#unsure if this is good enough to post to AO3

[mandalhoerian]

moth to a flame | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Break-ups are never easy. Thankfully, you've been preparing for yours for a long time. Leon doesn't let this revelation go for reasons you cannot fathom when he's the one who wants to leave.

word count: 9K

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, p in v, kinda body worship, switch leon, he subs for like a moment and goes this better not awaken anything in me

notes: i winged this please don't judge me. also, "plot"-wise, this is an extension of my leon love language post. header template can be found here. enjoy the filth

🌀 read on ao3!

📍 continue to the BAD ENDING!

📍 continue to the GOOD ENDING!

In hindsight, you’ve seen this coming. Your face barely moves at your on and off situationship of two years forcing out, “I think we should break this off.” 

So faint and unsure it’s barely above a whisper.  

He looks so uncomfortable hunching over, forearms resting on the countertop, breakfast untouched, as if trying to make himself smaller than you, it’s absurd considering the nerves of steel you envy him for, and sure, he’s adorably awkward sometimes for a man of his looks, but not like this. Never vulnerable like this.

The kitchen is gloomy despite the bright winter sun seeping through the windows, almost suffocating because of his uncharacteristically transparent malaise. Leon isn’t one to openly squirm, and in turn, it’s making you all the more nervous — nothing about this is fair when you were thinking you got all the practice needed from imaginary scenarios and possibilities on all the directions the eventual separation would go.  

He can’t look at you, shaking his head nervously, choked by the silence. “Say something.”

How funny it is that he’s the most fit man you’ve ever known, could lift you with one arm without breaking a sweat— one bicep literally the size of your head, yet looks like he’d cry if someone touched him right now. It’s a hard to swallow, unreal pill that you’re the one doing this to Leon, making him weak like this. 

You’ve never known you had that kind of power over him until now, how he says he wants to break up but would throw up if you actually say yes.  

You shift in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digs sharply into your skin with how hyperaware your body is of all the surroundings to deviate your attention from Leon, folding your hands on your lap. 

The answer is at the tip of your tongue, it was stashed away there months ago. Of course you’ll let him go. 

What makes it easier for you is having consented to how absent and private he warned half the things involving him was going to be, or it’s that you knew from the start your time with him would be limited. You just don’t question it; completely skipping the first four stages of grief and jumping readily to acceptance. 

The lamb knew it would be slaughtered by the nurturing, kind humans, and yet it still got attached to them; Homer straight up told the readers how the story would end right at the start of Iliad, yet the fall of Patroclus and the rage of Achilles burned the same, if not worse — you knew Leon would inevitably fall apart and run away one day, yet chose to cherish your limited time with him all the same.

It can’t be called a tragedy if you agreed to how it would end in the first place. 

Leon Kennedy is ephemeral in his nature, daydream-present and lucid-absent in your life all at once. You thought of him as an outdoors cat, never really yours in the first place, randomly shows up whenever he wants to, reluctantly leaves out of nowhere — a flighty, mysterious companion who’s happy and eager to be there but withdrawn when poked and prodded. 

You accept him as such, love him all the same.  

You’re not sure if he loves you just as much. 

Fondness and like is there, enough for him to have stuck around for this long, but you figure it’s because you’re safe and constant. You’re happy to have provided him with at least that because you’re not sure what he saw in you, to be honest. 

What’s happening is painless enough to go through exactly because of this, you hadn’t let yourself get too attached to Leon knowing he isn’t into you as much as you are into him. Maybe you are deluding yourself, maybe you are numb and not as apathetic like you thought you are, but you’re convinced this is how it should go — how it’s meant to go. What’s the point when you’re aware your name won’t be at the top of his list? 

The insecurity surely is a small part of the ‘Leon Kennedy Breakup First-Aid Package’ you’ve been cultivating over time in preparation to cushion your own fall when the time would naturally come, but it doesn’t cover the shape Leon is in that even when he’s the one breaking your heart, he looks like he’s shouldering the pain you’re going through on top of his. 

This is why you can’t ever be mad at him. You wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all. 

Leon is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-blond hair doesn’t shine like it usually does, he hasn’t conditioned it, the golden sheen to it wilted almost. His bloodshot, red rimmed eyes are dim in their blue, laser-focused on the black coffee mug he’s tightly gripping, the skin underneath his lower lashes spread out in faded pink-purple half-rings and it only ever happens when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days’ time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his paperwork. His thumbs are wiping at the place he puts his lips on and have a sip at the contents of it you’ve seen he fed some liquor to a few minutes prior. He’s awfully domestic in his black sweater and pants, not at all looking like he just asked for a breakup.   

You take pity on him. 

“I see. Alright.”

His head shoots up, eyes immediately finding yours, no longer blank. He doesn’t seem sure if he heard you right, expression disbelieving. “What?”

“How do you want to do this?” Mirroring Leon’s anxious movements, your own fingers trace the rim of your own teacup. “You could start gathering your things today, but if you want to call it a day, I don’t mind—”

“No—wait—what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying okay, Leon.”

He winces at the name, gaze escaping from you again momentarily and he has to blink, the lack of your usual pet name for him must have hurt him, you presume. He has to swallow before talking. “This is it?”

You’re not sure if it’s directed at the end of your relationship or you letting him off easy. “I don’t understand. What else was I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know, I just—”

This isn’t being hopeful, but you ask anyway. “What did you want me to say?” 

He sighs in return, tearing away his gaze and hiding it with a hand that wipes at his forehead.

Yeah, it isn’t your hopes that were crushed. You adamantly tell yourself it isn’t. He’s being nice as he always is, of course he’d question how agreeable you’re being, it’s not like his resolve is going to change. “I’m just being cooperative so we can—”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

That was the problem?

“I’m not, Leon.” 

“How can you not be?”

“Well, I…” It’s because you love him, but bringing this up would only make it harder. “I’m not sure. You’ve been that good to me along the way, I guess. I don’t resent you for anything.”

He has that subtle sarcastic look on his face you would take as mocking if you were a total stranger, but you know better. He’s being self-deprecating. You could read it. But you should, he’s thinking. You should resent me. 

You don’t. 

The thing with Leon is he’s too good to be true that his only flaw is being a literal ghost. A well-meaning ghost who’d send presents upon presents and work his ass off to make extra time for what he had to give up on every time your plans falls through with unexpected shit that came up from his mystery job at the White House he never talks about that has him battered and bruised each time he turns up after prolonged leaves.  

Which is an oxymoron considering how attentive and absent he is at the same time. Sometimes you wondered if he’d fix his habit of being a clam about everything concerning himself after you guys were through, but imagining him becoming more open and changing for someone else hurt too much.

“Don’t you want to know why? I mean—god, why are you just taking it?” 

“What do you mean taking it? You’re not doing this to hurt me, look at you, Leon, when have you last slept? It’s hard on you too.” 

“That really doesn’t have to do with anything right now,” he dismisses. “How are you this unaffected? I’ll take it if it’s to get back at me…”

“It’s not.” You stand up, appetite lost. You want to wrap your food up and put it in the fridge to eat later, and this way, you don’t have to look at him while saying the sentences you have rehearsed for so long. “If you want to break up, I can’t force you to stay—or into anything you don’t want to. It’s not fair for either of us. You’ll be stuck with someone who you don’t want, and I’ll have to live with the knowledge I’m with someone who doesn’t want me.” 

You find him staring at you when you’re done, your hand stays wrapped around the handle of the fridge door at how tortured he is. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head, blond strands framing his face gently swishing in the air. He does the angry eyebrow scrunch whenever he disagrees with you strongly on something you’ve said, but decides not to at the last minute, and you find yourself the tiniest bit disappointed at him not refusing he doesn’t want you. “You always— you always do this... Be angry. You have to be angry at me.”

You find refuge in the kitchen sink, washing your hands. “Stop it. I don’t want to fight, please.”

“So you are angry.”

“I’m not!” You slam the water shut a bit too forceful and you breathe for a second before turning to him. “I’m not. Angry. I’m sad, yeah. An understatement. Who wouldn’t be?” 

He just says, “I’m sorry,” at that, and hates it’s the only thing he can manage to give you, it’s blatant in his face. 

You take a seat at the chair directly next to him, you both need the intimacy of good communication at the moment. “But I had a lot of time to mourn, alright? It’s not that I’m taking it or being passive or whatever—”

“Mourn?”

His eyes search yours for a second, and the realization leaves him breathless, the insides of his brows raise up, making him look younger and more innocent. “You were expecting this.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Your lips press together, and you chew the insides before hopelessly shrugging, a small smile doing its best to put itself together. “Look at us. It was never going to work out in the long term. Not really. I consider two years a miracle, to be honest. I don’t know how we got this far.”

“All this time we were together.” Leon’s voice is thick, on the verge of shaking, you weren’t expecting him to take this so badly. His pupils devour all the blue from his eyes, he has never looked at you this hostile before all the hair on your arms rise up. “You were just thinking about breaking up? Have I only ever made you insecure?”

“Not all the time—it’s just—” You swallow. ““Why are you angry at me now? What did I do? You are the one breaking up with me.”

“And here you are okay with this. You’re telling me you didn’t think we’d ever work out when I—” He huffs. “I didn’t even notice a thing. You weren’t happy at all. Ever? You were uneasy all this time?”

“No, Leon, you’re not listening to me. What I expected was that you would leave one day, eventually. Because that’s how you are. That’s how your life is.” He leans back when he gets what you are alluding at, rubbing his face with a hand, refusing to look at you — but out of anger this time around. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stand being in limbo about not letting yourself go and wanting to at the same time. I know you felt bad about everything. I guess it’s just not the right time?”

You don’t say, right person and wrong time, it’s wishful thinking on your part—Leon probably doesn’t think that, someone else seems to take that crown in his heart, you know that all too well. 

The muscles on his arm closest to you flexes, he must be thinking about taking your hand in his, so you remove them off the table and nestle them between your thighs. Any physical contact from him might lead to you crying in the end. 

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that,” he laments. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your head tilts sideways. “It wasn’t about me, Leon. Suppose I sat you down and complained you weren’t open with me, you were distant. Especially when you weren’t ready for the conversation. I’ll tell you what would have happened. Two weeks of radio silence.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“It’s not something you haven’t done before. You said it was work, but… You know. I get it.”

Leon exhales from his nose and lowers his head, broad chest puffing up with rapid breaths, his neck is getting redder by the second. You’ve never taken him for someone with an explosive anger, but it looks like that could change any second. 

“I wish you wouldn’t take this to heart, I’m not saying this to hurt you when I say I knew this was always going to happen.” You’re talking like you’re trying to soothe a tiger, and he especially looks to hate it. “You can’t possibly have expected me to ignore it. And it wasn’t going to come from me either, I’m happy to be with you either way, but—”

“That’s the problem.” He has his head between his hands, like that could possibly hide him away from the conversation. “I treat you like this and you still say that.”

You wish he wouldn’t be this hard on himself.

“I signed up for this.” He tilts his head at that, accusatory, and you get more agitated in return. “I know your circumstances. You can’t help being absent most of the time, I understand. I understand more than you think.” His forearms hit the counter loudly, he looks about to spit fire any second, but you don’t let it happen. “However. It’s no way to continue a relationship, I know that too. My perspective is that it shouldn’t be guilt that comes to your mind whenever you think of me. I wish things could be different. I wish I could be a priority to you—”

Leon’s face sours, and you stop talking when you see it. 

You didn’t mean for the words to hurt him as they did, explanations becoming distraught. “Look, I like you, you know this. Possibly too much. More than I should. You have to understand that’s why I’m being this amicable with you right now. Break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t reach Leon. His gaze is faraway, defined jawline locked clenching and unclenching. 

“If it makes you feel better, I was angry for a while.” His hand comes down from rubbing a circle in the middle of his brows, eyes shifting back to yours. “But it is what it is.”

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he says, defeated.

“Would you tell me anything different from what I know?”

He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, one of his legs shaking, and his head falls forward, curtains of dark blond hair covering your view of his face. For a moment, all you want is to slip your fingers into the silky strands and comb them back, take his heat away, the pads of your fingers on his smooth cheekbones, you know he’d melt into your touch straight away and his expression would lose weight of the strain he carries you can only imagine the root of most of the time, but you abstain. 

He wouldn’t appreciate it on the brink of a break-up, you were about to become nothing but strangers. 

That’s why it’s abrupt when he leans forward and captures your lips in an unfair, unfair kiss, the force of it makes his teeth clack against yours and you grimace, retreating to break it. His hand slips to the side of your neck to pull you back in, the drag of calluses and heat against the skin of your neck sends goosebumps all over your body, his thumb caresses your cheek in a loving way that hurts but his lips are frantic in their gentler search to open your mouth to his, and suddenly you can’t breathe from how much Leon keeps advancing. 

Turning your face away to break the assertive, overwhelming liplock, you take in lungfuls of air as you look as away from him as you can, panicking at the way he presses his forehead to your temple and the way his nose nudges your burning cheek, he doesn’t budge when you attempt to push him off the second you realize you’re enjoying this. He’s built like a fucking tank. “Leon—”

“Say no if you don’t want it,” he breathes, right into your neck, the tickle is mixed with something dangerous that sears your skin along with the low rumble to his voice directly in your ear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming, a coil of incandescence binds its threads together in the depths of your stomach. “Say it and I’ll stop.” One muscular arm hooks around the back of your upper thigh and one around your waist, he quite literally snatches you off your chair and plops you down on his lap, each of your legs hang from the sides of his hips, and you yelp at how effortlessly Leon seems to arrange you to his liking. 

He’s needlessly, uncharacteristically cruel. You would always want him. Leon knows this. 

“You’re so—” Your breath hitches when his fingers bypass your shirt and sneak up the bare skin of your waist and his other arm readjusts you as he buries his forehead in your shoulder and you gaze at the top of his golden hair kissed by morning sunlight and take in the familiar scent of him and his shampoo. His body against yours leaves a festering sweet longing. “So unfair—you were just breaking up with me—”

He bites down at the meat of your clavicle and you draw in a short breath, the dig of his teeth sting, but he immediately soothes it with a lick and his tongue is hot, too hot. “Unfair?” he groans, you contain the shudder at the emotion he keeps at bay and at the path his blunt fingernails make above the clothing from your hips to the sides of your legs, he’s never been like this. “You already left me in your mind before this and I don’t even know exactly when.” The tip of his nose faintly traces the curve of where your neck meets the shoulder, the tickle is unbearable, aching, you wish he would have left marks instead. “You were always thinking of leaving— our time together didn’t matter to you. What do you think that makes me feel like?”

“That’s not—” You grip both of his biceps and feel the protruding veins and the flex of the muscle underneath the skin, intimidated as always by how both of your hands added together were too small to form a full hold around one. I work out a lot, was his excuse while you were first getting to know each other as acquaintances, and you’d thought how this man belonged with someone of his league. “You’re the one—” 

“You dummy, I’m not leaving you because I want to.” Leon’s arms circle your waist and pulls your body flush against his in a crushing hug, his head finding home under your chin and against your chest. It’s innocent and you feel the helplessness, the desire to hold but not be seen, but you don’t know what to do in return, his words don’t quite register. “Why would I ever when I—“ He cuts himself off, breathing shaky as the rest of the sentence dies at his throat. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

You tentatively hold his shoulders, surprised at how taut they are. How winded he is like some wire. “I don’t understand.”

“You are just letting me leave like that. Like some business deal done and gone, you just…” 

You can’t help the sound that escapes as he bites your earlobe. Why does he keep biting? 

“Ow!—“ Leon starts sucking, the wet sounds and his breathing directly in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and you’ve had enough of his thought processes ending up being completed by his lips on your body. 

He’s easily able to overpower you, but obeys when he feels you’re genuinely pushing him away, some strands of your hair get stuck on his face and the view of the detained obscenity of his expression  —the half-closed eyes and the missing blue, the flush of his cheekbones, glistening of his pinked lips— sends a hot wave downstairs. “It’s you. You! You’re the one leaving, Leon, I don’t get it—“

Some clarity through the pinkish haze of want dawns back to him, and he gingerly combs the threads of hair away from your face, some of them behind your ear. “I don’t want to. That’s the thing. I thought it was clear as day.” Leon searches your eyes, looking down at the details of your face, your heart races as his stare gets stuck at your lips the longest, he isn’t even aware he’s doing it and you feel feverishly desired from his insatiable look, from the slow movement of his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“You can’t help it. Right?” Your thoughts are blurring together, and he’s a black hole pulling you in. “I understand—“

Leon kisses you again, and your stolen exhale turns into a pleased hum. “Stop saying that,” he whispers with inches between your lips, eyes closed, so close your breath is his.  

“What do you want me to say?“

“Stay.” He takes your hand and brings it up, planting a singular kiss at the inside of your wrist, and then rests his cheek against your palm. You can only stare at the vulnerability he’s offering you on a silver platter, the tormenting softness is blinding. “Stay.” 

Your heart soars. God, you’ve longed for him to give away that he wants to be with you all this time, the insecurity is a blanket you’ve hidden under, this is it, but he’s so torn and you don’t get his struggle, what he must be hiding for such a visceral reaction. He wants to, but he can’t, and you don’t know why, having accepted he wouldn’t tell you from the start anyway. 

But you ask. You ask anyway. Hope is a flightless bird waiting for her wings to grow each day. “Will you?”

Something shifts, a delicate moment broken, and Leon draws back, his eyelashes flutter as if he’s shaking off some daydream — and then he’s upset, a pinch in his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t—“ You’re grabbed from the arms and scooted away from his lap, putting some distance between the two of you. Leon is physically pained, unable to meet your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” He holds your hands between the two of you, and you get whiplash from the passion just mere seconds ago and the tenderness of this touch. “I can’t keep doing this to you. I don’t know why I’m this unreasonable, it’s so childish— Shit. I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

“No.” You cup his face in both hands and he looks like an abused puppy tasting kindness for the first time. “Stay for a bit.” Your heartstrings are tugged by the way Leon’s eyes are lit up. “I want to have you. One last time. Is that alright?”

A beat passes.

“Yeah,” he says, blanking out at first, but then repeats stronger, his fingers sink into the plush of your thighs as he licks his lips. “Yeah.” He turns his head and kisses your palm, somber. “You can have me however you want.”

Leon doesn’t look like he’s particularly looking forward to it. “You sure?”

“I’ll always want you, any day, any time,” he says, and you’re flabbergasted at the burden of his meaning. But you force yourself to look past it, look past the unguarded and unarmed honesty, choosing to interpret it in the language of lust. 

“Not here, though.” You get up from his lap and he doesn’t stop you. “It’s kinda cramped.”

“We can make it work if you’re up for it,” he half-teases, one corner of his lips curling up, his eyes are humorless. 

You snort. Easy for him to say. He’s fit, you aren’t, that’s why being on top can’t last half the time without his assistance. “You can. I certainly can’t.”

“You keep saying I can’t to me, knowing I take it as a personal challenge.” Leon’s touch moves up your forearm and in one swift move, he pulls you in between his legs. He leaves a kiss at the lower valley between your clothed breasts. “Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?”

You’re heating up right away. “I’m not—”

Leon pats his right leg, pulling up the sleeve of his shorts all the way up to the hipbone, exposing the well-endowed, firm thigh. “Sit here.”

“Your leg’s gonna get a cramp,” you say, but it’s hardly a complaint, your crotch has begun to contract at the thought of feeling the flawless skin slipping against your slick folds and how he would mold the tendons to fit just right for your pleasure. Expectation was pulling you tight right from the start where he had you hanging from his every word.  

Leon’s almost offended. “It won’t.” But his encouragement is gentle. “Come on, sweet girl.” Hooking one arm between the two layers of the bands of your underwear and pants, he lets them snap back against your skin after he pulls considerably. “And you’re taking off all that.”

You let it go. Immediately. “Fuck, okay.” 

It’s morning. You’re in the middle of the kitchen. And you’ve forgotten all of that, head lost in the beginnings of a dull throb between your legs. Your dignity would have been trampled on if you were too enthusiastic, so you try to take your time, and he asks, “How do you want to go about this?”

“Huh?”

His hands ride up your knee and inch up, his thumbs in the line of your inner thighs, and your first instinct is to press them together to alleviate the ache, but Leon’s forcing them apart. “You can have my tongue or fingers first. To help the friction.” You swallow when the nail of his thumb scratches the material of your panties and feels the slight dampness, and he’s watching your reactions very closely. “Or you could just sit down.”

You don’t have strength left in your knees anymore, head spinning with the way his darkened, narrowed gaze is simultaneously bearing down on and  looking up at you, and Leon helps you settle your weight on his leg after sliding your underwear down your legs, the warmth of his palms on your naked hips alone is vexing enough and it’s embarrassing that he feels the particularly strong pulse of your sex. 

He angles his leg up and you slide forward with the gathered moisture, arms catching onto his neck in surprise from the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Eager, are we?”  

You aren’t normally bold like this, would let him keep softly teasing rather than give the same energy back, but there’s a certain finality to this time, your brain is liquid smooth from the tantalizing delight of his touch, and you don’t hold back to inform just what he does to you breathily. “Always for you.”

The movement of his leg staggers and you look up to see him caught completely off guard. And the next thing you know, Leon has you in a bruising kiss, or you think it has the strength to bruise, he hasn’t been this rough before, and you certainly haven’t been craved to this extent in your entire life before him. 

This time you accept his tongue willingly into the cavern of your mouth, his fervent licks and gasps rise the question of who’s really the more eager one here, but it doesn’t really occupy space in your mind, limbs stilling overall from how he steals away all bodily functions with just kisses that radiate desperation. 

Leon ushers your hips to languidly move when you fail as a multitasker all the while the swirl of your tongues continue to tangle, and it proves difficult as your slide against him becomes smoother and wetter with him finding just how to pull the hood of your mound while you’re pulling back and drag against it in the correct angle, flexing his thigh accordingly. 

He pecks your jaw. “Faster?”

Skin contact goes straight to the tightening spiral in your stomach like this. “I can’t—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” He does something that has you dropping down from heights by circling his leg, and completely out of your control, small noises emerge from the back of your throat and you can’t kiss him back anymore. “Do you want it faster or not?”

You try to hum in agreement, but he catches you in the middle of it and jerks you forward, the sharp zap electrifies all your nerves and grants him a startled moan, you can barely see the satisfaction in his face from the sudden tears. You were somehow in control of the pace previously, but once he knows you want it faster, it’s him that anchors your hips to the edge of the stars, a man on a mission. 

Leon begins to leave open-mouthed, wet kisses on your neck that has you tilting your head to give him more room, and you’re glad his heavy gaze isn’t drinking in your bliss-stricken expression anymore. “You hear that?” His question is thick. “Listen.” 

The noises your wetness make sliding across the muscles of his thigh in a rapid speed makes some of the blood rush up to your cheeks, and the knot is stretched so agonizingly beyond the point of no return that you’re hurling towards absolution, legs beginning to shake and your whines become sweeter. “Leon,” you pant, the fever to keep going as he is conveyed in one singular word reaches him. “Leon—ah, mmh— I’m— Leon!”

“Yeah, I got you.” Adoring kisses are peppered along your jawline and your fingers clutch to his blond hair, pulling him in, your stiffened, perked up nipples are smushed in the press of his chest against yours, and you arch into him like a cat, lost in the ascending ecstasy. “Just let go.” He bites down and your sore walls clench around nothing, the pulsating increasing in intensity. You’re on a thrill ride, shooting up, up, up— “Come for me, sweet girl, come on, give it to me.”  

With a sharp, choked cry, and the throw of your head back, the coil explodes and unravels, white sparkles in your vision, and Leon holds you down when your body tries to fly off with the force of your orgasm, the sinking of his hands into your sensitive flesh only heightens and sends crashing waves as he helps you ride through it, rocking lazily with you back and forth. 

“Oh god,” you shiver, clinging to him, upper body basically draped across his chest as the pleasure rolls into a stinging ache of pain with the overstimulation, bones jiggly from the floaty feeling to get away yourself. “Too much. Leon. Too much.”

His voice is croaky. “Yeah, we’re not done yet.” 

He stands up with his arms supporting your legs around his waist, and you hold on for dear life. It scares every single time he does this. Leon makes it look so easy to carry you around from room to room without breaking a sweat. 

The full meaning of his words only get to you when you’re thrown on the bed, wind knocked out of you. “Leon, wait, aren’t you going to Spain tomorrow, don’t you have to prepare—”

“I’m preparing,” he says, putting one knee on the bed and oh god, the shine on his thigh, the drench, that was all you—- “Need to get my fill of you to last for the whole trip, yeah?”

It’s more like he’s saying, ‘To last for the rest of my life’, the hunger and melancholy makes for a Frankenstein’s monster of ravenous, unquenchable yearning when you’re right in front of him and your flame is rekindled.  

More than one round with him is uncommon most times because he’s simply busy and moves around a lot, you weren’t used to the practice, build wired to exhaustion taking over when he was finally done with you, either hot, heavy and fast or sweet and intense, each time leaving you with honeyed sore bones and the best sleep following right after. 

Arousal pools in the pit of your belly thinking about what comes next. 

Kneeling at your feet, he taps your tight-locked  knees. “Open up for me.”

It’s morning. He could see every detail of imperfection in this light and uncertainty washes over you for a second before you do as he wishes, the sheets crinkling and rustling beneath your shifting, and he gets on his stomach and puts one of your legs to his shoulder when you thought he would be entering you already. 

Flustered, you get up on your elbows. “Leon, you don’t have to.” 

“Didn’t think you wanted to get it over with right away.” Sliding his hand up, he fans his fingers on your tummy, thumb pulling at the skin dipping into your vulva, and looks up at you from his eyelashes. Little sparks of pleasure light up at each stroke. The weight of his arm is wonderful. “Breaking my heart over here.”

“It’s not that, I…”

He scooches up, and the knowingly feather-light kiss he leaves on the inside of your thigh, close — right there but not there, makes your leg twitch. “Oh, you wanted something else?” The teasing view of Leon inches away from where you wanted him was a sight for sore eyes, but his sudden hot breath on your post-orgasmic sopping heat broke your daze, making your hips attempt to jump up, but his arm had you absolutely pinned on the mattress. “Well?” 

It’s not something you’d planned, but his wanton beauty looking up at you shoves an image inside your brain unexpectedly, reminding you how you’d said you wanted to have him, not the other way around. This is going to be the last time Leon would be like this with you, and there were so many things left unexplored. What would it feel like to have this feline-gracious, strapping man underneath you, to run your lips through his unbelievably sturdy body all over and return the kindness on how good he’s been taking care of you? Leon was always perfect to you. Is perfect. Your wish to present him with how exactly on top of the world he has you feeling for your final time, to return the favor. 

Leon has stopped moving and it’s because of your lack of reaction and the long look of contemplation regarding him. You lift his hair away from his eyes. “Can you lay down on your back?”

“You wanna get on top?” he asks, but doesn’t object to it, moving up on the bed and sitting up, getting the hint on taking off his clothes, enamored, you watch his abdomen flex and limbs stretch like a cat’s as he slips his shirt off and throws it away and shimmy off his briefs. Every single movement of his is a wonder. 

“No, I want to touch you,” you say, stare not knowing where to focus on him and his half-hard dick jumps at your words. “Explore you.”

He meets your eyes, pupils blown, and swallows, nodding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wanted to have you, remember?” 

There’s a semblance of a laugh and Leon rolls on his back, one knee up and hands on his stomach, blond hair fanning around his head on the sheets. He looks like a sculpture. “And how will you have me?”

“Pleasured without thinking of pleasuring,” you explain, he’d be better at the dirty-talk in your position, perhaps say something like ‘Crying for me’, but you’re way too fascinated by him to think about what would have him helplessly turned on. “Vulnerable.”

You would be lucky if you are able to push him to the point of not even one thought behind those pretty blue eyes, but you just want to make him feel good, and with that in mind, reach a hand and trail the tips of your fingers through the prominent web of veins along his forearm, his fingers jump, and you continue through his upper arm, lingering on the sharp lines of lighter-colored small scars until you reach his shoulder, feeling the cluster of the goosebumps that rise in his skin. 

