#then taking the cigarette and placing it in his awe struck mouth with a parting ‘farewell my lady’ as she leaves

[laniidae-passerine]

was just overtaken by a desire to see a queer staged performance of much ado featuring masc Beatrice and femme Benedict bi4bi mayhem

[corazondebeskar-reads]

ain't no rest for the wicked - chapter five

ain't no rest for the wicked series

five: way down below

series masterlist | prev chapter

Tess Servopoulos x f!reader x Joel Miller

words: 4k

summary: After sneaking out of Joel and Tess's apartment, you wake up in an unfamiliar place.

warnings: creator chose not to use warnings, dark-ish Joel and Tess, smuggler!Joel, smuggler!Tess, boston QZ, QZ life, poorly negotiated d/s-style dynamics, poor communication, enthusiastic consent, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v, threesome, description of violence & wounds, canon-typical violence, canon-typical killing.

Welcome to the end, my friends. I omitted a specific warning due to spoilers. If you need to know before you read, DM me.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you come to, head pounding, it’s on an old dining chair with cheap metal legs and a moth-eaten seat. Your hands have gone to pins and needles from the rope that burns when you try to flex them, bootless feet in a similar predicament. The cloth stuffed in your mouth tastes metallic, though you don’t seem to have bled.

You’re swimming through static. You think you might throw up.

Wherever you are is long abandoned, which doesn’t really help narrow it down. It was maybe a break room, once, with a shattered microwave and the cupboards askew.

A tall, spindly man in a Mets hat leans against the counter. He’s bundled in a jacket while yours is missing.

You take comfort in that it’s the only other piece of clothing you’re missing. You wiggle your toes, trying to coax a modicum of warmth back in them.

Ball Cap snubs his cigarette on the counter and leaves it there. “Nice to see you again,” he says.

You wish it wasn’t to you.

“What, don’t you recognize me?” he says.

You do, though. Of course you do. He was the one Joel beat the shit out of in that alley.

“You sure were a talker before. Aren’t you gonna give me that same offer? Your mouth for your life?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to think. Come on. Any time now, brain.

He seems to be alone. Could you take him? Probably not. Is he armed? Yes, definitely. He had struck you over the head with the butt of a gun last night.

At least, you think it was last night.

He stomps over to you and yanks your head back to look at him. “Aren’tcha gonna answer me, you little whore?”

When he sees the gag, he throws back his head and laughs. “Shit, right. Well, no point in this,” he tugs the knot loose and tosses the cloth to the ground. “Nobody’s gonna come help you, no matter how loud you scream. And kinda wanna hear it. Y’see, the boss man didn’t take kindly—”

You manage to hold your tongue, due largely in part to the tackiness of your mouth, but your lip curls a little. Is this guy for real? He’s fucking villain monologuing?

“Hey,” a nasally voice says. “Better not be starting without me.”

The newcomer is tall like Ball Cap, but beefier. He’d be more intimidating if he wasn’t sniffling and wheezing, his nose a constant faucet of mucus that pooled on his upper lip.

He coughs deeply for a minute, fist against his open mouth. The part of your brain that’s actively pretending you aren’t going to die tonight is worried about catching whatever he’s splattering across the room.

“Don’t you want to know what we want with you?” Slimy Mustache says.

“Not really,” you say before you can stop yourself.

You hear the rattle in his lungs as he steps closer. “No, you already know, don’t you?” His hand lifts, a finger stroking down your cheek. You flinch away, squeezing your eyes shut.

Slimy Mustache laughs. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to start the show without your friends.”

Friends? You don’t have—aw, fuck.

“Not my friends,” you say. “I didn’t—they were strangers, too.”

You hear it before you feel it, leaving you blinking in shock for a moment. Life may not have been great in the apocalypse, but no one’s actually hit you before.

Not like this.

Your cheek and eyes sting sharply. Ball Cap certainly hadn’t held back.

“Don’t lie. We’ve seen them coming in and out of your place, you stupid cunt.”

When he hits you this time, it’s less of a rage reaction and more for fun with a closed fist. You’re still reeling when you register the heat first, then the slick, sickening drip of blood from your nose down your lips.

“Knock it off, man,” says Slimy Mustache. “He said we had to wait for them. Ain’t gonna negotiate if she’s dead.”

“They’ll kill you,” you lie, grimacing as it invites the coppery tang into your mouth.

Ball Cap grins with a set of unusually shiny, straight teeth for a thug at the end of the world. “Nah, honey, that’s why we have you.”

You spit blood at his feet. He moves to backhand you, but Mustache tries to stop him, and it knocks him a little off course. His hand is decked out in gaudy rings, and the edge of one snags on your cheek. You gasp, and it turns into a whimper as the pain bleeds through.

“You better hope they show up soon,” Ball Cap snarls at Mustache. “Or there won’t be much left for them to find.”

It’s true, no matter how he means it. You’re not suited for this. You wish you were a secret badass with balls of steel, but you’ve given pretty much all the fight you had.

And you know no one’s coming for you.

When Tess wakes, the sun peeks through the window aggressively, and she has to shield her eyes to see Joel. He’s shaking her shoulder gently to let her know he’s leaving. He’s already bundled in his coat and hat, tugging gloves on. It’s unusual, but he doesn’t look distressed.

She sits up and stretches. “Where ya going?” she says, but she thinks she knows since the bed is empty and the apartment is quiet.

“Just gonna make sure she got home okay,” he says and kisses her. “Musta snuck out sometime in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, I think I spooked her when I asked her to stay,” Tess admits.

“M’sure she’s fine,” he says, but he isn’t looking at her, and that’s when she realizes she misread him earlier. He is worried.

“I’m comin’,” she says, already on her feet. “You go on, take the long way, and I’ll meet you.”

He nods.

There’s only one lurking outside your apartment, but two in nearby alleys on standby. He takes them out first, silent as the falling snow, which melts as it lands in pools of hot blood.

He lets the third man catch him. There’s a pistol in his face, but he knows he’s not really in danger.

“Where’s the girl?” he growls.

“Don’t worry, we’re just showin’ her some of the same hospitality you showed my brother,” the man tells him.

He seems to think that by pointing a gun at Joel, he has the upper hand.

He doesn’t think that for long. Not when Tess’s knife sinks into his arm and twists, the gun clattering to the ground as he reflexively jerks. Joel picks it up and stuffs it in his waistband as casually as if he had just adjusted his belt. His jaw ticks as his hand wraps around the man’s throat.

“I suggest you listen real close,” Tess says, voice low and thick with danger.

“Tell us where she is,” Joel says before pointedly shifting his gaze to where Tess holds the knife buried, “and maybe you’ll be able to salvage that arm.”

He gives in so quickly he might have been able to, if they had left him alive.

“Think we made a mistake,” Ball Cap drawls. “They aren’t comin’ for this bitch.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been here, but you keep slipping in and out of awareness. Floating through something like a dream, but not enough to escape reality. Worse yet, you keep snapping back to the world, having been close to escape or rescue, a sick hope still brewing in your brain.

“That’s too bad,” Slimy Mustache says with an exaggerated pout. “I wanted them to watch.”

“Guess your pussy wasn’t good enough to save you,” Ball Cap says.

You keep your mouth shut. They’re still pretending they need a reason to hurt you, and you sure as hell aren’t going to give it to them.

They’re right, though. The late afternoon sun is dragging wearily through the clouds.

You don’t blame them. You knew the danger. You didn’t just open your door to let the tornado in; you had sex with the—no, okay, you have to retire this metaphor.

It’s okay. You knew what this was.

And what it wasn’t.

Still, you think. You’re not really keen on dying here and even less keen on what you’re pretty sure will precede it.

“I dunno. I still think we should find out for ourselves,” Slimy Mustache says.

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” someone snarls behind Slimy Mustache, a knife to his throat.

You must be delirious from fear and blood loss because your first thought is that motherfucking Batman is here. You’re at a point where you apparently genuinely believe, if only for a moment, that it’s more likely for Bruce Fucking Wayne to show up than Joel. Except why would Batman be in Boston?

There’s a gun resting against Ball Cap’s head; his namesake knocked to the dusty ground. Tess is on the other end of it. It’s hard to conflate her with anyone else; they never made a girl superhero more badass than Tess. Not that you’d say no to Wonder Woman, but who would?

You close your eyes. You’re not getting tricked by this dream again.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep ‘em shut, okay?” Tess says.

There’s a lot of rustling fabric and soft, wet sounds muffled by agonized cries.

When hands touch your shoulders, you flinch.

“It’s just me,” she says. “Hold still just one more minute, okay? And don’t look.”

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter as she goes around the back of your chair, her hand never leaving your shoulder. It’s easier to breathe with her touch to anchor you, even through your swollen nose.

With one hand, she flicks open a blade and cuts through enough of the rope that she can tug the rest away. She doesn’t have to come up with a way to free your ankles without letting go, because Joel’s already cutting the knots.

“I gotcha,” he’s murmuring. “We’ve got ya, sunflower. Hey, look at me.”

You do, hesitantly opening your sore eyes. His broad body is blocking everything else, though there’s clear whimpering and groaning behind him. He cups your face in his hands, turning it to look at the cut on your cheek and survey the swelling.

“Don’t,” you mumble. “It’s not pretty.”

He ignores you. “We’re gonna get you home. But first, I need to know—you want me to drag it out or just kill ‘em now?”

You look up at his blank eyes. There’s viscera splattered on his shirt and face. When you crane your neck to look at Tess, still behind you with both hands on your shoulders, she’s soaked in gore.

“Not yours, right?” you say.

“Not a drop,” she promises.

You look back at Joel. “Now, please,” you whisper, even though it makes your stomach turn.

“Get her out of here,” Joel says.

“No,” Tess surprises both of you. “I’ll take care of it. I don’t think she can walk on her own.”

You remember Tess in the kitchen with the chef’s knife and how you thought she looked like an angel when you first met. They both do, now.

“I’ll meet you there,” she says, her tone offering no negotiation.

Joel doesn’t argue, though you think he looks disappointed. Like he wanted the kill.

You’re just barely aware that it should scare you. It doesn’t.

He scoops you up with no problem, as if it doesn’t strain his aging knees.

“I think I can walk,” you say.

He doesn’t dignify you with anything more than a shake of his head.

It’s not a long walk. The setting sun frames him in gold, the blood gone dark and sticky. You’re only a block from the alley you first met them in, which in turn is only two from your apartment. But by the time you get there, you’re asleep against his chest.

He sets you down gently on the bed, meaning to go looking for your first aid kit, but you dig your fingers into his shirt.

“I ain’t leavin’,” he says, gently prying them off. “Just gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”

It’s so hard to open your eyes, but you manage a few seconds to take him in. You nod and let go, but the deep pout is unshakable.

He opens the door to the bathroom and flicks the light on, stepping over the towel threshold and then nearly stomping on who, if he was forced to guess, is Georgie. Both mice scatter immediately, luckily into the wall instead of out into the open apartment.

He shuts the door to prevent an escape and rifles around your cabinet until he produces a mostly empty bottle of rubbing alcohol and some bandages.

You wake again when he sits on the bed at your side, booted feet still on the ground.

“Sit up for me, sunflower,” he murmurs, helping you up as you groan and popping a pillow behind your back. “Look at me.”

He waits until you do and hands you a glass of water. While you sip at it, he gets a better look at your nose.

“It’s not broken,” he says, and you sigh, shoulders slumping. “It’s going to be swollen for a few days, though.”

You flinch back from his touch but try to work through it. “Okay,” you whisper.

He cleans your face, murmuring to you all the while about what he’s doing. You hiss when he wipes the gash on your cheek, tears welling up at the sting.

There’s a familiar knock at the door, but Tess doesn’t wait for anyone to answer; she just slips inside.

“Not gonna need stitches, either,” he says. “You got real lucky.”

“Don’t feel lucky,” you mumble. Your eyes dart to the horseshoe. Both of theirs follow yours, and they exchange a look.

“Think you can take a bath?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“What if I get in there with you?” she offers.

You think about it, biting your lip, and nod.

Joel gets the tub filling while Tess gently peels you from your battered clothes. When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s scrubbed the blood from his skin and has his shirt hanging up to dry.

Your bath isn’t very big, but you make it work, nestled close between her legs. It’s maybe the least sexually charged moment you’ve had with them. Joel kneels on a towel and washes the blood from both of you. None of you speak.

It does help. Having it cleaned from you, having it be them who do it. Joel’s firm hand scrubbing the blood and dirt away, Tess’s steady embrace keeping you grounded.

Joel helps you each out of the bath and dries you off, swatting away your hands when you try to do it yourself. The look in his eyes is still kind of distant, so you stop protesting and let him do what he needs to do.

No one bothers with clothes. There’s no point. While the bath may not have been sexual, whatever is happening now definitely is.

You’re on your back in bed, wet hair splayed out on your pillow. Joel is on your left, and Tess is on your right, and their hands are everywhere. You clutch at them in return with each of yours.

They’re passing you back and forth for kisses, deep, consuming things with teeth and tongue and spit. You understand the “beast with two backs” thing now. Except, how would it work with three backs? Are you some kind of mutated monstrosity squished into a triangle? A pyramid of flesh and sweat and moans?

“Stop thinkin’ so much,” Joel growls against your neck, and you’re inclined to obey when his fingers find your clit. Thoughts aren’t super useful right now, and you’d like to keep most of them at bay anyway.

Even that’s a little too close, and you must tense because Tess nips at your ear and whispers, “Just focus on us, okay? Just us.”

They make it easy to lose yourself in their hands and warm mouths. You genuinely can’t tell who touches you where until you end up with three fingers in Tess’s cunt.

Joel rolls your lower half and yanks your legs where he’d like, leaving you contorted with your top half focused on Tess. He plunges into your pussy while you mouth at her tits. One of her hands cups your head to her breasts, and the other gropes at your own.

Neither of them are being rough with you, but they aren’t treating you like glass, either. You really fucking appreciate it, even if you don’t register it right away. Even while he fucks into you, Joel can’t stop his hands from roaming, smoothing over your hips and thighs and stomach.

They play you like a harp, keeping you trapped between their legs and plucking pretty sounds one after another from your taut body. There are a lot of orgasms all around, and you’re not even trying to keep track. Your head is blissfully empty, each climax wringing your brain like a sponge.

At some point, you push Joel off so you can suck his cock. Tess helps herself to feast from your cunt while you do, and somehow, when you look up, Joel’s buried his face in her as well. The circle shifts and warps but never breaks.

Eventually, they get you on your back again, and after a bit of whining on your end, Tess sits on your face while Joel has your cunt again. He switches between licking and fucking, and you actually pass out a bit this way.

When you wake, it’s to Joel getting out of bed and pulling his clothes back on. He catches sight of the look breaking across your face and shakes his head.

“I’ll be back. Runnin’ over to get her some clean clothes ‘n stuff.”

You settle back down. Tess slides an arm over your waist, and you roll over to snuggle up to her.

The next time you wake up, it’s because of the nightmares. You jerk awake with a cry, and she’s right there, rubbing your back and coaxing you to lie down.

“I know, sunflower. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs as you cry.

“I was so scared,” you whisper in the safety of the night, voice wavering.

“I know, baby. You were so brave, though.”

You don’t feel like you were very brave. You feel like you let the creeps crawl into your skin and ruin everything.

When Joel gets back, you’re still awake.

“Good,” he says. “I didn’t want to have to wake ya, but I need you to eat.”

“M’not hungry,” you say. Tess is up and getting dressed in a soft tee and sweats. She tosses you another set, and you put them on without thinking about your own clothes in the dresser.

“I know,” she says. “But you need to. It’s nothin’ much; just need to get something in ya.”

“I brought something for the pain, but you can’t have it on an empty stomach,” Joel says.

You give in and unscrew the thermos he hands you. It’s chicken noodle soup, and he presses warm bread, wrapped in cloth, into your lap.

Once you’ve satisfied their expectations, Joel drops a round white pill into your hand. “I can only give you one,” he says, laced with raw guilt. “But I got some ibuprofen for ya, too, for later.”

He hands you a glass but pauses. “It’s gonna make you sleep,” he warns.

“Okay,” you say and chase the pill with a swig of water. “I trust you.”

He winces a little, almost imperceptibly.

“I’m going to run out and talk to someone ‘bout the mess we made,” Tess says.

Joel scowls. “Can’t it wait ‘till later?”

“You know damn well it can’t,” she hisses like she doesn’t want you to hear.

“I’m sorry,” you say. They both look at you, and you sniffle. “I’m sorry I’m trouble, I’m s—”

“You cut that out right now,” Tess snaps, but her face softens right after, and she comes to sit on the bed beside you. “It ain’t your fault. We should be apologizing to you.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

She and Joel exchange a look.

“Alright,” she concedes. She kisses your forehead. “I’ll be back soon. Joel’ll stay with ya, okay?”

You sniffle again but nod.

They share a significant glance when she reaches the door, but say nothing. Joel locks it behind her and slides back under the covers. He tugs you to his chest, and you melt into his warm, broad shelter.

They phase in and out of your apartment all night, but never both at a time. You wake just a little at each changing of the guard, just enough to snuggle into whoever slips in and holds you.

There are murmurs and whispers; you don’t catch most of it. Just huffed breaths, a few sharp snips, and lonely words with no meaning—dawn, you hear once, and for. Or four. Or fore, you suppose, but it'd be strange to be talking about golf. Anyway, there’s no context.

They don’t break through your slumber as anything more than a soft breeze.

When morning comes, you’re alone.

It’s painfully obvious. Your tiny studio is occupied by only yourself and the ghosts. The towel is neatly stuffed against the bathroom door, betraying its vacancy.

There’s a bottle with a handful of painkillers on your kitchen counter next to a glass of water. You can tell there’s a note and something wrapped in cloth. But if you stay here, stay tucked into bed where they left you, you don’t have to see it.

It could say that they’re cleaning up the mess and they’ll be back later. It could be instructions for when to come over next.

But it’s not going to be. You don’t need to read it to know. The truth’s been trickling into your lungs since you woke up. Since last night, really.

You get up anyway, shaky legs on autopilot. You take the pills first, sipping the water, and stare at the paper. It’s bigger than their usual scraps, and neatly folded. Someone’s drawn a little flower on the outside. You wish you knew who.

When the water is gone, and you’re out of excuses, you pick up the paper with a trembling hand.

Rough capitals take up most of the page. “Be good.” You close your eyes, choking down the acid in your throat.

At the bottom is a neater, slanted scrawl. “It’s the iron.” You blink stupidly for a moment and then reach for the cloth.

It’s a flannel Joel brought over last night, clean and soft. When you pick it up, something clatters against the countertop and falls to the ground.

It’s a fucking horseshoe.

You sit, right where you had stood, legs folded and the flannel clutched to your chest with both hands. Your head droops so your nose is buried in the fabric, and you stare at the gift and let the tears burn down your cheeks.

You don’t change out of their clothes for three days.

The note gets tucked between the pages of “An Unsuitable Job for a Woman.”

The horseshoe sits on your table for weeks until you shove it under the bathroom sink. Half of you wants to bury it somewhere, afraid it might actually work.

But it’s just a horseshoe, and they’re just human. They only wanted you to think it would work—that it might protect you.

The flannel lives tangled up in your blankets. The smell of them fades fast.

You don’t return to their apartment. You think about it. Think about haunting it like they haunt yours. Think about banging on it until they tell you why.

But you know why. You saw it in the fear in their eyes that night. You had become something they could lose, and so, they had to. Quick and sharp, like their knives at the throats of those men. How could you blame them? Hadn’t you run away for the same reason?

On your loneliest nights, you think of them. You hope they’re okay. It’s never a guarantee in this world. You like to think they’re wrapped up warm and safe in bed.

On cold, sleepless nights under the starry sky, Joel likes to think the same of you.

Thank you all so much for coming along on this journey.

I hurt my own feelings with this one, y'all. Please feel free to yell/vent/talk with me about this because I am not okay.

*title from "Heaven Knows" by the Pretty Reckless.

[things-still-left-unsaid]

What The Idol Should've Been Like:

"̶i̶f̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶g̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶ ̶s̶o̶n̶g̶ ̶c̶a̶l̶l̶e̶d̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶a̶ ̶f̶r̶e̶a̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶"̶

"Well, that was lacking. Like you."

Tedros eases back on the couch, cocking his head to the side

"What the hell do you mean?" Jocelyn takes out another cigarette, staring at him, now reconsidering why she even called him at the first place, or why had she even liked him at the club for that matter. "Is this the part where you manipulate me into fucking you? Honestly, you know if I just gotta fuck my way to the top then there are way more influential men in the industry I could fuck that would be more beneficial for me than you."

Tedros scoffs and advances towards her, offering her a lighter and whispers,

"That is exactly what I'm talking about."

Jocelyn puffs the smoke into his face but when it clears, he looks into her eyes with as devilishly enchanting a pull as ever.

"Tell me, Angel - if those old pigs you're talking about really have what it takes to be at the top then why didn't they stay there?

Many are in this game for years, they slog, but do they last? Sure, they can land you some really good offers, sell you to the public, they will listen to you but soon forget about you, and then you're screwed. A freak, that's right, that's just what you are, that's all you are. A stripper that just got lucky. They are only here for your body, you're just an object of their desire. And they don't feel guilty for doing that because you let them, you pride in it even, thinking that constantly showing yourself off is is what gon make you win."

Tedros almost spits the words in her face but relaxes at seeing her tension. Jocelyn feels gutted, not because she's enraged by what he is saying but quite on the contrary because of the honesty. The raw honesty dripping from his mouth and attacking at her, the gravity with which each blow lands with a masochistic sort of flow, because she likes this. She prefers this than any of her fake, pretentious team and friends. But above all, she's hypnotised by something dark yet glittering behind those eyes of his, struck by everything true and intoxicated by these words of his.

He whispers, "Look around you, Angel. Everybody here is a freak. That's just what it takes to get here. But it won't take you further than this. A freak bows to the fantasy of the people, feeding them as they like, exploiting oneself endlessly in order to do so, exploiting to the point of ruin, to the doom. A hubris. But me? I know how their minds work. I know the insides. You heard them talking about this godly creature they think they can trap? This creature called Talent? Oh, only a 'talented' bitch can make it, they say. Imma tell you a little secret, Angel.." he leans in closer "Talent is a myth. You can create this creature. It's an art to be learnt, and I can teach it to you."

*Gimme More by Britney Spears plays distantly and hauntingly, growing louder*

"You won't have to bow to them, they will bow to *you*, dancing to your songs, to your tunes, all day, all night till their breath runs out and their hearts stop, and they would do it all again, and again, again. They will worship you like a god. And I can help you be one. A real Angel."

*Jocelyn's vision goes hazy by flashing lights and people screaming her name in bewildering awe as she sees herself in the distance walking down the red carpet, waving to them, giving them a flying kiss*

"I can make you a star."

[huntershowl]

SOMETHING HAPPENS TO SUKUNA'S FACE that persephone can't quite pin down. it's strange — she's never seen him flinch before. they have never exactly been raw with each other like this, the doors on both sides open for curiosity and vulnerability. it's a night full of firsts, she supposes. the flinch, as if he's been struck by the cramping pain of food poisoning, passes fast, but not fast enough for them to wonder if it was a trick of the light. it's very real. what could he have been thinking about? something kenjaku did — a gruesome reminder of the tattoos on his face and body?

the thought still sends a chill down her spine. something forbidden and terrible in her wants to reach out, cradle his face in hands that cannot feel, and shield him from anyone laying their hands on him ever again.

but that is a forbidden and terrible part of her, and it should not be encouraged. it shouldn't be. and if sukuna were any less cruel, he would recognize the tipping point they both near — he would work together with her to distance, to remain enemies like they have been throughout their entire partnership.

instead, he leans closer, inhales the smoke she breathes out, and seph damn near dies on the fucking spot. she watches it curl from the corners of his lips as he breathes out, dragon's breath laden with silent meaning in the heady look they share. a long time ago, seph and orion argued about this. it's hot as hell, orion said around a mouthful of takoyaki. you just don't get it 'cause you've never wanted to fuck someone before.

so? she retorted, hackles already raised as a furious blush rushed to her cheeks. that doesn't mean i don't know what's hot. it's stupid. just take the fucking cigarette from their mouth and lean really close.

also hot, he said, and not the point.

he was right. there's something terribly intimate about visibly sharing breath, persephone recognizes now. the wisp and warmth of the smoke entering someone else's body while they lock eyes with you. and somehow, this time, something intimate doesn't make her want to shove him down a well and retreat to the safest place she can find. they don't want to step away. they want to step closer. but thankfully, sukuna saves her the irresponsible decision by breaking the silence. i took mythology classes in college. at that, seph's eyes light up with an entirely new curiosity. what else does he know? could they geek out together about translations and bitch about how awful the gods were —

— no, of course they couldn't. maybe if they were normal people with normal lives.

tentatively, persephone follows sukuna's path to the bed, settles in across from him with her legs crossed over each other the same way. pale, rosy-scarred skin peeks through the rips in the knees of her black jeans. they brush against his, just barely — a consequence of her stork-like legs — but she doesn't mind the casual touch. it makes her feel younger, somehow. like she's stealing away with a friend in the cohort and sneaking away to another bunk, tented under a blanket and sharing gossip. no one in the world but the two of them.

quiet nods in-between his sentences as he explains the whole deal between kenjaku and suguru geto. sounds like kenjaku wants a proper yakuza clan, which is why things got so brutal after he took over from suguru — it's not uncommon in clan-based syndicates to be controlled by a particular family line. one of their weaknesses, fletch would point out occasionally while they taught persephone about the rise and fall of the mafia. they were stubborn. too brutal, too insular. anyone who can gossip behind their sister's back can just as easily conspire a takeover. fletch's method, in contrast, was to be a relatively generous, benevolent leader while keeping a subtle ear out on anything and everything said by their people. persephone has never seen a mind that can hold as much information as his. it made her head hurt just thinking about it.

mahito sounds a little bit like hector. seph's lips turn down in distaste. they'd prefer not to linger on that thought for too long — though it's good to know someone like that exists in their ranks. someone to avoid ending up on the back foot with, to take out before he can become a problem.

