#travel man: 48 hours in...

[immortalsins]

s4 will graham interview

[cjlouwho]

Make It Ours

aka the one where Tommy asks Buck to move in

It started a little ridiculously. Buck didn't usually decorate his place for Halloween, but in his excitement over Bobby being back he'd gotten way too much for the firehouse and had a lot left over. So he took some paper bats home and hung them from his ceiling.

That should have been the end of it.

“We've got enough candy for a small army, I'm sure,” Buck said, resting his head on Tommy's chest, a hand softly rubbing over his pec.

“We don't really have any kids that come out to Harbor. A few of the kids whose parents are on shift will stop by, but that's about it.”

“Were you a Halloween fan growing up?” Buck asked, chills running up his spine as Tommy's fingers massaged his scalp.

“Oh yeah. We didn't really have the money to afford costumes, but I'd make stuff from old sheets or clothes that didn't fit me anymore. There was one year where-” Tommy stopped suddenly, and Buck looked up at him to see him staring out over the loft. “Are your bats animatronic?” he asked.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Tommy nodded his head in their direction. “They're moving.”

“Oh,” Buck glanced back briefly. “Probably the air coming on. Makes them swing sometimes.”

Tommy halfway settled back into the bed, but it didn't last very long, because soon enough one of those “decorations” started flying directly into the bedroom. Then there was another, and another.

“Evan, you have bats!” Tommy exclaimed.

“I- oh my God, I have bats!”

Ironically, Tommy did not love all things that flew. Buck had known this since they went to the zoo two months into their relationship and ventured into the butterfly exhibit. That's when he saw Tommy dripping with sweat, barely taking a breath and clutching Buck's hand until he asked what was wrong.

And now, watching a 6'2 man made mostly out of muscle race to put on a shirt and shorts, foregoing underwear completely, so he could duck out of the loft with a yelp was truly fascinating.

The fact that he only stopped briefly to give Buck a kiss and tell him to grab his things and meet him at his place was the icing on the cake.

That man was inside me twenty minutes ago, Buck thought, a baby bat swooping above him. He felt nothing but pride.

Within an hour, he was bringing a suitcase and work duffel into Tommy's place. Tommy, on his part, had emptied him two extra drawers to go along with the one he already had there. He'd made space for him in the bathroom as well, and cleared a section of the kitchen counter because, “I figured you'd bring some of your cooking stuff with you.”

He wasn't wrong.

It took a few weeks for the bat issue to be resolved, due to the fact that Buck's landlord was out of town and no one else seemed to know what to do.

Once the place had been cleared of the bats, it took extra time for Buck to be able to air out his place and clean the droppings that had been so graciously left behind.

It didn't help that he had a pretty busy schedule, taking extra shifts before he knew he'd have a bat problem.

Eventually, Buck ran out of reasons to keep himself at Tommy's place.

One morning, as he got ready for his 24 and Tommy got ready for his 48, he decided it was time. “I think my place is now free and clear of everything the bats left behind,” he said, pouring coffee into Tommy's travel mug, then swapping it out for his own. “I'll be able to pick up all my stuff after my shift and get out of your hair.”

“Hm," Tommy hummed. "You should just move in here." It was so nonchalant it sounded the same as when he ordered his usual from the taco bar down the street.

Buck froze mid pour. “I- I should what?”

“Move in with me,” he repeated with a shrug, “if you want.” He walked over to Buck and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Think about it, Babe. I gotta go. Love you.”

“Yeah, I- I... I love you too.”

Tommy grabbed his mug off the counter and headed out the door, leaving Buck feeling like a deer in headlights.

Part of him wanted to chase Tommy out the door and ask, “How dare you ask so casually?!” The other part was eternally grateful Tommy exited briskly and gave him time to think it over.

Because, wasn't it too soon? He'd only ever done this moving in together thing one other time, and that wasn't exactly for a good reason.

They'd only said I love you for the last couple months. The words still sounded new, still made his heart swell every time they came out of Tommy's mouth. Still blushed when he said it back.

And did Tommy actually mean it? He did have a dry sense of humor that was sometimes easy to miss. Maybe this was one of those times. It was just a joke and he was meant to brush it off with a laugh.

He wasn't sure how long he actually stood there with a half filled mug of coffee in front of him, but eventually his phone dinged and pulled him out of his thoughts.

Stop panicking. Yes, I meant it. Seriously, just think about it.

Buck rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smile that rose on his face.

Hate you. Be safe.

He only had to wait a few seconds for a reply.

Love you too. You be safer.

*****

“I'm kind of freaking out,” Buck said as Maddie grabbed her lunch from the fridge.

“Why are you freaking out?”

“Tommy asked me to move in with him.”

She paused briefly, eyebrows going up as she stood at the counter. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah. Wh- Why really? You think it's too soon, don't you? It's too soon. That's what I thought when he asked, well suggested is more like it. He suggested I move in, and then told me to think about it, and then he left for work and then I left for work. And he told me not to panic and that he actually meant it, but-”

“Buck, I didn't mean anything by my really,” she interrupted, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Honestly, I figured that was gonna happen once you stayed with him during the whole bat thing.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “I- I mean, you did?”

“You already spend more time at his place than your own. The bats were taken care of, what, almost a week ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And how many nights have you stayed at your place since then?”

“Well... Well, I had to work a couple of those days,” he tried to reason, “and then it made more sense to go to his place because we wanted to see each other but we were both tired from work.”

“You don't have to explain yourself, Buck,” she assured him. “I'm only saying it's not actually all that surprising.”

When Buck didn't look any more relieved than when he'd come into the call center, Maddie continued, “Have you made a pro/con list?”

He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and laid it on the countertop for Maddie to take. “Of course I did.”

She picked it up and read it over. “Great butt is number three? Did not need to know that.”

“It- It's a very detailed list,” he replied seriously.

“I can see that,” she agreed. “Although I can't help but notice there are no actual cons on this list.” She slid the paper back to him.

“That's why I'm freaking out.”

“Is this a bi crisis?” Josh asked, walking into the break room. “Because, if so, I feel like I should be involved. Also, I've been listening and I have something to say. May I?”

Buck nodded his head, resting his hands on the countertop. “Please. I- I could use all the help I can get.”

“Great. First of all, why are you trying to talk yourself out of it?”

“Because... Because, seven months ago I didn't even know I was bi, and then there was Tommy. And it's been great. He's funny, and kind, and he listens, and he's so hot-"

"Okay," Maddie waved for him to move on.

"Even when we argued, you know, we stuck around and worked it out. It's the healthiest relationship I've ever been in. It's the happiest relationship I've ever been in.”

“God, this sounds awful,” Josh deadpanned.

“Yeah, listen, Buck, if you don't want him I'll take him,” Maddie added with a smile. “I don't think Howie would mind.”

Buck grinned. “I'm just saying, it all seems so fast. I keep trying to think of reasons to say no, or wait a few more months, but I- I can't.”

“Okay, maybe you can't think of a reason to say no, because there's no good reason to say no,” Josh replied. “How's it been staying with him while the bats took over your place?”

“It's... It's been great. I thought there would be a big adjustment, but there really wasn't. He hasn't seemed bothered by my stuff being there, and it's been nice having someone to, ya know, come home to,” he added, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Have you had any of the big conversations yet?” Maddie asked. “You know, kids, marriage, stuff like that?”

“Mhm. We agree on everything.”

Josh glanced at Maddie before replying. “I really don't see the problem here, Buck.”

“You don't think it's too soon?”

“I think,” Josh sighed. “I think life is really short, which you probably know better than anybody. And if Tommy makes you as happy as it sounds like he does, then you're the only one stopping you from that happiness.”

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a deep breath. “Sometimes, I still feel like a fraud,” he admitted. “Like it all came too easy. You know, I- I've heard how rough it was for Tommy to come out and all the crap he went through for years. I figure out I like guys and get a boyfriend in the same day, six months later he's asking me to move in and I can picture my entire life with him.”

“I think that's your brain messing with you,” Josh said. “Because to me, it sounds like you've had thirty-three years of searching for something that feels real, and good, and settled. And you've found it with Tommy.”

Maddie nodded. “I agree. He's good to you, Evan. Everyone can see you two love each other. I can honestly say I've never seen you happier or more sure of yourself. You don't need to doubt that. You need to let yourself have a win.”

A smile started to grow on Buck's face. He was pretty sure he'd already made up his mind, but there was still one thing that worried him. “What if it doesn't work out?”

“Then you do the opposite of what you're about to do,” Josh answered simply, “and you move back out.”

*****

Tommy already knew Buck was at his place before he got inside. The giant Jeep in his driveway was always a dead giveaway.

Half of him expected Buck's things to be neatly packed up by the door, ready to move back into his loft until his lease was officially up.

The other half expected him to be sitting on the couch with a downcast look on his face that said I'm not ready to move in with you without having to actually say it.

What he didn't expect was the door to swing back on him due to it slamming into boxes.

Once he managed to hold the door open and scoot inside, he looked around at well over twenty boxes that were littered around the entryway of his place, leading into the living room.

“Evan?” he called out, a smile already on his face.

“Here!” he exclaimed, exiting Tommy's bedroom and hurrying down the hall. “Here, I'm here! So-” Buck paused briefly to give Tommy a peck on the lips, then continued through the maze of boxes as he headed for the kitchen, Tommy following behind. “This isn't everything, obviously, but I don't actually think I'll be bringing all that much from my place. The bats pooped on a lot. Like, a whole lot. Plus, I like your furniture. The kitchen will have to have some new appliances, but I already ordered what the bats, you know, pooped on. You need to let me know what appliances have a family history for you- if that's a thing- before I throw them out. Some of this stuff is, well, it's terrible. Why don't you sharpen your knives, Tommy? Mind blowing. I know the boxes are kinda a mess, but I didn't want to unpack without you because that feels like me just taking over, ya know, and I don't wanna-”

Buck was stopped by Tommy grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him in close. He wrapped his arms around Buck's waist, and Buck's arms rested over Tommy's shoulders.

“I'm guessing this is a yes to moving in?” Tommy asked, nose scrunching up in a smile.

Buck let out a deep breath, grinning back. “Yes. It- It's a yes.”

“You didn't freak out too much?”

“I didn't freak out at all,” Buck protested weakly.

“Evan.”

“Okay, I freaked out a little,” he replied, ducking his head, “but not for the reasons you think.”

Tommy tilted Buck's chin so their eyes met. “What reasons?”

“I... The fact there wasn't a reason to say no. I- I freaked because it felt like it should feel too soon, but it didn't. It doesn't. It feels right.”

That's when Tommy leaned in for a kiss far less chaste than the one Buck had given him when he opened the door.

“Do we have to start unpacking tonight?” Tommy asked when they parted, resting their foreheads against one another.

Buck shook his head. He brought his hands to the nape of Tommy's neck and drew him in again, his tongue parting Tommy's lips. Clumsily, they began making their way toward their bedroom without letting one another go.

“Maybe we could work on christening the place then?” Tommy suggested, his nose brushing up against Buck's cheek. “For good luck or whatever.”

“Mmm,” Buck moaned, grabbing at the hem of Tommy's shirt and pulling it over his head quickly, tossing it on top of a box. “You have the best ideas, roomie.”

Tommy snorted at that, his head tossing back in laughter. “God, I love you.”

Somehow, they managed to make it to the bedroom, and Buck gently pushed Tommy down before crawling over him, leaning down to whisper against his lips, “I love you too.”

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

A Zombie Named Fred

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.9k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, the author is still on her bullshit about the pepperoncinis, they’re both a little crazy but it’s the end of the world, the author does not have first hand experience nor a formal education on pregnancy, John is giving soft dom vibes

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Not even 48 hours in and you’re having your first argument.

You can tell by his expression that you’re not giving him the expected response. However he’s clearly no shrinking violet and doesn’t cow to your anxiety-turning-agitation.

“I was only gone for a bit and you were asleep,” he defends himself, standing his ground.

You pry your gaze from the stash of goodies he very obviously acquired with you in mind, the wheels in your brain clearly turning as you decide how much effort this will warrant and if you’re willing to expend that effort.

You’ve been a loose, limp thing for him to drag around as he sees fit. No protests so far as he uses his teeth to scruff you.

“You didn’t even tell me! It’s dangerous out there- what if something had happened?”

“I’ve been in far worse situations, Love, I can assure you that. If I’d have told you last night would you have still gone to bed?”

No.

The apocalypse has taken societal norms and attachment styles and turned them on their heads with no hope for recovery.

This man is a complete stranger to you and yet he is firmly entrenched as the center of your social circle at the moment. You most assuredly would not have responded well last night.

Your silence is loud, giving away the answer entirely.

“I needed you safe, tucked away, and not fretting,” you can feel yourself being mollified against your will, softening back up despite your desire to still prickle in displeasure.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here until it’s safe to leave,” he continues, “and you are in no condition to be traveling far- we need supplies stocked while the area is still mostly clear from the last herd wandering through.”

That is the one good thing about herds even if they’re an absolutely terrifying sight.

Lions and tigers and bears might be scary predators, but living predators aren’t mindless killing machines. They act in a reasonable way for their species. Leave them alone, don’t fuck with their offspring and don’t make yourself look like easy prey, and they will likely leave you alone.

Zombies? The virus eats away at any rational reasoning or need to sate an ingrained desire. They want to bite, to consume, to spread the virus.

So put together a group of several hundred or several thousand and they are the stuff nightmares are made of.

But if you survive a wave of them wandering through, they pick up any stragglers in an area. They’re gregarious, for whatever that’s worth.

Still terrifying though. The peace in knowing that the local zombie population drops drastically is knowing the price comes at more individuals being added to the herd.

In short, now is about as safe a time as ever to scavenge.

You’re still staring him down, still resisting acquiescing to him on principle.

Of course, there’s little doubt that the captain views your displeasure on par with a disgruntled kitten- yowling and hissing and batting at him but harmless and ineffective.

He steps towards you- close enough he makes you tilt your head to maintain eye contact. “You can just say “Thank you” and go enjoy your peppers, Love,” he asserts, offering you an easy out.

The thought crosses your mind to dig your heels in and be stubborn.

But just the mention of the jar of pepperoncinis placates you as your craving from yesterday returns in full force, pulling your attention away from John and to the jar sitting on the counter.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker and he knows it too.

“Thank you,” you yield, once again becoming soft and pliant in his hold.

“You’re welcome,” he steps away then, eyes following your every move as you slip past him and do in fact beeline for the peppers.

It’s the end of the world- you can have peppers for breakfast if you want to.

The only problem though is you can’t get the damn jar open.

There are certain changes with your body that you expected with the discovery of your pregnancy- the swell of your belly and your breasts, the stretch marks that criss cross your skin- and some that you learned first hand and it’s annoying.

It’s your body starting to relax itself to prepare for labor, you were told. The tendons and ligaments relaxing. Hips widening.

It also makes your grip weaker which is so incredibly frustrating.

John is at your side in a moment, prompting you with a “Give it here,” to hand him the jar to twist the lid for you.

Any lingering surliness from the discovery of John’s midnight stroll abates entirely as the smell of the peppers hits your nose.

He looks pleased with himself, giving you back the jar as you thank him.

The rest of the day passes peacefully between the two of you. This is not a permanent home, so no renovations or improvements to be made. The biggest line of defense you have here is blending so well into the rest of the abandoned houses that nothing will draw unwanted attention. The windows covered and boarded. There’s no true perimeter to check. You don’t want to catch anyone’s eye by wandering around outside.

You’ve been on the move for so long, constantly fighting and scrapping that it is nice to just sit in one place. The preggie pops despite their silly name are a Godsend. You feel like a person for the first time in months rather than a vessel just waiting to vomit at the wrong provocation.

You get nosy, looking through photos and albums of the owners. The man’s name is Fred. The woman’s name is Wilma.

There’s a fucking lego set that Fred and Wilma never got around to opening. You alternate killing time between working on that and reading. You’re in no hurry, taking your time. John putters around doing something but swings back every so often to check on you.

Eventually you will need to sort laundry, but that can probably happen in a day or so and doesn’t need to be right now.

The water still works so you figure you can just wash your clothes in the sink and then hang them somewhere outside to dry. Simple, but will occupy some time and establish a sense of normal for you. Maybe you can find some sort of clothes line if there’s not one already.

Once again the sun sets and John comes to round you up for the night and herds you up the stairs. You settle into your bed and hear John getting ready over in his and yet despite the fact your pregnancy exhausts you, you can’t sleep.

Your ears are honed in for any sort of attempt on John’s end to sneak out again.

You try to quell the concern and anxiety coiling within you, but everything is a feedback loop just building intensity until you feel like you’re going to snap.

Sleep is a lost cause at this point.

Getting out of bed is a process so you’re not rendered immobile like a turtle on its back. It takes a moment but you manage on your own.

No sooner than you sneak out to the landing you have your answer if John is still in the house. It’s not obnoxiously loud, but you can clearly hear the sound of him snoring on the other side of his door.

Your anxiety quells with the knowledge that he’s still here but doesn’t dissipate entirely.

Not quite ready to return to bed, you decide that maybe a quick snack (something other than the pepperoncinis, the baby says) is in order.

Despite being a grown adult, there’s a part of you that feels akin to a teenager sneaking out of the house.

You are not going to leave. Unlike a certain captain, you don’t have a death wish sneaking out in the middle of the night. While the soft sound of his snores assure you that he’s still sleeping you know he’d be displeased knowing you’re about to venture down the stairs by yourself.

You’re careful- equal parts trying to avoid the parts of the stairs that squeak because you’re not sure how light a sleeper John is, and equal parts simply not wanting to eat shit on the stairs. God forbid you give his concerns credibility- you don’t even want to think about what he’d do.

You haven’t been downstairs after sunset since the first night you stumbled into the house. John rather jealously keeps you herded upstairs.

You contemplate what the baby wants for a midnight snack as you cross from the stairs through the living room and into the kitchen.

Chef Boyardee sounds appealing and you don’t care about eating it cold- which is a plus because it’s one less thing for you to do versus something you’d want to eat warm.

The quiet in the house gives you time to come up with stupid fucking ideas like looking out the windows.

By and large you have been leaving them alone. There hasn’t been any sort of conversation about it between you and John, but you feel you’ve got enough of a read on him by now.

The main defense you two have is that the neighborhood is abandoned and there’s nothing special about the outside of the house. If someone happens to be strolling by and sees you moving the curtains in broad daylight- well, that seems like a good way to get your ass chewed on by John. Hence why you’ve left the windows alone.

But it’s nighttime and you’re alone.

The windows at the front of the house are boarded up, but in a slapstick, hurried fashion- there’s large gaps you can peek through as you bring your opened can of ravioli.

The street is deserted which is exactly what you expect. Not so much as a zombie shuffling through.

