#the sheriff’s so sweet isn’t he

[lologoinsolo]

In The Shadows

Chapter 6, Chapter 7

In The Shadows Masterlist

TW: I personally don’t think there’s any triggers in here BUT. There is talks of how Gaz views the people in the town and he likens them to a cow sooooooo yeah

“Hey, you okay?” Gaz knocks a light tap on the glass. You must’ve been in too long of a thought for him to have to ask. Once he gains your attention again he speaks, “Soap’s been talking about you so much. Wanted to see you for myself.” His eyes seem warmer than Soap’s bright blues. “You’re beautiful,” his eyes trail you up and down. There’s not much light save for what the full moon gives but he and Soap always find you easily. Were you ever able to hide?

You can’t seem to find your words. Your tongue twisted into knots as your fingers tightened over your old shirt that you’ll be needing to wash with the amount of sweat growing.

“Are you sleepy or nervous? Must be both by now,” he says, cooing at you gently, playing the part of a dashing gentleman. If there wasn’t a sharpness to his teeth you probably would’ve forgotten just what he is. “it’s alright, promise I’m not a right bastard like Soap. I swear he doesn’t know how to act around pretty birds like you.” And you do? You nod slowly at him and he's pleased but only for so long. Tapping just once on the glass, “talk to me.” Again, not a question but not a demand either from how his tone is so velvety soft.

Your knees bounces slightly, it’s inevitable that you’ll have to keep up a conversation with him. You wished and maybe hoped that he’d say a little piece and be off but no. He waits for you to get comfortable enough to talk once more. Your body might be a live wire but your brain is actively looking for a way to just sleep. You’re not like these creatures that come knocking at night. You need your sleep and maybe they do too but at least you don’t go banging on the walls or tapping at their windows.

“Comfortable yet?” He asks, albeit there’s something prickly in his warm eyes. Maybe it was always there but you haven’t noticed till now. “You look all soft and sweet sitting there.”

Sweet… “Gaz likes them sweet.. tastes better to him..” Soap’s words that he used earlier have become a wisdom of caution that snaps you out of your silence. “Yeah,” your tone is short and he blinks, the first one to do so. “I’m fine, it’s nice.” The chair being nice but your hips ache from sitting for so long and so does your neck from how it was bent back. You’ll have to massage it come morning. “Could be better.” You’ll probably be too tired to do much so maybe you won’t get that massage.

His shoulders shake a little as he grins. His deceptively warm eyes sucking you in even as you try to be pointed with him. “Have I upset you? Haven’t even spoken to you till now.” He sounds genuine but you know better.

“Soap didn’t tell me I’d get another visitor.” It’s the honest truth but you don’t know if Soap’s made mention to him that he told you what Gaz does at the Townhouse. “Forgive me for being unprepared.” If Soap had told you before running off like he did that Gaz would be here then maybe you’d be acting better than you are.

“Apology accepted, sweetheart.”

You can’t hide your scowl now. Your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “Where’s Soap?” At least Soap is easier to manage… sorta. Gaz plays the part of gentleman extremely well, he’s the kinda guy you’d take to your parents after the second date. The one you’d make scrapbooks for a future wedding before an ‘I love you’ is even said. It’s why you’re so on edge right now. What’s his game? You do your best to choke down your own anger before it gets the better of you. Pissing Gaz off will do you no favors and it sure as hell won't keep Erin safe. Before you can apologize, even when you don’t want to, he answers your question easily.

“He’ll be pleased to know you miss him.” There’s his dazzling smile once more. If your attitude makes him upset then he’s hard pressed to say anything. With Soap you knew he’d get upset by the sound of his accent deepening and how his skin would stretch tight. Gaz gives nothing but a smile and sharp eyes. “To answer your question.” He leans more of his weight to his right side, “he’s off hunting.”

You stiffen a bit. Hunting could mean he’s looking for an unsuspecting animal or… he’s going after a human stupid enough to actually be outside. Is that why he left so suddenly? You have an urge to grab your binoculars to look out but Gaz is standing in the way of you seeing anything important. “What’s… what’s he hunting?” You ask, curiosity and worry bubbling up in your heart. You hope it’s not a person, you hope it’s a rabbit or a bird that’s caught his eye. Something that won’t scream and haunt your nightmares.

His head tilts, “do you really want to know?” His voice sounds amused now, “curiosity ate the cat from all the questions the cat asked after all.” That’s not how the saying goes but perhaps here things are different.

You swallow and shake your head ‘no’ quickly. “Nevermind then.” It doesn’t matter. Deep down you don’t want to know. It’s not like you’ll be able to do anything if it was one of the townsfolk. You’re not a runner, you’d just get in the way and then you’d be their meal. As selfish as it sounds… you don’t know if you’d ever leave your home to save another.

You’re stuck in this cage just as much as your visitors are stuck in their nature. They won’t change their ways anymore than you’ll decide at random to open the door or pull the nails off the windowsill to open the window.

He hums a little tune, one that sounds vaguely familiar. The same one that Soap hums, the same notes from when you were at the dinner with Erin for the first time. The same song Gaz himself hummed when he spotted you at the Townhouse.

“That,” you start and he perks up, “that song.” He nods as if to encourage you, “you and Soap hum that a lot.” The question is why? Why that song in particular?

“Catchy isn’t it?” It’s your turn to nod albeit unsure, “heard Soap humming it a while back and now it’s stuck in here.” Tapping his forehead. He grins a little grin, “must be stuck in yours too for you to have noticed.”

That song isn’t stuck, it follows you. Sometimes you’ll hear it in your nightmares. Especially in the one that’s been plaguing you here recently. Sometimes they’re exactly the same and other times they are slightly tweaked.

Running through the forest. Home is just up head even with how dark it is. The branches pick at your skin as you run and then fall. You look up when you hear a laugh, a person blurry to your vision. Like they’re not all there comes into view and blocks your sight to the house. They stand far away and every step that it takes towards you they hum the song.

“Yeah… you could say that.” Shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, no dream has stuck with you like that one does. That one has been coming around too often for your likening and you’ve started considering it to be a warning. “Why,” you bite your lip to reword any sharp tone that could come out. You take a breath and speak to mimic him in a way. “Can I ask why you are here?”

“I told you, sweetheart.” Tutting softly, “Soap talks about you a lot. Wanted to see you for myself.” His eyes roam yours just for the show of it but he lingers and drags for a few seconds over your neck and chest.

That’s not much for you to go on. There’s always a reason with them. There has to be something more. Why now? Why come when Soap’s gone?

“I can’t come see a pretty bird like you?” He asks and you have a half a mind to think he’s getting upset but there’s no difference in how he’s acting. “Are you Soap’s only?” Grinning wide when your eyes open like a deer in headlights.

“No!” You cough as you stumble over your words, “I just meant,” you sigh and pull yourself together before he gets anymore joy out of this. “What I mean is, is that only why you’re here?”

“Nope.” He pops his ‘p’, he teases now. “I figured it’s time we met. It’s not every day that we get something as curious as you. Landed you somewhere you didn’t want to be in, huh?”

Your hand slowly balls into a fist in the fabric of your shorts. There it is. Now you’re getting somewhere with him. “Yeah, you could say that.” To your credit, you don’t grit your teeth or scowl. You keep neutral or as neutral as you can be. Your hand comes to cover your mouth as you yawn loudly. Rubbing your cheek and staring at him, he hasn’t blinked again. His eyes seem hallowed now, that warmth that was there is gone. Artificial like the artificial sunlight lamp you got your grandpa when you got your first paycheck. It was never real and you knew it but why show it now?

“Do you want to know who I’m talking to?” Of course you do, you’ve been racking your brain since Soap threatened you. You want to know. If you can find out who he’s romancing then you can prevent a massacre. He knows this of course, dangling it over your head and raising it higher and higher when you reach for it.

“Yes.” No point in lying. No point in pretending otherwise like he and Soap and the rest of his friends do.

He brings a finger to tap at his chin in thought. “Now, why should I tell you?” There’s an offer in there, persuade him. Make him give you the answer you so desperately want.

But what can you offer death? What does death even want?

“You can have me.” That’s all you can give. “I’ll open the door to you tomorrow night. You can kill me however you want if you tell me who you’re talking to.” You’ll tell the sheriff once Gaz gives you the answer and then tomorrow night you’ll drink yourself to numbness and wait for hands to rip you apart. At least it’ll be your choice, you’ll be selfish to drink liquor. All their other victims weren’t allowed to prepare but you’ll take your death willingly if it means your only friend in the Townhouse will be safe.

It must be a good deal with how his smile widens but everything sours when he tosses his head back to laugh loudly. He laughs as if you’ve told something so hilarious that even a professional comedian couldn’t hold a candle to you. Maybe you are laughable in saying something like that.

“One meal against how many in there?” He rolls his head to look back at you. Moving up and down on the balls of his feet before settling once more. “Let’s see,” He counts on his fingers the bodies that live in the Townhouse. Each count makes your chest squeeze, he and his friends are incredibly greedy you realize. Hounding for something bigger than what your body can give. For the first time in your life you’re the smallest compared to the rest. Gaz makes a disappointed whistle, “doesn’t seem like a fair trade, don’t you think, sweetheart?” Patronizingly sympathetic as he speaks, maybe he’d pat your head if he was inside the house.

Your teeth grind, he has you against a corner. Backed you in there and made you see that you’re not all that. What else can you offer him?

“Nothing,” he says as if he’s in your head. You stare wide eyed for a fraction of a second, “there’s nothing you can give me.” That forehead of his falls to the glass and you see him clearly for what he is. Despite the kindness and warmth he’s shown, he sheds it fast. “The only reason I haven’t gotten my meal is because now I’m made to wait.” His skin, like Soap’s, stretches little by little. Pulls back and keeps whatever straining to get out to stay put. “Eating you won't satisfy me the way that one will.”

“Because I don’t love you?” Snapping quickly at him and he just grins. You’d liken him to a wolf and a cat with his teeth show.

“Soap told you what I like, hmm?” Licking over his lips, his skin stops thinning out and he’s slowly pulled right back to normal. He’s right back to being a charming man, nothing monstrous underneath him at all. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting something sweet to love him.” He sighs longingly, “sweets are something I prefer. Tastes better on the tongue more than salt, don’t you think?”

Your brows twitch, “you’ll kill him though.” It’s a long shot if he’ll correct you on the gender. You’re hoping to narrow down the men from the women in the Townhouse. “He’ll open the door to you and then you’ll kill him as the rest of your friends will kill everyone else just so you can eat.” It makes you sick to your stomach to even mention it. If you had eaten earlier maybe bile would’ve come up.

There’s an annoyed scoff from him that dampens your bravado. “Do you feel sad when a cow is slaughtered for you to quench your hunger?” His eyes darken, the brown blurring to black as his hand lands on the window. Soaps eyes brightened like an electric blue but Gaz’s deepens like the abyss, reminds you of Mask’s soulless eyes.

“Is that what he is then? Just a cow for you to cut open?” You trail on, is that all anyone breathing is to these creatures? “Never mind that he—“

“You keep saying he,” cold washes over you as his head turns like a cat does to its bird. He watches you with intense observation. You flapped your wings too hard and he caught wind of what you're trying to do. “Clever little minx. Tried to get me to slip up, didn’t you? Thought I’d give something of a detail away to you?” Your heartbeat quickens and he shushes you, probably smelling your anxiety the way Soap can. “It’s no fun if you can narrow down who my ‘cow’ is and even if I did tell you,” he whispers and your ears strain. “What would stop me from going to the Townhouse to just kill them right now once their name is known to you?”

“I—“

“You?” Gaz laughs but there’s no joy in it but sick pleasure. “You’ll what, sweetheart?” Your eyes fall as does your shoulders, “oh don’t look like that. You tried your best, almost had me slip.” He says but it could just be a lie. “How about this,” he sighs like there’s just no way to please you. “I’ll tell you if you give me an exchange?” He sees the tiniest form of confusion and Gaz smiles like prior, “give me ten people and I’ll tell you the name.”

“Ten?” Ten names? But that’s not it and you know it. “I…” what’s to stop him and his friends from still going after the Townhouse. You’ll kill just to get a name and then what? Will they stop? “I-I can’t,” your minds jumbling together, so many pros and cons smashing and making it difficult to be steady in your voice. “I won’t do that.” Who’s to say he or his friends wouldn’t make you do it again?

“Then happy hunting,” he grins and stands. Your heart lurches to your throat as you stand quickly. Your chair is thrown backwards as you press against the window.

“Wait! Wait,” he hasn’t moved, “where are you going? Don’t—“ his index finger comes up and curls over the glass where your face would have been touched if there was no barrier. He crouches once more so he can be better leveled with you.

“I’m not allowed to have my meal just yet.” Your heart doesn’t ease when you hear that but at least the Townhouse gets another night. “The Captain will be speaking with you soon enough.” He rubs his index up and down and you swear you could feel it against your cheek. Whoever this Captain is, you don’t want to meet him but there’s no choice here. There never has been. Gaz speaks softer now, a gentleness that he puts on just for you. “Get some sleep, the suns gonna be coming up in an hour or so.” He leans back so he can look at how the night sky has become lighter.

You don’t say anything as he stands up once more. He jumps down like Soap did and you’re quick to grab your binoculars to watch him. He passes the sheriffs office and keeps heading north till he disappears into the woods. You follow the tree line, looking to see if anyone else is there but your back tenses when it is Mask that you find staring back at you.

He makes no motion, makes no move to turn away. Just stares at you, his boney mask shining better with the night sky that begins to ebb into just the tiniest sliver of sunrise yellow. Mask eventually fades into the woods leaving you to worriedly ponder over everything.

Eventually you toss your binoculars on the bed. You can’t sleep, Frank is coming around with food and even though you’re exhausted you are also hungry for something to eat. Your stomach growls and growls even longer as you sit on the ground. Your head against the wood of the windows edge, the bed is too enticing and even touching it could make you pass out. So you just wait for the coming—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It’s softer than Soap’s and your eyes, try as you might, have to be forced open since they closed without your permission. You stand with a groan as you faintly hear the old man yelling for you to, “come on down, can’t stay asleep forever!” Snorting a heafty laugh, as if you could.

Trudging down the stairs is a chore in itself but you get to your door and open it up for him. He’s got two large brown bags with food for you to use for your week. It smells divine to you, there’s the prettiest red apple that you’ve ever seen peaking out on top and your stomach growls so loud that Frank cocks a worried brow.

“Need food in your stomach,” as he states the obvious you open the door wider for him to step in. “And sleep,” of course he’d notice that, “you look like you’ve been run through the ringer.” He laughs to himself as he sits the bags on the kitchens counter. You try to put them up but he smacks your hand. “Go sit before you pass out here. I swear I’ll never understand young people and their need for staying up late.”

You rub your hand, you could argue with him but all your energy is being put into standing still long enough and then for taking heavy steps to fall on your couch. You faintly hear him rummaging about your kitchen. Muttering under his breath about the cast iron needing help and it doesn’t take long for sleep to take you. It’s safe to sleep with him your mind must think.

He must’ve let you sleep for longer than you would’ve liked when he rouses you, “lunch?” He offers with a plate of breakfast and a kind smile on his face. “It might not taste good, my mom didn’t teach me all that much but I can make a mean omelette.” It looks good and he sells himself short on his cooking.

You hork it down fast not even listening to him chastising you about how you’ll choke. He shoves cup of water in your hand and takes the plate from you so he can clean it. Doesn’t need to clean much since you licked it clean or so he says. He must’ve already ate because he didn’t eat with you and that does make you feel just a bit guilty since you were supposed to eat with him. “Oh well,” you sigh and he pokes a head back.

“What’s that?”

Your head falls on the back of the couch as you peer to look at him. “Sorry for sleeping, I’ve uh..” god, what can you say? What can you tell him without something bad happening? “I’ve got—“

“Nightmares?” He offers and you simply nod. Not a lie but also not a truth. He sighs, making his way to sit on the recliner, “wanna talk… about it?” Rubbing his neck and he looks away before looking at you.

“Not really.”

“That’s fine,” he murmurs, “you don’t have to but,” his fingers tap on his knee, “if you want to. You can tell me. Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He laughs slightly to ease the awkwardness. He’s used to giving orders and keeping people safe, he lends and ear and a shoulder whenever he can but that doesn’t mean that he’s good with this. “I get my fair share of nightmares too.”

“Really?” Makes sense, you turn a bit on your side to lay down fully on your couch. “Mines not something that makes any sense. Too many things and not enough time to figure them out.”

“You wanna figure them out?”

Shrugging your shoulders, “I’m curious.” About your recurring dream and your visitors. He doesn’t need to know about the visitors though.

“You know what they say about curiosity,” he hums with a knowing tone, “curiosity eats the cat when it asks too many questions.” Rolling his eyes just as you scoff. “It’s the truth, sometimes things are better left unlearned.” He rocks now, the point of his shoes pushes off so the recliner will move. “Must be some dream if it’s bothering you so much.”

“It’s… yeah, it is something.” Curling up as best as you can. For a moment you can pretend it’s your grandpa talking to you, for a moment you can pretend you’re back home in that trailer with that old air conditioning that hums. Can even pretend to smell the leather from your old couch to this fabric couch and pretend it’s your grandpa that made you breakfast. Just pretend for even a second that you’re somewhere safe and loved.

“Hey?”

You hide your face, you blame how tired you are for starting to cry so easily. It’s not fair. Why does Frank have to be so nice and observant?

“You okay, hun?” Thankfully he doesn’t stand up but there’s an old gentleness in his eyes that makes you wish you were blind.

“I’m just tired gr— Frank,” biting on your lip when you nearly slip up. “I’m just really tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs softly and the sound of the recliner squeaking comes to a stop. You silently cry and he stays seated, probably because he doesn’t know if he should hug you or tell you the lie that everything is going to be okay. “You know,” he starts as you blink in rapid succession to stop any newer tears. “I used to have this nice barbecue grill,” he stands finally and sits down on the floor. His back to the couch as he nears you but doesn’t make you do anything to move. “God, I loved that thing. Me and my dad,” he makes a sharp whistle, “we’d try to outdo each other.”

Sniffling, “really?” Wiping the stray tears from your cheeks as you look at him.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “one time though.” He rolls his sleeve up on his right arm. A strip of a nasty looking burn mark is faded but still telling, “I got too excited. Hurt myself real bad, some kids,” he sighs at the painful, old memory, “some made fun of me and it made me real sad. Messed with my head a lot and I finally just went and told my dad about it and you know what he said?” Frank turns his head to you, you give him a turn of your head for him to continue wordlessly. “He said, “Frankie, you can let those voices hurt you or you can tell them to shut up and keep going” needless to say, I’m still here.” He gives a tentative pat to your knee. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what’s going on up in there.” Motioning to your head, “it might really be dreams or something else you’re not telling me, and you don’t have to say just what, but whatever’s messing with your head. Sometimes,” he pats again a bit more firmly, “sometimes you just gotta ignore it.”

“This place will chew you up and spit you back out,” parroting what he told you the day you came to the house. Not exactly the same but close enough and he smiles.

“Exactly,” his hand moves but he’s yet to get off the floor. Too old to move too quickly anymore, “don’t let this place change you. If you want me to stay the night then I can do that. Or if you want me to start coming over to make breakfast for you I can.” He offers, “I’m no stranger to spending the night. Sometimes people just need a new perspective, you know? Or sometimes they feel safer with the ‘sheriff’ coming around.” His fingers make a dramatic gesture of quotations around the word. “Don’t want to toot my own horn but I like to think I can be a nice shoulder to lean on. Even for hermit kids like you.”

The good feeling is gone and you sit up just to shove him and he groans like he’s been shot. Ever dramatic in how he bends over.

“Hurting the elderly is a crime here,” he cries as he gets on his back to look up at the ceiling, “I’m never making you an omelette again.” Glaring half heartedly but he’s glad to see you smiling once more.

“Not even if I try to find a grill?” Tempting him like the snake did.

He sits up and his bones pop, “if you find a good enough grill then I’ll make you as many omelettes as you want.”

“So long as I get some ribs. I’d kill for those.”

“And a nice steak?” His hands rub together as an invisible cloud bubble forms over both your heads of all the things you could make on a grill. Eventually you both talk so much about it that you feel better than you did. Can’t even remember why you cried in the first place but you’re grateful for his company.

He gets to leaving albeit he was slow to get going. Apparently his hip has been acting up lately and you offered to help him with making the rounds around the town but he brushed you off. “Get some sleep, kid, if you ever need me to stay or need some old man advice just tell me you need an omelette.” A secret code that only you both will know and understand, “might get eggshells in them from time to time but everyone needs their calcium.” His brows wiggle and your eye rolls hard.

Once he’s gone you’re left alone in this big house. You feel lighter than before. If there was a safer way to tell him what’s really going on then maybe you and him can make a plan. Gaz gave you nothing to work with but he did seem upset about you saying his… cow… is a man. Maybe his ‘love’ isn’t a man but a woman? You head to your kitchen to find everything has been cleaned and put away. Hardly anything to do besides wait for night to come. You could go to your garden but you’d rather just stay in for the day. Tomorrow you’ll garden, you’ll get the little slice of peace back even with the growing pressure.

[pedgito]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Joel's a pain in the ass neighbor, but fortunately he's fond of you. Alternatively, Joel's a creep and you're definitely into it.

author's note | my entry for my womb mate @chaotic-mystery's challenge WIRED 4 YOU. I got Joel Miller, Uh Oh by Tate McRae and a fucked up thought process & a special thank you to my love @gracieheartspedro for looking this over.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, dubcon, no outbreak au, age gap, joel calls you kiddo, creepy borderline pervert!joel, protective!joel, reader is in college and living with a handful of roommates, mentions of partying and hook-ups, we're very sex positive here, voyeurism level: extreme, joel being an absolute fiend, masturbation, public sex, fingering, (1) one slap to the face, subtle breeding kink, creampies, unprotected piv, corruption kink

word count — 8.3k

It’s downright insidious, freaky—the chances of your upstairs bedroom placed directly opposite of his.

Joel Miller, your neighbor. 

The old, crotchety man who’s called the cops on the house five times within the first month of moving in.

You and your small group of friends, three other girls, decided to rent the place out for the second half of your college semester. Better commute, spacier than the cheap accommodation dorm rooms.

And this was the first weekend you’ve actually been able to settle, the inevitable party streak seeming to wane as classes ramped up and work seemed endless.

Joel works weird hours, too—so you’ve noticed. 

Like, there isn’t a sturdy schedule to his job, coming and going as he pleases.

But now, you’re face to face with the gap between your houses holding the tension, spotting the man responsible for you having to charm the town sheriff every weekend. You’ve got it down, obviously. You’re touchy and sweet and laying it on thick before he’s forgetting what the call was even for. 

It never worked, but he still did it.

You’re halfway through pulling your shirt over your head, cloth tight against your chest with your arms through their designated hole when he turns his head, thinking it was a trick of the light—no, it was just him.

You flip him off boldly and refuse to wait for a reaction, swiping the curtain closed before you’re tugging the shirt over your head the rest of the way.