❝ sounds like a mess. and sounds like geto should get the fuck out once he cleans it up. ❞ no wonder fletch is interested — they probably want to treat the cursed souls like a fixer-upper house. absorb it slowly, shape its growth, get kenjaku under their thumb and have a new arm for the unseen. there's a long pause, seph's brows tunneling together for a moment before she murmurs, ❝ i have cash. been saving up for most of my life to get us the fuck out of here. by now, there's way more than enough for just me and orion. 'sides — ❞ an amused gesture to her clothing, a basic black tank and distressed jeans — ❝ do i look like the highest-paid motherfucker in the unseen? i dunno what to do with all of it. there's only so much you can spend on weapons and gear. apartment's not even fancy — and i don't live there anymore. it just sits. ❞ a snort. ❝ so — whatever. funds aren't a problem. ❞

it's the second question that has them stiffening. it was coming sooner or later, it always has been. absentmindedly, a hand moves up to press its palm into the scar tissue on blatant display under the tank's fabric. fuuuuck. they owe him this, don't they.

❝ ... fletch — the tower, whatever — is complicated. our relationship is complicated. ❞ seph grimaces. she wants to crawl out of her skin. she wants to curl in on herself and pull up her walls, shove sukuna away in every sense possible. instead, they take a long, deep breath and flex their prosthetic hands, carbon-fiber joints moving as fluid as flesh. ❝ alright, i'll get the arms thing out of the way first. we were nineteen. we'd — i'd — had enough of the unseen, so i devised a plan to escape. long story short, fletch found out, tore my arms off and took orion's eye. yes, both of us were awake, and yes, i remember everything. you know what it's like. ❞

they don't need to bare the scars to him, but they do anyway, letting a tank strap slip just enough that they can pull the sculpted metal plate off the reconstructed shoulder, pull away the flexible fabric that covers the most vulnerable part of her shoulder: that gnarled, roping scar tissue melds into muscle-mimicking cables of matte-black carbon fiber. it's almost like the shoulder of an anatomical mannequin.

seph presses her tongue to the tip of a canine, letting the pain spark enough to keep her grounded before continuing. ❝ fletch separated us. orion went to the OT wing of our hospital to recover — i went to fletch's estate. guess they saw potential for a blank-slate weapon project. like a... right hand, guard dog, attack dog. lap dog. ❞ bitterness in the words there, a scowl darkening their face. but it falls away just as quick, an unwelcome, conflicted tenderness seeping back into their expression. ❝ they... treated me so kind after that. never raised a hand outside of training, and they taught me everything themself. personally. writing and combat and — picking up the violin again for the first time. hell, fucking ballroom dancing for some reason. ❞

she laughs, rakes a hand through her hair. ❝ i dunno. the love was manufactured, but it felt real. feels real. sometimes i think i would die for them. even though they did everything they did. after that, they founded the sanctum around me and orion — trusted inner circle, twelve people. each of us acts as a lieutenant and a specialist for our crew. he forges, i... do a lot of shit, but mainly, i kill people no one else can kill. hector beats the shit out of whoever needs it, tortures people, causes chaos to distract a room. sage is the getaway driver and our hacker. norah is the engineer — she made my arms, upkeeps them. acheron is our safecracker and poisoner. cody is the accountant — launders money, whatever. edith is our thief. she's the only person hector listens to because he has a massive crush on her. ❞ snorts. ❝ uh... anah is the spy, honeypot, whatever. caro's the fence, ishal is the doctor. and then there's fletch. ❞

this explanation is all over the place and they know it. seph's frustration flares visibly in her face. ❝ sorry i'm so shit with words. uh. fletch is ... their eyes and ears are everywhere. at least half the unseen members are just normal fuckers who live normal lives, but they eavesdrop and report back everything they hear. a lot of them are combat-trained secretly, but a lot aren't. they'll take street kids — like us — and mold them for most of their lives into a role for the syndicate. somehow, fletch knows every fucking name and face in the entire organization. millions of them in his head. i don't know how he does it. he has ... politicians in his pocket, supreme court judges, police, diplomats... even i don't know who's with 'em and who's not. ❞

there is a certain resignation to the way she explains all of this. they have carried this weight for so long it's simply become part of them, but here, stripped of anger, her pure exhaustion with it all is plain to see. finally, their eyes flick back up to meet his, solemn and dark. ❝ but they could never get a hold in japan. the yakuza factions are too entrenched, and they don't like him. you guys were the first clan who didn't give him the cold shoulder. ❞

SHE IS SOMEONE WHO is careful, who isn't sure what they want when it comes down to it. he can understand it  ––  that hesitation in their eyes, their motions; he's asking a lot of her. he's asking them to turn on a syndicate that is very embedded in the world around them, through circuits that neither of them could ever hope to touch. not only that, he's asking them to put their trust in him for his own syndicate that he's trying to overthrow  ––  she knows nothing about the cursed souls and what comes with the territory of them. he thinks of mahito and that overly wide grin  ––  the one that wants to destroy, who giggles like a manic man when he's cutting someone open. it sends a shiver down his spine as he pictures persephone on one of his tables, his patchwork face looking down on them as he raises his favorite knife and her screams echo throughout the building. 

a flinch on his face  ––  he has never been particularly squeamish, has had to train himself out of it when it comes to being a hitman, but this makes something in him want to recoil. there's a careful breath that he takes in, barely parted lips to try to stave away the nausea that rips through him. they don't know one another, have barely been together for a few months now on and off, but they work like they've known one another for a long time. he knows when to bend so that her arm doesn't take his head off when they swing; they know when to move out of the way just as his knife flies through the air and into the person behind them. 

the thought of persephone being taken away by the cursed souls sends a jolt down his body, seems to awaken him from the slight stupor that has been overtaking him whenever they get too close. she is a liability that he hadn't foreseen coming  ––  when they had met, they couldn't stand one another. now he's standing on the precipice, telling her of a plan that could get him killed  ––  they have absolutely no loyalty to him, they owe him nothing. at any given time they could easily turn him over and get the glory, would never have to worry about their loyalty being called in question ever again. but yet persephone stands before him, a curiosity sliding into her eyes, a spark that's beginning to work into a flame.

it's dangerous. he shouldn't let this go any further. there's a frustration that echos in his veins  ––  since when does he give a fuck about other people? he has to focus on him, on yuji, on the people that yuji cares about. this has to be about his little brother and nothing more. but yet he can't stop himself from the way that his own tinder is tempted to be lit aflame. how she is sparking a riot in his soul that he hadn't known even existed.

she blows smoke in his face and he doesn't flinch  ––  instead opens his mouth and inhales, allows it to flow back out through the edge of his lips. there's an impassive look on his face for a long moment before he simply shrugs his shoulders and doesn't reach to get the cigarette back this time.  " i took mythology classes in college. "    before he dropped out so he could take care of yuji, before he had made a decision that would put shackles around him without him realizing it fully until it was far too late. 

he settles away from her once more, makes is way back over to the bed and sits down, crosses his legs underneath him as he pats the space in front of him. there's a soft bemusement once it dips, their knees touching ever so slightly. it's intimate in a way that it doesn't have a right to be. 

❝ he's not that good  ––  he's pretty shit compared to suguru. suguru can rally his people without much effort. most of them have only stayed on due to loyalty and being here a long time. he's brutal and efficient, and his right hands are mahito, hanami, and jogo. mahito is his expert torturer, and when i tell you that he's an expert at it, the things that little weird fucker has done will give you nightmares. ❞   a pause, his fingers snagging the cigarette this time and taking the final drag of it before snuffing it out on the dresser finish. it's not his to worry about, anyway.  ❝ hanami doesn't care for violence and carries out most of the financial stuff, and rescues. jogo goes wherever he's meant to go and doesn't complain. ❞   tongue presses against his bottom lip for a moment before his fingers come up to rub at his temples. 

❝ they don't have as many eyes as the unseen does. they just don't care much about hearing sides  ––  they kind of just…destroy on a hunch. it's a horrible business model. everything is done through blackmail. you don't realize you're part of the organization until it's too late. you don't get to say no. suguru never ran it like that  ––  he never wanted this big organization. some illegal drugs, maybe. money laundering? sure. but murder? torture? that was never the geto motto. it wasn't until kenjaku started taking over things that the change started taking place, and it was fast. truthfully, i don't know if there will be a geto organization once this is said and done, and i won't be sad to see it go. might be sad about the lack of cash but it's fine. ❞   he shrugs his shoulders again, taps his fingers against his knees and averts his eyes.  ❝ your turn. who's yanking your chain? ❞ 

[babybluebex]

sugar pie, honey bunch [lee bodecker smut]

➽ pairing: lee bodecker x fem!reader(y/n) ➽ word count: 4.3k ➽ summary: lee gets tired of your secret rendezvous at work, so he comes to your house and does something about it.   ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. explicit language, smut, unprotected sex (pls wear a condom), daddy kink, degradation, infidelity by both parties, loss of virginity, mentions of anal sex ➽ a/n: if you know me irl no u don’t <3

It was quiet. Too quiet. I hated that. The silence let my thoughts run amok and that was never good for anybody, but least of all me. I had a tendency to overthink things, and quiet and still only amplified that. Knockemstiff, Ohio was the absolute worst place to live if you hated silence, because nothing happened in that little town. About twelve years ago, there had been a veteran who killed himself after his wife died, but that was the loudest thing that had ever happened to my little Knockemstiff. I should know; I worked as a secretary at the police station. I heard all of the gossip from around town. Earlier today, someone had been arrested for being drunk, which I think everyone in Knockemstiff could be in violation of. Every other day was quiet. It was hell. 

I could hear the crickets way out in the fields as I walked around the house. Those bugs served as my soundtrack as I found a box of matches and quietly slid a few into my mouth, and I padded through the house until I reached the front door. Knockemstiff was the sort of town where people didn’t use their front doors unless the Pope was showing up; it was all side doors and garages (if you were lucky enough to have one, which most of us didn’t). All that to say, I knew I could smoke by the front door and nobody would smell it. 

The night was hot. Oppressive and stifling, nearly suffocating. My skin was tacky against my nightshirt as I struck a match and lit a cigarette, and I leaned up against the side of the house. The moon was full, casting silver light onto my barren front yard and the dirt road that stretched exactly from one side of town to the other that ran in front of the house. It was a weird sort of beautiful. But quiet. Oh so quiet. 

Quiet, until I heard the far-off rumbling of a car. It wasn’t unheard of to get visitors in the night-- usually someone coming to ask me about the police station, because nobody had the balls or willpower to call our sheriff after hours-- but the noise drew closer at a snail’s pace. Whoever this was wasn’t in any hurry at all. Finally, a car rolled up in front of the house, the headlights off. There was a moment where I watched the car, then I sighed when the door wrenched open to reveal Lee Bodecker. The sheriff was a nice enough guy, maybe at the risk of being too nice sometimes and a total prick at others, but I was at a loss for why the hell he’d be here this late at night with his cruiser’s lights off. If it were an urgent police matter, he’d have his flashing lights on. 

“You shouldn’t do that,” Sheriff Bodecker told me, his voice carrying across the yard. 

“Do what?” I quipped. 

His boots brushed the porch as he climbed the steps up, and I caught his eye in the moonlight. “Smoking’s unbecoming of a young woman,” Bodecker told me pointedly. “Anyway, it’s a bad habit.” 

“You come to lecture me on smoking?” I asked. “I ain’t quite finished typing up that arrest report yet, if that’s what you’re after.” 

“No, no,” Bodecker said. “Nah, I ain’t here for that, sugar.” 

“Oh?” I said, crossing my arms. “And what are you here for?” 

“We’ll get to that soon enough,” Bodecker said. “Ain’t you gonna invite me in? It’s awful late.” 

“Exactly why I’m not gonna do that,” I said quickly, taking an exaggerated drag on my cigarette. “People talk, Lee. Blowjobs in the supply closet during lunch break are one thing; showing up to my house unannounced at half past midnight is something else. And I ain’t gonna be no Whore of Knockemstiff, ya hear me? Run along. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Invite me in, Y/N,” Bodecker said, tilting his head down to look me in the eyes. Bodecker was imposing: six feet tall and sturdy as a mule, even if his middle was getting a little soft. He had these steel-blue eyes that cut right to my core and gorgeous eyelashes, with puffy pink lips and a little cleft in his chin. Maybe if he were ten years younger, thirty pounds lighter, with one less marriage, I’d be into him properly, but that wasn’t the case. Our relationship was one of necessity (but aren’t they all?). His pretty little wife had stopped sucking his cock and he had a thing for my pink lipstick. It worked. That wasn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy our little trysts, because I definitely did, but something felt off about this certain encounter. He had never paid me a visit at home before. “Be a good little host for me.” 

I huffed and stamped out my cigarette. “Come in, won’t you?” I grumbled, throwing open the squeaky screen door. It felt off to have Lee in my house, but everything about us was off. I guess this was only normal. 

I flipped the light on and settled myself against the counter as Lee pulled off his tan sheriff’s hat. His hair was dark as pitch, shorn short on all sides but getting a little long at the top, and little wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as he squinted at the pictures I had on the fridge. “And who’s this?” he asked, pressing his thumb into a picture. 

I looked at it and clenched my teeth. “Boyfriend,” I answered simply. 

“Oh?” Lee chuckled. “And where is he?” 

“Well, right now, he’s in ‘Nam,” I answered. “He enlisted, got sent over.” 

“And he didn’t propose before he left?” Lee asked, and I shook my head. “Hmm. Usually when men go to war, they make sure that they’ll have someone waiting for them when they get back.” 

“Why are you here?” I asked suddenly. “What do you want?” 

“The wife’s mad at me tonight,” Lee said. “She was drinking and started yellin’ at me. Said I was better gone.” 

“And you came here?” I said. “Why?” 

“Got nowhere else to go,” Lee shrugged. “And I figured that you’d welcome me.” 

“You couldn’t go to a bar?” I asked. 

“Not unless I wanted to run into my sister,” Lee said. “And I don’t feel like having a fucking lecture.” 

I sucked in air through my teeth. “Fine,” I finally said. “But you’re on the couch.” 

“Aw, c’mon, babe,” Lee groaned. He approached me at my place at the counter, and his arms went on either side of me, keeping me right where he wanted me. “It’s been a long day for me. You’re not really gonna make me sleep on no stinkin’ couch, are ya?”

“I sure am,” I told him. “‘Cause you’re sure as hell not sleeping in the bed.”

Lee tilted his head. “Not even a good night kiss?” he asked. 

“No,” I said. “This is an inconvenience for me. I got shit to do tomorrow and I need sleep.” 

“Which is why you were outside smoking,” Lee said. 

“Helps me calm down,” I snapped. “Lee. Let me go.” 

“You sure are a stupid little bitch, huh?” Lee sneered. “You really think I rolled up to your house just wanting a place to sleep? Honey, you shoulda been expecting more.” 

Lee regularly spoke to me like this, but it was usually while I was tying my hair back and kneeling down in front of him. “Don’t call me that,” I said. 

“It’s true, though, ain’t it?” Lee asked. “Just a dumb bitch, that’s all you are. You fuck a married man and try to act like you’re better than everyone else. And you don’t think everyone knows?”

My ego deflated in half a second. “Do they?” I asked shakily. 

“That’s why the wife kicked me out,” Lee said. “Someone told her I was fuckin’ you, and she got mad. Asked for a divorce and all.” 

“We’re not fucking, though,” I tried to counter. 

“Oh, so you’ll put my cock in your mouth and call it ‘convienience’, but you draw the line at calling that ‘fucking’?” Lee scoffed. “C’mon, sugar. The whole town already knows it.” I tried to keep my chin up, but I know that Lee saw my lip trembling. “Oh,” he chuckled. “Except the whole town doesn’t know, do they? Your little boyfriend goes to sacrifice himself for the betterment of our fuckin’ country, and you’re here, whoring yourself out for me? Is that why you don’t wanna fuck me proper? Saving your first time for that bitch-boy?” 

“I’m not a virgin,” I said, but Lee instantly saw through my lie. 

“Bullshit,” he said. “You know how I know? You suck cock like a high schooler.” Lee’s hand went to my waist, and he held me a tight, bruising grip. His hands were so much stronger than I had imagined, and an unfamiliar heat bloomed between my legs. My arousal wasn’t usually a part of the supply closet moments between us, and I had never really felt that before my boyfriend left. This was uncharted territory for me, and I hated that Lee seemed to instantly know that. “I bet you think about me every night, don’t you?” Lee asked. He leaned into me and pressed a kiss to my neck, and a shiver ran down my spine. “Don’t you?” He growled, taking my skin between his front teeth. 

“Fuck,” I hissed. “You’re a dick.”

“Answer me,” Lee snapped, smacking my ass hard enough to make me gasp in pain. “You think of me fucking you stupid every single goddamn night, don’t you? I can tell, with the way you eye me at the station. You’re not subtle, honey, not in the slightest.” 

“Lee,” I whimpered. “You’re hurting me.” 

“Good,” Lee huffed into my neck. He shoved his hips against mine with enough force for my waist to collide with my countertop, and I became well and truly stuck between Lee’s rock-hard cock and the counter. I knew what he was offering, and I couldn’t deny that the thought of his thick cock inside of me made butterflies erupt in my tummy. He kissed my neck, becoming more needy by the second, and he finally sank his teeth into my skin. “Gonna have to make up your mind, sugar, or I’ll do it for you.” 

I gulped down my anxiety, and I whispered, “Be gentle.” 

“That’s a good girl,” Lee chuckled. “Show me where that bed is, sugar. I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t remember your own goddamn name.” 

As soon as I pulled Lee into my bedroom, he had pushed me onto the bed and was kissing me hard. He bit my lips and sucked on my tongue, and he swallowed every pathetic moan I let out. God, I was pathetic. I was shaking, I wanted him so badly. Lee obviously knew that and had no problem with letting it go to his head, because he situated himself over me and gave me a wolfish smile. “You want me to undress you, sugar?” he asked. 

“I can do it,” I told him. 

Quickly, I rid myself of my nightshirt, and my skin tingled at the exposure to the air. Lee gave a gentle sigh, almost like one of relief, and dipped his head to my chest. He ran his tongue from the dip of my neck to between my breasts, and he latched his teeth onto one of my nipples with no warning. I nearly gave a shout of surprise, but I kept it contained. If this bit of foreplay was any indication, there would be enough time for shouting and crying later. 

“These…” Lee growled, grabbing at my breasts with rough hands. “Perfect fuckin’ tits, sugar, Jesus. Wanna come all over them. I just might have to.” 

Lee’s mouth went to my other breast, and one of his hands fluttered down from my chest to my waist, and even lower. Again, without so much as a censure, he pushed a finger past my folds and sunk himself knuckle-deep into my throbbing heat. My back arched against my will and I cried out at the amazing feel of it, and Lee laughed into my tits. “I’m only doin’ this ‘cause it’s your first time,” Lee told me, slowly dragging his finger in and out of me. It was a feeling like nothing I had ever experienced before, and I felt tears welling in my eyes. It was so fucking good. “If I had it my way, I’d already have my cock in you. Have you on your belly, fucking the hell outta you, watching myself fuck you so deep.”

“Please, Lee,” I sobbed. 

Through my watery gaze, I saw Lee smile against my chest. “Oh, what a good girl,” he moaned softly. “You’re my little fuck-toy, ain’t ya? Just fuckin’ desperate and begging for it. I guess it won’t take too long to fuck you absolutely stupid, will it?” I shook my head, and I jerked in surprise when his calloused finger drove itself into that spot inside of me. I called out his name; I was too far gone to care about the sick pleasure I knew it gave him. “Beg for it, sugar. Beg me to fuck you dumb.” 

“Please, Lee,” I whimpered. “Lee, fuck, please. I-I want you to fuck me so hard, please, babe.” 

Lee withdrew his fingers from me and sent a hard slap to my throbbing clit. This time, my gasp was one of genuine pain. “That ain’t what you call me and you fuckin’ know it,” he grunted. “Do it right or don’t do it at all.” 

I knew what he wanted, and I was too far gone to care. “Oh, Daddy, please,” I mewled, squirming, longing for his touch once more. “Fuck me, Daddy, fuck me ‘til I can’t walk. I want you so deep in my pussy, please.” 

“That’s more like it,” Lee whispered. Then, with a strength that I didn’t know that he possessed, he turned me onto my stomach and tugged my hips into the air. My arms shook as I tried to steady myself, and I felt my wet arousal drip down my thigh. As I tried to steady my breathing and remove the fog from my mind, I heard the sounds of Lee undoing his belt and shoving his pants down his thick thighs. His big hand captured a handful of my hair unexpectedly and he tugged me upright with only a small huff of exertion, and he bit my neck again. Lee Bodecker was an animal, and I liked it that way. 

One hand stayed in my hair as his other guided himself inside of me, and I nearly felt sick. The stretch was otherworldly and, dare I say, painful. Maybe the prep he had been doing wasn’t such a poor idea. But I had made my bed; now I had to lie in it. “Slow down,” I panted, feeling the tears return, and I writhed in his grip. “Fuck, Daddy, it hurts.” 

“I know it does,” Lee whispered, biting my ear. “But you asked for this. You asked for me to fuck you, and I’m gonna do just that. And ya know what? I think I’ll come in this pretty little cunt. What do you think of that?” I started to protest, but Lee shoved his fingers in my mouth, effectively shutting me the hell up. Even if I wanted to say something, I couldn’t. “Fill you up to the fuckin’ brim, have it drip outta you, it’ll be such a filthy thing to see. Your little boytoy comes home from the war and you’ve been letting an older, married guy stuff you full of cum? You think he’ll like that? Think he’ll wanna share?” Lee snapped his hips forward, fully burying himself inside of me, and I gave a wrecked sob around his fingers. I thought for sure that he would split me in two. 

Lee’s fingers dug into my hip as he started a steady rhythm. I truly had no idea how old he was-- I imagined probably late 30s or early 40s-- but he was fucking me hard and fast with the stamina of someone my age. Either he had a lot of expertise in the field or he truly had the fantasy of coming inside of me and was wanting to hurry the process along. The more I thought about it, I realized that I really knew nothing about Lee. Not his wife’s name or if he had kids; I didn’t even know that he had a sister until he had mentioned it earlier. However, something about not knowing was better than knowing. At least, this way, I could sort-of distance myself from the act. I was fucking the sheriff (or, technically, he was fucking me), but we weren’t an item. I was just his favorite toy. 

Lee suddenly wrenched my arms behind me and captured them against his chest, fully restraining me and leaving me pliable for him. With his fingers still in my mouth, I could hardly do anything but submit, but I liked that. I couldn’t tell if the throbbing in my pussy was pleasure borne from the way he was punishing my g-spot, or pain derived from his taut balls hitting my wet pussy every second. I had gotten my wish; there was to be no walking in the morning. I could feel spit gathering at the corners of my mouth, and I nearly choked on it, but Lee suddenly slowed down, molding his soft body against my back. “Fuck, honey, I’m gettin’ close,” he panted in my ear. “Now’s the time to tell me if you want me to come in ya or not.” 

His fingers left my mouth, and I tried to form any thought. Lee was the only thing in my head, though, and I could only whimper out his name. That was answer enough for him, because he released my arm and shoved me down onto the bed. His hand grasped the back of my neck and held me down as his hips pounded in and out of me, huffing and panting. I never could have imagined that the sound of that would have turned me on as much as it did, but my muscles tightened around his fat cock, and he laughed. “Aw,” he cooed. “Does the little cunt need to come? I’ll be honest, I forgot all about that. Wanna make a mess all over Daddy’s cock, don’t you?” 

I answered with a keening whine, but that didn’t seem to be enough for Lee. He smacked my ass hard, surely adding to the redness and bruising that I know already existed, and he fisted my hair tighter. “Answer me, bitch,” he growled. “Say it. Say ‘I wanna come on your cock, Daddy’.” 

“I wanna--” I started, and a shudder went down my body when I felt something warm and wet find home on my asshole. I was so far past the point of degradation, and my mind instantly went somewhere else. I had heard about that, sure, but I had never imagined that that could be something that I wanted. And yet, here I was, Lee’s spit coating my ass, mumbling out words that would send me to hell. “Fuck, Daddy. Can you fuck my ass?” 

“Oh, is that what you want?” Lee asked. “As tempting as that is, I’ll save that for another night. I’m not sure you’re a virgin, sugar, begging for it up the ass. But, fuck, it looks so good… I guess we have something to look forward to, huh?” 

Lee’s arm wound around my body and he instantly went to my poor clit. His fingers had tugged at it enough to make it tender to the touch, and he abused it as he fucked right into my g-spot. “Jesus Christ,” Lee whispered. “Squeezing the shit outta me. I’m serious, honey, let me know if you don’t want me to come in you. You’re about to not-- fuck, Y/N-- have a choice.” 

“I want it,” I told him. “I fuckin’ want it.” 

