#a slightly distant relationship. but not a negative one. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spatialwave · 29 days

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❝𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞?❞

notes: angus tully x fem!reader || college au word count: 2.2k warnings: slight nsfw, angst, arguing & name-calling

you loved angus tully. you loved him so goddamn much, but sometimes he made you want to rip your hair out and scream. the two of you were heading into your final year of university and had been dating since your second year. neither of you bit the bullet on moving in yet, but things were getting serious and you wanted to take that next step with him over the summer.

except you weren't sure if that was in his own plans. the moment you mentioned it, you felt him grow distant and cold. it was hard not to take it personally, to feel like you were taking things too fast.

was he not as interested as you? was he planning on breaking up with you? did he fall out of love with you?

these were the questions that haunted you day and night, even in those intimate moments when the two of you were hanging out at your apartment.

he was looking over a history textbook, face scrunched up as he scoured the pages as he hunched over your small kitchen table. you were sitting on the couch, a book in your hand with your eyes peering right over it and watching your boyfriend. he looked so cute when he was focused, his lips slightly pursed and fingers tapping along the wooden surface of your table.

he was so hard to be mad at, but it had been nearly three weeks since you brought up your... idea. three weeks of him distancing himself in the smallest of ways. choosing to study with his classmates or wanting to stay at his dorm over the weekend rather than with you.

you were usually a good communicator, but this worried you.

"you're staring," angus' voice broke the silence, you hadn't realized he'd been looking back at you.

your eyes narrowed further, the swarming of negative thoughts in your head keeping you on the brink of anger. it was easy to get like this when you were stressed, so looming finals were of no help.

keeping silent, you pulled your gaze onto the words on the page. however, the stepford wives was doing a horrible job at actually keeping you engaged. with a quick sigh, you snapped the book closed and your sharp gaze shifted back to your boyfriend.

god, you hated the way he was staring at you like he did nothing wrong–after weeks of feeling worried over the state of your relationship. your anger was palpable.

"did i do something wrong?" you asked, keeping cool on your tone of voice as you sat upright on the couch, soon moving to your feet. arms crossed over your chest and you kept your gaze firm.

"what?" he looked at you with a face of confusion, you could see his own guard coming up as he stood.

he overpowered you in height, but you weren't scared. you knew he would never intimidate you physically, but emotionally he was tearing you to pieces. whether he knew it or not. it wasn't your fault that you loved him with all your being.

"you've been distant for like a month now. this is the first time you've come to study at my place in over a week and you're not even sitting with me," you explained, one of your arms moving from your chest and animating your words as you spoke, "i feel like every chance you get you choose to be away from me. why?"

"listen, you're getting ahead of yourself," he warned, taking a step toward you.

"am i? it's a simple question, angus." you are steady in your voice, though, you can feel your hands beginning to shake.

"it's really not," he let out an exasperated laugh and it's that moment that sets you off. it's one of your worst flaws, when someone acts differently than your expectations it's enough to make you blow up.

"oh, come on. just tell me the truth," you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, "you don't like being around me anymore and that's okay, but don't lead me on like this."

"i never said that," he pushed ahead, taking another step as his voice rose. he hated your assumptions.

"well, that's what it feels like! if you had a phone in your dorm i highly doubt you'd answer it if you knew it was me! i've been with you all day and you haven't even kissed me!" you rambled and vented, your voice wavering as your emotions spilled.

he blinked at you a few times, but you couldn't tell what was going on in his head. you didn't give him a chance to speak.

"i just need to know what's wrong, what am i doing wrong? what can i do to fix this or is it too late?" you asked, "i'm starting to get scared about us, angus... is there someone else? another woman that caught your eye? i need you to tell me what your problem is so i can move on instead of living ever single day worried that you’re loving someone else!”

all you were doing was prying for an answer, something to ease your emotions that had begun to eat your alive. you needed to mend your breaking heart and the truth was needed to begin the process. you watched angus carefully to see his reaction, you noticed the way his brows furrowed. how his hands moved to his hips and his cheeks were red in anger.

you knew throwing that assumption at him wasn’t a healthy and communicative way to reach am answer, but these feelings had been bubbling for a long time now. you didn’t have the means to keep your bottle lid tight anymore.

a sharp exhale came from him, "oh, that's fucking rich coming from you," he spat at you loud and dramatically with a forced laugh, his arms crossing as he stared at you in a mix of fury and amusement.

"what does that mean?" you questioned defensively, you hadn't realized how loud your voice had gotten until someone banged on the wall, an annoyed neighbour. you lowered your voice and hissed in a stage whisper, "i've never done anything that should make you assume anything like that. you're being a prick right now."

"uh-huh," he breathed, unconvinced, "so when i saw you practically crawling over that douchebag from your statistics class in the library that was nothing?" you widened your eyes as he spoke, "i'm surprised you weren't fucking him then and there, so forgive me if i've been distant. i suppose i had a hard time swallowing down the fact that i've fallen in love with a girl who thinks it's okay to entertain other men behind my back!"

he had been stepping closer toward you as he ranted, his words sharp and leaving you stinging raw. his patronizing tone was hard to listen to and tears stung your eyes.

both of you were clouded over with stress and anger, riddled with worst case scenarios simply because neither of you could stomach a civil conversation. it was fear holding you two back, both of you assuming that the end of your relationship was near. that you both found love in another, someone better, smarter—more attractive.

"i need you to get out of my apartment." you tell him, sniffling as your nose got runny as you fought back tears, "i don't let men in my home who accuse me of being a slut."

"i didn't call you that–" he said, voice softening, but the frustration still noticeable.

"you implied it and that's enough, angus," your voice wasn't loud anymore as you settled into temporary silence, "i have no intention of leaving you and when i asked if you wanted to move in with you it's because you are the only person i imagine spending the rest of my life with," you say, losing your fight against the tears, "and since then, you've been avoiding me like the fucking plague!"

"i'm sorry, you know i didn't mean to," he stepped closer and you took a step back.

“out!” you hissed, pointing to your apartment door and unmoving until angus had started backing his belongings into his side satchel. you couldn’t even look at him.

you knew very well that you were both wrong with your assumptions of infidelity, there was no one involved in your lives but each other. though, you were far from the appropriate headspace to have a productive conversation and the last thing you needed was for this to end with more tears.

angus’ hand was on the doorknob when he paused, those big brown eyes of his wide and apologetic. his mouth parted to say something, but then he frowned and shoved his apology down his throat before leaving.

the sound of the door slamming echoed and you were left with a heart so fragile that it would break from a slight breeze. your apartment was quiet. you were alone and empty.

you’d only realized now that you and angus had never had an argument before. at least, not like this.

avoiding angus was difficult. anytime something came up, you had the urge to find him and tell him only to remember you were supposed to be mad at him! what kind of a boyfriend accuses you of being with another man just because you laugh at his jokes? but what kind of girlfriend accuses their boyfriend of cheating without even a morsel of evidence?

the entire situation reeked of insecurity and as much as you’d love to wait for an apology, you weren’t certain that the weight of it should be left entirely to angus. you were hurt by him, but so was he.

a week had passed and you'd just finished writing your first final exam, certain you aced it even though you'd been spending most nights crying versus actually studying. the fresh spring air soothed you when you made the trek back to your apartment, your textbooks clutched against your chest and angus' jean jacket shielding your body from the wind.

on the way home you had started creating scenarios in your head, trying to plan out your words for when you finally spoke to angus. you were so lost in your head that you hadn't heard the sounds of someone sneaking passed the front door of your apartment complex before it locked shut.

your finger pushed the 'up' button on the elevator passed the foyer and a voice coming from behind you nearly made you shriek.

you spun on your heels and saw your boyfriend, cheeks red and out of breath.

"what the hell, angus. did you run here?"

"i'm sorry," he cut you off, speaking through laboured breaths, "but yeah, i ran her, but that's beside the point," he rambled as you watched him, your eyes full of awe and heart full. you had been yearning to see him for so long now–you couldn't stay mad at him, "i was a dick to accuse you and i was an even bigger dick for not telling you what's been going on."

you let out a soft breath, "it's okay, angus, you don't have to apologize."

"i do, actually," he cut you off again, swallowing down a nervous lump in his throat as he focused on speaking between heavy breaths, "when you accused me of finding love in someone else i retaliated because it was easier to give up and end things there instead of putting everything into this relationship just for you to take my heart and smash it up into a bunch of fucking pieces," as he spoke, you could see the way the tension gave up in his shoulders, "i have trust issues if you can't tell." he let out an awkward laugh, feeling pathetic in front of you.

your eyes stung with tears again, but now for a reason that filled your heart with relief and love. the weight of the world lifted and you decided then and there that angus would be the man you would be spending the rest of your life with.

"you can trust me."

"i'll try."

when the elevator doors opened you pulled him in, arms snaking around his neck as your lips crashed into a kiss full of need and hunger. you'd never gone so long without his touch and you missed it, the way he tasted like cigarettes and coca-cola, or the way his hands always went straight to your back, hands sliding underneath your clothing because he loved the way your skin felt smooth against his hands.

"angus," you whimpered as your body rocked over his, straddling his hips as your head tilted back and exhausted eyes fixated on the ceiling. you were full of him, your body weak and tired but not yet giving in to release because you'd be damned if you'd let this moment go too soon, "i love you."

hands caressed every surface of your skin, fingertips tracing circles on your bare hips, hands massaging your breasts or wrapping around your neck.

"i love you too," angus groaned from beneath you, reaching a hand up so he could put his thumb on your chin and force your gaze down at him.

you moved slowly and effortlessly on top of him, relishing in the slowness of this moment and how perfectly your bodies moulded together. you'd never been so certain about love before as you stared down and smiled, looking into those brown eyes that pulled you in the first time you saw him two years prior.

"i trust you," he breathed out and you let euphoria consume you.

– @thekid-ofsteel sent me the best drabble ideas, though this one turned into a fic LOL. i'm not sure if i do angst well enough, but i tried. :')

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #the holdovers #the holdovers fic #angus tully fic #wordsbyspatial #dominic sessa

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jellyfiishatr · 11 months

Note

Hey I wondering if you could write (atsv) gwen stacy x reader where y/n was waiting for gwen to return with captain stacy (gwen's dad)

(Can you make it where gwen and y/n are already in a romantic relationship, if that's ok)

a/n : I hope this is okay!! Idk for sure if this is what you asked for, but I definitely hope it was (*_ _)人

☆☆☆

content : hurt/comfort / eventual fluff

☆☆☆

After Peter's passing she had become distant and less communicative. She would ignore your messages for days a time, or act as if she didn't know you in the halls. You'd try to catch her at her locker but it would always end in a, "I'm fine." Or, "I'll talk to you later about it okay." But later never did come.

Your relationship felt one-sided. She didn't mean for it to be that way but she thought if she did speak up about what had really happened all hell would break loose. You would think she's lying and run away from her, or think she had killed him like her father said spiderwoman did.

All you wanted was to be able to sit in the same room with her, and her the same.

Months passed you by as you passed by her apartment. Hoping one day it would be her opening the door instead of her father, "not here." He'd always mumble out softly. Somedays it'd seem like he never had the energy to get up, but he'd always be so calm and patient with you. He'd send you a small empty smile before watching you leave sadly.

You just hoped that she would come back and take you in her arms with a welcoming hug.

You wouldn't want her to have a big apology for kepping you in the dark, or a big bouquet for you. You'd just want her to take her in her comforting arms with a loving kiss to your forehead, telling you that everything was alright.

☆☆☆

Nighttime came and went, your alarm going off as the morning sun shone through your curtains. You shuffled in your bed, turning over to shut your alarm off with a groan. You get up with a strained groan, your throat dry as you smacked your lips.

You walked out your house making your way to her's only expecting the same as every other day. You were slowly losing hope she'd ever come back.

The sound of the elevator buttons rang through the small space, the soft radio music playing as it went up. The doors opened as you made it to her apartment floor. A sigh escaping your lips as you placed one foot after the other outside of the small space. Dragging your feet slightly against the carpeted floors.

You perk up to the sound of chatter coming from an apartment, maybe her dad had a friend over to cheer him up. You knocked against the hardwood a couple times. The chatter stopped as soft whispers were then heard, you couldn't make out what was being said but you were sure he was just telling his friend to maybe quiet down.

The door opened and you look up expecting to see the tall man to give you the sad news that she wouldn't be her today either.

Instead, you were quickly pulled into a warm embrace of a much smaller person. Their hair tickling the skin on your neck as they placed their head right on your shoulder, their lanky arms wrapping around you tightly with a happy sigh.

"gwen...?" You said softly, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you looked at her.

She pulled back from your hug slightly, nodding happily. She was excited to see you, her negative thoughts cleared as her dad had told you what happened. And him also telling her the few months you'd come by and check to see if she was there. It made her feel loved with the way you still cared even when she didn't deserve to be so seen.

You pulled her back in for a hug, pressing a quick peck to her forehead with a happy laugh.

You stay like that for a moment. Shutting your eyes as both of you just bask in eachothers presence for that quick minute. The months of grief and sorrow leaving your bodies as you melted in eachothers touch.

She was finally home.

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv x reader #gwen stacy #Gwen #Gwen stacy x reader #Gwen x reader #spider man : across the spiderverse

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randomfoggytiger · 3 months

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"Mr. Mulder, I Know Something About You"

(Dedicated to @baronessblixen for her fascinating idea: Bill Scully giving Tom Colton and Ethan Minette binders bulging with dirt on one Fox Mulder. This took a slightly different path, though.)

*****

The first time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was the day after his sister and her partner were sucked almost dry and hospitalized in Washington State for nearly two weeks. One fuzzy, panicked call from Tara and one fuzzier, harried call from his mom sketched in the slim details: Dana was on the mend, she’d been investigating a missing loggers’ case with her partner--

“What 'partner'? She’s in the field?”

She had been, for months. He’d forgotten to ask at their father’s funeral, convinced that her height and lack of experience had kept her teaching at Quantico.

“Dana's mentioned him once before, I think. You know how tight-lipped she is about her life.”

“Mom, do I need to come home? Is she….”

“No, Bill-- but I’ll call you if she takes a turn for the worse.”

So, Bill stayed on board; and Dana got better, and Tara celebrated over the phone, and Maggie remembered the name: Fox Mulder.

*****

The second time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder were the days following his sister’s abduction.

His mother talked of little else-- with Dana’s captor dead, any possible leads had died with him. There was nothing now but faith and hope.

“But I believe Fox will call as soon as he finds her.”

Fox. His sister, Tara had told him, still called him Mulder. Then again, Tara’s attention was currently wrapped up in calendars and planners and endless negatives. For that matter, his was, too; and what little time he had to think of family he thought of her, alone, counting the rising costs of their countless tries, alone, while he worked as often as he could to forget to cover those costs and forget his own loneliness. And his sister, somewhere, alone; and his mother back in Maryland, alone.

Dana and her former partner’s professional relationship wasn’t a top priority, or even a distant concern.

****

The third time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was after promising his eldest sister that Tara would try her fertility herbs. His wife was curled up on one side, quiet, and Melissa stuck her toes in his other side, slyly smiling.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” she concluded, setting aside the herb pouch and pinning him with her eyes, “why haven’t you given Dana a call? She hasn’t said it, but she’s been expecting one.”

“Don’t start, Missy.” He’d have disengaged, too, but Tara’s head was pressing into his shoulder, a sure sign she was falling asleep. And sleep was precious these days, what with the hormone shots and regular appointments and never-ending stress. He’d promised to shoulder her stresses for nine more weeks; and whether this was a test or not, Bill Scully had and would never back down from his word.

Melissa, opportunistic woman that she was, had banked on it, waiting for her sister-in-law’s “dozing” tea to kick in before launching the subject. “Billy, you know you want to talk to her. What’s the problem? I mean, she almost… we almost lost her. Why can’t you let whatever you’re holding onto--”

“Miss--” he stopped, his voice startling them temporarily.

“You owe it to her, Bill. You two haven’t talked in months; and you both say it’s because of your work but really it’s because of your pride. You’re both so like Dad; but at least Dad was blind to what it did to us."

“And what about Dana? She's back on her feet and running right back to her autopsies and late nights. You can’t point a finger at me without three pointing right back at her. At least I try to be there for my family.”

“You weren’t there when she was gone.”

He swallowed, stung and angry. “And who was, Melissa? You?”

Her toes gripped his hip, guilty. “Fox.”

*****

The fourth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was during his sister’s not-so-secret battle with cancer. His mother called often to vent and cry, unable to share her worries and pain with her only living daughter and unwilling to burden Tara with more stress.

Fox had become a footnote of late, so consumed was he and Dana in their work.

“Mom, how can you let Dana run herself down like that? She should be resting or looking into treatments-- anything rather than chasing after rag magazine cases half across the country!”