It seemed your luck that you would end up sharing a window with him—praying that the sight of him would be few and far between.

—

As your luck would have it, you saw him again.

And again, until your animosity had melted to a simple acknowledgement, still full of disdain—he’s always freshly showered when you see him, spotting the wet mop of hair even from a distance. 

You try to ignore how his eyes start to linger.

He knows you can’t be that naive, but you don’t offer any signs, curtains often parted as you changed in the comfort and privacy of your own room.

Joel knows it's wrong, but he’s growing curious.

You weren’t like the other girls; not accompanying them on their rowdy nights out or stumbling up to the front door after a late homecoming and not passing out on his front lawn either. 

Though, you are kind enough to wake your friend up the following morning with a disgruntled expression and a slowly cooling cup of coffee in your grip. Patience wearing thin as you attempt to lead them back in the house.

You liked to party and you liked to have fun, but you had a limit—a hard one that you didn’t break, refusing to let distractions steer you in the wrong direction.

But, the reality was that Joel couldn’t stand any of you.

Maybe it was the gap in age, growing up in different times, spending your twenties in a much different manner than he would have. 

Regardless, he could eat shit.

You’re so hopeful of avoiding him for the handful of months you had left on your lease that you swear you’re dreaming when you hear his voice carry up the house from your front door, raised and rather crass for such an early morning after a long night of dealing with rowdy twenty-something year olds with less sense than you.

The birds weren’t even fucking chirping yet.

“Why the hell are we arguing this early in the morning?” You crease, rubbing at tired eyes as you blindly step down the stairs, turning the corner to see your roommate nearly nose to nose, always combative and never one to stop and think.

You loved her, but fuck.

“One of you little shits fucked up my truck,” He griped, thumb jutting angrily over his back, “I need the information for my insurance and this one’s decided violence is easier than cooperatin’—better yet, I’ll just call the damn cops.”

“Woah—wait,” You interject, yawning as you gently pull your friend away from Joel before giving her a look of pathetic plea, hoping she’d scamper off.

Fortunately, she does.

“God—what is it with you and cops, dude?”

Dude? Joel hadn’t heard that one yet.

“Who’s car is it?” He presses, arms crossing over his chest in an authoritative manner that shouldnt intimidate you, but it does, “It’s the one at the end of the drive with the dent on the bumper,”

You peer over his shoulder with a sudden disbelief, eventually reaching out to shove him aside because there is no way…

“Those bitches,” You hiss, “they took my car?”

He knows you’re not asking for an answer, your thoughts becoming audible at the sheer disbelief.

They seemed to take the mantra of sharing everything to a literal sense, forgoing even asking if you were alright with it after you had turned in earlier than the rest of them.

You knew what would come, pitiful excuses masked with fake apologies—it never failed.

We didn’t want to wake you.

It was an accident, swear.

I’ll cover the cost, don’t worry.

“Trouble in paradise?” Joel tries to tease at your expense of misery, running your fingers through sleep-tousled hair before you mirror his position, arms crossed over your chest as you scowl, doing the mental math over the cost.

“Fuck you,” You bite, “I’ll bring the shit you need over later, but for now, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Hey, that ain’t how this works, I need it n—“

“I’m good for it,” You cut him off, not allowing him a word in edgewise before you’re gone, door slamming in his face.

It’s only minutes after you’re gone and Joel is reluctantly turning back toward his house that he realizes you had bested him, forcing him to walk away empty-handed.

And frankly, Joel didn’t like that.

–

He liked it even less when you showed up five hours later looking like hell, the beginnings of spring prickling the air with the sun beating down in the cul-de-sac but the cool breeze satiating the heat. He looked you over, silent judgment in his gaze that made you want to slap him.

He’d probably press charges.

“Slept good, huh?” he drawled.

“Haha. Very funny. Here.” You shoved the folded piece of paper, all information required for his stupid insurance claim, glaring begrudgingly,. “This wasn’t my fault.”

“Was your friend's fault, though—maybe you should keep a better eye on ‘em,” Joel reprimands, “A house full of ya and you aren’t keeping tabs on who’s comin’ and goin’ in your car?”

“I was asleep—and you—mmm, you know what, no—” You laugh to yourself, holding your hand up defensively before you shake your head, “I gave you the info, file your little claim and fuck off. Also, calling the cops isn’t working. So, maybe…I don’t know? Give it a rest?”

There’s a pause where Joel sizes you up, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, as if he’s savoring the way he can needle you.

“We’re one call away from me offering to fuck officer friendly and accuse you of harassment,” you snap at him, hating how smug he looks, “Is it the noise or are you just so old and miserable you can’t allow anyone else to enjoy anything? No one else is calling the cops.”

To be fair, you kept things at a respectable volume inside–however, the capacity in the house occasionally overflowed and you could only contain so much, the responsibility and leadership always defaulting to you.

“Yes, because I’m a miserable old man,” Joel says flatly, “That’s why.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the sturdy frame of his front door, not at all moved by your outburst, letting the silence stretch until you’re squirming beneath his gaze.

“Jesus, you’re such a prick,” you mutter.

You roll your eyes and start stomping towards your house, and even with your back turned, you can feel the weight of his stare burning into you. You flip him off for good measure, aware of Mrs. Madison across the street curious as she waters her petunias, a look of distaste at your sudden outburst.

That’s when you see the new detail: the side mirror on his truck is held together with duct tape. 

You almost feel bad—you didn’t see that much damage after the mess of last night; whoever was responsible did a number backing into it. But, as quickly as the guilt consumes you, it dissipates. 

Joel could stay in his disdain as long as he wished even as the sway of your hips burned themselves into his memory, tongue filling his cheek before he slipped back into his house.

Both of your reprieves come as school busies your days and work occupies his own, in and out of the house without much of a word or glance, the rowdiness now few and far between, but not the visits—occasionally it was the same boy, a few times before another one inserts himself into the mix, and a few girls. 

At first he assumes you may have downgraded your house parties to smaller get-togethers in hopes that Joel wouldn’t call the cops anymore—which truthfully, he does stop. Only as his workload has increased, his mind occupied and less time spent at home—he finally catches sight of you after two weeks of near silence, it’s through the window of his bedroom into yours.

Joel’s breath catches when he realizes you’re not alone. There's a guy, unrecognizable, only his arms visible as you’re nearly naked and strewn out on your sheets, your bra clad against your breasts but your legs bare and parted, hands curled around your thighs and a head working furiously under the guide of your hand.

He watches you throw your head back and laugh, a pure elation. 

He rubs his eyes, certain the late hours must be playing tricks on him.

You’re in his goddamn head, he thinks.

But, what really grabs his attention is your slightly opened window, the sound from your room filtering into his own, through the screen, the shadow of the curtains and his dark room keeping him hidden but he can hear you. See you.

An itch tangles deep in his chest, something raw and consuming trying to claw its way out.

The moans and giggles tangle in his mind like vines, wrapping tighter with every glance. The days pass in this strange voyeuristic rhythm; more nights than not, Joel finds himself watching, captive to your parade of lovers, growing jealous of the returning faces.

He tries to tell himself there isn’t anything wrong with what he’s doing—it was you leaving the window open, you keeping the lights on for him, curtains parted for him, but the build-up eventually makes him cave and the stress from work leads him to palming his cock on a night when you’re climbing on top of your chosen suitor, breasts on full display and bouncing with a delicious rhythm, and Joel’s hardly hidden now, resting back in his desk chair with his jeans pushed down just enough to tuck his briefs underneath his balls, drawn tight as he fisted his cock.

His hand is rough and calloused, opposite to the way he imagines yours might be if you’d ever stoop to touching him this way. The thought is absurd. Dirty. 

He needs your soft hands on him.

It only makes him buck harder into his palm, sweat pouring down his chest and every muscle strung tight with need. Your moans slip through the open window, finding him in the dark of night like a searchlight.

He pretends you know he’s there—wants him to hear, wants him to see—imagines your eyes on his cock as he grinds his palm over the head, his thumb slipping over the slit and suddenly he’s spilling over his hand with a pathetic grunt, breathing out shakily.

It really has become his routine.

When he gets home late at night, it’s the first thing he checks for: the light in your window.

Sometimes it’s on and you’re alone, studying on your bed with a face of focus, brow drawn in tight as you tapped away on your laptop, but the release you crave is never far away. If Joel watches long enough, eventually you succumb to your own insatiable need, pulling out the small, handheld toy from your dresser and locking your door, afraid your friends might interrupt the precious time but not giving half a shit about your open window or the man watching carefully from across the way.

Then it’s just you and the feeble little toy, and Joel can’t look away.

He can’t do anything other than wish he could give you what it does—what it never seems to: the satisfaction his big, experienced hands would. He watches you edge yourself repeatedly, almost to the point of pain, whining and gasping as you work yourself up, on the brink of the release that only a real cock could give. His.

You drive him mad this way.

He fucks his palm until he sees stars some nights, every part of him feeling feral and raw with need, but it’s never quite enough.

You have to know—with him easing up on calls and complaints, rarely heard or seen, giving you the peace you craved as you settled back into your schedule with school and focused on the necessary parts of your life.

It’s his secret, he’d die with it. With as much sin as he’s committed in his lifetime, there wasn’t guilt so much as shame, but you were just so goddamn tempting.

-

The next conversation you have with him is tense, a culmination of events rising to a nasty head of anger and frustration, all the while unfoundedly attracted to the way he asserts himself. 

It’s pathetic, really.

But, you couldn’t help it—it was kinda hot.

Joel likes to smoke on his porch at night occasionally, with summer in full swing and his yard giving him the perfect view of the nightly neighborhood entertainment, he seems to examine the scene critically, that permanent scowl on his face.

Truthfully, you’re thankful the partying has died down and often found the house emptier than normal as your roommate had started to find fun outside of the comfort of home, often leaving you alone—that is, relatively speaking.

Joel’s come to memorize a few names, the one that stands out most is Dean.

He’s a confident little shit, all suave and little empathy, he’s seen him treat you roughly in a few ways but more importantly, he’s an asshole. He’s the same kid he’s caught kissing another one of your roommates behind your back—a classic dick move, but breaking your heart?

Well, Joel wasn’t going to stand for that.

He had to protect his girl—even if you had no idea what that meant to him and his nightly meet-ups with his bedroom window. Joel waits until Dean is alone and your front door is slammed shut after a tense exchange of words and the inevitable fuck you—that you’ve mastered throwing at Joel plenty of times—slips out.

Joel emerges from the shadow of the porch with an air of defiance, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes full of skepticism and Dean is on the defense almost instantly. He’s seen Joel before, always perturbed by his presence.

Dean spins around as he approaches his own car parked at the end of your driveway, face already sour. “You got a problem, old man?”

“I don’t wanna catch you back over here,” Joel explains, approaching with a slow reverence, the hand not occupying the cigarette stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, “that clear?”

“You think you’re some big protector, huh? She doesn’t need you to fight her battles. She’s fine.” Dean retorts, a forced bravado floats from his chest to his mouth, dismissive of how poorly he had treated you about five minutes prior—how easily the words selfish bitch had flowed from his mouth.

“You leave and don’t come back—I see you around here again and I’ll snap your ass like a twig, got it?” Joel threatens, tapping out the ash over the cement, his face unnaturally relaxed.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “she isn’t worth this shit, anyways.”

With Dean, you weren’t all that upset.

He ghosted you completely, but he was already on his way out.

Then, there’s a small illness that spreads on campus, leading to a week off strictly online classes that comes as a welcomed break, spending extra time outside as you lounge in gaudy furniture your landlord had left behind, a thick chair that reclines and swivels, curled up in the seat as you work your way through an assignment as Joel’s truck roars up the street and into his driveway, toolbox clutched in his hand as he fished for his keys at his front door.

It wasn’t that Joel had been kind to you as of late, but rather less…frustrated?

He smiled on occasion, filtered through misdelivered mail and stuffed it into your mailbox instead of approaching your front door with annoyance, hell—he even apparently offered to clean up the front lawn last weekend while he mowed his own, knowing that none of your girls even owned a lawn mower.

There had to be a catch.

When he catches you looking, he raises a hand in a half-wave, and you feel an unexpected flutter.

What the fuck was that?

It happens a couple more times, no words, just a simple exchange.

Your roommate, Julia, catches it one morning.

“How’s your boyfriend?” she teases as she passes by, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

She’d yet to have a run-in with Joel, unbothered by his presence and rather clueless.

“Please,” you snort, “he’s like fifty.” But there’s no denying the strange gravitational pull you feel, like the man has some secret to him that you want to discover—curious to what has changed.

Days slide by, punctuated by Joel’s presence.

You’d spent the last few days waiting for it—the favor he’d ask for in return or some comment about how you’d better not let the weeds get out of control again, letting the overgrown grass put a bad mark on the neighbors' normally well-kept lawns. But there’s nothing. 

Absolutely nothing.

Friday afternoon, Joel was back on his porch, quietly watching your house while pretending to tinker with something wrapped in a blue tarp in the back of his truck. You pretended not to notice at first, keeping your head bent over your laptop like it was giving you the meaning of life instead of a LATE warning on your English assignment. 

What did this guy want?

Later that evening, you watch him sand down a piece of wood against a table on his porch, lost in his work. You and your roommates had already enjoyed dinner for the night and cleaned up, the rest of them retired to their rooms but here you were, approaching Joel.

The sun bakes the street, turning everything into a mirage of heat waves and distant hums of cicadas. An impulse catches you; before it fully registers, you’re already at his driveway with a couple cold beers clutched in hand, one already open and half-empty.

“Hey,” you called. Joel squinted up at you like he wasn’t sure who he was looking at for a second before his eyes landed on the beer, even more confused, “—it’s a peace offering.”

“Alright,” he responds slowly, unsure as he reaches for the bottle and twists the cap off with a natural strength, “what’s the catch?”

You shrug and Joel hides his instinct to let his eyes fall upon your breasts as he takes a sip and tilts his head back, wanting to reprimand you for wearing such a revealing top despite the sweltering heat, almost like you were begging him to look, sweat clinging to your chest.

“No—no catch, just…never got to thank you for the lawn,” You tell him, spotting the newly replaced mirror on his truck, “Oh, finally got it fixed?”

Joel turns back over his shoulder and nods, eyes squinting as he spotted the still very visible dent to your car, “Can’t say the same for you—some friends you got,”

“We’re college students—we’re broke,” You reply with ease, “It’s just a dent, anyways. It still drives and—”

“I can try and fix it,” Joel offers, “Next weekend, if you’re around,”

“Aren’t I always?” you tease, testing the waters, a flirtatious smile forcing its way onto your face but you catch it at the last second, reprimanding yourself over it.

What were you even doing?

“Seems that way,” Joel decides, taking another long swig of the beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—he’d know.

Well, it was decided.

 And it seemed after a month of tense interaction, things were finally settling. Joel was less tense, you were less combative. It was great.

Curiosity wins, though. It always does.

Joel doesn’t mean to interfere. Really, he doesn’t. 

But when he’s heading out to his truck Saturday morning, grabbing the tools to approach your front door and start working on your car, a familiar guy slips out your front door, tall and lanky—hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, looking a little too smug for Joel’s liking—he can’t resist.

It’s the same spiel that Dean got, though slightly more effective, filling the younger boy with fear.

It’s only when he glances back toward the house and at the living room window—he sees your narrowed eyes watching him through the glass—that he realizes you saw the whole thing, filling you with a rage you’ve never felt before.

And even moreso, there’s no smile this time—just a quiet challenge in his gaze that makes your pulse skip. Joel knew exactly what he was doing.

“Asshole,” you mutter, slipping on your shoes before bursting out the front door. Joel’s at the curb, hands stuffed in his pockets, like he’s waiting for you to come storming over, the remnants of your friendship dissipating as the car speeds away.

“What was that?” you demand, crossing your arms tight.

He shrugs, a maddening little smirk pulling at his lips. “Who was that?”

You nearly choke on your response. He doesn’t deserve an explanation. 

Instead, you jab a finger in his direction, eyes narrowing as you move into his space, his head turning to squint off into the distance before you let the urge take over and unfurl your hand to smack his across the jaw, the sickening crack catching Joel off-guard.

 “How long have you been doing that? Fucking with my friends?”

Joel looks amused. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Friends—alright, sure, he thinks.

Joel catches sight of your wrist as it winds back again, his fingers wrapping around it with ease and tight, a silent warning, you ask through clenched teeth “Do you do this with everyone? Is it some kind of hobby? Being a shitty neighbor? Or are you obsessed with me?”

“Obsessed? Oh, kiddo,” Joel laughs, a low rumble that you feel in your bones. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

Your stomach flips, and not in the way that you want it to. “Says the guy who can’t keep his nose out of my business. I don’t need your help.”

“You should stay outta trouble,” Joel suggests

"He’s not trouble," you shoot back. "And I don’t need you to play watchdog for me."

“Are you sure about that?” Joel flicks an eyebrow, the challenge in his voice making your skin prickle.

“Is that a threat?” you ask tensely, attempting to wretch your hand away and failing.

"Wasn’t a threat," Joel says, voice dropping lower. "Just know you like to push buttons. Seem real fond of keepin’ your curtains wide open at night." His head tilts slightly, "Almost like you want someone watchin'."

The connection clicks in your mind after a moment, turning to catch the open panels of your bedroom window in the space between your houses before your eyes lock on him, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“You’ve been watching me?”

Joel chuckles, his grip easing enough to let you pull free. “Not like you’re makin’ it hard.”

“You’re sick,” you spit at him, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs help,” Joel counters, taking a step back. “Or, maybe it’s attention.”

The words sting, and it takes everything not to lunge for him again. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m just being honest.” He shrugs, and it infuriates you how little he seems to care.

Your mouth works around a reply that won’t come out right; all that escapes is an angry huff. 

Joel can see it simmering underneath, the realization that he might be right.

“Lemme show you somethin’,” Joel suggests, nodding toward his house.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you say, but there’s hesitation in it, a crack that Joel doesn’t miss.

“And you’re curious,” He’s already heading toward his door, leaving you to decide if you’ll follow.

You know you shouldn’t. 

You know this is the worst idea.

But you can already feel the pull—of him—and it’s stronger than anything else.

You trail after him, every step a little betrayal of your better judgment.

Quietly, you follow him into his dark living room and up the stairs, met with a half-open bedroom door that he spears wide with his fingers, footsteps following quietly behind as he leads you to the inevitable window in his room that peers right into your own.

“There’s something wrong with you.” It comes out weaker than you intend, unable to meet his eyes as your fingers wrap over the edge of the windowsill, his presence lingering behind.

Joel just steps aside, gesturing toward the view. “Then I guess there’s somethin’ wrong with both of us.”

You stare through the window into yours and your breath catches. An unmistakable pang hits you when you see it—how clear the sight is in your own room, how well he must have seen everything. Heard everything. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually closed it, annoyed with the constant stuffiness.

“Seems like you want me watchin’,” Joel says, there’s a taunting edge to his voice, but it’s laced with something else you can’t decipher

“Or maybe you’re just lonely,” you suggest, turning to him.

“Maybe,” Joel responds cooly.

“So just like that? You spy on me?” you accuse, but there’s less bite in it than before.

Joel’s grin is slow, infuriatingly confident. “Just lookin’,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d mind much—’round here when we want privacy, we’re intentional about, we don’t leave our windows open while we’re naked and moaning for half the neighborhood to hear,”

The embarrassment hits you quick, palms sweating at the mention as you look away and back out the window, feeling Joel move closer.

“I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, you didn’t think.” he cuts in, but he’s not angry. 

There’s a hint of laughter in it, and it makes you tense, but not in a fight or flight type of way, rather, anticipating his next move, expecting it.

“So, what?” you challenge, “What happens now?”

“Depends on you,” Joel says, his voice low now. Dangerous, almost. “You gonna close it?”

“What if I don’t?”

There it was.

Joel’s eyes darken with interest. 

“Then, I guess you’ll know I’m watchin’ you,” he admits, the words sending a shiver down your spine, his hand soothing the shock as it spreads over the small of your back and down, curving over your jeans as he squeezed your ass between the heel of his palm and fingers, “that alright with you?”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you turn to hold his gaze, feeling the heat of him so close. 

It’s a game—a risky one—and he’s playing it well. You’re hooked, unable to challenge him.

Now that he’s presented you with his reasoning, his motives, you’re entranced. 

He’s always had a rugged way about him, devastatingly attractive despite his age—not that had any affect anyways, but you found yourself intimidated because of it, admiring from a distance before he showed how much of an asshole he could be.

Still, you weren’t blind. 

If he was lonely, it was by choice. Not by lack of interest.

You’re aware of his wandering hands as they slide around your hips to unbutton your shorts, the zipper following quietly before the warmth of his hand is pressing against your mound as his fingers slide into the front of your underwear, simmering with the same heat as his middle finger slides through your obvious slick, a laugh catching in his throat as he crowds you against the open window, his chin hooking over your shoulder as your lips part in a gasp.

“Guess I got my answer,” he teases, voice thick with satisfaction.

You feel exposed and alive, heat pooling low and your fingers clutch at his arm, needing an anchor as your knees threaten to give way.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you breathe, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“Yeah?” His middle finger slides up, circles slow and deliberate, “feels good, don’t it?”

His words are like a spark; you tilt your hips into him, a silent plea for more.

Joel obliges with a low chuckle, teasing you with expert precision. 

“How are they?” Joel asks curiously, unsurprisingly calm as he quietly shifts your shorts down until they fall, pooling at your ankles while he unoccupied hand squeezes at the inside of your thigh, “Do they touch you this good?”

“Good enough, they can make me come,” You admit, eyes falling shut at his practiced movements, the hand squeezing at your thigh sliding up to press inside of you, two thick fingers spreading you open while his other works over your swollen clit, rubbing in furious rhythm with his fingers

“Are you good enough, Joel?” You ask tauntingly, a small waver in your voice, “Or is that why you live alone?”

“I am, kiddo,” Joel reassures, “And I do because s’better for me that way.”

“Or you can’t make a girl come, can’t keep them around so you watch me through your window,” you explain to him, momentarily pausing as his finger rubs over your clit harshly, no circles or practiced motion, just pressure—delicious fucking pressure, “Do the neighbors know you like to be a creep?”

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he bites, his hand moves with a kind of confident hunger, your breath hitches as you feel it building, raw and electric.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you manage, voice shaking.

“Am I?” Joel’s lips skim the side of your neck, a hot whisper against your skin as his finger presses rough and insistent. “Seems like you wanted me to see just how needy you were. Somethin’ about those boys ain’t satisfying or you wouldn’t fuckin’ be here lettin’ me touch you like this,”

He’s good—fuck, he’s good.

You can’t find the words to deny it, not when he’s curling inside you in perfect tandem with the dizzying friction on your clit. The heat is coiling tight in your belly, pulling you closer to the edge.

“Admit it,” he pushes, “let me hear what those pretty little cries sound like up close as you come around my fingers,”

You’re panting now, thighs trembling under his relentless pace.