The neighborhood seems like it was beautiful before the end of the world. The kind of place that you always fantasized about living in.

What a weird way to get what you want.

Your mind wanders, focusing on the practicality of the fact you need to wash your clothes.

When out in the wild and forced to survive how you can, you learned to make do with dirty clothes that were lived in far longer than you prefer. But if you’re going to be cooped up in the house until your little hostage evacuates, it would be a good idea to clean them.

Curious if the backyard already has a clothes line, you carefully peel back the curtain blocking the view-

Only to be greeted with the sight of a zombie standing on the back porch right on the other side of the glass.

Your startle reflex has been trained out of you. There’s no big yelp or jump or dropping your food. Making loud noises like that can get you killed in situations where you might be able to survive if you can sneak away unnoticed.

Safely on the other side of the glass and obstructed by darkness- the zombie cannot see, hear or smell you. He gives no reaction to you, clearly having no knowledge of your existence.

You realize rather quickly that this is Fred, albeit far more gray and decayed than in the photos of him in the house. You wonder what happened to Wilma.

(It’s the goddamn apocalypse so you know statistically what happened, but a macabre curiosity for the details eats at you)

It’s not often (re: ever) that you’re in a situation to just…observe the undead. Always keeping an eye on them, always keeping tabs on what currently holds their attention, but never just a passive observation. They’re always a threat and you’re always trying to figure out how to get by or through them unscathed.

The small flick of you moving the curtain might have initially caught Fred’s attention but without the confirmation that you’re a meal to be devoured he shuffles slowly and moves away from the glass.

He’s caught in the yard, confined by the perimeter fencing. No chance of joining the herd.

You wonder why John hasn’t killed Fred yet. A singular zombie isn’t much of a threat.

Maybe he hadn’t seen Fred? The curtains had been drawn shut when he picked this house and he just kept them that way?

Seems unlikely, but arguably plausible.

You don’t see any sort of established clothing line to dry your clothes after you wash them.

You’re so fascinated by the Fred situation that you’re oblivious to the fact that John’s snoring stops. Or his door opening. Or his pause at the landing, eyes falling to your open door. Or his descent down the stairs and the huff of relief when he lays eyes on you.

You are not oblivious to the way he snarls “What in the devil are you doing?”, closing the distance between the two of you to haul you away from the glass.

The drop of the curtain catches Fred’s attention again but not enough to do more than cast an eerie shadow as he approaches.

“Why is there a zombie in the backyard?!” You keep your voice low as you hiss at John despite acquiescing as he pulls you along back towards the stairs.

“He wasn’t worth the bullet but that was before I realized you were going to go opening doors in the middle of the night!”

“I wasn’t opening the door!” You protest, suddenly aware that this conversation isn’t entirely unlike this morning’s argument when John slipping out in the middle of the night had ruffled your feathers.

“Then what are you doing down here?” He stops at the foot of the stairs, his question answered as his eyes land on the can in your free hand.

“I was eating!” You hold up the can as a beacon of your innocence, not missing the way the agitation on John’s face softens ever so slightly.

You take advantage of the opportunity to pull your arm out of his grasp.

He doesn’t try to wrestle you back into his grip- satisfied with your reasoning and the confirmation you hadn’t gone bat shit insane trying to let zombies into the house in the middle of the night.

In another life, one where the dead stay dead, you think maybe you’d still be able to wrap the captain around your finger and make him fold to your whims as easily as you accept his.

You’re pretty sure, however, that it’s just your delicate state that’s got him yielding to you. That keeping you alive, and ultimately getting you and your baby back to this settlement that he and his group watches over gives a sense of purpose where he’s otherwise aimless, trapped like an animal in a vivarium until he can safely find his way back home.

“Go finish your food,” he tells you firmly- still far more subdued than moments ago.

Again, not unlike this morning when he diffused the argument then.

Both of you are still maintaining your ground, but finding a way to keep the peace- you’re all the other has got in this situation.

He hovers as you make your way back to the kitchen- the moonlit shadow of Fred gone from the curtains, implying he’s aimlessly wandering the yard.

You don’t have much left of it, which is a good thing because eating while being watched just feels weird. You know he wants to drag you by your scruff back up the stairs and situate you for the night.

And that’s exactly what he does after you quickly clean after yourself.

Always with him and the stairs, he guides you up while following behind.

Where he throws you for a loop is when you expect to slink off to your own room, only for you to find one of his arms wrapping around your torso and cutting you off from your intended destination.

“Need to make sure you don’t go sneaking off again,” is all the reason he gives as he herds you towards his bed.

He’s the one who started all this by leaving last night on his own, but you decide to not light that particular candle. You can admit to missing the comfort of sharing a bed, and that the nights have been getting colder as fall begins to give way to winter.

Before the end of the world, you’d be giving this a long hard think. But the rules are different now- the way you interact and mesh with people has changed so drastically. Everything is in the fast lane.

You’re utterly dependent on John. Been at his mercy for days. If he was going to do something, surely he would have done it by now?

So you yield to the arm pressing lightly at your side- a request that while stern is not escalating to a demand.

You let him guide you towards his room.

A wave of exhaustion hits that holds your interest more than the decor of the room- there’s no personal touches or stashes of goodies hidden away. You get yourself situated under John’s watchful eye, and yet somehow it feels weirdly intimate to watch him so you look off at the wall as he gets in.

John stays on his side between you and the door, you stay on yours and if he says anything you don’t hear it. One second you’re blinking at the wall and the next you’re out like a light.

[misandresther]

Every young man who wants to buy a gun should be treated like every young woman who seeks an abortion:

A mandatory 48-hour waiting period, written permission from a parent or judge, a note from a doctor proving that he understands what he is about to do, time spent watching a video on individual and mass murders, traveling hundreds of miles at his own expense to the nearest gun shop, and walking through protestors holding photos of loved ones killed by guns protestors who call him a murderer.

It makes more sense to do this for those seeking guns than for women seeking health care.

No young woman needing reproductive freedom has ever murdered a roomful of people in seconds.

— unknown author

(Gloria Steinem: "This riff is not mine...l thank whoever gave us all this present")

[fyeaheddiemunson]

Joseph was out in the wild, which means everyone is offended about something.

When it came to MegaCon, I went 100% for Joe. Matthew Lillard, Jamie and Matt Smith are people I would definitely like to meet again/or in general...but if JQ wasn't at MegaCon I never would have put the effort in.

I cannot recommend travel insurance enough . Man, i insured my flight, made sure i had a hotel reservation that would allow me to cancel 48 hours before check in. That way, in case he had to cancel or any reason, doesn't matter what it was, I would only be out the cost of admission into the con. It also wasn't a last minute cancellation. There was plenty of time to have gotten refunded if there was insurance on travel 🤷🏼‍♀️ If MegaCon was the same weekend of the Oscars i would have cancelled everything because let's be real, being at an Oscar party with co-stars in an upcoming release is better in the long run.

I am eternally grateful for my experience at Megacon, he's already forgotten but I'm still 🫠

But being totally real, he shouldn't have been there. He shouldn't be doing cons at all anymore. Why are people feeling so entitled as if they're owed things because they've watched someone's filmography?

Does a 30 year old man really need someone defending him on social media? Kind of. Some of you really need to be brought down to reality. You aren't owed anything. He's not a prostitute to pay to give you attention. Why people in the "fandom" can't just quietly leave if something is not for them anymore is beyond me. It's always gotta be post after post whining about every detail of everything that has nothing to do with them. And then talking back and forth with "anons" who somehow feel the same way but are scared to show their profile? Sure, Jan.

[macfrog]

company cowboy like me chapter six

lfg i am so happy to finally be back writing!!! here's a new part of cowboy like me to celebrate - you can also catch parts one thru five over on my masterlist 🤍 love u all lmk ur thoughts whose side are we on with the argument? 😏

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel and his hands help you feel better after an argument with your dad

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! shower fun, handjob, fingering, bit of comeplay, like, allusions to exhibitionism?? not rly tho, dom!joel, unprotected p in v sex (i do not condone it unless it is fictional), praise kink, overstimulation, begging, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, grilled cheese consumption (for all my lactose intolerant babies i got u)

word count: 8.4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Please let me cum, promise I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet.” He laughs, some smug, cocky laugh. If you had a sliver of energy and half the feeling in your body, you’d bat his arm. “Don’t want you to be quiet, angel. You wanted to get caught, remember? Get us caught, then. Let ‘em all hear just what you’re up to.” “No,” you moan, head shaking, “don’t wanna get caught. Just w-wanna cum. Please, Joel…”

The birds singing. A car passing by on the street outside. The dull buzz of the shower running, and the gentle humming of the man standing in it. Whichever one wakes you first, you don’t much care. Your eyes have fluttered open to find the bathroom door half-open, the steamed-up shower right ahead of you.

You can see his silhouette moving around. Hands raising to rub shampoo into his hair. Dipping to push soap suds down the trail from his belly button. You’re half-naked in his bed, still sore from your antics from the night before, and he’s winding that coil all over again. Just from showering.

You push yourself off the bed with a groan. Your thighs burn as you move them; between your legs feels just as tender. His t-shirt hangs off you.

You slowly wander over to the bathroom door and pause to listen. It’s one of his country songs he’s always playing in the truck. And this man swears he ain’t a country fan.

Your head leans against the doorframe. One gentle push and he’ll know you’re right here.

The t-shirt comes off in one swift movement, and in you go.

“Mornin’, baby,” he coos as you walk over the threshold. When he peers around the steamed-up glass, he notices your lack of clothing, and mumbles an Oh as you step inside.

“What time does Sarah’s flight get in?” you ask innocently. His eyes are making their way slowly down your figure.

“An–” He clears his throat. “An hour.”

“You got time, then?”

He smirks as you soak yourself under the hot stream of water, and says, “Always got time for you.”

Your hands cup his strong jaw and pull him down to you. He obliges, lips parting to crash against yours. Tongues twisting and curling around one another, hands squeezing and scratching and stroking bodies. His palms find your tits and he squeezes, pulling a moan from your lips.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he murmurs against your lips.

You smile back into the kiss, replying, “It’s all your fault.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” your hand starts travelling south, “got – me – fuck – all ruined.”

Joel’s already hard when your hands take hold of him. Like, fucking hard. So hard you actually look down as you grip him with both hands, awestruck by how quickly he’s turned on. When you look back up, a cocky smile fills his cheeks.

“Get goin’ then. I ain’t got all mornin’.”

“Fuck you.” You drag your hand up his length.

“That’s what I got you for,” he breathes, leaning his head back against the tile, eyes closing.

This is the part you like. Sure, Joel’s hot when he’s being dominant, fucking you senseless, whispering filth in your ear, even just the way his hands grip your body. But this – when he’s under your hand, right where you want him, right where he wants to be. This is it for you.

Watching him unravel at your touch, the way you squeeze him, pull him, take care of him; your words, sweet and smooth as honey in his ear, asking how good it feels, telling him how good he looks, peppering wet kisses down his neck and across his chest; and then, when he’s close, the way he pants and takes hold of your wrist, telling you without speaking exactly how to fuckin’ get him there.

When you feel his hips buck, you sink to your knees and hold the head of his cock on your tongue. He tilts his head to look down at you, mouth agape, hand on the back of your head. You stroke his length a few more times, the tip swirling over your pink lips, before he grunts, releasing all over your tongue, watching as you take every last drop.

“Good girl…” he whispers, over and over until he goes limp. You never take your eyes off of him as you lick your lips and swallow. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

When he comes down from his high, Joel takes your hands and pulls you back up to stand. He lazily bumps his nose against yours and then pulls you in, filling your mouth with his tongue. He groans into the kiss, tangling his hand in your hair, tasting himself on you.

“You know how good you are to me?”

Your face lights up when you look up at him. You could almost say something you think you’d regret afterward. When the wave of bravery washes down the drain with the water from above, you settle for your usual cocky teasing: “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

He laughs and turns you gently so your back is to him. He shifts your wet hair out of the way, and then begins to massage your shoulders. His hands drop down your arms, squeezing and rubbing, then back up, feeling their way over your breasts and down your stomach.

“Gonna make you feel nice ‘n better, after last night.”

Your lips fall open, silently begging him not to stop, to keep going further down, to fuck you with his fingers against the cool tile.

You forget he’s a mind reader. He’s already doing it before your thought is done.

Fingers run over your clit, already sensitive and swollen, and you gasp.

“That feel good, darlin’?” he whispers in your ear.

Your head falls back to his shoulder with a moan, and he kisses your neck, sucking softly on the sensitive spots that were between his teeth last night. His fingers rub you gently.

“So pretty for me, baby.”

You can feel your legs starting to give, but his free arm wraps around your waist, holding you up so that, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t collapse.

His fingers dip lower still, parting your lips, running through your folds. He’s so good, you think you might be dreaming. Then he inserts a curled finger and you know for sure, this is no dream.

“Joel…”

You squirm under his touch, and it only pushes him further. A second finger, stretching you out more, pressing up against the soft, spongey insides of your pussy. You grip onto his arm snaked around your waist with one hand, place the other against the tile to steady yourself.

“Doin’ so good, baby, that’s it. Just like that.” His voice is as smooth as whiskey in your ear, the drawl of his accent sending you as far as the fingers hooked inside your cunt.

Your breathing starts to stammer, your stomach tightening with your orgasm fast approaching. Joel inserts a third finger, making you cry out, and your head knocks into his shoulder again. Pleasure sparks between your legs, the weight of you riding on Joel’s hand, fire igniting through every nerve in your body.

“‘attagirl, all over me,” Joel coaches you through it, his other hand forced to let go of your waist to steady you both against the wall as your release doubles you over.

You come back to earth; stars in your vision, feeling the weight of him on your back, protecting you from the spray of water from the shower, chin still dipped over your shoulder.

“We’re good at this,” he whispers, and you give a blissful smile. “One day they’ll make a movie about us.”

You come back to reality with a hearty laugh, turning back around slowly. Joel’s arms snake around your waist and he pulls you in for a deep kiss.

“Maybe one day we could do that ourselves,” you tease.

He gives a smile which means more than it looks. You’re a mind reader, too. He likes that idea. He’s…considering it.

“I gotta go,” Joel says after some time.

You nod.

He follows you out of the shower and hands you the towel he’d sat on the counter for himself, dripping off to the linen closet in the hallway for another while you pat yourself dry. You scoop up his shirt and throw it over yourself, laying back down on his bed to wait for him finishing up getting ready.

Another thing you love doing: watching him. Whether he’s driving, grabbing a beer from the fridge, or just getting dressed like right now, you like to watch him. Study him. Know him better than he knows himself.

He doesn’t typically let you watch him do much – his hands are usually all over you with the precious little time you two get together – and when he clocks you staring over at him as he buckles his belt, he snorts.

“Besotted, ain’tcha?”

He stands at the foot of the bed. You say nothing back. Then he begins crawling up, knees apart to climb over your legs, and crouches over you as you giggle.

His head drops down to give you one last meaningful kiss before you know he has to leave. When you part, his forehead leans against yours.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” he softly says.

You don’t have a reply. At least, not one you want him to hear. Yet.

“Go pick up Sarah. I’ll be gone when you come back.”

He stands, and you take his offered hand to pull yourself up from the bed.

“Don’t have to be. I’ll tell her you wanted to surprise her.”

You shake your head. “I got work later anyways. And y’all deserve some time alone to catch up. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Okay, darlin’,” he says in a mocking baby tone, pouting his lips. Pulls you in for a quick squeeze. Then turns and wanders off down the hall to the top of the stairs.

“How will you cope without being the center of my attention?” he calls back.

You smile to yourself and watch as his figure disappears. You stand on his carpet, still, silent, until the front door shuts and his truck engine hums in the drive.

Your eyes travel around his room. His unmade bed, one big dip in the middle of the mattress where your bodies had been pressed together, limbs intertwined, sharing breath. The small pile of your clothes Joel had laid out as you dozed, neatly tucked on a dresser, your phone laying on top. A framed photo of him and Sarah on his windowsill that makes your chest tighten when your eyes find it.

You turn away and start getting ready, picking up your clothes one by one. Your panties are missing – not that they’d be much use anyways, the last state you saw them in. It’d be hot to go commando if you thought Joel might find out; less hot when you’re just about to head off on a walk of shame back to your dad’s.

You wander around to Joel’s nightstand and roll the drawer open. Pick up a pair of white boxers and pull them on. As you leave, you throw his tee over your elbow.

He won’t notice it’s gone, right?

----------

You’re perched on your window seat, watching the quiet street below. It’s been two days since you last saw Joel, strolling down his hallway to go pick up Sarah. You’d been working the past couple days anyway, but your mind had been elsewhere.

You and Joel weren’t able to see each other for obvious reasons, but he was always at the end of the phone whenever you were bored and wanted attention. Truthfully, you’d spent every waking minute hanging over your cell, waiting for it to light up with a message or call from him.

You unlock it and scroll through the last few texts you’d exchanged.

Joel: Decorations were a hit. Should be all over Instagram or whatever

You: You’re welcome ;)

Joel: Don’t I get any credit?

You: You can take the credit for blowing my back out afterward. Let me have the decs

Joel: Fair.

You smile, reading back over the messages. You’d been trying not to bother him so much now that Sarah was back, but you’re struggling to find anything to distract your thoughts from him. What he’s up to, where he is, who he’s with…and not even in a jealous way. Just…because you miss him.

That’s the weird part. Missing him.

Sure, for the last two weeks, anytime your hands have been on your body, it’s Joel’s name passing your lips in breathy moans. But missing the sound of his voice? The smell of him?

That’s new. That’s weird.

There’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

Your dad nudges in, toolbox in hand. “Hey, hon. Just thought I’d have a look at that latch on your window that keeps catchin’.”

“Oh,” you say, shifting from your seat. “Sure. Thanks.”

He sets the toolbox at the end of your bed, and you shift some cushions and blankets to sit beside it. As he’s digging through his tools, he glances up and notices the men’s large t-shirt laying strewn across your pillows.

“New shirt?” he asks.

You look over your shoulder. Fuck.

“Texas Rangers.” Your dad raises his eyebrows, nodding. “Impressed.”

“Yeah, I– I, uh…” You’re scrambling for some excuse, words tripping over one another in the scram to explain. “Got it at a thrift store the other day. It’s nice to sleep in, I guess.”

He hums and then turns, completely oblivious. “Might head over to Joel’s once I’ve done this, since I got the tools out. He has some pipe in his bathroom he reckons is leakin’. You wanna come? See Sarah for a bit?”

“Maybe…” you hum, not really listening. You’re typing a message out to Joel.

You: My dad just totally spotted your shirt on my bed…

Joel: So you’ve got my shirt? I was looking all over for it.