“Bill, you know perfectly well not everyone can run to sea to escape their problems. Not even you.”

*****

The fifth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was after he’d met the man, watched him fill Dana’s head with insane theories about chips and government conspiracies, and backed off, awed, when Dana’s cancer miraculously went into remission.

He was roaming the halls, searching for coffee to wash down the remainder of his rage at Fox Mulder’s red eyes and dazed expression when he noticed another government type walk stiffly towards the nurse’s desk, brusquely flash a badge, straighten his stiff spine and stiffer tie, and promptly demand to see “Fox Mulder.”

“I know where he is,” Bill cut in, saving the nurse the hassle but still getting a glare for his trouble. “Bill Scully. How can I help you?”

“Yes-- I was sent to bring him back for questioning; and we’re expected in,” he looked significantly at his watch, “forty minutes. If you would take me to him--”

“Take Mulder where?” Bill snapped around to see Walter Skinner, A.D., striding over, eyebrows drawn and face grim.

“Yes, Sir. Agent Mulder is being called in for--”

“The committee’s been disbanded until further notice, Agent Colton; and until I have those further orders, my agents are not to be bothered or contacted while they are in this hospital. Is that understood?”

Bill watched the other man’s jaw lock, grind, and shift as it worked its stubborn way around, “Understood, Sir.” Then Agent Colton turned tail and fled, heels thudding down the tile on their thunderous path to the elevator.

A.D. Skinner wasn’t done yet. “My apologies, Mr. Scully. That agent was out of line; and I'll see to it that your family isn't bothered again.”

It was best to nod and let the A.D. think he was frustrated with the intrusion.

Mulder could have been mid-conversation or on his way out by now. Instead, he would still be on that bench long after the family had left for the night.

He seemed the type.

*****

The sixth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was over another phone call, mere months before the birth of his child.

“Bill Scully? You might not remember me, but my name’s Ethan, Ethan Minette, and Dana and I used to date back when, well rather, right after she was recruited by the FBI. She ever mention me? Yes? No? Anyway, not important. Calling about information you might possibly have on, lemme check… Fox? Mulder, yep, Fox Mulder. Dana’s partner? There was a case she was involved in recently, really gruesome, real Frankenstein abomination stuff; and Colton, Tom Colton? You know him? Dana’s friend? Anyway, we keep in touch, we’re related somewhat, you know? And he named you as a hot tip and I was wondering if you…. Yeah, yeah, I can wait.”

He and Tara fought afterward: Tara, as big as a house, was ready to cave the roof in.

“Dana’s coming for the holidays, Bill! And you two will spend the week in stony silence avoiding each other and, and Maggie and I will have to try to keep the peace instead of celebrating our first Christmas as a growing family, and-- and how could you do that, Bill? After all Fox Mulder did for our family?”

Bill was lacking even to his ears; and, after cooler heads prevailed, he dialed Ethan back up and insisted his name be kept out of the article. Ethan talked doubly fast, banging a pen up and down every other word for emphasis as he cajoled and steamed about losing necessary credibility; but, inevitably, gave in.

“I’ll only do this because you’re Dana’s brother and she was a real sweetheart. But if I need to call you in future…?”

“I don’t have any more information.”

Dana skipped most of Christmas, anyway.

*****

The seventh time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was when he flew in for Emily Sim’s hearing.

“I need him as a witness if I’m to have any chance getting custody of Emily,” Dana had stated carefully, meticulously avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Bill still caught her bewilderment and fear… and joy.

“When’ll he get here?”

“Tonight, tomorrow… he didn’t say when, just that he’d be here.” He caught her smile, too.

“Dana…” Her head snapped up, and he paused. “We’ll be there.”

“Bill, you don’t have to--”

“We’ll be there, Dana.”

And they were.

And so was Fox Mulder.

Bill left with Tara, tired and emotional, and Maggie, displaced and confused, after exchanging silent, cursory greetings with his sister’s partner. While he slowly walked away, both women in tow, he heard a curt “Dana Scully and Fox Mulder” echo behind him.

And, in spite of everything, he sent up a prayer for both.

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic

#txf #fic #mine #Mr. Mulder I Know Something About You"#Bill Scully POV #Part I #Bill Scully #Tom Colton #Ethan Minette #Tara Scully #Maggie Scully #Melissa Scully #Scully #Mulder #xfiles #x-files #the x files #randomfoggytiger's fic

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astxrwar · 6 months

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ties that bind [3/8]

SUMMARY: Quentin Beck-- your old college biology professor-- is still a bastard. Apparently, you’re kind of in to that.

RATING: Explicit

WORD COUNT: 7k+

CONTENT WARNINGS: extremely under-negotiated kink, character-typical behavior (negging, being manipulative and an asshole, etc), me bestowing upon reader!character my own shameless oral fixation/pathological lack of a gag reflex, gratuitous sex, overstimulation, me pretending that condoms are optional (they are not irl!) the most FUBAR relationship ever etc.

PART 1 | PART 2 | [PART 3] | PART 4

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, there are many things that you are immeasurably grateful for in the aftermath.

One of the most immediate ones– which might have been surprising in the moment, if there were any parts of your brain capable of engaging in conscious thought at the time– is Beck’s ability to be completely unmoved by anything . The knock on the door had made your blood run cold, sent a shock of nervous adrenaline lancing through your body that had cut clean through the not-unpleasant haze of whatever the fuck you had been feeling before that–

Beyond cursing under his breath, his eyes flashing dark with some unidentifiable emotion, Beck didn’t react– didn’t panic– at all. He had fixed you with a pointed stare and pressed a finger to his lips– be quiet – and then, apparently otherwise unfazed, he had reached for his belt from the desk and began working it back through the loops of his dress pants.

The knocking– a student, presumably, because it was office hours, after all– stopped after a few minutes, and then there was silence, and when that silence had dragged on for what you deemed to be an appropriately safe amount of time, you slipped out the door of his office, not looking back once. Beck didn’t say anything to you, and didn’t make any attempt to stop you from leaving – your brain had been buzzing, overstimulated and racing with frantic, scattered thoughts that you couldn’t hold onto long enough to complete before they would disappear from you and others would take their place, and because of that none of it had actually felt real then. It would have, probably, if you’d been forced to focus on him again for even a moment– but he didn’t say a word, and so you didn’t have to, and you were glad for that, too.

You don’t remember getting back home, only that you must have. It had been a Friday, another thing you’re grateful for, because looking at yourself in the mirror of your apartment bathroom after having mechanically directed yourself through the process of a too-hot shower, there was a rapidly-darkening bruise at the base of your throat, another right over your jugular– something you knew, instinctively, in a distant and far-away part of your brain, would be there for a while. The sight of it triggered a twinge of something, like an echo, the flutter of your slightly-uneven pulse quickening in response– but it was still too recent to really register, then, still felt like a fantasy, or some strange hallucination existing in the realm somewhere between a dream and a nightmare.

It’s not until probably about eleven at night that everything slots into place and the memory fully realizes itself, integrates into the collection of all the other facts and realities that you know to be true. You’re laying sprawled out on your bed, motionless, staring up at the slowly-turning blades of the ceiling fan in the dark; these moments trickle back in reverse-order, in broad strokes, mostly. And maybe it’s because it’s late and you’re tired and you’re not thinking straight or really thinking much at all, but also maybe for other reasons that you refuse to acknowledge or elaborate on– but the very first thing you recall in its’ entirety, in brilliant, blinding detail, is what he’d said to you, his mouth low over your ear and his breath coming fast and hot–

Come on, honey. It plays back in your head, the edge to it, biting and cruel, not really urging you on as much as just telling you, like he knew that he was going to make you cum and he knew that there was nothing you could do to stop him if you’d even wanted to–

The surge of heat that flushes through you at the memory is so immediate and overpowering that it shocks you to your core. Your breath catches and then escapes in a totally involuntary, inarticulate sound, and you cover your mouth with your hand and screw your eyes shut as tight as you can— because after that it’s like the floodgates have opened or the dam has been breached and whatever wall you’d constructed between yourself and what had happened is gone, destroyed, swept away in the rush of everything you’d repressed rearing up to the forefront of your mind again, drowning out any other thought in a sea of white noise.

The mess of emotions that surges up with it is thorny and unfathomable and entirely too complicated for you to even begin to extricate, but you can recognize immediate, surface sensations, and wanting is one of them, the strongest one, probably, followed by fury and frustration and shame, none of which, you realize– alone or together– even come close to the intensity of your desire. Which is fucking embarrassing, honestly, what the fuck had he done to you? What the fuck had you let him do? And more importantly why and how do you already know with such a crushing and steadfast and terrible certainty that you’d let him do it again?

Your mind brings to the forefront, completely unbidden, the thought of what Beck might be doing, right now– you wonder if he’s thinking about it, like you are, but your instinct tells you that he’s probably not. He’s probably doing whatever the fuck it is he normally does at this time, collected and generally unfazed; you imagine that if he had any idea of you, the state you’re in, he’d smile one of those infuriatingly condescending smiles like every other time he’s managed to burrow his way under your skin, and your cheeks and your chest burn with an all-too-familiar embarrassment.

It’s not fair.

There’s an ache between your thighs again, a need, pulsing and trembling and wearing incessantly on the foundations of your fucking psyche, and you really, really, really want nothing more than to ignore it, to just roll over and go to sleep and not give him another inch of your resolve or the fucking satisfaction, but–

But the look he had fixed on you, before he kissed you, it plays behind your eyes; the feeling when he did kiss you, finally, how it had sated that frustration inside in a way that the confrontation hadn’t, better than anything else ever had to a degree that it was fucking frightening.

You don’t push the thoughts away.

So. Yeah. You’re grateful for a lot of stuff, in the immediate aftermath. Most of all, you’re grateful that it’s Thanksgiving break– that there are a whole ten days before you have to see Beck again, if only because it’s reason enough to justify that touching yourself to the thought of him later that night isn’t going to just make this whole thing that much fucking worse.

Ten days, it turns out, is not actually long enough for any of what you’re feeling to fade.

Come Monday morning you’re so high-strung that your anxiety is palpable– you drop your backpack on the floor twice just trying to hang it on the hooks on the wall outside of the lab, which is apparently out of character enough to warrant a concerned Hey, everything all right? from Dr. Banner, which absolutely does not help. Somehow, you manage to spin something about underestimating what a ten-day-break from XL coffees does to a person’s overall tolerance for caffeine, a spur-of-the-moment excuse that you’re quite proud of, especially considering it gets a laugh out of both him and your fellow grad students.

You don’t actually see him at all that day. There are moments where you can almost completely forget about it, absorbed in lab busywork or chatting with labmates or grading assignments for Dr. Banner’s undergraduate microbiology class, but then there are also the moments where you’re alone and unoccupied and the thoughts are unavoidable, that same turmoil of emotions leeching up to the surface like a fresh bruise that you just can’t stop yourself from pressing down on.

Tuesday, too, is much of the same, and then Wednesday and Thursday after that; you’d have thought it would get easier with time, but it actually doesn’t– the longer it’s been since that day the fuzzier and more distant the memory, sure, but that frustration starts to build again in its’ absence. It’s kind of ironic, in a grating, infuriating way, the fact that you’re pissed off this time– for the first time– because he’s avoiding you, instead of the opposite. But it’s also so just like him– of course he’s unaffected, immune to this, and of course you aren’t, and of course he doesn’t give a shit. None of this is new, not really, it’s just different.

On Friday you end up having to stay late because one of your labmates fucks up a chemical extraction procedure that you were meant to be handling for the undergrads, meaning somebody has to remain in the lab for an extra three hours to run the dry ice bath and then transfer and separate the extract– it can’t be the person who actually fucked up, because they have work, apparently. But it could be you, of course, with nothing better to do, and you readily volunteer, because doing something is actually leagues better than sitting at home and wallowing in your myriad of unresolved issues– anger, mostly, but also other less appropriate things that you don’t want to think about.

So.

It’s five-thirty when the extraction is finally finished. You’ve run through the motions of locking up, putting all of the supplies back in their respective places, shutting off the overhead lights, kicking the door jamb out from where it’s wedged, the door itself having already been locked when Dr. Banner left at three. It’s November– December, now, actually– and so it’s dark and near-freezing outside by the time you’re done; the other end of the chemistry building is nearest to the parking lot, and so you decide that, in the interest of retaining feeling in your fingers, you’ll go down through the building and exit on the other side, thereby limiting the amount of time you actually have to spend out in the cold. 10/10, all-around solid plan.

Except Beck’s office is on this end of the building. You know that, and the knowledge prickles somewhere at the base of your spine as you sling your backpack over your shoulder and head in that direction, but you also know that it’s late, and that he doesn’t really ever try to hang around past four– much less past four on a Friday– so you’re comfortably certain he’ll have already gone.

(You’re wrong, because of course you are.)

You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner, staring down at the faded tiling pattern on the floor and not really paying attention, until the sound of a door closing echoes down the hallway. You glance up, instinctively, drawn towards the noise, and–

Oh, fuck.

You see him before he sees you, and your brain kind of– short-circuits , freezes and stalls and shuts down like a glitchy computer. He’s turned with his back facing you, probably locking up. If you were thinking more clearly, maybe you would have turned back before he finished, but you don’t, can’t, frozen to the spot and unblinking.

Beck turns from the door, stowing the key ring in his pants pocket, and when he sees you his expression shifts from a kind of neutral ambivalence to one of those too-knowing smiles that had always struck you as just a little bit wrong in ways you hadn’t been able to figure out, not until he’d pinned you against his desk and–

You swallow, screw your eyes shut tight for a moment, and try your best to rid your mind of the thought.

“Hey,” Beck calls out to you, “Heard you might be here late, honey.”

His tone is deceptively mild, conversational, but even so the nickname still kindles that heat again, brings all those thoughts you were trying so hard to suppress flooding right back to the surface, the echo of come on, honey that had played back endlessly any time you’d so much as closed your eyes ringing in your ears, somehow even louder than your thundering heartbeat. It takes an embarrassingly long second before the rest of what he’d said starts to filter in, drowned out at first by the immediate surge of heat that had flooded you; he knew you were here, you realize, and he’d probably been waiting for you. Waiting to get you alone.

Three weeks ago that thought would have made you furious. Now, though–

“Yeah,” you say, still moving towards him– towards the door, fuck; even the way you phrase the thought in the privacy of your own head feels like you’ve betrayed yourself. You’re aiming for nonchalance in your reply but you miss that mark terribly, breathless with anticipation and unable to fight off the impulse to shiver. “Somebody fucked up an extraction that we needed to have ready for Monday, so I said I would stay—Dr. Banner’s gone to New York City for a conference, or I would have just come in over the weekend.”

You’re talking a lot, you realize, the words tumbling out of your mouth with a far greater ease than you’re used to when it comes to him; you know he’s able to tell, that he’s aware of the difference, he must be. But he doesn’t react or respond to it at all, just watches you, eyes dark and warm and expression infuriatingly unreadable.

“You’re a good student, to help out like that,” he says, after a long, unbearable pause, “Bruce is lucky to have you.”

A part of you has trouble comprehending the sentence as complete, still waiting for the other shoe to drop; the inevitable backhanded insult you’ve learned to expect whenever he says something even remotely positive, but it doesn’t come. That’s-- actually worse, somehow.

Beck tips his head towards the door. “Leaving? I’ll walk with you.”

That hum that had started in your body at the sight of him, the one that felt like it reached every part of you, even down to your bones; it ramps up higher. “Yeah, okay.”

He doesn’t smile, but his mouth quirks up at the corners, like he wants to.

You walk in silence, your heart in your throat, a rush of energy flooding through your body, suffusing your cheeks with warmth and filling your ears with the thunderous echo of your pulse and driving a reflexive, arrhythmic twitch in your fingers that you try to hide in the bulky sleeves of your coat. This is probably the longest amount of time you’ve spent in each other’s company without him trying to upset you on purpose or you barely restraining yourself from ending up at his throat since– the last time. The thought of it– what had happened the last time, even as abstract and ill-defined as the notion was– still makes things worse, heightens your awareness of the space between your bodies; closer than you ever would have allowed him to be, before all of this. Still not close enough.

Beck trails to a stop at the end of the hall where the staircase to the upper floors sits across from the double doors that lead to the parking lot outside, having ended up a few steps ahead of you. You mean to just keep going; the door is within your line of sight, barely ten feet away, but it’s like as soon as you’re faced with having to move past him your feet are rooted to the ground, frozen, immobilized.

He’s staring at you again. You fold your arms over your chest, glad for the shapeless mass of your oversized winter coat that hides your reflexive, miniscule shiver.

