you.”

Lucy sniffled, wiping at her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I’m offering you what you’ve always wanted, Lizzie. Just take it.” Put us both out of our misery.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“No?”

“No. Maybe at one time, but…all it took was a few hours after you moved out for me to realize what a mistake it was. When I put those rules in place, I didn’t realize they would drive you out. I just thought you and him would spend more time at the apartment in London or the Midland. You two are hardly here much anyway.” Standing from the chair, she approached Lucy, moving to kneel on the floor in front of her so they were at eye level. Trouble made a noise that wasn’t quite a hiss, but was close. Lucy settled a hand on the top of her head, both to try to calm the cat and to quiet her own anxiousness. Lizzie took Lucy’s other hand. “I’ve missed you. The kids have missed you. Tommy’s an absolute nightmare to be around without you…don’t go. Don’t leave us again.”

Her breaths trembled in her lungs, tears building up against her lash line. “I feel like such a piece of shit all of the time, Lizzie. I feel like…like I stole him from you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never thought that.”

“Of course I have. Doesn’t mean it’s true.” Lizzie looked down. “He told me after the ballet that he’s not in love with me.” She let out a soft, bitter laugh and closed her eyes tight, letting out a hard, trembling breath. “And I suppose a part of me is still bitter. And angry. About all of it. And I think that part of me always will be. But…” she opened her eyes, and Lucy could see the resolution and resignation in them. “I think that it was what I needed to hear. Ever since that night, I haven’t felt like I’m…waiting around. Hoping for something that I may never get. I can move on now. I don’t intend to leave,” she clarified swiftly, “but I can just…focus on the children. On the house. And Tommy’s only…there. More a…friend or companion than a husband or lover,” she shrugged. “I figured that, after everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done for him, if he was going to fall in love with me, it would have happened by now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy whispered miserably. Lizzie shook her head, smile sad, but also tranquil. 

“Don’t be. I have this,” a tilt of her head indicated the house. “I have my kids.” Her hand tightened around Lucy’s. “But he needs you, Lucy. So, you and I have to find a way to deal with each other. I’m tired of all the resentment between us. All of the bitterness. It’s very unprogressive.”

Lucy couldn’t contain her snort, eyebrow raising. “Are you really suggesting that we make a pact to get along in the name of feminism?”

Lizzie’s lips pressed together into a small smile. “More in the name of our shared sanity, really.” She looked down at their clasped hands. “We were friends once, weren’t we?” she asked in a softer voice. 

“I’d like to think so.”

“I miss that,” she looked out the window. Lucy tightened her fingers against hers.

“Me too.”   

 “I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through recently. It really wasn’t my intention to make either of you so unhappy. I can’t promise that I won’t get jealous. Or bitter sometimes. But I will do my best not to make it your problem anymore.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry too. Really.”

Lizzie swiped a finger across her knuckles. “Thank you.” Gingerly, her hand reached up to brush across the bandages still covering Lucy’s wrists. Trouble made a sharp hiss, half rising from her spot in Lucy’s lap. 

“You, hush,” Lucy chastised her, urging her to lay back down. “Be nice.”

Trouble looked at her with eyes that were extremely unimpressed, but laid her head back down against her thigh, little sides expanding with an overly dramatic sigh. Lizzie snorted, retracting her hand and tapping her cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table beside her. “He loves you so much.” There was a glimmer of sorrow and longing in Lizzie’s eyes that made the guilt in Lucy’s chest twist. “Don’t take it for granted.” 

Dropping her eyes, she absentmindedly gave Trouble’s belly a few scratches when the cat rolled over for her. “I won’t.”

Unfolding herself from her position on the floor, Lizzie eased herself back into the armchair she’d been occupying previously. Placing her cigarette between her lips, she reached for the deck of cards resting on the table. 

“Do you want to play?” Lizzie asked, already starting to shuffle.

It had been a good while since she’d played cards with anyone. Something that used to be a regular occurrence. So many long nights in the Garrison had been passed by playing hand after hand with Tommy and his brothers, downing whiskeys and laughing around cigarettes. 

“Sure.”

Lizzie’s lips pulled into a smile, and she started dealing out the cards. 

They’d just finished up their first hand when Charlie and Ruby came wandering in, done with their lessons for the day. Cyril was right behind them, lumbering over to lay down next to Asher. Ruby sat down on the floor beside the two dogs, while Charlie climbed onto the couch next to Lucy, crowding into her side. Lizzie dealt them in, and by the time Tommy returned after the next hand, they had a rather lively game going.

He stood there, watching them play with his hands stuffed into his pockets, smile tugging on the edges of his lips, eyes shining with fondness when Lucy’s gaze lifted to meet his. The expression on his face only softened further when their eyes met.

“Dad, are you gonna come play?” Charlie asked. With a chuckle, Tommy came over to sit on Lucy’s other side on the couch, taking his hand of cards from Lizzie. 

“Did everything go alright?” Lucy asked him in a quiet voice. He cast her a fond look, plucking his cigarette from his lips while his gaze shifted from her to examine the cards in his hand.

“Everything went fine.” He spoke lightly, nothing but ease in his eyes. Satisfied, she returned her attention back to playing her cards. Sometime during the game, his arm found its way around her shoulders. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“You don’t have to come. Not if you don’t feel up to it,” Tommy told her later, when they were lying in bed with her head on his chest and his arms around her, the dark and quiet surrounding them. 

“I can handle it. I’m mostly healed now, anyway.”

He was quiet for a stretch of time and she frowned, head shifting so she could squint up at him in the darkness. 

“Do you not want me to come?”

“It’s not that. It’s just…” he sighed, head tipping heavily against the pillows. “It’ll be dangerous.”

“So is nearly everything else that we do.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Mm,” she acknowledged with a hum. “I want to be there.” If something happened to him, and she wasn’t there, she would never forgive herself. And she would go insane sitting around, listening to the radio and waiting to hear if the assassination had been successful or not.

His arm adjusted around her, thumb stroking over her shoulder. “Alright. Just…do something for me, then?”

“What?”

“Stay close to me.”

She tilted her head. Under other circumstances she might have teased him for his overprotectiveness. But he was right when he said that this wasn’t like other circumstances. There was an awful lot that could go wrong. “Okay.”

He hummed, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”

His fingers stroked delicately against the scarred skin of her back. He pressed a few kisses to her neck, then settled there, body relaxing with a contented sound against her. 

“Love you, honey,” he mumbled sleepily.

She turned her head to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Love you too, Tommy.”

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[skiploom]

hi

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Nightmare

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- Dae-ho wakes up from a nightmare, with you being the only one by his side to calm him down.

Warnings- Mentions of PTSD, Nightmare, ECT.

A/N- Thank you, @tomgregtruther101 @errruvande @momoko-world @thethreeeyed-raven for encouraging me to write this!

Word Count- 1,223

A low mumble awoke you from your slumber. Typically you were a heavy sleeper, but when it came to Dae-ho it was different. You could have slept through a firework show. Though, the second your beloved got up to use the bathroom- you're up with him.

It bothered the sweet man at first, he hated waking you up. After some reassurance that you didn't mind, he warmed up to the idea. This night, however, was not like many.

It was not uncommon for Dae-Ho to wake up frazzled. He would get something warm to drink from the kitchen, and lay back down. (Praying he didn't wake you). On the much more common occurrence, you would awake with him. In turn, you'd be the one making him something warm to drink, possibly something sweet to snack on. Then the two of you would cuddle until he was fast asleep.

It was honestly comforting for you as well, being able to be his anchor was flattering. He trusted you like no other.

Dae-ho was not Frazzled though, and he didn't wake up to get a beverage.

He was thrashing, hard. His legs slightly kicking, arms jumping up every few seconds. With an impossibly scrunched face, he mumbled again.

"Dae?" You whispered out. The only response you received was a hit to the side, a stray flaring hand had got you.

The mumbling quickly turned louder, now sounding like a cry or groan. It worried you beyond recognition.

"Dae-ho." You pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder. His body jerked away from it. Very uncharacteristic.

A disfigured 'no' left his lips, a struggled sob escaped. He had managed to kick the comforter off of himself, and the bed.

You were now sat on your knees, looming over him. "Dae-ho!" You firmly grabbed both of his shoulders, shaking him.

A loud gasp erupted from both of you as his eyes shot open, you had no time to make a comment. His legs pushed and kicked, separating himself from you. At that singular moment, in his fear struck mind, he didn't seem to recognize you.

He had already found himself against the headboard of the bed, his hands pressing tight against his ears. You had barely blinked in all his movement.

With gaping eyes, a pounding chest, and heavy breathing he looked at you. Almost as if you were the one who hurt him.

"It just me, Dae-ho, its just me..." You spoke as soft and low as you could. You didn't approach any closer, but put your hands up to appear less intimidating.

His eyes just darted across the room in response, body curling further. His lip quivered, face and body drenched in sweat.

"You're okay, you're safe. Dae, you're safe. It's just me... It was just a nightmare, everything is okay..."

He swallowed thick, slowly nodding his head. His gaze now stuck on yours. His scared and nerve wrecked appearance crushed you. It was opposite of the man he appears to show to everyone, only you knew of his nightmares.

"I'm going to come closer, I promise I'm here, I'm real, you're at home. Safe in bed..." You shuffled over on your knees, hands starting at his forearm.

He slightly flinched at your touch, but made no attempt to move away. Your hand caressed across his arm, going to his own hand. You tenderly unravel his tight grip on his head, tangling your fingers in his.

A large sigh left him, his head falling back in frustration. He was now back to reality, though still beat and weary. Water glossed over his eyes. He bit his lip hard, trying to fight away any tears. He thought it would make him seem less of a man to cry in front of you. You couldn't disagree more.

"I'm so sor-" His voice cracked as he tried to speak, a couple tears has managed to escape. You didn't let him finish, his face was pressed deeply into your chest within seconds. He truly didn't know what he was apologizing for, for waking you? For having a nightmare? For his frequent PTSD attacks?

You had quickly taken his frame into your arms. He would have admitted that your knees pressing into his thighs was uncomfortable, but he didn't care right now. You were with him, holding him, and loving him. That's all he cared about.

"Don't you dare apologize, you've done nothing wrong." You cradled his head tight, pressing kisses to the top of his crown.

You managed to twist the two of you around, your back now against the headboard with him in your lap. He was quiet for awhile, you simply rocked him back and forth for a little bit.

His arms found themselves wrapped around your waist. He held onto you for dear life... Almost as if you'd fade away if he let go. You heard his breathing shake every few breaths, but he was calming down.

Continuing to rock, you reached your hands up to his hair. It was half up, half down. The hair tie pulled out of his hair easily enough. You were able to considerably comb through his hair with your fingers. A simple action you knew he loved.

While one hand worked at his soft black hair, another rubbed circles on his back. "Feeling better?"

He sniffled, leaning up to look at you. He couldn't meet your eyes, almost embarrassed. His meek, "Thank you." was accompanied by a nod.

You brushed through his hair, even with him sat up. "Want to talk about it?" You never wanted to pressure him into anything he wasn't comfortable with.

"Just the typical... but you were there, you were who I was shooting... It was like you were the enemy... I just- I can't describe it.. It made no sense-." His voice shook again, so you interrupted him.

"Exactly, baby. It was a nightmare that will never happen... Because I know you would never hurt me, that you would do anything to protect me?" Your tone implied a question.

He nodded furiously, now making direct eye contact. There wasn't a phrase he agreed more with. He looked at you like a loyal puppy.

"See? It was your sweet little mind playing mean tricks on you..." You rested a flat palm to his cheek. Taking in how handsome he looked in the moonlight.

He puffed, now more light hearted, and fell back onto your chest.

"I promise I will keep you safe from all the nightmares and mind games." He was frustrated at your words.

"But that's supposed to be my job..." He said, face conveniently still upon your breast.

You smiled warmly, "Yes, it is. And you fulfill it perfectly. I couldn't be happier. But, you must let me take care of you as well..."

He didn't respond, his internal monologue had a million points to argue back. But he didn't. He embasked in the moment, squeezing you tight again.

You took the silent request, resuming your back rubbing and head scratching.

From experience, you knew he would not fall asleep any time soon. That you'd probably fall asleep before him, no matter how hard you tried to stay up. All you could do for now was whisper how much you love him, play with his hair, and hum silly melodies.

And he was content with that.

A/N- Okay, so erm. I feel like it was rushed (it was), but I also feel that way about all my works. So... Please let me know how I can improve. Also this is my first time writing something like this, so I hope it wasn't terrible. XOXOXOX LOVE YALL

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Isn’t it past your curfew?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: What happens when you run into your father’s dark suited friend after dark? You get in trouble of course.