That seemed to be the final straw, because Lee sent one more hard fuck into me, and I felt his cock twitch before warmth spilled into my pussy. The squelching as he continued to fuck me through his orgasm was so loud that I was afraid that the whole of Knockemstiff would hear it, but I couldn’t make up my mind on whether I cared or not. Somewhere in the middle of that, Lee cussed and began to rub my belly, whispering sweet things to me that would have felt out of place only minutes before. I didn’t realize that I had come. I liked the feeling of it, though, especially with how sweet Lee was suddenly.

“Good girl,” Lee told me. He shushed me as I moaned and cried, my pleasure edging on pain, and he pushed my hair away from my neck and placed gentle, open-mouthed kisses on my throat. “So, so good for me, ain’t ya? So goddamn pretty when you’re coming all over my cock. I can’t tell you how much I dreamt of this…” 

My entire body trembled as Lee pulled out of me, and I collapsed onto my bed, panting and trying to form a coherent thought that wasn’t just the sheriff’s name. Only a few seconds passed before he was on me again, but it felt different this time. Lee moved the two of us under the blankets and rubbed my back, and he kissed my forehead gently. I nearly thought it was love. As my tears dried and feeling returned to my fingers and toes, I became aware that Lee was naked against me. As far as I knew, he hadn’t undressed as he had fucked me. His skin was so warm and it was comforting, and I nuzzled my head into his soft chest. My throat was so dry as I tried to swallow to form words, and Lee titled my face up in order for me to look him in those pretty blue eyes of his. 

“How’re ya feeling, sugar?” He asked, his voice as wrecked and raw as mine. “Feelin’ alright?”

“Sore,” I mumbled. “It hurts, Lee.” 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Lee whispered, and I knew that he was being honest. Lee was perhaps the biggest jerk in town, his elected title obviously inflating his ego more than it should have, but I never knew that he was capable of being sweet in this manner. “I was real rough with ya and I just shouldn’t have been. I feel plum awful ‘bout it.” 

“No,” I croaked, splaying my hands against his chest. Underneath the coarse hair, I could make out white marks on his skin, and I pressed my forehead against him. As I studied his body, I saw more and more of the marks, and it was only when I saw my hip against his that I connected the dots. Stretch marks. My Lee had stretch marks all over him, just like I did. “Please don’t. I woulda stopped you if it was too much. Thank you.”

Lee nodded and sighed into my messy hair. “You looked so beautiful,” he told me. “Any man that calls you his is a lucky fuckin’ bastard, I’ll tell you that much.” 

I couldn’t help myself. My lips pressed against my chest, and I took care to kiss every mark I laid my eyes on. “You’re…” I began. “You’re gorgeous, Lee.” 

“Nah, knock that shit off,” Lee chuckled. “I ain’t nothin’ compared to you, sugar.” 

“No, really,” I told him. “Those big blue eyes, your pink cheeks… Your fat fuckin’ cock--” I laughed at myself, and Lee kissed the top of my head. “You’re the most handsome man I ever met.”

“Even more than your soldier boyfriend?” Lee asked. 

“My soldier boyfriend’s like a twig, Lee,” I told him. “There’s nothing there for me. But you…” 

“I’m fuckin’ fat, s’what I am,” Lee said with a smile, but I saw the hurt in his eyes. “I’m old and I’m fat--”

“Alright, shut up,” I said. Suddenly, a different sort of desire burned in me, and I pushed Lee onto his back before I straddled his waist. “There ain’t nothing wrong with you, ya hear? You are fucking perfect, Lee.”

The insecurity flashed across his face, darkening his features for only a second. “But the marks--” 

I twisted my body to show him my hip and thigh. “I got ‘em too,” I said. “And don’t act like you didn’t see them, not for one second. And what did you do? You didn’t give a shit. I don’t either. They’re a part of you, and you are so sexy, Lee. I wanted to jump your bones from the moment I met you, and nothing ‘bout that’s changed and nothing’ll make it change. And ya know what? I’d reckon you’re stuck with me, so get used to it.” 

“Oh, I’m stuck with ya, am I?” Lee asked with a smile. He tugged me down to him, pressing his tongue into my mouth once more, and the ache between my legs was replaced with the now-familiar pleasing tingle. “And I get no say in it?” 

“I think you got your say when you wanted to fuck me up the ass,” I said, sinking my teeth into his plush bottom lip. “What a fuckin’ cliche we are, huh? The sheriff fuckin’ his secretary.” 

“When I first hired you,” Lee began, his warm hands traveling all over my body, and his fingers took special care to trace the white marks along my thighs, hips, tits, and ass. “My wife hated the idea. She said she was worried that late nights at the station would wreak havoc on me, and having a pretty little thing like you there with me was dangerous.” 

“Don’t go talkin’ ‘bout your wife,” I groaned. “That’s such a turn off, Lee.” 

“Oh, is it?” Sheriff Lee Bodecker laughed, stuffing his fingers back inside me, just like nothing had ever happened. “‘Cause you seem all wet for Daddy, just the same.” 

[shockinglysubmissive]

Ash and Smoke

WARNINGS: Smoking, Objectification (of reader), Swearing, Cigarette burns, Spit play, Public sex, Oral sex (male recieving), Throat fucking

‘Just got back. Running the store for the day. Your place tonight or mine?’ Was all the message from your boyfriend said. You are completely unaware of how angry he is. Having gotten out of work early, you decide to stop by his store after a quick trip home.

You walk to Sakanoshita Market, blissfully unaware of the ill mood your boyfriend was in. Blinded by your excitement to see him again, after him being gone for a week with his volleyball team, you had missed him. Deciding to surprise him, you wear his favorite outfit, a short pair of black shorts, and one of his volleyball jackets. The first clue that you should have turned around and left was the cloud of smoke that billowed out of the door when you opened it. Choking on the smoke, you notice two empty packs of cigarettes laying next to the trash can.

“Dammit Keishin! You said you would cut back on smoking! What the fuck is this?” Kneeling down, you pick up one of the discarded boxes. “Two boxes in one day?! You’ve only been home for a few hours and you have already smoked through two boxes!” Your previous good mood has faded instantly, waiting for him to look at you, or even say something.

Flicking his cigarette butt onto the floor, he stamps out the last few burning embers. Your eyes follow the discarded butt, noticing a pile of them on the floor. “Really? Can’t even use an ashtray?” Your nose wrinkles in disgust, deciding you weren’t going to stick around if he was going to keep giving you the silent treatment. “I’ll be at my place if you decide you want to see me. You’d better leave those here though.” You nod toward the new cigarette between his fingers, watching him take a long drag. You roll your eyes and turn around, hand on the door.

Moving faster than you expected a chain smoker to move, he is on you. Cigarette held between his lips, one hand drags you away from the door, the other flips the sign to read that the store is closed. Standing between you and the door, he backs you to the counter, lifting you to sit on it.

His brown eyes bore into yours, having you trapped. One hand removes the cigarette from between his lips, dropping some ashes on your thigh. You gasp at the sudden burn, leaving yourself vulnerable for his free hand to grasp your jaw. He leans in close, as if he is going to kiss you. Your lips part slightly in anticipation for him.

The second before your lips connect, his mouth opens and he breathes all the smoke in his lungs directly into your face. You push him away, coughing out the smoke, feeling a slight burn from the second hand smoke. Despite the foul taste in your mouth, your core throbbed at his harsh treatment.

“Couldn’t let my new personal ashtray just walk away. Since you seemed so offended by me smoking, and tossing the butts on the floor, I am assuming it’s because you’re jealous that you don’t get to hold my smoke in your lungs, and be useful.” He grins at you, taking another long drag. You are torn between being angry, and being so turned on by him. He can see the internal struggle behind your eyes. “Strip for me. Let me see that cute lingerie I know you are hiding under that outfit.” He takes a step back, allowing you to stand.

“Really Kei? That’s all you have to say to me?” You snap, a bit annoyed, and still not sure if you even want to stay. He holds your jaw, making you look at him. You feel yourself shrink slightly under his gaze, determined not to just fold under him.

“You talk too damn much. Ashtrays don’t talk.” His tone is different from what you’re used to; full of anger. Suddenly it hits you, the reason why he has been chain smoking, and his sour mood.

“Aww. Is somebody annoyed that the team they coach lost? You gonna use me as your little stress ball?” Your head tilts as you give him a mocking voice. His eye twitches as he unzips your jacket halfway, shoving it down your arms just enough to have your chest exposed to him. You’re left standing in front of him wearing a lacy black bra. You become hyper aware of the fact there are windows everywhere and someone could see you. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth, tapping it so ashes burn the top of your chest, singeing some of your bra.

“Fucking slut. Look at you. Just a bra under that jacket. You want to be treated like this. You know you’re nothing more than a hole for me to fuck. I’m gonna make you useful though, don’t you worry about that. I’ll use you to hold my smoke in your lungs, and my cum in that tight little cunt.” He scowls down at you, wanting more than anything to wipe that small smirk off your face. You were a bit shocked by his words, since he had never said these things to you before. You had talked about it before, but he had stated that he would feel terrible being so mean, even if you liked it. Hearing him belittle you so unprovoked had you clenching your thighs together.

“Looks like I struck a nerve. But you’re all talk.” You keep that same mocking tone, seeing his face flush red with anger.

“Keep running that fucking mouth and watch how I’m gonna use you. You will wish I used you as a stress ball.” He leans in close, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips pucker. Taking a final drag of his cigarette, he stamps it out on the inside of your thigh. You yelp in pain, and he uses this moment to press his thumb on your tongue. He hovers over your mouth and spits into it.

It tastes of stale cigarettes, and makes you want to gag. You turn your head to spit it out, but his palm presses firmly over your mouth. “You’re gonna hold it until I decide to use your mouth. I am tired of hearing you talk.” He nudges your thighs open with his knee, grinning when he sees the lust behind your eyes. “You really are a slut aren’t you? You’re probably soaked right now and all I’ve done is insult you and hurt you. Maybe I should have done this sooner. Treat you like an object. You’re useless without me. Isn’t that right?” He asks, forcing you to nod your head. Despite it all, he was right. You were loving every moment of this.

The spit makes your mouth water, trying to water down the pungent taste. You realize you could swallow it, but were still holding it in your mouth willingly. He watches you, his gaze intense as he opens his box of cigarettes, sliding out a new one. “Hold this.” He presses the unlit cigarette between your lips while searching for his lighter. Finally he flicks it and lights the end. Showing a tad bit of mercy, he removes it before you have to breathe the smoke in.

“Funny. I don’t think I want this anymore. But I can’t just let it burn out. That would be wasteful.” Smirking, he presses the red tip to your chest, twisting it until the embers fade away. Expecting the burn this time, you are able to hold back any reaction. To your surprise, you were starting to love the aching burns from where the ashes and cigarettes have been stamped on your skin. Endorphins flowing, your body becomes hypersensitive.

He sets the cigarette down on the counter, lifting you up. “Open.” He instructs, curling a finger under your jaw to lift your chin. Your lips part slightly, scared to let the drool run down your face. He sees your hesitation and hooks his thumb in, pulling your bottom lip down so the drool flows freely to mix with the ashes on your chest. “No need to be shy about being a disgusting mess for me, this is almost exactly how I want you. So close to perfection.” He wipes the drool that was left on his finger across your cheek.

“Almost?” Your brows furrow, a bit disappointed at the half praise you received. His eyes meet yours, grinning down at you. “How do I become exactly what you want?” Your voice shakes slightly.

“Well yeah. I did say I wanted to use you as my ashtray and my cumdump. So far, you’ve proven to be a good ashtray. You even moaned when I put the cigarette out on those perfect tits. Now I have to make you my cumdump.” He grins. You look out the window, seeing people walk past.

“Kei… I will do anything you want… Just please… can we go behind the counter?” Your hands wrap around his lean body, untying the apron. “You’re the only one who gets to see me all messy and desperate.” You are trying your best to seduce him into agreeing with you, releasing a small sigh when he drags you behind the counter.

“Kneel. And use your mouth like that good cocksleeve I know you are.” His voice is stern, but it no longer holds that anger that had frightened you earlier. You work his pants down just enough to free him, watching the way his cock bounces up to his stomach. Your eyes scan over him, constantly in awe of him.

He wasn’t very thick, but he was long, curving slightly to the left. A few prominent veins run up the shaft toward the round head, dripping with precum. You press open mouth kisses down his shaft, only pausing to trail your tongue along his heavy balls. Working your way back up to the tip, you lick along one of the veins, feeling the pulse against your tongue. Lips start to wrap around him as the door dings, and footsteps enter.

“Coach! It’s an emergency! I spilled Kageyama’s milk! Do you have some I can have? I don’t have any money on me.” Hinata’s voice rings out in panic, walking closer to the counter. You try to pull away to avoid touching Kei so he doesn’t make any sounds.

Feeling you pull away, a hand shoves your mouth fully around his length, causing you to gag. He keeps his composure while talking to Hinata. “Just grab one and go. I am in the middle of something.” He grumbles, free hand reaching for the previously discarded cigarette, forcing him deeper down your throat.

Strangled gags and gurgles are unable to be held back. You claw desperately at his thighs, trying to get some air as tears start to flow down your face. He leans against the counter, leaving his dick shoved in your throat.

“What is that noise? It sounds like something is choking.” Hinata says softly, walking back up to the counter to try to see what is going on.

“Scram kid. I told you I am busy. Do you want to be benched? I don’t care if you’re a second year. I will bench you for your final season.” He growls in annoyance, pulling out of your throat just as your vision starts to blur. You gasp pathetically around his dick, not caring if he hears, just trying to get rid of the burn in your lungs. “Do I have to repeat myself? Scram.”

Connecting the dots, Hinata runs out of the store, the carton of milk grasped tightly in his hand. You feel a hand tangle into your hair and yank you up.

“I told you to suck. Why were you going to pull away? I should have known better than to let you do anything on your own. Strip. You can leave your panties though.” He stares at your tear and drool soaked face and tits, pushing you aside so he can cover himself with his apron, going to lock the door.

Your hands shake slightly as you do as he says, not wanting to upset him more than you already had. The click of the lock makes you jump, looking up at him as you unhook the slightly singed bra. He leans against the door frame, memorizing the way you looked.

“Are you scared of me ashtray?” He asks, his voice sounding closer to normal than any of his previous statements. You pause a moment, really having to think. You felt a lot of emotions, but fear wasn’t one that you had.

“No Kei… Not at all. I am loving every second of this.” While it wasn’t the complete truth, it was close enough. There were moments where you were angry, but even during those moments, you never wanted him to stop what he was doing. You slide your shorts off, staring at him. Your checks burn with embarrassment, standing nearly fully exposed in his store, his eyes scanning your body.

“Lay down. Hang your head behind the counter. No one will be able to see your face if they happen to look in.” He instructs, walking over to you, looking at you like a meal.

Hopping up onto the counter, you lay your body back, leaning your head over the edge. “Like this?” You ask softly, starting to feel dizzy as blood rushes to your head.

“Open wide. And try to relax your throat.” He pumps his hand on his throbbing dick, wanting nothing more than to see you dripping with his cum. Relighting his previous cigarette, he takes a drag, letting it sit in his lungs a few seconds before letting it spill from his lips. Lining himself with your mouth, he shoves down your throat with no warning.

You gag and attempt to pull away before freezing, letting your throat open before relaxing. Not wanting to waste to air in your lungs, you close your eyes and let him use your mouth. Fingertips drift to your chest, pinching and circling your nipples. Moaning around him, he looks down and sees what you are doing.

“Is my poor ashtray feeling needy? You want some attention? I bet that achy cunt would love any sort of stimulation.” His voice is mocking and condescending. You hum in affirmation, unable to nod or speak. Your position left you unable to see anything, not able to prepare yourself for what his mind has come up with.

Searing pain erupts over your cllit. His half smoked cigarette stamped out over your clothed clit leaves you practically screaming. The sound muffled by his dick deep down your throat.The vibrations have him cumming, pulling out and coating your face and chest with a large amount of his bitter seed.

“K-Keishin…” Your voice is hoarse and strained, head spinning from the lack of air and all the blood that rushed to your head. Gentle hands lift under your shoulders, helping you sit up. Your back rests against his chest, unable to hold yourself up anymore.

“Such a good girl. My perfect ashtray. My gorgeous cumdump. Mine.” He lifts your chin to look at him. He presses an open mouthed kiss to your lips, trying to let his love flow through the kiss after everything he put you through.

@vaporizemebakugo, @ultimate-astridwriting

[ill-skillsgard]

I need Faust and Faith's reunion after he's done touring 👉👈 No pressure or anything. I just miss them a lot!

I always miss Fausty boy! I have some other prompts I wanted to incorporate into this one, but it was getting too long. I hope you enjoy!

+

Warning: 18+ mentions of public sex, mature language, anti-religious overtones, mentions of blood, violence, death, and drug use.

Summary: Faith goes to her first black metal show and asks Faust about the black circle.

- Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

The duelling guitars screeched through twin stacks of speakers and filled the auditorium with malfeasance. Faith had never witnessed such a carnal reaction. As she watched from the side stage, the crowd below opened into a whirling pit of black-clad showgoers, pushing, jumping and banging against each other. The drums kicked into a blistering rhythm, and her attention turned toward the man she barely recognized with white and black makeup painting his face like the ghost of a demon.

Faust punished his drumkit with expert precision, his arms blurring in the chaos of their first song. His black hair swung as he banged his head without missing a beat. Horned and studded limbs spilled over the metal barricade, tongues lolled, and eyes lit with blissful fury. The singer's growls seemed to rise from the depths of hell, a monster shrieking at its thralls for more destruction.

Even with earplugs in, Faith felt the music blowing back in waves, shaking the column of her throat and turning her brain to mush. She dared slip one plug out to hear the true volume and quickly stuffed it back in when the intensity struck.

During the ambient interludes between songs, the crowd roared still. A few hundred people raised their hands, praising the men on stage. It reminded her of church, how they would let their eyes roll back, chanting the hymns and facing their palms skyward. This was no church she had ever set foot inside. The walls were painted black, the floor sticky from spilled beer, and its congregation made her gathering's displays of loyalty seem demure. The air reeked of salty skin and malt embedded in the paint from nights like this.

Faith saw people wearing shirts with Faust's band logo on the front, and a burst of pride warmed her belly. Though she was remarkably out of place, there was an odd sense of welcome. She could run headfirst into the crowd and get swallowed up and spit out like anyone else.

When they finished their set, Faust retired his drumsticks to a holder, chugged an entire bottle of beer and took a brief bow to the crowd before walking off stage. Faith bounced as he approached and scooped her off the floor, smearing her face with paint from around his mouth. When he set her down, his lips were partially visible through the now grey muck.

"How was it?" Faust asked.

"You guys are amazing. That's was so cool, babe!"

"Ah, you're just saying that."

"No, really! I can't believe how crazy they went for you!"

Faust sneered playfully, though their reception had been one for the books. "Probably 'cause half the crowd are friends of ours."

"Doesn't matter. You still kicked ass."

Faust's smile was unbreakable from a show well played and seeing his girlfriend waiting for him at the side of the stage. He led her to the green room as stagehands and managers nodded them through and let her dab the corpse paint off her face in the bathroom. Faust sopped up the sweat in his hair with a towel and changed his stage clothes before Faith returned. His bandmates soon joined them, and the chatter was unintelligible. People from other bands came in to talk and congratulate the young group on their first cross-country tour, and soon the back was filled with people hanging VIP badges from their pockets.

Faust pulled Faith from the bedlam before the room grew too hot. They made their way to the main floor and the rows of merchandise tables. Faith couldn't help but feel privileged to have access to the other side of the tables where Faust told her she could stash her coat and purse while a lineup of fans waited to purchase t-shirts and albums. Admirers pulled Faust away several times to take photos and shake hands. Faith watched in awe as people took turns posing with her boyfriend, who stayed looking stoic in his half-melted face paint. Her boyfriend. People from all walks of life wanted proof they'd met him, asking him to sign album covers and tour posters.

When Faust broke away from the clamour of excited metal fans, he took Faith's hand and pulled her through the crowd to a stairwell guarded by security. He flashed his tour badge, and the guard permitted them to the balcony where a few other musicians sat in a less crowded area.

"Come on, let's go outside. I need a fucking smoke," Faust said.

They went through a set of metal doors to an outdoor balcony where two men leaned against the railing, passing a joint and chatting. One spotted Faust, and a smile cracked over his face.

"Hey, Faust. Great show, man. We watched from the balcony. You guys were fucking killer," the man passed the joint to the drummer.

He hauled a significant bout of smoke into his lungs, then expelled it into the night air, handing it back with a nod.

The man refused. "Pass it to the lady."

"She's good," Faust said.

"I'll take a hit," Faith countered.

Faust glanced at her, brow raised high. "You sure?" He chuckled.

"Yes. I'll be fine."

Faust handed her the joint and turned to his fellow musicians. "Thanks. Glad you guys enjoyed the set."

As Faith inhaled, the other man turned to her and offered his hand to shake. "Hey, I'm Janne."

"Faith," she mouthed around a lungful of searing smoke.

"This is Yosh," Janne gestured at the man who'd initially offered Faust the joint. "Good to meet you."

"Is this your girlfriend, Fausty?"

"Yeah. She's my girl."

"Aw, that's cute. Didn't take you for the relationship type, to be honest. You like this scary son of a bitch?" Yosh asked.

Faith giggled as she looked up at the towering man dressed in black while he lit a cigarette. "He's not that scary. At least not to me," said Faith.

"Good man to have by your side at a show. You might get trampled down there."

"This is actually my first show."

Yosh choked on a hit and coughed, "really? And you came to a black metal show? That's ballsy."

"Well, it's not really my thing, but I wanted to see them play. I came from out of town just to be here tonight," Faith said proudly.

"Oh, right. You guys are from the green belt, right? Or should I say, the black circle?" Janne tittered.

Faust's eyes grew stony. "No. I'm not part of that shit. Bunch of fucking posers."

"We were just talking about the church fire there a couple weeks ago. You guys are known for that, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Guess so," Faust shrugged.

"They said there was a body found after they put out the fire, and it was nailed to some pieces of wood...like a cross or something. Can you believe that shit? How metal is that?"

Faith swallowed. She had heard the news break the day after the fire before they announced the unidentified body and after Faust had surprised her at the bus stop. They had prayed about it in church the following week and set up a collection to bulldoze the wreckage and reconstruct the chapel even bigger than before. Her mother was so stricken from the news that Faith had to spend a night at her parents' house consoling her while her father bad-mouthed the city's youth.

Bunch of heathen Satan-worshippers in this town. If I'd have known how disgusting some of these people are, I'd have never moved us out here.

Faith, her sisters and their mother all huddled on the sofa watching reruns of Full House while Stan stood hard-backed at the front window, peering out every few minutes as if the culprit might attack them next.

Oh, Stan, you don't know who did it. You can't point the finger when the police haven't even updated the community. Give the embers a chanced to cool. Besides, it's places like these that need the most help. We'll raise the money. I just hope to God they catch the people who did this.

All Faith could think about as she ate her sundae next to her sister was what she was doing the night after the fire. While the fire department was busy putting out the flames across town, she was pressed against a brick wall getting fucked by one of the heathen Satan-worshippers her father despised. She tried not to connect dots that had no business forming any kind of picture. Faust's appearance had been a coincidence.

I'll tell you who did this... It's that damned black circle. They've done it before, and they'll do it again.

Faust waved a hand in front of Faith's face, and she flinched from her reveries. "Babe? You there?"

"Oh, sorry," she laughed. "Kind of zoned out."

"Wanna head back inside?"

Faith didn't realize she was shivering until Faust rubbed her upper arms. "Sure. Yeah, let's do that."

"One puff of a joint, and you're on another planet, huh? Good seeing you Janne, Yosh... We should tour again."

"Yeah, man. As soon as possible. We're always on the road. We'd love to have you out for as many gigs as you guys can handle."

Faust nodded and clasped hands with both men before urging Faith along with a palm on her bottom. Once they made it inside, he snuck his fingers under her skirt and pinched her hard enough to give her a jolt but not to hurt.

"Faust!"

"What? No one's looking. Hey, you wanna check out our tour bus?"

Faith went to the balcony railing and saw the next band setting up their gear. She pointed below and turned to Faust. "Won't we miss the next band?"

"You actually wanna stay and watch?"

"Uh, yeah! This is my first show. I wanna see all the bands."

"All right. We can stay up here or go to the floor. But I'm warning you, it can get ruthless down there."

"I want to go down. It looks fun."

"Then we have to go now. We'll try to get right up front where you won't get swallowed in a circle pit."

"Really?" Faith gasped. "Like, right up front at the barricade?"

"Sure, why not? If you want the full experience. I'll stand right behind you and make sure crowd-surfers don't land on your head. Then after, I'll show you the bus, and...I dunno...Probably fuck."

"Oh my goodness, Faust. Yeah, right!"

"I'm serious. I'd fuck you right here if there weren't people around."

Emboldened by his suggestion, Faith whirled around and stared up at him with her brows lowered. "What's all this about the black circle?"

Faust scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"I've heard it mentioned before and that you're part of it. I just wanna know. Is it some kind of gang?"

"Do I look like I'm in a fucking gang? No. It's just some dumb shit they made up in high school."

"They as in your friends?"

"It's stupid and means nothing."

Faith stood in place. "Well, they're saying that church burned down because of your friends. Aren't you afraid someone might ask you questions?"

"I'm not afraid of shit because I've been on tour this whole time."