“Ah–Y’know what, I forgot, there’s some things I need to grab for my lab,” he says after a moment, as if it had only just occurred to him, jerking his head towards the door to the supply closet that’s tucked underneath the adjacent staircase and offering you an apologetic grimace that feels— exaggerated. Pre-planned. Performative. “This’ll probably take a minute. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

You have a response already half-formulated in the pause that follows before he adds, somehow still casual, “Unless you think you could stay a little longer and help me out.”

The implication isn’t even really an implication at all, evident in the way that he’s looking at you, obvious and unrepentant, and the tremble that it elicits from somewhere near the base of your spine, that knot of anticipation in your belly twisting and turning and coiling tighter– you already want it, him, and you’re certain he must be able to tell, the way your pupils, which are probably dilated already, must blow out even wider, like planets, like deep, endless oceans of black–

“It’s late, though, and I’m sure there’s other things you’d rather be doing.” That edge is back, mocking, sly, manipulative like he’s trying to trick the words out of you– no, actually, nothing. He turns to the door underneath the staircase and reaches for the key ring he’d shoved in his pocket earlier; you’re jealous, somewhere deep down, at how steady his hands are, firm and methodical, as he flips through a set of near-identical keys until he finds the one to the closet.The click of the lock is nearly drowned out by the sound of your own pulse thundering inside your head, every inch as unsteady and as volatile as you feel.

The door swings outwards on creaking hinges. Beck fixes you with this look; like he’s already won, just by virtue of the fact that you haven’t moved. Maybe he’s right. He’s always been capable of deciphering exactly what you were feeling at any given moment in time, regardless of whether or not you wanted him to, always been better at getting you to rise to his bullshit than you ever were at getting him to rise to yours. He knows you, knows what you’ll do oftentimes much sooner than even you do. And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising— he’s a tenured professor, he taught you for four years, and he’s got nearly two decades on you. He was always going to be better at this.

Whatever. You don’t really care if you’re proving him right. You’re tired of fighting it, and you were never all that good at it anyway.

The inside of the supply closet is dim and dusty and cluttered and probably covered in cobwebs, but you don’t care. He’s touching you before the door has even closed all the way, stripping your coat from your shoulders and pulling you towards him by the waist, the press of his hand wide and firm and so fucking warm even through the fabric of your sweater; and fuck yes, god, even that, that one point of contact, it soothes that burning restless ache that had built inside of you for the past two weeks better than any of your own attempts at doing so ever did—

You’re the one who closes that last sliver of space, this time– and it should probably be surprising, how eager you are to do it, to drag him down by his shirt collar and push yourself up on your toes and kiss him, that nameless thing inside that’s followed you for the last two fucking weeks finally going quiet. He makes this noise against your mouth in the very first few moments, a rough and low and surprised sound, like he’s taken aback for a second. But it’s only a second, and then your back collides with the sharp plastic edges of the overstuffed rows of shelving that line the walls of the room hard enough that it forces the breath right out of your lungs, and in the moments where that gasp has your mouth opened up he licks into it, his tongue curling over your teeth and sliding against your own and wringing out a sound from you that you don’t even really try to stop this time.

Beck hasn’t even taken his coat off, you realize dimly. It doesn’t fucking matter. His thigh is pressed up between your legs, the pressure obliging the warmth there, and you can feel his cock already hard against the jut of your hip– you wonder, hazy and far-away, if he was hard before this, before you’d even kissed him, if he had been thinking about it the whole time he was walking you to the door. He works a hand up under your sweater, and you lean into it– rough, large, warm, god, he must just run hot, because you can feel him even in the spaces where your bodies aren’t touching, his presence, like the air around you is made a few degrees warmer for it.

When that hand under your sweater smooths down your abdomen to thumb over the button of your jeans there’s this frantic swell of panic at the immediate and overwhelming flush of heat that accompanies it, the trembling pulse between your legs— he hasn’t even touched you yet. He’s going to take you apart, again, and it’s not even going to be fucking hard. You want him to, shivering at the thought, but it’s your pride that stops you– for all that bullshit about being done fighting him, you’re not, really.

A four-year habit is hard to break. Go figure.

It doesn’t take all that much force to push him the grand total of two feet backwards until his back is to the opposite row of shelves in the closet; he lets you, or more accurately, he doesn’t resist, if only because you don’t think he’s expecting it. With the door closed the little room is dark, the shape of him just a darker outline against a field of murky, shapeless gray, the only light the sliver of it from outside that spills out at your feet. It works out, though, because you can see everything that clutters the floor– old paint cans and ancient long-retired confocal microscopes and unlabeled industrial-sized plastic buckets of god-knows-what– and you can see right where there’s the space for you to kneel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Beck says when you do; the question is clearly rhetorical, amused and a little patronizing, like he thinks you’re out of your depth again. You hate that it gets to you, but it does, brings that familiar annoyance searing back, bright and vicious and spiteful in the pit of your stomach. It’s the way that he’s looking at you that really does it– like he thinks that this is beyond you, or maybe just that he thinks he’s somehow uniquely fucking special, impossible to satisfy, and all of that– every possibility, every interpretation– it all pisses you off.

“You’re such an asshole,” you reply, irritated, stubbornness ticking at the muscle of your jaw. “Do you want me to or not?”

Beck laughs at that, loud and sharp and something that might have even been pleased. He reaches to run his fingers through your hair and pulls, just a little, the pinpricks of pain rippling across your scalp as he forces your head back so that you’re looking at him, really looking at him, not just sneaking glances like you had been before. He has one of those bared-teeth smiles, something that base and instinctive part of you interprets as a challenge, even though it doesn’t really feel like it’s meant to be one. It feels like it’s meant to be a warning, maybe. Or a threat.

“Go ahead, honey,” he says, grinning wider.

Beck doesn’t react at all when your hands find his belt, his breathing steady and his expression even and his posture annoyingly fucking relaxed; doesn’t move to help you with it, either, satisfied to just watch as you work it open and tug his jeans and his boxers down his thighs. He’s still unaffected even when your palm slides over the hard outline of his dick through his boxer briefs, and, god, if that doesn’t just piss you off more– the way that he’s just so effortlessly immune to this, the same way he’s always been immune to any of your retaliatory attempts to incite him. The painfully obvious way that you’re not; the way the sight of his cock, hard, twitching lazily, makes this unbearable warmth pool somewhere inside of you, your breath catching somewhere, hesitating enough that you know he must notice. No, you– you’re whatever the complete opposite of immune is. Vulnerable. Hyperreactive. Exposed.

Except–

When you reach out to touch him, several things happen at once; the muscles in his thighs twitch and his posture stiffens and his breathing goes still, all just for a fraction of a second before he’s relaxed again. That tension is gone so quickly that you might have thought you’d imagined it, if it didn’t happen again when you lick a long wet stripe all the way up from the base of his cock and then again when you curl your tongue in a slow circle around the tip–

Maybe, you think, maybe he’s not really immune to any of it. Maybe he just hides it better.

It becomes more obvious when you put your mouth on him, not even really halfway; in the near-dark of the room you can see the shadow of him as he drags his hand down the lower half of his face, can hear, as wound-up and hyper-aware you are, the trembling breath as it leaves him, hitching when your tongue presses up against the underside of his cock as you pull back and move down again, further each time–

“Fuck,” Beck groans under his breath, the sound rough and low. “Oh, fuck, honey.”

Yes, you think, the rush of satisfaction so immediate that it takes you by surprise; whatever flicker of shame that inspires in you is ridiculously easy to silence. Beck makes another noise, wordless and low, pretense of invulnerability abandoned-- his other hand has wrapped around one of the supporting beams of the shelf, like he’s trying to steady himself, and when you finally reach all the way down to the base and stay there, just for a moment, unmoving, his grip tightens around it so hard that the flimsy plastic cracks in his fist. Your answering laugh when you pull back is more of a hum than anything, muffled by him, cheeky and pleased– but that ruins it, whatever small amount of control he’d granted to you, something bordering on growl vibrating out of him that you would probably call touchy if you were able to speak, and then his other hand fists in your hair and he pulls, hard, drags your head back down until his cock is buried in your throat and your nose is pressed right up against his stomach.

It shouldn’t make you feel the way it does— your tongue pressed flat against the base of his dick, your mouth flooding with saliva and your throat working around him and his hand on the back of your head, holding you there, the tremble that shudders through the solid muscles of his abdomen so close you can feel it — but your body is betraying you, again, again, just like before, your thighs pressing together with your hand squeezed between them, and even the insignificant pressure of your own palm through your jeans is enough that you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from making some embarrassing involuntary sound if it wasn’t for him, the way he’s compressing your fucking voice box–

There’s the snap of plastic again, that same beam from earlier; he needs to let go of it, you think, the thought fuzzy as he pulls his cock out and saliva trails down your chin and then fuzzier still as he rocks it back in again, or he’s going to break it clean in half.

He moves like that for a while and you just let him, or worse, you fucking enjoy it; until eventually the pressure of his hand at the base of your skull lessens and his grip goes slack and you can move again, your tongue curling up around the tip of his cock and then pressing firm to the underside of it when you take him back into your mouth–

“God, honey, you’re such— such a terminal fucking overachiever, aren’t you,” Beck says, that edge in his voice, biting and mean, and you would roll your eyes at him if you could trust yourself enough to even open them, terrified that whatever way he must be looking at you right now would simply cause you to evaporate on the spot. The words alone are rough and cruel and dripping with condescension, but there’s still, contained within them, that begrudging admission that it’s good, that compliment hidden inside an insult or maybe the other way around, and it pleases you in a way that you know it really shouldn’t. He makes another sound, slurred and inarticulate, fist tightening in your hair— that control, it’s slipping through his fingers, that immaculate and insufferable level of self-constraint shattered and crumbling, and you’re dizzy with the thought of it; that you might be able to finally do something–even just once– that might actually get to him.

It doesn’t take long, after that. He wavers between letting you move, as willing and embarrassingly fucking eager as you are to do it, and moving for you, hand firm on the back of your head as he fucks your open, waiting mouth. You can tell when he starts to get close, passes the point of being able to fight it off just by slowing down, the muscles in his thighs twitching and his breathing turning rough and irregular, hitching and catching and forced out of his chest–

“Fuck,” He grits out, his palm suddenly flat against your forehead, pushing you back, away, muscles gone rigid and still. “Don’t.”

“Why,” you reply, breathless, aiming for something like teasing or taunting but ending up so shot through with desire that it doesn’t matter what you were even trying for anyways.

He doesn’t even warrant that with a response, just looks at you, eyes dark and pupils blown out so wide that you can’t even tell where the sliver of his irises even begins– he looks at you like you must be fucking stupid, like the answer is obvious, and—

You shiver.

Yeah. It is, actually, obvious.

He drags you up from the ground by the collar, pulls so hard that you stumble to your feet, off-balance, and nearly come crashing into him. He only looks at you— at your mouth, swollen and bruised and spit-slick and red— for a moment, and then he kisses you again and you melt for it without so much as a single fucking thought.

Beck forces you back against the other set of shelves; it’s not hard, with only about four feet of space spanning the whole room and with you swaying and unsteady and caught up in chasing his tongue as it roves through your mouth, for him to push you until the hard plastic corners are digging into your spine and the backs of your thighs again. He doesn’t let you touch him, grabs your wrist and pins it to the edge of the highest shelf up above your head when you try, fingers squeezing so hard that it hurts a little bit– that sends a sharp thrill of self-satisfaction flickering through you, the thought that he can’t take it, that you got him that close–and then he tears at the button of your jeans, the zipper, yanks them and your underwear only halfway down your thighs, just far enough to be able to–

The noise you make when he touches you is drawn from you so abruptly that you can’t soften it or even really try to make it sound less desperate; not that it would matter anyways, with the way that your body arches up, into him, how wet you know you already are despite having spent the last fifteen fucking minutes with his dick in your mouth and without him even really touching you at all–

“You fucking liked that– you were getting off on it, weren’t you, honey,” His mouth breaks from yours just to say it, like he knows what you’re thinking or maybe just like he’d been thinking the same thing, not even really asking as much as just stating a fucking fact, that stupid smug smile spreading wide across his face again.

“Fuck you,” you manage to reply, not even really succeeding in saying it with any amount of vitriol, voice breaking at the last syllable; all he has to do is touch you again and everything inside of you goes hot and white and blank , your free hand flying out to grab a fistful of his shirt, so tight that your knuckles are drawn and bloodless, squirming uselessly against the solid unyielding hold he has on your other wrist as he works two fingers inside of you and curls them and finds some horribly sensitive something that you hadn’t even known was there, rubs the rough pad of his thumb against your clit as he works them deeper and no, no, fuck, it’s not fair–

He doesn’t make you come like that, even though it probably would have been so easy, and maybe later tonight or tomorrow or sometime next week you’ll remember to be ashamed of how absurdly fucking easy it always is for him to get anything from you, even this, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care. He fucks you open on his fingers until you’re whining and rocking back against him and begging for it in all but actual words, and as soon as the muscles in your abdomen start to tense and the pitch of your moans shifts up higher he stops short and tells you to turn around. You don’t bother to suppress the sound that elicits from you, petulant, frustrated and wavering, but you still do what he says; when he tells you to bend, to put your hands out flat on the shelf, you do that, too, without even really thinking about it. There’s something in the back of your mind that’s absolutely indignant at your immediate compliance– add it to the fucking long list of things you’ll think about later– but it falls silent as soon as he takes the space behind you.

His hand skims your hip and you take in a shaky, shuddering breath– you can’t see him, what he’s doing, and everything in your body is still wound so tight, the combination driving such a vicious surge of anticipation that it feels for a second like you’re going to come apart at the seams, or that you might have already and just failed to notice.

Beck notches the head of his dick right between your thighs, presses forward a little, urges you up on your toes until he’s aligned just right– there, right there, you think, trembling, yes, fuck, come on, please— and then he leans over you, his arms caging yours, his much bigger hands covering your smaller ones so completely, pushing them harder into the gridded plastic lattice of the shelf. You can feel his breath against your neck, warm, the heat of his body bleeding right through his clothes, soothing the prickle of goosebumps that had spread across the exposed skin of your lower back where the edge of your sweater has ridden up, bunched around your waist. It’s cold, here, much colder than it had been in the hall– presumably because there’s no heat to the storage closet, because why would there be– and that just makes it better, honestly, how much larger he is, how fucking warm.

Please, you want to say, only remembering your pride at the last second, but then he moves closer and pushes into you anyways like he already knows what you want, and that’s fucking gone, too.

This time— balanced up on your toes, your hands braced against the shelf, the latticed plastic surface biting into your palms and his hands over them, keeping them there, your legs only spread as wide as the jeans pulled half down your thighs will even allow— you know it will take even less to break you than it did the day in his office. Beck is barely moving, short shallow motions as he works you open, but even still he’s already nudging something sensitive and electric inside of you that has your head dropping down against your outstretched arms, against his, too, where they overlay your own. It’s the angle, probably, you manage to think, flushed and shivery and barely breathing; or maybe it’s just him, and he’s just too good at this. He finally bottoms out and the noise you make– stretched out and filled up and satisfied, that stupid needy thing inside of you gone completely fucking silent at last-– is so unlike you that for a second you don’t even really register it as your own, even muffled as it is by the fabric of his shirt where your face is pressed to the inside of his arm. There’s a twitch in your fingers, like you’re searching for something to hold onto, and Beck obliges that with a mocking chuckle that rumbles out low in his chest and vibrates against your back– he threads his fingers through yours, his palms over the tops of your hands. There you go, honey, he murmurs against your neck, saccharine, patronizing, like you’re this poor pathetic helpless thing, and any other time you probably would have hated him for it. Maybe you still do, even now, and maybe that just makes it even better.

There is something– probably something significant– that is just deeply wrong with you both, you realize, and then he starts to fuck you in earnest and the thought vanishes.

This isn’t anything like the last time– every inch of you goes soft and pliant like you’re melting beneath him, not fighting it or fighting him or even trying to. Every time he rocks into you it wrings out this desperate hiccupping keen that might have just been the same continuous sound, stretched out, fading and then brought back to life again before it can ever really end. He releases one of your hands to reach down to touch you, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across your clit, and that involuntary noise he’s pulling out of you pitches up higher in response, taking on this breathless shivering quality that you recognize– you’re still fucking wound up from before, vibrating with it.