Contains: [deep breath]-> snacks and drinks because this one is LONGER, drinking, clubbing, panicking, choking, mouth spitting, everything IS consensual but it’s rough so, rough sex, spanking, kissing, pussy spanking, dacriphyllia, multiple orgasms, squirting, you suffer from ptw, that’s pvssy too wet, seriously, dom/sub dynamics, he’s still gross and fucked up, possessiveness, degradation, praise, he’s still mean :(((, manhandling, thigh riding, kinda in public for the first half, car sex, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected sex, one all expenses paid trip to poundtown, and cursing. There’s so much I probably forgot something but y’all get the gist.

A/N- enjoy the official second installment of the dad’sfriend au! ;)

Kisses for all starting with~ @dorayakissu @jae-mie @lcvsanaa @love2fangirl @jusferisnothere @dilfismz @mybahama @trentknd @reka13 @511rkive @gr-red

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

The second time you and your father’s new friend meet, it’s not at all in the setting you thought it’d be.

No, awfully enough you’re mid-spin- throwing your ass in a club near the shadier part of the city, out way past your dads rules in a tight dress- cute manicured toes peeking out your heels; makeup laden eyes widening as you make eye contact with the same gorgeous man who wore you out almost 3 weeks ago. Leaving you with a card and legs that remained shaky for the next 2 days.

The morning after was a trip and you won’t even touch how you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, smiling even as you went to pee; the stinging a pleasant reminder of the whole ordeal. And, true to your word, you indeed have been nicer to your dad. Kissing him on the cheek with a light “be back later dad, I love you”, whenever he was home and you were leaving just like you did when you were six and his happy smile was just the same. You also put a limit on the smart little quips where you could but not so much that it was obvious you had gotten a full body attitude adjustment.

You’d been so good.

Little did you know, he’d heard as much. Smirking inwardly like there was some in-joke whenever your father would be cheerier than normal sometimes on his early commute- telling him how you made breakfast, kissing him on the cheek with a sweet ‘bye daddy’ before you left for your day or how you were less snippy- instead you were pleasant. So now imagine his surprise seeing his friend’s perfectly pleasant young daughter in one of his clubs that you didn’t even know was his, in a snug dress so short that whenever you moved you were threatening to flash someone. The skimpy little thing didn’t even have a back.

He knows the exact moment you see him see you because the way your heart falls to your ass is written all over your face and it makes him grin even wider.

When he moves, his stride is perfect. Long limbs weaving seamlessly through the sea of bodies as he deliberately walks past you.

You who is internally panicking.

“Mmm he get to strokin’, ooh how I love when he chokin’ me! Bitch I’m a boss! I do what I want-!” Your friends yell the lyrics drunkenly as they move their ass against you and you wince, suddenly hyper aware of who’s watching. Even though you had been drinking, you weren’t drunk but that didn’t change the fact that you weren’t supposed to be here and now there was a witness who knew the reason why your fast ass wasn’t supposed to be here and could very well snitch to said reason.

You shout some nonsense excuse to your friends to where you’re going and they nod back before going back to partying. If they were less plastered you know they’d question you and insist on coming with so you thank your lucky stars they’re not because the last thing they needed to see was you getting slut out by a man twice your age while attempting to do damage control. Spinning on your heel you walk the same path he did but less gracefully as you try not to stumble in your heels or topple over anyone. Your heart beat is almost louder than the music as you look for the dark suited man and the further you walk the more intense it feels; flashbacks of devilish hands and a nasty mouth cloud your mind and you swallow harshly, willing away that heat with a shaky inhale before it can burn you.

Just as you turn, you’re yanked into a corner- the sound of your shriek swallowed by the music.

“Well if it isn’t daddy’s good. little. girl. Shouldn’t it be past your curfew?”

Fuck. His voice is just as deep as you remember and the name makes a shiver crawl up your spine, a familiar tingle settling in your cunt. Still, you refuse to give him the satisfaction, taunting him with your smart mouth even though he can see your (now hard) nipples poking through the colorful toss of glitter you called a dress.

“Shouldn’t you be in a bingo hall n’some retirement center near the exit of my damn business?” Fuck x2. Alcohol loosens your tongue something terrible on a good night so now the same alcohol coupled with adrenaline has you completely reckless- delayed sense of self preservation only loading at 34 percent. The looming realization of your fuck up comes in the form of a smile so wide that it creases his eyes as he begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until you’re giggling nervously too. It’s awkward sounding compared to the low timbre of his rich sounding one. You shuffle once and that’s as far as you go before his hand snaps around your throat; cutting off your oxygen, strong hold fastening as he gives a good squeeze, forcing you harder against the wall.

His grip is tight off the bat and just like last time you can’t keep your hand from flying up and gripping his hard forearm the same way you can’t help yourself from getting wet as blood rushes through your ears. He’s looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a thing- his little thing- as he watches you with a dark smile.

“Cute. And here I thought we fixed that smart ass mouth of yours.” He sneers in your face and you nod desperately because he really did fix it, you were just tipsy. You know for a fact that you can’t withstand another one of his attitude adjustments- especially somewhere so public- standing in uncomfortable shoes. Ignoring your pleading look completely, he slides his knee between your plush thighs, wedging it right up into your clit through your soaked panties, loosening his hold for his next trick.

“Let’s try again, okay princess?” The petname falls from his lips with the same condescension as all his other words but it doesn’t sound any less heavenly and you whine- blinking at him prettily through your lashes.

“..yes sir…”, The way you submit has his eyes fluttering shut for a second and the feeling that rolls through him is dangerous.

He truly is a sick man. He could ruin you beyond repair if he wasn’t careful.

“Why are you doing out so late in a place like this? Dressed like that too.”

“It’s the end of finals for the semester, m-me and the girls just wanted to have a little fun..” you sound so timid, like a brat caught drawing on the wall and he cooes at you.

“And the outfit?” You flush as you feel just how little you’re wearing- though the last time he saw you, you were wearing nothing at all. Even your face had been bare which was a hard contrast to now with your hair messy from dancing but lovely still, smokey eyeshadow that had flecks of glitter and pouty lips pretty and glossed. Bristling, you ask,

“What’s wrong with it?” There’s an undercurrent of more tone than he likes but he feels generous enough at the picture you paint not to make you pay for it as he smiles indulgently at you, raising a brow as he shakes his head.

“I suppose nothing besides the fact I almost missed it even when looking straight at you. Good thing it’s not any tighter or it’d be invisible.” He grinds his knee up into your pussy, catching you off guard with the sudden shockwaves of pleasure you’re subjected to at the expense of his taunting. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second as you undulate your hips against his thigh in those messy circles you like so much, choked moans breaking through your every gasp.

You’re so lightheaded.

Nerves ultra sensitive from the lack of air and tequila buzz as you bite your lip, bringing your hands to your chest, pulling your bra and dress down to let your breasts spill out; pulling and tweaking the hard nubs shamelessly as you do. What was it about him that made you act this way?

You feel so good, you don’t even care to find the answer. Bathing in the heat of his stare, you rock your wet cunt back and forth over the hardness of his thigh, the fabric of his pants giving the most delicious friction against your throbbing clit. His brows furrow in arousal as he watches you fuck yourself on his leg, moaning like every bit of the slut you looked like with his hand around your throat. But you would get much louder than this- that he knew from experience.

Your attention gets bought back to the man you’re minutes away from coming on when his other hand wraps itself in your hair and pulls. It’s intense. White-hot pleasure that comes with the burning sting as you cry out, hips jerking as your legs shake at how close you are. He pulls again, moving your head farther back, exposing your neck as he licks a fat, wet stripe up the sensitive, sweat slick skin all the way to your mouth and you can’t stop moving your hips as your eyes roll back- heart racing from how much you’re feeling, soaked hole clenching around nothing. His voice clears some of the fog about to take you but his words cause the shame this time.

“Does your father know you’re here?” You pinch your lips together in embarrassment, because no- he didn’t know. You told him you’d be back before the set time but here you were almost 2 hours past. He jerks his thigh against your center harshly, cutting off your wail with a tight hand and you swear you see lights.

“Answer me, coherently. I want to hear those big girl words.” Fuck.

It’d be a lie to say you wish he wasn’t so mean. It was part of his charm, the edge that made him that more interesting and irresistible. You swallow as best you can, sniffling wetly through the water that’s already gathering in your eyes and the sight and sound make him so feral that he’s ready to take you on the floor, fucking you stupid on the glittering black marble.

“N-no..my dad doesn’t know-“, the faux shock on his face shifts into contemplation and you can not have that as you rush the words out,

“And you can’t tell him! Please! He’ll flip if he finds out..” He wasn’t a snitch but you didn’t know that, begging sweetly for him not to rat you out- even holding off your orgasm just for him and he’s filled with that same sick rush as before. You were so delectable. So sweet, so wet- your teary doe eyes too- and so pliant beneath him.

He shuts you up by bringing his face close to yours, smelling the flavor of your lip gloss while enjoying the suddenly shy look on your pretty face at him studying you so closely as he whispers,

“Open your mouth.”

Huh? He’s close enough to kiss you so is that it? Your heart threatens to give out at the thought of him kissing you. Kissing is so…intimate. So is sex but there’s something about both your eyes being closed as you lean in, trusting one to guide the other. Especially since you still hardly knew each other…

Would you like to know him?

You ignore the tear between your gut instincts and your feelings and open your mouth. The pleased hum he rewards you with makes you keen but as the hand around your windpipe tightens and your heart stops as you feel plush lips drag across your cheek…. Right before a warm wad of saliva hits the your tongue, sliding down the back of your throat. Did he just-

You swallow on instinct and only then does he kiss you on the mouth. It’s short but demanding and so, so good- your eyes fluttering shut, hips returning to their motions with more urgency than before as he absolutely devours your mouth, licking into it like he’s trying to find traces of him; pulling away with a mean suck of your bottom lip and you gasp wetly.

“Good girl.”

You bite your lip and the water that was already gathering in your eyes spills over, panting as you try not to be swept away by the consuming waves of crushing bliss but you can’t stop your fucking self from grinding your clit against his leg, humping it with pathetically watery sobs.

He knows you’re close, that familiar pained expression on your flushed face but instead of putting you out of your misery; he decides to- “Ah ah. No-“, but it’s too late and he knew that full well before he even started. He was already planning on you disobeying, that way your punishment would be that much more…satisfying.

He watches with lidded eyes as your orgasm rips through you, grabbing his wrist for stability, hips twitching out of their messy rhythm and you wail; coming so hard it hurts. The torrent of euphoria submerges you for what will go down as the longest minutes of your life and when you come down, you’re distantly grateful for his hand because you wouldn’t be able to hold your head up otherwise.

The spot beneath your pulsating cunt is wet and he leans his head back with a pleased sigh. He was going to fuck you up in the best ways. Your makeup is messier now thanks to your tears as you sniffle weakly, trying to catch your breath and he has to hold himself back from sliding your dazed self onto the ground and-

“Sorry…m’sor- I couldn’t hold it..”, you slur out as he moves his thigh, making you stand on wobbly legs; still lightheaded from your high. Mentally, he goes through all the things he can put your soft body through as he fixes your dress, pulling what little there is of it- down as he decides what to do with you.

“It’s ok. You’ll make it up to me.” He smiles at the way you nod almost dumbly, holding your hand- ready to take you with him before looking you over, eyes searching for something.

“Where’s your phone?”

You groan because the answer was embarrassing but one you were sure he’d get off on. Shifting uncomfortably, you mumble out; “it’s in the waistband…” Oh? His night just keeps getting more and more interesting. Your face warms more as his voice takes on a mocking sort of condescending.

“Waistband of what?” Your embarrassment is as sweet as you are and he barely holds back his smirk.

“…my thong.”

It’s a good thing you’re not looking at him because the dark glint on his face would’ve sent you running for the hills. Moving closer, he takes his time running his hand down your side, making your breath hitch as he runs it smoothly into the side where your dress cuts to open back, feeling around near your hips where the soft skin gives to the pressure of fabric until he feels your phone- pulling it out.

He really needed to stop touching you so casually. It wasn’t good for your sanity. But, he doesn’t care as he squeezes your hand, making you focus up again.

“What’s your password?” You narrow your eyes but tell him anyway because you know if you don’t, he’ll make you. You wait anxiously as you watch him scroll for a bit before pressing something and typing some more before he locks it, sliding it into his suit pocket as he pulls you along with him.

“What-”

“Now your friends won’t come looking for you.” Your heart thumps, pumping heat through your veins at the many implications of his statement. He guides you down through the back corridor of the club and you notice the farther you get, the softer the music is until it’s quiet and your looking at a neon purple door before being pulled out of the building into the cool night air, walking towards a large, dark fancy car parked across from it.

He never breaks his stride as he walks you toward it, letting go of your hand to open the backseat door, turning to you with dark eyes and a grin softer than anything he’s going to do to you tonight.