“Seriously?” he says with an annoyed timbre and you see him having gone completely hard, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “You’re going this slow? Am I some package you’re unboxing?” 

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you murmur in interest, and Leon sulks at how you run all five of your fingernails all the way down the lower of his belly button and how it’s hardly even a graze at all. His abs keep contracting. “I barely touched you.”

“You, haah,” he sighs at you straddling and hovering above him. “Don’t need to point that out.”

Leon tries to hold onto your thighs but you maneuver him away, and unsurprisingly, he isn’t pleased by that, groaning. “Oh we’re doing this?”

“I’m touching you. Stay still like a good boy.”

It’s your usual banter, but for some reason, he turns his face away and closes his eyes for a second, wetting his lips as if his mouth is dry. The line of his neck clenches and unclenches and you feel the brush of his dick lightly hit the inside of your leg. You’re fascinated again. He likes this more than you expected. “God, you really want to kill me.”

Leon could stop it if he wanted to. Switch it around. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. All the times you’ve attempted to ride him and your knees and calves failed you, he ended up sitting up and hugging you close, fucking up into you and kneading your insides from below and littering your shoulders with angry red marks, taking control of the pace, especially riled up from how endearing and sexy you were trying your best to pleasure him, in his words. He can do it again, but doesn’t. Just lies there, all for you, stuck between a rock and a hard place — which, in this case, is his discomfort and enjoyment. The lack of stimulation gets him going. 

You lean down and nip at the corner of his mouth, and he responds immediately, turning back to you, chasing the kiss. His hands come up to your waist but you take them off, pinning them to his sides, and Leon complains through sharply breathing into your mouth. “I’ll only,” Kiss. “Hold you.” Kiss. “Please, just let me—” You lightly bite his tongue. 

As if he couldn’t do it if he truly wanted to. He is letting you do this to him. Pleading. In that tone of voice, too. You’re in over your head, what is happening? 

“No,” you say, kissing his jaw and caressing the hinge of his opposite jaw with your thumb, sounding stern but feeling silly inside, unsure if he’s amused by you deep down. But Leon huffs again like a spoiled brat not getting what he wants. 

You’re shell-shocked, but continue your pursuit to find out what else he likes, settling on his ear, making a line through the outer rim of soft tissue with your tongue and sucking kisses until he’s shifting around, you can hear how he’s trying to level out his breathing, then you bite, and he hisses as you repeat it over and over again. 

You’ve heard that some men enjoy getting their nipples played with, and you caress and massage, knead and fondle all over his torso with both hands as the switching of your gentle and silky mouth and the needling pleasure of teeth assault his ear, and you listen to his heavy breathing the occasional hitch of it until you circle around one nub, and flick it, rubbing down and pressing the pebbled nipple inwards, just like how he does it to you, and twist the other one. His face hides itself in your neck, and you let him have that, at least. 

His exhale turns into sound and he shuts it down pretty quickly, opting to speak up instead. “Can you—” he begins, and then tuts, sounding nonchalant, but you hear it. You hear the thickness of contained arousal. “Can you move on already?”

“You want the other ear?”

His head jerks in your position at you saying that straight into his ear and breathing into it, you know the thin sheen of saliva coating it makes the sensation sharp and cool and warming at the same time. “No—” he says, but you ignore him, cutting the rejection off by taking his other earlobe between your teeth. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t necessary—”

“If it isn’t, why is this wet?” You ask, watching him closely, tapping the pearl of clear liquid gathered at the tip of his ramrod straight hardness. It’s scalding hot, throbbing at the contact. Leon hisses between his teeth, trying to contain it, and sighs as your index finger circles the tip to spread it around, another bead of precum swelling in the wake of your touch. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips thinning and returning to their usual plushness with him pushing them together, a dust of pink coloring his complexion, a weak glare is on you. “Just enjoy it.”

“I could if you actually did something already.”   

You wrap a tight hand around Leon’s needy cock, heavy and thick, and he shouts, the cry turning into a high-pitched whine you would never dream of coming from him and he clamps a hand on his mouth right in the middle of it, hips bucking into you, head thrown back, blown eyes horrified at what he just did. His breaths are loud and shaky, face turning red in seconds, and you watch, utterly captivated. You’ve seen adorable sides of him before when he lets himself be light and his brow isn’t hanging close to his eyes in that grumpy mood, but what you have right here…   

You’re drunk on this side of his, nibbling at his exposed throat. “You’ll take what I give you.”

“God,” he whispers behind his palm, with a subtle tremble when you squeeze once and let go. His hips stutter up before falling back. Leon’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t retort back, all of the sass packed and left. You can’t believe this is working. That Leon’s obeying you like this. He’s leaked all over your hand. Oh my god. 

And you’ve really barely even done anything to him. 

You can’t help but wonder if this is you doing this to Leon or he’s just into being bossed around in general. 

How further can you push?

“Look, you’ve wet my hand,” you say, bringing your glistening palm up and separating your fingers after circling the gathered precum around, a thin thread forming between the digits. Like a hawk, he watches you lap it all up and you don’t take your eyes off of his, hearing him grip the sheets. “Still gonna act like this isn’t doing anything for you?”

Leon’s voice is gravelly as he rasps, “Kiss me.” It’s something between a request and a demand that if you don’t do it, he will. 

You oblige, pushing down on his chest to get him to lie down again when it’s apparently too slow and soft for him, and he avidly presses forward to make it rougher, intertwining his tongue with yours harsher to the point of your mixed drool sliding down his chin for more. 

He’s yanking and pulling on his clasp on the dreadfully wrinkled covers in self-restraint as he bites and licks and pulls at your lips, butterflies light up the pit of your stomach and thrash against the liquefied rapture that throbs in your pussy and seeps out, the need for attention growing impatient by the minute.  

You go down and focus on kissing his neck, alternating between openmouthed licks and bites, careful not to leave marks, insides doing a summersault at the small noise of disappointment he makes that transitions into husky gasps. Leon still is concerned with suppressing any kind of unbecoming sounds he’s appalled to come out of him, and you’re bothered by that. Pressing your palm on the head of his cock and twisting sure does the trick to vocalize him a bit, restoring your confidence. 

“Ah… Can’t you just directly touch it,” he sighs gruffly. “This isn’t enough—”

“You aren’t asking nicely enough.” 

His head snaps down, brows raised in disbelief, self-consciousness clouding the teased promise of bliss that edges him on, and you stare back at him pointedly — however, on the inside, you’re worried if he’d ever beg at all. 

You twist your palm with added pressure enough to alleviate the pain, but not enough to carry him to the peak he wants to get to, and his shoulders jump up, “Ah!” Biting down on his momentarily trembling lower lip and shaking his head with closed eyes as if he doesn’t want to see you watch him be like this, he mutters, “I’m gonna get you for this…” 

You grip the base of his cock so hard his hands fly up to your wrists and with a shuddering whimper, stop at the last second before he touches you and he drapes his forearms on his reddened face instead, his back rises from the bed involuntarily, Leon’s flat-on squirming and hating it. 

“That’s not nice,” you tease, pressing your legs together in momentary relief and waves of pleasure that slip on your skin like silk, and narrowly stopping the moan. You breathily add, “What do we say?” 

“Please,” so fast and quiet, humiliated. You understand, but don’t let him off.  

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck, please, come on, please.” His hands ball into fists and his arm veins pop out and his right knee curls upwards. “You can’t keep doing this to me—AHH—mhhmh—!”

His sentence gets cut off into incomprehensible babbling once you start pumping your fist up and down his neglected erection, not even needing lotion for it, he’s drenched enough to make the slide beyond slippery. You add your other hand into the mix and begin teasing the tip, and his chest, having developed a thin layer of sweat and gleaming in the sunlight, is heaving, and he can’t swallow the gasps and noises anymore, fingernails digging into his palms. You can only see his puffed, rufescent lips from the way he’s covering his face.  

“Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” you say, and it’s genuine. This much alone was too much, way beyond what you thought could happen. Leon is always in control, he has it together so brilliantly that this is actually him falling apart, it’s an enthralling, spellbinding natural disaster so beautiful you can’t look away, want to touch yourself to the sight. 

“I’ll show you what I have in mind,” Leon all but snarls, and he has you on your back and pulls you towards him by your legs harshly even before shivers can go down your spine. “Let’s see if you can take that.” 

You pushed him past his limit it seems, and he darkly stares you down, eyebrows scrunched and beads of sweat rolling down his temples. sweat-dampened hair curtains his face from both sides. His hand slips behind both of your knees and scratches at the smooth skin of the crevice, shooting lightning directly into your core, and he hikes them up to hook over his shoulder and hugs one bulging arm around to hold them together, lining himself up with your slit with a trembling hand, dragging the cherry red, furious tip up and down, slipping it in for a bit, catching your insides in a tantalizing drag, and then taking it out next, making your toes curl in the air and drawing squeals out of you. 

Leon would normally send you to the underground and back from how horribly he’d tease you for being this drenched for him, but he’s strained and silent now, snapping his hips against yours and burying himself to the hilt in the spasming cavern of your pussy in one go, with no resistance from how ready for him you were, ripping a fractured cry from you as your vision blacks and stars dance behind your eyes. He groans gutturally, cock pulsing inside, and you feel the sound in your body. You’re overly sensitive from head to toe, and even the sheets sliding against your burning skin makes your clit throb painfully, deliciously. 

He doesn’t start slow or build to something, it’s quick and rough right off the bat as he’s ramming into you with no mercy, and he’s basically catapulting you into glorious completion, but you need more stimulation, more, something more—

He slaps your hand away when you try to reach down to your clit to slip two fingers between your tightly shut legs and falls on his forearms, “No way I’m letting you do that.” Leon arranges your legs to wrap around his waist, grinding against you. 

His attention then shifts to something else and he pulls on the sleeve of your shirt that’s still on, a scheming shine comes to the blue of his eyes that worry you, and then he’s leaning in and forcing it up. It’s hard for you to move your back and slip it off with the way he’s pinning you down, and it dawns on you late after you make the mistake of raising your arms that it’s what he wants after all. After getting your head out, Leon turns it inside out around the entire length of your arms that act as a makeshift restraint and leaves it like that, you’re incapacitated with your hands over your head like this. 

You whine, this is so about not letting him touch you, and he thrusts up sharply to shut you up, sucking blossoming reds into the crook of your neck, hands pulling and pinching at your nipples. It’s building up. It’s building up, but— “You’re going to come like this.”

The frantic slap of skin against skin is echoing in the room and you struggle against the bunched up shirt around your arms. “Can’t—”

“You’re doing it on purpose at this point.” He laces his fingers into your hair on top of your head, thumb on your forehead in little caresses, contrasting how he fucks you shallow and fast, his voice a couple octaves higher than it usually is as he angles your hips upwards to hit deeper, and your moans are a metronome in beat to his ruthless pace. 

“Yeah, that’s right, take it!” Eyes glazed over, mouth agape, the muscles in his thighs jumping, body pulled taut, wrecked and somehow begging, Leon doesn’t leave a single spot unkissed on your face and throat and he’s hurling towards an uncontrolled craze, he’s so close himself. “More? You want more? Too bad, this is it—mmm—for what you just did to me, and you’re gonna take it!” 

You’re clamping down on him and he hisses in your ear as you repeat it like a mantra, Leon is wrenching a merciless orgasm from you and you have no control over it, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t—!”   

Leon’s delectable weight pins you down as you shoot up with the detonation of the pleasure into a thousand pieces, rippling through your body in building waves, your pussy clenching down on him catches him off guard and he unceremoniously spills into you with a choked, staccato shout shuddering, the succulent warmth coating your insides and adding to the ecstasy, and it just keeps coming, his load is too heavy and too much. Your stiffened legs lock the shivering man in place and tremble around his waist as he languidly rides his bliss out, forehead sticky against your clavicle, the sheer strength with which he holds you against him is euphoric rather than suffocating. 

“God, what the fuck was that,” he mumbles at some point, collapsing on top of you and turning you around with him so he won’t crush you, pulling you to his sweaty chest and putting his chin on top of your head. His scent has you in a fuzzy daze. “What did you do to me?”

You don’t respond, consciousness slipping from your fingers and pulling you deep into the sweet comfort of the dark. 

You feel his hand on your cheek, lightly nudging. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Mhm,” you manage to make out. “Wanna sleep…”

“Okay, sweet girl, I got you,” he says, soft and endeared, from far, far away. 

And with that, you’re out like a light. 

When you wake up, you find yourself thoroughly cleaned up, in comfortable, cotton pajamas, with no Leon in sight and a small note left on your nightstand with the keys to your apartment on top of it. 

It reads: Had to go. I’m sorry about not staying until you woke up. Talk to you when I get back.

You plop back on your fluffy pillows and sigh, chest hurting. It was always going to end this way. In hindsight, you’ve seen it coming. 

Your heart doesn’t agree, tears freely falling from your eyes. It’s really over. Leon really left like that. Just as he came into your life. 

You don’t have the right to complain. You’d agreed to it in the first place. 

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy headcanons #leon s. kennedy headcanons #resident evil 4 #re4 remake

[beardedjoel]

smother - part iii: compliance

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: the deeper you fall into his trap, the further you start to lose a sense of what you really want. 10.4k words chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, coercion, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is late 40s), ddlg (no infantilization of reader) daddy!dom joel is coming out to play this chapter, fingering, handjob, joel's corruption kink confirmed here, joel is both mean (hurts reader briefly) and sweet once again, if these darker tags aren't your cup of tea please keep scrolling! a/n: oh we're SO back with some smut this chapter! this story has me pushing my own limits on creativity and stuff and that has really been rewarding so far, i love it and i love dark!joel. anyhoooo please enjoy my lovelies 🤍 reminder i have no taglist anymore! follow @beardedjoel-updates and turn on notifs for when i post there!

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay…

Joel’s words echo in your ear from where they were whispered moments ago as he pressed himself into you from behind, urging you up the stairs towards his bedroom. One hand gripped firmly on your upper arm, the other on the small of your back, fingers exploring along your bare skin. You turn back once more with worried, widened eyes as you reach the top of the steps and he presses against you again, nearly pushing you. 

“I got ya, sugar” he says quietly, stopping for a moment to nuzzle into your neck before pushing you along. The new pet name he’s trying out makes you blink a few times, half liking the sweet implication. His deep breath in and out tickles your skin and you suddenly feel itchy from his facial hair scratching there. Panic claws its way up from your stomach, suddenly unsure of everything, like you’re just snapping out of the stupor you were in from Joel’s lips. 

Joel had made you feel good downstairs just moments ago, giving you that first, unforgettable kiss. It was so much more hungry and wet and passionate than you’d ever envisioned a kiss being, and it made you feel even more anxious that you truly were out of your depth here. 

You’ve managed in your fog to pad your way to Joel’s bedroom with him close behind you, his heat seeping into your skin, his body close enough to morph right into yours. He spins you immediately to face him and starts to kiss you again the moment you’re inside his bedroom. After just a moment of surprise, you fall right back into it, his tongue dancing a perfect rhythm against yours and you whimper and moan quietly. You find your body wanting to be closer closer closer to him so you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers grazing right against the curls at the base of his neck. 

Joel pulls back to smile down at you, a wicked thing as his eyes glint before he dives back in. He’s devouring you, hands all over your body as if he doesn’t know which spot to get enough of next. He’s suddenly lifting you up, large palms spread underneath your thighs as he hoists you up against him, carrying you so that you don’t have a chance to stop him from bringing you to his bed. 

That same bed you’d seen him just hours earlier, the moment that had started this fucked up chain of events you’d fallen into.

“There we go, jus’ relax,” Joel coos as he lays you down flat, your head right against the mattress. He climbs on top of you, trapping you completely before his lips smash into yours again. He’s taking now, giving you no room to push back or speak as his tongue laps into your mouth over and over, hearty groans escaping him. Sounds that a famished man makes eating his favorite meal. It makes you shudder, the way you’ve started to feel like his meal, like something he could just enjoy and toss away the scraps he leaves afterwards. 

“Christ, so fuckin’ innocent, sugar. I’ll teach you so many things to do w’that tongue,” he comments slyly after you hesitantly try to use your tongue in the same way as he was. Joel’s lips drag down your chin to your neck and start to suck on various spots, a little soft at first to test you but more hurried and rough the longer he goes. His body grinds against yours a bit and you lay back, feeling breathless. Your body burns and burns as he marks you and moves against you, your thighs aching all the way to the apex. 

You squirm a little bit, a foreign discomfort completely taking over, and Joel pulls back to look down at you. He strokes the side of your head from your forehead all the way back, looking at you with warmer eyes. 

“Gonna be okay, I’ll show ya how good you can feel…” he murmurs as his fingers start to trace along your bottom lip. “Now I’m gonna peek at a little more of ya,” he announces before sliding down your tense body, straddling your legs before hooking his fingers in your sweatpants. They’re down and shoved off your legs before you can even process it, leaving you in just a pair of plain white panties. His eyes roam up every inch of your body, white heat flickering low in your belly at the way Joel looks at you. 

“Now that’s a sight…” He smirks, sliding his hands up your thighs to rest on your hips, treating each spot he touches with a new reverence. You’ve started to tremble a little, the chilly air biting at you along with this vulnerable feeling, being so exposed. 

“Y-you like the way I look?” you ask tentatively, having to clear your throat from lack of use. Your sudden urge for validation from him strikes you hard and you silently curse yourself. 

Joel smiles at the unexpected question from you and gives you a singular nod. “‘Course I do. You’re real beautiful, sweetheart. ‘Specially like this.” His eyes land between your legs as he says the last words, licking his lips out of habit. He slinks up next to you, laying close to you and wrapping an arm around you, enveloping you in everything Joel.

“Now don’t ya feel safe here like this? Got me right here holdin’ you, gonna make it all okay.”

You just nod, swallowing the anxious lump in your throat. “I’m… just scared…” you admit, willing your cheeks to stop burning hot with all the emotions swirling around inside of you. Desire, embarrassment, discomfort, doubt - all mixing up to create a disastrous thundering of your heart inside of your chest. 

“Baby, nothin’ to be scared of…” Joel coos, kissing your shoulder and peppering them across the top of your chest as he leans over your body. 

“You’re not gonna hurt me?” you wonder aloud. You’d heard stories through the grapevine of other girls - fearful stories of pain or blood that had nearly revolted you at the time, made you almost glad there were no men paying that type of attention to you just yet. You’d always hoped they were just exaggerated tales, and you suppose you’re finally about to find out for yourself. 

“I’ll be honest, sweet girl. This might hurt a little bit. Just ‘cause it’s your first time.” His lips suckle at the swell of your breast and you squirm a little, back arching into it as your breath hitches. You try to focus back on his words as his lips move an inch and do the same motion, a gentle sucking so close to your nipple now that you nearly puff your chest in his direction, hoping his mouth will land there next. 

“But it’s such a special kind of love a man can show ya on your first time, darlin’. Get to have all of you…” he muses, his warped excitement becoming more palpable by the second, filling the room and stifling the air. “I’ll be gentle,” he adds on as he sees another spark of fear on your face. 

“You’ll be gentle…” you repeat quietly, squeezing your eyes shut in some type of silent prayer. You feel the needle-like prickle of tears behind your eyes again, begging yourself to do anything but cry right now. You dig your nails deep into your palms, squeezing your fists tight to keep the pain there instead of burning deep in your stomach where it’s settled. 

How can you be this close to all of it and still so unsure? Would you ever be sure? Or is this how everyone feels during their first time?

Joel finally pops one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking harder while his hand plays with your free nipple, rolling it between his fingers. You cry out at the unexpected sensation and wriggle your body, only to be held down a little harder by Joel. 

“Mm-mm,” he hums, “No squirmin’ away.” His mouth quickly finds a home on your breasts again as you try to still your body, not wanting to make him upset. You’d seen how he behaved when he was upset with you, and it was not something you found yourself wanting to repeat. 

”Pretty little nipples, sweetheart,” Joel says, talking at your chest while he flicks his tongue on the hard bud, unrelenting in his tasting of your sweet, supple skin. “Look at ‘em all day if I could. Half a mind to have you walk ‘round w’your tits out all the time.” He chuckles dryly before he sucks again, a little harder and you bite back the gasp that sticks in your throat at the jolt of pleasure it sends rocking through your body. “You’d do that f’me, wouldn’t you? Jus’ to get a little of ‘ol Joel’s attention?”

His words make you itchy, almost, in a strange, foreign way, one that’s hard to explain even to yourself. Like you want to crawl out of your skin, yet want to hear his words over and over, hear more of the things he sees in you, would want from you. You’d never found yourself to be someone with much to offer anyone, really, and hearing Joel already find so much to dote on is inflicting you with the most unexpected addiction you could have imagined.

You feel Joel’s fingers squeeze your chin suddenly, your eyes flicking open to glance down at him. “Answer me when I’m speakin’ to you,” Joel says softly despite the commanding tone of his words. 

“I - yes,” you answer, tripping over the single word as you push it out in a hurry. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs in response, leaning up to peck a kiss on the spot on your chin he’d been gripping. “Now you’re gonna let me make you feel good, ain’t ya? Let me treat you like a princess, show you what all the other men shoulda done but were too dumb. Chance with a pretty girl like you,” he rambles with a little scoff. “All meant f’me, anyways.” His conclusion seems to satisfy him as he grins, taking in your body with a hot gaze, lingering at the base of your stomach where his hands are itching to go. He doesn’t wait for your answer this time, sliding his hand right down, skillfully touching your soft skin the entire way.

Joel’s fingers start to trace the band of your panties, that satisfied grin still plastered on his face as he watches your reactions - your little sharp inhales and small twitches of your face as you feel him exploring your body. His eyes can’t help but drift down to watch your chest heave, pert tits on display and abused, hard nipples poking out into the air. He has a tempting thought to spend his entire night with his face buried right there, but he has more pressing matters to get to, he reminds himself as he feels his cock twitch inside his jeans. 

He suddenly sighs as he pads the outside of your underwear, his face nearly pained looking in his ecstasy. “You’re soaked f’me, sugar,” Joel says, breathless. You feel yourself flush hot, your cheeks burning, thinking this has to be something to be embarrassed about, something that shows your lack of experience and your fear.

“‘S not a bad thing,” Joel tells you quickly, seeming to read your mind yet again. He doesn’t stop, his fingers teasing the fabric that starts to seep onto his digits. “Means you like all this, means your body is tellin’ us you’re ready.”

“Oh,” you say flatly, feeling dumb for not having much better to say. “I- uh, are you going to do it now, then?”

Joel chuckles, a genuine sound ringing through the quiet room, like he’s amused. “Christ,” he breathes out, swirling his fingers along the fabric, making your hips jump as he brushes your bundle of nerves. “You’re too cute, so perfect f’me. I get to teach you everythin’.”

Your brain can barely register his words, too focused on that little spasm that had just rocked its way through your body when Joel’s fingers touched along that sensitive spot. You blink, biting your lip as his fingers tease everywhere but there, silently urging him to brush there again.

Joel huffs another laugh watching your contorted, concentrated face. “Already fucked out, can’t think about nothin’ but these fingers, huh?” he teases you, amusement lacing his voice. His fingers make a tight circle over your clothed clit and you inhale sharply through your teeth, stifling a little noise from deep in your chest. “That what you wanted? Jus’ desperate f’me to touch your clit, sugar?”

You shake your head, completely overwhelmed by the absurdity of this feeling. “I don’t - I don’t…” you murmur, trying to convince yourself for what feels like the final time that you don’t want any of this. That you don’t feel an amoral, wicked pull towards this man that you shouldn’t - this man who has treated you like prey, is far too old to be interested in you, who by all accounts should be sending you fighting and running. A man you know likely has debased plans for you that you can barely even conjure up in your own mind, but plans that you are slowly realizing you want to be a part of, are curious about. 

His care, his touch, his infatuation. They could all be yours, if you’d let him.

“Think you do… look at you, innocent little thing. Wrestlin’ w’yourself. Nothin’ wrong happening here, honey.”

You look to his dark eyes, seeking guidance, reassurance. “I-it’s not? I feel so…” You can’t put any of it into words for him, how intense the feeling is, how badly your body is craving something that you don’t know anything about yet. How dirty you feel for wanting it with him.

He shakes his head slowly to try and convince you. “Mm-mm. I feel it too, sugar. ‘S jus’ attraction, desire. Makes you burn all hot in here, don’t it?” he asks, cupping your aching, wet cunt through your panties. You gasp at the fullness of his hand against your throbbing folds while you nod fervently, taking in a deep breath to steady yourself as his fingers curl and then drag up your clothed slit. Your head arches back a little and you let out a tiny mewling sound through closed lips. Your mind muddles instantly, eyes rolling back as he repeats the motion, this time letting his fingers trail off to the edge of your panties, teasing the hem there.

“Thas’ it, let yourself enjoy it, princess. Let daddy take care of you.”

He’s barely controlling himself now, his breath heavy against your neck as he starts to move with more urgency, teeth scraping against your delicate skin. Your brow furrows quickly at the new reference to himself but his teeth sink into your flesh with a soft nip, pulling your mind back to the present. 

“You’re gonna like this,” he murmurs quietly into your skin as his fingers fiddle one final time at your waistband before wiggling under, diving deep and sliding his fingers right into your wet slit. 

“Oh… m-my, g-“ you whimper as quietly as you can when he slips them back and forth a few times, brushing your clit on each one, gathering up a lewd amount of slickness on his fingers. He spreads your wet folds delicately, feeling his way around almost respectfully, desperate breaths puffing out of his nose.

“Poor baby… soakin’ yourself this whole time… never even knowin’ how good you could feel, how much y’need a cock in here,” Joel says, sounding truly devastated for you. His brazen language makes your head spin and your cheeks flourish with warmth. And then it finally happens - his fingers swirl over your clit again. 

You cry out loud this time, unable to hold it back when his circling tightens and he puts more pressure down on the aching little bud. The heat from between your legs starts to spread to your lower belly, pulling taut and warm as it settles there.

“Oh…” you murmur, back arching when Joel adds a second finger to the motion. Your legs shake a little as they lay flat on the bed, knees starting to bend of their own volition to help your hips start to wriggle closer to his touch. You stutter out another moan when his fingers press harder, the feeling shooting what feels like sparks through your entire bloodstream, straight to your head. You’re foggy, thoughts clouded over as everything else starts to fade out. Your mind pinpoints on Joel’s touch, practically seeing just his fingers in your mind's eye and the sensation that’s quickly boiling in your core, tightening with each movement he makes. 

“Yeah, feelin’ so good ain’t you princess?” Joel coos with a grin, making his movements a little faster. “First one to touch this little clit, first one to see ya like this, writhin’ around like an animal in heat. God…” He marvels at your microexpressions, the contortions of your body, the way he can see you’re holding back, not wanting to seem too eager. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Be loud f’me. Be loud f’daddy,” Joel urges you, eyes practically bugging out of his head as he sees you start to sheen a little with sweat, your body hot and tingling next to him. He smirks as he slips a finger down, eliciting a desperate cry from you when it leaves your clit to tease your entrance. 

“D-daddy…” you start, meaning it as more of a question, wanting to understand what he’s getting at, but it trails off into a pathetic little cry when the tip of his index finger pushes into you unexpectedly.

Joel has died and gone to heaven, if his expression is any indication as he breathes out shakily, hardly in control of his actions at this point. “Thas’ right, thas’ right, princess. Call out f’me while I’m inside ya.”

“F-fuck,” you let slip out. “Y-you’re inside?” you ask him in slight disbelief that it’s really happening. You go completely breathless as he starts to play with your clit again, using his thumb to flick urgently there while he lets his finger settle inside of you. 

Joel wriggles his finger deeper, burying his index finger almost to the hilt as he nods, turning your head with his free hand to make sure you’re looking at him. 

“Naughty little thing, cursin’ cause daddy made you feel that good.” He smirks, letting you sweat it out for another moment before answering your question in a softer voice, almost sweet and caring. “‘M inside, sugar. Feels so fuckin’ good, too. Perfect, tight little hole all f’me.”