You realize far far too late that he fucking did this to you on purpose, made sure to keep you from touching him, make sure to get you close before he’d even started. The thought of him fucking you past your rapidly-approaching orgasm triggers something panicky and nervous inside of you; anticipation and apprehension and the sinking realization that you had missed something like you always do, and he had gotten the better of you, again. But there’s nothing you can do about it, really, not now, its’ approach inevitable no matter how hard you try to force your breathing to steady or your muscles to relax–

You know he must be able to feel it, just like last time, the way that you tighten around his cock, the shivering pulse of your muscles and the tremble that runs the length of your whole body. He still hasn��t stopped touching you, and he hasn’t stopped moving, either, the shelf and all its’ contents shaking with the rhythm of it, and you can’t silence the sounds or even try to mute them, the wordless inarticulate whine that pitches up higher each time his cock sinks back inside—

“Be quiet,” he pants against your shoulder. His hand– the one that had still been covering yours and pressing it harder against the latticed surface of the shelf– it moves up to your throat and then higher still, curling around your jaw, and you should remember to be embarrassed about how quick you are to just let him when he pushes his fingers into your mouth, should be fucking ashamed the way your tongue roves around them, instinctive, obedient, but you can’t think , can barely even remember to breathe. It’s somehow even worse, more overwhelming, now that he’s not bracing his weight on the shelf, the bulk of it resting against you, makes it so that his cock reaches somewhere even deeper inside, his other hand still splayed flat below your stomach, his fingers still against your clit, firm, not really even moving, the friction generated just from the force of him fucking you enough to make something drop out of the pit of your stomach like you’re free-falling because you know with a startling and crystal-clear certainty that you’re going to— that he’s going to make you— again—

Beck must know it too (of course he does, of course) because he presses the fingers in your mouth further in and down firm against your tongue to quiet the noise that breaks out of you when you come for a second time, something that probably would have been closer to a sob than anything, but stifled as it is it just comes out as another incoherent sound. You’re shivering, muscles in your calves and your thighs strung taut, sore and burning like they might give out under you, and when he starts to really touch you again you almost bite down on his fingers, hypersensitive and overstimulated and unable to even move to escape it, with the shelf in front of you and the weight of him pressed to your back–

Maybe he makes you come again, or maybe he doesn’t— it doesn’t really matter, anyways, the usually-clear delineation between your orgasm and the build to it has been erased, your body so high-strung you can’t even tell the difference anymore. It all just bleeds together, like trying to stay standing and upright in the ocean, in water that’s chest-deep, knocked down by a wave and only barely able to regain your footing before there’s another, and another, and another, rhythmic and relentless and entirely without respite. Beck chuckles, breathless, the sound low and mocking and warm against the shell of your ear, laughing at you, at the state of you, presumably, and it just drives that tide even higher, until you can’t keep your head above water even in the spaces between the waves.

You should have expected this, you think, with whatever part of your brain that’s still even capable of it— just like any other time you’d ever tried to get the better of him. He always pays you back tenfold.

It could be forever or it could be ten seconds before his own breathing starts to catch and turn ragged, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway, each of his thrusts making something bloom hot and bright across the backs of your eyelids, closed as they are– actual physical evidence of your brain short-circuiting, of everything falling apart; your thoughts, your sense of time, your tenuous, tattered hold on fucking reality. He moves both hands to your waist to pull you back against him, pace growing rougher, more erratic, and without his fingers in your mouth to mute the sound you have to bury your face in the crook of your arm to stifle it as best you can, fingers twitching uselessly, catching in the grids of the shelf and curling there even though it makes the tendons burn, holding tight like you’re trying to anchor yourself to it, to something , anything at all—

“God, fuck, yes,” Beck groans into the crook of your neck, one arm wrapped all the way around your waist and holding you there, flush against him, finishing so fucking deep inside that you think you can feel it in every inch of you, the steady, slowing pulse of his cock, the warmth of it, his trembling, indistinguishable from your own.

It takes a while for everything to settle, after that; for his breathing to steady and for your body to stop shaking and your brain to return to some approximation of functioning . You notice the details in pieces; the crisscrossed marks on your palms and forearms, bitten into the skin there from the latticed grid of the shelf, the ache in the muscles and tendons in your thighs and your calves , the feeling more pleasant than painful.

Eventually, Beck pulls out and his weight shifts away and a shiver runs right through you at the immediate chill of the air in the space he had occupied, the absence of that warmth; you try to straighten up, to stand, but make the fundamental mistake of letting go of the shelf before thinking to check if your numb, trembling legs can even support your weight–

The warmth is back, and you don’t fall. “Careful, honey,” he says, mocking, mouth pressed against your hair, steadying you in his arms; you don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s grinning wide again.

“You be careful, asshole, you’re gonna stain my sweater,” you reply, unthinking, only fuzzily aware of how it’s slid back down from where it was rucked up around your waist and the solid pressure of his dick against the small of your back, still mostly hard.

He huffs out a laugh.

“Oh, right , of course, my mistake. I’ll be sure to just let you fall next time,” he replies, languid and amused and still a little breathless— and something inside of you trembles, somehow, even fucked-out and shivery and already sated as you are, going a little more lightheaded just at the thought.

Next time.

You don’t even bother to argue or to even act affronted at the presumption, the ability to even shape the words, much less deliver them convincingly, beyond anything you’re capable of right then.

His grip tightens around you for a split second before he lets go, and you’re sure that, like everything, Beck must have noticed that, too.

#quentin beck x reader #ties that bind tag #mysterio x reader #jake gyllenhaal x reader #not actually i have a deep aversion to rpf but i want Attention and apparently ppl tag actors now

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murder-cookie-dust393 · 28 days

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Can we get some more Creme Brulee Cookie content, that cookie's a power house in my team- I was thinking since there were hints about him and Linzer Cookie being in a past relationship, what if y/n Cookie did like CB but didn't pursue him bc of his history with Linzer?

I have requests from late December, how embarrassing. I'm such a bad writer for not feeding you guys for like 3 months-

Old Photos

Tw: murder

You dejectedly sigh as you stare at the ceiling of your room. Thoughts filling your mind: negative ones. You didn't like the thought of Linzer with Crème Brûlée. But who were you to interfere? She was clearly more valuable to him than you ever could be. Even if you were his biggest supporter.

But it still hurt. You wanted to be with him. Cheer him on for his performances; ensure he was well cared for. Sure you could do so as his friend. But you wanted to be much more than friends.

You didn't have the place to interfere. You shouldn't interfere. It's wrong.

Those sentences repeated in your head as you lay on your bed. You wanted sleep to overcome you, but your mind seemed unwilling to let go though. You needed to move on. There was no point in clinging to a future that wasn't even possible.

Until you hear a distant knock, from your front door. You turn your head in the direction of the hallway, before slowly rising from your bed and walking out the door. You glance at the living room clock: 2:43 AM. Who would be knocking on the door at this hour?

You saunter to the door, looking through the glass. Your eyes widen slightly: it's Crème Brûlée. What was he doing here? You open the door, and immediately you're encased in a hug far too tight.

...Was your desperate mind imagining his embrace? Oh, how pathetic you are.

"Crème Brûlée? What are you doing here?" You utter, your voice scratchy from not getting out of bed for the last 3 hours. Why was he holding you so harshly? Did something happen?

"I love you. I swear, I can't believe you looked at my photos from three years ago." He bluntly states, his tone almost seemed as if he was offended. His hair brushes against your cheek as he buries his head into your shoulder.

"What?" You blink. Absolutely frozen. Did your mind just manifest your biggest wish in front of your face?

The door is still open, the cold breeze freezing your body only in sleeping clothes. He speaks once more, now his tone less brash and more soft, "Darling. My darling. Linzer is hardly a thought in my mind now. I've realized you are much better suited for me." His head nuzzles your shoulder, holding you against him.

"Wait. Wait. Does that mean..." You trail off, not having the confidence to even say it. It's impossible. Your life had never gone right when it came to love, so why would it go right at this moment?

"I love you. I've loved you for the last 3 years. Now stop hiding from me." He nudged you over the couch, not giving you a moment before coddling you. He should become a koala at this point.

You wanted to say more. It doesn't matter though. You were too ecstatic to even begin forming words. Finally, your mind calms and you fall asleep: exhaustion taking over. He was warm. Like you imagined him to be.

An hour passes by, before a sudden grin forms on the usually quiet Crème Brûlée. He caresses your head gingerly, loving the feel of you in his grasp.

"Finally, you've come to realize. I should have killed that terrible Linzer earlier, otherwise, we would have been happier earlier. No matter, we can be where we were supposed to be...together." He closes his eyes too as he continues to snuggle you.

You were too blinded by your love to notice why Linzer never was over at his house since three years ago.

——————————————————

Wow! I got this one done in one sitting. I'm so proud of myself. Usually, it takes multiple sittings to do requests. My attention span is non-existent.

- Celina

#cookie run #yandere cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #yandere #yandere x reader #crk x reader #blurbs #crk #crème brûlée cookie

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gingerjunhan · 2 months

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Hii, can I request a Junhan x Reader Fluff story? Let’s say maybe where he is very insecure and is always scared that his lover would leave him because he’s too quiet or doesn’t show much intimacy (but he tries his best). Explain how his previous relationship didn’t last because of his quiet personality? (Flashback scene would be great showing their breakup) Reader listens and comforts him at the end 🥹

Sorry if this is too confusing!! Don’t be scared to adjust the plot if you want! <3

You’re stories are great and looking forward to more of your writings!

☆彡 hi anon!! tysm for the request and the love!! I hope you enjoy! :)

word count: 918 | pronouns used: they/them | genre: fluff, established relationship | cws: insecurities, lmk if I missed something :)

flashback → present day

“Hyeongjun, I really don’t think this is going to work out between us anymore.”

Hyeongjun felt his heart break at the sound of those words. He searched the face of his now ex-lover, looking for any implication that they were joking, or this might be a dream. “Wh-What?” He asked simply. “Why?”

“You’re always so distant. You never show affection unless I ask for it, and on the off chance that you do it’s just a little bit… awkward.” Their words were harsh, and Hyeongjun couldn’t believe their level of honesty. He struggled to find the right words to say, so he stuck with the only thing he could think of.

“I’m sorry…” he apologized, his voice small. Something inside of him screamed at him to try and comfort them, but he knew that now wasn’t the time. Even if he could comfort them, he knew deep down that he wouldn’t know how.

☆

“Hyeongjunnie!” You launched yourself at him on his mattress, landing next to him and wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” he shrugged, wrapping one arm loosely around you while the other stayed folded beneath his head on his pillow, propping him up slightly to help him see the show he was watching. “How was your day?”

“It was so long!” You groaned. “I couldn’t have gotten out of work fast enough today. I swear my boss had it out for me today. Plus, my coworker didn’t show up to work again!”

“Really?”

“Really,” you huffed. “I don’t see how they can no-show twice a week and not get fired, but I show up five minutes late one time due to traffic and I get scolded.”

“It's tough being you,” Hyeongjun joked.

“It really is,” you chuckled back. A comfortable silence fell over the room as the conversation dipped, the sounds of the video Hyeongjun was watching filling the space instead. You pulled yourself in closer to him now, laying your head on his chest. “Are you comfortable with this?” You asked, voice soft.

Hyeongjun looked down at you with a bit of confusion. “Yeah, I’m comfortable. Why would I not be?”

“Well, you aren’t always the most touchy, so I just wanted to make sure.” Your voice was caring, and you clearly meant this as a way of getting his okay to lay with him like this. You smiled up at him before turning your attention back to the screen. Hyeongjun heard your words bounce around in his mind, and he couldn’t help but overthink them. Did it bother you that he wasn’t the most affectionate? Was that your subtle way of telling him to try harder? Did you take his lack of affection as a lack of like for you? What if you thought your relationship was one-sided? His mind raced, and he suddenly became aware of the arm he had wrapped around you. Was that not enough? Should he be trying harder? “Hyeongjun,” you called out to him, breaking his flow of negativity.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I can hear your heart beating at a mile a minute,” you explained as your head stayed on his chest. “Plus, you’re stiff as a board all of a sudden. Do you want me to move?” You were worried you had made him uncomfortable, but then Hyeongjun looked at you with sad eyes, you knew something else was the matter.

“Does it bother you that I’m not affectionate?” He asked, a hint of pain in his voice.

“Woah,” you looked up at him, “where is this coming from?”

“Does it bother you?” He asked again.

“No,” you answered him truthfully.

“Please don’t lie.” His voice was nothing but a whisper now, and you could see that this was eating away at him. You sat up on the bed, looking down at him.

“It doesn’t bother me at all, Jun.”

Your nickname for him helped calm him slightly. “I just… don’t want you to doubt how I feel about you.”

“I’ve never doubted for a second how you feel about me,” you answered instantly, absentmindedly taking one of his hands. “Just because you aren’t as physically affectionate as I am doesn’t mean that you don’t care for me in the same way I care for you. You just show it differently, that’s all.” A small smile graced his lips as you spoke.

“You mean it?” He asked.

“Of course!” You beamed. “So what you aren’t very physically affectionate? You’re a great listener, and you show that you care through your actions or moments like this. Being willing to have a conversation like this must mean something, right?” Hyeongjun nodded in agreement. You both knew that this could be quite a sensitive subject for him, seeing that his reserved personality has gotten him into some tight spots with past relationships before. His willingness to open up about the topic has only come around a handful of times, but you knew it was something he wanted to work on. “I’ve never doubted our relationship for a second,” you reiterated to him. “Besides, you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

He chuckled at your joke, causing you to laugh a bit as well. You opened your arms to offer a hug to him, and he happily accepted your invitation. “Thank you for understanding,” he mumbled into your shirt before quickly pulling away.

“Of course,” you smiled fondly at him. “I’d never leave you over something like that.”

taglist: @dazzlingligth , @mini-mews , @mxlly143 , @somethingaboutcheese , comment to be added!⁎⁺˳✧༚

#xdinary heroes x reader #xdinary heroes imagine #xdh x reader #xdh imagines #xdh fluff #junhan x reader

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cleoluvrr · 1 year

Text

The Last Days of Summer XVI (Rafe Cameron x Heyward!OC)

Warnings: violence, underage drinking, drug use, verbal abuse, jealousy, forbidden relationship, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, gaslighting + manipulation

Synopsis: Stuck in a situation she never dreamed of, Neriah Heyward blurs the line between Kook and Pogue; Rafe Cameron a witness.

masterlist

word count: 3.5k+

↠━ღ◆ღ━↞

Staring out the window solemnly, I watch as the waves crash against the base of the ship as it treks through the deep water of the Atlantic.

The sound of crew members on the other side of the door filled my ears, the voices distant as my brain fights to wrap itself around the predicament I’d been placed in so suddenly. My face felt hot, dried tears cracking in the corners of my eyes and hands unable to stop shaking from the pure rage and anxiety racking my body.

I had been stuck in the room by myself for at least an hour, Rafe reluctantly leaving after my complete refusal to embrace him with open arms as I assume he imagined I would. In fact, I did the complete opposite. The words that came out of his mouth filled me with a fire immediately, the flames bubbling up and out of my mouth in a myriad of curses and screams as I beat against his chest with heavy fists.

“You’re a sick fucking freak, Rafe!” I didn’t recognize my own voice, the sound filling the room almost unfamiliar to me. It was that of a banshee, every negative emotion scratching to the surface to reveal themselves to the world through my voice.

“Calm down…” Rafe says weakly, watching me with sad eyes. He looks as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, as if I’m the crazy one for being beyond angry. “I know you’re angry, but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? What do you mean calm down?” I ask. I push him hard and he stumbles back a couple inches before stabilizing again. “Fuck you!”

“Neriah-”

“I fucking hate you! Ugh!” I run a tense hand through my own hair, tempted to pull every braid from my scalp one by one out of frustration.

Rafe scoffs at me, reaching up with a tanned hand to release my own from my hair. He shakes his head, a worried look set deep in his face as his blue eyes rake over my crazed expression. He runs his thumb over the back of my hands in a failed attempt to sooth me, the contact only making me angrier than before because of the pure audacity of him.

“You don’t mean that, you’re just angry.”

Snatching my hand away, I step back to escape his reach. I scoff at the blonde, a disgusted smirk, or grimace, arising on my lips as I watch his every movement.

“No, I meant it.” I nod my head, eyebrows knitting together slightly as I squint at him. A humorless laugh exits my nose in the form of a puff of air. “From the soles of my feet, to the tip of my cold, dead heart; I fucking hate you. You are officially the bane of my existence.”

Rafe looks hurt as the words leave my mouth, eyes searching my face to see if he can find any evidence of me lying. His own expression hardens, tongue poking through the side of his cheek as he looks my entire frame up and down. His head tilts to the right before straightening up again.

Nodding his head at me, his eyes finally reach my gaze again. The male’s face is dark, a storm cloud looming over his head as he stares deeply at me.

“I know you don’t mean that. I know you don’t, because I know you.” Rafe says. “But since you wanna act like that…” He trails off, stepping forward a bit and reaching out towards me. He runs the back of his hand softly against my warm cheeks, gold ring adorning his finger catching against the skin.

He pulls away before I get the chance to smack his hand off.

“I know you don’t mean that…” He chuckles humorlessly. “Make yourself comfortable.” Is all he says before he exits the room. He closes the door behind him but doesn’t lock it, not that there was any point in him doing it in the first place.