“Get in.”

•

•

•

He doesn’t take you home.

Instead, your snatched into the open space of the back and he’s right behind you; slamming the door as he kneels behind you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, he manhandles you chest down to the leather seat, cheek flush against the cool surface with your ass up. There’s a deep groan that shakes you to your core as he drinks in your form with greedy eyes. You looked so appetizing that he’s tempted to keep you even after he’s done with you. Smooth ass up in the air, back arched nice and pretty for him, legs open as one balances on the seat and the other on the floor giving him a clear view of your wet pussy- their swollen lips being outlined by the scrap of wet fabric barely covering them.

The backseat of his car is plenty big enough but because of his height, he still has to maneuver a bit, taking off his suit jacket he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt before winding his hand back.

Your nerves are already on high alert, panting as you hear the rustling of his clothes then nothing. The concept of relaxing your body doesn’t even fully make it to your mind when a heavy slap has fire blooming across your ass and you choke.

The initial pain is just a prelude though as you hear a low laugh and your thong is ripped clean off you before more spanks rain down on your asscheeks. Each hit is hard, making the sensitive skin tint as it recoils from the strength behind the burning hits. You end up coughing, trying to gasp but it ends in a desperate sob as the sting begins to warm and the sting of his palm leaves shockwaves of pleasure that fester in your lower body, making your cunt pulse as he watches slick ooze from your tight hole, pupils blown.

“I know exactly what to do with you.”

You hear him but you don’t get to respond, eyes fluttering back in complete bliss as you’re suddenly stuffed with 3 of his perfectly thick fingers. All three immediately curl up like they’re trying to poke your bellybutton before thrusting in and out, brushing his thumb against your clit after every nasty squelch. Each mean swipe of his fingers sends you closer to oblivion as you feel yourself start to drift. You fog up his windows with your moans, lipgloss smeared against his seat but it’s all pointless because you’re going to cum. And when you cum, it’s gonna be your ass because you can’t catch your breath enough to ask him coherently if you were allowed to.

The fingers inside you curl completely, grinding against that sweet bundle of nerves inside you and your inner thighs spasm as you wail- hiccuping loudly, you cry in pleasure when the dam breaks and oh god you’re coming.

Your eyes snap shut as you try not to pass out from all the sensations. It’s like you’ve been dunked in lava- your orgasm blazing as it consumes you. You don’t even scream anymore, just crying and whining as you shake; cunt spasming from trying to withstand the waves. You usually never cum so hard and you worry that if this becomes a daily thing it’ll shorten your lifespan.

It’s cute. Watching you struggle not to be overwhelmed by him. You don’t even hear him unzip his pants, fat cock bobbing as it beads with precum, cooing as a certain realization finally creeps up on you. That his fingers were still fucking into your tight snatch, grinding away at your g-spot.

“Since you couldn’t stop yourself from coming…”

Oh no. Nononononono-

“I don’t want you to stop coming.” The broken sob that reaches his ears has a thick shiver of arousal run through him as wretches his hand out of your hole only to smack heavy wet spanks onto your erect clit.

Your heart stops and a few seconds later you can’t hear or see either as you cum for the third time that night, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you squirt all over him and his luxury car, drool spilling into the space under your cheek. It’s almost miserable as your arch deepens, body trembling until consciousness returns to you in a flood of lights and you go boneless.

Even in the mess he’s made of you, he likes this look much better than the polished party princess from earlier. You looked pretty before but now your fucked out form looked good enough to eat, punched out gasps leaving your chest. Taking his fingers out, he clean your cum off them, eyes fluttering at the taste as he runs his other hand up and down your back, settling on the arch when he feels your shaky hand reach back to grip his thigh.

“G’nna fuck me now?” Oh, poor thing. He was going to fuck you stupid. Too bad you sounded so dazed when the fun was just getting started. Grabbing his cock with the hand that was covered in you, he slides it between your folds, groaning at the hot slick, moving back and forth- fat head bumping your clit.

“Yeah, baby. ‘M gonna fuck you but”, he pulls your head back by your hair, the burn brings you out of your haze a bit and you hum to let him know you’re listening,

“You better not pass out. Understand?” You bite your lip, moaning from your throat as you wiggle your hips, feeling the weight of his cock against your hole but not sliding in until you agree.

“Mhm, yes sir-” He cuts you off with a snap of his hips, thrusting into your sopping heat with chest thick groan, hissing through his teeth- tingles buzzing through him. You were still so wet and tight, pussy almost choking his length as he set to thrusting right away; fat cock battering your insides.

The stretch hurt. But it hurt so good and you find that you missed being stuffed so full, crying out with the grip on your hair tightening while he fucked you like he paid for you. Broken wails spill from your throat at the harsh way he pounds them out of you, front snapping against your ass. Watching the bounce with hungry eyes, veins on his forearms popping out from every time he pulled- eventually burying his hand deeper- holding you down as he goes harder, hips snapping nice ‘n deep against yours and you scream in bliss.

You felt so fucked up because even though you were so sensitive that it bordered on painful you can’t keep yourself from whining for more. He was just as fucked up though. Apparently being a facilitator of murder wasn’t enough, now he was fucking his friend’s daughter- that he was much older than- senseless at almost 2 in the morning but you looked damn good while he did.

Messy hair and tear streaked makeup, bite swollen lips with your pretty little dress yanked up, dark handprints bruised all over your ass while you got railed with your ass up. Yeah. If you were fucked up for this then it was fine; he was beyond fucked up too.

Slick runs down the inside of your thighs and you groan, muscles spasming as you feel your impending orgasm get closer, bleating screams rising in pitch when you feel him grind filthily at the gooey bundle of nerves inside you and you don’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed at the way your cunt leaks like a ruptured faucet, ruining his pants again.

His rakes his fingers firmly through your scalp and the sound that comes from you is nothing short of pathetic- making his smirk positively wolffish when he leans down close; licking a wet stripe from your cheek to your ear. It’s primal and he revels in your shudder, voice rasp with heady arousal as he purrs out,

“Cum. Squirt yourself to a headache f’me, princess. You earned it.”

You’re sure that in the moments that follow, you pass away. Unlike your previous orgasms that only ripped through you, this one rips you apart and it’s devastating. Chest burning, you black out. Molten hot euphoria makes every synapse inside of you sizzle until your nerves light off as liquid shoots from your cunt that’s tightened around his fat cock like a vice; milking him in the wake of your bliss. His own eyes roll back as he fucks you through both of your highs, cursing at the mind numbing pleasure.

He turns you over without pulling out, hissing at your wrecked appearance before leaning down to catch you in a deep kiss, moving your head with the force as your lips smack against each other. You jerk when you feel him tongue along the inseam of your cheek before he pulls away with a short gasp, pulling out with a sigh. Letting you watch him as he fixes his pants but leaves his hair, leaving the strands that had fallen in his face when he was inside you.

You sigh at the relief of pressure finally off your back, leaning into his touch when he moves to grasp your chin. All he has to do is raise an eyebrow for you to get it, making his chest roll in satisfaction.

“Thank you for making me cum, sir.” Your voice is still scratchy from the work he put your vocal cords through and he huffs out a breath, smiling gracefully down at you.

“Of course, baby.” The petname brings another surge of heat to your face as you look away from him. You’re cute. How you’re shy after everything you’ve done together. He moves his hand and shuffles back, long arm reaching behind him to open the door and you slam your legs shut, which did nothing since your little dress never covered a damn thing even when it was pulled down.

Getting out, he swipes his suit jacket off the back of a seat, dropping it over your near naked form with a chuckle before closing the door as he walks through the night air to the drivers side, starting his car the second he gets in before he listens to the thoughts telling him to just take you.

“…soooo- what now?” You ask shyly because you’re still unsure about whatever dynamic you two had; even though it was very fun, there was still the age gap and the fact that he was buddies with your dad. The soreness was already starting to set in and you’re tired.

“We are going to a store- so you can clean up and get something that actually functions as clothing before I take you home.” Huh?

“You’re not gonna tell?” The confusion in your voice makes him laugh as he flicks his eyes up at you through the mirror.

“No. I got something out of it too, remember?” You hear the teasing in his voice and it makes you jittery, nodding in response as he speeds up. He honestly had no business looking that sexy while driving, pouting until his voice breaks you out of your reverie; his next words send your heart racing.

“I’ll keep your secrets if you keep being a good little thing. Deal?”

You’re silent as you mull it over. You already have secrets so what’s one more? Biting your lip, you think of just how much fun this could be. A little series (😉) of rendezvous with a forbidden man. Your dad never had know.

And since you know he’ll never tell….

“Deal.”

He smiles, dark eyes brimming with something unsettling. He couldn’t wait to turn you out.

You still had no idea who he was and for your sake, he hopes on your behalf that it stays that way.

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

When your best friend quite literally gifts you an entire man, you realize that you’re in no place to pretend that you don’t love it.  or the one where you’re very much an “i don’t need a man” type of person, and Jake shows you that you do, in fact, need a man….him, you specifically need him. Only because he needs you. 

MDNI! reblogs help writers, so please show your support through a reblog! PAIRING ― stripper!sim jaeyun x rich!afab reader

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

CONTENT―  he’s a switch and desperately wants to be ur sugar baby, you’re a boring rich bitch who has no interest at first, masturbation, reader is kind of power-hungry, jake chokes her NOTE ― if you’ve read this before, specifically for jeno, hi. that was written by me back in 2022 except now it’s way better and not an absolute trash-fire. enjoy! not proof read kind of.

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

NSFW TAGS― jake is a stripper so obv dancing and stripping, HE’S VERY SWITCH BUT MOSTLY SUBBY HERE, hand job, masturbation, choking without permission, finger fucking, making out, protected sex omg GASP, slight nipple play, riding, lil bit of stomach bulge, sensitive cock continues to get fucked lmfao

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was a gift, or rather, he was the gift.

A downpayment of six hundred dollars told you enough about the man. It’s obvious he offers his services to lonely, sad, rich women who have no one else to spend their money on. A parasite, a leech, is what he is. Yet, still, your best friend has been taunting you with the idea for months in an attempt to have you give the guy a try.

She had apparently heard of the infamous Jake through various means. All rich women, all lonely and unsatisfied women. Which, to you only seems like a fucking insult to be taunted with the very idea of hiring this man. What is she implying? That you’re lonely and unsatisfied? Please.

Some best friend. Then again, she has since experienced Jake herself, and now her taunting feels more like…promises. 

“He’s so clean, toned, and oh god–” She had paused with a flush across her cheeks as she thought back to the heated night. “The way he moves, shit, he teases so much. I could have died right then and there if he were to–” 

The expression of disinterest on your face did not halt her doting, nor did the blatant grimace you eventually shot at her. Genuinely, you cannot take her seriously. Already you know too much about her, which is nice and all, but you could do without the details of her little stripper friend and how “wet” he left her. 

“I even heard that sometimes he even gives special treatments with his services…” She had rolled her eyes after she said that, almost looking offended. “Not that I'd know or anything, he took my cash and left when our session was up.” 

You recall knowing exactly what that “treatment” probably entailed, and the reason your best friend didn’t get it was likely due to the fact that she’s, well, not that rich. You’d assume such an expensive man wouldn’t give special treatments to women who wouldn’t end up being repeat customers anyway. Or, maybe, he just wasn’t trying to drain her dry. 

And even with all of the information being dangled in front of your face, practically force fed to you, the image should be more delicious than the century-old wine you have every night at dinner– for the entire duration of her doting compliments of Jake, you are simply not fucking interested. There’s other things to do in life, more to worry about than getting your body excited for someone who will never finish the job. 

Last week was when your bestie told you all about her single night with him. In fact, her entire visit was just her speaking of him, of how great he is, of how alluring he is. Arguably, you see that she’s a bit obsessed. Does it make you curious? Maybe a little bit, but not enough to actually give him a go yourself. And so, after that visit, you watched her leave with a menacing, evil little glint in her eye. You ignored it, as per usual considering she’s always up to something, unaware that the visit she lends to you today is not a complimentary marketing campaign of a male stripper, no, it’s a fucking ambush. 

When she appeared at your doorstep, she said nothing. She didn’t even look you in the eye, actually. Weird.  She did, however, have an envelope in her hand and you were almost offended at how she threw it at you and trotted away without a single greeting or goodbye. No afternoon lunch over champagne, no gossip, no advertising. Just an envelope. 

Suspicious.

Upon opening said envelope, you find that your bitch of a best friend dropped that six hundred dollar down payment, likely in an attempt to force you out of being the stick in the mud that you always are. There’s a note. Your name in bold letters, a date, a time, and a signature of none other than “Jake Sim” with a fucking website on the back. 

