hellobuildmybodybeautiful-blog

[wixterirox]

Billy came out to Steve while they are on drugs on the bathroom floor at Starcourt. They had just escaped from the Russian base under the mall floors.

They were still a tiny bit high from the truth serum and telling each other secrets.

Steve said something about how he wished that they had become friends sooner. Which prompts Billy tell him that he wished Steve would’ve looked at him the way he still looks at Nancy.

Steve is taken back and a smidge disgusted and asks why he would ever say anything like that

Billy didn’t seem disappointed, like he already knew what Steve’s reaction would be. “I just wanted you to know,” he mumbled pushing himself off the bathroom floor.

[kingkatsuki]

— my protector

Tengen needs your help in trying to locate his wives on a mission, and Sanemi is furious.

Get me a man who’s only soft for us, stat😫😭

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, reader is a fellow hashira, jealous Sanemi (for literally no reason), possessiveness, rough sex, slight degradation, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding, creampie.

Word Count: 4.2k.

All Sanemi could see was red, fiery red as he roamed the halls of the Butterfly Mansion, ignoring the pain in his right arm from the wound Aoi had just patched up moments earlier.

“Shinobu will kill you if she finds you drawing your sword in here!” Aoi called after him, but Sanemi could care less as his eyes sought out the Sound Pillar.

He had just returned from a three-week-long mission to find out that Uzui had enlisted you for help on one of his missions. Practically offering you up as bait to try and find his wives who had gone missing, like that was even your problem. And Sanemi knew you were always so eager and willing to help, it was something he loved and loathed about you at the same time.

The rage continued building inside him as he pulled open another sliding door aggressively, the wood gliding back from the force as he skimmed another empty room before continuing further through the mansion.

“Listen to me, Shinazugawa.” Aoi huffed, followed after him as one of the only people inside the mansion who weren’t scared of the white-haired man, “I told you Shinobu won’t be pleased to find out you’re breaking all her doors.”

“Fuck her,” Sanemi rolled his eyes, “Where’s Uzui?”

“If you would’ve actually stopped for five minutes to let me explain, instead of being such a jerk,” Aoi crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, “He left with her a few hours ago. Said it couldn’t wait much longer, that his wives may be in danger—”

“How the fuck is that her problem?” Sanemi growled, “So he isn't here?”

“No, but I would advise you don't follow him. Your wounds—” Sanemi ignored Aoi, already halfway down the hall as he marched towards the entrance, determined to find you on his own. It was when he stepped into the courtyard that he saw Uzui coming in by the front gate with a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, my crow told me you were back!” Uzui made to step towards him to finish the conversation, but Sanemi’s sword was already drawn as he stepped towards the larger man, “Perfect timing, my friend!”

“You fucking left her there?” Sanemi barked, “Why are you back here?”

“I came to get you at the request of your lady love,” Uzui grinned as Sanemi curled his lip in irritation at the pet name, “She made me promise to tell you as soon as you got back from your mission because she wouldn’t be around. And I thought you'd prefer a personal greeting.”

“Why the fuck are you sending her on your missions anyway,” Sanemi continued, ignoring Uzui's grin, “And leaving her there!”

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” Uzui shrugged, standing in place even as Sanemi stepped towards him.

“That’s already twelve hours too damn long, you prick.” Sanemi drew his sword as he made to lunge towards his fellow hashira.

“She’s probably safer there than she’d ever be out in the field,” Uzui dodged a blow with the hilt of his sword, the guard barely protecting his hands as he used his body weight to push the Wind Pillar back.

“Probably?” Sanemi roared, “She’s probably got sick fucks like you all over her right now.”

“Oh,” Uzui’s lips curled into a cocky smirk at the admission, standing upright as he pushed some fallen hair away from his eyes, “So that’s it— you’re jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous, you fuckwad.” Sanemi grunted as he attempted another slash towards Uzui, knowing it was serious when the wind user hadn’t even bothered to use his power.

“Sure seems like it,” Uzui scoffed, taking another step back to avoid his attack, “Nothing is stopping you from visiting her, you know. She’s only a few towns across and I'm here to take you right to her.”

“Oh, you’re taking me to her,” Sanemi spat, “Right fucking now.”

“Someone is asking for me?” You raised a brow suspiciously at the implication. Wondering if this meant the demons had realised that you were in fact a slayer intent on taking their head. Your stomach swirled in trepidation as you tried not to show any fear, smiling at the young girl by the door as you bowed your head.

“Yeah, and frankly I’m glad,” She clung to the belt of her kimono, “He looks scary!”

“I definitely don’t want to spend the night with him,” Another girl grimaced, “I don’t think I’d make it out alive.”

You frowned, worried that you wouldn’t have time to access your katana to holster it beneath your kimono. Instead, all you had was the small dagger strapped against your thigh, which you were certain wouldn’t be enough to protect you from the attack of a demon. But at least it was better than nothing, knowing he wouldn’t attack until you were at least secure back inside this room as you bowed your head. Following her down the stairs to the entrance of the establishment, feeling a cool breeze tickle your ankles from the open door and curtain flowing in the wind.

Your heart stilled when you noticed the familiar man standing by the entrance, glaring at anyone who dared look his way as you felt your chest swell with familiarity. You hadn’t expected to see him here this night, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to be asking after you.

“Is this the girl you were asking after, my Lord?”

“Yes,” He grunted as the Madame motioned him to step forward and follow you back to your room.

You had to stop yourself jumping him in the foyer, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and cling to his broad shoulders.

Feeling the heat practically radiating from his body as you slid open the sliding door to your room, stepping to the side to allow Sanemi to follow before sliding it shut. And in an instant, his rough hands were grabbing hold of the fat at your hips to pull your body against his, your lips meeting in a bruising kiss.

Your hands reached up to thread through his messy hair as the scent of the woods mixed with his natural sweat invaded your senses. He clearly hadn’t bothered to bathe when he returned from his mission, far more concerned with finding you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spoke against your lips when you finally pulled away for air, still holding onto you as your nails dragged against his scalp, “I had to come home to find out you’re helping Uzui?”

“Tengen needed my help,” You murmured, and Sanemi’s nose scrunched in irritation at the use of the Sound Pillars' first name.

“Tengen,” He mocked the pitch of your voice, “Has three fucking wives that can help him, I only have one.”

“Technically,” You parroted his tone, giving him a cocky smirk as you felt his fingers press into the skin at your hips, “I’m not even your wife.”

“You’re as good as,” Sanemi scoffed as he stole another kiss, “And Uzui would do well to remember it.”

“His wives are missing,” You mumbled sadly.

“So does that mean he’s looking for a fourth?” Sanemi frowned at you as you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at his jealousy.

“No,” You lowered your voice to a whisper, “He hasn’t heard from them for a few days, the letters have stopped coming— and he thinks something bad may have happened to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanemi couldn’t lie that it had hurt to find out from someone else that you wouldn’t be there upon his return, whether it was jealousy or the fear of losing you he was unsure. But either way, it left him with that familiar sense of dread that pooled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to boil over.

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t much time,” You did wish you’d sent your crow to warn him, but Uzui had promised you that he would let Sanemi know. Especially since you were doing this for the sake of his wives, “He needed my help, so I offered.”

“You’re far too nice.” Sanemi shook his head, using his grip on your hips to pull you into another sultry kiss.

“I thought that’s why you loved me.” You teased.

“No,” Sanemi scoffed, “I love you for your perfect ass,” He spanked your cheek for emphasis, “Everything else is either a bonus or a crux on my life.”

“You pig.” You scrunched your nose as Sanemi couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” Sanemi’s eyes softened as he reached up to cup your face in a calloused palm. His thumb stroking gentle circles against your cheek as you leaned into his touch, “But you really should stop putting yourself in harm's way.”

“I’m a hashira,” You replied simply, “It’s what we do to protect others.”

“Protecting others doesn’t mean becoming a whore.” He spat, although you knew there was no malice there. The harsh tone covered up the fear and dread he felt in your gut at the prospect of something happening to you.

“And yet here you are, at the whorehouse requesting me by name.” You smiled back, relishing in the pink hue that dusted his pale cheeks.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” His tone sobered, resting his forehead against your own as he stared down into your eyes, “What a pitiful existence it would be.”

“You won’t lose me, Sanemi.” You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull his body against you, feeling his semi-hard cock press against your hip. The time without you made even more conspicuous when he's now surrounded by the comforting scent of you again.

“Did anyone touch you?” He immediately pulled back, concern evident in his features as he looked you over.

“No, I’ve been fine,” You shook your head, “They’ve mainly had me sitting down for tea with travellers passing through.”

“Good,” He pressed a kiss against your forehead in relief as he exhaled softly, “You have no idea how much I missed you, sweet girl.”

He peppered kisses along the curve of your jaw as you tilted your head back to give him more room. Your hands smoothed along his collarbones before dipping lower to trace patterns against the marred skin that scarred his chest, pressing your fingers into the ridges as you felt the tacky sweat clinging to his skin.

“I missed you too,” You whimpered gently as his teeth found your pulse point, biting down on the sensitive skin as his tongue lashed against it.

Sanemi bullied his muscular thigh between your parted legs to keep you steady against the wall as he shamelessly fiddled with the belt of your kimono. Letting the fabric fall open as he drank in the sight of your bare skin beneath, his firm hands immediately paw at your bare sides. Noticing the small dagger that you had holstered against one of your thighs as he ran his fingers over the handle of it in satisfaction.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, “Not planning to use that on me are you?”

He teased, pushing it back into the holster as he moved his hands back up the curve of your hips towards your chest. Truth be told, he was relieved that you had some form of protection in here. Especially when there was the chance that a demon was responsible for the spate of missing persons in the area.

“It depends if you’re nice to me or not,” You mused.

“I’m always nice.” The words coming from Sanemi’s lips alone were enough to have a melodic laugh rumbling in your chest, as for most, Sanemi and nice were complete contradictions.

“Liar,” Throwing your head back in a pretty laugh that had Sanemi’s heart rattling against his rib cage.

“I mean, I’m always nice to you, aren’t I?” Sanemi’s thumbs stroked the underside of your breasts as he delighted in the way your body responded to him, curving your back towards him as your bare cunt pressed against the flat of his thigh.

“We shouldn’t,” You murmured, “Not here—”

“Let me have this, sweetheart,” He hummed, leaning down to capture one of your pebbled nipples between his lips as he sucked hard, “I am a paying customer, after all.”

In fact, he was going to get that money from Uzui for his pure subordination.

“Why pay for something you can get for free at home?” You teased as he afforded your other breast the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as you let out another airy moan.

“My girl wasn’t there when I arrived home, and I had heard the girls here were beautiful,” He played along, “Apparently there’s one with the best fuckin’ pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” You gasped as you felt his fingers press against the indents of your thighs, dangerously close to your labia as you bucked against his leg. Giving your clit some slight relief as Sanemi continued forward, his thumb brushing through the wet slick that coated your folds as it drooled out of your neglected hole.

“Yeah,” He repeated, pulling away from your breast with a pop as he found your clit. Pressing sloppy circles against it with the calloused pad of his thumb as he watched you shamelessly grind yourself into his touch, “Apparently she’s already fucked into the shape of another guy though.”

“Must be a lucky guy,” Your eyes rolled back, knocking your head against the wall when you felt two of his thick digits slip inside your tight hole with ease. Scissoring them to loosen you up as he pulled back to watch you inquisitively through half-lidded eyes.

“The fuckin’ luckiest.” Sanemi grinned as he felt your walls throb around his fingers. He deliberately curled them towards the spongy spot inside you that he knew would have you seeing stars as he began to focus each roll of his wrist against it.

His name continued to spill from your lips as he kept his movements poised and focused, his rough thumb kneading circles against your clit as he worked you towards your release. No one knew your body better than he did, and he knew after being pent up for so long how little effort it would take to have you dangling on the edge of your release.

“Fuck, Sanemi.” You moaned, already feeling yourself dangerously close to falling, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum.” He spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and his blase tone immediately had your cunt clenching around him as you swan dived directly into your bliss. The pleasure surged through your body hard and fast as you came undone, his darkened eyes focused on your movements a he kept his fingers pressed against that same velvety spot. Following the wave of your hips as you rode out your release, unrelenting against the sensitive area as he already had you hurtling towards a second.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. Your pliant walls throbbed around his slick digits as you wished for something more, something bigger.

“‘Nemi, fuck me please.” You whined pitifully.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty girl,” He teased, but he pulled his fingers away from your sopping heat, lifting them up to the light to spread them as you noticed the silvery webs of your release clinging to them as he pushed them between your lips to taste yourself.

You tried to speak, but the pads of his fingers against your tongue muffled the words as you cleaned them off. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he pulled them out of your mouth, dragging your glossy bottom lip down in the process as both hands immediately reached for his belt.

“When we get home I am fucking you like you deserve.” Sanemi spoke coolly, “Not some quick fuck in a whorehouse.”

“I deserve everything you give me, 'Nemi.” You smile up at him lazily before watching him tug his pants down, revealing his fat cock to your prying gaze.

You immediately reached for it, and he let you. Hissing when your smaller palm wrapped around the girth of him, giving him a teasing jerk that had his nostrils flaring and his jaw locking. Your thumb swipes over the swollen tip to gather the pearl of pre before smoothing it down his length, delighting in the choked grunt that rumbled at the back of his throat.

“Is that so?” He continued, “So bending you over the moment I get you home will be deserved,” His voice darkened, his own palm joining yours against his length as he tightened your grip on his cock, holding your hand steady as he fucked himself into your fist, “You tease.”

“Fuck,” Your cunt throbbed around nothing at his suggestion, as you instinctively spread your legs further apart, “Please, 'Nemi.”

Sanemi curled a palm beneath your thigh to hoist it up against his hip, spreading you open for him as you guided the leaky tip of his cock between you. Stroking it against your drenched folds as you coated him with your essence, moaning when the swollen tip nudged your puffy clit. Feeling yourself growing more impatient as Sanemi pulled his hips back to tease you, pushing your hand away from his cock as he wrapped himself in a fist. Pressing the head against your tight entrance as he felt your hole tremble against him, trying desperately to coax him in as he indulged himself with your reaction.

“‘Nemi, don’t be an asshole,” You pouted as you tried to can’t your hips forward, feeling the tip breach your entrance before he was quick to move his hips back. More than content with teasing you, despite being in such an open, compromising place.

“If I were an asshole I’d leave you unsatisfied like this to search for the demon myself,” He goaded, pressing his hips forward once more.

“Sanemi,” You whined in irritation, “Don’t tease me, please, it’s been too long.”

He didn’t give you a moment to think before he was bullying his cock inside your tight cunt. Your inner walls stretched to accommodate his girth as he moulded you to the shape of him once more, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to. The sensation stole the air from your lungs as you could do little but cling to his broad shoulders as he afforded you a moment to adjust to his size, dragging himself from your velvety walls before canting his hips forward again. Setting a languid motion as he slowly rolled his hips against you.

“Sanemi,” You sighed in satisfaction as you felt whole once more. Too many lonely nights were spent dreaming of this as you felt him finally bottom out, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your clit as you bit down on your bottom lip.

“We’re in a whorehouse,” He mused, still sluggishly rolling his hips into you, “It only seems right that I treat you like one.”

Your cunt clenched around his cock hard at the notion, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sanemi who grinned in satisfaction. His fingers tighten their grip around your thigh as he takes this as his answer.

Sanemi is brutal as he fucks into you, not sparing you a moment's peace as he uses you for his own gratification. The sound of skin against skin echos the small room as his balls slap against the curve of your ass with each forward cant of his hips. The ferocity of his thrusts has your breasts bouncing and your thighs crying out for some relief as you struggle to stand upright, thankful that Sanemi’s strong body has you pinned against the wall as he fucks into you.

“Oh my god,” You cry out, nails digging into his skin as he maintains his pace. His other hand squeezes at the fat of your ass as he angles his hips, the curve of his cock drags against the spot inside you that he knows will have you seeing stars as the blunt tip kneads your cervix.

“Look at me.” Sanemi growls, his warm breath fanning your face as he keeps a consistent pace.

Your eyes meet his and you’re certain you’ll cum under the intensity of his gaze alone, your cunt clenches in retaliation as he continues to thrust into your sopping hole. Each sultry moan he pulls from deep in your chest has him rolling his hips with more vigour, eager to have you repeat them as he works you towards your climax.

It’s pitiful really, how easily he has you submitting to him as you already feel the telltale signs of your climax ebbing in your pelvis. The pressure builds up as it nears breaking point as Sanemi pushes into you with more ferocity, using your body for his own means as he works himself to his own release.

“I’m going to leave you pumped full of my seed,” He growls against your cheek, his chest heaving as he feels his balls begin to tighten, “Leave it drooling down your thighs when I’m finished with you. So that everyone knows who you belong to—”

You knew this was a direct attack on Uzui, and the fact that he’d handpicked you for his assistance on this mission. Even though there was nothing in it beyond securing the safety of his wives, it had Sanemi oozing with jealousy and he was intent on reminding the Sound Pillar that you were not his plaything.

“Do you also need a reminder of who you belong to, sweetheart?” Sanemi spoke lowly as he fucked into your pliant walls, slipping a hand between your connected bodies to press sloppy circles to your clit.

“No, ‘Nemi—” That familiar sensation throbbed between your thighs as you teetered on the cusp of your climax.

“No? Then who do you belong to?”

“You, ‘Nemi. You—” You choked out, leaving messy red lines against his chest now as he pressed harder against your clit.

“Louder.”

“You, ‘Nemi! It’s always been you!” You cry out, certain that the rest of the floor could hear you as you began to gush around his cock. Your hips bucked wildly as he pinned you in place, keeping his thumb firm against your clit as he watched you ride out your climax. Indulging in the debauched noises that escaped from between your pretty, bruised lips.

“Good girl,” He snarled before moving his hand from your clit to resume a damn near savage pace. Rutting hips against your own messily, working himself towards his own end as he felt the way your walls continued clenching around him in the aftershocks of your climax, “Such a good girl for me.”

He arched his back so he could look down at where your bodies were connected, watching the way his thick cock disappeared inside your velvety walls. And the creamy ring of slick that you’d left around the base of him, the silvery lines matting into his pubes as he felt his balls begin to seize. Certain he wouldn’t be able to last much longer before giving a few more sloppy thrusts and emptying his balls into your warm, wet cunt.

Sanemi stayed buried inside you, feeling the last spurts of his orgasm surge through him as he coated your walls in thick, white spunk. Cherishing the final few flutters of your walls around him as you both came down from your highs, peppering kisses against your face as you placed a palm against his chest to feel his racing heart, the dull thump of it soothing you as you felt your thick lashes begin to flutter.

“Don’t fall asleep, sweetheart.” Sanemi rasped, starting to pull himself out of your spent cunt as you whined in objection. Trying to tighten your thigh around him to keep his hips in position as he grinned down at you; pressing an apologetic kiss to the side of your lips before looking down to see the mess of your combined release stringing against his length as the silvery lines split apart, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta.”

You knew he had to go, Uzui was probably still waiting for him on a rooftop somewhere. Hopeful that you’d have some news to share with Sanemi about the whereabouts of his wives, but you felt the regret begin to pool in the pit of your stomach as reality settled back in.

“If you want to leave with me, I’ll take you right now,” He said as though it was the most simple thing in the world, “But if you want to stay in I’ll be watching.”

You didn’t have to tell him your answer, he already knew. Placing a final, lingering kiss on your lips as he held you in his arms, “Nothing will ever happen to you as long as I’m around.”

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.” 

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now. 

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart. 

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country. 

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty. 

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to. 

It’ll be days before you see them again. 

If you see them again. 

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility. 

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her. 

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you. 

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” 

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.” 

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.” 

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.” 

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.” 

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say. 

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.” 

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.  

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.” 

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you. 

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat. 

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.” 

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.” 

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say. 

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.” 

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts. 

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through. 

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask. 

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.” 

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?” 

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.” 

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.” 

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.” 

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone. 

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision. 

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.” 

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit. 

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you. 

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away. 

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega. 

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment. 

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you? 

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you? 

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you. 

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday. 

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants. 

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore. 

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news. 

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them. 

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling. 

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you. 

You’re not sure you’d survive that. 

Most omegas don’t. 

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least. 

You shake your head. “Nothing.” 

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.” 

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard. 

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.” 

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?” 

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you. 

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?” 

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.” 

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?” 

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.” 

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know? 

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep. 

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care. 

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you. 

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go. 

You know what will happen if you let go. 

“She’s no daughter of mine.” 

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over? 

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown. 

“Easy, easy.” 

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you. 

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.” 

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest. 

“You’re alright, you’re safe.” 

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over. 

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms. 

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently. 

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch. 

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself. 

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly. 

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you. 

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.” 

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.” 

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s. 

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do. 

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you. 

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.” 

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks. 

“The day after.” You answer. 

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.” 

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask. 

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.” 

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask. 

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.” 

“What are we gonna tell John?” 

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.” 

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently. 

“Think about it.” She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.” 

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days. 

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background. 

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.” 

“I know, we’ve missed you too.” 

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?” 

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon. 

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.” 

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion. 

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.” 

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again. 

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you. 

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell. 

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you. 

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared. 

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her. 

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know. 

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting. 

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door. 

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers. 

Maybe you need to start paying more attention. 

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here. 

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.” 

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her. 

Apparently something’s changed. 

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly. 

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now. 

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this. 

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now. 

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.” 

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again. 

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost. 

You’d take those times back over this right now. 

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person. 

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did? 

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble. 

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving. 

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they’re not there to protect you. 

You’ve made a big mistake. 

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.” 

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door. 

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line. 

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all. 

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf. 

No one will hear you scream. No one will care. 

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.” 

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life. 

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?” 

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.” 

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.” 

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe. 

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?” 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.” 

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark. 

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you. 

No one would know. No one would care.  

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?” 

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.” 

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.” 

Something about his words don’t sit right with you. 

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside. 

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs. 

She doesn't even seem bothered by it. 

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you. 

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words. 

She’s American. 

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.” 

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief. 

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it. 

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks. 

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open. 

Someone was inside your room. 

NEXT ->

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[merlucide]

SAYING GOODBYE B4 THEY LEAVE FOR BLLK!

You stand with your boyfriend in front of the large commercial bus

He’ll be gone for a long time, and you know that. A mix of emotions swirl inside you—pride, happiness, and the ache of knowing you’ll miss him like hell. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you couldn’t be prouder of him for chasing after his dreams, but the feelings are still real. You really can’t help the tears that threaten to spill. He reaches out, gently tucking a stray strand behind your ear. He softly exhales before speaking:

ISAGI YOICHI

“It’ll only be for a little while…” Isagi attempts to make you feel better about the situation. You give a half-hearted smile and sigh. “Yeah, yeah, you better win whatever there is to win,” you playfully order, which makes him beam softly.