You: Is it really that much of a surprise? Had to say I’d thrifted it

Joel: Offended by the fact you wanted him to believe anyone would throw out a Rangers shirt

You: Well, he believed it, so what does that tell you, cowboy?

Joel: Given what we know your dad’s oblivious to right now, not a lot, kid

You: Speaking of, when can I see you?

Joel: Tough right now with Sarah being home. Sorry baby. Soon as we can, I promise.

You throw yourself back onto your bed with a sigh.

“Boy trouble?” your dad asks.

“Huh?” You sit up straight. What…the fuck?

He chuckles, messing around with the window, his back turned to you. “Awfully big sigh. I know that sigh. Who is he?”

If Joel were in the room right now, he’d be masking his laughter behind a closed fist at the mere sight of your face. You stare at your dad’s back for a decent amount of time, long enough for him to turn back and look at you.

“You hearin’ me?” he asks. “It someone I know? It ain’t your friend Sam from Frank’s, is it? That boy don’t know his hand from his foot at the best ’a times. You can do better than him.”

“It ain’t a boy. And I appreciate the advice, but I’m good, Dad.”

“Speakin’ of advice…” He walks slowly over to the bed, switching out some tools. “I got this supplier whose daughter works in human resources at…uh…some company, downtown. Name escapes me. He was tellin’ me it’s good money, lotta hours…Said she’d be happy to meet with you if you wanted to go in for an interview.”

“I…I’m okay, I think. Thanks, though.”

“Sure? I thought maybe you’d wanna be lookin’ for something a little more…permanent.”

“I will,” you reply, glancing down at your phone. No new messages. “I just…I’m happy at Sal’s right now.”

“Right, right. And Sal’s been real good to you, kiddo.”

“I kinda wanna see what I can get with my degree anyway.”

Your thumbs dance over the keyboard, still hunting for attention from Joel, and searching for the right words to get it. You’re barely even present in the room with your dad when you hear him ask, “Film? You really think there’s gonna be much out there?”

Your head whips up. He’s sauntering back over to the window. Your phone lands with a thud on your bed beside your thigh.

“Uh…I don’t know. ‘s why I wanna look.”

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

He shakes his head, screwing something into your window frame. “Naw, I just…don’t know what you’re gonna find, is all.” He chuckles a little. Kinda chuckle that makes your fists ball.

You watch him through thin eyes, pulling your bottom lip under your teeth. “Well, I got Sal’s to keep me goin’ until I do find somethin’.”

Your dad doesn’t reply. You stare him down until he turns around, notices you, and raises his brows, forehead crinkling.

When he dives back into the toolbox instead of responding, you start to feel heat in your belly.

You speak through your teeth. “Is that…Is it okay?”

“Sure, hon. I ain’t tellin’ you what to do.”

“Well, you ain’t tellin’ me much else, though, so…”

“I’m only thinking,” he lifts his palms, your eyes trace them, “your degree is very specific. And there maybe isn’t a lot of specific work down this way for somethin’ like film. That’s all. I thought HR might be a good move.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He’s closing over the metal lid.

“Then why’d I go through four years of studying it?”

“Because it interested you. And because you were good at it–”

“So, shouldn’t I be doin’ something with it?”

“–but ultimately, hon, a degree’s just a degree, you understand?”

Your face screws up, lip curled. “Huh?”

“Lotta folks don’t got a degree. Lotta folks get one, and it goes to waste. They spend all that money, all that time…and work part-time in some dead-end job for the rest of their lives. Chasin’ a career that’s never comin’.”

You choke back a laugh, a stunned, confused, livid laugh. Your lips tremble and twist in and out of different shapes, trying to form words that your voice won’t speak.

“You worked damn hard to get that degree. Now, use it. Use it right.”

He slaps the toolbox closed and starts trotting out of your room, and you find your voice.

“Oh, screw you!”

Your dad’s hand hooks around the doorframe and he turns back. “Pardon me?”

“What fuckin’ right do you have to tell me I’m gonna end up in a dead-end job? Ain’t a job a job?”

“Woah, kiddo,” he holds a hand out, “no, no, that’s not what I’m sayin’. Not at all.”

“You’re saying I should give up tryna get a job I actually want, and get a real job, right? That– That film ain’t much of a thing? I worked my ass off for nothin’?”

“No, you worked your ass off for everything, and you deserve to find somethin’ that rewards all your hard work.”

“Oh, what the fuck does that even mean?” You throw your arms up, striding across the room.

He shakes his head with a sigh. “It means – I just want what’s best for you. I was just thinkin’ out loud, honey. That’s all.”

In one sweep, he’s gone. The toolbox rattles down the hall and recedes into background noise. You’re stood in a cloud of rage at your door, breath coming hard and fast out of your nose, staring at the empty hallway before you.

You stalk over to your bed and your thumbs finally figure out what to send to Joel.

You: Are you free to talk real quick??

He’s calling you within thirty seconds.

“What’s up?” his voice speaks before you even open your mouth, and instantly you feel yourself calming.

“Are you eating?”

“Mhm. Grilled cheese.”

You can hear the chewing sounds through the receiver.

“You mind swallowing before you talk?”

“Sorry, darlin’,” he chuckles a little, then clears his throat. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Just…” You sigh. “Fuck…I don’t even know.”

Your head falls into one hand as you pace back and forth.

“I had this argument with my dad; he’s goin’ on about careers and jobs and using my degree – but to do somethin’ I don’t wanna do. Then, he’s makin’ out like I’ll never find a job in film, or in anything I want. And he said that– He basically said that I’ll be in a dead-end job forever, ‘less I go work in human resources.”

Joel’s quiet for a few seconds until he realizes you’re done. “’sec, baby, I got a mouthful of grilled cheese over here.”

You roll your eyes and, after a gulp, his voice floats back through your phone.

“He wants you to– Human resources, I hear that right?”

“Yup. He says it’s a good place to be, apparently.”

“Your dad, the contractor?”

You throw your arm up in the air again. “Thank you!”

Joel and his laughter cut you short before you start another rant.

“Alright, alright, first of all…you already got a job, and it’s a good, steady job; you like it, you’re happy enough there, right?”

“Mhm,” you agree.

“Mhm. So that’s not an issue. Second, you’re twenty-three. That’s still young, darlin’. You got your whole life to try and find somethin’ you really like. Hell, I didn’t figure it out until I had Sarah. You got time. Don’t worry about it.

“And third: who gives a fuck what your dad thinks? If you’re happy, what’s it matter what him or anyone else says?”

You nod, sitting down on your bed. Your eyes are starting to well.

“Hm?” Joel beckons.

“Yeah,” you squeak.

“Don’t you worry that pretty little mind, baby. It was just an argument. He wants what’s best for you, ‘n if I know him half as well as I do, he just got his words a little jumbled up.”

“I’m still fuckin’ mad at him, though,” you mumble.

Joel laughs. “Yeah. ‘n I reckon you’re allowed to be, for a little bit.”

“Thanks. Sorry for interruptin’ you ‘n your grilled cheese.”

“’s alright. I gotta make you one of these next time you’re over here, I’m a master at ‘em. Sarah’s favorite.”

You lay back on your bed, giggling. “I’m gonna hold you to that, y’know.”

“Oh, I know, kid. Hey, I was actually thinking of dropping by tomorrow mornin’, got some papers your dad wants to take a look at. Figured I’d catch ‘im before he goes off to work.”

You feel your heart swell just at the thought of him being in front of you, actually in person, standing right there. Cotton-covered chest to be touched, worked hands to be held, rough but gentle lips to be kissed.

Hard cock to be – never mind.

“Yeah?” you say, coolly, trying not to let him in on the butterflies swirling around your stomach.

“Yep. Better be awake. I’ll want my t-shirt back.”

“Setting my alarm as we speak.”

----------

You’re in the kitchen making breakfast when you hear the front door open, and an all too familiar Texas drawl.

“Anybody home?”

You lean back from the counter and stare down the hallway toward the door, which he closes and turns to face you.

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Hi,” you mutter, smiling.

“Dad in?”

You nod. “Upstairs. Getting ready.”

His fingers tug on your t-shirt sleeve. His t-shirt sleeve.

“Nice shirt.”

You give a bashful smile, but he’s grinning. The fucker loves seeing you in his clothes as much as you love wearing them. He doesn’t care.

Joel sets his papers on the countertop and runs a hand through your hair, sweeping it out of your face. You lean into his touch by instinct, then catch yourself, and move away, but Joel stays where he is.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Mhm. Want some cereal?”

He smiles, shaking his head, then lowers his chin and softly presses his lips to yours.

Your hands drop the box like it’s scorching hot, and link around his neck. He pushes against you, pinning you to the counter.

If it weren’t for the thudding of your dad’s footsteps down the stairs right then, you’d probably ask Joel to fuck you right here and now in your kitchen. You’re that needy.

“Hey, partner,” your dad calls when he notices Joel, now standing a good four feet away from you, papers back in his fist.

You pour some milk in the bowl and lean back against the island, cereal in hand.

“Brought that paperwork.” Joel lifts his fist, and your dad nods gratefully.

“Hey,” your dad says, turning to you and knocking your shoulder with his index finger. “Here’s the number of that guy’s daughter I was talkin’ about…”

You take a deep breath, studying the card in his hand, the name Vanessa Hart printed below some logo. Joel notices your expression when your dad holds it out between two fingers. He knows y’all fought – though he’s not meant to – but he doesn’t know you two haven’t spoken since. You ate dinner in your room alone last night.

The look in your eye catches him up just fine.

“What’s this?” Joel asks, returning the papers to the counter behind you and taking the business card from your dad’s hand. He tosses it over before passing to you. You wordlessly take it, sliding your bowl alongside his paperwork.

“She’s been thinkin’ about work. Lookin’ around for somethin’ a little more…challenging, than retail anyway. Right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Right.”

Joel looks at you intently. Knowingly. “Thought you wanted to be a journalist, or something? Film…? No?”

You glance up at him. “I, um…”

“This is maybe somethin’ a little more realistic, y’know.” Your dad shifts from foot to foot, almost awkwardly.

“She got a degree in film,” Joel mutters, almost leaning into you to make you answer. Your eyes travel along to his shoulder. “You like film, right?”

“I like film. Yeah. It was good.”

“So, you don’t wanna do somethin’ with that?”

Your shoulders tense as you look up at him, trying to answer him honestly and at the same time, stop another heated discussion from happening between you and your dad, who then initiates that discussion himself by piping up.

“What’s Sarah doin’, again, Joel?”

You wince, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Sports Science.” Joel’s voice feels dangerous. He’s still staring at you. Vanessa’s card is beginning to tremble in your hands as you flip it over and over.

“See? Now, that, I would understand. That’s a great degree. Not that yours isn’t,” your dad shoots you a look as he’s packing his lunch into his bag, “just that, with Sports Science, I mean…she could do lotsa stuff.”

“I could do lots with film, too, Dad.” You try to mask the anger through your teeth.

“Like what?”

Joel sighs under his breath. Your eyes dart across his. You take a deep breath, steady yourself.

“Like…journalism, or production, or promotion. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“I’m just tryna look out for you, kiddo, just tryna be realistic. Like I said last night, there aren’t so many opportunities in that sorta stuff down here. Fine, up in New York, but in Austin? Nah.”

“Maybe you just gotta move back to New York. I’ll come with ya,” Joel says, shrugging, with an expression that elicits a laugh from you. He looks relieved to see you smile.

Your dad clears his throat and takes a step closer to you. Your smile fades as quickly as it appeared.

“I just want what’s best for you. The arts…ain’t really a steady job. Somethin’ like Sports Science, see, now, that’s safe. That’s a good choice.”

“A good choice,” you echo, your face flushing. “So, mine wasn’t a good choice?”

“No, it’s just that–”

“Why are we havin’ this same conversation again, Dad?” You throw the card behind you on the counter. “I said I’d do my own thing, in my own time, and you come up with even more to shove in my damn face. You can’t just leave it? Not even for one day?”

“Aw, c’mon, hon, film? Tell me what you found, lookin’ for jobs in film. Go on.”

Joel’s head cocks and he holds a hand out. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“No, tell me. I’m seriously askin’. What did you find? ‘cause I’ve been lookin’, kiddo–”

You scoff. “Oh, you’ve been looking.”

“Yes, I have, which seems to be a damn sight more ‘n you’ve done, and there ain’t nothin’. Now, I’m sorry for bringing it up. I thought I was doin’ a good thing. Thought you’d appreciate me helpin’ out.”

“Sure. I appreciate you steppin’ foot where you ain’t wanted. And then insulting me while you’re at it.”

Your dad sighs and lifts his arms, bringing them down onto his thighs with a clap. Then he picks his bag up, slings it over his shoulder, and turns back to you.

“I just wanted to help. I’m gone, alright? Joel, thanks for those, I’ll take a look when I’m home.”

Without another word, he strides down the hall and heads out the front door.

Joel’s hand immediately wraps around your arm.

“Hey,” he says when you turn away, tears forming. “Woah, hey. It’s alright.”

He pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head, and you bury your face into his shirt, groaning with rage. He rubs the back of your head and hushes you as you weep into his chest.

He pulls away, cupping your chin and pushing the hair out of your face. You’re still bubbling away, Joel’s thumbs wiping away tears hot with anger from your cheeks.

“I’m not crying ‘cause I’m upset,” you sniff, and he nods, softly caressing your face. “I’m crying ‘cause I’m fuckin’ angry.”

“I know, baby,” he fusses. “He’s bein’ an ass, no doubt about that.”

“I told you.” You ball your fists and lightly bump them against his strong chest. “Fuckin’ dick.”

“Fuckin’ dick,” Joel agrees, and you laugh. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better.”

You lean back, Joel’s hand locked around yours to stop you from falling. A dark thought crosses your mind, and you do your best not to let it show through your eyes. Joel seems oblivious when he reels you in and your hands come to rest on his pecs.

“I dunno,” you mumble, eyes stuck on the fabric of his shirt.

“Must be somethin’. What do you want me to do?”

“Just…stick around for a bit? Keep me company.”

“Company, huh? What’s that entail?”

“We could…watch a movie?” Your fingers flirt with the collar of his open shirt. “…could…talk…?”

Joel studies you as you slowly peel the button-up from his shoulders, letting it rest on his biceps.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, realizing where you’re at, “I got stuff I should be doin’ today.”

“I know. Just…make me feel better first.”

He sighs, looking at you from beneath his brows. His shirt is hanging from his elbows, his palms planted firmly against your waist. His hands are squeezing you just enough to encourage you to keep going.

“Won’t be long. Promise. You can have your shirt back, after it.”

You angle your jaw and smile sweetly at him, and he lowers his to meet you halfway. Your breath hot against his lips, you whisper, “’s not like either of us are gonna last longer than five minutes, anyway,” and he closes the space between you.

When your lips connect, Joel pushes off the counter and begins backing you toward the couch.

“I love,” you breathe into the kiss, “when you do that.”

“Do what?” he mutters back, lifting the hem of your top.

You fall back onto the couch and Joel follows.

“Give in to me.”

He pulls back, eyes skimming across your half-naked body, t-shirt ruffled up to the bottom of your bare breasts.

“That’s all I do, baby.”

You open your legs beneath him and his hips slot between yours, hardening jeans rubbing against your sleep shorts. His tongue leaves wet marks down your neck and across your collarbone, hands creeping further up your naked torso.

When you buck your hips, Joel understands, and takes the waist of your shorts in tight fists, pulling them off your legs in one movement. His hand comes down to cup your sex and shift your underwear aside. He’s moving without thinking; it’s instinct by this point. He knows exactly what to do to get you where he wants you.

His fingers move around your folds, dancing in and out of your entrance, rubbing your clit. It’s not enough. It’s never fucking enough. You whine, and he listens again, slipping two fingers inside your wet cunt.

Your back arches, chest rising to meet his. A sigh of relief passes your lips, finally feeling his body on – and in – yours again.

“We– I don’t wanna– fucking hell, Joel– I can’t wait this long for you,” you whimper, as he dips his jaw to suck a bruise into your neck.

“Hm?”

“Too – fucking – long. I need you – all the fuckin’ time.”

He’s humming against your hot skin. Your fingers are knotting in his hair, dark brown flecked with streaks of gray tangled around your knuckles.

His fingers burrow deeper, stretching your wet pussy out just right. You clench around him.

“Need you,” you breathe again, “all the time.”

“You got me, pretty girl,” Joel coos, lips now dancing across yours. “I’m here now.”

Your foreheads lock like they always do, Joel’s eyes trained on yours like they always are. He fucking loves watching you, loves the way your eyes glaze over and you submit to whatever he wants to do to you. I started it, and I know how to finish it.

His thumb begins to rub your clit, pad drawing circles around and round. Your hips lift again in response, and you feel a smirk pull on Joel’s lips. You’re writhing under his touch, the entire room filling with filthy moans of his name and of yours, tangling together in the air and knotting as tight as the pressure building in your stomach.

You reach down and begin to unbuckle his belt, hands weaving around Joel’s wrist to gain access to his jeans. Your fingers graze the rough teeth of his zipper when you hear something outside.

The sound of a car door slamming.

Your lips freeze against Joel’s. His hand stops dead against your core.

“Was that–?”

The front door bursts open and the hallway fills with the early morning light.

Joel heaves himself off of you, scarpering to the other side of the room as you straighten up, slam your sensitive legs closed and kick your shorts under the couch. Your tee is long enough to cover your thighs, only if you stay seated.

Your dad rounds the corner to the room just as you both assume position.

“Joel still around? His truck’s– Oh, hey, bud. What the hell you still doin’ here?”

Joel clears his throat. “She, uh– She said somethin’ was up with the TV. Bad signal or somethin’, right?”

“Right.” You nod almost furiously.

Your dad blinks. Looks from you, to Joel, to the TV behind him. Which is switched off.

You toe the line between still mad at your dad, and wanting to appear totally innocent. “Joel was just having a look. He, uh…switched it off.”

“Waitin’ for it to reboot.” Joel sways back to hold a steady – slick-covered – hand to the TV set. You wince as he notices your gleaming wet coating his fingers, unreadable expression on his face, and calmly holds them behind his back.

“That so?” your dad says, pouting his lips. “I didn’t notice anything last night.”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead choosing to let the moment pass in awkward silence until your dad changes the subject. Joel knows him better than most, and it works in the end, but you wish he’d just fucking say something to take your mind off of the hand he’s currently hiding behind his back and your shorts disturbing the dust under the couch.

“Left my hardhat,” your dad says, almost flatly. “You seen it, kiddo?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“You wanna help me look?”

Right now? With no pants on? And your best friend stood less than six feet away? You know what, I’m good, Dad.

“Not really.”

He sighs and shakes his head to Joel, a Can you believe her?

