#this is the drink i give people when they don’t like gin and i don’t have anything else

[repulsiveliquidation]

Good Girls || Alexia Putellas and María León

warnings : smut (18+), cunnilingus, face-riding, rough sex, light bondage, gagging, fingering, choking, rimming, riding, dildos, buttplugs and strap-ons.

a/n : special thanks to spicy anon for some scene inspiration :)

There were lights flashing all over the place when you walked into the bar. The music blared and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes filled your nostrils. People were dancing and yelling, grinding and making a fool of themselves left, right and center.

You sauntered in, finding a quiet spot at the end of the bar. The bartender recognized you, flashing you a smile as he put away the glass he was cleaning.

“The usual darling?”

“If you don’t mind, Jack.”

A pale ale with perfect foam sits in front of you seconds later, the bitter beverage giving you just a little boost in confidence to walk over to the table you were supposed to be sitting at. Two women wearing dark clothing sat tucked in the very back of the VIP section, talking to each other in hushed voices. There weren’t many people sitting in that area, and you noticed a certain look to the people who did.

They looked rich.

You caught Jack’s attention, drinking the last swig of beer before making a request that always made your core tingle.

“I’ll have what the one on the right at the end over there is having, baby.”

Jack smirks, grabbing a whiskey glass and a perfect cube of ice to make an old-fashioned.

“Another one of your victims, sweetheart?”

“We’ll see, we met at Manuela’s last week and had a great time.”

He throws a napkin down and sets the citrusy beverage right on it. The scent of bitters and orange peels brings back some fond memories of last week’s appointment and you can’t wait to see what those two came up with this week.

You stand and adjust your dress before grabbing your drink and walking over to the VIP area. The bouncer, Jorge, listened carefully to your little story about meeting with those two girls at the end of the hall. He nodded and smiled kindly before leaning in and whispering, “They’ve reserved the mirror room tonight.”

Your eyes lit up and your heart pounded in your chest. The mirror room was the best room this sex den/bar had to offer. Approval from the big boss herself was the only way to know and get access to the room. Having been a loyal patron of the bar and a treasured dancer at the club the owner also owned, you’ve heard of the room before, dreaming that one day a client would give you the chance to experience it once and for all.

Well that day was today.

With hands shaking and a sip of liquid courage to walk into the VIP area, your core throbbed with anticipation of what’s to come.

Their whispering stopped when you slid into the booth beside the heavily tattooed defender, fishing a cherry out of your glass and popping it into your mouth.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you begin, daintily sipping your half-empty glass.

“Could say the same for you, princesa,” growls the much broader one that sat opposite you. Her lips smirked underneath her hood, piercing hazel eyes sending a shiver down your spine.

“Alexia and I were just talking about you,” María quips, stealing the toothpick out of your glass and eating the last cherry on it.

“Only good things, I hope,” you chuckle, watching as Alexia swished her cognac in her glass before taking a long sip.

“We were talking about how good of a fuck you were last week,” Alexia says, licking her lips as the gasoline-like liquid goes down her throat. María leans in, lips barely pressed against your earlobe.

“We were wondering if you’d be good if not better tonight, especially for what we’ve got planned.”

Her arm pulls you in close and she kisses you, the taste of her gin and tonic with your old-fashioned sent your head spinning, thighs parting when her strong hand slipped between them. You could already feel the ache in your cunt from her simple touches, when the thought of Alexia just sitting there and watching you two sends you even further into a spiral.

“The room is ready for you, ma’am,” a worker interrupts, causing María to pull away with a smirk on her face. Alexia slides out of the booth gracefully and you follow, thighs already sticking together as you walked up the stairs to the private suites.

Alexia holds the door open for you and you step inside, not knowing what to expect. Your jaw drops when María flips the lights on.

There are floor to ceiling mirrors along every wall of the room. Just above the bed there was a big mirror that gave anyone on the bed the perfect 360° view of anything going on anywhere. They were seamless and the lights made no shadows anywhere at all.

This was not what you thought the mirror room was. But boy were you excited to try everything it had to offer.  

“We’ve got it to ourselves for the night, why don’t you have a seat on the bed and we can get started hm?”

María walked over to the minibar and wine fridge, searching through the bottles for one she liked. You sat on the bed, waiting for more instructions. Alexia took her hood off and threw her long coat on the chair in the corner.

You watched in awe as she stripped off her clothing one by one, standing there in all her glory with the prettiest lace lingerie you’ve ever seen. María pulls you out of your daze with a glass of white wine, urging you to throw the sweet and sour beverage right down the hatch.

“Gotta warm you up somehow, princesa,” María encourages, swallowing all of her drink too. Alexia stands beside María, before grabbing her jaw to kiss her. They’re sloppy and noisy which only turns you on a lot more, hands itching to join in on the fun.

Alexia pulls away and grabs the bottle off the table, taking a long drag of wine before swallowing with a smile. She taps María’s cheek softly, before turning to you.

“Did you do what I asked, slut?”

You nod, standing up to take your dress off. It falls to the ground in a heap before you step out of it. Your skin shimmers from the light layer of sweat, eyes staring straight into Alexia’s as you walk towards her.

Her large, rough hands grab your waist when you get close and she smashes her lips on yours. Her hands knead and grab your flesh hungrily, large palms grabbing fistfuls of your ass before slipping between the cheeks.

There sat a bejeweled buttplug, still slightly wet all around from the abundant amount of lube you used. María’s slightly rougher hands slipped in behind you, her lips leaving little kisses all over your back. You kissed Alexia back hungrily, tongue fighting for dominance over the other. Alexia won, albeit with cheating, as she reached between your ass to play with the plug inside you.

You moan into her mouth just as she pulls away, a deep whine left in your throat. You’re about to beg for her to kiss you again but María beats you to it. Since they were much taller, they could easily reach each other over you. They kissed like you weren’t even there, Alexia’s hand cupping the back of María’s head.

They pull away and there’s a string of saliva that left with them, your pussy throbbing as you watched both of their tongues reeling it back in. You stand between them, skin hot and sweaty, thinking of all the ways this day could get any better.

María pulled you with her, a silk tie securing your arms behind your back. Another one slips across your mouth, your eyes darting over to Alexia, who sat on a bench at the foot of the bed with her legs spread wide. María held your hand and helped you kneel before Alexia, your eyes never leaving the Barca captain.

You watched as María stripped completely and turned to face you. She knelt with you and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. You leaned into her touch, breath tingling on her face. She kissed you and you fought hard to kiss back, the gag around your mouth proved to make it difficult for you to do so. But María didn’t care. She kissed and kissed and kissed, pulling away with a frown on her lips.

“Tsk, she’s not kissing me back, Ale. How rude of her,” María huffs, standing up and sitting in Alexia’s lap. Alexia’s hand comes around María’s waist and tightens its hold, eyes turning a possessive shade.

“That’s not a very nice thing to do, princesa,” Alexia reprimands, guiding María to sit across her thighs. María does, moaning slightly when Alexia’s hands grab fistfuls of her ass. You watch, arms aching slightly as you strain to pull away from your shackles. You whimper but get ignored, eyes filling with tears as you watch Alexia touch María exactly how she touched you that night.

“fuck princesa, love how you ride my cock baby.”

“yeah ale? you like watching me take your big cock hm?”

“Sí, es magnífico de ver”

Her hands grabbed your ass, kneading the flesh hard. She left one smack, then another, and another, and one more before grabbing your waist to hold you hip and fuck into you. You were seeing stars, eyes rolling deep and far into your head.

Your thighs shook, orgasm so close you could feel that tug behind your navel get stronger and stronger and stronger before the pull snapped.

María moaned, a grin spreading across her face as Alexia’s wet fingers filled her pussy. You watched as those same fingers that made you come endlessly that night made María’s eyes roll into her head too.

María cursed under her breath in Spanish, thighs riding Alexia’s fingers gently. The Zaragozan knew not to push her luck with the captain tonight, there was a certain buzz in the air that told both her and you that the captain was not to be tested tonight.

Alexia pushed three fingers deep into María to the webbing, her eyes held a dark, lustful gaze that both terrified you and made your cunt throb painfully. Your thighs were so wet and sticky, the scent of your arousal was obvious, you ground a little into the ground on your knees, the movement pushing the plug in your ass around just a touch.

Alexia had her lips wrapped around María tit when she caught a glimpse of you not paying attention. The fingers that were rubbing hard and fast on María’s sweet spot stopped. The latch she had on María’s tit loosened with a faint pop.

“Eyes up here, you whore.”

Your eyes dart over to the voice, fear washing over your face. Alexia stood and picked María up at the same time, throwing the defender onto the bed like she weighed nothing. María laid with her legs wide open, hands gripping the pristine sheets tight to keep herself from touching where she wasn’t supposed to.

Alexia towered over you, grabbing your arm to help you stand. She pulls you to the bench she was just sat in and gestured for you to kneel on it like you did on the floor. You gulped, looking at María in front of you who was smirking proudly as your eyes went over her legs, to her core, her stomach, her chest and finally glancing over her lips before making eyes contact with her.

She winked at you, the cheeky fucker that she was, which only made you feel more frustrated. Alexia left a soft kiss on your shoulder before joining María on the bed. She pulled the defender to face her, settling between her strong legs. The captain touched María gently, you noticed her eyes getting a little softer the longer she stared at her closest friend.

However, when María’s eyes darted to the sight of her in the mirror above them, Alexia turned back into her stoic self. It was like she had forgotten the mirrors and María had reminded her of them. Her head tilted to the left and up, a smirk growing on her face. Her gaze caught yours and you swore you were foaming at the mouth. Alexia pulled the silk tie from around your mouth and left it around your neck with plans to use it later on.  

“Enjoy the show, princesa.”

María didn’t have time to think about what was about to happen to her. Alexia, who had put on a strap somewhere between fingerfucking María and eyefucking you, pushed the head of the toy right into María’s slightly gaping pussy. María moaned but her eyes never left her reflection, hands reaching for Alexia’s thigh to hold on to. Alexia pounded right into María and you watched, the throbbing between your legs now insanely hard to ignore.

“Please Ale, please it hurts…”

Her hips never stopped moving as she looked over at you like you had asked for the weather.

“What hurts hm?”

An embarrassed blush came over you as you stuttered the words she wanted to hear.

“My pussy,” you whispered, knees sure to be bruised tomorrow.

“I’m sure María can do something about that.”

Alexia’s hips were still fucking into her hard as she helped you maneuver onto the bed, hands working quick to untie your arms. You straddle María’s face, taking a cheeky glance up at the mirror up top as well as the one that was behind Alexia.

Your brain had barely processed the sight of all the tattoos Alexia had on her back, as well as all the muscles that were hard at work fucking María, when her tongue lapped up at your soaking folds. Her tongue flicked over your clit and you could not form a sentence. Your jaw slacked and you held onto Alexia, who cooed at you adorably. Two of her fingers pushed themselves into your mouth and you gagged, eyes filling with tears as she forced your mouth closed and growled lowly for you to suck.

You do, tears falling down your cheeks as your suckled on her fingers and your hips ground down onto Mapi’s tongue. Alexia fucked Mapi with force, free hand kneading at your breasts.

“You getting close María?” she whispered, using Mapi’s real name humiliatingly, “Princesa?”

A muffled “Sí!” and begging nods from you, she increases her efforts to make her best friend come which spurs Mapi on to make you come.

The two of you come at the same time and you’re watching your expression the whole time in the mirror across from you, just like Mapi tried to in the one above her.

The room heats up and you climb off Mapi, kneeling beside her to kiss her pruning lips thankfully. You taste yourself on her tongue, moaning into her mouth before the silk tie around your neck is pulled on.

Alexia manhandles you to the mirror in the corner of the room, strap switched out for a new and slightly bigger one. She’s set the one she used on Mapi to the side, ready for when Mapi decides she wants round two.

But for now, Alexia focused her attention on you.

“The star of the show,” Alexia praised, hands caressing your clammy skin. She kissed along your shoulder as she stood behind you, nibbling gently on your skin.

Alexia reached around and fondled your breasts, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Her perfectly manicured nails framed your breasts, kneading them gently as they trailed down lower to your stomach, which tickled, and then to your hips and lower down your thighs. She knelt behind you, hands spanking your ass before spreading them. There sat the plug, looking a little hurt from being ignored. She pulled the metal thing out from you and moaned when it left a little gape, chucking it somewhere in the room.

You looked at María in the reflection of the mirror, mouth watering when you saw her lazily fingering herself. You were about to comment when a hot tongue pressed flat against your asshole. You keened just a little and reached back to cradle Alexia’s head, pushing your ass back into the feeling of her tongue lapping at your behind.

A hand snaked from between your legs to play with your folds, thick fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit. Your head was spinning, until you heard moaning from your left.

There sat Mapi, riding the dildo while watching you and Alexia.

“You two look so fucking good together,” she praised, gently pushing herself up and down on the silicone. She played with her clit, leaning back on her arm.

“Doesn’t she eat ass so well? I always love when she does that.”

“You’re one to talk Mapi, when you know for a fact you’re the one with the oral fixation.”

“When you taste as good as you do, you tend to develop those things.”

Alexia chuckles, leaving one last lick along your puffy behind. She looks at you in the mirror, smiling kindly.

“Bend over for me?”

You nod, kneeling in front of the mirror for her. You arched your back and watched as she lubed up her strap and teased your pussy. Just before she pushed in, she smirked and made eye contact with you in the mirror again.

“Eyes up here, princesa.”  

You nod, thighs shaking a little as she slipped into you. You moaned, eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. You watched as her breasts rocked in her lingerie with each thrust, yours doing the same under you. Her hands grabbed the silk tie around your neck and she gently pulled, barely getting you off your hands on your fingertips.

The air in your lungs barely cut off, just enough to deprive you of oxygen ever so slowly. But you were obedient and your eyes never left staring into Alexia’s, a loud, long moan snaps you out of your haze when the sight of you delirious sends Mapi into her second orgasm of the night.

As she trembles from the intensity of her orgasm, lips unsure of whose name to moan, Alexia grabs your hips and begins to pound into you intensely. You’re barely getting oxygen back into your lungs when she knocks it all out again, cock pounding right into your sweet spot hard and fast.

She flicks her loose strands of hair out of her face before pulling your torso up against her chest. Her large hand wraps around your neck from behind as her hips never falter, the other slips between your legs to flick at your hard clit.

“Coming, princesa?” she teases, “getting close, sí?”

“Sí, Alexia, s-so fucking close,” you whimper, voice barely audible. Mapi crawls in front of you and sucks on your breasts, fondling them gently. She flicks her tongue of your hard nipples and rolls one between her fingers.

“She told me you looked so pretty the last time you came for her, princesa. Don’t you want to show me next?”

“Sí Mapi, w–wanna show you, wanna be good.”

“You wanna come on my cock, amor?”

“Please Alexia, please,”

The hand she had around your neck squeezed just a little tighter and the dam breaks. You go limp in her hold, Mapi catching you as Alexia pounded into you through your orgasm. You come for 40 seconds straight, muscles spasming hard between the two Spaniards.

You wake up the next morning in a warm bed, the smell of pancakes filled the room. You were cuddled into María’s side, the Zaragozan fast asleep. You chuckled softly at the sight of her sleeping, mouth slightly open as she snored.

You climb out of bed and pull a shirt you found on a chair on, shuffling towards the smell of chocolate melting and coffee brewing.

“That smells delicious.”

“It better, they’re my mother’s famous pancakes.”

Alexia puts a fresh pancake on a plate and hands it to you. You sit in front of her and eat it, groaning at the delicious, fluffy treat in your mouth.

“—¿Bien?”

“Better than.”

Just as you finished the pancake, she piled your plate with two more. You ate quietly, taking in your surroundings.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“We both want you here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Mapi and I want you around on a more…permanent basis.”

“Is that your way of asking me out?”

“She has always terrible at things like this, princesa.”

Mapi emerges from the bedroom, seemingly awaken by the smell of chocolate too. She sits beside you and steals the bite you had made on your fork.

“But she’s right,” Mapi says quietly, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “What do you say?”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about. 

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes. 

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened. 

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka. 

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.  

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat. 

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense. 

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out. 

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants. 

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time. 

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again. 

Over and over and over. 

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow. 

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent. 

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass. 

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!” 

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?” 

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes. 

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness. 

New arrivals? 

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order. 

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were. 

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already. 

But back to the current interest for the night. 

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all. 

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch. 

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up. 

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy. 

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney. 

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory. 

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head. 

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here. 

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too. 

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?” 

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone. 

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed. 

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person. 

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants. 

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy. 

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights. 

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment. 

A puff of breath from his nose. 

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders. 

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’. 

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again. 

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you. 

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff. 

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava. 

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head. 

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly. 

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip. 

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?” 

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs. 

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow. 

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter. 

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth. 

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.” 

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued. 

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg. 

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were. 

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for. 

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire. 

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either. 

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away. 

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up. 

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell. 

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause. 

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly. 

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted. 

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.” 

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender? 

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him. 

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.” 

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face. 

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?” 

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice. 

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.” 

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless. 

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated. 

The glass meets the bar top. 

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl. 

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him. 

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window. 

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared. 

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath. 

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep. 

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air. 

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel. 

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly. 

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening. 

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.” 

Blank stares are sent your way. 

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more. 

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though. 

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script. 

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile. 

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.” 

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.” 

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is. 

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.” 

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.” 

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.” 

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging. 

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings. 

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you. 

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you. 

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily. 

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names. 

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed. 

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues. 

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance. 

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.” 

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie. 

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles. 

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy. 

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort. 

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff. 

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. 

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb. 

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path. 

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can. 

“A cold one.” 

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke. 

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up. 

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem. 

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all. 

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service. 

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it. 

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered. 

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out. 

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion. 

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls. 

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly. 

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.” 

That was a surprise. 

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer. 

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question. 

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?” 

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind. 

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?” 

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.” 

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting. 

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens. 

“Thank you.” 

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat. 

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt. 

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer. 

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting. 

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service. 

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you. 

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone. 

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way. 

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching. 

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm. 

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower. 

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.” 

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath. 

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt. 

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy. 

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.” 

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man. 

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was. 

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down. 

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust. 

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm. 

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking. 

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment. 

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets. 

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement. 

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer. 

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes. 

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights. 

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.” 

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.  

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[moonstruckme]

you talked about bartender!sirius in a previous post and omg i can't stop thinking about it!!! could you do a fic with costumer!reader and him being all flirty and stuff (maybe even angst where reader is really drunk or has come to drink all her problems away or someone icky is hitting on her or smth?? idk i trust your judgement<3)

litterly giggling and kicking my feet just thinking about it😭🤭

Thanks for requesting gorgeous <3

cw: alcohol

bartender!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

There are three people working the bar, and you have basically no hope of ever capturing one’s attention. You’re not as assertive as the other patrons vying to get their orders taken, not willing to lean across the bar or shout like they are and perfectly willing to let yourself be pushed out of the way when one of them decides their cause is more prevalent than yours. It probably is. This pub is noisier and more rowdy than you’re accustomed to, and you’re not much of a drinker to begin with, only trying to pay your tax to sit with the friend that invited you here. You’re considering abandoning the endeavor entirely when the next man shouldering you out of the way gets waved off by the bartender nearest. 

“Oi, she was here first.” 

The bartender’s gaze fixes pointedly on you, which is kind of a lot. He has sharp gray eyes paired with superblack hair—like, the kind of black no light can penetrate—and a crooked smile, a handsome and somewhat menacing combination. He leans across the bar, lowering his voice as if he can tell that’s what you’d prefer. 

“What can I get you, doll?” 

You fumble for your tongue. “Um, can I have a citrus spritz, please?” 

He grimaces. “Wish you could,” he says, “but we just ran out of that gin. Got a second choice?” 

“Oh, uh...” You’d only found your first choice after perusing their menu and asking your friend what each thing was, so no, you do not. You take a step back from the bar, yielding your time. “Sorry, I’ll have to—” 

“No, come on, it’s alright.” The bartender doesn’t move, but his voice is loud enough that it reaches you, gets you to turn around. He’s on you with that smile again, one hand beckoning you towards him. “We’ll figure something out for you, sweetheart. Come back here.” 

You step up to the bar stiffly, more than aware of the irritated looks being shot your way by other patrons. 

“What do you like?” he asks you. 

You feel your eyebrows pinch, shaking your head helplessly. Your face feels like it could heat a small home. “I don’t—I’m not sure, sorry.” 

“You’re alright,” he promises, grin vanishing for a moment as he cuts a glare towards a man trying to talk over you. It’s back before you can miss it. “A sweet kinda drink, yeah? Fruity? D’you want something else with citrus?” 

“That sounds good,” you manage.

He winks and pushes off the bar. “Stay put, babe, I’ve gotcha.” 

You do your best, keeping your front pressed to the bar even as everyone else moves around and into you. You feel like a rock in a stream. With no one else to talk to, you watch him work behind the bar. He grabs a bunch of bottles at once, pouring without measuring or counting or hardly even looking, and when he starts shaking it all in a metal cylinder you have to look away from how his tattooed biceps bulge from the short sleeves of his shirt. You’re scanning the rows of liquor behind the bar when he gets back, trying to will the warmth away from your face. 

“Give this a try.” He sets the drink down in front of you. You notice it’s got a bit of dried fruit on top, and then he sets a small shot glass of something bubbly and transparent down next to it—you wince. A garnish and a side; probably not as cheap as you were hoping for. “If you don’t like it,” he says, glancing between you and the drink expectantly, “don’t tell me. Just bring it to the bathroom and flush it. My ego can’t take the rejection.” 

You press your lips together into something you hope approximates a smile and take a careful sip. It is sweet. You can barely taste the alcohol. You rub your lips together as you set it down, hoping you haven’t gotten foam on your mouth. 

“It’s really good,” you tell him honestly, and he grins in response. You raise it to your lips for more. “What is it?” 

“A pornstar martini.” 

You nearly spit foam right at him, somehow reversing at the last moment so you take in a hearty sip instead. His grin widens, showing canines, like he knew the effect the name would have on you. It should make you feel childish, but he doesn’t seem like he’s laughing at you so much as with you. 

“It’s good,” you say again, taking out your card. “Thank you.” 

He holds up his hands, stepping away from your credit card like it’s a weapon. “Put that thing away,” he says. “You’re insulting me, dollface.” 

You let your card hover in the air between you, unsure. “I can’t let you—”

“Sure you can. You have to,” he insists, setting both hands on the bar and leveling you with a significant look. You can’t look back for more than a second before your gaze flees downward. “If I can’t comp a pretty girl’s drink, what am I doing here?” He lowers his voice, leaning across the bar so his face is just a few inches from yours. “And if I can’t add a pretty girl’s drink to a tosser’s tab—” he flicks his gaze over to the man who’s been especially persistent in trying to get his order in over yours since you’ve come up “—then I may as well quit.”

You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep from looking as flattered and flustered as you feel. 

“You don’t want to leave me without purpose, do you?” 

“No.” You smile down at the bar, privately rolling your eyes. When you glance back up, there’s a waggishness in his eyes that suggests he saw. “Thanks.” 

“Thank you. Have a good night.” 

“You too.” 

You turn, starting back for your table, but stall a couple of steps in. Your seat’s been taken by a man around your age, all smiley and nodding as your friend talks. They’ve both got their elbows leaned on the table, eyes locked like they’re in some sort of competition. And you may not spend a lot of time in pubs, but you know enough to stay away when two people are looking at each other like that. 

You stand awkwardly on the fringes of the bar crowd, looking around for another empty table, but it’s too crowded tonight; there are none. You consider dropping by to tell your friend you’re leaving, but now you’ve got this full drink in your hand. Maybe if you finish it quickly…

“Hey!” You pivot, and the same bartender is looking at you again, craning his neck to see you over the crowd. “Hey,” he all but shouts to be heard, “come here.” 

You’re nothing if not obedient, working your way through the crowd with murmured apologies and your eyes on the ground to ensure you don’t step on anyone’s toes. When you get up to the bar, he’s waiting for you, holding up a hand to pause the man—the tosser, he’d dubbed him—trying to talk to him. You wonder if he’d halted his order halfway through. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, eyebrows twitching together. “You looked lost over there, babe.”

“Sorry,” you say, though you’re not sure what for. “I just—my seat was taken, so I was just trying to figure out—”

“You can sit here.” 

You blink, and he motions to the stools tucked under the bar in front of you, the ones nobody’s using. “I mean, you don’t have to,” he says, the closest thing to hesitant you’ve seen from him yet, “but you’re welcome to. I could use some good-looking company. We’re severely lacking over here.” 