There was nowhere I could go.

I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch since he left.

I saw no reason to, the only place I could go to escape this nightmare was the water surrounding us. I almost considered jumping overboard, the bottom of the ocean sounded more appealing than whatever remote island I was being taken to against my will.

Why me? Why did this happen to me? I lived a normal life, I had a normal family and normal friends. I had a normal relationship up until forty-eight hours ago; well, as normal as it could be. What universe was I transported to that decided I should have to experience this of all things? What did I do to end up dating a clearly mentally unwell man with an even crazier family?

I see why Sarah left and never looked back.

My trance was broken at the thought of the Cameron girl, eyes tearing away from the window and surveying the room in confusion.

Where is Sarah?

I stood out of my seat and carried myself to the door, slowly pulling it open a few inches to peek into the hallway. It was empty, the distant voices I heard earlier now much louder as the source was revealed to me. I exit the room, closing the door behind me silently before creeping down the hallway with careful footsteps. Walking through the short hallway, I was led to the inner parts of the ship. I looked around the balcony overlooking the storage basin at the bottom of the large vehicle, the size of it all making me sick to my stomach.

Pushing myself out of the room, I haphazardly open the door to take me to the outside of the ship. The bright sun burned against my eyes as it sat high in the sky, my hand raising to shield my face from the yellow light.

A disorienting feeling takes over my body, a mix of the sudden brightness, the swaying of the ship, and the sight of the never-ending ocean all working together to turn my stomach.

“Neriah?” A familiar voice sounds out from behind me, interrupting my few minutes of peace. “What are you doing out here?”

I sighed heavily, not bothering to turn around and face the owner. I’d much rather stare into the sun until my eyes don’t work than look at the woman behind me. She doesn’t deserve my acknowledgement.

Her footsteps approach me cautiously, heels clicking against the metal floor of the ship rhythmically. I feel her presence not too far away and I’m tempted to reach out behind me and strike her unexpectedly.

“I didn’t know I needed permission to leave my enclosure.” I answer snarkily after a few heavy moments of silence between up. “My apologies.”

Rose huffs irritably, not that she really has any room to be irritated by my behavior. I see her reach for me out of the corner of my eye and I snatch my arm away, body swiveling to face her. My features carry a blank expression as I stare her down.

I walk back towards the direction I came from, violently shoving past the older blond woman and causing her to stumble over her own feet. My own feet drag against the metal flooring, arms crossed against my chest to make a point that I am in no way wanting to be cordial with anyone on this ship. Her heels tapping against the floor as she follows close behind fills my ears, the noise only managing to fuel my anger.

The door to the room is wide open as I reach it, and my eyes roll when I see who occupies it. Rafe sits in the spot that I was in just minutes ago. His arms are folded against his chest, the posture mirroring mine as he eyes me from across the floor. I would turn around to leave again if Rose weren’t blocking the entrance.

“Where were you?” He asks.

“I didn’t know you were my keeper.” I reply shortly, shrugging my shoulders and sitting on a stool on the opposite side of the room of the blonde. He chuckles humorlessly, rubbing at his chin with his right hand as he nods at me.

“Attention all passengers and crew. Report to the tween forward hull.” A male voice announces over the speaker abruptly. “Attention, all passengers, all crew, report to the tween forward hull. That’s an order.” He repeats.

Rafe sighs, whatever words he had for me now stored away for later. I don’t move an inch at the announcement, instead choosing to watch the two blondes leave the room first. Rose exits before both Rafe and I, going to retrieve Wheezie from wherever she is I assume. Rafe bee-lines towards me, feet fast moving in my direction. I still make no movement, knowing that if I did it would turn ugly very quickly.

The blonde roughly grabs at my bicep, the flesh spilling out from between his fingers as he snatches me up from my seat.

“You heard the man. Let’s go.” He says as he proceeds to drag me towards the door. I twist my arm out of his grip and shove him away from me.

“Dickhead.” I comment lowly, my voice barely loud enough for him to hear over the sounds of the ship. I almost trip over my own feet as I walk, Rafe pushing me out the door just as roughly as he grabbed at me.

“Watch your mouth.” He says.

We meet Rose and Wheezie in the hallway before traveling to the hull in a group together. Wheezie tries to look at me with a deeply apologetic look in her eyes but I do my best to avoid them, feeling beyond betrayed by the brunette girl walking ahead of me.

I can hear the crew making their way to the hull as well, deep, confused voices filling my ears as our feet slap against the floor.

I felt like herded cattle, the way Rafe was guiding me towards the center of the ship with a tight grip on my shoulder. It’s not like I had anywhere to go, the manhandling simply a display of his control over me.

“Where are we going?” Wheezie asks. “And where’s dad?” The sound of her voices is grating to my ears, the mention of Ward only contributing to my piss-poor mood.

“I don’t know, Wheezie.” Rose sounds just as annoyed as I feel, though I think it’s because of my less than kind treatment of her and not the confused thirteen-year old walking in front of us.

Rafe lets go of my shoulder suddenly, shoving me forward roughly as I begin to fall behind the rest of the group. I roll my eyes, not moving to pick up my pace at all in an act of defiance. After A few seconds of not being herded, I turn around briefly to look at Rafe only to be met by empty space.

I stop in my tracks, puzzled by his sudden disappearance.

The ship was in absolute chaos.

Shortly after Rafe disappeared, those of us that remained in the hull were locked in by someone on the outside. Apparently there were stowaways on the ship and they took control over the bridge.

We were stuck in the hull for a while before someone that hadn’t been locked inside let us out and instructed the crew to go to the main deck. Rose tried to get me to go with her and Wheezie back to the state rooms, but about halfway there I broke off while she wasn’t looking.

I watched as some crew members ran to the center of the ship where the engine room is, and others as they ran to the main deck.

Armed.

The sight of a bunch of men with guns deeply unsettled me, and everything in my body was telling me to just go back to the state room with Wheezie and Rose. However, my curiosity always wins. Somehow I ended up on the part of the ship where the shipping containers are kept, body on edge as I keep an eye out for both Rafe and the heavily armed men walking around with the clear intentions of killing someone if they could.

I peek around a yellow shipping container on the deck, the large metal box my hiding spot for the time being. I spot a commotion at the top of the ship, the sound of yelling in the distance filling my ears. I squint, barely able to see the bodies from so far away. A glinting object caught my eyes, my vision focusing on the large object swaying in the air on the side of the ship.

I left my hiding spot cautiously, slowly making my way towards the object to get a clearer look.

A cross.

Suddenly, everything clicks. My brother going on and on about a cross, Sarah missing for the entire time I’ve been awake, alleged stowaways, and now the very same cross he showed me pictures of hanging over the edge of a ship that the Camerons are on.

I start running towards the commotion, adrenaline feeling my body at the very absurd, yet not very far-fetched, thought that my brother and his friends were on this ship right now. I stomp up what seems like a million stairs to get to closer to the crane machine holding the cross, the large, god object now swaying madly in the air.

Out of nowhere, the cross begins falling rapidly as gunshots fire in the distance.

“Shit.” I say out loud, picking up my pace as I journey to the top of the ship.

I ran out of the staircase, instead making my way to the railing that overlooks the side of the boat. Leaning over the railing, I spot a smaller boat sitting still in the water below. The vehicle was being occupied by Sarah and John B, and I almost screamed at the sight of the two.

“Sarah!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, unsure if they could even hear me over the sounds of the ship. “Sarah, it’s Neriah! John B! Sarah!” I yelled again.

Sarah’s head snaps up towards my voice, her face barely visible from where I stand. She looks like she gasps at the sight of me, standing up in the wobbly, inflatable life boat. She hits at John B’s shoulder to get his attention, pointing up at me. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she looks both relieved and panicked.

“Neriah! Over there!” Sarah yells back, her arm violently waving to the right as a prompt for me to look in that direction. “Pope’s over there!”

My head almost falls off my shoulders as I turn to find my brother. He hasn’t seen me yet, but I watch as he runs off the ship and jumps into the water like a crazy person, accompanied by a dark-skinned girl I’ve never seen before. I watch as they flail in the water, the boat speeding over to help them inside.

Sarah points in my direction and Pope’s head follows, eyes spotting me waving my arms in the air to catch his attention. He looks like he’s yelling but I can’t hear him or read his lips from this distance. He hits John B repeatedly white shouting and the brunette begins to steer the boat back towards the ship.

“Other side! Go to the other side!” Is all he says before they jet to the the opposite side of the boat.

I run as fast as I can to the opposite side, not sure how long it will be until the heavily armed crew will find them.

They got there before I did, an unconscious JJ and a worried Kie now joining the other Pogues in the lifeboat. When Pope spots me, he stands up and starts waving at me. My ears ring as adrenaline floods my veins, my body itching to join them below in the water.

“Jump!” Pope and Sarah yell simultaneously. “Hurry, we gotta go! Jump!”

My fingers grip the railing, ready to swing my body over into the water. I wasn’t the best swimmer, but I’d rather take my chances with the Atlantic than the family waiting for me back in the state rooms. Before I can get my foot over the railing, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my body.

The Pogues in the lifeboat below begin yelling frantically and Pope looks like he wants to claw his way up the side of the ship with his bare hands.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rafe whispers into my ear, the warmth of his breath fanning across my cheek.

“Get off!” I yell back, fingers wrapped tightly around the railing as the blonde attempts to rip me away. The rusted metal is rough against my palms, the stinging feeling barely noticeable as fear and panic consume my being.

The only thing I have to my advantage is my hold on the rail. If I let go to fight back, Rafe will overpower me in seconds. If I keep my grip on the railing and make him lose his footing, I can jump ship before he even has the chance to recover.

I do my best to stomp on his toes as hard as I can, but he doesn’t even flinch when I do it. I hear him hissing in pain, but his hold on me only gets tighter as he yanks me backwards repeatedly. He catches onto my idea quickly and kicks at the bend behind my knees. I falter, my knees folding at the assault. He takes the moment of weakness to beat at my hands on the railing with his fists.

I do my best to ignore the pain of him rapping against my knuckles, but the force of his hands against mine feels like it’ll break my fingers at the joint. I ripped my hands away from the metal bars, fingers unable to take the pain he was inflicting any longer.

“Come on, Neriah.” Rafe says as he yanks me up off the floor roughly. “ Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please.”

“Leave me alone!” My voice is angry and frantic, elbows and feet kicking back against his body as he drags me away from the side of the ship. “Get the hell off me!”

“Neriah!” I hear Pope yell out from below. He sounds just as scared as I feel, and my heart aches at the panic in his voice. “Neriah! I’m sorry!”

“Pope!” I called back. Why is he sorry? This wasn’t his fault.

I felt the adrenaline running out as Rafe pulled me farther and farther away from my escape route. I felt weak fighting against the man, my hits were barely affecting him as I stumbled over my own feet as he pulled me backwards. I scratch at his arms and hands, lines of white and pink left behind as I try to claw my way out of his hold.

“Let go of me, Rafe!”

He continues to ignore my demands, the feeling of his strong arms around my torso only becoming more constricting. The pressure of his forearms squeezing against my ribs was that of a bruising pain. As I look out over the water, I watch the boat carrying my brother and his friends speeding off into the distant waters.

Oh. That’s why Pope was sorry.

I fell limp in Rafe’s arm at the sight of the boat steering in the direction of the sunset, all hope of escape gone. I hear him talking but I don’t listen, my brain too preoccupied with self-pitying thoughts to pay attention to his words. I let him drag me through the halls of the ship, the blood in my ears far too loud to hear any of the voices of the men around me.

We make it back to the room I was in when I woke up and he shoves me inside and shuts the door behind him loudly as he leaves me there alone. I stand in the middle of the room, the sound of the lock clicking barely registering to me.

I don’t know how long I stand unmoving in the center of the room, face stoic as my eyes well up with tears. The voices outside the door are muffled by the wood and sounds of the ship, not that I cared to listen to what they were saying anyways.

My body crumpled in on itself, every inch of me falling to the floor in a large heap of fear and sorrow. Fear of what will happen when we get off this boat. Sorrow for my family, my friends, my home. For my future.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #obx1 #obx2 #outer banks #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x oc #obx fanfiction #obx3 #pope heyward #rafe obx

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alloftheimaginesblog · 2 years

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Let Me Show You {Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader} NSFW

Plot: You've been dating Eddie Munson for the past few months but your insecurities over your plus size body take over and you begin to distance yourself from him. Eddie is determined to set the record straight.

Character: Eddie Munson x Plus Size Female Reader

Warnings; 18+, NSFW, MDNI, swearing, negative self image/negative talking about body and weight, oral (female receiving), orgasm

Requested by anon

He knew that something was wrong, he'd known for a few days that you were acting weird around him but now it was one hundred percent confirmed that you were avoiding him. You and Eddie had planned a date and you pushed it back, feigning illness, and then you just pushed it back for a second time.

Eddie ran a hand over his face, "(y/n)'s avoiding me," he said to Dustin who was sipping from a soda can, "I think she's going to break up with me."

Dustin shook his head, curls flying everywhere, "No way man, she's so in love with you, she was ranting to Nancy last week about how great you are... How is she avoiding you?"

Eddie shrugged, "She's just... distant. Cancelling plans a few times, generally just more quiet. Whenever I ask her to stay over she always has this look of panic like I've just turned into Vecna or some shit and then makes up an excuse to go home. I dunno."

"I think the best thing to do is go over to her house and ask her." Dustin determined, "There's something that she's hiding from you so you need to get down to the bottom of it."

There was a reason for your weird behaviour; for the distance between the two of you and your excuses to cancel plans. It wasn't a secret that you were heavier than a lot of the other girls your age, everyone could see it, and normally it wouldn't have bothered you but lately you just felt so uncomfortable in your own skin. Your insecurities didn't only stop at your body and weight, they spanned to Eddie and his interest for you. You felt as though Eddie was losing interest in you, like he was getting bored of you. Eddie Munson wasn't known to be a relationship guy by any means but when he met you, he said things changed. You weren't sure that you believed him anymore. You loved Eddie, fully and wholly in love with him, but your mind was so weighted down with all of these insecurities, fears and worries that you began to push him away; you'd rather detach from him now before he ended up breaking up with you due to boredom.

Deciding that Dustin's plan was the best course of action, Eddie drove to yours after dropping Dustin home. You were in your bedroom, playing music and reading, when you Eddie knocked on the door. You ignored it, your parents were both working and you didn't usually answer the door when you were home alone. Knowing this, Eddie continued to knock, "Any time today, Princess!" He yelled in a sing song voice.

You shot upwards and out of bed.

Eddie was here? Eddie was here, outside your front door. Oh shit. Nerves bubbled up in your stomach as you left your bedroom and walked downstairs. He was still knocking, hitting the door with the palm of his hand and was yelling out for you to open up.

You opened the door, "What are you doing here?" You asked, voice frostier than you intended, "I thought I cancelled tonight's plans."

Eddie's face fell slightly and you immediately felt terrible, "Can I come in?" You nodded, moving out of the way to let him walk past you, before you closed and locked the door behind him.

You led him upstairs to your room, even despite your parents not being in the house, it felt too weird sitting anywhere that wasn't your bedroom with him. There was an unsure atmosphere, unspoken words and secrets hanging in the air. It was awkward. Eddie closed the door of your bedroom and sighed, "I think we need to talk."

Your heart plummeted.

There it was. He came here because he was bored and doesn't love you anymore; he's going to break up with you. Immediately after he said it, the worries and insecurities are in your head screaming at you. Awkwardly, Eddie sat on the edge of your bed and looked at you. He could see the fear in your eyes, could see your fidgeting hands, "Hey, Princess, what's wrong?" He asked softly, "You look terrified."

"Just get it over with already," you snapped, swallowing hard, "Just break up with me already. Rip the band aid off, Eddie."

"Break up with you?" He asked, eyes wide, "(y/n), I don't want to break up with you. Do you want to break up with me?"

You shook your head, "You didn't come here to break up with me?"

"No, baby, no." He moved closer to you, taking your fidgeting hands in his, and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, "You've been avoiding me. I came by to find out why and see what I can do to help."

Your eyes stung with tears as you desperately tried to look anywhere but at Eddie. You tried to speak but the words just wouldn't come. This is why you'd not spoken to him before now about these issues, you wouldn't be able to do it without breaking down in front of him. Quickly, Eddie scooped you into his embrace, arms strong and tight around you as he whispered murmurs of 'you're okay, everything's okay' into your hair.

"I feel like you're going to lose interest in me and getting bored of being with me," you told him quietly, voice muffled from being in the crook of his neck.