Joel sputters out a forced chuckle, which he cuts short when he notices your sharp glare in his direction.

When your dad disappears upstairs, you fish your shorts out and throw them on.

“That,” Joel leans into you, motioning to where your dad was just standing, “was too damn close, you hear?”

“How was I supposed to know he’d come back?” you hiss.

“If we’re–” another flappy hand movement between the two of you, “y’know, we gotta be on alert for any–”

“We–” you mimic his gesture, “thought we had an empty house. If he walks in on somethin’, then that’s–”

“Don’t tell me that’s on him, kid.” Joel tilts his head, inviting you to finish your sentence with something more sensible. Before you can answer, your dad calls out.

“Got it!”

His boots thud back down the stairs.

You and Joel spring back to your positions, an unassuming two meters of carpet separating you both. Your dad stands at the opposite end of the coffee table, holding his hardhat up like it’s a trophy.

“Alright,” you clap your hands, “see ya, then.”

You brush past him toward the kitchen, feigning grabbing a drink. In your wake, you hear him mumble something to Joel about you not forgiving him just yet. Joel doesn’t laugh.

Eventually, he doddles off to the door, and Joel slowly follows. You hear the click of the door handle, and the hallway floods with light again, tile floor painted with Joel’s silhouette. When the sound of the engine trudges off into the distance, the door slams shut, and his figure materializes beside you once again.

You’re holding a bottle of water against your lips. Not drinking. Joel takes the bottle and sets it down on the counter.

He doesn’t speak. Barely even looks at you. Just takes your waist and hoists you up onto the kitchen counter. It’s cold under your bare thighs, but he lifts your knees and tugs at the waistband of your shorts, slipping them off for the second time in, what, ten minutes?

You sit still and watch him, stood between your legs, looking you up and down. His gaze falls to his still soaked fingers, and with a blank expression, like it’s as normal as passing you the sauce over dinner, he lifts his hand.

“Wanna clean up your mess for me?”

He presses the pads of his fingers to your bottom lip. Asks you without words to part them.

Your mouth falls open, not because you tell it to, but because his words pour a fog over your entire body that dumbs you senseless. That same intoxicating drawl, the way his head tilts with every perfectly innocent question laced with just the right amount of filth to have you do whatever the fuck he tells you.

He pushes his fingers into your mouth, resting them on your tongue.

“Now, pretty girl. Put that mouth to good use.”

“Joel–” you mumble into his knuckles, but he shushes you.

“Clean. Them.”

In a fluttering haze, you close your mouth around his thick fingers and suck, tongue slipping over them, under, between. Joel watches almost dangerously, like a wild animal watching its prey. He’s focused entirely on your wet lips, the way they’re bobbing up and down over his knuckles.

His fingers are sweet, coated in your thick arousal, and when you loosen your jaw, he pushes them in further. Almost chokes you with the way he forces them back. His eyes are dark, clouded over by the way your pretty little mouth looks. The way it feels, choking and spitting all over him.

When your eyes close over, his free hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

“Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, and your eyes flutter back open; light seeps into your vision and chases everything but the man between your legs out of focus.

You can’t taste yourself on him anymore. He tastes like Joel again. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers hit the back of your throat, and he only withdraws them when you gag.

He slips out, soaked in your saliva, and his wet hand falls back to place on your thigh.

You’re breathing heavily, drool dripping from your lips, but you know for a fucking fact if you move to wipe it, he’ll stop you.

His grip on the back of your neck tightens suddenly.

“You wanna act like a little whore? You get treated like one.”

His hand moves to his waistband and he undoes his own belt, batting away your fingers when you try to help.

He lets you link your arms over his shoulders as he messily unzips his jeans, tugging them down only a little. His rough hand grabs your knee and hooks it over his elbow, opening your legs wide for him.

“J…”

“Shut up.”

Now’s not the time for talking. He’s got a glassy expression in his eye that you don’t recognize. He doesn’t want to fucking talk. He wants you to make him cum.

“Wanted me to fuck you on your dad’s couch, huh? Wanted to make a mess in his livin’ room?”

“Mhm,” you whine, and he lifts your ass up to bring a hand down on it. Shut up.

“’n what if he’d walked in a few minutes later than he did? Saw the pair of us? That what you want?”

You bite your lip and look at him under hooded lids; answer enough. Nah, you didn’t want your dad to see you guys. But, fuck, you liked the thought of being caught.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he’s murmuring, lining up to your cunt, pre-cum soaking the reddened tip of his cock. You’re staring at it, mesmerized, mind totally blanked by it.

“Look at you,” he whispers roughly, “drunk on it, aren’t you darlin’? You want it inside you?”

You nod, but it doesn’t matter. The slightest movement of your head and he’s pushing inside you, stretching your tight hole around the thick head of his cock.

Joel groans and his head falls back, eyes on the ceiling. He makes it halfway in before he’s pulling back again.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Shut – the fuck – up,” he replies, hips pushing forward into yours again.

You bite back a whine as he pushes further and further, filling you up, pain and pleasure and fucking bliss rippling through you, driven by Joel.

He wastes no time letting you adjust, no long, slow strokes. No tender kisses or fingers guiding his dick in. He picks up a dangerous pace from the outset, hips snapping into yours, bouncing you against the kitchen counter.

This is what this is, isn’t it? This whole thing between you guys. You have needs; Joel has needs. You’re just both coincidentally very good at helping the other meet their needs. What’s wrong with that, right?

Your head starts to swim with the feeling of Joel’s cock spearing you, the image of your kitchen floating in and out of focus, the thought of being one doorway away from being caught. You imagine Marcia in her backyard, almost in plain view of you two right now, seeing you propped up on the counter with your dad’s best friend between your legs, fucking the hell out of you.

And then your eyes find Joel again, beads of sweat at his forehead, cheeks flushed. He meets your lazy gaze and his hand takes your jaw, thumb and finger on each side.

“Good?” he asks, breathless, teeth gritted.

You nod.

Then Joel nods. “Good.” His eyes close over and he fucks you even harder onto his length, hurting so good every time your bodies connect.

The heat is stifling, not from the Texan summer, but from the two of you – sweating, panting, fucking off one another, bodies slipping against and sticking. The air fills thick with your stifled moans, Joel’s bitten grunts, the slapping of skin, your wet mixing with his.

You can’t take it anymore. Your head lulls back with a loud, long moan. Joel knows that moan.

“Think I should let you cum?” he asks. “You think you deserve it?”

“Fuck – please �� Joel,” you’re panting, and he spanks your ass again. It doubles you over; your head collapses against his shoulder.

“Mm,” he hums, contemplating. “Dunno if you do, babygirl.”

“L-let me cum,” you plead, tears falling from your eyes, electricity whirling around your core. Your head rolls around on his strong shoulder. “’m so close.”

“Know you are, darlin’. ‘s too easy to do this to you,” Joel pants, breath jerking each time his hips do. “Get so wound up for me, every damn time.”

“Joel,” you’re begging now, unable to loosen your grip on his shoulders. “Fucking – please.”

“Come over for five minutes and you can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

You whimper in response, the feeling between your legs turning to tightly-wound pain. Your hands have come down to hold onto the edge of the counter, marble cutting into your damp skin under your grip.

“Want to…Want…”

“Tell me, baby. Talk.”

“Want to cum, Joel,” you pine, eyes screwing shut.

“I’m gonna let you, pretty girl. You don’t gotta worry about that. Just gotta ask nicely, huh?”

“Fuck,” you whisper, stars and tears clearing from your vision to reveal him once more. You don’t have the fucking energy to beg him anymore. Not like this. “Please, Joel.”

“Nicer.”

“Please let me cum, promise I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet.”

He laughs, some smug, cocky laugh. If you had a sliver of energy and half the feeling in your body, you’d bat his arm.

“Don’t want you to be quiet, angel. You wanted to get caught, remember? Get us caught, then. Let ‘em all hear just what you’re up to.”

“No,” you moan, head shaking, “don’t wanna get caught. Just w-wanna cum. Please, Joel…”

You shake your head, pathetic beg painted all over your face. Joel’s expression falters, softens, only for a nanosecond, but you know him well enough to notice it. Something in his exterior breaks, something cracks.

“Then why didn’t you fuckin’ say so?” he coos. His arms wrap around you – finally – holding you up against his torso, his lips pressed to your ear. “Come on, darlin’, you can let go.”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before it happens. Your orgasm floods over you, pulsing from your soaking pussy up and across your stomach, lighting your shoulders and tightening your grip on Joel. You bite into his shoulder, muffling a sob as your walls contract, coil snaps, tension relieves.

You fucking hurt. All over. You don’t even feel him pull out, don’t realize he’s gone until he’s pumping cum all over your stomach, jacking himself to the sound of you coming undone. It’s only when you come around and feel the hot wet rolling down your tummy that you notice.

Joel’s breathing is labored. His dark tee has sweat patches under the arms, along his chest. You can feel it on his back.

You lean against him for what feels like hours, legs either side of him, his soft dick on your stomach, cum seeping into your panties. He lets you, just holds you tight and gently sways, listening to your breath slowly steadying, feeling your body stop shaking.

His voice is nothing but vibrations under your cheek, resting safely on his chest. Your ears are still ringing too loud to actually hear the words he says.

When you don’t reply, Joel’s hands cup your cheeks and lift your head to face him. You read the words on his lips.

“Need to know you’re okay before I go.”

“I’m okay,” you mumble.

“Can you walk?”

Your eyes roll back by themselves as he takes a step back, one hand around yours, the other braced in case you fall. You slip off the counter shakily, and, with as much effort as it’d probably take to go for a hike right now in the sun, you stand straight.

“I can take it,” you tell him.

Joel takes a deep breath. “Know you can, baby. Did so well for me.” He tugs his tee down over your stomach to cover the mess he’s made. “You want help cleaning up?”

You give one lazy shake of your head, almost entirely leaning on your shoulder. “I’m gonna head for a shower anyways.”

He takes your shorts and kneels, pulling them back over your legs one by one. You’re bracing yourself on his shoulders, and he stands as he settles them on your waist.

Joel gives your hand a gentle pull and leads you down the hallway. You walk with him, knees weak, to the front door. Joel holds it open and you let go of his fingers to step into the burning sun, hand coming up to shield your eyes. The breath of fresh air wakes you up from your state a little.

“Bright one,” you murmur, as his shoulder comes to meet yours.

“Oh, mornin’, Joel,” Hank calls from the sidewalk as he hobbles by, newspaper under his arm. He sings your name and you nod back in greeting. “You’re both up ‘n about early.”

“Broken TV,” Joel waves back, turning to look at you, “and a few other things needed fixin’.”

Hank nods and keeps walking. When he rounds the corner toward his own house, you glance back at Joel.

“What?” you ask.

“Still wearin’ my shirt.”

“You want it back now? Here ‘n now?”

“If you’re offering a striptease, baby, I’ll take it. Out here or inside, I don’t mind.”

You slap his arm and turn back to head inside. “I’ve had enough of you today.”

“You call me anytime that TV starts playin’ up, darlin’,” he calls over his shoulder.

You blindly throw your middle finger up over your shoulder in response, and feel his strong fingers wrap around your wrist. He tugs you back, and you swirl around to meet his stoic gaze.

“Day or night,” he tells you, “you call me.”

He walks off to his truck.

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @earthtogrogu @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill (lmk if i've missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[wlw-multi-fandom-imagines]

I’m not sure if your requests are open but uhmmm, can I request for a Lena Luthor x Reader where they are both CEO but reader is from Gotham (kinda like Bruce Wayne but with less tragedy, simply just wanna help tho they did become a vigilante). They met in a bar after some conference in Gotham (she needed all the drink especially when they snide and be ahole towards her bc of what happened with Lex) Anyway, unbesknown to Lena who the reader is until they brought her to their apartment. Lena snooped when they woke up and yk saw this and maybe partnership then become something more? Smut if you’re confortable with it? Tbh im rambling but yeah😅

-🐎

"Ms. Luthor?"

Lena looked up from her phone to see a fresh drink in front of her at the bar and arched an eyebrow at the man who had delivered it.

"Compliments of your friend at the end of the bar," he explained, nodding to his left. Lena's gaze ventured in that direction, scanning down the line of distracted conference-goers until she finally locked eyes with you.

"Oh God," the CEO muttered to herself and forced a smile. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she had the energy to navigate this encounter after the last 24 hours. The conference had been a minefield of questions and sneering comments regarding her brother and, even worse, her mother at times. Lena had forced herself to come, mostly to spare anyone else at L-Corp the treatment she was getting, but had already debated finding a redeye back to National City several times that evening.

Lena braced herself as you stood up from your barstool and started weaving your way towards her through the crowd of folks desperately trying to network with one another. You had quite a reputation amonst the high society members in Gotham, and word traveled to National City every so often regarding your most recent escapades and scandals. When you weren't busy greenlighting exposés about Gotham's most famous (and infamous) residents or breaking the latest story about the up and coming vigilante that had recently captured the media's attention, you were known to frequent many a nightclub throughout the entertainment district.

"Lena Luthor," you said, stretching out your hand as you finally reached her. "I was hoping I'd run into you this weekend."

"Is that so?" Lena responded cautiously, well aware that you were not above using this conference to gather intel for the team of ruthless journalists at your disposal. "I hate to disappoint, but I'm absolutely off the record for the next 48 hours."

"That's smart - I wouldn't trust any of the slimeballs attending this thing either," you said, ignoring the several dirty looks from the men to your left that had overheard the comment. A grin crossed your features as Lena chuckled at the remark. "I was hoping you'd accept my invitation to blow off a little steam and let me show you around a little. You are a guest in our city, after all."

Lena reached for her drink and sipped it to buy herself enough time to think of a response. Despite your reputation, she really hadn't expected you to be this forward. And although she was fairly certain your motives couldn't be that altruistic, she didn't sense the same disdain from you that she had felt from the rest of "Gotham's Finest".

"I'm not quite sure I'm up for a night on the town, Y/N. Although I do very much appreciate the offer."

"Come on, you really don't want to blow off this sausage fest?" you groaned, once again catching the attention of the conference-goers beside you. This time however, you noticed and shot a glare back at them before locking your eyes back on Lena.

"Fine," she sighed in defeat, then downed the rest of the drink you had bought her with a grimace. "Although I have a feeling you're up to something."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Lena wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the nearly deafening music, or the flashing lights at the nightclub you had brought her to, but it wasn't long before she dropped her defenses and allowed you to lead her out onto the crowded dance floor. For the first time in a long time, Lena found herself unconcerned with whether or not anyone was staring at her or whispering something about. Instead, she enjoyed the blissful anonymity the club offered and the lingering effects of the joint the two of you had shared on the ride over in your town car.

At first, the two of you traded off dancing with the endless rotation of club-goers in your vicinity. It was only after Lena left to grab another round of drinks and returned to see a rather enthusiastic young woman practically wrapping herself around you that the energy shifted. As the two of you locked eyes, you smirked and arched an eyebrow. The dark-hared CEO's gaze hardened as she weaved her way closer and closer, watching the way your hands gripped the other woman's hips and helped to guide her movements.

"Mind if I cut in?" Lena's voice was just barely audible above the music, but her expression got the message across loud and clear. Your dance partner disappeared into the crowd with a reluctant parting glance your way, but you had already fixed your eyes back onto Lena.

"Thanks," you mouthed, taking one of the drinks from her hand and gulping at least half of it down. By the time you lowered your head and swallowed the overpriced whiskey and Coke, Lena had dropped her last bit of restraint and closed the distance between you.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the night escalated quickly between the two of you and it wasn't long before you were on your way back to your apartment, struggling to keep your hands off of one another in the back of the town car that had dropped you off. As the drive finally turned down your street and began approaching your block, you used one hand to fish your keys and a few hundred dollar bills out of your pocket.

"Take tomorrow off, Jim," you said, glancing at your driver apologetically. You separated yourself from Lena's touch just long enough to place the money in the passenger seat. "Sorry for the late night."

"Thank you, Ms. Y/L/N, it was no trouble at all. Have a good rest of your evening," the man responded, knowing the two of you would likely scramble out of the back before he could get around to open the door for you. To his credit, the moment the car came to a stop you did exactly that. Jim watched until the two of you made it safely into the ritzy apartment building, then pulled away to begin his well-deserved time off.

--------------------------------------------------------------

To be honest, you had already considered the night a success by the time you were turning the key in your apartment door. Although your status and reputation with a fair amount of women in Gotham certainly gave you reasons to be confident, you had not deluded yourself into thinking Lena Luthor would fall for the same song and dance just as easily. You were just hoping to crack the first few lines of defense to see what was laying beneath that oh-so-serious exterior.

"Well, this is it," you announced, opening the door into the large condo that you had called home for the past year. Although the dwelling was by no means modest at first glance, the real main attraction was the spacious vault below the living space.

"Very...dark," Lena noted, glancing around at the lavish, dimly-lit space. "And somehow exactly what I was expecting."

"Oh, does that mean you've imagined me bringing you back to my apartment, Ms. Luthor?"

Lena's cheeks burned at the teasing accusation and she suddenly felt very, very self-conscious under your gaze. Despite the alcohol in her system, she was clear-headed enough to know that she had broken just about every rule she had set for herself before coming to Gotham yesterday. And now here she was, alone with you in your apartment, trying to ignore the subtle heat throbbing between her legs.

"No comment," the brunette responded, knowing you had probably heard that at least once a day your entire adult life. "Besides, you're the one who approached me tonight. I planned on turning in early and ordering room service at the hotel."

"I did, didn't I? Well, what can I say?" you shrugged, turning towards the hallway that led to your den. "I have a hard time not going after what I want, if you couldn't tell."

Lena followed you down the hall, fighting the burning feeling in her cheeks once again because of your words. For someone who spent a majority of her time in boardrooms verbally sparring with others, she was having a hell of a time keeping up with this conversation. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction of seeing her sputter for a response, the CEO decided to use your blunt approach right back at you.

"And what is it exactly that you want from me?"

"Oh, that's easy. I wanted to see what was behind that tough Luthor exterior that everyone else seems so threatened by. After so many years hearing the rumors and reading the headlines, I just needed to see it for myself," you said, reclining into a nearby sofa. Lena felt something twinge in her stomach as you stretched out and your shirt lifted slightly, exposing your hips. She froze for a second as her brain debated sitting beside you or following the more carnal urge she felt to climb on top, pin you down, and wipe that stupid smirk off your face.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

That was the smart-ass straw that broke the camels back that night. Lena closed the distance between the two of you faster than you were expecting, and for the first time all night she finally got the upper hand, albeit only for a brief moment. Her lips crashed against yours, needy and desperate from the tension that had been building since the two of you left the conference hotel hours earlier. You met her with equal intensity after the few seconds of shock passed and just as she settled into her spot on your lap, you made your move and flipped the two of you so that she was underneath.