"Faust—"

"What did I tell you about the twenty questions? Now, do you wanna go watch the show or do you wanna keep talking about irrelevant shit?"

Dissatisfied with his response, Faith clammed up and followed Faust to the main floor. They wriggled through the tightening crowd and got upfront before the lights lowered, and a gust of smoke covered the stage. Ominous chanting heralded in a band dressed in black hoods. Faith watched, awestruck, but in the back of her mind, thoughts of the black circle fermented, giving off a foul smell she couldn't ignore.

After the headlining band opened with pyrotechnics and the frontman tossing a skull of pig's blood over the crowd, Faust took Faith around back, where the tour buses formed a barrier between the street and the venue. He led her inside and turned on the light to reveal the interior in a state of disarray. Beer bottles overflowed in the sink, ramen noodle wrappers littered the floor, and spiked leather decorum hung over seats and tables. There was a shredded porn magazine, its contents pinned to the wall and drawn over with a black marker, breasts shooting fire and snakes slithering out of places that made Faith blush.

"Sorry about the smell. Touring always has a distinct odour of unwashed balls and puke."

Faith tried not to touch any surface until Faust showed her to the back lounge area, where they sat and looked at each other in prolonged silence. Faith reined in a smile while her boyfriend sat back and studied her face.

"I'm glad you came. Sorry that it's probably more chaotic than you expected."

"It's okay. I'm having fun."

"You sure? I know it's not really your scene."

"You're my scene," Faith said.

He reached for her hand. Faith thought he meant to hold her, but he tugged her closer instead, straddling her over his lap. His hands came up under her skirt and over her ass while they kissed. Faust pulled away as she rocked her hips forth and placed his hands on her hips.

"So, how's school?"

"You're really asking me about school when we haven't seen each other in weeks?"

"What? Is there something else you wanna do?"

"I think you know what I want."

"Yeah, but I want you to say it."

Faith peered down the hall, past the bunks, toward the front of the bus. "What if someone comes in?"

"Not like my band hasn't walked in on you sucking my cock before."

"Oh my gosh, don't remind me."

Faust darkened, pulled air through his teeth. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course, I missed you. How is that even a question?"

He tilted his hips up and let Faith drop when he relaxed. She tugged his shirt up to appreciate the trail of hair leading down from his navel.

"What did you miss the most?"

"Your big, throbbing heart," Faith giggled. "I missed cuddling with you and going on walks together. Waking up with you beside me. Your cooking."

Faust pulled her down for a hug. "All right, all right. I get it. You wanna fuck, just not in the bus."

"Do your bandmates fuck girls in here?"

Laughter burst from his mouth as he rocked Faith back and forth. "They fucking wish."

The couple chuckled until another silence proceeded. Faith saw the fiery look in Faust's eyes, the appetite for her body that never tapered, his joy from having her there on his tour bus. Yet, all Faith saw was a building on fire, flames flickering behind his green stare. She smothered the thoughts with a kiss Faust took for permission to explore under her skirt again. Maybe she could kill her suspicions by reminding herself how much he loved her, the lengths he would go to protect her.

Voices yelled outside the bus, distracting Faith but not Faust, who rolled beneath her hips, oblivious to the arousal shooting through his groin.

"Yeah, come on, baby. Pull my cock out and sit on it for me. It'll be quick."

"Faust!" Someone shouted outside of the bus.

Faith pushed on his chest and perked toward the sound.

"Where the fuck is that asshole? First, he fucks off for an entire day, loses his phone, makes us cancel a show, and now the prick can't be dicked to help load out because his bitch is here? Getting real fucking sick of the bullshit, Ola."

"Mordy, chill out, man."

The bus door opened, followed by a waft of cigarette smoke. Boot tread hammered across the floor, and Mordy swayed through to the back, scoffing when he saw Faust with his girlfriend perched on his lap.

"You wanna take apart your drumkit, or are you just gonna let it sit in the way of everyone's gear? Oh, sorry, should have known you were too busy to be fucking bothered."

Faust lifted Faith off his thighs, and she bounced on the sofa as he shot up and stared Mordy down. The bass player didn't flinch.

"What? What're you gonna do, Faust? Punch me out? Good thing it's our last show. Wouldn't want your personal business getting in the way of the biggest tour of our fucking lives so far."

"You don't know shit, so I suggest you shut your mouth."

"No, I'm not gonna shut my mouth. Someone has to stand up to you, and none of these pussies will. Go load out your fucking gear, man!"

Faust smelled whiskey on Mordy's breath. He was far too sober to start a fight with the bass player and nodded, shouldering past him. Mordy crashed into the wall and cursed as the drummer stomped off the bus, leaving Faith fidgeting with the edge of her skirt and unsure if she should follow. Mordy scoffed at her and exited the bus after Faust, shouting until she no longer heard him.

When Faust returned, Faith stood up and wrang her wrists. "Should I leave?"

"We're both leaving," Faust muttered as he tore open the zipper on his backpack and scrounged up his clothes and stage effects to stuff inside. He ducked into the small fridge and took four bottles of beer, sticking two in the holders of his bag and pocketing the other two inside his leather jacket.

"Come on. We're out of here."

"But, neither of us have a car, and we're far from home," Faith said.

"Call a cab."

Outside of the bus, guitar cases and boxes of merch waited for loading. Faust opened a tote, wrenched open a steel moneybox and took some of the cash inside. He found Faith's coat and purse and passed them to her before kicking a hole into the plastic container. Mordy and Ola noticed this as Faust walked away with Faith in tow.

"Hey, asshole! What do you think you're doing? You can't just fucking take off with the merch money!"

Faust turned around, grabbed his crotch and flipped them off. "Suck my dick, fuckbags. Find a new drummer."

[mrsalwayswrite]

It’s Always Been You (Eugene Roe x f!Reader)

I have mixed feelings about this piece. But who doesn’t love Soft Roe?

Warnings: couple swear words but PURE FLUFFY FLUFF

Words: 2700

Tag List: @happyveday​ @saritanotserena​ @sydney-m​ @evelynshelby​

  I stood in front of the mirror, unable to believe the person looking back was actually me. I brushed my hands down the front of the gown, enjoying its smooth, silky texture. Such a contrast to the stiff, dirty ODs I had become accustomed to. Light makeup on my face, something I had not indulged in for years. I looked… dare I say… beautiful. Even as I witnessed myself dress up in the mirror, I doubted my own reflection. It felt like I was someone else. Today, though, that was what I wanted.  

 It was a Sunday and everyone was still celebrating being in Zell Am See. We had thought Germany was beautiful but it had nothing on Austria.

 In his pilfering, Captain Speirs had found an abandoned, wealthy home that he thought I might enjoy. He purposefully pulled me aside and told me to investigate the master bedroom before anyone else got to it. At my questioning look, he just gave a wink and said he would stand guard until I was done. Without another word, he lit a cigarette and rummaged through his newest acquisitions. 

 Intrigued and still confused, since everyone knew I did not care much about finding treasures, I wandered into the home and up the grand stairwell until I finally reached the master bedroom. My jaw dropped when I saw what he was referring to and purposefully left for me. I owed him a huge bottle of liquor after this. Whoever the wife was that lived here had expensive taste. There were racks of beautiful gowns and dresses, ranging from whimsical day dresses to breath-taking evening gowns. I spent about an hour just touching all the beautiful gowns, in awe that clothing like this was even real. Even the heels and few pieces of jewelry left behind boggled my mind in their quality. It was a fairytale. It had to be.  

 So, I had decided while all the men were continuing to get drunk, blow things up and joy ride…. I was going to embrace my femininity. Something I had not enjoyed since Albourne, so long ago. 

 Now here I stood, having spent entirely too long getting ready for some kind of elegant ball. The gown I commandeered was an emerald green color, making me feel like I was wearing a gemstone, with wide straps but left my arms bare and dipped low in the back. The red lipstick I found made my lips pop in the bright light of the bathroom. My favorite thing was the small gold chain necklace I discovered half hiding under a dresser, as if dropped and forgotten by whoever was leaving quickly. I wondered if in another life this could have been me regularly, attending socialite functions and dressing up like a princess. Instead I was used to dirt and blood marring my skin, ill-fitting ODs and a helmet that constantly slipped over my eyes. 

 For this moment, just for tonight… I could pretend otherwise. Pretend I was someone important, someone elegant. 

 When I finally stepped out of the wealthy house, Speirs took one look at the gown draped over my arm and the pair of black heels dangling from my hand, and suggested I use the officer's house to get ready in. 

 Taking a deep breath, I took one last look at myself in the mirror. If only my family could see me now, I thought. I slipped on the heels and walked out of the bathroom, the gown trailing lightly behind me. 

 Tonight was about me. Doing something special for me. To remind myself I was more than just a soldier, more than the scars I now bore from our time in combat. That I had not completely lost myself to war and its carnage. Beauty could still be found in the little things...the stolen moments. Like a stunning gown and red lipstick. 

 I could hear the officers downstairs, talking about something, followed by a sharp bark of laughter from Nixon. Before I disappeared into the upstairs bathroom, I had told them I was going to watch the sunset by the lake and if I came back after dark to not worry about me. 

 Being extra careful in the gown, I descended the stairs. One foot at a time. One nervous breath at a time. Beyond aware of how different I looked. 

 As I stepped into view of those lounging around, most playing poker at a table in the middle of the room, silence struck. I could feel their eyes land heavily on me. 

 "Holy shit." Nixon said, mouth dropped open. 

 I stepped down the last two steps, brushing down my gown to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. I tried to tease, their amazed looks making me uncomfortable. "I swear, it's like you guys have forgotten I am in fact a woman."

 "Uh huh. Can't forget that right now." Nixon took a sip of his drink in hand. 

 Harry asked, a smirk on his face as tapped his cards against the table. "Where you going dressed like that?"

 "Going to watch the sunset." I reminded them. 

 "Dressed like that?!" Nixon sputtered then narrowed his eyes at me. "Looks like you're planning on meeting someone."

 "Does a woman have to dress up only for a man?" Before anyone could answer, I pointed a finger at the officers. "The correct answer is no. I can dress up for myself. I'll be back in a while." 

 "Y/n?"

 I looked at Winters, surprised to see him sitting in an armchair near the fireplace reading while the other officers were playing cards. "Sir?"

 "You look beautiful."

 "Thank you, sir." I smiled at Winters, receiving a soft one in return.

 "You got a weapon on you?" Speirs asked around a cigarette between his lips. 

 "Maybe." 

 He froze, then slowly pulled the cigarette out and started to rise from his seat. 

 "Christ! Yes! I've got my knife! Anything else, dad, or can I go now?"

 "Be smart, don't stay out too late or talk to any boys." He deadpanned, shuffling the cards in his hand. The gleam in his eyes let me know he was just teasing, but would also have no qualms stabbing anyone who bothered me. 

 Amidst the others chuckling, I groaned. "I'm leaving now."

 Quickly, I walked out before anyone could try and convince me to stay or worse- go change. 

 Thankfully, even in the fading daylight, the air was still somewhat warm where I did not need a shawl. I could hear some faint cheers from the enlisted men but I slipped behind the rows of houses and headed down the lakeside path. I walked towards my favorite spot overlooking the lake. Colors danced upon the water, making it appear as if on fire. A few ambitious stars peeked out from above in the sky painted by angels. Never before would I have imagined finding myself somewhere so absolutely gorgeous. If heaven was real, I hoped it looked like Austria. 

 Standing there, I found myself humming and gently swaying to a Billie Holiday song. My arms wrapped around myself loosely, I tried to soak in everything. I wanted to remember this moment forever, to create new memories to replace the bad ones. The nightmares. 

 "Blue moon you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own…"

 "Y/n?"

 I turned to look over my shoulder, not expecting anyone else around. The voice was a dead giveaway but I was shocked our Cajun medic was down this way. "Hey, Gene."

 He stood several paces from me; his medic satchel, that he never went anywhere without, hanging off his side. He stared at me for a long moment, eyes dancing over me in a way that made me self-conscious of how much skin showed. Suddenly, he blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream. "What…" he cleared his throat, "what are you doin' here?"

 "Watching the sunset." I glanced over my shoulder at the lake then looked back at him. 

 "Mmm...dressed like you should be in the pictures?"

 I laughed, even as I felt my face warming. I ran my hands over the gown, still in awe that I was wearing something so expensive. For the most part of the past 4 years, I had been caked in grime and sweat; even though my skin was clean now, I felt too dirty to wear something so fine. 

 "I've never worn anything like this. I just...wanted to do something...for myself."

 "Mmm… well, I'll leave you be. Goodnight." With a single nod, he hesitated then turned around, beginning to walk up the path back to the houses. 

 "You know…" I said loudly, watching his feet still as he turned back around to look at me. "It would be a shame to be dressed up and not able to dance."

 He ducked his head slightly, a bashful smile on his face. I could see the uncertainty on his face. The desire to dance, to hold me close but also the concern for crossing that unspoken line separating us. For two years we had been tiptoeing around our growing feelings. Both aware but never acknowledging. It was in the secret looks, the subtle soft touches, the constant desire to seek one another out amongst a crowd, the solace our presence created when together. The knowledge hung there between us, with one slip we would both fall headlong over that cliff. So we kept back, together as friends but separate as lovers, even if we could read the desire in one another's eyes. It was safer this way. 

 Until now. 

 Without a word, he slowly approached me, as if waiting for me to change my mind, to tell him no, to maintain our status quo. My lips only turned up in a smile as he drew closer, encouraging him, telling him I wanted this. He dropped his satchel carefully on the ground. Our eyes locked, both aware of how this moment could change everything we had built. Carefully, he reached forward and clasped my hand, pulling me into his body. My lips parted on a quiet gasp, feeling his warm breath span across my face, his hand holding mine… and for once, neither one of us was covered in the blood of a fellow paratrooper. I lifted my hand to his shoulder, the muscles tensing underneath my palm. When he made no further movement, I grabbed his other hand and placed it on my waist. For a moment I thought he would reject this, to walk away as he seemed to stay frozen. Then with the softest whisper of my name, as if that was the key to unlock this moment, he pulled me even closer and took the lead. 

 In the stolen evening gown I found and Gene in his ODs, we danced. Like there was no war to haunt us. No rules against fraternizing. No fear of the future that lay before us. It was just him and I, in this moment of beauty and joy and life. We danced. He led me in a simple box step. Our pounding heartbeats, the fluttering of my gown and the soothing sound of the lake lapping on its shore, the only soundtrack we needed. 

 "You are beautiful."

 My face heated up at the compliment. "It's the dress and lipstick."

 "Non, mon chérie." He drawled in that perfect accent and tipped my face back to meet his soft gaze. "It's you. It's always been you."

 I stared into his soulful eyes, a new burning in them. Where once it had only been a candle trying desperately to beat back the darkness; now a bonfire replaced it. Something darkness knew it could never defeat. This man who held me so tenderly, like I was some kind of priceless gem, who had seen the brutality and horrors of war but still kept going, still trying his hardest to save his men even when others would have given up. He was beautiful, both inside and out. 

 "You need to stop lookin' at me like." He whispered; eyes glued to mine. 

 It was when he spoke, I realized we were no longer dancing. When had we stopped? Our bodies were still pressed together, our fingers now entwined but our feet rooted to the path. The air between us felt anything but still. An ardent intensity hovered between us, binding us to the moment, preventing us from escaping it. The sounds around us disappeared. All I could see, all I could feel and sense and taste… was him. 

 "Why?" I asked, my voice breathy. 

 "I might be tempted to mess up your lipstick."

 A nervous giggle escaped me. Instead of dispelling the profound moment, it only seemed to enhance it. With deliberate slowness, I moved my hand on his shoulder to the back of his neck. "I wouldn't mind."

 His hand moved to cup my cheek, holding me still as he leaned in. His lips ghosted over mine, the sweetest of sensations. It sent sparks shooting through me. After he leaned back just out of lips reach. Our eyes met once again, our breathing quickening even from the faint touch. As if our bodies were synced, I rose up at the same time he leaned forward. This time when our lips met, it was with a kiss long overdue. Our lips molded to one another, basking in the taste of the other. Both my hands slipped to the nape of his neck. His hand on my cheek drifted to the back of my head, keeping me from moving away. His other hand slid to my lower back, drawing me closer… and closer.

 The kiss deepened, pulling long dormant feelings from both of us, now finally exposed without reprimand. In the midst, his hand snaked up my side to brush a thumb over the underside of my breast. At the sensation, I gasped in the kiss, surprised by his forwardness. Surprised by the pure wanton need it shot through me. As my lips parted in the gasp, his tongue thrust into my mouth like he owned it. As if he needed more of my taste. Needed more of me. As if a simple kiss would never be enough. Not to him. He quickly drew my own tongue in a dance that soon left my knees weak and wobbling. I found myself clinging to him, not just in desire, but also to keep me upright, else I melted into a puddle of sheer bliss. 

 All too soon, we were forced apart by our lungs screaming for air. He pressed his forehead to mind, his hand still skimming my side from my hip to the underside of my breast and back down. 

 "It’s you. It’s always been you." He whispered as if finally able to confide his deepest secret. The words spilling forth like water out of cracks in a dam, held back for too long. "Since I first talked to you in Toccoa about tryin' to sneak a laxative into Sobel's coffee. And in Bastogne… you were always there for me. Checkin' on me. Makin' sure I knew I wasn't alone. But we're in a goddamn war and I couldn't say nothin'. Seein' you standin' out here, lookin' like an angel, I just...I had to…"

 I pressed a finger to those kiss-swollen lips of his, silencing the onslaught of secrets. "Gene, I'm going to need you to stop talking and kiss me again."

 He smirked, nuzzling my neck for a second. When he spoke, I could feel his hot breath and lips against my skin. "Yes, ma'am."

 This time there was no hesitation, no wavering in dilemma. Our lips touched and it felt like it was meant to be. No great fireworks in the night sky, no great orchestra announcing our love. It felt more like two puzzles pieces finally fitting together. Like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day. It was perfect. 

 When we broke apart again, I felt delirious with joy and the look on his face said something similar. I laid my head on his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist. Bodies pressed against one another, molded together like clay. Without a word, we began swaying. The soundtrack of our shared heartbeats and the lake's waves drowning out anything else. 

 Nothing in the world had changed. We were still paratroopers occupying Austria. Men were still dying. The war was still going strong in the Pacific. Evil endured. 

 But in this moment, in our own little world. 

 Everything changed. 

[dcnatural]

Soaking Wet

Word Count: 2189

Pairing: John Constantine x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: During a storm in London, you find cover in your ex-boyfriend’s apartment.

There were many things you loved about London, but the weather was definitely not one of them. There had been no sign of rain when you left your hotel room for an evening stroll, the sun shone brightly on the clear sky. Then, almost by magic, the clouds turned gray, the wind began to hurl, and a heavy rain started pouring down.

Puddles of water splashed under your feet as you ran through the streets desperate to find shelter. The icy rain pricked your skin like projectiles, the strong winds blowing it at fast speeds. Strands of wet hair clung together in front of your face, blocking your vision and no matter how many times you tried to tuck them behind your ear, they fell off again.

Being mostly a residential area, there were no stores for you to seek shelter in and the open sidewalks offered no protection. By the time you finally found cover under the awning of a four-storey brick building, even your socks were drenched. Although the draped fabric prevented the water from falling directly above you, it did nothing to shield you from the gusts of wind and the droplets of rain it brought along. 

You hugged your coat tightly around your body in an attempt to keep yourself warm. You hadn’t dressed for the weather, your clothes weren’t thick enough to act as an efficient barrier from the cold. Not even your cardigan seemed to do anything against the rapidly dropping temperature. 

You considered walking into the building instead of simply hiding in front of it. The wooden door, however, was locked and without a key, you found yourself stuck where you were. Your battery had run out and, as such, you couldn’t even call yourself an Uber.

When you first heard his voice calling your name, you assumed that you had simply drifted off and were dreaming - no, if he was in it, then it must be a nightmare. But then he called again, each syllable coated heavily in his british accent, and you are pulled out of your musings.

Water beads clung to your eyelashes blurring your vision and you had to squint to see better, but there was no denying that it was actually him. His dirty blond hair was a disheveled mess on top of his head and his trademark trench coat flowed ever-so-gently behind him. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, which were slightly curled into a smirk. 

“John Constantine,” you replied in a mist of distrust and awe. It had been so long since your mouth had last formed those words that your muscles seemed to fight against it, as if trying to remind you what had happened the last time you did so.

He took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out, encircling the two of you in a grayish smoke and you coughed. “That’s me, luv.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he stated, grabbing a pair of keys from his pockets and rattling them in front of you, the tiny metal pieces clinking against one another. 

Your mouth opened in a silent “oh”. Of course that, out of all the apartment buildings in London, you would end up stranded underneath his. The wind picked up and a chilling breeze blew across you, causing you to shiver.

“How ‘bout you?” he continued, “Are you stalking me? ‘Cause it would have been easier if you just called.”

You roll your eyes at his insinuation. “Oh please, as if I’d want anything to do with you again. I was just walking and got lost. And then this damned storm started.” As if prompted by your words, a lightning struck the sky, followed closely by the deafening sound of a thunder and you jolted in surprise.

Constantine chuckled and you furrowed your brows. “It’s not funny!” you groaned. “It’s freezing out here and I’m soaking wet!”

He raised an eyebrow but before he could make a sound, you were at it again. “Don’t even start. You know what I meant.”

“I don’t think I do, luv. Why don’t you show me how wet you are?”

You couldn’t believe his audacity. Making jokes and flirting when the last time you spoke to him he had acted like a complete bastard. Not to mention that you were clearly in distress. “Fuck. Off.” you replied harshly, crossing your arms and turning away from him.

“I can’t leave you out here to freeze to death, it would weigh heavy on my conscience.”

“Since when do you have one?” you bickered. 

“Do you wanna come inside or not?" he continued as if he hadn't heard your interruption. "I have some beers in the freezer and we could catch up while waiting for the storm to die out.”

You should’ve said no. But the cold was just too harsh and you could feel your toes going numb. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. 

"Fine. But that doesn't mean I forgive you or anything like that."

"Noted," he said, his smile widening a bit. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying something nasty about him. There was a huge list of unflattering adjectives you could call him, all of which would be true.

He unlocked the entrance and you rushed inside, immediately feeling better now that you were out of the wind's reach. John tried to make small talk as the two of you climbed the stairs up to his floor but you ignored his questions, dismissing most of them with a nod or a wave of hand.

His apartment wasn't the mess you expected. The small living room was tidy, there were no dishes on the kitchen sink and the floor wasn't littered with cigarette butts. It even smelled nice: lavender and blueberries, reminiscing of a warm summer day in the countryside.

You removed your muddy shoes and went inside. He turned on the heater and went to get the promised beers from the fridge. You sat on the carpet in front of the radiator and enjoyed the warmth. Constantine handed you an open bottle and you took it, shallowing half of it in one go, not minding the bitter taste. 

Despite the heat, you were still pretty much chilled to the bone, your damp clothes preventing you from fully warming up. You coughed and shifted uncomfortably, hoping he didn’t notice your discomfort. Nor the increasingly damp patch that was forming underneath you in the carpet.

"You should take off your clothes", John suggested casually as he studied you.

You almost choked on your drink. "Excuse me?"

"You are dripping everywhere", he took the now empty bottle from your hand, "and they say that you should never stay in wet clothes when trying to warm up. Do you wanna take a warm shower? I can lend you something to wear."

You squinted. You simply weren’t used to him being this… kind? Prestative? You didn’t even know what to call it. And once more, instead of declining his offer like any sane human being, you said yes.

He led you down the hallway to his bedroom, with its walls covered in posters of classic punk rock bands and sorcery books scattered around the floor, and to the annexed bathroom. 

“I’ll leave a change of clothes on the bed for you,” he said before closing the bathroom door. 

You locked the door, checking twice to ensure it couldn’t be open, and waited until you heard him move to the hallway before undressing. The shower was hot and you welcomed the scalding water, letting it run down your body and wash the cold away. You tried not to think of how his soap smelled like him - citric and earthy; as long as you had known John, he had always used the exact same brand of soap - and how you would smell like him afterwards.

Despite that, you couldn’t deny that it was pleasant to have a shower, and when you were done, you already felt better. Careful to keep your back to the door, just in case his intentions were less chivalrous than he was letting out, you picked the white button-up shirt he had separated for you and got dressed. It was clearly an old, worn-out piece and you could see the markings of cigarette burns and of the places where the fabric had been thorn in combat and had been sewn back together. The garment was too big for your lithe frame, the hem hung just above your knees and the sleeves covered completely your hands, forcing you to roll them up in order to use your hands. He had left a pair of black pants but, given your lack of underwear, you chose not to put them on, the shirt did more than enough to cover your private parts. You pulled your hair in a loose bun to get the wet strands out of your neck and, after a quick glance at the mirror to ensure you were decent, walked back to the living room.

Constantine was slouched on the couch, watching television with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He smiled as you crossed the doorway and his gaze drifted over your body, lingering just a second too long on your cleavage and making you blush. He scooted to the end of the couch and patted the empty space besides him and, seeing no harm in it, you slumped against the cushions.

“Feeling better?”, he asked, passing the bottle to you, which you gladly took.

“I hate to say it, but you were right, everything feels better after a shower.”

On the screen, a man jumped from a helicopter while bombs exploded in the background, and despite not having seen the beginning of the movie, and although you weren’t exactly paying attention, you soon got the hang of the plot. Indeed, John’s presence on your side was quite disconcerting, and throughout the movie, as the bottle emptied out, you found yourself inching closer and closer to him, until your legs were touching.