“Of course. I love you, Y/N,” he says, kissing your cheek before kissing you on the lips.

“Wish me luck!” Isagi smiles before ducking into the bus, you softly laugh watching the bus drive off.

BACHIRA MEGURU

“Aww, come on, Y/N-chan, don’t look so sad. You’ll make me sad,” Bachira says, holding your face in his hands and pressing a kiss on top of your nose. “I’ll be back before you know it!” His smile falters slightly before he kisses you on the lips. “I’m gonna miss you bunches, though. You’re gonna wait for me, right?”

You softly sigh, looking into his honest yellow eyes. “Of course, Meguru, always.” You hug him tightly, and he returns the embrace even tighter. “I love you,” he whispers as he walks onto the bus.

CHIGIRI HYOMA

“I’ll be back soon, probably in two or three weeks. I don’t plan on being there long,” Chigiri reminds you, hoping to ease your mind.

“Still, I’ll miss you, you know,” you say honestly, cradling your arms around yourself.

He softly sighs and kisses your temple. “So dramatic,” he teases. He hugs you and squeezes your hand twice. “I’ll miss you. I promise I’ll be back soon. Love you.”

KUNIGAMI RENSUKE

He presses a lingering kiss on your forehead, his hand trailing down to gently cup your cheek. “No use in crying about this. It’s not like I won’t ever see you again,” Kunigami attempts to soothe your feelings. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

You sniffle gently. “But I will notice, Ren.” His face softens, and he offers a comforting smile. “It’ll only be a few weeks, then I’ll be back.”

“Will you still like me when you come back?” you selfishly murmur.

“Of course I will,” he replies, his voice steady. “I will always love you. A few weeks shouldn’t change a person that much. I’ll come back just like I left, still the same ol’ boring guy.” He smiles before pressing a goodbye kiss onto your lips.

REO MIKAGE

“It pains me to leave you, my love, but I need to go. This could—”

“I know, I know. I want you to go. I’ll just miss you,” you interrupt, giving a soft smile. “You’ll do great; I know it.”

Reo melts under your affectionate gaze, taking your hand and pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to it.

“I’ll think of you the whole time,” Reo promises, and you snort softly in response.

ITOSHI RIN

“Tch. Come on, don’t get emotional,” Rin sighs, looking at the awaiting bus. You glare at him through your blurry eyes, letting a tear slip down your cheek. Rin reaches out to wipe it away. “Crybaby…” he mutters. “I’m going to crush everyone out there, and then I’ll come back, okay?”

He gives a kiss to your jaw before walking off onto the bus. He watches you through the tinted windows as they drive off.

omg help my eyes burn and I’m so tired but I had to get this idea O U T

Maybe ill make pt2 who knows

[bunnyrafe]

obsessive ex-boyfie rafe who scares everyone away. like if he sees you talking to a guy he’ll beat the absolute shit out of him or he’ll tell your friends lies so that they won’t be your friend anymore. & when you have no one left he calls you and he acts all broken hearted. “come back to daddy baby I miss you.” as he’s secretly laughing on the other end. & yk you shouldn’t but he’s all you have left. next thing yk he’s fucking you absolutely stupid. “so glad you came back to me kiddo…don’t ever leave daddy again, yeah?” (god he’s so mean & protective I need him)

literally on the ground sobbing right now ‘cause he’s so awful but so perfect. kiddo has me 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 he really knows all the things to do and say to keep you right where he wants you… it’s unfair but ummm… you guess you wouldn’t mind being stuck with your rafey forever ‘n ever…

content / warnings -> 18+, MDNI. dark / taboo themes ahead — please read at your own risk. f!reader, dark & mean!rafe, crying, toxic relationship/dynamic, mentions of blood, allusions to violence, car sex, daddy kink, choking.

you’re blubbering. crying so hard that your lungs burn and drool slips past your lips, nearly making yourself choke. you sniffle loudly, nuzzling your face into rafe’s shoulder because that’s the only comfort you can afford at the moment as you cover the expensive material in your tears.

he doesn’t mind the mess. you’ve both been in this position one too many times before to start caring now.

“c’mon, kiddo…” his voice is deceptively soft. saccharine and syrupy as he presses a few lingering kisses to your dewy forehead— “stop cryin’ for me, okay? you know why i had to do it, yeah? can’t have anyone taking you away from me.”

nodding. that’s all you can bring yourself to do, while he pets and soothes you with his hands that probably still have dried blood on them and bruised, busted knuckles.

everything about him is cruel. from how he loves to how he fights. your head spins, unable to believe that you’re once again in the backseat of his truck, in his lap and feeling crushed into a million pieces that he’ll build back up just to fuck with all over again— “let daddy make it better.”

there’s no way he could actually make it better. but you’ll let him pretend by helping you seat yourself on his cock, pushing your skirt up and yanking your panties to the side. your breathing becomes ragged as you sink down on each inch, feeling complete for the first time in weeks when you’re flush against him and full of his dick.

a mixture of pleasure and disgust pools in your tummy, while pain blooms where his fingers sink into you— your thighs, your ass, your hips. anywhere he can get a good hold on you that allows him to fuck whatever’s left of your brain out of your head. it’s not a difficult task for him to do. he knows everything and anything about you, knows you’re about to cum all over his lap when you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and can only slur out “daddy.”

“never leaving daddy again, huh?” rafe’s question is ground out through his teeth, and you know he expects a response when he suddenly has a grip on your throat, cooing in feigned concern when you whimper— “you’re fuckin’ lucky i don’t smack some sense into you, baby… such a silly girl for thinking you could ever live without me.”

[fangirlwriting-stories]

What's Almost Familiar

Summary: “It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink. “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in. It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home. It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few. He has to keep the world safe from Bill. I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

He winces a little as soon as he says the last part, and braces himself. He expects a glare, or for Stan to snap at him, or anything similar. Something that shows he doesn’t understand the sacrifice part of all this. But instead, Stan laughs, a strange mix of fond and sad, and takes another swig of his beer.

“God, Poindexter,” he says. “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

Author's Note: No of course I didn't read the Book of Bill lately like everyone else what are you talking about

I also blame this post with all the amazing inspiring art btw

...

In retrospect, Ford probably shouldn’t have run when the fashion police from the last dimension had started chasing him.  But while he doesn’t know anything about how to look fashionable, he does know that based on the suits and dresses of that dimension, he wouldn’t stand a chance in court.  He hadn’t even known someone could wear that much glitter.

He hadn’t even meant to go to the stupid dimension in the first place.  He’d been aiming for the one over, but his dimension-hopping gun had been buggy for weeks now, and the parts still aren’t ready to fix it.  The dimension he was aiming for was supposed to give him an opportunity for a short rest, somewhere he could stay just long enough until the jerry-rigged screen on his gun would go off and tell him the parts are ready.

But surprise surprise, the malfunctioning gun still has a tendency to malfunction, and he’d wound up in a dimension that took his proclivity for comfort personally.

He hadn’t really had a dimension in mind when he fired up the gun again, just somewhere he could hide for a bit, but unfortunately the fashion police followed him right through the portal, meaning Ford is still running, with them hot on his heels and shouting about the tears in his coat.

Okay, okay, he can do this.  He’s been on the run enough times to figure this out.  He needs to lose them, find a place to hide, and get his dimension gun working long enough to find a place they can’t follow him.

Ford looks ahead and sees a corner to his left, and dives around it.  What meets him is a straightway of crumbling abandoned buildings.  Well, he’s hidden in worse places.  But as he starts running down the street, aiming for another alleyway to duck down in a hope of losing the officers behind him, someone sprints out of an alley on his other side, and runs headfirst into him, knocking them both to the ground.

“Hey, watch where you’re going you knucklehead!” Ford snaps, but when he turns to glare at the person as he tries to pull himself to his feet, he’s met with… himself?

No, that’s impossible.  If this was an alternate version of himself, both of them and the entire dimension would now be starting to fade from existence.  But it sure looks like him, which only leaves the option of—

Ford’s eyes widen.  “Stanley?”

Stanley stares back at him, looking equally as stunned as Ford feels, but before either of them can say anything, from behind Stan comes “You won’t get away with it this time!” and Stan whirls back to look towards it.

“Uh, we should probably get out of here,” he says.  He stands and pulls Ford to his feet, and starts pushing them both back the way Ford came.

“Uh, no,” Ford says, pushing back.  “Bad idea.”

Before Stan can ask why, the fashion police run around the corner, and Stan looks at them.  His expression turns baffled, which is fair, Ford hasn’t encountered cops who wear that much perfume before tonight either.

“Get back here, you filthy criminal!” one of them yells.  “The detective themed party was last week!”

“O-kay, we’re running now,” Stan says.  He grabs Ford’s hand and pulls them both down the street, away from both sets of cops.

“Buy me some time,” Ford says, yanking out his dimension gun.  “If I can get this damn thing to work I can get us out of here!”

Stan turns over his shoulder, and there’s the sound of a gun of some kind going off, which is strange, because he hadn’t thought Stan had one.  But judging by the pained cry and the “No, not blood on my suit!”, Stan definitely hit the fashion police with something.  Another cry comes from behind them, and Ford manages to get the gun settled on one dimension.

He hits the button on his gun, and a portal opens in front of them both.  He grabs Stanley’s arm and pulls them both through it, then points the gun over his shoulder and zaps the portal closed.

They’re in a dimension that’s clearly experienced an apocalypse recently, just a flat, gray, dead expanse of land.  And while whatever happened is bound to be depressing if they take the time to figure it out, for now the both of them just use it as an excuse to stop and catch their breath.  Ford leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, and lets out a large sigh of relief.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Stanley laughs.  “Well, that’s the last time I ever bring that much fake money into a casino,” he says.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Ford mutters.

Then realization strikes him, and he stands back up.  “Wait, Stanley,” he says.  “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Stan asks incredulously.  “You weren’t supposed to jump in after me, Poindexter.  What the hell were you thinking?”

“After you?” Ford asks, baffled.  “You mean you…” he pauses as the obvious option occurs to him.  It seems to occur to Stan at the same time.

“We’re… not from the same place, are we?” Stan asks, his face falling ever so slightly, despite the way he was just yelling at Ford about coming in after him.

“It seems not,” Ford says, giving a sympathetic smile.  “But hey, thanks for the save back there.  How did you do that, anyway?”

Stan shrugs, and hoists up his right arm.  Now that they’re not running from the cops, it’s easier to see that the arm looks suspiciously metal, which is confirmed a second later, when Stan points it firmly away from both of them and turns all of the fingers into what look like miniature guns.

For a second, all Ford can do is stare at it.

“Lost the real one a decade and a half ago,” Stan says.  “Figured if I was gonna get an upgrade it might as be an upgrade, y’know?”

Ford swallows, still looking at his arm.  “Six fingers?” he asks quietly.

Stan’s eyes widen slightly and he immediately hides the arm behind his back.  “Yeah well uh, you know, the guy who made it doesn’t get too many humans and wasn’t super sure what he was doing.  Plus uh, more bullets.”

Ford raises an eyebrow.  “Why not get seven fingers, then?”

Stan sighs, and drops his arm back to his side, then rubs the back of his neck with his other one.  “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“Never,” Ford says, smiling a little despite himself.  And despite the fact that he really can’t afford to waste time finding parts for his quantum destabilizer, he can’t help the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Hey,” he says.  “I know a good human bar a couple dimensions over.  I can probably get this thing working long enough to get us there,” he says, lifting up his dimension gun.  “Do you want to get a drink?”

Stan grins.

…

This version of Stan who got sucked into the portal is everything Ford would have thought to expect from a version of Stan who got sucked into the portal.  He’s loud and brash and boastful, with plenty of tricks he can pull off with his prosthetic arm and plenty of stories about space heists he’s pulled off.  Ford is fairly certain they’re not all true, but he wants to hear every one anyway.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed Stanley.  His feelings about his actual brother from his own dimension are so tangled up with betrayal and anger and a million other things that it’s hard to even know what he’d do if he saw him.  But in talking to a version of Stanley that carries none of the emotional baggage, Ford almost feels like he’s eighteen again, before everything went so horribly wrong between them.

“Listen, I’m telling you, that one was the law’s fault,” Stan says, setting his mug of beer down.  “Laws shouldn’t be stupid if they don’t want to be broken.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how that works,” Ford says, though the large smile on his face is definitely giving away how little he’s bothered by it.

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one running from the cops tonight,” Stan points out with a bright grin.  “Guess I’m not the only criminal in the family anymore.”

“Laws broken in the name of science and survival don’t count,” Ford says, picking up his own beer and taking a drink.

“Great, so that means I can write off everything I did in the ten years after dad kicked me out, good to know,” Stan asks, sounding amused.

Ford startles a little, surprised at the casual way that Stan says that.  He doesn’t often think about what life was like for Stan during those ten years, but if he’s talking about writing off broken laws, Ford really doubts he means it in the name of science.

Either way, Stan seems totally content to move on, instead grinning back at Ford.  “And what was tonight, survival or science?” he asks.

Ford wrinkles his nose.  “Fashion.”

Stan laughs, loud and delighted in the way Ford hasn’t heard in decades.

“I’m sorry, didn’t you say something about bringing fake money into a casino?” Ford says, shoving Stan in the shoulder rather than acknowledging the ache in his chest.

“Yeah, but you expect that of me.  Next time you want to break the law, put some actual malice behind it.  It’s way more fun.”

Ford just rolls his eyes and takes another drink of his beer.  “Please, I bet I could outshine you with multiverse law-breaking stories.”

“I’m sorry, have you been listening to all my space heists?”

“And how many run-ins have you had with monsters and dream demons?  Have you ever even met Bill Cipher?”

“Bill Cipher?  What is he, like a secret code nerd you lost a boxing match to?”

“Oh, now I know that wasn’t a dig at my boxing skills.”

“Well, if the glove fits.”

“I’ve been traveling the multiverse and fighting monsters for almost thirty years, my boxing skills are a little better than they were in high school.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ford glares over at Stan.  “Are you trying to get me to start a brawl in the middle of a bar?”

Stan just takes another drink of his beer, though Ford can see the smile behind it.  He can’t help but smile back a little as he shakes his head and takes a drink from his own mug.

Stan sets his drink down after another second, and turns to face Ford again.  And while Ford is expecting another joke or the start to a story to try and one-up all of Ford’s options, instead Stan surprises him.

“So uh, your portal incident,” he says.  Ford turns and faces him.  He wasn’t expecting Stan to go there.  But then Stan says, “where’d you end up after going through?  Because like, if we didn’t run into each other until now, but everything else seems mostly the same, does that mean we started in different places?”

Ford gives an “ah” of understanding.

“Well, I ended up in the nightmare realm with Bill,” Ford says.  “Had to run for my life pretty fast, but I made it out.  I mean, obviously.  Where were you?”

“A giant empty void of some kind,” Stan says.  He rubs the back of his neck and gives a sour smile.  “Thought Ford was mocking me.”

Ford narrows his eyes in confusion.  “Huh?”

“Oh, my Ford, obviously,” Stan says with a wave of his hand, as if that clears it up.  “Not you.”

“No, I— what do you mean, you thought he was mocking you?”

“Well, after he shoved me in,” Stan says, and something about the way he says it makes Ford’s chest go cold.

“But… why would that mean he was mocking you?” he asks, hoping he’s misunderstanding.  “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Stan turns and gives him a confused look.  “What?  No.  What are you talking about?”

“Well, I wouldn’t— you’re not saying he shoved you in on purpose, are you?”

“Hey,” Stan holds up his hands.  “Different worlds, different Fords.  It doesn’t say anything about you.”

Ford tries not to let his obvious discomfort show.  “I suppose,” he says.  But still, he can’t imagine any scenario where he’d shove Stanley into the portal on purpose.  He might have been angry at Stan, but he never wanted him in danger.  And shoving him through the portal would have guaranteed that.  He shut it down because it was dangerous, and he didn’t want anything like what happened to Fiddleford to happen to anyone else.

“You’re really bothered by that, huh,” Stan says after a second, because he’s far too similar to the brother Ford knows, which means he can read him like an open book.

“I just don’t understand,” Ford admits, shaking his head.  “I mean, you are so similar to how I remember my version of Stanley.  Why would I be so different?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was actin’ different too,” Stan says.  “My brother, I mean.  Real weird.”

Ford looks curiously back at Stan.  “Weird how?”

“Like, real giggly and manic.  At one point I kicked him hard into the wall and he just started laughing.  He said something about how hilarious it was.  Honestly, I think he was on something.”

Ford can’t breathe.  His mind is starting to paint him a horrifying picture.

“He— Stanley,” he says.  “Did he fall unconscious at any point that you were down there?”

Stan looks at him in confusion.  “How’d you know that?”

Ford runs a hand through his hair.  “That— god.  Stanley, that wasn’t your brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That— remember when I mentioned Bill Cipher?”

“The secret code nerd?” Stan asks, smirking.

“He’s not a secret code nerd, he’s a demon,” Ford says, turning to face Stan directly, trying to get across the importance of what he’s saying, because if Stanley meant it when he said he never met Bill, that means he’s spent the whole time here thinking his brother pushed him through the portal on purpose, and Ford can’t let that go on.

“Stanley, he’s a demon that I met, and that your brother must have met too.  I suppose I can’t say that things went exactly the same, but from what you said…” he takes a breath and folds his hands together.  He doesn’t make a habit of telling people his history with Bill, but this is important.

“I met him when I was young and idealistic and stupid,” he says plainly.  “And before I realized how malicious and dangerous he was, I made a deal with him, and let him possess me whenever he wanted.  He can’t anymore,” Ford knocks on the metal plate in his head.  “But back then, he could anytime that I fell asleep.  And that whole thing, about pain being hilarious?  He said that all the time.  He probably thought that you were too dangerous to him, or that you’d get in the way, so when your brother fell unconscious, he… well.  I can’t imagine why he’d lead with the fact that it wasn’t your brother in control anymore.”

Stan looks at him for a long moment after he finishes, and to Ford’s surprise, he can’t read his face.  Finally, Stan just says, “Huh.”  He turns and takes a drink of his beer.

Ford blinks at him.  “Huh?” he repeats.

Stan looks back at him.  “Do you want me to say something else?”

“Something— do you believe me?” Ford asks, a little incredulous.

“I mean, I’ve seen enough crazy shit out here that it can’t exactly be off the table,” Stan says.  “You also have no reason to lie to me, so… yeah, sure.”  He shrugs.

Ford looks at him for another minute.  “I’ll admit, I was expecting a bigger reaction,” he says.

“I mean, it doesn’t change that much,” Stan says.  “I’m still here, aren’t I?  Come on, we both know how smart you are.  If my brother wanted me back he’s had thirty years to do something about it.  Even if he wasn’t responsible for the first part, it’s on him now.  It’s fine.  I made my peace with it a long time ago.”

Oh.  Ford gets it now.  Stan wants something he can’t have.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink.  “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in.  It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home.  It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few.  He has to keep the world safe from Bill.  I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

He winces a little as soon as he says the last part, and braces himself.  He expects a glare, or for Stan to snap at him, or anything similar.  Something that shows he doesn’t understand the sacrifice part of all this.  But instead, Stan laughs, a strange mix of fond and sad, and takes another swig of his beer.

“God, Poindexter,” he says.  “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

“I— what?  I’ve learned plenty,” Ford says, feeling a little offended.  “I’ve learned so much about the multiverse, and about Bill, and—”

“About yourself, knucklehead,” Stan says, smirking at him.  “Have you just been passing through from one place to another for thirty years?”

“I— there aren’t a ton of other options,” Ford says.  “I can’t stay in a parallel Earth, I could run into a version of myself.  There’s too many dimensions that can’t sustain a life form like me, and I still have Bill to worry about.  It’s not like I can just leave him to do whatever he wants.”

“Sure you can,” Stan says.  “Someone else will take care of him.”

“Someone else will what?  Stanley—”

“It’s not all on you, Ford,” Stan says, looking back at him.  “If there’s a version of me here, there have to be other versions of you.  Let one of them take that risk.”

“I can’t just count on that!  What if that’s what we all think?”

Stan snorts, like that’s somehow funny.

“Stanley—”

“And then what?” Stan cuts him off, turning and raising an eyebrow at him.  “After you defeat Bill.  What do you do then?”

“I— there’s bound to be something else that—”

“What stuff do you do because you want to, Ford?  What out here makes you happy?”

“Well— discovering new dimensions and how they work,” Ford says.  “Their laws of physics, their food and cultures, their—”

“You got any friends?”

“What does that matter?”

“How much of the stuff you learned was pure observation?  Did you go up and talk to anyone, ask them questions about how things work?”

“Right, because everyone in every dimension speaks English.”

Stan raises an eyebrow.  “You’re telling me you’ve been here almost thirty years and you’ve never gotten your hands on a dimensional translator?”

“I— I have, but that’s not—”

“Ford, listen.  We have to live here, right?  I’m never going home, and it doesn’t sound like you think you are either.”

“I’m not,” Ford says.  “What’s your point?”

“So this is all we got,” Stan says.  “You’re never going home, so you have to do something else.”

“Obviously, what are you getting at?”

Stan grins at him.  “You want to come check out my place?”

Ford stares at him.  “You have a house?”

“Of sorts.”  Stan pulls out a small box that looks vaguely like a treasure chest.  “I’ve got a dimensional lock on her.”

“I…” Ford says, and trails off, not quite sure what to say.

Stan smiles at him, and then waves over at the bartender.  “Thanks for the drinks!” he calls.  He slams a couple bills down on the counter and turns back to Ford.

“Are those bills real?”

“Shh.  Let’s go.”  Stan hits a button on his dimensional lock, and the world bends and twists around them, pulling them back to whatever Stan’s put the other lock on.  When they stop, Ford looks around, and—

“Why am I not surprised?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Stan says, grinning at him.  “Welcome to the Stan-O-War II.”

They’re standing on a houseboat in what looks like a fairly typical human ocean, if you ignore the fact that a stretch of it rises into the air and twists upside down into the sky not too far up ahead.

They’re sailing right towards the lift into the air, but Stan seems completely unphased by this.  He walks up a set of stairs to a steering wheel, and pulls a lever on the side.  The entire boat starts glowing gold, and as they reach the shift in gravity, the boat turns into it with no issue, and Ford doesn’t feel his own center of gravity shift at all.

“You would not believe how much I had to steal to get that part working,” Stan says.

“Stanley—”

“Alright, I lied.  I worked odd jobs until I could afford it.  Easier that way.  There’s so many police checks on these kinds of dohickeys, it’s ridiculous.”

The boat sails with the curve until they’re upside down, and Ford can look around him to see stars and planets around them, though not any that he recognizes.