You’ve become a trembling mess, the fullness from Joel’s finger overwhelming you. The tingling warmth spreads to your belly from where he starts to move his finger, slowly at first.

“Yeah, there we go, takin’ me so well,” Joel mumbles as you relax around his finger, pressing in and out in sloppier motions. You gasp when his finger presses in to the hilt, then he repeats it over and over, filling you up. Your hips twitch and grind a little into him, into the feeling of his thumb flicking carefully at your clit.

“O-oh…” you whimper out, gushes of warmth coating Joel’s finger, running down onto his hand. He grunts an approving noise as he feels the way your body pours out slickness for him. This is pure heaven, he concludes to himself, nothing in the world could be sweeter than the feeling of taking this from you and getting so much in return.

“Christ, you are perfect,” he says near your ear. “This okay, princess?”

You just give him a nod, barely able to speak as your entire body starts to feel warmer and drawn tight, Joel’s finger on your clit moving at an achingly slow pace.

“Gonna feel somethin’ for just a second, mkay?” he says quietly, not bothering to clue you in any further before retreating his index finger and snuggling his middle finger right next to it, inserting them both into your weeping entrance.

Joel breathes a sigh, the air fanning across your bare chest. “Mmm, so tight, baby. Thas’ it, just focus right on me,” he says as your eyes open wide and look right into his. You feel the burn from his second finger, so thick and wide in comparison, your body adjusting to the new sensation.

“J-joel…” you whimper quietly when he starts to move them with more force, your brow furrowing with the strange mixture of pain and pleasure. 

“Y’need to relax, c’mon,” he urges, using his free hand to rub gentle circles on your shoulder. “Promise we’ll get you feelin’ real good, sweetheart. We gotta get you all stretched out to fit all ‘f me.” He rubs a soothing hand on your shoulder with his free one, shushing you when he sees the look of worry on your face. 

“Jus’ enjoy it.”

His words echo in your mind as you start to fully embrace all the sensations. You feel a burning heat in your core start to radiate, pulling tight, so tight it’s nearly maddening before your hips shift the tiniest bit and find your release, the tightness completely snapping from one moment to the next. 

“Oh my god… oh my god… oh…” you cry out, feeling yourself starting to shake, your entire body ravaged by oncoming waves and waves of pleasure. 

“Look at me when you come, princess,” Joel says sternly as he grasps your face, turning your head in his direction. You slowly creep your eyes open and see his dark pools full of a sense of smugness and wonder. “God, fuck, that’s good, keep comin’ f’me,” he breathes out, feeling your slick pouring out onto his hand as you come. 

You’ve never felt so amazing in your entire life, the only thought you can think is more more more as you moan loudly, any shame in doing so long gone when you feel this incredible. White heat envelops you, sending your vision speckled and your back arching off the bed completely, your hips spasming down to where Joel sloppily yet expertly fucks you with his fingers. You grip at the sheets with one hand, Joel’s shirt with the other, squeezing them both to try to hang on to reality. 

“Good girl, good little girl… god you’re pretty when you come,” Joel says, talking you through it. His fingers are merciless until the last second, when your hips drop to the bed with a sudden thud, your entire body limp, only your hips jumping with a need to get away from the overstimulation. 

“Oh, that was a big one, now, wasn’t it?” Joel asks softly, pulling his hand from between your legs and resting it on your thigh, his other still soothing on your cheek. Your eyes flutter and roll back as you catch your breath, trying to wrap your mind around what just happened. 

“Uh-huh…” you murmur dazedly, your hand still resting on Joel’s chest after letting go of his shirt. 

Joel peppers your face with soft, loving kisses, finally reaching your lips and kissing you deeper. You’re lost, somewhere in another dimension completely, kissing him back without any knowledge of doing so. The warmth of his lips starts to bring you back and you flutter your eyes open as he pulls back. 

“Y’did real good. How’d that feel, huh, sugar?” Joel inquires, looking down at you expectantly. 

“S-so… good… I can’t explain…”

“Mhm, I know what ya mean,” he replies sweetly, “Hard to explain, jus’ all that pleasure. Loved makin’ you feel that good, honey.” Joel leans in to kiss your cheek, using his hand to tilt you towards him and plants another kiss on your lips. You moan quietly, body overstimulated and exhausted, the now empty space between your legs aching and tingling for him.

You roll your head back onto the pillow, unable to respond. Joel places a hand over the one of yours that rests on his chest and rubs his thumb over the back. 

“Gonna make you feel like that all the time,” he says with an oddly devoted, sweet tone, leaning down and surprising you with another kiss. Your eyes open again and he’s looking at you with that look again. “So much more we could do,” he adds, shifting his smile into something more hungry again. 

“Wh-“ you start to ask, and Joel’s finger touches your lip gently. You can taste the remnants of yourself on it - such a strange, foreign flavor that makes you smack your lips a little. Joel’s amusement at your response shows quickly on his face as he traces his finger along your lips with a soft smile.

He starts to sit up and lean back on the bed, sending your hand dropping from his chest, a quick bounce on the mattress before it stills. His hands reach to his waist, fingers working at his belt. You stare, eyes transfixed on his every move as your heart starts to beat more quickly, anxiety flooding your system as you toil over what comes next. 

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweet girl,” he mumbles, belt now hanging loose and open while he palms himself outside of his jeans. Your mind races at the prospect of seeing what you saw from afar this morning just this much closer. Joel reads your deer in the headlights expression and smirks, head cocked as he looks down at you, sitting next to you on the bed, knees pushed into the mattress. 

You swallow hard, the apparent lump sliding down your throat and it makes your cheeks burn how openly nervous you are. Joel strokes a hand gently down the side of your head before pushing off the mattress and standing next to the edge of the bed. 

“Time f’you to see a real man, in all his glory,” Joel says, teasingly, like he knows something you don’t. And he does, you suppose, know a lot of things that you don’t in this regard.

He starts to peel off his jeans, letting them pool by his ankles, belt buckle clanging all the way down before he steps out of them. He has on a pair of dark boxer briefs, hard to tell if they’re black or navy in the fading evening light of his bedroom. All you can focus on is the apparent bulge there, knowing what’s underneath, that shockingly large part of him he’d stroked earlier because of you.

He wastes little time pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his hulking, muscular form, soft yet hard, toned and strong but fleshy and dusted with salt and pepper curls of hair, leading right down to the waistband of his briefs.

Your eyes flick from between his thighs to his face, searching his eyes for any kind of assurance, any kind of assistance in how to act, what to do next. He just remains as cocky as ever, hand grazing the outside of the tented fabric as he stares down at you with hooded eyes.

“You wanna see it, babygirl? Wanna touch daddy’s cock?” He rubs himself a little faster, a tiny growl suppressed in his chest while he awaits your answer. “Know you do, know you’re such a curious girl.”

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and nod, swallowing hard again. “Y-yes, I want to see,” you finally say, meek and shaky, shrinking in on yourself like you’re preparing for a bomb to go off, afraid of what you’re about to witness. In what feels like a flash, his briefs are down on the ground, Joel’s cock springing free almost violently as it slaps against him. You stare for a moment, taking in the way it juts out from his body - rock hard, shiny pink head dripping and veins running along the length of him. You feel speechless, unsure if there’s something you’re supposed to say when a man shows you his penis.

“C’mon a little closer, princess, you can look, s’okay,” Joel says, calm and quiet. “Crawl over here.”

You hesitate a moment and push yourself up on the bed to get on your hands and knees. While it’s not a far distance, just a few paces and you’re to the side of the bed where Joel stands, he revels in the sight of you doing it, his lip caught between his teeth as he gently plays with himself. 

“Pretty girl,” Joel murmurs when you reach him, putting his hand along the back of your head and stroking once before holding on to keep you in a position to stare directly at his cock. It’s threateningly large right in your face like this, and you feel yourself shudder a bit as you watch Joel’s free hand gently touching all along the length. 

“Now, I want y’to touch it, can you do that, sweetheart?”

You hand hovers, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as you peer at his member with a lack of confidence. 

“C’mon now,” Joel says, grabbing your wrist, moving your stalled, floating hand to his cock, settling your fingers on the head. Your stomach turns with the strangeness of all of this - the way you had given in to him and now felt like it was impossible to go back. Joel is gently nudging your hand, trying to urge you to move, and it brings you back to the present moment where you blink hard and focus on him again. 

“Sh-should I do this…?” you ask quietly, letting your fingers graze the head in a swirling motion, unintentionally picking up the beads of precum leaking out and you nearly pull back. Joel chuckles at your brief reaction to the liquid, then nods. 

“That’s good, real nice,” he says softly. “Touch it all over now, no need to be shy with me, okay?”

You press your lips together, unable to even look him in the eye due to your strange combination of being flustered and mortified. You can only find yourself staying focused on what you’re doing with your hands, making sure it’s right for him.

“What did I say about answerin’ me when I’m speaking to you?” Joel says a moment later, tugging on your hair to lift your gaze up to his. You wince, wishing he’d be a little more gentle with your scalp, and he sees your expression and only tightens his grip.

“I-I’m s-sorry. Um…” you take a deep breath, trying to calm your quaking hands. “Like this?” you ask him, using your fingertips to glide down the length of his cock, all the way to the base where a patch of thick curls sits. That seems to please him, a kinder smile on his face now when he nods in approval.

“Lean forward and spit right on there f’me,” he says, looking down at you and gesturing between his thighs. “Need to get it nice and wet f’daddy to feel good, okay?”

Your mouth hangs open in a stunted silence, your body unable to move without his assistance right now as he drags your hand along his dry cock. He grunts in exasperation before tugging back on your haIr again, forcing your face into a contorted wince.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, you know that, right? Y’jus’ need a firm hand, baby, helpin’ you figure all this stuff out. So why don’t ya go on ahead and do as I say, sweetheart, hm? It’d make me real happy.” His words are silken, laced with his country accent and that hidden malice he carries within him, every step, every word showing it to you, drawing you in further.

You bow your head a little as he loosens his grip, letting you decide for yourself now. “I-I’m sorry, you’re right, I- uh, d-do need your help,” you whine obediently, feeling your scalp starting to throb a tiny bit. 

Joel scratches at your head for a moment, watching you lean down closer to his cock. “Good girl, there ya go.” You can hear him smirking as you tentatively spit on his cock, watching the saliva settled on the top before dripping around the side. “Don’t be afraid, want ya to drool on it, baby, don’t worry ‘bout gettin’ messy.” He nudges your head forward and you breathe out a shaky breath before trying to desperately gather up any amount of saliva your drying mouth will offer you. You open your mouth, letting your tongue hang down before forcing yourself to spit watching more dribble onto the center of his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel grits through his teeth, feeling the sudden warm wetness of your saliva on him. “Thas’ it - f-fuck, now wrap your hand ‘round it,” he commands urgently, immediately negating any need for the words by wrapping his own hand more firmly around yours, sending your fingers curling around his length. 

“Look at that, sugar, barely even fit that little hand around me,” he says with an arrogant grin, starting to move your hand in strokes, gathering up all the slickness you’d just provided. The sound starts to reverberate through the room, that same noise you’d heard outside his door earlier.

You’re starting to feel like merely a passenger as he jerks on himself quicker using your hand, sitting in front of him almost completely naked, the real version of what he was picturing this morning as he pleasured himself. Joel smiles even more at the fantasy coming to life right before his eyes, your little panties the only thing he has left to remove before he’s seen all of you. And by god, does he want to see all of you. See what he has no doubt looks just as perfect as it felt around his fingers while he buried them inside of you.

“Take ‘em off,” Joel says as the thought pops into his head, staring down between your legs, his eyes practically glimmering.

“D-do I have to…?” you stammer out, suddenly wishing you could put back on every piece of clothing that’s now scattered between here and the kitchen downstairs.

“Now c’mon darlin’,” Joel snips, frowning a little. His hand continues to jerk yours along a little more aggressively as his breathing picks up. “Jus’ want to see your pretty body, baby girl, thas’ all. It’ll help me feel extra good right here,” he says, squeezing your hand as it moves along his cock.

You reach down and start pulling on the waistband of your panties, a little awkwardly as Joel holds your other hand hostage. You shimmy them down and sit closer to the edge of the bed, where Joel suddenly wraps his arm around your back and pulls you to the edge, leaving your legs dangling off on either side of his knees.

Joel’s hand grips at the side of your face, cupping your cheek less than delicately as he pants out, your hand moving quicker and quicker along his cock. You feel a rush of heat in your body similar to when Joel had been touching you earlier. That arousal cropping up low and deep in your belly, that feeling you want to ignore when it comes to Joel. But looking at him - sheening with sweat, his enticingly soft yet muscular belly right in your face, his face turning a shade more red with effort as he puffs out his quick breaths has you nearly squirming where you sit. It’s intimate, it’s sexual, you realize, something he’s giving to you just as much as you are him. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, tugging your hand off his cock and pushing you down with a swift shove to your chest. You fall back to the bed, nearly emotionally wounded when you notice his eyes still raking all over your body. 

“Lemme jus’ look at ya, fuck, put your legs up, show me that pretty cunt,” he demands, his hand flying back to his cock to continue stroking it as you prop your legs up on the bed, giving him the view he’s asking for. He groans loudly, deep and guttural as his eyes are glued to your glistening sex, a new slickness dripping out from the way he’s looking at you. You’ve never felt sexy before, desired, and even though the circumstances are never what you’d envisioned, you’re completely enamored with the feeling of it. Already craving more of it.

“Can’t wait to sink my cock into that tight little pussy,” he murmurs to himself, but you feel your entire body tensing at his words, taken by surprise that it might be happening right now.

Joel’s mouth curls in that devious but handsome way to the side as he sees your change in demeanor. “Shh, shh, not yet, sweetheart. Wanna keep you pure jus’ a little bit longer f’me,” he breathes out with a wink in your direction. 

Less controlled smacks of his fist against his skin fill the air of the room. You’re practically holding your breath, watching everything unfold as his cock throbs and twitches in his hold. He just watches your innocent, fascinated expressions move over your face and continues smirking down at you. 

“One thing at a time for my princess. Take you piece by piece, won’t I?” He seems so pleased to be the decider here, to say what you get, and don’t get. How he controls how he uses your body. It makes his cock throb achingly in his hand, just the thought of it alone. His to use. His to show all the pleasure. His to keep. 

He watches your lips, waiting for them to move, to answer his question. “Y-yes…” you whisper meekly. Joel groans at your compliance and his eyes flutter for a moment. He’s so close now. You understand that same feeling that had come over you for the first time not very long ago. 

“Yeah, princess, daddy’s gonna come all over you now. Tell me, say it. Say you want daddy to come all over you.” He breathes heavily, little groaning whimpers as he goes harder, his cock angry and red from the way he’s tugging on it. “Say it,” Joel booms out, and you start at the intensity of his voice, curling in on yourself for a moment. 

“I- I want daddy to come o-on me… a-all over me,” you say, hoping it’s loud enough for him to hear, that you won’t have to repeat it again. The name slides awkwardly off your tongue, wishing to understand it, make sense of why it made your core tingle for just a moment when you said the words. 

“God, bet you do, yes, fuck, daddy’s gonna come now, paint that perfect body with it,” Joel punches out before his hips stutter forward, his hand giving a few jerks as he starts to come hard, the white stickiness splattering onto you - your stomach, your breasts, even where your legs lay open for him to look at as his own personal little show. He heaves as the final bits spill out and he leans his head back, sighing. 

“God damn, so good, baby girl. You did amazing,” he coos, climbing onto the bed next to you. He sits while you lay motionless, nearly stunned from what you’d witnessed, the constant reminder of it in the form of his warm liquid dripping along your body. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says more softly, picking up your discarded panties and carefully swiping his mess off of you with them, curling his body close to yours. 

“That’s better,” he announces, holding the white cotton up to inspect the way his cum stains them now with a wry smirk. He sets them aside on his nightstand before his hands slip underneath your back and your legs to cradle you, pulling you into his lap. He sits back on the bed, nestling the both of you against the headboard as he settles you across his thighs. “This okay?” he asks, stroking your back. 

“Mhm.” You nod quietly and thread an arm around his torso, intertwined under where his arm reaches up to meet you. The movement comes naturally, more than you’d care to admit, wanting to feel loved and cared for right now. You hate the tears that sting your eyes again, like you’re not strong enough to handle something like this, something that adults do. 

“S-sorry,” you say, swiping your eyes quickly and trying to avoid any tears falling. 

“Shh, don’t be sorry. Y’did such a good job, y’know that? Normal to get emotional if it’s your first time.”

You chew on your lip and then look up at Joel, his features already strangely comforting and familiar. The speckled, tan skin that you want to touch more of, his dark lashes that fall over his eyes when he looks down at you like this.

“B-but it wasn’t… my first time…”

“Sure it was. First time doin’ somethin’ like that. It’s a lot for a sweet girl like you. But you’ll feel good again, just like tonight, I promise ya that.”

You nod, slightly more encouraged by Joel’s words as you relax a little more into his embrace. “That… release… it’s an orgasm, right?” You nearly choke on the words, shame flooding you for even having to ask. 

Joel blows out a teasing breath through his nostrils. “God damn, nobody out there teachin’ you anythin’, were they?” He ruffles the back of your head playfully. “Yes, darlin’ that was an orgasm, what both of us experienced.”

You crack a small smile at his teasing and brush your fingers along where they’re resting along his back. “People acted like it was… bad to teach about. My parents, people that looked after me, all of them.” You pause, feeling your face warm with the embarrassment of sharing so much “S-sorry I’m so clueless…”

“No, honey, not clueless. You’re learnin’, and I wanna be the one to teach you everythin’. It…” he inhales deeply, and you see that hunger in his eyes when you glance his way. “It excites me.”

“It does?”

“It’s so sexy, takin’ care of you and lettin’ you learn w’me. You like bein’ sexy, don’t you?” Joel teases, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting it just slightly. Your lips look the most inviting they have as they curve into the most delicate smile, one finally full of lust and confidence. 

“I do…” you murmur in response, averting your eyes as you flush yet again. Your body feels warm, bare and pressed against Joel’s naked flesh, his words instantly having an effect on you. 

“An’ you should,” Joel says, leaning forward to press his lips to your neck, smattering kisses down the length of it. “Already got me wrapped around your little finger.”

His lips tickle you as his facial hair brushes along you in his fast movements, and you nearly giggle, holding back at the last moment, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing your laugh just yet. You sigh contentedly and lean back into him, fighting a sudden yawn.

“You all tired out?” Joel asks quietly, lips pressed close to your ear. You shiver at the vibrations of his rich timbre and inadvertently snuggle a little closer as goosebumps creep along your skin. Joel rubs your back in response, pulling you in tighter.

You nod, mumbling out a yes and Joel responds by gently rolling you over onto the bed, laying your head on the pillow. He’s curled up to you in an instant, arm thrown over your chest all the way to your arm on the other side, letting his fingers rub there.

“You get some rest, it’s been a big day, huh?”

“It has…” you mumble in reply, hesitantly resting your hand on his arm that covers your chest. It starts to feel like some semblance of normal, cuddling with Joel. You’d never experienced something like this, this closeness. 

“G’night,” he mumbles into your skin, kissing it one more time before you notice him going more slack, starting to settle into that dazed, half sleepy state. You look over at him, blinking slowly with a deep tiredness, just watching his face in this calm, non-threatening state. He looks handsome like this, a little vulnerable and sweet, someone you could pretend is holding you right now just so you feel taken care of and cared for. You wish you could read him, trace the weathered lines on his face and find out just who he really is, which version of the many different Joel’s he’s shown you he truly is.

You fall asleep trying to figure it out.

Your eyes flutter open, finding the room still dark. You imagine it has only been a few hours since you fell asleep, but you woke with your stomach aching, hunger tearing through you. You realize the only thing you’ve eaten is the bread and cheese Joel fed you, and it makes your stomach growl again.

Joel has mostly rolled off of you, just an errant hand laid across your upper arm as he sleeps, body sprawled out on the bed. You lay as still as can be for a few moments, checking just how deep he’s sleeping before you slip out of bed, on the prowl for a midnight snack. You don’t think Joel would mind, would he? He’d fed you earlier, promised that part of what he’d do to help you here is to share his provisions with you, keep you full. You spot a knit blanket on the back of a wooden chair in the corner of the bedroom and throw it around your shoulders, shivering as you snuggle your naked body underneath it and relish in the warmth.

It’s dark in the kitchen, but you don’t dare flick on the light, happy to scavenge by way of the small glow from the open refrigerator. You end up tearing off some more of the bread, careful to not take too much from Joel’s provisions. Your eyes drift around the room as you chew happily, taking it in now that you’re here alone, gaze free to roam without any questions from Joel. You stop when you land on your backpack, slumped near the door, and your boots, tucked right where you’d left them when you’d arrived. How was that only yesterday? It feels like an entire lifetime has passed since then. Like you’re a different person than when you’d first entered the threshold of that door, shaking and terrified, barely hanging on. Now… you still weren’t sure where you landed, but you were certainly changed.

Your threadbare coat hangs where Joel must have decided to leave it when you’d taken your shower. All of your things calling out to you, screaming red, like a test that he’d left for you. To test your loyalty, to see your obedience. Everything you’d need to disappear from this cabin, all in one little space. Your heart starts to race, your mouth dry as the bread seems to go sour on your tongue. 

You could leave right now, if you wanted. Take your chances. Let fate decide if you’d starve on your own or lead you to a new community - those people in Jackson - who might take care of you. You could learn. You were capable of survival, you knew you were. You could learn to hunt and fish and start fires on your own, to live off the land and not be scared of the hidden horrors of the world. Yes, you could leave right now, escape the uncertainty of Joel’s moods and promises, and learn.

You bite your lip anxiously, eyes in a trance as you stare at your backpack, with it holding the memories of those two weeks on your own where you fought and scraped by and nearly froze to death. You blink and turn your head back towards the fridge. Maybe you aren’t cut out for life on the road. Maybe you’re too soft for it. And maybe some more of that sheep’s cheese doesn’t sound so bad right now.

You open the fridge back up, peering inside to look for that little wrapped package you’d seen Joel pull from earlier. You nearly jump out of your skin when Joel’s voice cuts into the silent room - you’d been too absorbed in your own thoughts to even hear the creak of the old floorboards announcing his movements upstairs.

“The hell’re you doin?” his voice booms out in that controlled, stern tone that makes you want to listen. You whip your head around from where you’re crouched at the fridge, rummaging through it and see Joel stepping off the bottom of the staircase and into the main room. He hasn’t bothered to put anything on, like he was in a rush to see if you were down here, if you’d snuck off in the night. His naked body moves powerfully, muscles on display, and yet all you can focus on is what’s between his legs - his soft cock swinging almost tauntingly as he approaches you with such an angry aura. 

“I - I was hungry… starving. I thought I’d -“ you start, teeth clicking together in a fearful grimace as he cuts you off. 

“Yeah? Sure you’re not tryna run off again? Ransack my fridge and leave?” He’s already questioning you heatedly, reaching where you stand and slamming the fridge shut behind you and pressing you close to the door. 

You scramble in your mind to find the words to make him understand, shrinking in, afraid of what he’s capable of doing to you. “Wh - no, no I was… look at me, I have nothing on, I wouldn’t be running out like this, right?” You gesture down to your body, only draped in the small knit blanket. 

“Poor excuse, darlin’,” he sneers, looking down at you. The moonlight spilling in through the kitchen window casts menacing shadows across his rugged face. He narrows his eyes as he waits for you to further dig yourself out of this hole. 

“I - I swear it, I haven’t eaten much, remember? J-just that bread and cheese, and I woke up hungry.” You plead and see him soften just enough to want to let up a little bit, but his face hardens again at the last second. You realize he’s scared, the hint of it behind his wild eyes showing for just a moment. He’d really run down here thinking he’d find you gone for good and that had scared him, an emotion you wouldn’t have expected from Joel. He has weaknesses and fears after all. 

He steps a little closer and you can feel his cock, now half hard pressing between your legs. You fight the urge to wince, afraid he’s about to press it further.

“Hard to believe w’the way you were runnin’ off earlier. Not desperate to get away from me anymore now that I fucked that little pussy so good w’my fingers? Didn’t jus’ get what you want from me and wanna split?” You can tell he doesn’t even fully believe what he’s saying, he just wants to taunt you, remind you that he’s more powerful, that he holds all of the cards. He grips your cheeks, squishing them together and holding your head steady, inspecting you for another moment, as if he can get the truth out of you just by reading your face. His head leans forward and he holds you in place as he sucks on your neck, pulling your skin between his lips harder and harder. He lets go and keeps himself nuzzled tight to your neck as he speaks.

“Y’don’t do anythin’ like this again without wakin’ me up.” He squeezes your cheeks a little harder before releasing it, keeping his face buried against your neck. “‘S my job to take care of you, remember? Don’t wanna catch you like this again, yeah?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, breathing a sigh of relief. One that’s short lived when Joel pulls another patch of skin into his mouth, using his teeth this time - you feel the slight nibble as he scrapes his teeth on your soft skin and you whimper quietly when it starts to hurt. 

“J-joel…” you whine, shifting uncomfortably, the heat of his body so close making you squirm and break out in a sweat.

“No,” he cuts you off, wrapping a hand around your arm and another around your waist, holding you in place. “If you’re here,” he says, stopping to flick his tongue along his recent mark, “You’re gonna refer to me as a few special names goin’ forward, okay? Teach you a little respect towards me.”

“I- I respect you,” you blurt out desperately, your eyes wide and searching the room for anything that might help you get out of this. Joel’s hold is absolute, as you’ve learned several times now. You’re suddenly unsure once again, his frightening behavior reminding you just who you’re living with now. You don’t dare to call him a monster, even in your thoughts, because that would be admitting what you’ve been desperately avoiding. You’re attracted to a monster, inexplicably fixated by him, lured in with his sweet offerings and chance at a new life. Worst of all, you’ve already given yourself over to him, let him drag you further into his clutches.

“You’ve been s-so kind and helpful, you fed me, everything…” you add on in a soft lilt, hoping he takes mercy on you.

He stays silent for a moment, his lips hovering above your skin, only his hot breath fanning across it. “Then show it,” he says in a deep rumble. “You’re gonna call me daddy, sweetheart. ‘Cause I’m here to take care of you. And a good girl always listens to her daddy, doesn’t she?”

He sucks again. Harder this time, the burn and sting shooting out from where he abuses your delicate skin. 

“She does…” you choke out.

“That’s right. I’m gonna be your everything, sweetheart. Your daddy, your sir, your master. And when you address me, you’ll address me as such, yeah? Show that you’re mine… show me respect.”

“M-mhm…” you whimper, swallowing with your lips pressed tightly together, the pain of him sucking on your neck after each little speech becoming more and more unbearable. It hurts, but something about the way he’s speaking, the concept of his domination over you, the way you can tell it comes from some completely twisted place of care, sends a warm skittering down your spine. Maybe you’re just as sick as he is if any part of you enjoys this, even the small, deeply hidden bit that seems to be growing with each encounter you have with Joel.

“And when I’m done w’you here tonight,” he murmurs, bringing up a hand to trace his fingers gently along your quickly bruising skin, “You won’t be able to see yourself in the mirror without knowin’ who you belong to. Show everyone who dares lay eyes on my girl that I’ve got you, that I’m the one keepin’ you safe and fed and fucked.”

“Yes… you are…” you whimper out complicitly into a soft cry when he bites your neck again, his hot mouth attaching like his life depends on it. 

“So you’re gonna be a good girl, yeah? Behave and listen to daddy’s rules?” He speaks breathlessly, his cock fully hard as he feels the power coursing through his veins, the evidence of it pressing firmly against your thighs. He feels you nod against where he rests his lips, but it’s not enough. 

“Say it, princess. Say ‘I’m a good girl, and I’ll behave and listen to daddy’s rules.’”