As the action came to a climax and the hero saved his beloved, you felt Constantine’s hand sliding over your leg, fingers drawing little circles on your skin that sent goosebumps to your core.

“John,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch and sighing as he ventured further upward and his calloused fingers grazed your inner thigh.

“That’s right, luv, say my name,” his words were soft as he whispered them into your ear.

You shook your head. “No, we can’t.” You tried to shove him off, but didn’t put any real strength in it. You knew it was wrong, but his touch was just so good, and it felt so right.

Ignoring your plea, his free hand began to open the buttons of the shirt to expose your breasts. “Can’t or won’t ?”

You lost any ability to form cohesive sentences when his lips closed around your peaked nipple, nibbling at the raised nub. His tongue swirled over your breast and you found yourself gripping tightly at his dirty blond hair to keep him from pulling away.

While he continued to place kisses on your chest, his other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers dangerously close to your already dripping folds. He teased you, scraping his nails where he knew your skin to be the most sensitive until you were squirming under him, basically begging him to give you the relief you craved.

He detached his mouth from your body with an audible pop. “Tell me, still think we can’t?”

You rolled your eyes. “You win. Just-” Your sentence was cut short as he abruptly kissed you and, wrapping an arm around your waist, picked you up from the couch and carried your body to the bedroom.

You giggled as he laid you onto the bed, legs wide open and back propped up against pillows. His eyes were locked with yours as he spread your lower lips apart and dragged his tongue lazily over your entrance. Your hips jerked forward when he made contact with your clit and you moaned as he began to flick his tongue against it. He knew how to get you all worked up, kissing, biting and sucking on the right places to send your mind into heaven. Or perhaps hell.

Praises and profanities rolled out of your tongue as the pleasure built inside of you. Your nails scratched his shoulders leaving red trails of blood behind, urging him to continue. Dark spots formed on your vision as you reached your peak, back arching over the mattress and a lewd scream leaving your mouth.

He laid on your side, a wide grin plastered on his face. “It’s still storming outside, perhaps it would be better for you to spend the night. Just to be safe, you know,” he added with a mischievous wink.

“Shut up,” you replied, leaning over to kiss him, the taste of you still on his lips. “Just tonight. And only because it is freezing out there.”

He nodded half-heartedly and draped an arm around you, pulling you against him. “Sure. Someone has got to keep you warm.”

[masonscig]

stay

pairing | mason x detective sofía olmos

word count | 3.3k

warnings | discussions of mortality, mentions of sex, lots of angst. but like. in domestic situations

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @natesewell, @masonsfangs, @agentsunshine, @tuagonia, @pixelsandkink, @crackerdumortain, @echohauville, @admdmrtn, @bravomckenzie, @durogatorymortain 

author’s note | well i’ve been toying with the idea of sofía choosing not to turn, so i thought i’d flesh that out and ruin my own day :-) so... here’s all the times mason tried convincing sofía and every time she turned him down. i’m not exactly 100% satisfied w how this came out but i’m still not sure how mason would react in this situation so i’m making things up as i go tbh. the title is inspired by 400 lux by lorde specifically the “i’d like it if you stayed” line bc whew!!! and i’d like to clarify that she’s not like ancient by the end of this she just greyed early LMAO

read it on ao3

•─────────────────•

The first time was casual. She had a knack for musing her thoughts aloud, tossing her harmless opinions out for anyone who’d catch them.

She was good at starting conversations in that way – while he’d never been one for talking.

She never did it with heavy topics, though.

He could sense a shift in her before she said a word. Squirming just a bit in her seat, shifting from thigh to thigh, jaw clenching, shoulders tensing; all telltale signs that she was on edge about something.

He assumed it was the nightmares. Or the disease seeping its way into the town of Wayhaven, its rot afflicting its citizens, her suffering taking a quiet backseat to her duties.

She surprised him, and that was rare.

“I don’t think I’d turn, if given the chance.”

“You really think that’s in the cards for you?” He said, a bit rudely, scoffing.

He didn’t intend to be that mean, but she couldn’t understand the complexities of immortality just yet. She wasn’t ready to deal with that – she could barely handle her life as it was.

“I know…” she winced, trailing off. “I’m just saying. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it.”

At least she felt the same.

––––

The second time, it came as a question.

He’d all but forgotten about her bringing it up. For him, it was out of the question. He didn’t care if she wanted it – he couldn’t do that to her.

It was one of the first times he stayed (was compelled to stay, like he sensed she actually needed him there).

She kind of tipped her chin up at him from below, staring like she always did.

He’d known her for her impulse – quick to assist, quick to support, quick to fight, even if she knew she was outmatched.

But with him, she always held back, and he knew that. He wasn’t quite sure if he was grateful or jealous that she reserved the wild parts of herself for him and the emotional parts for everyone else.

She reached over and pushed a strand of his unruly hair away from his face, fingertips lingering on his temple.

“Would you want me to turn?”

This time, he bit back the snarky retorts that threatened to burst out of him. “Not sure.”

She nodded, content, settling against his chest again. “That’s okay. There’s no rush.”

He couldn’t agree more.

––––

The third time should’ve counted as the first – he was the one to initiate it, surprisingly. And it wasn’t easy.

Her hair was tied up in a sloppy bun, a few strands of hair clinging to the sweat on her temples. She was using her chin to fold the fresh towels she’d just grabbed from the dryer, a relatively easy chore compared to the deep cleaning she’d given the cabin.

Fold, plop, fold, plop, fold, plop.

The fragrant smell of lavender in her favorite detergent didn’t bother him as much anymore. It kinda relaxed him. He was up to his neck in folded towels, just watching her hum to herself and hand them over one by one, smiling at him every single time.

When she got to the sheets, however, she jumped on top of them, rolling around the mattress until she was wrapped up in them.

“Mmmm. I could live in warm sheets forever,” she smiled up at him, laughing when he tossed the stack to the ground, opting out of being helpful, instead climbing over her body and pressing his weight onto her.

“Hey, I just washed those,” she pretended to pout through her giggles, her arms trapped in the tangle of sheets, his arms tightening around her to hold her in place.

“S’not a big deal,” he murmured, pressing kisses to the scarred skin at her neck, smiling into her skin when he heard her sigh contentedly.

“It’d be a big deal if I made you wash them. You’re lucky I like you,” she squirmed, freeing a hand from the covers, a hand brushing softly over his hair.

He normally couldn’t stand the feeling of his strands being tugged – his hypersensitivity made it feel identical to the sensation of something crawling and biting his scalp until it bled.

He fucking hated feeling that way. But when Sofía tangled her hands in his hair, whether pulling on them when he was buried between her thighs, or stroking it absentmindedly in the most innocent way (like in that moment), he endured it. It honestly wasn’t half bad.

“What’s on your mind?” She asked, running a thumb over his cheekbone.

She’d learned how to read him over the years.

“Nothing urgent. Just thinkin’.”

She grinned, stuck a leg between his thigh, and pushed herself upwards, trying to flip him over. She was fucking awful at anything combat-related, so he just rolled his eyes and went with it.

She flopped on top of him, nuzzling into his chest. Her body was draped over his, which he normally hated, but the weight of her didn’t drive him up the fucking wall anymore. So he allowed it.

“Well, you know I’m always here to listen.”

They laid there for a while, and he was silent, unsure.

“How long do you plan on living?”

“What do you mean?” She pulled back and stared at him, loose hairs a wild frame around her face.

He huffed in frustration. “I don’t fucking know what I mean.”

“Hey, hey, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Her gaze was soft, tender, understanding he’d never quite felt from anyone else nestled in her warm hazel irises.

She was so patient – way more than he deserved. No matter how many times he pushed her away, she was always there, waiting for him to come back to her.

“I’ve been thinking about how long you’ve got, is all,” he said, pulling her tighter when she tucked her head underneath his chin.

“How long we’ve got,” she whispered, running a palm over his chest.

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a while, so long that he thought she’d fallen asleep.

“I’m not sure how long I’ve got, but I know I want you there.”

She leaned up, pressing a long kiss to his lips.

He wasn’t much for romanticism, but even he could admit that he enjoyed softer kisses from her.

Sofía always kissed him like it was the last time. Granted, it might’ve been because of their rocky start, but she poured everything into them, regardless of if it was a “good morning” kiss or a “see you later” kiss or a “fuck me until I can’t walk” kiss.

He pulled back with a smirk. “You want me for my body.”

“Oh, shut up. You know there’s more to it than that,” she rolled her eyes, slinging a leg over him to straddle him.

“Oh?” He quirked a brow at her.

“Yeah, it’s just a perk,” she teased, tugging him in for another searing kiss, and that was the end of that.

––––

The fourth, fifth, and sixth times were all him.

Once on the rooftop, once when she was sick, and once in the afterglow.

It got both easier and harder with every time.

The sensation of the wind against his cheeks struck him like a blade slicing at his skin, the smoke dulling it to a pinch instead of a cut.

She sipped her coffee next to him, tugging her side of the blanket underneath her chin. Her bangs had grown out, the soft edges of them grazing the plush material.

Her cheeks were flushed, the wind drawing out the rose of her cheeks.

She was his favorite garden.

It wasn’t his job to nurture her, but he wanted to. He hadn’t admitted it out loud before.

In every sense of the word, he was her guardian. Self appointed, but hers nonetheless.

It was hard to get the words past his lips, but when he did, his shoulders lifted with relief.

“I think you should stay with me.”

She swallowed her mouthful of coffee, brows furrowed. “I am. This is our house.”

He eyed her, mouth tugging up at the side. She was still figuring him out. Hell, he was still figuring himself out. It was fun to watch her detective skills in action.

“Oh…” she trailed off, heart racing. He could practically see the blood pumping to her heart.

“I, uh, don’t know.”

“Don’t know? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head, staring into her mug. “I don’t know how I feel about… forever.”

“Forever with me,” he said, taking a deep drag of his cigarette, his other hand fisting the blanket at his chest.

“No, no, not that. I just don’t have the best track record with being… satisfied with life.”

He chose not to respond, glad he knew how to refrain from saying things he’d regret.

The cigarette was gently pulled from his lips, and she was right there – face even closer to his despite them being huddled under blankets.

He blew out a thick plume of smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from her face. She laughed, swatting it away, before tossing the cigarette off the roof.

“Hey, I wasn’t done with that,” he smirked, eyes flitting to her mouth.

“It’s not you, I promise. I just have to sort through some things,” she said, the sincerity in her tone enough to make him believe her.

“I believe you.”

It wasn’t that he ever didn’t trust her – he trusted her more than anyone he’d ever known – it was that he never felt compelled to verbalize it. They just… knew.

Those three words softened her gaze and pulled her to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips that he quickly deepened (after throwing her mug off the roof).

The first time she got sick, Mason wasn’t equipped to deal with it.

She looked weak, broken out in cold sweats, the warmth drained from her features. The first twenty four hours were torturous – despite it not being a life threatening illness, she’d never been this way.

He knew humans got sick (of course) but it wasn’t like they ran into battle with their weapons raised and he could anticipate the fallout – one day she was fine, and the next she was hospitalized.

He was supposed to take care of her, but instead he stood by, helpless, as the nurses poked and prodded and doped her up until she was comatose.

His mind was reeling with possibilities, mulling over what would happen if she was ripped from him.

I didn’t give her a kiss before I left. I didn’t take her hiking like we’d always planned.

I didn’t tell her I loved her.

I mean, he had, hadn’t he?

Living with her, sleeping with her, being with her was more than enough… right?

She stirred after a while, trying and failing to sit up.

“Don’t get up. You’ll hurt yourself,” he almost barked, adjusting the pillow underneath her head. “You’re not supposed to be moving.”

She laughed weakly, barely pushing the bangs away from her face. “You worried about me?”

“Of course I am. What kinda question is that?” She chuckled a few more times, morphing into a cough. “Just teasing. You’re sweet.”

He grabbed the cup of ice water and adjusted the straw, bringing it to her lips gently, letting her sip it.

It was a different experience considering he hadn’t ever taken care of her like that before. She was fiercely independent, so she never really needed him like that. Still didn’t, even as she was shivering uncontrollably in the hospital bed.

“Thanks,” she breathed, settling back against the pillow.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about this,” he mumbled, setting the cup down with some force, the plastic clacking against the tray.

“It’s not a big deal. I should be back to new in a couple of days,” she said, wiggling until she was on her side, facing his seat at her bedside.

“It is a big deal.”

“Mason, I promise, I’m fine –”

“I want you to turn.”

He didn’t mean for it to come out so demanding, but in truth, he was desperate.

She chewed her lip, tucking her pillow underneath her chin. “Do you really want to have that conversation here? With me doped up on medication?”

“No.”

She was silent for a while. Her gaze raked over his face, flitting from his eyes to his nose to his cheeks to his hair back to his eyes again.

“I don’t want to argue,” she said finally. “My brain isn’t even functioning properly to argue my case.”

“Doesn’t have to be an argument.”

“It’ll be one.” Her voice was sure. Weak, but unwavering.

He figured he had time to convince her – plead his case, make an undisputed argument, and win her over. Something. But he could never find the right time. Or rather, he was never driven to do so.

The one time he felt compelled to bring it up was in the early hours of the morning, the first rays of sun slicing underneath their dark curtains, gold streaking across their crumpled clothes long since abandoned on the floor.

He hated the way the sun made him feel, but seeing it catch the silver strands in her hair changed his mind. Just a bit.

He drew patterns across the smooth skin of her back with his fingers, smirking at the shiver he elicited from her body without even trying.

Her head was tucked underneath his chin, arm and leg curled around him, face buried in his chest.

“So needy,” he murmured into her hair, watching her back rise and fall.

Her chest rumbled against his, her laugh vibrating up through him (one of his favorite sensations).

“‘S’cause you’re warm,” she mumbled, squeezing him tighter. “I’d stay in this position forever if I could.”

“You could.”

She tensed against him, her grip loosening. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Mason…”

“Will you ever be?” He asked, a bit sarcastically, regretting his tone almost immediately.

“I… don’t know.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve talked about it.”

“Why do we have to talk about it now? Can’t we just… I don’t know, sleep? And talk about it tomorrow?”

He sighed, dropping his arm from her back. “At this rate, we’ll never talk about it.”

“What? No, we will, I just need more time –”

“Sofía.”

She pushed away from him until she was on her side, staring up at his stern expression.

“I know,” she said, voice low, pressing a kiss on the crook of his elbow. “Honestly, I’m fucking terrified.”

“What’re you scared of?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“Disappointing you, mostly. And the process. And living forever. I feel like I’m upsetting somebody one way or the other.”

“Are you really worried about what I’ll think?” His laugh was curt, cutting. He didn’t really mean it to come out that way. It was just baffling to him that after all these years she still cared about what others thought of her.

“Well… yeah… you’re the only person I’m worried about disappointing in the first place,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“I’m flattered you think so highly of me, sweetheart, but I’m the last person you’d disappoint,” he shrugged, mouth lifting at the corner.

“You say that, but I know you’d be upset if I chose not to turn,” she sighed, rolling on her other side, folding her pillow around her ears.

“Damn right I’d be upset.”

She scrambled to a sitting position, swinging the pillow at him, hitting his chest with a soft smack. “I know you’d be sad. But more than that… you’d be disappointed.”

“You’re going on and on about my disappointment but I’m failing to see why that’s important here.”

“Because if I choose not to turn I’m essentially a ticking time bomb and you’re gonna treat me differently and everything we do is going to be tainted by that because I’ve let you down –”

Mason cut her off with a kiss, palms cupping her cheeks – no, cradling her face – like she was fragile, precious.

He was never much for words, nor was he one for meaningful sentiments. He was never good with words like his counterparts.

But just then, in that moment, seeing his girl ramble on and on about how her eternity boiled down to those she cared about – he had to say something.

“I need you to stay with me.”

He breathed the words into her, lips grazing her own, like in his own way he was pouring how he felt – what he wanted – into her.

She curled her fingers around his palms, which were still gently holding her face, and pulled back so she could see his eyes.

She was misty-eyed and trembling, like whatever she needed to confess was ten times harder than what he’d just said.

“I would be turning for you, not for me.”

His first reaction was anger.

He could feel his body heating up, his jaw working, his muscles tensing underneath his skin. But she didn’t deserve his immediate reaction. She was better than that.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

She rolled her lips together, pursing them, anything she could do to hide her bottom lip quivering. “You’re the only one I’d do it for.”

“And… that’s a bad thing.”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, blinking furiously to try to keep the tears back. He still held her, as gentle as ever.

“I’m just starting to figure things out and – and I think I’d disappoint myself if I stayed alive and couldn’t live up to all the good things I did when I was human.”

“There you go with that fucking word again –”

“I can’t think of another word for it. Just disappointment.”

“You mean with yourself? Because I’m sure as shit not,” he joked, getting a small part-sniffle-part-laugh from her. He ran a knuckle underneath her eye, catching a tear there.

“I don’t want to sound rude –”

He laughed, a genuine laugh, so much so that he dropped his hands and fell back against the headboard.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“The rudest person on the planet,” she said, still sitting up, reaching back to tie her hair in a sloppy bun.

“Hit me.”

“I don’t want my existence to hinge on another person’s.”

“It’s not. And that wasn’t rude. It was honest.”

She squirmed, tugging the sheet up to tuck under her arms and cover her up like a makeshift shirt. “I’m not making this decision for me anymore. It’s for us.”

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess, but if you ever get tired of me you could just, I dunno. Bail.”

“Isn’t this life… enough? Won’t you get bored of me? I don’t know if I’m interesting enough to keep you preoccupied for… uh, ever.”

He shook his head. “No.”

She leaned back against the headboard, arm pressed against his. “How are you so sure about everything?”

“I’m not.”

“I wish I were more like you,” she sighed, scrubbing the back of her hand against her cheeks, wiping away any stray tears.

“You could be,” he joked, this time a bit more pleading than the last time he’d said a variant of the phrase.

He slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him, hand rested on the plush skin of her stomach. She nuzzled into his skin again, breathing deeply.

“I don’t know if living forever is in the cards for me,” she mumbled into him.

––––

[disclaimer at the end bc i am still very ... ab this fic but !!! this is the first time i’m really writing domestic mason x sofía so i’m not even sure if i nailed the dynamic bc i’m so used to them never being on the same page .. which if you think about it they’re really not on the same page here LMAO but you know what i mean!! and tbh im not even sure i wrapped it up well... because like... how DO you end a conversation like that SJDFKSKDF like i racked my brain trying to figure it out and i just let it fizzle out bc i think after all the years of fighting they know they’re both too stubborn to change each others’ minds... i think. i might revisit this in the future bc this concept is very pleasing (sick and twisted i know) to me]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Maybe a Blackwood drabble involving a distant cousin, down on her luck, thinking she struck gold moving in with dear cousin Charles... until things take a dark turn? (They don't have time really be cousins of course.)

(I made her an old friend because the cousin thing doesn’t really vibe for me but I hope you like it)

+

Dark drabble request for Charles Blackwood! Reader is an old friend of Charles that he's obsessed with. Non-con breeding kink if possible?

What Could Be

Warnings: noncon, manipulation, yearning

Charles was always nice. Well, to you. Most people told you over and over what an asshole he was but he was always good to you. Ever since you were teens and he was scamming cards down in the alley. He always had your back and despite his reputation, you had his.

It had been a while though since you last saw him. Almost ten years. You'd got engaged to Jimmy and Charles left town just before the wedding. He said he had no choice but to miss it, he had an inheritance he needed to claim before it expired. But he never returned.

Then you and Jimmy divorced. Your mother wouldn't house you after the divorce and most felt similar about boarding single women. So you stayed with the widow Doreen Aldine and worked at the flower shop.

Six months and fourteen days after the separation, the last face you expected to see walked in. You wanted to hide but you were the only one left in the shop. You closed at 4:30 and it was already quarter after.

Charles wasted no time. He wasn't that type. He neared the counter and admired the orchid on the corner. You watched him nervously. Had he forgot you?

He smiled and assured you otherwise.

"You still like daffodils?" he asked as he rested a hand on the counter.

You tried not to smile back. "Charlie." You were the only one who called him that. "You must have made it in time. That's a nice suit."

"Did I?"

"You didn't come back. Why would you?" You said. "Leaving this town..."

"How's Jimmy?" He asked.

You blinked and tilted your head. You laughed.

"Engaged to someone else. Already." You answered. "We divorced just before Christmas."

Charles frowned and dropped his hand from the counter.

"Oh... You alright?" He touched the thick orchid stem. "I can't imagine old Missy Helen has changed. She always was a vicious gossip."

"Her and her daughters," You shook your head. "I live with the widow Aldine."

"Lee died?" He asked. You nodded.

"I work here." You shrugged. "Ma won't... How are you, Charlie?"

 He considered you and sighed.

"Good. I got a place upstate." He checked his watch. "You got time to cut a bouquet?"

"If that's what you need." You said.

”A dozen of those roses,” He pointed to the expensive pale pink ones. 

You nodded and went to your work. He counted out a pile of bills and you gave him his change. He took the flowers and smelled them. He looked over them at you and tipped them towards you.

"I know you prefer daffodils," He said. "But you deserve the best."

"Charlie," You laughed.

"I'm sorry about the divorce." He said. 

"Not your fault." You stared at the bouquet. "I'll figure it out."

He waited but you didn't take the flowers. Couldn't.

"Come upstate with me" He said. 

"Charlie--"

"Just a visit. See the city, see outside this damn place." He waved the flowers closer. "I'm only here for the night. My uncle needs bail."

"Tomorrow?" You asked.

"At noon." He said and pushed the flowers against your hand. "If you don't come, just look at the flowers and think of me."

You took the bouquet at last and his lips went crooked. He knew he'd won, like he always did.

"You still running dice?" You asked.

"Mmm, no," He hummed. "But I still play the odds."

<3

You told Doreen you’d be back. You told her you’d write to let her know. You realised as you packed your valise that Charles hadn’t given many details. Yet that didn’t deter you. That you could not stop thinking of his offer drove you to give a notice of absence at the flower shop the next morning and mull over which scarf to wrap your hair in.

Was Charles still the boy he had been? Had he meant it?

For a moment, you worried that one of his mean tricks would turn on you. That it was finally your turn to find out why Charles Blackwood had earned the loathing of so many in town. Why he had left and never come back. Well, not until yesterday.

You left the vase of roses with Doreen and the cheque for your room. You would still need it when you came back. Or if you didn’t leave at all. As you walked down to meet Charles by the square, you were certain you’d be waiting for nothing. But he was there in a red sports car with an open top. He stomped out his cigarette as he stood straight and smiled at you.

“You look as if you’re running from someone,” He said as he took your valise.

“Only myself,” You replied.

He placed your bag in the small trunk and opened your door for you. He wasted little time as he got in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. His hand clutched the stick and you stopped him before he could pull away.

“Why now, Charles? Why did you come back?”

“My uncle…”

“But--”

“Good timing,” He turned his hand and squeezed yours. “For once.”

You drew away and he shifted into gear. The edge of your scarf fluttered as the wind barreled around you. You watched the old town fade away in the side mirror then peeked over at Charles. His smile was gone and his face was tense in thought. You knew that look; it was the one he got before he had stuck Mr. O’Neil’s ladder to the wall with tar but now, you suspected he was up to something much more sinister.

<3

Charles’ house was bigger than any you could have imagined. The winding driveway and the towering gate. Had his inheritance really been so prosperous? You were in awe as he led you up the curved front steps, his arm under yours. Your ride had been long but smooth. You only spoke now and then, little reminiscent remarks.

He stopped at the front door and pulled a long key from his pocket as he parted from you. You clasped your valise in your fingers as he pushed the doors open and revealed a spacious foyer of polished marble and newly-laid wood. You stepped inside as his hand went to the small of your back and the door clicked as your heel echoed it in a sudden halt.

You stared at yourself. A likeness which was much forgiving of your true appearance. The paint was finely laid to reflect your former youth. The girl Charles had known all those years ago. The girl long gone. The portrait was startling as it reigned between the curved staircases. You turned to Charles and his hands clutched your arms tightly as he held you in place.

You dropped your valise in shock as he loomed over you. You trembled as his oceanic eyes were dark and stormy. You squirmed as his hot breath enshrined you.

“Charlie…”

“I waited so long.” He said. “I counted the days. I hustled, I lied, I cheated, to get all this.” He squeezed your arms as you tried to push him away. “For you. It’s all for you.”

“You’re scaring me, Charlie.” You gasped.

“I wasn’t going to wait forever. I wasn’t even waiting for you to get rid of Jimmy. I just needed it to be right. And it is, now.” He leaned in and rubbed his nose against yours. “Everything is perfect now that you’re here.”

“No,” You breathed and he took a step forward and forced you back. Another and another, until you were against the wall. “Charlie, I thought--”

“You thought I’d wait forever,” His hand left your arm and went to your throat, his lips hovered before yours. “Why him? Why did you never want me?”

“We’re friends, Charlie, I never thought-- I never wanted to ruin--”

“Don’t give me that,” He snarled and crushed his lips against yours.

You slapped his chest as he leaned into. His other hand crawled down your arm and gripped your waist. His fingertips dug into your side through the silk of your dress. He held your jaw as he devoured you and began to bundle the fabric over your thighs. You tried to pull it back down but his hand was between your legs in an instant.

He drew his lips from yours as he moved his knee between your legs. He pressed his hand roughly to the front of your panties and growled. You clawed at the lapels of his jacket and whimpered.