“I—fuck—” The admission is lost in a choked moan, grabbing blindly for his wrist as your orgasm crashes into you, eyes squeezed shut as you gasp, hips moving insistently into the motion of his hands as he guides you through intensity of it, almost like he’s rocking you in place, soothing you.

“Good enough?” Joel murmurs, the cockiness in his voice matches the satisfaction flooding through you.

His fingers slide out slowly, leaving you empty but tingling with sharp aftershocks. 

He shifts beside you, smirking like the self-assured asshole he is.

“Admit it,” Joel encourages, “only time I’ve ever seen you come like that is when you’re playin’ with that cheap little toy, alone in your room.”

“Just stop meddling, alright?” you plead with him, quietly adjusting your shorts back over your hips with a small modicum of shame, but the look on Joel’s face reads as insatiable.

“I’ll keep scarin’ ‘em off,” Joel admits, “‘til you realise you don’t deserve to be treated the way they’re treatin’ you—yellin’ and sneaking around behind your back. I see everything, kiddo.”

“Well, stop,” you reply without much bite, “just—go back to being insufferable—”

Joel smirks at the small revelation on your behalf, “I thought you were aimin’ for a peace offering the other day, I’m keepin’ the peace. For you and for me,”

The back and forth was pointless, you begin to realize.

Joel was a natural protector, whether you needed it or not.

–

He does keep his word, though.

It takes a week for you to face him again, but eventually you’re wandering back to his front door and accepting defeat, hushed on the fact your bedroom window has stayed closed since the day in his bedroom and not a single person for Joel to run off.

He answers the door shirtless, thin shorts hung low on his waist and the scowl you return to his own is too natural, trying desperately to stuff down your ego. He must have been sleeping, hair mused and his eyes blinking rapidly as he rubbed at his thick facial hair, scratching at his cheek.

“Whaddya need, kiddo?”

You roll your eyes and turn your head impishly over your shoulder.

Joel chuckles lightly, though tired.

You don’t even have to ask.

“Let me eat dinner and I’ll be over,” he tells you, “no plans tonight?”

“We’re all studying for some big tests coming up so no, I just—I don’t wanna look at it anymore.”

“Gotcha,” he replies easily, “go on—I’ll come knockin’ later.”

He throws the orders around with such ease, ones that you follow without argument.

Joel shows up later that night, hand rapping at the door at the same time you pull it open.

You follow him outside, listen to him explain, and then you’re turning on your heels and half a second from escaping the torture of having to be around him any longer before he speaks up and the inevitable comes out.

“Oh, you’re helpin’,” Joel explains, “get your ass back here—teach you a thing or two this way.”

“Uh huh,” you reply tersely and while it is excruciating to sit through, Joel gets the dent out and fixes your dimming taillight free of charge, that is, for the moment. He’s well-versed with cars and his hands work quickly, and frankly, the way he moves is distracting.

Annoyingly.

You can’t help staring at the expanse of his back and the taut muscle underneath, only able to imagine it and clearing your throat awkwardly as he has to repeat himself a couple times before you realize he’s talking to you again.

“Pop your trunk,” he repeats, following the order quietly before he’s stuffing a few tools in the back that has you eyeing him skeptically, “just a few things, in case you end up with a flat or something, you won’t be completely helpless,”

“O-kay,” you reply with hesitance, watching his fingers curl around the trunk as he shoves it closed, “is that all?”

“A thank you’d be nice,” Joel admits, lowering his tone as he murmurs, “fuckin’ kids these days,”

Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you approach him again, hand mirroring his as it curls around your trunk and you invade his space, nearly chest to chest as you retort, “Oh, boo-hoo,” there’s a faux frown forming, “do I need to remind you of your behavior? I think this is payment for being a total dick to me for the past couple months.”

You catch the glimpse of his hand flexing as you stand your ground, mouth opening in another sharp sting of words before his hand is squeezing at your cheeks, the curve between his thumb and pointer finger curling around your chin as he forces it up.

“I’ll scream,” you threaten, fingers twisting into his shirt as you attempt to shove him back but he’s completely unmoving, “let—me—go,”

“Do it,” he challenges, “or—I deal with that little problem you got goin’ on,”

He knows it—how unsatisfied you felt, even without having to voice it.

Your silence is the answer, slumping slightly in defeat as you wait him out.

“Let me see your hand,” he asks, surprisingly softer, his palm extending in wait.

As you offer your hand, his fingers curl around it, guiding it to the front of his cotton shorts and you can feel the heat of his cock underneath, hard against the fabric and tucked up to avoid showing the obvious arousal he was dealing with—you weren’t sure how long he’s been sporting it, but the rigidness of it has your breath catch, intimidatingly large even by the feel as your eyes flicker down slightly,

“It’s a shame,” Joel says, “how disrespectful you’re being—seems like you need to learn manners, kiddo.”

“Stop. Calling me that—” you struggle to say, the words half-daring and half-pleading. He slides his thumb down, brushing your bottom lip as his eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“What?” he teases, watching you squirm as he keeps your hand pinned to his shorts, “you don’t like that?”

“I’m not a kid,” you insist, trying for defiance but it comes out breathless.

He grins, and you’re startled by how it transforms his face—softening all those hard edges you’ve come to know. For a moment, there’s a flicker of sweetness before he leans in close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, whispering low.

“Then quit actin’ like one.”

His mouth is over yours before you can find more words, catching on the gasp that slips out as instinct takes over. His kiss is rough but not forceful; it’s got a bruising sort of gentleness that makes your knees weak and you wobble slightly, his hand removing from your face as they wrap under your elbows, keeping you upright.

You’re not surprised by how quickly you melt into him. Your hand never leaves the front of his shorts despite his own hands now elsewhere, one creeping around your waist, pulling you tighter and tighter until there’s nowhere left to go.

His body is a wall, hot and solid, against yours.

Your fingers twitch where they’re trapped against him, squeezing at his shaft as your finger grazes the clothed head, weeping under the fabric, and he makes a noise in his throat that surprises you—a low, gravelly sound that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You feel that dark edge of satisfaction from him, knowing how affected you are.

 How predictable.

“Ain’t got much to say now,” he murmurs against your mouth,

His grip changes, dragging your hand up under his shirt until it’s pressed against the bare skin of his stomach. You can feel him breathing, deep and steady.

It’s not fair how calm he is while you're barely hanging on.

Suddenly, his tongue traces your lower lip and a whimper escapes you, muffled against his mouth. Joel groans, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, “Lift your dress up,” he directs, quietly guiding your chest flush with the trunk as he shuffles with the fabric of his shorts under the darkened sky, thankful the streetlights in the cul-de-sac needed a fresh set, barely buzzing.

“You’re makin’ a mess,” Joel mutters, voice low and rough. It sends you reeling, your face hot as he slides the fabric aside, parting you with his fingers, testing your resistance as you welcome the gentle press as the digits slip inside, your hand squeezing desperately at his cock, a silent plea, “we’re gonna rectify that, alright?” 

You nod dumbly, filled with an undeniable lust for him, even if you couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Ain’t got protection, do ya?” He asks, suspects, “Damn shame you’re lettin’ them fuck you like that, sweetheart,”

“It’s none—none of your business, just because I don’t doesn’t mean—”

“You lettin’ them fuck you raw?” he asks curiously, noting the way your thighs spread to accommodate another finger, you shake your head weakly.

“S’good,” he decides, “but you’re gonna let me aren’t you?”

Your nod is too quick, proudly pathetic.

“That’s right—no need worryin’ about me, right? “Cause, I’ll take care of ya,”

“I just—don’t—dunno if it will fit, Joel,” you admit and Joel chuckles, a subtle noise of agreement before he soothes your worries.

“It’s fine,” he assures, eyes locked on yours as you turn to look at him, voice both commanding and reassuring, trading his fingers for the head of his cock as he pushes you forward and forces your ass on display, pushing the thickness of himself through your folds, coating it with your slick, “You can—fuck—you can handle it.”

There’s something reckless in the way he moves—only Joel could get this from you. Only him.

He eases into you slowly, each inch coaxed through the tight resistance until he’s seated, until you’re stuffed full and squirming. His breath hitches, a low groan vibrating through his chest as he holds there for a moment, letting you adjust to the heavy stretch.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, a hint of pride in the words as he draws back slightly, hand bunched in your dress to enjoy the view as he rocks forward again, “Takin’ it so damn well—it’s like you were made for me.”

He builds a rhythm with each of his ragged exhales, using the weight of his body to keep you pinned beneath him, to bury himself deeper than you’ve ever felt. 

“You like this,” he decides, “no fuckin’ denyin’ it—your friends could look at those windows, open that door, and they’d catch you like this, cryin’ over gettin’ fucked just like you deserve—”

“Joel, please,” you’re not sure what you’re even begging about, but you are, gasping with each rapid thrust he makes, his fingers working in tandem over your clit like he’s done this a million times over, knowing your body better than you do,

“Could be watchin’ right now, but I know you,” he taunts, “You like being watched, don’tcha?”

You nod again, absentminded as he moves against you. There’s nothing gentle about the way he fucks you toward oblivion; it’s intense and raw, overwhelming in a way you’ve never experienced before. He’s got you teetering the line, your orgasm begging for release.

“There it is,” he says in a low rasp, feeling you clench tightly around him, “she’s beggin’ for it, you need me to fill ‘er up, sweetheart? She need to be stuffed full ‘f me?”

“Y—huh, yesyes, please,” you ramble, your eyes falling shut as your climax washes over, his finger insistent on your clit as he pumps his hips lazily, his warm seed spreading inside of you.

“I’ll take that as thank you,” Joel decides with a lazy tone, pulling out of you without warning and adjusting your panties and dress back over your body, “though—still would be nice to hear it.”

“Thank you,” you reply breathlessly, unable to meet his eye, “thank you—for…yeah, thank you.”

“You know where to find me,” Joel tells you with an amused smirk.

And unfortunately, that was often.

–

It's a bad habit—coming to Joel when you need things.

But, he just fixes the problem so easily.

Sprinklers broken, Joel’s got a tool to replace it.

Squeaky hinges? Joel’s got just the fix to quiet the insistent noise.

A hole in your bathroom wall after a fight that wasn’t your fault at all, but ultimately ended up being your responsibility to fix—well, that was a bigger ask.

And your roommates' jaws can’t even begin to remain shut as he walks through the front door on a free weekend, all of them lounging on the couch with admiration in their eyes.

There was a similar sentiment of disdain for Joel, but they could all agree he was attractive.

You tried your best to ignore the strew of late assignments that have become more and more apparent as Joel invaded your life—moments when you would try to slip away and Joel would beg for a little bit more, coerce you into staying over for the night when your mind was battling with the idea.

He was good like that, convincing you of making the bad choices you normally wouldn’t.

“Ignore them,” you tell him over your shoulder as he offers a kind wave, guiding him toward the bathroom and showing him the sizable hole in the drywall.

He whistles low, rubbing the back of his neck, "Hell of a punch."

You shrug, "You can fix it, right?"

Of course, your roommates weren’t oblivious to your growing absence over the following weeks into now, eager to ask questions but knowing you weren’t the type of person to share. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out and ultimately, they couldn’t even blame you.

It was your education and social life that had taken the hit, but for Joel, you couldn’t complain.

Given the opportunity, they would have jumped his bones just as quick, though, you’re not sure if Joel had eyes for anyone but you, always watchful even from a distance.

He still met you at his window on occasion, but you’re more purposeful with your performance.

As is he, watching as he fists his cock to your fingers spreading down the seam of your cunt, pressing the brightly colored toy inside of you wish it was him filling you out.

You always moan a little louder than necessary, letting him know just what he does to you even from afar. He’s perfect in his window—broad shoulders and strong arms flexing as he strokes himself, pumping in time with the rhythm you set. His free hand grips the frame, knuckles white like he needs the support.

The anticipation builds slowly and sweetly. You drag it out for him, teasing your clit with languid circles, hips lifting off the bed. He swears again, and you can almost taste the frustration rolling off him.

“More,” you mouth, knowing it’ll drive him wild.

He doesn’t disappoint you. 

His pace quickens, and you can see every detail—the veins in his forearm tensing, thumb swiping over the head of his cock. Your cunt clenches around the toy at the sight of his impatience.

It always ends the same way, though. Not nearly as satisfying as the real thing.

When you girlfriends catch you sneaking in late on occasion, it’s matched with a smirk that you brush off with a fond insult, an endearment you’ve all come to use out of love.

“Bitch, I swear,” you warn, “not a fucking word. I’m serious.”

“No judgement,” She shrugs, “The dick must be good if you’re leaving the house for it.”

You snort, “Fuck you.”

He’s nearly got the whole patched when you peek your head through the closed bathroom door, house empty for the evening and a curious look on your face as he peers over his shoulder, shirt stripped from his body as he wipes the sweat from his face.

You’ve got that look, one he’s come to read well.

“Can’t even wait until I’m finished?” Joel asks.

“You’re almost done,” you shrug, “finish up after.”

“Bet they’d die if they knew you were sneakin’ around for old man dick,” he taunts, settling you back on the counter as you push your spandex shorts down, spreading your legs out as he moves between them and kneels, already mouthing at the inside of your thigh, “Payin’ for my labor with this,” his fingers spread through your folds, exposing yourself to the cool air as he licks at you teasingly, “delectable little thing.”

“Bet you’d die if I stopped,” you shoot back, breathless but defiant, “fuckin’ heart attack, aneurysm, take your pick—fuck!”

His teeth nip at your clit in warning, eyes flickering up to you as they crinkled around the edges in amusement, “Quiet, unless I speak to you,”

You nod shakily, giving over to his dominance fully like you have plenty of times now.

He’s relentless, holding you right there as you twist and writhe against his mouth, hands gripping his hair to try and guide him, but he pins your hips with a low growl that almost undoes you on the spot.

“Tight little pussy,” Joel pants, thumb circling your clit while he watches intently for the next crack in your composure. It doesn’t take long before you’re clutching at his shoulders, incoherent curses spilling from mouth.

“Of course,,” Joel drawls, “can’t keep that damn mouth shut for nothin’.”

You pull him towards you, needy, as he rises to his feet, fingers hooked into his waistband as you fumble with the button of his jeans, eagerly pulling his cock from the confines, his mouth opening with another witty retort that never comes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, “just—”

He presses inside of you in one harsh thrust, your gasp cutting off the rest of your response and echoing through the house. He grins down at you, smug and rough and exactly what you wanted, your hand slamming against the mirror as you wince, his hand immediately coming up to soothe the ache.

“Shit, babygirl,” He groans, for a few reasons, “you okay?”

“Better, if you’d shut up and fuck me,” you retort, “take a lesson out of your own damn book,”

“Got it,” he agrees tauntingly, before his pace changes on a dime, relentlessly pounding into you, “not a fuckin’ word.”

And it continues like that, his gaze intense on your face and quiet aside from his occasional strained grunt, his eyes staring you down like he’s trying to challenge you, determined to win a battle you weren’t trying to fight—either way, he always seemed to win.

Because, as much as you tried to fight the urge to stay away from him.

You always ended up like this.

And bad, impulsive choices like Joel have become your new normal.

[kisses4reid]

criminally hot | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you get wrongfully accused by a sheriff, and it isn’t you who’s angriest. it’s your boyfriend who has to expose your relationship in order to clear you.

genre - spencer x bau!fem!reader, fluff, slight angst if u squint, angry reid x calm reader

wc - 1.2k

warnings - reader uses she/her pronouns, handcuffs, violence, a weird white man i know id be fucking scared as well, oh swearing as well.

a/n - i love u you’re so awkward i am doing so well bc of ur request, keep requesting things your brain is crazy. ummm anyways this is my first time writing this kinda thing omg how exciting okay start reading it wtf you still doing here?

request - ( from @babyoureahauntedhouse ) omg hii!!! :3 this is my first time requesting, so please excuse the awkwardness 😭😭😭😭 first of all, how are you????? i hope you’re doing amazing!!! absolutely no pressure, but can you do one where reader gets falsely arrested (not a huge thing, maybe in a police station at a small town or something) and spencer absolutely **loses** his shit at how she’s being treated????? like, she’s freezing and the sheriff or somethjng keeps pushing her and then he just bursts into the interrogation room and uncuffs her and it’s just very fluffy???? thank you!

Emily handed you your coffee with a smile, receiving a small thank you in return. It was warm in your hands and created a comforting contrast to the cool chill of the police precinct you were set up in.

Things were going well given that you’d only been in the small town for half a day. The team debriefed on the plane, but Aaron had been on the phone with the leading detective for at least an hour now asking him where he was.

Emily headed off to the restrooms when a slender hand made its way to your waist. You turned and felt your cheeks heat, knowing exactly who is was.

“Hi Spencer.”

“Hi Y/n.” His eyes held sweetness in the chocolate swirls, and you felt like a kid who had been given candy. Spencer and you had been dating for a few months, but somehow in a team of profilers you both kept things under wraps, even with Spencer’s clumsy touches and your lingering stares. “I wish we were home,” he whispered.

You glanced around for anyone who could witness your interaction and get suspicious, but you were mostly alone other than Hotch and some officers who were weirdly taking a lot of attention to you.

“Yeah me too. I’m feeling oddly popular and not in the good way.”

Before you could talk more or offer him a sip of your coffee (even if you know he doesn’t like it), Aaron calls his name and the slim tall boy scurries away with a straight face.

You turn to find something to do. To reread a case, to help someone fill out papers, to talk to Morgan or Garcia. You would’ve opted to huddling in your cardigan if a tall man didn’t interrupt.

“Y/n L/n?” He asked in monotone. His arms were at his sides, one hovering above a pair of cuffs that hung from his police belt. Furrowing your eyebrows you answered,

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“You’re under arrest for the robberies of…”

His voice pounded into the background of your head, thoughts attacking your eyes through a sudden headache as the words registered before you could help it. The room was silent except for the man’s voice, yet all you could hear was the furrow of eyebrows and quick approach of your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

“What’s going on here?”

“Your agent has been seen…”

You stood still as another officer came behind you and forced handcuffs onto your arms, gripping your wrists with unnecessary force that would surely leave bruises. You winced and looked between your boss and the officer, and then at Spencer, who was being pulled back by Morgan. He yelled your name in worry, witnessing the hardened grips on your body and rough pushing you were being subject to. Your coffee splattered on the ground, staining your white shoes.

There was only mumbles and white noise, as your eyes met with Spencer’s. The large officer behind you kicked your leg to get you moving, the shock glueing your shoes to the rubbery floor. And you almost didn’t even notice the hand on the back of your neck pushing you towards a dark room with a desk and two chairs.

You were so familiar with these rooms and yet it felt so different.

Of course, you didn’t actually do anything. And of course you attempt to clear that up to the officers who are slamming their hands on the table and screaming as much as they could, in a poor attempt to intimidate you.

Aaron was in the corner with a scolding face and hard hand to his chin, observing the situation with an intensity you barely ever see.

“Last month, you were seen at one of the houses that got robbed over night. You left a few days later, after also being seen at two of the other houses-“

“So she was seen at three of the ten houses robbed and you arrest her?” Aaron spoke up, bringing the men’s attention to your boss instead of you. You took the opportunity to look outside of the window.

Though it wasn’t clear, you could make out the outline of a tall boy you wished would just break into the room and save you.

And he did.

“Your evidence is illogical and childish. She’s an FBI agent for gods sake-“

“Anybody can be a suspect Agent Hotchner, even federal agents.” The tall one replied with a stubborn mumbled.

Suddenly, the door was slammed open and you were met with a disheveled Spencer panting with a red and severe face. He didn’t even bother looking at you before he starting schooling the men in blue, who at that point were glaring at him and attempting to look more intimidating than they actually were.

“I’ve read your files on this case and nothing links to Y/n L/n, not one-“

“There’s no way you read our-“

“I can read more in a minute than you can in a day, dickhead. Y/n was meeting old school friends when she was in town, we went to the Diner Inn afterwards and we met with her parents who have receipts for the meals because they’re-“ he turned his glance at you,” “sorry Y/n- they’re hoarders. You have nothing against her other than some positively reported visits and some photos of her hugging the house owners.” Spencer had slowly pinned the officers to the opposite wall unconsciously. It was hot. “I was there, I’m her receipt. And like her parents, she loves keeping those. So if you want to insist she’s your culprit, go for it. But your going against a man with eidetic memory and a lot of evidence.”

And while he was logical and correct, he was also a little too truthful.

The officers blinked in fear. Spencer definitely didn’t seem the type to yell or swear, so this clear, concise and undermining approach to the situation was somehow even scarier.

“Spencer,” you began, “thank you.”

He looked at you, his expression softening into empathy and care, “Of course.” His hands found a key in his back pocket as he approached you, starting to promptly uncuff you.

As Aaron continued to speak with the officers of their major mistake, Spencer took you outside of the room and into a private office. Your heart was racing, but it seemed Spencer was more stressed than you. He paced as you leaned onto the front of a wooden desk, hands over your chest as your eyes trailed Spencer.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I should’ve reacted faster, then you wouldn’t have been..” He stopped closely in front of you, his breath hot on yours as his gaze scoured over your body for injuries or bruises. “Are you okay?”

You smile calmly, “I’m fine. My leg hurts, and I think my wrists will be bruised, but I’m fine.”

He took your hands and rubbed his thumbs on your wrists carefully, causing butterflies to explode in your stomach.

“Thank you Spencer.” Your eyes dance with each others. “You were really hot. Maybe I need to get arrested more often.” You joke with a lift to your voice and a smirk, causing him to look down with a smile and shake his head.

“If being angry makes me hot maybe you should reevaluate what you-“

Your lips found his, you hand going to his bicep and his going to the back of your neck, before a clearing of the throat took you both out of your trances. It was Hotch.

“I’ve got some paperwork you both need to sign. About the arrest and,” his hand waved between you two, “this.”

Morgan stood behind Aaron with a smirk, leaving quickly to go tell Garcia that she had lost their bet.

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[wrinkledtulip]

SMUT!! Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem!Reader

Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem! Reader

18+ Smut!! Fingering, praise, AFAB reader

It's my first time writing smut, or publishing on tumblr for that matter so pls be nice lol <3 Also this is unedited.

Life as an enforcer was always gonna keep you on your toes.

Whether it be chasing drunkards on the streets of Piltover, patrolling the overly large council grounds, or the occasional graveyard shift if the sheriff was cruel enough. 

But what you found most challenging of course, was learning to handle weaponry, at least the ones that weren’t your first choice.

For a strange yet defended reason, all enforcers were required in training to use a rifle, a standard gun. And so, had led to countless hours in the training facilities aiming for wooden targets. 

Technically, you could handle one. Yet your aim was not incredibly precise.

Ever since that Kiramman girl joined, the handling of guns seemed to reach for higher standards. Apparently her family was renowned for their handling of the weaponry. 

You hit the target every time but the sheriff expected bullseyes in a row. 

Huffling in frustration you reloaded the barrel, shouldering your rifle as you aimed once more. 

But as you peered through the iron scope, a posh voice rang out behind you. 

“You’re not hitting the bullseye because you have a poor trigger pull”

Kiramman. 