You gasp as his teeth sink into your flesh, as hard as they’ve gone yet, feeling nearly like they may have drawn blood. “I- I-“ you breathe out, clutching at his arm, digging your nails in. It only spurs him on, his lips dragging back just to suck the spot relentlessly. It brings tears to your eyes immediately, your mind only focused on the pain now. 

“Say. It.” Joel’s voice cuts through and your eyes flash open after a few tears roll down your cheeks. 

“I’m a good girl…” you whimper, voice cutting out into another cry as he assaults another spot on your neck.

“And?”

“I’m a good girl a-and I’ll behave and l-listen to daddy’s rules…” Your breath whooshes out as he stops, relief flooding your body when he places a light kiss on one of the sore, bruised spots. A few tears roll down your cheeks, spilling over from the plethora of them along your lower lids.

“Mmm, good girl,” he says more gently, pulling back to look over your face. He frowns, and it nearly startles you to see him have a look that isn’t that one of sick satisfaction that he’s worn so often. 

“When you’re daddy’s girl, you’re gonna be so well taken care of, I promise ya. I know you’re scared, and it ain’t easy when I’m bein’ so firm w’you. Just want you to understand…” he pauses, dragging a finger along your cheek, swiping a tear and glancing down at it glistening on his finger. His body is still close, pressed right against yours. 

“That I’m doin’ it for your own good. So you know I mean it all. I won’t hurt ya unless you disobey me, yeah? If you’re not a good girl, you’re gonna have some punishments. Do you understand?”

You nod hesitantly, your brows furrowed and trying to process all of the information he’s throwing at you. 

“Y’need some sleep, look at you,” he says with a shake of his head, taking in your disheveled state, swaying where you stand as a few more tears roll down your cheeks. He feels a pang spearing his heart at your weary, dejected stance, body trembling openly at his proximity. He knows he did this to you, made you this broken little bird he could grasp in his hands and crush with his words alone, but he did it for your own good. He tells himself this sentence for what feels like the millionth time, absolving his guilt in a single second. You need him, deserve the unrelenting care he’ll pour out once you fully give yourself over to him. Anytime now… with your cracks showing more and more, your desperation to please him not as well hidden as you might think.

 “You’ll feel better in the mornin’, hm?” Joel says when you don’t answer him.

You shrug slightly, keeping your shoulders rolled up, feeling defensive as Joel rests his fingers on your arm more gently now. “We’ll talk more then,” he says decidedly, making the decision for the both of you as he sidles up next to you and puts an arm around you, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You begin to walk nearly catatonically back towards the stairs with Joel’s guidance. His hands slide to your hips and squeeze as you move up the stairs in a daze, exhaustion overtaking you. You swear you’re tired down to your very cells, every piece of your being sapped and scraped thin right now. 

“Thank you,” you murmur in a whisper when Joel helps you shrug the blanket off of your shoulders, laying it tidily back on the chair where you’d found it. 

“You’re welcome,” he responds, kissing the top of your head. You’re moved to the bed, body soft and yielding for him to place you where he wishes, finding you a place wrapped right in his arms just as you were earlier.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he whispers, lips flitting against your hair and cheek when he senses your tension. “Jus’ be good, don’t do that again, okay? Don’t wanna have to chain you to the bed while we sleep, would we?”

Your mouth sags open, chest pulling tight at his threat, the way it had rolled off his tongue like it was nothing, no humor or jesting behind it. When he’d said the word punishment he’d meant it in the most serious sense. Things like chaining you up, biting your neck until it was bruised, bleeding, and throbbing, and the likely long list of things he had lined up that you couldn’t even envision if you tried.

“N-no, you’ll never need to do that, I w-won’t…” you reply after composing yourself for a brief moment.

“Never say never,” Joel whispers with a conceited smirk. “You may find yourself askin’ me to do it someday, princess. Beggin’ me…”

You let out a breathy scoff of a laugh, mostly out of discomfort, but Joel hardly notices, busy tucking you into the crook of his neck as he puts an arm behind your head.

“You’ll see someday, babygirl, you’ll see… now let’s get some sleep.”

You stare into the dark of the room, head rising and falling with the movements of Joel’s chest while he falls back asleep. You hate that he smells good right now, that the hair of his chest feels so gorgeous and manly under your fingertips. You hate that you feel comfortable right now, safe, despite everything he’s done to you. You hate everything about all of it, but you don’t hate… him. It makes you sick, your stomach turning as you fight the urge to cry yet again. 

You start to think back to your backpack and boots, waiting for you by the door. Their enticing siren call is louder than ever, beckoning you away from here. 

You could learn to survive out there. You know you could. 

You peek up at Joel’s face again, willing yourself to read him, the same thoughts swirling through your head from earlier tonight. You slowly reach your hand up and touch the lines on his face with your fingertips - around his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks. Ever so gently you move along his face, and Joel’s mouth twitches as he sleeps, morphing into a soft smile. 

There he is. That is Joel. That has to be him. That soft smile, a sweet man who wants to care about you. That wants a companion, someone to spend his life with, not someone to hurt. 

You sigh and close your eyes, dropping your hand and shifting your body to mold even closer to his, finding comfort in his large, imposing form rather than fear right now.

Yes, you think as your eyes flutter and you drift off, you could learn. Maybe it would just be an entirely different set of lessons.

#every time i post this fic i wanna throw up a little i get so nervous #don't let her flop!!!! #fic: smother #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #x reader

[moonlightspencie]

Solace

Description: Finding comfort in one another. Repeatedly.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, both hotch and reader get non-descriptive owies, fluff out the wazoo

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: originally posted to tumblr. then dropped onto ao3. now back on tumblr

“We need this, Hotch, and you are part of the ‘we’ I’m talking about,” Morgan said, patting Hotch on the shoulder as he walked off the jet. 

She smiled at the interaction, as did Rossi, knowing by the resigned and borderline irritated look on his face that Hotch was definitely planning on joining the group at the club. 

“What, the club scene isn’t for you?” she asked with a hidden smile. 

He shook his head. “There’s a reason I never go when you all head there.”

“What changed this time?” Rossi asked as the three stood. 

Hotch sighed hard. “I wish I had a good answer for that.”

She was three drinks and approximately seven embarrassing dances into the night when she came to the realization that her next drink should probably be her last. Penelope and Derek spun her around the dancefloor until she was dizzy, though she was sure the alcohol had a lot to do with that when they ordered her a fourth large drink. She found herself stumbling back towards the table, finding only Hotch left. 

“Where’s everyone?” she mumbled, looking around as she fell into the seat next to him. 

He raised his brows, unsure he’d ever seen her look quite so inebriated. He cleared his throat, then answered when he realized she was still waiting. 

“Dave and JJ went home. Prentiss and Reid are at the bar.”

She nodded, looking at him with a goofy smile. “Did you drink?”

“I had one a while ago. I’d like to be able to drive home,” he said, unable to stop his lips from quirking upwards. 

She hummed. “I didn’t think about that.”

“I’m aware.”

“I was going to take a cab.”

“When it’s time to leave, I am more than happy to take you home.”

She watched him again for a while, and it took until he called her name that she snapped out of it. He shook his head at her, getting up and going to stand in front of her. 

He reached out his hands, and she looked at them curiously. 

“Can I help you up?” he asked. 

“Oh!“ she exclaimed with a laugh. “Mhm, yes, please.”

She clumsily gripped onto his hands, and he became overly aware how small her hands looked in his. And vice versa. 

She stared down for several moments, not making an effort to stand at all. He had to call her back to reality again in order to get her standing, though his next predicament didn’t exactly improve his situation as he battled with an obvious attraction to his coworker. He huffed a breath, composing himself as she leaned her weight into him. She started moving her hands up to his shoulders, but that was something he wasn’t sure he could handle. He grabbed onto her wrists holding her hands near his sternum, though he underestimated her ability to be cunning when she was nearly blacked out. 

She fully leaned into his chest, tilting her chin up to look at him with a silly smile. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, holding back a smile of his own. 

She sighed, leaning in further. “What do you mean?”

He looked down at her, dreadfully aware of how close she was. If he moved an inch forward, he could kiss her. He pulled his head back as that thought crossed his mind, knowing he couldn’t cross that boundary. He slowly let the grip on her hands loosen, though she took that opportunity to throw her arms around his waist and bury her face in his chest. 

“Y/N,” he said, nervous she’d feel how fast his heart was beating. 

She mumbled something he couldn’t hear into his chest. 

“I can’t hear you.”

She moved back just enough to speak. “Morgan let’s me get hugs.”

“I’m not Morgan.”

“No, but you love me,” she said with a laugh, looking up at him.

He felt a heat in his cheeks. “You’re drunk.”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Wow, you really do deserve that unit chief position. Don’t know how you guessed it.”

He laughed, brow furrowing. “You’re mean when you’re drunk, too.”

She smiled. “I’m always nice. Besides, you have a nice laugh. I like when you smile.”

He swallowed, watching her for another moment with baited breath before he nodded towards the door of the club. 

“Let’s go. You need to get home, you didn’t eat enough today and you need to get some sleep.” She shook her head, pressing her face against his chest again. He sighed, waddling towards Spencer and Emily as they sat at the bar. He wanted to disappear when they saw the leach attached to his body. 

“Having fun?“ Prentiss asked with a quirked brow and a curious smile. 

Spencer laughed. “She always gets like this.”

“Not with Hotch,” Emily said, turning to him. 

Hotch sighed. “I’m taking her home. I don’t think she needs anything else to drink at this point.” She finally pulled back, looking towards the other two, but keeping her grip on him. 

“I don’t want to leave.”

“You’re going to feel awful tomorrow if you keep this up, Y/N/N,” Reid said, looking at her with an amused smirk. 

“I feel fine,” she sang out. “I can keep going.”

“I think you better listen to Hotch,” Emily said back to her. 

She scrunched up her face. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m trying to help you,” he said, looking at her with a partial smile. “We do have to work day after tomorrow.”

“That’s a whole day.”

“And your hangovers last the entire day after a night out like this.”

She groaned, leaning back into him as Hotch said his goodbyes. He tugged her along towards the door as she’d finally stopped fighting it, and got her to the car. As he got into the car, she curled up against the door and was practically out by the time he pulled out of the parking lot.  He pulled up to the stoplight, the last one before her building, and reached over to rest a hand on her arm.

“Y/N? We’re almost home.”

“Okay,” she mumbled back.

“It’s time to wake up.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

He sighed, pulling forward as the light changed.  “Your night out is over. You need to get some sleep.”

“I’m lonely.”

He stopped at that, glancing at her. He reached his hand back over, letting it rest on her knee for a moment. 

“You always have the team, you know? We’re here for you when you need us.”

“I know. I just hate being alone.”

He took in a breath, saying just barely above a whisper, “I do, too.”

She woke to a pounding headache, and a need to stave off the desire to throw up. She groaned as the light finally hit her eyes, looking around the room and trying to remember what happened past drink number four the night prior. No signs really gave way, besides the fact that there was a glass of water and some acetaminophen on her side table. Someone must have gotten her home.  She gratefully took the medicine and drank the water, not yet ready to roll out of bed. Unlucky for her, there was a noise out in her apartment.  She strained to listen for signs of who it might be, nervous that it could be an intruder. She gathered her strength, and the gun she kept in her bedside table, waking slowly and quietly towards her bedroom door. She pulled it open carefully, tiptoeing towards the noises that were coming from her kitchen. She took a deep breath, peeking around the corner, and feeling instant relief. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed out as she saw Hotch in her kitchen, looking at her with a raised brow. 

“I’m sorry if you aren’t a breakfast sandwich person, but I don’t think it’s something you need to shoot me over,” he said with the ghost of a smile, glancing at the gun in her hand. 

She smiled, setting it on the counter as she moved closer. 

“I thought you might want to kill me, you can’t blame a girl for being prepared.”

He chuckled and finished setting up all the food. He pushed a plate and a cup of orange juice towards her as she sat at the island, ever-grateful she could start the day on an easy note. 

“How are you feeling?“ he asked as he watched her enjoy that first bite a bit too much. 

She swallowed, nodding. “Better now. Still have a killer headache, but I don’t feel like emptying my stomach now.”

“Good,” he smirked. 

“Not that I don’t really appreciate it, but what are you doing here?”

He raised his brows. “Oh. Uh, I brought you home last night, and I just wanted to make sure you had some company this morning.”

She tilted her head. “Why’s that? Did you think I wasn’t going to make it?”

He quirked a brow, then went back to his breakfast. She straightened, watching him carefully until he glanced back up with a questioning look. 

“You’re hiding something.”

“No, I’m not.”

She laughed. “If you think anyone on the team can get past me at this point, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He shook his head with a smile. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something if you’re hiding it. What, did I do something super embarrassing?“

“Not embarrassing.”

“What was it?”

He paused. “I don’t want you to feel embarrassed.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t embarrassing?”

“It’s not, but…” he sighed with a light laugh. “I don’t want you to worry about it if it’s something you would be embarrassed by.”

“This is too much to think about this early in the morning.”

“It’s ten thirty.”

“Still. Just tell me.”

He swallowed another bite before looking back at her. He studied her face for a moment before finally speaking. 

“When I was trying to take you home you said you didn’t want to go because you didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t stay, but I wanted to make sure someone was here when you woke up, so I thought breakfast was a good option.”

Her eyes widened a little. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“You didn’t have to waste a Saturday morning dealing with me.”

“I’m more than happy to waste time with you.” She felt a heat in her cheeks, looking down to hide her growing smile. He stopped breathing for a moment after he left that slip, trying to even his voice before he spoke again. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine,” she reassured him. “I appreciate that. A lot, actually.”

He nodded, looking away from her.

Hotch headed home an hour later, leaving her to shower and reset from the night before, and needing time to reset himself. 

He got home to his place of solitude, and planted himself on the couch. He closed his eyes, trying and miserably failing to block out the dangerous feelings he knew were beginning to blossom in full. As he contemplated the meaning of springtime as he neared the end of a years-long winter, all that came to mind was her face. The way she looked at him. The way she smelled when she was so close. How it felt holding her, even if it was simply to keep her from falling to the ground.

His apartment suddenly felt far too empty.

Three weeks later she burst through the doors of the house, not stopping until she found him. They’d all heard the gunshots, and immediately she wished Hotch hadn’t insisted on being the first inside before everyone else arrived. The second to last door in the hallway she kicked open with her gun drawn, heart dropping when she saw him sitting on the floor of the small bedroom. 

“Hotch?” She rushed to him, crouching in front of him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded slowly. “I may have a concussion, but he’s dead.”

“What happened?”

“He put up a fight,” he replied with a sigh, looking at her with squinted eyes. “Slammed me into the wall pretty hard, but I was able to pull the gun on him.”

She gently rested her hand on the side of his face, tilting it to check the cut near his hairline. 

Footsteps fell hard until they were in the room, Morgan and JJ audibly letting out breaths of relief. She turned to them. 

“He needs a medic, but he’s going to be fine.”

He started trying to stand, but she stopped him in his tracks before he got far. 

“You stay there.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re concussed. You’re not getting up and running around right now.”

He set his brow. “I’ll be fine.”

“Once you see a medic, yes, you’ll be fine.”

He sighed, slumping against the wall. She quirked a brow at his little tantrum, though she made sure he was officially checked out before she was satisfied. 

He sat with a blank expression as everyone finally stepped away from him, new bandages on his forehead making him look a little worse for wear. 

“Satisfied, now?” he questioned.

She crossed her arms. “I seem to recall someone going the extra mile for a hangover a few weeks back. If you think I’m not returning that favor when you get a beat-down…”

“Hey, I didn’t get a beat-down.”

“He slammed you against a wall.”

He stared, unamused. She laughed a little, going to sit next to him. 

“It’s okay to admit that you got hurt, you know? You don’t always have to be the big, strong boss-man.”

He smiled, looking down. “Strong, huh?”

“Okay, now I’m a little bit glad you got banged up.” His eyes widened in feigned shock, mouth dropped open. She paused, giving him a short shrug. 

“I stand by the fact that you can be very mean,” he said at last. 

“Says the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

“The most?”

“That might be an overstatement, but you’re still pretty high on the list,” she said with a chuckle, then jumped back down. “Let’s go show off your new bandages to the team. They’re gonna be so jealous.”

He failed to hide a smile, following after her as he realized he’d follow her anywhere she asked. She glanced back at him, noticing he looked a little too happy for someone who’d just been through what he had.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Hotchner?”

He shrugged. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“You concern me.”

“At least I know you care.”

She smiled, knowing her next sentence would be one she probably shouldn’t say. 

“I always will.”

She woke up in a cold sweat, taking in deep breaths to try and steady her heart rate. She worked through all of the relaxation techniques she could think of, though none of it seemed to fully quell the anxious feeling that settled in her chest. She pulled her covers off, heading out into her kitchen to get some water, but it seemed that nothing was going to help.

Nightmares were always a never-ending reality that paired with her job, but sometimes they hit too close to reality. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d be at fault if she didn’t at least check on him. 

She grabbed her phone from her bedroom, typing out a quick message:

‘Just want to make sure you’re doing okay. Hope all is well :)’

She set her phone down on the coffee table, curling up and turning on a tv show she hoped would provide some comfort, not expecting him to reply until morning. She was through the first episode when there was a soft knock on her door.  She furrowed her brow, walking over and looking through the peephole to see a familiar face. 

“It’s one in the morning,” she said in a sigh. 

He raised a brow. “Can I come in?”

She nodded, letting him walk past her as she closed and locked the door again. She followed after him until they were both seated on the couch. 

“What are you doing?” she inquired. 

“You never text me late at night unless it’s an emergency,” he said frankly, leaning back into the cushions. 

She looked him over, now noticing the plain t-shirt paired with pajama pants featuring dogs in Christmas hats. She laughed, head tilting in question. 

“Nice pants.”

He smirked. “Oh, right. They were a present from Jack.”

“They suit you.”

“Thanks,” he said, eyes widening a little. “Now, what’s wrong?”

She sighed, throwing her head back against the couch. 

“My usual nightmares aren’t as bad as the one I had tonight is what’s wrong,” she shook her head as if to clear the memories that were stuck in her brain. “It was just… It was too real.”

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but did it have anything to do with me, or did you just need someone to talk to?”

She smirked. “Both.”

“Hey,” he said gently, and she turned to look at him. “It was just a dream.”

“I know. You’ve just had too many close calls, and sometimes I worry it’s not going to be a close call next time something bad happens.”

“Tell me about it,” he said lowly. 

She dropped her face into her hands. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” 

“It’s okay,” he said gently, though with humor in his voice. “I know it can be scary to worry about another person’s life like that. I appreciate that you care enough to have nightmares about it, if that helps.”

“Oh yeah, that makes it way better,” she said with a laugh. 

He chuckled softly, eyes closing as he leaned his head back into the cushions. She watched him for a moment as he took some time to be at peace. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his face softened. 

“Can I ask you something?” she said quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment. 

He hummed, eyes still closed. 

“Why did you come all the way here? What happened to Jack?”

He peeked open one eye, glancing at her. A little mischievous smile graced his face. 

“He’s on a camping trip with his grandparents, and I just wanted to bother you.”

“Uh huh,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not a great liar, Hotchner.”

He sat up straighter now, turning towards her. 

“I honestly don’t know. I saw the message and just…” he shrugged, trailing off. “I just came.”

She felt a horrible feeling in that moment, the truth crashing the walls of the reality she’d built around herself. She wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him. 

Instead, she simply nodded. 

“I’ll take it,” she smiled softly, not able to meet his eyes for fear that she would be too weak to look away again. 

She stood, looking around the space. 

“Did you want to crash here for the night? My couch is surprisingly comfortable.”

He smiled. “As much as I would appreciate that, I don’t want to overstep.”

She shook her head as she walked away. He looked on in confusion until she came back with pillows and blankets gathered in her arms and dropped it on the couch. 

“I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well,” she said curtly, giving him another smile before she forced herself to walk away. 

He watched until her door was just barely cracked open before he set up camp in her living room. He settled in for the night, turning off the lamp on the side table, and ignoring the swelling in his chest at the thought of having the most ridiculous sleepover at her home. 

He woke to the smell of coffee, almost shocked that he had slept through the night. His eyes still felt heavy, but he felt well-rested. He stretched out on the couch, not noticing when she walked into the room, still donning her pajamas. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said with a smile, setting a mug down on the coffee table. 

He sat up, allowing her space to take a seat next to him as he took up his mug. He furrowed his brow after tasting it, looking to her for an answer.

“How do you know how I like my coffee?”

“I’m good at my job,” she said with a shrug. “Did you sleep okay?”

He nodded. “One of the best nights of sleep I’ve gotten in a very long time.”

“I told you the couch was comfortable.”

He chuckled. “You were right.”

“As always.”

“As always,” he confirmed, looking at her. 

She wore a surprised look on her face. 

“Really? Now is when you choose to agree?”

“This coffee is really good,” he replied after a beat. 

“I have cereal if you’re hungry.”

“We have time to pick something up on the way to work if you’d prefer?”

“Only if it’s on you.”

He laughed. “How else am I supposed to repay you for letting me sleep on your couch?”

They sat in a comfortable silence until their mugs were empty. She slowly turned her head towards him. 

“If we’re going to work together, what do you plan on wearing?” 

He looked down, suddenly realizing his predicament. 

She continued. “Not that you aren’t rocking the puppy pajamas, I just don’t know if that’s necessarily in the dress code.”

He smiled, groaning as he shut his eyes again. 

“Maybe we should just change the dress code,” he suggested. 

“Or we could stop by your place and then get breakfast.”

He nodded. “That would be wonderful.”

She stood from the couch. “Do you want another cup?”

“Please,” he replied with a nod as he followed her to the kitchen. 

They filled their mugs, tailoring them to their liking, though he made a false sour face as he tasted his. 

“Mm, it’s better when you make it,” he said, hiding a smile behind the rim of the mug. 

She laughed. “You are so full of it.”

They finished their second round, and she got ready quickly so they would have plenty of time for their morning plans. She tried putting it out of her head as she occupied herself with her morning roughing. Aaron wasn’t so lucky. He sat on her couch, looking around the space, but unable to keep his mind off of her. He was comfortable. Too comfortable, to the point of feeling a safety with her he didn’t expect to ever feel again. 

They stepped into the bureau with full stomachs and hearts as a result of their morning together. He allowed himself to feel all of his joy with her in the last moments before he had to put on his work-self and get to business as usual. It seemed like a stronger contrast than what he had become accustomed to. She gave him one last smile and wave as she left for her desk, needing to shut that part of her brain down when she was meant to be working.

Then again, she didn’t know how she could fully shut it down. Something had changed, and it certainly wasn’t in the same way it had when she’d grown close to her other coworkers. 

JJ was the first to notice something was off that morning. She was happier, which was wonderful in JJ’s eyes, but also a little more spaced out. Soon, the bullpen was abuzz with theories as to what had gotten her so distracted. 

Fortunately for their need for information, it wasn’t hard to figure out once they saw their boss in the exact same state. 

The team never liked hostage situations, but when it came after a case that felt like a massive win, this particular situation felt like a punch in the gut. They all piled into the jet, heading across the states until they reached their destination. 

Hotch never liked sending his agents into dangerous situations. His personal gut-punch moment was when he had to send in the most capable agent for the job at hand: Y/N. Unarmed and vulnerable. 

His chest rose and fell heavily as she skillfully talked down the unsub, though not before she’d been hit in the face and kicked in the ribs.  The second she gave the signal that it would be safe to rescue the hostages, he couldn’t help but feel drawn towards her. His duty was to the hostages first, and he knew that, though the team had other ideas. 

“Hey,” Morgan started softly, as they stepped through the doors. “We all know. Go get her, we got the rest of them.”

“I don’t—“

“Hotch,” Morgan stopped him with a word. “Get her.”

Aaron stopped in his tracks when he made eye contact with her, knowing that even if he hadn’t been reassured that the others would be taken care of, he’d still run to her before anyone else.  She smiled as he jogged over, holding onto her side with one arm, and wrapping the other arm around him the second he was close enough. She felt the smallest kiss pressed to the top of her head as he held her. 

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, not yet pulling away from her. 

“I’m okay. I’ll get checked out to be sure, but I feel fine,” she replied, resting her head against his chest. 

He smiled, remembering the night he took her home from the club, finding himself in a very similar situation now. 

He paused. “They know.”

She scrunched her face in confusion, looking up at him in bewilderment. 

He smiled. “Too vague?”

“Yes.”

“Morgan… He said they all know.”

“Know what?”

“The thing I think we’ve both been dancing around.”

She looked down, face feeling warm, but not in a bad way. He called her gently, encouraging her to look back at him. 

“You’ve done more for me than I think you realize,” he whispered, holding her close. 

“I—“ she trailed off, suddenly feeling nervous to say it out loud. 

He nodded. “I know. Me too.”

She burrowed back into his arms, relishing in the feeling of being fully enveloped by him, and smiling as she realized what she’d been trying to hide had failed completely. 

She took a deep breath, speaking just barely loud enough for him to hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. 

“I am so in love with you.”

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

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#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner x you

[reina-petrova]

You Have My Word ・❥・ Elejah

“Elena, you don’t have to just be a doppelgänger… you have to be a virgin. So, theoretically, if you lost it to someone, the ritual wouldn’t work.” “Are you serious?” “Yes, but there’s a catch…” “Of course there is. What is it, Bonnie?” “It has to be with an Original.” ↳AU where Elena discovers that Klaus’s hybrid ritual requires a virgin doppelgänger sacrifice and Elena never lost the V-card. Now her only hope is a certain Original. Set around season 3 during ripper!stefan and pining!Damon, post Elijah!haircut and post Elena's 18th birthday.

↳Warnings: Smut, virgin kink, dirty talk, light dom/sub undertones if you squint.

↳6.7k words

↳Cross-posted to AO3 here

↳Song rec: Terrible Thing by AG (A/N: this is just a silly AU fic that popped into my head, it’s only a vehicle for smut so be forewarned the canon details/timeline may be off 🤪)

・❥・

[text: 2:48pm] I found something. Call me l8tr. - Bonnie

Elena let out a shaky breath at the text in front of her. She finished putting the last of her books into her locker and slung her bag over her shoulder. She could hardly look away from the text as she shut the metal door closed, typing a quick response to Bonnie in the meantime.

[text: 2:49pm] I will. Thx B. - Elena

It almost seemed too good to be true, and as Elena returned to her car, she allowed herself a brief moment to envision a happy ending where Bonnie's new plan would actually work and they'd kill Klaus. Stefan would return to her. The Originals would be gone. Her town would be safe. She'd live.

Still, after so many run-ins with the supernatural, she'd learned to keep a healthy dose of reality mixed in with her positivity. Every plan was sure to work until it wasn't, and unfortunately, the last few indeed hadn't. It wasn't her life she was so worried about saving, it was everybody else's. With Klaus gone, they would be safe. But while Bonnie searched for any answers she could find, putting in all this time and effort, Elena had to at least try.

The moment she arrived home, she called Bonnie.

"Hey Elena,"

"Hi Bonnie, you said you found something? What's going on?" Elena sat down onto her bed with a small sigh.

"Yes and no. It's more of a loophole than anything else." Bonnie seemed a bit unsure, which gave rise to uncertainty in Elena. She prepared herself. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

"Okay, I'm ready."

"Like I said before, most of my grimoires don't go back far enough for the hybrid ritual, it's way too old. But I did find something in my oldest one, a description of it that included a word I've never seen before - virgino, in Latin."

Elena paused at that. She couldn't be hearing this correctly.

"As in...?"

"Yep. Virgin." Okay, so she had heard correctly.

"So what does that mean?"

“Elena, you don’t have to just be a doppelgänger… you have to be a virgin. So, theoretically, if you lost it, the ritual wouldn’t work.”

Elena's brows furrowed in confusion. She'd never heard that part of the ritual before. She wondered how accurate this description of the ritual could possibly be.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, but there’s a catch…” She heard Bonnie's voice grow more dim, and she knew it was nothing good.

“Of course there is. What is it, Bonnie?”