Shortly after huffing and rolling your eyes, about two seconds from tossing her six hundred dollars in the trash, you feel your phone ping to show your best friend texting you. 

Best Friend: I paid for it, you just have to tip him. a lot. tip him a lot. You: why the fuck would you buy a stripper for me?

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

So, now here you are waiting for that knock on your door and wondering why you even tried to look nice for some dude that’s about to swing his meat in your face. Appearance, reputation, whatever. Fucking unbelievable, you think, that there’s a stripper out there that only does private parties and your own best friend thinks you need it? You could have any dick you want, why the fuck should you have to pay just to look? 

He’s going to be expecting more than just you here, alone in your house. Surely, he won’t be expecting to waltz into someone’s home all oiled up only to find one very disinterested woman. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

To your dismay, Jake has apparently already been warned of you. Your best friend probably told him that you’re a nightmare, too difficult to fluster or gain an interest from. The first words out of his mouth when you opened your door was “She said you’d give me that look.”

Still, even so, your best friend wasn’t lying to him. You played the part of yourself all too well as you watched him saunter into your home as if he owned the place. You’re impressed actually, with the way he doesn’t seem to feel out of place in such a lavish room. He looks…comfortable here as he scopes out his stage for the night, like he belongs. 

“Big place, looked smaller on the outside.” He says casually, filling the silence in the room since you make no attempt yourself to greet him. 

You watch as he tosses his bag beside your living room couch and eyes the spacious area just in front of the large fireplace. His eyes flick to the windows, to the walls, counting the outlets and looking for shelves with space. 

“The smaller the better, sometimes it feels too big in here for just me.” You finally speak, admitting a small weakness of yours almost immediately. You are lonely, despite never wanting to admit it. And you watch as he shrugs, now crouching to grab wires from his bag. 

“Oh yeah?” He glances at you. “Must get lonely. What a good friend to purchase me to help you with that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at that, noting his calm and cool tone as he talks his business. The little smirk at the corner of his lips is charming, but it’s all for show. He’s just a pretty man, that’s all he’s got going for him and you guess you can respect the hustle. 

“This was not my doing.” You cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. 

“Yeah, yeah–” He waves you off as he begins to set up, making space for small lights to set the mood, looking to see if you have a sound system he can use. “I already know that you’re new to this.” He’s still calm, still collected.

“Lucky for you, first-timers are my favorite to entertain.” He smirks again, now looking directly at you as he, now, fluffs some of your couch pillows. 

Your curiosity spikes again only for a moment. You really did think that the initial meeting would be different, less casual. You half expected him to waltz in cock swinging. Wasn’t he, like, supposed to pretend to be a cop or something? You know, show up and press play on a magical stereo that didn’t exist beforehand and start vibrating on you? 

Instead, he’s just setting up…fully clothed in a ratty sweater with jeans that hug his thighs. He doesn’t appear at all to be a man that gets paid to take his clothes off. It makes you wonder. Makes you want to ask questions. Then again, you still have no interest in learning about him considering you already know exactly what he will be doing soon enough. 

“You’re good with the mood lighting, yeah? Or do you prefer the morgue lighting?” His eyes shoot up to the bright white lights on your ceiling as he goes for his laptop now, presumably to connect it to your very obvious sound system.

You only take slight offense to his comment on your living room lighting, considering you have a control panel that can make them way less blinding, but– he’s right. And now you’re a little insecure that you prefer such a drab color in your home. You make your way to the wall, clicking the buttons on the panel just to prove you have warm lighting too, and that you can adjust the brightness. 

“Ah, perfect.” Jake hums from across the room, eyes focused on his laptop screen before glancing to you and your extravagant light switch. “A little lower.” He guides you, knowing exactly which lighting accentuates his toned body the best when paired with his own little LED colored lights. 

You turn the knob slightly, wondering just how good he must be at dancing in houses like this one. 

“Little more.” He smiles

You dim the lighting more, looking at him and his relaxed posture. 

“Right there.” He finishes in a more gentle tone, eyes focusing back on his laptop as he prepares not only the playlist but the mood lighting from his end too. Red. Lots of red.

And you just watch, his voice ringing in your ears as you try to pretend that your best friend wasn’t right. Even with just this casual set up…he’s…goddamn, he’s alluring. In that ratty old sweater, with his messy hair and pretty smile. 

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

“Go and sit–” Jake says now, nodding to your couch as he places his laptop down, presumably done with the set up. “Just tell me where I can get myself ready and I’ll be back out shortly.” 

You point towards the guest bathroom as you take your seat on the couch, unsure as to why your hands feel so clammy. And by the time he rounds the corner and you can hear the bathroom door shut, you attempt to make yourself comfortable. 

And goddammit, no matter how many times you’ve napped here on this plush and soft surface, you can’t find the comfort here right now. The curiosity of why you’re okay with this burns in your gut despite knowing exactly why. Despite the fact that your best friend can always see straight through you and know exactly what you are. 

At the end of the day though, why the curiosity exists isn’t what matters. It’s the curiosity itself. You want to know how much money Jake makes doing this, if he likes doing it, how he got started, what he does to advertise himself in a way to only find women like you, and many other things. Countless things. He’s hot as hell, actually, and how he’s come to do this kind of work is either one of two things. One being that he’s using what the Gods gave him to the fullest. Two, being that he had no other choice. 

If he’s going to be paid to give you attention, the least you can hope is that he does it because he enjoys it, not because he has to do it. And if it does end up being because he has to do it, then perhaps his tip would be even larger than what you’d give for the ladder. 

You’re uncomfortable. 

The fact looming that you genuinely could go out and find a man at any given moment, yet here you are with a man forced upon you because you simply won’t do it. The implications of this man being here, why he’s here, how he ended up in this situation. 

You’ve never been one to care, so why start now? 

“You overthink too much.” Your best friend had said to you once, twice, hundreds of times during your friendship.  Maybe she’s right, maybe you should just enjoy the show without feeling entitled to a slutty man’s life story.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake remains in the bathroom for a good thirty or so minutes, each of them passing like a nightmare in your head. Back and forth your brain goes, from not wanting to be in this situation to fighting yourself for being such a fucking bore. A very, very attractive man is primping himself for you to look at, he’s going to come out and do his best to turn you on, the least you can do is let yourself enjoy something for once. Enjoy him. Gawk and fawn over him. After all, at least you know there’s no promise to be had after he leaves. 

No missed calls, no blocked numbers. This is business. 

Fucking thankfully, the moment he comes out of your bathroom your mind has adjusted itself into the correct state of mind for this. A torturous adventure of thoughts, but you made it nonetheless. You actually can’t even look away from him now that he’s revealed himself, even when you tried. He isn’t dressed in anything that looks tacky or cheap. Hell, he doesn’t even look sexual. He just looks…

Expensive. 

Jake genuinely looks like this is a place where he belongs. He smells like he belongs here, walks and murmurs like it too. 

You feel yourself physically react to him in his blazer and dress pants. Business is what got you to where you are today, but never have you found the attire sexy in any way until now. The suit looks much like what your team would wear day to day in the office. Always all those shy men coming into your office, stuttering through their questions and need for approvals. Jake isn’t stuttering in his suit though, he’s standing confidently at his laptop as if he hasn’t even noticed you staring yet. 

One look from him though is all he needed. Choosing this attire for someone like you is sure to mix both business and pleasure. It was a gamble of course, to bring your work home for you, but he does have the slight hope that you’ll never look at a man in a suit the same way again after this. 

And goddamn the way his abs were glistening in the dim lighting before he had turned away from you. His blazer was partially open revealing nothing but skin when he walked into the room, and you honestly wonder if he even needed to do that. He could be fully clothed at this point and you think the room would still feel hotter than usual given your mind-state. 

The way his belt held his pants on his hips was enough to have you thinking, looking as if it’s begging to be unbuckled just so the sound of it could fill your ears. The way the blazer widens his shoulders much more than the sweater from before. He looks bigger right now, both physically and in aura. 

The scent of him wafted off of him in an even prettier way when paired with his image. He smells like a sweet type of musk, something you’d be interested in drinking alongside your dinner on special occasions. And under the assumption that the scent is why his abs are fucking glistening– fucking body oil. He uses body oil for this.

His hair rustles about when he turns to face you again, this time with the bass of whatever song he’s playing accentuating each step towards you. So…the talking is done then? Your cheeks heat up at how quickly he starts his session with you, even without a single roll of his body. Already, you could eat him alive, the smirk on his face leading your eyes straight to him. 

Trailing down, down down. To his neck, that small glimpse of exposed chest, to the even more exposed lower abdomen section. His belt.

“Good?” He asks, leaning over you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he grips the couch.

You can’t look up at him, eyes training on his chest that you can now fully see through his single buttoned blazer. That same sweet musk assaulting your lungs. 

Watching you from up here, Jake can tell you’re going to be fun to play with. A woman with such a harsh exterior now melting at the mere image of him when he’s got the right lights on him. To be fair, he really was warned and prepared by your friend, which didn’t seem the type to afford him on more than one occasion.

He thought it was nice that she paid for another session, shocking him to learn that it wasn’t for herself at all. What a wonderful friend, and what a bitch you’d be to have turned him away. 

Finally, you nod to him, still eyeing his body in a shameful show of how much you genuinely did need this. What’s so bad about paying to look? Especially when the man is Jake, and he’s presenting himself like this.

“Rule number one.” Jake smiles, swaying in front of you as his grip tightens against the couch, wanting you to feel trapped and hopefully mesmerized by him, “I only accept bills of twenty, fifty, and one hundred. If you toss a fucking dollar, I’m leaving.” 

That’s clearly not an issue you could fathom having, despite your internal protests. You only carry bigger bills anyway so you nod to him, quickly forgetting he even shared that ridiculous rule that would never apply to you by means of watching his hips swirl rather than sway. You see the heaviness in his pants, and you wonder if he gets himself hard for these little shows. 

You fear looking up at his face now too, because you know he’s staring down at you, watching your every breath, every move. 

“Rule number two,” He lends down now, lowering his voice and blowing against your ear in a short breath. “Don’t touch me without being invited, or without asking.”

Now, that’s a rule that applies to you only because you immediately want to defy it. There’s a knee jerk reaction almost that makes you want to reach out, to grip his flexing body and pull it closer. You wanted to feel how slick his skin is with that wonderfully scented oil. You wanted the scent on your fingers for later, you wanted to feel how warm he must be. 

He doesn’t wait for your nod this time though, already noticing a familiar look on your face that he gets from most, if not all, of his clients. This is why he’s so in demand, after all. If he plays hard to get, sometimes he gets more out of his sessions. Sometimes he even gets a repeat client. 

“And rule number three–” He continues, this time pulling back and positioning his face in front of yours. This rule appears to be an important one, the rule where you need to look at his face rather than his body. As if it needs to be heard. “I won’t touch you unless you ask– or beg.” 

What you’re not realizing at this moment is that rule number three isn’t something he often speaks of. Sometimes, very rarely, Jake is in a mood when he goes out on a job. Condoms are always with him, just in case, but he never intends to use them or utter rule number three until meeting said client. They pay to look at him, not to touch him, however…if they pique his interest he surely offers the third rule. 

And if a client never hears of it, they know that even if they ask to touch, he would never. Even if they want him to touch, he wouldn’t touch anywhere too pleasurable. 

Meaning, you were right to assume what he was doing in your bathroom for so long. His hand felt better than usual against his length for the split second he had of tucking it into the most attractive position. He knew instantly that tonight was one of those nights, and you were to be a point of his own desire too. He played with himself for a bit, allowing himself to get half hard before coming out of the bathroom.

The way you looked at him finished the job, allowing his cock to grow to full attention at the mere sight of you fawning over him in silent discomfort. So�� yeah, the third rule being for you was a given. 

And when you swallow around a lump in your throat and look dead into his eyes, he thinks you know exactly what he means too. You’re lucky his cock is acting up, hell, he’s lucky it’s acting up. Look at you, fuck. Those tired eyes look ignited, and what luck the two of you have to have ever known your best friend. 

“Deal?” He finally says, tilting his head cutely and waiting for you to nod. And you do nod, just as he suspected you would. Slowly, before glancing down at his body again. 

He knows now that it’s time to start moving. Really moving.

“Is the song okay?” He asks, now pulling back and bracing himself against the back of your couch with all of his strength. “It was picked specifically for you.”

You’re not entirely what he means by that, but you assume your friend must have told him what she thinks you’d like. 

“It’s fine.” You say, glancing away from his direct eye contact and suddenly feeling like a love-struck puppy in the way you feel so incredibly fucking shy because of him.

Jake notes that you didn’t ask what he meant by the song, but he doesn’t push. He’s better at talking with his body anyway. So, he begins to focus. Opting to start slowly and work his way up, specifically to work you up. 