“Haven’t you got a cocktail party to be at Kiramman?” you huffed, lowering your weapon as you looked back at her. 

The two of you shared a brief moment of a solid yet intimidating stare, her blue eyes bearing down on you. 

You both laughed. 

“You know me better than that” she chuckled, knowing your words were nothing but playful banter. Despite her status and the other enforcer’s distaste of her, you had grown to like the girl. Though she had a tough exterior she was sweet and playful. 

“Come to show me up then I presume?” You said, rolling your eyes as she stepped closer to which her words caused her eyes to roll. 

“You know how pathetic it is watching you stand here for hours aiming over and over, we’ll lose bullet stock because of you” she spoke, shaking her head. 

“Well I have to practise, Marcus has been up our asses since he’s seen your shooting skills… he’ll do anything to keep you from winning if it means dragging the rest of us along” You huffed, shouldering your rifle again as you turned back to the range. 

“Oh” she sighed “I didn’t realise I had placed a burden like that onto you.”

There it was again, that softness that sought for nothing but do good for people. 

“I enjoy the challenge” you answered, hoping your truth would console her as you aimed and fired again. Your body shook slightly with the recoil as the bullet was about half an inch off bullseye. 

Caitlyn chuckled, shuffling through her pockets as she stepped behind you, balancing a coin atop of your rifle.

“Don’t you remember what I said before? Try again” she said.

“I don’t want your money.”

“That’s not what it’s for. I said, "Try again.”

She stepped back as you sighed, keeping your rifle still as the coin balanced on its smooth top.

You aimed again and as you fired, the echoing sound of a coin clattering to the ground could be heard.

“Now what was-”

“You have a poor trigger pull.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You sighed, agitated by her unexplained actions.

“You should be able to fire without the coin falling, it means you move the gun as you pull the trigger and you can’t properly withstand its recoil” she explained, stepping back towards you as her hands reached out to your form.

“Your stance isn’t firm either. Open up your chest a little more and stand with your legs wider” she stated, her hands moving in correspondence with her words as she adjusted your shoulders and hips, her fingertips grazing your form.

“Try again.”

So you did, focusing as you aimed once more and fired. This time it was closer to the centre of the target, your body the stiller as the impact of the recoil began to subside. 

“Better. You just move the gun when you pull the trigger, learn to isolate your finger, you need more finger strength, I suggest working on that before you create a bullet shortage” she said with a small smirk, raising her eyebrows as she looked out to the target. 

“And how would I do that?” you huffed, lowering your weapon. 

“Just exercise it” she shrugged.

“And how would I do that?” you sighed, turning to her. In genuine curiosity you had no clue how to exercise it apart from just shooting, but that would waste bullets.

“I have my own ways of doing it.”

So that’s how you ended up in Kiramman’s bed, a withering mess as she showed you her own ‘special’ ways of literal fingering exercises. 

She had you bent over her lap, her legs crossed to raise your hips as her spare hand roaming over your backside as you moaned into her silk covers. The subtle echo of her fingers squelching in your hole could be heard.

"Not so tough are you now pretty girl?" she cooed, smirking down at you. By now you were bound to be leaking across her thigh as her fingers slipped in and out of your hole. Every time you inched closer to a release, she would just roam her fingers across your folds instead.

"Kiramman please.."

"My name is Caitlyn" she said, that dominant tone in her voice. The same tone she used to get you to lift up your own dress and pull your own panties down for her. God, it sent shivers down your spine.

"Caitlyn please-"

"You finish when I say you can finish" she commanded, her finger slipping back inside you, eliciting a long whine as you gripped at her bedsheets. Her fingers curled to hit that sweet spot inside you, sending electricity through your body as she only smirked at your needy whines. It was clear you were desperate for release; her fingers were soaked as a small stain began to appear on the fabric of her thigh as you leaked in need of proper release.

"I thought this was a finger exercise-" you whined out.

"It is, for me at least, you just get to enjoy the benefits of it" she said in that sweet little smartass voice of hers as her fingers curled up inside you again, causing another loud moan to slip from your throat.

"fuck, just let me cum" you whined, your thighs trembling in anticipation as your body begged for that high, evident in the pleasurable sounds that escaped your lips.

"Ask me properly and I just might" She said, continuing to slip her fingers in and out of you.

"Caitlyn please... please let me cum" you begged quietly, gripping at the bedsheets as you could barely keep it together anymore. She leaned in, whispering in your ear as she smirked, her fingers speeding up.

"That's a good girl" she cooed. You moaned needily.

Her fingers moved quickly inside you, sliding in to continuously press up against that sweet spot. Your thighs began to clench around her hand yet she persisted as you whined and moaned. You felt that knot in your stomach begin to build as your increased volume made it evidence, however Caitlyn showed no intention of stopping or slowing down anytime soon. Just what you wanted. Every moment felt like ecstasy as she pulled you to your high, shuddering and moaning as she felt you come undone upon her fingertips. She rode out your high, continuing to milk you of your essence until you settled to a whimpering pant, feeling her fingers slowly slip out of you.

You glanced back to see her tongue swirl around her own fingertips, your sticky consequences being lapped up by her tongue as a dirty smirk rested upon her face.

"Those aren't even your trigger fingers-"

"So? Is there a problem darling?"

"No."

"Good girl."

[gothcsz]

🥀 ── 𝙒𝙀𝙇𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝙔 𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙏𝙇𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙏! hola cariños, it’s ya girl,  𝙠𝙖𝙩, and my hobbies include thirsting over javier peña and daydreaming. i also read and write too much smut, oops.

explicit content will be found on this blog. pls don’t interact unless you’re 18+.

certified yapper™

my ask is always open

english isn’t my first language. proud morenita mexicana over here!

i’m a flirt, okay, i call everyone a variety of pet names but if you’re uncomfortable with it please let me know 🖤

this is a sideblog, meaning i can't follow back from here. my main is @fridays13th and so is my discord

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👁️‍🗨️ ──  𝙈𝙊𝙎𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙁𝙄𝘾𝙎:

hands to myself [ javier peña x f!reader ]

flex [ ppcu boy x f!reader ]

🗝️ ──  asks. writing tag. drabbles. me speaking into the void. pinterest. spotify. ao3. wips. fic recs. moodboards. join my taglist.

detailed masterlist under the cut.

i’m always taking prompts / suggestions / ideas. thanks to everyone who reads my stories, it really means a lot to me 🖤 remember to support your fave authors  🖤 what isn’t listed in the masterlist is in my general writing tag.

⚠️ all of my reader inserts are written with black/brown women in mind (though everyone is encouraged to read), able bodied, afab, with curvy mid-sized builds! ⚠️ all fics include smut! ⚠️ i primarily write for javier peña but will write for other ppcu characters! ⚠️

🪦 ── thoroughfare. javier peña x original female character [ ongoing ]

religious horror!au. crime thriller!au.   after being reassigned from colombia to a small town in rural texas, former DEA agent javier peña takes on the role of deputy sheriff to tackle a series of mysterious murders plaguing the community. as rumors swirl about a sacrilegious group lurking in the shadows, tension mounts among the townsfolk. amidst the chaos, javier finds himself drawn to paloma, the sheriff’s daughter, who captivates him not only with her beauty but also with her enchanting performances at a local bar. as javier delves deeper into the investigation, he becomes increasingly entangled in the complexities of the case and his relationship with her. inspired by ethel cain’s album ‘preacher’s daughter,’ javier navigates a web of deceit and intrigue, uncovering shocking truths about the town and its inhabitants. ── longfic.

masterlist

ao3

🪦 ── fantasize. javier peña x f!reader [ ongoing ]

set during s3 of narcos. arriving in colombia for work, you didn’t expect to find the man of your dreams there, and you definitely didn’t expect to prowl after him like some horny vigilante. ── mini series.

masterlist

ao3

🪦 ── unscripted desire. pornstar!javier peña x f!reader [ ongoing ]

you’re a camerawoman that shoots pornos. javier peña is the pornstar you can’t stand. so why is it that you’re always so affected by him? ── series.

masterlist

ao3

🪦 ── neighbors. javier peña x f!reader [ complete ]

set during s1 - s2 of narcos. what it's like living next door to javier peña. ── collection of random inbox prompts, one shots, and drabbles.

masterlist

🪦 ── untitled. onlyfans creator!javier peña x f!reader [ ongoing ]

your best friend sends you a link to a very interesting onlyfans page that quite literally turns your world upside down. ── short ‘n sweet two parter.

part one

part two

🪦 ── worst behavior. secret service!javier peña x f!reader [ complete ]

tired of living in the confines of being the president's daughter— you sneak out, only to be caught by the head of your security, javier peña. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── purgatory. javier peña x f!reader x f!oc [ complete ]

a threesome between you, your bestie and javier peña. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── wandering hands. javier peña x f!reader [ complete ]

javi can't keep his hands off you during a dinner with some friends. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── el cumpleañero. javier peña x f!reader [ complete ]

it's javier's birthday, so you show up to his party and things get fun. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── visitation. javier peña x f!reader [ complete ]

javier visits you in prison after putting you in there. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── hands to myself. javier peña x f!reader [ complete ]

you get to know the handsome stranger sitting next to you on your overnight flight to mexico. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── 𝐈𝐈𝐈. marcus acacius x f!reader x lucius verus aurelius [ complete ]

modern au. lucius aurelius, the stepson of wealthy and renowned architect marcus acacius, falls in love with you, marcus's personal assistant. however, you're already in the midst of a tangled affair with his stepfather. ── one shot.

read here

ao3

🪦 ── the general's dancer. marcus acacius x black f!reader [ ??? ]

you are a nomadic dancer, traversing the world with a handful of other women. an exotic prize meant to entertain Rome’s elite. they watch you sway, eyes hungry, but it is only general acacius who truly sees you.

moodboard

drabble

🪦 ── one of the girls. marcus acacius x f!reader x 3 f!ocs [ complete ]

#wired4youchallenge. general acacius has three women that he keeps solely for his indulgent pleasure and control, you want to become the fourth. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── first sight. frankie morales x f!reader [ complete ]

dear-uary challenge. two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting. ── one shot.

read here

🪦 ── dusk. chief park ranger!joel miller x f!reader [ complete ]

you become a park ranger at a national park in california after breaking up with your ex. you meet joel miller, the chief ranger there, and find yourself absolutely smitten over him. ── one shot.

read here

[patolemus]

Sterek fic recs: Fake Dating AU Edition

Because @oldefashioned requested a fake dating rec list, here it is. These are all very funny, as fake dating fics ought to be, so I hope you get a good laugh out of it.

1. Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

Notes: Domestic pack, my beloved. Stiles and Derek are precious here, I LOVE THEM!! The visiting pack, not so much, but who cares about them?? It's all pretty lighthearted, all things considered. It's completed.

2. Electricity In the Contact by ladyblahblah

In which Derek has been invited to the Greater Pacific Northwest Alpha Symposium (that's not what it's called, Stiles, stop saying that), and showing up unattached would mean an arranged marriage. When the rest of the pack objects, he agrees to let Stiles come along to pose as his mate. Derek is reasonably sure that he's not going to make it out of this weekend alive.

Notes: Werewolf convention fics are so good! I actually haven't found all that many, considering how common a trope it is, and it's a tragedy because they're always so well done! This one is no exception, and the mini-world building is also great! It's completed.

3. can’t be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma." (Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

Notes: this one is just *cheff´s kiss* wonderful! It's all pretty domestic and the humor is on point. College student Stiles and the Sheriff are strong armed into spending Thanksgiving with Stiles' grandma, and they find nothing better than to bring Derek with them. Pining and misunderstandings ensue and thus comes the fake dating. It's completed.

4. Gravity’s Got Nothing on You by zosofi

“Three weeks,” Derek says. “Still don’t want to,” Stiles says. “I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so… “How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“ “My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.” “A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

Notes: this had such a chokehold on me when I first read it. Absolutely wonderful. Enemies to lovers?? Maybe. Assholes to assholes-in-love, is a better descriptor. There's werewolves, and magic, and it's awesome! It's completed.

5. He’s Not Mine by Sonnee

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

Notes: again, it's all very domestic, like most fake dating fics ought to be. It's a kid fic, Sterek are mates, we have all the love. Not much else I can think to add... it's completed.

6. Real life isn’t a movie (life doesn’t make narrative sense) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

Somehow accidentally insulting a hot guy in a coffee shop leads to pretending to be his boyfriend in front of a house full of werewolves. Stiles Stilinski is living his best life and making the most of his Hallmark movie moment.

Notes: this one had me cracking up because it's so funny! Stiles is living his best life, for real. Derek... suffers. But it's okay, because he gets a boyfriend out of this whole thing! They are disgustingly sweet in that assholish way they have. It's completed.

7. You look like my next mistake by Vendelin

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes. His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to. In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Notes: this one had me HOWLING it's so good!! Frat boy Stiles, my beloved. It's technically not fake dating because it turns into an actual relationship pretty quickly, but it starts as fake dating so I'll take it. Stiles is an absolute sweetheart in this one, I love him! And Derek is shy, and insecure, but he's so great, and everyone gets a happy ending except Kate, which is always a good thing. It's completed.

8. All’s Fair In Orgasms and War by bleepobleep

AVN BREAKING NEWS-- DIAMOND VISTA RIDGE BREAKS HIS CONTRACT WITH HALE HOUSE "We haven't seen much of our favorite rock hard stud from Hale House ever since that indie twink dethroned him as champion in Orgasm Wars, but it's just been confirmed that Diamond will no longer be working for the legendary studio famous for producing some of our favorite werewolf-on-human works. Don't fret, Diamond fans, it looks like he's been spotted cozying up to True Alpha Studios! Apparently he couldn't get enough of that one human and then followed him home. Could it be true love? Keep your eye on this studio-- us at AVN think we're about to get a lot more of Diamond in a very new way!" ~ The one in which (almost) everyone is a porn star, and Derek just wants to curl up with his fluffy blanket and watch the Hallmark channel, but work and falling in love gets in the way.

Notes: okay but is this fake dating? Maaaaaybe. It's kinda complicated. Basically everyone here is a porn star and the pack has this studio where they cater to werewolves and have a whole thing about established relationships, which is where the fake dating comes up. It's surprisingly very fluffy, considering this is a porn au, and Derek is the softest goober in this one. Stiles is completely enamoured. It's completed.

9. Wanted from the You Are series by Asterekmess (Livinginfiction)

With the Hale pack finally settled and safe, it only makes sense that something would happen to screw it all up. To top it all off, Stiles has to pretend to be Derek's mate, or face a pack of angry Alphas. He's doomed.

Notes: Alright so this series is wonderful. The world building done for the Alpha pack is also great, and that's the center of the second part (which has the fake dating). I do recommend reading the first part before jumping on to Wanted because it is a direct continuation. Also, it's an amazing au! It's completed.

10. For Love is Not Ours to Command by weathervaanes

Where Derek's skills at thinking on his feet mean that he and Stiles have to act. For the sake of Stiles' dad, of course, for the sake of the pack. No personal interest interference at all, whatsoever. Right. -0- “Why does my dad say that you and your boyfriend are a bad influence on me?” “What?” “Yeah, what boyfriend? Dude, you are not allowed to not tell me crap like this. You didn't think I'd like be a douchebag or something. Right?” “No, wait, what? I have no boyfriend.” “He says you were with him at the police station.” Stiles blinks. “Uhm. Oh shit.”

Notes: Stiles just wanted to find dirt on Raphael McCall to blackmail him. Somehow, he got himself a whole ass boyfriend. It's complicated. That's it, that's the fic. It's completed.

11. Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MareLoup

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.” “Oh thank god!” “Stiles?” “I, uh, I need some advice.” “Advice?” “Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?” Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.” “That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.” “Stiles...what are you doing right now?” *** Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work. Partly because their visit was a complete surprise. But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend. Or even know who Derek was. But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

Notes: this is to date one of my favorite Sterek fics. I laughed so much while reading this, I'm not even joking. The whole thing is a comedy of errors gone right. Stiles somehow finds himself pretending to be Derek's boyfriend, only he has no idea who Derek even is and why his family knows Stiles at all. His inner monologue is one of the funniest I've read, and his slow descent into (good natured) madness is wonderful. It's completed.

12. Love Like An Ache In The Jaw by Anonymous

“So let me get this straight,” The sheriff massages his temples, “You found a magic book, and performed a magic spell that has backfired and magically bound you to Derek Hale, rendering you both in agony if you’re not in the same room.” Derek and Stiles exchange a look. “Um. Yes.” Stiles says sheepishly. “Right. And just to be clear, when we’re talking agony… exactly how agonizing is the agony?” Derek clears his throat. “Sir, I’ve had a pole stabbed through my chest and held there for an hour. This was… similar.” - In which boredom, magic and dumbassery come together to produce a Christmas miracle slash disaster. Oh, and Stiles' grandmother who knows absolutely nothing about the supernatural happens to be in town. Oops.

Notes: another hilarious one. Stiles does Stiles things and ends up magically bound to Derek. No one is amused except Stiles' grandmother, who's having the time of her life, here. It's completed!

[notjustjavierpena]

I just wanted to come on here and say that I really appreciate you choosing to write about wife’s strained relationship with her family. As someone also struggling with that part of their life it’s beautiful to see that even if one part of your life is not great one can find beauty and love in another and create their own family.

The life that Javi and Wife have build together is an immense privilege to read.

Solace (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hi anon, I have gotten a few of these messages a few times and it makes me wonder if they are from the same person. If not, it feels incredibly privileged to give people this kind of comfort through fiction. I tried writing a little drabble for you, and I hope that you like it. I’m so sorry that your family cannot see how amazing you are 💖

Summary: A certain kind of sorrow hits you when you are alone with your infant son for the first time.

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

Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, exploration of strained relationship with family, non-descriptive talk about emotional neglect, kisses, tears and eternal love.

Word count: 1.5k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52937182/chapters/152266855

Solace

It’s been a long day. That’s all there is to say when Javier walks through the door with a cheerful smile as he sees you on the couch, cross-legged and rocking newborn Lucas in your arms as he sleeps soundly.

It has been a week of being trapped inside a blissful baby bubble together, cocooned in the wonder of being a family of three for the first time. However, today the reality of everyday life has finally caught up with you both. It has been the first time you have been without your husband here to help and at the same time, you haven’t been alone with your thoughts since earning your new role as a mother yet.

You hate to see Javier’s smile falter as tears fall from your eyes in relief from seeing him, have never wanted to be the reason he doesn’t smile when reunited with you and his baby boy. It has probably been on his mind since he locked up the sheriff’s office.

He doesn’t say a word, just drops his bag and crosses the room in what seems to be only a few long strides. When he reaches you, he drops down to one knee on the floor next to you on the couch. He is so sweet when he brushes a tear from your cheek, catching one that threatens to drop onto Lucas’ onesie too.

“You did so well today,” he praises softly, switching to use the back of his hand when several teardrops start to roll down your already streaked face. He finds that it isn’t enough and quickly unbuttons the sleeve on his dress shirt with his teeth to use the fabric to dab your face dry, “Shh, baby, I’m here now.”

You wish it was only the exhaustion of being alone with Lucas the whole day that was bearing down on you but it is not. Instead, it is a much deeper ache that has racked through your body and soul today, an ache that you’ve known for years and do not know how to soothe.

“I missed you,” you whisper to Javier. You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold it together in case a sob will disturb Lucas in his sleep. He sleeps on so peacefully, completely unaware of the overwhelming emotions in the room. You reach to run your finger over his little cheek, admiring the faint dark hair on his head.

In front of you, Javier pushes himself off the ground to sit beside you on the couch. He looks at you with a gentle understanding in his eyes and then down at his son before wrapping an arm around your back. You tilt your head to rest it on his shoulder, becoming more aware of his warmth.

“I missed you too, Mamá. You’re exhausted, let me take him,” he whispers back, rubbing your arm soothingly, “Has it been that crazy today?”

“No, it’s been fine,” you say quickly because it is the truth; Lucas is an easy baby compared to so many stories that other people have been telling you in preparation, thinking that they’re being helpful. You gently make the transfer, careful not to drop his head and shift him into Javier’s arms, “He’s been so good to me.”

“But?” Javier cradles his infant son in his arm while the other still wraps around you.

“But I didn’t expect… to miss my mom,” you reply with shame coating your voice. You feel Javier’s hand stop tracing your arm, his body pulling slightly away from you to look at you properly. There’s a questioning look on his face, furrowed brows.

“Your mom?” He asks in confusion.

“Yeah, well… not her, clearly,” you clarify with a little embarrassed smile that won’t convince anyone that you’re not hurting from saying it like that, “I just realized how alone I am in this. And I’m not saying that you’re not doing enough but… I just wish I had a mom who was different.”

Javier doesn’t reply for a moment, patiently waiting for you to elaborate without judgment on his face. You swallow thickly, “I’ve been alone all day and I kept wishing she could be the kind of mother who would come over and hold Lucas while I take a nap, who would reassure me that I’m doing it right, that I’m a good enough mom.”

You hear Javier say your name softly while you look down into your lap, a feeling of relief and sadness mixing together in your chest. It feels good to say it but it doesn’t fix the gaping pain in your heart of what could have been. You pick at your fingers and finally, tears start to fall down onto your shirt, no longer able to drip onto your baby, “I just… It would have been really nice to have had a mom who felt like I feel about Lucas.”

Javier drags you closer. You automatically curl up beside him, pulling your legs up onto the couch and turning your body towards your husband. You reach out for Lucas to brush a hand over his stomach, his little mouth hanging open and his chest moving steadily.

“I look at Luke and I just instinctively think that I would do anything to keep him from hurting. Why didn’t she feel like that? Why did I get the mom who hurt me?” You babble through silent tears, once more keeping a sob at bay for your son, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even sit here and complain. I know it’s not fair— at least, I have a mom, and you—“

Javier’s fingers that have been resting on your arm slide up to cradle the side of your head, guiding you to fall carefully into him until he can press his lips to your temple. He takes a breath and sighs, “You’re not all alone in wanting more. We can both grieve what we didn’t have. Even if it’s for different reasons.”

“I know,” you look down at Lucas with softening eyes, wiping a few tears away but they’re just replaced with new ones, “But what if I am bound to become her? I sometimes feel like she’s contaminated me.”

Yet as you have said those words, Lucas makes a noise in his sleep and you are on him in less than a second. You reach to put your finger in his small flexing hand, a rush of dopamine flowing through you from merely touching him. You smile through tears.

Javier says your name again to get your attention. He also shifts slightly so he can lift your head by your chin, eyes sure as he talks, “How you feel… I know I can’t fix it, but I can tell you that you are the mom he needs and deserves. Every worry or sleepless night you endure for him is proof of that. You are doing so well by just being there.”

“Javi,” you whimper with a trembling voice.

“I’m not done. Listen to me,” he interrupts you before you can tear his words apart, “He’ll never wonder how much you love him. Not with the way you’re looking at him right now, not with how you reach for him the second he needs you. You think you are your past? If anything, you’ve taught me the exact opposite.”