“Well... in order to ensure total loss of purity... it has to be with an Original.”

・❥・

“Thank you for meeting with me, Elijah.”

Elena’s fingers fidgeted around the coffee mug, her nails tracing over the width of it with anxiety. Elijah inclined his head politely, sitting opposite her at the Mystic Grill. It was far from a private place to speak, but Elena chose it for that very reason. Though the conversation was awkward at best, she didn’t know how she’d react if the two of them were alone. She didn’t even know how he’d react.

Despite all his wisdom, she knew he’d never guess why she’d asked to meet here.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Elena?”

He cut a handsome figure, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuated his shoulders with a matching black collared shirt underneath. The shirt opened at his throat and exposed the smallest peek of his clavicle. His hair was shorter now, brushed back and away from his face. A gold ring encircled one of his fingers. Noticing these details certainly wasn’t helping her nervousness. She swallowed the dryness in her throat at sound of the word pleasure.

Their “relationship” was built on shifting sands and she knew that, a tentative trust that both she and he tested the boundaries of. This would certainly cross the next three boundaries.

“Well, Bonnie was reading more into the hybrid ritual, trying to find a loophole. Trying to find our opportunity to kill Klaus.”

Elijah’s eyes searched hers but he said nothing in response, patiently waiting for her to continue. The words seem to spill out of her mouth as slowly as possible, yet her heart rammed in her rib cage. She was grateful he couldn't read her mind but doubtless he heard that at least.

What if he says no? How embarrassing would that be? And if it happened, how would she even explain to Stefan and Damon why suddenly the ritual wouldn’t work? Why it had to be Elijah?

“Yes.”

His smooth voice broke her from her reverie. She cleared her throat and tried again, taking another sip of her coffee. Matt had courteously slipped an extra something in her coffee when she’d asked, figuring even a drop of liquid courage would do her some good. It burned like a low ember in her stomach. Elijah’s tea stood in front of him, untouched.

“She found one other way that the ritual could be dismantled, apart from all the other options.” The other options being actually dying, becoming a vampire, etc. She’d gladly give her life if it meant her friends and town were safe, but killing Klaus would ensure safety forever. She had to at least try.

“Apparently, it’s not just the sacrifice of the doppelgänger… it’s the sacrifice of a virginal doppelgänger. So if the doppelgänger is no longer... you know, it won't work.”

Elijah’s brow furrowed, and she held some small victory in the fact that she was able to catch him so completely off guard. It made her feel less ridiculous in suggesting this, but also showed that not even the Originals knew all.

“But how can this be? I’ve never heard of such a requirement.”

“I guess it’s just one of the old failsafes from that era, tied in with the idea of innocence and purity in the face of…” She trailed off hesitantly.

“Evil.” He finished for her with a slow smile. She allowed herself a small smile in return.

When silence settled upon the conversation once more, Elijah took up the mantle, shifting to lean closer to her across the table. “And I assume you are a-“

“Yes.” The word was barely a whisper but she knew he heard it loud and clear.

Elijah raised his brows in some surprise, a smirk crossing his lips for the briefest of flashes. His hands quickly moved the teacup to the side of the table, the drink long forgotten. His fingers tapped slowly at the wooden table in thought, and Elena took a small breath into her lungs and held it.

“Forgive me, but with both Salvatore’s at your heels, and if I recall their history with Katerina-“ Elijah’s palm turned upwards, his eyes casting downwards for a moment.

“I am not Katherine.”

Then his gaze flickered up to hers, amusement clear in his warm brown eyes. She thought she saw a small look of admiration somewhere in those eyes.

“No. You are certainly not, Elena.”

Elena took another sip of the coffee, begging for the alcohol to provide some inspiration. As it was, her words were failing her and they hadn’t even gotten to the brunt of it. Part of her hoped he’d ascertain it himself without her even needing to say it. Though she wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to hear he’d say it either. Elijah was a noble man, and he ensured any and all terms of a deal were clear. He was the key to their plan to kill Klaus, and innuendos would never do, not when there was so much on the line. Thankfully, he wasn’t one for vulgarity either.

“So, if I’m understanding correctly, there’s only one thing left for you to do.” The amusement still never left Elijah’s eyes and it made her squirm in her chair. His gaze was so intent and heavy on her, his presence commanding. He was a man unlike she’d ever known. “But I’m assuming there’s a reason you called me here.”

"Yes." Here goes nothing. "The only way to ensure the total-“ she cleared her throat again. “-loss of purity is for it to be with an Original.”

Realization dawned on his features in the blink of an eye. Then, ever so slowly, she watched his face darken with something else. Her eyes dropped back to her fingers, nails digging into her nail beds. She wanted to disappear, to melt right into her chair.

“And further ensure the division of the family.” Elijah murmured. “If it can only be an Original, then only Niklaus’s own family can betray him.”

A small knot of fear tied itself in Elena’s stomach. If he refused, if he changed his mind about killing Klaus, all hope was lost. She tried her best to gauge his reaction, but he was unreadable at best, a stone statue at worst. Elijah never let his hand slip, and she could no more understand him than she could an ancient language.

Suddenly, her nerves got the better of her. The caffeine outweighed the alcohol, and she felt herself standing to her feet, grabbing her bag from the back of the chair.

“I’m sorry, this was a ridiculous idea. We’ll find another way-“ She took no more than a step away from the table, prepared to flee the building when she felt his hand take hers gently.

“Elena.”

He pulled on her hand slightly, just enough that she stepped back towards him and towards the table. Even in the smallest, most delicate of gestures, she felt his strength thrumming in his fingertips. She turned to face him, and he’d stood to his full height, his broad frame dwarfing hers.

It was then that she allowed herself the opportunity to even process what she was asking. She’d been so caught up in trying to kill Klaus, prevent any more innocent lives lost, that she hadn’t thought about what this would. mean. Her and Elijah. Together.

A flash of their bodies intertwining appeared in her mind, the heat of his hand on hers suddenly feeling like a searing flame on her skin. The knot of fear began to dissolve, and something else pooled in her lower stomach.

The same feeling she saw in his eyes just then.

Four little words, and despite herself, she felt her heart flutter.

“You have my word.”

・❥・

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Bonnie repeated for the fifth time that evening. Elena shot her a half annoyed glance, to which Bonnie grinned in response.

“I know.” Elena repeated for the sixth. All too well. Though she had a feeling she had no real idea.

Elena sat down into the bed with a quiet sigh. Bonnie had brought the grimoire where she found the loophole so Elena could see it for herself. Though her Latin was nonexistent, there was no denying that word. Virgin. She'd even brought a few extras she didn't have time to go through earlier in case they had any other information to offer. So far, nothing. The books shifted slightly towards Elena in their careful piles as her weight settled into the covers.

“What about Stefan? I thought you guys were waiting.”

The reminder of Stefan struck a chord in her heart, but one that had been struck too many times lately. She believed in her and Stefan’s love, but with him firmly in Klaus’s grasp, she could hardly recognize him. As it was, she had little time to wait.

“Stefan’s lost right now, Bonnie. And if this could get him away from Klaus and save his life, I’m going to try.”

“And Damon?” Bonnie offered quietly, with some note of derision in her voice. Elena knew how she felt about him, but there was also no denying Damon's obvious feelings for her, and how protective he'd become. It was almost too much to think about. Instead, she stood up and began aimlessly tidying the room, putting things away in random drawers. What does one do to prepare for this situation?

“He doesn’t know- he can’t know. He’ll lose it. He’ll say it’s a bad plan.” Along with a few choice words for Elijah and maybe a dagger dipped in white oak ash. Then they’d have no plan.

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s a good plan.” Bonnie responded sardonically.

Elena’s mouth dropped in fake disbelief as she put her diary away.

“This was your idea!”

“You’re the one going through with it! And I mean, Elijah? He’s kind of scary.”

“As opposed to who?” Elena responded with a mirthless laugh. “And he’s not that scary. He’s just… aristocratic."

“No? Oh.” Bonnie teased coyly. “I forgot how well you’re acquainted…" She cocked a brow at Elena's pattering around the room "Are you actually cleaning right now?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She admitted. “How does one seduce an Original?”

Bonnie started flipped some of the grimoires closed, and Elena looked up nervously at the clock. He would arrive in 30 minutes. Anticipation buzzed through her veins at the thought. Bonnie slid off the bed once the books allowed a path and stood in front of Elena, taking her hands in hers as a show of strength.

“I'm sorry, Elena, this is a big deal. Your first time but it comes with the caveat of saving your life and everybody else's. Not to mention it's happening with a thousand year old vampire. Just be your normal, charming self. This is a common interest of killing Klaus and nothing more.”

“Right,” Elena smiled. Nothing more. Right?

“But-“ Bonnie reached behind her and pulled one of the drawers she’d just shut open and retrieved her hair brush. With a shrug, she handed it to Elena. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Elena smirked and took the hairbrush from her hands, combing it through her locks gently.

・❥・

After Bonnie left, Elena paced for another ten minutes incessantly. She'd brushed her hair, done minimal makeup, but left herself in her usual outfit of jeans and a tank top. Anything else felt like it was trying too hard.

She sat down onto edge of the bed and glanced at her phone. A few messages from Damon and Caroline. Nothing from Stefan. She dropped the phone onto the bed and waited. With each passing minute, she felt her heart beginning to race faster and faster.

This is insane. How is this my life?

The fact that it was happening in her bedroom was even stranger. Elijah had been inside of her house before but this was something else entirely. He'd been perfectly gentlemanly in allowing her to choose the location, but there weren't many options. Elijah had no permanent domicile as of yet, and a hotel room felt too seedy, even the nicest one in town; though he'd even assured her he'd take care of the cost.

Only after she ensured Ric and Jeremy wouldn't be home did she suggest her place, a small level of familiarity in this situation. She wasn't afraid per se, but the way her body reacted to his was jarring. There was something deeply forbidden about it, and she couldn't help but be drawn to it. Being home would help ground her.

His knock came, short and sweet. Elena's heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she stood up and walked down the stairs to let him in. Her fingers curling around the knob, she took one more quiet breath. No going back now.

She opened the door to Elijah standing on her porch, clad in his usual tailored suit. The black fabric looked heavy and luxurious with the way it laid on his shoulders, accentuating his broad frame. The dark shirt he was wearing that afternoon was replaced with a crisp white one, and the tie he wore was black to match the jacket. There was stubble on his jaw, she noticed with a note of appreciation. It gave him a slightly more disheveled look than usual. Her nervousness began to melt away at the sight of his handsome face and his calm demeanour.

He was wearing the same gold ring as before, and she only noticed when she spotted the crimson red rose in his fingers. With a smile, he extended it to her. "Elena."

"Elijah." Elena reached out and took the rose from his hands, giving a slight smirk. "A flower. Very symbolic of you."

Elijah let out a quiet laugh. "I assure you, I meant no such innuendo. It didn't seem right to come without a gift."

"Well, it's beautiful. Please come in."

He stepped in as invited and she shut the door behind him. Now that they were well and truly alone, her heart picked up the pace once more, but she busied her fingers with the stem of the rose so as not to betray it. The man was a thousand years old and undoubtedly had known countless women. Her experience to his could not pale more in comparison. "I'm sorry, this is a bit... overwhelming."

"Undoubtedly."

Elijah stepped towards her slowly, closing the distance between them more than they ever had before. Elena stared upwards at him, her eyes barely at the level of his lips. His gaze was compelling but warm as it fell upon her, and she felt a breath hitch in her lungs at the nearness of him. "I want to make this experience comfortable for you, Elena. Your terms."

Elena nodded slowly, swallowing back her saliva. "Should we go upstairs?"

Elijah inclined his head with a small smile to which Elena smiled back. As intimidating as he could be, he was trying to put her at ease, and she appreciated it. She led the way up the stairs and to her bedroom, Elijah trailing behind. Once upstairs, she placed the rose delicately on the top of the dresser and then turned to face him.

Elijah looked incredibly out of place in her bedroom. Finely dressed and with an air of sophistication only a thousand years on earth could garner, he was like an ancient relic pulled straight from the history books. He looked better suited to a battlefield than a modern-day bedroom. But if he was ill at ease, he certainly never showed it.

His eyes met hers again and Elena's stomach flip-flopped. He had barely even touched her yet, and she was already reacting so viscerally to the vampire in front of her. Again, snapshots of their bodies entwining flashed in her mind like a promise of what was to come. Amusement crossed his chiseled features and he raised a hand to gently place his thumb and forefinger on her chin. "I can hear your heart beating, Elena."

Beating was an understatement. It felt like it was about to pop out of her chest. His touch on her face certainly wasn't helping that matter.

"Are you nervous?"

She thought before answering, their eyes searching each other, trying to gauge the other's feelings. But despite what she'd initially thought... she wasn't. Excitement thrummed within her, her arousal beginning to simmer at the seductive way he seemed to be looking down at her. He knew exactly what kind of power he held, and he enjoyed it. It was unnerving, but it was thrilling.

"No."

"Good. I want you to enjoy yourself, Elena. To let go and give in." To me, his eyes seemed to say. Give in to me completely. She managed a nod but found that words had escaped her completely. Was he moving in closer?

His fingers never dropped from her chin and she had nowhere to look but directly at him. Warmth bloomed from inside her stomach, her body signalling just how much she wanted to give in.

Using his other hand, he lifted a single finger to trace over the curvature of her neck, beginning from her collarbone all the way up to where her jaw began. His finger pressed just so behind her jawbone where her pulse was strongest, and she felt her blood sing in response to him.

"I meant what I said. Your terms. You're in complete control."

"I know..." Closer still. Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.

"Yes?" She could feel the smile in his lips.

"Yes."

His lips met with hers and she felt herself crumble. His kiss was as captivating as she could've imagined, without a trace of insistence. He was telling the truth; the pace was in her hands. At first, shyness won out. Elena returned the kiss slowly at first, but as her lips deepened, so did his.

His hand had fallen from her face and instead, he pressed his palm to to her mid-back. It dipped no lower. Ever the gentleman, she thought, unable to supress the smile between their kiss.

He seemed to sense her amusement because his hand fell lower not a moment later, placing itself into the small of her back. He pressed her body closer to his, her chest landing flush with his as though he were challenging her.

Something sparked within Elena as the warmth of Elijah's hand spread through her hips. A need to know, a need to discover. She found the courage to touch him back, raising her hands to slip over his shoulders, fingers delicately tracing over the back of his neck. The fabric of his suit was soft to the touch, his skin softer still.

She'd done some things with Matt and Stefan before, but with Elijah, it felt as though she knew nothing at all. In this, she wanted him to take the lead. It seemed he intended to to some degree as both of his hands came down to her waist, the large expanse of his hands burning through her shirt. Desire began to take over, and their kisses grew deeper still. She ran her fingernails along the nape of his neck, coming down to scratch over his shoulders.

His hands pressed into her hips again before he broke the kiss. Elena felt how flushed she was, cheeks pink and lips swollen from his amorousness. She saw a muscle work in his jaw and he regarded her with half-lidded eyes. He raised a graceful hand and indicated towards the bed with a half-smirk.

"Please."

Elena pulled herself away from Elijah and obeyed, sitting on the side of the bed before lying down. Not once did she look away from him as he shrugged his jacket off, then loosened the knot of his tie. Desire pooled in the deepest parts of her at the sign of him so untidy. He looked like every woman's dream as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled them up slowly, exposing tanned forearms corded with lean muscle.

He returned to her, eyes appreciatively slipping from her neck downwards to her chest and her hips. "Good girl."

Slowly, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss again, his arms on either side of her head. The night had fallen in earnest now, the single lamp she left on providing a faint warm glow in the room. Elijah’s body swallowed her, the broadness of his shoulders and the dimness of the room entombed her in what felt like an eternity of him.

Elena reached up and twirled her fingers around his tie, giving an experimental tug to pull him down closer to her. He chuckled against her mouth and she did it again, pleased with the way his weight settling on her felt.

"Not that good." She whispered against his mouth.

"No? Show me."

Passion reignited, his mouth was suddenly everywhere. On hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts. When his mouth stopped where her shirt ended, his fingers tugged upwards at the bottom of it, and she broke the kiss to pull it over her head.

With practiced ease, he unbuttoned her jeans and began to tug them down. She sat up slightly to help pull them off, then fell back in only her bra and underwear. Just before he could continue, she reached for one of his hands and tentatively placed it between her legs. Elijah raised his brows at her but acquiesced.

One arm outstretched between her thighs, the other bent as he hovered over her, he gazed down at her with darkened eyes. "I think you'll be good for me."

Elena's breathing pitched into a soft moan as she felt Elijah's fingers press against her underwear. Moving softly but with intent, his index and middle finger rubbed upwards, careful to barely brush against her covered clit, just where she needed him most. Her hips shifted at the pleasure, lips parting as another moan escaped her lips. His fingers were trained and precise.

"Won't you?" He asked, and she could hardly piece together a sentence. His voice was deep enough it reverberated in her chest. She felt herself growing wetter and she knew he could feel it too.

"Yes, Elijah."

"Mm."

She reached for his tie again to pull him down into another kiss. In the meantime, his fingers brushed the edge of her underwear aside and as his fingers slipped against her pussy, she gasped into his mouth. Finally, after a few moments, his fingers slowly came to her clit, and she felt every nerve sizzle in her body at the feeling.

He pressed another kiss to her lips as his fingers slowly slipped inside of her, and she suppressed another moan into his mouth. They moved slowly, collecting her wetness and teasing her. Her hips bucked lightly, chasing the feeling.

"So innocent... What do you want, Elena?" His fingers paused over her clit and she let out a soft whine at the cessation.

"I want you to touch me, Elijah. Please."

His touch felt like electricity as his fingers returned to run against her clit, and her body tensed as the pleasure swam through her. She already felt spent and yet he was still fully clothed.

Her hands reached for his shirt, but his hands captured hers before she could even the score. "Not yet. Not until I think you've had enough."

Her head and shoulders fell back onto the bed as his fingers picked up their pace. He alternated between slipping inside of her and pressing his thumb against her clit, until the energy building inside of her threatened to spill over. Her hands found his shoulders and her fingernails dug into his shirt at the pleasure, brow creasing as it threatened to overtake her.

Finally, with one last roll of his fingers, she felt the wave crash into her, sending ripples of sparks down to her very fingers and toes. If he were a mortal man, the grip she had on his body would've left marks. Elijah's mouth swallowed the last of the moans escaping from Elena's lips as his fingers rode out her orgasm, his thumb occasionally brushing against her sensitive clit, causing her to jump.

"I like the sight of you like this, sweet Elena. Undone, writhing. Your pleasure in my hands."

"And yours in mine." She panted.

Elena pushed up on Elijah's shoulders and he allowed it, the positions reversing until she straddled his hips. His hands came up to her waist, gripping it as she slowly rolled them over his. His desire was evident in the bulge of his pants, and it gave her immense satisfaction to know she had the same effect that he did on her.

Her fingers made quick work of his belt, unbuttoning while pressing her hand against the outline of him. He released a quiet groan at the feeling of her touch, and she wanted to hear more. His fingers came away from her hips to divest himself of his tie properly, slipping the satin from around his neck.

She slid from off his hips and stood at the foot of the bed, leaning over to tug him towards her by the loop of his trousers. He stood, his shirt half unbuttoned and creased, and his belt hanging around his hips. Elena felt herself grow wetter as she sank to her knees in front of him, and he watched with dark eyes as she began to pull his trousers and underwear down, just low enough to release his cock.

He was long and thick in her hand, and his head fell back as she leaned forward and licked a trail from shaft to tip. Slowly, she took him into her mouth, licking and sucking his heavy length until she could take him no more.

A deep growl emanated from Elijah’s chest, his hand coming up to rest against the back of her head. He let her set the pace, but his fingers knotted themselves in her hair as she swirled her tongue around his tip, tasting every last inch of him.

“You wicked little thing.” He sighed, his jaw clenching and his muscle tensing. She could see he desperately wanted to move his hips, but stayed in full control as she pressed him deeper into her mouth.

She placed her hands on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his trousers to give herself more balance, and she felt his fingers brush the hair away from her face and behind her ear before lightly collecting it into his grip. The small gesture made her heart skip as she set a quick rhythm.

He groaned again in pleasure, allowing himself a few more moments before delicately tugging on her hair to bring her back up to standing position. In a flash, the moment she stood, he had her trapped against the wall, his chest pressing into her shoulder blades. Her fingers bent and scratched against the wall, seeking purchase as her lungs seemed to give out. His scent enveloped her. His mouth was hot against her ear.

“So innocent and yet so wicked. So ready to be defiled. Will you give into me, Elena?” Give in, her mind whispered.

She found herself pushing back against the wall to be closer to him, the outline of his body providing delicious heat against hers. She felt his strength emanating from every muscle, both hands pressed on either side of her. Using one hand, he tilted her jaw until her neck was exposed to him. For a moment, she thought he would drink from her, but instead, he placed gentle half-kiss-half-bites along the slope of her neck. His hand then dipped to her back where he quickly unhooked her bra and slipped it off her shoulders. Her underwear was tugged down until it fell. Goosebumps rose all over her skin at the thought of being fully naked in front of Elijah Mikaelson.

“I want to give in, Elijah. Give me all of you.”

Her back was pressed into the mattress before she realized, her body softly settling on the bed. Elijah undid the last of the buttons on his shirt and pulled off his trousers.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, his hand coming up to cup her breast, thumb tracing over her pebbled nipple. Elena sighed at the feeling.

Elijah’s body was just as beautiful, she thought. The expanse of his chest was strong, his abdomen and arms both lean with taut muscle. A deep V-line followed into his hips, his cock erect.

Just as their lips moved to reconnect, Elena’s eyes met his again. Suddenly, this became more than just breaking a ritual. Both were entrenched in their desire, desperate to for release in the other’s body. Nervousness bubbled up inside of her again as she realized it was time. Everything else she had done before, but not this. She knew generally what to expect of sex, but certainly not when it came to a thousand year old vampire being her first.

“I’ll be gentle.”

Elena nodded at his kind words, fingers reaching up to his shoulders again. He balanced on one arm as the other reached out to touch her slick heat, and instantly, she felt the unreleased desire come flooding back. Satisfied, Elijah slowly guided himself between her legs.

Her chest arched upwards at the feeling. Heat spread from her hips as her pussy stretched to accommodate his length. True to his word, he moved slowly as he rolled his hips towards her, sinking deeper into her with every breath. She could feel him gauging her reaction and moving only so long as she allowed it.

Elena felt as though she might burst from the feeling, her breathing devolving into moans as he settled himself to the hilt inside of her. One of her legs was bent, the other laid straight, and one of his hands gripped her thigh as he used the other to balance himself over her, watching her face.

Once the burn of the stretch passed, pleasure began to trickle in. He felt immense inside of her, overwhelming in every aspect of his body as he stilled his hips against hers.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes- yes.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

“Does it feel good, Elena?”

He slowly rolled his hips back and she let out an involuntarily moan at the feeling of him moving inside of her. When he rolled his hips forward again, pleasure erupted from within her, and her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders.

“Yes, yes!“

Elijah pressed a kiss to her lips, and obeyed. He set a slow but sensual rhythm to his hips as he moved in and out of her with deliberate care. Any discomfort long forgotten, Elena felt her own hips moving in tandem, hissing in delight at the friction their hips created.

He chuckled at her reaction. “So good for me.”

The praise was like an extra douse of kerosene to the flame.

“Please, Elijah- more.”

“More what? Hm?”

All the while, he never stopped moving, his hips picking up a faster pace. In that moment, the hand resting on her thigh slipped between their two entwined bodies. His fingers immediately located her clit, and the combination of him pumping in and out of her, and his thumb pad rolling against her clit, her moan nearly turned into a scream. She could hardly think past her own name.

“Use your words, Elena. Tell me what you want.”

But she couldn’t. Her body shook with pleasure, her nails digging crescent shaped impressions into his skin.

“I’m so close, please…”

His fingers and hips slowed down ever so slightly, and she whined at the feeling of her release slowly ebbing away.

“Do you want more?” He asked again.

“Yes.” Her voice was thick with desperation. All she could think about was the way his hips moved in between her thighs. The length of him hit all of the most inner parts, sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine. She wanted more of anything he would give her.

He slowly pulled out of her, releasing his grip on her and flipped their positions once more. He kneeled behind her on the bed while she lay flat on her stomach, then he slowly moved until his body hovered over hers.

She pressed her thighs together, trying to gain back some friction, frustrated at the loss of him. She felt him press a kiss to her shoulder blade and in the same moment, he lifted her hips and slowly slid back into her.

She gasped at the feeling, her hips rising to meet his, and he settled back onto his knees, gripping her hips as he set a quicker pace. She felt herself dripping between her thighs, moans slipping past her lips as Elijah thrusted in and out.

She was desperate for release, and as his hips stuttered a bit, she knew he was too. He reached forward for her, pulling her back towards him until her back was pressed to his chest once more. One arm encircled her waist while the other hand reached for her clit. She nearly folded at the feeling, but his arm kept her to him, and suddenly she was right at the precipice of her release once more.

“Will you be good for me, Elena?”

She managed a nod, fingers digging into his forearm. His cock and fingers were relentless against her, and she felt like she was about to scream.

“Yes, I’ll be good for you, Elijah, I’m so- so close.”

“So good...” He murmured. “Cum for me.”

The pleasure erupted inside of her, her hips stuttering and her pussy clenching around him as she reached the brink of orgasm. Elijah groaned at the feeling of her coming undone around him, his hand falling away from her clit. He gripped her to him and thrusted inside of her a handful more times before spilling inside of her. Elena relished in the feeling of him in those last moments before he released her.

It was done.

Elena collapsed onto the bed with Elijah close by, unable to move, to think, even to breathe. He shifted himself over so as not to crush her, the pair panting deeply in the thralls of their desire.

The phrase total loss of purity echoed in her mind as she opened her eyes and looked upon Elijah. The shameless way she begged for him, the way her hips moved in search of him. She had corrupted herself entirely. Defiled by an Original.

In more ways than one, they were linked together forever.

After a minute, their breathing settled into silence.

“Do you think it’ll work?” She whispered.

Elijah looked over at her, sitting up slightly. He raised a hand to gently move one of the strands of her hair away from her face. It felt as intimate as anything they'd just done. The heat having died down between them, there was nothing left to do but face the music.

"I have long learned to keep hope at bay whenever Niklaus is involved."

Elena nodded. Of course he was right, but she tried not to look too concerned. He seemed to notice.

"I hope you don't regret this night too deeply if it does not. I recognize what a sacrifice this must've been for you."

Elena shook her head, mirroring him as she slowly sat up as well.

"I don't regret it, Elijah."

He smiled softly, and she returned it.

"Neither do I."

・❥・

The next morning after Elijah left, Damon arrived at her house. She could tell he was relieved that she was indeed alive, but simultaneously annoyed at having been ignored. He wore his usual leather jacket, black jeans and boots, with a few strands of black hair falling into his eyes. She couldn't help but compare the two men that were at her door just a few hours apart. A leather jacket and a suit.

"Oh good, you're still standing. Would've been nice to know." He raised his cellphone up as he crossed the threshold. "You know these nifty little things called cellphones? I called like three times."

She'd passed out almost immediately after Elijah had left, though she'd only been able to sleep a few hours before she couldn't ignore Damon any longer.

"Sorry, I just fell asleep. Bonnie and I were going through some old grimoires trying to find something." I hope that's convincing enough. She'd even made sure to shower and change after Elijah had left, not wanting Damon to risk sensing anything had been awry. She led him upstairs back up to her bedroom, desperate to go back to sleep.

"And? Did our witchy encyclopedia find anything?"

"She did, actually."

"Mhm. I bet."

Elena looked over at Damon with a raised brow at his suspicion and he met it with a smirk.

"You hatched a plan, didn't you?" He did the eye thing. Elena blinked and turned away, giving a noncommittal shrug.

"Not really. It was barely a plan."

"Fine, don't tell me." Damon closed the space between them with a single stride until he was looking down at Elena. He gave another smirk. "Just promise me it wasn't anything stupid."