He steps back and away from the couch, centering himself in your living room as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms up to loosen his body a little more. Most of his clients love to see the way his muscles move as he stretches, and he suspects you’re of the same mind. 

This entire playlist is chosen for clients like you. The ones he intends to let see all of him if they so wish to. The music is slow, the bass is strong, and each beat runs through the body in a way that makes him shiver. He can move as if he’s fucking you even from across the room without so much as a touch, and he knows you’ll realize it.

He’s at his best too, when this sort of thing happens to him. The eye contact is more intense, his hips are more pointed for a reason other than payment, and arguably he feels he’s most attractive like this too. Considering the countless times he’s been paid to dance and expose himself to women he’d never even look at twice, it always hits differently when a client is just his type. 

And when he looks at you through the start of his dance, you appear to be painfully stiff against that soft couch. He smirks, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. If only you knew how lucky you are, knowing his clients would be on their knees for a chance to experience him like this. 

The fact that it’s your first time doing this…he’d be smart to not pull this shit on you. He’s never tried this with a new client, after all but–fuck, just look at you.

Jake’s hips move on their own for the most part, he doesn’t have to think much when he’s getting into it. He easily dances along to the music for you, as if it’s second nature to him despite not yet removing any clothing. It’s the build-up for him now, and he thinks it may be that for you too. Of course, if he leaves your house tonight with a large tip in his pocket and a hard, untouched cock, that’s fine too, though not preferable. 

You watch him the same way he watches you, after all, the electricity for this to play out is there. It’s rare that he can feel goosebumps raise on his skin by a mere look from a woman that looks far too powerful despite sitting there helpless. He’s making you helpless, the dim lighting of this room accentuating his body is making you helpless. 

And truly, you find yourself understanding with each shadow on his stomach as to why he’s so favored in the groups of lonely women. Arguably, you’re shocked your best friend decided to share him.

As the song begins to fade, Jake readjusts himself. He watches you during the brief silence, a sort of fondness in his eyes making you wonder if he’s looking at you or if he does this for everyone. It feels intimate with the way his eyes slowly scan your body in the quiet room. As if the silence doesn’t need to be filled with anything other than eye contact.

For him though, a woman has never met his eye between songs. Typically, their eyes are glued to his chest, cock, hands, and neck– never his eyes. They’re muttering, moaning, or shouting for him to hurry up, that the clock is ticking and they want to see more. But not you. Even as the next song plays, your eyes stay focused on his until he looks away and starts closing the distance. He skews his body now, allowing you to see him in profile. 

In some ways, you have him feeling a bit flustered in the way you keep meeting his eye despite his body making a show for you. He’s never had to act with his face more than he has with you, even as he drops to his knees during a particular part in the song, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to make you imagine yourself bent over on the floor in front of him. 

He glances to his side, and still you’re searching his face.

He, now, looks back down for a moment, finding himself trying to guide yours somewhere else. He knows his job is to be looked at, to be seen, but this is far too seen for his liking. Thankfully, your eyes do follow his, and you gasp at the way he moves. 

Your mouth falls open, gripping the hem of your dress as you imagine exactly what he intended.

The fact that this is your first time, Jake realizes this is new ground for him too. Typically, he speaks with his body and it appears now, he needs to portray some form of sexuality to you with his eyes. Like the roles are switched, he has to do to you what you’re supposed to be doing to him.

This is new, but warranted. Easy, even, for him to do it because he does want you.

You watch him intently, not fully realizing that you’re barely watching him fuck the air in front of him. Yeah, you see that too, but your eyes always go back to his and now, his own gaze is meeting yours. His gaze is searching your body, watching you move in reaction. From the way your fingers grip at the clothes he’d like to see on the floor later, to the way you slightly rub your legs together in a way that is almost too easy to miss. This alone is enough for him as his eyes burn their gaze into you. Much like you’re supposed to be doing to him.

He’s supposed to be able to look at you and know exactly what you’re thinking. So be it, the least he can do is let you know what he’s thinking. 

Jake’s dance is more intentional now when he leans back on his arms, throwing his head back but keeping his head turned towards you. He tries to show you specifically what he would do to you. That bulge in his pants is large and blatant as he thrusts forward and back to the music. You glance to it, offering the same jittery reactions of arousal. 

And this is when he allows his blazer to slide off of his shoulders, reaching to unbutton that single clasp for it to go sliding to the floor. He continues his movements through it, watching your eyes move to his arms and the strength used to hold himself up, his skin more and more visible to you. You do try to keep eye contact but…well, the way his abs flex when he presses forward, going concave with each inhale of those sensual lips that constantly smirk at you. 

It’s a shame, really, to know that the bulge in his pants will remain there, unseen. 

With his blazer now pooled at his wrists, he regains his focus. He wants you so badly by this point that it’s driving him crazy how hard he’s having to work for it. You’re supposed to be feeling this way, not him. Even if he can see that his routine is causing a reaction from you, he’s practically masturbating himself against the inseam of his pants just to get you to say something to him. 

Meaning, he needs to work harder. The current song is soon to be replaced with another, his favorite to dance to, his favorite to fuck to. And to be fair, by the time this playlist gets to this song on this specific playlist, usually his clients are already shaking under him. Not you though, you’re holding yourself back and he can fucking see it.

He ignores the fact that it’s technically not time for him to move on to his next set of dancing, mostly because he almost never has to get to this part, he leaves his blazer on your floor as he positions himself back on his knees, turning towards you this time and looking you straight in the eyes. The fact that he’s hard and horny is enough to amplify the way he’s looking at you, confidence so high that he’s fine with being seen in any way you want.

He’s slow when he does it, crawling a few steps closer to you. You watch the way his shoulders move in the light, his eyes rounded and cheeky, his hair falling in front of them with a charming movement. It’s not intentional when you rub your legs together at the image yet again, very much wanting to spread them the closer he gets to you. 

You can’t help but think he looks smaller on his hands and knees, eyes looking up at you as if he could eat you whole. You do wonder if your face reads the same for him, with the nervousness hitting you off and on. 

“You’re hot when you look down at me like that.” Jake mutters out of nowhere under the veil of his music, stopping in place in front of you, planting himself right at your feet. “I’d like to touch you, is that okay?”

Nevermind the fact that Jake has never actually had to ask to touch a client before, he really can’t help it at this point. His cock is aching in his pants and he isn’t quite ready to wait an entire playlist worth of songs just to put his clothes back on and leave the door with pain between his legs. He very much wants to fuck something right now, preferably someone.

You.

On the other hand, he’s pleased to see how fucking fast you accept his request. Yes, he can touch you. Fuck, you want him to touch you.

And the whole idea that this is just him doing his job is so far in the back of your mind right now that you almost forget that he probably does this to most of the women he’s paid to entertain. Quite frankly, you don’t give a fuck. You can pretend that he only does this for you, you can live in a fantasy just for a night. 

Jake lends you a smile as the current song finally fades out, the silence back except this time, you’re not looking into his eyes when you nod. 

He’s slow when he places his hand on your knees, rubbing up, up, up until he’s able to lift himself and hover over you. He intentionally pushes your dress up your thighs, solely because he wanted to see you rub them together in full, shameless view for him. He wants to know what his body does for you. What it does to you. 

And he stands, hovering over you for a moment with his hands glued to your thighs before he stares down at them. You just do as he expected, you rub your legs together, you look anywhere but at his eyes now, your hands grip the couch beneath you.

“I’m going to get on top of you,” Jake says now, dipping his head into your line of sight and forcing eye contact again, now gripping the back of the couch rather than your thighs, Just as he did when all of this started. “Would you like that?”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You suddenly ask with a smaller voice than you gave him upon opening your door. You breathe in sharply when he moves instead of answering your question immediately. 

He spreads his legs, propping himself right on your lap, facing towards you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest radiating near your face. 

“What kind of answer are you looking for?” He laughs fondly, grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest. “You should touch me, by the way.” He foregoes his own rule with that one, not wanting to wait any longer for you to maybe ask him yourself. “Just pull away if you don’t want to.” He adds, guiding your hands over his chest and down his abdomen.

“You didn’t answer my question–” You interrupt him, feeling the warmth pool and drip into your panties. “It’s a yes or no question.”

He chuckles sweetly, stopping your hands at his abs and holding them there. 

“No,” he admits, moving his focus to the music now that he’s got your hands on him. “I don’t do this for all  of my clients.” 

Jake isn’t sure why he does it, but now he can’t bring himself to look at you. The eye contact feels more intimate than it should with you asking him such a question and demanding an answer. Even as he swirls his hips, feeling his clothed cock rub up and against you every few seconds, it feels almost too intimate. 

“Oh, yeah?” You nervously chuckle back, feeling his muscles move beneath your hand as he thrusts his hips forward. 

“You know,” He mutters, guiding your hands a bit lower despite his own confusion at how much he’s enjoying this moment with you. You feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against your palm and you think he’s going to stop there, like maybe this is just something he does to amp up the show or something, but no. He drags your hand down further until you feel the warmth of his cock under his pants..  

Your pulse quickens as your ears start to ring. Your eyes avoid where your hand is right now, taking in a deep breath and looking up at him with question. He’s not looking back though, instead, his head is dropped and he’s staring at his pathetic bulge against your hand. He’s dancing into it, against it.

“I’ve never gotten this hard over a client that doesn’t want me.” He admits shamefully in a pathetic little laugh, bucking against your palm again to the beat of the song. “I can’t tell if I’m doing my job well enough.”

You feel shocked at that. A client that doesn’t want him? Is he fucking insane?! Then again, you need to be honest with yourself sometimes. You’ve tried to appear as uninterested as possible until he started crawling to you. There is clear attraction, obvious needs swirling in the air right now. You force yourself now to look at your hand with the hefty bulge rubbing desperately against it. The sheer size of him is something entirely different from what you were expecting out of him. This feels forbidden.

Wrong, even, But goddamn. The man is masquerading his dance solely so he can fuck against your right now. Maybe you should show some interest. 

“You’re doing well, Jake,” You finally mutter to him, the first compliment you’ve given since he got here. 

“Yeah?’ He sighs out, relieved as his hips press harder into your palm. Arguably, he’s not even dancing at this point, just trying to get off. “How well?”

Yeah, he’s a little desperate at this point for you to do something on your own. It’s so out of character for him to do all of this just to…well, get off.

“Show me,” He raises his brows, now removing his hands from yours and running them up his chest. His hips continue to move on you, and he watches you as you hold your hand in place. “Come on, the buckle is right there–” he nearly pleads. “You don’t have to be shy.”

Like a book, the two of you read the other at this moment. You’re not a woman of many words and he seems to understand that now, taking your single compliment and running with it. You do as he says, unbuckling his belt and now, sliding your hands up his body to meet his. 

“There you go,” He stresses through another relieved sigh. Leaving your hands where they are against his chest and sliding the belt from his loops on his own. He tosses the belt behind him, relishing in that lost look in your eye.

You clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you seem to like it. And god, does he fucking love it. Especially when he motions his head back down, forcing your hands back to where they belong and helping you unbutton his pants. 

“Take it out, go on.” He says in a rush, “I’m asking you to do it.”

To be fair, you’re going to do it despite the nervousness in your gut. It’s been so long since you’ve touched a man, and even longer since you wanted to. You could half argue that you feel like you’re about to lose your virginity right now despite all those hook-ups in college. Still, you don’t even nod at him when you do it. Carefully tugging his pants down and watching the weight of his cock do the rest of the work for you. 

His legs spread wider as he points it up at you, a lewd scene, one that feels both disgustingly sexy and very, very, straight forward. You’ve never been like this with any other person. Or rather, no one has ever blatantly shown themselves like this to you. 

And still, Jake just looks at you. So much eye contact becoming more and more comfortable as he learns what you seem to like. He can feel the air in your apartment against the head of his cock, the cool air rushing past his shaft and causing him to shiver with a very quiet moan. He still only looks at you during this moment, wondering why you’ve let your hands fall to his thighs. Then he sees a new look in your eyes.

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

For some reason, he keeps forgetting that you’ve never had a stripper in your home before, let alone been seduced by one. Honestly though, he assumed you’d catch on by the point his cock was out. This isn’t for show anymore, he wants you. 

“Touch me?” He asks gently, reaching back down to your hands and urging you to grab his cock. “You don’t even have to move, I can do the rest–” He chokes out a groan mid-sentence as he feels you grasp him in your fist.

Such a silent woman beneath him. He can only read you in specific moments, this one not at all being one of them. You’re hesitant but willing, perhaps? You leave him questioning himself and his own motives, still wondering if that compliment you gave him was genuine or just part of your own little show. 