His hand lets go of your chin to cup your chin. He brushes a tear away and leans in to rest his forehead against yours. You finally find the right words when you’ve released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, “That’s how I feel about you. That I never doubt how much you love me, not with how you’re looking at me right now.”

Javier smiles at you and you feel your heart flutter, nearly melting into the cushions as he replies, “Tú y yo para siempre, mi amor (You and me forever, my love).”

“Thank you,” you whisper and the tears on your face turn into gratitude in an instant. You give him a soft kiss on his mouth before the two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while on the couch together.

Lucas starts to stir fifteen minutes later. His tiny face scrunches up before he opens his mouth and lets out a soft fuss, yawning with the whole of his body. You reach instinctively for him but Javier tuts at you.

“Let me take care of him for a while, Mamá,” he says with a tone in his voice that always reassures you. Despite the intense desire to protest, you can feel your body already giving in at the idea of getting a break and the emotions from just a moment ago have tired you out.

“Okay,” you nod hesitantly and it earns you a loving kiss from your husband before he gets up. As he leaves you to sleep, you can hear him murmur softly to his son, mentioning you in the midst of his one-sided conversation. It sets it in stone; everything will be just fine and if Lucas were to forget you in the little time that you are apart, Javier will be there to remind him of you.

.

.

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

[taeaura]

{Thomas} Hewitt Family Dynamic/Psychology Analysis

TW: Canon-related dynamics/activities, Incest, Rape/SA, Pedophilia, Abuse {Mental, Psychical, Emotional}, Discussions of mental health, extreme language, Usage of R!slur, War, Hoyt {Biggest warning of them all}

Yapping session again, I apologize {Wrote this whilst listening to Preacher's Daughter, GOATED ALBUM} Poorly edited, a bit more coherent than the last post 🩷

The family dynamic seems to be very..unconventional yet unsurprising. It’s a family of traumatized, traumatizing, enablers who’re struggling to survive both in spirit and in actuality. This post was intended to focus mainly on Thomas but I dove deep into Hoyt and the other family members as well because I feel they have such a big impact on Tommy:(

___

Thomas is obviously a very closed-off and introverted individual. His childhood was full of ridicule, cruelty, and abuse. His main father figure was and still is Hoyt - Charlie, but his biggest influence is his Momma, Luda Mae. I’ve seen multiple people paint Luda as a saint when in all actuality, she’s not. Although she may not be as malicious, she’s an enabler with intense family pride and protectiveness. Her automatic dislike of Erin is proof of this. She assumes Erin {and her friends, brother, boyfriend} are judgemental and arrogant ‘city-slickers’ who’re out to get Thomas. In all actuality, Erin never comments on Thomas’ looks besides her small conversation with Henrietta: “I couldn’t, I couldn’t look at him.” Even in this segment, she never says anything bad about Thomas except warning Henrietta and the Tea Lady {we’ll just call her ‘Kathy’ based on her actor} of his arrival. During this segment, we learn additional information about how the family views Thomas, as well as his general behavior. Dialogue from family members include:

“He knows better than to be messing around here…Poor Sweet boy--He’s no harm; Always keeps to himself.” - Henrietta, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2003--1:02

“I know your kind--Nothing but cruelty and ridicule for my boy, all the time he was growing up. Does anybody care about me and my boy?” - Luda Mae, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2003--1:06

“He ain’t retarded; He’s misunderstood.” - Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning 2006--16:30

“You don’t like playing with me anymore because I’m a pussy, that’s what you said. Well, my nephew Tommy ain’t no pussy; Maybe you’d like to play with him for a little while.” - Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning 2006--51:35

“You beautiful bastard, you!” {Honestly this entire scene could be used here} - Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning 2006--1:01:21 - 1:02:40

“Thomas, quit playing with your fucking dolls and get up here!..Hmm, I like your new face.” - Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning 2006--1:06:15 - 1:06:35

“There you go, nice work, Tommy.” - Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning 2006--1:09:55

“There’s a time when every boy becomes a man.” Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning 2006--1:17:53

As you can see, most of the praise Thomas gets is from Hoyt. Honestly, reviewing Hoyt’s character on his own, this may seem surprising, but diving past face-value, this isn’t surprising at all. Hoyt is a sadistic, impulsive, traumatized veteran who very clearly values his family. I think both Thomas and Hoyt have the same thought{s}: “Family is all I’ve known, family is all I have consistently. Therefore, I need to protect it.” This is very apparent in Hoyt’s speech in The Beginning 2006: “Us... we're staying right here. The ashes of six generations of Hewitts have been tilled into the soil of this farm. We will never abandon the place of our birth. We're on our own now, people. And alone... we will rise above it all.” Both Hoyt and Thomas value family so much, and this is apparent in their immediate protection of them; As well as how violent they get once the family's safety is in jeopardy. The family also heavily depends on both of them, Thomas more than Hoyt. Luda Mae immediately calling out for Hoyt once Eric throws a brick through their window {48:25}, relying on Thomas to chase down Chrissie, ordering Thomas to ‘wrap things up’ after Monty’s amputation, Thomas being the main source of income prior to the meat plant shutting down, Hoyt Charlie being the one to protect Thomas from the original Sheriff Hoyt, the deleted scene where Charlie protects Thomas from malicious classmates, Thomas protecting Hoyt by killing the biker {1:01 - 1:03}. 

I’d also like to add; As someone with multiple military family members, the military changes you. War changes you. Considering Charlie is a POW, his trauma has to be so deep. {I’d like to make this clear: !!I’M NOT DEFENDING NOR SYMPATHISING WITH HOYT!!} His lust for violence, domination, control, and protection is most likely a combination of his personality, growing up dirt poor, his relationship with Luda Mae + other family members {which I’ll talk about below}, the war, and their current situation. He definitely gets defensive of his country, the military in general, the South, and his family. I.E: “Ain’t nothing I hate worse than a draft-dodging hippie protester.” - The Beginning 2006--40:30. He most likely has the same views on “City-slickers” as Luda Mae, just more extreme. In fact, I think it’s safe to assume the entire family has that view, maybe even Thomas. {Though his would be more protection-based as opposed to politically divided.} *cough-cough, Hoyt*

Going back to Thomas’ “father figures”, Monty and Hoyt were the only men in the house for Thomas to look up to. Hoyt was gone when Thomas was around 13, meaning during his very “experimental” years, he only had Monty to look up to. Both Monty and Hoyt are sexual deviants with no shame at all; Monty very openly gropes Erin in the 2003 remake whilst calling her a “Good girl.” {I almost turned off the movie, I kid you not} Whilst Hoyt very openly gropes Bailey multiple times, and even toys with Erin. It’s also heavily implied he raped Bailey {poor girl, this entire movie was so poor to her and Chrissie.} And whilst Luda Mae does get Hoyt to calm down with Erin, she still actively enables this behavior and completely ignores it. Now, I don’t think Thomas would replicate this {fingers crossed}; I’m sure Thomas has ‘urges’ but he has so much to do, such little extra energy, and a shit ton of {religious} trauma which would most likely coerce him away from sexual activity. He also very obviously wants praise. The more Hoyt praises and encourages Thomas, the more sadistic he gets. And yes, Thomas is sadistic. Sure he’s trying to survive, protect, and feed his family, but he also actively tortures his victims. I.E; skinning Eric’s arms, bathing Andy’s amputation in salt, ect. And I don’t wanna blame this on his ‘mental deterioration’, because that’s not it in my opinion. Thomas has crossed the threshold of  “I’m doing this to protect my family / because I’m forced to.’ No, he’s violent and angry. He’s so done with everything. He needs an outlet to take his anger from him, and the victims are practically begging him with how infuriating they can be. Also, wearing Kemper’s mask to catch Erin??? Jesus Christ, Thomas, that’s traumatizing. And he knows he’ll get away with it. The law enforcement is gone, Hoyt has done worse, Momma doesn’t seem to speak on it, why not continue? And I’m sure he feels powerful when he finally gets the chance to bite back. This is exactly the kind of manipulation Hoyt did to get Thomas fully on board with this killing-spree shit; “It’s one of those assholes who used to fuck with you in the schoolyard, Tommy!” - The Beginning 2006--1:01:40. This brings me to my next point - 

The family is immensely good at manipulation. Kinda by default, too. I know Southern hospitality can be viewed as passive aggressive and unnecessary depending on where you’re from, especially if you’re from up North; And I can’t disagree in some instances. Luda Mae is the MOST likely to use her ‘Southern hospitality’ as means of manipulation. Her little coo to Bailey about “We got to get you cleaned up, you don’t want to look dirty for company, do you?” at around 42:30 {Which by the way, was Marrietta Marich’s [Luda Mae’s actress] idea apparently.} It was not only a way to distract Bailey from the torture below them, but to indoctrinate herself into believing everything was fine. This was their life, and Charlie Hoyt knows what’s best, doesn’t he? I’m sure this was really difficult for her; Truly seeing who her son was and how the war affected him so deeply. Her seeming so closed off to Bailey and Chrissie at the community center was a result of the intense lifestyle change. Hoyt is EXTREMELY manipulative as well. I mean, he was a POW, you need a lot of skills in pattern recognition and psychology to survive such things. The way he speaks to everyone; Beginning slightly rational and neutral, only to quickly be angered and intimidated by his lack of power in the situation. This is especially prominent when he speaks to Morgan, Erin, and Pepper; But mostly Morgan. In the first movie, when the car breaks down and he tries to “calm Erin down” only to scold all of them for possession of drugs and such; Trying to convince Erin that Kemper killed the hitchhiker when he knew what really happened; Making Morgan reenact the scene whilst threatening him with an unloaded gun, pressuring him into “shooting” whilst taunting about how they’ll be “accomplices to murder.” Smashing the bottle in Morgan’s face when he says Hoyt can have the Skynyrd tickets. The way he kisses and rubs on Bailey during the dinner scene in The Beginning?? How he coos and taunts Erin once she wakes up from the poison?? He’s a master in manipulation and puts on a damn good show at that. Henrietta and the Tea Lady / Kathy are also extremely manipulative. When they force Erin to drink the tea, blame her for the baby crying, saying that she “looks tense” and “needs to relax”?? Yeah, this family is full of manipulative and emotionally abusive cycles. Anyway, back to how this affects Thomas.

Thomas was most definitely manipulated in multiple ways. I’m sure Luda Mae has manipulated him into ‘doing what's best for the family’ and all that bullshit. He definitely has some religious trauma and sure as hell has endured abuse of many kinds.

To tie this all together, I present to you: The Family Dynamic. 

I saw a post by I believe Scrapnick?{Their art is so so appealing} Anyway, someone had asked why Thomas and Hoyt are both “brothers and uncle/nephew.” They responded with something like: “Luda Mae most likely got assaulted by her father as a child.” Their post was more detailed than that but that was the main point. And honestly, I agree. At first I thought Hoyt was Luda Mae’s husband, and then I heard him refer to Thomas as his “nephew”, and then I heard him call Luda Mae “mama.” I went researching on wikis and such only to find results such as “he doesn’t view Thomas as a real brother, therefore he uses uncle/nephew.” Whilst this may be true, Hoyt and Luda Mae only have at MAX a 15 year difference. The actors {Marrietta Marich, R. Lee Ermey} only had a 14 year difference. Considering he also calls Monty his uncle, I think it's safe to assume Luda experienced assault from her father during her teens, resulting in pregnancy. Tying this back to religious trauma, I think this fact really upsets Hoyt. He loves his family, obviously, but I think the idea of him being ‘born of sin,’ I.E: Out of wedlock, incest, pedophilia; most likely affects him. I wonder if he ever thought “Well, I’m going to hell anyway, might as well sin.” I’m rambling right now, I apologize; Welcome to my blog {Yappville.}

Now, this dynamic obviously affected his relationship with Luda Mae. I doubt she loves him any less, but I think it was definitely difficult considering A.) Growing up religious; B.) Being such a young mother; And C.) Growing up and continuing to be excruciatingly poor. I think Hoyt gets a bit jealous of Thomas, surprisingly. He’s jealous of how much Luda Mae adores him; How he really gets to have a mother instead of a struggling sister/mother who was trying so hard to get by. Hoyt seems to have a closer {yet still distant} relationship to Monty than Thomas does. I think Monty is just a distant, miserable old man whose patience is low and tiredness is high. He’s worn out, especially after the amputation. The entire family is worn out; Slowly losing their grip on humanity with each passing day. The only consistent thing they have is each other, and yet still their relationships escape them. I think everyone, but especially Thomas {and Jedidiah, poor baby} just want a home to feel safe in. Really, just a stable income, stable food supply, and the ability to rest both physically and mentally. He wants to be able to have a purpose; To work again without needing to worry if his family will be okay. Being able to walk around the house without having to shut himself in the basement to avoid scoldings, demands, or endless calls. This entire family is really fucked up and in need of some rest, family therapy, maybe some physical therapy, and some damn prozac. 

Okay, yay!! You made it to the end; I apologize for the long post again, I get so into analyzing things and I couldn’t resist looking into the Hewitts. Tommy needs some prozac and some Southern cooking {He’s just like me fr}

Love you all, thank you so much for the support on the previous post 🫀

[bullet-prooflove]

Romantic Shit: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @hatersaremymotivators justsimplyme93 knick3rbock3r anticxrrupt 

Prequel to Summer (NSFW)

Every morning that Ryan wakes up with you is a gift. He’s thought that ever since you decided to take this cowboy to bed. This morning though, this morning is bitter sweet because he’s leaving in a couple of days for Texas and the two of you still haven’t discussed what that means for the relationship.

When he finds you, you’re standing on the porch of your house, watching the sunrise in the distance, a mug of coffee clasped to your chest. You’re clad in nothing but his plaid shirt and cowboy boots. The tattoo of his name stands stark against your upper thigh, a symbol of your love for him, your commitment.

This thing between the two of you was never meant to have a future.

In the beginning he didn’t see how it could work, you were a deputy in the sheriff’s department and he was a land enforcement agent/cowboy who did some goddamn shady shit. The secrets you kept from one another should have strangled the life out of this thing but instead it had flourished, because there has always been a mutual understanding. He’s got shit he can’t tell you and you’ve got shit you can’t tell him.

“We should talk about it.” He says quietly as he comes to lean against the wooden strut that supports the gable.

You set your coffee cup down on the railing before you turn your attention towards him. His jeans are slung low on his hips, the orange light from the sunrise plays over his bare chest, highlighting the brand that’s seared into his skin.

“I guess I just wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.” You say as you lean against the pillar opposite him.

Ryan wants to tell you it doesn’t have to, that he’ll be true to you out there in Texas but he can’t ask you to wait a year for him, no matter how much he may want it. His fingertips trace over your name, the italic scrawl inked into his inner forearm.

Katalina…

The love of his life.

The woman whose about to become Sheriff of this county.

You can’t go with him and he can’t stay…

“I love you.” He says quietly as he looks out across the landscape. “I will always love you, the distance doesn’t change that.”

“I know.” You say softly as you come to stand beside him. “I keep asking myself what’s one year in the space of a lifetime?” 

“And what’s the answer?” He asks you, the back of his hand brushing lightly against yours.

Your fingers capture his, entwining them and for the first time since this conversation started he allows himself to hope.

“Marry you.” You say, squeezing his hand a little. “So you’ll know you’ll always be mine, wherever you go.”

If that isn’t the most romantic shit he doesn’t know what is.

“Are you asking me that honey?” He murmurs, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he backs you up against the strut. He can feel the heat of your body through the shirt, he wants to unbutton it, take it off, fuck you right here on the porch. “Are you asking me to marry you before I head off to Texas?”

Your fingers lace at the base of his neck, fingertips brushing over the light curls. His hair has gotten a little long this season. He’s been meaning to cut it but he likes the way your fingers feel when you tug it just right.

“I guess I am cowboy.” You whisper against his lips. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[christinesficrecs]

Do you have any recommendations for alpha Stiles fics? 😊

Thank you for all that you do!!

Hey :) Try these ones. They are all amazing!!

Rare Books and Special Collections | 15.2K

Derek is a grumpy omega writer, and Stiles is an annoyingly attractive alpha special collections librarian.

No Vacancy by KaliopeShipsIt | 34.9K

29-Year Old Omega (muscular/scruffy/perpetual sourface) Seeking for Alpha-Baby-Daddy. Might or might not be named Stiles

Of Debutantes and Dashing Dreamboats by missmagoo | 10.6K

Derek is a debutante.

Stiles is a cocky party-crasher from the public high school.

Emancipation by HarleyJQuin | 144.4K | Mature

There are legends that in times of approaching chaos the Nemeton will create an Alpha Pack.

Derek has no idea that the worst day of his life was the start of the best thing that ever happened to him. Abandoned by his family, his mother, his alpha, as an omega Derek remained with his comatose Uncle Peter, forging what bonds he could with two humans who fully accept him for who he is. A werewolf.

Not Your Typical Alpha by halcyon1993 | 10K

Derek is an unusual alpha. He doesn’t want some omega to hang off his knot but to hang off of someone else’s. The only problem is that no other alpha is willing, until the new dildo he orders is mistakenly delivered to his neighbour.

Courting by dragon_temeraire | 3.6K

Stiles has always been loud and impulsive and kind of clumsy, and Derek never suspected he could be like this, soft and sweet and contained. Focused.

He likes it, though.

running with the wind by thepsychicclam | 15.4K | Explicit

Derek’s been running and hopes he can find sanctuary in the Stilinski Pack’s territory. The Alpha isn’t the strong sheriff he thought he was, but a sarcastic awkward teenager that Derek finds he kinda hates.

In this Darkness (It’s You I Hear) by Kedreeva | 9.9K | Mature

Deucalion bites Stiles on the way out of town, and Derek finds him in an unexpected condition….

When the Tables are Turned by BeniMaiko | 16.6K | Explicit

Derek has to deal with a newly bitten Stiles.

Price of Admission | 6.6K | Explicit

Derek gets caught trespassing on Stilinski pack territory. Stiles takes an interest.

Welcome to the Pack, Omega by  alisvolatpropiis | 4.7K

“Derek Hale is a wandering Omega looking for a pack to call his own. When he comes into Beacon Hills, he’s intercepted by the local pack. They take him to their Alpha who Derek is expecting to be an older werewolf. What he’s not expecting is for this kid that can’t be more than 20, with the smirk playing about his kissable looking lips, to be the Alpha. Needless to say, they don’t exactly get off on the right foot. But, Derek thinks later that night, he could easily find his home in Beacon Hills with Stiles Stilinski and his pack.”

Chocolate & Pomegranates by  Dexterous_Sinistrous | 9.6K

Derek has been an Omega for what feels like centuries. He is constantly hounded by Alphas and Betas who can’t control their hormones. He’s thankful for Laura defending his honor, but there is one person he’s always dreamed of giving himself to.

Too bad Derek is certain Stiles doesn’t know he exists.

hold my hand (it’s a long way down) by  Chosenfire | 3.5K

Derek has no intention of ever going back to Beacon Hills, but a call from Scott changes that. When he gets there, Derek finds something unexpected.

And I Thought I Had Problems by  zosofi | 60.1K | dropbox

Werewolf!Stiles deals with nefarious soul-sucking witch spells, Scott’s inability to be a fully functioning adult, Danny’s incessant need to make everything about sex, and finding out that his mate is Derek Hale. Tuesdays suck.

(I Ain’t Scared of the Fall) I’ve Felt the Ground Before by  planiforidjit  | 41K | dropbox

Derek is sick of being treated like he’s property and he’s sick of his family pressuring him to find a mate. So the obvious solution is to fake a relationship with Stiles Stilinski, the annoying lacrosse player and alpha that Derek may or may not be pining over anyway.

The Alpha to My Alpha by  CupcakeGirlA | 10.7K

“Derek will kill you. He’ll tear you limb from limb!” Stiles says, scrambling away from him. The Alpha ambles closer.

“No, I don’t think he will,” the Alpha says. “I mean aside from killing a couple of hikers in his territory and doing him this favor, I haven’t really done anything to Hale. Once I’m gone he’ll probably be happy with the gift I’ve left for him.”

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Cinderblock Garden - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This was a request that I got, but after talking with the person that requested it, I made a few changes and didn't want to use the request in the fic lmao. It's LONG AS FUCK and I've been working on this for four days now. There's a lot in this, from events in Scream 5, leading to New York stuff.

*to the sweet soul that requested this, I hope things are a little better for you now, and I hope you like this and that it was worth the wait lmao*

This contains SMUT -Minors DNI

Summary: You're the child of Gale and Dewey, and after losing your dad and almost dying yourself, you struggle with day to day life. When you meet Ethan, he just wants you to let him in, but after your ex, Amber, tried to kill you, you struggle to do that.

Contains: Over 10k words, jesus. Angst, mentions of death, mental health struggles, some fluffy smut tbh. Virgin!Ethan and Virgin!Reader -p in v, oral(f recieving).

A/N: In this fic, Ethan is simply Ethan Landry and has no relation to Richie.

When your parents split, you had the option to move to New York with your mom, Gale, or stay in Woodsboro with your dad, Dewey. You decided to stay with your dad because your mom’s main priority was always her career. Even when you’d go out to visit her every now and then, she’d never take any time off, always leaving you alone in her condo. You couldn’t stand her new boyfriend, either. You hated how quickly she could just move on from your dad when he still loved her so much.

You had your doubts about love after watching your parents’ marriage fall apart, until you met Amber. It started off as a friendship, the perfect distraction from your less than perfect home life. Especially when your dad started drinking, she was always there. You realized that you had feelings, she did, too. Everyone else in the friend group was a little surprised by it, but they were all very accepting of it, wanting nothing more than for you to be happy.

When Tara got attacked, your dad wanted to put you on the first plane to New York. Your mom agreed with him, but you refused. You weren’t going to leave your best friend while she recovered, and you really didn’t want to leave Amber.

“Please, this is what’s best for you,” your dad said, pleading with you to get out of Woodsboro. “You’re the child of two people that have been through this several times. If they went after Tara, they’ll probably come after you. I can’t let that happen.”

You sighed, noticing the whisky bottle in his hand. “You put me through so many self defense classes…I think I can handle myself.”

“I was the sheriff, with far more training than you’ve had. I’ve been stabbed several times…you’re not invincible.”

“I’m not saying I am. If I really am a target, don’t you think they’d find me regardless of if I’m in Woodsboro or not?” you questioned, as he took a swig out of the bottle. “I’m safer here with you.”

He sighed, looking over to you. “Fine, but the tracking app on your phone…if you turn it off so I can’t find you, you’re going to New York. If you don’t come straight home after school, you’re going to New York. If you have a run-in with Ghostface-“

“I’m going to New York. I got it,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So, I’m not allowed to do anything other than go to school or be here?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m not going to lose you,” he said, his tone stern.

“Okay, but what happens when you’re at the bar getting wasted and I’m here by myself? Isn’t it safer to have people around me?” You didn’t expect your question to come out as harshly as it did, his face wincing as you spoke. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“No, you’re right. I’ll be home more, I promise,” he said, feeling guilty for making you doubt him. “Just…if you do go out with your friends, please be smart about it. Someone you’re close to is probably a part of this…just remember that. And I meant what I said about the phone tracker.”