"Lose interest and get bored?!" Eddie exclaimed, "Baby, no fucking way. Why do you feel that way? Have I done something that-"

You were quick to shake your head, "No, not you... It's me... I just feel so uncomfortable in my skin. I look at myself in the mirror and I hate it. I just feel so unlovable and fat and ugly." Eddie's arms squeezed you tighter. He hadn't realised you felt this way. It hurt him to know that you were hurting, "I just... I look at myself and I don't understand how you could love me; how you can even look at me without wanting to be sick."

His heart panged in his chest, "I'm so sorry," he whispered, placing a soft kiss to your head before pulling you back at an arm's length, "Would you look at me please (y/n)?" Slowly, you raised your eyes to his as his hands cupped your cheeks, wiping them free of tears. He was nervous, he had one chance to make this right; to make you believe him so it had to be perfect, "I look at you and you know what I see? I see my everything. I look at you and I am so freaking happy with our relationship. You mean more to me than I could ever be able to tell you. You- You-" He groaned, running his hands through his hair, "I'm not good with my words, Princess..." It was then was inspired with a thought, "Do you trust me?" You nodded, "Then let me show you how beautiful you are to me."

"What are you doing?" You whispered as Eddie leaned in close to you.

"I'm showing you how beautiful you are to me, Princess," he smirked, "You drive me crazy."

Before you had a chance to speak, he'd captured your lips in his. At first the kiss was soft, testing the waters, but once Eddie realised that you were fine to kiss him he deepened the kiss. You always loved kissing Eddie; he could make everything disappear with a kiss. One hand moved to the nape of your neck with fingers knotting in your hair, whilst the other pulled you in at the waist. With everything he had, he tried to pour as much emotion into the kiss as possible; tried to say so much with no words. You understood. My god, you understood. It was like one of those book kisses, fireworks and sparks and the likes. You didn't separate until your lungs burned and you were gasping for a breath, even then it was too soon.

"Princess," he whispered, eyes boring into yours. There was a shift in the atmosphere, "let me show you how much I adore you." He picked up your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to each finger, "I love these hands." He then moved to your wrist and forearm, kissing it too. He moved right up to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses and murmuring how much he loved the body part that he was kissing. His hands swept the hair from your neck away and leaned down to pepper the delicate skin in soft kisses, "I love your neck," he murmured against it, "I love your lips." Eddie moved back in to kiss you except this time, his hands fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt. His hands slowly slipped under and you inwardly cringed at the thought of him touching your stomach. He could sense your discomfort and pulled away, hands stopping, "Do you want me to stop?"

Slowly you took a breath, "No, it's okay... You can take it off me." You raised your arms, allowing him to peel the t-shirt away from you. Your instinct was to use your arms and hands to cover yourself.

"Princess, you don't have to hide from me," he said gently before kissing you again. His kisses made you forget, just for a brief second, about your insecurities as he so carefully lay you down on the bed. Again, he pulled away all too soon, "I love kissing you. I love the way you taste, strawberry lipgloss and all." He smacked his lips together, making you giggle, before he dipped his head, attacking your neck with his mouth and tongue.

You gasped, back arching as he hit your sweet spot, sucking down harder on it. He loved to leave his marks on you, loved the rest of the world knowing that you were taken and that you were his. The way you arched against him made him moan against your neck. He could feel your warm skin pressing against him, could feel your hard nipples pressing against him... The things he wanted to do to you but he pushed those thoughts away. He was making you feel good, focusing on you tonight.

Carefully, his hands danced over your stomach, and action that you didn't mind because you were too preoccupied, and up to your chest, palming your breast and nipple gently, "Eddie," you moaned quietly. He loved when you moaned his name, loved that he could make you feel good.

"Feel good, Princess?"

"So- So good."

Satisfied with leaving two dark love bites on your neck, Eddie's lips moved down to your chest, kissing all around your chest before landing on your nipple. He was teasing you, so slowly running his tongue over your sensitive bud, so agonisingly slowly.

"More."

He pulled back, grinning at you with that cocky grin, "Someone's a little demanding... Say please."

"More please," you huffed. One hand pinched and flicked your nipple whilst he sucked on the other, tongue flicking it up and down. Your body felt like it was on overdrive, senses all blurring and becoming hazy around the edges. Eddie's spare hand managed to unbutton your jeans and was working on pushing them down. He tapped your ass in 'lift up' motion which you obeyed immediately before he could shove them down. You kicked them off once they got to your ankles. You were too far gone now, you needed more from him; needed him to make you tumble over the edge.

Eddie leaned back, sitting up and drinking in the view. You were all too aware that you were naked in front of him, fully and completely bare. Again your hands shot out to cover yourself but Eddie gently caught your wrists with his hands as he shook his head, "You look incredible," he breathed out as he drank you in. He took in every freckle, every roll, every lump, every stretchmark; he drank you up and never wanted to stop, "I love every single inch of you, I promise."

He continued pressing gentle kisses to your chest before he moved his attention down towards your stomach. You tensed almost terrified at the thought of him touching you there. "I love your stomach," he murmured against it, "I love how warm and soft it is. So fucking soft." You'd never had anyone call you soft before. It made you smile, made you relax against his touch... made those worries that had previously be in your head fade away. "I love your stretchmarks," he kissed them with so much love and care that you couldn't help but believe him, "they tell the story of how you've grown and how you've lived. I love them."

His hands groped at your thighs and you felt that familiar heat pooling between your legs. You squirmed as he moved downwards, "I love your legs, your thighs; I love grabbing them," he grabbed them for emphasis, "I love the way they wrap around me. I love the way they move." His kisses peppered them, hair tickling them, as he opened up your thighs, "You want me to keep going?" You were breathing harder, your chest heaving with every breath. You nodded quickly, "Words, Princess, I need your voice."

"God, yes Eddie, keep going. Please." He loved the desperation in your voice, loved how impatient you were getting. He liked knowing that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

He leaned down close to you, "I love the way you smell, the way you taste... So damn good." He breathed, breath tickling over your aching hot sex. He ducked his head, kissing your thighs, "You're so fucking perfect, Princess. I'll never be bored of you; I'll always want you." Your breath hitched in your throat and your hips jutted upwards wanting more; needing more. He smirked, "Is my Princess getting impatient?"

"N-Need more."

Eddie didn't need more of an explanation. Taking you off guard, he ran his tongue ran the length of you, dipping between the wet slits as he parted you. He loved the sounds that came from you, the gasps, the soft moans; it drove him wild. His cock twitched in his pants but this wasn't about him, it wasn't about getting off... this was different. This was about proving how sexy he thought you were; how perfect you were, how beautiful you were... This was about proving that he loved you and needed you in his life; this was about you.

His tongue found your clit, swirling around and over it, faster and faster. Your body writhed beneath him, twisting and arching, as your moans became louder and longer. Eddie hummed, loving how wet you are for him and loving the reactions he was pulling from you. Your worries and insecurities are the last thing in your mind right now, all you can focus on is the pleasure that Eddie's making you feel. "Fuck," you moaned, "S-So close."

You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening, it wouldn't be long until you were hitting your high. Eddie's mouth worked expertly on your clit, sucking and flicking it, faster and faster. He stayed with you even when your hips began to rock against his face, grinding your clit on his tongue. He loved when you were like this; coming undone beneath him in the most beautiful way. One of your hands stretched out to twist into his curls, pushing his head down into your cunt as you continued to grind against his tongue. He hummed, the sensation pushing you over the edge as you lost all sense of being and could only feel the intense waves of pleasure.

Your thighs have his head in a vice like grip as you hold him in place. Eddie rode your orgasm out, tongue still swirling fast around your sensitive clit. You were a mess beneath him, moaning and gasping, hand clawing at the sheets as you tumbled into the vortex of pleasure. You'd never felt this good, maybe it was because of the build-up, maybe it was just because Eddie was so damn good... whatever it was, you never wanted it to end. The need for oxygen burned Eddie's lungs but he stayed put, working you through that high.

With a long breath, you sunk back into the bed. The world felt fuzzy around the edges. Your thighs released their grip as your hips ceased their rocking. Eddie pulled back, breathing hard, before pressing gentle kisses to either side of your thighs, "Think you can handle another?"

You weren't actually sure if you could but you were greedy and you wanted to feel good again so you stammered out a, "Y-Yes."

Quickly, Eddie dove right back to your clit, flicking and sucking on it faster this time. You were already so sensitive, so much more reactive and louder this time. His fingers teased your entrance, coating them in your slick wetness, before he pushed two fingers inside of you, pumping slowly but pace increasing with every passing second. Your hips once again started bouncing on his tongue as your hands grasped at the sheets, pulling them in a white knuckle grip. He pumped his fingers inside of you, faster and faster, as your moans grew louder and quicker. You were a mess beneath him, stammering and stuttering about being so close. Eddie loved seeing you like this, loved watching you lose your shit because of him; because of how good he was making you feel. It only spurred him on more, tongue working faster and fingers moving deeper and it didn't take long before you were once again hitting your high.

Your orgasm was louder and needier. Your hips lost their rhythm and instead you were just grinding them in whatever way gained the most pleasure from his tongue and fingers. Eddie rode it out, pace not letting up, as your hands tangle in his hair again pushing him down into you. Eddie's cock twitched in his pants. God he loved you like this; needy, desperate and loud. Your body twisted and convulsed beneath him as you fell from your high, chest heaving. His tongue flicked and twirled around your sensitive clit until you were pushing his head away, "S-S-So sensitive," you pant, "Fucking hell, Eddie." Your mind was reeling from the intense pleasure as your body trembled and convulsed like sparks as he pressed two gentle kisses to your inner thighs.

He moved back up to you, popping his fingers in his mouth and licking the taste of you off of them, "How you feeling?" He asked quietly, smiling as you opened your eyes to look at him.

"Wow..." You can't really give him much more than that. You feel weightless, like you're floating on cloud nine.

"Do you believe me now?" He moved your hair from your face, "You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I promise you that I'll never be bored or lose interest in you. You're perfect for me, Princess."

The worries and insecurities are gone, vanished from your mind. You feel reassured (especially with his rock hard cock pressed against your side) that Eddie wanted you and thought you were beautiful. You nodded, "Yeah," you murmured, "I'm sorry I let my insecurities take over."

He shook his head, "You don't have to apologise, Princess," he said as he pulled you to lie on his chest, arms wrapped tight around your naked frame, "Just... If these things start to stress you out again, tell me please. Don't push me away, tell me and I'll help you; we'll do it together."

You nodded again, "Together."

#one shot #os #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size #reader insert #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things #imagine

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blonditarot · 5 months

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How does Felix view Stray Kids?

I’m trying to do this reading but Felix is crying that I’m not using my pink tarot deck. Sorry honey I left it at my cousin’s house 🤣🤣

Bangchan

To Felix Bangchan is someone that connects him with his home (not in cards, intuition). Bangchan have to Felix the chance to have a life that he dreamt of. He sees him a teammate and a friend. They celebrate their success together. I also keep hearing a drinking buddy.

Lee Know

I feel as if someone was choking me.

Felix and Minho could have fought a lot during their early years in SKZ. Felix could have said something that he now regrets. I don’t know why but it’s seems as if he was hurt because he saw Minho being hurt because of him. Right now they are on a different path. They worked it through and gave each other a new chance. Their relationship seems well balanced and there’s no fighting anymore. They help each other. Remember the previous reading where everyone was going to Minho for advice? Here Felix might be the one helping Minho get clarity just as much as Felix goes to Minho. They could be very close to each other too. Felix might also like to spend time with Minho in a creative way. Like making music together.

This is supposed to be how Felix views him but I think he sees him through what their relationship is like.

Changbin

Guys I cannot believe it

It’s copy and paste Chan 😭😭

But here with the ace of pentacles I think it’s not about Binnie giving a chance to Felix. It’s about him being naturally gifted. Beside of that I’m picking colleges and good friends off camera. With the those 3 numbers repeating I wouldn’t be surprised if Chanbin, Chan and Felix like to hang out as a trio.

Hyunjin

This is a lot.

As I said in their relationship reading they are more focused on their own future. Looking for a success and new friendships. However there is a soulmate card. They are close, always supporting each other. Felix loves to work with Hyunjin. They complete each other on stage and in their personal life. There’s some fear and negativity here. However this seems to be just in Felix’es head. Right now Hyunjin might be a little distant but Felix refuses to leave his side and will work on their relationship. Even if it means giving him more than receiving.

I can’t get too deep because when I try I get a headache

Han

Felix you will kill me today 😭😭

I think Han has turned his back on Felix. There are some lies being exposed that changed his perception of Han. Han wanting to get more famous and becoming slightly toxic. As if there was a moment when he wasn’t in his right mind, not knowing what to do and kind of loosing himself to fame. Lately Han might have started prioritizing his life as much as his work (idk if this makes sense) and taking his time to heal and find himself again.

Seungmin

There’s some competing with each other here. I think they are both very stuck in their ways and sometimes none of them wants to back down. Quite sibling like when you both want to watch a different movie. Felix could be bossing Seungmin around and Seungmin might refuse to listen. They are friendly tho.

9 of pentacles, the world and the ace of wands for clarification

Yeah, they are definitely not on the enemies side. I think Felix might want what’s best for him (his Virgo is showing) but Seungmin has his own plans, and Felix ends as “why isn’t he listening? I know best”. Felix is just being a protective older brother that wants the world and best opportunities for him.

I.N

And I’m dead

So we might have another pair of soulmates. There’s some energy that goes “where you go I go, we’re in this together”. There’s also some mischief. Felix and Jeongin might be scolded together as a team for acting out of line. There’s parting and past memories from childhood. They are good friend with a very harmonious friendship. Jeongin is Felixes sunshine. Jeongin is optimistic and sweet and often offer Felix help. Idk Jeongin and Felix might have worked a lot together to improve as kpop idols

There’s a past life connection here as well and it’s quite strong

#kpop tarot #stray kids tarot #felix tarot

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elliottjpg · 2 months

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I realize I've never properly introduced my oldest and dearest brain-children here.

The Laufeyson family

also known as the Laufeyson Squad and the Independant Braincells, are "self-developping" OCs. They are somewhat aware of having been created as fully-formed people, and can interact with a version of me. I don't really make any decisions about their personality, they grow by themselves. They all have a lot of me in them, and their evolution has always been a reflection of mine.

Also, they have superpowers. That kinda just... happened. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

🦊Lilith

Oldest in terms of creation; middle child in terms of age. She has an extremely chaotic personality, and no brain-to-mouth filter. She's loud, brash and unashamed. She loves her sisters more than anything, although it hasn't always been smooth sailing. She especially had a rough relationship with Elliott in the first few years of her life, and was low-key afraid of Raven when the youngest was born; but she warmed up to her quickly.

She's a raging fangirl, the kind that has full-blown hysterical feels attacks about her OTP. She tends to jump from fandom to fandom depending on what show she's binging at the moment.

She can modify her appearance at will, as long as she always "looks like herself". She mostly uses it to play with different hairstyles, move her tattoos around, and downsize or disappear her wings (although she feels naked without them). Don't be fooled, she's shorter than Elliott, she just has thicker soles. She is also capable of creating illusions - think Minor Illusion in DnD, but without sound.

She most likely has ADHD. She's pansexual, and surprisingly the only one of the group to not have something going on with her gender; she's solidly a cis woman without the shadow of a doubt.

🔨Sacha

Second in creation (but not by much), eldest in age. Her role in the family is to protect and take care of her sisters. She used to be very aggressive about it (it involved the hammer); she is learning to be more gentle (and to use the hammer on other people). She's the more mature and level-headed of the sisters, and is recognized as the figure of authority in the family. She doesn't boss people around, but the others know that when she makes a decision for them, she's probably right. She loves her family and would do anything for them, but she doesn't hesitate to call them out on their shitty behaviour.

She has the ability to feel her sisters' emotion; everyday feelings just register as a distant presence, but she feels any strong emotions coming from them. She can also teleport between wherever she is and wherever one of her sisters is, and take one person with her. She mostly uses it to check on her family in case of strong feelings, and get them out of dangerous or uncomfortable situations (often with Raven). One of her eyes changes color depending on her mood.

She's aro-ace (something I realized years after her creation, by trying to imagine her with a S-O and just hitting a mental brick wall). She's also agender; picture Janet from The Good Place and you'll have a pretty good picture.

🦇Raven

Youngest both in age and in creation (by a couple of years). Raven is pretty much defined as a person by her crippling anxiety. However, that is a step-up from the deep depression she was born with and has (mostly) come back from. She's learning to get out of the house more and have fun with her family, although she really doesn't frequent anyone besides her sisters and another family they grew up with.

At first she only ever talked to Elliott, until Lilith roped her in to her shenanigans. She's now very close to Sacha, who is an encouraging presence in her life, and defends her when Elliott or Lilith get mad at her, which happens occasionally.