“Remarkable,” he breathes, because he can’t help but be a little blown away by it.

Stanley walks back down the steps and over to stand next to Ford, smiling at the stars around them too.

“I picked this dimension as a home base,” Stan says.  “I think you can guess why.”

Ford just nods.

Stan walks forward and leans over the side of the boat to look down at the water.  After a second, Ford joins him.  From the— sea? sky?— below, fish leap up and eat the stars out of the air.  As soon as they land back in the water, one of the stars still in the air splits in half, and the number of stars in the sky remains unchanged.

“Some of the planets,” Stan says, pointing at one with his finger and following it as the bot sails past it.  “Can support life.  So when the fish eat the stars, the stars split so nothing on the planet dies.  The brief moments of darkness are the planet’s solar eclipses.”

“Planet-wide solar eclipses?” Ford asks, amazed.  “Is the star gone for too short of a time to make a difference in the temperature?”

“Nah.  The folks on the planet just evolved to get used to it.”

“How do you know?” Ford asks, looking back at him.

“I shrunk myself down and went to ask ‘em.  Had to time it right, though.  I’m sure not evolved to survive an eldritch fish eating the sun.”

“Stanley, that’s… incredibly dangerous,” Ford says.  But for a moment, he can’t help but feel impossibly jealous.

“Worth it though.  I’m apparently well known to everyone on pretty much every planet.  They kind of view me as a god.  Hell of an ego boost that was.”

“Oh lord,” Ford mutters.  “I don’t want to think about that.”

Stan laughs.  He turns and leans back against the side of the boat, then gazes up at the sea, back on the… well, Earth, of sorts, now above them.

“When I said I made my peace with it,” Stan says, without looking at Ford, “I meant it.  I know my brother.  I know how his head works.  I know he’s probably doin’ alright without me, and I’m okay with that.  Way I see it, my two options were either let everything fester and grow into an angry, bitter old man, or let it go.”  Stan spreads his hands.  “I like where the second option has let me end up.”

Ford looks at Stan, and finds he doesn’t know what to say.  It’s an unusual feeling.  He’s not sure he likes it.

It looks like they’ll be sailing along the sky for a while, judging by what’s ahead of them, so Ford leans back next to Stan and looks at the sky below them and the sea above them.

“But…” Ford says finally, because he has to say something.  “What’s your goal, here?  What are you trying to do?”

Stan turns to him, raises an eyebrow.  “Goal?”

“What do you want to do, with your life?” Ford asks.  “It— it can’t just be— this.”

Stan smiles, just a little.  “And why not?”

“Well— because…” Ford trails off, lost.

Neither of them say much for a while.

Finally, Ford’s dimension gun beeps at him.  He glances down at the screen and lets out a sigh of relief.

“My parts to fix my gun are ready,” he says to Stan.  “I’ve gotta get going.  But… thanks, I guess.  It was nice to meet you, and have a drink, and…” he looks around, and his words are stolen for another moment.  Eventually, he just finishes “…this.”

Stan gives him a long look, then just nods.

Ford moves the gun’s settings carefully, and when he fires it, it shows him the right dimension.

It’s just as he’s about to step through that Stan speaks again.

“You could come with me, you know,” he says.  “We could hunt for treasure and adventure, like we always said we would.  Even if we’re not technically the ones we said it to.”

This, Ford has been expecting, and he responds instantly and with ease.  “I can’t,” he says, turning to give Stan one last look.  “I have to try and defeat Bill.  I have to save the world.”

But rather than get angry, or sad, or doing anything that makes sense, Stan just sighs.  “Yeah,” he says.  “You always do, huh.”  He turns and starts back up the stairs towards the wheel, and Ford watches him go.  Stan gives no argument, doesn’t keep trying to convince Ford to come.

Ford doesn’t know what to say.  It’s the third time it’s happened, and that’s enough that he’s decided, he’s not a fan.  He would say it’s foolish to expect to know how a Stan from an alternate dimension would act, but so much about this version of his brother has been familiar enough to make Ford’s chest ache.  And yet, when it comes to the big things, the set-in-stone things, like the Stan-O-War, and Bill, and getting shoved into the multiverse for thirty years by someone Stan freely admits he thought put him here on purpose; when it comes to the conversations that Ford should absolutely know the path of, Stan reacts in the complete opposite way he expects, and it leaves Ford feeling lost and unsteady.

“I…” he says, reaching for something normal.  He fails.  “I don’t understand.”

Stan turns to face him.  There is so much sudden warmth and love in his gaze that it takes Ford’s breath away.

“That’s okay, Sixer,” Stan says.  “Just go try and save the world.  Come find me if you fail, okay?  I’ll still be here.”

Ford doesn’t know what to say to that either.  After a second, he just turns and walks through to the other dimension, to get the parts he needs.

He turns one last time and watches Stan as the portal between them closes.  Stan smiles as it does, and then he’s gone.  He leaves Ford with a lump in his throat, an ache in his chest, and the feeling that he’s missed something important.

[steveseddie]

for protection

steddie | rating: t | wc: 5,2k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, scary movies, accidental hand holding, turned into non-accidental hand holding, soft boys, getting together, fruity four friendship

for week four of @softsteddieseptember using the prompt “protection”

click here to read on ao3

Steve never liked horror movies. 

He didn’t like them before the Upside Down and he definitely doesn’t like them now when he spends most of his time worrying and waiting for the next supernatural shoe to drop. There’s no reason why he would want to spend two hours peeking through his fingers at a screen and anticipating the next jumpscare on top of that.

Occasionally, he will let Robin or one of the kids— or lately, Eddie too— convince him to watch one. They might have gone through the same horrors as Steve, but somehow they’re not bothered by these movies at all. At least when Robin is around she’ll let Steve hold her hand, which has gotten him through worse things than movies about aliens or monsters or psychopathic killers. 

That is the only reason Steve agreed to go to the movies tonight.

“Who are you kidding, dingus?” Robin snorts when Steve tells her as much. She’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Beemer as Steve drives them both to The Hawk to meet Eddie and Nancy. “You agreed to come because you can’t say no to Eddie and his big Bambi eyes!” 

Steve sputters indignantly. “What? Yes, I can!”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Steve, I told you I wanted to watch this movie weeks ago and you kept brushing me off. You only said yes when Eddie pouted and complained that no one wanted to watch it with him!” 

Steve waves her off. “I would’ve said yes to you eventually.” 

“But you didn’t,” Robin says, poking Steve’s side and making him yelp. “You said yes to your boy—”

“He’s not my boy,” Steve huffs, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck at the words. 

Robin ignores him and keeps teasing him. “You said yes to him because you love him—” she says, dragging the word love and making obnoxious kissing noises. 

“Christ, what are you? Five?” Steve protests, pinching the bridge of his nose while he waits for the red light to turn green. Robin keeps making those kissing noises, making Steve groan. “Ugh, shut up. Or I’ll shove you out of the car and you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.” 

Robin huffs. “If you do that you’ll have to explain to Nancy that you abandoned me in the middle of nowhere,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him. If she keeps up acting like a child they’re not going to let her in to see this movie. 

“We’re like, four blocks away,” Steve says, pointing ahead where the sign for The Hawk comes into view. “That’s hardly the middle of nowhere.” 

But they both know he won’t do it anyway— not even a horror movie sounds scarier than having to tell Nancy he left Robin to walk the streets of Hawkins alone at night. 

So he finds them a parking spot instead, a few blocks away from The Hawk so by the time they walk up to the entrance it’s exactly 7 pm. They agreed to meet up at that time, meaning Nancy is already there—and probably has been for a while—and Eddie is nowhere to be seen. 

As soon as she sees Nancy, Robin leaves Steve’s side and runs up to her, wrapping her arms around Nancy’s shoulders to hug her. Nancy stumbles back a few steps, taken by surprise but then she smiles and wraps her arms around Robin’s waist, returning the hug. 

As Steve approaches, he hears Robin rambling with her arms still around her. “Hey, Nancy! I hope you haven’t been waiting for long, I told Steve we were gonna be late but he still took forever to fix his hair. And I was like ‘dingus we’re going to be in a dark room for the better part of two hours, no need to fuss about it so much!’ but you know Steve. Duh, you dated him, of course you do. I think he just wanted to look good for—” she pauses, pulling back to look around them and make sure they’re alone, “—for Eddie, which is silly, y’know? Have you seen Eddie’s hair? He does not care about hair care routines and stuff!”

“I should’ve made you walk,” Steve mutters, feeling his blush tinting his cheeks pink again. Nancy stifles a chuckle behind her hand and Steve waves at her. “Hey, Nance.”

“Hi, Steve. Your hair looks good,” she says with a tiny smirk that makes Robin cackle loudly and makes Steve roll his eyes. She turns back to Robin, “And I haven’t been waiting long, I just got here.” 

Robin throws some finger guns at her. “Cool,” she says, “Should we get the tickets?” 

“We still have to wait for Eddie,” Steve interjects, looking around for any sign of Eddie’s van or Eddie himself. 

“You can wait for your boy,” Robin says with a smirk, “and Nance and I will get the tickets!” 

Steve lets out a long-suffering groan. “For the last time, Robin, he’s not my boy.”

Once again, she ignores him and holds her palm up at him. “Money, please.”

Steve sighs, pulling his wallet from his jeans and handing her a few bills, enough for four tickets. 

“Thanks!” She says, whirling around and hooking her arm with Nancy’s, dragging her towards the ticket booth and leaving Steve to wait for Eddie alone.  

He entertains himself by kicking a plastic bottle back and forth. He keeps his eyes on the ground as he does so he doesn’t notice Eddie approaching— not until he jumps on Steve’s back, wrapping an arm around his neck in a chokehold.

“Got ya, Harrington!” Eddie yells in Steve’s ear as Steve stumbles with the added weight but manages to find his balance before they both end up on the ground.

“Christ,” Steve mutters, trying to wiggle out of Eddie’s hold while he laughs like a maniac. “Eddie, get off, man!” 

“As His Majesty commands,” Eddie giggles, jumping off Steve’s back and sweeping down in a dramatic bow when Steve turns around to face him. 

Steve’s hands land on his hips. “You couldn’t just say hello like a normal person?” 

“That, my dear Stevie, would require that I was normal, and as the Hawkins population so graciously accused me of, I am—” he pauses for dramatic effect, “—a freak.”

Steve lets out a snort. “You’re late, that’s what you are,” he says and Eddie gives a dismissive wave. “The girls went inside to get the tickets.”

Eddie gasps, his eyes sparkling under the streetlights. “And you waited for me, sweetheart?” He asks, placing both of his hands over his heart. Steve’s cheeks pink up at the pet name. “You shouldn’t have!” 

“Noted,” Steve smirks. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s, jerking his head towards the entrance. “C’mon, they’re waiting.”

Eddie falls into step beside Steve as he starts walking to where Robin and Nancy are whispering and giggling about something.

Robin notices them first. “Eddie!” 

“Lady Buckley,” Eddie greets her with a little royal twist of the hand, then repeats the motion in Nancy’s direction. “Lady Wheeler.” 

“Hey, Eddie,” Nancy says, playing along with a curt nod. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Late as usual,” Robin says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. 

“Time is nothing but a social construct, Birdie.”

“Tell that to the movie starting in fifteen minutes,” Steve says, checking his watch. “We should head in. C’mon, Eds, I’ll buy you popcorn.” 

Eddie gives him a lopsided grin. “You sure know your way into a man’s heart, Harrington.” 

“Do I get popcorn too?” Robin asks with a knowing smile. 

Steve flicks her on the forehead. “Dude, I already paid for your ticket.”

“You also paid for Eddie’s!” She argues, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly. “Why does he get popcorn and I don’t?”

Steve glances at Eddie and finds him staring back at him with wide eyes, a strand of hair tugged in front of his face. Steve doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say— other than tell Robin to shut up. 

But before he can, Nancy, bless her soul, jumps in. “Hey, Robin,” she says, putting her hands on Robin’s shoulders so she can steer her away. “I’ll get you popcorn, okay?”

Robin lets Nancy guide her away, narrowing her eyes at Steve over her shoulder one last time.

Steve lets out a puff of air. 

He feels Eddie bump his shoulder. “Hey, I- I can get my popcorn, man. And I can pay for my ticket too,” he says a little awkwardly. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble with Buckley.”

“No way, Eds,” Steve is quick to say, bumping his shoulder right back. “It’s on me.”

Eddie offers him a shy little smile. “Well, I’ll get the next one then.”

Steve nods, stomach fluttering at the thought of doing this again with Eddie— maybe just the two of them next time. “Sure, as long as you don’t drag me here for another crappy horror movie.” 

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “This isn’t a crappy horror movie! It’s supposed to be the best one of the year, I guarantee you’ll be scared.” 

Yeah, that’s precisely what Steve is worried about. He tries not to grimace at that. 

As long as you sit next to Robin, you’ll be fine, he thinks to himself. 

To Eddie, he says, “Whatever you say, Eds.”

They join the girls at the concession stand where Steve and Nancy get large popcorn bowls to share with Eddie and Robin, sodas for each of them, and Steve also asks for some gummy worms because he knows Eddie will put too much butter on their popcorn, get sick of it halfway through and will want to eat something sweet. 

As soon as the kid slides the bag of gummy worms over the counter, Steve puts it in his pocket. He doesn’t want Robin to see them and call him out on that too.  

He hands the popcorn to Eddie who, as expected, soaks it with butter, earning horrified looks from everyone around them, including Steve. Though Steve’s expression might also be overly affectionate. 

“Hey, don’t forget the napkins for your gross buttery fingers,” Steve tells him when Eddie deems their popcorn soggy enough and waits for him to grab a handful of napkins before they follow Nancy and Robin. 

“Why do you care if I have buttery fingers, hm?” Eddie asks, getting all up in Steve’s space. A few popcorn kernels fall on the carpet from Eddie moving so much. “Planning to hold my hand in there or something?” 

And Steve isn’t— he’s planning to hold Robin’s, but the thought of holding Eddie’s hand instead makes his heart stutter in his chest, pink tinting his cheeks.

“You wish, Munson,” he says, picking up the pace to catch up with the girls and walk into the dark movie theater, hoping it will help hide his blush from Eddie. 

“Oh, but I do, Stevie, every night,” Eddie says, following him with a shit-eating grin. 

It’s relatively empty inside and the four of them head straight to the back rows where Steve ends up sitting between Eddie and Robin, with Nancy on her other side. 

While they wait for the movie to start, Eddie leans over to whisper in Steve’s ear what critics are saying about the movie, what he’s most excited to see, what the scariest parts are supposed to be. Someone else might find it annoying— to have Eddie loudly chewing popcorn right next to their ear and talking about the movie they’re about to see— but Steve loves hearing Eddie talk, and maybe knowing what’s going to happen in the movie will help ease his nerves a bit.

Eddie doesn’t stop talking until the opening credits start to appear, settling back on his seat with a happy little squeal. 

Cute, Steve thinks as an idea occurs to him. Maybe if he focuses on Eddie instead of the screen it won’t be so bad. 

And so for the first thirty minutes of the movie, Steve keeps his attention on Eddie with the occasional glance at the screen to not be too obvious— even if Eddie is unlikely to notice since his eyes won’t leave the screen, barely blinking as he shoves handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. Halfway through, just like Steve predicted, Eddie shoves the popcorn towards him, buttery lips scrunched up. He downs his soda as he tries to wash away the taste of salt and butter before using the napkins to wipe his fingers. 

He glances away from the screen for the first time since the movie started when Steve nudges him with his elbow and holds out the gummy worms. 

Eddie’s eyes widen and then he gives Steve a slightly awed look. “Thanks, Stevie,” he whispers, grabbing the bag. 

Steve just winks at him, and when Eddie faces forward again, Steve thinks he can see a pink flush high on his cheeks thanks to the glow coming from the screen. 

Pleased, Steve finishes the popcorn and his soda, setting everything on the floor to pick up later and sitting back to stare at Eddie a bit more, paying little to no attention to the screen. 

That’s when bad things start to happen in the movie. 

Shoulders tense and heart hammering in his chest, Steve does his best to not glance at the screen but even then there’s no way to block out the screams or the other disturbing noises. When he looks at Eddie, he actually seems excited about the horrific, gruesome scenes taking place. On Steve’s other side, Robin and Nancy seem mostly unbothered, though Robin’s nose keeps scrunching up at times. They’re all handling it better than Steve is— fingers digging into his legs, eyes screwed shut, breathing in and out as he tries to calm down. 

Steve makes the mistake of opening his eyes and accidentally glancing at the screen just as some awful monster jumps at them, almost giving Steve a heart attack. His hand leaves his lap to grab Robin’s hand, needing physical comfort. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize that, while the hand he just wrapped his fingers around is thin and bony like Robin’s, it’s also bigger and uncharacteristically cold. Steve glances down at it with a frown and realizes that the reason why it’s so cold is the multiple rings adorning the fingers— fingers that don’t belong to Robin. 

Because Steve reached out with the wrong hand and grabbed Eddie’s instead. 

Fuck.

He glances away from their hands and finds Eddie already looking at him. Steve knows he must look like a startled deer, but instead of the teasing expression he expects to see on Eddie’s face, his eyebrows are knitted in concern. 

“You okay, Steve?” Eddie asks softly, leaning into Steve’s space even though the noises coming from the speakers are enough to drown out their voices. 

“Not really, but um, I didn’t mean to do that, sorry, I thought I reached for Robin,” Steve nervously stammers out. He manages to get his scrambled brain cells working and lets go of Eddie’s fingers— but before Steve can fully retrieve his hand, Eddie flips his hand over, trapping Steve’s there.

Steve blinks at him.

“Does it help? Holding someone’s hand?” Eddie asks and Steve nods dumbly. “Okay, then.” 

And so Eddie slides his fingers through the spaces between Steve’s fingers, intertwining their hands.

Steve looks down at them, blinking repeatedly, expecting them to disappear. “Eds, you don’t have to—”

“Shhh, I’m happy to,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand.  Steve’s breath catching in his throat. “Don’t you worry, big boy. I’ll protect you,” he adds with a wink. 

Steve knows Eddie is trying to lighten up the mood but he doesn’t laugh it off because the truth is that he does feel safer like this, more relaxed. He gives Eddie a small smile. “Okay.” 

“I guess it’s a good thing you made me grab those napkins, huh?” Eddie says, and this time, Steve does laugh, though he muffles it behind his other hand so hopefully the girls can’t hear it. He doesn’t need them glancing over and noticing their hands— Steve is already blushing enough as it is. 

After that, Eddie turns his attention back to the screen but Steve keeps his eyes on their hands for a while, taking advantage of the glow coming from the screen to study each of Eddie’s rings, his chipped nail polish, the tattoo on the side of his wrist, the scar from a demobat bite in the back of his hand. 

When he glances back at the screen, the worst of the movie seems to be over and he’s able to push through the remaining and significantly less scary scenes by squeezing Eddie’s hand and feeling Eddie squeeze right back. 

At one point, Robin glances at him, probably to check on him and her eyes end up on their held hands, a loud gasp slipping past her lips. 

Steve whips his head at her and meets her bulging eyes. She mouths her words at him— “Oh my God!”

“I know!” Steve mouths right back.

Because this might’ve started with Eddie being a good friend and comforting Steve, but as the movie droned on, it started to feel less like that— it started to feel like more. The way Eddie started rubbing his thumb over Steve’s hand, the way he blushed when Steve started to play with one of his rings, the way they both kept glancing at the other and smiling almost shyly. Steve’s heart hasn’t stopped jackhammering against his ribcage at the thought of all of this meaning something. 

But they can’t address any of that right now and Robin seems to realize that, so after giving Steve a dorky thumbs up, she turns her attention back to the movie. 

Steve does the same. On the screen, those who survived are being rescued and Steve can breathe a little easier. Before he knows it, the end credits start rolling up and Steve finally fully relaxes. 

He expects Eddie to let go of his hand right away but to Steve’s surprise, he doesn’t. Without letting go, Eddie leans over Steve to ask the girls what they thought about the movie. 

“I probably could’ve lived without seeing that many guts,” Robin says, her nose scrunching up. 

At the same time as Nancy says, “Oh, it was good!” 

Steve stares at her, dumbfounded, but Nancy has always been the bravest out of all of them. 

“Hell yeah, Wheeler!” Eddie whoops, reaching over with the hand not currently holding Steve’s to give her a high five. 

Nancy returns it with an amused chuckle. If she notices Eddie’s other hand intertwined with Steve’s, she doesn’t show it. “What about you, Steve? What did you think?” 

“I think I’m never letting the kids rent this fucking movie,” he says with a scoff.

Eddie throws his head back with a laugh, loud and full-bellied. It’s a good thing that the movie is over because the sound reverberates around the rapidly emptying room.

Next to Steve, Robin snorts. “You know Dustin is just gonna convince Eddie to rent it for him, right?” 

“Lies and slander!” Eddie protests. “I would never corrupt the youth like that!” He says, pulling his hand and Steve’s towards his chest, clutching it as he plays the to offended part. Well, if Nancy didn’t notice they were holding hands before she sure did now. 

“You would,” Robin says with a shake of her head, “You have.”

“I resent that, Buckley.”

“She’s right, Eds. Max told me you let her try beer last week,” Steve says, voice shaking slightly from Eddie keeping their hands on his chest, letting Steve feel his heartbeat. 

It stutters at Steve’s words and his eyes go wide. “That little snitch! Okay, it was one sip and she was blackmailing me!” 

Nancy raises her eyebrow. “With what?”

Eddie’s cheeks go pink and he averts his gaze, his eyes darting to Steve for a second before focusing on the rips in his jeans, tugging at them. “Um, nothing. All I’m saying is those little shits are menaces. They’ll find a way to watch the movie, y’know?”

“Well, god-fucking-speed to them,” Steve grumbles, “I’m never watching that shit again.”

Eddie leans close. “Not even if I agree to hold your hand, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice low and accompanied by a squeeze of his hand. 

Steve flushes— from Eddie’s voice in his ear, his hand still on his, the thought of holding it like this again. He opens his mouth and closes it, he wants to say no but he’s afraid the word will come out will be an embarrassingly eager yes. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything because Nancy speaks up. “You guys ready to go?” 

They all nod and set about picking up their trash, which means Eddie finally has to let go of Steve’s hand. He tries not to look too disappointed by that but probably fails. As they start making their way out of the room, Eddie and Nancy fall into step together, engaging in conversation about their opinions on the movie, which in Eddie’s case includes a dramatic reenactment of his favorite parts.  

Steve and Robin are a few steps behind and Steve watches Eddie as he gestures wildly and makes weird noises and even falls to the ground at one point, pretending to die like one of the characters in the movie. Nancy laughs and helps him up and Steve feels a wave of affection for Eddie so strong he nearly doubles over with it. 