"Fuck," Lena gasped as you pinned her against the sofa and hovered over her, watching her reaction to the surprise change in position. Something about the way she was looking back up at you let you know that your gut feeling had been right - Lena Luthor, despite all her prowess and reputation, had quite a submissive side.

"I always wondered what you would look like from this angle," you mused, cupping her face in one of your hands and tracing your thumb lightly across her cheek. To her credit, Lena forced herself to hold your gaze despite the way it was making her heart hammer in her chest. Testing the waters, you briefly brushed her bottom lip with her thumb and watched as her mouth opened slightly in response.

"Good girl," you encouraged her, then sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as she opened and wrapped her lips around your thumb, tongue swirling against it inside her mouth. God, she was good with her mouth.

Removing your hand, you leaned down to kiss her again, reveling in how easily her lips moved in sync with yours and the sound of her heavy breathing in the dark room. As another minute or so passed, her hips pressed up against yours in a desperate bid for pressure in the place she wanted it most. And while it wasn't usually in your nature to give into things so easily, there was something about Lena that made you feel uncharacteristically desperate to please. When she reached up to guide your hand towards the zipper on the side of her dress, you didn't bother making her say "please" before undoing it and helping her to free herself from the designer garment.

"God damn," you muttered breathlessly, eyes surveying the newly exposed porcelain skin. "Look at you."

"Your turn," she challenged, staring up at you expectantly. If you hadn't taken quite so many shots back at the club, you might have remembered to make up an excuse for keeping your shirt on to hide the recent evidence of one of your vigilante escapades. Unaware that Lena could now see the half-healed bruises that marred your torso, you shrugged your dress-shirt off and tossed it to the side. It wasn't until you noticed her eyebrows furrow in confusion that you realized your careless mistake.

"Oh, these? I started taking some self-defense classes last month and as you can see, I have a bit to learn," you explained quickly, hoping that Lena was distracted enough by your body not to question it. To your relief, she seemed to accept the explanation easily enough once you started unbuckling your belt.

"I suppose I'd probably be interested in self-defense classes too if I lived in Gotham," she replied and sat forward on the couch. Goosebumps rose across the bruised flesh on your stomach as her fingertips brushed the skin above the waistband of your underwear. "Need some help with these?"

You nodded and allowed her to slowly slide the briefs down your legs to the floor. What you were not expecting was for her to follow, positioning herself on her knees at your feet. Her hands trailed back up your legs slowly, coming to rest on your hips. You didn't know it, but Lena was practically salivating at the thought of what you would taste like and what kind of noises you might make if she leaned in and flicked her tongue between your legs. Despite how badly she wanted to see that reaction for herself, the brunette forced herself to settle with a few light kisses on your inner thigh to start with.

Even that got quite a reaction out of you, and the CEO couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her lips as your eyes fluttered shut and your jaw clenched. As she worked her way closer to your groin, she felt the muscles in your legs tighten in anticipation and savored the reaction the way she had savored you calling her a good girl earlier. Your hips rolled forward as she finally pressed her lips against your cunt and sucked your clit into her mouth.

"Fuck, Lena," you groaned, one hand coming down to brace yourself on her shoulder while the other tangled itself in her hair. Her tongue found a slow, steady rhythm as it slid back and forth across your clit and you were powerless to stop your hips from thrusting forward to meet each stroke. "Oh my God, you feel so fucking good."

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the sheer fact that you had one of the most powerful women in National City down on her knees for you, but it wasn't long before you were struggling to keep your legs from buckling.

"I'm close," you panted out, bucking against her desperately as she lapped between your legs. Her pace didn't falter despite the way the string of moans that followed the admission made her ears burn. Lena's hands slipped from your hips to your ass, massaging the soft flesh and guiding your movements against her as you started to climax. Her green eyes glanced upwards to study your features as a string of nearly incoherent curse words spilled from your lips, intermixed with your ragged breathing.

Lena leaned back to rest on her heels, knees burning from kneeling on the hardwood floor, and wiped her mouth as you opened your eyes and fought to catch your breath. Despite the way your legs still quivered from the aftershocks of the orgasm she had just given you, you pulled the woman to her feet and kissed her, tasting yourself on her swollen lips.

"What do you want?" you murmured, pulling back just enough to utter the question. Lena looked hesitant for a moment, as if she knew the answer but didn't want to admit it. You waited, watching her squirm at the idea of having to vocalize her desire.

"Do you have a strap?" she asked finally, her voice low and slightly raspy from having to shout over the deafening music at the club.

"I do," you nodded, trailing a few of your fingertips up and down her side. Despite how dark the room was, you swore you saw her pupils dialate at the answer. "What exactly do you want me to do with it?"

She huffed in a mix of frustration and embarrassment, but the gnawing desire in her groin was too much to bear.

"I want you to fuck me, please," she hissed, practically dizzy to feel you inside her.

"That's all I needed to hear. I'll be right back," you relented, satisfied with her answer. Leaving her in the den, you took your time on the way to your bedroom and used it as an opportunity to fully catch your breath. The adrenaline flooding your system tonight was better than anything a night fighting crime in Gotham could compare to, and you did your best to keep your hands from shaking as you rooted through your nightstand drawers for your harness and a bottle of lube.

Well aware that Lena was perceptive enough to notice you fumbling with the straps, you saved yourself the embarrassment and elected to put the harness on in your bedroom before heading back to the den. As you rounded the corner in the hallway that led you back to her, you caught sight of the way she had already positioned herself for you on the couch and your pulse began to race again.

"You desperate little thing," you teased, admiring the way she looked on her hands and knees, back arched for you. She had also shed her underwear, allowing you to see all of her for the first time. Lena didn't turn her head back to look at you, but you noticed the muscles in her arms flexing in anticipation as you came to a stop behind her.

Lena stifled a moan as you kneeled behind her on the couch and reached around to shove a hand between her legs. She was practically dripping for you, heat radiating from the slick folds as you rubbed her clit in circles.

"Y/N," she whimpered, grinding back against your hand and feeling the tip of your strap-on poking against her entrance. Rather than beg, Lena reached back with her hand and guided the toy into herself as you watched in a mix of amusement and pure arousal. Too turned on to deny her any longer, you gently thrust into her and then paused, allowing her a moment to adjust.

Lena gasped as you entered her fully, dropping down onto her forearms and sinking her nails into the fabric of the couch.

"Oh my God," she whimpered, grinding back against you and the toy. The brunette bit into her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood to stop herself from saying anything else as you started to thrust in and out of her. She managed to contain herself at first, but as your pace quickened and each stroke felt deeper than the last, her last bit of restraint melted and her moans echoed off of the walls of the den. Eventually, her hand replaced your own between her legs and she rubbed her clit in furious circles as your hips slammed against her ass relentlessly.

"Harder," Lena choked out between sounds of pleasure. Always happy to oblige that request, you snagged a throw pillow from nearby and shoved it under her hips. The heiress hardly had time to react before you you drove her down flat against the cushions, pinning her to the couch beneath you with renewed vigor. Her free hand reached around to grasp at you, fingernails digging into the flesh on your forearm as you buried yourself into her over and over again.

"Oh my God, please don't fucking stop," she choked out, burying her face into the expensive sofa to stifle a ragged series of moans. "I-I think I'm going to come."

"You're gonna come for me, huh? I better hear my fucking name when you do, Lena," you grunted, catching her by surprise with a quick smack across her ass.

"Mmhmm," she whimpered as her orgasm continued to build. "Fuck, I can't...I can't, oh my God, Y/N."

Seconds later, the dark-haired woman was unraveling beneath you, hips bucking wildly back against your own as her walls clenched around the strap-on. As the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, you waited for her grip to loosen on your arm before slowly pulling out of her and rising to your feet to free yourself from the harness.

"Goddamn," you panted, stepping out of the strap-on and setting it aside. "You are...something else, Lena Luthor."

The brunette rolled over, a bashful smile spreading across her flushed features as her chest continued to heave up and down.

"I could say the same thing about you," she replied, watching as you pushed your sweat-soaked hair back out of your eyes to see her better. As you did, she caught sight of a small tattoo on your wrist and as soon as you noticed, you felt your stomach lurch.

"What's that?" she asked, standing up off of the couch and reaching for the wrist you were now holding behind your back.

"Oh, that?" you stammered out, unable to hide the nerves in your voice. "Just a stupid little thing I got done with my roommates in college."

Lena didn't buy it for a second. She had spent almost an hour helping Kara pick through images of the Gotham vigilante for her article earlier in the week, and as a result, she knew damn well she had seen the same symbol poking out from under their sleeve in at least 4 different photos.

"Is that so? You know, I think one of your old roommates just might be the vigilante that's been running around lately. Is that why you started taking self-defense classes? Planning on joining her?"

"Fuck, fine, you caught me," you gave in, panic flooding your chest. Lena wasn't exactly the type of person you could bribe to keep a secret. "Please don't tell anyone. I'm still figuring this shit out and I just need a little time to work out the kinks-"

"Y/N, relax," Lena dismissed your concerns with a wave. "Remember what I told you earlier? Everything is off the record tonight. As long as I don't have to worry about you sharing anything about tonight, your secret is safe with me."

"Deal," you nodded eagerly.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

His lips twitched with a smirk, his face clearly displaying humor despite his eyes being covered by a mask. Head tilted cockily, he seemed to be studying you, maybe evaluating whether you should be in a psych ward.

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, her phone’s display lit up, a new message appearing on the lock screen. An anonymous message in a chat board she frequented–one dedicated to opinions about Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, Daredevil. 

When she joined the board, she was solely intending to be a spectator. Unfortunately, the internet made it easier for trolls to share their bullshit opinions. Call the vigilante a threat to justice. Say that he should be put down. There was only so much she could handle before her blood boiled over and she sent her responses. 

These days, she was a pretty active poster. She rarely received private messages though, so the notification set her on edge. 

Hesitantly tapping the glowing bubble, she held her breath as it opened. No context, no identifying information, just two bizarre sentences that she was not prepared for.

“I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

[burntheedges]

hold me like water

Marcus Moreno x f!reader | 2.9k | 18+ | ao3

summary: Marcus is a ball of nerves, just waiting for you to come home.

a/n: this is my late submission to @wannab-urs' Dom that Middle Aged Man Campaign! Sorry again for being late. I had something different planned originally but this week it turned out what I needed was something a bit softer. Maybe you could use something a bit softer, too? Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta-ing and Gin for taking a look. 🧡 (also yes, I'm still behind on replies, but I will catch up. love y'all)

tags/warnings: dom!reader, sub!Marcus, established relationship, established dom/sub dynamics, bathing together, acts of service?, subspace, a very intense handjob, restraining (with your body), (1) bite, referenced orgasm control, pet/dynamic names (from reader: baby, baby, my man; from Marcus: love), I named Miracle Guy Rob just for fun

...

Marcus is fidgeting again. He can’t seem to make himself stop. There’s a buzzing under his skin, a tension he can’t seem to shake.

She’s been away for 10 days, and he’s not sure how he’s going to make it to 12.

Two more days, he tells himself as he wakes up his computer and finds too many emails – and decisions – waiting for him. Barely 60 hours, he bargains as he doesn’t let himself pour a third cup of coffee, knowing it’ll just keep him awake. Only two more nights alone, he promises himself as he takes off his shoes in his empty house, too quiet with her out of town and Missy at school. 

“Less than 48 hours,” he answers when his phone rings.

“Hello to you, too, babe,” she laughs, and Marcus feels something inside of him settle at the sound of her voice. The buzzing under his skin quiets to a low hum. 

Soon.

…

You want to groan aloud as you step off the third – and final – plane, ready to be done with travel for a long while. You’re tired and all you’ve thought about since you stepped foot into the first airport this morning, hours ago, was getting home. To him.

Two weeks is far too long to go without the man you love.

You make your way to baggage claim and let your mind wander to the anticipation of being home. You picture it – walking in the front door to find Marcus waiting for you, arms open, expression soft. You smile to yourself as you step off the escalator.

When you turn, you almost freeze at the unexpected sight that greets you. A smile grows across your face as you rush forward.

Marcus is standing by the baggage claim area, grinning. He looks as handsome as ever and like home and you’ve never been so happy to see anyone in your life.

You drop your carry-on next to his feet just before you throw your arms around his shoulders. His arms wrap tightly around your waist as you fall into each other.

“Babe,” you say, smiling. “I thought you couldn’t pick me up.”

Marcus’ face is buried in your shoulder and you feel him nuzzle into your neck. He sighs. “I canceled my meetings. Couldn’t wait another minute.” He squeezes you tighter and you press a soothing kiss into his hair.

“Missed you too, babe.” You let yourself sink into his arms until you hear the announcement that the bags from your flight are arriving on the belt. You pull back slowly. “Come on – all I’ve been thinking about today is being home with you.”

When you finally meet his eyes and really look at him, though, your breath catches. That’s your Marcus, you know him better than you’ve ever known anyone. You can read him like a book. And right now he looks like he hasn’t rested or slept at all in two weeks. You haven’t seen dark circles like these since the time Missy got the flu and scared everyone, a couple of years before she went to college. Before you lived together. You think back to what he said – he couldn’t wait another minute – and you feel your heart start to beat a little faster.

“Marcus? You didn’t tell me–”

He smiles, rueful. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You step closer, mindful of the crowd moving around you. “Hey. Baby, no. You’re mine to worry about. Right?” Your voice dips a bit lower, and you see him shiver in response. 

“Right,” he agrees, and when you meet his eyes again the emotions in them tug at your chest. He sighs. “I haven’t been sleeping well. And work…” he trails off and shrugs. “Rob was out because the baby was sick, and it was a lot. And fuck, I just missed you so much.” He smiles but it looks more sad than anything and it hurts to look at. You need to get him home. All you want is to get this man home where you can take care of him. You know just what he needs, and just what you need, and the knowledge settles in your chest, warming you. You cup his face in your hand and the way he leans into it tells you just how right you are. 

When you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips you hear the low noise he makes in the back of his throat and you know. We need to hurry. 

“Come on,” you say, reaching down and lacing your fingers together as you step away. He grabs your bag and starts to walk with you. “We need to get you home, baby.”

He nods, already looking more at ease as he lets you lead him forward. “Yes, love.”

…

You keep a firm grip on Marcus’ thigh the entire drive home. He tells you more about what really happened at work while you were gone, and you can feel him opening up to you like a flower in the sun as he lets you start to take care of him. By the time you pull up at the house, the tension in his spine has started to disappear.

After you turn off the car you scan him with a careful eye. His shoulders are looser, his expression more open. Good.

“Marcus. My handsome, wonderful man. I’m going to take care of you. Alright, baby?” He nods, and you smile as you run your fingers through his hair gently. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. But you can’t hide things from me, not like this.”

He nods again, and you can see the regret in the lines of his face. “I won’t. I’m sorry, love.”

You hum, thoughtful. “This was my first long trip in a while. We’ll do better, prepare better, if it happens again. Together. Ok?”

Marcus smiles softly. “Ok.”

“Alright.” You can hear the change in your voice, and you know Marcus hears it, too, when he straightens slightly in his seat. “Now, I want you to take my bags inside and then head up to our closet. Go inside and take off those clothes and find something more comfortable. Don’t put them on yet – take your time, and meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes.”

Marcus lets out a deep breath that seems to lift the weight of the time you’ve been away off his shoulders. “Yes, love,” he breathes, and you smile as he immediately starts to do as you said.

You step out of the car and hurry to the door – you only have ten minutes.

By the time Marcus steps inside the bathroom holding his softest clothes and wearing nothing but his underwear, you’re ready for him. You’ve filled the large bath with hot water and oils in the scents you know he likes best. The lights are low, the towels are ready, and you stopped by the kitchen for water and snacks. You’re sitting on the edge of the tub, still dressed, waiting.

“Put those down, baby, and come here.”

He does, and then moves to stand in front of you. You let your eyes trail over his bare chest and legs, appreciative as always. You know he can see it in your expression when you meet his eyes again. He’s flushed, looking pleased.

You stand, slowly, and gesture him closer. “Help me undress,” you say, voice low. “I need to wash off all that travel.”

He quirks a small smile at your words, and you know he’s remembering all the times you’ve said that before, here in this room with him.

“Of course, love,” he murmurs, already moving to do as you asked. He doesn’t rush. He lets his fingertips brush against you as he slowly undresses you, and you sink into the sensation of being there with him.

Soon enough you’re standing bare before him, and his appreciation is obvious. It makes you smile, and he blushes. 

You step into the bath, Marcus’ hand immediately coming up to steady you. As soon as you’re situated against the wall, you gesture him forward. He kneels next to the tub, so quickly you feel warmth growing in your chest. You reach out to brush your fingers across his cheek and he turns into the gesture, making you smile again.

“Help me wash.”

He nods, and you can see him sinking into the familiar motions. He reaches for the soap and a cloth and begins eagerly. You have done this together so many times, you move together easily. He lifts your arm and you turn towards him, watching as he carefully and attentively washes every bit of you that he can reach. He’s so focused on his task that it becomes almost meditative, and you can see him starting to slip into that space you know he needs, held completely within your control. His body begins to forget his stress – his shoulders relax more with every movement. Every gentle pass of the cloth relaxes you, lets you sink deeper into the moment you’re building together. 

Eventually Marcus guides you to stand and, after paying the same attentiveness to your legs that he did to the rest of you, moves to drain the tub. It refills quickly, and as it does you hold out your hand to him.

“Join me,” you say, and he does. You sink into the fresh hot water again and lean against the wall of the tub. You guide him to lean back against you, between your legs. The warmth of him is so familiar, and so missed, you can’t help but wrap yourself around him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder and you feel the remaining tension start to leach out of him into the hot water that surrounds you. You nuzzle behind his ear and smile when you feel him shiver in response. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur, pressing a kiss behind his ear. “You’re so good at that.”

He stretches a bit, pleased, but you can tell he’s amused. “At bathing?”

“Yes,” you agree, sincerely, “but particularly at doing as I ask. My wonderful man.” Marcus relaxes further into you at that, and you smile again. “Now, hands on the side of the tub, please,” you say, and he immediately complies. “Rest your hands comfortably, no need to stretch. Good?” He nods and you notice his eyes have fallen closed. Good. “Keep them there, baby. Until I say.” 

“Yes, love,” he murmurs, and you hear in his voice that he has let go of everything outside of this room. He’s just yours, now, and you’ll take care of him.