“Fuck off,” says another bartender, skimming behind him to grab a bottle off a shelf. 

“Not counting you, Marls.” He shoots a sharp-edged grin towards the blond woman before fixing it back on you. His eyebrow twitches slightly in question. 

“Okay.” You pull a seat out. “Okay, thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me, doll, you’re doing me a favor.” He sets his forearms on the bar, leaning towards you like you’re having a far more private conversation. “I’m Sirius.” Something about him softens when you tell him your name in response, and you get the sense he’s been waiting for it. He repeats it back to you like it’s something special. “Alright, y/n, enjoy your drink, and I’ll try to be as decent company as I can while dealing with these pricks.” He makes no effort to keep the man beside you from hearing, then turns to him with an extremely false-looking smile. “Hi, what can I get you?” 

Even as the man starts giving his order, Sirius’ eyes flicker your way to see if he made you smile. He did.

[sunny44]

Chapter 1 (Love is in Mallorca series)

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Fem!reader

Warnings: none I guess

Summary: Y/n goes to Mallorca intending to leave her life behind, at least for a while. Then she meets a mysterious guy who makes this trip, to say the least, unforgettable.

Mallorca was stunning, but a certain discomfort grew within me as the days passed. I found myself lost on an island whose beauty was undeniable, but whose language formed an insurmountable barrier.

Since I had arrived, it seemed that the fact that I only spoke English made me invisible. People looked at me in a hurry, or simply ignored my attempts at communication. Sometimes, I wondered if it was just my imagination or if it was really happening.

Tonight, after a long day of walking along the beaches, I decided I deserved a drink. The bar was crowded, full of laughter and conversations in Spanish. The smell of fresh seafood filled the air, and I approached the counter, trying not to seem out of place. I waited patiently for a while, watching as the bartenders moved from one customer to the next, ignoring me with an efficiency that almost seemed rehearsed.

I took a deep breath and approached the counter again.

“A gin and tonic, please?” I asked in English, my voice swallowed by the atmosphere.

The bartenders barely paid attention to me, glanced at me, and simply decided to ignore me.

I waited, hoping that somehow my order would be heard. I looked around, trying to decide whether it would be better to just give up, but before I could step away, I heard a deep, firm voice next to me, speaking in Spanish. I didn’t understand the words, but the tone was clear and authoritative, like someone used to being heard.

The bartender stopped what he was doing and quickly handed over what I had asked for. I turned, surprised, to face the owner of that voice.

He was tall, dark-haired, with slightly tousled hair, but in a purposefully relaxed way. His smile was easygoing, as if saving frustrated tourists was something he did every day.

“Here you go,” he said, with a soft accent, handing me the drink.

“Thank you,” I replied, accepting the glass. “I was beginning to think I was invisible.”

He laughed, a light and sincere sound, as if he understood exactly how I felt.

“It’s not that, but sometimes people here... can be a bit stubborn with those who don’t speak the language.”

I nodded, taking a sip of the drink that was finally in my hands. The refreshing taste of gin with lemon slid down my throat, bringing an immediate sense of relief.

“So, are you from here?” I asked, curious. “Your Spanish is perfect.”

“Thanks, and kind of. I live in Madrid, but my family has a house here in Mallorca. I always come here during summer holidays. And you, what brought you to the island?”

I looked at him, hesitating. He seemed so casual, so at ease, it was hard not to feel at ease as well.

“I actually just needed a break from my life. Something different.”

“You chose well. Mallorca is a perfect place to disconnect.”

He was right. The island was beautiful, and there was much more to explore than I could do on my own, especially with my limited Spanish. Maybe that’s what led me to accept when he suggested he’d show me a few places that, according to him, "no tourist guide would include."

“Shall we take a walk?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with a kind of enthusiasm that was impossible to ignore.

I agreed. After all, I had nothing to lose, and somehow, I felt like I could trust him. But I could also be completely wrong, and he could be a serial killer who would murder me and toss me into the sea.

But I was willing to take the risk.

We left the bar, walking through narrow streets lit by small lights hanging between old buildings. The night was warm and full of life. People laughed at outdoor restaurant tables, and the distant sound of flamenco music filled the air.

“You know, you're the first person who hasn’t tried to correct me or judge me for not speaking Spanish. I know it's annoying when tourists show up and don't even try to speak the language, but I didn't think I’d be completely ignored,” I commented as we walked.

“Sometimes it’s good to just listen and not judge, right?” He smiled, glancing around at the streets around us. “Speaking the language is important, but so is feeling welcomed, even without understanding everything.”

There was something different about walking with him, something that made the city seem more accessible, more inviting. He showed me a small square where there was a fountain with a soft, calming sound, and a local bakery that, according to him, made the best "ensaimada" on the island. Everything felt simpler by his side, no rush, no judgments.

“And you? What do you do for a living?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He smiled but didn’t answer directly, just shrugged.

“Ah, nothing too interesting. I have a pretty hectic life, but here I like to slow down and forget all about work.”

I respected his silence without pressing, and we continued to explore the city at night. He took me to a higher point, where the view of the city and the sea stretched out before us. The city lights reflected on the water, creating an almost surreal sight. I was speechless.

“Wow...” was all I could say.

He looked at me, smiling sideways.

“And they say Madrid has the best views in Spain.”

We stood there in silence for a few minutes, just absorbing the moment. I felt strangely comfortable next to him, as if he wasn’t a stranger I had just met, but someone I could share moments with without the need for explanations.

Finally, he looked at me again.

“If you want, I can show you more places tomorrow. But I promise I won’t take you where the tourists go.” I smiled, feeling a wave of gratitude. “I guarantee I’ll be the best tour guide you’ll ever meet.”

“I’d love that.” He nodded, satisfied.

“Perfect. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Deal.” I smiled.

“Give me your phone number.” He handed me his phone, and I typed it in, saving it as “bar girl.”

We said goodbye, and as I walked back to the hotel, I couldn’t stop thinking about how the night had taken such an unexpected turn. I still didn’t know his name. He hadn’t asked for mine, and somehow, that felt right. We weren’t strangers, but we weren’t acquaintances either. Just two people meeting on a warm night in Mallorca.

And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to find out more about him.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Summer break”

Masterlist: @lieslostinsilence @iloveallmyboys

@r4zberrygirl @hoya122 @sid-is-gr8

@runs-with-sciss0rs @marvel-ous-miss-maisie

@barcelonaloverf1life @harrysbigrighttoe

Next Chapter

The names with a line on top is because I couldn’t tag

[eternally-racing]

off limits | logan sargeant

pairing: logan sargeant x Leclerc! reader

genre: fluff, maybe angst if you squint

wc: 1.6k

warnings: none (i think)

summary: Your brother Charles always likes to say you're off limits, but what happens when you finally meet a driver who doesn't know who you are?

- - - - - -

“You remember my little sister, Y/N right?”

You roll your eyes as Charles keeps a protective arm around your shoulders. He’s acting like you’re in a room of men who all want to get in your pants, when in reality your brother has kept you locked away from the rest of the grid as best he can over the last few years. It made sense when you were younger, but it’s definitely gotten on your nerves, especially on days like today. It was the end of season party, and having your brother attached to your hip at the club was I’m sure not your or his ideal plan. You had begged for him to let you come - you said it was only fair as a trade off since he made you listen to his rants pre and post-race all season long. You get that motorsports is his world and you’re only a guest, but a little more friendship on the grid wouldn’t hurt. 

You’ve noticed yourself get a couple more looks over as you’ve grown up over the years, and when Lando walks over and wolf whistles as he shamelessly checks you out, your brother is already telling him to watch it while he watches the British driver give you a hug. “You know where to find me, pretty girl” Lando finishes with a wink before he heads off to join the rest of his friends. It’s all good fun between you two and you know it’s nothing but playful banter as you both like to get under your brother’s skin, but Charles doesn’t seem to quite feel the same as he’s shooting daggers at the curly haired boy walking away from you both. 

Charles has always been overprotective of you, especially around the other boys in motorsport. He’d say that none of them would ever be worth your time,  that he sees the way they go through women like crazy and that the way they treat their partners would never be good enough for his darling baby sister. Through his years on the grid he had made it clear to everyone that you are and will always be off limits, something that has always irked you to no end. You were more than old enough to make your own decisions, though it seems like Charles will always see you as his little sister.

There’s only one other boy that Charles let you get close to over the years ("let" is a stretch, it was more a reluctant acceptance as it happened), and you can’t help but smile as he walks towards the two of you with open arms. Max and you became friends one day as kids when you scraped your knee on the pavement at a karting race while running away from Charles and he stopped to help you find your parents while you were sobbing - the rest was history.He may have had his ups and downs with your brother, but Max was someone that you knew you could always count on when it mattered. He puts on his best fake bodyguard voice as he comes up to you and Charles and says “Is this man bothering you, young lady?”, earning a laugh from you and an eye roll from your brother.

Soon you’re begging the Dutchman to save you from Charles’ wrath, and luckily with the promise of being his padel partner in the new year he quickly agrees. Charles tries to put up a bit of a fight but before you know it he’s yelling “make good choices” as he’s being whisked away to get a gin and tonic with his self-appointed drinking buddy for the night. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been at one of these events, let alone been able to walk around without your brother, so it feels very much like unfamiliar territory. A vodka cran seems like a good place to start, and you settle in easily at the bar while surveying the scene in front of you. Maybe Charles was right, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into - there’s so many people everywhere and everyone seems to know everyone. There’s got to be a few faces you know in this sea of people, like George’s girlfriend or Danny’s sister, the only problem is getting through it. You’re doing a good job staying under the radar as you squeeze through the crowd until you find yourself colliding head first with someone, your drink absolutely flying into their chest. 

All you can think is “fuck, I should’ve drank a gin and tonic instead too” as you rub mercilessly at the red liquid on the mystery boy’s chest with the one flimsy napkin the bar gave you. It’s only when he replies back with “It’s seriously okay, gin and tonics taste like shit anyways.” in an accent that you can’t quite pin down do you realize that you accidentally have been talking out loud. Your cheeks are beet red and you’re starting to miss the comfort of having your older brother around you. 

“I’m Logan” the boy in front of you says with a smile. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever said yes to something faster in your life. 

The conversation flows so naturally between you and Logan. It makes sense that you’ve never met him before today - he’s new on the grid and doesn’t seem to be close with any of Charles' friends. The freedom you feel is refreshing - it’s been a long time since you got to know a guy like this, just one on one talking to each other. Of course there had been the blind dates that your friends had tried to set you up on but there were all just a little bit off. None of them felt like this.

“I meant to ask you earlier, did you come with someone to the party tonight?”

The question makes you freeze up because you’re having to face the reality that Logan may be one of the only people who don’t know that Charles is your brother in this entire party. Is it selfish that you want it to stay that way? 

“Oh, um, I came with a friend of a friend who dragged me here tonight.” The lie falls off your lips all too easily and you’re not even sure why you did it. Logan had been nothing but a gentleman all night and you don’t think he would treat you differently for being Charles’ little sister. Maybe you just wanted to see it for yourself, what could happen when people didn’t feel threatened around you because of your older brother. Luckily, Logan doesn’t think twice about your response and you’re grateful for that. 

The bass booming through the club is making you start to wiggle in your seat, and it’s enough to make Logan laugh and ask you if you want to dance. Who could say no to that American smile? You’re dragging him up to dance, shimmying your shoulders in a way that only confirms that you’re as bad of a dancer as you mentioned to Logan earlier in your conversation.  At first it’s all so playful, Logan twirling you around and hyping you up, but as the music gets more sultry you and Logan do as well. It’s like there’s two magnets pulling you both together until you’re pressed chest to chest. Logan’s hand around your waist just feels so right. Your heart is beating so fast you’re worried that he might actually be able to hear it himself - he’s so close to you that you can feel the heat from his breath on your neck. The conversation has slowed between you two but you feel like you understand him perfectly. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the boy in front of you that’s making your cheeks so red, but you know that you don’t want this feeling to stop. 

“Will you kiss me, Logan?” you’re looking at him like you can see the universe in his eyes, and simultaneously hoping that he can't see how nervous you are in yours. 

You’re trying not to get carried away, but it’s hard not to. Kissing Logan just feels so right. You grab his shirt by the front in an effort to get closer to him, you want to feel him, and Logan reciprocates by pressing his hands even further into the dimples on your back. You’re not sure how long you go on like this, you both making out like love-sick teenagers. All you know is that you can’t get enough of him, and based on the way Logan reaches out to caress your cheek, you hope he feels the same. You’re trying to memorize every single part of him, just in case this is all you get to have of him. As his hands start to dip lower and lower your heart beats even faster, and you let your hands trail further down his chest along with the tempo of the music. This moment feels infinite. 

It’s not until you feel a hand on your shoulder that the spell is broken as the two of you are shoved apart. Logan reaches to pull you behind him, but once you see a pair of green eyes that are identical to yours staring you both down, it’s him that you want to protect. 

“What the fuck are you doing to my sister, Sargeant?"

----

author's note: this was such a fun one to write! i think a part 2 to this could be a lil crazy and fun so let me know if you want that too <3

[doublekanble]

deer (in a head light)

Alastor/reader (gnc)

platonic-romantic. (almost everyone thinks you two are in love or is extremely baffled by the fact, a bit more romantic for me but can be seen as anything actually i just like writing people being sort of stupid)

word count: 5.6k.

or, collectively, everyone's reaction to the fact. Nifty is there👍. no real warning this is a normal fic part two to this.

Husk have never gone through this level of raw mental torture, while Angel thinks it’s absolutely hilarious how hard is it for Husker to accept that one of the most feared Overlord of all Pride Ring is vying for a cute lil fella like you. What started out as a small remark over the rim of a particularly strong cup of gin about how Alastor have been seemingly hovering around you, making small talks that you try to keep up with confused enthusiasm - soon turn into listing off every growing instances of odd affections that no one ever thought he’s capable of, but it’s yours in abundance.

You’re standing up with the intention of going outside? Unless he’s actively in a conversation (and several time, even during one) Alastor will find a convenient excuses to walk with you. You’re cold? Everyone else better be cold too, either that or hope to God he have anything to give you to wear. Hungry? Thirsty? Almost like a caretaker, he’s always making sure you have little bites of food and drink here or there, reminding you like clockwork. Staying in your room for the day? Your room is close to Angel, and the first time he come out of his room, fresh from a hangover, only to catch the tail end of a red coat and a greeting disappearing behind your door, it takes everything in him to try and rationalizing not breaking the door down.

(Husk thinks he was being overprotective. Angel brushed it off with a nervous chuckle. It’s a good thing, he remarks, if only Angel kept that attitude.)

The idea of Alastor actually taken interest in anyone, even positively, send shivers down his spine. Husk have been one of the older soul that fell into the hand of the sadistic Overlord, one that did just enough to keep his earn and do what he want when Alastor would’ve gotten busy with a new project or two. He knows he’s useful enough to Alastor, even with the occasional slipped up, learning quickly where to tread and where to back down. The Radio demon is insane, but he is surprisingly much more lenient with people than he often let on, but not as much as he is with you.

Which quickly became a thorn that Angel uses to dug into his side. Old battle-worn Husk cannot wrap his head around the fact that you, of all people in Hell, somehow get back on Alastor good side and stays there for longer than anyone thought you could.

You are more than bearable, don’t get him wrong. Good at reading and picking up on certain cues to pleased people (more particularly, the fact Husk likes to be alone most of the time), and in spite of being just a tad bit too stubborn at times, is generally a polite and entertaining thing to have around. It would’ve made sense for Alastor to wants to keep you for fun, if not for how you two started out.

Having missing out on your first introduction, all he have to go off of is your debrief of it on the one day you want to try whiskey. You’d damn near spat it out, opting to just sit with some soda instead (he didn’t try to poke too much, you’re almost like a pop-up pirate at time). Husk figured you would earn the ire of the most egotistical man he’d ever known, considering how you loudly asked Charlie for Alastor's resume as a way to try and barred him from working here.

Of course, that didn’t work, both you and Vaggie are long-time victims of Charlie convincing puppy gaze, and Alastor secured him and Nifty a spot at the hotel. But Husk was extremely adamant it would put you on a black book with Alastor, still remembering how Alastor grip on his cane would tighten just a bit whenever you spoke up on the first day. And yet, you get to laugh about it.

-

“Yer just bein superstitious kitten. At this point ‘m pretty sure dude just got the hots for them, nothing big.”  Angel fiddles with his phone on one set of hand, the other propping himself on the bar counter, holding a popsicle to his mouth. He wants to tell the spider that’s absolutely not how the word superstitious should be use, but he digressed. “We’ve been at this for days, if he gonna do something, we would’ve known.”

Husk scoffed, throwing the piece of cloth he’s been using to furiously wiping down a stain someone left on the counter over his shoulder.

“Yeah right, as if you can get your head out of your ass enough to see that.” He ignores Angel smirk, already knew where this can go if he let it, almost like a whisper, he spat. “I’m just saying, he ain’t the Radio demon for show. You lots know nothing about whatever he got planned in his shitty fucked up head.”

Forced contractor be damn, this bar is his pride and joy, or whatever’s left of it anyway.

At that, Angel sends his attitude right back, hand(s) flickering, “And I’m saying he’s head over heels. What? Ya wanna explain the fucker just- casually waltz up to them and kissin' their fucking hand as a morning greeting? Cus’ I’m calling bullshit. Nobody even doing that fucking thing anymore, and he’s doin’ it every chance he gets! Like, have you even seen them?!” Almost like a comedy setup, they both look over to the chattering at the top of the stairs.

Over the railing, you’re rushing off from Alastor’s side to catch up to Nifty, who’s desperately nagging you to come and help her with a spot she can’t dust off with a ladder, having long depleting the fun of falling off from it. And almost like instinct, he took your hand and planted a gentle peck, along with a well wish for your day.

You, with your other hand occupied and being dragged away too fast after the fact for you to formulate a real respond, simply perks up and laugh, waving at him before you fully give into the little bug-like demon and let her rushed the both of you to the other side of the hotel – Alastor stands and watch you fully disappearing behind a corner before turning his head and look directly at the pair. His mic sounding nothing except for a low drones of static.

Husk expertise kicking in, he looks straight ahead instead, wiping down the counter again just to be safe. Angel’s years of acting led him to immediately start talking about the latest project he’s involved in, popsicles stick held from his face. Husk can’t be too bothered by it this time, at least he’s reading the room. But even with their combined effort, it still doesn’t stop Alastor from manifested himself right by the bar, smiles almost pull taut, a too jolly “How is it going gentlemen?” and a request for a cup of moonshine, with a tune contorting just to sound much too whimsical for anyone else except him echoes from his microphone, and he’s off again.

“…y’know, you can just say you’re sorry for being wrong Whiskers~”

“Go fuck yourself.”

-----

Vaggie knows that no matter how much she tries to warn Charlie about the cannibal murderer in their own cozy hotel, her partner can and have constantly willed it away with loving words and cute beady eyes that she can’t fight against. Her loving and trusting nature always been the tried-and-true counter to Vaggie’s much more doubtful and skeptical side. Recalling the way you refer to it (two people working in harmony, balancing out each other’s nature, like a tango, a secret rhythm unknown to anyone but them), she smiles.

It dropped the moment she remembers the matter at hand, specifically, you, a friend that have grown dear to her heart, and the cannibal murderer she very much hated guts - growing close to yours. She’s not sure whether this qualifies for a tango when she’s dragging her feet and Charlie’s tap dancing.

Vaggie would’ve been glad you have virtually zero comment on the fact Alastor is getting close to you, and with her luck, purposefully ignoring it (what’s with you and dive bombing out of the conversation the moment the topic came up), if not for the fact Charlie is very insistent on letting you know all about it (=> conversation you have to dive out of). You and Vaggie traded favors all the time, exclusively about Charlie, who always try to bite off a bit more than she can chew.

Usually, you did a much better job on keeping Charlie from trouble than Vaggie actually can, having the heart she lacks to guilt her partner into keeping still or stop her from running into red light traffic. Yet a pattern emerges soon after this deal started that you three all pick up on, much to Charlie’s delight.

Somehow, some way, Charlie aged old puppy dog eyes are much, much more effective when the both of you are right next to each other. Alone, while Vaggie can’t turn her down, you can and have consistently do so. But together, you both would turn to each other, and you either would give into Charlie first, or wash your hand completely from the whole situation altogether, both decisions are equally awful, and often left Vaggie alone on the line of defense.

Like that time you asked for the Radio demon resume, being extremely firm on his demeanor being horrible for customer service and how unfit it would be for a hotel to house someone who clearly doesn’t want to help or be help. Vaggie remember the chills running up her spine as you stand firmly in the face of the greatest mystery to Hell even after all this time and not even batting an eye to his straining words or the implications of it. Even going so far as to point out that he’s a liability and can’t keep himself straight for anything worth the hotel’s effort.

Only for Charlie to held onto your (and Vaggie’s) hand and tell you both she can do this. She remembers it took you not even 5 second to turn towards her with a wistful gaze, a smile pulls on your lips, and put a hand on her shoulder.

Aside from her first real injuries, it was the biggest betrayal she’d ever gone through.

Vaggie like to think it doesn’t sting so badly that her partner and her friend are now growing more used to the giant red flag stalking their halls. If not also for the fact she have to be in on your effort of stopping Charlie from bringing up a weird line of conversation while you still - albeit not fully of your own volition - feeding into her girlfriend delusion of being a matchmaker. It wouldn’t be so hard if you just, try to at least calm Charlie down yourself, but your tendencies to avoid particularly specific conversation makes her boomerang from appreciation to pure exasperation.

Especially when she would be fighting her love for Charlie to keep your dignity intact.

“But Vaggiee…!” clinging onto her left arm, Charlie tries her best to bring her girlfriend’s eyes back to her. “Just look at them! They’ve never looked at anyone like that!”

She would love to argued otherwise, you have a habit of looking at everyone like that, something with making people feel more welcome to talk to you. But all thought vanished from her head when she turns to try and make an argument, and for a brief moment she forgot what they were talking about. Charlie’s good at distracting her, but she steeled herself and stop Charlie from jumping off into this and making it so much harder on you than it already is.

(God, the things Vaggie’d do for love.)

“I know you really want to, hun, but - I’m just, not sure about this. It’s Alastor we’re talking about. I get them being into him or whatever, but you’d really set them up with the Radio demon? You know…”

Charlie was slowly wilting a bit, but picks herself up at the hesitation, thinking it’s her chance, she races over her words. “A thoughtful, charming and-“

But still can’t finish fast enough, and Vaggie have to advert her eyes, she can’t handle a sad Charlie that well. “and a horrible cannibalistic freak, Charlie. He’s not a good person.” At that, her girlfriend really clings onto her.

“Vaggie…this is a hotel for redemption! We've got to believe that people can change…” Charlie’s not addressing her point, there’s no real way to denying the fact Alastor is really just who he is. A rotten, rancid piece of meat. Redemption be dammed when he doesn’t even believe in it. “And! I have proof that Alastor likes them~” Pulling out little drawn post-it-notes from her front pocket, Charlie nearly doubled over while trying to put all of them onto the table in front of Vaggie, and you.

“I’m going to go back to my room.” You abruptly stand up, nervously grinning while shuffling out of their office. Having sat completely stilled while hoping that you can somehow divert the topic ever since the start of the conversation, you gave up. Completely disregarding Charlie’s attempt at making you stay. “It’s late, and I should’ve been in bed some hours ago…”

“Wait! I swear that this time I-“ Charlie tries to reach for you again, but Vaggie held strong. Nodding towards the exit, you mouthed her a quick thank you as you walked out, wishing them both good night while gently pushing the doors close. “I have the proof…”

“C’mon babe…” visibly deflating, Charlie sat herself back into Vaggie’s arms with a pout. She doesn’t have the heart to press this too deeply, so she pushed back her hair and give her a small peck on her eyelid, she always did have pretty eyes. “You know they’re not going to listen to you if you keep ambushing them like this.”

“I know, but I just- really love them both…” Vaggie raised an eyebrow at that. “And they seem so, nice together. Alastor always makes sure to greet them every day, they always wished him goodnight-“ she scoffed.

“They do that for everyone hun, and I’m pretty sure that bastard just do it because…well, who knows? He’s weird, who knows what he’s thinking…maybe he’s just trying to- toot his own horns playing nice. He does that a lot.”

When Charlie stays still, Vaggie really thought she could end this tonight, for both your sake and her’s. But then, as if was given water from the spring of life, with her back straight, she sat right up and held firmly onto Vaggie shoulders.