“Ugh,” Robin groans next to him. “Tone down the heart-eyes, dingus, it’s gross and I literally just saw someone’s insides explode.” 

“Fuck off, Robs,” Steve says, shoving her lightly, his cheeks dusted pink. She stumbles before crowding against Steve again, a bounce in her step. 

“Nope, you still have to tell me how you two ended up holding hands.”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck, wishing he could say he pulled it off by being smooth or something. God, he used to have game. “Uh, the movie was a lot and I accidentally reached for his hand instead of yours.”

Robin throws her head back with a loud cackle. “Oh Steve,” she says, holding onto Steve’s shoulder as she laughs. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Hey!”

At Steve’s protest, Robin shrugs. “What? I called you pretty!”

Eddie comes bouncing over. “Ohhh, are we calling Steve pretty? Can I join?” He asks, throwing his arm over Steve’s shoulders. Robin meets Steve’s eyes and waggles her eyebrows. If Steve wasn’t trapped against Eddie’s side he would pinch her arm. 

“No, she’s just being annoying,” Steve says and Robin sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Doesn’t mean she isn’t right, pretty boy,” Eddie says, dropping his head to Steve’s shoulder and looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering. Steve goes warm all over. He ducks his head, unable to keep a dopey smile from stretching over his lips. 

Robin clears her throat— she and Nancy are trying not to smirk as they look between the two of them. 

Steve squirms. “Um, you ready to go, Robs?” 

“Actually,” Robin says, exchanging a look with Nancy. “Nance is giving me a ride home.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What? Why?” He asks. “Is it because I threatened to push you out of the car and make you walk?” Next to him, Eddie lets out an amused snort. 

Robin waves him off. “No, it’s because um- she left a book! At my house last week! And she needs it back tonight, right Nance?”

Nancy’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Oh, yes, it’s a very important book.”

Steve narrows their eyes at them. He’s not buying any of it. “Right.”

“Yeah! So I’ll see you tomorrow at work,” she tells Steve then to Eddie she says, “And I’ll see you, well, probably tomorrow at work too when you inevitably show up to annoy me and Steve.”

Eddie grins, wiping a fake tear. “Oh Buckley, you know me so well.”

“Yeah, yeah, sometimes I wish I knew you less,” she says but the corners of her mouth are turned upwards. 

Eddie lets go of Steve so he can give Robin a quick hug. Then she throws her arms around Steve’s shoulders. “Call me when you get home and tell me everything,” she whispers in his ear and Steve frowns. 

He already told her about the hand holding and that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t know what she thinks will happen between Eddie and him when they say goodbye right here in the middle of the street, but he nods anyway.

They each get a hug from Nancy too and then she leads Robin away towards her car.  “Bye, boys! Miss you already!” Robin says, waving enthusiastically at them. 

Steve wiggles his fingers at her and Eddie gives her a two-fingered salute, both of them chuckling in amusement. 

“Um, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Steve says when it’s just the two of them and a few other moviegoers trickling out of the cinema. He can see Eddie’s van parked just across the street while his own car is a few blocks away. 

“Nope, Stevie, I’m walking you to your car,” Eddie says with a wink. “For protection, of course.”

“You know I keep a nailbat in my trunk, right?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow. He’s over the movie by now, not worried about some creature jumping him on his way to his car— not more than usual at least.

Eddie shrugs. “My protection then.”

“If you insist,” Steve says with a chuckle.

They start walking towards Steve’s car, the street getting darker and quieter the further away they get from The Hawk. Their shoulders keep bumping together, the back of their fingers brushing with how close they’re walking. Every time it happens, Steve wants to grab Eddie’s hand and hold it again. 

“Hey, um, sorry I dragged you to this movie,” Eddie says after a short silence. 

Steve glances at him and finds Eddie looking at him shyly. “You didn’t drag me,” he says, nudging Eddie with his elbow. “I said yes.”

“But why? If you hate horror movies so much.” 

“I like hanging out with you,” he says and Eddie’s eyes widen almost imperceptively. “And I had fun just— not during the movie. Though holding your hand wasn’t so bad.”

Eddie chuckles, ducking his head. “Mediocre hand holding is what I’m best at,” he jokes. “And I’m glad you said yes, you know I love my Stevie time, but maybe next time you can pick the movie.” 

“You mean next time we come here with Robin and Nancy?”

Eddie bites his lip, side-eyeing Steve. “Sure, yeah, or y’know just the two of us, if that’s a thing you’d want to do.”

His voice is small and he’s anxiously playing with his fingers and with a start, Steve realizes that Eddie is nervous. Cute, Steve thinks.

He tilts his head. “Like a date?” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath and then Eddie is grabbing some hair and tugging it in front of his face, but Steve still sees the way his cheeks turn red. He mumbles, “Um, yeah?”

Butterflies explode in Steve’s stomach then and he feels a dopey smile stretching over his lips. Eddie’s eyes go wide, looking hopeful at Steve’s expression. He spits the hair from his mouth, revealing a small smile tugging at his lips. “How about next Friday?” Steve asks.

A disbelieving laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Really?” When Steve nods, Eddie lets out a cute little yelp at the confirmation. “Friday it is,” he says. His eyes get a little twinkle in them. “Do I need to pretend to be scared so you’ll hold my hand?” 

“Nope,” he says, and after looking around and making sure they’re alone in the street, Steve finally reaches over and grabs Eddie’s hand, intertwining their fingers like Eddie did in the movies. 

Eddie’s mouth makes a little “o” shape as he blinks down at them, color rising in his cheeks. 

Steve tugs on his hand to get him walking again, pressed together to hide their hands between them even if it’s dark and there’s no one around.

Sooner than either of them would’ve liked, they reach the Beemer. “Here we are,” Steve says, leaning back against the car, their hands dangling in the space between them. “And we didn’t even need my nailbat.” 

“You know that’s not the only reason why I walked you to your car, right?” 

Steve’s eyebrows go up as he feigns shock. “You mean you didn’t actually expect us to get attacked by slimy monsters with razor-like teeth?”

“Nope,” Eddie says, stepping closer until he’s pressed against Steve’s body, pushing him against the car. “Not that I’d be surprised in this fucked up town but no, um, I was also hoping I’d get to do this.”

Steve opens his mouth to ask what he means by this but Eddie shuts him up by hesitantly grabbing Steve’s neck and leaning in, softly pressing his lips to Steve’s mouth, who gasps in surprise before the sound melts into a happy sigh. He lets go of Eddie’s hand so he can wrap his arms around Eddie, bringing him closer, tilting his head for a better angle so their lips move together more easily and he can taste butter and salt and the slightest hint of sugar. They keep the kiss short, knowing that despite the lack of street lights around them and the late hour, they’re still in public. 

When Eddie pulls back, his cheeks are bright pink and his eyes are sparkling, his smile giddy and so beautiful. Steve already wants to kiss him again. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve, don’t look at me like that,” Eddie groans, and Steve’s eyes snap up from Eddie’s lips, where they darted to without Steve realizing it.

He blinks. “Like what?”

“Like you want to—” His hand slides through the air as he gestures aggressively, “—eat me or something. I’m trying to be a gentleman here and not drag you into the backseat of your car.”

Steve smirks. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Steeeeeve,” Eddie whines.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, holding his hands up with a laugh. He doesn’t trust himself not to jump Eddie right now if he stays here any longer anyway. “Goodnight, Eds.” 

Eddie’s face softens. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

When neither of them move— Steve to get in the car and Eddie to go back to his van— Steve shoves him and sends Eddie’s clumsy ass stumbling back. “Go! Before monsters actually jump from the shadows and murder us.” 

“You’d protect me though, wouldn’t you, Stevie?” Eddie teases, batting his eyelashes at him. 

“Always,” Steve says, then makes shooing motions at him. “Now go.”

“Yes, your Majesty, I’m going,” Eddie says as he starts walking— backwards so he can look at Steve some more.  

Steve blows a kiss at him, making Eddie trip over nothing and stumble, but he catches himself and he catches Steve’s kiss in his hand— and then makes out with his hand, making Steve scrunch up his nose and chuckle fondly at the same time. 

He waits until Eddie turns around to get in his car, catching sight of his dopey smile on the rearview mirror as he adjusts it. But he can’t help it— he held hands with Eddie, he’s going on a date with him, he kissed him. 

Turns out Steve does have a reason to call Robin when he gets home after all. 

[little-diable]

Who prays for Satan? - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

This isn't our usual dark!Tom, he's still fucked up, but not as dark as the other priest fics. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Priest Riddle is the reader's theology professor, a man she has always found herself interested in, but things escalate when she joins his church for her internship.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, guided masturbation (f), spanking, forced confession, smut in a church/in a confessional, choking, degrading, unaddressed age gap, power play, professor x student, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (about 3k words)

"Please remember that you only have time until Friday to tell me, where you will do your internship. Have a good week, and don’t forget the essays, please.” The sounds of students hastily rising to their feet echoed through the room, but while some were desperate to leave, getting away from the professor who looked like God’s finest creation, but spoke like the Devil himself, others were desperate to catch his attention with bland questions he found himself annoyed by. 

“(Y/n), do you have a moment?” His voice drew her closer, past the group of students who looked at her with hate swimming in their pupils. She didn’t look at them as she walked past them, coming to a halt in front of the tall man with a soft smile glued to her lips. “Walk with me.”

Neither of them spared the others another glance as he strode out in the hallway, expecting her to follow him. It wasn’t the first class of his (y/n) was visiting, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, as she found herself awfully drawn towards the priest, who had taken on a few theology classes at their university. Something about him was different. Something she couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard she tried to. 

“I knew you’d turn in your essay days before the others would even begin writing it, but I was pleasantly surprised by your work this week. It was smart of you to use the famous Mark Twain quote: “But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?” It always stuck with me.”

“Thank you, Professor Riddle. You once told me how much you think of this quote, so it only felt right to use it for this week’s focus on sinning.” The throaty chuckle rumbling through him left her feeling surprised, not used to seeing him this giddy. His smile didn’t waver, not as they came to a halt in front of his office, not as he guided her inside, not as they plopped down on their designated seats. 

“Your essay isn’t the reason for this chat, though. I was thinking of what you said to me, and I decided that you can join my church for your internship. But I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell others I’m allowing you to do this, I never give out internships, and I’m only taking you on because I know how dedicated and smart you are.” Heat rose in her system, crawling up her throat to force (y/n) to avert her gaze. She had been desperate to find a church to join, not wanting to spend her internship as a simple office help, she needed practice, something to help her figure out what she actually wanted to do with her life.

“I highly appreciate this, thank you, professor. I promise, I won’t make you regret your choice.” Her eyes flickered back to his piercing ones, instantly sucked into his mesmerizing grasp. He was like a siren, luring her into his trap to feast on her darkening thoughts – thoughts she hadn’t been able to shake ever since meeting the tall priest. 

“I know you won’t, (y/n). You will start Sunday morning to join me for the first service of the day, and then we can go through your task for the upcoming two weeks.” 

……

“Professor?” Her voice hallowed through the empty church. It was still dark out, an early morning she had struggled to adjust to, and yet her nerves had managed to get her out of bed, finding her way towards these holy halls. Her sneakers met the ground as (y/n) walked up to the altar, letting her fingertips dance over the cold marble, appreciating the grounding sensation she was instantly taken over by. 

“You’re early.” Professor Riddle's raspy voice made her jump, she had been too distracted by her surroundings to hear him approach, slowly turning towards him with wide eyes. He was wearing his black signature suit, paired with the white collar she’d see in her darkest moments, making heat pool between her thighs. 

(Y/n) clawed her fingernails into her palms to rip herself out of the hazy fog calling for her, needing to stay focused before she could do or say something that would end her internship right there and then. 

“I thought you may need some help preparing for the service.” A sickly sweet smile tugged on her lips, forcing his teeth to rot from the mere possibility of tasting her. He took a step towards her, with his hands clamped together behind his back, giving him an extra authoritarian touch. But while her body screamed at her to take a step back, to find shelter behind the altar, her mind murmured to (y/n) to hold still, not daring to give in to his intimidation scheme. 

“I certainly appreciate your help, (y/n). I knew it was the right choice to pick you for this internship.” He towered over her, staring down at her with his gaze reminding her of a snake, ready to pounce, to sink its poisonous teeth into her quivering body. At that very moment, she was Eve, tempted by the eternal sin, and he was her downfall. She stood closer to him than ever before, front about to touch his, seeking the warmth he emanated in a place as cold as this church. 

“So, what should I do?” (Y/n) needed to get away from him, no longer trusting herself with ignoring the shameless whispers ringing in her ears. But the tall man didn’t back off, he kept watching her with that smirk that told her he knew exactly what she found herself bothered by. A losing game (y/n) had never been destined to win, burning out like a cigarette setting a petrol station ablaze, destined to burn to the ground. 

“Why don’t you choose this morning’s prayers?” He reached for the Bible resting on the altar, way too close to her. His front brushed hers as he leaned forward, reaching for the leather-bound book before pushing it into (y/n)’s grasp. Their eyes kept holding contact, even as his hand disappeared inside the pocket of his jacket, pulling free a black rosary. “Oh, before I forget. Here, I want you to have this.” 

(Y/n) didn’t get any time to react or to ask questions as he pushed the rosary over her head to let it rest on her chest. His hand kept holding onto the dangling cross, while his eyes flickered back to her confused ones. “They will know you belong to me, wear it whenever you are working here.”

……

Her eyes were focused on the bright laptop screen as she was typing away her notes for this day, promising to give them to Professor Riddle before leaving. Even though her thoughts were still all over the place, (y/n) found herself growing more comfortable around the tall man most students were scared of. He treated her kindly, and yet something was hiding behind his words and expressions she couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Are you done with your notes?” Professor Riddle’s voice filled his office as he stepped inside. (Y/n) didn’t lift her gaze at first, hastily trying to type the last sentence before she gave in and dared to look at him. 

“Just finished, should I print them?” He didn’t reply to her question, eyes fully focused on her upper body, trying to locate the missing rosary. With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) watched him approach, rounding the desk to find his way towards her. (Y/n) struggled to breathe as the scent of his expensive cologne clashed against her frame, forcing her to get lost in his darkening eyes. 

“Where is the rosary?” She knew that she had forgotten it at home this very morning, too tired to care about any rules and regulations, but her hand still snapped up to her chest, trying to find the missing piece.

“I’m sorry, I forgot it at home.” He didn’t give in to the soft smile (y/n) shot him, didn’t pick up on the exhaustion dripping from her words, solemnly focused on the way she had gone against his rules. His tongue kissed his teeth before he took a step back and stretched his ringed hand out for her to take. “Where are we going?”

“I wanted to go over this with you tomorrow, but it seems like tonight is the perfect time to do so.” (Y/n) was led out of his office and down the hallway towards the dark nave. They walked up to the confessional, and as he opened one door for her, he shot her a look that made her tremble, letting any protests die on the tip of her tongue. 

“Have you ever confessed before, (y/n)?” She was engulfed by darkness, and could barely see her own hands, let alone the man who was sitting close to her, behind the wooden construction keeping them apart. The scent of incense hung in the air, sticking to her like a second layer of skin, a reminder of their sacred surroundings.

“No, professor.” (Y/n) had been addressing him as “Professor” for the past days, not daring to use any other title, let alone his first name. But the second she used this very title to address him, (y/n) could tell that it would be the last time she’d call him that tonight, a shift was happening, something she was now taken over by. 

“It’s Priest Riddle to you.” The barely audible gasp clawing through (y/n) left him chuckling, followed by the sound of him shifting around on the bench, making himself comfortable as she grew more tense. “You sinned, you went against my rules. I must punish you for that, (y/n).”

“Punish me?” She hated that his words pushed excitement through her, forcing her to sit even straighter as if he could see her. Her fingertips began to tingle, her legs were quivering, unable to hold still as something she had only dreamt of slowly began to unfold right at that very moment. 

“Honesty will be the price of your foolishness, (y/n). I notice the way you look at me, how you seem to long for something you aren’t allowed to even reach for. Tell me, (y/n), what is it you so desperately seem to want?” Embarrassment flushed through her, followed by anger she couldn’t shake. How dare he ask something like this? How dare he try to embarrass her for a simple mistake? She should have left the confessional, stormed out of the church, and reported the man for overstepping. And yet she didn’t, already stuck in the trap he had laid out for her months ago.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She didn’t know what she wanted from him if she was merely longing for his touch, or if something even more desperate was guiding her on. She didn’t know if she wanted a simple taste, or to be swallowed wholly by him. She simply didn’t know. 

“How far are you willing to go, (y/n)?” Her mouth felt dry, unable to swallow as his words began to sink in. (Y/n) was grateful that he couldn’t see her, the way her pupils were dilated by the lust flushing through her, the goosebumps covering every visible part of her body as if she was engulfed by an icy wind. 

“Farther than I should.” A part of her expected him to break the spell they were now connected by, to pull her out of the confessional and scold her for giving in this easily. But the priest didn’t move, and neither did (y/n). 

“Spread your legs, I want you to touch yourself like I bet you keep imagining me doing.” With her heart in her throat, (y/n)’s hand disappeared beneath her skirt, slowly pushing her damp panties aside. A soft moan clawed through the student, grateful that the others had left the church hours ago. “Good girl, fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Another moan left (y/n) as she pushed two fingers into her tightness, spreading her walls as if she was preparing herself for his cock, desperate to take every inch. She kept moaning for him, choking on her sounds that grew heavier with every passing moment. 

“I can hear how wet you are, I bet you taste so sweet, like the forbidden fruit.” His words guided her on, ringing in her ears as if the Devil was calling for her, wandering through the darkness to reach his open arms, getting lost in his sweet promises. “I should imprint my palm on your skin for going against my rules. You promised you wouldn’t disappoint me, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” Her needy whimpers left the priest chuckling, sounds that almost managed to drown out the ones clawing through (y/n). 

“I’m sure you are, (y/n). Stop touching yourself.” It pained her to pull her hand away, she had been close to giving in, ready to call out his name as her orgasm clashed through her, seconds before she could have reached paradise. The sounds of Priest Riddle leaving his side of the confessional echoed through the evening, followed by the sounds of him opening her side and stepping into the small space. 

She was pulled to her feet and tugged in for a kiss that left her moaning. (Y/n)’s arms found their way around Priest Riddle's neck, trying to pull the tall man even closer as if she were addicted to him. He broke the kiss to turn her around, pressing (y/n)’s front against the wooden wall separating both sides of the confessional. His ringed hands felt cold against her body as he shuffled her skirt up to her waist, letting her panties drop to the ground seconds later.

“I hope you prepared yourself enough for this punishment.” His ringed hand came down on her behind, forcing a yelp out of (y/n) who pressed herself further against the cold wood. Pain stretched itself through her, an unfamiliar kind of pain that made her ache for more. Once again, his palm met her warm skin, knowing that she’d struggle with sitting for the next few days. “I can’t wait to finally fuck you, make you pay for all these times I felt your eyes on me like a needy whore who doesn’t know when to stop.”

(Y/n) couldn’t protest, she couldn’t speak up to beg him for any kindness he wouldn’t offer. Only as she felt him pull away for a moment did (y/n) allow herself to breathe, blinking away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. 

“What do you want, (y/n)? And don’t feed me another lie. I want your honesty.” Chills ran down her spine at his dangerous tone, shaking through (y/n) like an earthquake set on ripping her off her feet. She had to deeply inhale, had to heavily swallow before she managed to put her longings into words, needing to break out of his trap. 

“I want your cock, fuck me, please, Priest Riddle.” A satisfied hum left the man, followed by the sounds of him ripping open a condom, prepared for his very punishment. It didn’t take long until she felt him at her entrance, slowly pushing into (y/n) with a heavy groan that dripped with need and lust clawing through him.

It felt as if they had been created for his moment only, bodies made to fit. 

“I should tell you to never sin again, to stay true to your promises. But you’ve turned me into a sinner as well, no promise could keep me from you any longer.” His words left her gasping, walls clenching around this twitching cock. He fucked her with urgency, set on proving to (y/n) and to himself that she was his, his to guide, his to punish. 

“You take my cock so well, I bet you dreamt of being fucked by me in a holy place, didn’t you?” His warm breath clashed against her tingling skin as he spoke his words, drawing a heavy sob out of (y/n) as she lost her grip on their surroundings. Tom’s hand moved like a snake, slithering back up to her throat to hold onto her, letting go of a raspy, “Speak when I ask you to.” 

“Yes, I did. I dreamt of it.” It was a simple reply, yet it was just enough to make the priest hum in approval. He twitched inside of her as he could tell that they both were ready to let go with their hearts pounding and their limbs aching. (Y/n) struggled to breathe on as he tightened his grip on her throat, forcing her head to rest against his broad chest. The priest stared down at (y/n), her lighthouse in the darkest nights, the burning bush to rely on. An anchor of safety. 

“Let go, (y/n), be honest once again.” She came with a gasp, with her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted. A sight so ethereal, the priest followed her moments later, letting his teeth graze his lower lip to draw some blood. He pulled out of her all too quickly, to turn her back towards him with his bloody lip finding hers, “Now you’re truly mine, bound my blood.” 

And who was she to deny a sinner a wish this pure? At least it was on them to pray for Satan that night, since God no longer would pick up on their calls. 

[zegrasdrysdale]

I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE!! if you have time vould you maybe do a jack hughes smut where reader wears the rival teams jersey to piss him off and its like rough??

its been rotting in my brain for forever 😭

[ bitter rivals ] j. hughes

paring : Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary : just to make her boyfriend mad after a fight, (Y/N) wears a Flyers jersey to the Devils’ game against Philly in Newark … and she feels the consequences afterwards

warning(s) : smut ! rough sex, unprotected p in v sex, slight choking, hair pulling, possessiveness, pet names during sex. light angst

author’s note : hear me out … i was having a moment so i decided to tackle this request. not to mention i have been wanting to write something like this for a hot second so here we are. that’s how we got here so i hope y’all enjoy. i always have time to write some jack hughes smut too

༺═──────────────═༻

It's been nearly a week since their fight and (Y/N) hasn't heard from her boyfriend. Normally she wouldn't do something drastic since it's only been a week, but she feels like doing something drastic.

Instead of walking into the Prudential Center wearing a red 86 on her back, she wears an orange 11. She gets looks from a few Devils fans who know of her relationship with Jack, but she truly doesn't care. She knows will always be loyal to the boys in red and black despite trying to be petty.

After grabbing something to eat and drink, she heads down to her front row seats that she purposely bought just to make this point. She'll be right on the glass for Devils warmups in a few minutes.

Until then, she enjoys her chicken tenders and High Noon while fans begin to gather at the glass to get a close up look at their favorite players.