Elena smiled. "You have my w- I mean, I promise."

Damon nodded once, then reached over her shoulder to grab something from her dresser. Elena's heart dropped when Elijah's red rose came into view. Damon twirled it between his fingers with narrowed eyes and a crooked smile.

"What's this, then?"

・❥・

Fin.

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries fic #tvd fic #tvd fanfic #elijah mikaelson #elena gilbert #elejah #elena x elijah #tvd smut #elijah mikaelson x elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson smut #elena gilbert smut #tvd au #tvd au fic #tvd smut au

[sailor-aviator]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Two

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Two

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Flirty Bradley, Sassy Bob, Talks of the supernatural, Mentions of drowning, An almost fight?, Possessive behavior, Jake Seresin. I think that's it?

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: So tomorrow I leave town for a couple of days! I don't know how much I'll be able to post until Saturday or Sunday, but I'll do my best! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

You awoke feeling groggy, eyes blinking against the stream of sunlight that filtered through the window. You didn’t remember drinking enough last night to feel this hungover. No, you were sure you’d only had the two whiskey cokes, not nearly enough to make you feel this way. Perhaps it was the drive catching up with you. Yeah, that had to be it.

You slowly sat up, head throbbing as you caught a glimpse of the ocean outside your window. You thought back to the silver tail you had seen disappear beneath the waves.

“What a weird dream,” you muttered, shaking your head. You moved to get up, quickly getting dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts combo before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

Bob was already munching away at the plate of bacon Susan had set out, the older woman flipping over a pancake on the stove.

“Robert Floyd, you better save some bacon for everyone else,” she warned without even a glance over her shoulder at him. Bob paused mid-chew to stare wide-eyed at her back before seeing you at the doorway, a grin already on your lips.

“Yeah, Robert,” you giggled, “save some for the rest of us.”

He scowled at you as Susan turned to smile warmly at you.

“Good morning, dear!” She beamed. “How did you sleep?”

You sat down at the island next to Bob just as Susan placed a plate at the same spot.

“I had the craziest dream last night,” you hummed, stealing a piece of bacon off of Bob’s plate, earning yourself an unamused look from said man.

“Oh yeah?” Susan asked. “What about?”

“Well,” you started, chewing on your bite of bacon, “I dreamed that I woke up last night and heard a weird song.”

“What?” Bob laughed, looking over at you. You giggled, continuing.

“Yeah! And it was weird because it sounded like a weird mix between a human and a whale. And when I got up, I went to look out the window, and I saw a giant silver tail disappear into the water!”

Bob’s chewing slowed to a stop as the smile dropped from his face, and Susan stiffened by the stove. Your eyes darted between the two of them.

“Did I say something wrong?” You asked them, unsure as to what had them so tense. Bob shook his head with a reassuring smile.

“No, of course not,” he told you. Susan relaxed her shoulders and turned to you with an apologetic look.

“It seems I’ll have to have a talk with my husband about him and his stories,” she said, a look of annoyance passing over her face.

You shook your head. “Oh, it’s no worries! I’m sure I just drank too much last night. That coupled with the drive here, I’m sure it was nothing.”

Susan looked at you for a beat longer before turning back to her pancakes. Bob huffed a laugh as he took another bite of his breakfast. “Dad is so getting his ass chewed out later.”

“Hey!” Susan barked, whipping back around to point her spatula at him. “Language, mister.”

“Sorry, Mom,” he blushed, ducking his head sheepishly. You laughed at the two of them before bumping your shoulder into his.

“So what’s the plan for today?” You asked. Bob perked up at your question.

“Oh!” He chirped. “I figured we could go hang out with Mickey and Nat today. The others are going to be busy setting up for the festival, so it’ll just be the four of us.”

“Sounds great!” You smiled. “Any specific plans?”

“You should take her to see the different shops!” Susan suggested over her shoulder.

Bob rolled his eyes with a grimace. “The tourist traps?”

“Not all of them are tourist traps, Bobby,” she chided. “Besides, maybe she’ll find something she likes while you’re there. A souvenir for the summer!”

You stared at the porcelain figurine intently. It reminded you of the one sitting on your dresser back home, except this mermaid was mid-song, her red lips parted like she was crooning.

“I told you it was a tourist trap,” Bob muttered beside you. You looked up at him with a grin.

“Nah, it’s cute,” you giggled. “I love mermaids, remember?”

“I know a couple someones who will love to hear that,” Mickey muttered with a smirk, crying out when Nat elbowed him in the rib.

“What do you mean?” You ask, brow furrowing at him. Nat smiled at you, pushing past the scowling man at her side.

“Nothing,” she said. “Have you found anything you like yet?”

You hummed, glancing around the store. “No, not yet. I don’t know if I want a souvenir from a shop, anyway. I think I’d prefer collecting seashells from the beach.”

“Perhaps you’ll get lucky and catch the eye of a handsome merman,” the older shopkeeper said. Your group turned to look at her, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, yeah?” You giggled. You faltered when you saw the others frowning at the old woman, but she continued on.

“Oh my, yes,” she smiled. “The legend goes that every year the sea people undergo what can only be described as a mating season. They seek out a partner for the summer, satiating their hunger. That’s what the festival celebrates, after all. But every five years, an individual will undergo a much more intense version, seeking out a permanent mate. It’s called the frenzy.”

“Why do they call it that?” You ask her, curiosity getting the better of you.

The old woman chuckled. “Simply put? The sea people will go crazy trying to find and stake claim to their chosen mate. The desire nearly drives them mad, turning them into the monsters the legends claim them to be.”

“What do you mean by mate?”

“Just that, dear child. During the frenzy is when a sea person picks their life partner. It’s an irreversible bond.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Nat frowned, grabbing your elbow. She shot a glare at the old woman before tugging you towards the door. “We need to get going.”

“But I still have questions!” You cried, stumbling out the door after her. The bell above the door rang as the four of you exited onto the sidewalk. All around, people were setting up for the summer long festival. Banners were being hung up over the streets and decorations lined the sidewalks, mermaids covering nearly every surface you looked at.

Nat dropped her grip from your arm, and you scowled at her.

“What was that for?” You grumbled, rubbing at your arm. “It was just getting interesting!”

“Mrs. Cambroni needs to learn when to shut her mouth,” she huffed, glaring back at the door. Bob slung an arm around your shoulder with a small smile.

“They’re just stories, anyway,” he told you, hugging you close. “Besides, you’ll have all summer to learn about the town legends. We’re here to have fun, remember?”

“I thought you said it was impossible to have fun in a small town?” You teased him, anger quickly melting as you all began making your way down the sidewalk. He rolled his eyes playfully at you.

“I did not say that.”

“You definitely implied it.”

“Alright,” he grinned. “You got me there.”

“Do you guys wanna go get ice cream?” Mickey asked, looking over his shoulder from where he walked next to Nat.

You perked up. “Ice cream sounds amazing!”

After securing your double scoop of rocky road, you followed the others back down the street as they argued over what to do next.

“But they have some really good movies out!” Mickey exclaimed, and Nat rolled her eyes at him.

“There are way better things we could do than go see a damn movie,” she snarked.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“We could take one of the boats out?” Bob suggested.

Nat smiled as Mickey scowled.

“And do what?” The other man huffed.

“Obviously, we would be swimming,” Nat shot back at him. You giggled as the three continued to argue amongst themselves.

“Hey! If it isn’t the three stooges plus y/n!”

All four of you looked up to see Bradley leaning off a ladder holding a banner in his hands. He was grinning widely, shirt nowhere to be seen. Below him, holding the ladder, was the blond man, Jake, from the bar the night before. He was also shirtless, and his green eyes were already on you, and you felt your cheeks heat up. You prayed none of your ice cream had made a home on your face. Javy and Reuben came walking out of the nearest building carrying another banner and also missing their shirts.

“Hey meatheads,” Nat huffed with a roll of her eyes. “Where are your shirts?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Bradley drawled, rolling his eyes back at her, “It’s like a billion degrees out here. A man’s gotta keep cool, ain’t that right, sunshine?”

You giggled as he shot a wink at you, and you noticed as Jake clenched his jaw at the exchange. Bradley hopped off the ladder and strolled over towards the rest of you with the blond right behind him, eyes still trained on you.

“What do you guys have planned for the rest of the day?” Reuben asked. Nat swung an arm around your shoulder.

“We’re gonna teach Skipper here how to drive a boat,” she grinned.

“Skipper?” You questioned, raising your eyebrow. She nodded excitedly, and Bradley hummed, looking at you thoughtfully.

“I like it,” he decided with a nod. “It suits you.”

“Whatever that means,” you mumbled. Mickey put his hands on his hips as he glared at the brunette beside you.

“I thought we were going swimming?” He demanded.

Nat dropped her arm from around your shoulder, crossing her arms in front of her. “We are, but we’re going to teach Skipper how to captain a boat first. Besides, I thought you didn’t want to go?”

You watched as the two began to bicker amongst themselves again. If you hadn’t known any better, you would think the two hated each other. Bob walked off to help Reuben, Bradley, and Javy hang up the other banner a little ways down the street. You felt someone step up beside you, and you turned to see Jake still looking down at you.

“Hi,” he said softly, smirking. “I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Jake.”

You smiled up at him shyly. “I’m y/n, but I guess it’s Skipper now.”

He let out a chuckle as he leaned in closer to you. You felt your heartbeat quicken, and the way his smirk grew wider made you think that maybe he could hear it. You shook off the thought, putting all of your effort into maintaining some semblance of rationale.

“You know,” he hummed, eyes studying you, “Bradley isn’t right about a lot of things, but he is right about that.”

“What?” You breathed, eyes becoming hooded. You could have sworn you saw the glow in his eyes again as they bore into yours. Your head began to feel lighter the longer you stared at him, a yearning tugging you towards him. His breath fanned over you as he leaned in closer.

“Skipper!”

You jumped, taking a stumbling step back, nearly falling as someone caught you. You thought you heard a growl as your head began to throb. You looked up to see that it was Bob who had his arms around you, keeping you steady. His eyes were trained in a glare past where you stood, and you turned to see Bradley and Javy on either side of Jake. If looks could kill, Bob would be six feet under already. Jake’s jaw was clenched so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if his teeth were cracked. Green eyes stared intently at Bob, whose gaze didn’t waver from his friends.

“Bob?” You questioned, the bespectacled man looking down at you. “What happened?”

“Uh,” he started, seeming to be unsure as to how to respond.

“Bob bumped into you on accident, and you almost fell,” Natasha smiled, stepping forward to take you out of Bob’s arms. You saw Jake relax a little out of the corner of your eye, but your head was still too fuzzy to pay it much mind.

“Why is everyone so angry?” You asked her, your voice sounding weak and uncertain even to you. She smiled gently down at you as she sat you down on the steps by the sidewalk.

“It’s just a combination of the heat and good old-fashioned testosterone,” she explained, patting your back soothingly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“My head,” you trailed off, rubbing at your temples.

“Here,” Reuben smiled at you, offering you a bottle of water. You took it with a grateful smile, taking small sips from the bottle.

“Feeling better?” Mickey asked you, brows pinched in worry. You smiled and gave him a nod.

“Much,” you said, looking around at the group who looked back at you worriedly.

You sighed. “I’m sorry, everyone.”

“What on earth for?” Asked Javy.

Grimacing, you responded, “For making everyone worry about me.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Skipper,” Bradley assured you, smiling at you reassuringly. “The heat gets to the best of us. Isn’t that right, Jake?”

Bradley clapped the blond on the shoulder, giving him a pointed look. Jake frowned, letting out a muttered “yeah” as he looked away.

“Do you wanna call it a day?” Mickey asked you, and you shook your head.

“I’d still like to go swimming if that’s okay.”

“You sure?” Bob asked you, eyes still full of worry. You smiled back at him with a nod.

“Absolutely!”

“You should be careful,” Jake spoke up, and you turned to look at him. The anger was still in his eyes, but it had calmed significantly. An unreadable expression now graced his face. “A storm is coming.”

“How do you know?” You asked him, brow furrowing.

“He’s right,” Javy said as Reuben and Bradley nodded. “A storm is on the way.”

“We’ll be extra careful,” Nat promised them, helping you to your feet. “Scout’s honor!”

Bradley chuckled at her mock salute before shooting you another wink. “Maybe we’ll catch up with you guys later?”

“If not tonight, then we’ll see you at the bonfire tomorrow!” Mickey hollered as you, Nat, and Bob followed him down the sidewalk towards the docks.

“Don’t have too much fun without us!” Reuben called after you all.

“We’ll hold off on teaching Skipper how to drive the boat until you guys can join us!” Nat yelled back.

“Wait, you were serious about that?” You squawked, earning a chorus of laughter from your group.

A couple of hours later, you found yourself sitting on Mickey’s parent’s boat, the rock of the waves sending a wave of nerves up your spine as they became rougher. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to being on a boat. The sun had long been obscured by the grey clouds that seemed to have rolled in out of nowhere, but the others didn’t seem shocked by the sudden turn.

“How did they know it was going to storm?” You asked them, watching as darker clouds began to roll in.

“When you live by the ocean your whole life, you just get a sense for those types of things,” Nat told you as Mickey and Bob scrambled to get the boat ready to leave. You eyed the clouds wearily as Mickey cursed behind you.

“They’re never going to let us hear the end of it if they find out we stayed out this long,” he muttered.

Nat rolled her eyes. “So hurry up and get us back to shore before they do.”

Mickey scowled at her but continued with what he was doing. A couple of minutes later, and the waves were rocking the boat almost violently, and you found yourself gripping your seat anxiously.

“Alright, we’re ready!” Bob called from the side. Mickey started up the boat’s engine, and the vessel jerked as he began to maneuver it back to land. You hit a particularly rough wave, causing Nat to lose her balance and topple into the seats opposite yours.

“Easy, Mickey!” She snapped, glaring at the man.

“I’m taking her as easy as I can!” He hollered back at her, a look of worry flashing across his face as the boat dipped into the waves. A gush of water hit you, and your arms flew up to shield your face. At that same moment, another wave knocked into the boat, causing you to fly over the side as you jerked back from the wall of water to your front.

“Y/n!” You heard someone shout, Bob maybe, but it was too late.

The water swallowed you whole, gripping you in its clutches as you scrambled to get your bearings. The water was dark, and you began to panic as you realized you couldn’t tell which was up and which way was down. Your arms thrashed around you as you fought for air, but it was no use. Your lungs ached and burned from lack of oxygen, and you felt a sense of dread as you realized that you were about to die. You stopped fighting, feeling a sense of acceptance at your fate. Your vision began to darken as you let your mind drift off. You hoped your parents wouldn’t mourn you for too long and hoped desperately that your friends wouldn’t blame themselves.

You were just about to enter unconsciousness when you heard an eerily familiar song. The sound of a human and a whale mixed together pulled at you, getting closer with each passing second. It was strange what the mind came up with to calm itself in its last moments. You felt a pair of strong, muscular arms wrap around you, lifting you up, your bare legs brushing against what felt like scales. Of course your mind would turn to mermaids in the end. Maybe you’d be reborn as one in your next life. You hoped as much, at the very least.

Your head broke the surface, rain pelting your face as small waves of water rushed up to you.

“C’mon, darlin’,” a voice called to you from far off, “stay with me.”

You felt the water rush up out of your lungs as you hacked and coughed, clutching weakly at whoever held you. You groaned, head falling forward, resting on a solid chest. The arms around you gripped you tighter, and you heard the song again, this time sounding much more desperate and sorrowful than last time. It was the last thing you heard before you fell unconscious.

You weren’t sure how long you were out for, but you felt the last few rays of the sun wash over you as you came to. You were vaguely aware of the solid rock underneath you and the gentle fingertips that grazed your forehead. You heard short bursts of the song, this time coming from the person hovering over you. It put you at ease, but you so desperately wanted to see who the song belonged to.

You slowly tried to pry your eyes open, head protesting as it gave a particularly sharp throb. You winced, and the man above you cooed at you. You managed to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the glowing green that stared down at you, entrancing you.

“Sleep,” the man sang, and you obediently let your eyes fall closed. The man’s fingertips ran down the side of your face and to your neck. He turned your head to expose more of your neck, lips brushing over the base where it met your shoulder. You let out a whimper at the pleasant feeling, and the man hushed you softly. You were surprised at how good it felt, and you found yourself arching up into his touch.

The man continued to nuzzle at you, and you heard the vague sound of your name coming from off in the distance. You whined for the man, silently begging for more of his touch, and you felt him smirk against you.

“Skipper!”

The voices were louder now, and you heard the man let out an inhuman snarl. You cried out in pain as you felt a prick of what you assumed were teeth pierce your skin. The pain was quickly dulled by the feel of a tongue laving over the small wound. The man pulled away from you, and you reached for him weakly, opening your eyes just enough to see the flash of silver scales disappear back into the sea.

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x you #top gun hangman #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin imagine #hangman #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman x you #hangman seresin x reader #hangman seresin #hangman top gun #mmats #meet me at the sea

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 14

WIP Wednesday is happening this week! I would've had it up an hour or two ago, but I ended up having to run an emergency errand for my mom to keep her friend's car from being towed. But it's all been taken care of!

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Note: Anyone who still doesn't know which episode I'm basing this arc on should know by the end of this segment. I did realize I made a mistake, though. The invading ghosts are Walker's guards. In the episode, up to this point the trio never refer to them as such. The audience, however, sees Walker send them in. I took that as Danny and co didn't realize they were Walker's people. But as I was going through minute-by-minute while writing, Danny does call them Walker's goons. So he knew the entire time. I'm adjusting that going forward and I'll retroactively make the edits before posting to AO3.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.7k

-----

Everyone left Sam’s house at the same time. The Amity crowd had to get to school and no one felt comfortable staying at Sam’s house while she wasn’t home. As they ate a quick breakfast, Tim noticed Conner’s fingernails were painted.

“Looks good, Kon,” he commented.

“Thanks,” said Sam. “I did them last night while you and Danny were sleeping. Introduced him to actual music, too.”

Conner grinned. “She’s promised to burn me some CDs before we go.”

“A mixed tape is the only valid way to share music,” Sam agreed. “And if he’s gonna rock the punk look, he should know the punk culture, too.”

Tim laughed. “Well, looks like we know what we’ll be listening to on the way home. Will you need a CD player, Kon?”

“Is my laptop not good enough?”

Tim clicked his tongue. “Come to Gotham with me. I know I have an old one lying around. Nothing like listening to a CD while lying somewhere, wired headphones tangling up as you shift position. If you want the authentic experience, that’s the only way to go.”

Conner shrugged, clearly unsure. “If you say so.”

Danny yawned. “You’re giving him Dumpty Humpty, right?”

Sam snorted. “Am I giving him Dumpty Humpty? Who do you think I am? Of course I am!”

“Good. You can’t introduce someone to good music and leave out Dumpty Humpty.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, you’ve gotten me into them. They’re fun. You’ll like them, Kon.”

“You played a song or two by them last night, right?” Conner asked.

Cassie nodded. “Yep. That’s who she was playing when Tucker, Bart, and I left to get some sleep in the other room.”

“Ah, yeah. That’s right. I liked them.”

“Of course you did,” said Sam as she flicked her hair. “I have excellent taste.”

Tucker was typing away on his PDA. “So what’ll you be doing while we’re in school?”

Tim grimaced. “I was thinking of hitting up the local library. We want to learn more about the ghosts. But also B has said that a condition of allowing me to extend my trip is that I keep up with my own schoolwork. So I have some catch up to do.”

Danny waved his spoon at him. “And you get on me for not doing my work.”

“Yeah, but you want to graduate and, like, go to college and shit. The stuff I want to do doesn’t require a diploma of any kind. B’s just making me do it because he society has convinced him it’s important.”

Tucker’s PDA alarm went off. “And that alarm means if we’re not out the door in five minutes, we’re gonna be late.”

Everyone groaned as they pushed away from the table and collected their belongings. The walk into town was filled with music discussion. Bart and Conner mostly listened and took note of recommended bands and musicians. Sam tended to know the most obscure stuff, but Tim knew some foreign bands from his time in Europe that no one else had heard of.

The walk was, thankfully, not disturbed by ghosts, but Danny’s ghost sense did go off several times.

“Didn’t your parents make a device that can track ghosts?” asked Tim the third time he complained. “Would that help you locate them?”

Danny hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, I’ll have to see if I can find it. My parents stopped using it when it kept zeroing in on me. It was too loud for stealth use, though, and loudly went off anytime I was in range. And it didn’t work great for a 3D environment. So Tucker and I would have to develop a new display that can tell me if one is above or below me.”

“I should be able to help, too. You know how good I am with computers.”

“If I can find the device or blueprints, I’ll take you up on that.”

Not long after, they had to say goodbye at the entrance to Caspar High. Dash and his friends also arrived at about the same time. The group stared at Danny, but didn’t move to interact.

“Think they’re still overshadowed?” asked Conner, mirroring Tim’s thoughts.

“God, I hope not,” said Danny.

“But knowing our luck…” Sam trailed off.

Tim sighed. “Keep your distance as much as possible.”

“I know, mom.” Danny rolled his eyes. The school bell rang and he adjusted his backpack strap. “Gotta go. Have fun at the library.” His sarcasm was very evident and he hugged Tim.

The gesture surprised him and his return hug was slightly delayed. “I think I’ll find more than enough to amuse me there.”

With a quick goodbye, the trio rushed off before they could be late.

“So,” said Cassie, “Sam and Tucker seem to have a ton of ideas about you and Danny.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Danny and I only met in person less than forty-eight hours ago.”

Bart nudged him. “And yet you’re already sleeping in the same bed and giving each other goodbye hugs.”

“I do the same with you guys.” He pulled out his phone to check the location of the library. “Come on, let’s just get to the library. I want to see if they have a digital subscription to the local paper we can use.”

Tim didn’t get much schoolwork done that morning, but he did find out Danny was originally named Inviso-Bill by the press and immediately began planning ways to prank him with that knowledge.

For the rest, he compared what was reported vs what had actually happened with past ghost attacks. One thing was clear, Danny needed much better PR. Hopefully being seen working with the Young Justice would help. And maybe Sam would actually listen if he tried to give pointers on how to manage public perception.

Shortly after noon and before Tim could even pretend he was about to switch over to school work, his phone rang.

“Hey, Danny. What’s up?”

“Tim! Do any of you speak Esperanto?”

“Uh… I don’t. Let me ask Bart.” He lowered the phone to ask.

“Esperanto? What’s that?” asked Bart.

“I’ll explain later,” said Tim. Back into the phone, he added, “Doesn’t look like it. Why? What’s going on?”

“So… You remember that wolf ghost with the collar? Walker’s goons are after him, too. I’m not sure why since he only speaks Esperanto. I got him away from both them and my parents. Think you can keep him safe until school is out? If I miss any more class I’ll be grounded until graduation. Senior graduation.”

Tim gestured to his friends to pack everything up. “Yeah, sure. Where are you right now? I’ll have Bart meet you first and the rest of us will follow.”

Danny gave him directions to a forested area behind the school which Tim relayed to Bart. As soon as the group was out of the library, Bart rushed ahead to Danny.

Over the phone, Danny let him know Bart had arrived. “Oh, and Tucker just got here, too. Excellent. He can speak Esperanto as well. Looks like he’s explaining things to big and hairy over here.”

“Great. We’ll be there soon as we can.”

“Can we fly there?” asked Conner.

Cassie nodded. “People would just think we’re more ghosts.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Superboy and Wonder Girl were seen in town just last night. No.”

Conner stuck his tongue out at him. “Spoilsport.”

“Relax. It’s not far. GPS has us in the general location in, like, ten minutes.”

“Fine, fine,” sighed Cassie. “We’ll be good.”

Tim elbowed her with a grin. “Now, I never said you had to do that.”

Conner laughed. “So, what is this Esperanto language, anyway? I haven’t heard of it.”

“It’s a conlang based on European languages that’s supposed to be easy to learn. The idea was to make a sort of common language for Earth without promoting a single language like English. It hasn’t gained a lot of traction, though. And if Bart doesn’t know it, then it likely won’t.”

“Huh, weird. Why do you think a werewolf ghost know an Earth-based conlang?”

“Oooh! I bet it’s because he’s the manifestation of some teenage girl’s OC,” offered Cassie.

Tim laughed. “Or maybe the OC of one of the people to create Esperanto.”

Conner shook his head. “You’ve got this all wrong. He’s from an alternate future where Esperanto did take off and a werewolf virus spread among humans.”

The ten minute walk was filled with more and more outlandish theories ending with the wolf being the reincarnation of Jesus who was trying to bring humanity together through the reinstitution of a common language like in the pre-Tower-of-Babel days.

At the edge of the woods, Tim nudged Conner. “Can you hear where they are?”

“Yep. Follow me.”

And then it was less than two minutes before Tim could see them. “Oi! Danny!” he called out with a wave.

Danny flew over to them and hugged him. “Thank you so much! You’re gonna save me so many detentions.” He grabbed Tim’s hand and pulled him towards Tucker and the ghost. “Tim, this is Wulf. Wulf,” Danny said while making eye contact, “Friends.” Then he slowly pointed to each person and said their name.

Tucker rolled his eyes and repeated the information in Esperanto. Tim recognized his and his teammates names and many of the words felt familiar. Likely since he knew or was learning a few European languages.

“So, will we just hang out here for the next few hours until you get out of school?” asked Tim.

“Yeah. It’ll only be about two and a half hours. That okay? Then we’ll go back to Sam’s place. We can hide in her basement.”

“We’ve hung out in worse places for longer,” said Bart. “This is practically cozy. And me or one of the others can run into town for food and supplies. Anything you want from your parent’s place? Food? Snacks?”

Tucker grinned. “If you could get some jerky, that’d be great. No meat at Sam’s.”

Danny laughed. “If we think of anything else, one of us will text it to the group chat.”

An alarm buzzed on Tucker’s PDA. “We’ve got to get back now.”

“Shit. Okay. I’ll fly us back. Bye Tim, everyone!” Danny picked up Tucker and flew away, turning invisible before he was more than a few yards away.

-----

Next

So, more banter and more plot! We're almost starting to get somewhere! This marks roughly the halfway point of the episode. And the arc is almost 25k words. This is why I take forever to publish anything. It always spirals out of my control. Even this section, I originally opened with them in the library. But then I remembered I wanted to have Sam paint Conner's nails and that led to me adding over 900 words to the beginning.

I no longer do tag lists for this fic, but if you make your way to the subscription post, you can set it up so you get notified when this updates.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #tim drake #and the rest #eventual dead tired #i should probably stop adding the ship tag #since that wont happen til arc 3 #(assuming I don't fit another arc in first) #the gang meets wulf! #their first friendly ghost #that's how early in the series this is set #how many of you recognized the episode before this installment?

[deadlyashesart]

Alastor's disappearance (Part 1)

Part 1 of a fanfiction I'm writing! There's not enough Rosie angst in this world so I have to do it myself. I've never written fanfiction before, by the way. Don't hurt me if it's bad LOL. I wanted to post this on AO3 but realized I didn't have an AO3 account and they said it might take me till April to get one and I don't wanna wait...

Based on a post I made yesterday.

Part 2

-----

It had been five months since Rosie had last seen her dear friend, Alastor. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary coming from the Radio Demon, but something deep in Rosie’s gut told her something was gravely wrong. Despite this, she had a colony filled with cannibals to feed, and couldn’t waste her time worrying about something as simple as a ‘gut feeling’.

Rosie sat at the front desk of Franklin and Rosie’s Emporium. It was a beautiful day—at least as beautiful as it got in Hell—and the emporium was packed. Rosie was aiding a customer, unaware her business partner was standing right behind her.

Franklin leaned in close. “Rosie, I believe you should step aside with me for a moment,” she whispered.

Rosie paused, turning her head slightly before bringing her attention back to the customer on the other side of the counter. “Mrs. Odette, I’m so sorry, but I must cut our consultation short. I insist you take my card and come back soon!” she said politely, handing the fellow cannibal her business card before waving a hand, gesturing for her to leave.