“But he’s trying so hard for them! Don’t you see how he’s spending so much time just hanging around them? Oh, and don’t forget that he asked them, specifically them, what they think of his radio show! He doesn’t do that for anyone else Vaggie! He brings them food when they forgot to eat. They told him about stuff they would’ve ever tell us without prompting! And you have to see the way he looks at them when they’re just, sit together and, and-“

“Woah. Slow down Char. Through your nose.” Even like this, she’s endearing. She held Charlie’s arm and bring her closer.

“You have to see Vaggie, he looks at them like…how you look at me!” Vaggie pauses. Charlie is getting to her, she have to stop her from talking or she’ll give in. She thinks about how miserable you would be sitting through an actual talk about this, it doesn’t help.

“And, you’re one of the most wonderful things that happens to me, Vaggie. I love everyone in the hotel, and I would give my everything for them,” knowing her, she would “but you.” She breathes, and Vaggie feels her breath stuck in her throat. “You are my everything. We’re perfect together. And I really love them, and I just thought…”

Charlie looked at her with such a soft and gentle look, her eyebrows slightly drawn together, lips jutting out just a little bit. “I thought he’s perfect for them, that they’ll be perfect together too. I know he’s not the best person, and you don’t trust him. You don't have to. But I think he’s doing his best for them, and they’re doing so much for him too...” their hands, held tightly together “So please, trust me. I genuinely think this can work out. They deserve to be love like I did too.”

Vaggie tries so hard to held strong, opting to stay silent instead of replying and stoking the growing flame, but Charlie looks at her with her big shiny eyes, and she caved.

“…Alright… I guess he haven’t really…done anything to them yet…” before Charlie could jump up in joy, Vaggie tries to get her focus back “But if he touches a single hair on them- woah!”

Wrapped in her arms, Vaggie barely able to get out the full sentence as Charlie rambles on. “Oooh, thank you thank you thankyouthankyou I knew you’d understand! Oh there is so much I want to do too-“

“Charlie, bit too tight…”

“Oops! Sorry!”

Coming down from her high, she stares into her lover’s eye with the brightest grin possible. It takes everything in Vaggie to think about how disappointed you’ll be, so she closed her eye and takes a breath. “We have to let them sort it out themselves, though. No matchmaker.”

“But-”

“You know how closed off they can be. Give them time Charlie. They can find their own way home.” Like that, Charlie smiles a smile so bright and gentle, reserve only for Vaggie. “Like you and me?”

And all she can think is that this might not be that bad after all.

“Like you and me.”

----

“So...thissss is what the youth are…into?”

“Arguably, it’s somewhat better than what I have as a kid.”

Pentious squinted at the device in his hand, clawed hands carefully swipe through your ‘carefully curated feed’, whatever that means. You sat next to him on your balcony, various knick knacks on the side table he insisted you need, hands considerably less clawed holding a book you’ve never managed to get through past the 10th page, as you only ever try to read it when the moon is blue and you always ended up forgetting the previous pages, something he learned while he was helping with cleanups.

He’s flustered when you laugh at a joke without needing to look at the captions in the video, wanting to pretend he completely understood what just happened. It takes you a bit to calm down and explain to him what was so funny, it only serves to confused him further. You grin and handed your book over to Frank without putting a bookmark in first (who then immediately turns the page and started narrating half-way through to the other eggs), reaching for the phone.

“I’ll put on something a bit easier to get used to, is that ok with you?”

“But, aren’t we learning how to be ‘hip’?” you cackle, he tries not to shrink into himself.

“We can leave that for some other day i think, you don’t need to be hip or anything right now. And besides,” handing him your phone, he minded his claws, “I think you’re cool on your own.” You hum and turn to an open sketchbook on the table, picking up a pencil, you start to sketch one of the egg boiz running about your room.

Pentious nearly burst into tears, he should’ve known his friends (or, you) would’ve never made fun of him. Turning to your device again, his attention is immediately captured by a cat video.

You two stayed like that for what must’ve been an hour or two, occasionally checking up on what the other’s is doing. (he would show you the cutest video, you showed him your barely intelligible sketch. He feels like you’re sketching his nightmare he said, you’re flattered). With almost all of his eggies already tiring themselves out some time ago and gathered around both of your feet (and his tail), bundled up in your duvet and pillows. Except for egg boiz number 3, who’s in his lap as both are captured by a video of a dog getting a haircut (a mini-American shepherd, you chimed in happily that it’s one of your favorite video).

Then, the calm afternoon was broken by a singular knock to your door. You and your still cognizant companion(s) look up from your respective entertainment at hand and stare at each other. You glance over to him, head nodding towards the door, he shrugs, growing restless, you pat his shoulder as you stand up and walk away.

Pentious really did try to turn back and focus on the groomers narrating a particularly endearing moment in the nine minutes long video, but he can’t help but be on edge when a familiar voice sing a greeting too loud for him to ignore, and he realized just who is at the door, your door, his new best friend's door (verdict still out on whether you consider him as one).

Taking a peek, assuring to himself it’s to keep you safe, he locks eyes with red and half of his soul descend into the ring below, the other half turns him right back to your phone when the red starts to raise his eyebrows at him. He can keep you safe from a safe distance surely, but when he tries to hug the egg in his lap to comfort himself and feels nothing, he freezes. Horror-struck, he turns and look at you, specifically your back, the other half of his soul joins the first.

Without him realizing, number 3 already slipped out of his grasp and is now climbing on your shoulder and interjecting your conversation with the gentleman, who is now full-on glaring at him whenever your head slightly turn away. He gulped, but he still put your phone back onto the table and stand up, forget to mind his still sleeping minions at his tail. Thank Lucifer they decided to stay silent for once.

“I was just going to stay in tomorrow too… maybe- oh, Sir Pentious? What’s up?” You stare at him, easy-going as always. Almost like you’re unaware of the way Alastor is smiling at him. Pentious can only thank whoever is in charge of fate for the fact you slotted yourself right between them, and cursed them all the same for the fact you can’t covered up the demon’s face.

Clearing his throat, he tries to steered his nerves and curb his stuttering. “I see that someone have rudely interrupt our study session. May I have your permission to…”

At the sounds of radio static grows, his words in turns wilted as he stares into bright, glowing red and yellow growing in volume. Luckily, you manage to pick this up and covered for him. “Oh no don’t worry, Al was just asking when I’m free to hang out with.” As you turn to that same terrifying shade of red, it immediately transformed into a charming smile.

“Why, hangout is such a casual term dear. I prefer to call it a trip! Much more exciting that way.” With his usual theatrics delivery and a backing of voices coming from the microphone staff he uses to give you a gentle knock on the head, clashing with your much more casual tone brushing him off, Pentious wishes he can see this as endearing.

“Oh you’re trying to goat me into going back there again.” That wasn’t a question on your end. Alastor smiles in amusement, but it strained when number 3 chimes in and tries to asked you where is back there. He’s extremely grateful the demon chooses to ignore it, letting you entertain the egg instead.

“I do not know what you’re referring to at all.” Closing his eyes and leaning a bit to the side, the demon bounces a bit on the tip of his shoes and sings. “Otherwise, it seems my presence is making our welcomed guest uncomfortable.” Pentious tries to stand tall for you and number 3, but Alastor preference for getting up close and personal is mincing his confidence to bits. “I guess I will settle for an extra visit by tonight to talk a bit more about your hectic schedule, if that’s alright with you Ma chère?”

You laugh a bit and agrees with him, saying a quick sorry while he brushed it off with a smile, adjusting his coat’s flawless lapel with one hand, the other reaching for yours. Lifted up to his lips, he planted there a kiss with a look that can passed off as soft. Pentious looks away the moment their eyes lock again, whistling like he hasn’t been blanching at the two of you.

As you turn to close the door, he could’ve sworn red dials were looking at him in the seconds you look back to him, completely in contrast with the life-threatening aura now stand outside the door.

“Haha, sorry about that. I didn’t have time earlier and he was busy, so…” you trailed off, explanation offering him nothing but more questions. “I’ll try to be a bit more mindful about this next time, yeah? Didn’t know he still held something against you.”

You want to keep doing study sessions with him? He perks up a bit at the implication, while choosing to ignore the second part, until his egg started speaking.

“Uh, boss number two, why does Alastor kiss your hand so much?” Number 3 raises his hand, still sitting snugly in your arms. Pentious makes a note to make him sleep on the edge of the bed tonight. It doesn’t help that you’re leading them back to the others, who also started to chime in with their own questions. He can tell this time you’re getting a bit miffed, smiles growing a bit taut and looking off somewhere, unable to let them somehow ruin your goodwill towards him, he cracked. “SILENCE! Cease with your silly questions right now!”

You look at him, and he would’ve shrink into himself if not for how you seem more surprised than angry, as your brows relax and you smile a bit, he let himself breathe. “It’s alright, they’re cute, they can get away with a little questioning I think. And hm…” you bounce on your feet in a slightly familiar manner, he sweats a bit. “-I mean, it’s normal for friends to be close, so I don’t see any problem with it.”

“Oh…friends can kiss each other on the hand?” number 1 jump up. You laugh.

“Of course they can. Alastor loves getting into people’s space too, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

He would’ve tried to say something and help you out with the questioning, but it hit him that at least in his time, the specific to the gesture was more of a formal greeting. But he takes into account the fact it's Alastor, and how whenever he sees you two together, the Radio demon always seemingly follows after your heels like a shadow tie too tightly, and he shivers. Anxiety fills his heart as he tries to navigate this thought.

“I do have to say, why is it that he tends to get so…closssse…to you?” You visibly stiffen at this, but as he takes your hand in his, trying his best to be tactful, still minding the claws, you stare. “Could it be…he’s trying to threaten you, dear friend?” he tries to recall how you comforts him in time of distress, and did his best to echoes the same sentiment to you.

“Whatever it is, you can share it to me! I will, uh- “

“You’ll duel him, right boss?”

his eggs chimes in where he falters, he follows their lead.

“Duel! Yesss! A duel to the death! That Radio bastard will regrets the day he-“ You squeeze his hand, and he drop his false bravado and let you seated him back on the balcony, letting number 3 dropped from his spot in your arms to the duvet covering the floor.

(with much less grace compared to you, but all the heart. he takes the fact you’re still around that he’s doing great.)

“We don’t need any of that silly. He’s my friend, I think.”

You fall back onto your seat, number 1 climb up to your lap with a question. “You two are friends? Like with boss?” sitting up, you sing an enthusiastic agreement while reaching for your notebook again. Pentious swore the sketch is looking more and more familiar by the line.

“Yeah, like with Sir Pentious! Al’s intimidating but he’s fun to hang around.” Hunching over while minding number 1 watching in your lap, your grin drops to something a bit kinder. He feels like he’s overstepping, despite the fact the room is void of anyone else. “He nice to talk with, I’ve never seen him shutting up on anyone else’s terms. That’s a good thing.” He wanted to say that’s a bit too barebone, even for himself, but then, turning to him with a smirk, you added. “Don’t tell him i said this, but he’s ssssuch a bitch sometimes. It’s fun though.”

Nodding with a much more serious look, Pentious takes your word as a command. “Not a word to my grave!”

“Hehe, that’s why you’re my favorite.”

Refocused on your sketch, you trust Pentious to be able to work your phone a bit better than before. He thinks he would’ve work it better if not for the tears gathering in his eyes, he takes the tissue paper you handed him without looking and wiped it away, only to panic about the long scratch he left on your screen. You laugh and assured him it’s fine, you can change the screen.

(verdict be dammed, you’re HIS best friend.)

(he took a peek at your sketch before you turn the page, and it hit him why it looks so off-putting. Antlers sprouting from two end on a figured too lanky to make out the physique of, but familiar enough all the same. He’d much prefer you go back to sketching his eggies, he said, you happily complied and he leave your room after with 5 torn note full of egg sketches and another schedule study session he pray you'll relay to Mister Alastor.)

---

“There you are darling! I was looking everywhere for you.” Calling out with joy, then stopping to take in the sight. He steadied you with one hand while you stop to catch your breath, nearly doubled into him. “I can see that you’re quite busy, seems like Nifty is giving you quite the run for your money huh!”

“Please…shut up…” you don’t need to look at him to know he’s enjoying this way more than you do, laughing at your utterly exhausted state. “I didn’t know there’s this much bugs in here… How can she even keep tracks of them??”

“Don’t feel too bad now, that one mind and health both are simply wonders to behold! Even I can’t keep up with her at times.” Trying to dust off your shoulders, he looked offended when you just swatted his hands away, waiting for an explanation.

“We’re not done yet, she’s just in the kitchen for a bit.” You pulled out your phone to check the time, Alastor squinting his eyes besides you, leaning over to keep watch and raising an eyebrow at the long scratch on the glass. “One hour before I’m free…”

“Thinking of giving up then~?”

“Yeah.”

Laughing at your tone, he takes your hand and twirl you, but not too much! Just enough daze you a bit. “Well darling, I would love to whisk you off with me for a trip downtown! I’m running low on good meat, and simply can’t afford to stained my coat while the tailor’s out of commission. But knowing you…” he’d look down-right sad if you let him. He can tell you try to keep your expression neutral, but your smile is growing to match his.

“No Al, an hour is-“

“An hour is an hour. Yes I know dear but it’s dreadfully boring without you.” Holding on still, he brings his face close to you, taking delight in the growing red on your face and you acting like nothing is out of the sort.

“You’ll survive Alastor. Nifty however…” As the sound of tiny footstep calling your name quickly approaching, he can’t help but letting a long, drawn-out sigh, backing off from you. A lost for him. You smile.

“Over here Nifty!” calling out to the little woman, you step away from Alastor to meet her half way, her stopping just before she hit your leg.

“You! I’ve been looking for you where have you been! I saw SOOOO many of them but they’re on the ceiling and I can’t reach them at all you've got to come help me – oh hiii Alastor!”

Nifty stops pulling you down the hall again just to give him a violent wave, dancing from one foot to the other and giving him time to catch up to you two, fully aware of your tradition from the moment it first started. Alastor smiles border on self-pleasing, gracious of Nifty’s effort to not drag you away just yet, less so the fact she would stares with such a wide grin. Nevertheless, he takes your hand again and bring it up, speaking all the while.

“Nifty, dearie, won’t you work our dear friend here a little less? I need them to-“ he pauses as you suddenly grip his hand and bring it up to your lips, too quick for him to stop you. And before he knew it, you both disappeared behind the corner yet again. Nifty voices and your cackle echoing down the empty hall way.

When he came back, aware of how the light flickering above his head now finally stabilizing itself, he laughs. Steadying himself, Alastor brushed off his coat and fix his monocle. Humming along with a love song slowly trickling from the microphone while walking the same way you and Nifty ran off to before. He have time to spare while waiting for you.

[syntheticavenger]

Heart of Glass - Part Eight

Since it's been a year... I give you my latest installment. A little self-conscious with this chapter but I hope I got it right. Let me know what you think. I’d like to thank Victoria Monet’s ‘Cadillac’ for the inspiration for this chapter.

Heart of Glass Masterlist

Therapist! Curtis Everett x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, oral sex (f receiving), handjob, unprotected sex, aftercare.

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary | A bad breakup lands you in the office of Dr. Curtis Everett, who seeks to help you further at the request of your local therapist, due to his renowned talent in his niche profession.

Cameras flash, voices carrying over each other to get your attention. Curtis’ fingers are intertwined with yours, leading you through the small path allotted by security from the restaurant to the waiting car. The act of your hand in his own shouldn’t elicit such a reaction but the understanding that you’ve been touch starved more than you are willing to admit makes you grip his hand tighter.

He wastes no time opening the door for you, closing it while more people shout his name, the lights from the cameras lighting up the car.

“Fuckin’ vultures,” Curtis mutters when he finally gets in, looking at your face. “You alright?”

“I thought they’d be gone by now,” you admit, pressing your hand to your heart to feel your heart beating rapidly. “Does that happen every time you go out?”

“Only when I have a date so, no,” Curtis allows with a wink. “You ready to go?”

At your nod, he accelerates, the car shooting forward as he takes a tight turn, the velocity making you laugh as he heads toward the freeway.

“We’ll be home soon.”

You don’t admit how that makes your stomach flutter at the sound, especially since you know that it isn’t your home he’s mentioning.

-

When he helps you out of the car, he gives you a spin, letting you go before he closes the door behind you. Holding out his hand, you take it, Curtis leading you up the steps of his house.

Every single house looks like it could have been taken out of a magazine, an architect’s dream as you slightly look back, careful of your steps as you go up the stairs slowly. More importantly, you’re aware of he holds your hand in his own, his fingers warm against your own.

When he opens the door, your mouth parts in surprise, the entry like a bridge to the living room, a pond underneath the bridge.

“A pond?” you ask, Curtis standing behind you as you take a step forward to look. “How…”

“It was a surprise to me too when I saw the plans.”

When you get closer, koi fish swim to the surface as you lean over to look.

“A little surprise from my architect at the time. I take good care of these guys,” Curtis says. 

“Incredible.”

You can feel his eyes on you when you finally look at him as he nods for you to continue on. Going over the bridge, he’s behind you, your hands nearly touching when you glide your palms on the rails.

“It’s very fancy.”

“I’m more of a minimalist but they’re a nice touch,” he agrees, motioning to the right. “Kitchen is that way.”

Stainless steel appliances and black lacquered cabinets await you, everything carefully decorated when he turns on the light, taking off his shoes in a swift move, padding into the kitchen.

“Pick your poison,” he offers, heading to the built-in wet bar.

“I’ll have a scotch, please.”

“Scotch,” Curtis says with a raise of his eyebrow. “I would have taken you for a gin sort.”

“Gin?”

“Sophisticated. Architects have a way about them.”

“Like what?” you inquire, Curtis handing you your drink as he raises his to yours. The glasses clink slightly before he answers you.

“Complex without being overbearing.”

You take a sip, Curtis following suit.

“Complex,” you repeat. “That’s now how I would describe myself.”

“Then you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Complex doesn’t need to have a negative connotation. Everything about you is complex because you don’t outwardly offer your feelings.”

“I think I’ve been pretty open.”

He laughs at your comment, nodding in agreement.

“But the treatment that I offered, that was complex. Broke a few of my own set rules but it worked. You’re a complex woman and I find that insanely sexy.”

You swallow the last of your drink, seeing him take another sip.

“It’s a good thing that I was cured then. You won’t have to break any more of your rules,” you add, seeing him set down his glass.

“How would you know what other rules I’d be willing to break?”

Your mouth goes dry at his question, licking your lips as he cages you against the wall.

“I was guessing.”

“Hmm,” he replies, his eyes gazing at your body. “There’s only one way to find out. Can I touch you?”

You nod, almost too furiously for your good when he lowers himself down, his hands at your hips, his fingers sliding down the fabric of your dress and down to your bare skin. He doesn’t break eye contact with you, hands slipping under your dress as he pulls the fabric up. 

He leans in, kissing your thighs, your own hands rolling into fists as he inches closer and closer to the juncture of your thighs. You can feel his breath, warm and dangerously close when he leans in, keeping you steady when his tongue finds your covered clit, applying just enough pressure for you to whimper.

“Satin is a nice touch,” he tells you, slipping thumbs under the band. “I wouldn’t want to ruin such a pretty pair but I need to see what I’ve been dreaming about.”

He pulls them down slowly, letting them pool at your feet, carefully lifting up each leg so that you’re finally free. The urge to hide from him, to hold your dress in place is overwhelming.

There is a hunger – a desire – in his eyes that you’ve never experienced with anyone else before.

You’re exposed to him, but it doesn’t matter, your eyes on his arms flexing when his thumb slowly swipes against your clit, back and forth until your hips move forward.

“Easy,” he warns gently, tasting you as you swallow hard. “Just like I thought. Amazing.”

You aren’t prepared for how his mouth feels, wet and hot as he’s gentle, learning you centimeter by centimeter, your fingernails scoring against his scalp. Your breath halts when his tongue laves over your clit, over and over until you forget to breathe again.

“You okay?”

Nodding, your head falls back against the wall when you feel his fingers ease up inside you.

Stretching, caressing keeping time with the tempo of his mouth on your clit.

“C…” 

There’s no use in trying to finish saying his name, your hands holding him in place as he brings you to the brink, your legs buckling before you feel him hold you up as you shatter.

“One so far,” he says, looking up at you with a sly smile. “We’re barely getting started.”

He stands up fluidly, your boldness peaking when you pull on his shirt to bring him closer.

“One of how many?” you ask, seeing his devious smile.

“That depends,” he replies. “How many do you want to give me?”

There’s no set number in your mind, only the want – need – to have him that propels you forward, your lips on his, tasting yourself that only spurns you to kiss him deeper as he takes control, his hand at the side of your neck, breaking the kiss to turn your head slightly, drawing your skin into his mouth as he sucks it gently but deep enough that you can feel the sweet pressure and sends shockwaves down to your belly.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he says, breaking the kiss. “Dress on or off before you go upstairs.”

You’ve never been exposed like this before, especially knowing the only thing you’ll be wearing are your heels.

Whatever you choose, you’ll know he’ll accept without question. The freedom to decide how you’ll end up in his bed may be insignificant to him – though you hope not – it feels freeing to know that he’s letting you make the decision.

Turning around, you hear it: the slight suck in of his breath, looking over your shoulder as your eyes plead silently for him to help you.

“Bold move,” he praises, his fingers unzipping your dress.

As it slips down your shoulders, his lips brush against the tops of your shoulders and at the back of your neck when it pools at your feet.

“Absolutely unreal,” Curtis says, taking your hand as he turns you around in a circle, his appreciative gaze making you even wetter than you thought possible.

“Up the stairs and to the left,” Curtis directs. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Every step you take, your insecurities come racing back. Despite every body being a good body, you’re aware of your own shortcomings, the ones you see in the mirror when the confident façade slips. You’re aware of how your hips sway, certain imperfections that you can only imagine will be amplified with you only wearing your black stilettos.

“You look absolutely perfect,” he says behind you, as if he’s reading your mind.

“I’ve never been this… exposed,” you whisper in the darkness, Curtis right behind you as you can feel his arousal, cradled right between your ass.

“I guessed since tt’s taking you a while to get up the stairs. Not that I’m complaining in the slightest,” he assures you, kissing your cheek. “But you’re going to kill me with that perfect view.”

A slight tap of his hand against your ass makes you involuntarily moan, gripping the banister for a moment as you look back at him.

“You’re dripping,” he says, his eyes wandering between your thighs. “Making a nice mess if I do say so myself.”

You finally reach the top of the stairs, the cool air doing nothing to stop the ache between your legs when you make the left toward his room. You’ll marvel at the work of his upstairs when you’re not thinking about how you’re going to get wrecked, Curtis pushing the door open for you as you step into his room.

Black silk sheets.

“It’s not fair, you know,” you finally say, turning your body to face him. “I’m the only one underdressed.”

“I don’t think I’d look as good as you do,” Curtis answers you, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “But I can oblige if you want.”

“I want to help.”

His hands lower to his sides, letting you take over to finish unbuttoning his shirt, your hands resting on his chest. Tattoos are etched on his chest, your fingers outlining them as you trail down, unbuckling his belt as you see his Adam’s apple bob, perspiration on his forehead.

“Am I going too slow?”

“You take all the time you need.”

His voice pulls at your core, hands deftly ridding him of his belt and then buttoning his slacks. He’s hard as a rock when you accidently brush against him, his composure strong as steel when you pull down his boxers and pants. His cock springs free, long and thick, your eyes dropping down to look at it appreciatively. Gone are the thoughts of finishing getting him undressed, your hand reaching out to touch him gently, fingers wrapping around the length of him, his eyes closing in response.

“How can you be so calm,” you whisper against him. “I can’t believe I’m…”

Pre-cum makes your grip slicker, his head tilting up as you kiss his throat, his hands going to your face as he kisses you, kicking off his pants. He walks you toward the bed, stopping right when you can feel the bed behind you.

When you reach to take the heels off, he shakes his head.

“I meant what I said. Heels on until I say so.”

-

He prides himself on self-control. He’s lasted this long with his wits about him, to know that patience is always much sweeter but he knows he can’t wait much longer when your sweet voice pitches as your thighs try to close together, his hands gripping them so you don’t use them as his earmuffs.

All he can think about is how gorgeous you look when you come apart - three times now - just by where he touches, learning your body as you react to his touch. Your lips are parted, chest rising and falling as your hands cover your breasts. It’s laughable for a moment if it wasn’t so excruciatingly painful how badly he wants to be inside you. Your legs are still over his shoulders, Curtis caressing your calves before he looks back at your swollen cunt.