She has what I call exopathy; she projects her feelings outward and other people can feel them. It's only the negative feelings though, and she can't control it at all. Her appearance changes slightly when she's having an anxiety attack or when she's depressed: her hair gets longer, and her skin and eyes get paler.

She has no idea what her sexuality or gender are, even after all these years; she's too anxious about meeting people to even think about dating. She tried he/him pronouns for a little while, but that didn't seem to lead anywhere. I think her gender is just "anxiety".

🎨Elliott

This is literally just me if I could manifest fully-formed human beings into existence out of my brain and then sustain a family of four on my own. 👍

The not-a-real-tattoos is the Japanese word ryōtōzukai, which means "wielder of two swords" and is a euphemism for bisexuality. I wish I had two swords.

#behold! the weird inner working of my brain #instead of braincells i have these three weirdos #i love them to pieces they're my children and my friends #my ocs #blorbo from my brains #lilith laufeyson #sacha laufeyson #raven laufeyson #laufeyson family

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cowboycharmac · 10 months

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(okay reposting bc tumblr autosave deleted a lot of my post </3 rip) on a slightly more depressing note do you ever think about how terrible mac is at taking care of things specifically in a parental context and get so sad because i do. mac as a person isnt inherently bad at taking care of things, he's fairly good at taking care of dennis (although his own insecurities and paranoias do negatively impact the relationship) and from what we see in the show he does the majority of homemaking work in the macden household and is generally pretty good at taking care of their apartment (unless it's on fire). but as soon as he reframes a relationship as a parental one he cant seem to figure it out.

the most obvious example of this is when he and dee take care of D.B/dumpster baby. now, character conflict is pretty par for the course for shows doing the "two characters adopt a baby" trope. however, in most shows ive seen it done, the progression is typically slower and/or more natural, from either a disparity in labour between maternal and paternal figures (often with the paternal figure slowly checking out and doing less and less work), or from one character being shoved into a role they didnt want. "the gang finds a dumpster baby" uses both of these, but what makes it interesting to me is how quickly and deliberately mac incites that conflict.

he seems eager and excited to take care of the baby and volunteers immediately, but as soon as he and dee get home from baby shopping he shoves everything off on her and becomes emotionally distant and angry when she tries to ask for help. this change in attitude is sudden and seemingly brought about by nothing in particular, he hasnt yet experienced anything that might make him realize that taking care of a baby is actually a pretty demanding job that he might not be interested in, and to me, at least, it doesnt read like he's genuinely annoyed at her or rejecting his self imposed paternal role. instead, he's still just play acting at what he thinks fatherhood should look like. he's still trying to give D.B his version of a "biblical" nuclear family, like he says he wants to when he pressures dee into taking on the maternal role, but he's using his own parents as a model for this and deliberately recreating the toxic environment he grew up in because he thinks that's how you're meant to raise a child.

it's also really interesting to me that he chose dee for this. mac and dee don't team up a lot, and when they do, it's typically because everyone else is off doing something else. sure, he's adamant that D.B needs to be raised by a man and a woman, and dee is the only woman in the gang, but he doesn't even consider trying to find D.B a mom outside of the gang.

given how he seems repulsed by dee in both a romantic and sexual context and in a nuclear family the dynamic between the mother and father is typically both, and given their platonic dynamic is strained as it is, this is odd. there are plenty of single women in philadelphia, and there are other women in mac's own life he gets along with a lot better (and who do/would make better mothers), like carmen (who hes on good enough terms with that they engage in a relationship just a bit later in the season).

to me it seems like he chose someone like dee, who he doesn't get along with very well, who has both anger and emotional intimacy issues, and who emphatically rejects motherhood when he thrusts it upon her, not because he thinks she's his only option, but because shes the person he thinks is most likely to behave like his own mother in that position. (little bit of gay mac meta here, it also feels like maybe he chose a woman he had a distinctly platonic dynamic with and who wouldnt expect anything else from him so as to avoid needing to have a sexual or romantic relationship with his female partner in this constructed family)

theres also of course the dynamic between dennis jr, mac, and dennis in mac and dennis move to the suburbs. admittedly this one is a lot less interesting to me because the parallels to his own parents are less intentional on mac's part, however i do have some thoughts about it. here, he takes on the maternal role. dennis, from his own and the audiences perspective, isnt helping "raise" dennis jr at all and isnt really involved here. however, from macs perspective, dennis is taking on a paternal role, not necessarily because of, but also not in spite of the fact that he's away for most of the day, emotionally distant, and doesnt seem to be helping take care of or even interacting with dennis jr on a regular basis.

granted, mac isn't taking care of dennis jr either. despite seeming excited to "raise [the dog] like [his and dennis'] own son", he's despondent and neglectful, much like his own mother, and dennis jr. starves to death. from what we see of his mother on the tape from mac's childhood in "a very sunny christmas", she, like mac, wasn't always dull. although we dont really see her interact with mac and i have no doubt that she was a subpar mother and person for all of mac childhood (she is more than complicit in the robbing of peoples homes in this same episode), she has more normal emotional responses to things like receiving a gift, and she appears to genuinely like luther. i dont think its too much of a stretch to assume that she, like mac, let her emotional issues with an absent or distant partner interfere with her role as a parent. the only difference is that mac, unlike dennis jr, is a human child who is presumably old enough to do the bare minimum to keep himself alive by the time she checks out.

anyways sorry this post kind of got away from me. it just makes me so sad. mac wants to be a parent but he has no real frame of reference for that, he wants so badly to take care of something but he cant help neglecting it because to him it seems normal that parents shouldnt need to take care of their child, that children should have to care of themselves. hes so adamant that his relationship with his parents is normal, healthy, and loving that he'll ruin even a pale mimicry of a family trying to recreate it.

#iasip #mac mcdonald

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where-fantasy-meets-reality · 10 months

Text

“Reflections Of A Distant Past” Chapter 6

Masterlist

Pairing: Ben Kenobi x F. Reader

Word Count: 5.9 K

Warnings: None that I can think of, other than I fall in love with this man every day.

A/N: Hello everyone! I apologize for the delay in posting this, but I was struggling with writer's block due hectic schedule and lack of free time. Nonetheless, I am happy with the end result. There will be more updates I am just not sure when, so I apologize for the inconsistent schedule. As always thank you to everyone who reads and shows support, it is always appreciated. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts and if you want to be added to masterlist, just let me know.

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

There had been an undeniable pep in your step in the days following your date with Ben.

You had been humming, smiling, and daydreaming as much as it pained you to admit it. It’s as if you were fifteen years old again.

That thought made you both giggle and roll your eyes in frustration at the same time.

As promised, you had taken a look at your schedule and gotten back to Ben. You had suggested meeting him Friday afternoon for a coffee at the shop Ahsoka worked at. In the summers she worked the morning shift, so she wouldn’t be present when the two of you are on your date; as that would have been awkward for the both of you.

Even though there were only two days between your first date and the next, you felt it went by even faster than you had anticipated the previous date…but that could have been due to your overwhelming excitement.

- - - - - - - - - -

Ben stood in his bathroom mirror, fussing over his hair. He wanted to look his absolute best.

Considering this date was much more casual, he opted for a pair of dark wash jeans and a forest green polo with a pair of brown dress shoes.

Finally happy with the way his hair looked, he quickly combed his beard and grabbed his cologne.

Whistling while he was spraying himself, he hadn’t heard Anakin walk into his bedroom.

Leaning against the frame of the bathroom doorway, Anakin causally crossed his arms and allowed a smile to creep up from the corner of his mouth.

“Wow…look at you….two dates in one week….When should I expect her to move in?”

Glancing at him with his sassy side-eye expression, Ben didn’t pause his fussing with his appearance. “Easy there.” He cautioned.

Anakin gave out a short laugh. “I’m just saying…for a guy who has made it a point to not get involved romantically with anyone in his very long extended life, this week has been a huge one for you…”

Ben smiled thinking of Emma. “Well, that is because there is no one like her Anakin….she’s breathtaking ... .amazing really…”

Straightening, Anakin let his mouth fall open and his eyes widened. “Damn…..You really are in love….you just called her breathtaking.”

“I wouldn’t go that far yet ... .Do I have feelings for her?…yes, unfortunately ... .Am I going to keep seeing her…Well, yes, until she orders me away…”

“IF she orders you away…” Anakin interjected. “...And what do you mean, unfortunately, you have feelings for her, mutual attraction is a strong start to a stable relationship.”

Finally turning away from the mirror and looking fully at his friend, Ben frowned slightly. “...I say unfortunately because she deserves better than a 160-something-year-old monster…”

Rolling his eyes, Anakin leaned against the wall again.“Really? You’re still on this? Are you ever just going to let loose and relax? Doesn’t she make you forget all of that angst and negative emotion? Be free and feel happy again, allow yourself that.”

Walking past Anakin, Ben sat on the side of his bed that occupied the middle of his room. “...She does…When I’m with her…Well…I’d swear it was 1888 again, only because I feel human again, the rest is very un-1888 but…. if I close my eyes, I can envision…I can see her….But she makes me feel better than any woman I loved ever did…”

Sitting next to his alpha, Anakin gently nudged him with his elbow. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I mean most people would say it is, but leave it to you to complicate things…”

The two men shared a laugh at the awkward truth.

Ben sighed. “...I think it is a good thing…It only makes me melancholy because I realize that I didn’t really know what love was back then or even now…but honestly, in that society, we were given no choice…in most marriages, the partners learned to love each other because they had to, divorce was not an option if you wanted to keep your standing in society and I suppose…Shopie and I would have made it work over time…I think we were in love…I’m sure I was…”

“Wow…You said her name…”

Nodding his head slowly, Ben looked at Anakin. “I know I need to let go of the past…or at least the pain of the past…the three of you are always telling me that and I think in order to be the best I can be for Emma then I am going to have to actually do it…or at least try to do it…”

Anakin’s head swayed back and forth as he gently shook it. “I can’t believe what I am hearing….”

“Well don’t get too excited yet…She still doesn’t know who or what I am exactly…”

“You haven’t told her?!?!” Anakin exclaimed as he leaned back, away from Ben. “...You’re in this deep and she still doesn’t know?”

Pursing his lips, Ben closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, centering himself so that he didn’t blow up on his friend.

“What was I supposed to do, just blurt it out? We only just had our first date. Other than that we exchanged a handful of text messages and a few in-person conversations…How am I supposed to slip that in? …” Oh, by the way, I was turned into a werewolf, most likely by a psycho serial killer in 1888 and I was born in 1857 in London England which makes me roughly over 160 years old” ....Yeah…that will go over real well…”

Breathing in to also center and calm his wolf, Anakin eyed Ben expectantly. “...You can’t wait too long, you know better, you're the one always on us about the consequences of our actions ... .If her feelings are as strong for you as yours are for her, then waiting too long to tell her something like that will be disastrous.”

Ben knew he was right. He had told himself multiple times that if he was in Emma’s position and that a guy she just met came out with this type of secret after months of dating and thinking that she had feelings for what she thought was a normal guy….well, to put it lightly, he knew he would blow it.

“If things go well this afternoon, I’ll ask her on another date….and on that date, I will tell her…something….No matter how it scares me….”

“You will feel better once you do…”

“Oh, I am sure I will….I can’t tell you how many times I almost said something that gave me away…She is so easy to talk to and at dinner, she was asking me all these questions about my past and I so desperately wanted to tell her the truth because she deserves the truth…”

Ben didn’t voice the part of the silent truth that he discovered…that Emma was the first person he had met in his non-human life that made him feel like it was safe to talk about those things…to allow himself to be vulnerable.

Alpha werewolves had a hard time with vulnerability and emotion. If shown too much in the wrong circumstances, it could negatively affect them or give a rival alpha or pack member the wrong idea. Therefore, most alphas were jerks or hardasses, even to their packs.

Over the years, Ben had learned to walk a fine line. It helped that his pack was built organically, out of genuineness for the members and that they were small in number. He wasn’t some king-pin type who went around turning people or collecting already-made werewolves to build his pack up so that he could rule with an iron fist and do as he pleased….no, that was not him…man or beast.

Rather, Ben had just tried to detach himself from his emotions altogether and go about things without emotion. At first, all the rage and angst about his new life made it pretty easy. He had been a lone wolf till he found Anakin…after that, it was all about keeping him safe and in line….from there, he developed his traits and style as a leader. It helped that the man he was had been groomed to be a leader; as most men in that society were.

Anakin reached out and placed a gentle hand on Ben’s shoulder, cutting his internal thoughts short. “If your feelings are mutual and as strong as they are, she will understand…It may take her a minute to accept it as it did for Padme, but she will come around….”

“I hope so,” Ben whispered.

“The way you describe her, I’d swear she’s your mate, Padme thinks so too….But I know you don’t want to hear that…”

Ben heaved a sigh as he stood up. “Again, do not get ahead of yourself, there is still a lot to be determined.”

Walking out of the room, Anakin decided to lighten the mood. “Whatever,” he raised his hands in surrender. “…Have fun and ugh…” He looked at Ben over his shoulder and winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

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

Ben had offered to pick you up again for your Friday afternoon date, but seeing how the shop was down the street from your shop, you decided just to meet him there. Besides, it was a beautiful bright, sunny day for a walk. The temperature was perfect, there was a slight breeze, and the way downtown looked this time of year always warmed your heart.

It wasn’t a downtown that was towering with looming skyscrapers and gray with concrete. No, instead, downtown looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. Small storefronts, owned by generations of the same family, lined wide paved sidewalks, a flower box in every window. The same old-fashioned-looking street lamps that you walked under on your date night lined the streets. Everyone knew each other in this town and the two biggest things in town were the Walmart and the hospital.

When you walked into the coffee shop, Ben was already there. He was sitting at a table in the corner facing the door. His dark green polo contrasted with his strawberry-blond beard and hair quite nicely, making him quickly noticeable. He was sitting casually cross-legged, reading the newspaper. Yet, you could tell by the way his eyes crinkled that he could see over the top of the paper and knew you had arrived. As you approached the table, he folded the paper and placed it down on the table. Rising to greet you, he hugged you.

You relaxed into his embrace, the feeling of the warmness of his body mixing with his cologne was becoming something you craved. He bought you a coffee of your choice and another for himself.

The conversation lasted for hours and you two were able to pick up right where you left off on Wednesday. You noticed that Ben seemed more relaxed and easygoing, but he would still do that thing where he would square his jaw or tense up when he seemed to be too chatty. Yet, at the same time, he seemed to be aware of this and it almost seemed like he was actively working to not do it, to be more…open.

Growth…effort…. mindfulness…those were positive things. It pleased you to muse that he was aware of his little quirk and that he could be trying to work on it. It was the one thing that would make Ben even more attractive than he already was, mentally and physically.

After hours of nonstop conversation, your stomach growled, halting the conversation. A deep blush slowly overcame your cheeks as your eyes diverted to the floor quickly.

“I’m so sorry, I guess I was more hungry than I realized...It’s been a long day and I only ate breakfast.” You mumbled.

Chucking Ben checked his watch. “No apologies necessary. Although I do apologize for my lack of manners, it’s past 6 o’clock, I’ve kept you out all afternoon…I’ve yammered on…”

He looked at you, his Caribbean blue eyes full of concern as he looked you over as if he had made a grave mistake.

“No! Don’t be silly…I honestly was having such a good time, I didn’t notice ....It was time well spent.”

Softening, he gave you a half smile. “May I take you to dinner then? There’s this great Asian restaurant down the street from the college and I’m in the mood for some Pad Thai…”

That crooked smile he gave you could tempt you to jump off a bridge with him if he asked you to….saying “yes” to dinner was far easier….

“Only if you let me pay…You paid for the coffee and you paid for dinner on Wed. While I appreciate, and enjoy the fact that your gentleman, I’d like to reciprocate as this relationship will be one of equality…After all, my feelings and intentions for you are mutual.”

His eyes somehow became bluer, as if they were electrified. Leaning in forward, so close that he took up your whole vision, he whispered, “...I guess if it is mutual…I can allow it this one time…” He kissed your forehead as he leaned closer.

Catching your breath from the butterflies he had sent surging through your system, you hadn’t noticed that he had been up and on his feet. You turned to find him with his hand extended, “shall we?”

- - - - - - - -

How you had overslept the next morning, you didn’t know. You swore you had set your alarm the night before, but for some reason, you had slept right through it.

Then again, that was unlike you….maybe it never went off?

“Did I forget to set it all together?”

Dinner with Ben had been a lovely continuation of your coffee date. You had been on cloud 9 when you came home and went to bed so it is a possibility that you forgot.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now.” You huffed jumping out of bed.

Frantically brushing your teeth and trying to dress at the same time, you threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with the bookstore’s logo on it. Normally you would try to look a bit nice for work, but this morning, anything would do.