The Flyers come out first for warmups in their white away jerseys, then the Devils come out in their black alternate jerseys.

(Y/N) sticks out like a sore orange thumb in a sea of red, white, and black around her. She gets a couple of looks from the fans around her when she stands up. but it doesn't matter. She’s just trying to prove a point.

No one would blame her if they knew.

On the ice, she watches Luke skate up to his older brother. His eyes flicker in her direction. Luke leans into Jack’s ear and says something to him, who looks right at her. He has a look on his face that she has never seen before. He looks so angry.

When he starts to skate over to where she’s standing, Jesper intercepts him as soon as he sees where he’s going. He says something to Jack but Jack’s eyes never leave his girlfriend. She waves at him with a sly smirk on her face.

Mission accomplished. He saw her.

Jack slaps pucks at the net in obvious frustration or anger. She doesn’t know which it is at this point. She wouldn’t be surprised at all if he takes a few penalties during the game.

If he’s angry now, it’s just gonna fester for the next few hours. She’s probably screwed but it’ll be worth it in the end.

The Flyers jersey doesn’t deter her from cheering every time the Devils score a goal.

When Erik Haula nets his third goal of the night, she makes sure she throws the beanie she’s wearing onto the ice. Technically it wasn’t even her beanie. Jack left it at her apartment and never asked for it back so she stole it for the game tonight.

Throughout the game, she does notice that Jack glances at her a handful of times with a look of fury darkening his usually bright blue eyes. He sends glares at her when she cheers for the one goal he scored in the third period that secured the Devils the win.

An angry Jack has never scared her, but his anger has never been directed at her like it is right now. She’s either in for the worst night of her life after the horn blares when the game ends, or she won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Like she usually does after a game, she meets up with the other wives and girlfriends in a lounge by the locker room. Kristen Haula is the first one to approach her.

“What’s with the Flyers jersey?” she questions.

“Needed to prove a point to Jack,” (Y/N) replies. “That’s all. I’m not jumping ship or anything. We just had a fight and he hasn’t spoken to me in like a week. I proved my point so next game I’ll be back in a Devils jersey.”

Before Kristen can reply, Jack marches through the doors and immediately scans the room. His hair is still dripping from his postgame shower and he looks very disheveled, like he rushed to get ready.

His eyes land on her and she presses her lips into a line. Jack takes large strides over to her so it doesn’t take him very long to cross the room.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks. “A Flyers jersey? A Travis Konecny jersey? Seriously?"

Kristen smiles and silently walks away while (Y/N)’s eyes remain on Jack. “What? You don’t like my new jersey?” she asks with innocence in her voice.

He bites his bottom lip as he thinks about his response. She gives him the smallest of smiles while the gears in his head turn. "I want you to take it off," Jack tells her.

"Oh, Jacky," she sighs. "You wouldn't want me to do that if you knew what I wasn't wearing underneath this jersey."

She watches his eyes darken. "Let's go," he says to her. "We're going to my apartment right now."

Her jaw drops and Jack grabs her wrist. "Who said I wanna go anywhere with you?" she asks as she tries to wrench her wrist out of his grasp. "You haven't talked to me in nearly a week, Jack."

Jack turns and faces her. "Wonder why," is all he says. She raises her eyebrows at him. "Let's go, (Y/N). We can talk at my apartment."

This time, she lets herself get pulled out of the Prudential Center and into Jack's car. Luckily she caught an Uber to the arena. A very small part of her figured she would be leaving with her boyfriend after the game.

Neither of them speak as Jack drives from the arena to his Hoboken apartment. Her eyes are on the passing buildings and cars. She feels Jack's hand on her thigh at one point but she doesn't react to it.

Yes, she was teasing him with the "if you knew what I wasn't wearing" comment. Yes, she hopes they'll fall into bed. Falling into bed isn't happening until they talk. She wants to know why Jack hasn't talked to her in five days before his dick comes anywhere near her.

It's a silent car ride and a silent ride up the elevator to Jack's place. She can still feel how annoyed Jack is by the fact that she wore the opposing team's jersey and still cheered for the Devils. She's annoyed too. She's annoyed because she had to wear the opposing team's jersey just to get his attention.

Jack opens the door to his apartment and walks inside. She follows him as he throws his suit jacket onto a coat hanger by the door. She shuts the door behind her and watches Jack unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt.

"Why?" she asks before he turns around. "Why did it take me wearing a Flyers jersey before I got your attention?"

He runs his fingers through his hair before he turns to face her. "I was thinking," he admits to her. "I was worried that I'd say something that I'd regret. I didn't want to hurt you, so I waited and actually took some time to think."

"Think about what?"

"Think about us," he softly tells her. "I wasn't sure if I was ready to find out if you actually meant what you said during our fight."

Her words come rushing back to her.

I don't know if I'm ready for this kind of life is what she had said to him.

"What did you think I meant by those words?" she asks.

"That you weren't ready for a life with me," he replies.

Jack is a beautiful man, but sometimes the smarts aren't there. Too many pucks to the head from Luke and Quinn.

"Jack, I meant that I didn't think I was ready to be an NHL wife," she tells him. "Of course I'm ready for a life with you, but it's everything that comes along with you. The spotlight, the eyes. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that."

The look that forms on Jack's face could make (Y/N) laugh. His eyebrows are raised and his mouth forms a little 'o'. She presses her lips into a line to suppress a smile. "I am such a dumbass," he says after he processes what she said. "Jesus Christ."

She wraps her arms around his neck and finally lets out a laugh. "You're my dumbass though."

When she leans in to kiss him, Jack pushes her away.

"Nuh uh," he says when she looks up at him. "I am absolutely not kissing you while you have that ugly ass jersey on. Not happening, (Y/N)."

Her eyes fall to the Flyers logo on her chest like she just remembered that she has the jersey on.

She reaches down between them and grabs the bottom of the jersey. Slowly, she pulls the fabric over her head to slowly reveal to Jack that she's not wearing anything underneath the jersey.

When the jersey is over her head, her eyes land on Jack. His eyes are wide while he looks her up and down. “Fuck, (Y/N),” he groans. “You really know how to piss a guy off. Not only are you wearing a Flyers jersey, but you didn’t even wear anything underneath.”

“Had to get your attention somewhere, Jacky,” she tells him as she gets up onto her tiptoes to attach her lips to his neck. “Glad it worked.”

Jack leans down and picks her up by the back of her legs. She wraps herself around him and keeps kissing and nosing at the skin on his neck as he walks somewhere in the apartment.

When he drops her on the couch, (Y/N) looks up at Jack and asks, “What about Luke?”

“What about him?” Jack settles comfortably between her knees.

“Won’t he be home soon?”

“Told him to find somewhere else to stay unless he wanted to see something that would scar him for life,” Jack tells her. “He told me that he’ll be at Dawson’s for the night. Now let me show you what happens when you decide to wear a jersey other than mine to a game.”

Yeah. She’s totally fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Jack ravishes her lips as soon as the last word leaves his mouth. A soft moan comes from her throat before she can stop it. One of his hands cups one of her bare breasts and the other cups her jaw. She tries to roll her hips against his to get some friction on her core, but he quickly puts a stop to that.

“I don’t think so,” Jack mumbles against her lips as he pins her hips to the cushion beneath her. “Only good girls get to come quickly tonight. You weren’t a good girl with the stunt you pulled.”

“Guess you didn’t like my new jersey,” she gasps as her boyfriend attaches his lips to the sensitive skin on her neck. “Or was it the fact that there was a different name on my back?”

The nip she gets is the answer she was looking for. Jack was jealous that another player’s name was on her back instead of his. She revels in the realization since it has been five days and it took wearing the jersey for him to talk to her.

He slowly begins to kiss down her neck and chest. He makes sure to give both breasts some attention before moving further down her belly.

Her fingers find a home in his now dry hair. She adores how soft his hair feels when it has just dried after a shower.

Jack’s fingers hook in the waistband of the leggings she has on. He slowly pulls the thin fabric off her body and kisses her hipbone when it’s exposed. She sighs as her boyfriend strips her of her pants. She kicks her sneakers off so Jack can pull them completely off of her.

She lets her legs fall open while Jack throws the leggings somewhere on the floor. Her soaked underwear is on full display for him. She watches his tongue dart out at his view.

“Touch me before I touch myself, Jack,” she orders him.

He goes back to hovering over her. A hand lightly wraps around her throat and she looks up at him in surprise. “You will do no such thing if you want to come tonight,” he retorts.

(Y/N) bites her lip at his words. She can’t remember the last time he spoke to her like this, but she is loving every second of it.

His other hand snakes between them and into the thin fabric of her underwear. A gasp comes from her lips as his fingers easily run through her slick folds. She wraps her hands around his arm to keep herself present.

“Jack,” she whines.

He cups her pussy and she has to stifle a moan. “Who does this belong to?” he asks.

“You, baby,” (Y/N) quickly tells him. “It’s all yours. I’m all yours.”

Jack leans down and presses soft kisses to her cheek and jaw. “Good girl.” His words shoot straight down to her already pulsing core.

Without warning, Jack stands up and pulls her up. He gets her on her knees and leans her against the back of the couch with her chest pressed against the cushions. In the reflection of the glass cabinet that’s behind the couch, she can see Jack undressing behind her.

He twirls her hair into a makeshift pony and gets on his knees behind her. Jack’s lips are on her neck right under her ear. “Tell me who fucks you until you can’t speak,” he whispers.

His low voice causes the knot that has formed in her belly to tighten.

“You do, Jack,” she replies. Jack pulls on the makeshift pony until she’s looking straight up at the ceiling. A soft moan passes her lips. “You fuck me so good. Only you.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jack mumbles as he presses her into the cushions beneath her. He doesn’t release the pony.

With one hand, he manages to get her underwear off of her and onto the floor with both of their clothes. She feels his hard dick between her legs and had to resist the urge to grind against it.

Her legs are practically shaking as she waits for release.

He leans over her and kisses the back of her neck for a second before he slams into her. She cries out in surprise because that was the last thing she expected to happen.

“Fuck, Jack,” she breathes out as he lets her adjust to him. “Give a girl a little warning before you destroy her.”

She feels him smile and mumble, “We’ll see.”

This boy is going to be the death of her.

A minute passes before Jack begins to rock his hips into her. She bites her lip to try and keep herself from making an embarrassing noise.

Eventually, she gives up because she’s worried she’ll make her lip bleed with how hard she’s biting down on it.

(Y/N) begins to meet Jack’s hips with every thrusts. She lets out soft moans and whines every time they meet. He lifts one of her legs up onto the back of the couch so he can get a new angle on her.

She has to lean against Jack’s chest as he continues to fuck into her at the new angle. “This pussy was made for me,” Jack pants into her ear. He wraps his arms around her to keep her steady. “Feels so good around me.”

She wants to say something, but she’s so overwhelmed with pleasure that she can’t form any. All she does is let out a soft whine in reply.

“See? No one else can fuck you speechless like I can.”

The knot in the bottom of her belly tightens. She has to force herself to form words. “Jacky,” she whines. “Wanna come. Been a good girl for you. Please.”

Jack kisses the swell of her ear and grasps her breasts. “You only wear my name, baby,” he pants in her ear. “My number on your back. No one else’s.”

“No one else’s,” she agrees. “Can I come? Please?”

He hums and she clenches around him as soon as she has his permission. She loses her vision for a moment as she comes on Jack’s cock. His name echoes throughout the apartment as she hits her high.

She had no idea that Jack could be like this. Maybe she’ll have to mess with him if she’s going to see this side of her boyfriend. She’s pretty sure that she’s never had an orgasm this intense in her entire life.

Without realizing because of how hard her orgasm hit her, Jack comes inside of her and slouches against her when he comes down from his own high.

When she comes to, she’s lying on her back on the couch and Jack is wiping her with a wet cloth. His boxers are on the lower half of his lower body and she pouts.

“Was that okay?” Jack asks before she can say anything. “I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

She shakes her head and says, “It was perfect. It was more than okay. You were jealous.”

Jack laughs and shakes his head. “Maybe a little,” he admits. “I don’t like it when you wear other players’ jerseys.”

“Maybe talk to me next time and I won’t have to,” she teases. Jack rolls his eyes. “Anyway, can we go to bed? I wanna get your dick in my mouth and apologize in my own way.”

She’s surprised with how quickly Jack picks her up and whisks her off to his bedroom after that.

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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[nightsmarish]

Summary: after talking to Regulus, you both decide to take the offer to stay with the Potters, and barty gets thrown across the slytherin table by Evan

Pt1

A/n: very focused on Reg for some reason, not 100% sure why, but it's lovely, also we love bestie barty. ALSO ALSO, reader is aggressively, very aggressively, hinted to be slytherin

Poly!moonwater x reader (Remus lupin x regulus black x reader) | 1.4k words

Tw: toxic family, running away? Family disappointment, ect. Barty jinxing Gryffindors for sport and an owl flying into a chess game

Asked to be tagged: @misacc08

★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊

It's finally two weeks until the end of this year at Hogwarts. Class times have been filled with going over study guides and reviewing for the final exams only a few days away. 

Neither you nor Regulus have said yes to staying at Potter Manor this summer. Despite James being very adamant about it.

“I’ll just mention you blokes might be joining us.” James told you when you visited Gryffindor table one morning, as he wrote his parents. 

“James-” 

“No, no, let ‘im. No harm in it? Is there?” Sirius cuts you off, feet extended to rest on the bench across the table from him. 

“But Mrs. Potter shouldn’t prepare an extra room if neither of us will be joining.” Your points are acknowledged when James hums to confirm he heard you, but his quill never stops moving.

Remus has been looking at you the whole time. Not in a creepy way, you're both pretty sure not in a creepy way at least. Just in an undivided attention way. Practically ignoring the other two boys to admire you, other than when he occasionally slaps away Sirius’ hand on his fifth attempt to grab Remus’ food. 

You look down to where Remus sits as well. Honestly, he's not that much shorter than you sitting down, but wherever. Your hand that's not holding the strap of your bag gently scratched the hair at the base of his head before kissing his cheek, mumbling a small promise to see him during your study time later. 

ᯓ★

It's not like you don’t want to go to stay with everyone else. It’d be amazing; it really would. But the idea of going when Regulus stays at the Black House feels wrong. You know being with your parents won’t help him, nor will being at James’ house, but it feels wrong. 

Remembering how destroyed he was when Sirius left. When he came back to school, you two hadn’t known the Marauders like you do now. The anger he knew was misplaced, but he couldn’t help but feel abandoned by Sirius. You remember it—the crying, the way he couldn’t focus until a month into school. And you remember Sirius being disowned.

And maybe that's part of it too. The idea of being disowned. Even if you know they are horrible people, people you don’t wish to be related to. The idea still makes you sick. Their horrible and evil, but dear Salazar, parent approval is so addicting and you hate how much you still want it. 

So which is worse, feeling like you betrayed one of your boyfriends, or your parents disapproval? 

“Regulus?” You keep your voice low in the library. The aforementioned boy looks up from his textbook sitting across from you. Remus, next to you, pauses, moving his quill to focus on you two as well.

“Yes?” His voice matches yours, despite being a little more stiff. 

“I wanna talk about it again. About James’ house.” You rush the words out. Probably because you know Regulus will want to shoot it down immediately.

“Love, you know I’m not going.” He sighs, sitting up straight in his seat. 

“Why? Why not go?” 

"Dove-" Remus tries to interject, not sure how well direct confrontation will go after Regulus has already denied it far too many times.

“What would I do?”

Both you and Remus pause, looking right at Regulus. Who stares right back at you.

“What do you mean?’ Remus says what you think.

“I leave, I get disowned, I lose the family fortune.” There are unspoken words there; everyone knows. He loses the Black name, he loses the reputation, and he loses everything he ever knew. Sirius had always wanted to leave; he had dreamed about it long before the possibility ever even crossed Regulus’ mind. The older Black had an idea of what would happen long before he left. Regulus hasn't gotten that right. 

“We can figure it out when we get there, love.” Remus rests his quill in the small ink pot, reaching both his hands to cup Regulus’ hands between his own. 

All three of you stay silent for a second, Regulus looking down at Remus’ hand covering his own, you staring at Regulus, and Remus looking between the two of you, trying to figure out what to do. 

"If..." you sigh, shifting in your seat, “if... you go... I’ll go, and we can figure it out together.” 

Gray eyes shoot up to yours. “Are you serious?” His voice is unsure, like you're going to take your offer back for no apparent reason. 

“Yeah. I’m scared too, but I don't think I can bring myself to go back, not this time. But at the same time, I won’t be okay with going if you don’t go.”

Remus takes a deep breath, one hand still holding the younger boy's hand, other moving so his arm wraps around your shoulder, gently rubbing your upper arm. “So, it's settled. I can tell James.” 

“Thank you,” You whisper, and Regulus takes one of his hands from the lycan to intertwine your fingers. 

ᯓ★

The letter felt wrong to write. Less than a week before you're off to Potter Manor is when you get a response.

You're sitting at the Slytherin table in the morning when the letter holding their response arrives. Your owl landing smoothly, unlike the poor Hufflepuff owl you see sly head first into a game of Wizard Chess.

The seal of the letter belongs to your family, and it's painfully obvious. Regulus had gotten his response within a few days. Hurtful and harsh, despite never reading it yourself.

Looking around, Regulus is watching Barty, who is sitting on the long table rather than at it, cast small, mostly-hopefully harmless jinxs on a few older Gryffindors who haven't seemed to notice who's doing it. While Evan is whispering more and more jinxs for Barty to use.

Deciding that you might as well get it over with, you break the wax seal. The letter was nothing but vile, as you expected, the threats, the anger, the disappointment. Yet, you are honestly relieved. Like a huge, bolder is off your back. Sisyphus would envy you.

"And what do you have? A secret admirer? Are you planning on finally leaving the wild beasts you call boyfriends?"

Barty turns his attention to you as you finish reading, snatching the letter to inspect it.

"Ew, is that from your parents?" Evans nose scrunches up, noticing the names signed at the bottom of the parchment when he leans over Bartys shoulder.

"Yeah, I wrote them last week that I'd be staying with the Potters this summer, and they finally got back to me." Your voice remains surprisingly even, despite feeling somewhere between calm and like you're going to vomit, cry, and punch a wall.

Evan and Barty continue to scrutinize the letter, the phrasing, and how your mother writes the letter S weird. While Regulus leans closer to you.

"Everything okay?" His quite, a stark contrast two the boys sitting acorsd from you as Barty pushes his boyfriend off the seat for something or another and Evan kicks a little too close to Bartys dick.

"Yeah, it'll be okay." You hum, scooting closer to the pale boy, "would you and Remus want to come stay at my dorm tonight? At least for a little? Serenella and Iris are both going to be out all night."

"Of course, love. I'll grab Remus after charms and we can meet you there before dinner?" A soft kiss is placed on the top of your head when he finishes his sentence.

"That sounds good."

The peace of the situation is cut off by Barty falling off the table towards you, taking you down to the floor with him.

"God damnit Barty!" A smile far to big for the situation paints your face face.

"Evan threw me, gem! He tried to kill me! I'm wounded." Barty sits half on hus knees, half laid out on the gross Hogwarts in such a pathetic manor Regulus chuckles under his breath.

"And I'll do it again idiot!" Evan sits back on his spot at the long table. Huffing while smoothing out his hair and uniform.

"Oh God, gem, I won't make it." Barty throws himself onto you, your back to the ground as you laugh. "If I die will you leave your loser boyfriends to join me and Evan?"

"Okay, junior, that's enough." Remus appears in your vision, slightly nudging Bartys side, like touching him too long will make whatever is sodding wrong with the boy rub off on him.

"Hello, big boy." Barty stands up and takes you with him, dusting off his and your clothes. "You know, both of you could leave Regulus and-"

"Okay Barty!" Regulus pushes Barty to sit back down, shutting him up as he begins to bicker with Regulus next.

[h0rnyauth0r]

ghost never noticed just how much you squirm when he talks until now :)

i apologize for my break but i needed it and i should be back for now! (also this was a requested work!)

word count: 3.3k

tws: blindfolding, voice kink, unprotected sex, reader with a vagina, pussy eating, fingering, rough sex, cumming inside

ghost would like to say that he’s an observant person. he kind of has to be with his career, but when it comes to you he feels like it’s impossible to understand anything. you seem so shy around him and he doesn’t know if it’s because he did something wrong or if you’re just shy.

he’s interested in you, to say the least. you’ve been a member in the force for several months now, only speaking to him on occasions where it’s absolutely necessary. it’s certainly different from soap, who doesn’t shut the hell up.

something is definitely off though. it’s the way that you react to him sometimes. most of the time there’s only professionalism, a firm stature that screams confidence and seriousness, but other times…

he just notices the way your body shudders when he’s speaking to you. is it fear? some sort of arousal? he can’t be certain at this point in time, but he has added this observation onto his list of things he wants to learn about you.

tonight you’ll be doing training with soap, and he’s decided that he’d like to join even if it means he’s just standing there doing nothing. he wants to test your reactions to try to understand you better.

you, on the other hand, have no idea about that. you’ve been more focused on trying to get your punches down after dislocating your thumb during a mission a few weeks ago. you almost died because you didn’t punch right, so soap offered to help teach you how to throw them without injuring yourself too bad.

as you’re on your way to the training room, you can overhear soap talking with someone. it intrigues you, how whispered and rushed his words are. so you decide to stop walking to avoid confusing him as you listen in.

“are you sure about joining us? you know, she’s quite shy around you. she might not be able to learn a lot if the man who makes her stutter is around!” his voice sounds frustrated, and you feel your whole body become flushed once you process his words.

so, ghost wants to join in on the training session? that doesn’t make sense, and the worst part of it is that soap somehow noticed that you have a crush on the older man. you avoided him so much, but you figure that’s probably what made it more obvious.

you suck it up and push forward, walking down the hallway and approaching the room. most of the usual training dummies have been put away, mats placed on the floor with only one of the larger dummies placed to the left of the mats.

soap is standing in there by the dummy, ghost standing a few feet away from him with his arms crossed. you won’t back down and shy away today, you’ve decided. you’re truly hoping he doesn’t say a single word though.

soap notices you as soon as you shut the doors, waving you over with a grin on his face. “i decided that you can use the dummy and we can practice using myself as well, i just want to test out the dummy first so we can get your formation down.”

you nod, looking over to ghost to see him staring at you already. “hi, lieutenant.” you say to him, turning back to soap and getting prepared for the training session.

“hello.”

after a little while, you’ve gotten the basics down better than before. your issue was mainly not throwing punches properly, which led to your thumb being in the line of your shots too. soap helps you adjust accordingly, finally landing punches that only affect your knuckles rather than your thumbs.

soap announces that he has to use the restroom and excuses himself, leaving you alone with ghost. you decide to not say anything, opting to focus on punching the dummy in front of you rather than focus on him.