“I’m not going to get enough of how good you taste.”

Your eyes are half lidded, mouth moving but no sound coming out when he carefully eases you off of him, gently removing your heels as they fall to the ground. He kisses your brow, your hands going to his neck to keep him in place.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he admits, his cock nestled between your legs.

“I need you,” you mouth, kissing him deeply and he swears your legs are opening wider when he reaches for the drawer. “I want to just feel you. I’m clean.”

You’re bartering, his smile against your lips as you kiss him again. You’re uninhibited, vulnerable and the progress you’ve made makes him greedy, a flash of possessive that he shuts out when he kisses down your neck.

“Me too but it’s still dangerous,” he warns gently, seeing you shake your head slowly, nodding to your arm.

“Implant. You can’t leave a legacy,” you tease, your eyes closing in bliss when he’s cradled against your entrance. “I want you, I’ve tried to ignore it but -”

That’s all he needs, inching slowly inside you as your fingernails score his back. You’re tight, wet and hot, gritting his teeth as he tries to maintain what shreds of composure he has left, reaching the hilt of you when you left out a soft whimper.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you murmur. “Just…”

“Big?”

He can tell you want to laugh at his joke but he knows the truth, seeing you finally relax before you urge him to move. You’re like a vise, his control slipping with every single thrust, your soft little noises urging him on.

He needs to see ore of you, rolling you onto your side, your thigh on his hip as the new angle makes your mouth drop open, exposing you in a way that makes your fingers give him better access.

You’re close, he can feel the way your silky walls squeeze him tighter, your incessant pleas for him not to stop only urging him on. He commits the way your pretty face looks to memory, knowing that you’ve fundamentally changed how he sees you – how your body reacts to him – and how freely you’ve given yourself to him.

“Fuck,” he grits out, keeping you in place as he cums, filling you as you cling to him.

“Oh god, I… oh, I…” you pant, not letting him go. “I can’t see straight.”

“We’re not done,” he promises, smoothing back your hair as he holds you close. “Not by a long shot, four.”

“Five,” you whisper against his lips, closing your eyes. 

-

Your eyes are barely open when you feel the slight dip in the bed, a glass of water in front of you.

“You need to drink something,” Curtis reminds you softly, rubbing your back in soothing circles. “I ran you a nice bath. Just waiting for you.”

“What time is it?”

“Two or three,” he answers, kissing your cheek.

“Mmm,” you mumble, eyes closing again. “I’ll get up if you come with me.”

“That was the plan.”

[inrockstarfashion]

Reader is dating Max Verstappen, she let’s slip a Dutch swear word making him (maybe other drivers) break down laughing

I’m Australian with Dutch/Greek roots, so I know swear words in both and have let them slip out 😅🙃 verdomde hel (fucking hell)

I loved this prompt! I relate to this so much, I spent three years in Germany when I was extremely young and I definitely use sheise (shit) at least once a day.

I’m so sorry this is so late. University has been absolutely insane. It’s shorter than I wanted it but it’s been sitting in my drafts for far too long.

The weekend went amazing. Obviously in your biased opinion, being that your very own Max Verstappen got P1 (again). Tonight you were celebrating with Max along with several other drivers and the other wags at a club, getting drunk and letting loose after the intense race weekend.

You sat at a table in the back corner of the club with Max, Lando, and Daniel

“I’m going to grab another drink. Do you want anything?” You asked Max, pinching his sleeve towards you.

Max nodded, “Gin tonic, please.” You nodded your head once and let go of his sleeve, placing your hand on his shoulder for leverage and standing up from the table. You made your way through the crowd of people, finally making it to the bar.

“Gin and tonic and a Negroni, please.” You spoke to the bartender. He turned and began mixing the drinks. You waited patiently and soon the bartender placed both glasses in front of you. You thanked him before picking up the glasses and cautiously made your way back to your table.

Successfully making it back, you passed the gin and tonic over to Max. “Thank you, liefje.” Max said, taking the glass from you. You set your drink on the table and sat back down beside him. Max moved his arm to rest behind your head, you listened in on the conversation currently happening between the three men, trying to catch up on what you’d missed. You picked up your glass, pinching the small, black straw and taking a sip of the smooth red liquid. You decided to get more comfortable and cross your legs but not before smacking your knee on the underside of the table, rattling everything sitting on top, and nearly choking on the Negroni. Pain blossomed through your knee at the impact.

“Verdomde hel.” You muttered, setting your glass down as you were rubbing your knee with your palm. Max immediately went into hysterics. Doubled over, howling with laughter. It scared me at first, Max does often laugh this loud (or hard). You watched him in confusion as you rubbed the top of your knee, trying to wipe away the throbbing sensation.

“Breathe, love.” You reminded him as he continued to wheeze into his hands which were currently covering his face. Tears were streaming down in cheeks as the other drivers at the table squealed and chuckled alongside Max.

“That was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say!” Max said, his voice still very shrill. He gathered himself and ran his fingers under his glassy eyes, wiping away the tears. “When did you learn Dutch like that?” He asked, turning to look at you and clearing his throat.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. My parents spoke little phrases here and there. Guess I picked it up from them.” You shrugged, looking at Max and his rosy cheeks.

Max pursed his lips and nodded his head. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, giving you a quick kiss to your temple. “You should start talking like that more often.” He said, completely serious with a smile on his face. You threw your head back and laughed.

Ciao!

[im-constantly-fangirling]

Wandering Home

Summary: As a bartender, you know every single face in Jackson. When a grumpy but kind-at-heart traveler makes his way into the diner you work at, you can't help but be curious.

No Outbreak au!Joel Miller x afab!reader

Word Count: ~10k

Warnings: cursing, slight reference of Parks and Rec towards the end, mentions of self harm (not reader), smut [dirty talk, praise and slight degradation kink, oral sex (f receiving), allusion to breeding kink, choking, dom-ish Joel]

Note on smut: If you don't want to read the smut, skip the scene in between the two *s!

Masterlist

Working at the diner in Jackson was no easy job.

It seemed that people had a borderline excessive appetite for alcohol- and they relied on you to fulfill it. You didn’t mind the work, as it numbed you the way a bottle could, but you supposed you could do without the yelling, obscene comments, and the general carelessness of the people who couldn’t really hold their liquor.

The one benefit you found with being a bartender was information. Every small town had its fair share of gossip, and Jackson definitely delivered. Travelers came and went, and those who stayed would alter Jackson’s social routine  just a little bit. You were a town full of shattered pieces of what were once whole people, but those pieces of glass joined to make a stunning mosaic- no matter how jagged and uneven it was.

It was just another ordinary day when the door to the bar opened, revealing an unfamiliar face. A swift silence wafted through the bar before the man walked in and Tommy followed behind. A sigh of relief seemed to go through every one. The bar resumed its normal revelry.

You were cleaning a glass with a rag when Tommy and the man walked up to the bar. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my brother, Joel.”

You smiled at him, putting the glass down and flipping the rag over your shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Joel,” you greeted him. He didn't respond with more than a grunt and a nod, but you didn’t mind. He had dirt smudged over his face, his flannel shirt, his forearms. Scars adorned any amount of skin that showed. And those eyes…

Holding his gaze, you almost saw the emptiness behind them. As if he had nothing left in him. This was a man who had seen hell.

If Tommy noticed his brother’s grumpiness, he certainly didn’t care to comment on it. “Y/n’s the best bartender in town. If you treat her real nice, she might slip you a free drink or two,” he said, whispering the last part conspiratorily.

You chuckled, lightly smacking Tommy on the shoulder. “Don’t go around telling everyone, now,” you teased. “But since you’re Tommy’s brother, I’ll get you your first drink on the house. Any friend of Tommy’s is a friend of mine.”

Joel nodded gratefully- or you understood it to be gratefully- before clearing his throat. “I’ll just take the strongest whiskey you’ve got.” Even his voice was rough. You wondered if there was a single part of him that the world hadn’t taken away from him. “But don’t go making a habit out of giving me a free drink. I’d be more than happy to pay,” he declared while taking a seat. The soft southern lilt of his voice made you smile. It had been a while since you heard that accent.

Tommy sat on the bar stool and leaned his head in his hand. “And I’ll take some gin, please.”

You turned around, letting the brothers get reacquainted while you served them their drinks. Their voices got drowned out by the laughter in the bar- but every now and then, when business was slow, you’d quietly make your way over to their side of the bar. 

“-she’s everything to me, Tommy. I’ll take some of her shifts. After everything she’s gone through, she deserves to just relax,” you heard Joel say.

Huh, you wondered. Didn’t peg him for the married type. You couldn’t deny your disappointment, but you couldn’t stop smiling lightly. The grumpy man had a soft spot. It was odd but endearing to watch his eyebrows round out at the edges.

Tommy lightly hummed. “As long as the work gets done, I don’t think that’ll be an issue.” He paused. “Just…be careful, Joel. People around here are really close knit. You don’t want to go around pissing people off by being all-”

“Pissy?” Joel finished, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Look, I don’t plan on staying long, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair-”

“Ma’am, can I get another?” you heard a man’s voice call out. He was almost slumped against the bar, his hand held up limply in the air. Great, you thought. Just what I needed to end rush hour.

You wiped the back of your hand against your forehead. “Bill, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” you trailed off.

Bill didn’t seem to like that answer, and you felt your heart start speeding up. “Just give me one more! I wasn’t fucking asking,” his voice slurred, echoing throughout the bar. It was as if he sucked the life right out of the building. No one moved.

You stared at Bill, your eyes hardening. “This happens every week, Bill. Aren’t you sick of this little tradition we have going on? Cause I am.” You put your hands together into a fist and leaned against the bar, letting your face get close to Bill’s. “You reek of piss and you’re acting like a lazy bum. How about you go back home and sleep the alcohol off before you get dragged out?”

Bill’s sweaty hands grab your arm. “What the fuck did you say?”

You felt your palms start sweating. “Bill,” you said calmly. “Get a hold of yourself, okay? You don’t gotta be like this.” Even with all your bravado, you didn’t love the idea of Bill’s anger being directed solely toward you. He was a 210 pound, six foot tall man. You knew how to pick your battles.

Bill growled loudly at you, spit flying from his mouth, making your face scrunch up with disgust. At the sound of his growl, several other townspeople stood up from their chairs, getting ready to intervene if needed. You saw them all slightly leaning forward, as if they’d run for Bill the second he stepped out of line.

One of Bill’s hands let go of your arm in favor of roughly grabbing your chin. You closed your eyes and tried turning away from his grip, but his alcohol ridden mind had no semblance of propriety, and he held your chin and cheeks in a vice like grip. “Listen here, you insolent-”

“Hey!” another voice boomed. It was rough, like the feeling of the tough boar bristles on your hair comb. Joel. “Don’t touch her!”

“Joel, she’s got this,” you heard Tommy say quietly. “You can’t go around making enemies on your first day.”

“Fucking hell, ”Joel grumbled at his brother. He stood up from his bar stool and walked over to where Bill was hunched over the counter, squeezing your chin as if he wouldn’t rest until the blood flow stopped. “Are you going to let go, or am I going to have to make you?”

Bill sneered at Joel. “I’ll do whatever I damn well like! Who the fuck even are you?”

Joel glared at him before roughly tearing Bill’s hands off of you. “Who the fuck are you to hurt the woman who’s been putting up with your shit for god knows how long?”

You glanced at Tommy with worry. He seemed to understand your silent plea because he got up and placed a secure hand on his brother’s shoulder. “How about I take Bill home, alright Joel?”

Joel kept glaring at Bill, as if he was putting a large amount of self-control into not teaching Bill a lesson, but he ultimately huffed lightly and moved out of Tommy’s way. Tommy put an arm around Bill’s shoulder, pushing him straight out of the bar, saying “Come on, Bill, you know Mary’s probably worried sick about ya.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Poor Mary.

Joel, to your surprise, didn’t accompany his brother to escort Bill back home. Instead, after watching the pair leave the bar and shut the double doors, he simply turned around to face you. “I’m uh,” he paused, scratching at his face. “I’m sorry about all the fuss. Just didn’t wanna see him disrespect you.”

You stroked the place where Bill had a vice grip on your arms, hoping that it wouldn’t bruise the next day. “I’m very grateful, Joel,” you said, smiling. “And I know you didn’t make a friend out of Bill, but I hope you know you made a friend out of me.” 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Joel quickly became a regular at your diner, but he never ordered any food. He’d walk in through the doors and walk directly towards the bar, planting himself in the same barstool and drinking the same whiskey. You never really minded. He always treated you with respect, made good on his promise to pay for every drink going forward, and occasionally stepped in to help you when a townsperson got a little too drunk.

Neither of you talked much, but you quietly learned things about each other. You noticed his wardrobe seemed to consist solely of different colored flannels and jeans. He spoke in a variety of intricate grunts, ranging from “hey” to “thank you.” Truly, Joel was a verbally gifted man.

Tonight wasn’t anything different. The diner was quite barren, with just a few people sitting amongst the tables, eating with close friends and family. The clink of the alcohol bottles was coupled with soft chuckles and the scraping of forks against ceramic plates.

Joel was sitting towards the left side of the bar, leaning against the stool he always inhabited. “Hey,” he said. “Can I-”

You smiled at him, your hands leaning against the countertop. “-get a whiskey? Surely we can skip the pleasantries now, Miller,” you jested lightly. Turning around, you grabbed Joel’s favorite whiskey and a glass. “How’s Jackson treating you?”

Joel grunted, and you expected that to be the end of your discussion, as it usually was every night. But instead, while you poured out a generous amount of whiskey, you heard Joel’s rough voice say, “It’s been pretty good.”

You handed him the glass. “I’m glad you like it here. I know we’re a small town, but we’re not so bad once you get used to us.” You took out your rag and started wiping down the counter. 

Joel sipped his whiskey, his red flannel pulling open a little to reveal his grey shirt underneath. You couldn’t help drifting your eyes toward his chest, but the second you caught yourself you went back to gazing at the counter, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He’s married, you thought to yourself, angrily. Behave.

Although there’s nothing wrong with accidentally looking, I guess.

He set down his glass on the counter and let out a little sigh. “Y’all definitely get a lotta snow.”

You chuckled, leaving your rag on the counter for a moment. “Yeah, it took me a while to get used to. Us southern folk just aren’t made for this type of cold.”

Joel’s eyebrow lifted slightly, intrigued. “You from the south?”

“I’m from Texas,” you revealed. “Life just forced me up north, but nothing quite feels like Texas.”

He slightly smiled, and you were almost shocked. Not once in these last few weeks did you see Joel smile, and you were confused as to why he would hide such a beautiful sight from the world. It was like the troubles of life lifted off his shoulders for just a moment, and you saw the Joel that could have been. “I’m from Texas, too. Austin.”

“No kidding,” you sighed. “You don’t see a lot of us this far north. It’s a shame. I’ve never met a friendlier group of people than down there,” you said wistfully.

Joel took another sip of his whiskey. “Well, one day you gotta go back down there. Not that I mind Jackson, but-”

“Heya,” a voice interrupted Joel. You turned to see Adelaide, your neighbor, sitting in a barstool to your right. She looked like she had just come off of work, as she was still wearing a sweater with her teacher name tag clipped near her left breast. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?” 

You smiled and shook your head. “It’s okay, Addie. Can I get you anything? You don’t usually get outta school this late.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Joel had gone back to sipping at his whiskey and staring at the wall of bottles behind the bar, as he normally did when he came to visit. A small pit of disappointment stayed in your stomach. You had just gotten him to talk.

Addie sighed, twirling her brown hair around her finger. “I wanted to get ahead on grading cause the end of the school year is coming up,” she said. “And god knows I need more time to deal with all that work.”

You put your hand on hers, tilting your head. “You need to rest, Addie. You can’t keep working yourself to the bone.”

Addie waved her hand in a dismissive motion, scoffing. “I’m fine, don’t you worry. The work is distracting.”

You raised your right eyebrow. “Distracting from what?” you asked, pulling your hand back.

She leaned forward, some of her hair fanning out in front of her shoulders. “He cheated, y/n. He cheated, and then he left me, and I don’t wanna think about it more than I have to.”

Your jaw dropped, anger settling into your heart. “How could he? What’s wrong with him?”

Addie leaned back into her barstool, a stoic set to her jaw. “Apparently, Jace had even less of a brain than I gave him credit for. And do you know who he cheated on me with?” She paused. “Bill's wife Mary.”

Joel choked on his whiskey, spilling some onto the counter, and both you and Addie turned toward him. He looked nervous, ready to be faced with a barrage of insults for eavesdropping on your conversation, but Addie pointed at him and said, “Exactly! I had the same reaction!”

You chuckled, turning towards Joel apologetically. “I can get you another glass if you want, Miller. On the house.”

Joel grumbled and shook his head. “I told ya, I’m not gonna make a habit out of this free drink thing.”

You put your hands on your hips and sighed. “Well, think of it as a bribe for your secrecy. You’ve stumbled upon sacred gossip, Miller.” You turned towards Addie. “Don’t we need to buy his silence?”

Addie nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, of course. The whole town is going to be in over my head if we don’t keep this quiet.”

You turned back to Joel, looking at him pointedly. “So?” you questioned. “Do you accept our proposition?”

Joel let a small smile slip back onto his face again, and he nodded. “In the name of the greater good, I accept.” You beamed, grabbing his glass and filling it. Behind you, you heard Joel turn to Addie, saying, “For what it’s worth, Jace sounds like a dick.”

“He is,” Addie replied, matter-of-factly. 

You turned around and handed Joel another glass of whiskey before sighing. “Well,” you started. “I’m officially done for the day.”

Joel gulped his whiskey and stood up. “I’ll walk you home.”

You felt a lightness in your chest warm you up more than the fireplace in the diner. “It’s okay. I’ve got Addie with me.”

Addie slapped your hand lightly, and when you looked at her with confusion she simply looked back at you pointedly. “Well, it’s pretty dark out, so it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else with us.”

“I just wouldn’t want to bother you, Joel,” you said softly. 

Joel grumbled. “Nonsense. Consider it repayment for the first free drink.”

“Oh, alright,” you relented. “Let me just grab my bag.”

It was almost funny to watch a man as rough and scarred as Joel walk through town with two chattering, gossiping women. He was silent for the whole walk, but you knew he was listening intently. He’d shake his head with disappointment when Addie talked about Jace’s affair, and the anger and judgement that Jace had when Addie finally confronted him. You couldn’t help but smile when his body gave away his thoughts.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel’s eyes would occasionally flutter towards you, watching your face contort in between expressions of disbelief and annoyance at Jace. He held back a smile. There was something about how much you cared, how invested you were, that just made you such a warm, firey person. It was as if you could melt the snow falling on Jackson with merely your presence.

Joel had never liked the snow. Whenever it was cold outside, he found himself huddled near the fire.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

You were somewhat surprised when Joel stayed until the diner was closing and then offered to walk you home again.

“Joel,” you muttered. “You’ve already repaid me for the free drink with that one walk. And I’d really rather not bother you.

“You aren’t bothering me, sweetheart. If anything, consider this walk a repayment from you for me stopping Bill.” Joel put down his glass of whiskey, and you grabbed it to quickly wipe it down. “I could use the walk anyway. Ellie, my daughter,” he began, with a slight break in his voice. “She’s been coming back home a little later than I’m used to, and I’d rather not sit in my rocking chair on the porch waiting for her.”

You chuckled. “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” you said, grabbing your bag from underneath the bar cabinet. “How old is she?” you questioned while walking out from behind the counter.

“She’s a 14-year-old little rug rat, my Elllie,” he said, walking next to you as you both made your way out of the diner.

The cold, frigid air of Jackson hit the both of you. Small clouds of fog form in front of your nose and mouth as you make slightly ragged breaths, walking uphill on a path through Jackson. Your cabin wasn’t more than a five-minute walk from the diner, but it was still nestled away from the town center enough to have some semblance of privacy.

You laughed at the idea of Joel with a teenage daughter. “You should bring her around the diner. I don’t mind convincing the cook to slip Ellie a few snacks. I don’t want to brag or anything, but Allysa loves me and I’m sure it wouldn’t be much of a bother.”

Joel crossed his arms and shivered slightly. “I’ll tell her. She’d love to meet you. She’s a little chirpier than I am, so you’d both get along great.”

You took a glance at him. He had his eyes trained on the snow covered path, a slight frown on his face. You were overcome with the urge to say anything to wipe that frown off his face, to replace it with a smile, or even his usual flat lined mouth. “Aw, Miller. You’re not so bad.”

Joel smirked. “That’s high praise, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered slightly, and you tried your hardest to ignore it. “So. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Huh?” Joel looked up at you, confused. “Oh. There’s none. I practically adopted Ellie, although Tommy insists she adopted me. But whatever way you wanna see it, no woman was involved in the process.” He paused. “I mean, other than Ellie herself, but to me she’s just a little girl-”

You interrupted him with your laughter. It was so strong you crossed your free hand under your stomach, trying to contain yourself. “Sorry,” you said through your laughter. “I just never thought I’d see you ramble like that.” Not married, huh. 

Even in the dark, you could see Joel blush. He wiped his finger on the bridge of his door, looking down with nervousness. “Well, don’t go around tellin’ everyone. I kinda like being the grumpy traveler.”

“You’re such a softie, Miller.”

Both you and Joel stopped in front of the steps that led to your front porch. You had garden beds lining the front wall, but the snow had killed the plants that had taken root in the dirt. It was one of the few things you hated about Jackson; you had to say goodbye to your plants every nine months. Few pretty flowers survived the winter.

Joel sighed, a large cloud of breath forming in front of his face and dissipating as soon as it came. “So,” he said, rocking on his heels. “See you tomorrow?”

You smiled. “I’ll have your whiskey ready, Miller.”

Neither of you moved. The wind blew, making you both shiver slightly, and you started climbing up the steps to your porch. “Actually, do you want to come inside?” you asked. “I could put on a cup of hot tea that you could walk back with. And I probably have one of my dad’s coats you could borrow.”

Behind you, you heard Joel’s shoes making patterns in the snow. “I guess Ellie won’t be back for a while still.” The wood of your front porch steps creaked along with the smile on your face. You could feel his presence behind you, heavy but soft, smelling of whiskey and pine and a hint of smoke. The fast beat of your heart echoed in your ears.

You grabbed your keys from your bag with shaky hands and opened your front door. Both you and Joel walked in, stomping off the snow that accumulated on your boots onto the welcome mat. “Sorry if it’s messy,” you say, flipping on the light switch. “I wasn’t planning for company.”

Joel grunted, walking past you to take in the living room. It wasn’t much, but you liked to think you filled your cabin some life.

There, in the center of the room, was a worn couch that had resided in your parent’s house before you moved out here. In front of the couch was the coffee table you’d painstakingly made by chopping the wood and making it from scratch. The dining table and chairs had been taken from Addie’s cabin after she obtained a better table. It wasn’t picturesque; it was bits and pieces of your life throughout the decades. A mosaic, just like Jackson.

“You’re welcome to sit,” you said, throwing your bag onto the corner of your couch as you did every day. “I’ll just put some tea on.”

Walking towards the far end of the living room, where the kitchen resided, you picked up your kettle and filled it with water. Joel sat on the couch, stroking the worn cloth. “It’s a pretty old couch,” he remarked quietly.

You chuckled while turning on the stove. “It used to be in my parent’s house,” you said. “He gifted it to me a long time ago.”

“Thank you, by the way,” said Joel. “For the tea. You didn’t really have to.”

“Come on, Miller. I’ve been serving you some kind of drink every day now. It’s our thing,” you teased. You were pleased when he laughed heartily. He’s more himself when we’re alone, you noted. I like it. 

You both let yourself sit in silence, waiting for the kettle to whistle. As you made some peppermint tea- the only kind you had at the moment- your eyes kept flickering over to Joel. He kept noticing little tidbits throughout your living room. 

His fingers stroked the stitched cut on the couch with an amused smirk on his face. “How’d this happen?”

“I think I was seven? I was really into knitting, but I overestimated how much damage a knitting needle could do. I think I got mad that I kept fucking up, and I just stabbed the couch.” You laughed. “My dad took one look at it and chuckled. He said it was cute how much I cared.”

You brought the mugs of tea over to the coffee table, setting them down. “I hope it’s not too bad. Serving alcohol doesn’t involve a lot of steps.”

Joel chuckled. “I can imagine you with knitting needles, just throwing a little mini tantrum over a blanket.”

You rolled your eyes. “Now I hope that tea is shitty.” You sat down on the couch, sitting right next to Joel even though there was ample room next to you. “And, for your information, I’m pretty good at knitting. That blanket right here,” you said, pointing to the blanket haphazardly laid on the arm of your couch, “is purely a y/n production.”