Rosie followed Franklin away from the crowd, every so often glancing back at the long line that waited for her return. “What is it, my dear? I’m quite busy.”

“It’s about Alastor. He’s gone missing,” Franklin answered abruptly. She spoke quietly as if exchanging top-secret information.

Rosie laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh darling, don’t be so ridiculous!”

“I’m not! Everyone’s talking about it. He hasn’t been seen anywhere, and his radio show hasn’t been updated in weeks! You, of all people, should know how much he loves that show, he wouldn’t miss a day, at least without telling anyone!” Franklin went silent, and a thought crept into her head. “Oh, I wonder if he’s been killed..!”

Rosie’s eyebrows furrowed in worry. After a moment of thought, she spoke, “I’m sure he’s fine, darling.”

“I see… Very well then, I just wanted to let you know. I’m aware you two are very good friends.”

“Yes, and I’m certain he’s quite alright. He’s most likely just taking a break from the radio scene!” Rosie replied, knowing deep down that even she didn’t believe a word she was saying. “Besides, if he was killed, the murderer would’ve made a big show about taking down the mighty Radio Demon, would they not? As far as I know, that hasn’t happened yet!”

Franklin nodded softly. “You’re right, you’re right… If that had happened, we’d have something a lot worse to worry about.”

“Correct. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to attend to.” Rosie curtsied as a gesture of farewell before returning to the front desk of the emporium.

-----

Later that night, Rosie tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. She couldn’t stop worrying about Alastor, just the thought of him brought an ache in her chest. After a while of fighting with her internal dialogue back and forth, she groaned in defeat. She sat up and reached for the small radio that was on her bedside table, a gift from Alastor to show his appreciation towards her. Her hands fiddled with the dials as she turned the frequency to Alastor’s radio show; There was nothing but static.

Rosie sighed, unsure why she thought that would work. He didn’t even broadcast this late at night. She was desperate. All she wanted to hear was her dear friend’s voice, so she could know he was alright, know if he was hurt, know if he was alive. She silently cursed Franklin’s name, frustrated with her putting the thought of Alastor’s death in her mind.

Rosie didn’t get any sleep that night. Or the next night, or the next.

-----

A few weeks passed, and she didn't get better. Franklin walked up to Rosie, handing her a cup of fresh coffee. “You look like hell, darling. Have you been getting any sleep?”

Rosie sat down on the couch, exhausted from her terrible sleep schedule. She took a huge sip of coffee, but that didn’t do much. “I’m fine, Franklin… I just… Would you mind taking the morning shift today?” She brought a hand to her head, feeling slightly lightheaded.

“Okay, I can do that! But you’re obviously not fine, dear. The bags under your eyes have gotten worse, this isn’t like you!”

Rosie’s eyes drifted toward the radio that was placed on the coffee table in front of her, and Franklin immediately connected the dots. “Oh, my dear, is this about Alastor’s disappearance?”

Rosie did not respond. Franklin sighed. She sat down next to her and slowly pulled her into a hug, and she could feel Rosie shiver as a lump caught in her throat.

“I don’t know where he could’ve gone… Maybe he is dead, Franklin,” Rosie mumbled, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t want to cry, I don't want to worry. He’d probably laugh if I did, but… Fuck, I miss him.”

-----

#radiorose #platonic radiorose #alastor and rosie #rosie and alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin rosie #hurt/comfort #angst

[indigosunsetao3]

One New Video Message - Part 2

Another expansion on Soap's section of "you have a few minutes before you're missed" by request over on AO3. You can find part 1 here. This will probably end up being three parts by the time I’m done.

This is smut. Pure smut. I don't think I've written this much smut in my life. Did I mention smut? Gods (the old and the new) don't judge me. And a slight vulnerable moment with you all...I've sat on this for three days unsure whether I should post it. Waffling on if it's good enough, if my followers will like it or should I just scrap it. But I'm taking the plunge and doing it so...here it is 😰

TW: m/f interaction, voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise, very mild degradation, sharing, spanking, oral sex, other lewd acts (ha)

You were nervous, excited but nervous nonetheless. You had sent the video three days before you received a response and nearly jumped out of your skin at every notification on your phone while waiting. When you received Soap's message early in the morning you nearly dropped your phone in your anxiety to open the message. They had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it. And they were rushing back now.

That was two days ago.

Tonight was when they were due back and you had spent your jittery energy preparing. How you prepared for this you weren't sure, but you did what came naturally. Cleaned the house and made a huge homecooked meal. Soap always lamented about how horrendous and cold the food was when they were working so you always made sure he had something hot when he walked in the door. Whether it was at three in the afternoon or one in the morning. So, you figured the other guys would appreciate a meal as well.

Just as you removed the last glass dish from the oven you spotted headlights dance along the wall as a car pulled in the drive. Followed by a second. Soap had not been lying that they would be coming right to the house. One steadying breath and down a quick glass of the Scotch that Soap asked you to have out, you rush to the front door and open it.

Soap is halfway up the walkway as you appear in the door and you see a broad smile grace his face. He looks tired but that doesn't stop him from rushing up the few steps of the front porch and bounding right to you. He drops his duffle on the front step and instantly grabs your face to pull you in for a kiss.

You stumble back a step at the force of him but laugh as he peppers you with soft kisses. His facial hair is longer than you knew he liked and it prickles against your neck as he bends down to envelope you in a tight embrace.

"Missed you lass," he mumbles against your skin, his face buried in your hair. "Missed your smell," you can feel him smiling as he kisses the soft spot where your shoulder meets your neck. "Your feel," he pulls back and kisses you again, this one less hurried and more passionate as he he backs you up into the door that was still wide open.

"'Scuse me," Gaz says as he attempts to sidestep you both, lugging Soap's duffle in for him. He's grinning as you peer at him from around Soap's shoulder as Soap also turns to look back at him with a smirk.

You were feeling shy, you could tell you were shrinking a bit behind Soap. But Gaz doesn't linger, he keeps walking in the house and throws Soap's bag down by the couch before wandering to the kitchen. They had all been at the house plenty of times, they knew where everything was.

"Oh shit you cooked," comes Gaz's voice just as Price and Ghost walk in. Price giving you a polite smile and Ghost a head nod. Ghost had at least lost the full faced balaclava for the occasion, just a simple facemask this evening, well morning. "It's a full blown feast in there, how long did that take you? " He asks coming back to the hall with a glass of Scotch already in hand.

"Ah, not too long," you answer, sliding out of Soap's embrace. You knew Gaz was doing his best to keep you in conversation, to not make it awkward, and you were grateful for it. You had confessed your fears and anxiety to Soap on the phone the day before. He offered to call it off, to wait if you wanted but you said no. You wanted to just...didn't know how. "Didn't have much else to do while I waited around."

Gaz smirks a bit around his glass as he sips, obviously doing his best to not say what else you could have been doing while you waited for them. You flush before heading into the kitchen yourself to pour out drinks for the rest of them.

You don't have to fill the silence as they all talk, thankful that the four of them fall into easy conversation. There's definitely a tension in the air, anticipation, but no one pushes it. Soap had promised that he wouldn't push anything, that none of them would, it was all up to you how fast or slow they went.

Sipping on your own glass you curl up next to Soap on the sofa, your body leaning against his as he casually loops an arm over your shoulders. The television had been switched on, an old football match they had missed playing on the screen. Your eyes wander up to a few times but you can see the men watching you from the corner of your eyes. Careful, predatory like, stares that flit away when you glance over at them. Except Ghost.

He holds your stare until you bite your lip and look away first feeling a swooping sensation in your stomach. You hear him chuckle to himself at that and you can feel Soap twist to look down at you.

"You're red bonnie," he whispers in your ear, nuzzling you. "Is it the alcohol? Or the fact you know all four of us are chomping at the bit to get you out of this cute little number?" His fingers rub at the collar of the silk sleep set you were wearing. it was innocent enough, a light pink top that buttoned at the front and matching shorts...that were maybe a few inches too short to be truly decent.

You squirm a bit as Soap nips at your ear and you lock eyes with Gaz who is on the same couch as you as Soap. He's holding his glass with his fingertips, swirling the last dregs of amber liquid inside while watching you. He gives you a smile, a reassuring one, even if the looks he's giving you is anything but innocent.

"Both," you breathe out after a second, your gaze sliding to look at Ghost and Price on the other couch. "Scotch always makes me warm," you answer and Soap just laughs, his hand sliding out of the collar and down your side before grabbing at your hip. You let him lead the way as he tugs you into his lap and you throw a leg on either side of him.

You can hear the rest of them shifting a bit. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Gaz down the last of his drink and hear the thud of him putting the glass down on the end table. You're breathing a bit faster as Soap pulls you down for a kiss, your hands braced on his shoulders. His movements are slow, lazy, as he works on drawing you out of the insecurities in your head. His hands pull your hips on him and you sigh a bit into his mouth at the friction, moving your hips yourself after a few tugs.

"There she is," Soap says against your lips as you grab a bit harder on his shoulders to restrain yourself. You’re rocking yourself unabashedly over him, feeling he's already hard under his pants and the whine you had been holding back slips. Someone in the room huffs at that and you smile a bit. "I think Gaz is going to combust if you don't let him do something," Soap says and he inclines his head to the side a bit so you look over.

Gaz is watching intently, his hands fisted in his lap for lack of anything to do. He doesn't back down from your stare and you swallow, he looks like he wants to eat you alive. You glance at Soap who only has eyes for you before you look back at Gaz and give him a small nod, permission.

He doesn't need to be told twice. He rises from the couch to come behind you, kneeling on the floor. Even on his knees he's still tall enough to be level with you. You jump slightly as his hands slide around your waist and he instantly freezes but you look over your shoulder at him and tell him he can continue.

"I think this needs to come off," Gaz says quietly as he presses his chest up against your back. He has his chin resting on your shoulder to watch what he is doing before he finds the top button of your shirt. He pulls the first one free before moving to the next, his fingers quick as he works his way down. As each button is freed a sliver of more skin is revealed and Soap is watching the show with a reverence, as if it were all for him.

"Still good?" Gaz asks you quietly as his fingers trace the line of bare skin, making your skin feel as if it were being burned, even if the touches are featherlight.

"Good," you answer, your throat a bit dry.

Both of his hands come up to grasp the lapels of your top by your collarbone before pulling your top completely open. Soap groans, you didn't have anything on underneath. You can feel Soap's cock twitch against your clit through his pants as Gaz continues to slowly peel the silk off, his hands running up to your shoulders to push it down. You drop your hands from Soap's shoulders so Gaz can slide the material away and his hands rub down your arms as more and more skin is revealed.

The warmth of his chest against your back disappears for a second as he tosses the top somewhere and removes his own shirt. But he's back a moment later and you sigh contently as he presses his bare skin against yours, his hands coming around your waist. He has his hands pressed flat to your skin as he moves them up your ribcage and you arch just the slightest bit in anticipation of where his hands were going.

"Fuck you're soft," Gaz breathes as he kisses your shoulder, flexing his hands to pull you back against him from where you had pulled away slightly. "Don't squirm away just yet," he teases as his palms finally land on your breasts. You groan as he squeezes, looking down to see his hands are large enough to hold them in his grip.

You drop your head back on Gaz’s shoulder as he gently kneads you, your eyes watching Soap. He’s grinning, his hands gripping tight to your thighs as he takes in the scene.

“Feel good, Lass?” Soap asks as Gaz concentrates his ministrations on your nipples. You whine a bit at the change and push your chest up to his hands to silently beg him to continue.

“I think he asked you a question,” Gaz prompts as he pinches you a little harder causing to you jerk up a bit.

“Y-yes,” you answer to which both men smile. Gaz pulls one of his hands away before delving two fingers into his mouth, his eyes on yours. You know your eyes flare at the sight, you see him grin around the digits, before he pulls his fingers back out and rubs them over one of your sensitive nipples. You moan at that, not caring if it sounded wanton or needy.

You roll your hips over Soap, needing the friction. He helps you, his hands grabbing at your plush hips and digging his thumbs into the delicate bone underneath. You dare to look at the other two men on the couch, not having forgotten they were there just watching. They were patient, much more patient then the men you were between currently.

Ghost was leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, staring at you as if studying your body's reactions. Committing each movement to his memory and making mental notes of what he wanted to try. Price was still lounging in his seat, one foot resting on his knee as he admires from afar. When you catch Price's eye you open your mouth to pant a bit as Gaz bites down on your neck, he smirks in return.

"Go on love," Soap says as he watches you looking at his commanding officers. "You can go see them," he smiles as Gaz slides his hands back down your ribcage before pulling away.

"I don't know if she's ready for us yet. You Sergeant's play too nice," Ghost answers and you snap your head over to glare at him. It was a challenge and you can tell by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle he's smiling at you under the mask. He still hasn't moved from the position he was in but he extends two fingers on his right hand and makes a come hither motion with them.

You scoot back off Soap's lap and Gaz offers you a hand to stand, placing a kiss to the back yours before letting go. You hear him flop back down on the couch with a sigh. You hear the tinkle of glass on glass as Soap pours them more to drink, the bottle more than half gone. You don't look back though, eyes only for Ghost as you walk over and stand in front of him, your hands hanging limply at your sides as you look down at him.

He gives a satisfied huff as he pushes himself to sit up, eyes appraising you as he spreads his legs a bit more. He motions for you to come closer, to stand between his legs and you do it, never breaking your stare on his eyes as he looks you over.

"I'm not gentle like them," he warns as his hand moves to toy with the hem of your sleep shorts. "Not soft," he adds on as he tugs them down a bit to expose the indent of where your thighs meet your pelvis. "But I get the feeling you don't mind," his eyes snap up to yours from where they had been following his index finger.

You shake your head no and he nods once, his finger pulling harder on the shorts so they make a v in the front. The back is still covering your backside and hasn't quite cleared the curve of your ass. He tugs again and it clears the apex of your thighs and you tremble a bit as he glances down, his knuckle barely brushing over your clit.

"So eager," he grins and nudges his knuckle back into you causing you suck in a breath in anticipation. Without thinking you spread your legs out just a bit, just to make it easier for him. He stops and chuckles before letting the fabric go and it snaps back up. He leans away now, back into the couch cushions and lays one long arm across them. He's acting disinterested and you glance back at Soap who's watching intently before back at Ghost again.

"I don't," you start, feeling a bit self-conscious just standing like this between his legs.

"Come here," Price rumbles as he drops his foot down to the ground. "He's just playing hard to get," he gives you a reassuring smile before reaching a hand out to you. You move to walk out of Ghost's legs but he extends one out so you can't get away. You look down at his foot before back at him.

"Crawl over to him," Ghost answers patting the cushion that separates him and Price. Just enough room for you to fit. You lean forward to climb over Ghost's thigh, your hands hitting the cushion, carefully adding one knee, then the other. Your body grazes Ghost's as you move and he pulls his leg back up, his other hand lightly grazing the back of your calf.

"Fuck that view," comes a growl from Gaz behind you as you wiggle to settle on the couch on your knees facing Price. Ghost's hand slides up your spine for a second, his hands much more calloused and scarred. You arch like a cat at the touch and his hand finds the nape of your neck to pull a fist full of the hair there for a second. You bow back even more as he holds you there, your eyes watching Price.

"Pretty little thing," Price appraises before Ghost lets you go and you relax down a bit. "Don't let him scare you," he explains as his hand slides soothingly up your chest to your neck then your jaw. "We're just a bit older, bit more," he pulls you forward toward him and you instinctively reach a hand out to his leg to balance yourself. "Sure of what we want." He grins as you open your mouth a bit, breathing heavier as he lingers just out of your reach.

"She's soaked through her shorts," Ghost says casually and you feel the blush. You know you're on full display like this and when Ghost plucks at the fabric between your legs you pant, shutting your eyes for a second.

"Is that so?" Price asks you, his eyes locked on yours as if you were the only thing in the room. You nod, your fingers curling into his leg a bit as if you would tug yourself forward to close that gap. He knows what you want and without hesitation he kisses you, his hand sliding to the back of your head to hold you there.

You sigh happily into the kiss, tasting the Scotch and stale smoke there. You push into him, wanting more and he obliges, sweeping his tongue into your mouth and you whine. You wanted him, right now. You were tired of being teased and as you're about to climb onto his lap a hand grabs your thigh. As if Ghost knew what you were thinking. His hand slides up between your legs and he finally rubs you where you've been needing it the most.

You moan into Price's mouth at the touch and his hand tightens on you, keeping your head still as he abuses your lips. Ghost continues his rubbing, his hand big enough to slide along your core and clit at the same time. You try to rock back but Price holds firm and you whine again, the need for more eating at you.

"You didn't lie when you said she was needy," Ghost says from behind you and you hear Soap answer. You don't know what he says though, your heart pounding in your ears as Price grabs your wrist that is on his thigh to press your hand on the seam of his pants. He's hard and you hum rubbing him with the palm of your hand through the fabric. Price pushes back against your hand and you start fumbling for his button and zipper while he kisses you senseless.

"Go on then," Price says as he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours as you finally look down. You had managed to get them undone without seeing and you wrench at the hem of the pants down, Price lifting his hips to help. Fuck. He's not wearing any underwear and he's already so swollen his tip is a dark red, and leaking.

Still though, you pause, turning your head to look back at Soap from around your arm. He had asked for this, had given you full permission but it was still all so new. What if he changes his mind? What if it was a test? You catch his blue eyes and he gives you his lopsided smile, the one he always gave you when he was blissed out. You note that his own pants are undone as he watches and you smile back at him before turning your attention to Price.

You gently grab him, your thumb swiping over his head to smear the precum there. You hear a satisfied growl in Price's chest at that and you lean forward to just lick the slit. He jerks in your hand and you grin before leaning down to take him in your mouth. It's salty and he has a different musk than Soap, but it's still just as good. You slide your mouth further down, relaxing your throat as you slowly take him in inch by inch.

In this position you know your bottom is on full display and Ghost's hands make quick work of your shorts now. His fingers grab the hem and he yanks them down fast, letting them pool at your knees. You gasp then gag, he had ruined your concentration on what you were doing and Price laughs a bit. The air is cold on your soaked folds but you continue, sliding your mouth up a bit before Price's hand finds the back of your head and he pushes you back down.

Price holds you there, not letting you move as you will yourself not to gag at the prolonged intrusion. Ghost's hand is rubbing gently over your ass, up your back and back down again. He squeezes every now and then and you whine as his fingers glide over your bare core. He's not giving you what you want and you tense as he gets close again to which Price pushes your head down harder.

"She likes that," he says to Ghost and you whine, feeling drool escaping your lips as Ghost taunts you again. You attempt to rock back because damn it you need to be touched. That just earns you a sharp stinging slap across your ass. You rock forward from it and gasp indignantly before gagging once again.

"Fuck do that again," Price says and Ghost repeats it and you splutter, choking this time, your body visibly retching. "Wait," he says to Ghost, who must have raised his hand again for another sharp slap, before turning his attention back to you. "Breathe through your nose," Price instructs, his voice much gentler than his hands. "Relax darling," he adds as he feels your body trying to panic, "deep breath."

You do as he says, relaxing the death grip you had on his thighs as you had attempted to push away. The air makes it to your lungs and you feel the panic ebb away. Price lets his grip up on you so you can come back up and he puts a hand under your chin to get you to look at him.

"You good?" He asks, brushing some of the tears that had streamed out of your eyes. You hear Soap shift, muttering about a break but Price holds his hand up to him, waiting for your answer.

"I'm," you breathe for a second, "I'm good. Johnny, I'm okay," you reassure though you don't turn to look at him as Price holds your gaze. The older man searches your eyes for a second to make sure you aren't lying before he lets your chin go. "Good girl," he says and you feel yourself preen a bit. "Through the nose," he says again as a reminder before he balls all your hair up and forces you back down on him.

It's easier the second time, and you relax your throat again before anxiously waiting for Ghost to return to what he was doing. Price's free hand slides down your jaw, your throat before finding one of your breasts and squeezing. His grip is rougher than Gaz's had been and you huff a bit as you feel yourself begin to drool again. The anticipation for Ghost was almost too much before he finally gives you attention again.

The slap is dangerously close to your core and you take a sharp breath through your nose as you are rocked into Price's pubic bone. The cool air eases the sting and you prepare for the next one but it doesn't come. Instead Ghost's fingers finally slip, literally slip, through your folds causing you to gasp. The movement causes your throat to tighten which makes Price groan and push up into your mouth shoving him further down your throat.

"Jesus fuck," Soap groans out as he watches Ghost almost experimentally push a finger into you. You whine loudly at the unannounced intrusion but you don't mind. "She's fucking dripping," he bemoans and you know it's killing him to be over there.

"You're little bird likes a touch pain," Ghost answers simply, "I could tell," his voice is cocky. A second finger joins the first and he pumps you slowly and Price finally lets you up, pulling your hair a bit to start bobbing over him. You eagerly do as he instructs with his hand, needing to do something as Ghost twists his fingers in and out of you.

It's almost enough to put you over the edge. You grind back into Ghost's hand without thinking and he stops, pulling away, and you keen at the loss. Another slap across your ass comes down and you whine again before Ghost goes back to what he was doing before.

"Let me do my job while you do yours," Ghost instructs, "disobey again and I stop." You nod though you don't know if he sees.

Price keeps you moving on him, his other hand never letting up on it's brutal groping and pinching. He gives you a break after a bit, letting you breathe properly as you lick at him before he shoves you down again. He seems close, you can feel him twitching in you and you try to move faster but he stops you, pulling you off him completely to edge himself. With your mouth free Ghost slides your arousal over your clit.

You cry out loud at the feeling and feel your body shaking with the promise of a release. After all the teasing, the taunting to the edge then stopping, your body was almost demanding it. Ghost's fingers are deft as he rubs you, pushing up against you and almost grinding his hand over the spot.

"Please, right there," you finally whine out. "Please Simon," you try and you feel him still at the use of his name. No, no, no. That's not what you were going for. "Keep going," you ignore his stupid rule, since he had stopped anyway, and rock your hips on his hand. He doesn't pull away but he doesn't help you either.

"Johnny?" comes Ghost's voice sounding like a growl. It was a question, but also a warning. One last chance to end this before everything escalates.

"It's okay, LT," Soap says, his voice calm and reassuring. It's an odd power shift in the 141 dynamic, but in this situation you and Johnny have all the control over these men. "Go on, she's waiting for you." You can tell by the way he speaks he's smiling.

That final confirmation from Johnny is all it takes before Ghost reaches for you again.

#18+ only #18+ content #mdni #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #x female reader #x fem!reader #tf 141 x reader

[delopsia]

About Last Night | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,700  Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Virgin!Rhett, shameless childhood best friends to lovers trope, unprotected sex in a hotel room, loss of virginity, first kisses, reader teaching Rhett how to eat them out, and a lazy morning after snippet. A self-indulgent take on Rhett's best friend coming back to Wabang and surprising him after his final rodeo.

Someone's gone and replaced your flowers with cement replicas. Hundreds of pounds each, weighing heavier and heavier with every moment that passes. Brittle stems threaten to slip out of your sweaty grasp and shatter into a million tiny pieces. 

"What did you say?" His wavering words are so weak that you almost don't hear him speak at all. 

But you do. 

And repeating yourself is just as hard as it was the first time you opened your mouth. 

"Congratulations." 

Even from so far away, you can feel his gaze drop down to the colorful mess in your hands. Vivid hues of red and yellow, the dainty little petals still glistening from the sudden onset of rain. In hindsight, an umbrella would have been a good idea.

"You..." his head tilts back up, still not moving, "for...me?" Why is it that you already knew he would look behind himself, like someone better, more deserving, would be behind him?

You're glad you chose this spot to surprise him. Where it's dark, and the blinding stadium lights can't cast a spotlight on your contorting face as you scramble for words. Specific sounds that each carry their own unique meaning; all you need to do is open your mouth and make a noise. 

But you can't.

Maybe you don't need to, though. Because Rhett's feet are moving, boots audibly scuffing against the dirt because he's not picking them up high enough. Albeit, moving very slowly, as if you're not real, just a ghost of the past that'll turn into mist if he isn't careful. 

His heels dig into the ground a mere foot away from you. Like he's met the end of an invisible leash. Eyes back on the flowers, then you once more. "Sunflowers?" 

"And tulips," the words spill out of your mouth so quickly that you hardly know what you said, "you...told me a long time ago that sunflowers were your favorite." 

The red tulips only made their way into the bouquet because the florist had a shortage of sunflowers. It was either hand him an absurdly tiny bouquet of flowers or spruce it up with the same color tulips he gave you after graduation, way back when. Before you left.

Thunder rolls in the distance. Lightning flickers. Lights up the sky for the briefest instance. One fleeting shot of Rhett's face. Eyes so wet they shimmer. Dirt on his unshaven jaw. He reaches out. Doesn't take the flowers when you hold them out for him. No, he just...touches them. Like he's unsure if they're real. 

"You told me that you were never coming back to Wabang," it's almost strange to hear his voice this clearly. No longer muffled by a cell phone speaker. 

"I did," licking your lips, "but I never said I wouldn't come back for you." 

That... maybe you shouldn't have said that. All it's taken is those few words for this cowboy to go still again. Doesn't even blink. All he's capable of is staring back at you. Blank. No easy-going smile. No childish teasing. Hell. He doesn't even breathe.

Again, lightning flashes across the sky. Veins of light scattering and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Even so, you catch the upturn of the corner of Rhett's lip. Lopsided. Fighting its way across his face.

His hand is traveling. Across the petals. Down the stems. Right across your boiling hand and up your arm. Feather-light, never vanishing. Doesn't stop until those wandering fingertips brush across your cheek. 

All of a sudden, he's taking that last step forward. Closing the gap between your bodies. Thunder booms. Shaking the ground beneath your feat. Feels like a goddamn earthquake. But you can't think. Can't acknowledge the storm. Because Rhett's leaning in and. And. And—

"Just for me, huh?" His hot breath fans out against your lips. Noses bumping together. You've known this man your entire life. And yet. You don't recall ever being this close. But this. This. 

You've waited a lifetime for this. "Yeah."

That smile breaks across his face. The last push you need to lean in. 

You could never have imagined that Rhett Abbott's lips taste like strawberry chapstick.

It's only for a second, parting just as quickly as you'd met, eyes fluttering back open, even though you don't recall shutting them. But one kiss isn't enough. Not when Rhett's taking his hat off, pressing the brim of it flat against your shoulder blades, drawing you impossibly closer. Your arms find themselves winding around his neck as you meet him again, flowers draped haphazardly against his shoulder, long forgotten.

The storm is beginning to rage again, but all you're capable of comprehending is Rhett's mouth. Rhett's bitten lips and the barely there divot in the bottom left corner of them; remnants of a scar with a story that pains you to recall. Warm fingers grasp at your jaw, careful and delicate, keeps you grounded between every fleeting kiss. Each beginning before you've realized it; fleeting, too quick for your liking.

Maybe it's the kiss-drunk frustration that has your free hand moving, or maybe it's moving on its own; seizes that scruffy chin all the same. Two-day-old stubble scrapes against your palm as you hold him still to kiss him proper. The way you've been yearning for years.

Tiny, hard bullets strike at your exposed skin, bringing with them a rain so cold it stings. Your once quiet world dissolves into mind-numbing noise as hail bounces off of tin roofs and cracking pavement. 

"Hang onto me," Rhett murmurs against your lips, so close but so hard to hear. He's stepping forward, carting you backward, leaving you with the choice to cling to his shoulders or fall. Doesn't stop until your back is hitting a cold building wall, your body shielded by the overhang of the roof. 

"But the hail is still hitting you." Your lips are moving, but you can't hear what you're saying, not under this metal roof. There isn't enough room under it to cover him, too, not in this position; sleet striking against those broad shoulders, hail bouncing off his backside and landing by your feet.

He's tilting his hat back up, settling it right atop that soaked, tangled mop of hair. "Don't care." 