“Why--”

He interrupted you with another kiss. This one sloppy. You squeaked in surprise and his hand slithered down your chest, groping you hungrily before descending further. He snaked both arms around you and kneaded your ass. He lifted you suddenly and you tore your lips from his, hitting your head against the wall.

He balanced you between him and the wall, one hand gripped your right thigh as his other tugged at your garters. You beat against his shoulders but he barely noticed. He dragged his fingers over the satin along your crotch and picked at the edge. He teased you with two fingers before he turned his hand and stepped even closer.

He struggled with his belt and grunted in frustration. You wriggled desperately, grasping at him and the wall for anyway out. He only leaned against your heavier as he fumbled with one hand between you. 

“Please,” You begged. “Charlie--”

He kissed you once more. He bit your lip harshly then forced his tongue in your mouth. You felt his hand moving and smooth flesh tickle along your thigh. He guided his tip up your leg and hooked his finger under your panties. He pushed the satin aside with the head of his cock and you squeezed him between your legs, trying to shut him out.

He grabbed the back of your head and parted from your lips. The scarf crumpled in his hand and choked you as it slid down around your neck. You stared into his eyes fearfully and he thrust. One single, painful thrust that filled you entirely. 

Your lips formed an O and his eyes flared. He did it again, this time you let out a whine and he twisted the scarf so that it choked you even tighter. You beat on his shoulder as your pleas were trapped in your throat.

“Look at you,” He tilted his hips again, harder. “Look at this place.” He moved in tandem with his words. He leaned in until his lips were against your cheek, his spit smeared across your skin. “Big enough for us.” He sped up. “For our family.”

“Char--” The scarf tightened and your voice fizzled.

“You don’t have to-- thank-- me,” He rutted as he jostled your body against the wall. “I-- love-- you.”

[angst-fairygodmother]

Inspiration (Nathan Young x Reader)

A/N: I’ve been thinking more about my headcanon that Nathan has some sort of secret artistic talent. And then I had a flash of inspiration. Word Count: 1902 Content Warnings: drinking/alcohol, criminal activity, mention of animal abuse Cross-posted to AO3: here

“Hey,” Nathan said, waving his hand in front of your face, making you jump. “Earth to Y/N!”

“Sorry, what?” you said, slightly embarrassed that you had been zoning out.

“Am I borin’ ye?” he asked, pretending to pout. 

“No of course not,” you were quick to assure him, before pausing a moment. “Well…”

He gasped.

“No! You’re not boring me. It’s just…we are just sitting around drinking stolen, bad, vodka,” you took a swig of the bottle in question and grimaced at its rubbing alcohol aftertaste.

“We could do somethin’ else,” he said, smirking and waggling his eyebrows before plucking the vodka out of your hands and chugging some. 

You laughed and rolled your eyes, leaning over to punch him lightly in the shoulder.

“I was thinking more like...how do you feel about petty crime and vandalism?”

He gave you a curious look. “I’d say I’m a fan.”

“Good,” you said, taking out your phone to send a quick text to your friend to see if they could drop you some supplies. “Because I noticed a lovely barren expanse of walls on my walk over here that are just begging to be graffitied.”

“I’ve never done it,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m game.”

~

“Well,” you said, digging through the shopping bag you had found in the open boot of an abandoned car, right where you were expecting it, “El really came through with the supplies and the world is our canvas.”

You threw your hands in a broad gesture, before planting your fist on your hip. “And by that, I mean these two walls are our canvas.”

Nathan laughed, shaking his head wryly at you. “Lovely. So, what d’ we do?”

“Oh.” Your face fell slightly. You didn’t really know how to explain it to him. You had been painting street art for so long that it just came naturally to you. “Um...I guess you just, pick a can of paint and go for it. Paint whatever you’re feeling or thinking about. Or just your initials or something in a cool way. Whatever you want.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should watch ya for a bit, get some inspiration,” he drawled, giving you a cocky half-smile.

“I...uh...sure, if you want.” You shifted awkwardly, trying to ignore his gaze that felt like it was burning into the back of your neck as you riffled through the options to find the color you wanted. Stepping back, you looked critically at the wall, calculating it’s dimensions and what to start with. Satisfied that you had everything mapped out in your head, you set to work on the outline.

Nathan watched you work, your whole body moving fluidly in a way that sent his thoughts racing (not there was much you could do that didn’t), your brow knitted in fierce concentration. Once you had a vague outline of whatever you were designing, which he couldn’t even begin to guess, you shifted your focus to each individual section and detail. Occasionally, you would take a step back to see how the whole thing was coming together, tilting your head one way or the other, tongue poking out between your teeth slightly. He had never seen you so free and relaxed.

Suddenly, inspiration struck him and he practically dove into the shopping bag, rooting about for what he’d need. Taking a couple of the cans, he ducked around the corner to get started, a strange creative fire lighting in him. 

“Finally come up with something?” you called softly, teasing. 

“Yeah, yeah I did,” he said, almost absently. “But it’s a surprise, so no peekin’.”

“Ooh, mysterious.”

“Ye gotta promise ye won’t look til I say, Y/N,” he insisted.

“Alright,” you frowned, surprised he was getting so tetchy. “Cross my heart, I won’t peek. I’m pretty busy over here anyway.”

~

About an hour later, you put the final touch on your piece, your artist’s mark at the bottom so that anyone who knew anything would know who painted it. Stepping back, you smiled, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from your brow, formed by your exertion despite the cool night.

“You almost done, Nathan?” you called, surprised that he had been practically silent since he started working. 

“Oh, yeah,” he called back distractedly. “Nearly. But I’ll come over there.”

“Sure,” you answered, puzzled by his odd behavior. 

While you waited, you started gathering up the spray paints, putting any cans that still had paint in them back in the bag and tossing the empties in a nearby bin. 

“Wow,” you heard Nathan say, making you jump as he appeared behind your back. 

He was looking up at your art piece in awe. You had painted one of your signature designs: a laughing skull with flowers spilling from its open mouth. This time, the flowers were marigolds and foxgloves, and you had added a twist in the form of literal emerald eyes. You were quite proud of it, and Nathan seemed impressed. 

“You like it?” you asked sheepishly, the heat of a blush creeping across your face.

“I love it,” he exclaimed, pulling out his phone to snap a grainy picture of it. “Make a cool shirt or somethin’. Or a pirate tattoo. Very punk.”

You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. “It’s been an...evolving design since I was like 14. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not messin with ya, Y/N. I really like it.”

“Well, thank you.” You smiled and he grinned back, and for a moment you were lost in that. And then you remembered his very secret work.

“So Hotshot, do I get to see yours now?” you asked.

He jumped, startled and then shrugged, mumbling. “‘F you want ta.”

“Of course I do,” you said, taking a step toward the corner.

“No wait! If it’s a surprise, I should cover your eyes and lead you to it.”

Knowing him, you were suspicious that he had some prank or ulterior motive in mind, but you nodded your ascent. He moved up behind you, pressing his chest against your back and curling his long fingers over your eyes. 

“Can ya see anything?” he asked. 

“Nope. Totally blind.” 

Slowly he walked you across the gravel ground. Once you stopped, he started shifting you around by little steps in one direction or another, as if trying to get you into exactly the right spot. 

“Alright,” he said, a nervous tick to his voice. “Ta-dah!”

He dramatically uncovered your eyes to show what he'd been working on.

“Oh,” you breathed, stunned.

Staring back at you from the wall were a pair of eyes caught in mid-wink. Your eyes. Captured in exquisite detail, right down to the scar in your brow, earned as a child trying to stop a group of older boys from dropping a paper sack full of kittens into the drainage ditch during a downpour. 

“Nathan.” You felt your heart swell at the level of dedication, the obvious emotion he’d put into this, and tried to keep your voice from breaking. 

He scuffed the toe of his dirty sneakers in the gravel, looking down and away sheepishly. 

“I know. It ain't very good and it's jus' yer eyes instead o’ yer whole face but I thought this way you wouldn't get busted. And ye said t' paint what I was thinkin of…”

You turned to face him, reluctantly pulling your eyes away from the work of art before you. Tucking a hand gently under his chin, you drew his gaze back to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, making sure he could see the sincerity in your expression. 

He blushed, barely noticeable under the dim lights. “Ya think?”

You nodded, snaking your arm around his neck and stepping closer. His hand dropped to your waist as if on instinct.

“And very sweet. Some might say romantic even.”

“Hey, don’t go spreading those lies! I have a reputation to maintain ya know,” he joked, obviously trying to hide his discomfort at your praise.

“Nah, I like keeping that secret all to myself better anyway,” you teased, smirking before stretching up on your toes to press a teasing kiss to his lips. 

He groaned, pulling you closer and kissing you back, tongue trailing over your lip almost immediately. You parted to let him explore your mouth, toying with an errant curl at the nape of his neck. Slowly he guided you backward, only to suddenly jerk you to the side, accidentally biting your lip in the process. 

“Ow,” you whined, pulling back and bringing a finger to your lip to see if you were bleeding. “What was that?”

“Didn’t want to mess up the art,” he explained. “Or my jacket.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned.

He looked at you incredulously. You glanced down, realizing that in your haste to get ready, you had indeed pulled on his signature plaid-lined black garment.  

“Oh,” you said softly before turning your face back up toward his with a smirk and a shrug to rival his most unapologetic expressions. “Oops.”

“Ye’re lucky ye’re so damn cute, or I might be mad at ya,” he teased. 

“I’m sure I can think of some way to make it up to you,” you hummed, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned at you, and you stretched up to kiss him again, but just as your lips met, a strong, chill wind cut whistling through, causing you both to shiver. 

“Maybe we should take this back to my place?” he asked, breath ghosting across your face. 

“I like the sound of that,” you smiled back.

Quickly, slid the bag of remaining paint cans under the nearby dumpster for your friend to pick up later. All traces of your presence in the area (except of course the now much more beautiful wall) removed, you turned back to Nathan, ready to head out. He draped an arm around your shoulders and you happily leaned in to the gesture, tucking yourself against his side. As you walked back toward the community center, your head resting on his shoulder, you thought of something. 

“Nathan,” you asked, slightly hesitant, fearful that he might put up walls against you again. “I thought you said you’d never done this before?”

“I haven’t,” he answered casually.

“Then how were you so good at it? The level of detail and real, genuine artistry…”

He shrugged, taking his arm from around you to fumble in his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter, the latter of which he couldn’t seem to find. You reached into the pocket of your jeans, holding out yours and letting him light the end of the cig with it. The distraction passed, you looked back at him as he looked pointedly away and took a long drag. 

“I dunno. I mean it’s not that different from doodlin’ on paper with a pen or whatever, right?” he said finally with another shrug. 

“That was more than ‘doodling’, Nathan,” you said, plucking the cigarette from his lips and placing it between your own.

He pouted at you as you took a drag and offered it back. His lips brushed against your fingers as he took it back, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“Guess I’m just a man of mystery,” he said vaguely, draping his arm back around your shoulder. 

“I guess so,” you murmured, not voicing how much you look forward to finding them all out.

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Forbidden Notes: Hugo x Fem!Jewish!Reader

TW: Gestapo/holocaust

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)  

Requested by @kabutosfatcock ____________ You and Hugo were married, and since he was not Jewish, your marriage would have been considered 'privileged,' but, you did not go down without a fight. You were marked as a political criminal instead, associated with rebels since 1933. You'd been outspoken. You'd been loud. If you hadn't been, you might have been safe now, on account of being married to one Hugo Stiglitz. But you couldn't abide by that silence. Silence, you knew, could kill just as much as loose lips could. And for the lives you'd saved, you were targeted. You were on wanted lists. And, you had been, for quite a long time. 

1943

You’d ‘disappeared’ some time ago. Only two people knew where you really were. Hugo was one, of course. The other was a close friend of his named Matz. Hugo had been arrested for killing 13 gestapo officers. Your home was raided. Only Hugo's knives and guns were found. In such an event, Matz was supposed to make sure you got away in case things went wrong for Hugo. Whether Matz got there in time, Hugo didn't know. He could only hope you found a safe place to hide. No matter what they did to Hugo as they interrogated and tortured him, he never said a word that would hint anything about your whereabouts. He gasped for air, watching through weary eyes as his blood spilled onto the floor, and orders and questions were drilled into his ringing ears. None of that mattered. Not a lash, not a drop of his own blood mattered to him. He took every beating, every scream, and every moment of torture, without saying a word that could be used against you. You were his wife, and he loved you with all his heart.

A file was thrown at Hugo, as another gestapo officer walked in, "You sent a few boxes to America, two years ago, Hugo. Any particular reason?" He lied again, and said something about an aunt who'd moved to Chicago about 20 years earlier, being down on her luck. All he'd sent were some spare clothes, things she might need. He was beaten again, and left face down, on a red splattered concrete floor. The truth was this: Two years earlier, you and Hugo saw where things were heading. Germany was no longer safe, and Hugo wasn't willing to wait. He'd sent a trunk of the bare essentials. Photographs, documents, mementos...things any young, newly wed couple would wish to keep. He sent these things away to his aunt, who really had been living in Chicago for 20 years or so...but Hugo had planned to sneak you out of Germany, after hiding for a year. Time had not been kind, and fate had been cruel. You had to go into hiding in your own home, and Hugo had to build a whole charade around your disappearance over two year's time, making it seem as you'd really gone away. The officer kicked Hugo over. He lay there, his eyes heavy, sleep deprivation and pain turning his vision hazy as he looked up at the bright lamps. The officer grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up, muttering, "Tell us what we want to know, and we'll go easy on you. We send you off to Berlin, and it'll all be over, like this-" He snapped his fingers, signaling a path to a quick, relatively less painful way to die. Hugo grew enraged at the very idea: Getting an easy way out in exchange for your life? Never. He spat blood into the nazi's eye. The nazi dropped Hugo in disdain, cursing, as he wiped blood away from his eyes. "If you do, Y/n will be spared." "Y/n goes free..." Hugo had lost so much blood and so much hope, he believed them for a moment. But he saw the scowls and heard the cackles. He went numb, realizing he'd just blown your cover. He'd just confirmed you never left Germany at all. The officer  turned to the guards, with a pleased smirk, "Search the house again." "We haven't found anything." "Then burn it down." Hugo scraped together what little strength he had left, and lashed out, taking down two of the guards. But it wasn't enough. They already had what they wanted: a death sentence for Hugo in Berlin, and confirmation that you were still somewhere in your home. Hugo was taken to a cell, and would be moved to Berlin in the morning.

Hugo knew even if he escaped, he would quickly be caught again. Even so, he couldn't get far. His only hope was that his friend, Matz, would get to you in time. Even then, Hugo blamed himself for it all. He knew he was nothing without you by his side. The worst part was he had no answers, and he'd die not knowing if you got away in time. But, one answer came up, moments later as shots were fired down the prison halls. He initially didn't care to glance up. Whatever was coming didn't concern him, he was sure. But he was wrong. Nine basterds stood before his cells. One stepped forward, asking if he wanted to go pro in the nazi killing business. His mind was on one thing, and one thing only: You. He could do more for the world by hunting nazis than he could as a dead man...and if he could do it all for you, he would. A simple, silent nod sealed Hugo's fate. Another year passed since then.

The basterds were deep behind enemy lines, somewhere in the  French wilderness at the moment, tracking and hunting down every nazi patrol that they could. One patrol in particular that they caught caused Hugo to snap. He recognized one of the faces. "You." Hugo marched over to the man he'd known all his life: Matz. Matz, a childhood friend. Matz, the closest thing Hugo had to a brother most of his life. Matz, the only one who knew Hugo's secrets: He wasn't a real nazi. And you had never left home. There he was, an enlisted officer now. Matz, now a nazi. Blood on his hands. Matz knew there was no saving himself, because he knew Hugo. And he knew Hugo loved you more than life itself. So he admitted all he had to: "It was her life or mine." Matz seethed, not an ounce of regret in his eyes, as Hugo approached with a bloodthirsty glare. Hugo beat him relentlessly, demanding answers. Demanding to know where you were, what exactly happened that night. Matz' nose was broken, his eyes were black and swollen, and some of his teeth were littered on the ground. Blood poured from his nose and mouth as he sobbed, "ICH WEISS ES NICHT." "I DON'T KNOW" Hugo didn't believe a word Matz said. None of the other basterds asked any questions. They didn't even ask Wicki to translate. They just watched in awe, realizing Hugo was only beginning. He took out his knives, searching for the answers he couldn't get from Matz. But, by the time Hugo was done, the knives were drenched, and blunt, and Matz was no more. Aldo left no survivors that night. Hugo didn't ask for that, but Aldo was sure it was for the best. Whatever had happened, Aldo did it out of respect.

Hugo sat off on his own that night, quietly, as though nothing had happened, as he sharpened his knives. He lit a cigarette, and glanced at the sky. No one ever knew quite what he was thinking, and though sometimes it was an advantage for him...sometimes it was quite lonely. Especially when he remembered the only one who could tell what he was thinking all the time was you. He felt alone. Angry. Resenting himself, he again ran through all the things he could have done to save you, and inevitably tormented himself with the ceaseless thoughts of what could have happened to you, wondering if he'd ever really know. It was all too much, as he struck down his knife, lodging it into the tree stump he was sitting on.

The rest of the basterds were far enough in the distance where he couldn't hear them, and they couldn't see he was a little more wired than usual. "So....what was that about..." Smitty took a  piece of chocolate before passing the bar down to Omar. Hirschberg shrugged as he then took the chocolate from Omar, "I don't speak German or nothin'...but I'm pretty sure I heard them both sayin' "Y/n" about a thousand times. It's a name, ain't it?" WIcki sighed, having heard the story from Hugo himself, months ago. "His wife." "Hugo's married?" "How does a man with the conversational skills of a rock get that far with a woman?" "You're serious, Wicki?" Wicki nodded, "Her name was Y/n. She was Jewish." Donny noted Wicki said 'was.' Past tense... Donny glanced briefly at Hugo, who was but a shadowy figure in the distance. He turned back, and looked down with a shade of empathy, though his grip around his bat tightened as he glanced at the names on the bat, murmuring, "Y/n...Hugo's wife..." Wicki didn't say anything else. Frankly, that was all he had to say for the basterds to understand a whole new side of Hugo. Well... to understand the side of Hugo they knew. No one ever asked any question about it again. How could they? How could they blame him? They didn't know anything other than your name, but were certain he loved you. And...not a moment went by in his days that he didn't think of you. This day especially. He sat there, on the tree stump, burning through his cigarette, he lit another one, without a sound aside from the clink from the lighter. As he put it back into his chest pocket, his thumb brushed against a small scrap of paper. He sighed with a heavy heart, knowing that paper by memory. Every crease, every tear, every single word, and a tiny blot from a stray raindrop. He could remember the phone number written on the back of the sub. Every curve and line of every number permanently etched into his memory, He knew every last detail by heart. And yet, he looked at it every time he felt furthest from you, because that tiny scrap of paper was the closest thing he had to you. It was a ticket stub to an underground club. Secret, hidden, and forbidden. It's only form of entertainment was swing music, which had been banned. That was where he met you... and that was your very first date. He smiled for a brief, infinitesimal moment, which pained him beyond belief, as he set his eyes on the ticket stub. He slipped it back into his pocket, though even when he shut his eyes, he could still see it. He could see the line of young people ahead of him, eager to get into the forbidden club. He could see the moment he first spotted you, just ahead, when you smiled at him. He could see the moment you approached him, and took his hand for the very first time, leading him to a dance.  The moment he saw your eyes light up with those forbidden notes and songs. The moment you convinced him to dance... The moment his life became yours, and yours became his. ***Months Later*** Hicox blew his German act. "Say auf wiedersehen to your nazi balls." With that, the tavern was sprayed red in blood. The gunshots alerted not only the basterds, but a team of agents working with the MI6 that the British had sent to assist the lone OSS operative, last minute. So last minute, that Bridget, Wicki, Hugo, and Archie were unaware of the extra unit's assistance. That unit, unknown to the basterds trapped in the tavern, legally did not exist. Legally, some of the members of your team were dead, including you.  All documents and messages regarding the team, The Resurgent,  were kept in a vault, somewhere underground, some place in England. Each and every document was classified, and most of the documents detailing their work had been mostly redacted. The Resurgent: This was your team. This was a band of double agents, soldiers, and talents who were either left behind, fell off the grid, or thought to be dead. This was the team that you called family from the moment you left Frankfurt, believing Hugo to be dead. This was the team who you faced certain death with. A hideout nestled in the most populated, busiest side of Paris...so obvious no one would think to look. That was the place you and your team called home. Only recently had you heard of this American outfit called the basterds. So recently, you only arrived to the village of Nadine, a moment or two before hearing shots fired in the tavern. Your team moved toward the tavern, along with the basterds in what you would later realize was a turning point not only in history, but in your story. **** Among all the ringing in his ears and the shots and the screams and the shattering glass, Hugo heard something else. He heard the bells from the door upstairs ringing. But, he was too tired and weak to look to the stairs. He slumped down  in a corner, bleeding through a stolen uniform, shakily raising his gun to fire one last shot. You were the third or fourth Resurgent to make it into the tavern, and you scanned the area. In a moment, your heart dropped, and you couldn't seem to breathe. You saw a familiar face in a stolen uniform. "Hugo..." You knelt by him, seeing his bloody fist clenched around something, resting over his heart. You held his hand, and found something you never imagined. It was a ticket stub, from your very first date, with your old phone number on it. A forbidden note for a forbidden love. You took a breath, both heart broken, and filled with hope all at once. You put it back in his pocket, "Oh Hugo..." He managed to open his eyes, and saw you hovering over him. Startled, his eyes went wide. In his mind, it was the ghost of you, taking his hand through a gentle death, But you wouldn't let him off so easily. You looked at him, tears welling in your eyes, though you clenched your jaw, and quickly wiped them away with your sleeve. There'd be time enough for that later. You pulled Hugo up, and draped his arm over your shoulders. It was then that Hugo realized you were as real as the bullet in his side. He smiled again, though his arm instinctively pressed against his wound, his other arm wrapped around you tightly, as he gave it his all to walk with you, and walk away from the grip of death. He saw you every night in his dreams. But this was clearer than anything he'd ever seen in his mind, either in a nightmare or his most carefree daydream... This was the dream that couldn't be. Your smile was brighter than it had been in any memory, your hands softer than they could be in any dream, and your voice clearer than it could be in any hallucination. "It's you..." He stood still for a moment, looking at you, though he seemed as though he would collapse.  Not because of the blood... but because it was because it was you. It was really you. You set him down gently, outside of the tavern, while other agents helped Bridget, Wicki, and Archie out. You crouched by Hugo, your hands resting against his face. He whispered, with gentle eyes, and a subtle grin, "Du bist lebendig." 'You're alive.' You nodded, as you started to tend to his wound, 'So are you...' "It was Matz. He betrayed us. He-" Hugo started to get worked up, breathing heavily, until you pulled him back down before he could hurt himself. "They couldn't take me away from you. This bullet won't take you from me." As the basterds scrambled to get everyone out and away from the tavern before more nazis arrived, Wicki laughed through the pain, "Told you Hugo was really married." If Hugo hadn't been wounded, he would've laughed. But he didn't. He smiled softly, though, as he reached his hand up to your face, and nodded once to himself, as if confirming it was really you. Your eyes were the very same eyes he saw on that first date. Your kind (worried) smile was the same as it was every time Hugo clumsily hurt himself (which was surprisingly often, though he never let on around the basterds.) Your nose was the same nose he used to peck softly each morning before work. Now, as Operation Kino carried on, you and your team watched over the wounded basterds. You stayed by his side. Who better than you? You were by Hugo's side the day the world fell apart. You were there when the world went to war. And now that time seemed to slow down once again, you were still there. And you were there when Hugo, and every other basterd, got the medal of honor.

"Think your aunt will be upset that we're a little late?" "We're only..." he shrugged, as he looked down at his watch, "Three years late." "Oh, is that all?" You laughed, as you wrapped your arms around him. Hugo was quieter than he used to be. He had scars you didn't recognize, and stories he might not tell you for a few years. But, he held you tightly, as he always had before. And when Hugo looked down at you with the same old smile that kept your hope alive in your dreams, he still had that love in his eyes. The same love as the day he first danced with you. If he had to do it all again, just to be with you, he would. You looked around at the sea of reporters, families, and basterds. You watched as balloons floated to the sky, camera flashes went off, and confetti and fallen streamers adorned the ground. A band began to play notes that weren't so forbidden here You kissed Hugo, and he kissed you. You'd never have to go through it again. You'd never have to be apart either. Some things wouldn't be the same. But, as long as you had Hugo, there would come a day when the world seemed to be pieced back together. Until then, you both held on to each other, knowing no one could ever take you away from each other again.

[freddiesaysalright]

Just Like a Woman - Part 5

A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 4.9k (a lot needed to happen im sorry)

Tag List:  @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @lizawritesthings, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @flick-ofthe-wrist, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace​, @itsabenthing​, @bookandband​, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife​, @grazessa​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Will things finally turn around for Y/N and Roger?

Warning(s): None :)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

Part 5 here we go!!!

“He said that?!” Roger questioned, incredulous. 

“Yeah,” you sniffled. “Fucking prick.”

You sat together in the booth at the studio. Roger was making you a cup of tea. You told him everything you discussed at the therapist’s office and the things Mark said to you. He let you cry on his shoulder at the start before getting up for the tea for the finale. Now, as he handed it to you, his eyes were narrowed with confusion and hurt for you.