Joel touched the blanket with his fingers, poking at the small holes. “You did a good job,” he said. Something in your stomach stirred at the praise, but you carefully tucked it away. No need to get any hopes up, you thought.

Humming, you picked up your mug and blew at the tea slightly. “Thanks, Miller.”

“Why do you call me Miller?” Joel asked. “Why don’t you call me Joel?”

You tilted your head. He noticed. “I call you Joel sometimes.” I didn’t know he’d notice things about me. 

He waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve called me Joel exactly twice.”

You didn’t know to tell him that calling him his first name felt like an intimate gesture to you, how you couldn’t imagine saying his name without the weight in your heart you felt every time he came into the diner. With every second he spent near you, that weight grew slowly but surely, and you didn’t know what to do with it. 

You thought he was married. Turns out he’s not. That weight in your heart starts feeling more like it belongs there, replacing the initial shame you felt for your soft spot. Shame that you tried to overcome by calling him Miller.

How do you tell a man that?

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I call Tommy, Miller too. I guess I figured the tradition should continue between brothers? I really don’t know.”

Joel looked at you, his brown eyes looking like a cloudy river. You so desperately wanted to see through to the bottom. “Call me Joel when it’s just us,” he said. 

You took a sip of your tea. “Of course, Joel.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for his mug. “Look at us, getting along. And Tommy said I couldn’t be pleasant.”

You chuckled before you remembered the time. “Oh my god. I was supposed to grab you a coat.” You stood up quickly, walking to the wardrobe behind your dining table, muttering, “I’d hate for you to miss Ellie coming home.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, there’s no reason to worry. I live two minutes away, I’ll be fine,” Joel said from the couch in a reassuring voice. It was as if his rough voice smoothed slightly around the edges. He spoke in long, legato lines instead of his regular staccato responses, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped your mouth as you hunted for your dad’s coat.

“Still, Joel,” you said, reveling in the privilege of saying his name. “Ellie comes first.” You grabbed your dad’s wool coat and folded it over your arm, bringing it to Joel. “You can keep this if you want,” you told him. “I never really have a use for it.”

You felt the warmth of Joel’s hand against your arm for just a moment as he grabbed the coat from you. You barely heard him saying “thank you.” It was as if his voice had been muddled by some kind of blurry screen.

Your brain turns into a crush-riddled caveman. Warm, you think. Rough. But gentle. 

“No problem,” you say hoarsely. “Anything for you, Joel.”

As he leaves, you let the shape of his name coat your lips, playing with it in your cheek, letting it take its place. 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

“Is your name y/n?” you hear a young voice ask behind you.

You spin around, eyeing the young girl with confusion. “Yeah, what can I do for you?” You smoothed down your shirt.

The young girl broke out into a smile and pointed at herself. “My name’s Ellie. Joel told me to stop by.”

You broke out into a smile, extending a hand out over the bar countertop. “It’s nice to meet you, Ellie.” She shook your hand enthusiastically, smiling from ear to ear. “Let me go back and tell the cook to make you some food. She’s making some tomato and mozzarella sandwiches right now, is that okay?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” she said. “I’ll take anything.”

You chuckled. “Your dad was right, you’re one chipper girl.”

She seemed to take pause. “He called me his daughter?” 

Rambling, you shook your head frantically out of nervousness. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that it wasn’t-” Oh god, I ruined everything. 

“No, you’re good, don’t worry. I just…” she trailed out. “He’s not a man of many words, ya know? I mean I’m sure you know- he doesn’t exactly scream ‘literate,’ but still. I know he cares, but sometimes it’s nice to hear it.”

You grinned, relieved. Reaching out to touch her shoulder lightly, you reassured her, saying “Aw, honey, Joel loves you more than anything. It’s so obvious to everyone that it’s insane. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, alright?”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. You told her you’d disappear for a second to tell Allysa to set aside an extra sandwich, and when you made it back, Ellie was sitting at the bar, leaning her head in her hands, staring at the alcohol bottles. Like father, like daughter, you supposed.

“The sandwich should be out soon, alright honey?” you said gently. 

“Are you from Texas too? You sound a little like Joel,” Ellie joked. 

You nodded. “I’m from San Antonio,” you revealed. “Actually, I wasn’t too far from where your old man Miller grew up. Maybe an hour's drive? I’m not sure anymore, it’s been a while since I was there.”

Allyssa brought out Ellie’s sandwich, setting it on the bar countertop. “Enjoy it, alright sweetie?” she said to Ellie. “I put a little extra cheese on yours.”

Ellie said thank you and dug into her sandwich, but unlike her father, she kept the conversation going. “I’ve been tryna convince Joel to go back to Austin, but he turns into this pain in the ass whenever I bring it up,” she said. “I’ll get him to go there eventually. If I annoy him enough, he caves.”

You chuckle. “Why doesn’t he wanna go? It seems like he misses it.”

“He’s had a hard life,” Ellie said protectively. “He’s been through some shit in Austin. I guess he just doesn’t wanna visit it again.”

You hummed. “I get that,” you said, sighing. “Anyway. How long are y’all staying in Jackson?”

Ellie shrugged. “It was supposed to be a few days, but I really like it here. There’s only so much traveling you can do before you get sick of not having a home, you know? Besides, I don’t think Joel wants to leave either.” She took another bite of her sandwich. “He keeps saying he’s gonna leave but he doesn’t pull the trigger,” she said, her voice muffled with her sandwich.

You reached under the bar cabinet and wordlessly handed her a napkin, which she took graciously. “I told him he’d get sucked into Jackson. It’s too cozy.”

“It really is. I’ve made friends! I went to go study with one of them the other night,” Ellie said, practically jumping up and down. “I hope Joel never wants to leave.”

Me too, you thought. 

You and Ellie kept talking about her life in Jackson, her school, the hobbies she’s picked up. You chuckled when she told you that she picked up archery. “I really like pointy things,” she said. “Bonus if they can kill someone.” 

You laughed. “When I was your age, I was obsessed with fencing. My dad signed me up for a class and everything, even though my mom said no. He’d take me in secret. He told me he was proud that if someone broke into the house, his daughter could protect him,” you told Ellie, laughing lightly. “He’d love you.”

“He sounds fucking awesome,” Ellie remarked. 

He was, you thought.

The joy in her eyes filled with more warmth than you thought possible. You had the urge to stroke her cheek, get her more food, and walk her home- anything to keep those eyes full of light. 

While Ellie was pattering about an embarrassing story of her and Joel on the road, she brushed some crumbs off of her fingers onto the plate. Your eyes involuntarily flickered down to the movement. You saw a few, parallel, thin scars underneath her wrist, just barely covered by the fold of her elbow. Something in your heart tightened to the point of pain, and you couldn’t bear to look Ellie in the eye for a little while.

You found yourself looking down at the bar counter, hoping Ellie didn’t notice what you’d just observed. Counting the number of scars, you branded the number in your mind. Nine. 

You’d go insane if you found a tenth in the future.

Keeping up a normal pretense, you both chatted until the lunch rush hour entered, prompting Ellie to push her plate towards you and stand. “I should probably head out and let you get back to your job,” she said. “But we should do this again.”

You grinned from ear to ear. “You’re welcome anytime, honey.” You lightly grabbed her hand with both of yours. “Be careful with archery, okay? I don’t wanna see any major injuries,” you said, a slight motherly tilt in your voice.

Ellie put her other hand around yours and squeezed lightly. “I won’t, I promise.” 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Joel stopped by the diner a few days later. He came in later than usual- almost five minutes before closing- and sat down in his barstool, panting lightly as he sat. 

You had been wiping down the counter when his presence made itself known. “Are you okay, Joel?” you asked. “Let me get you a glass of water.” You were grateful that the diner was completely barren, with even Allysa having gone home, leaving just you and Joel in the space. Your heart would have broken if Joel was seen in such a vulnerable state by people who didn’t understand him.

Please let me help, you thought. Don’t be all tough around me.

Pouring him an ice-cold glass of water, you decided to walk around the counter and sit next to him instead of your usual position. “Joel?” you questioned him again.

He didn’t respond, opting to gulp down the whole glass of water. “Just gimme a minute.”

You nodded. Joel was shaking slightly, and you slowly decided to stroke his arm gently- up and down, feeling the wrinkles that formed on his flannel from the motion. Under different circumstances, you might have lept with glee at the realization that Joel didn’t move when you touched him; in fact, he leaned into your hand. “You’re okay, Joel,” you reminded him. “I’m here.” You kept repeating reassuring phrases as he calmed himself down.

Eventually, he put his hand over yours, stopping it from its repetitive motion. “M’sorry,” he said. Before you could interrupt him to insist that there was nothing to be sorry about, he continued on. “Just had to come see you.”

You reached out to touch the area between his shoulder and his neck lightly. “Please don’t be sorry. I’d rather see you in front of me than know that this happens when I can’t help.”

Joel’s head hung down low and he groaned, seeming tired from his day’s events. “I just don’t wanna be a bother, but nothing else was helping.”

You toed with the intimate line between the two of you, desperately wanting to outright cross it but refusing to do so without his indication. It was frustrating, this dance. But the last thing you wanted Joel to feel around you was uncomfortable, so instead of cupping his cheek the way your fingers were itching to, you simply moved your hands down and gripped his hands lightly. “You’re not a bother, Joel. You’re never a bother. You’re practically the highlight of my day.” You paused. “Is that what this is about? Do you think I- sorry we- don’t want you?”

Joel tilted his head. “Part of it, I guess.” He sighed heavily. “Is it okay if we go back to your place? Ellie’s got a slumber party so I don’t really got anyone waitin’ on me.” He wiped his face. “Only if you wanna, of course,” he added, rushed.

“Nonsense, Joel. You’re always welcome over.” And with that, you both set out on your daily walk- except this time no words were exchanged.

You’d glance over to the man next to you, your heart dropping whenever he moved out of the ordinary. He scratched his beard. Beat. He cracked his knuckles. Beat. He almost tripped. Beat. Such a contrast to the careful, meticulously observant man you had come to know.

“Joel,” you whispered to him when you’d arrived in front of your porch. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

You both walked inside, and Joel immediately walked over and slumped onto your couch. “Today’s my daughter’s birthday,” he revealed.

“Oh,” you said, confused. “I didn’t know it was Ellie’s birthday.”

Joel shook his head. “My other daughter. Sarah.”

You made your way next to Joel, sensing the sensitive subject he was going to reveal to you. “What happened with Sarah?”

Joel’s eyes closed, and he leaned his head back, his eyelids scrunched in a phantom pain you wish you could’ve waived away with your hands. “She passed away, a few years back. Drunk driving accident.” He breathed deeply. “It’s why I ended up here, I guess. Just couldn’t bear to go back home when she- she,” his voice broke.

Fuck the line between us, you thought. You engulfed him in a hug, his large frame serving as a strong structure for you to lay your head against. “It’s okay,” you said lightly. “You don’t have to finish that sentence.”

He’s shaking, you noticed with tears lining your eyes. My Joel is shaking.

“She was everything to me. She was the only thing that mattered to me before Ellie, y’know? I’d do anything just to see her smile again,” he revealed. “Anything.”

You let a tear fall, staining Joel’s flannel a deep, dark color. “I’m so sorry, Joel.” You stroked his back over and over again, letting Joel rest against you.

“I kept wandering from city to city, afterward,” he revealed. “Didn’t really stay for longer than a week. And then I met Ellie. Her parents threw her out and she had nowhere to go. She’s so much like Sarah that it scared me, and I gave Ellie a bit of a hard time cause of it.” He took in a breath. “They’re both pieces of my soul, Sarah and Ellie. I’m like half a man.”

His head moved to the crook of your neck, and you felt the warmth of his deep breaths against your skin. Greedily, you let your hand drift to his hair, toying with it lightly. “Take your time, Joel,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

Joel hummed against your neck, and you felt the vibrations leave goosebumps in their wake. “Thank you,” he said. “For being here.”

You didn’t know how to tell him that it was a privilege to hold him up, so you simply left a light kiss on his temple. “I know how you feel, a little,” you revealed. “My dad died a few years ago. Lung cancer. It felt like I’d lost a part of me.” You took in a deep breath. “Sometimes I still feel like he’s around, kind of like a phantom limb that I can’t use. It honestly hurts more when that happens. It just reminds me of all the love that I lost.

“But then I remember that losing that love just meant I had it at some point in my life. I had the best father the world could have ever given me. He made me who I am, and I try to remember that. Sarah had so much love in her life,” you said, placing a gentle palm against the side of his face. “She had you. You did for her what my father did for me. I know it’s not much, and nothing can bring her back, but even if this means nothing, you need to know that she loved you more than I can possibly express.”

You felt cold, wet circles fall onto your neck like the light pitter-patter of rain. Kissing Joel’s temple again, you whispered, “She made you who you are. That’s more evidence that she’ll always be with you.”

You heard Joel whimper lightly before the floodgates opened. “Oh, baby,” you said sympathetically. “Let it out. Let it all out.”

You and Joel sat there on the couch, lumped together in a tight embrace, for what felt like hours. And, when Joel had finally let out every tear that he had in him, he finally lifted his head out of the crevice between your neck and shoulder and looked at you with his puffy eyes.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel said, his voice slightly nasally. “I didn’t mean to-”

“If you complete that sentence, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll see stars, alright? That’s what friends are for,” you told him, internally cringing at the word friends.

Joel’s head tilted. “Friends?” he asked. “I don’t know if friends do what we do, sweetheart.”

You were suddenly very aware that almost every part of yours and Joel’s upper bodies were practically glued together. You were looking up at him, your breath bouncing off of Joel’s chin, his scruff occasionally tickling your cheekbone when one of you moved slightly. 

You hesitated. After what Joel had just told you, was tonight really the best time to toe the line? “Joel, I don’t want to do anything you’d regret. Not when you’re in this state of mind.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’d agree with you if I hadn’t felt like this for weeks,” he said. “It’s hard for me to not feel like this, not when I hear Ellie raving about you after she visited. Not when you look as breathtaking as you did that first day that I saw you, serving me a glass of free whiskey like I was worth a damn.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “I’ve done nothing for you, absolutely nothing, and yet you’ve given me everything you can. You laugh at my jokes even when they’re not funny, you make me tea just so I don’t walk home cold.”

Joel sighed, his breath hugging your face in a warm blanket. “All these weeks, I came every day just to see you. It infuriated me sometimes, knowing that you had no idea the effect you had on me. As if you didn’t know how my eyes were practically glued to you when you weren’t looking.”

 Your eyes closed. “Look at me,” he urged. You pulled back, looking him in the eye. “Do you really think I don’t like you? The only thing keeping me in Jackson is you.” 

You looked down at yours and Joel’s now joined hands. “Joel…”

“Sweetheart,” he echoed. 

You looked back up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

Joel’s palm moved up to cup your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Every reason why Joel shouldn’t be with you flashed through your mind. You’re too clingy. You talk too much. You freak out over small things. You don’t know how to let things go. You’ll burden him. You’ll force him to stay where there’s snow, even though he hates it.

But when you look at Joel, a selfish part of you doesn’t care. You don’t care that this could blow up in your face, the way every other relationship of yours had. 

“Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself before you let your lips touch Joel’s. His hand comes to the back of your head, locking you in place while he patiently explores the curve of your lips, the slight noise you make when he really focuses on your lower lip. Your hands make their way around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. More, more, more, you thought.

You pull apart but neither of you stray far, with Joel’s forehead leaning against yours. “Still think we’re just friends, sweetheart?” he asked you.

Chuckling, you left a peck on his lips. “The bestest friends.”

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Joel didn’t leave your cabin that night, instead opting to sleep on the couch with your knitted blanket. You protested heavily, insisting that there was space in your bed for him to rest, but he met every single plea with a simple answer: “I’m a little old-fashioned, sweetheart.”

Awaking the next morning, you smiled before pulling away your blankets faster than you ever had before so you could greet the man resting on your couch downstairs. You expected to find a man-shaped lump on your couch, but instead, you were greeted with the smell of pancakes and eggs, and the slightly chaotic sounds that was Joel Miller attempting to cook.

You chuckled lightly to yourself. Who thought this rugged man would wake up early to make pancakes? you thought. “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel turned around from the stove, clad in an unbuttoned red flannel and jeans. He looked picturesque in this light, the morning rays of sunshine hitting his skin just right. His hair looked a shade lighter than usual through the sunlight. You let your eyes wander to his chest, going lower, and lower, and-

 “Mornin’ sweetheart,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me fiddling around here. Just wanted to make you breakfast as a thank you for last night.”

Walking towards Joel, you crossed your arms. “What did I say about that? There’s no reason to thank me, and there’s no reason to say sorry.” You paused only to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him. Joel’s arms snaked around your waist tightly. If you never moved from this position, you’d consider it an upgrade from your life. “But, since I like pancakes, I’ll overlook it just this once.”

Joel chuckled and grinned. “Aren’t you selfless,” he murmured, bringing his face closer to yours. 

“Hmm, I am-”

Joel stopped you from finishing your sentence with his lips, softly caressing your tongue with his. Unlike last night, he took his time when kissing you, moving in slow, languid movements- like he had all the time in the world, or if he didn’t have time then he just didn’t care. 

He pulled away and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a small intake of breath. Joel smirked. “So is this what gets you to stop talking, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and slapped his shoulder. “So you want me to stop talking?” you asked him, jest in your voice.

Joel tilted his head and let out a light chuckle, his scruff scratching your forehead with the movement. “You know I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” you said, slight reverence in your voice. 

Joel let you go, grabbing the spatula he’d taken out of your drawer and he went to flip a pancake that lay on your pan. “I hope you like chocolate chip. It’s Ellie’s favorite.”

You hugged Joel from behind. “I’d love that, Joel.”

And so you spent breakfast with Joel, eating chocolate chip pancakes at your dining table like you were kids again. For the first time in a while, you let yourself drench your pancakes in maple syrup. You and Joel chatted about your lives: Joel about his trip from Austin to Jackson, the weird errands he’d run to earn money fast- and you about life after your father’s death, how you decided you’d live in a small town full of snow purely because your father despised the sweltering hot weather of Texas.

You found it refreshing, that you and Joel could now talk freely. It was like that kiss last night had unlocked something in him. You found that you didn’t mind this change.

* (smut below)

Putting the dishes in the sink, Joel cleared his throat. “Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

You shook your head. “It’s my day off. Do you know when Ellie is going to be back home?”

“Oh, she won’t be back for a while. That little shit loves to push how long she can stay out.” Joel walked up to where you stood near the sink, rinsing the maple syrup patches off of your plates. “Which works out great for us.”

You grabbed Joel’s arms loosely with your hands, reveling in the feel of his muscles underneath his skin, the veins that would occasionally stick out on his skin. “It truly does,” you said slyly. “What are you planning, Miller?”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling your small frame towards his, and you gasped lightly at the feeling of your lower stomach being glued to his body. “Not much,” he murmured. He grabbed your chin with his fingers. “Nothing important.”

“Hmm, I’m sure,” you said, inching your face closer to his. “Joel?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered closed. “How flexible are you when it comes to being traditional?” you asked him, slightly breathless.

His lips brushed against yours as he answered, “Right now? Tradition is the last thing on my mind,” he said, punctuation his point by letting his hands wander to the patch of skin between your back and your ass. He placed a short, chaste kiss on your lips. “But I won’t do anything unless you say.”

Your breaths mingled with each other's, and you swore your heartbeat had never been faster. “Please,” you asked.

“Please what?” he retorted calmly.

You almost whined with disappointment. “You know what I’m asking, Joel.”

Joel pulled back a little, and you couldn’t stop the slight whine that left your mouth. “I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me.”

“Just fuck me,” you said breathlessly.

Joel smirked before grabbing your face and kissing you, a smile present on his lips the whole time. An arrogant smile. Damn that bastard. 

He pulled away from your lips momentarily to began skimming your cheek, your jaw, your neck. He paid special attention there once he heard the obscene moan that left you when he sucked at just the right spot, leaving a bright reddish-purple mark in its place. “Joel,” you breathed.

“I love it when you say my name,” he whispered into your neck. “No one says it like you.” His hands started wandering to the bottom of your pajama shirt, slipping underneath to softly begin the upward climb to your breasts. “No bra, huh?” he questioned, palming your breast.

“Didn’t uh,” you started between gasps. “Didn’t think I needed one. Sorry if that was-” You were interrupted by Joel’s mouth on yours, sucking lightly on your lower lip making you moan loudly.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. “I’d sooner shoot myself in the leg than tell you to wear a bra around me.” 

You laughed, and he cupped your face with his other hand. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “So mine.” He went back to paying attention to your breasts, skimming his finger lightly over your hardened nipples. You saw the effect his exploration had on him; or, rather, felt the effect, as his crotch was pressing tightly against your stomach. 

Grabbing the hem of your shirt, you pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you topless in front of Joel. His hands froze, eyes skimming over your body. Feeling brave, you smirked and said, “You gonna do something, Miller?”

“Aren’t you mouthy,” he said, sarcasm evident in his voice. “I’ll take care of that soon.” With that, he guided you to your upstairs bedroom, throwing his flannel off on the way. You couldn’t help but admire the slight back muscles Joel had. There was almost no imperfection with this man.

When you reached your bedroom, Joel grabbed you by your shoulders and swiftly through you on your bed. Your cheap mattress squeaked lightly, and you laughed against your floral bedsheets. “I’ve thought about this so much,” he revealed, tearing down your shorts. He knelt on your floor, eye to eye with your panties, and you hoped there wasn’t a telltale dark spot on the fabric that would give away just how ready you were to fuck this man. “Ever since that first time I walked into the diner.”

You writhed slightly under his stare. “Joel, please just fuck me,” you begged lightly. “I’m not feeling very patient.”

You heard him chuckle and then felt his arm push down onto your lower stomach, keeping you in place. “But I am,” he said. He touched the center of your panties, forcing a gasp out of you. He chuckled again. “So needy.” He pulled your panties aside, finding you wet and glistening. Without warning, he licked a stripe up your pussy, making you let out a languid moan. “Best fucking breakfast I’ve had in years,” he proclaimed, pulling your panties off your legs. 

Joel kneads your thighs as he continues licking and occasionally sucking at your clit, and you reveled in the filthy sounds made by your wetness. He lazily keeps stroking your pussy with his tongue, letting his tongue slowly explore every crevice and find every sensitive point that ushered out the loudest whines.

“Oh, god,” you sighed. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He flicked his tongue against your clit over and over again, stopping only to suck and lick and hum into your pussy. The vibrations keep pushing you closer and closer to the edge. And then you felt his fingers lightly tracing your lips before he stuck one finger in, curling it rapidly. “More,” you begged. “Fuck, please Joel- Oh!”

He added in a second finger, curling them both against that sensitive spot inside you that made you see stars, all while his tongue played with your clit. It was almost too much, all the sensations combined, and you were glad that Joel still had a hand holding your stomach down because your back started arching. “I'm so close, oh god, keep going!”

Joel’s resolve never wavered. Your moans gave him more than enough fuel to keep curling, keep licking, keep pleasuring you to the point of tears. He opened his eyes and looked at you from between your legs, and the sinful sight of that beautiful man feasting on you sent you over the edge. His tongue helped you ride out your orgasm whilst you moaned and shook and said his name over and over, Joel, Joel, Joel!

When he finally lifted his head and started climbing over you, he had a wicked smile on his face. “You’re even prettier when you come apart on my tongue, sweetheart.” His rough voice caressed your body as he made his way up to kiss you. You could taste yourself on him, but that just spurred you on.

“It’s not fair that you’re still wearing pants,” you remarked. 

“Then do something about it,” he replied. You smiled and let your hand slowly make its way down to his pants, lightly stroking his chest on the way down. You reached his zipper and palmed his cock through his trousers, making him hiss. “Don’t be a tease. I’ll make you regret it next time.”

“Oh,” you started. “So there’s going to be a next time? Someone’s confident,” you remarked while you unzipped his pants. 

Joel stood up and kicked his pants off as fast as he could. “I’ll fuck that attitude out of you soon enough, sweetheart.”

You grinned. “I’m waiting.” You made your way towards the middle of your bed, making yourself comfortable amongst the pillows. Your mouth almost frothed at the sight before you: a naked Joel Miller, cock slapped against his stomach, girthy and slightly red with need. 

“Someone’s staring,” Joel remarked, joining you on your bed.

“Do you blame me?” you asked. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he settled on top of you, his cock so close to where you needed him most. “You’re perfect.”