Yet still, you’re gripping him tightly and allow him to focus his hopes. Dancing beautifully into that little circle your hand creates for him. The best part is that when or if he ever actually dances to this song, it’s when he’s blatantly fucking someone. So the movements come naturally, just as they would if your legs were buckling and your pussy was spread open on him. So, basically, this dance is nothing short of fucking your fist, pretending to keep up an act that he so wishes you’d see through. 

He keeps his face intense, moving his shoulders and arms as if it’s easy for him to turn the tables and position you to where your legs are on his shoulders and he’s rubbing his cock against your, hopefully, soaked panties.  

It’s a struggle though, to not moan out in desperation when you tighten your grip on him. He watches your pupils blow out, and can see the way you’d now probably ask him to do just that. To put it on you, to shove it in you. And so, he slows his hips a bit and catches his breath, staring down at you in wait. 

“You’re really expecting me to get off all on my own?” He finally says in an exasperated breath to your stillness and silence. He really is, trying to act as though he can’t see the look in your eyes and how it’s changed since he started dancing. “Baby, don’t you want it?” He adds, now waiting to see if you’ll move your hand away from him.

You don’t though, to his surprise, you actually start moving your hand on him. You’re jerking him off, staring up at him like you want it, squeezing the head of his cock before dragging those pretty fingers back down. 

Instantly his eyes roll back. “Fuck, that’s good,” He compliments your hand, shaking a bit and shivering at the fact that you really just did that. “Can I stop pretending that I’m still dancing for you now?”  

You find it in yourself to chuckle now, nodding with a confident sort of smile. It hit you fairly quickly, actually, as you watched him chase his pleasure all by himself. He’s so hard, and so incredibly thick in your hand, you’d be stupid to say it didn’t turn you on. It’s that fact that you’ve barely said anything to him and he’s begging you to look at him, to watch him, to touch him. All of your nervousness slowly disappeared because it was being replaced with power. 

Now, that, you’re used to. You know what power feels like in all aspects of the working world, but never at home. Never when sex is involved. You’re always expected to play the part of a desperate woman in need of love, and that’s just not you. No, you’re a powerful woman with nerves that could kill you. And the way Jake parallels your working world, it’s almost too perfect. You’re used to men being beneath you, begging for your money, giving you all of their attention, apologizing for normal human errors. 

Jake isn’t exactly begging you for money, but he’s still begging for your hands. 

“No.” You finally say, relishing in the shock on Jake’s face. “Keep dancing, it’s what you’re being paid to do.”

His eyes fall a bit now as he nods his head. You almost feel his cock falter at the same time at your response, but you move your hand a bit faster. You grip a bit tighter, urging him to do whatever it is that’s on his mind. You want to see if he will actually do as he’s told now, considering you’re the one with the money to bring him back here. 

It’s endearing how he does his best, and honestly, his best probably far surpasses some of the most notable dancers on the market if you had any idea of how they were. It’s just a bit hard to continue this act for him when you’re gripping his cock in such a beautiful way. 

“You’re–” He pauses to hold in a moan, feeling the way you drag your hand in time with his dance. “You’re not going to ask me to touch you?” He finally adds, meeker than before, far less confidence. 

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

You smile in response, looking up at him with dark and wide pupils as you swallow each movement his body makes for you. Your ears are still ringing, unable to comprehend the music blasting in your sound system. Your focus is solely on him, your hands are on him, your confidence is because of him. 

The answer to that question should be a given, after all, shouldn’t he be well aware considering this little stunt he pulled that actions truly speak louder than words?

“No wonder she liked you so much.” You start, now loosening your grip on him just to see the way his hips frantically chase the warmth of your palm.

“Wait–” He asks slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed and bashful. “You really thought, I let her get me off like this?” 

It almost pisses him off that you’d say that to him, then again, it’s not like you knew that this specific instance is rare and reserved for very few clients. 

“You couldn’t even look at me properly thirty minutes ago, now you think you can make assumptions?” He argues, pushing away from you.

Your response is skewing an eyebrow at him, watching him fight for control as he pulls his hips back and shuffles off of you and onto his feet. You glance down at his cock and the way it stands painfully erect, twitching at the sudden lack of friction. 

“Is it wrong to assume when you very clearly want me to make you cum?” 

He stills himself, a blank expression turning to that of a devilish smile, eyes narrowing at you as he leans over you. 

“Are you suggesting that you’ll get me off?”

You smile, spreading your legs a bit and feeling the stickiness drip through your panties now. 

“She did tell me that some clients have gotten special treatment from you,” You mock him slightly, watching his eyes glue themselves to your thighs. You make a show to spread your legs a bit for him. “I also know that she was no such client.”

A small moment of silence as he devours you with his eyes, seemingly interested in the attitude you have towards him now.

“I also didn’t imagine your clients would be the ones getting you off.” 

Honestly, it’s like he hit the fucking jackpot with you. Challenging him, mocking him with his cock out in front of you. If you so much as wiggled your cunt in front of him, he would instantly be back on his knees, letting you soak his face in whatever way you please. 

“Normally they’d be jumping at the chance, you though–” Jake very nearly growls at you with a deepened voice. “You look like you’re the one who needs to get off, if anything to get that snarky grin off your face.”

“Go on then, dance.”

It’s almost like a game now, he feels. You know he’s trying to seduce you and it seems you’re enjoying the fact that you haven’t let him yet. He knows that you intend to let him, so yeah, fuck yeah, he’s going to play along. 

He raises a brow at you as he steps back once more, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is aching to be touched again. You still want your show? Good. He’ll fucking give you a show.

Jake does as he’s told, finally kicking his pants off in full and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. He watches the way your legs spread when he rubs his hands down his naked chest, straight down to his cock where he only briefly tugs at himself. He can almost see under your dress as you continue to spread your legs more and more, but the lighting is far too dim to see what his act is doing to you just yet.

When he saunters behind you, dipping his head by your neck and whispering the dirtiest part of the song into your ear, he can see your sharp intake of air, and he watches the way your breasts move with each breath he forces out of you, and the way your nipples perk through the fabric.

So, he stays here behind you with his hips pressed to the back of your couch, ghosting his hands over your neck, moving down your arms, and then to your chest. He doesn’t touch, because you still haven't asked yet, but he knows hovering alone is enough. It’s like he can feel the electricity beneath his fingers somehow reaching your skin. 

  And he continues to sing against your ear, leaning further forward to plant his hands on your thighs again, mostly because he’s already been given permission to touch you there. 

“More,” He gently demands between lyrics. “Spread them all the way.”

Jake watches for a moment from behind you, pressing his cock against the back of the couch the moment he sees your legs stretch open, your dress hiking up past your waist, enough now that he can at least see a glimpse of the skin closest to your pussy. 

“Ask me to touch you.” He pleads against your ear, trailing his fingers up your thighs enough to where he would need you to tell him to stop otherwise. “Just tell me you want it.” 

It’s silent save for the music playing, and his cock is aching so badly by this point that each time he rubs against the couch he’s almost breaking down to fucking beg you to let him touch you. That alone could make him cum, but god, you’re so good at playing hard to get even if it’s blatantly obvious that he’s already got you. 

You’re fucking playing with him, and he can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. 

Your silence is so damning to his dripping cock, and his skin feels so hot right now that he’s almost forgotten that he was paid to be doing anything that’s not this. 

“No.” You playfully respond, dangling yourself just out of reach. You breathe in deep though, knowing you can’t keep denying him for much longer with the way his hands are rubbing at you. “I like it better when you’re the one asking for it.” You lean your head back and rest it against the cushions of the couch, and he instantly moves from your neck to look down at you. 

Oh. 

“Cute.” He says, having no issue at all to be the one to ask, beg, plead, or cry. Whatever it takes to get a feel of you at this point. It’s just…new to him.

Another long moment of eye contact has him trailing his hands higher than before, almost to the point that there’s no skin on your thighs to touch that doesn’t involve your panty line. 

“May I?” He asks, leaning down a bit closer so that his face is mere inches from yours. “Will you take my fingers?” 

You could mistake this distance as something that should not be crossed between the two of you. Barely hearing his question at this moment, the only thing you want to do is to kiss him, and it hit you so fucking fast that you almost forgot he’s doing anything you ask of him. 

“Come again?” You smile, blinking up at him. 

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

“My fingers. Take them.” He says rather than asking this time, already moving his hands to trace up your panties and feeling the wetness seep through onto his fingertips. “You’re already dripping–baby,” He stops to moan at it, amazed by how fucking soaked you are. “I can imagine they’d slide right in.” 

Typically, you wouldn’t allow anyone to call you that. “Baby.” but coming from his mouth, it sounds fitting. It sounds seductive, sexy. It has your stomach in knots, actually, your hips bouncing up just slightly at his words with the pet name attached. Finally, you let him. Finally, you grind yourself against his fingers. 

“I’ll make you feel so good–” He groans at your movements, loving how desperate you suddenly appear despite pretending you weren’t going to work for your own pleasure. He continues to trace his fingers up and down just to feel the mess of you, the one that he created, and the one that he intends to make messier. 

“Moving your hips isn’t the answer though, baby.”

You swear he can read your mind, there’s no fucking way he would say it like that without knowing how you just internally admitted to liking it. 

“Yes,” You let out shortly, darting your eyes away from him. “I’ll take them.”

That breathy laugh he releases sounds sweet, almost dripping like syrup when he lays his head beside your neck. His soft singing picks back up as he listens to you now more than the music, his fingers continuously ghosting where he promised to put them, not yet moving your panties. 

Paired with it, his abdomen stays tense as he humps against your couch, his muscles locking up at the pleasure running through him in this position. Your hips lightly chase his fingers, up when his fingers move down, and he can’t help the shy smile that spreads across his lips. It’s one you don’t see, but the constant shift in your personality is something that keeps him on edge. Keeps him wanting more, to know more, to see and feel more of you. 

And when he finally reaches around you with his other hand, pulling your panties to the side and exposing your pussy, he watches you take over for him and push them down instead, offering far more than he anticipated. He watches as you kick them off your ankles almost elegantly, as if you could do this job of dancing better than he can.

“Eager?” He teases, knowing you won’t respond to that. And you don’t. It pleases him to know that at least by now, he can kind of read you. Yet, still, there’s nothing more at this moment that would please him more than getting to see you in full. To wander back around this couch and get a real good, close up look at what he’s doing to you. 

“You’re so wet right now.” He groans, knowing that you were soaked before and only hoping you’re dripping more and more for him now. His cock is weeping as much as he’d like for you to be, chasing any amount of friction he could have. And he can see his fingers slip and slide through your slick into places he wasn’t even attempting to touch just yet solely because of how wet you are. 

“You held out for so long,” He coos now with a soft breath against your neck, feeling your cheek nuzzle against his flexing arm. “Look at that,” Two of his fingers tease at your hole before– “they slipped right in.”

Your breathing is labored by this point, feeling him play with you as if he has all the time in the world to fuck with your head. Which is…nice. No rushing despite the time limit on his session, proving time and time again that you’re getting more than others get from him. Lucky you, that you can moan out without shame for him. 

And you do, grabbing his hand and practically fucking yourself with his fingers. That takes him by surprise as the warmth and sheer tightness envelopes his digits. You are excruciatingly sexy to him, he doesn’t even attempt to stop you.

In fact, he doesn’t even hold back now, meeting each chase of your hips with the force of his fingers plunging into you deeply, with full intention. He scissors them open, feeling your hole stretch around them beautifully enough to fit in a third. And god, you’re so fucking wet. He can hear the slapping of his soaked fingers inside of you pushing more and more of that arousal out. 

He moans blatantly against your ear now, easing you into talking back to you. 

“Bet you could take cock so well–” He murmurs, feeling you shiver against his grasp. “How long has it been? Hm?”

He’s talking to you, yes, but hyping himself up at the same time. The scent of your hair forcing a slight obsession with you in his mind. The way you feel, look, smell, move when you’re just inches from him like this. He knows you won’t respond to a goddamn thing he says too, but it doesn’t matter too much to him at this point. Because now, you’re whimpering.

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

“What was that?” He asks playfully, running his other hand up your body until he gets to your neck. “Has it been that long?”

And for the first time, you were going to answer. For the first time, he doesn’t leave room for you to answer. Instead, you feel his palm resting flush against your neck, now pressing in and practically holding you down by the neck as he fucks his fingers into you faster. 

Painfully faster.

“Cry for me again,” He encourages you, wincing as his own hips frantically chase the back of your couch. “You’re allowed, come on, do it again.”

And because he’s working for it, because he’s doing so fucking well, you let out another choked moan. His hand straining your neck so tightly that any sound coming out sounds strained and desperate, even the sound of yourself right now ignites a fire inside of you. You can feel that grasp tighten each time his fingers fuck into you with a painful jab, his palm placed so perfectly that you can feel your clit being rubbed each time he pulls his hand back.