“That really is an awful thing to say,” he agreed. “I mean, it’s one thing to say he doesn’t feel like he can be with you but to say that love is wasted on you….first of all, it’s not true. Second of all, it’s vicious. He was trying to hurt you.”

“Maybe I deserved it,” you said, looking away. “I haven’t been the best girlfriend to him. I’ve been afraid and hesitant and….I know I’ve hurt him.”

“Doesn’t give him the right to say something like that,” Roger argued. “And you didn’t hurt him intentionally.”

“That’s true,” you conceded.

“Besides, you’re an incredible person,” he went on. “Love isn’t wasted on you. I don’t think love is wasted on anybody really, but least of all you.”

You forced a smile. “Thanks.”

He sipped his tea and looked at you. You simply stared at yours, eyes fixed on the steam rising out of the cup. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said. “You’re hurting and it’s not fair. And it’s partly my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Rog,” you replied softly. “I wouldn’t take back a single moment with you. Not for anyone or anything.”

He paused at that, taking it in. A part of him had always wondered if you regretted being with him after the way he hurt you. It was a relief to know you didn’t. 

“Me neither,” he said.

Another beat passed. He watched you drum your fingers against your mug. Then he got an idea.

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” he said, offering his hand. “Come with me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Where?”

“We’re not leaving the building, we’re just going to the keyboard,” he said.

“Okay…” you agreed hesitantly.

He helped you off the couch and led you into the studio. Holding Roger’s hand felt familiar, but in that odd way where you think it was something you must have dreamed. You reached the keyboard and sat down beside him. You both placed your beverages on the table to the side.

“I might be rusty, so apologies in advance,” he said.

You nodded. Then, he began to play an old, familiar tune.

“Lida Rose, I’m home again, Rose,” he began to sing. “To get the sun back in the sky. Lida Rose, I’m home again, Rose. About a thousand kisses shy…”

You nearly started crying again. The Music Man was your father’s absolute favorite, and he had taught you and Roger almost every song from it. There were enough duets for you two and it was fun to play and sing together. As Roger sang through the first part, your eyes watered. He looked at you and smiled gently.

“So here is my love song, Not fancy or fine, Lida Rose, oh won’t you be mine? Lida Rose, Oh, Lida Rose, Oh…”

He finished, picked up the tempo and looped back around. He began again, and this time you joined him. 

“Dream of now,” you sang shakily. “Dream of then. Dream of a love song, That might have been. Do I love you? Oh, yes, I love you. And I’ll bravely tell you. But only when we dream again….”

As the song progressed, you and Roger’s smiles widened as you held each other’s gaze. You were back in your parents’ living room, just barely teenagers and singing together while your father watched you behind a cup of tea and a cigar. 

“Forever. Oh, yes, forever. Will I ever tell you? Oh, no…”

“Lida Rose, Oh, Lida Rose, Oh…”

You each finished your parts. A real, genuine smile claimed your lips now as you looked at him. Then you heaved a sigh and rested your head on his shoulder. You fit there like a missing puzzle piece. It hit him all at once just how much he had been missing it.

“Thank you, Roger,” you said. “You always did know how to cheer me up.”

“Well, it’s always been that song, how could I forget?” he joked.

You hummed lightly. “You’re not rusty, you know. I don’t think you missed a note.”

“Do you sing The Music Man much anymore?” he wondered.

“No,” you said wistfully. “Not since Dad died.”

“Well, you haven’t lost your touch either,” he returned.

Your forehead was so close to his lips. He ached to kiss it. To feel your familiar skin against his mouth again. You always said forehead kisses were your favorite because they made you feel safe. Roger didn’t admit it, but they were his favorite too because they made him feel like he could take care of you. Now, he once again felt the sharp pang of regret that he hadn’t. To ease his own heart, he prepared to take the risk and kiss you.

But you sat up. 

He bit back a frustrated groan.

“I wanted to apologize for what I said to you outside the bar,” you said, still looking at the keyboard. “It was harsh.”

“It was true,” he said. “I understand you were feeling hurt. I just wish you’d let me explain.”

“Can I explain first?” you asked, looking at him now.

“Sure,” he allowed.

“I was so upset because when you told me you’d met Dominique so soon after we broke up, it made me feel like you lied to me when you left,” you said. “It wasn’t that you didn’t want to settle down. You didn’t want to settle down with me.”

“That wasn’t the case,” he said. “Like I told you, Dom and I weren’t anything close to what you and I were. We started off as a one night thing. We tried being together, but we broke up a hundred times. We got married on a whim sort of. We decided we wanted to have a family, so...you get it.”

“She told me that…” you trailed off, not really sure you wanted to confess this to him.

“What?” he pressed. “What did she tell you?”

“She told me that you never stopped loving me,” you admitted. You looked away from him again. “But I didn’t believe her.”

He opened his mouth to reply and closed it again. What he felt during his time without you was so complex, he hardly understood it himself. He missed you. Terribly, at first. But then, he really did fuck around and do whatever he wated. He had fun. But he still missed you. He met Dom, and she sort of took your place, but she wasn’t you. No one could ever be what you were to him.

“She’s partly right,” he said. “I always remembered you and thought of you. I had love for you throughout everything. And I always will.”

“Well, I hope you got everything you wanted,” you scoffed. “And you're satisfied with your exploration.”

“Yeah, I got it all out, I suppose,” he said. “I mean, I’ll never lose the thrill of performing, but when it comes to women…”

“Roger, can I ask you something?” you put forth. “And I want you to be totally honest.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said nervously.

“When you got through those feelings,” you said. “Why didn’t you -”

You didn’t get to finish your question. At that moment, the door opened and Freddie, Brian, and John walked in. They all seemed struck by your presence.

“Well, Roger, we wondered why you never showed up to lunch, but it appears we have our answer,” John said. “Hi, Y/N.”

You beamed at them. It had been so long, and they all looked so different now. But also much the same, especially their faces.

“Hi, guys,” you returned, getting to your feet.

Freddie approached you first. He wrapped you up in his arms as you laughed, embracing him in return.

“What brings you here, darling?” he asked. As he pulled away, he glanced over you. “What a gorgeous thing you’ve grown up to be!”

“Thanks, Fred,” you returned with a laugh. “I actually didn’t intend on coming here, I just...well, I split up with my boyfriend and on my way back to work I - quite literally - ran into Roger.” 

You hugged Brian and John as well, exchanging pleasantries. All the while, Roger’s leg bounced with anticipation. He had no idea what you were going to ask him, and he desperately wanted to give you any answers he was capable of giving. 

“I really should be going,” you said. “I’ve got a lot of work to do for Miss Thomas’s case. Mr. Broome is in court tomorrow for his annulment and I need to be prepared.”

Roger jumped up. 

“Wait, Y/N, you had something you wanted to ask me,” he said.

“We’ll talk more later, okay?” you returned.

“Okay, sure,” he said reluctantly.

You walked back over to him. His eyes were intense and longing. You were sure yours were the same. Then, you stood up on your toes, your body against his, your hands on his shoulders, and you kissed him on the cheek. His skin was warm and soft. He still smelled like he used to, only with a hint of more cigarettes. You heard him inhale deeply. His hands moved to your hips. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. You moved away, he helped steady you as you came back down on your heels. Then you locked eyes with him again.

“Thank you,” you said.

He could only nod. His heart was beating so wildly at you being close to him again. He watched you hopelessly as you grabbed your purse and coat. You waved to the guys, shared one last meaningful look with him, and then you were gone.

“Geez, Rog, what was all that about?” Brian wondered.

“Her boyfriend broke up with her because of me,” Roger answered. “We got to talking and now I….” he trailed off.

“Start from the beginning,” said John.

Roger told them. About your fight at the bar. He conveyed what he remembered you told the therapist and then what Mark said to you. They were all as disturbed by it as he was. Then he told them everything the two of you said to each other.

“Roger, this is getting complicated,” Brian said. “The two of you just need to sit down and have it all out.”

“I’d like to, but things keep getting in the way,” Roger said. “Her work or mine. Some distraction or another. We’re never together long enough to get it all out there.”

“Make time, dear,” Freddie said gently. “Ask her to dinner.”

“I dunno if we should be out in public,” Roger said. “It could get quite emotional.”

“Then have her at yours,” John said. “But you can’t go on like this, you’ll both go mad.”

Roger considered this. “That’s a good idea, Deaky. Only, Dominique still lives there.”

“I’ll have Veronica invite her to our place for the evening,” John offered.

“If she doesn’t go, it’s a large house, she can be out of your way,” Brian added. 

“But something needs to be done,” Freddie finished.

“Why are you all so adamant that I do this?” Roger wondered, looking around at them.

“Because ever since you’ve seen her again, you’ve been a bit of a dope,” John said with brutal honesty. “We think if you knew where you stood with her, you’d be yourself again. Only happier, maybe.”

“I’d definitely be happier,” Roger admitted. “Even if we were just friends again.”

“That’s a good sign, love,” Freddie said. “We all miss her. It’s natural that you would miss her most.”

“Well, it’s settled, then,” Roger said. “I’ll speak to her soon.”

“Do,” Freddie said. “You’ll be better for it.” 

That afternoon, you were grateful to get back to work. You were in court with Miss Thomas, and it was a welcome distraction from all thoughts of Mark. And of Roger. Especially Roger. There was still so much going unsaid between you and it was starting to drive you crazy. But without Mark in the picture, you felt more justified in exploring it. 

The judge dismissed Miss Thomas’s case, as you predicted, and you apologized to her. She promised to return to you for any future lawsuits, since you were the only lawyer who took her case in the first place. You weren’t sure if you were pleased or not. For Bill’s sake, you were because it meant more money. For your own, you were worried this meant more ridiculous suits based on penile psychic abilities and you didn’t want to keep losing. 

When you returned to your office from court, you got to work more on researching for Mr. Broome. Things were strictly business between you now that he thought you were a lesbian. Or at least participated in lesbian activity. In truth, you had never kissed another woman before, but there was no way you were going to admit it to Mr. Broome. 

As much as you looked at your law books, your mind kept going back to Roger. Your short duet with him was affecting you much more than your breakup with Mark. It made you wonder if maybe Mark was right. Was there no other man for you besides Roger Taylor? It seemed so illogical. Most people did not end up with their first boyfriend. Why were you so hung up on yours? 

The day wore on. Your office grew dark with the disappearing sunlight, but you had a few more things to wrap up before going down to the bar. You had already released Jane when you heard a knock on your door. You looked up eagerly, hoping Roger would be standing there. Only, it was Mark. You frowned. 

“What do you want?” you asked shortly. 

“Can we talk?” he wondered. “I want to apologize for what I said this morning.”

“Well, Mark, I don’t think I’m ready to accept that apology,” you returned, snapping your file shut and getting up from your chair. “I wasn’t lying when I said that was the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I know you meant it.”

“I didn’t mean it like you think I did,” he said. “It was the heat of the moment and I was angry. I wanted to hurt you.”

“If you expect kudos for admitting the obvious, you’ve come to the wrong person,” you said. “I know you wanted to hurt me. And mission accomplished.”

“I’m just saying that I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d like to try again.” 

“I’m not interested,” you replied. “The truth of the matter is, Mark, that you don’t love me. You don’t say things like that to people you truly love. You loved the idea of who I might be. I checked off boxes for qualities you’d like in a wife. But you don’t really know me. I think that if you did, you wouldn’t even like me.” 

“That’s not true,” he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you. 

“You like me on paper,” you said. “I’m smart, successful, and attractive. But on the inside, I’m a mess. A mess that very few people could ever hope to understand. And you’re just not one of them.” 

“So, that’s it? You’re giving up just like that?”

You almost laughed. 

“Y’know it’s funny how every man who hurts me tells me I’m the one giving up,” you scoffed. “This time, it’s true. At the risk of sounding cold, it’s not worth the effort. I don’t love you, Mark. And I never will. I’m sorry.” 

“Well, if you’ve decided…” he trailed off. “I really am sorry for what I said. I wish I could take it back.”

“I’m glad you can’t,” you said. “I wish you well. But this is goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said. 

“Goodbye.”

With one last look, he left your office. You meant everything you said to him. You just didn’t feel about Mark what you had felt for Roger. With a sigh, you began to pack up your briefcase. You had to be in court again the next day, and you wanted to be extra prepared for Mr. Broome’s case. You heard another soft knock on your door, and your head snapped up as you prepared to dismiss Mark again. 

Only it wasn’t Mark. 

“Mum?!” you cried, stunned. “You weren’t supposed to get here until Friday!”

“Well, I thought I’d come a bit early and surprise you!” she returned, laughter in her eyes. “And you should see your face!” 

You chuckled. “Come here!”

You went to her and embraced her warmly. It must have been her motherly instincts telling her you needed her because she was right on time. In fact, you had been considering skipping the bar and calling her. 

“How are you, dear?” she asked, pulling away and looking you over. “You look thin. Are you eating enough?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m eating fine, Mum. Although I haven’t had much today, it’s been a rather emotional time.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” 

“Why don’t you come down to the bar with me?” you offered. “You can meet all my friends and coworkers. And I’ll catch you up. You aren’t going to believe who one of my clients is.” 

She raised an eyebrow, smirked, and took your hand. Together you walked to the bar. 

You mother was stoked to meet your coworkers and see more of your life in London. Usually, you were the one visiting her, but you hadn’t been home since your father’s funeral. It was painful to think about. So, you invited her to see your life. She agreed rather enthusiastically, so you guessed she needed to get away as well. Now that she had done her grieving, it was the perfect time. 

She danced with Bill, who flirted shamelessly with her. He had a thing for older women. You giggled watching her flush at his praise. She deserved to feel that way again after losing your dad, and you knew he’d be happy she was having fun. You could imagine what he’d say. 

Well, he has good taste, doesn’t he?

You shook your head, clearing your father’s voice out of it. You found yourself thinking of him more often now that Roger was back in your life. Especially since you knew he named his son after your dad. Your father would have been so bashfully honored by that. It made your heart ache to remember he never would know that honor. 

Your mother returned to her seat beside you. 

“I don’t think I’ve danced like that since before your father died,” she giggled, grinning. 

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” you told her. 

“Now, catch me up, sweetheart,” she said. “Who’s this new client? And when am I going to meet this Mark you’ve told me about?”

“Oh, about that,” you said. 

You launched into the story. You told her about Roger, Mark, and everything that had happened since that fateful day you’d seen your old friend in that conference room. You left out the bit about kissing Dominique, though, since you weren’t trying to make her faint. She listened thoughtfully, taking in your every word. 

“I see,” she said when you finished. “Well, I’m thrilled that you’re seeing Roger again, I must say!”

“I’m not seeing Roger, Mum, I’m representing him in his divorce,” you reminded her. “I just...I feel strange about it. All these old feelings…”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” she said. “You two meant a great deal to each other.” 

“But it was so long ago,” you argued. “Shouldn’t we have moved on?”

“Well if you have to ask that question, I think you know the answer,” she said. 

Your eyes went wide as you looked at her. She winked and sipped her drink. 

You didn’t talk about Roger much for the rest of the time you were at the bar. When you got home, though, she brought him up again. 

“Darling, why not be with Roger again?” she asked. “He’s soon to be divorced, you’re single now. What’s stopping you?” 

“Mum, the reason he left me was because I wasn’t enough for him,” you reminded her. “How can I trust that I will be now?”

“Because time has passed,” she said. “He’s grown up. So have you. He’s gotten it out of his system.”

“No he hasn’t, he cheated on his wife,” you said. 

“Well, she isn’t you,” she said simply. 

“It’s different,” you said. “Part of me is still angry at him. How do we come back from what we went through?”

Your mother paused a moment. You watched her, patiently waiting for her to answer. Her expression hardened, as if trying to hold back emotion. You shot her a worried look. 

“When you were little,” she began. “Maybe seven or eight, you father had an affair with his secretary.”

A wave of shock almost knocked you off your feet. 

“What?” you gasped. 

“I didn’t want to tell you this because I don’t want you to think of your father any differently, but I think you could learn from it,” she said. “So yes. He began seeing her. She was young and beautiful. Bright eyed and sweet. They carried on for about three months together before I found out.”

Your eyes welled up with tears. “Why didn’t you leave him?”

“I considered it,” she admitted. “But I loved him too much. I couldn’t bear the thought of life without him. And we had you to think of. I asked him if he wanted to leave me for her. But he said no, he wasn’t in love with her. He just wanted to feel young again.”

“That doesn’t excuse -”

“No, of course it doesn’t excuse it,” she said. “And I was angry with him for months. Even though he ended it with her and he never strayed again, I was so hurt by it that I thought our marriage might really be over. I think...part of me was relieved Roger left you before he caused you the kind of pain your father caused me.”

“Mum, he still hurt me,” you said. “I was blindsided. He totally crushed me.”

“As did your father to me,” she said. “I’m not saying that Roger was right. The way he made you feel was absolutely terrible. But he was honest about what he needed for himself. And there’s something to be said for that.”

“How did you move on?” you asked. “With Dad, I mean.”

“The way I saw it, I had two options,” she said. “I could be angry with him and leave - but I had already ruled that out. Or I could forgive him. I chose forgiveness. And it allowed me to keep the love of my life. And our family together.”

“Was it that easy?” you questioned. 

“God, no,” she laughed. “It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever dealt with. Until I lost him, of course. But it was worth every bit of the heartache.” 

You still felt a bit off balance. They had hidden that struggle incredibly well. You always thought your parents had an exemplary marriage. But if you mother could move past that...couldn’t you offer Roger the same reprieve? You had to think about it. 

“I think if you want to be happy, whether or not you get back together with Roger, you need to forgive him,” she said. “Truly forgive him. It’s the only way forward.”

“Thanks, Mum,” you said. “I really needed your advice.”

“Of course, darling,” she said, patting your hand. “Now, let’s get to bed. I’m exhausted from your boss dancing me all over that bar!”

You laughed together and then showed her to your guest room.  

The next day, you went to work in the morning. You had court with Mr. Broome. Unfortunately, the judge did not see it your way and therefore didn’t grant the annulment. You weren’t too upset about it, though. With your mother in town and the afternoon through the weekend off, you felt like you had a lot to look forward to. Mr. Broome said he wanted to appeal the decision, and you advised him to call Jane and set up an appointment to meet with you again and you could discuss it.

The remainder of the morning was spent putting things in order for your long weekend with your mom. You were also giving Jane the time off. If you weren’t going to be in the office, why should your assistant? Any urgent business would go through Bill, who could call you at home. But you shouldn’t be needed.

You walked home, pondering where to take your mother first. Then it hit you. It was so obvious you almost laughed at yourself.

You and your mother strolled down the street. You had changed when you first got home into jeans and a jumper, and now you were comfortably on your way.

“Why can’t  you just tell me where we’re going?” your mother wondered.

“Because it’s a surprise,” you said. “And I won’t ruin it.”

You rounded a corner and pulled her to a stop.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed.

“Oh, come now…”

“Just do it!”

She smirked, sighed, and obeyed. You took her hand. Then you led her down the street and into the building.

“Yeah, I like that, Deaks,” Roger said, trying the line again. “Definitely works better.”

John gave him a thumbs up. Roger played through once more using John’s suggestion, and this time played it flawlessly.

“Well done,” said Freddie from the booth. “That was remarkably not shitty.”

Roger chuckled and flipped the singer off.

“Carry on, darlings,” Freddie instructed with a lazy wave.

They continued through and ended up liking what they ended up with. Then the door opened and all eyes turned on the new arrivals. Roger’s heart nearly burst out of his chest when he saw who it was.

“Vivian!” he cried, leaping from his stool and hurtling to the booth.

He saw her release a delighted cry and hug you quickly before turning back around to catch Roger in her arms. You laughed watching them reunite.

“Oh, Roger, dear, how wonderful you look!” your mother exclaimed, looking him over. “It’s been so long!”

“Too long,” he agreed, pulling her in for another hug. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright for an old lady,” she replied. “We’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you more,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she sighed, and she began dabbing at her eyes as she pulled away.

“Mum, don’t cry!” you insisted, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

“I can’t help it!” she returned. “It seems like yesterday this young man was just a boy hiding in my shed and now...well, look at you, Roger! A real rock star!”

“Thank you, Viv,” he said gently. “I couldn’t have gotten here without you and Felix.”

Her eyes watered even more.

“He was so proud of you, love,” she said, taking his hand between hers. “So very proud.”

Roger blinked back the tears that had formed in his own eyes. Your mother sighed again with a small laugh.

“Oh, how I wish you and Y/N hadn’t…” she trailed off. “Oh, well. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he told her. “Really. The band is doing well, I’m alright.”

“Y/N told me you’re getting divorced,” she said.

“Yeah, but it’s for the best,” he said. “Dominique and I just weren’t working out.”

“You have children?” she asked.

“Two,” he said. “A boy and a girl. My son is three, and my little girl is one.”

“Oh, you, Roger, a father?!” she gasped. “It’s difficult to imagine, you were so wild as a boy! But of course you’re wonderful. You always were when you really cared for something.”

“I love them very much,” he said. “Here, Viv, meet the rest of the band.”

You watched him introduce your mother to the rest of Queen. She was absolutely tickled about it. Even though you hadn’t kept up with Roger’s band, your parents had, which you didn’t discover until years after your breakup. They had every Queen album and record in their collection. Roger made his way back over to you while your mother spoke to Freddie.

“Thanks for bringing her here,” he said.

“Of course, Rog,” you returned. “She’d kill me if I didn’t let her see you.”

He swallowed thickly and looked between you and her for a moment.

“I always thought they hated me,” he choked out. “For hurting you.”

“Rog…”

“So knowing that they still cared after what I did...thank you, Y/N.”

“Roger, you were like a son to them,” you said, holding his gaze. “You could never do anything to make them hate you. Ever.”

“That’s a relief,” he said.

He took a deep breath and then looked at you.

“I know your mum’s here, but d’you think you could take one evening and come have dinner with me at my place?” he asked. “There’s….so much we need to talk about.”

“Yeah,” you said,a smile slowly parting your lips. “Yeah, I think we could do that.”

[nekojitachan]

Hi, I love your fic'❤️ and I wanted to know if you could write even a short one about what would happened if Riko didnt find Andrew and Neil in WDWG

Thank you! 💖 Okay, so I did my best to keep this as short as possible, just a glimpse of the boys’ life if Riko had never found them/if they were able to live on undisturbed, just the two of them.

Uhm, I think it’s pretty safe? Just the ongoing burying bodies joke....

*******

Neil had just sold the two tourists from New York a (very ugly) tea set and couple rare blends of tea (Jodi would be pleased) when Massey’s recommendation returned. Neil gave him a stern look to convey ‘not now’ while he waited on a regular, Mrs. Huang, taking the time to let her sniff the lu’an tea they had in stock to ensure that it was up to her high standards before he bagged the requested amount, chatting with her in Mandarin the entire time. It was only after she left (and he was certain that the store was empty) that Neil motioned the anxious man forward while he reached beneath the counter for the wrapped bundle he and Jodi had worked on earlier.

“It’s ready?”

“Yes.” Neil answered in French as he set the bundle on the counter, just out of reach, then slid his phone into view. “New passport, bank account, driver’s license, birth certificate, the works.”

The man, face haggard from stress and freshly bleached hair falling onto his forehead, gazed at the package as if it a holy grail of sorts. “Let me see the passport. Please,” he added, his voice hoarse with need.

Used to being asked such a question, Neil shrugged and unfolded the brown wrapping paper enough to slip free the passport (French) and flipped it open to prove to the man (no names had been exchanged, which he much preferred) that it would pass for authentic (he did excellent work). Some of the tension left the man’s stocky body upon seeing it, as did a quick glance at the other items in the wrapping paper; he pulled out his phone to transfer the agreed upon amount of money to the account number Jodi had given him last night.

Neil checked his phone to ensure the money had been deposited then slid the items across the counter. “Good luck,” he told the man, who snatched up his new life, nodded in acknowledgement, then fled the Jade Leaves tea store.

Neil dealt with a few more tourists (not his favorite thing) and a handful of regulars (which he much preferred, especially when they brought him snacks) by the time Jodi returned. “Bah, it’s raining,” she complained as she pushed back the hood of her jacket; fall in Montreal could be unpredictable, could be an extension of summer or an early taste of winter, and now it looked as if the warm spell was giving way to colder temperatures and rain.

“Be thankful it’s not snow,” he told his boss as he handed over a cup filled with oolong, which he brewed throughout the day for customers and staff (well, him and Jodi) alike.

“Hush, you,” she chided before she took a cautious sip. “Hmm, how was business?”

He held up his phone, and huffed when she gave a pleased smile in return; she’d noticed the money deposited in the account earlier, an account which would soon disappear after she transferred the funds elsewhere (some to Neil). “Steady. I managed to get rid of the awful tea set.”

“The one with the gibberish on it?” Jodi’s pale brown eyes went wide and she laughed with joy as she reached to pat Neil on the shoulder. “Ah, sending you here was the best favor Gabe ever did for me.”

“Hmm.” Neil had to agree; as Aidan’s senior year of high school had drawn to an end, they’d been uncertain as to what to do next. Stick around until Neil graduated? Have Aidan apply to university? Move on to a new set of identities? They’d made a home of sorts in Racine, but Neil worried about his father’s people catching up to them at some point and Aidan was tired of them pretending to be siblings.