He cupped your face. “You’re one to talk,” he retorted. He shifted his hips slightly, groaning when some of your wetness got on the tip of his dick. “If I do anything you don’t like, just tap me three times on my arm, okay?” he said, sweetly. “And I’ll stop the second you do that.”

You nodded. “I trust you, Joel.”

He leaned down and kissed you, slowly, lovingly, softly. Such a contrast to how he handled you earlier. It almost made tears come to your eyes. This man, who looked so rough on the surface, had the softest heart you’d ever known.

Pulling away from your lips, he led his dick right to your entrance. “Now,” he said, jest in his voice. “Back to the fun stuff.” He slowly thrust into you, both of you gasping at the sensation. “Fuck, even your pussy is perfect,” he praised.

“Oh,” you moaned out when he bottomed out. He stayed there for a little, letting you adjust, but you could see the restraint it took in the way his body shook lightly. But you didn’t have much restraint either, and so you looked at him and said, “Fuck me like you mean it, Miller.”

You saw the gleam in his eyes and then it was over for you. He set a harsh, fast pace, the sound of your thighs slapping together filling your room along with your moans and his groans. “Such a good girl for me,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust. “So fucking good.”

He pulled out only to move you slightly on your side and then lift your leg over his shoulder, allowing him to spread you out even more than before. He pushed in and you almost screamed with pleasure. “Fuck,” you moaned, trailing out the word. Joel cut you off by grabbing your neck with his hand, applying slight pressure, and choking you.

“There we go,” he cooed, thrusting into you hard. “See? See how it works out for you when you don’t give me attitude?” You interrupted him with a loud moan. “Such a beautiful, fucked out little slut.”

“I’m so close, Joel,” you said lightly, your eyes rolling back into your head. “Oh my god!”

Joel’s thrusts continued, sweat beading on his forehead. His grunts got louder and more breathy. “That’s it, just like that,” he said. “Gonna make you come around my cock, huh? That’s what you want?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, whispering a somewhat breathy sounding “Please! I’m so close.”

“Do it,” he ordered you harshly. “Come for me. Come for me like the good little slut you are,” he said while putting more pressure around your neck, choking you harder. You came even harder than before, shaking and writhing around his cock, and Joel kept thrusting into you. You whined with overstimulation.

Joel’s thrusts started getting sloppy, and soon he groaned “I’m gonna come,” before pulling out of you and pumping himself harshly. He came on your lower stomach. And while he knelt on your bed, out of breath, his eyes couldn’t help but watch his come drip down your stomach a little. “One day,” he began, “I’m going to fuck a baby into you.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “I’ll be counting down the days.”

* (smut finished)

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Twelve months, two weeks, and four days later, you and Joel tied the knot. You had a small wedding in Jackson, with Tommy as Joel’s best man and Ellie as your maid of honor. Addie married the two of you, and you couldn’t be happier with your choice. She practically made you cry with her heartfelt speech, talking about the newfound friendship she had with Joel and how you had given her a brother she never had.

“You two are made for each other,” she had said. 

Both you and Joel had written your own vows to each other. You had the papers you wrote your vows on framed in your bedroom, and occasionally you found yourself reading Joel’s handwriting and marveling at your luck. His vows were shorter than yours- he was a man of few words- but my god, did he write powerfully.

“I’ve been to so many cities in my lifetime. Nothing ever really convinced me to stay, but then I came to Jackson and I saw you in that diner, standing behind the bar like an angel. I still remember how you looked like you glowed under those lights. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I wanted to stay.

“Sometimes I wonder if I was wandering around aimlessly in my life from city to city, just looking for you. And now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to spend a single day without you.”

You’d bawled like anything that day. You had an amazing husband, a beautiful step daughter, and a wedding that your father would have approved of. You felt him in the air around you that day. While you and Joel had your first dance, you remember feeling like someone had placed your hand on your shoulder; but when you glanced, no one was there.

I love you, Dad, you had thought to yourself that day. I love you so much.

Now, while you glanced at your newly made wedding photo album, you felt the memories rush into you like a wave. It had only been a month since then. You still missed that day.

“Sweetheart,” you heard a voice say from downstairs. “Do we have any more boxes to pack?”

You smiled. Joel. “Just one more,” you yelled back. “I’ll be down in a little!”

You stroked the cover of your wedding album and put it gingerly at the top of a filled cardboard box. The sight of your now barren bedroom made tears begin to line your eyes, but your stomach danced with excitement for the future. Before you could start sobbing with nostalgia, you picked up your box and carried it down the stairs. 

The creak of the stairs was music to your ears. It was a shame you wouldn’t hear it for a while.

Joel stood in the center of the living room, staring out the window while waiting for you. When he heard the telltale creak of the stairs, his head moved in your direction. “There you are,” he whispered. “Ellie’s sitting in the truck already.”

“Sorry, I was just caught up with all the memories of this place,” you responded apologetically. “It’s hard to say goodbye.”

Joel tucked you into his side, kissing the top of your head. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll be back eventually, I promise.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss this place.”

“I will, too.”

You both relaxed for a few seconds before you heard a honk from the trunk. “Your daughter is getting impatient,” Joel said, laughing lightly.

“We should get going before she drives into the house,” you said teasingly. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

You climbed down your front porch steps, going to the trunk of the green truck Joel had borrowed from Tommy. You placed the cardboard box in the back and pulled up the barrier. Well, this is it, you thought.

Austin, here we come.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

Tagged: @orcasoul

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

THTH 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Ransom Drysdale

Summary: You have a secret, but what do you do when it threatens to come out.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Bored brainless, you sneak out after your parents shut off their bedroom light. You don’t risk alerting them by borrowing the car so you light up your cell phone and use it to guide your way through the dark. Some people might call you stupid, it’s not exactly safe with all the breaking twigs and rustling in the trees. There are bears up here. You know, you’ve seen them too. Whatever. 

You come in sight of The Horn, annoyed by the dew that wets your ankles. You’re almost too tired for fun now. God, you hate this place. You want to be like those women in the movies who can catch a yellow taxi or even just walk to a club or a restaurant or a salon. Here, you can’t even get a good haircut. 

You smile at the bearded man who watches the door. Al knows you and his rocky exterior cracks just a little. You push inside, met by the castle of yellow lights and the garble of voices. The clink of glass awakens you and you approach the bar, eager to sate your sudden thirst. 

You wait for the bartender, Bill, as an old drunkard in plaid rambles at him. Is that Loretta’s husband? You thought they were such good people. That’s the thing about Hammer Ford, it’s all fake. 

Finally, Bill heads in your direction. Before you can greet him, a shadow slides in next to you, planting and elbow on the trim as his other hand hovers menacingly on the stool at your other hip. The man pens you completely. 

“Gin and tonic and whatever the lady wants,” he says. 

Bill gives him a look. You do too. It’s the same man from the cafe; the newcomer. There’s been a few of those lately. The designer emblem on his sweater staves off your instinct to send him away. 

“You know what I like,” you say to Bill as you face the stranger, “thanks.” 

“Mm,” he looks you up and down, still crowding you, “and what do you like, bunny?” 

Your cheek twitches and you swallow, “what?” 

He smirks and peeks over the bar. His gin and tonic is set on the wood as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet. You’re frozen there, mind racing. It has to be a coincidence. Your drink is put up next; rum and coke, with three maraschino cherries in a highball glass. The man pays and faces you with a wink. 

“Those ears suit you,” he holds up his wallet with one hand. 

“How...” your breath wisps out between your lips. 

“I didn’t expect the real thing to be even better,” he takes the highball glass and offers it to you, “and I rarely admit when I’m wrong.” You take your drink, speechless as you watch him. He reaches for his own glass and whistles at Bill, “can I get a lime for this?” 

The bartender growls. He doesn’t appreciate being spoken to like a dog. He plunks a lime wedges into the glass and huffs. The stranger is entirely unbothered. 

“How did you... find me?” The question spurrs the startling epiphany. He’s one of them. A fan. 

“I can’t tell all my secrets,” he turns to the bar and brings his hand to the small of your back, “let’s sit. Chat. How about it, pinky?” 

You take a gulp of the drink. Oh boy. Pinky... part of your username is the colour pink with and exclamation as the i. It’s definitely one of them. You’re heart is racing. This is an actual nightmare and yet it’s exciting. The very sort of thrill you’ve been longing for. 

He ushers you across to a table and you sit in the wobbly old chair. He takes the one across from you, agitated by it’s crooked stance, and sets his drink down. You keep your hands on your glass, stirring it with the skewer of cherries. You watch him, trying to figure out what to say. 

He’s not bad looking. Thank god for that at least. His hair is combed back tidily away from his clean shaven face. His jaw is square, his nose romanesque in a way, and his clothing betray wealth. It could be a lot worse. 

“Why are you--” 

“You haven’t been online. At least I know you’re not lying. Service is shit around here.” 

His tone makes you wince. You’re not shy. Sometimes, that has been your greatest flaw, like now. Being so bold on the internet has dug you quite the hole. 

“How do you know it’s me?” You’re still reeling, questions bubbling up one after the other. 

“I’d know your ass anywhere,” he bites his lip and leans forward. 

“But why--” 

“Why am I here? Well, I was bored... and I hate waiting,” he sneers, “I’m not that type. I don’t wait.” 

“Wait... for?” 

“The pictures, the videos, it’s getting a little dull,” he hisses, “figured I’d have some of the real thing. You know, I see a resort on Insta, I usually get a flight. I see a new bagel joint, I got down and try the cream cheese, I see you...” 

His smirk remains. You talk a big game but you’re not prepared for this. For him. In the flesh. 

“_ransom_ware_?” You utter. 

“You know me,” he chuckles, “people call me Ransom. You can call me Mr. Drysdale, bunny.” 

“Ransom--” 

“Ah, what did I just say?” He taps his ear, “I know you can be a good lister...” he drawls your real name and you nearly choke. 

“How--” 

“Keep asking all these stupid questions and I’ll have to shut you up,” he warns, “go on, enjoy your drink, loosen up.” He leans on his elbows and looks around, “tell me I’m not a hundred times more intersting than these redneck fuckers.” 

You stare at him. You flutter your lashes and follow his gaze around the room. Others watch. You know this will be on the tongues of the town by morning. If your mom finds out... 

You look at him and find him staring. He sips his drink and tilts his head, “you really are too pretty for this place.” 

“Um, thanks,” you give that smile you give, the one that gets you a your three cherry special from Bill. 

He scoffs, “that doesn’t work on me, bunny.” His eyes drift down to your shirt, a checker halter with buttons down the front. “I came all this way. For you. That means you owe me...” he clucks and pokes his tongue into his cheek, “I mean I am your best tipper, aren’t I?” 

You take another gulp. You’ve got maybe one mouthful left. He eyes the glass. 

“Thirsty?” He winks. 

[scarletemeraldpurple]

Kinktober day 25: Werewolf

Agatha Harkness X Transmasc! werewolf! Reader

Notes: Drugging but it’s just hrt, Agatha being a canonical monsterfucker, knotting, reader has a dick via magic

You had tried to be normal your whole life. Well, as normal as a witch could be. You knew you should consider yourself lucky for growing up in a community of witches. But despite being a group on the outskirts of society, they still found a way to make you feel like an outsider. Something was always just…different about you. And as far as your town was concerned, that difference was meant to be hidden.

And then you got bit. You don’t even know who it was. You were just out on a walk one night, and the creature bit you. You were found in the morning, your tattered clothing and the mark on your shoulder told the story of what happened. You had to leave. Your parents didn’t even look at you as you said goodbye.

There was only one place you could think to go. She might take your magic, but maybe she could cure you too.

You walked for days, but finally found her cottage out in the woods. You walked up the steps of her front porch and steeled your nerves. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Agatha had heard rumblings that there was a baby-were in the area. She was familiar with your town. With how…conservative they could be. Served them right, she figured.

Then she heard your knock on the door.

Agatha Harkness was not what you expected. Everyone described her as something of a beast. But she was a stunning beauty. You supposed you were the beast.

“Are you lost dear?”

You cleared your throat. “No, I, I was looking for you.”

“Most people don’t come looking for me you know.” She said leaning against the door frame. She studied you for a second. “But you’re used to not being like ‘most people’, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, you may as well come in, sun’s going down. Who knows what kind of creatures could be lurking.”

You chuckled uncomfortably. Would she be scared of you too?

Agatha already knew who you were, or at least, what you were. Maybe even more than you did. She was waiting for you to open up.

“Do you have a name dear?”

“Y/N, Y/N L/N”

“And what brings you all the way out here, Y/N L/N? You must know the stories about me.”

“I do. That’s why I’m here actually.”

She raised her eyebrows and lowered them. “Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“I was wondering. Well…”

Agatha tapped her nails on the counter. Enjoying how nervous you were.

“I can live with giving up my power, if you can also take away my lycanthropy.” You finally said.

Agatha nodded slowly. “Well, I have some bad news for you dear. I’m afraid that’s not something I can absorb from you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“But, I can still help you.”

“You can? How?…and why do you want to help me?”

“What can I say I have a soft spot for the outcasts, but tell anyone that and I’ll kill you.”

“My lips are sealed,” you said with a small smile. “Thank you, Agatha.”

—

Agatha had you gathering juniper leaves and juniper berries out in the woods the next day. She assured you they would ease your transformation. She stayed in her garden and collected a few different herbs and flowers.

She got to work making a potion when you filled the small basket. She shooed you out of the kitchen while she worked on it. So you sat in the living room and fed a carrot to her pet rabbit.

“I hope she can help me señor, I don’t want to hurt anyone. What if I hurt you by accident?”

“Well with my help you won’t need to worry about that.” Agatha said as she entered, startling you slightly.

Señor Scratchy hopped off of your lap at the disturbance.

“Sorry bud.”

“Never mind him, here drink.” Agatha said, handing you a cup.

You took a sip, it burned a bit. “Is this a gin and tonic?”

“Well it’s a tonic of sorts, and it makes use of the juniper berries, which is what gin is made of if you didn’t know.”

It wasn’t too bad, as far as potions go. Maybe you could be a gin and tonic person.

“So what does this do exactly?”

“It’ll help you feel…more like yourself when taken consistently over time. Which is why you’re starting the regiment now, with the full moon a few weeks away.”

“Got it.”

You drank your potion diligently over the course of the week. They made you feel…inexplicably great. But by the end of the week you woke up to some unexpected changes.

“Agatha I think I’m turning early.”

“How do you feel?” Agatha asked.

“I’m hairier!”

“That’s not what I asked. Take a deep breath, how do you feel?”

You took a deep breath in and out. Trying to gather your thoughts.

“You look good. I can tell you that much, prettyboy.”

“I thought this was to help ease my transformation.”

“Well, in a sense it is,” Agatha said, moving towards you,

“After all, isn’t that part of your worry? That this ,”she traced a finger along your newly hairy arm, “is part of what makes you a monster?”

“How-how did you know?l

“You think you’re the first transgender person I’ve met? You’re not even the first transgender werewolf. Truth be told I’ve always felt a certain kinship with people like you.” She said.

“How so?”

She gripped your shoulders and looked at you seriously. “Because you are survivors. You’re rule breakers. I’ve seen how your community is punished, erased by society. And yet here you are. And I never want you to feel shame for surviving. It has never been your fault that the people around you don’t understand you.”

Her hands had moved to cup your face. You rubbed your thumbs gently on hee wrists. You moved without thought to kiss her. She smiled against your lips. You pulled back when you realized what you had done.

“Come here, pup.” She said before pulling you in for a deeper kiss.

One of her hands moved to the back of your head, scratching you gently.

She was So gentle with you, you barely knew what to do with yourself. So you just kept kissing her, one hand cupping her face, wanting to keep her close.

“And tomorrow, my dear pup, the real fun begins,” she said when you two finally broke apart.

She pulled you into bed with her that night and cozied up on top of your chest. For the first time in…forever, you felt like you were going to be okay.

—

You woke up all by yourself and quickly shuffled to find Agatha.

She was in the living room doing some cleaning.

“Why didn’t you wake me? I should be helping you.”

Agatha waved you off. “I have a process. I need to clean the space for a little spell we’re gonna do.”

“What kind of spell?”

“You’ll see.”

Agatha brought out a purple candle, placed it on the coffee table and sprinkled some dried juniper leaves around it.

“Sit down in front of the table, whatever way is most comfortable.”

You obeyed.

“Good pup. Now,” she snapped her fingers and the lights went out in her home. Leaving you both in the dark with only a magical purple flame.

“Direct your attention to the flame pup, and take a deep breath in. Breathe in the scent of pine as you stare into my purple flame. Today we’re peeling back all your layers. Uncovering You, and all the parts you’re most scared of. And that’s okay. Because I’m here, and you certainly don’t scare me, pup. Now, I want you to imagine what you look like as a werewolf, just your appearance. You’ll keep your mind throughout this.”

You stared into the flame. You didn’t know what you would look like.

“Don’t overthink it. Don’t even worry about if it’d be accurate. Just let your imagination roam. How would your body feel, how would it look, how would it move.”

You swore you felt yourself get hairier, felt your ears morph and grow. Claws sprouting from your fingertips. And your mind drifted to something for just a second, then you felt the weight in your pants.

“Good pup, I think you’re ready.” Agatha snuffed out the candle and brought the lamps to a dim glow. She held up a mirror to you.

It was a surprising image to be sure. But, it still looked like you, ultimately. You hadn’t noticed when your shirt had ripped, your new fur concealed a couple particular areas of your chest.

“I like this look. Come closer pup.” Agatha beckoned with a crooked finger.

You found yourself walking on all fours over to her.

“Good pup. You’re doing so good. And it’ll only get easier from here, turning back and forth. Now, come on up,” she said, patting the space next to her on the couch.

“Good pup,” she scratched behind one of your ears and you involuntarily thumped your leg. “Awww, look at you, following your instincts.” She cooed.

She eyed the new bulge in your pants. “Tell me pup, are there any other….urges we should explore?” She moved her hand to the inside of your thigh and you whimpered.

“Oh poor baby. Have you not been touched in a while sweet boy?”

“Not—no.”

“Have you never been touched honey?”

“I- I did the touching so to speak.”

“I see. Well, you just let me take care of everything sweet boy.” Agatha got up and led you to the bed. You trotted along on all fours.

She stripped as soon as the door was closed and you had to stop your tongue from lolling out of your mouth.

She smirked at you. “Enjoying the view pup?”

You nodded emphatically.

“Good. Now,” She laid back on the bed, spread her legs, and ran her fingers through her folds, “I’ll be honest pup, just seeing you like this, has gotten me all worked up, think you can help me with that?”

You scrambled onto the bed and took her fingers into your mouth. You licked at them and found your tongue was much longer than normal.

“Oh wow baby, look at you. You want more?” She said, spreading her legs wider.

You immediately moved to lap at her. You quickly discovered your new tongue could penetrate her and cover her clit at the same time. She gripped your head and grinder herself against her.

“Good pup, goood pup, your mouth feels so good baby.”

She was dripping onto you and you absolutely loved it. You felt yourself get hard and you couldn’t help but grind against the bed.

“Awww baby, feeling desperate? You warmed me up so well baby. You ready to be inside of me sweetheart?”

You just looked up at her in awe.

“C’mon pup, let’s get those pants off.”

You accidentally ripped them taking them off.

“It’s okay baby, we’ll worry about that later, right now I just want you in me.”

You rubbed your cock against her, just getting used to the new form and sensation.

“Good boy, my good boy.” Agatha cooed as she reached down to guide you in.

You moaned as her cunt consumed you. Squeezing you tight and surrounding you in warmth. You just stayed put inside of her for a minute trying to control your breathing.

She pulled you down for a kiss. Then whispered something to you: “I can take it baby. Fuck me like a good boy. Give me your knot, pup.”

You lost control and your hips thrusted back and forth getting totally lost in her. She felt so good she felt so good she just felt so good. You found yourself fucking howling over it all.

“That’s a good fucking pup, you just can’t help it huh?”

You shook your head and howled again.

“That’s my good boy. You fill me up so well baby. My perfect pup,” she husked out.

“Fuck fuck, sorry, so close, don’t know if I can last.”

“Fill me up baby. Gonna keep you inside me, gonna keep you right here. You’re all mine now, you know that pup?”

“All yours, all yours Agatha. Fuck.” You came and you felt your knot swell locking you inside of her.

“Good pup. Now I’m just gonna,” she reached a hand between you two and rubbed her clit, “I’m gonna cum so hard around this knot baby.” She moaned and she played.

You felt her squeeze impossibly tighter around you, driving you into overstimulation and you whimpered.

“Oh that’s good baby. I love all your noises, you keep that up and I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum all over your cock. Get us both all messy.”

You let out some truly embarrassing noises and Agatha came with the nails of her free hand scratching down your back. You wondered if there would be marks when you changed back.

“Oh you did so good baby. Now, you can relax, and as you relax you’ll find yourself changing back to your human form. Not all at once. You’ll just be my weighted blanket, and my dildo, until you fall asleep.” She said gently, scratching your head as you laid atop her.

She dislodged from underneath you when you finally fell asleep. She managed to do it without disturbing you. Tonight had exhausted you.

She smiled at your sleeping form. You would only become more yourself from here, and she couldn’t wait to see it.

[callooopie]

Bloodborne Hunter!Davos would consist of…

Just go out and kill a few beasts. It’s for your own good. You know, it’s just what hunters do! — Gehrman, The First Hunter // Bloodborne

..Gurl what is this? Idk either man I thought I cooked something different.. anyways important! This is formatted like a wiki page for the Bloodborne wiki (fextralife my ride or die). So if format is strange it’s bc I was trying to go with this Wikipedia style. I’m trying something new I’m sorry I’ll be back to the regularly scheduled program soon 😭😭😭 but if people like this style 👀👀👀…. Tarnished!Jacaerys .. stay tuned..

— shit.. you were really having trouble with this game and this questline… time to look up the wiki —

Davos, Bloody Hunter is an NPC in Bloodborne.

“A peculiar young man with the smell of blood permeating from him. What could he want?”

— Davos information

Can become hostile if attacked. However attacking and subsequently killing ends his quest line prematurely and you do not receive the items Bracken blood vial or Blood Gem Ring

An NPC that appears throughout the map wherever you are in the story. His quest line moves along with your story progression up until Byrgenwerth. The ending of his quest is in Old Yharnam at the Church of the Good Chalice.

Drops: if killed, will give 9000 blood echoes and Davos’s Shotel. Although this weapon can also be obtained upon quest completion

— Location

Can first be found after the Father Gascoigne fight if you return to the Hunter’s Dream and return back to the Tomb of Oedon lantern. He will be leaning against the large statue in the middle of the area right next to the lantern. Upon your first encounter he will gift you 5x quicksilver bullets.

> can be summoned before the Vicar Amelia fight. Enter the grand cathedral and look to your right immediately.

— Associated quest

Meet him at his first location. Respond with the option I’m not a Bracken, and he will remain cordial and see you as an ally. Choose the other option and he will attack you on sight and must be killed. Continuing with the first response, he will ask you to aid in his cause. Respond I will, and he will give you 5x quicksilver bullets. Choose I will not, and he will remain at his first location.

Note: if you choose I will not and continue in story progression, but come back and say I will, his quest line will not work.

Continuing after accepting his quest, Davos will appear near every major lantern throughout the map. After each required boss is killed, he will spawn after returning to the Hunter’s Dream and then returning back to the boss area lantern.

— Dialogue

upon first meeting after the Father Gascoigne fight

“Hm? Oh, a fellow hunter are you? Smelling of blood and a crazed look in your eyes, you might just be my type. Unless you’re a Bracken.. are you?”

responding “I am not”

“Ahh, good good. I’d have killed you where you stood if you said yes. Haha—not laughing are you? Shame, the ladies always said I was funny.”

“I suppose I ought to give you an answer for my behavior earlier. Firstly, I am Davos. When not skinning beasts alive in the streets—I’m hunting Brackens. Have you heard of them? A cursed, vile family. Stole land from my kin, according to family legends. Although… that was so long ago..”

next meeting, inquire about the Old Blood after the Vicar Amelia fight

“Old Blood? Bah—load of fantastical falsities if you ask me. I do not care to drink my fill of dubious liquids unless it is gin that burns your throat. How am I a hunter then? Well heheh.. you don’t need to be a part of the church to be a hunter of something…”

upon asking about Brackens

“Ugh—why do you wish to know about those fools? They have scorned my family for generations.. or so I was told by my father. How can I do it? They are like beasts.. something vile and dangerous, surely they are all evil. That line is cursed.. surely...”

after the fight with the Shadows of Yharnam, before the lantern near Byrgenwerth

“You know where you’re heading next? Byrgenwerth up ahead? You’ve heard little about it? Hm.. perhaps Gehrman is losing his grip then—..how do I know him? Ahaha.. a tale for another time.”

upon interacting with him again

“Ah—why am I here? I’m on the trail of.. something. Can’t say if it’s a real lead or anything. But the trip won’t be in vain, I got to talk to you at least, haha.”