It’s…overwhelming.

“Yes, fuck- again.” He groans, bucking his hips forward and frantically lifting his head from your shoulder, all so he can look down at you. He’s heard you, now he wants to fucking see how desperate you are when you cry out. 

When you open your eyes again, wincing every few seconds at both the pleasure and pain of his desperate hands, all you can see is his face. All you can feel are those same long fingers threatening more and more cries from your chest. He’s hitting spots inside of you that haven't been touched in a long time. Feeling it now almost burns, even with the cold metal of that single ring on his finger against your neck. 

And when he tightens that hand on your neck once more, not only do you cry out, but he matches you with his own stuttered gasp. You strain to keep your eyes on him through this moment, watching the way his teeth appear to scrape at his bottom lip when the sound of you envelopes his ears. So, you do it again, and again, and again. 

His fingers only continue their aggressive assault inside of you, his palms still hitting your clit, and that other hand around your throat…honestly? You could fucking sing songs to him at this moment if he so wished it. 

“You’re shaking.” He comments, eyes flicking to your body. “Can you even breathe right now?”

His smile looks so fucking mean, knowing full well that you can’t breathe and only tightening his hand harder against your throat. Nevermind the fact that you never discussed this type of thing with him, fucking wasn’t even in the agenda. But now? Fuck it. You do like it. Maybe you even love it. The way you’re moaning for him is all either of you need to know. 

This time though, when you moan out and it’s sounding particularly raspy, he releases his hand from your throat and instantly leans down to your lips. He’s a bit shocked that you immediately strain your neck to kiss him. What he was going to do was degrade you. Now though, he’s just tasting the way you’re so desperate to kiss him. As if you’re wanting this to be real, to be intimate. 

Arguably, your idea was better than his own because now he can’t bring himself to degrade you. In fact, he was stupid to even consider such a fucking thing. Despite never kissing his clients, things with you have already lasted far longer than he’d normally allow. Things have already surpassed the intimacy level he allows too, even with the very few lucky women who get to touch him. He’s never asked for it, and he’s never gotten this much of his own pleasure out of finger fucking them. Not once has he ever fucked himself against a couch to hold himself back for a woman either. 

Maybe just this once, he can want it to be real too. Even if he leaves with a pocket full of cash, the fantasy right now is enough for him to accept it as is. If you want him to kiss you, he will fucking kiss you.

His pupils grow as his eyes close, slowing his fingers unintentionally as he focuses on your lips and tongue. Even his body against your couch relaxes and his hips slow to that of a sensual thrust forward, one that offers a long and painful drag against his already raw and reddened cock. You kiss him back better than he’s even been kissed before, and falling into it was terrifyingly easy. 

His brain nearly short circuits at the softness of it, allowing his hands to move on their own accord, cupping your jaw with one hand and emptying your pussy to rub your clit with the other. He’s intentionally deepening the kiss far past his own comfort level.

But he is comfortable, and that’s precisely what’s uncomfortable about it. 

“You can take it–” Jake mutters between kisses, more focused on your lips than the words he spilling to you. “You want more, right?” He continues, only now pulling back in a breath and waiting for you to adjust your eyes on his. 

Immediately, when you open your eyes they widen at him. Goddamn, was he this sexy before? Did he even look this into you when he was on your lap fucking your fist? Out of all of his begging, this…this right here. Are you really about to fuck a stripper? The man you were so against meeting just this morning? The man who has $600 in his bank account from your lovely, fucking adored and beautiful best friend? 

The man that you’re probably going to give the entirety of the contents in your purse to the moment he packs up and moves on as if this never happened?

Yes.

“I want more–” You say to him, blinking at his pretty eyes and intentionally rubbing your clit against his fingers, mostly because it appears as if he’s stopped functioning all together.

And before you can even blink, his fingers are pulled away and his presence is gone. You lift your head to watch him, cock still erect and heavy against his thigh as he goes directly to his bag. As if he knew it was going to happen, as if this was his plan before he even met you, he pulls out a condom and slips it on without so much as a sigh of relief.

After all, he does have to take precautions to be fucking an absolute stranger like this.

“Oh.” You huff in disappointment, not entirely meaning for him to hear it. 

He raises his eyes to you as he pulls at the end of the condom, offering plenty of space for whatever release he intends to have soon, but his eyes don’t seem concerned nor bothered. 

“What? You want it raw?” He asks playfully, wiggling his eyebrows briefly before making his way back to you. “That’ll require a bit more discussion, you know.”

Discussion that neither of you are willing to have solely because your pussy is throbbing and his cock appears to be more pathetic than it already was being strangled in that thin layer of latex. And without another word, allowing both of you to put that to rest for now, he’s right back over you, lifting your dress up and off of you. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out as your tits falls from their perfect place within the dress. The sopping wet couch beneath you only soaking up more of your slick as his words force more out of you. God, you feel so wanted. 

You keep your arms lifted to help him ease the dress entirely off of you, leaving you bare beneath him as he instantly goes to grab both tits, pressing them together before flicking both nipples with the tips of his fingers. 

Your body jolts at the sensation, feeling it run through you and swell your clit more than it already was. The ache is worse, your hole is pulsing, yearning, wanting to be filled. Still though, he takes his precious expensive time, leaning down and sucking one erect nub into his mouth and flicking it all the same with his tongue. 

“Right here?” He mouths from around your tit, eyes closed and tongue still focused elsewhere. “You want to be fucked here?” He mumbles again, realizing that his question will likely go unanswered. It’s very likely that he is going to fuck you right here, on your living room couch. Asking you such a thing was stupid, borderline cringe-worthy. 

To his surprise though, you lend him a small “no.” as you lace your fingers in his hair, pushing his lips to your other nipple just to feel the warmth of his tongue.

“No?” He questions, blinking up at you from your chest before biting gently around the sensitive bud against his mouth. “Where then?” 

To his dismay, your smile is still beautiful but the way you close your legs and sit yourself up from the slouched, relaxed position you were in disappoints him. Mostly because he’s now forced to stand up too, and even more so because he has to keep his head dipped in order to keep his mouth on that perfect nipple of yours. 

His disappointment fades as you hold his head there, feeling your legs almost buckle against him when he moans around it, sending vibrations through your chest. You remain gentle though, wobbling on your legs and shuffling forward, allowing him to continue his antics. Slowly but surely, you turn him around and back him up against the couch.

Only now, when you push him back and his teeth graze your sensitive nub do you realize that he’s so, so much needier than you expected. Even with his begging, his little disappointed sound didn’t go unnoticed. His brows are still furrowed now, not even paying attention to the fact that you’ve just shoved him down so that you can be the one straddling him. It’s cute, actually. Noticing how he was so intimidating when he came into your house, walking with confidence, dancing with intention, finger fucking you and choking you as if he had a right to do it…only to now look at him and the way he’s melting.

The way he’s needy, borderline puppy-like to be near you.

His eyebrows shoot up from that little face of disappointment though, when you pull yourself from his mouth and instead plant yourself right on his lap, letting your pussy lips envelope the underside of his cock as you grind up immediately.

It’s the first slippery touch his cock has felt all night and honestly? He’s been on edge this entire time. You grind so fucking beautifully, and it’s a first for him to realize that he’s entirely speechless.

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

“You’re cute, I don’t think you realize that.” You comment, gliding against his cock and watching his hands reach out to grip your waist, “Really cute.”

He doesn’t falter at your compliments, instead he just melts into it even more. His cheeks are permanently blushed as he leans forward to try and get your tits in his face again, and all you can do is grip his hair and let him. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the head of a cock bumping your clit, and you’d never forgive yourself for not letting yourself have this kind of fun more often. 

And Jake just gets whinier. His cock pulses and twitches to be inside of you all the while despite the discomfort of that latex layer likely needing to be replaced already. Still, his hands keep moving your waist, pushing and pulling you faster against him until– ah.

You angle yourself perfectly when he slides your upwards again. All you had to do was perk your ass out and wait for him to push you back down. Finally, he slides in without fully realizing that’s what was going to happen, and goddamn the sound he makes, fuck.

“Mmfuck,” He winces, digging his nails into your hips at the speed of which he bottomed out. The breath is knocked out of him and all you can do is stare down. Look at him now, so docile and sweet like he wasn’t fucking your livingroom floor prior to this. 

And the grip of you on him, so strong. The slide was so easy, so fast, that he genuinely is seeing stars at how good you feel wrapped around him. The velvet walls inside of you pulsing, pushing and squeezing his cock all over. He can’t help the sounds he makes, grunting and feeling that grip you have in his hair intensify his pleasure. 

Both of you now let out a long winded breathy groan at the sensation of your body adjusting to his, in all fairness, you had to grip onto something and his hair just so happened to be the best thing at the moment. He seems to love it though, so when you finally regain your senses of being absolutely fucking full, you pull at it again, tilting his head back so that you can see the expanse of his neck and the way it moves when he swallows. 

“Bounce.” He croaks out at you, eyes glistening with pure fucking hope that you will. 

And, well…when you feel his length pulse in place inside of you, you do exactly as he asked. You bounce, taking his full, thick cock each and every time. Not allowing a single inch of it to be neglected. All he can do in response is squint, trying to keep his eyes open through each breathy groan of praise and encouragement. He does lose himself entirely to the feeling of euphoria and the pain of how harshly you keep his head tilted back. 

He really didn’t think you could get any sexier, honestly, and as far as he’s concerned…if he moves right now he’s going to cum. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he just lazily smiles at you and lets his eyes finally close so that he can fall right back into the state of seeing nothing but stars.

Frustrated, yet incredibly turned on by the way you’ve just completely lost him, you bounce harder, then you sit flush against him, twisting and swirling your hips. Grinding forward back, counting how he moans each time you do something that feels particularly sensitive for him. And you hang onto that, repeating those actions, lifting your ass and sliding back down. Again and again, until your legs shake and your fingers threaten to pull his hair too hard.

“Look at you now,” You half-chuckle out of breath, hearing the wet slaps of skin on skin paired with his blatant and sensual moans drowning out the playlist that has been long forgotten. “You can’t even move.”

All he does is nod his head, that same lazy and cocky smile appears as if to insinuate that you’re damn fucking right he can’t. Like he’s proud of it. And you’re not going to ignore the fact that his hands are still on your waist either, gripping onto you so tightly that you fear he could draw blood if you move the wrong way.

“Keep going, baby–” He somehow manages to say to you. “Don’t stop.”

There it is. This entire time he’s been begging to fuck you, and now he’s finally begging you to fuck him. His voice still sounds like honey, with that impressively hard cock inside of you pulsing so constantly that you could probably feel him in your stomach if you were to press against it. 

“Mhm,” You answer him, promising that you won’t stop through just a half-moan and a long winded intake of air. Honestly? At this very moment, you feel like you’re sitting on a throne. Jake, obviously, being said throne but whatever. The fucking power he’s making you feel is nothing short of alluring. 

And now, as that power goes to your head, you opt to grind rather than bounce for him now. Your hips aren’t as erratic, yet still he tenses up for you, forcing his cock to somehow feel even harder as you fuck it into yourself through lazy drags of your clit against his pelvis. 

If you keep going like this, you could cum in an instant. But before you can even finish that thought, you look down at him on instinct due to his sudden silence. 

His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his mouth is open in a silent moan. You can see that he’s not breathing, seemingly holding his breath even after you release his hair. His head lolls back with that same expression, and that’s when you feel his fingernails dig.

“Oh,” You moan, now resuming your grinding much harder now, making a point to bump your clit repeatedly against him. “Fuck, are you cumming right now?”

Still he doesn’t respond, you can only feel his hips stutter under you despite trying to remain entirely still and stiff for you. You know that now is when you need to be chasing, because you’ll be damned if you’re not going to cum with him inside of you. 

You want to be full like this, you want to squeeze him, to play with his sensitive cock even if it starts to soften. He’s too pretty, too fucking pretty when he whimpers. And so, you continue grinding, up until you’re on the brink of your orgasm but not quite there yet. To the point his cock is only half in you with the way you’re angling your clit against him, chasing your own high so aggressively that you barely feel his fingers tightening on you again. 

Jake shoots his head back up, eyes opening as the sensitivity hits him quicker than he would have liked, but you don’t relent. The pain is intense from how hard you’re riding him, but he can see how close you are, the image alone compliments that sensitivity he’s feeling right now. 

He seethes out painful praises to you as your desperate cunt finally reaches orgasm, squeezing against his softening length so tightly that he can’t help but whimper with you. Still, he studies your face through his own winces, shuddering at the way you close your legs around him despite them being forced to stay open in this position. You try to curl into the pleasure, as if you wish you could disappear completely alongside it. 