It was during a check-in with Durand that the forger had brought up that his cousin in Montreal was looking for help: an assistant who could speak French and if not take part in forging documents, at least keep their mouth shut. Neil and Aidan had debated it for a few days, but in the end they trusted Durand (as much as they did anyone else), Montreal put them farther away from the remnants of Nathan’s gang, and they could start anew.

Instead of half-brothers, they were newlyweds.

(Neil barely managed to not freak out when Aidan told Durand to create a marriage license for them, saving it until they were alone in the car. Only to be stopped mid-rant when Aidan held up a ring and asked him ‘yes or no’.)

Neil kept his first name (he didn’t want to let go of it after keeping it for so long), while Aidan became Andrew once more. Neil and Andrew Keenan, two young fools in love who struck out on their own rather than be apart (or so most people assumed). Neil spent the last couple months before they left Racine learning Mandarin, and was now picking up Arabic as well. He sold tea in a small store in Chinatown, gossiped with the locals, learned from one of the best forgers in North America (Jodi Liu was every bit as good as her cousin), and very rarely had to use the gun hidden beneath the counter.

“I haven’t heard from Gabe or Massey, so we should be good for the night,” Jodi said as she checked her phone for messages. “Go home.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He ran back to the small breakroom in the back to fetch the container of pork dumplings Mrs. Dai had given him (she kept telling him he was too skinny) then was out the door after wishing Jodi ‘good night’. Despite the rain, he stopped at Tony’s food truck to get a couple cartons of noodles to complete dinner, laughing at the older man’s retelling of a small group of Americans trying to order with appalling French.

“I guess it was better than them trying in Mandarin,” Tony said as he handed Neil his takeaway.

“Andrew complains about the French thing all the time.”

“Yeah, I imagine he’d get it a lot, working in a pastry shop.”

Neil waved goodbye and, after making sure the food was safe in his waterproof messenger bag, jogged down the mostly deserted streets to where Andrew worked, right outside of Chinatown. The bakery was empty of customers, probably because of the rain and the time of day, but the mostly empty display cases indicated that they’d done a good business earlier.

Andrew arched an eyebrow at Neil’s arrival and popped the petit four he held in his hand into his mouth. Once it was chewed and swallowed, he stepped toward the doorway leading back into the kitchen area, covered with a cloth divider. “Naseem, some riffraff just blew into the shop. I’m going to take it home.”

“What?” Andrew’s coworker, a young man with a closely trimmed black beard and a white scarf tied over his short, curly black hair, poked his head through the curtains and smiled when he saw Neil. “Why do you put up with him?” he asked, just like he always did, while he brushed at the flour which dusted his face; he probably was working on some of the pastries for the next day.

Neil gave the same answer, as always. “He knows where the bodies are buried.”

“Ha, you kids and your jokes.” Naseem shook his head as he glanced around the empty shop. “Just lock up before you go.”

Andrew gave him a two-fingered salute then quickly set about clearing out the register and turning off the lights (it looked as if he’d already done a lot of the closing duties already), then grabbed a small box before he ushered Neil out the door, which he locked behind them.

He gave Neil a pointed look as he pulled an umbrella big enough for the both of them out of his own bag and opened it. “You trying to catch pneumonia?”

“I’m open to new experiences?” Neil smiled when he was given the ‘you’re an idiot’ look. “I got dinner.”

“I know, I can smell it.”

“Are you going to share dessert with me?”

“No.”

Neil smiled the entire way home, especially when Andrew hooked their pinkies together; they didn’t have far to go since they rented an apartment in a building which Jodi’s family owned. It had a balcony where they could sit together as they smoked cigarettes or drank something hot, a bathtub big enough for them both to soak in together, and a gas fireplace in the living room which Andrew spent half the winter in front of, along with the cats.

Aibee greeted them at the door, certain to make the deplorable state of her empty belly known, while Elbee sauntered in from their bedroom and flopped down at Andrew’s feet after he kicked off his boots. He sighed and bent down to give the orange tabby a gentle pet before he prodded him to stand up, while Aibee was quick to run into the kitchen once she realized that Neil was headed that way, her fluffy black tail straight up in the air.

Andrew caught the strap of Neil’s messenger bag, which brought him to a halt. “Go change into something dry,” he chided as he maneuvered the bag from Neil’s shoulder.

“Okay.” Neil leaned in for a lingering kiss then did as he’d been told, pulling his damp sweatshirt over his head along the way. It and his jeans were draped over the hamper, swapped out for a soft sweater (that was Andrew’s) and sweatpants. Once dressed, he went into the kitchen to find that his husband had divvied up the food onto two plates, which had been placed on the table, and was feeding the cats.

“Shut up and eat, you ingrates,” Andrew said as he set down their bowls, his deep voice mild and expression almost tender.

“I thought I was the ingrate,” Neil commented as he picked up his chopsticks.

“You’re the idiot ingrate,” Andrew clarified as he sat down, and sighed when Neil stuck out his tongue.

They concentrated on eating for a couple minutes before they (well, Neil) started talking about their day; Andrew nodded along as he went on about the tourists and the documents he’d created. As expected, Andrew complained a bit about the tourists who just had to try out their lousy French on him.

“Jodi send you your part of the job yet?”

Neil frowned as he pulled out his phone and checked the special account where the money from the forgeries went. “Yes, another twenty-five thousand.” He gave Andrew a curious look. “Do I need to route it somewhere?” They were careful with the remaining money his mother had stolen from his father, most of it still tied up in investments for another couple years but a nice amount available for use – especially after Neil had started working for Jodi.

Their biggest expense to date was Andrew’s brother Aaron; when he’d learned about his long-lost mother dying from an overdose and how she’d allowed his twin to become an addict, he and Neil had arranged it so that Aaron’s cousin, Nicky, was able to win custody of Aaron and that Tilda’s ‘life insurance’ was more than enough to support the two until Aaron graduated high school. A little bit more money, a few more pulled strings had gotten Aaron into a university in South Carolina, and Neil had thought that was that.

Or so he had thought.

Andrew got up to fetch the pastry box (along with two forks) and set it on the table, the top open to reveal that inside was some horrendous chocolate thing and a small fruit tart. “We both have vacation time leftover, I thought we could go somewhere warm toward the end of the year.”

Neil gazed at his husband for a moment before he narrowed his eyes. “You just want to get away from the snow for a while.”

Andrew shrugged as he set the tart on Neil’s plate. “You won’t have to listen to me complain about the cold for a couple weeks.”

“Hmm.” That had possibilities, Neil thought as he picked a blackberry from the tart and popped it into his mouth. “You didn’t happen to research ‘the top ten ice cream places in Bora Bora’ or something like that, did you?”

He was given a blank look in return.

“We never had a honeymoon,” or a real wedding, for that matter, “so I get some say in this.”

“No Exy,” Andrew declared as he stabbed his fork in the chocolate monstrosity.

No, no Exy, Neil thought with a wince. He’d soured a bit on the sport after the whole Edgar Allan scandal. “No burying bodies.”

“Again with that? It happened twice.”

“And twice is more than enough, considering the second time, someone was all ‘oh look, I’m bleeding sooo much, you have to do all the digging this time,” Neil said in a mocking voice.

For a moment, he thought he’d be the one bleeding (Andrew had only grown more impressive with those flat stares of his), until his husband clicked his tongue. “Fine, we’ll go somewhere with plenty of water so we can sink the bodies.”

“Huh.” Neil considered that as he had a bite of the fruit tart. “That’ll work.” Not that he wanted to have to sink bodies into the ocean, but… well, it was him and Andrew. Things just happened.

There was a very slight curl to Andrew’s full lips, which meant he was smug as hell at the moment. Neil narrowed his eyes, uncertain about what he’d just agreed to, then figured ‘what the hell’. It would work out in the end, it always did with Andrew.

*******

Forgive me for any liberties taken with Montreal.

The cats’ full names are Anklebiter and Lazybones. If you can’t guess, Andrew named them, and Neil shortened them.

I figured this is set a year or two after Andrew would have graduated. He may be taking online university classes (more as something to do), but Neil’s happy with being a forger (and damn good at it).

It’s like... trying to figure out what to write next. I’ve one or two prompts I want to get done, the next chapter of Casts a Shadow, wrap up the soulmate fic, and another part of Not in the Stars. Decisions, decisions....

[lostinmysticfalls]

Worth The Fight - Javi x Fem!Reader

Summary: After finding out Javi’s interest in you started off as a ruse, you needed time alone to rethink your relationship. (This was written as a conclusion to Meet Me In The Afterglow but can be read as a standalone.)

Words: 4k

Warnings: unapologetic smut

It had only been three weeks but it felt like ages. The remnants of Javi’s voice still lingered in your head; the begging tone in his words as he asked you to trust him, the sound of him repeating that he loved you, assuring you that he’d be there waiting until you were ready to return to him. Reminiscing about it made your chest tighten and your insides flutter, spurring on an agonizing yearning and making the magnitude of his absence even more glaring. 

Your late nights in bed had been occupied by countless minutes spent trying to figure out if you had been too hard on him. The thoughts made you falter in your decision and question your own reason. Had you perhaps judged him too harshly? Did he actually deserve you walking out on him that night? Did you punish him with a silence that was unwarranted—forcing both of you to drift apart like islands into a sea of uncertainty and loneliness? 

Thinking about him stung like cold air on a fresh wound, even after all those days. It all eventually circled back to his deception, and then the vicious cycle and overanalyzing started all over again. Like a serpent swallowing its own tail, there was no beginning and no end.

Stopping yourself from reaching out to him before you had enough time to clear your head hadn't been easy but you had managed to get through the days without any incident. You hadn't heard from him since that night and his respectful approach to your time apart had been a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you appreciated that he'd remained true to his word about giving you your space, but on the other, the thought of him moving on without you struck you with a fear that made you anxious to the point of hurling. It was that tiny sliver of doubt that scared the hell out of you. 

You held up the receiver with one hand, your index finger shaking over the telephone’s keypad, hovering above the first digit of his phone number. 

"Fuck." You muttered, hanging up before you mustered up the courage to call him. 

The probability of him being at the charity dinner that night was high; the head of his department was hosting it, after all. You had wrestled with the idea of speaking to him first before seeing him again, but even after three weeks of no contact you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You grumbled, an exasperated huff leaving your lips as you took your evening gown out of the closet and made your way to the bathroom. 

Maybe it was best to leave it all up to fate.

 * * * * *

You got to the villa forty minutes later than the scheduled event, just at the time when an influx of guests were also starting to arrive. The plan had been to show up and wave hello to your boss, hang around long enough for him to see that you'd made the effort to network with important clients, and then slip out before anyone bothered you too much. 

As soon as you entered the main foyer you had made a beeline for the bar, picking up a champagne flute and trying to blend in with everyone as you sipped it in silence.

But as your luck would have it, your alone time lasted all but ten minutes before an older gentleman tried to make conversation.

“Hola señorita, buenas noches." 

"Buenas noches." You replied, a ghost of a smile appeared on your face but you avoided eye contact as much as possible. 

“What’s a pretty lady like yourself doing here all alone?” He asked. 

You laughed under your breath and then lied through your teeth. “I’m not here alone.” 

Cranking your neck, you looked past him, pretending like you’d spotted a familiar face. “I came here with my friend, she’s just over on other side chatting up a guest.” Your finger pointed at nothing in particular, past the crowd, to the open doors that led to the garden. 

You tipped back the champagne flute, finishing up your drink and placing the glass on the table before excusing yourself. “I’m afraid I have to go. Enjoy your night, sir.” 

The flow of your long dress wrapped around your legs as you strutted away in a hurry. The atmosphere inside was starting to become suffocating anyway, so being outdoors and breathing in the faint, sweet smell of the orchids and the freshness of the crisp night air was a nice change.

The chatter outside was much quieter too, drowned out by the sound of the water spouting from the large fountain that adorned the center of the garden. You were starting to think that attending had been a mistake. Nothing about the party was vaguely entertaining, and frankly, the thought of running into Javi was starting to seem unlikely. He’d always been the type to show up on time. 

The chirping of the crickets grew louder as you walked down the curved path in the direction of the side gate. The heels of your shoes clanked atop the stone walkway as you rounded the corner toward the small corridor to freedom, when all of a sudden the oxygen in your lungs escaped you. The rhythm of your heart becoming unsteady as you gulped nervously. 

You stared at him in awe, completely entranced by his presence, your whole body frozen in place.

His lips curled into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy as he reciprocated your steady glances. The cigarette between his fingers still burning as he tossed it to the ground and stepped on it.

It only took a short moment and the sheer sound of his voice uttering your name for everything around you to disappear. The intonation like an idyllic melody as it left his lips.

Truth be told, you had spent quite a bit of time dreaming up a similar encounter, but no amount of fantasizing had really prepared you for that specific run-in. 

You managed to squeak out a weak, “Hi.” 

Javi drifted closer to you then, abandoning the shadows of the corridor. “Were you leaving?” A deflated timbre accompanied his voice as he posed the question. 

“These kind of things are not really my scene. I’m not even sure if I should be mingling with some of these people—word on the street is some of them aren’t very nice.” You quipped. “I just came to make my boss happy.”

“That makes two of us.” He said, tilting his head to one side as he smiled.

You swept your gaze over his tall frame, taking note of his black dress shoes and his nicely fitted suit. Your hands clutched the small purse that hung from your shoulder, your way of restraining yourself from straightening his slightly crooked bow tie. 

“You look good, Javi.” That was a vast understatement; he looked more handsome than ever.

He chuckled, like he didn’t believe your compliment. Shaking his head, he replied. “No. I’m just wearing a plain old, black tux.” He paused, looking at you in wonderment. “But you…” 

He exaggerated an exhale as his eyes trailed over you, stripping you of all reservations the moment they slowly reached your face. “Eres la mujer más hermosa que eh visto en toda mi vida.” 

You looked away, grimacing a little bit, the way you usually did whenever he showered you with flattering remarks. You tried to hide the flustered smile that followed but failed almost instantly. 

“Way better than in my dreams.” He added, making your breathing hitch and stimulating your pulse as he gradually closed the distance between you.

After a few moments of you not saying anything in return, he cleared his throat. “Are you here with anyone?”

He already knew the answer to that, so you didn’t see the point in saying it. Instead you took the bait, finding a bit of amusement in your exchange. “Are you?”

A wicked little grin appeared on his face, accentuating his irresistible good looks. He shook his head. “Just me.” 

Something about the way he spoke and the intense look in his eyes as he contemplated you, made every cell in your body whir and vibrate with need. You bit down on your lip as if by instinct, unknowingly giving him those bedroom eyes that you knew always drove him wild. 

There was a shift in his demeanor, your shared silent glances compelling you both to give in to the feelings that had held you hostage for the past three weeks. It was impossible not to get caught up in each other when both of you wanted the exact same thing.

You remembered taking one step in his direction. It was the one defining push that swiftly fired up the pheromones in your brain. From one moment to the next, your lips engaged in a long-awaited heated clash that filled you with the type of dizzying feeling that gave you butterflies and knocked your whole world off balance.  

Javi’s hands were on your face, his mouth hungrily enclosing yours. His craving for you intensifying the more he relished in the taste of red lips. You gave in to him without putting up a fight, his delicious smell inciting a spiral of heat deep in your belly. The sides of his body felt firm and warm against your fingertips as you tucked your hands underneath his jacket.

“I missed you so fucking much.” He murmured against your parted lips, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.

“I did too.” You were breathless, not realizing until then how starved you’d been for his touch. 

You kissed for a while longer, just the two of you in that isolated corridor, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you breathed each other in under the starry cloak of the night sky. 

When you finally parted, you let out a small laugh, wiping your dark lipstick off his chin and mouth—your thumb gliding down the center of his bottom lip, teasingly.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asked. 

Your heart pattered as you nodded in earnest, staring deep into his adoring brown eyes as you caressed his cheek with your hand. “Yes. Take me home, Javi.”

The drive back to his apartment wasn't long but you took the opportunity to finally address everything head on. You sat in the passenger seat, staring at the darkness of the road ahead—the headlights the only thing illuminating your path for the first few miles until you got to the main road.

"I wanted to call you." You said softly. "To see how you were doing."

“Why didn’t you?” His voice low and raspy as he glanced at you for a quick second.

You pursed your lips, feeling the anguish materialize in your chest as you muttered. “I thought maybe you'd moved on by now or something.” You scoffed. “It’s no secret that you’ve never been one to settle down.”

Javi took his eyes off the road to look at you. "Is that what you think of me?" Before you had a chance to answer, he added. "I wouldn't blame you if you did but I thought… I thought I'd made it pretty clear that once I commit to the right person, it’s pretty final."

"To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure what to think anymore." You twisted in your seat, angling your body until you were facing him. "But I can tell you what I do know." 

This caught his attention, his dark eyes widening with curiosity as he perched his eyebrows. The car stopped at the intersection where he was supposed to take the next turn, remaining idle for longer than necessary as he stared at you.

His lips opened just a little bit, the tiny gap drawing your gaze to them for a second. It was those kind of moments that made everything around him fade into nothingness. Your stomach churned anxiously as you flicked your eyes away and slightly adjusted yourself in your seat.

"I know that not being with you hurts way more than knowing you lied to me." You lowered your voice as if admitting that to him filled you with shame. “And maybe I’m an idiot for feeling that way but it's the truth.” You said sheepishly. 

Shortly thereafter, the car started to move again.

Javi sighed. “Look, I know this is all on me. I’m the only one who is at fault here.” The crestfallen look on his face was evidence that he felt terrible for having done that to you. “I hate that I made you feel that way. I never wanted to hurt you.” He put his hand on your leg and gave it a comforting squeeze. Shadows swaying over him every time you drove under another street light. 

"I understand why you felt the need to keep things from me.” You said calmly, interlacing your fingers with his. “You said you did it to keep me safe, and I believe you, Javi.” A tiny huff abandoned you as you continued to speak. “That’s the thing about you. You’ve never before given me a reason to doubt you.”

"I meant to tell you. I wanted to. There's no other explanation for why I kept that file with me this whole time. But every time I thought about you reacting to the truth…” He paused, making a disgruntle noise as he gripped the steering wheel with one hand. “I was afraid of losing you. I’ve never been more scared of anything in my life." 

He pulled into a parking spot on the side of the building, having arrived at the apartment complex by then. He killed the engine but made no effort to get out until he was sure that you’d finished your discussion. 

“I love you more than anything. I don’t want to lose what we have.”

You took a minute to gather your thoughts. 

“If we do this,” you said, seeing how his smile widened with hope. “If we're really gonna give this another try then there can’t be any more lies. Not of any kind. No white lies, no omissions, no deceptions. None of it, Javier. We are done with that.” 

“No lies.” He replied in haste. “Te lo juro, mi amor.”

* * * * *

You were back in his arms the second the door to the apartment shut behind you, your body engulfed in the warmth and safety that they provided while his hungry lips desperately sucked and bit yours. You threw your head back, his mouth brushing your elongated neck, ardent tongue licking your feverish skin as his hands glided over your frame, tracing and squeezing every bend of your body. 

The rousing feelings he produced in you were maddening. Your core throbbed with want, heat billowing within you as your heart beat unevenly. 

Taking him by the hand, you guided him to the bedroom, your body buzzing from arousal and eagerness. 

Once you were standing at the foot of the bed, you promptly slipped off his jacket, tossing it aside as you went to work on his bowtie and the buttons of his white shirt. Your fingers moved fast but with ease, pulling his shirt untucked as you got him out of it. The feel of his hard, bare chest against the palm of your hands was exhilarating. You breathed into his open mouth as you kissed, little noises escaping you and your body quaking every time he touched you.

He began pulling up the silky fabric of your dress over your legs, higher and higher up, until it was completely off over your head. 

His hands were immediately drawn to your lower back, gliding over the lace of your underwear, searching for your supple skin until they were sprawled over the fullness of your ass. Squeezing and pulling as his kisses continued to consume you. His fingers slipped between the front of your thighs, stimulating your heated core as he rubbed your clit over your underwear, dampening the thin cloth in a matter of seconds. 

He trailed his fingers along your spine, unclipping your bra in one swift motion and sliding it off. His lips brushed your chest, hands encompassing your breasts as he carefully molded his fingers around them. Your whimpers rippled through the stillness of the dark room, the feel of him pinching your nipples sending gratifying shivers all through your body. 

Everything around you was spinning, all your senses captivated by his actions. His head moved over your breasts, mouth sucking on one nipple before switching to the other.

Javi’s breathing became stunted as your hand reached for the bulge protruding from his pants, little grunts leaving his lips every time you kneaded his hardened length over his clothes. He kicked his shoes off, helping as you started to undo his pants and pulled them down his legs.

As far as you were concerned, you had nothing to apologize for—nothing for which you had to beg forgiveness—and yet, you dropped to your knees right in front of him like you were ready to confess for all your sins. 

He sat back on the edge of the bed, looking at you completely riveted. Watching and anticipating your every move, longing to have the heat of your mouth on him. There was a change in his breathing the moment you yanked down his underwear and took him in your hand. 

You smiled at him as you securely wrapped your fingers around his girth and began stroking his length. After a few moments, your wet lips enclosed around his head,  the intensity of your movements growing at the same time your tongue pressed against his silky skin, coiling around him as you began to suck him off with a type of fervor you had no idea you possessed. 

Javi panted, holding the back of your head as you took him in as deep as you could manage, his tip ramming the back of your throat over and over until it made you gag. After a short while of relishing in his flavor, you released him with a pop. Licking your lips, you wiped the excess saliva off your mouth with the back of your hand. 

A fiendish smile spread over Javi’s face as he lifted you up by the arms. He held you tight, kissing you hard until you were begging him to take you any way he wanted. 

His large hands moved over you, playing with your breasts before he threw you on the bed and crawled toward you. Spreading kisses over the length of your legs as he slowly moved higher up your thighs. He gently nipped at the area bellow your navel and then pulled on the band of your underwear with his teeth before using his hands to take them off.

He licked his lips, spreading your legs apart as he lowered his head into your center. Your whole body shivered when his tongue finally brushed the delicate skin of your wet folds. It darted in between your slit in the most masterful of ways, making you whimper incessantly. His breath like a hot blanket over your sensitive bud, his mustache scraping your flesh, making you hum in delight. He eagerly sucked on your little bundle of nerves, your hands gripping the bedsheets when the sensations threatened to bring about your undoing.   

You pleaded, ”Don’t stop." And it was the last thing you uttered before the waves of elation washed over you, in a split second clouding every rampant thought in your mind.

Javi smiled, taking in your gestures and loving your blushed complexion as you came. 

“I need you.” You said quietly under your breath. “All of you.”

He adjusted himself on the bed, sitting back on his knees as he pulled you into him.

He stroked his cock with his hand, giving it a few tugs before guiding it into your narrow opening. 

“You feel so good.” He moaned as he entered you, filling you up inch by inch. 

It was astounding how gentle he was with you, carefully gaging your reactions as he glided in further. His hands spread over your hips, gripping you as he dove in deeper. You writhed beneath him, back arching as he invaded your depths with more force each time. The mind-blowing sensations making your eyes water. 

The sound of his firm balls slamming into you and his skin slapping yours was like a lewd hymn resonating through the stillness of the bedroom. Your bodies, two dancing silhouettes in the darkness, moving in rhythm with each other as you rolled over on the mattress and shifted your positions. 

You felt your heart thump faster in your chest. The whimpers leaving your lips were a sign that your body was getting ready to reach that peak one more time. Your cheeks felt hot, your center throbbing as the ache increased and overpowered your senses once again.  After a few minutes, his steady movements became too much for you to bear, your whole body overcome by a heated euphoric feeling that struck your core all at once. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.” Javi’s voice made you tremble as he kissed your neck, watching as your unraveled beneath him.

He turned you on your side, slipping inside you with ease from behind, your quivering walls nice and slick from your orgasm.

His hand ran along the curves of your body, firmly holding your hip every time he entered you. You turned your head, searching for his mouth, kissing him and feeling how his breathing became more labored and his pace more vigorous. You listened to the lustful noises he was emitting, inhaling in his scent, hoping the feelings he was instilling in you could last forever but ultimately knowing that you could only avoid the inevitable for so long. 

“I’m so close.” Javi warned, his hips thrusting into you with force.

His skilled movements triggered your mewling cries. The sensation of your walls spasming around his cock and the noises you were making as a result of his actions were enough for him reach his climax. He wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you in closer as he let himself go. He grunted loudly, moaning as bursts of hot release bathed you from the inside in a matter of seconds.

You let out a profound sigh, letting the pleasurable feelings overtake you as you lied there in silence for a few minutes after. He remained inside you, not wanting to abandon your snug confines just yet. His lips brushed your shoulder blade, delicately kissing your skin as he embraced you.

Your bodies intertwined over the undone sheets, chests rising and falling with exertion as you continued to bask in the afterglow of your love-making.

“Please don’t go.” He said, fretting that you’d depart as soon as you got up and got dressed, just like you had done the last time.

You smiled, kissing his arm which was still roped around you. “You want me to stay the night?”

His loving gaze was fixated on you as he spoke. “I want you to stay tonight and every night.” 

You beamed, snuggling into him and letting the feel of his mouth against your skin put any lingering doubts to rest. 

“I think that can be arranged.” You said coyly.

He groaned, finally pulling out of you as your body turned on the bed to face him. 

“You’ll always be my home, Javi.” You placed a sweet, drawn-out kiss on his lips, as if to reassure him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He echoed, tenderly kissing your nose and then your forehead.

The way your heart swelled just for him was a confirmation that starting anew was the only right choice. There was no denying it. 

Deep down, you had always known that the love you both shared was worth the fight.