Coming upon Hemwick Charnal Lane, speaking with Davos at the lantern.

“Oh, it’s you again. Surprised you’re here.. it’s a little out of the way, no? What am I doing? ..tracking some prey, nothing to worry your pretty head about. I can almost smell his fear, his blood. Maybe I’m lost in the head already, ha!”

Interacting with him again

“Still here? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in love with me. Haha... Say—what if you join me on this hunt? Our quarry’s running off to Old Yharnam from what I can tell. A caged rat, that’s what it’ll be.”

“Oh—one more thing I suppose. I found this in one of those shops broken into. Thought you might like it—unless you’re not the type for jewelry that is! There’s of course no foul in saying no but…”

choosing the option of taking the ring

“…really? Oh.. I—I did not expect such a swift response. You have made me a happy man my love, haha. What does it mean? Ah—you’re a foreigner here in Yharnam aren’t you? Then I shan’t ruin my own fun and tell you now that’s for sure!”

upon finding him at the Church of the Good Chalice

“Damn! ..he put up a fight actually.. that mucker.. h-ah hah.. don’t worry about me love. Just a flesh wound, as hunters would say. If I could still dream… oh what does it matter… I’m a goner regardless.”

interacting with him again

“..H-Here.. take my.. weapon. I’ll have no use for it anymore. Finally, that dogged bloodline is no m-more. If only.. I could seemingly live.. to enjoy that thought.. Curses—a shame.. I won’t get to hear your voice anymore eh? Here.. take this too, drink it—savor the taste. Bracken blood—sweeter than wine. Or maybe sweeter than you, would you agree heheh? ….”

— Lore

A strange character, who continues his familial feud against the once-noble family of the Brackens even during a hunt. From what is gleaned from his dialogue and item descriptions throughout the game, Davos was once a church hunter. Younger than his compatriots, but a swift learner and a deadly force. He was once able to dream, much like the player and other hunter NPCs like Eileen The Crow. A description from his attire reads: “Hunter attire of Davos, Bloody Hunter. Lightweight and darkened fabrics suggest that Davos learned his own techniques from The First Hunter. It’s said Gehrman took a liking to his most recent and final student. Although banished him from the Dream upon learning about an irreparable truth.”

Davos seemed to be a good hunter however despite his transgressions. The item description of his weapon reads: “Trick weapon of Davos, Bloody Hunter. Pulling back your arm and casting it activates a mechanism that launches the blade at an enemy with a sharp steel rope and can thus be used to hook an enemy to pull them closer. A masterpiece of workshop craftsmanship, and could only be wielded by an individual of unquestionable skill and talent.”

And from what players can gather through exhausting his dialogue it seems Davos had intentionally sought out those aligned or a part of the noble house of Bracken and killed them. This in turn however tarnished his reputation as a hunter, and he was exiled from the Hunter’s Dream. Davos is also implied to be blood-drunk from his actions of killing innocent people. The description for his head gear states: “A worn down Hunter’s hat with bandages hastily tied around the top to secure it to one’s head. The bandage that goes around the eye would be able to hide the unseemly look of a blood-drunk hunter, concealing the collapsed pupil behind the fabric.”

From the item description of the ring he gives the player, it seemed Davos had become romantically inclined toward the player and decided to bestow a marriage proposal to them—although with our hunter being a foreigner; the true meaning of the ring was lost on them. This seems to not displease Davos however, as his dialogue laughs and teases about it. The description reads: “A golden ring fitted with a blood stone gem and a worn off house sigil on the inside of the ring. Given by Davos, Bloody Hunter. In Yharnam, this would be considered a proposal or courting strategy for wealthy young nobles to win over the one who had caught their eye.”

— aw fuck.. now you gotta get to NG+ to do his quest right.. time to get back on the grind you suppose.. —

[hockey-fics]

Gin, Tonic, and Tequila Shots ~ Jack Hughes

Summary: You really didn’t think you could expect much from a relationship that started with nothing more than hooking up. But as the occurrences become more and more frequent your feelings become more and more involved in something that you were sure could only end in heartbreak.

Word Count: ~5,500

Warnings: Drinking, smut, jealousy, language, brief toxic male behaviour. 

A/N: I didn’t edit this super well because, honestly, I don’t love it enough to read through it many times. But I really hope it’s better than I think it is for everyone’s sake.  

It was just supposed to be fun. And if you were being honest, it had been incredibly fun. The two of you ran in the same circles, in a way. At the very least you were both at the same house party one time and it seemed that as time went by those occurrences only became more and more frequent. You had talked, casually and in passing, before you truly got to know each other. In fact, for awhile you didn’t even really know each other’s names. 

But one thing you could remember was the night things truly ramped up, like someone had engraved it into your brain, still there even though it had been almost a year since that night. 

10 Months Ago 

You pull him over to the table from where he had been leaning against the wall, pretending not to be watching you play beer pong throughout the last game. “You’re going to be my partner now,” you tell him with the confidence that only shots of vodka could truly give you. 

“Am I?” he chuckles, a beer in one hand as you set the ping pong ball into his other. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, stepping back and glancing at the other side of the table. “Your turn,” you tell him, nodding towards the table. 

Jack shakes his head, giving you an equally enticing smirk as he turns to the table to take his first shot. You watch the ball he had thrown land perfectly in one of your opponent’s cups. “Not bad,” you comment, with the full knowledge that it was much more impressive than just not bad. “I’m Y/N,” you tell him before taking your shot, your own ping pong ball landing in a cup on the other side of the table. 

“Nice shot, Y/N.” He brings his beer to his lips, taking a large gulp, like he was hoping it would give him the power to sustain whatever he had just walked into. “I’m Jack.”

The rest of the game proceeds in the same manner, little jabs and flirtatious comments directed at each other throughout it. 

It took only the length of one game till the two of you had locked yourselves in the bathroom of the house you were at. You didn’t even know whose house it was but you were very grateful for the sufficient counter space that you were perched on, Jack between your legs making you moan loudly. 

“You need to be quiet,” Jack mutters, after pulling back to look at you, his hands firmly grasping your thighs. 

You’re breathless but you mange to breathe out an okay and paired with the nod you give him it seems to be enough to give him the reassurance to get back to it. You’re ecstatic that he does as you’re rocked through an orgasm that makes you clutch the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turn white. 

“Fuck,” is all you manage to say as Jack wipes his lips with the back of his hand before bringing his lips back to yours in a passionate and heated kiss. You’re a fluster of movements and adjusting and grappling before you’re pressed over the bathroom counter. He has his hand in your hair, pulling your head back to look at him in the mirror while he slams into you. He was right that you needed to be quiet, but he was making it incredibly hard as he hit parts of you very few people had before. 

You’re barely able to pull yourself to standing after he’s done with you, your body feeling like jello as you lean into the counter. “Holy shit,” you whisper. But your heart sinks a little when you see that he was already on his phone just minutes after pulling himself out of you. Biting the inside of your lip you scramble to begin pulling your clothes on. 

“So, do you want to stay at my place tonight? Or do you want to go to your place? Or…”

Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him, your shirt still in your hands. “What?”

Jack turns his phone around, showing you that he was trying to get an Uber. “I mean, I don’t know, if you want to stay here that’s cool but that kinda took it outta me,” Jack chuckles as he turns his phone back around to look at it. “Up to you, whatever you want to do.”

You’re staring at him, mind racing to figure out what to say. “I’m going to stay,” you finally blurt out. You didn’t want to. You really didn’t want to. But you also didn’t want to seem like you were too invested in something with the guy who just fucked you in the bathroom at a house party. 

Jack is silent for longer than you had expected before shrugging. “Okay, whatever.” 

When he left that bathroom you hadn’t expected to feel quite as deflated as you did. At least you knew each other’s names now. But there was a part of you that wished you didn’t, it was less disheartening that way. 

That was until a couple days later when you got a text from an unknown number. 

‘Hey, it’s Jack. Got your number from a friend. We’re going out for drinks, wanna come?’

It was a Friday and after you got home from work that evening you had immediately slipped into pyjamas, slathered on your skincare and called it a night. But that text changed everything as you hurried about your apartment trying to put yourself back together without looking too put together. ‘Yeah, sure. Where?’

You had gotten the name of the bar a few minutes later and met him and his group of friends that only seemed vaguely familiar there later that night. The end of that night went much like the first, though you had at the very least ended up back at his apartment and in a bed this time. But again you weren’t sure how to handle the situation. You didn’t want to seem clingy or pushy so you pulled your clothes on as soon as it was over, heading out the second you managed to get an Uber. 

It wasn’t until he ended up at your apartment that things changed. He didn’t leave immediately. He fell asleep beside you in your bed, both of you waking up the next morning beside each other. And something about that seemed to change the situation. Something about waking up next to each other, seeing each other with sober eyes. 

Suddenly you weren’t just using drinking or partying as an excuse to see each other. Of course that didn’t stop. You were still going to the same parties and running into each other on nights out. But beyond that he was calling you after hard practices or late at night when he had just gotten back from one city or another. And you were calling him over when you were in your apartment alone and all you wanted was for someone to run their hands over your body and touch you in a way that Jack seemed to do so well. 

Current Day

It had been ten months. They were ten great months, but it was a long time to be hooking up with someone for nothing to come from it. Not that you didn’t want anything to come from it. Hell, somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you would without a doubt say yes to being his girlfriend. But you shovelled that back into the depths of your brain, because if you knew you really had feelings for him you needed to address it with him or you would inevitably end up heart broken.

But you didn’t. You refused to say anything, to bring anything up to him. 

“So you’re just going to let yourself get hurt?” Taylor asks one Saturday afternoon as the two of you were getting ready to go to Jack’s hockey game that he had invited you to. He had also invited you to go out to a bar with him and some friends after so you didn’t read too much into the game invite if it was just a step in the direction of getting you into bed later that night. 

“I’m not going to get hurt,” you tell her, a blatant lie. But at least if you said it out loud you could maybe pretend that it didn’t hurt so bad when it did happen. You just didn’t want to admit that you had given him the power to hurt you. “He’s just good in bed.”

“Shut up,” Taylor laughs, laying across your bed giving you advice about what to wear that night. “You like him, stop lying to me.”

For a moment you consider lying to her, continuing with your little charade of only liking him because he made you finish, which was more than you could say about most guys. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t because he also made you laugh and he made you happy and he made you feel safe. “I just don’t think he wants anything more.”

“Has he told you that?” Taylor inquires. “But if that’s true I really think you need to end this thing you’re doing with him.”

Rolling your eyes you turn back to your closet, knowing she was right but also knowing you were annoyed by it. “He hasn’t told me that but if he wanted something he would have said something about it by now.”

“You haven’t,” Taylor points out. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you snap, picking out a shirt and turning back to look at her. “Sorry, I just, I don’t know,” you mutter.  

“It’s fine, I just don’t want you to get hurt but I also don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Taylor assures you, eyes switching from looking at you to the shirt you were holding. “I like that one.”

It’s a few hours later and you’re sitting in the arena watching the game, your eyes barely leaving Jack when he was on the ice and still seeming to get drawn to him when he wasn’t. You’re not sure how three hours could fly by so quickly but as soon the game comes to an end with the Devils winning 3-2 you couldn’t wait to get out of there and get to the bar to meet up with Jack. 

You knew waiting for him and going over to the bar with him was an option, but you figured it would just be easier to just meet there. You hadn’t anticipated how long you and Taylor would be waiting, and you definitely didn’t anticipate ending up at a table with a few guys who had approached the two of you and offered to buy you both a drink. 

“You want to do a shot?” The man sitting beside you asks. He had told you his name was Owen, he was an investment banker and most definitely a little too old for you. But you didn’t mind, it wasn’t like you had any intention of doing anything with him, the attention and free drinks just felt nice. 

You pretend to think it over, already knowing the answer. “Only if it’s tequila.”

“Deal,” he chuckles, standing up and taking your hand, leading you away from the table to an empty spot at the bar. You watch him rest his forearms on it, your eyes drawn to the obnoxiously large watch on his wrist. “Two shots of Don Julio 1942,” Owen says as the bartender approaches. 

You have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes as he orders it, watching him fork over nearly fifty dollars for the two shots. He was obviously trying to impress you. But you weren’t overly impressed by him spending excessive money on a shot of tequila. Especially when you were immediately going to chase it with your gin and tonic. Because truthfully, you hated the taste of tequila but you loved the effect it had on you. 

You take the shot as the bartender sets it down, not trusting Owen enough to let him hand it to you. After a quick cheers you pour the liquid down your throat, trying not to wince as you quickly wash away the remnants with your drink. 

“I thought you liked tequila,” Owen comments, the breath of laughter that follows was tinged with an obvious annoyance. 

Shrugging you lean into the bar, looking up at him. “I don’t love the taste, but you know what they say.”

Owen raises his eyebrows, leaning a little closer to you. “And what is that?”

You knew you shouldn’t say what you were about to say. There was no reason for it. But you were tipsy and you didn’t care about leading anyone on or saying something you shouldn’t. “Tequila makes her clothes fall off.”

“Well in that case I guess I’ll be getting you another shot,” Owen smirks, about to raise his hand up to get the bartender’s attention again. 

Quickly you put your hand on his forearm, laughing softly. “If I keep going at this rate the only thing that’s going to be falling is me…on the ground.”

“Okay, okay, but let me know when you’re ready for another.” His eyes move from staring down at you to just behind you and you flinch when you feel a hand on your back. 

Whipping your head to the side you let out a breath of relief when you see that it was Jack. “Taylor told me you were over here,” he comments but his voice is quiet and he has his arm around your waist. Normally the two of you were pretty hands off in any situation that wasn’t just the two of you. “Come on, we have a table in the back.”

“I-,” you begin, glancing back at Owen, feeling Jack pull you a little closer as you do. “Sorry, I, um, I have to go. Thank you for the shot.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Owen snaps, shaking his head. “Want to tell your boyfriend what you were saying to me?”

“What? He’s not…he’s not my boyfriend,” you stammer but your cheeks are red hot as the tequila was hitting at the same time as the reality of this situation. 

Owen scoffs, turning his attention to Jack now. “Do your know your girl is acting like a slut to get free drinks?”

Jack’s hands are off you a second later and he’s stepping around you, putting himself between you and Owen. “Say that again,” Jack snaps. 

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, shuffling yourself back between them. Your hands were on Jack’s chest, pushing him back a few steps. “It’s not worth it, okay? Let’s just go, this night doesn’t need to end like this,” you tell him. 

You can tell he’s hesitant but Jack relents, taking your hand and pulling you towards the back of the bar. Before you can reach the table Jack pulls you to the side, his hand on the back of your head as he leans down and kisses you with an intensity that seemed angry. “Woah, okay,” you whisper against his lips as he pulls back. 

“You know I’ll buy you all the drinks you want, don’t fucking flirt with other guys for drinks,” Jack mutters, standing up straighter and confirming your suspicion about the anger hidden in the kiss. 

“You do not get to tell me not to flirt with other guys, for drinks or for anything else,” you defend, crossing your arms over your chest, trying your best to seem like you were actually upset that he was telling you not to flirt with other guys. 

“He was like thirty-five, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Fuck off, Jack,” you snap, stepping away from him. “Just leave me alone.”

“Hey, hey,” Jack comments, groaning as he follows you towards the table where Taylor was sitting and giggling about who knows what. 

When you throw yourself down beside Taylor she immediately asks what’s wrong but you simply shake your head, giving her a look to say that you would explain it another time. Jack sits down at the table seemingly as far away from you as possible, slouching down in his seat and picking up the pint of beer that was in front of him. You’re trying not to look at him but you can’t help it, glancing over at him a little too often. You can tell he’s doing the same, your eyes meeting too often for it to be a coincidental. And you’re not even paying attention to any of the conversation happening around you, mind entirely focused on Jack and his behaviour. 

You feel Taylor nudge your arm and you look over at her, noticing she must have asked you something and was waiting for a response. “Bathroom?” Taylor repeats, realizing you were lost in whatever you were thinking about. Standing up you follow her to the bathroom where she leans against the counter, giving you a look. 

“What’s going on?” she asks. 

Sighing you give her a shrug, not even sure yourself what was going on or where to start. “Owen told him I was being a slut to get free drinks which, whatever, I don’t care, but Jack got mad about it. I convinced him it wasn’t worth it to get into anything with Owen. But then he got pissed at me about flirting with Owen.”

Taylor rolls her eyes, lips curling into a smirk. “Hmm, I wonder why,” she comments sarcastically. 

“What?” you mutter, arms crossed over your chest. “Because Owen is older? I don’t think Jack should get to decide who I talk to."

“You’re such an idiot,” Taylor breathes out, shaking her head. “He’s jealous.”

“Well he doesn’t have to be such an ass,” you mumble under your breath, starring down at the ground. 

“Both of you just need to grow up and have a real conversation about what’s going on with you two.”

“I know,” you admit, looking over at her. “I will…not tonight though.”

“No shit, this is not the time,” she laughs, grabbing your arm and nodding towards the door. As the two of you head back to the table she pauses just behind Jack. “Oh look, a seat for you,” she comments, pushing you towards him before making her way back to the other side of the table. 

Hesitantly you sit down in the open spot next to Jack, eyes on the table till you feel him put his arm around the back of your chair, leaning in closer to you. “Hey, I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet to keep the conversation between you and him. 

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have either,” you reply, looking over at him. “Do you want to go get a drink with me?”

Jack nods, following your lead to the bar, leaning against it beside you. “What do you want?”

“I can get my own drinks,” you tell him, still a little shaken up by the acting like a slut to get drinks comment. 

“I know you can,” Jack chuckles. “I want to get it.”

Smiling up at him you give in, realistically knowing that wasn’t what Jack was thinking. “You know what I want.”

“Yeah, I do, but what do you want to drink?” Jack jokes, receiving a playful whack on the bicep from you. “Gin and tonic, you want a double?”

“Yes, please.” You’re glancing around the bar as Jack orders the drinks when your eyes land on Taylor, watching the two of you like a hawk. Shaking your head you laugh softly, looking back to Jack. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Just, uh, Taylor, she’s,” you begin before nodding in the direction of the table. 

Jack takes the hint and looks over, eyebrows furrowed. “Why was she staring?”

“She just…,” you begin, picking up your drink and taking a large gulp, trying to buy yourself some time to explain it. “She thinks you’re jealous and now she’s really invested in us.”

“Jealous of her?”

“No,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Of me with other…guys.”

Jack takes a second for what you were saying to sink in. “I mean, yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

“I don’t want to see you with other guys, yeah, I was jealous.”

Swallowing heavily you feel your palms become clammy, cheeks beginning to flush. “Why?”

“Because I want you to myself,” Jack says so casually you’re sure you simply misheard him. “Do you want me to go try to get with someone else?”

“No,” you reply so quickly that you’re filled with a deep sense of embarrassment. “I mean, like, probably not, but you can…if you want.”

“I don’t want to,” Jack assures you, the two of you turning and heading back to the table. You take the seat beside Jack again, a little closer this time. Thankfully now that you were a little less distracted you were actually able to pay attention and contribute to the conversation. 

When everyone is heading out for the night Jack has his hands all over you, holding your hand or wrapping his arm around your waist. You had no idea what had gotten into him but you were assuming it was his way of asserting to everyone in that bar that you weren’t available. Everyone is standing outside waiting for their rides home and you’re a little tipsy as you press your back into Jack’s chest, tipping your head back onto his shoulder and looking up at him. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, I kinda just thought you would be.”

You try to hide the fact that his comment makes your heart beat a little faster, your stomach filling with butterflies, an obnoxiously happy smile on your face. Jack wraps his arms over you, pulling you even closer into his body. “Uber should be here soon,” he tells you. 

You see Taylor looking at you with a knowing smirk, shaking her head in amusement before turning her attention back to her phone. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper to Jack, slipping from his arms to walk over to Taylor. “How are you getting home? I can come with you if you want.”

“Absolutely not,” Taylor giggles. “Go be with your boyfriend. Liam is going to pick me up.” 

You quickly hush her, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard her boyfriend comment. “Okay, I’ll stay till he’s here.”

Once you make sure Taylor is with her boyfriend you head back to Jack’s place in an awkwardly silent Uber, only a handful of words being exchanged till you’re in Jack’s apartment. 

“You know I wasn’t going to do anything with him, right?” you tell Jack, sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of wine from the bottle you had left there the last time you were over. 

“Hm?” Jack hums, closing the fridge after getting a beer and walking over to you, standing between your legs. 

“I wasn’t going to do anything with him…the guy at the bar.”

Jack lets out a loud breath, setting his beer down and running his hands along your thighs. “I don’t want to hear about you with another guy.”

“I’m telling you I wasn’t going to do anything with him,” you reiterate. 

“Good,” Jack comments, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. “But I still don’t want to hear about it.”

“You really are jealous,” you tease, setting your glass down and leaning down to kiss him. 

Jack kisses you back, tugging you off the counter and onto your feet. “Yeah, I am,” he mutters shamelessly. His lips are on yours again a second later and there’s a thrilling intensity to the kiss that you hadn’t experienced with him before. As Jack runs his hands under your shirt, fingers on your bare skin, you moan quietly into his mouth. “Let’s go to my room,” Jack mumbles, pulling back and letting you take the lead.

It doesn’t even feel like a second passes between him closing the door and him pulling the shirt off your body. With a playful smirk you do the same, tugging his shirt off and tossing it aside carelessly. The two of you are back to kissing as you fumble through the dim room to the bed where you push him back and climb onto him, knees on either side of his body. There’s a desperation to the kiss as Jack unhooks your bra, letting you pull back only to take it off your body. 

Rolling off of him you watch as he takes your jeans off, hand running up your inner thigh as he moves to hover over you, his lips on your neck, moving down to your chest as you whimper with desperation, hips squirming under him. “Please,” you whine as his fingers brush over the lacy fabric of your underwear, ones that you picked out specifically knowing the inevitably of this situation. 

He gives in to your begging, pulling back to tug your underwear off your body. He brings his fingers back exactly where you wanted them, a quiet gasp as his fingers brush over your clit. “Just like that,” you whisper as his fingers hit a rhythm that makes your fingers dig into his back. You’re alternating between kissing him and pulling back to catch your breath, quiet moans emanating from you with increasing frequency, clutching onto him desperately. “Oh, fuck,” you moan as your muscles tense, body jolting with a wave of intense pleasure. “Fuck,” you breathe out again, body relaxing into the bed under him as you stare up at him with a smile you simply couldn’t get rid of. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Jack mutters, eyes not leaving you as you press your hand into his chest, pushing him back till he was standing by the side of the bed. 

Climbing off the bed you stand in front of him, kissing him again as your fingers work on the button of his jeans. He pulls back and takes over, the two of you completely naked just a couple seconds later. Not that it was out of the ordinary, at this point you were fairly sure you had spent more time together naked than not. 

Lowering yourself to your knees you keep your eyes on him, watching the look of desperation cross his face. Your movements are especially slow, drawing it out, taking pleasure in making him wait for it. His breathing is unsteady and you feel his hand fall to the back of your head, not putting any pressure on it but you got the message loud and clear. Relenting, you let him have exactly what he wants and the groan that you earn as soon as he’s in your mouth makes it worth it. There’s something about the sounds he makes that always encouraged you to give him everything you were capable of. And tonight was no different, your eyes were watering, knees beginning to ache when he pulls you to your feet, nodding towards the bed. 

“Get on the bed.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed you lean back on your arms, looking up at him with a smirk as he takes a condom out of the bedside table and slides it on. “I want you inside me,” you whisper, batting your eyes with feigned innocence. 

A strangled groan leaves Jack’s lips as he steps over, kissing you quickly before placing his hand on the side of your waist, pushing you sideways. It was far from your first time figuring out his silent communication, turning yourself over onto your hands and knees. He’s still standing beside the bed when he tugs your hips back before easing himself into you. It’s slow and gentle just until your moans give him permission to pick up speed. 

His hand is tangled in your hair, tugging your head back as you’re moaning and grasping the bedsheets. “You like that?” Jack mutters, his voice strained. 

“Yes,” you gasp as he lets go of your hair, letting you fall back onto your forearms. “Fuck, please, you feel so good,” you whisper, your entire body feeling flushed and shaky as he slams into you at an unrelenting pace. You can tell he’s close to finishing, you knew him well enough to be able to predict it by his changing movements. You find your prediction coming true with Jack pulling out of you just a couple minutes later. 