“you’re doing good.” his voice comes from right next to you, startling you and causing you to jump slightly as you look over at him. 

“thank you.” you say, looking down at your now seemingly bruised knuckles and rubbing them gently with your other hand. they hurt pretty bad, but you know that soap will probably ask you to keep going for a little while longer so you’re more prepared.

you notice his shadow loom over you as he gets closer, a hand reaching out and grasping onto your bruised one. “you know, this will get a lot less intense over time. the more you train, the less it’ll hurt.” his voice is right in your ear, causing your eyes to shut as you try your best to not make anything obvious.

everything about his voice just gets you going. from his accent, to how it sounds when he’s calm versus yelling. no matter what he does, his voice makes you melt and turns your panties into a sopping mess within just seconds.

his hand drops yours, causing you to open your eyes as you look at him. he’s looking at you intensely, eyes filled with emotion you can’t read. your whole face feels hot, though, and you’re almost ashamed to even look at him.

he knows what he does to you, and he’s going to be doing it on purpose now.

you opt to ignore him, waiting impatiently until soap finally comes back into the room with a fresh bottle of water and a sheepish smile on his face. he senses the tension in the room, but doesn’t mention it at all since he knows it’d be awkward.

the three of you remain in the room for some time longer, before eventually an hour has passed and it’s time to leave and focus on other things. there’s an upcoming mission you’ll be going on, so you decide to spend some time with gaz to figure out the details.

your walk in the dark is mildly terrifying. the light heading towards the building where gaz stays is limited, several areas of shadows that cause your vision to be impaired. you don't feel right, an anxiety developing that normally isn't present.

several vehicles leave gaps in between certain spots, a feeling of someone following you causing you to stop in your tracks and take a look around. 

nothing.

you sigh in relief. it must be some sort of paranoia from how tired you are after training. you did break quite a sweat, which was made worse with ghost’s gleaming eyes on you for the majority of the time you had been in the room.

you decide to continue forward-

but something stops you, from the shadows. a small reflection of someone’s eyes, a large figure looming in between two large trucks. your heart begins to pound harshly, quickly trying to make a break towards the building so you can find some sort of defense against the figure.

but you’re stopped, large hand grabbing and pulling you back into the shadows. you let out a scream, adrenaline pumping as you kick and punch as hard as you can muster. a low grunt is all you hear, an ease in the way the figure carries you away.

something is put over your eyes, a blindfold perhaps? you’re shaking now, being led to who knows where in the darkness and you can’t even be sure if anyone will ever find you. you’re certain that death looms closely now, deciding to just give up because no amount of force is stopping this human wall from taking you.

you want to cry but stay strong, keeping a cold and stoic appearance (you think at least) as you’re finally let go of in what you think is a small building nearby. wouldn’t this person have locked you in a car or something? why here? you’re confused now, not understanding what’s going on.

“you don’t need to kick so hard.”

you feel embarrassed as the voice speaks. of course it’s him. but why you’re blindfolded, you still don’t understand. ghost is probably trying to prepare you for something, maybe a training on how to escape a kidnapper.

he keeps your arms pressed tightly against your back, though. not a single ounce of movement on his end, just the heat of his body near yours in the dark.

“where are we?” you ask, trying to move your arm with no luck present in him leaving you be. 

“nowhere that matters right now.”

you feel kind of nervous. this man has saved you many times before working together. you can’t help but feel in your gut that he may somehow be plotting your murder or disappearance with the way he’s acting.

not having any sights of what’s going on has led to the smallest of noises feeling so much louder, so you’re flustered when you can hear and feel his breath right at your ears.

“an annoying bird has told me that you’re interested in me. and my observations seem to have proven him right.” he whispers lowly, hotness of his breath brushing against your skin slightly.

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t turned on now. his voice makes you unbelievably wet, and you don’t understand how you’re not dreaming right now.

the heat that has developed between your thighs is almost burning, a desire bubbling up in your abdomen that has you almost shaking. “hmm, see? you’re not too great at hiding that, love.”

you clench your jaw, sucking in a deep breath. you have goosebumps along your whole body, the cool air around you making the feelings of his warmth so much more intense.

“now, i’m going to let your arms go. but if you even move a muscle i will leave you here alone and we won’t speak again. got it?” you nod hastily at his words, feeling his arms finally release the tight grip on you that makes your shoulders and arms crack lightly.

he shuffles around the room, and you can hear as he leans down and abruptly has your pants tugged down slightly. the cool air hits your panties, making you shiver. one of his hands grasps onto your thighs tightly, squeezing and slowly working its way up.

you realize he’s down on his knees in front of you when he easily slides your panties down too, now at your ankles with your pants. you’re absolutely dripping, feeling wetness leak down your thighs to where his hands are.

that’s when he lets out a soft, amused laugh. “so wet already and i haven’t even touched you? you’re desperate.” he says, a single finger pushing between your folds and gathering up wetness.

you can hear the way his fingers move, entering his mouth with a soft squelch. the way your face heats up when you realize he’s unmasked sends you reeling for more, wanting him to do anything to you now.

“you’re in luck, as i’m desperate as well.” he whispers, making you bite down on your bottom lip tightly. the heat of his words is close to your pussy now, a light blow of his breath against your clit.

you’re trying hard not to move, staying so completely still despite the shake in your bones. “please…” you whisper, wanting him to touch you or just something.

when his tongue laps right up your folds, you inhale sharply, eyes clenched shut despite the blindfold on your body. a small and quiet moan breaks through your lips when he pushes a finger in, curling it into you as he blows air onto your clit.

“please what? you want me to make you cum?” he asks, and you nod desperately as his finger stays still.

he smacks your clit with his other hand, making you cry out and tears sting at the corners of your eyes. you feel disgusting for finding that so pleasurable. “use. your. words.” his voice is quiet, and you inhale sharply.

“yes. please make me cum.” you mumble out quickly, words rushed and almost slurred. he hums in approval at that, finger moving in and out again and sending your mind straight to the gutter.

light squelching sounds turn louder once he adds two more fingers, stretching you out as his lips latch onto your clit. you’re almost in disbelief from how good it feels, eyes rolling back and legs shaking. you almost feel like you could fall over, but one of his hands remains on your hip to reassure you that you won’t.

your orgasm builds steadily, arms remaining tucked at your sides out of fear that his words were true. you can’t just let this end now, now when he’s eating you out like his life depends on it. he’s so skilled at what he’s doing that you can barely contain your composure.

you know you’re going to cum soon after he starts getting rougher, wetness becoming more and more until it’s almost so loud you can’t hear anything else. when his mouth leaves you and he starts talking again, that’s what sends you over the edge.

“such a pretty pussy. you’re so good for me, you know that?” he says quietly, thumb swiping at your clit and making your spine tingle.

“i can feel how close you are. go on. cum for me.” the raspiness in his tone has you moaning out, orgasm crashing through you as your walls clench around his fingers. you can’t think straight, mind becoming absolutely fried as he continues finger fucking you through your high.

your hips are shaking as his fingers slide out, a small dripping noise of your arousal hitting the floor below you. you hear him stand up, arms gripping your waist as he pushes your body into his.

his nose brushes up against your own, and you force the gap closed with urgency. you can’t keep away from him anymore, not now. his lips move against yours roughly, tongue forcing itself into your mouth.

you push your hips against his, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans and, more importantly, the feeling of his hard cock against you. you can even feel how big he is, and you know it’ll make you sore later. just the thought of that has you soaked again, lips leaving his for a moment for air as your heart rate picks up.

“i’m not done yet.” he whispers in your ear, pushing his lips onto yours again.

and just when you thought he couldn’t get any hotter.

as you kiss, he leads you to the wall. it’s cold, pressing into your ass hard as he leans further into you. his hips grind into your naked bottom half, the mild overstimulation making you mewl against his lips.

you’re basically heaving, barely able to breathe when his lips leave yours. “you ready?” he asks, and you mumble out ‘yes’ as he fumbles with his belt and eventually tugs his pants and boxers down.

you can’t see his cock, but you imagine it’d be nice and pretty. you can hear him stroke it a few times before it’s pressed against your folds, sliding up and down and making you bite your lip in anticipation. the tip feels big against you, just the right amount of stimulation to make you want him to fuck your brains out.

the tip presses into you, making your hips twitch from shock as your nails dig into your palms. as he slides in, your mouth falls open and you moan shakily. “fuck, you’re tighter than i thought you’d be. such a nice cunt.” he says, hips bumping into yours as he bottoms out.

tears stream down your face from the feeling of fullness, so overwhelming but you already can’t get enough of him. the tip just barely grazes your cervix, and when he slowly begins thrusting it slaps against it over and over again. it’s painful, but you love that.

he decides to lift you up by the back of your thighs, legs wrapping around him and the new angle feeling more pleasurable as he fucks you into the wall harshly. his hands are squeezing your ass, lips finding their way to your neck as he bites down on your skin roughly. 

he moves at a steady pace, cock hitting all the right places that send you closer and closer to your peak. his movements are hard, dick ramming into you in a manner that makes you finally move your hands and grip onto his hair.

“fuck.” he mutters, hips picking up speed as he kisses you again. small noises leave his mouth, muffled by your lips but still so hot to hear coming from him. he sounds so good to you, his grunts and groans causing your pussy to clench against him. 

he fucks into you harder and harder, the stimulation of his groin smacking into your clit making you feel as if you’re melting. the way your eyes have rolled back again, clit throbbing from the stimulation, you know you’ll probably cum soon.

“touch yourself for me.” he says, a small break between your kisses. you comply instantaneously, fingers reaching down and circling your clit and smacking harder against yourself from his thrusts hitting your hands.

his lips separate from yours, leaning towards your ear and biting down on your earlobe. the stimulation of that causes your fingers to start moving faster.

the feeling of your fingers is what sends you reeling, a loud moan escaping as you finally cum for a second time. “fuck, just like that. cum like the desperate slut you are.” he mumbles in your ear, making you cry out again.

his hips don’t falter for even a second as you hear him inhale sharply, small grunts leaning his mouth as his hands slap into the wall behind you. “gonna cum in you. i think you can take it.” he mutters, words making you feel like you could explode right now.

“please.” your voice cracks.

he finally cums afterwards, ropes of it warming your insides as his hips stutter into you. he rides out his high with a few more thrusts, gentle noises finally being let out again as he slowly comes to a stop.

he pulls out after a few moments, cum leaking out of you and streaming down your thighs. you stand still for a moment, not sure of what to do now.

"you can take the blindfold off now." he says, and you decide to do so.

you still can't see great once it's off, the room very dark with minimal lighting coming from the occasional light outside shining into the windows. but you glance over to ghost anyways, noticing that he still kept his mask off in front of you. while you can't see too well, you smile anyways in adoration.

"as handsome as soap always claims." you say to him, hearing him sigh out as he shakes his head. his hand smacks your ass and he pulls his pants back up, a grin forming on your face as you gather your clothes back onto yourself as well. your thighs and cunt are sore, but you feel almost floaty despite the pain.

"of course you'd think that." he mutters, noticing the way you're off balance as you pull your pants up and over your thighs. one of his arms reaches out for you to help balance you and you thank him quietly before standing upright and looking him up and down.

"so, an annoying bird?" you ask.

"quite annoying. certainly not wrong though."

as you go your separate ways that night, you can't contain your excitement. gaz can immediately tell what took you so long when he sees your messed up hair and crooked smile, but he doesn't bother to say anything. you've talked about ghost for months, he's just glad you finally got it over with.

-

taglist: @kovieky

(my taglist is open! send ask/dm if interested!)

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[drysdalesworld]

“who is this? what’s his name? you know what, mark!”

luca fantilli x fem!reader

blurb based on the tiktok voicemail prank trend

“What do you want for dinner, babe? I was thinking fettuccine, but we don’t have any chicken so it’d just be the sauce and the noddles,” Luca asked, focus completely on the cook book in front of him.

The cook book was completely new and something that Luca hadn’t really touched before. His Mother decided to get him one once he had decided to move into the Sophomore house knowing that his cooking skills were very limited. The two of you had frequent dinner dates and his Mother thought it was a good idea to get him the book as she knew that you were the most experienced in the kitchen and didn’t want you cooking for the both of you all the time.

“That sounds good,” you replied, shooting him a gentle smile before redirecting your attention to the screen in front of you.

The smile on his face caused you get butterflies in your stomach, both from the jitteriness you experienced in your relationship and from the potential of ruining his happy mood.

Beats of silence passed by for a few moments as Luca moved from cabinet to cabinet to gather all the needed ingredients for the recipe. The domesticity of the entire situation made you not want to perform the prank and play the audio. But, you already made your mind up and genuinely wanted to see how he’d react to something like this.

You heavily sighed as you groaned out in fake frustration, dropping your phone onto the kitchen counter, the privacy screen blocking your boyfriend view of what truly was displayed on the screen.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Luca asked, shifting his body from the barely boiling water on the stove towards your figure, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and confusion.

You simply shook your head and gathered your phone back into your hands, resting your chin on your palm as you began the beginning stage of the prank.

“You know that psychology project I had a few weeks ago?” You asked, eyes focused on the screen in front of you.

Your boyfriend only simply hummed and nodded to himself as he crossed his arms and leaned on the side of the fridge next to him.

“Well, he won’t leave me alone. Like, he calls me all the time and leaves me a hundred voicemails. I haven’t listened to any of them though,” you continue, eyes darting up to gauge Luca’s reaction.

If he felt any anger or uncomfortableness, you couldn’t tell as he simply urged you to continue from where he stood, “Play the last one he left you”.

You bit your lip in anticipation as you hit record and play on the audio.

It looked like Luca couldn’t believe what he was hearing as the audio continued. His whole face contorted into something that you couldn’t quite exactly place, eyes narrowing and lips pursing as he listened.

As the audio was nearing its end, Luca interrupted, cheeks slightly pink, “Who is this dude? What’s his name? Wait, let me get Mark. Mark!”

The minute Marks name left your boyfriends lips, you let out a laugh as you tried so desperately to not give up the act just yet.

“What? What’s up?” Mark called out, stumbling down the stairs as he entered the kitchen. He looked completely disheveled, probably woke up from his nap when Luca began calling his name.

“You and I are going to knock some sense into this dude bothering (Y/N),” Luca replied, turning off the stove before quickly grabbing his phone and keys.

Mark quickly looked between you and Luca as he tried to gather what the hell was going on, sleep still evident in his eyes.

“Luca, no. You don’t even know where he lives!” You countered, turning off your phone as you tried to convince your boyfriend of finding this fake dude. “It’s a joke! It’s a trend on TikTok. It’s all fake I swear!”.

The look Luca gave you was one of a wounded puppy, completely surprised at what you just did.

“A prank?” He asked, phone and keys still tightly clasped in his hands, “Babe, you scared the shit out of me. I thought I had to go hunt this guy down and kick his ass for speaking to you like that”.

He sounded relieved, head shaking as he visibly relaxed at the information you told him.

“You woke me up to beat some imaginary dude?” Mark groggily asked, body in the same position he was in as he first rushed into the kitchen, “I was in the middle of a nap, man!”.

You could only laugh as Luca and Mark began bickering at how Mark shouldn’t be the first one Luca thinks of for beating someone up while Luca disagreed.

You could only shake your head as you stood up from your place at the counter, quickly saving the video before turning the stove back on and getting started on the dinner Luca completely forgot about.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 14

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Welcome back! Get ready for some more detective work, a pinch of Jo drama, another fire, and the reader finally meets John Winchester...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fire hazards, threats, and hurt/comfort.

Part 14: “Message in a Bottle”

A week before Christmas, John Winchester left his house for work before the sun had even risen in the sky. It was still dim when he stepped out onto his porch, which is why he didn’t see it at first.

He heard the clink when his boot kicked at something metallic.

He glanced down and found a small badge lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, and on further inspection, it was a fire department’s badge. A replica, probably, because it had Dean’s number on it: 20579.

The badge was also splattered with blood.

Later at his office, John handed it over to his partner for his inspection.

“It’s actually paint,” John said. “Forensics looked it over. No prints, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said. His tone was mild, but his face was as grave as John’s as he considered the crimson-stained badge. They stood together in the bullpen of the 84th Precinct.

“And I got this little present a few days ago,” John admitted quietly. He grabbed a folder off his desk and showed Cas its contents: a picture of Sam leaving the courthouse while talking on his cell, climbing into his car. Someone was watching his sons.

“I already have a police detail on him,” John said, heaving a sigh. “I requested approval for Dean’s this morning.”

Cas’s frown was deepening, along with his furrowed brows. “We may need to ask for backup on this.” 

John shook his head. “Rufus won’t give it to us.”

Their esteemed Lieutenant thought John was on a vendetta with a ghost, stirring up a conflict of his own making. He only approved a temporary police detail for Sam, with the condition that John stopped what he was doing, let the Fire Department handle the serial arsonist, and let this blow over.   

But Rufus should’ve known better than that by now. This was personal, and John wouldn’t tolerate these yellow-bellied threats to his family.

“Azazel’s applying pressure, hitting your weak spots,” Cas said, perhaps pointing out the obvious.

“So let’s hit him back, goddamn it,” John growled. He threw down the folder back onto his desk.

“How?” Cas asked. “We still don’t know who Azazel is.”

The other man thought hard, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and feeling the overgrown stubble. He didn’t remember the last time he’d shaved.

“How’s your progress on questioning Savage & Co.?” he asked.

“Stalled. Nick Savage has lawyered up,” said Cas.

His face slackened from frustration to realization. He didn’t seem happy about his next idea, but it looked like he had one.

“Though now that I think of it, we may be able to apply some pressure of our own,” he said.

John raised a brow and crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“Dean’s girlfriend works there, if you remember,” Cas said. “Something happened this past weekend at her company Christmas party.”

John nodded, despite his frown. He was set to meet you in a week, but it looked like they might need to question you before then. What a pleasant first meeting that was going to be.

But if you had anything on Savage, on the company, or even better, if you were willing to wear a wire, that could be the break they needed to get some headway on this case. They could squeeze Savage for any information he might have on Azazel—like his real identity.

“Tell me,” John said.

You returned to work on Monday with steel in your veins (and a taser in your purse).

You had about an hour of peace in your office, catching up on your emails and calls. Then there was a knock on your door before it pushed open without your consent.

Damn it, should’ve locked it. Your lips pursed when Nick Savage came in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said firmly. Already you were opening a drawer in your desk, reaching into your purse.

“It’s my goddamn office,” Nick replied lazily. But he crossed his arms and stopped just behind the spare chair that sat in front of your desk. It gave you a good few feet of distance.

You stared back at the man with hidden satisfaction through your disdain. It seemed Dean’s threats got to him.

“Just thought I’d let you know that Josh’s been promoted to Senior Sales Manager,” Nick said. He checked his watch absently.

Your teeth clicked in irritation, but you let it pass. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you no longer gave a fuck about this company anyway. What you told Dean before was the truth: you were now here just to collect a paycheck, until you could find a new job.

“Good. He’s been working hard, kissing your ass,” you said with a fake smile. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Nick made the mistake of taking a half-step forward. Your hand subtly clenched on the weapon in your purse, but you tried your best to seem relaxed. In control of yourself. This was your office that you’d occupied for three years.

This was your space, and this man didn’t control you.

“Take one step forward, and I will quit today,” you threatened. And then you bluffed.

“I’ll call Mr. Greenway,” you said. “In fact, he offered me a job last month. Then I’ll make a few more calls, and I’ll take all of my accounts with me. I’ll kill your fucking sales team and leave Josh to continue sucking your lackluster tequila dick.”

Nick stared back at you with thinly veiled shock. You’d always been “no nonsense,” but you’d never spoken to him like that before. He smirked.

This was why he liked you. And hated you.

“All right,” Nick said. He didn’t come any closer, but he did rest his hands on the back of the chair. “How about I buy out your friend Greenway. His whole damn company. And then I’ll blacklist you with every other company that calls for a reference. Even the ones that don’t call.”

Your eyes widened incredulously. He had the gall to wink at you, boiling your blood.

“I’ll fucking sue you,” you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice.

Nick rolled his eyes. “This again? Please.”

You couldn’t help it. Your temper snapped, and you pushed away from your desk to stand up. You gripped the edge of it to steady yourself. You quirked a humorless smile.

“As it happens, I know a damn good lawyer,” you countered. “He puts murderers in jail every day. I doubt he’d struggle too much with a corporate asshole. And I’ll remind you, Dean’s father is a police officer. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to lock you up after I report you for what you did. And I will.”

Nick scoffed at that, his eyes narrowing.

“If you take it there, I’ll have every resource at my disposal to make your life a living hell. I’ll drag this out for years. Until you’ve got nothing but your boyfriend’s charity to keep you from living in a fucking box.”

You were seething, trying to stay in control. He knew it too, and he smirked at you. He pushed away from the chair and started to leave.

But then, he tossed you a smug look over his shoulder.

“Just remember,” he said. “You could’ve just spread those legs for me.”

It took everything you had within you not to hurl a stainless steel stapler at the back of his retreating head.

“A double please, Ellen. Dry, lots of olives,” you requested.

After a ridiculously long day at work, you were now trying to let go of your frustrations at the Roadhouse, while you still had the money to drink. You rubbed through the ache in your temples.

“Long day, hun?” Ellen asked you. Her eyes were sympathetic as she made you the martini you ordered. You gave her an attempt at a smile.

“Long life,” you muttered.

“Hmm. Asshole boss?” she surmised.

You met her gaze with a note of suspicion. “Did Dean tell you…”

You knew he’d told his brother about what happened at the Christmas party. And you had a feeling he’d told Cas as well, to try and see what you could do from a law enforcement standpoint. The first step was filing a report. Now you knew, however, that you couldn’t. Not if you wanted your life to remain in one piece.

“Nothing, hun,” Ellen shook her head. “You’ve just got that look. I reckon every woman in the world has worn that face. Usually because of a man.”

You sighed and chuckled at the same time. It loosened some of the tightness in your shoulders.

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

You were soon distracted though, giving your boyfriend a smile to try and cover up how exhausted you were, in every sense of the word. He greeted you with a warm hand along your lower back. He dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“Waiting long?” he asked.

“No, just a few minutes,” you shook your head. You laid a hand on his thigh when he took a seat next to you at the bar. “How was your shift?”

This week he was on three 12-hour shifts instead of his usual 24-hour shifts, which meant you got more of him in the evening. 

“Fine. Just a couple of accidents to clear off the road, nothing major,” he replied. He ordered a beer from Ellen and gave Jo a smile. He was surprised to see mother and daughter working civilly together under one roof, after the scene he saw last week.

“How’s the studying going?” he asked Jo, once Ellen was out of earshot to serve further down the line. He turned to you and filled you in. “Jo’s gearin’ up to hit the Police Academy.”