You nodded, as he pulled you into a side hug. “Your mom is probably coming out here, just so you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, “The boyfriend isn’t coming with her, right?”

“I don’t know. I hope not,” he sighed, the sadness in his voice obvious. “You better get to school.”

Everyone in your friend group was on edge. Tara was alive, but her condition wasn’t great. As you joined your friends at the picnic tables outside, Amber wrapped her arm around you.

“Hey, babe,” she said, “Did you get questioned, too?”

“Yeah, I was interrogated for all of five minutes. I guess that’s the perk of being a former sheriff’s kid,” you said, as Wes looked over to you.

“How is your dad? We haven’t seen him in a while,” he asked, as you shrugged.

“He’s still the same. He tried to convince me to go to New York after what happened last night,” you sighed, as Wes gave you a confused look.

“If you had the chance to get far away from here, why the fuck wouldn’t you take it?” he asked, the paranoia that his mom instilled in him apparent as you just looked at him.

“I’m not leaving Tara…or you guys. It’s better to have more people here if this is going to be another huge thing like it’s been before.”

“Yeah, but is it a safety in numbers thing, or will it just add to the body count if you stay?” Mindy asked, as Chad sighed.

“Seriously? We’re all freaked out enough,” he said, as Wes’ phone dinged in his pocket.

“Hey guys, Tara just woke up.”

When everyone got up to leave, you looked around at your friends, thinking back to what your dad said. You saw them all in such a positive light that you couldn’t even begin to suspect any of them.

Once you made it to the hospital, Tara was so happy to see everyone. Or it could’ve been all the pain meds she was on. You sat down at the foot of her bed as she sleepily smiled.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, starting to tear up as you looked at her.

“I’m okay, still shaken up, though,” she sighed, “They have police protection for me, but you guys need to be careful.”

“We’ll be fine,” Amber said knowingly as Tara smiled.

Then you saw someone you hadn’t seen in years walk into the hospital room, with whom you assumed to be her boyfriend when he called her ‘babe’.

“Hey, this is Richie,” Sam said, introducing him as he awkwardly waved.

He gave you the creeps from the start. You couldn’t shake the thought from your mind that he was guilty of something, but your parents always told you that you needed to be cautious of everyone.

“Hey, can I talk to Sam alone?” Tara asked, as everyone nodded. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“Of course, we’ll be back tomorrow,” you said, standing up to leave.

When you made it out to the hallway, you checked the time and saw a few missed calls from your dad.

“Fuck, I need to get home,” you said, typing a text to him before putting your phone back in your pocket.

“We were going to go have some fun, though,” Amber said, “Is this how it’s going to be? Ghostface comes back and I don’t get to spend time with my girlfriend?”

“You really won’t spend any time with me if I get sent to New York,” you said, as you hopped on the elevator with everyone.

 “This is annoying,” she huffed, “Wes is allowed to go out with us, and you know how his mom is.”

“Hey,” Wes said, “I have a taser and pepper spray, I’m good to go.”

“And I’ve got these hands, but dad doesn’t think that’s good enough,” you laughed, as you made it to the bottom floor. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Your dad was a little annoyed when you got home, but he was just happy to know you were safe. As much as he hated your decision to stay in Woodsboro, he thought you were a pretty good judge of character and you always paid close attention to your surroundings.

Things just kept getting crazier. When Wes and Judy were killed, you and your dad ran into Sam at the crime scene. You were making small talk with her, when she nudged her head in the direction behind you.

“Isn’t that your mom?” she asked, as you turned around.

You noticed she had a camera crew with her, as you felt anger start to build up. Your dad went over to talk to her, as she kept peaking around him to look at you.

“Typical. Something happens in Woodsboro and she has to get the fucking story on it,” you said to Sam.

She was about to respond when she noticed the cop that was supposed to be watching Tara’s room standing outside of the Hick’s house.

“Who’s with my sister?” She questioned as he looked at her, confused.

She started to yell, getting your dad’s attention as he ran back over to you, your mom hot on his heels.

“I need to get to Tara,” Sam said, running towards her car.

“I’m coming with you,” you said, following her.

“I don’t think so,” Gale said, “You’re staying here, around people so you’ll be safe.”

You scoffed as you turned to look at her, “So now you decide you want to be a parent?”

She was taken aback at your words, as your dad stepped in. “I’ll go, too. She’ll be safe.”

He hopped in the passenger’s seat as you got in the back, your mom just standing there in shock as the three of you sped off.

“You shouldn’t talk to your mother like that,” Dewey scolded, as he noticed Sam’s high rate of speed. “and you should probably slow down.”

“Tara’s by herself. I’m not going to let anything happen to her,” Sam snapped, as she turned onto the road that led to the hospital. “Richie’s on his way, I hope someone gets there in time.”

She got out her phone to call Richie, as she pulled into the hospital parking lot. She was frantic when she realized the call was picked up, but she was terrified once she heard Ghostface’s voice. She stopped the car as she talked, quickly jumping out with you and your dad as you ran inside of the hospital to the elevator to get to Tara’s private floor.

She just kept talking to the killer as you and your dad silently stood beside her. He pulled out his gun, waiting for the doors to open. As soon as they did, he fired a shot, the loud bang making you jump. The masked person scurried away, when everyone piled out of the elevator to save Tara and Richie.

“Tara!” you screamed, running up to her. Your dad ran to Richie as you and Sam helped Tara off the floor.

Your best friend was very emotional and shaken up as her sister hugged her, but you were still on edge. You had a gut feeling that something was about to happen.

Then, you saw Ghostface charge towards Richie and your dad. You grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall and ran towards the figure that was trying to attack your dad. You hit the person over the head, but you felt a sharp, burning pain in your side as you did. Your dad was able to fight back thanks to your distraction, getting in a few shots as Ghostface fell through the glass case against the hallway wall.

“Fuck,” you cried, holding your wound. Your dad’s arms wrapped around you as he walked you towards the elevator, when Richie walked over to help.

“Thanks,” Dewey said, as he walked you inside. “Shit, I didn’t shoot him in the head.”

“Does that really matter right now?” you asked, as he nodded. He stepped back out of the elevator, a sad smile on his face as he looked at you, doubled over. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to finish this,” he said, as you craned your neck to look at him.

“Dad, no. You can’t do that!” you cried, as he started to walk down the hall.

“I need to make sure you’re safe. This is how I can do that,” he paused, “I love you.”

As soon as those elevator doors closed, you started screaming, begging to go back to your dad. Sam wouldn’t let that happen. She just kept trying to assure you that he’d be okay, and that you and Tara both needed medical attention.

He wasn’t okay, though. You soon learned what happened to your dad when your mom somberly walked into the hospital room, her sad eyes meeting yours. To say you were emotionally destroyed would’ve been an understatement. You expected your mom to be a little more comforting, and she was trying, but she seemed more interested in getting details on any new leads the detectives might’ve had.

For safety reasons, they moved Tara to the same room as you, making it easier for the police to keep an eye on the both of you.

“She’s really starting to piss me off,” you sighed, as Tara looked over at you. “I’m in here, absolutely fucking devastated, and she’d rather talk to the cops.”

“Maybe she’s just trying to do what she can to keep you safe,” she suggested, “Have you heard from Amber?”

“Yeah, she’s having a party for Wes tonight. Not that you and I will be attending,” you laughed a little, as she smiled.

“Sam wants to get me out of here as soon as possible. I don’t know where she wants to go, but she just wants us to be somewhere safe.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea…maybe I’ll sneak out of here with you guys,” you said, half-joking as Tara started to nod.

“If your mom’s distracted, and the cops are busy talking to her anyway, we could sneak you out.”

“Fuck it, let’s do it.”

Your mom walked back in the room, looking back and forth between you and Tara.

“Do what?” she questioned, as you glanced back over to your friend.

“Oh, um, we were talking about college. We’re both going to apply to Blackmore,” you lied, as your mom started to smile.

“Are you warming up to the idea of New York?” she asked, as you shook your head.

“Not at all, but I want my best friend there with me,” you said, a defeated look appearing on her face.

“It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

After the police finished questioning Richie and Sam for the second time of the day, they joined you, your mom, and Tara in the room. Sidney walked in not long after, a sad smile on her face as she saw you in the hospital bed.

“You’ve grown up so much,” she said, walking over to you, “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks, Sid,” you said softly, “How are the kids?”

She smiled at you, “They’re fine. They’re somewhere safe.”

“I wish I was somewhere safe,” you joked, as your mom rolled her eyes.

“You had the chance to come to New York,” she sighed, “If you would’ve just listened to me and your dad then maybe we wouldn’t be in here right now.”

“What, and dad wouldn’t be dead, too?” you snapped, looking towards her.

“I didn’t say that…this whole ‘you hating me’ thing isn’t going to work. We need to be there for each other.”

You were about to respond when a detective came in to talk to your mom. She stepped out with Sidney, walking to the next hallway over so you wouldn’t hear the conversation.

“Now’s our chance,” Tara said, as Sam looked between you two, confused.

“Chance for what?”

“We’re sneaking her out with us,” Tara said, wincing as she pulled her IV out.

“What the fuck are you doing? You haven’t been discharged yet,” Sam sighed, looking over to see you doing the same. “I’m not kidnapping you, I’m sorry.”

“Look, we want to be somewhere safe. She isn’t going to be safe if she stays here and we go. Her mom’s barely paid attention to her since we’ve been in here…if you want me to go, she’s going too,” Tara said, as Sam sighed, looking over to Richie. He shrugged, walking over to the door to peak out.

“No cops, no Gale,” he said, as Sam rolled her eyes.

“Fuck it, fine. You both better hurry up though.”

You did as Sam said, the both of you quickly changing before sneaking past the nurses’ station towards the exit.

After your mom and Sidney finished talking to a detective in the next hall over, she came back to see your bed empty. She started to panic, noticing your IV line resting on top of the bed and most of your stuff gone. She looked over to the other side of the room, realizing that Tara was gone, too.

“Excuse me, where did they take my daughter?” Gale asked one of the nurses that’d passed by the doorway.

He grabbed an iPad off the nurse’s station, trying to pull you up. “She doesn’t have any testing or anything scheduled…she’s not in her room?” He craned his neck to peak around, noticing the empty bed.

“She’s a minor, isn’t there some kind of alert you guys have for this?!” She yelled, as the nurse nodded.

“I’ll take care of that right away.”

It didn’t matter, though. You’d already made it out of the hospital by the time the code was called.

“Where do you think she went?” Sydney asked, as your mom tried to rack her brain.

“I’m not the mom of the year, okay? I barely know her anymore,” she sighed, as Sidney sympathetically smiled at her.

“Whatever happened, now that Dewey’s gone, you’re going to have to fix that relationship,” she said, as your mom nodded. “She’s a good kid.”

“I know, I just hope she’s okay.”

When you were in the back seat with Tara, her asthma was flaring up as she tried to find her inhaler.

“Fuck, I don’t have it,” she panicked, as Sam looked at her in the rearview mirror.

“Can you wait until we’re in the next town?” she asked, as Richie glanced back to see Tara’s breathing getting worse.

“No…this is getting bad,” you said, trying to search Tara’s purse again. “Do you still have the spare one at Ambers?”

“Yeah, Sam, we need to go to Amber’s,” Tara said, as Sam shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said, her lack of understanding for how bad the situation was starting to piss you off.

“She’s going to be dead by the time we get to the next fucking town. Go to Amber’s,” you yelled, as Sam hesitantly nodded. “Turn left up here.”

As your mom and Sidney searched around the hospital hoping to find you, she remembered the app Dewey put on your phone so he’d always know where you were. He gave her the log-in too just in case she ever needed it. She quickly pulled her phone out, checking to see what your location was as Sidney looked at her.

“She’s not even here,” Gale said, as she and Sidney bolted towards the exit.

Once they made it in the car and started to drive, your mom was looking at the tracking app, noticing that you’d stopped.

“Turner Lane, why does that sound so familiar?” she asked, as Sidney’s eyes grew wide.

“Please don’t tell me that’s where she is,” Sidney said, pressing the gas a little harder, “Stu Macher used to live on Turner Lane.”

“Oh fuck,” Gale said, as she tried to call you.

Your phone was on silent in your pocket as you went up to Amber’s room. The party downstairs was in full swing as you tried to help your girlfriend search for Tara’s inhaler.

“Are you okay?” Amber asked, “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you sighed, thinking about him as you dug through a box on top of Amber’s dresser. “Found it!” you held up the inhaler as she smiled.

“Can you please call me when you make it to wherever you’re going so I know you’re safe, please?” she asked, as she stepped towards you.

“Yeah, I just need to get the fuck away from my mom for a few days.”

She nodded in understanding as you ran out of her room, down the stairs to find Tara.

“Stupid bitch,” Amber muttered, once she knew you couldn’t hear her.

After you gave Tara her inhaler, you pulled your phone out of your pocket to see twenty missed calls from your mom.

“Jesus, someone’s freaking out,” you said, showing Tara the screen.

“Maybe you should call her back. Just let her know you’re okay.”

“Fine,” you sighed, but before you had the chance to call her, she was calling you again.

You answered, “Hey mom, I’m fine-“

“You need to get the fuck out of that house right now!” she yelled, the second she heard your voice.

“How do you know where I am?” you questioned, annoyance in your tone as she started to yell again.

“You’re in Stu Macher’s house,” your heart started to race as you looked over to Sam, Tara, and Richie. You’d heard that name many times before. You started to look around, thinking about how the party at his house was the finale of the first Woodsboro Massacre where your dad was stabbed.

“We need to get out of here, right now,” you said to them, as Richie started to smirk.

“Did someone finally figure it out?” he asked, the psychotic excitement in his voice making your skin crawl.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, jumping as you heard a gunshot coming from the living room, accompanied by several screams. “What the fuck is going on?”

Sam and Tara started to back away from Richie as you looked at him.

“God, you know, you guys really are the perfect victims. Serial killer dad,” he said, looking to Sam, “oblivious little sister,” he said to Tara, before turning to you, “and the child of the sheriff that tried to take down Billy and Stu. It’s hilarious. You get to die where he should’ve.”

“Fuck you,” you said through gritted teeth, as he started to step towards you.

“You want to know what the best part of this whole little fucked up scenario is, though?” he asked, as Amber walked into the room. “I’ve been fucking your girlfriend.” Sam glanced over to you, the obvious look of disgust and betrayal painted on both of your faces.

Your mouth dropped as you looked over to Amber. “Sorry, baby,” she said, so nonchalantly that your blood was starting to boil. You shook your head as you thought back to your dad telling you that you probably knew who was responsible for everything.

“Did you kill my dad?” you asked Amber as she shrugged, muttering “Maybe,” as you stepped towards her.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Richie said, pulling out a knife and pointing it at you as Sam and Tara started to back away, looking at you. You nodded towards the side door as Amber walked up to kiss Richie.

While they were distracted, you glanced along the counters to see if there was anything you could use that would be helpful. You saw the knife block, and as the rage started to build up even more towards Amber for stabbing you and killing your dad.

You subtly grabbed a knife from behind you, and started to step towards them as you held it firmly in your hand behind your back.

“Where did the other two go?” Amber asked, pulling away from Richie as he turned around to look.

“I’ll go find them,” he said, waving his knife around. “Don’t try anything. She doesn’t love you enough to save you.”

As soon as he walked away, you looked at Amber. “Is that true? You don’t love me enough to save me?”

“I never fucking loved you. God, I only wanted to get close to you and your friends. It amazes me how stupid you are,” she scoffed, as you stepped even closer, “What are you going to do? I was stronger than your dad, you dumb bitch. Do you really think you’re going to win in a fight against me?”

“I don’t need to be stronger than you,” you smiled, “Because you’re the one that doesn’t have a knife right now.”

As soon as you pulled the knife from behind your back, she darted towards the gun on the kitchen island. You were quicker though, stabbing her before she was able to grab it. She dropped to her knees as she held her stomach. In that moment, she looked weak and helpless. You couldn’t shake the thought that she had your dad feeling that way when she killed him.

“Baby, why would you do that?” she asked, her psychotic eyes pleading with yours.

You looked down at her, the fury in your eyes obvious as she tried to plead with you.

“How the fuck could you do this to me? To my fucking dad?!”

“Oh, please. You knew he was a shitty dad,” she scoffed, before whining again at the pain she was feeling. “I got him good, too. I just wish you could’ve seen it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you screamed, as you stabbed her again.

 Richie ran back in the room with Tara and Sam, noticing Amber on the floor and the large, bloody knife in your hand. You started to run towards him, thinking you could finish all of this. You didn’t though, because as soon as you made it to Richie, he plunged his knife into your stomach several times.

“No!” Tara screamed, as you dropped to the floor, blood immediately pooling beside you on the floor. You heard Tara’s cries as your vision started to get fuzzy.

“You really thought you were going to do something with that, didn’t you?” Richie laughed, “I’m sure your mom will be here soon, and you’ll get to be with both of your parents after I’m finished with her. Now’s a good time to thank me.”

“Fuck you,” you said weakly, as you started to lose consciousness.

“Oh, look at all that blood,” was the last thing you heard before blacking out.

You woke up in the hospital several days later with your mom and Sidney sitting beside your bed. You groaned as your eyes tried to adjust to the fluorescent lighting.

“Hey,” your mom said, “They weren’t sure when you’d wake up.”

“Lights,” you choked out, your voice raw.

“Try not to talk a lot, okay?” Sidney said, as she got up to flip the switch. “You almost didn’t pull through. They had to intubate you for surgery.”

You laid there in silence for a few minutes, like your brain was trying to process everything that happened. The heart rate monitor started to beep faster as you thought about your dad and the rest of your friends. Your breathing got heavier, as you started to shake your tingling hands.

Your mom went out to grab a nurse, who rushed in to check on you.

“Let’s give you something to help you calm down,” she said, pulling out a syringe. She injected medication into your IV as you tried to take deep breaths in comparison to the shallow ones you kept sucking in.

“What’s going on?” your mom asked, as the nurse turned to look at her.

“She’s having a panic attack. It’s normal after trauma like what she went through,” she said, before turning to you, “Would you like some water?”

You nodded, as she stepped out of the room. She came back a few minutes later with your water and one of the doctors.

“We’re going to suggest lots of therapy,” the doctor said, as she looked over at your dazed expression from the meds. “Physical and mental. It’s going to be a long road, just be patient with her.”

“I’m going to take her back to New York with me. If you have any recommendations for doctors out there, I’d appreciate it,” Your mom said, as the doctor nodded.

“I’ll be right back.”

As you sipped the water, it started to soothe your dry, irritated throat. After the doctor walked back in with the list of doctors in New York, you tried to speak.

“Tara?” you got out, as your mom smiled.

“She’s okay. Sam is too.”

“Chad and Mindy?”

“They’re okay. Chad was a little touch and go at first, too. He’s in the next room over,” she said, as you started to smile.

You were devastated about your dad and Wes but knowing that most of your friends survived gave you an ounce of hope that everything would be okay.

Once you’d healed enough to leave the hospital, you had a tearful goodbye with everyone as you prepared to go to New York.

“I hope you were serious about Blackmore…we all kind of applied,” Tara said, as Mindy nodded.

“Seriously? That would be so cool,” you said, smiling. “I’d love to have you guys close by.”

Your mom stood by and watched as Sam walked up to talk to her.

“I know Tara will most likely get in, she’s a smart one,” Sam said, with a small laugh. “If you can think of any safe areas for us to live, let me know.”

“You’d be coming with her?” your mom asked, as Sam nodded.

“I’m never letting her out of my sight,” she sighed, “I’m so sorry for your loss, with Dewey. If it wasn’t for him, we probably wouldn’t have made it through the attack at the hospital.”

“Thank you…I’m just sad he won’t get to see all the great things I know she’s going to do with her life.”

After a few months of living in New York, you started to get adjusted. You had physical therapy three times a week and had to see your psychiatrist at least once a week, but you felt like you were starting to find yourself again, aside from struggling with anxiety and PTSD. Your mom’s boyfriend, Brooks, was even starting to piss you off a little less. You’d had several conversations with him about your dad, and he was trying to step up. He didn’t want to take your dad’s place by any means, but he was trying so hard to be a trusted male figure in your life, aside from Chad, who was still on the opposite side of the country.

On your eighteenth birthday, Tara FaceTimed you. You were smiling so big when you saw all of your friends, their own version of a surprise party making your heart swell. That’s the day they told you they all got into Blackmore, and you started to count down the days.

“Mom, don’t you think I should get the full college experience?” you sighed, as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re not staying in a dorm, and that’s final,” she said, as you glanced over to Brooks.

“I can’t help you with this one. You know your mom has her mind made up,” he said, as he leaned against the kitchen island.

“Whatever,” you huffed, walking towards your room.

Your mom and Brooks just looked at each other as she sighed in defeat.

“She might be annoyed with you right now, but she’ll get over it,” he said, wrapping his arm around her.

“I hope so, I’m getting sick of all the teen angst,” she said, laughing a little.

“How’s her therapy been?”

“She said it’s going well. They’ve really been unpacking the Amber stuff…I just hope she’s able to trust someone again someday.”

“She will.”

Once your friends made it to New York, your mom let you go out and explore the city for the first time without her. She was nervous, regularly checking her phone just to make sure you were okay. She knew your therapy sessions were helping, but you still had your panic attacks and your body wasn’t the strongest yet.

As you walked along the sidewalk with your friends, Chad noticed a comic book store a little further up the street.

“Can we check that out?” he asked, as you nodded.

“This is the same dorky shit you did in Woodsboro. Don’t you want to do something else?” Mindy asked, as her brother scoffed.

“Nope. I’ve already gone into three different clothing stores with you guys AND found my perfect foundation match while you guys were shopping for makeup. You owe me,” he said, making you and Tara laugh.

“Fine, let’s go,” Tara said, before turning to look at you. “Let me know whenever you need to sit down, okay?”

“I will. Let’s get food after this. I can rest while we eat,” you said, as Tara nodded.

When you walked inside, you all went your separate ways as you started to browse around the store. Chad was in heaven, while everyone else was just there to kill the time. As you were walking along one of the rows, you started to get one of your reoccurring abdominal cramps from where you were stabbed. You leaned over, holding your stomach as you tried to breathe through it.

“Hey, are you okay?” you heard a male voice speaking to you, as you groaned out a “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he said softly, as he squatted to talk to you. “Do you need something? Can I call someone for you?”

“I promise I’m okay. Just a bad cramp.”

You soon heard Tara mumble “Oh shit” as she and Mindy ran up to you.

“What happened?” Mindy asked, looking over to the boy.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. I just saw her doubled over like this.”

The pain started to ease up, as you tried to stand back up.

“Fuck, that was a bad one,” you sighed, as your eyes connected to the person that was trying to help you.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, looking you over. You couldn’t form words after you saw him. He was your type, and his sweet, shy demeanor was just a plus. Mindy and Tara noticed you checking him out as he kept staring at you, a small smile on his lips. “I’m Ethan, by the way.”