And god, the way you grip at his arms for leverage as you shake through it. Dare he say…he’s fond of you. It still hurts, but it kind of hurts more when he knows it’s over. Mostly because it feels like he’s been in this room with you for days, knowing that’s not true. Surely he’s stayed longer than your allotted time with him, but you seemed to have given him something worth staying for at least.

When you slump over him, he almost wants to cry from how fucking sensitive he is right now. Thankfully, you seem sensitive too as you wince before he does, remaining as gentle as you can when you reach down to the base of his cock and hold the condom, allowing him to slide out of you at his own pace. 

And then, the playlist comes to an abrupt end at just the wrong moment, because it forces Jake to realize that he hadn’t stayed at all over his paid time frame. Now, all he can hear is the way his breath is entirely too uneven compared to any of his sessions with prior clients like this. He’s breathing much too fondly for you, or rather, not breathing well because of you. He can’t just…go home can he?

“You okay?” You ask to the slight panicked look on his face, seeing how he stares straight up at the ceiling, not blinking, no readable expression. “Jake?”

He shakes himself out of it, eyes slowly moving and blinking to look at you.

“That–” He tries to talk, genuinely, he does. “Um…”

The change in atmosphere almost freaks you out. Isn’t this what he wanted? You saw the way he lost himself there briefly though, you can admit. None of this was even that rough or kinky, so you’re a bit confused as to why he’s acting like this.

Maybe you even feel a bit guilty. Like you’re the problem. So, you silence yourself and lift onto weak legs to stumble and find your dress. You throw it on quickly, hiding your shame that he so wanted to see just fifteen minutes ago. Then, you head for your purse and grab every single bill you have folded neatly inside. 

Just like that, you place the money in his shaking hand and can’t bare to look at him.

“Wha-” He starts, licking his dried lips and sitting up a bit too quickly. “Why are you giving me so much?”

“It’s your tip.” You try to say casually as you clear your throat. “You can shower too, if you’d like.” 

Jake holds his breath, hoping you don’t genuinely think he did all of that for the money. He was already paid to be here, the whole…you know, fucking thing, was his doing. What happened was because he wanted it, and…he still does. Are you truly just strictly back to business like this? You literally just handed him his rent for the month and then some, it kind of amazes him. The audacity. As if he’s never been handed handsome sums of cash from drunken lonely women. You aren’t a woman who needs him, and yet you pay like you did. 

“Shower with me?” He forces himself to ask, because he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. After all, this tip feels like a rejection of what just happened. Hush money, even. 

He doesn’t know what just crept into this room through the fucking silence, but he doesn’t like it. And it seems you don’t either, because you instantly comfort him with a smile and a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He didn’t intend to spend the night, free of charge no less, but he did. All of that including some embarrassing talk involving the seriousness of how this is not normal for him. 

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

After the shower, the mood had shifted into something that felt natural and less rehearsed. He wasn’t just some stripper you could call over with a downpayment of $600, he was Jake, a man trying to make ends meet in a city far too expensive even for you if you’re being honest. 

Jake, a man wanted by several women. You, on the other hand, feel the need to mend your lonely and stone-cold heart with him, however much that may cost. Not to fall in love, or to fill any type of voice. If anything, you want to be taken care of in specific ways, and you’d like to take care of him in turn. 

So, when he grimaced at your joke, saying that he would practically be your sugar baby and that you’d run off all of his other business out of need to continuously be fucked by him and him alone, you almost stopped pressing the matter.

Because you would run off all his clients solely for keeping him too busy with you to go to them. You would be paying him every time, making damn sure he’s well taken care of and financially stable. 

Jake did notice how you looked disappointed, quickly backtracking his grimace.

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

“It’s not like we have to sleep together every time, you won’t even have to dance for me anymore.” You argue, knowing that’s at least a half-lie. “All I ask is that you don’t fuck your other clients if you’re still seeing me, and intending to..you know–”

Jake nods happily, without question even.

“So, what happens if I’m horny and you’re not available then?”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

man, i forgot how lame this fic is but yknow what? good for me. jake is so fuckin’ fine fr I DON’T EVEN CAREEEEEEEEEEE. pls reblog and leave feedback on my work :D

[mariasont]

My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H

a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy

wc: 1.3k

"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."

You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.

"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 

You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.

"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."

You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 

You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."

The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.

"Having fun talking to yourself?"

You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."

He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.

You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"

The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.

His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.

He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 

You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."

He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."

The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.

The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.

He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.

Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.

With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.

"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."

You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.

"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."

You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 

"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.

Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.

Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."

You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"

Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."

He was only half-joking.

"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.

Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.

"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"

He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."

And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo sees you in lingerie for the first time. 

contains: f!reader, suggestive almost nsfw (they make out… maybe a bit steamy), 18+ just in case, reader is in lingerie, shy feelings!! gojo down bad!!

a/n: i hc that the first time gojo sees you in lingerie, it’s like seeing you walk down the aisle—he’s a bit sappy like that! i also think that he’d love seeing his lover in pink! idk! it’s just the vibes! (col reader would look cute in pink too i think hehe complements the personality!); takes place later on, around col #4 (wip)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace? <- you are here -> +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) + 04. these traces of love, they outline you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There are few things in life that have earned Gojo’s double take: 

A sign for a newly-opened gelato shop with ‘exclusive flavors for the first 30 customers!’ written in fine print; Megumi, back in middle school, being confessed to with a sweetly handcrafted box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day; a small cut, right at the tip of his nose from that time you sparred with him and he let you get too close (or so he says). 

And now you. 

In something pink—

—that if he backtracks just a bit, steps one foot behind the other to glance again at the space left open by the bedroom door, and squints—

He’s certain, 200% sure. 

It’s lingerie. 

He blinks once, twice, rubs at his eyes even as his mind attempts to catch up to whatever it is–you–he just saw. This must be what wires feel when they short circuit. 

You know he’s home, right? You have to, you just told him to rinse the dishes after snacking.

And he was in the middle of doing that—walking across your apartment from couch to kitchen, stopping only to do a double take at the sight of pink in his periphery, at you, once he looked again, clearly. 

Or were you doing this on purpose? Did you want him to see you? 

He gulps, warmth spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck, lingering. 

There’s only one way to find out, really. 

He walks down the hallway leading to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light so as to not startle you.

If he’s being honest right now, his mind is full to the point of feeling empty—too many thoughts swirling around the fact that behind this very door, he’s about to find you in pink lingerie. 

And when he takes a deep breath, fingertips pushing on wood very slightly as he calls out, “Bab—“

“S’toru!” you squeal from the other side, panicked as you instantly push it back closed.

So you didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Sorry, give me a minute!” you call out, and he can hear your footsteps from the other side, frantically walking around for what he can assume is you looking for something to cover yourself with. 

But he doesn’t want that. 

Not when he already has the visual of you, pretty in what he suspects is pink lace.

Not when the way you said ‘S’toru’ sounded so much like ‘‘Toru’, your ‘‘Toru’, the way you usually say it pressed against bed sheets, under him, expression blissed out from—

Do you have any idea what that does to him? 

“Are you wearing lingerie?” 

You freeze. Gojo can tell from the other side of the door, and you think, damn it, because he isn’t supposed to know you bought a set, much less see you in it. Not yet. 

You could try to lie, but Gojo always sees through you, through every change in inflection, the way your eyebrow twitches before speaking. 

“Can I come in?” he asks softly, almost hesitantly. 

How can you possibly resist him when he speaks to you like this? Asking permission as if this space you live in isn’t as much his?

You sigh, flustered at being caught this way, “Can you close your eyes first?” 

He follows, laying one hand over his eyes for good measure before knocking on the door. You open it slowly, wood creaking as he steps inside. 

You feel a little naked right now despite how he isn’t even looking your way, opting to face the side opposite from where you’re standing. It’s on purpose, you know, he can tell where you are—Six Eyes and all. 

There’s a smile that he’s hiding, biting his lower lip to stop it from showing. His toes are wiggling from the excitement coursing through him.

You know Gojo will like you in anything; in fact, he’s made it very clear that he prefers you in nothing—but still. Your stomach feels queasy and you can’t get rid of how nervous you’re feeling. 

And you guess, it’s really just because this was meant to be a surprise for him—the design you’ve chosen, how it looks on your body, how it looks to him, especially. You’d ordered the lingerie set months in advance to leave a lot of time for returns, whether it turned out ill-fitting or just unflattering.

You didn’t expect him to catch a glimpse of it now, months before his birthday, before you were even ready. 

“I’m waiting…” he teases, voice sing-song in that way he usually does to annoy you. It always makes you smile though, and it’s an odd form of comforting with how it dulls your jitters right now, just a little bit.

“Okay, you can look.” 

As soon as he turns, you squeeze your eyes shut, hands on your sides as you fiddle with your fingernails. Seeing, knowing his reaction in real time is still nervewracking, regardless of every reassurance you tell yourself—because, what if this is the off-chance that you’re wrong, and he doesn’t like it? 

Or worse: what if he has to pretend he likes it?

You frown a bit—it doesn’t help at all that Gojo isn’t saying anything.

But—

How can he, when there are no words, no adjectives, no possible descriptions to articulate what he’s seeing—what he’s feeling?

If he didn’t die then, in every instance he’s brushed with death: by Toji’s hands, locked up inside that box, in that final moment with Sukuna, nearly halved—

He thinks he might have just died right now. 

Because this? You? In lingerie as pink as all he’s feeling—his cheeks, his nose, flushing down his neck, maybe even his chest if it were exposed. 

It’s heaven. 

You’re a sight. 

While Gojo has certainly seen you in much less, and done with you things much more than just stand with you like this, he’s never seen you in lingerie.

And you’re so pretty. Sexy. All his, he can’t believe it.   

He’s noticing all the little details on it–on you–its shade, almost salmon with a bit of baby pink; its material: sheer net as the base for everything—it’s practically see-through save for the delicate floral lace running across the bra cups and panty front.

The set itself is nice, sure, but he knows he only likes it this much because it’s on you. And he knows he’ll always like anything on you. 

The heat in his stomach is building, spreading, to the single part of him that—

“Is it that bad?” you scrunch your nose, eyes still closed. He looks at you confused, before he realizes: he hasn’t said anything.

He chuckles and you open your eyes, pouting. 

And God, he wishes you didn’t do that. That look on your face—what it does to him.

“I ordered it in advance for your birthday,” you start, pout deepening as you ramble on, “it was supposed to be a surprise, but if you don’t like it, I can still–” 

That’s enough. 

He can’t believe that you actually think he doesn’t like it. 

Gojo steps into your space, close enough to grab you by the waist as his other hand reaches up to slot itself in the area between your ear and your jawline, tilting your head up slightly as he leans in to kiss you. 

It’s rushed at first, almost desperate—hungry, the way he releases his breath only to take you in; your lips, soft in the way he knows them to be, his hand on your waist squeezing. Your fingertips trail to his cheek, almost cupping as his kisses turn deeper, more languid, lips moving against yours slowly, savoring. 

Gojo is a fast learner, and he shows it best in the way he kisses you, as if he’s memorized every way to build that familiar heat within you. You lay your other hand against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulls you closer. 

You bite his lip and suck, just a little bit, the way he likes it, and he moans, lowly, vibrations rippling through your mouth as he holds you steady. He’s hard already; you can feel it pressing against your lower belly. 

And you realize, as a small laugh tears itself away from you, how ridiculous it was for you to even worry. 

You break the kiss, leaning your forehead against his as you keep your noses touching. It’s impossible to tell how Gojo looks, but you have a hunch with how he’s breathing so heavily; the skies in his eyes must be darker, almost gray, turned on by desire—the same one settling deep in your stomach, aching, needy. 

“It’s perfect,” he whispers, lips grazing yours. He traces hearts by your shoulder, something born out of the many times you’ve lain in bed together, playing with the strap of your bra before pulling, a short snap! as he lets go. 

“You like it?” you whisper back, a lilt in your tone, teasing. Your fingers come up to trace his lips and he holds them in place, nipping. 

“Mhm,” he grins, smoothing his hand over the lace details on your bra, his thumb rubbing, “so pretty.” 

He leans in again, a small peck, before asking, “Does this mean I can get my gift now?” 

You laugh, hitting his chest, “It’s not your birthday yet!” 

“Yeah, but what is time anyway?” 

And you know, with the way he’s trailing kisses down your neck, licking and sucking—you’re going to have to find another thing to surprise him with on his birthday. 

.

Later that evening, with your head lying right on his chest, you remember. 

“Oh yeah, the set also came with one of those belt things. Garter, I think? But I wasn’t sure if you’d be into–” 

You’ve never seen Gojo get up from bed faster.

thank you notes: for that anon that asked about whether col reader wears lingerie! + @stellamancer @soumies @crysugu for validating me that pink is in fact col reader's colour ᰔ i also just luv u guys 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