“Oh wow, that’s great!” you remarked.

Jo glanced over at her mom, but then she smiled, looking back at you and Dean. She focused on him.

“The test is in a few weeks,” she said. “I think I’m ready, but I don’t know…”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, with easy conviction. “You’re stubborn enough to know it’s what you want. So I got no doubts about you.”

Jo’s smile was warm, with a hint of shy and gratefulness. You smiled at Jo encouragingly, but inside, you had a familiar unease churning inside your gut.

Dean then turned to you with expectant brows. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, curling it behind your ear.

“And how was your day?” he asked. His tone was quieter, laced with double meaning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jo moving on to another waiting customer with a small sigh.

You met Dean’s gaze and you nodded. “It was fine.”

His brows rose a touch higher. “Very convincing. You took the taser with you, right?”

You sighed and had to smile a little. His concern warmed you, made you feel protected, even though you’d had to do that part yourself today. You soothed a hand over his chest, between the open panels of his plaid shirt.

“Yes, I did. I’m okay, baby. We’re at a standstill,” you said. And you reminded him, “I can handle myself, you know.”

Dean nodded, sighing through his nose. His hand rubbed up and down your back, whether to comfort you or himself, you didn’t know. Your fingers curled into his shirt, and you smiled up at him, just before you tugged him down for a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, until you became a bit more than sweet, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head as he accepted the warmth of your kiss.

You knew that you couldn’t tell Dean what happened this morning in your office. He’d likely go for the Halligan in his trunk and beat Nick Savage within an inch of his life.

While the idea appealed to you for several reasons, you didn’t want to be the reason Dean lost his badge, or ended up in jail.

So over a couple of drinks, you distracted him by having a healthy debate over what you two were going to have for dinner later: sushi or pizza.

You ultimately won with sushi. (Or maybe he let you win. Either way, you were getting salmon rolls tonight.)

Still, you had that uneasy feeling when you and Dean left the bar. You wondered how the hell it had taken you this long to notice the starry look of longing in Jo’s eyes.

You fell into step with Dean as you two headed for the sushi restaurant down the street. It was already dark out, but even on a Tuesday night, the streets and sidewalks of downtown were busy.

“Can I ask you something…potentially uncomfy?” you said.

Dean’s head turned to you, with a raised brow.

“Uncomfy?”

You let out a breath, and you could see it on the December chill in the air. Your hands were tucked into your pockets, and so were Dean’s in his.

“Did you and Jo ever have a thing?” you asked.

Dean blinked, but then his lips pressed together. “What makes you say that?”

You sent him a suspicious look. You’d known him long enough to know when he was hedging.

“Just please, answer the question,” you said.

He blew out a breath. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah, for a few weeks,” he admitted.

You sighed. That sure explained a hell of a lot. And really, with his track record, you couldn’t be surprised.

“You dated her, or you hooked up with her?” you clarified. Dean shot you a look.

“Dated,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

He’d told you that he’d been in one relationship before, briefly…

“About a few months before I met you,” he said at last. But he saw the incredulous, almost upset look on your face. “Obviously it didn’t work out.” 

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?” you asked. Your hands slipped out of your pockets to gesture at him. “How did it end?”

The man sighed, looking up at the sky.

“Come on, Dean,” you prodded.

“All right,” he placated with a hand. “It didn’t end great, put it that way.”

You couldn’t help a frustrated huff. You crossed your arms and kept walking beside him down the street, albeit in silence.

Dean glanced at you in slight exasperation. He was with you now. Why did it matter to you so much?

“She still has feelings for you,” you said, though you still weren’t looking at him.

“How do you figure?” he asked. But if he was honest, even he knew the truth.

“Because I could see her eyeing you like a honey glazed ham,” you snipped. At that, he let out an incredulous chuckle. 

“Are you jealous?” he teased.

You stopped walking and looked up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean stopped as well. He sobered, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. You’d been through a lot recently, and he knew then that you didn’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else. He drew closer and gently grasped your arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Though he thought to himself, I’ll talk to Jo if I have to.

Your lips pursed in frustration, but he soothed his hands up and down your arms. His touch plied you, along with his smile.

“Hey,” Dean said, dipping his chin so he could catch your eyes. “You should know how I feel about you by now.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Mhmm,” you replied.

He wasn’t satisfied.

“Okay, listen,” he said, squeezing your arms and earning your eyes on him. It took him a moment, letting out a breath, but he was honest.

“I love you," he reminded. "And if that damn elevator hadn’t broke down on you, I’d still be missing something in my life.”

…Damn it, you thought, even as a blushing smile grew across your face. Dean Winchester was too smooth for his own good.

But you also saw the sincerity in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be warmed by his words, down to your toes.

“There she is. All right,” he said with a grin. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered you into his arms. “My soft girl again.” 

Your smile deepened, but you still pinched his side, making him flinch and laugh. You held him back and looked up at his handsome face. He still looked amused and his eyes were warm. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that lingered on wind-chilled lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back, against his lips.

His smile against yours was your answer.

Two hours and two salmon rolls later, Dean drove you home. You had taken an Uber to the Roadhouse, which reminded him that he needed to make another trip to Singer Salvage.

He’d been scoping out potential cars to fix up for you. He’d even recruited Bobby’s help to find something good, something with strong bones. Dean could do the rest.

Even after he watched you get inside your house safely, he let out a subtle breath before he peeled away. He wished you were coming home with him tonight. More often, he was feeling your absence when you weren’t in his bed. But it also reassured him, that he knew you were safe with him and Sam at their apartment.

He later found his brother eating leftover chicken parmesan at the kitchen counter.

“Why’re you eating standing up?” Dean asked, tossing his keys onto the counter. He reached into the fridge for a beer. “You look like Big Bird if he wore a suit.”

Sam sent him a dry look. “I don’t know. Force of habit.”

He barely had time in his day for an uninterrupted coffee, let alone a meal. When Dean wasn’t here, Sam fell back onto his work habits. He took his plate and actually went to the table.

“You eat already?” he asked. Dean nodded and said he’d eaten with you.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed and sank down heavily onto the chair opposite his brother. He rubbed at his forehead.

“She’s okay, considering,” he replied. But he knew you hadn’t told him the whole story about how your day went at work. Whether you were trying to spare him, or protect him, or yourself, it still drove him up the wall. Knowing Nick Savage was still your boss, and he was there, an ever-present threat just a few floors above you in that building…

It made Dean’s skin crawl. It had his teeth grinding and coiled his spine tight with repressed rage. And worry.

He met his brother’s eyes. Sam had been watching him, hiding his wariness.

“What can we do about him?” Dean asked. He knew he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about.

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“I mean it, Sam. Because I almost…” His hand and forearm clenched and unclenched on the table. He could almost feel the way his arm had pressed into Nick’s throat, slowly but surely crushing his trachea. Just a couple of minutes more, and Dean could’ve done it. In that moment, he saw it so clearly.

It was the first time he’d ever wanted to take a man’s life.

“I know,” Sam said. His brows furrowed in sympathy. “But you did the right thing.”

Dean’s lips pursed as his hand once again fisted on the table.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he said. “If I had been just a few minutes off…”

These were the what ifs that kept plaguing his mind, ever since the party. Sometimes, it added to the catalogue of waking nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep.

“And now she’s gotta go back there, every day, where that animal is just waiting for an opportunity,” Dean gritted out. Then his fist dropped more heavily onto the table, rattling Sam’s silverware.

Sam held the table steady and looked at his brother, calm but firm.

“You can’t touch Savage,” he said. “Don’t even go near him. Whatever you do, he’ll use it against you, and potentially against her. Unfortunately, she’s got the best plan right now.”

Dean looked up at him with angry eyes.

“Wait him out,” Sam said, “until he makes a mistake he can’t easily cover up. In the meantime, she’ll find a new job and get the hell out of there.”

Dean forced a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fist more calmly on the table.

“I don’t have to like it,” he said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “No, you don’t.”

The fire was wild. It was eating up the four-story apartment building in a full blaze. The Truck 79 team was geared up outside of it, with Chief Singer already calling out instructions along with Dean.

Benny and the Rescue Squad were already on the roof, rappelling down to get the ones trapped on the top floors out through the windows. Dean was on the ground. He had Gordon, Jack, and a few others behind him. Meg and Chuck were on standby, waiting for the firefighters to pull out any residents still trapped inside.

Dean had to wonder if he was walking into another arson, like the Richardson fire. Against his will, he thought of that day. He thought about everything his father had told him about that arson, about Azazel and his mom’s death. He thought about you, working for a man who was potentially tied to Azazel.

“Winchester,” Gordon tapped him on the arm. “You good?”

Dean glanced over at him, then nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s rock and roll.”

When Dean was at work, he couldn’t let the outside world into his mind. All he could let himself focus on was the scene ahead after he put his mask on.

Inside the first floor of the building was like entering a living furnace. It was hot as shit, and layers of smoke choked the room. The mask was the only reason Dean could see, let alone breathe.

He turned to Jack. “All right, take it room by room. Stay close. We don’t got a lot of time.”

Jack nodded his agreement, and Dean split his team. A few of the others took the first floor on his orders. Dean, Gordon, and Jack would take the old stairs to clear the second floor.

Fuck. This whole place is just wood and plaster, Dean thought, shaking his head. These old buildings were all the same. Easy to build, easy to knock down. And usually they weren’t up to code, often thanks to cheap property owners.

He got apartment 201 open with his Halligan. The shoebox studio was smokey as all hell, but it was clear of any tenants. Gordon moved on ahead quickly, but Dean’s brows furrowed as he listened to the unsteady creaking of the floorboards. He moved more carefully forward.

Until he felt the warmth under his boots, saw the orange glow underneath a thin patch of flooring.    

“Walker, wait!” Dean called, at the same time he held Jack back.

He reached out, just as the wood floor splintered and broke underneath Gordon. His eyes flashed wide just before he fell.

Dean dove for him. His Halligan clattered away, but he managed to grab onto the man’s sleeve before he disappeared. Gordon grabbed onto Dean’s arm and nearly pulled him down too. Luckily, he managed to grab onto the splintered edge with his other glove-covered hand. He gritted his teeth at the strain of the other man hanging off his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go.

Jack grabbed Dean’s belt to keep him from sliding further down. It let him grab onto Gordon with both hands. The men panted for breath; Dean had a better vantage point to see that the middle of the ground floor below was engulfed in flames. The glow of it flared in the corner of Gordon’s eyes. He could feel the heat making both of them sweat.

The wood flooring under Dean creaked ominously, but before anyone could move, it broke further. He almost lost his grip on Gordon as his torso hung over the edge. He managed to get a new stronghold under the other man’s arm, and Jack did his best to keep Dean from falling by pinning his legs down. Jack was strong, but he was still a smaller man than Dean.  

“Jack, call for backup!” Dean gritted out. Jack nodded behind him and radioed in for help.

Gordon stared up at Dean with wide, but resigned eyes. “The floor’s gonna cave before you can pull me up.”

Dean stared down at him, even as lines of sweat poured down his forehead from within his mask. They both knew that if that happened, Dean would be pulled along for the ride down, maybe even Jack too. Dean gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Just hold on. Backup’s comin’,” he said. All his strength was going into keeping a firm grip on the man’s arm and jacket. He called to Jack over his shoulder. “Can you get next to me and grab him?”

To his credit, Jack tried. But the jagged edges of the floor around Dean were unsteady, creaking and groaning under Jack’s added weight, a bit too much.

“Stop, stop!” Dean shouted, halting Jack’s movements.

Gordon licked his dry lips and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “This might be the part where you let go, Winchester.”

Dean took exactly a beat to process his shock. Then he glared down at the man.

“Shut the hell up, Walker. You don’t let go, you hear me?” he barked. “Jack, grab the back of my jacket and my belt.”

Jack followed the order, and a combination of him pulling Dean up and Dean straining every muscle he had to heft up Gordon slowly, painfully, brought them back up and over the ledge.

Jack had an easier time then of helping Dean pull Gordon the rest of the way out of the hole.

And the rest of their Truck crew came to help them onto their feet, before the fire consumed the rest of the second floor.

Once Dean was out of the building, he took off his mask and breathed in cooler air on his face. He made a beeline for the fire truck. In the back was a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water to dump over his overheated head and face while he caught his breath. Gordon and Jack were following suit, and the men stared and one another. All of their faces said the same thing.

We made it. We’re alive. That was almost fucked.

Gordon’s gaze met Dean’s, sobering further. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for words.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked eventually.

Dean nodded, rotating his right arm. He was going to feel that bitch tomorrow.

“Fine,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. Another hesitation, followed by an honest gaze. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s face broke into a smile, wry but also genuine. “Yeah, thank me by layin’ off the burgers.”

He swatted the other man’s stomach and went for three more waters. He handed two of them to Jack and Gordon. One was smiling, while the other just smirked and shook his head.

“You callin’ me hefty?” Gordon remarked. “I’m averaging 6% body fat, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. What’re you, the Rock? That’s why you almost sunk.”

He dropped his fist into the air and made an exploding sound. Jack was wide-eyed, but Gordon just chuckled. They started making their way to the front of the truck to start packing up their gear. The Truck and Rescue teams had done what they could, and all the residents that made it out of the building were being seen to by the paramedics.

“I’d rather be weighed down by muscle than all them Little Debbie’s you’ve been putting away at the station,” Gordon shot back. “Cheap cake is not your friend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s just uncalled for.”

“Dean,” Chief Singer called, beckoning him over with a hand. His free hand wore a glove as he held something steaming.

Dean nodded at his men and joined Bobby outside his department-issued SUV. Dean’s gaze focused on the bottle-shaped object in Bobby’s hand. There was a small digital box attached to the front, with wires wrapped around. The entire device was now blackened, but the smell of chemicals was unmistakable.

“Molotov cocktail?” Dean quipped, but his face was as grave as Bobby’s. The Chief nodded.

“Lafitte pulled this out of the fourth floor,” he said. “Looks like the same kind of incendiary device Arson found at the Richardson fire.” 

That night, you made dinner for Dean at your house. He was forced to explain what happened at the apartment building, and why he had his arm pinned to his side like a chicken wing. You made him sit down and relax, all while you tried to hide your worry and relief that he was mostly all right.

Later in the living room, you sat on your knees beside him on the couch and lifted the bag of ice from his shoulder. You peered at it in concern, gently rubbing your hand over the joint and surrounding muscle. Dean sighed through his nose as your gentle touch was both soothing and painful.

“Are you sure you should do another shift tomorrow?” you asked, replacing the ice. He shot you a glance.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Right,” you said dryly. “That’s why you can barely move this arm.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made his point by raising his right arm, slowly, but easily back down.

“I’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean, are you sure? You seem to be in a lot of pain,” you asked.

He tried to hold in his annoyance. “I think I’d know if I’m fine.”

“You forget, I know all too well what downplaying looks like,” you countered, giving him a chiding look. Dean didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t need you to mother him.

“This is my job, all right,” he said.

You gave him a steady look. Your hand moved up his shoulder to rest along the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair.

“I know that. But I’m allowed to worry,” you said. Your brows furrowed. “Please don’t get upset at me for that.”

Dean let out a breath. He relaxed against the couch and met your gaze. He knew he had no right to ask you not to worry about him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

To you, he still seemed a bit annoyed. You nodded and continued to gently sift your fingers through his hair. You had to wonder if his resentment was coming from a different place.

“Are you still mad at me for going back to work?” you tested.

Dean breathed out deeper this time, but he didn’t answer.

Bingo, you thought with a frown.

“Dean—”

“All I want is for you to be safe,” he said. His voice was harder as his face tightened up. His hand gestured in frustration. “This whole thing…that fucking douchebag…it’s killing me. Fucking killing me. And you know that.”

Your eyes softened, and you unconsciously bit your lip.

“Ditto,” you tried to joke. It landed flat, because your boyfriend was deadly serious.

He looked away from you with pursed lips and a frustrated shake of his head. You sidled closer to him and tried to soothe, with a hand on his chest.

“Look, I’m trying to find a new job, but it takes time,” you said.

“You could quit. You could quit right now,” Dean replied hotly.

You sighed; you couldn’t believe you had to remind him about this. “I can’t, Dean. I have bills to pay, just like you do. You think I like this situation any more than you? I’m the one who’s had to deal with this for months!” 

“I know that!” Dean snapped back. “Or should I say, now I do.”

He pulled away from your touch and pushed off the couch, onto his feet. You looked up with your mouth agape as he left the room. You got up and followed after him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked in shock. You watched him grab his keys and his wallet from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got a long shift tomorrow and I gotta sleep,” Dean said, rather gruffly.

You followed him all the way to the door, where you grabbed onto his wrist. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Dean, please,” you implored. “Don’t go like this.”

After a beat, he seemed to soften. Just enough to lean over and press a brief kiss to the side of your head.

“I gotta go.”

He left you in the doorway with tears swimming in your eyes, and he pretended not to notice them.

When Dean woke up the next morning, his shoulder still ached, and he still felt guilty. He rubbed the offending join and tried to slowly roll the stiffness out of his arm. Fuck.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes next. They blearily took in the digital numbers on his alarm clock: 5:00 a.m.

He slid out of bed and got ready for work. He definitely wanted to check in with Arson about the device that likely started that fire, and he knew his dad would need to be brought in on it. It would give Dean a reason to press John for an update on his investigation.

By 6:00, he was finishing his coffee, about ready to head over to the station. He could hear the pipes running, meaning Sam was in the shower.

Dean was startled only slightly by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His brows furrowed, but he fished it out and found your name crossing the screen, along with a smiling picture of you. He sighed.

Part of him hesitated. If you were calling just to try and convince him to call out of work, he was going to get worked up again. And he’d rather not have anything disturb his first cup of coffee of the day.

Still, he answered. “Hey.”

“Dean, did you come into the house last night?” you asked.

He didn’t like the wary, almost scared tone of your voice.

“No.” His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Look at the text I just sent you.”

He put you on speaker so he could check his messages. Sure enough, he found a picture from you. It was of a glass bottle-shaped object on your nightstand. There was a black box attached, but its digital screen was blank. Dean’s breath caught in his lungs as his eyes widened. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dean, what is this thing?” you asked. Your voice was shakier, more worried. “It looks like a bomb. And it smells awful, like chemicals.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said quickly. “Get out of the house…better yet, wait for me at your neighbor’s place. I’m coming over right now.”

And I’m calling Dad.

Dean tried his best to calm you while the police and the Arson Department swept your entire house for devices, fingerprints, and any other evidence on who broke in.

You had a hand over your mouth by the front door as you watched them turn over cushions, move tables and shelves, ruck through cabinets. Your entire life turned inside out.

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your back. You eventually had to look away and sigh. You pressed closer to his side, and he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly, and kissed the top of your head. Inside, he was furious. Mostly at himself.

If anything had happened to you last night, after he left…he would’ve never forgiven himself.

So it was a welcome distraction when John and Cas’s police car finally pulled into the driveway. Dean led you outside, away from the chaos happening in your house.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, with a nod at Cas. Both men nodded back.

“Son,” John greeted, His brown eyes turned to you next. He offered you a hand. “Good to finally meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You blinked up at him and curled a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a bit nervously.

“Oh, it’s…it’s great to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you said, sticking out your hand and shaking his.

A smile flickered across Dean’s lips. He realized then that this was the first time you were meeting his father. You were adorably nervous.

A reserved smile tugged at his father’s lips as well.

“John’s just fine.”

You smiled back, with a bit of a blush tinging your cheeks.

“Now, can you tell me what happened here?” John asked you, not unkindly.

Dean’s good humor faded away as he explained about the device left on your nightstand. He filled them in about the fire he’d responded to yesterday as well.

“What the hell is happening, Dad?” he demanded to know.

John let out a breath and nodded, swiping a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s another one of Azazel’s signatures,” he said, lowering his voice so only the four of them could hear. “It’s a message.”

“To who?” Dean asked.

“To me,” John said. “Warning me to back off the case…there’ve been other threats. I’ve finally got a police detail on Sam, and I just got approval for you. I’ll add her to the list.”

John glanced at you. Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to hold in your fear.

“Who the hell is Azazel?” You turned to Dean. “Is this…does this have something to do with your mom’s killer?”

John’s brows shot up at his son. “You told her?”

“You’re over here talking about him too,” Dean retorted. He gathered you closer and met his father with steely eyes, to mask how his gut was churning with worry.

“You need to get this guy,” Dean said, almost through gritted teeth. “Get him now.”

John agreed with a nod.

Once again, you covered a trembling hand over your mouth. Dean squeezed your side a bit to earn your attention.

“I want you to come stay with me,” he said. His tone was boding no argument, not that you would. You nodded and fairly melted against him. Your head rested against his chest.

“Dean, this is insane,” you whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean met your gaze, but he couldn’t quite believe you. He was the one who kept pushing his dad for answers, to let him in on this. This was his family’s bullshit, not yours. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into it too.

The spell between you two was broken by Cas, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“We do need to ask you some questions,” he said. “About Nick Savage.”

You frowned. You peeled yourself away from Dean enough to face the detectives.

“What does he have to do with this?” you asked.

“His company is linked to a money laundering scheme, which ultimately leads back to Azazel,” Cas explained. “But we’re having trouble getting through his wall of lawyers.”

You scoffed. “Not surprising.”

However, it did worry you that Nick was possibly doing business with a criminal. Not that that should surprise you either. 

“What do you want to know?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, would you be willing to file a police report,” Cas said, more gently, “regarding your assault at his home.”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you looked over at Dean. His face tightened, along with his hand on the curve of your waist.

“Why do you need me to do that?” you asked Cas.

“It’ll give us the leverage we need to dig deeper into his business,” John said. “Knock loose any shady dealings. We could get him to cough up what he knows about Azazel.”

You wanted to help, but at the same time, you were reluctant to mire yourself deeper in this. Dean saw your reservations, and he could guess why.

“Won’t that just paint a bigger target on her back?” he asked.

“We’re gonna protect her,” John promised. His eyes went from Dean, back to you. “But we need your help. This could be the break we need to get to Azazel. To find out who this bastard is.”

John could see your indecision. “All you need to do is fill out the report. Maybe get up in court to testify.”

You tightened up at that. “Testify?”

“If it gets that far,” John nodded.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “That man can make my life hell without a serial killer’s help.”

You looked to Dean for support.

In the beginning, he had all but begged you to do what his father and Cas were asking. But now, this was just too much. He pressed you more securely to his side.

“Dean?” his father prodded.

“You heard her,” Dean said. “It’s her choice.”

You sighed and held onto the back of his shirt gratefully. The detectives shared a look, with John’s brows furrowing. He regarded you with a gruff, slightly strained look.

“Listen, don’t you want Savage in a cold hard cell?” he asked. “You could put him there.”