You run your hands lightly down his sides and watch his sharp intake of breath. You hum as you trail your fingertips up his chest, tracing swirling designs across his skin under the hot water. “I missed you,” you say, lips brushing against his ear. His grip tightens around the edge of the tub. “I missed talking with you, and waking up next to you, and sleeping by you at night,” you continue as your hands press more firmly against his chest and arms. You can see his interest, which had flagged a bit as he washed you so attentively, start to grow again under the water. “I missed taking care of you,” you whisper, wrapping your left arm around his upper chest firmly and squeezing. “And I missed how perfectly you fall apart under my hands... My handsome man.” He moans, softly, and you slide your right hand down, smoothly, right to where you both want it. 

You wrap your hand around his cock, gently, and begin to tease at his length. He’s already hard, and you feel his breath catch at your touch.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” You pump his cock slowly as you ask.

He shakes his head before burying his face in your neck.

“No? I told you you could.” You’d known, though, that he wouldn’t.

“No,” he says, and his voice is low and soft. “I didn’t want… not without you.”

You smile and press a kiss into his hair. “My sweet man. I don’t want you to neglect yourself.”

His hips twitch forward as you move your hand smoothly down and back up, teasing around the head. Your pace is so slow it’s barely a pace at all, and you know the anticipation will send him falling steadily downwards and inwards until he’s limp in your arms.

“I wanted you,” he gasps, and you wrap your arm tighter around his chest. “It’s always better with you.” You admire the strength in his arms and his back as he wrestles against himself, keeping his hands firmly in place on the sides of the bath. It’s beautiful.

You file away a thought about how to handle this, if you have another long trip – phone sex, probably. And the thought sends a tingle of anticipation down your spine.

“I always want you, baby,” you murmur, squeezing a bit tighter and moving just a bit faster. He twitches gratifyingly in your grip. “Now let me take care of you, hmm? You can let go, now. I’ve got you.”

Marcus sighs and somehow curls even more snugly into your arms. You start a slow and steady pace and feel his heart rate increase in his chest. 

“That’s it,” you whisper into his ear, pressing a kiss just in front of it. “My handsome man, relax for me, hmm?” You move just a bit faster and feel his hips thrust forward. “You’re so beautiful like this, baby. So perfect for me.” When you twist your hand around the head of his cock, Marcus whines, softly, and you smile. “You love me so well, Marcus,” you say, softly, and he gasps. “You’re so good, baby. So good for me.”

You move your hand faster, grip his cock tighter, and the sound he lets out is almost like a sob. He has a vice-like grip on the sides of the tub and you wrap your legs around his, holding him down and in place. Marcus’ chest begins to rise and fall more swiftly with his unsteady breaths and the water of the bath moves choppily around you. 

You press a soft line of kisses up his neck. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, baby,” you say, voice firm. “Now.” You bite down on his shoulder, and with a sharp exhale, he does.

Marcus’ body goes tense as he moans your name, and you feel his release overcome him completely. You pump your fist two, three more times, and then he goes completely boneless in your arms.

You release his cock, wrapping both arms around his chest, pressing soft kisses all along his neck and shoulders. “Yes, Marcus,” you praise, “that was so beautiful, baby. You did so well.”

He says your name again, softly, and you tighten your arms around him. You know he’ll need a few minutes to come back, to swim back upwards through the pleasure and relaxation and release. “I’ve got you, baby.” Your voice is low, meant just for him. “Take your time.”

You whisper and murmur soft praises to him as he drifts, and you feel his arms twitch as he starts to come back to himself. The water is still warm, but you know you’ll need to get out soon. Slowly, you release your hold on him and smooth your hands along his arms. You carefully encourage his hands to let go of the sides of the tub, gently massaging his palms as he does. 

When he sits up slightly and turns to look at you, you smile. “Hello there,” you greet him, and he smiles back.

This Marcus is so different from the one who met you at the airport. He looks well-rested, with all the cares of the world lifted from his shoulders. His brow is soft, his eyes warm as he looks at you. The soft smile that plays at his mouth is so handsome it takes your breath away.

“Hello, love,” he says, and leans in to kiss you. “Welcome home,” he murmurs against your lips, and you smile.

“Thank you,” you say between kisses. “Next time, we won’t let it get that bad, hmm? And you’ll talk to me. And tell me the truth.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, love. I promise. I got so lost in my own head. All I could do was wait for you to come back.”

You run your hand through his hair gently, before bringing it down to rest against his cheek. “We’ll talk about it later, alright? But I think I know how I want you to show me just how sorry you are.” You let a bit of teasing enter your voice, but you know he knows you’re serious.

He leans into your hand. “Anything, love,” he breathes, and his desperation to please you makes you smile again.

“Well, baby,” you tighten your grip on his hair and smile when he gasps and leans into it. “I’m going to go lay on the bed, and you’re going to dry off and meet me there.” You kiss him and nip softly at his bottom lip. “And then you’re going to make me come with your mouth as many times as I want until I tell you to stop.”

He shudders in expectation and smiles. “Yes, love,” he breathes. He watches, wide eyes tracking your every move as you stand from the tub. “Please.”You smile and lead him towards the bedroom. My perfect man.

...

a/n: thoughts? lol

[dearmariposa]

One Night Stand | pt 1

Buzzed. oh, you're absolutely buzzed. The resonating throb of the bass pulses within, dazzling lights paint kaleidoscopic patterns across your vision. The scent of alcohol and sweat fills the air, as the hem of your dress flirts with rebellion, rising with every fleeting opportunity. The night, undeniably, is in its youthful embrace.

As the echoes of your heels gently resonate through the crowd, you realize you've lost your friends. Perhaps one is entwined in a gratifying exchange, savoring the taste of passion, while the other might be surrendering to the merciless shots of tequila, expelling every drop consumed over the past three hours. Despite your own senses dancing on the edge of a cliff right now, you're still eager to find both of them and finally leave this place. Now that you reek of cologne, sweat, cigarettes, and every possible pungent scent to ever exist for mankind.

Stumbling, you make your way towards the bathroom. Retrieving your cell phone, revealing the ungodly hour – 1:48 a.m. "Fuck, talk about starting the new year right huh?" A muttered exclamation escapes your lips. With your phone pressed against your ear in a desperate attempt to call for your friends, the void of unanswered calls becomes the soundtrack to your fleeting optimism. After several calls, you abandon the idea of going home and walking out of the bathroom, squeezing yourself through the line as faint alarming noises are heard from the men's bathroom. Low grunts followed by whispered moans.

Seated at the bar, your feet aching, downing another shot of God knows what, given by the bartender, you made your way back to the dance floor. You find yourself dancing to the rhythmic pulse of the music in an attempt to let loose and forget all the stress and depravity rotting inside you for the past year. Besides, when else would you have the chance to unleash yourself, it's a rare occasion.

In the hallowed whispers of nightlife, there's truth concealed from youthful ears and its intoxicating rendezvous. Another truth kept concealed is the magic of alcohol and how much it can alter a person. Your dress strap delicately slips, blush blossoms on your cheeks, the warmth of intoxication coursing through your veins. An unfamiliar silhouette converges, pressing against yours, setting aflame a burning sensation between your thighs.

Moments stretched into an embedded memory until a low breath brushed against the curve of your neck. Instant shivers shot down your spine, a rising blaze of sensation. His face and form remained veiled in the shadows, yet you found yourself immersed in the depths of his essence, a scent that enveloped you, clouding your consciousness. Perhaps it was the music or your pounding headache, but you loved it, the intoxicating chemistry between you and this handsome stranger, you wanted more. No. You yearn for more.

His hands traveled every inch of your figure, from one place to another until they reached the bottom of your stomach. At that moment, a silent alarm echoed within – a code red pulsating in your thoughts. Amidst the haze of your fading senses, you discern that this will only lead to 2 roads. One is the possibility of this man being remarkable in bed. Two, a dismay of regret, a potential aftermath of chlamydia. Where strands of regret may intertwine with your hair in the week to unfold; and he’s horrendous in bed.

Yet, what recourse does a woman, starved for affection, possess in such situations? Certainly not the ability to make sound decisions. Thus, with vanishing sanity, you moved, turning your gaze only to encounter the man with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. His features blurred in the throbbing lights, whether a trick of the strobes or your own lack of sobriety remains uncertain. All that is certain is his towering figure, eyes sharp like obsidian or perhaps the hues of oakwood, lips naturally tinted in rosy plumpness, a nose bridge sculpted to envy, and hair as luscious as the depths of his eyes. A vision so enticing unfolds before you. Your heart quickens its pace as he, suddenly speaks. “Didn’t realize you were sober enough to drool over me like that, princess.”

In mere moments of his voice, you transitioned from drunk to tipsy. Awareness heightened, yet self-evasively distant. His presence lingered in your thoughts, the idea of him inches deep inside you occupying your mind, especially when your bodies entangled, the trail of his cologne weaving a seductive spell. “It would be a shame to waste a face like yours, sir,” you uttered, your arms wrapping his neck, causing his grasp to rest on your waist. Familiar butterflies fluttered with each passing heartbeat. As lips hovered in proximity, you sensed his breath, his hold on your waist intensifying, tension escalating between the two of you. This isn’t supposed to be a game of self-restraint, where the person who kisses the other would lose. But now that it has come to this, it is rather thrilling.

“My place is around here.” You offer a devil’s invitation to this enigmatic stranger who has been undressing you with his eyes for the entire night. You’ve lured him. You’re impatient. You’re ready to turn the city into a backdrop, to a night of forbidden passion and let the moonlight reveal secrets that were meant to stay hidden. Secrets like the image of how you’d like this man to ruin you. Now, all he needs to do is bring the images to life.

[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 3

(Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

I kinda want to make a playlist for this fic with all the music I mention in it. But I also work crazy hours and my writing time is my time to relax, so I don't know if I want to add something else on top of it if no one would care, ya know?

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.8k

“He started talking a little more last night.” Carly smiled after she finished giving you report, “He didn’t say much to me besides ‘thank you’ and asking for whatever he needed. Maybe you’ll be able to get more out of him, you guys seem to have really good rapport.”

“He responded very well to my sarcasm. Patient’s often don’t so it was a nice change.” You shrugged.

“Do you think he’s gonna be transferred to a step down unit?” She asked.

You nodded, “Yeah and I’ll miss him. It was nice having a patient I could actually interact with.”

Carly’s eyes widened, “What kind of ICU nurse are you? We love ‘em intubated and sedated.”

“A tired one!” You stated, “I need a few more sips of coffee and then let’s go sign off meds.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

Rooster was only slightly awake when Y/N and Carly entered the room to finish their morning sign off. They didn’t turn on the light, spoke in soft whispers, and used the glow of the computer screen as their light. He turned over groggily, as his vision cleared, he saw Y/N there. She looked so beautiful with her hair pulled back messily in a claw clip and her bright eyes quickly traveled back and forth as she compared the medications hanging on the IV pole with the computer. She moved about the space as if she owned it. Hell, with the way she’s helped Bradley the last 48 hours, she practically does own it.

“Good morning, Bradley.” She smiled down at him sweetly, “How ya feeling’?”

“Not too shabby.” His voice was still a bit raspy.

She feigned surprise, “Ah! He speaks!”

Rooster smiled up at her, “Soon you’ll be wishing I had that tube back down my throat to shut me up.”

She shook her head, “Never.”

“I see Carly removed your catheter last night.” Y/N inquired after finishing her head to toe assessment on Bradley.

He nodded, “About 2 hours ago at 5 in the morning. It was fucking awkward having someone 10 years younger than me touch my dick.” 

Y/N snorted trying to hold back a belly laugh, “I hate to break it to ya but that girl is more than 10 years younger than you.”

His face dropped in horror, “Holy shit, that’s a child!”

“She has the same license I do.” You shrugged, “She’s absolutely qualified to do what she does.”

“Unbelievable!” Rooster playfully rolled his eyes.

Y/N slightly pivoted the conversation, “You feel strong enough to get up and pee? Or do you need something to use while in bed?”

“Like a bottle?” He questioned.

She nodded, “We call it a bedside urinal but it’s the same idea.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I’ll try and get my ass up.”

“Good choice. You wanna try now?”

Bradley thought for a minute, “I mean… I probably should…”

“Alright champ, let’s do it nice and slow.” She moved his tray table out of the way.

He looked around, “Can you give a man get some privacy?”

“Not when you’re fresh off the vent. I’m not risking you falling ‘cause you have a shy bladder!” She rolled her eyes jokingly.

He grinned playfully, “Don’t go checking out my junk.”

“Already seen it and I wasn’t planning on doing it again.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“Alright Lieutenant, looks like you’re cleared for transfer down to a medical observation floor.” A different older doctor from yesterday said with his posse of residents, “Glad to see you’re on the mend.”

“Me too, sir.” Bradley agreed.

The same resident from the day before, Carl Parks looked at you with disdain, “Nurse, I’ll get the transfer orders in when I can.”

“‘Preciate it, doc.” You fired back coolly. It was cute that he thought that he’d be able to get under your skin. 

They all exited and moved on to their next patient for rounds.

“What’s up his ass?” Rooster asked you.

You smirked, “The shame of being wrong.”

He gave you a questioning look.

“He didn’t think you were ready to get off the ventilator yesterday, I challenged him on it and the attending doctor took my side.” You explained, “Guys like him hate being wrong, their egos get bruised.”

He scoffed, “I don’t know how he’s smart enough to be a doctor if he was dumb enough to question you.”

“But what if this new unit sucks?” Bradley complained as you wheeled his bed down the hall and towards the elevator.

“All hospital units suck,” you scoffed, “Except for maybe labor and delivery.”

“I’m guessing my lack of vagina means I can’t go there.”

You stopped at the elevator and pressed the button, “You’d be correct.”

“Well shit.” He chuckled.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened; you carefully pushed the bed inside.

“This is a good thing,” you pressed the 3rd floor button, “the sooner you get out of the ICU, the closer you are to going home.”

Bradley sighed, “Yeah but… I’m going to miss you.”

“Really?” Butterflies began to flutter in your stomach. 

What the hell was that? You thought to yourself.

He nodded, “Yeah, you’re the first nurse that made me feel like a human being.”

You paused, taken aback by his words. “I don’t think you even understand how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

The elevator dinged again and the doors opened to your floor.

“I mean every word.” He said as you pushed him down the hall towards the medical observation unit, “You’re a good nurse— a great nurse.”

“Wow,” you stopped at the unit entrance and used your badge to open the doors, “Thank you so much for saying that.”

The nurse that was taking over Bradley’s care interrupted your conversation and helped you get his bed into the new room. You guys did your checks, you gave her a quick beside report, and you were good to go.

You looked at Bradley and sighed, “It was a pleasure taking care of you, Lt. Bradshaw. Keep getting better.”

He nodded and gave you a soft smile, “I will. Thank you for all you did for me.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

Two weeks later

It was Bradley’s first night out since before his deployment, it felt like a lifetime had gone by. He couldn’t wait to see all his friends at the Hard Deck and show them he was doing alright. The only one who’d seen him since he was med-evaced from the aircraft carrier was Phoenix. She was the one who picked him up from the hospital after discharge and took him home. He told her all about the angel nurse he met, how she bathed him and talked to him while he was intubated, how she was by his side to talk him through his extubation, how she made him laugh, and how he hasn’t stopped thinking about her.

“BRADSHAW,” Jake “Hangman” Seresin, his best frienemy, shouted across the bar from the pool table, “as I live and breathe!”

“We weren’t sure if he was living and breathing for a second back on the carrier.” Coyote quipped.

All the men greeted each other with big hugs and claps on the back. Despite their joking in the moment, those men were terrified that they were going to lose Rooster. Hangman was on the cot next to him in the infirmary as they were intubating him. It was a nightmare, to say the least.

“Glad you’re okay, buddy.” Bob said, “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Are you sure?” Bradley questioned, “But you don’t drink.”

Bob shook his head, “Doesn’t matter, I’m just so glad you’re here.”

Phoenix lovingly patted his cheek, “Awww Bob, you really are the best of all of us.”

“Truly.” Bradley agreed.

He could’ve sworn he was going crazy. He saw Y/N. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. But to be fair, he thought he saw her everywhere. She hadn’t left his mind since the day he met her. But this time he heard her voice and her laugh in the crowd. His eyes scanned the crowded bar for a familiar face. BINGO! There sh was, waiting for a drink at the bar. With a familiar young, little blonde. Was that Carly the child?!

“Go find yourself a cute sailor or something!” He heard her say over the loud music, “That’s what I’d do if I was young and hot!”

“Y/N, shut up! You’re only 28, you’re young and hot too!” The little blonde nudged her.

Wow, she was just as beautiful as he remembered her. Though she was a little more dressed up, she still had that same calm and caring demeanor that she had every time she walked into his room in the ICU. She was wearing a tight white T-shirt and faded jeans, effortlessly beautiful.

“Oh no you don’t!” She grabbed Carly’s wrist as she tried to slip her card to the bartender who just served them their drinks.

Carly ignored her and handed over the card, “Oh yes I do! You’ve helped me so much ever since you started, I feel like I’m actually getting the hang of this nurse thing with your help. Let me treat you!”

Y/N pouted, “Fine! But no more after this!  You need to save your money for fun and adventure!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Carly saluted her like an officer.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“Absolutely not,” You cried over the music at Carly and the other younger nurses that were with you at the Hard Deck.

“Absolutely yes!!!” Another young nurse, Madi handed you a tequila shot and a lime.

You groaned, “I’m too old for this!”

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” The girls chorused.

You looked down at the tiny glass, could your stomach even handle this anymore.

“Dooooooooo it!” Carly taunted evilly.

“Doooooooooooooooo it!” Sam echoed.

You groaned, “Ugh! Fine!” And you tossed the shot back like a champ, chasing it immediately with the lime. Your face contorted, “Oof it burns.”

All the girls cheered and threw their shots back together.

Suddenly the jukebox cut, making the room fall silent for a moment. Then a couple of chords slammed on a piano.

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain

Too much love drives a man insane

You broke my will, but what a thrill

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire

Your head whipped around, wondering where the hell this piano was coming from.

“Holy shit.” Carly’s jaw dropped.

You looked in the same general direction Carly was, “Holy shit.”

“What?!” Madi asked over the loud music and singing. Many others had since joined in.

“That’s the patient Y/N fought Parks about extubating .” She explained.

You were still frozen.

“He’s kinda hot.” Sam giggled.

All you could choke out was, “That’s quite the mustache.”

Tag list:

@sarah-bear706318

Please message or comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

[fuckyeahizzyhands]

Con O'Neill interview with Awards Radar's Steven Prusakowski 😭😭😭❤❤❤

SP: Busy time of year, but, you know, starting to slow down in just enough to hang out with the family and do all the cooking for, like 48 hours and then.

Con: Are you the main cook in the house?

SP: I am the main cook.

Con: Yeah. So am I. I love it.

SP: I love it, too.