Grabbing an empty travel mug from the kitchen cabinet, you resigned yourself to the fact that the little pot you kept in the stock room for emergencies would have to do for today.

Making sure Cole had plenty of food and water, you locked up and dashed out to the garage.

Opening the car door, you all but threw your stuff in the passenger seat as you jumped in.

Turning the keys in the ignition, you heard a “clunk” sound.

A wave of dread washed over you like ice water.

In an attempt to not panic, you tried to turn the key in the ignition again. But the same “clunk” sound was made no matter how hard you turned the key…almost as if the car was coughing in protest, refusing to start.

“No, no, no, no, no….” You panicked as you tried to turn the key again, but it was to no avail.

Flopping back against the seat, you slammed your fist on the steering wheel in exasperation.

This was not what you needed right now. Sales at the store were just enough to keep the door open and although you didn’t like to show it, you were barely getting by. Not showing up at all, on a Saturday. no less, unannounced would not only hurt your overall bottom line, but you would hope it wouldn’t damage the store’s reliable reputation.

Who knew how much this car trouble was going to cost?

Even worse, how were you going to pay for it?

Your eyes pursed shut as you held back tears….

It would work out…it always did…you always made it work and you weren’t about to give up now.

Getting out of the car, you took some calming breaths as you centered yourself.

Pacing in the small garage, you tried to seek out the situation.

The car was fairly new…only about five…maybe six years old at the most…so it couldn’t be too bad of a problem….right?

You’d need to call a tow truck to send it to the repair shop.

Ignoring the sinking feeling at the prospect of another payment, you tried to think of where to send the car.

The dealerships always charged top dollar, and even on your best day you couldn’t afford top dollar, so you usually sent it to a local body shop in town.

“It really is not my day today….” You sighed as you leaned against the black car, resting your head on your arm against the vehicle.

The mechanic shop you had used since college had gone out of business. The sweet old couple that ran it had retired and moved to Boca….

Smiling fondly, you remembered Jim and Barbra. Jim had been a mechanic since he was 17 and specialized in American cars (you drove a Ford) and his wife, Barb, had run the front of the garage; doing the billing and paperwork, answering phones, and handling customers.

Jim was a good mechanic and never screwed his customers like some mechanics do, especially young college girls. And, because you were always a favorite customer of theirs, they usually gave you a slight discount on whatever you needed.

“Whelp ... .Unless I tow this thing to Boca, they can’t help me now.”

You were happy for the elderly couple, they had worked hard and deserved a happy retirement….but as you had realized, they couldn’t help you now….

This led you to your next question, what shop were you sending this to?

Picking one at random made your skin crawl…this was not something that you felt comfortable about, just choosing one at random….

You had once compared it to a pediatrician…would you leave your child in the care of just any old doctor? Heck no…just because it was certified to treat the baby didn’t mean that was the one you wanted to treat your baby.

Maybe you could call Paisley or the girls? See who they used.

Checking your phone, you realized the time.

Huffing, you shot Paisley a quick text, as you realized this had messed up your whole day. She usually did her own thing on Saturdays, so who knows where she was or what she was up to.

The clock on your phone teased you. Not only did you miss out on any potential morning customers, but you might not be able to get to work at all today…or any other day until you got your car back.

Then there was your next date with Ben, you were going to have to call him and either let him know that you were going to be late because you needed to call an Uber or ask him for a ride.

As you played with the phone in your hands, you thought back to Ben…hopefully, he won’t think you were making this up.

What was the likelihood that your car would actually die on a day that you were supposed to meet up for another date…that didn’t look good at all.

“WAIT!” you shrieked as if suddenly hit by a bolt of realization…”Didn’t Ben say that one of his roommates was a mechanic?!”

“Yes! Yes, he had at dinner the other night!”

Desperation overruled nerves. Normally you would have had major butterflies and a dry mouth for a phone call with Ben, especially this early in the relationship, but this took precedence.

Surprisingly, he picked up after one ring.

“Hey Emma!” Ben’s crisp British accent came through on the other line clear as day and normally it would have sent you off into dreamland…but instead, it surprisingly evoked a sense of security and comfort.

“Ben?” You said a little more hesitantly than you would have liked to.

“Emma, Is that you? Emma, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

You heard a chair slide across the floor as if he was standing up suddenly and his voice sounded alert, his tone ready; as if he could spring to your location through the phone lines to help if you needed him to.

“It is, it's me. I’m sorry to bother you in the morning, Ben…”

“No, that’s alright. Is everything okay, you sound….panicked?”

Panicked…that was a good word to describe the situation.

“Kind of…” You chuckled. “Again I am sorry to bother you but I was running late to the store and when I went to leave the house…well, I can’t start my car and I need a mechanic ... .Your roommate is a mechanic right?”

Ben’s breath slowed and seemed to relax.

“Yes, Anakin is a mechanic, I can arrange to have him look at it, I’m assuming if you can’t get it started then you need to have it towed, right?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you let out a small giggle. Of course, he anticipated your needs and was one step ahead. Multiple interactions with this man had led you to expect nothing less. “Yeah…I can’t get it started at all, so that would certainly help.”

“Alright, hang tight. I’m grabbing my keys now and I’ll be over. I’ll call Anakin at the garage and have him send a truck to pick it up and then we can follow it to the garage…”

“No, no that’s okay, I can always get an Uber, I don’t want to inconvenience you…”

Ben let out a “pft” sound as you heard him shut a door. “Nonsense, it is no trouble at all really…I’ll be there in 15…”

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

Ben arrived before the tow truck did and you didn’t know it until it happened, but you were grateful.

As he jumped out of his car, he was by your side unnaturally quickly…

But that didn’t matter…you just must have not been paying enough attention to him.

Despite your self-warnings about falling for him too quickly, you practically threw your arms around him as he approached you…and he didn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

You could Ben grip you closer and the scratchiness of his beard as he nuzzled himself into your neck. The way your breathing regulated and the relaxation that washed over you memorizing.

If the tow truck hadn’t pulled up to ruin the moment, you weren’t sure you’d ever let go of him…the pull toward him from inside of you was almost magnetic, you wanted to just touch him all the time.

As if time moved in slow motion, your eyes darted between watching the tow truck park and your car in the garage.

Should you take charge? Would that be appropriate because this was Anankin’s associate and Anakin was Ben’s roommate? Would Ben be offended if you took point? He is old-fashioned but does that mean he’s the macho type…the kind of guy whose all “let the men handle this darling…”.....that would be a letdown…..right?

Glancing at you briefly, Ben nonchalantly leaned in and whispered, “Would you like to handle this or may I?”

Most macho men would just jump in and start barking orders, taking charge like some “he-man” but just like that Ben had asked you what you preferred of him like he heard your internal dilemma … and it boosted the already high score that he held with you.

Because he asked, you were okay with him jumping in; you did call him for assistance after all.

“Considering it’s Anakin’s garage we’re going to and you called for the truck, it would make sense for you to take point.”

He smiled.”...That and I know the driver…” Winking, he gave your forehead a kiss, his trademark move thus far. Turning to the driver who was jumping out of the truck, he gave a wave. “Jessie! How are yeh?” He exclaimed as he started walking over to the gentlemen in greasy overalls. He had a wide smile and a buzzed haircut, his chestnut hair barely covering a tattoo of wheel cog on the side of his head.

- - - - - - - - -

Anakin’s garage wasn’t that far from your shop, just a couple of streets over. On a warm day like today, all the bay doors were open, allowing the sunlight to pour into even the tiniest crevices.

Sounds of a summer day in the city, birds chirping, the rustling of a light breeze, conversational chatter from the people passing by on foot, the humm of car engines, all mixed with the sounds of the shop; Anakin’s stereo, machinery, and the sound of Ben’s delicious British accent.

Anakin was exactly what you expected him to be. He was tall with hazel eyes and thick wavy hair that was on the longer side, not quite the neat and conservative look Ben wore. Leaning his hip against the counter, he held an olive green office phone to his ear. Grease and dirt were somehow visible on his black t-shirt and dark-wash jeans.

He was in a room off to the garage that appeared to be an office, as the only things around him were two old desks, a bunch of filing cabinets, a computer, and some chairs. Large windows offered a view into the bays where the cars were serviced, which is how he noticed you and Ben.

“Yeah, they just walked in now.” He said with a sly smile into the phone. “I gotta go, I’ll call you later babe. Love you.”

Hanging up the receiver, he bounced off the wall, and practically sprang forward toward you and Ben, like a puppy excited to find his master had returned.

Despite Ben’s wide smile and head nod, you noticed that he had wrapped his around the small of your back and that his hand was resting on your hip, almost as if claiming his territory ... .or protecting you from some unknown threat.

“EMMA!” Anakin exclaimed. “I’ve heard so much about you! Ben hasn’t shut up about you since your date Wed. night!”

Glancing at Ben, whose grip had tightened around you the closer his roommate got, was a shade lighter than his hair color. But you found Anakin’s antics good-natured.

“It’s great to finally meet you!” Anakin practically grabbed you out of Ben’s grip and lifted you off your feet into a bear hug.

A few things struck you all at the same time. Firstly, Anakin’s skin temperature was as hot as Ben’s, which was odd to begin with. You could chalk it up to Ben just running hot but two people, un-biologically related both having that same quirk ... .no…that was weird ... .Secondly, Anakin’s bear hug nearly crushed you, it was as if he had the strength of Hercules. Thirdly, his physique was ripped with model good looks ... ..the chiseled body, strong jaw, tall, broad-shouldered, and a face that would make any girl swoon…again…like Ben….

How is it that they all have these qualities?…..it was that little voice in the back of your head that wouldn’t quit nagging you about the weird things that Ben did or how fast you were falling for him…

It didn’t go over your head though that Anakin mentioned that Ben couldn’t stop talking about you.

Coughing, you tried to speak despite being crushed. “It’s….g..great to meet….yo….you too…Ana…”

From behind you, Ben coughed. “I think you’ve made your point Anakin. You're happy to meet her, put her down before she suffocates.”

Placing you on your feet, you felt the air surge into your lungs again. Ben was by your side again when you caught your bearings.

Shrugging his shoulders playfully, Ananakin gave you a crooked smile. “...Sorry….”

“It’s okay, I am equally as excited to meet you as well. Ben has told me so many great things about you and the rest of your household. You guys are like brothers.”

A puppy was what you quickly began to associate Anakin with. His large eyes and overly expressive features were entertaining and adorable.

A bashful smile overcame the mechanic. “Aw well, he speaks highly of me ... .in front of company it seems like...well….You should see him when I don’t follow orders….”

“Anakin!” Ben hissed through gritted teeth. The sharp command made the two of you jump to attention.

Catching himself, he coughed; clearing his throat. Doing that thing where he visibly relaxes, he dropped his shoulders and loosened his grip on you.

“The car, Anakin….have you had a chance to look at it?”

The tension in the room dropped by a thousand.

Letting out a breath, Anakin tilted his head back toward the nearest bay. “Yeah, it got here about 10 mins ago…Just finished before you got here.”

Walking towards your car, which now had its hood popped with a light hanging under the hood.

“According to the computer reading…” Anakin leaned in…” and my own diagnostic testing…” He bumped your shoulder playfully. “It seems to be the starter, it looks like it is blown. On top of that some general maintenance stuff… needs some new spark plugs and your fluids need to be topped off…How often do you get this car maintenance?”

Your stomach felt like it dropped out from inside of you and hit the floor. “When I can afford it or if it is necessary.” You murmured.

“Yeah, it shows.” Anakin chuckled.

“Anakin.” Ben glared at him.

“Sorry...I just get passionate about cars…” the roommate apologized.

“ ‘s okay….How much is all this going to cost.”

Anakin’s lips tightened. “With parts and labor….around a thousand bucks….”

You unintentionally sucked in a breath and you felt your heart stop beating. There was no way with everything you had going on and how the store was barely hanging on you would be able to afford this.

Unbeknownst to you, the two men exchanged a look and nodded.

“But since your family, it’s all good.”

Ben’s eyes clamped shut and his jaw squared as your eyes darted between the two.

“No, no I couldn’t…..I don’t take charity…and I’m not family.”

“Well not yet, but you are dating family, and in this pack family doesn’t pay for car maintenance.”

“Pack?” You questioned at the same time Ben said, “We aren’t officially dating yet, but thanks for beating me to the punch Anakin,” though his tone was still strong and warning.

Ignoring your question about his usage of the term “pack,” Anakin chose to respond to Ben’s comment. “Well whatever you two want to call it, you’re associated with one another, and your family Ben, so all of his privileges extend to you, Emma.” His tone was exasperated as he shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands in the air.

You shook your head back and forth.“Still ... .I can’t accept that, it’s not fair to you ... .you deserve to get paid for your work, same as if I was any other client… and I wasn’t looking for handouts when I called, I was looking for consistency and accountability.”

“How about a compromise,” Ben interjected. “A no-interest payment plan that Emma can make at her leisure. That way…” He turned to look at you, “Emma doesn’t feel like we are doing her a favor, and,” he turned to Anakin, “Anakin gets paid for his work and gets to keep his “helping out family policy” and everyone wins.”

His eyes darted back and forth between you two.

“Deal!” You exclaimed so fast you startled them.

Taking a sigh of defeat, Anakin bobbed his head. “I guess it’s fair ... .alright….fine…but you have to take a loaner car at no cost.”

You chuckled, “That's definitely a deal then because I don’t think I could afford it even if I wanted to at this point...”

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

The paperwork had been drawn up, a rental car had been chosen and Anakin was currently on the computer ordering the parts for your car.

You and Ben were walking towards the back of the lot, to where Anakin kept the few loaners he had. You had gone with the small silver Toyota…nothing special but it would be more than what you needed.

The silence between you and Ben had been somewhat awkward, after Anakin’s antics. You knew he meant well, but you weren’t sure of how Ben felt.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he pursed his lips. “I apologize about Anakin…He means well but he can't be a lot to handle.”

“That’s okay, I found him rather charming…And I appreciate all of his help…I wouldn’t be able to do this with anyone else…which reminds me…Thank you for your help and for stepping in and helping me compromise with Anakin…I would have been really upset if I couldn’t pay in some way…I don’t like handouts or people feeling like I’m a charity case…”

You started to blush in frustration…You tended to get passionate when explaining your independence Ever since your parents died, you did your best to maintain fierce independence, you were no one's little orphan who needed help and had to be felt sorry for.

Ben chuckled.

“I understand completely…and if I’m being honest…I admire your strength and your ability to care for yourself, to take control when you have to….it is….” His eyes darted between you and the ground as he shuffled his feet awkwardly, “...truthfully, it's a turn on…”

Smiling broadly, you grabbed his hand. “Thank you, I appreciate the honesty…and I like that it turns you on that I’m not some helpless fairy princess who waits around for others to come and save them…most men can’t handle strong women…”

Linking fingers with you, he gave your hand a small squeeze. “I’m not like most men…”

Stepping in closer, you kissed him on the cheek. Ben was completely surprised by the action but he handled it well.

“I know we were originally supposed to be on a date right now…but…would you like to come over tomorrow night? I know we have been seeing each other a lot this week…but if we’re spilling secrets today….I really like you, I enjoy your company…like a lot… and I’m interested in moving things in a serious direction…. if you are…How does dinner at my place and maybe a movie interest you?”

Ben’s ocean-colored eyes practically glowed. “Causal enough for a third date but definitely moving things forward…” He chuckled. “I would very much like that, but only if I can bring dessert.” He winked.

“Perfect.” You winked back.

“Good…Because I am interested in moving things forward with you, I’m glad Anakin did not scare you off, I was planning on asking you to officially start dating if we had originally gone out today…”

You did everything you could not to squeal with excitement and giggle at the old-fashioned terminology…then again, saying boyfriend and girlfriend at your age did feel a little immature. Was there anything more mature to call it? Something you contemplate later.

“Not even close, you’ll have to do a lot more than that to get rid of me, mister…Nothing would make me happier than to be attached to you…”

“Nor as happy as I would be to attach myself to you….You are an amazing woman, Emma.” His British accent made you feel like you were in one of those romantic movies you desperately loved.

Leaning closer to him you whispered, “I love the way my name sounds when you say it.”

With his free hand, he cupped your cheek. “Then I hope I get to say it every day to you.”

Molten hot lava seemed to coarse through your lower belly as gently pulled in your first kiss. Your free hand gripped his shoulder as you sighed into the kiss. His beard ticked your lips and cheek as you felt his tongue dart against your lips. You could tell he didn’t have much practice, but he certainly wasn’t disappointed….besides…you looked forward to teaching an old dog new tricks.

@sillynilly27 @nanagoswife @transcending-time @thewhitedannimal @kirstenvldfan21 @the-clones-and-me @hugmekenobi @naughtyry @nicole-lightfoot @janebby

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