“Hey,” you finally spoke, as Tara and Mindy inched away from you so you could talk to him. “Thanks for trying to help.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, as he started to flip through some of the comic books. “Do you go to Blackmore?”

“I’m about to,” you said, as he turned to you and smiled.

“You’re a freshman, too?”

“Yeah. I’m a little nervous, but I have all my hometown friends with me, so I know it’ll be fun,” you said, as you started to point them out.

“Chad? That’s what my roommate’s name is,” he said, looking towards him. “Wait, that’s him!”

“Oh, small world,” you said, “Hey, Chad!”

He turned around, smiling when he noticed his new roommate standing there.

“Dude, I didn’t know you were into stuff like this!” Chad said, as he walked up.

“Yeah, I’m a little bit of a dork, I guess,” Ethan laughed, as they started to geek out over stuff they’d found.

“How do you two know each other?” Chad asked curiously, as Ethan smiled.

“I just met her. She seems cool,” he said, “Have you guys been friends for a long time?”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other since elementary school. We grew up in this crazy, fucked up little town,” Chad said, as your eyes got wide.

“It wasn’t that bad,” you said, trying to play it off as Chad looked at you in disbelief.

“Yeah, Woodsboro was a walk in the park,” Chad said sarcastically, as you tried to change the subject.

“Can we go get food soon? I’m starving,” you said, as Chad nodded.

“Sure. Ethan, you want to go to lunch with us?”

“I wish I could, but I have to run by the book store. Maybe some other time, but I’ll see you later,” he said to Chad, before smiling at you. “It was nice to meet you. Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.”

“I hope so,” you said, your tone flirty as Chad looked between the two of you.

Ethan walked up to the counter to pay for his stuff, as Chad turned to you.

“What was that all about?” he asked, as you jokingly glared at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot roommate?!”

After that day, Chad made it his personal mission to get to know Ethan as well as he could, because he didn’t want you to go through another traumatic relationship. Once he realized that Ethan truly was this shy, dorky guy, he started to bring him around the friend group. The two of you immediately hit it off, and he loved to spend time with you.

Once the relationship started to get a little more serious, he began asking about Woodsboro. After that day at the comic book store, he did his research, but he still had so many questions. He knew you were hurt in some way, because of all the appointments you had, and the random sharp cramps you’d get from time to time. He noticed that you’d always try to push through pain, and he just wanted to have a better understanding of everything.

The last thing you wanted to do was think about what’d happened the year before, let alone talk about it. You had several insecurities about yourself, the scars all over your abdomen being one of the major ones. But you hated feeling weak. You hated that you were struggling to keep up with the high energy your friends and boyfriend had. You hated feeling like you just slowed everyone down.

Ethan didn’t care, though. He was always comforting and okay with taking breaks, or even cutting a date night short if you started to get anxious. He knew he loved you, but he was too shy to say it. He didn’t want to pour his heart out and you say it’s something you weren’t ready for yet.

Your mom was a little skeptical of Ethan. It wasn’t that he’d given her a reason to be, she just wanted you to always be cautious, especially after your last relationship. It got to the point where you’d have to sneak Ethan over whenever your mom and Brooks weren’t home.

“Hey, baby,” Ethan said, as you opened the front door.

“Hi,” you smiled, as he leaned in to kiss you. “Let’s go to my room.”

What was supposed to be the two of you just hanging out led to him on top of you on your bed, your hands in his hair as he kissed you. Your shirt was starting to inch up, his hand roaming over your stomach when you pushed him away.

“Stop,” you said, once you noticed him leaning back down to kiss you again.

“What did I do?” he asked, as you scooted away from him. “Baby, I don’t want to pressure you into talking about things you don’t want to, but you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t want you touching me like that,” you said, your eyes not meeting his as he tried to understand.

“You’re my girlfriend…this is what people in relationships do,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair. “If you’re not ready for sex, that’s fine. I just don’t get what the big deal is with me touching you. You never talk to me about it.”

“I think you should go,” you said, as he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” he said, standing up. “You just keep shutting down whenever there’s something we need to talk about. You’re so secretive about what you’ve been through. I feel like I barely know anything about you.”

“Are you saying you want to break up?” you asked, your eyes watering as he shook his head.

“No, babe. I care about you so much…but you don’t trust me. I know something horrible happened to you in Woodsboro, and all I want is to be the supportive boyfriend that you deserve, but I can’t be that for you when you won’t talk to me. I’ve even tried to ask Chad, just so I understand, but he’ll only talk about what happened to him.”

“So, you’ve been trying to get stuff out of Chad because I won’t tell you about it?” you questioned, the pissed expression on your face making him tense up. “I’m not ready to talk to you!”

“Call me when you are,” he said, walking towards your bedroom door.

You felt a panic attack creeping up the second he walked out. You grabbed your anxiety medication and took a pill out, hoping that it would kick in soon. Your hands were shaky as you tried to take it, the water you were trying to drink spilling all over your shirt.

“Fuck,” you muttered, your breathing heavy as you jumped up to grab another shirt to change into.

The second you got the wet one off, Ethan walked back in the room.

“I forgot my phone,” he mumbled, before he saw you. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scars all over your abdomen, feeling sick to his stomach that someone could ever do something like that to you. “Baby…”

“Get the fuck out!” you screamed, as he scrambled to grab his phone off your bedside table. “Now, Ethan! Go!”

You quickly pulled the dry shirt over your head, as he glanced back over to you once more. You were sobbing as he tried to step closer, wanting to comfort you.

“Don’t come near me, Ethan! Go!” you yelled again, as he hesitantly turned around and walked out.

You followed him to the front door, slamming it behind him. You put your back against the door before sliding down it, as you pulled your knees to your chest as you cried.

When your mom got home later in the day to take you to your psychiatrist, you didn’t feel like going. You were still upset from the situation with Ethan earlier in the day, so once she started to argue with you that you needed to go, it got explosive.

“What is wrong with you today? You’ve been making such good progress!” your mom yelled, as you started to pace the floor.

“What’s wrong with me?! I was almost killed, mom! I have these fucking scars all over me that remind me of what I went through every fucking day!” you screamed, as tears started to run down your cheeks. “I have a great boyfriend, someone who really cares about me, and I can’t fucking trust him because of what Amber did to me! Then, he saw my scars earlier and looked at me like I was a fucking victim and I’m sick of feeling that way!”

“Wait, how did he see your scars? What have you been doing when I’m not here?” she questioned, as you stopped your pacing.

“That’s what you took from all that I just said?!” You asked, as Brooks walked in. “I’m not having sex, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want to, though! I want to be able to trust Ethan enough to do that, but I’m too fucked up for that to happen!”

Your mom just looked at you as Brooks tried to calm you down.

“Hey, I know this is none of my business, and I’m sorry for putting my nose where it doesn’t belong…but have you talked to your therapist about Ethan?”

“Not really. He’s only come up a few times,” you sighed, wiping your tears. “I was hoping I could work through things with him on my own, but I still haven’t told him anything that happened. He’s trying so hard, too. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“That kid really cares about you. Maybe you should talk to your doctor about the best way to open up to him,” he said, as you nodded. “I don’t want you to feel like everyone that comes in your life is going to do what Amber did to you.”

Your mom smiled at the interaction, loving how close you were getting to him. His calm demeanor helped so much in diffusing your anxiety.

“Can we still make it to my appointment in time? Or is it too late?” you asked your mom, as she pulled out her phone to check the time.

“We can still make it, we need to leave right now, though.”

“You two get out of here, I’ll have dinner ready when you get back,” Brooks said, pulling you into a side hug as he walked you towards the door.

During your appointment, your doctor recommended that you take a week off from school, just to focus on your mental health. Your professors were very understanding, you just hoped your boyfriend would be, too. You needed to clear your head as you tried to think of the best way to unpack all the trauma with him. You decided to leave your phone off, only turning it on every now and then to let Tara know you were okay.

Ethan was freaking out. When all his calls went straight to voicemail, and you stopped coming to school, he started to think the worst. He knew that you were upset with him, and he felt awful that him seeing you without a shirt affected you as much as he did. Regardless of the scars, he still thought you were beautiful. He finally brought it up to the rest of the friend group and was relieved when Tara said that you were okay.

That’s when he thought about doing something sweet for you. He wanted you to feel better, and he desperately wanted you to forgive him. He went to the mall with Chad, wanting to find some of your favorite things to bring to you.

“What about this?” Chad said, as he walked with Ethan through the party store. Ethan wanted to find you the sweetest card to go with the things he’d bought you, but Chad had other ideas when he pointed to a huge balloon. Ethan rolled his eyes as he looked over to Chad. “What? I don’t think anything says ‘I love you’ like a massive balloon that literally says ‘I love you’.”

“Dude, I don’t want this to be cheesy. I want her to know how I feel without making her cringe,” Ethan said, “Do you think she’ll even answer the door when I try to take this stuff to her?”

“I can’t say for sure. She hasn’t spoken to me in a week.”

“At lease she talks to Tara, so we know she’s alright.”

Ethan was nervous as he walked into the elevator and selected the floor that your mom’s condo was on. He knew your mom and her boyfriend’s work schedule from the times you’d invited him over, so he knew you should be home alone, if you’d even open the door for him.

He stood outside the door and took a deep breath before knocking. After a few minutes of you not answering, he sat the stuff outside of the door, hoping you’d want to talk after you eventually saw it. He went back to the elevator and pressed the button, waiting for it to come back to the floor he was currently on.

Once the door opened, he saw you standing there.

“Ethan? What are you doing here?” you asked, as he stepped to the side for you to walk off the elevator.

“Oh, uh, I just dropped some stuff off for you. It’s in front of the door,” he said shyly, as you smiled at him.

“That’s really sweet, Ethan. I was actually going to call you and ask if you wanted to come over. I just left therapy, and I’m in a good head space right now. I think I’m ready to talk,” you said, reaching over to grab his hand. “It’s a little heavy, and I might not go too far into detail, but I want you to know some of what I went through.”

“I’m here to listen,” he smiled, rubbing his thumb against the top of your hand as you walked towards the door.

“Aww, this is so cute!” you squealed, looking down at the basket before you unlocked the door. You were about to bend down to grab it before he beat you to it. “Thanks, babe.”

You walked with him to your room, noticing the card. You grabbed it out of the basket as soon as he sat it down, but he took it from you before you could open it.

“Hey!” you laughed, trying to take it back from him.

“This card has some things in it that are important, but not as important as you telling me what you need to tell me,” he said, smiling as he sat it back in the basket. “You can read this after we talk, deal?”

“Deal,” you said, flopping back on your bed as he laid down beside you.

You both stared at the ceiling as he waited for you to start talking, but you didn’t know where you wanted to start. You were almost scared of what he’d think after you told him everything, but you knew in your heart that he’d still care about you regardless.

“So…I know I told you about my dad dying. He was killed last year when my ex and the guy she was cheating on me with went on a killing spree,” you said, as he sat up on his elbows to look at you as you spoke. “She killed my dad after she stabbed me. Her boyfriend really did the most damage to me though. I’ve been really self-conscious about all the scars I have. That’s why I stop you whenever things start to get a little handsy.”

He stayed silent for a minute, just soaking in all the information you’d told him. He was furious that anyone would ever hurt you, but he was hiding it well.

“It’s no wonder you’ve been a little hesitant to trust me,” he sighed, looking back at the ceiling. “I’m sorry I walked in on you. I really thought you were done with me after you yelled at me like that and didn’t want to talk to me.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you, I just wanted to get my feelings and my thoughts together. I knew I needed to open up to you, especially after you saw everything.”

“I just wanted to understand, you know? You’ve just been so vague about everything. I’m happy you’re opening up,” he said, laying back down. “I’m sorry if you ever felt pressure about the sex stuff, too. I promise you that’s not what I was trying to do, and I’d wait forever if I needed to.”

“I don’t think we need to wait forever,” you said, rolling over to your side to look at him. “I’m ready now, actually.”

He curiously looked at you, before he started to shake his head.

“Baby, I want you to fully trust me before we do anything like that.”

“I just gave you the short version of everything that caused my trauma. I trust you,” you said, leaning in to kiss him.

He kissed you back, the sweetness of it making your heart swell, like you knew he was the person you were meant to lose your virginity to. Once the kiss got more intense and your hand started to run under his shirt, he gently pushed your hand away.

“Wait, I need you to read the card,” he said, before you connected your lips to his again.

“Right now?” you asked, pulling away.

“Please. You’ll want to read it before we do this.”

You slid off the side of the bed and walked over to the basket and grabbed the card. Ethan wasn’t nervous at all as you sat down beside him and opened the envelope that contained his true feelings for you. He knew if you were ready for sex and felt comfortable enough to finally tell him about what you’d went through, that you probably felt the same way he did.

“This is really sweet,” you said, reading through everything he wrote. “Wait…”

You turned to look at him after you’d made it to the end of what he wrote, as he smiled at you.

“I love you, babe.”

“Seriously?” was all you said, your eyes starting to water as Ethan suddenly felt like maybe it was a little too soon for him to say it when you didn’t say it back.

“Yeah, it’s how I feel. If you aren’t ready for that-“

You cut him off my kissing him. “I love you, too,” you mumbled against his lips.

He pushed you back on the bed as he smiled down at you.

“You are sure, like one hundred percent sure you want to do this?” he asked, as his hand started to rub your thigh over your jeans.

“I’m positive. I want to do this with you.”

He leaned down to kiss you as his hands just kept rubbing against you. You didn’t feel self-conscious like you had before, and you were excited to share this experience with someone that loved you.

“Is it okay if I take your shirt off of you?” he asked, waiting for you to consent before he did it. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable.

You paused and took a deep breath. “Yes.”

The second your shirt was over your head, you noticed Ethan’s gaze on all your scars. You tried to cover them with your hands before he pulled them away.

“Stop, baby. You’re beautiful,” he said, running his hands across them.

He leaned down to start kissing your neck, his curls tickling you as you started to giggle.

“Am I absolutely awful at this or something?” he asked, as your fingers started to run through his hair.

“No babe, you’re tickling me, but it feels good,” you said, squirming a little underneath him once he found your sweet spot. “It really feels good.” He smirked against you as you started to let out heavy breaths. “I think your shirt should come off, too.”

He pulled away to take his shirt off before he leaned down to kiss you again. Your hands started to run along his back as he melted into your touch.

You leaned up a little as you felt his hands try to snake around you to unhook your bra. He fumbled with it for a minute, making you laugh into the kiss.

“I’ve never done this before,” he said, jokingly glaring at you as you smiled at him. He finally got it unhooked, sliding the straps down your arms as he pulled it off you. “Are you going to laugh at me the whole time?”

“No, babe,” you said, biting your bottom lip to hold in your giggles. You didn’t have to for long though, your mouth falling open as you gasped when he took one of your nipples into your mouth. He alternated between licking and sucking, before he moved to the other side. “That feels so good.”

He pulled away and smiled at you, “If you want to stop at any point, let me know. I’m not going to get mad, I just want you to be okay.”

“Thank you, baby. I know you won’t hurt me,” you smiled, reaching up to run your hand through his hair as his eyes fluttered at the feeling.

He leaned down again with your fingers still tangled in his hair, as he started to place kisses along your stomach. He paid extra attention to your scars, now knowing the dark story of how you got them. You looked down at him as he started to unbutton your jeans.

“I love you, baby.” He said, as he started to pull them down your hips. “Your body is so beautiful. Please don’t ever think that it’s not, okay?”

“Okay,” you sighed, as his hands started to run up your bare thighs.

“Can these come off?” he asked, rubbing your panties along your hips.

“Yes,” you said, as he smiled at you.

“You know I have no idea what I’m doing, so please let me know if anything I do hurts.”

“Ethan,” you sighed, as his eyes connected with yours. “Just do what you think feels right, and I’ll let you know how it feels.”

“Okay, baby,” he said, as his hand ran up your inner thigh, and over your pussy. You whimpered at the feeling, as he kept rubbing you. “Can I taste you, babe?”

“Please,” you said, as he leaned in. His tongue gently licked your clit, as your hand started to run through your hair. “That feels…fuck.”

His mouth started to move faster when your moans got a little louder, loving all the sounds he was pulling from you. His cock was straining against his jeans, but that was the last thing he wanted to focus on. He just wanted to keep making you feel good.

“Can you use your fingers, too?” you asked, your chest heaving as his finger started to brush against your entrance. You gasped when he slid it inside of you, pumping it in and out.

He pulled his mouth away to watch you, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

You whimpered at his words as his fingers started to curve a little. “Oh shit,” you whined, as he slowed his fingers.

“You okay?” he asked, trying to ready your face, scared that he’d hurt you.

“That felt good, keep doing that,” you said, gasping as his finger moved quicker. “You can use two.”

He added another finger and moved them against that spot as he leaned down to focus on your clit with his mouth.

“Fuck, a little faster, baby,” you moaned, feeling that coil in the pit of your stomach getting tighter.

He did as you said, before he switched from licking your clit to sucking on it.

“Oh fuck,” you whimpered, your legs starting to jolt. He gasped as your pussy started to contract around his fingers. He didn’t want to stop his actions too quickly, so he just kept going until you started to pull away. You were letting out shaky breaths as he sat up to look at you, the blissful expression on your face making him smile.

“Did that feel good?” he asked, as you smiled and nodded with your eyes closed.

“That was perfect, babe.”

He curled up on the bed beside you, caressing everywhere he could reach as he waited for you to tell him it was okay to go further. He noticed the gasp that slipped past your lips when his hand ran over one of your breasts, so he started to massage it.

“Baby, I’m not trying to rush you, but my mom will be home soon,” you said, smiling at him. “I really don’t want this to get interrupted.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, sliding off the side of the bed to take his jeans off. You giggled at him as he smiled at you. “Sorry, I’ve been hard for so long.”

“It’s okay, babe. I love that you’re so excited,” you said, as he nodded.

“Yeah, I’m excited to experience this with the person that means the world to me,” he said, as he grabbed a condom out of his wallet before he slid his boxers down. He was mumbling something to you, but you couldn’t focus as you stared at him, starting to get a little anxious. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked, as you shook your head. “I was just reminding you that if it’s too much, let me know.”

As he stood in front of you, you started to question if it would be too much. He opened the condom and rolled it on before he crawled back on the bed to hover over you.

“Can you go slow?” you asked, as he lined up with your entrance.

“Of course, baby. As slow as you want,” he assured you, as he started to push himself inside of you. He noticed you wincing at the pain, and even tensing up a little. He stilled, looking over your face. “Try to relax, baby.”

He didn’t move, he just waited for you to give him the okay. He leaned down to kiss you, as the pain started to ease.

“Keep going,” you said, as he slid in a little further. You tensed up again, so he just kept kissing you. He wanted you to know that this wasn’t just about him enjoying the experience. He wanted to take care of you. It was starting to get to the point where the pressure of him stretching you started to feel really good. “Can you move?” you mumbled against his lips.

“Uh, I’m almost all the way in…are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, as your lust-filled eyes looked into his.

“It’s not really hurting anymore,” you said, as he started to smile. He slid the rest of himself inside of you, a soft moan slipping past your lips. His hips slowly started to move as he looked down at you. He was internally screaming but was trying to play it as cool as you were. “Can you go a little faster?”

“Yes,” he said, but it really came out as a whimper as he started to move a little faster. You were just so warm and tight. It was better than he ever thought it would be. “You feel so fucking good.”

“So do you,” you moaned, as the tip of his cock started to hit the spongy spot inside you. “Fuck, Ethan,” you whimpered, as your hand reached down to rub circles on your clit.

“I love you so much, baby,” he whined out, as he started to go even faster. He didn’t know if it was going to be too much for you to handle, but the way you started to moan helped ease the anxiety he had about it.

“I love you, too,” you whimpered, feeling your second orgasm creeping up.

He started to get even more confident, angling your legs so he was able to go a little deeper. Your hands held on to his biceps as he looked down at you. He was trying so hard not cum, but the expressions on your face and the sounds you were making made it a lot harder for him.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, as he sighed in relief, knowing he didn’t have to hold back much longer. He groaned out the second your walls started to tighten around him, your hands shaking as the grip you had on his arms got tighter. He got you though it, speeding up a little as he chased his own orgasm.

His thrusts started to falter as his mouth fell open and his eyes began to flutter. You watched him though your post-orgasm haze, smiling as he opened his eyes to look at you. His chest was heaving, a goofy smile on his lips.

“That was a million times better than my hand,” he joked, making you laugh.

“It better be,” you said playfully, as you heard the front door open. “Shit.”

You and Ethan both jumped off your bed, your legs wobbly as you tried to find your clothes. You slid your panties back on as Ethan got his boxers and jeans back on. The second you got your shirt over your head, your bedroom door opened.

“Hey, there’s some people out here to see you,” your mom said, looking down at her phone as she walked into your room.

“Uh, mom,” you said, as she looked up at you.

“What the fuck is going on here?” she asked, noticing you without pants, Ethan shirtless, and the condom wrapper on your bedside table.

“Can we talk about this in a minute?” you asked, desperate for her to leave the room so you could finish getting dressed.

She huffed as she walked out, slamming the door behind her. Once you got your jeans back on, you heard your mom yell “I’ll kill him,” as Ethan looked over to you, terrified. You giggled as he slid his shirt over his head.

“It’s okay, babe. Hopefully Brooks will back me up,” you joked, as the both of you walked towards the door.

Your mom walking in was embarrassing enough, but when you walked out to see all the friends you hadn’t seen for a week sitting on the couch curiously looking at you and Ethan, your cheeks started to turn red.

“Oh, uh, hey guys. What are you doing here?” you asked, as Mindy pointed to the take-out bags on the kitchen island.

“Yeah, we wanted to surprise you and bring you food,” Chad said, before directing hit attention to Ethan. “I tried to text you a few times to invite you to come with us, but I understand why you didn’t respond.”

Ethan awkwardly laughed, before he noticed your mom glaring at him from the kitchen.

“Babe,” Brooks said, walking up beside her. “It’s okay.”

“You think me coming home to see my daughter and her boyfriend trying to put their clothes back on is okay?”

Mindy was trying to hold in her laughter, Chad was, too.

“Can’t we all just be happy that I trust Ethan, and finally told him everything?” you said, trying to play it off as a joke as your mom rolled her eyes.

“That’s a good point,” Brooks said, “That’s something she wasn’t able to do before.”

“Are you just going to back her up on everything?” your mom sighed, looking up at him.

“I just want you to see the positives,” he said, before gesturing over to Ethan. “He’s a good kid. He cares about her.”

 “I really do,” Ethan said, finally speaking up.

“See? I know you’re still going to worry about her, but let her be happy,” Brooks said, as your mom started to walk over to you.

“You are going on birth control. And you,” she said, turning to Ethan, “If you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Ethan said, as she stared him down.

“You better not. Let’s eat before the food get’s cold.”

[diorgirl444]

dallas x soc!reader is soooo please please please mv coded

you literally get it i have so many thoughts on this that i’m gonna share with you! (this is gonna be based on the mv and the moodboard that i made.)