Con: It's my go to place.

SP: Yeah.

Con: Because when I left school, I trained to be a chef.

SP: Oh, wow.

Con: Briefly. Another story.Okay, let's rock and roll.

SP: Well, that passion never leaves you, I think. I think once you start, especially when someone enjoys and says, hey, I really liked your food.I hear from my daughter's friends or their parents, she loved your pasta or whatever it was, I'm like, okay, now I'm...

Con: It's the best feeling, isn't it?

SP: It is. It's wonderful.

Con: And just that kind of inherent, nurturing thing of just going into the kitchen empty handed and coming out with a meal for people is really rewarding. And I love it. It's intoxicating. I absolutely love it.

SP: Same here.

Con: Because I travel so much, I don't always get a place with a kitchen. And that's why I always try and get an apartment when I'm filming because it just gives me a place to be in my head that isn't about work.

SP: Yeah. Yeah. Well, I can talk cooking forever, but-

Con: But we should.

SP: I know we're short on time and I have a ton of questions and I won't get to all of them. So let's just jump into the series and maybe we could pick it back up. Sorry to interrupt, but I love the series. I love your character and your performance.

Con: Thank you.

SP: It's a stellar, and there's so much to Izzy that we see on the surface, but there's so much more to him beneath. How was this character originally pitched you and what did you initially want to bring to him?

Con: The thing about this character was he wasn't in the pilot. So when I spoke to David about it, there was nothing written. So he explained it in very broad terms. But then I quite like specifics when I'm choosing projects. And kind of... he brought up Salieri from Amadeus, and I really hooked into that. Now, I don't know whether we went that way with it in the end, but it was a really good hook for me because Salieri is that guy with a mission who is on the surface wanting, but is underneath something else. And I think initially, Izzy was that, but then we exploded him in several other ways and Salieri diminished to something else. But it was a good hook for me

initially to get in by thinking about Salieri.

SP: Yeah, I like it. I could see that for sure. And to start the season two. So going into that, he's a shadow of himself from this feared, intense, strong man to a broken man. And what was it like taking this character and exposing that humanity and starting to peel away some of that shield.

Con: I mean... David had spoken to me before we started shooting and explained most of the hulk to me, and I'd always played Izzy as a man who was in love but didn't know he was in love. And for me, the key into this season was a. the design, but more importantly, was the Taika's performance. To see a man that I love to be that broken and to be that vicious because of the heartbreak, it was profound for me to see what he did with Blackbeard, and it did break my heart a little bit. So the emotional journey was quite clear that at the end of the day, all hatred of Stede had left him, and all he wanted to do is fix Blackbeard, and he risks his life to do that. He literally puts himself on the line for that because, like always. And what I loved about what David and the writers did was they didn't remove Izzy from season one in season two, he's still there. And what Izzy does is about the crew. He puts his life on the line because Blackbeard is killing his crew, and he risks it all for that. But it breaks him seeing the the man he loves so fragile and broken and angry, it breaks him. So, It wasn't an easy job. It was quite a lonely job. It was quite a difficult job because it was going down that path that I knew inevitably we were going to go down. But I thought it was beautifully written. So most of what I needed to do was on the page, to be honest-

SP: -I'm sorry-

Con: I just had to throw myself into it.

SP: Excellent. And then with Izzy being broken and literally broken, he loses his leg, which is symbolic of much more. It leads to one of the most touching moments of the series, a note with four words: For The New Unicorn. What did that mean to you, and what does that mean to the character?

Con: You know, I've been talking a lot last couple of days - because I'm allowed to now - and, you know, this season is about Izzy coming out. In many ways, he comes out, but that moment, that rest, that beautiful piece of writing again, the writing, where the crew embrace him, and it just releases him. It releases him from his own concept of who he is. It releases him from his own concept of who he has to

be to be a first mate and a brilliant first mate. It released him of concept that he's alone. None of this would have been possible to Izzy pre season one, none of it. And in many ways, it's Stede that brings this into his life. Because before Stede, Izzy never thought of his relationship with Blackbeard as a loving relationship. He never thought of it as being in love. He only realizes he's in love with Blackbeard when he sees Blackbeard lose Stede. That's the only... The reveal is he's heartbroken because the man he loves is broken, and he doesn't know what to do with any of that. He's not emotionally capable. And the crew giving him the letter and calling him the new unicorn and releasing him from all the stuff that he'd done, all that pain that he'd suffered and anger that he'd raged upon them, it's a really accepting moment. So... yeah, I'm waffling a bit now, but it meant a lot, and it was a very beautiful moment to play. And I thought Andy, who directed it, directed it so...Andy was a real shoulder for me to lean on in those scenes, because a lot of those early scenes I'm shooting on my own. And it's quite difficult to play an emotional narrative when you're on your own, because it tends to just be one tone. And he was wonderful, and Alyssa and Alex and all. They were all wonderful in helping me gauge those moments, as were the rest of the cast. But, yeah, that moment touched me enormously.

SP: You know, you have this love triangle that is never really spoken, but it's there.

Con: Yeah

SP: Then it kind of shifts - it's almost like a love square. It's Ed, Blackbeard, Izzy and Stede. And where the love, you know, crosses, it's all... or the hatred is at sometimes, but then it evolves...

Con: Absolutely.

SP: It's so complex.

Con: I mean we all're in contemporary language. We always associate love with romance. That isn't the case here. The love that Blackbeard and Izzy have for each other is deep, man. It's deep, and it's rooted in years of working together, loving each other, saving each other's lives, being constant. This is probably the only constant they both had in their lives, is Blackbeard is Izzy, Izzy is Blackbeard, and then they have this buffoon come in and steal Blackbeard's heart. It's not that Blackbeard falls in love with someone else. Blackbeard falls in love with this guy. This Izzy just can't comprehend, and it's a constant. And then once, I think once Blackbeard hands him the gun, everything changes. And Blackbeard says, kill yourself. Everything changes. And then there's an openness to Stede and Blackbeard that brings him to that place of acceptance-

SP: -It's great to watch also. I'm sorry. Go ahead.

Con: No, that. I mean, I'll waffle again. I'll waffle a lot, because that's what I do. But the more I think about that relationship, the more I go down all these different avenues of what it could have been, and what it could never have been, and what it is and what it wasn't. And as you say, it's layered and complex, and I'm honored to have been able to get to play with those actors, and especially with Taika, who's a profoundly good actor - everyone talks about Taika's director and writer - the man's a fucking great actor to work opposite, and he's... he's exquisite. So, yeah, I could only go where I went because the writers and Taika. Really.

SP: That's great. I... of course, we have to touch upon the end of the season and the end of Izzy, unfortunately, which I'm hoping is not. I'm hoping David has something up his sleeve. But what was your reaction when you learned it and how emotional was shooting that final scene? Because that final scene says a lot between...

Con: It was a... listen, I've been around a long time. The writing was on the wall when I started to read the scripts, and David had kind of hinted at it anyway when we went out for the famous dinner where he told me what the plan was, and I was gutted because I loved playing him so much. But, yeah, narratively, yeah, it makes sense. And I have complete faith, respect, love, admiration for David Jenkins, and whatever he thinks or wants to happen in season three will be the right thing if he gets season three, which I, whether I'm involved in it or not, I really hope he gets it, because he deserves it. And the show deserves it. The show deserves its triangle. It deserves it. But, yeah, it took a few days to sink in, and then I was fine. I was incredibly tired by that time. And I was lonely, as... really lonely because I was so far away from home filming all these scenes, and I tended to isolate when I was filming because of the nature of the work. So when I wasn't filming, I was sword training, or I was working out, or I was learning to walk on that fucking leg, or I was whatever whatever whatever. So I found myself isolating a lot. And in a way, it was a relief to be released from it. The final scene David had sent to me several weeks earlier. And I prepped, as I always do, and I prepped and I prepped and we were going to shoot at the beginning of the last week, and then it got shifted to the middle of the last week, and then it got shifted to the morning of the last day, and then it was shifted to the last thing we were going to shoot in the entire season. And there's always a dark cloud around those scenes because you never quite know how it's going to play. And there's a lot of pressure. And it being the last thing we were going to shoot, put more pressure on. And we were on the ship, which is a huge set, hundreds of crew members, the cast, everyone who could possibly be there was there. And I was getting quite unsettled by the amount of cacophony of noise and people. And then we rigged it all up, and it was still just [noise]. And then suddenly it was just me and Taika and just saying goodbye to a character we both fell in love with. And it was... it was a, I'm saying 'profound' a lot, but it was a profound experience doing that scene because everything else disappeared. It was just me and him. It was just Izzy and Blackbeard. And it was a lovely lovely moment.

SP: It was painful, but-

Con: It was lovely to be held by-

SP: -beautiful to watch.

Con: Yeah. Thank you. I mean, it's lovely to be held by another actor just... creatively and likewise with me to him. And David had a playlist playing and it was... elegant to do. It was nice to do. It was a nice, fitting ending to that chapter of this character. And I'll always be grateful that they shot it in that way.

SP: I do have to wrap. I just want to say before we do, I really enjoyed your rendition of La Vie En Rose. fantastic.

Con: Thank you.

SP: That's beautiful. And I appreciate all the work you did in the series, and I hope we see you again. And hopefully maybe you'll have a cooking show too, along the way, because I'd love to see what you make in that kitchen.

Con: Come on and let's bake together. Oh, I can't bake. I'll cook. It's lovely l ovely talking to you, Stephen.

SP: Great talking to you as well. Have a great day.

Con: Thank you. Bye bye.

SP: Thank you.

[sinon36]

Echoes of Salvation: The Deal (Part I). Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab reader  (Zombie AU)

Part II

The story starts after the dash.

Warnings: some gore, some mistakes, some bad writing (eh… we all have to start somewhere), not proof read, some independent woman surviving on her own without the need of help from men (cause I like self reliant women and people in general, they are a great inspiration to us all, really).

Disclaimer:

Dear readers,

Please be kind. This is my first fanfiction ever that I wrote and posted, so please be kind and overlook any potential inaccuracies, mistakes, grammatical errors as I’m not a professional writer and also English isn’t my native tongue. Though I have studied British English I am sure I haven’t really managed to accurately portray the British way of speaking, so please, feel free to point out anything that might poke you in the eye while reading this.

Also, I would like to tell you that this fan-fic is the love child of my obsession with our favourite masked man Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, and my love for anything zombie apocalypse or world-ending alternate universe or actual universe. Tbh If I wasn’t a poor student I would probably be a prepper, just like Frank from HBO’s TLoU. Most likely will be. I’m a little weird like that, you’ll see more in the future.

To close this little rant, I hope you’ll enjoy it, even if it’s short, I would really like to continue this if you deem it worth it enough. This will probably be a slow-burn kind of romance: 1. because I’m a sucker for the kind of slow-burn strangers/enemies to lovers fanfics, and 2. because it’s more realistic, let’s calm the whore-y instincts and be reasonable people that don’t climb masked 6-feet-tall strangers like trees.

With everything said I do not own the Call of Duty character Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley (*whispers*Though I wish I did*) BUT I do own this piece of fanfic. Please don’t steal it. Repost it but please do give credit to other people’s work. You may notice some similarities to other fanfics, cause duh, I also read a lot of that, (isn’t that one of the incipient stages to becoming a fanfic writer?), but I would really like to give a shout out to the fanfic author that really inspired me to put fingers to keyboard and a fanfic into Tumblr, please, *drum rolls* a round of applause for @nsharks with her lovely fanfic ‘Bleeding Blue’. She’s really wonderful and you should really check her out.

Have fun reading and don’t forget to leave a comment or a heart. I wouldn’t mind suggestions of what to name Simons’ daughter. That would really make my day 😊

P.S. Sorry to all the fishing loving people out there, what I said was based on my impression of the fishing experience and should be taken with a grain of salt.

            Yours truly <3

Synopsis:

It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.

You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.

One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.                     

-

The sky is cloudy above but some sunbeams break through to warm the crisp air this fine early spring morning. It’s a good time for fishing now that the water is warmer, they come closer to the bank in search of food. It’s a boring task after you arrange all your tools and launch the line in the water. It’s a game of waiting and watching for any small tugs or movement of the neon-coloured fishing line. You picked up fishing after a couple of months into moving here, when everything was a mess and so many repairs and renovations had to be made around the house. The guy from the tutorials you used to watch on YouTube talked about the calmness and relaxation fishing brought to him. Maybe you weren’t cut out to stand all day on shore and gawk like an idiot for hours at the thin plastic line submerged in the lake water. But you cannot deny the proud feeling catching a fish brought to you when the line finally went taught.

You try and ward off the boredom and instead try to focus on the warmth that spring brings after months of endless cold. The birds are singing in trees, preparing nests for future offspring, and the lake is calm, with bubbles on the surface indicating the abundance of fish. Life is good. Bellamy enjoys sunbathing next to you rolling in a patch of grass. Everything is peaceful. Nothing really happens here anyway. You close your eyes basking in the good feeling that overtakes you.

A branch snapping behind you wakes you from the meditation you have fallen into. You raise and turn from where you are crouched over your equipment. You come face to face with a strange figure.         

‘Show me yer hands’ he tells you in a thick British accent, eyes focused on you and handgun aimed at your chest. He wears all black and a haunting white skull mask. He is tall, at least 6 feet tall, body poised to kill. In his other arm, you can see a little girl hugging his neck.

You slowly raise your hands. At your foot, Bellamy growls baring her teeth at the stranger sensing danger. You shush her grabbing her by the caller to keep her from attacking the armed man. You stand still watching in apprehension as the man studies you. You look at the ground where you left your backpack and your hatchet.

‘Don’t even think about it’ comes the gruff order. You nod trying to convey that you understand the situation. ‘There’s nothing in that bag worth a bullet’ you tell him in an even tone despite fear creeping down your spine. He hums in agreement. ‘And if you wanted to kill me you would’ve done it by now.’ He watches you like a hawk its prey. ‘So…’ you pause carefully measuring your words, ‘what it is that you want from me?’ he gestures you to take a few steps back and you drag Bellamy by her collar.

He kicks at the backpack spilling the contents. A bottle of water and a half-eaten sandwich, a hunting knife, and a rectangular box in which you keep the hooks, lures, fishing lines, and other small fishing equipment. He turns his gaze back at you and nods toward your dog. ‘Put a muzzle on it or I’ll shoot it’. your blood runs cold at the thought of losing your sole companion. You scramble to untie the scarf you keep tied around your wrist that you use to wipe away sweat from your forehead. You wrap the piece of cloth around the dog’s snout tight enough to not slip away. Next, the dark-clad man tells you to pack your fishing gear and collect your backpack, with one hand keeping it outstretched to the side and the other one grabbing at Bellamy’s collar guiding her forward. ‘Move. Eyes forward. Any sudden moves and I drop you.’

He walks a couple paces behind you. For how big he is you can barely hear him walk on the path. You can feel his gaze burning in the back of your head and the gun pointed at your back. As you start down the path you can make out the roof of your small house. Once you get at the gate you stop. ‘open it’ he instructs. ‘The key is in my right pocket’ you say slowly gesturing to said pocket. ‘Mhm,’ you hear him grunt. You slowly release Bellamy and fish for the key in your jacket’s pocket. You slowly take it out and put it in the keyhole turning it and opening the gate.

The familiar sight of your front garden does nothing to appease you in this situation. Bushes full of colourful flowers hug the narrow path toward the house. The wind catcher hung above your porch clinks melodically as a gust of warm wind catches on it. you take a few more steps on the stone path before you and you hear the gate closing behind you. What once was your safe space now traps you in with a stranger ready to shoot you or worse.

‘Tie the dog to that pole’ he orders you again. On your right, there is a small pole stuck in the ground. He throws a roll of paracord next to you. You don’t move at first. You had never tied Bellamy down before. You can’t even remember when you last put a leash on her. She likes to roam free and run around. The click of the gun behind you tells you that you have no choice. You drop the backpack and start to drag her to the pole. She tries to resist but you shush her and urge her to move. Once you finish tying her you turn towards the stranger. He nods towards the house and you start walking hands raised on either side of your head. Once you open the door he urges you inside.

‘Where do you keep the medicine?’ he grumbles urgently. ’Bathroom.’ you nod to the right of your living room. ‘Go get it!’ you don’t wait around you spring toward the white door. After a couple of minutes grabbing most of what you keep in the over-sink cabinet you emerge hands filled with gauze of all sizes and different bottled pills. You return to find the man placing the girl on the couch. She appears to be asleep. You almost forgot about her. She looks about 8-years-old. Brown hair is chopped short in a pixie cut. She’s wearing blue-washed jeans and a dark green hoodie that’s too big on her.

You watch as he peels the hoodie from her limp body. Underneath she wears a striped t-shirt, but what catches your attention is her left upper arm. Red stained gauze is wrapped around. You are still in your approach keeping a safe distance. ‘Was she bit?’ the words rush out in apprehension. From where he kneels next to her his eyes snap at you. ‘No’ he denies the implication of your words. ‘Put that on the table and go sit by the door’ You do as you're told eyes darting between the girl and the man. You drop everything on the coffee table and go sit by the entrance door hugging your knees. You watch as he works on bandaging the kid. Your eyes are glued to the girl’s arm.

Even though you lived so far out into the wilderness you saw pictures on the internet of bites from the infected. You read the posts of the survivors and heard the news broadcast on all channels. Then everything went quiet. The cable didn’t work and your phone had no signal. You knew shit hit the fan and that it was serious. Then, a few weeks later you saw your closest neighbour, Neil, an elderly farmer who lived about half a mile further up the river’s bank, growling and stumbling trying to catch Bellamy who was running scared towards you. You tried to talk him out of the trance-like state but to no avail. He kept stalking towards you, ready to take a bite out of you. You tried to tell him to keep his distance and warned him that you would protect yourself. The rest was a blur. You faintly remember grabbing the hatchet that you used to cut down logs for your stove. And then the struggle with the man, Bellamy barking, you crying out pleas for him to stop. In the cacophony of noises, you hit him with the blade right in the neck. The next thing you knew, your neighbour lay in a pool of dark blood hatchet still. It took you a while to register what you have done. You just killed a man. You couldn’t forget the way he lay there, on the gravel, hands stretched outwards bloodshot eyes staring emptily at the sky. That was the first time you encountered an infected. You distinctly remember the fear and adrenaline that took hold of you. The feelings that gripped your heart so tight and that made you take a life take over you as you watch the little girl, possibly infected, unconscious but on her way to the same madness that turned Neil into a savage monster all those years ago.                                                 

'She's feverish. You got meds or something to bring the fever down?' his question brings down from your rising panic at the thought of being stuck inside with a possible infected. ‘There should be some anti-inflammatory pills and some antibiotics. They are out of date but they could still work.' He grabs hold of the med kit you brought. He sorts through the drugs checking the expiration dates. When he comes across the antibiotics, he studies the pack carefully, his eyes darting back and forth from the label to the girl. 'How much can I give her?' he asks with a hint of concern his stern facade crumbling slightly.