After turning yourself back over you watch him begin cleaning himself up, completely distracted as you contemplate your next move. “Can you hand me my phone? I’m going to Uber home.”

The way Jack whips his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed makes you giggle quietly. “What? Why?”

Laughing you sit up straighter, shaking your head. “I’m kidding,” you tell him. “But it’s cute that you don’t want me to leave.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jack tells you but there’s not even an ounce of him that tries to make it sound convincing. 

Rolling your eyes you lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. “You and I both know you don’t need to say it out loud.”

Jack is quiet for a second and you begin to wonder if he had gone into the bathroom. “Yeah,” Jack finally mumbles before actually retreating into the bathroom. 

It’s easy to fall asleep that night. Easier than it had been in a very long time. You didn’t know what it was, the remnants of alcohol in your bloodstream, the physical exhaustion from everything that had happened in the last hour, the feeling of Jack’s arm wrapped around your body, or something much more meaningful than that. 

It’s not often that you wake up after Jack but on this morning you did, thankfully less hungover than you were expecting to be. Crawling out of Jack’s bed you pull one of his t-shirts on, heading out to find him in the living room. “Morning,” you say softly, walking over and lowering yourself onto the couch next to him. 

“How’re you feeling?”

Shrugging you pull your legs up onto the couch, leaning your side against the back of it so that you could face Jack. “Honestly, pretty good. I don’t think I was really even drunk last night. How about you?”

“I only had like five drinks and almost a full one of those is still sitting in the kitchen with your wine.”

“Sorry for not letting you finish it,” you joke. A moment later you take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Jack, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” Jack mutters, waiting for you to go on with a look of confusion on his face. 

You knew you just needed to say it, that there wouldn’t be an easy way to say it so you just had to do it. “I like you, Jack. I mean, I have feelings for you and I don’t know what this is for you but I don’t know if I can keep doing this if it’s not going to become anything more.”

Jack is quiet for so long that you begin to prepare for what you expect is coming next. This really was just a friends with benefits thing for him. 

“I thought last night made it obvious enough that I do too.”

“What?” is all you manage to croak out, not fully believing him and not wanting to get your hopes up that he was saying what you were hoping he was saying. 

“I want this to be more.”

“Like…,” you begin, not knowing what to even ask after that, not wanting to embarrass yourself and say something that he wasn’t meaning. 

“I want more, I want to actually be with you,” Jack tells you, seeming much more calm about the situation than you were. 

Simply hearing him say what you had been desperately hoping for leaves you speechless. “I want that too,” you finally whisper.

Jack reaches over and grabs your hands, tugging you forward to straddle him. “I hated seeing you flirting with another guy,” Jack mutters, his hands under your shirt, resting on your waist. “I didn’t know what to say about it without just telling you the truth.”

“I promise it didn’t mean anything, I had no interest in him, but I’m sorry that it upset you.”

“As long as you don’t do it anymore.”

“Of course not,” you assure him with a quiet giggle, leaning in and pressing your lips to his gently. “When are you going to take me on a date? A real one, without our friends there.”

“Tomorrow night?” Jack suggests, getting a nod in response from you before you’re kissing him again. 

This time when you’re kissing him it feels different, there’s no expectation that the only purpose it served was as the first step towards sex. It felt so much more comfortable, safer now knowing that if you were going to get hurt in this situation it wouldn’t be the result of not having the courage to tell him how you really felt. 

[guiltydiaries]

Dynamic Discussions - Mike Ross/Reader

Implied Mike/Harvey, Harvey/Reader, Mike/Harvey/Reader

One of my headcanons brought to life. Completely inspired by this scene ^ and the fact that there is not enough Mike Ross content. Reader works alongside Mike Ross helping Harvey on cases. There is a polyamorous tension and comfort between you all but nothing has happened. You all want to keep things professional, so you don’t acknowledge the tension. Mike is a brat and goads the reader into flirting (goading Harvey) on a night out.

“You just had to suggest I call the bartender Sir…” I shake my head at my idiot of a coworker.

“It’s a good thing!” Mike declares, leaning on the bar next to me, our elbows touching as we pretend to survey the room. We both know the two of us are only watching one man. “Harvey only ditches celebration cocktails early to teach us a “lesson” and he only leaves with a brunette when you’ve been too sexy for your own good.” The blonde pauses to smirk “I told you, he wants to be the only Sir in our lives. It’s not my fault you thought you could prove me wrong.”

I pretend to ignore Mike and his annoying encyclopedia memory as I watch Harvey kiss the fingertips of the woman he’s seducing. I roll my eyes and turn to glare at my best friend.

“This is why we aren’t supposed to talk about sex, rule breaker… You’re buying my next round.”

Halfway through my next gin and tonic Harvey wanders back over to close out his tab and remind us both of the new case we start tomorrow. His eyes are stern as he gives me a heated once over, and it looks like he might pop a vein when Mike chimes in with “Hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Specter.”

I can tell that Harvey wants to say more, that he is fighting urge to stay and banter with us. I want to melt into the floor as I watch Harvey stride off to escort the woman out of the bar. I know it’s wrong to want my boss so much, to want Mike and Harvey both as much as I do. The three of us have boundaries for a reason, lines that can’t be crossed. That doesn’t stop me from getting turned on at the thought of Harvey choosing a woman with my hair color because he can’t go home with me. I can’t help but think of calling him Sir now that Mike (the perpetual brat) has put that image in my head. I know my submissive ass would kneel for Harvey in a heartbeat, if I could. I know how hot it would be to see Mike get the punishment he always seems to be asking for. Wistfully, I find myself hoping Mike’s theory is right, that Harvey’s D/s energy is purposeful.

Coming back to the present, I shake my head and remember my reality tonight. Mike and I will heed the reminder of our early morning and go home alone. Again.

When I manage to turn around, the fresh drink waiting for me on the bar is a welcome sight. Mike has one of his own and we spend the next hour laughing and pretending that we aren’t repressed underlings for a man we both love. His hand brushes my thigh as I lean in to laugh at a joke and for a moment we are just two people flirting at a bar. We stay in that bubble as long as we can. I can see my sweet Mike drinking in the attention, he is cherishing the casual affection between us as much as I am. Nights like this always stop here, one drink and one train ride is all we allow ourselves. It doesn’t matter how brief, the release of not having to hide my attraction for a few hours is better than any hookup. As we say goodnight we linger in a hug before parting, we know the pull between us is inevitable but tonight is not the time. Soon.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Ten

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Teasing.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.9k

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You haven’t been allowed to help with cleanup after dinner; Lucky promptly shooes you out of the kitchen and gives Gab the task of distracting you so you don’t sneak back in to help. You like to think that you know the men pretty well at this point, and they know you too. They know the first chance you get, you’ll put yourself to work. So Gab drags you to Shanks’ room to play a hand or two of cards, however many it takes for the dirty dishes to be done.

Gin rummy is one of the first games the men teach you to whittle away time at sea. You... are not very good at the game. It’s a skill-based card game, and since you are still new to it, you really don’t have any skill at all! You let out a soft growl and nearly throw down your cards in frustration.

“This is pointless,” you complain, dipping your head back and glaring at the ceiling of Shanks’ cabin. It seems that no matter who you play against, you always end up losing! “Who even invented this game?”

“No idea, but you’ll get better with practice,” Gab states, laying out yet another winning hand. You groan and slump in place. “And the point is money, Aria. Gambling. Earning a quick Berry.”

“Or losing a quick Berry,” you huff, knowing that gambling is a treacherous game that many men and women lose themselves in. You’ve seen it from the shadows of Bonn Manor after your mother held a ball. Card games and drinking are popular events post-dancing, and you hadn’t understood the passing of Berry at the time, but you do now. Seeing your expression move to one that’s far away, Gab prompts you.

“Aria?” he calls, pausing in shuffling the cards. You blink and force yourself away from the memories of Bonn Manor.

“Sorry, what were we saying?” you question, your eyes fluttering and fingers drumming on the table. Gab squints at you.

“I lost you for a moment. What is it? What were you thinking about?” He pushes, not liking how you seem to relapse into your shell for a few brief moments. You press your lips together. “Aria?”

“I was just—” you cut yourself off and take a deep breath. “My mother liked to hold monthly balls in Bonn Manor. Card games were a popular activity after dancing. I never understood why they passed Berry around. At least not until now. It seems so frivolous and wasteful, gambling Berry like it was mere pocket change.”

Gab goes back to shuffling the cards, listening to your words and pleased that you are opening up more. He and the rest of the crew know the basics of your situation and what kind of personality you have, but no one has heard much about your past. This is the first time you’re openly offering to speak about it.

“Did she ever let you participate?” Gab asks, having a feeling the answer will be no since you had no idea how Gin rummy worked when they first introduced it to you. You softly snort, remembering the strict timeline your mother enforced.

“No, once the dancing was finished, she always declared that I was in need of retiring to my rooms early. She liked to boast that I spent most of my time practicing how to be a lady. Practicing stitching, etiquette, history. I was a dutiful daughter that strived to be the perfect offspring.” There’s a bitter note in your voice, and the corner of your mouth twitches. “I only know what went on behind the sitting room doors because I snuck through the servants’ halls once.”

“Once?”

“I got caught,” you reply, remembering the week you spent recovering after your mother had beaten you to what felt like one lash away from death. You’ve never tried anything like that again. The flashbacks of the welts and bruises haunt you even to this day. You’ve never seen your mother so angry. You reach for the stack of cards, taking them from Gab. “It’s my turn to deal.”

Dinner has passed, and the dishes are washed, so the men are all laying low for the night. Either nursing a beer, sharpening a blade, or practicing some fancy trick, they have cleared out from the main deck. You have been sitting in one of the lounge chairs reading a book Benn lent you when Shanks approaches. Your gaze lifts from the words in front of you, and you smile pleasantly.

“I thought you would have retired yourself to whatever it is that you do at night,” you speak, observing the red-haired man. You’re fairly sure that he mentioned needing to talk to Building Snake about the Red Force’s current course. “Or at least be busy speaking to Snake about our current course.”

“I did talk to Snake,” Shanks replies, leaning against the railing of the ship. “It turned out to be a simple adjustment with the log pose, weather ahead we want to avoid. As for why I am not returning to my latest book, I’m making good on my promise.” Your eyebrow arches at his mention of a promise, and Shanks offers you his hand. “You are going to want to change into something easy to move in for this.”

Wracking your brain for the promise Shanks supposedly made to you, you close your book and take his hand. Shanks effortlessly pulls you to your feet and directs you to his cabin.

“What promise are you talking about exactly, and why do I need to change clothes?” Shanks glances back at you, lips twitching at the puzzlement on your face.

“You wanted to learn how to use a sword, did you not?” Shanks raises his own eyebrow. “Now’s a good time, full moon with lots of light, and the men are settling down for the night, so you won’t have an audience. You are going to want to wear something that lets you move around. Your pants are a good option. Also, you won’t want a loose shirt. The fabric might get in the way.”

Stopping in front of the door to the cabin, you stare at Shanks with raised eyebrows. He sure gets bossy on occasion. Not that you mind. You find it a rather attractive trait of his. Stop it, Aria. Clearing your throat, you reach for the door and look back at Shanks.

“Pants and a non-loose shirt. I think Anna picked out some clothing items that match that description. Mentioned it was good for working out, but I have no idea how to work out, so…”

“We’ll get there eventually,” Shanks replies before leaving you to change. You watch him disappear before entering the cabin and shutting the door behind you. You haven’t been able to try out the clothes Anna said were good for working out yet, and you’re excited to try something new again. Trotting over to your trunk of clothing, you carefully pull out folded stacks of clothes until you find what you’re looking for: a tank top, sports bra, and comfortable cloth pants.

Stripping yourself out of your day clothes, you wrestle yourself into the sports bra and are surprised to find that while it feels constricting, it doesn’t make you feel like you’re being suffocated. Further pleased with your new clothes, you pull on the soft pants and admire the fact that the cloth hugs your skin close. You have never seen your legs like this before and feel a sliver of shyness. But you’ve seen many women out and about wearing pants like this and even more revealing clothing, so nothing about your outfit is unfit to be worn.

“Stop being such a prude,” you mutter to yourself, putting your arms through the armholes of the tank and dragging it over your head. The tank is loose but not too loose. It’s just airy enough that you’re sure you won’t overheat doing whatever vigorous activities working out constitutes. Knowing Shanks, he isn’t going to overwork you (he certainly still thinks you could do with more meat on your bones), but you still like the idea of dressing for the occasion. Some things never change. Since you’re going to be learning how to use a sword, you figure it’s probably in your best interest to put on your shoes, sneakers rather than your sandals. It would be doubtful Shanks would even humor you wielding a blade with your feet vulnerable, kitchen knives aside.

Reaching for a hair band, you pull back your shoulder-length lavender hair to keep it out of the way and to stop it from blowing in your eyes. After you cut it, you realize that without tying it off, the strands have a habit of flying into your face. Humming to yourself, you slip out of the main cabin and go in search of Shanks. It’s dark out now, but the hanging lanterns on the ship give off plenty of light. Looking around, you search for Shanks but can’t find him anywhere on the main deck. Perhaps he has migrated to the weather deck?

Walking over to the stairs leading to the upper-level deck, you climb them to see Shanks standing in the middle of the deck, sword in hand. The lights from the lanterns highlight his red hair as he swings his sword around methodically and with acute precision. You’re fascinated with the way it looks like the sword is attached to his hand and the way his body moves… He has probably been practicing his whole life! Shanks flicks his wrist over his head while turning and immediately halts in place.

“Aria,” he calls, automatically lowering the sword from your direction and promptly sheathing it at his side. “I can say you finally managed to sneak up on me.” He speaks while drinking in what you’re wearing. It’s by far the most revealing of clothes you’ve worn to date: trousers that hug your legs, a tank top that clearly shows your shoulders, and he’d better stop staring at your body. He looks back into your eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, though it’s hard to be ready for something I have no knowledge of,” you answer, your brows scrunching as you try to imagine exactly what goes into learning how to wield a sword.

“The fact that you’re thinking about it makes you ready.” Shanks says before walking over to the cutlass he’s picked out for you. He picks it up, once again checking its weight and balance, before turning around and offering the handle to you. Your eyes flutter at the man just handing you a sword before telling you about them, then you gingerly reach for the hilt and grasp it in an awkward pinch of your fingers.

“This sword isn’t nearly as heavy as I thought it would be,” you comment, moving the blade around to get a better look at the sharpened edge.

“First things first,” Shanks begins, “Terminology. This is a cutlass. It’s a short sword that is good for quick movements, typically slashing. Not intended for thrusting or stabbing, but slashing. Quick and easy, makes for an easy getaway.” You narrow your eyes.

“Are you insinuating that I will be looking for fights, Captain?” you half-heartedly accuse. Shanks snorts at you and moves to stand next to you.

“Perhaps not looking for them, but they might go looking for you,” he corrects you, reaching over with his hand to show you the correct way to hold the cutlass. “You are slight in stature still, and it would be in your best interest to use that to your advantage. Being large isn’t always an advantage.”

“And here I was under the assumption that men were of the belief that bigger is better,” you say smoothly, blinking innocently. Shanks is half convinced you know exactly what you’re speaking of, and it isn’t size. Don’t open that can of worms, Shanks. He clears his throat and continues.

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘the bigger you are, the harder you fall’? Use your size to your advantage. Big doesn’t always equate strength, but big doesn’t equate slowness either…” A dismal point he is making.

“So I should simply be faster?” you offer, thinking about size and speed. A light-weight sword would move quickly, unhindered by weight. Shanks smiles, already knowing that your mind will keep you out of trouble if you ever get into trouble.

“Precisely,” he says, his smile turning into a grin. “You are smart and fast. Having a blade to match will be far more fitting than a heavy broadsword. Now you want to hold it like this and not grip it too tight. You’ll get cramps up your arm if you do.” From there, Shanks’ fingers direct your own to wrap around the hilt of the cutlass, showing you how to properly hold it and how to treat it while wielding it.

He stands behind you and reaches out with his arm to show you the motions he wants you to practice, not intentionally swinging the cutlass but moving your entire arm. He makes a point that you should never fight with your wrist because you could injure yourself and that the golden rule of learning how to wield a sword is that it’s an extension of your arm. It’s getting to the point where your arm is beginning to ache from all the repetitive swings you’ve been doing, so Shanks decides to switch you to some footwork. He brings out a broom and begins poking at you. You clearly don’t appreciate the sudden prodding and swiftly move out of range every time he jabs at you.

“This is entirely unfair!” you exclaim, dodging another poke from the broom handle while Shanks grins at you. You are adorably angry and, of course, still holding the cutlass in your hand. But you refuse to swing back at him in revenge and just continue to dodge!

“Wouldn’t be if you swung that sword at me,” he teases, swiping at your side. You growl when the broom taps you and glare at the pirate clearly trying to egg you into swiping the cutlass at his body. “You’re not going to hurt me,”

“Shanks!” you hiss at him when he catches your arm with a tap. Your legs are starting to feel heavy from all the prancing around you’ve been doing, and since you aren’t used to this much exercise, your stamina is running on empty. “If I was the one with that broom, I swear I would—” You trip over your own feet dodging the broom and mid-twist, you begin falling backward with a yelp. Shanks is reacting before you even have a chance to register that he’s moved.

The broom droops from his grasp as his arm shoots to your falling body. He swings you around to brace your body against his, but in a twist of legs, you both end up falling backward. Shanks, at the very least, is glad that he’s going down first and can cushion your fall. So hitting the deck, he makes sure that you land on him rather than the hard wood. You do with a slight ‘oof,’ but thankfully no sounds of pain.

“… I think I’ve reached my limit for the night, lest I stumble overboard,” you speak after a few moments of silence. Shanks chuckles and gives your waist a light squeeze.

“And you think that I wouldn’t immediately go right after you?” he replies, only antagonizing the pitter-patter of your heart further. Oh, when you say things like that, Shanks… You bite your lip and go to roll to the right so you aren’t still lying on top of the red-haired man. He stops you the moment he gets a glimpse of your lower back from your tank riding up. You feel his fingers trace your skin where you once had mottled marks from your mother’s lashing. All that remains are slight echoes of trauma. Marks that will fade in time. Time he wishes you didn’t have to wait on.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” you reassure him, rolling back onto your back next to him and twisting your head to look into his eyes. You’re still tucked against his side and have a brief thought that it feels nice to be there. Only in your deepest of dreams, Linaria. “They stopped hurting two weeks ago.”

“You should never have been hurt in the first place, Aria,” Shanks softly answers, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. He still can’t understand how a mother could beat her child to the point of blotched bruises that took weeks to heal. How could any mother beat her child?

“No,” you agree, “But what happened is in the past, and I only wish to look to the future. You gave me that.” Your words are only partially comforting because the longer you stay on the Red Force, the more he doesn’t want to see you go, and the more he wants to continue to protect you. But he puts those thoughts aside for tonight and simply enjoys the time spent with you during your first lesson.

“As you wish, madam,” he finally speaks up, making you roll your eyes once more before looking straight up at the stars.

“They seem especially bright tonight,” you comment, making no motion to move away from his side. Shanks turns his head to admire the stars along with you, enjoying your chosen closeness and comfort. It isn’t until Shanks’ arm begins to fall asleep from your head resting on his bicep that he realizes you’ve dozed off.

Date Published: 2/2/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[gilverrwrites]

ok so this is my self indulgent request; the reader is black mask's girl and he gets jealous and annoyed when the riddler keeps flirting with her. i know that man would be seething lmao.

Easy To Lose

Black Mask/Reader/The Riddler, ≈900 words

A/N: You're speaking my language. Although, while I've been playing with some unpublished Riddler stuff, this is the first time I've posted him in sooooooo long, I hope I still do him justice - even if he is a little shit in this lmao. Also is HoH, I will die on that hill. Anyway, I really hope this scratches the right itch for you 💚

The Riddler takes his opportunity to chat you up when Roman is otherwise occupied. Rating: 18+

CWs: Swearing, name calling (freak, coward, pussy), unhealthy/toxic relationships, jealousy/possessiveness, allusions to (kinky) sex, allusions to violence. Reader is GN but hair longish hair.

Please remember: as long as you're trying, you're probably doing better than you think.

Alerted by the muffled sound of a familiar voice you cock your head up, greeted by the smiling face of Edward Nygma, sitting in the unoccupied side of your booth. Roman who is sitting beside you does not offer the same courtesy, too engrossed in sending an email on his phone. If he’d even noticed Ed at all. The thickness of his mask made Roman hard of hearing at the best of times. Combine that with the loud thrum of the club’s music, and Roman was often lost to the world if he wasn’t looking right at it. 

“Huh?” You lean over the table, turning your head to the side, indicating for him to clarify.

“I said;” Ed follows your lead, leaning in until his lips are close enough to press to your ear. His breath is warm, and steeped with the sweet smell of alcohol, something with gin if you had to guess. “What is rarer, and more valuable than gold, but easier to lose?”

Tongue in cheek you glance back at Roman, who remains undisturbed, despite his passive hold on your back having been broken. You wonder how he’ll react when he finally realises what is going on, he’d never been a fan of The Riddler. Ed had never bothered you so much, yes, he could be egotistical and yes, he loved to patronise, but he was also fun, especially when there were drinks involved. Perhaps your time in the bed of Gotham’s underworld had tainted one too many red flags green. 

Turning back to Ed you shrug and ask; “What?”

Without missing a beat Ed reaches a hand up and twirls a finger in a stray lock of your hair. He massages it between his thumb and forefinger bringing it to his nose, and inhaling the scent with his eyes closed. You don’t mind the anticipation, watching his coy smile as he eventually drops your hair, and taps his finger to your nose as he gives you your answer. “You, my dear.” 

You laugh. You bat his shoulder playfully and laugh, and laugh, and laugh until you feel the smooth, hard press of leather cup the back of your neck. Your body freezes, all for your head which turns slowly to face Roman, who has finally clocked onto Ed's presence, his near-black eyes boring into you beneath the shadows of his mask’s sunken eyeholes. 

“What is this?” Unlike Ed, his voice can be heard over the music, likely by anyone in a half mile radius. Although, it occurs to you now that he and Ed had very different intentions.   

Before you can answer, Ed jumps in, always eager to hear the sound of his own voice, or to stir the pot. Probably both. 

“I simply saw this poor dear looking neglected, and thought to myself, who better to offer them some much deserved attention than myself. You ought to be more careful Sionis, lots of people around who might want to steal this one away. Decent, meritorious people.”

Ed reaches up to your hair once more but before he can make contact, Roman pulls you back by the scruff of your neck until you’re snug beside him again, fingers still digging into your soft skin. He’d never pull or squeeze hard enough to really hurt you, at least not outside the bedroom, but there is enough force in it to offer you a warning, to tell you he’s not happy. 

“I can’t hear a word that freak’s talkin’ about.” He informs you. He can tell he’s trying to act calm, but his duel grip on your neck and the wood of the table proves otherwise. His neck is taught and red as he juts his jaw back and forth. “So, I’m gonna ask you this once, you think real hard about what comes out of that pretty little mouth of yours alright? What’s he been sayin’ to you?”

You don’t need to think hard about it. You’re only going home with one of them tonight, and you want to stay on his good side, and if your confession fuels his fire, so be it. Ed wasn’t the only one who could stir a pot. 

The wood of his mask is rigid and cool as you press your lips to the spot that covers his ear. “He said I’m rare, and valuable, and that he wanted to steal me away from you.” 

“He fuckin’ what.” It’s not a question, it’s an expletive, a threat. In seconds Roman is on his feet ready for a fight, but when you both look over, Ed is gone. Swallowed amongst the sea of clubbers. His bright green attire blending in amongst the ever-changing lights of the club. 

“Fuckin coward,” Roman yells, slamming his fists on the table. His chest heaves as he processes his next step, as he decides if he’s going to go after him or not. You help in his decision-making by resting your hand on his wrist and tugging until he looks at you. His eyes dart back and forth between you and the crowd before he gestures to the sea of people. “Is that the kinda man you want baby? A goddamn pussy? Tryin’ to move in on what’s mine and can’t even face me.”

“No…” You coo, shaking your head. When he settles back into the booth you shuffle close to him again. “You know I only want you.”

“Fuckin’ right you do.” He runs a firm hand through your hair until he finds the soft spot at the nap of your neck where he locks his fingers in, using it to pull you even closer. “Guess I’ll have to stake my claim another way. For tonight.” 

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