• okay first of all the long eye contact where they both meet. I’m picturing sheriff’s daughter reader working as a little assistant for her dad as there’s no way she’d ever end up in a police station. she’s definitely a goody two shoes, dressed in a pretty white blouse and a pink poodle skirt. and Dallas is being brought in cuffed by her dad and she’s just kinda like staring. she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it either till Dallas’s face stretches out into a lazy smirk and her face goes pink and she shyly looks away.

“like what you see doll?”

“leave my daughter alone you bastard” her dad’s snapping as he pushes him into a cell and she knows that she needs to see this boy again.

• till he’s bailed out they definitely sneak out behind her dad back. blowing kisses, sharing flirty remarks that leave her head spinning and throwing balls of paper to get each other attention. it’s very sweet and childish and both get a thrill out of it. dallas at corrupting the sheriff’s pretty little daughter and her at going behind her dad’s back. when he gets bailed out as he walks past her desk he whispers quietly to her that the first thing he wants to do as a free man is kiss her. and if she silently slips out the back telling her daddy that she needs some fresh air just so that she can make out with dallas winston than that’s none of your business thank you very much!

• i also feel that she very much got her head in the clouds. she’s not ditsy she’s very good in school and all that but her street smarts are rubbish so she kinda goes along with everything till it’s too late. like you know the scene in the restaurant in the mv where the fight breaks out. i’m picturing a similar situation at one of buck’s parties. and she’s completely unaware of what’s going on till dallas is beating a guy up and she’s kinda like “oh!”

• omg and can we talk about the scene where he like flinches as she touches his bruise that’s so dallas and soc! reader coded. he always sneaks in her bedroom with cuts and bruises that she’s always scared are gonna spill blood onto her pretty floral bedsheets and her dad will see. she happily patches them up though and 9 times out of 10 it ends in them making out.

• and they definitely argue about the fights he gets into. because she’s petrified that he’s gonna end up in prison for life or worse dead. he always manages to sweet talk her about of any fight though. because despite it all she can never leave him. they’re not toxic but they’re both definitely too obsessed with each other in some ways.

• and okay i feel like i’m gonna get told of by some minors can’t write smut purist accounts if i talk about the ending but like use your imagination. she definitely looses her temper with him once and does something like that and it’s out of character and so hot he’s stuck thinking about it for weeks 🫣

i might write a fic based on this mv at some point because it’s just so perfect but i feel like i need a little nickname for her because soc!reader isn’t that cute a tag for my page

[cakerybakery]

Oh fuck. Rabbit cowboy Adam. That would be hot.

Adam as a desert cottontail hybrid human/animal, herding cattle meets the hurt outlaw rattlesnake naga Lucifer.

Lucifer was injured trying to rob a train because his daughter is sick. Charlie needs an operation. Adam thinks about his kits back home and tells Lucifer, that he’ll pay for it but only if Lucifer earns the money to pay him back by working on the ranch.

Lucifer and the newly better Charlie come to live with Adam and his litter of boys.

When the sheriff comes by Adam lies through his teeth, “Louis the rattler has worked for me for a long time, Michael. Just been a while since you come around.” They’re old friends, but had a bit of a falling out after Eve passed and Michael made a move that Adam didn’t reciprocate.

Adam rather likes Lucifer, he’s a sweet man that adores his daughter. It’s hard not to fall for him.

Time moves on and Lucifer feels like Michael is always watching him. Asking questions that seem pointed and Lucifer has trouble answering, grateful each time Adam saves his scales.

It’s proving hard for Lucifer to not fall for the large cottontail. He’s not used to folks looking out for him.

Lucifer isn’t as clean and clear from trouble as he let on though. You don’t rob a train by yourself. The sins could be the other robbers, tracking Lucifer down they have a classic western movie stand off.

Oooh Cain, Abel, and Seth could be over protective of Charlie, who they think of as just a little girl, forgetting she has venom in her fangs. They could have their own subplot where they leave Charlie out or their adventures because they think she’s weak and won’t be safe.

The sins are holding the kids hostage. Lucifer’s has always been a bit of a push over, not wanting trouble, not until Charlie got sick. As a rattlesnake most people are afraid of him so the sins used that fear to rob people, but Lucifer himself was easy to push around that they constantly stiffed him on his share. And he couldn’t leave or find legitimate work because now he was a wanted man.

He tried running with the whole take from the train robbery, but was injured by the sins and lost the money before Adam found him.

The sins are overconfident that they can force Lucifer to do what they want. What they don’t expect is for little Charlie to sink her fangs into Satan’s arm and free herself, nor the rattle from the shadows as Lucifer uses his speed and venom to take down the rest.

Lucifer doesn’t like hurt or killing but he’d do anything to protect the kids.

Adam has to call on the sheriff. Lucifer’s just asked that Adam take care of Charlie for him.

Michael listens to the story, how this dangerous wanted gang came looking for their missing member, Lucifer, and the money he stole. How they held the kids hostage and Lu killed them (leaving Charlie out even though it was pretty obvious), and Michael looks everything over and goes, “well, looks like self defence to me, Louis.“ he’s not a bad guy, he knows who Lucifer is, but he also knows Lucifer isn’t the bad guy everyone thinks he is since he’s been watching Lu for months. Can’t judge a person by their scales. Besides, Adam’s a good judge of character, Michael trusts his judgement. If he trusts the outlaw with his kids, home, and heart, then Lucifer’s worth the trust.

If he had knees, hearing that Michael was letting him off, would have brought Lucifer to them.

When things are cleaned up, the boys think Charlie is pretty amazing and invite her out to play with them, figuring she can handle it after all.

As the kids go out to explore, Lucifer’s apologizes for not telling Adam. He didn’t think they’d be looking for him. Not with how Adam found him.

Adam asks if Lucifer has any other secrets.

Lucifer takes the opportunity to confess he’s got a bit of a crush on Adam.

Adam laughs, “not much of a secret. If one more person from town asks when the wedding is before you ask me out, I’ll scream.”

“How long-?”

“Hmm, I’d say that night we were camping out to chase off the coyotes.”

“That was months ago!”

“You weren’t subtle.” Adam chuckling as his ears twitch, listen for the kids and trouble even when talking to Lucifer. “Before I let you court me though, anything else I should know?”

“Umm… did I tell you my ex-wife is the desert queen?”

“The outlaw?”

Lucifer nods.

“Well, what’s one more body in the ground if she comes around?” Adam pulls Lucifer into a kiss. “I like spring weddings and Christmas engagements. Best find me a pretty ring.”

[phone4pills]

.ᐟ๋࣭ ⭑ OUTLAW!CHRIS HCS

outlaw!chris… who’s silver tongue is as sharp as his aim. he finds himself charming his way out of unnecessary trouble. his swooning voice is almost too perfectly compatible with his pearly smirk and smoulder. the ladies don’t know any better than to let him off, fantasising over future relations with the cowboy.

outlaw!chris… who loves riling you up with the silly little nicknames. you could have him at gunpoint with nowhere to go and he’d still call you ‘sweet thing’ with a wide grin. the name itself comes from his profound sweet tooth for honey sweets and pastries.

outlaw!chris… who still upholds certain morals. Chris would never kill an innocent being or take more than he needs. he holds a great hatred for those who make prey of the weak and unfortunate, which is why he tends to find himself rivaled with many other outlaws.

outlaw!chris… who has a deadly shot and only misses on rare ocassions when he’s heavily distracted. yet, there’s no appeal in shooting to kill, Chris will always strike a legs or arm first. and there’s a grand, carefully-crafted strategy behind every move he makes and every mark he leaves.

outlaw!chris… who secretly admires your drive and skill as a sheriff. almost so much that it makes him suspicious. but nevertheless, he enjoys a good chase, you seem to be the only one that can keep up with him.

outlaw!chris… who is somewhat protective of you. if he notices that you’re in some big trouble he’s quick to get you out of it, he’s also quick to use the same old excuse. “you’re the most fun I’ve had in a while, sheriff. can’t let ya go that easy, can I?”

outlaw!chris… who actually flirts to keep you at arms length, not wanting you to find out anymore about his past than you already know. in times of vulnerability, he deflects with playful flirting and banter.

outlaw!chris… who has a signature whistle that towns associate with his arrival. it’s minor key is haunting and indeed memorable. it coaxes people into locking their doors and turning all of their candles off in fear that he is near and it is part of the legend he built for himself.

NSFW

outlaw!chris… who is the king of dirty talk, never holding back a thought around you. his words strike you deep where you’ve never felt anything before, and despite your refusal to admit it, Chris knows exactly what he does to you.

outlaw!chris… who is a slave to your voice. wether your moaning, gasping or giggling over something, he is entranced. he’ll play around with you, seemingly in charge but your vocals undo him quicker than he’d like to come to terms with.

outlaw!chris… who will absolutely go feral when you’re still in uniform. there’s something thrilling in undoing your holster, slow and teasing. he even goes as far as to brush his fingers over your sheriff’s badge, just to remind you of the irony of the situation.

outlaw!chris… who’s silver tongue isn’t just for sweet-talk. but for many other endeavours. and he’s only more determined when you pull at his hair, struggling to keep your hat on your own head while he ravages away meticulously.

outlaw!chris… who loves the risk of getting caught by another officer. he has no issue with railing the daylight out of you in the back room of the saloon, in fact it turns him on even more knowing that you can take him him in any setting.

outlaw!chris… who’s mask gets you quite so riled up. he’ll catch you staring for seconds longer on many occasions when it adorns his face and Chris is swift to dote on your not-so-secret obsession. “all red, huh? if you wanna come and make this mask a mess, I’m all in, sweet thing.”

Merry Christmas, yall got a new AU and everything… anyways FILL UP my inbox with questions about outlaw!Chris (The Phantom) and sheriff!Reader (Gold Boots).

- ©phone4pills

[mads-hemmo]

Baseball Boy- College AU

Baseball Player Schlatt x Sorority Girl Reader

Part 3

Schlatt moves down south to play baseball for a Division 1 school. At a party, he meets a girl who is the exact opposite of him. She’s a sorority girl who obviously has money and a very strong southern accent. She believes there is good in everyone and Schlatt isn’t as much of an asshole as he is letting on.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

Schlatt’s Computer Science classes are not much different than the ones he took in New York. They are filled with nerdy guys who think they are better than everyone and rich guys who pay their way to get good grades. The only difference is that the class sizes are huge. It’s nice though because he can hide in the background and not worry about being called on.

Since the classes are mainly junior level, most people know each other, so they don’t bother talking to him. Exactly how Schlatt likes it. He wants to hide in the background as much as possible. His only goal here is to play baseball and that’s what he intends to do.

As he walks out of his lecture and sees that his friend Ted is calling him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Schlatt asks, answering the call. Ted and Schlatt became friends when Ted moved to New York for college. Schlatt has been too busy with baseball and the semester starting to talk to his friends back home, so he’s glad Ted called.

“Oh good you’re alive. I thought you might have been taken by a pack of hillbillies and sold to a farm somewhere. Was about to call your local sheriff if you didn’t answer,” Ted rambles.

“I’ve just been busy with baseball you idiot. How’s New York?” Schlatt asks. He’s been missing it like crazy but he has to stick to the plan. He’s only here to play baseball.

“It’s good. Nothing much has been happening. It’s been weird without you here.”

“Shut up you softie. It almost sounds like you missed me.”

“I just said it’s strange you're not here, but I do miss you. We all do. How is it really down there?” Ted asks.

Schlatt thinks for a bit. It hasn’t been the worst thing ever. You have been sitting with him for the last few nights at dinners. He knew there was no way to get rid of you. You had taken some obvious pity on him. He hates to admit it, but it hasn’t been all that bad. He’s starting to get used to sitting by you. It’s become part of his daily routine. “It’s been okay. I’m missing New York, but I’m not absolutely suffering,” Schlatt tells him, not wanting to reveal his true feelings. That’s not the kind of guy he is.

“Any hot girls there that want to bang a nerdy baseball player?”

Schlatt rolls his eyes. Leave it to Ted to ask about girls. If Schlatt was brave, he’d mention you, the girl who sits him everyday at dinner. He has started to learn a bit about you and has learned your main goal isn’t to make fun of him. He learned you dress up everyday without fail. You smell sweet like vanilla which he only knows because you over apply your perfume. You’re an only child and your parents are a lawyer and a boutique owner.

However, Schlatt wants to keep that to himself, so he tells Ted, “No, even though this school is huge, none of these girls are my type.”

“Damn. I thought maybe you were just going to be a new guy and fuck every girl you meet to make your life there a little more exciting.” Ted has always been a lot more brash than Schlatt ever was. That’s what made them such a great pair.

“Nope. Like I said none of them are even worth my time even for a quickie.”

As Schlatt walks back to his dorm, he continues to talk to Ted about his classes, baseball, and listen to Ted blab about the people at his old school. Even if he’s not one for drama, it makes him miss his school in New York listening to Ted talk about people he barely knows.

They continue to talk for a while until Schlatt feels his stomach starting to rumble in hunger. He checks the time to see that it’s dinner time. Meaning that it’s the new favorite part of his new routine, but he would never admit that to anymore. “Alright Theodore, I’m getting hungry so I’m going to grab some dinner. I’ll talk to you later,” Schlatt tells him, walking towards the Cafe.

“Bye Schlatty. Love you lots! Don’t get into too much trouble without me,” Ted says. Schlatt rolls his eyes and hangs up his phone.

When he walks into the cafe, he sees you sitting at the small table you two have claimed the past few days. You are still dressed up like usual, but your hair is secured in a hair clip. One that he has seen his sister wear. He goes through the line, seeing they are serving fried chicken, macaroni and cheeses, and green beans. It’s finally food he has had before, so he decides to eat the “southern” food option.

Schlatt takes a seat in front of you. You flash him a smile and he hates how pretty you are to him. He’s trying to not think that way or get attached to you, but it’s proving to be difficult with each conversation. “Hi Schlatt,” you say with your southern drawl. “How were your classes today?”

“They were fine,” he answers. Though you have been very open with him, he’s still been slightly closed off. He’s starting to trust you more, but sometimes he struggles to find the words to say. He feels that if he lets you in, you may just break his heart and he can’t bear that. You have been the only friend he has made here and he doesn’t want to lose you. But on the other hand, he’s not here to make friends. He’s here to play baseball.

“That’s good. I bet it’s hard. I can do basic computer stuff, but I could never do all that coding. I’m not smart enough for that,” you tell him.

“It’s not that hard. Just a bunch of patterns and stuff. It’s not as hard as that Psychology, brain stuff you do,” Schlatt says.He knows your ultimate goal is to become a therapist and he just knows computer science is easy to compare to Psychology. Not only do you have to remember all the mental illnesses, you have to research and read about them. Then you have to apply that information to help real people.

“That’s why there’s not just one kind of intelligence. Everyone has their own specific set of skills that they succeed at.”

Schlatt always finds it endearing how you always make things positive, completely opposite to his pessimistic attitude. He also thinks it’s kind of funny to hear something so smart said by someone with such a southern accent. “I guess that’s true. How were your classes?”

You smile at him. Schlatt knows that you appreciate him opening up and talking a bit more. “They were slightly boring, mainly just lectures. How are you enjoying southern cuisine?” You ask, pointing to his plate.

Schlatt has taken a few bites through the conversation and it isn’t the worst thing ever. “It’s not bad. Better than that shitty excuse of a pizza.”

You let out a small giggle. “I told you. My freshman year when I didn’t like the food, I would make a waffle. Some days I made a waffle, just because I could. I probably should have made a salad at the salad bar, but a waffle was always better.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Schlatt says. He noticed your comment about the salad, but chooses to ignore it.

As the two of you are eating, Schlatt notices a random guy walk up to your table. He is the poster child of a frat guy. He is wearing a shirt with some Greek letters on the pocket with bright red shorts that are way too short. The guys turn to face you, not even looking at Schlatt. “Hey (Y/N), I haven’t seen you around much this semester.”

“Hi Fisher,” you say. Schlatt wants to laugh. What kind of southern ass name is Fisher? Also who the hell is this guy? “I’ve been busy with classes. Haven’t done much of anything else.”

“You know you’re always welcome to the house if you need to study or just want to watch a movie,” Fisher says. This guy is such a douche. Schlatt just knows it. “Well I wanted to make sure you were coming to the aliens and cowboys party this weekend.”

“I was planning to. Can I bring my friend?” You ask, motioning to Schlatt.

“Sure. He will just have to pay the $5 entry fee like every other dude. But a friend of (Y/N) is a friend of FIJIs.” He says. Schlatt has so many questions but he will wait to ask you when this dickhead leaves.

“Yep, he knows. Well thanks for the invite. It was nice seeing you,” you say. Schlatt watches as Fisher is at a loss for words.

“Look forward to seeing you there (Y/N),” Fisher says, winking at you as he walks away.

Schlatt looks over to you as you roll your eyes. “He’s such a douchebag. He’s been trying to get in my pants since freshman year. He doesn’t seem to get the hint that I’m obviously not into him,” you tell Schlatt.

“Why are you going to his party then?” Schlatt asks. He doesn’t understand why you would deal with that douche.

“His frat throws great parties and I usually get free perks since he’s so into me. Also I can pay for you to get in.”

“It’s okay. I can pay for myself.”

“So you’ll go?” You ask with that sweet smile and puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah I’ll go,” Schlatt replies. Schlatt knows you’re your own person, but something in him is saying he needs to protect you in case you get hurt. Even though he hates parties, he would go to all of them if it meant making you happy.

“Yay! You can dress like a cowboy! I have a cowboy hat if you need it.”

“I’ll go to the party, but I’m not dressing up. Especially not as a redneck.”

You give him a pout. “It’s a cowboy not a redneck. Those are two different things. I’m being an alien so we can match,” you suggest.

“I’ll think about it, but I probably won’t,” Schlatt says, as you give him a sad puppy face.

“Okay. As long as you think about it.” The two of you go back to eating your food. Schlatt knows that even though he told you no, he’s going to end up with a cowboy hat on his head Saturday night. Those damn puppy eyes are going to get him in trouble and he knows it.

A/N: sorry this took so long! I had some personal stuff going on! The next part will be at the party and actual romance stuff will happen lol!! Thank you so much for reading.

[loko4koko]

Cowboy Toji. He's taken over my mind. Imagine him tied up with his own rope, commanding you to help him, but instead, we tease him till he's all hot and bothered.

oh my sweet anon you have NO idea how this ask has affected me 😭 as someone who used to be heavy in the rdr2 fandom, i have a LOT (A LOT) of thoughts about sexy yummy cowboy men hehe

gn!reader but they do wear a dress!

MDNI 18+ BELOW THE CUT

cowboy!toji—well, he isn’t just a cowboy, he’s a bounty hunter. one of the best around, too. he has no rivals because everyone knows they aren’t even close to being as tough as him. he’ll hog tie a bounty right up (or shoot them if they’re being a pain in the ass), sling ‘em on the back of his horse, and when he’s done dropping them at the sheriff’s, he’ll use the hefty reward to celebrate at the nearby saloon.

only, toji may have celebrated a little too hard this time, ‘cause he fell victim to one of the oldest scams in the book. 4 whiskey shots and 2 beers in, toji gets approached by a working girl, and she’s real pretty, too, so who would he be to say no to a little company? so he stumbles off with her, following her lead to a secluded room in the saloon. but what happens there is far from what toji had expected.

when he wakes up, only a couple of hours later, he can’t see anything. the room is dark, and…why does it feel so cold? there’s a grimace on toji’s face as he tries to get up from what he thinks is the floor, only to realize his limbs are completely immobile. ‘that fucking girl…” he thinks, hissing as the ropes tied around his almost completely naked form dig into his flesh. he’s left in nothing but his underwear, grumbling angrily to himself while he tries desperately to wriggle out of his binds. that girl must’ve been a pro at this, though, ‘cause those ropes aren’t budgin’.

you’re in the storage room next door, organizing the newest case of liqour when you hear it. there’s someone groaning, some shuffling, and it startles the hell out of you. you set the box full of alcohol aside and listen further, and when the person swears your eyes widen. you tiptoe your way out to the hall, pressing your ear up against the door of the second, empty storage room. “goddamn thievin’ girl..shit..” you hear them say. it’s a man’s voice, real deep and boy, does he sound angry. your curiosity gets the best of you in the end, so you push the door open, reaching to turn on the lantern near the entrance. it takes a second for your eyes to adjust but when they do, your breath hitches.

there’s a man—just like you’d heard from the other room—and he’s..oh. your face grows hot as you take in the compromising position he seems to be in. his short black hair is tousled, scar on his lip twisted up as he tries to wriggle himself free, and when he looks up at you, it’s like a switch flips inside of you.

“ya mind givin’ me a hand here, doll?”

those dark, brooding eyes follow your every movement as you cross the short distance to reach him. you drop to the floor in front of him, dirtying the long skirt of your dress but you couldn’t care less. you’ve heard stories of a famous bounty hunter, one who could clear rooms with his gaze alone. the one with the scar and the midnight black stallion. the man who rides through the night like death incarnate. the one and only toji fushiguro. and here he was, bound in his own ropes, right in front of you.

your eyes are full of wonder as you take him in, hand subconsciously reaching out to smooth a thumb across his scarred lip. it’s real. he’s real. and he’s bared before you, wrapped up like a present that only you know about. your fingers skip a path down to his chiseled jaw, then further, down past the thick cords of his neck, before they come to a stop on his broad chest. the skin is flawed—healed knife slashes and bullet grazings etched across his pale flesh—but still so soft, so inviting with how it ripples under your delicate touch. as you explore him, your thumb brushes his nipple and he shudders, steely eyes boring into you when you meet his stare.

“this ain’t what i meant by ‘givin’ me a hand, sweetheart’,” he says, voice rumbling low.

“i- i’m sorry, do you..want me to stop?”

he’s silent for a long moment, jaw clenched tight while your hand hovers just off of his toned abdomen. your palm is so close you can still feel the heat radiating from him, and it’s killing you how badly you want that heat on you directly from the source.

“no.”

so you don’t stop. your hands are fully on him now, groping at his chest and caressing his stomach. and when your hand trails lower, your eyes meet his again and he holds your gaze quietly. you can feel how hard he is through his underwear, can feel how hot and big and throbbing he is. lip between your teeth, you take the plunge and grip him tight, barely able to wrap your hand around the girthy shaft. he hisses, eyes still on you, unwavering in their confidence. it doesn’t matter to toji that he’s the one restrained, he knows (in his sober state) that he could intimidate anyone into backing down, and you’re no exception. but there’s something in him, something that he sees in you that has him keening at your touch. in him- addicted, in you- addicting.

you’ve reduced this big, burly, violent man into a grunting mess. there’s sticky spots of pre staining his underwear and his head has fallen back between his bulky shoulders and fuck, he wants to cum, so bad—so fucking bad—but you’re not as sweet as you look, keep slowing the pump of your wrist down when his hips start to grind up into the strokes.

are you going to be nice, be kind to this scary man? or are you going to leave him there, high and dry? choose wisely, he’s a professional at finding people who’ve wronged him…

>thank u for reading ♡︎

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