You look at him unsure what to say. Those pills have been bought before the start of the outbreak. You doubt expired drugs have any effect anymore. You refrain from saying that though. He is stressed, he might take his anger on you. ‘She’s a kid, you mumble, so, about half of each.’ He carefully considers his next action. ‘She’ll need water to take them, you add from down the floor. And some food…’ He nods in understanding. ‘May I?’ you don’t know why you offer this stranger help. First, he disturbs you from catching dinner, next, he threatens to kill you and your dog, now he takes over your house and medicine. But you can recognize the desperation in his look, the way he fumbles with the packaging. He is a parent trying to save his kid. Even though you don’t have any of your own you recognize the parental instincts, the same ones you exert on Bellamy.

He looks at you unsure of what to do. He surrenders in defeat and nods at you to go on. You rise to your full height, which doesn’t add up to much compared to him. You walk past them all the way to the back of the living room where you disappear behind a white door. After a couple minutes, you reemerge from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of steaming vegetable soup you made this morning. You slowly approach the couch watching him for any sign that you might cross a line. Instead of any aggression he takes a step back and allows you to go closer to the girl. You place the bowl and the glass on the coffee table and kneel next to the couch.

The girl opens her eyes and looks at you with distrust. Like father like daughter… you think to yourself. But you try to smile at her try to reassure her. ‘I brought you some soup, love’ you say in your most sincere and kind voice. ‘You must eat a little and then take some pills that will make you feel better’. You try to persuade her. She stares at you for a minute then at the man. They are suspicious of you and they have all the reason to be. You are a stranger to them as much as they are to you. Funny you are in the position to try and win their trust in your own home. You take the spoon you brought for her and dip it in the bowl. You take a spoonful and hover it close to your face blowing a little over it and then you swallow it. You can’t help the little moan of appreciation for your own cooking skills. ‘See? It’s good.’ You look at her with a small smile.

You don’t know where this came from; you blame it on the 6-foot-tall armored stranger whose stare drives daggers at the back of your head and your desire to keep your head on your shoulders and all your blood in your body. You don’t outright hate kids but you were never good around them. With a sigh, she sits upright and takes the spoon from you. She eats slowly. You keep watching her. She is a pretty kid. She has blue eyes and freckles on her small button nose. You wonder if she looks anything like the man behind you. She is pale and sweat collects on her little forehead most likely from her fever. She eats half of the soup you brought her and then turns her gaze towards the man. He hands her the two halves of the pills. She takes them in her small hand and grabs the glass. She hesitates. ‘It’s okay’ you reassure her and with a nod, she puts the half tablets on her tongue following up with large gulps from the glass. She scrunches her little nose in disgust at the chalky taste. ‘Atta girl’ you hear him utter from behind you. ‘Now lay down and rest.' he says to the girl in a stern yet gentle voice. He watches her nod and lie back on the couch her eyes half-lidded. He sighs, 'Good for now. ' he mutters under his breath. His eyes are fixed on her as he gestures to you. 'Come with me.' You rise from the floor and follow him outside the front door.

He leads you outside. When you cross the threshold, he takes a deep breath and a look of relief washes over his stern features. He gestures for you to sit on the front porch with him. 'We need to talk...' 'Yeah' you say crossing your arms defensively over your chest and standing as far away as the length of your porch allows. you take a moment to study him as he fixes you with a cold stare. You notice the many pockets on his vest and belt. A patch on his chest reads S.A.S. He's ex-military, you muse. His uniform makes much more sense now. But the mask still unnerves you.

He leans against one of the wooden porch support beams right hand hovering on the pistol holster. You think it's an act to intimidate you, to remind you that he is still armed and ready to strike you down in your own home.  You stare at him a little defiantly. You’ll be damned before you let this weirdo intimidate you on your turf. He studies you from head to boots and back up. You sigh and square your shoulders showing him you are not afraid of him. ‘I’ve been watching you.’ He tells you in a matter-of-fact tone. You try to suppress the surprise on your face. You look down at his boots avoiding his icy gaze.

He’s been stalking you, and the realization dawns on you. You didn’t even notice his presence around the house. Stupid, you think to yourself, I’m growing complacent. But not even Bellamy caught his smell and she usually barks when someone or something comes close to the house. But earlier at the lake, he took you both by surprise. He’s good at keeping his presence concealed, you have to give it to him. You nod to yourself in understanding. He probably knows the layout of your house by now, he knows you are alone, and he waited for you to be outside and ambush you. You start imagining all the horrible things he could have done to you. But no, he instead approached you, gun pointed at you, nevertheless, when he could have already killed you and taken over your house by now. You hum and make eye contact with him.

‘Why keep me alive then?’ you ask him without beating around the bush. You study his mannerisms trying to catch something, anything to prove you he’s human. But he’s as unreadable as a statue. His gaze remains fixed on you, unblinking and stoic. You feel him studying you, taking in every detail of your person. He seems intent on reading into your every move.

In an even tone, he answers, 'Because you’re not a threat.’ His response catches you off guard, ego a little bruised at that, but you can’t argue with his logic. If he wanted to, he could have killed you by now, that’s for sure. You remain silent for a moment, processing his response. ‘But that doesn’t mean I trust you.’ He adds kicking off the beam and taking a step closer to you. He looks down at you tilting his head a little like a bird of prey watching a mouse, waiting for it to give chase and make the hunt more fun. You don’t give in to the urge to run inside and hide in your bedroom. Instead, you take a step towards him and look up at him ‘Because you need me’ you speak quietly. You can imagine a raised brow under that mask. You smile in triumph; even though he acts tough he needs help and all the intimidating façade was in a desperate attempt to get it.

‘I get it’ you continue having him figured out. ‘Your kid is sick and out there dangers are lurking at every turn. You need a place to stay until she gets better.’ You finish voicing your theory on why he’s really here having this conversation with you. His eyes closed in defeat. Gotcha, you smile even more widely at your deduction. ‘You can stay, you say as you turn and walk down the three steps of your porch heading towards the gate. ‘On one condition, you add stopping in your track. You turn fully towards him and he watches you curiously as if you’d have any power to demand him anything. ‘No harm comes to me or my dog’ you say remembering his earlier threats of him offing you both. ‘Do we have a deal?’ it’s not unreasonable, though it irks you that you have to bargain for your safety with a stranger. ‘Deal.’ He says in his usual gruff voice nodding to you in sign of respect for your demand.

‘Good’ you say as you stalk off towards where Bellamy lays muzzled and tied like a prisoner of war. You free her and she jumps at you happy to be in your proximity. She must have been worried sick here all alone. Poor thing. You then go to the gate and slide the too-large bolts meant to keep any unwanted guests outside. Or inside in your case. ‘And to think nothing interesting ever happens around her, right, Bell?’ your rhetorical question is met with a bark of agreement.

[bloodhoundluke]

secrets?

pairing: luke hemmings x f!reader (fc: claudia tihan)

a/n: hello dear people! 🎀 i haven't had the time to write basically anything, so here is another instagram blurb. i love doing these, it's so fun! in this blurb, y/n is a songwriter and she is assigned to have a songwriting trip with 5sos. the fans start to speculate if luke and y/n are dating. later, luke and y/n decide to go on a vacation together. ( Y/S/N stands for your ship name).

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, 5sos and 51,054 others

yourinstagram Song camp and late night hours

View all 1,506 comments

lrhcurls97 Are they dating??? Luke what are you doing there???? Who is this girl????

cakelm1_ OMG GUYS! Michael commented 'So there the blondie still is...' and deleted it right after?? 😳

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, michaelclifford and 39,214 others

yourinstagram Mama loves u (and MISSES U)

View all 949 comments

michaelclifford Still can't get over Moose's reaction to him lol

yourinstagram Omg it was hilarious!

yourbestfriend I can tell he misses you too...he's been cryin' a lot since you left 🥺

yourinstagram Stooop 😭😭

lukehemmings Cute 🐕

lrhcurls97 LUCAS????

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, 5sos and 49,201 others

yourinstagram Thanks for this opportunity fellas. Calum, Michael, Ashton and Luke, I loved working with you guys. You taught me so much. The passion you have for this job is admirable. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Ps. And thanks for the occasional secret selfies you took with my phone.

View all 639 comments

5sos Thank you Y/N for working with us, you are so talented. We were a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes, but you tolerated it well. Love you! ❤️

calumhood Thank you Y/N, you're a literal sunshine!

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, yourbestfriend and 40, 693 others

yourinstagram This vacay got me glowin'

View all 509 comments

5saucymalum LUKE LIKED!!

yourbestfriend ILYYY BUBS 🥺 happiness looks gorgeous on you <3

5sos.updates

Liked by loveroflukey, lrhupdates and 1,894 others

5sos.updates Luke posted this on his Instagram with the text 'Love the view' and deleted it right after. It's speculated that the girl in the picture is the songwriter 5sos worked with a while ago.

View all 194 comments

lukeswildflower ALERT ALERT!! LUKE HAS A FINSTA GUYS

cashtonscherry LUKE???!!

loveroflukey i really hope she makes him happy ❤️

lukehemmings

Liked by yourbestfriend, 5sos and 706, 586 others

lukehemmings I heard vacation photo dumps are cool. The word itself is horrible.

View all 7,983 comments

michaelclifford You're ridiculous

lukehemmings C'mon man

5sosforlyf OMG THEY ARE ON A VACATION TOGETHER?? Y/N HAS TO BE THERE TOO???

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, yourbestfriend and 46, 901 others

yourinstagram Hi lovers 🤍 These past two weeks could be described in just three words: reading, sunbathing and eating. I've read so much that you just might call me the next Shakespeare (not really).

View all 719 comments

sgfg_1049 IF THEY REALLY ARE TOGETHER, LUKE IS A LUCKY MAN...LIKE WOW...i'm definitely a bisexual.

nitswdefender imagine y/n and luke reading together?? 😭😭

yourbestfriend never knew Shakespeare looked that good 🥵

yourinstagram I love youuu 😭💗💗

ashtonirwin Big love! ☀️❤️

lukehemmings

Liked by yourinstagram, 5sos and 689,024 others

lukehemmings Beer and a pretty view.

View all 6,991 comments

calumhood Enjoy the trip man!

teefsos THE TABLE IS SEATED FOR TWO????

5sos.updates

Liked by 5cashton, lrhupdates and 2,103 others

5sos.updates Luke and Y/N were spotted in Rome, Italy earlier today. Apparently they were in Greece last week and then traveled from Spain to Italy.

View all 240 comments

5cashton OMG!!!

vapory_cal I LOVE THEMMMM ❤️

saucymikey FIRST OFFICIAL Y/S/N PIC OH LORD I AM CRYING

yourinstagram

Liked by lukehemmings, ashtonirwin and 48, 183 others

yourinstagram Hi again...🎀

View all 753 comments

lukehemmings Hi 🥰❤️

y/s/n.updates THEY HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING THIS CUTE ASDFGHJKL

glitteryash my Y/S/N heart ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

lukehemmings

Liked by yourbestfriend, 5sos and 789,104 others

lukehemmings Pick the cuter winner.

View all 8,003 comments

yourbestfriend Hmmm lemme think… my bestie

yourinstagram Bby I love u 💘

5sos Definitely not Luke

yourinstagram LMAOOOOOO

lukehemmings HEYYY

a/n: ps. i just wanted to say that i came up with the usernames randomly, so if you identify yourself or something, it wasn’t intentional 🥺 hope u enjoyed this one!

© 2023 bloodhoundluke

[meowzilla93]

Fancy meeting you here! Baxter in the five years after Step 4 please!!!

We both love this man to bits and pieces, but we are also realistic

This is a jumble of my thoughts put to paper, it may not be in order but it still all matters!

ALERT: I had so much to say I needed to split this into two posts cause i maxed the character limit......

Long distance relationships are hard work, no one said this was going to be easy

The two of you are making sure to keep up that hard work, keeping up the contact, looking after each other even with the many miles between you, and supporting each other

Thing is, Baxter only has two modes – 0 or 100.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he would text you multiple times a day when you first left, because this man really did

Asking about your day, hoping you are doing well, sending confidence boosting messages, the works

If this is something you love then its all fine!

But if this is a bit much for you, or your work really cant have you being distracted multiple times day, a chat will be needed

He understands, he is a little bashful that his actioned cause this convo but he understands

Idiot he is though, pulls back a touch too much and ends up messaging maybe once a day or once ever few days

You are going to need to teach him what it means to run at 50

And over time he will understand, he just needs that patience and understanding and OPEN COMMUNICATION!!!

You alternate visits with each other, trying to do it as often as work is possible but sometimes work does get in the way and it can be months before you see each other face to face again

You are REQUIRED to be prepared to be wrapped up in a Baxter Burrito TM as soon as he sees you and you are not going anywhere for the next 24-48 business hours

I have said it before, this mans love language is physical touch, and he is clingy

He almost puts Cove to shame with how clingy he is

Being together makes him realise a lot of things about himself, and that he needs to work on some trauma that he has from his childhood, and with your support starts seeing a psychologist

The changes are slow but steady; He might not realise it himself at first, but with the activities that the psychologist recommend he do, and learning how to channel his emotions correctly, you certainly do

And you couldn’t be more proud of him! Make sure you let him know!

He is the one to drop the ‘I love you’ bomb first

It just happened, he wasn’t thinking about anything specific, it wasn’t planned

He is simply cuddled up to you, on the couch talking nonsense with a glass of wine each

You had just finished laughing at one of his ridiculous stories, and he was just staring at you as you did with hearts in his eyes

As you wipe the tears from your eyes from laughter, he moves in close, kisses your temple and with a hum, just says those three little words

He doesn’t realise it at first; You froze and slowly turned to look at him

Suddenly the gears click and WHOOF he goes bright red

But he doesn’t take it back, he just looks anywhere else but you, unable to deal with what he did, but refusing to deny it

Please put him out of his misery and say it back, or kiss his first to relax him a touch and then say it

Those dimples of his have never looked sweeter than in that moment

Its been a year, and he really wants to see you more, but you both live so far away from each other

You both have careers in your cities and he refuses to pull you away from your success

Because of this, he is very hesitant to ask you to move in with him, or even vice versa

6 months down the track, you are at his apartment again but it’s the final night you are with him

He is in such a state, its winter, he doesn’t want to let you go home and knows it’ll be a probably a few months before he sees you again because he worries about travelling conditions and wants you to be safe

As you are cuddling in bed, he holds you with such a firm grip, like he is so afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go

Whilst in that Baxter Burrito TM, he whispers gently into your shoulder “Please stay…”

He thinks it was quiet enough that you wont hear, or that you’ve fallen asleep

But you heard it

Gently you turn around, he thinks you are just getting comfortable and you look him in the eyes

MC “Ask me Baxter.”

Baxter “What?”

MC “Ask me.”

You can see all the emotions run a race in his eyes as he realises that you are asking of him

Cupping your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb he asks again, without whispering

“Stay with me.”

“Next time, I will stay.”

Elated is a far too gentle word to explain his emotion but you can guarantee he is over the moon with joy

It takes time to organise the move, after all you both had your own separate lives and now you need to figure out how to merge the two together, but you make it work

Moving jobs is also something that needs to be considered, but if you work remotely, it doesn’t even really matter

It takes around 4-6 months to sort out the move with all the moving pieces, but you two are finally together, for good

Baxter loves to dance, and having you around more means he gets to indulge in his love two fold and tries to do it as often as he can

Are you a good dancer too? If you suggest to him to join an amateurs comp, he is ecstatic! He hasn’t choreographed in years and he gets a chance to use that skill once again

If you just prefer it being the two of you, he is more than happy to keep at that, dancing in the living area, the kitchen, shower, bedroom….

He is a plant guy

You can take this headcannon from my cold dead hands

He loves being able to water them and tend to them and they just add colour to his place and warmth

It becomes one of his favourite hobbies

Be careful as this means you will need to keep an eye out for any new plants he snuck into your home

If you have a pet he is very careful to ensure that he only has plants that are pet friendly

Oh he for sure has a little corner dedicated to pure black plants, how could he not

The next year flies buy with little issue

Oh there where teething issues living with each other for certain, but you both learnt how to talk with each other so that it didn’t turn into an argument

Boundaries were set and honoured and life couldn’t be easier

He starts being a touch more nostalgic about his childhood; He has managed to make some wonderful friends and kept those relationships up but he cant help but think about the friends he left behind in Golden Grove

PART TWO WILL BE REBLOGGED WITH THIS ASK!!!

[potatoes83]

From FOX 2 Detroit - 'First Snow': State Police report 150 crashes across metro Detroit in the past 24 hours

'First Snow': State Police report 150 crashes across metro Detroit in the past 24 hours

Unsurprising, unfortunately. You would think in a state where it snows a good third of the year, people wouldn't forget how to do winter driving every freaking year. But then, and although I find myself saying "since covid", people's level of aptitude on the road has been in a steady and obvious year-after-year decline for some time.

People are way too distracted. You look at other cars, everybody is engaged with their screens. Social media and texting are not that urgent. The football man will still have won, and the cat will still be playing the piano when you reach your destination.

Also, people are way too impatient, riding everyone's bumpers so an unexpected tap of the brakes is almost a guaranteed ten car pileup.

You are navigating, give or take, two tons plus of steel at speeds the vast majority of humanity couldn't even fathom a hundred years ago. This is maybe something that one should be focused on, like more than a little bit?

My drive home yesterday was over a hundred miles of snowy bullshit, completely out of nowhere whiteouts, you're doing 65 or so, and then you're doing 20. With a lot of cars on the road, holiday travel and whatnot, and I-94 is a major truck route between Chicago and Detroit, so semis were abundant. It sucked... but it's not some kind of rocket science. Be patient. Your car will let you know if you're going too fast; you feel that little shimmy when you go over 48, OK, 48 is the speed.

Keep distance between you and the car in front of you. And above all else, read the road ahead of you. Like way ahead of you. I picked these skills up driving the salt truck; a 20,000 pound truck hauling 20,000 pounds of salt over snow and ice doesn't exactly stop on a dime. You start seeing brake lights well ahead, let off the gas. Start tapping your brakes, let the car behind you know what's up. Just focusing on the bumper in front of you, by the time they lock them up, you're already in trouble, and might get rear-ended if the car behind you isn't paying attention/can't react in time.

Shit can happen, accidents happen, sometimes, you're just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But then, there are clear and present accidents that were entirely avoidable were it not for human error. There's a reason the MSP started calling them "crashes" as opposed to "accidents". 🥔