“Dad, she said no. Lay off,” Dean’s tone sharpened. Unfortunately, he knew how stubborn the man could be.

“Dean, I’m trying to nail this guy, but I’m missing pieces,” John said. “Right now, I can’t do it without her.”

“Well, figure it out,” Dean snapped.

John frowned in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

“Look, I know where your priorities are, but mine is making sure she’s safe," said Dean. "If you can’t handle that, then we’ve got a problem!”

The strength of his retort took everyone by surprise, but no one more so than John. He hid it well behind a deepening frown.

He glanced between you and his son. You were looking up at Dean with unshed tears in your red-rimmed eyes, grateful, and holding on tight to his shirt. He still held you to him. His entire frame was tight and angry.

And John knew that he would react the same way, if he were Dean. He also knew then that he was pushing too hard.

So he sighed, and pulled out a card from his wallet. He handed it to you.

“I’m sure you’ve got Cas’s number already, but here’s mine,” said John. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m sorry for invading,” you told Sam that night. He was helping you and Dean bring in your suitcases. You were pretty much moving into their apartment, indefinitely.

“You’re not,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We’re happy to have you here.”

You gave him a tired, thankful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“We’ll get to have an in-house chef,” Dean chimed in, earning more amused look from you.

“Need I remind you that I’m not an actual chef?” you said. You set down your smaller suitcase, full of shoes and toiletries, to grasp the front of his shirt. You leaned up on your toes and met him with a kiss. It was sweet, but it was also tender. His arms came around your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

He parted from you gently, afterwards pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a brief sigh through his nose.

“I’m sorry, about how I left last night,” he said.

You shook your head, despite the tears that wanted to burn in your eyes. You wanted to tell him, It’s fine. I’m fine.

But you couldn’t lie to him.

“You came back when I needed you,” you said instead. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his hand resting along the back of your neck. It was familiar, and soothing.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to move in,” he admitted. You chuckled wryly.

“Really,” he said. “…I was thinking of asking you. But not ‘til, you know, down the line.”

You softened at that. You raised up on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you circled your arms around his neck and hugged him close. He held you back just as tightly.

“Thank you for always being there for me,” you said. He couldn’t see your smile, but somehow, he knew it was there. But he could also hear you sniffle, and feel your body tremble with tears.

“You’re safe here,” Dean said softer into your ear. “Nothing’s getting to you, all right?”

 You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. He continued to say and do whatever he felt he had to in order to reassure you that night, and make you feel safe.

All the while, he was trying to reassure himself.

AN: *burrr* That tension, huh? What did you think of her finally finding out about Jo's lingering feelings, plus a bit of Dean's resentment, him and Gordon coming to an understanding, and the reader meeting John for the first time! 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Good news though. Next time, we'll take a huge break from all this drama and have a nice fluffy Christmas special. (Plus a healthy dose of spice. ❤️‍🔥)

Next Time:

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[popponn]

call you later; 1.

notes: what if you didn't pick up their call? they left a voicemail, in their own ways. characters: isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, seishirou nagi. [ part 2 : rin, bachira ]

isagi yoichi

Probably felt a little bit sad you didn’t pick up. You are probably his first crush—and only, for a long time, maybe, and this boy is committed with capital C when he is into something—so don’t be too hard on him. Like, hey, his #2 after the soccer itself didn’t pick up his phone? Poor guy.

But like the considerate boy off the pitch he is, Yoichi will immediately give you a brief of what he wanted to tell you before leaving the classic note of ‘i will call you again later’. It won’t be overly long, as he prefers to talk to you rather than to the empty void of a voicemail. Or at least he intends so to seem polite and proper, until he stutters and tripped all over his words a little bit. It’s cute though.

All in all, probably one of the most normal guy from Blue Lock, as usual, and whatever sad feelings he had from getting his call not being picked up will be gone the moment he got the chance to talk to you. A little advice, just make sure to actually call him later—knowing you reach out to him as soon as you can will make Mr. Egoist pretty happy.

“Uh, so… are you busy? Wait—you are not picking up of course you are busy…” Yoichi trailed off with a nervous laugh. “But, so, anyway, about our promise to walk around Saitama, I was wondering if your schedule is free this Sunday? I got two weeks off Blue Lock but I kinda want to make sure we can do it as soon as we can, so if anything comes up—ah, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way!”

It took Yoichi a few seconds to gather his composure before he continued, “I mean, uh, yeah, I just want to do it with you soon. I will call you again so we can talk about it later! Work hard, or have a good time! See you!”

itoshi sae

First of all, how dare you. He is famous and probably have people lining up for his number while you get him punching your number and didn’t pick up. Just for that, Sae might throw a tantrum, albeit a silent one.

On a more serious note, he will raise an eyebrow honestly, especially if you are the type to usually answer. But he is pretty independent most of the time, so he will only left a few words on the voice mail. In some occasions, though, when he just calls for the sake of listening to you, he will feel a little bit down. You can cheer him up later—you should, actually. Sometimes talking with Sae requires advanced mind reading technique and when he is a little bit down or pissed you really have to use that skill. Because boy, this guy is pretty constipated emotionally.

So, end notes, just call him real soon, okay? He might act cold and tough but he is also someone whose favorite show is Chibi Maruko-chan. He won’t say much in the voicemail or act like it afterwards, but he might really wait for you to call back, especially if he didn’t hear anything from or about you for a day. Though, honestly, just call him back or answer his next call before five seconds so everyone could be saved from his scathing vocabularies.

“What do you want for dinner? I’m picking you up later,” Sae said without wasting a second. “Hurry up and decide, then call me soon, got it? And in case you are thinking of anything funny, finish whatever you are working on first, then call me as soon as possible.”

For a moment, it was as if he was done. Then, a few beats of silence passed and he continued, “…and honestly… nevermind. Just call me soon.”

nagi seishirou

Yeah, let’s be real—he won’t leave a note and just give up. He willed out energy to call you first and you asked more from him? Wow. The fucking audacity.

But, let’s say, he really really wants to talk to you at the time and is in a really really really good mood—it will be long, if only for the long pauses. He will speaks sparsely, like the personification of bullet notes, as he doesn’t really see the point in talking if you are not really there to begin with. But, at the same time, Nagi Seishirou is also a Blue Lock egoist and he thinks having you listen to his voice note for a long time is not exactly a bad thought.

In the end, though, he really just want to hear your voice, actually. So, sooner or later, he will end the note with a ‘call me soon’ and plays a few games while waiting for you. The guy really need to recharge whatever small battery he has with you, so you really better call back if you don’t want to deal with a pouty Nagi holding a petty grudge for three minutes. And come on, do it for Reo, dude has way too much on his plate already.

“Eh, why are you not picking up?” Seishirou started with a complain, before immediately staying silent for a long time. Clearly on purpose, rather than for trying to remember something. “…I want to talk to you, so call me later, ‘kay?” he continued, in the end. “Choki also misses you by the way. You love Choki, right? So you really better call me back.”

Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Oh, I also have something I want to show you. So, let’s meet up next week. That’s all. Later.”

[amyispxnk]

My Kind of Woman

Chapter 6: Don’t Leave Me in the Dark

Series Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Series summary - Your song captivates Joel the second he hears you that night in Jackson, but he struggles to work up the courage to confess his feelings. With some (very heavy) encouragement from Ellie and Tommy, you two get closer and closer until he finally thinks he’s ready.

Chapter summary - An overnight patrol leads to the resurfacing of some old wounds.

A/N: why did i almost cry writing this wow i don’t think i’ve ever written something quite so angsty ever. And i don’t even think it’s that angsty. whoops

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: fluff, pet names, angst, violence, death, mention of suicide attempt

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“Alright guys! Good work today, I’ll see you next week.” You grin, waving your students goodbye as the bell rings, signalling the end of the day.

It’s finally Thursday, which means that you and Joel will be going to the guitar store on your patrol, where you hope to find some stuff for Ellie’s birthday.

As you walk to the stables, you mull over the thoughts of some other gifts for the teenager, in case you don’t find anything there, before Joel greets you.

“Hey, sweetheart, you ready to go?” He smiles softly, biting back an even larger grin at the way your cheeks flush from his words. He’s found himself acting more confidently with you, even being able to tease you with this pet name nowadays since he discovered how flustered it could make you.

“Yeah-” your voice comes out slightly shaky, and you clear your throat. “Yeah. Let me just go get May ready.”

You feed your mare an apple before checking your bag and equipment, mounting your saddle and riding out of the gates with Joel.

The trail is much nicer at this time of year as spring slowly fades into summertime. The sun shines down on the pair of you and birds sing around you. It’s picturesque, and almost makes you forget about how the world is today, taking you back to a simpler time where you could walk outside your door without fear of being shot or torn to shreds by the end of the day.

“So anyway, we’re gonna head down here for a bit and then take a left. The store is in this little town we found a few months back.” Joel comments, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Alright.” You hum, and the two of you continue making your way there.

At around 7, you reach the little town, tying your horses up near the outskirts and grabbing your guns before heading deeper. Joel tells you that they weren’t even sure if the place was clear when they first came here, so it probably won’t be now. You should be ready for anything.

Hopefully it’s not as bad as that Route D patrol, you think to yourself as you crawl through rubble and make your way into the building.

That all-too-familiar feeling of unease settles into your bones as the darkness envelops you, dust floating in the air around you, made visible by your flashlights.

It’s pathetic, but you really don’t like the darkness. It’s scary enough when you can see what’s coming for you, but when you don’t know? When the unknown is all that surrounds you wherever you look?

You think that it’s worse.

Your eyes settle on Joel beside you. Even though his gas mask is on, you see that he’s looking at you, checking that you’re okay. His presence always makes you feel better, you’ve come to notice.

“Let’s do this.” You say, determination coursing through your veins, and he nods, leading the way.

As you walk down corridors, scanning rooms and closets, you find that the most remarkable thing in the building so far has been a decaying old body which has been swallowed by a cluster of cordyceps. Certainly not a promising sight, since it means that you’re bound to encounter some infected sooner or later, but you hope that the numbers aren’t strong.

Just over an hour later, you’re thankful to be right, having only encountered half a dozen runners, which you and Joel took down fairly easy.

“Hell yeah! Look, there’s some guitar stuff-” You start, forgetting yourself slightly in your excitement, causing a clicker from a stray closet to come barrelling through, charging straight for you. It jumps on top of you, causing you to scream, starting to fight back when Joel pulls his revolver out and shoots it thrice in the head. He tugs you out from beneath its now limp body.

He pants heavily, eyes wide as he looks at you.

“Are you bit?”

“No.”

He gives you a once-over before shaking his head, letting go of your wrist.

“You could’ve died. Fuck. Y’need to be more careful, can’t go around yellin’ like that.” He mutters, scoffing before walking off.

What the fuck? Why did he seem pissed off at you now?

“Jeez, sorry for almost fucking dying, Joel. I’ll be sure to not do it again.” You huff, going to the other side of the room to start searching for some stuff for Ellie’s guitar. You find a packet of strings and a pickboard with an intricate floral design on it that you think she’ll love. You’re pretty satisfied with the turnout, and pocket these items before heading back to Joel.

You’ve cooled off from the previous encounter, still a little annoyed from how he spoke to you, but not having the energy to fight over it. You’ve noticed the sun slowly starting to set, your detour to the store adding an extra few hours to your patrol and meaning you’ll likely have to spend the night here. You really don’t want to be arguing throughout it.

“Find anything?” You ask quietly, coming to his side. He hums in response, handing you a pick he found.

“Could probably carve somethin’ into that. Make it a little more unique for her, ‘f you want...” He says, trailing off again at the end.

“Oh, that’s a great idea! Could you?” You smile, excited to make the gift even better for Ellie. She’s special to you - why would you have gone to all of this trouble for her present, after all?

“Sure.” He nods, appearing uninterested in arguing and moving on from it by now as well.

He’s about to turn to leave when you speak up again.

“We’re probably gonna have to spend the night, Joel. Look outside.” You tell him, and sure enough, the sky has gone from a pale blue to a deep orange. You won’t make it back to Jackson in time, and you’d rather not be riding in the darkness.

“Yeah, reckon you’re right. Y’got your sleeping bag?” He nods, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Yes I’ve got my sleeping bag.” You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I’m always very prepared, Joel. You know this.” You tease, kneeling down to untie your sleeping bag.

“Sure, darlin’. Then you’d know we should secure the room before setting up the camp. Since you’re always so prepared.” He smirks, and pink tints your cheeks once more.

“Yeah, I was just- you just said to get the bag out so I just.. Whatever. I’ll secure the room.” You mutter bashfully, making him laugh. That laugh was worth the embarrassment, you decide as you stand up to help barricade the doors and windows.

You finally sit down around a little cooker just after the sky goes black, an owl hooting in the distance, wind rustling the leaves outside. It’s oddly calming.

“Thanks for earlier, by the way. I’m sorry for shouting. Was stupid.” You offer quietly, unable to meet his eyes over the stove, instead zeroing in on a piece of ravioli in some 20-year old Chef Boyardee.

“No, I-” he sighs, “Shouldn’t’ve gotten all annoyed at you, either. I’m sorry. Y’were jus’ excited, sweetheart. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Yeah, I guess. Thank you, anyway. You totally saved my ass. And you brought me here, too. I haven’t even thanked you for that. If I didn’t have you, I think my gift for Ellie would’ve been so shit.” You chuckle softly, and his lips curl into a smirk.

“I know, I know, you’d be completely lost without me.” He teases, and you laugh a little harder, giggling and hiding your face from him.

Moments like these are why you love being with Joel so much. Laughing so hard that your entire body floods with warmth and your stomach hurts by the end of it. It’s a welcome feeling in these times.

Wait. You love being around Joel? Your brows furrow as you have a conversation with yourself in your mind. You 100% just used ‘love’ and ‘Joel’ in the same sentence. That’s a scary, dangerous path to be going down right now. Just keep it chill.

Joel doesn’t seem to realise your internal struggle, getting up and wiping his hands on his jeans before taking your can and putting them to the side.

“Alright, I think y’should get some shuteye now. I’ll keep first watch. Night, sweetheart.” He says softly, feeling an unfamiliar but comforting feeling blooming inside of him at the thought of spending a night with you. Even if it’s just for patrol, it has him thinking about the potential future of your relationship. Maybe it could become more.

“Goodnight, Joel.” You say quietly, getting in your sleeping bag and facing away from him. You go tense when he turns the stove off, the room plunging into darkness. He doesn’t know of your fears, you realise. In fact, you don’t know much of anything personal about eachother at all.

A few uncomfortable and anxiety-inducing minutes later, you finally relent, sighing and rolling over to face him.

“Joel?” You say quietly into the night, eyes searching for him as you adjust to the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“Can you- can you put the light on? I know it’s a waste of power but.. I just can’t really sleep in total darkness.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you want to shrivel up and die. He probably thinks it’s a stupid, irrational fear. Being afraid of the dark in a world like this is pathetic, you think.

“Yeah, course. I didn’t know, sorry sweetheart. Y’gon be okay?” He soothes your mind, his low voice putting you at ease.

“Yeah.” You mumble, and he turns the light on before it goes quiet again.

You keep tossing and turning for a good five minutes. Then ten. Then fifteen. Fuck. Why are you so restless tonight? You guess that it’s because you haven’t slept on a patrol in a while, especially not in someone’s presence.. especially not in Joel’s presence.

You sigh frustratedly. Maybe you should just take watch instead.

“I can’t sleep. Let me take first watch instead. You rest.” You grunt, moving to get out of your sleeping bag.

“No, darlin’, you should sleep. Is somethin’ botherin’ you? Anythin’ I can do t’ help?” He offers, eyes soft and large as he gazes up at you from his seat on the floor. It makes your heart swell even more at his caring nature.

“It’s okay, Joel. Just sleep.” You say quietly, clearly not prepared to back down now. He sighs deeply.

“We can take watch together, yeah? I don’t… I just prefer bein’ awake out here.” He murmurs, and it’s only half of the truth. He actually just wants to make sure you’re safe. That, if you accidentally fall asleep or something, he’ll still be awake to protect you.

“Okay. If you’re sure.” You say, yawning softly as you take a seat on his right side. He turns back to face the window, and your eyes fall on that scar again, the one which lies at his temple.

“Hey, Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t even blink. Did he not hear you?

“Joel? Joel.” You say, a little louder now. He finally turns.

“Are you deaf or something?” You tease, but he doesn’t smile back.

“‘M sorry. I- yeah, kinda.” He responds, a little gruff.

“Oh shit. Sorry.” You say. He was kinda old, you realised. Not that much older than you, but still.

“‘S okay. I uh.. It happened near the start of the outbreak. In a fight.” He mutters, unsure of why he even told you that.

Well, he does know.

It’s because he wanted to tell you the true reason, but that’d probably scare you off, or weird you out. He can’t get that personal with you after only a few months of talking. For some reason, your presence just comforts him like no other, and he feels like he’s known you for years, like he can tell you everything, but you also know everything already, anyway.

“Damn. How’d you make it through the outbreak half deaf?” You murmur, genuinely curious now. That must’ve been why he always takes the left side in almost everything you do on patrols. Clearing a house? He’ll start on the left. Riding along a trail? He’ll listen out for anything along the left side of the path. You had your own suspicions, but this proves it.

“Dunno.” He shakes his head, gaze growing cold as his mind goes elsewhere, eyes getting wet as he recalls all he felt after losing Sarah.

You notice this, and start to panic a little. Shit. You’d asked for too much. You’ve brought up something sensitive unknowingly, and he’ll resent you for it.

You can’t just sit here and let him cry though.

“Hey, it’s okay, Joel. You- you can talk to me. Y’know I’m always here for you.” You say softly, turning to face him a little better. He turns his head and meets your eyes. For some reason, seeing him upset makes you want to cry too, resulting in your own eyes getting a little misty.

He clears his throat before he speaks.

“Had a daughter.” He chokes out, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounds.

Your heart almost stops. Had. Ellie wasn’t his kid, but he used to have one.

You try and think of what to say. I’m so sorry, Joel. That’s terrible, Joel. It’s a basic response, and you feel like it wouldn’t help. For once, you find yourself unable to navigate the situation.

“Scar ain’t from a fight. ‘S from me. Few days after Outbreak Day, when she-” he cuts himself off as his voice breaks, eyes squeezing tightly together.

You don’t know what compels you to do it, but you wrap your arms around him. He doesn’t reciprocate for a moment and you panic again, wondering if that was a bit bold, especially in his emotional state. But then his arms come around you, and he lets you in. He bites back the ugly sob that wants to escape his chest, instead only allowing a few silent tears to fall. You sniffle as you feel them on your skin.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” You whisper, heart breaking as he cries quietly.

“Sorry. That.. was a bit much.” He mumbles, pulling back a little and clearing his throat after a moment, realising he’s supposed to be closed off and not let anyone in, not expose his emotions or feelings or thoughts, but you shake your head.

“Everyone has their demons, Joel. You shouldn’t be afraid to let yourself feel, especially around me.” You murmur. Maybe you should share your own past. You don’t want him to feel alone.

“You wanna know why I’m so afraid of the dark?” You begin, and he doesn’t protest, so you take a deep breath and continue.

“Lost my brother a few years back. Maybe a year before I got to Jackson. We were actually trying to find the place, travelling through the night, and we had to cut through this mall. There were infected roaming outside, and even though we knew that the mall could have raiders in it, we didn’t wanna take on a dozen clickers. So… we start wandering through this dark mall. No lights, no windows, and we only had one flashlight. He went in front and I was following, but- but I knocked something over. And then we heard voices in the distance. They said that they would check out the noise.” You pause to collect yourself, trying to prepare mentally as you recount what happened next. “They said that.. That if they saw anyone to just shoot them. All I remember was that it was so dark, before we saw the flashlight on a rifle. I barely had a chance to think before my brother grabbed my hand and ran blindly with me. We tried finding the exit but- just when we saw the light, he got shot. It was in his stomach and-” You cut yourself off with a quiet sob, trying to continue. “He just crumpled. The last thing he told me was- was to leave him. To keep going for him. I could hear the men coming, but I was still trying to pick him back up or- or something. Then I saw the man aim his gun at me and I panicked and I ran. Like a coward.” You can’t stop yourself from crying now, unable to say any more.

“Oh, baby…” He whispers, pulling you closer and letting you cry. You whimper at his touch. When was the last time you properly cried like this? You’ve been so used to putting on a mask that when you finally let go like this you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“I just- I feel so guilty. I don’t deserve to be happy and safe in Jackson without him. I should’ve died that night. I knocked over the fucking boxes, I-”

He shushes you gently, recognising what you actually mean, knowing the feeling all too well - and knowing you don’t deserve to feel like that.

“Don’t say that, sweetheart. He would’ve wanted you to live and be happy here… Don’t ever say that.” He says, quiet, but firm in his tone.

You sniffle, exhaling shakily. His words don’t totally convince you, but you know deep down that he’s right. He would’ve wanted you to be safe. He would’ve rested easier knowing that he was able to protect you in the end, that it was all worth something.

“I miss him, Joel.” You whimper.

“I know. I miss my girl so much it hurts. It never gets easier, does it?” He says, to which you nod, burrowing further into his side as you yawn softly. You cried yourself to exhaustion.

“Just sleep now, okay? I’ll be here. We’ll keep the lights on.”

You just nod, too tired to respond as your brain finally powers off, and you fall asleep.

He sighs, stroking your hair as he looks back to the slit in the window. He always knew. There was no way someone could truly be this happy on the outside, and really feel it on the inside. He wishes you did feel it on the inside, though. The pain of losing someone you love was one of the worst pains imaginable - he had the scars to prove it.

The next morning is quiet, but not awkward. You both exposed yourselves last night. Even though he said way less than you, you know that your levels of vulnerability vary greatly and you both showed eachother your rawest feelings and shared your darkest memories, deepening your relationship further.

“You ready to head back?” He says after you’ve packed everything up, and you nod.

The journey back starts off quiet, the two of you still deep in thought, before you finally pull yourself back together a little - enough to have some normal conversation.

“So, you got a party planned for Ellie’s birthday?” You ask, looking over at him. He’s on your left again, and you try not to think about why, now that you know the true reason.

“I dunno. Was gonna do somethin’ at the Bison, but I’m not sure yet.”

“Joel!” You gasp playfully. “Her birthday’s only a few weeks away! You gotta let me help you plan this party. I’ll make it into every 16 year-old’s dream.”

He gives you a teasing look, and you roll your eyes. “Trust me, Joel. I got better taste than you, that’s for sure.” You argue, and he relents.

“Fine. If she hates it, I’m blamin’ you.”

“Challenge accepted.” You snicker, hiding the bubbling excitement inside of you, knowing you’ll be spending even more time with Joel over the next few weeks.

Trying to ignore the fact that you cannot fucking wait.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

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