Oh, how his mouth fits against yours so perfectly. A surging tide of warmth in this mind-numbingly cold rain, the only thing keeping you from being whisked away by the howling wind. Teeth nip at your lower lip with gentle tugs that have you gasping into his wickedly talented mouth. Even the stubble that scratches at your skin can't stop you from leaning into it; discomfort be damned. 

Rhett's hands are everywhere, running up your hips, pressing into the space between your shoulder blades, curling around your jaw, tightening around your waist. So frenzied that you're distracted by their roaming until that hot, wet tongue laps against yours, and all of a sudden, you can't breathe. 

"Fuck," he gasps; it's hard to feel so guilty about needing air when he's open-mouthed, panting like a dog in the summer sun. 

Even the trembling that's settled into your hands can't stop you from trying to pull him closer, not a centimeter of space between your panting bodies. And God is Rhett trying his best to give you that; presses you flat against the wall, heaving chest bumping against yours whilst a wayward leg steps between yours—

"Ah." 

Fuck, was that you?

Rhett's thigh shifts, has another one of those sounds boiling up in your throat as it unintentionally grinds against your core. A soft pressure that you're fighting the urge to grind against; barely there but enough to have your heart rate spiking.

"Shit," Rhett's eyes have gone wide, the whites of them flashing in the poor lighting. "Did I hurt you?" 

Oblivious.

Completely, utterly oblivious. 

"'m sorry," his muttering barely audible, already beginning to reel backward, "I didn't...did I overstep?" 

Words would work just as well, but instead of opening your mouth, you find yourself stepping forward. Clinging to his wet shoulders for balance as you slot your thigh between his and raise it. Just high enough to press against that hardness that's formed in his jeans, straining against its confines. 

Those eyelashes of his flutter, eyes rolling back for the briefest second. "Oh."

As the thunder rolls once more, his thighs flex, muscles contracting beautifully as he draws your leg harder against him. You're not even getting any attention, and yet the sensation of him grinding down against you is enough to have a shiver rattling down your spine. He's leaning back in, still panting as your lips brush together once more. 

A siren pierces the air. A steady wail that has your skin prickling. Rhett's arms tighten. Drawing you into his chest. As if he can protect you from a potential tornado. 

"'ve gotta hotel down the road," he starts; between the storm and the siren, you're lucky you hear him at all, "do you maybe..."

He doesn't need to finish his sentence before you're nodding your head.

Your back hits the door so hard that the frame rattles. A sound that should be so quiet and yet sounds like it's being blasted through a megaphone, echoing down the hallway. You should be opening your eyes, looking around to see if anyone's heard it, but it's so hard to focus when Rhett's teeth graze your lips like that. 

He hardly expects you to chase him when he retreats, eagerly nipping at that thin bottom lip, gently tugging. You're not sure if it's meant to be a warning or a tease, but he's gasping into your mouth all the same. 

Next to you, his hand fumbles with the lock on the door, plastic card bumping into everything in its path on its way to swipe through the reader. Slides through once. Twice. Three times. 

No dice.

"Are you sure it's the right key?" 

"Well," drawing away, he looks over to the card reader. Tries again. Same result. "...It worked earlier." 

A shrill beep cuts through the air. And all of a sudden, you're moving backward. Treading blindly through unfamiliar territory. Unnatural gait making it hard to keep your lips on Rhett's for more than a second at a time. Broken with every step. Teeth clattering together. Feet tangling. Shoes coming off. Landing God knows where. 

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, but Rhett's still moving; all it takes is the slightest collision of bodies, and you're falling back onto the mattress. Not as gracefully as you'd like, but thankfully, Rhett can't see it. Eyes closed as he reaches behind his head, hooking his thumb under the collar of his shirt and tugging it over his head. 

You need a drink.

Or five. 

Because since when did Rhett Abbott look like he was hand sculpted by the Gods? From the moment you catch sight of the hard lines of his stomach, you know you're in trouble. And that shirt just has to rise higher, slowly revealing the swell of his chest. The biggest part of him; wide, with muscles that look big and pillowy until they flex. 

And the dull, golden lighting from the bedside lamp does nothing but cast deep shadows against where he's most defined; the fruit of a lifetime of manual labor. Built for purpose rather than appearance. Moving back out to Wabang suddenly doesn't sound so bad, not if you get to see this every day.

"I know I'm..." Rhett's reaching up, pawing a hand through his unruly hair, poorly conceals the redness that's blossomed in the tips of his ears. "Not much to look at, but..."

"I'd beg to differ." It's out of your mouth before you can realize it. Now it's your turn to sheepishly look at the wall, unwilling to let Rhett catch the horror flaming in your eyes, gaze trained on the wall.

The bed dips as he sinks down onto it, knees settling between your parted legs, slowly but surely crawling up until your faces are mere inches apart once more. Even the flexing of muscles in your peripheral cannot bring you away from your sudden interest in the tacky floral pattern the hotel has chosen for its wallpaper. 

But the kisses being peppered across your cheek definitely threatens to break your resolve.

"Hey." Kiss. "D'you wanna look at me?" Kiss. "Hm?"

You're turning to meet that next kiss, neck straining as you twist to catch those swollen lips of his. In the back of your head, you have a sneaking suspicion that yours must be in a similar state. On their own, your legs are rising, thighs hitching over his hip bones like they're meant to be shelved there. 

Thunder strikes the ground with a heavy fist, but even the earsplitting noise can't distract you from the way Rhett's hips grind down into yours. Jeans doing little to stop you from feeling the length of him, hard against your clothed cunt. Has you whining into his mouth, rising to meet him on the next roll downward. A wayward hand toys with the hem of your shirt, fingers delving just far enough to brush against skin before retreating as if you've burned him. 

"It's alright," Without a second thought, you're reaching down, taking hold of his wrist, guiding it back, "You can touch me."

"'S this my ol' shirt?" He says it as if he doesn't already know the answer, words vibrating against your lips, whilst his hand cautiously smooths up your side. Blunt nails dragging against your skin, stopping just short of the swell of your breasts. Shy. 

"No," you giggle, "I just happen to have a shirt identical to the one I hijacked from your closet." Funny; it feels like it was just yesterday. Two dumb teenagers ditching prom to go joyriding around town because their dates sucked, their clothes were too stiff, and the music was one step away from Kids Bop. 

"Looks good on you," He's humming, thumb swiping back and forth at the sensitive skin beneath your breast; not stepping that line yet, but debating. "'M sure the fella who gave it to ya was a lot more fun than the noname who got his knickers 'n a twist 'cause your dress didn't match his tie." 

You're sure you'd remember that guy's name if your attention wasn't already preoccupied with the feeling of endless muscle beneath your palms. Smoothing up Rhett's chest, stopping short of a tattoo and a scar. 

"You can touch me, cowboy," you say, and it's almost a little ironic that you're giving him permission to touch your breasts, considering the heavy cock languidly rolling against you, "I don't mind." 

Lightning flickers outside the window, just bright enough to cast a little more light on the way his eyebrows raise. "Are you sure?" 

All it takes is your shallow nod, and finally, his big, rough palm is gliding over your chest; he's not even done anything, and you're gasping. So distracted that you're caught off guard by the lips that catch yours, swallowing down your noises as a thumb swirls over a rapidly hardening nipple. 

On its own, one of your hands delves into those messy curls resting at his nape, tangling in them, pulling him down into you. His insistent mouth draws yours open, drowns you in remnants of strawberry chapstick and the vanilla candy he sucked on when he drove you here. Doesn't stop, even when your head is spinning. 

His tongue meets with yours; such a sudden appearance that you both startle as if you've been struck by a bolt of lightning for crossing such a boundary. 

You shouldn't be here; you shouldn't be beneath Rhett Abbott, shouldn't have your legs hitched over his hips, but kissing him is so natural. Easy.  Like you were always meant to be wind up here, your hands in childhood best friend's hair and his disappearing beneath the shirt you so shamelessly took from his closet all those years ago. Maybe there was a truth to those undying rumors that once followed you like a plague. 

There's a tug on the edge of your shirt, and it's a damn miracle you're able to tear your mouth off of his long enough to get it over your head. 

"Fuck," Rhett's eyes downright sparkle at the sight of you, "ain't you just beautiful." 

One kiss. Two. Three. Before he's nibbling at the junction of your jaw, working his way down to the soft spot beneath your ear, and all you're capable of is twisting your fingers in the waves of his hair. Silky soft, still damp from the rain. It's all you can do to keep yourself from floating out the window, feeling those wandering lips kiss their way down to your collarbones. Teeth nip at them, threaten to leave a mark, but never quite do. 

"This okay?" He murmurs, somewhere in between kissing, licking, his way to the valley between your breasts.

There's more to that statement because he's still talking, but you're already answering him, "More than okay."

Fuck, his mouth is boiling. Tongue like lava as it tentatively laps over your nipple, saliva threatening to burn right through you. It's all you can focus on, sinful noise rolling out of your throat long forgotten. Back and forth, he rolls that delicate skin between his teeth until he's retreating to shower his attention on the other.

"Rhett," gasping, tugging at his hair, "fuck, Rhett."

"You make my name sound like sin, sweetheart," his chuckle vibrates through your bones like the thunder that rattles this old building, "y' gettin' impatient on me?" 

Impatient? Fuck, you think you could die happy just with this. 

But he's taking your needy huff as a yes, and you can't complain, not when his hands are sliding down either side of your waist, kissing a trail down your belly. Only interrupted by the waistband of your pants, but those thick fingers are quick to curl beneath.

When you don't tell him no, he tugs. You've hardly got the strength to raise your hips off the mattress, too preoccupied with the wet spot that's long since formed at the forefront of his jeans. Don't get to see it for long because the moment your pants hit the floor, he's thumbing open his belt buckle, the old metal rattling as he tugs those tight jeans past his thighs and down his legs.

You don't recall him having so many scars littered across those long legs of his, pale white with age. One of those things you've missed out on, you suppose. 

As he settles back between your legs, running a palm up your thigh, there's a different air about him. Hesitation in his breath, bottom lip caught between pearly white teeth. Those eyes flicker up to you, almost...bashful. "'S this a bad time to admit I've never done this before?" 

Huh. 

"You mean to tell me that you look like that," you're reaching up to flick your thumb over his dusky pink nipple just to see him jump, "and nobody has tried to jump your bones yet?" 

"I...yeah, but...I only," he stammers, cheeks ablaze, can't meet your eye, "wanted...you."

The power flickers while you curl your hand around his cheek, feeling the roughness of his jaw under your palm as he leans into it. In the back of your head, you know that you'll have to talk about these feelings eventually; the ones he's so shamelessly brandished in your absence, the same ones you've avoided, fearing the heartache of unrequited love. 

But right now, all you're capable of is smiling dumbly as you lean up to kiss him. "I'll teach you," murmuring against his lips, "but you'll have to promise not to share those new skills with anyone else."

Rhett's sudden grin has your teeth clacking together. "I can work with that." He's got a pretty good start, already toying with the hem of your underwear by the time you lay back once more, obediently pulling them down your legs when you lift your hips for him. 

"C'n I...?" Deep blues trained on the sight between your legs, teeth worrying that poor, abused bottom lip.

You think he's about to start drooling.

At your encouraging nod, one of his hands falls onto your bare knee, parts your legs the slightest bit. Slow, as if you'll stop him if he moves too quickly; he leans down to press his lips to the inside of your knee. Kissing, down the delicate flesh of your thigh, unafraid to leave a shower of faint marks in his wake. Marks who have the potential to blossom into dark bruises come morning. 

Long hair cascades into his face the lower he goes; it's so easy to reach down and run your fingers through it, tangling as your hand comes to rest on the back of his head. Seems to be the only thing encouraging him to move on from your inner thigh. 

Hot breath fans out against your cunt, his mouthing hanging open, but doesn't quite have the nerve to move yet. "And you'll tell me if I do something wrong?"

For a moment, you think you catch a glimpse of that old, shy kid he used to be. The one who preoccupied himself with drawing circles into the dirt with his boot because he couldn't handle making eye contact with you. "Yeah."

This old hotel room is so quiet that you can hear the wet, barely-there sound of his mouth opening, pink tongue poking out. Then he's leaning down, licking a tentative, fat stripe up your cunt. Pauses right above your clit, and when you don't voice any complaints, licks back down. It's not much, but you're sucking in a deep breath anyway. 

He's trying. Eyebrows furrowed as he maps you out, lapping gingerly at your entrance, the only thing he seems to be generally familiar with. He's a little more confident as he nuzzles closer and slips that careful tongue inside of you. The tip of his nose brushes against your clit, such a soft contact that has you whining. 

Fuck, you can't tell if the quickening of your heart is from his mouth or if it's brought on by how he blinks up at you with those curious ocean blues. Knows he's doing something right because he's rising back up to where his nose was just bumping into you. 

"This shit's hard when you can't see what you're doing," he chuckles directly into you, doesn't seem to realize his lips are brushing against your clit as he speaks. 

The hand in his hair reaches down, taking hold of that scruffy jaw of his, "Right..." lifting him just a smidge higher; fuck, now he's found it, "here." 

Humming, Rhett's eyes flutter closed, pressing lazy, wet kisses to your newly-located clit. Takes it between his lips just to delicately roll it back and forth, sends a delicious shiver right up your spine. 

"Rhett," whining his name. Fighting the urge to squirm against the mattress. 

Maybe you made a mistake by helping him. Because now that he's found your clit, he's not giving it a moment's rest. Drawing intelligible shapes into it with his tongue, ventures away just long enough to make you think he's done, then returns with a surprising, sloppy vengeance. Downright drooling into you, drenching you so thoroughly that the fingers nudging at your entrance slide in with ease. 

Albeit muffled, the sound of your name meets your ringing ears, "fuck, you taste good." Soft noises rumbling out of him, eyelashes fanned out against his cheeks so prettily. 

It's as if that initial shyness has completely melted off of him, downright collapses against the bed. Free arm hooking around your thigh and grounding you doesn't let you squirm away from the two thick fingers sliding into you. Deliberate in the way they hook, massaging against your walls in search of something he knows is there.

Your hips twitch. 

"That it?" Lord, he really has no issue speaking into your pussy, doesn't he? Doesn't care that his deep voice sends a wave of tingles burning up into your chest. All he's focused on is laving his dumb, hot tongue over that swollen bud and teasing that sweet spot he's found. 

Abrupt hail beats against the window, wind screams as it whips around the building, so loud that your gasp is rendered inaudible. There could be a tornado outside your door, and all you can care about is prying your eyes open to look at Rhett fucking Abbott. Tongue hanging out, curls framing the sight of him buried between your legs. 

Heat grows in your lower belly. An invisible coil winding tighter and tighter. Fuck, you're, you're—

"Please," struggling for air, your voice strained, "stop." 

Everything goes black.

But your eyes are...open. 

"Fuckin' hate this town," Rhett mutters under his breath, the faintest whisper of his voice; your giggle is louder than his words. "Hold on, think I got a light."

The bed rises as he clambers off of it, taking with him his ever-so-warm presence. Leaves you to shift against the bed, blinking dumbly as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Oh, how you have not missed the joy of Wabang power outages. 

Something small hits the bed, rolls until it bumps against your naked hip. Feels like some sort of tube, not the flashlight you were expecting. 

"Did you get lost?" You croak, twisting your head to look in the corner next to the bed. Where the hell did he go?

"'m down here." It's hard to catch, but there's sudden movement down by your feet. That old belt buckle chimes as Rhett riffles through his jeans. The sound stops. And then. Light. 

"Forgot this dumb phone had a flashlight in it," he's yet to outgrow that sheepish grumble, light bouncing as he meanders to the bedside table. The phone doesn't create much light at all, hardly illuminates the room when he places it down, but it's enough. Even if it casts heavy shadows across Rhett's body, right down to...

"Good lord."

Rhett's attention snaps back to you. "What?"

But you...will be keeping your thoughts to yourself. Maybe the light is playing tricks on you. Because there is no way he's that well endowed. Thicker more than anything, cock leaning to the left, flushed red tip shiny and leaking against his hip. 

The lube resting against your hip is about to become your best friend here in a minute. 

"What?" He repeats, the corner of his lip rising as he settles back down on the bed, back in his place between your legs. God, his chin is dripping from you. Shimmering in the light. "'s there a monster lurkin' in here with us?"

"Yes," and you will not be elaborating. 

That halfway smile explodes into a dopey grin. Seems to know what you're referring to as he reaches for that neglected bottle of lube. 

It's not a trick of the light. The size of him never miraculously changes, even as that big hand of his strokes a generous amount of lube over himself. Explains why he drizzles more over his fingers, pushes them back into you once more with a sickly wet sound. 

"D'you need more, first?" He asks. The both of you fully aware that even though he's got three fingers in you now, pumping into you in slow, careful strokes, it may not be enough. 

It takes you a moment to decide, "I think I'm alright."

One of his hands falls down by your side, muscles rippling as he braces his weight on it, while the other...

The first kiss of his cockhead against your pussy has you gasping. Doesn't quite jump into pushing into you, instead pushing upward, spreading your lips around him as he rubs against you. 

Your mouth opens, ready to hurry him up, but he's already heard what you're going to say. 

"I know," he chirps, eyes rolling, "I know."

There's a newfound pressure between your legs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your delicate, dripping entrance. Pushing past that twitching ring of muscle, a pair of gasps dancing through the air, can't quite tell who made which sound.

Rhett's swearing under his breath, little incantations of filthy words that somehow don't measure up to how obscene it feels to stretch open around him. Lube audibly squishes as you struggle to relax and take that cock of his.

"Fuck," he's barely got the tip of himself inside of you, and he's already crumbling. Unable to sit upright anymore, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, muscles downright shivering. "'re you okay, doll?" His hips stalling.

"Keep moving, cowboy." You don't know when you started reaching up, but your arms are looping around Rhett's neck, drawing him down to meet your lips. Short. Messy. Can't close your mouth for more than a second at a time. 

It's hard to recall what gave you so much confidence to begin with because it's long since washed away by the drag of his blunt head against your walls. So thick that he rubs right past that sensitive bundle of nerves, you don't recognize the sound it draws out of your bitten lips. Thighs fluttering, clamping down on those strong hips of his, unable to so much as squirm. All you can do is whimper and take it. 

"C'n feel you flutterin' 'round me," he grunts against your lips, voice breathy. It's hard to even voluntarily clamp down around him, all to watch his head jolt backward, eyes falling closed. So, so sensitive, and he's only halfway in you. "Fuck, sweetie."

His head drops into your neck, breath warming the skin there, unintentionally gives you a picture-perfect view of his back. A myriad of smooth muscles flexing under the effort of keeping himself up as he pushes into you. So captivating that you hardly realize he's long since quit moving, hips flush with yours.

It's hard to breathe. As if you can't get enough air into your lungs. Nerves wound so tight you fear they'll snap if Rhett so much as twitches inside of you. 

"You okay?" His voice sounds so different, an octave lower, gravelly, unruly hair hanging low in his face as he lifts his head.

Involuntarily, you clench down around him. A little flex of muscle that has the both of you closing your eyes. "I think so." 

By the time he works up the courage to draw back, the arms bracketing your head are shaking. Maybe you'd have the nerve to tease him if that first shallow thrust into you didn't effectively erase every thought from your head. You can't tell if it's beginner's luck or an advantage of being so thick, but he massages against your sweet spot so nicely. 

Your hands are sliding down his pale back, nails biting into the muscle there, "just like that."

"Yeah?" You've forgotten how wonderful that cocky tone sounds on him. He's drawing back a little further this time, albeit slow on that second, careful push back into you. Like he'll break you if he moves too quickly.

Countless times you've pictured this exact scenario in your head; two of you tangled up in a hotel room bed, crossing the one line you were told not to. Steamy dreams depicting a man who fucks you up against the wall, unafraid to take what's his, and whistful daydreams of a cowboy who treats you like royalty as he makes a mess of you.

Never once did this manifest in your thoughts. 

His lips ghosting over your features, unable to stay in one place too long. Shamelessly fucks you slow on this thick cock of his, works his way up to deep strokes that make your nails bite into his skin, drowning in the wet drag that makes you feel every inch of him. Outside, the storm rages on, a chaos of noises that these old walls fail to muffle.

But it's still too quiet. 

Lightning flickers outside. Lights up the room as you reach out to pry his lip out from between his teeth. 

"I wanna hear you," you murmur, squeezing your legs around his hips. 

Rhett's eyes avert; can't look you in the eye, despite being so deep inside of you that you can feel his heavy balls pressing into your skin. "Shits embarrassin'."

"It's just me, dummy," as if to emphasize your words, you're leaning up to catch his lips in your own. Unwilling to let him stifle his noises any longer, swallowing down the reluctant whines you draw right out of him. 

Such a simple sound that has you clamping down around his cock, downright shivering around him. Only serves to illicit a breathy whimper of your name, starts a downward spiral that you don't think you'll ever come back from.

Your dominant hand is reaching down, fingertips finding your swollen, nearly forgotten clit. A particularly hard thrust has you breaking away from his lips, head hitting the mattress with a soft cry. That initial slowness is starting to fray at the seams, and you don't think you're going to survive it.

"Rhett," your voice is strained, barely there.

Deliberate, he repeats it. A wet noise tearing through the room. Once. Twice. Until he's finding a rhythm, strokes punctuated by his breathy gasps for air and pitchy noises. You don't know if it's the sound of him or the delicious way his fat cockhead kisses that little bundle of nerves, but a familiar heat is blooming in your belly regardless.

"'M sorry, I can't help myself," Rhett sputters, words nearly lost to the obscene squelch between your legs. Lube and your own wetness creating a downright mess. "Feel so fuckin' good 'round me."

Every thrust has your body rocking against the bed, almost can't keep your fingers on your tingling clit. It's a fight just to find your voice."Fuck you like you mean it, Rhett."

When you said that, you hadn't expected him to lean back onto his haunches, big palms splaying around your hips, as he fucks into you with purpose. This cheap mattress is starting to squeak, loud enough to be heard in the room next to yours, but you're so preoccupied with the sight between your legs that you can't be brought to care.

His cell phone light casts just enough light for you to catch sight of his thick cock disappearing between your legs. So wet that it's shiny, catching in the light and drawing your eyes back to it every time you go to look away. Powerless to stop him from fucking you how he wants, bullying those sensitive nerves until you're lightheaded, head rolling backward. 

"Close," Rhett warns. If you knew where your voice went, you'd be muttering much of the same. 

You find yourself fluttering around him again, heat tightening in your belly as he all but collapses on top of you. Face buried in your neck once more, deep, guttural sounds spilling into your skin as the rhythm of his hips begins to falter. Twitchy. Thrusts shortening. Rhett's name is tumbling off your lips. The fingers on your clit growing shaky. Legs clenching around him. 

"Rhett," supposed to be a warning. Something. Anything. 

But it's too late. Pointless. Without further warning, your body goes taut. Back arching, shaking, as that heat spreads and washes over you, cumming around Rhett's spasming cock with a strangled cry. Can feel his hips stall against yours, his whimpered cry muffled by your shoulder. 

Distantly, you're aware of how full you still are. Know that he hasn't pulled out in the slightest, cock twitching as his sticky, hot cum fills you. That's probably another line you weren't supposed to cross, but to hell with it. 

The darkness behind your eyelids suddenly isn't so dark anymore. And as you pry them open, you find yourself nearly blinded. 

Seems the power came back. 

Rhett's already beginning to peel his sweaty body away from yours, albeit at a snail's pace. Fixated on the obscene sight of where your bodies connect, so wet that one of you will likely need to change the sheets after this. The light of his phone was decent, but the bedside lamp properly illuminates him. Cheeks pink, lips so bitten you're surprised he hasn't drawn blood.

"Didn't mean to..." he pants, voice barely there, "didn't mean to cum inside you." Those and of his are moving your legs on their own, parting them, gives himself a better view as he slowly pulls out of you. "I think can see the appeal, though."

And as his eyes flick up to drink up your expression, corner of his lip rising, the thought of cleanup doesn't sound so bad.

You don't recall your bed ever being this warm. 

Or...lumpy, for that matter. 

This isn't your bed.

But even so, opening your eyes is a tremendous task that you take on as slowly as you can. Taking a deep breath, feeling the stiff sheets move with your body, nose catching a hint of coffee and something fresh, crisp. Identical to the Autumn breeze that filters through Wabang every year, used to nip at your skin as you waited on that slow school bus to pick you and Rhett up. 

Your eyes snap open. A switch flipped.

This isn't your bed. 

And this isn't your childhood bedroom, either. 

This hotel room is familiar, though. Tacky, from the wallpaper to the choice of decor. Bed frame built to appear as if it's been constructed by scrap pieces of chopped wood, an iron sign of a momma bear and her cubs hanging on the wall behind your head. So painfully trademark of Wabang that it hurts. 

There are flowers on the bedside table. Familiar red tulips and vivid yellow sunflowers precariously placed in a thin, plastic cup. A second cup sits on top of the first, upside down, the bottom crudely cut out for the stems to fit through it. A makeshift support. You recognize that craftmanship. As if your thoughts have manifested his appearance, the bathroom door squeals open. 

There he is. 

Severely lacking a shirt, in nothing but his old, sun-bleached jeans, the longer ends of his hair tied back into a small ponytail. His left-hand nurses a cup of coffee, and the right, carefully supported by an off-white brace. That wrist never really did heal the same, another one of those free rodeo trophies. 

"Mornin, sleepy head," he chirps, and the roughness in his voice suggests he hasn't been up for long, "thought you'd never wake up."

"My dignity can't take dying in a tacky hotel room," you don't recognize your voice. Strangely raw. 

Sitting up requires some effort. Body still half-asleep, limbs downright useless as you drag yourself up from the mattress to take a better look around the room. Are those...your clothes on the floor?

Images flash through your head. Blurry, there and gone in the blink of an eye. Memories flood back into the forefront of your mind like a bad dream. What did you do? Why did you do it? There's absolutely no going back from this—

The bed dips as Rhett settles onto the edge of the mattress. And though you're searching for a hint, a suggestion, of regret, you fail to find it. He's all meek smiles and red ears as he leans over to place his cup on the table. Flashing a series of marks on his back, pale pink in color. 

His good hand comes down to squeeze your knee through the comforter, just like it always does. "About last night..."

You don't regret it. And by the looks of it, neither does he. Has no problem locking eyes with you; something unknown burning behind those deep blue eyes as teeth sink into his thin bottom lip. Lips you would give both your kidneys just to kiss one more time. As you drag your attention away from his mouth, your eyes meet once more. 

The corner of his lip draws upward. 

You don't know who moves first. All you know is that you're surging forward, he's catching your needy mouth in his, and you're falling back into the sheets as one. Hands exploring, pawing at what little clothing dares get between you, hearts aching for more, more, more.

Words can wait a little longer. 

#rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #ao3 oneshot #oneshot #rhett abbott outer range #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #reader self insert #self insert #x reader #reader insert

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

A Night In Nice

Chapter Three

Based on this ask and made into a separate post due to being two parts

Rated Explicit | Warning: light choking, body worship, virgin norton

Ao3

Chapter Two

The bedroom is the simplest part of the house. A bed, two dressers, a mirror beside the dresser, and a window to gaze outside to the backyard. The moonlight graces the room mixing with the dim gas ceiling light. Standing in front of one another, you know to take your time with him. The kiss you shared is telling enough: he never did this before.

It… Sweet to know you will be his first.

Norton wants to do this properly on the bed, comfortable and private with only the witnesses being you and himself.

His suggestion quickly followed for the table might not be able to handle the lovemaking about to happen.

Or is it supposed to happen— His anxiety kicked in suddenly realizing what you are about to see. He swore he was ready, ready to kiss away every trace of another man's touch on you forever, to slip this ring on your finger while inside of you.

Until he stood here now fearful to be naked.

“It's the scars, isn't it?” Stopping the second his hands grip yours in panic, a few buttons undone revealing part of his skin. “They are beautiful, Norton.” He frowns at those words. “Can I show you how beautiful you are?” He seems unsure but nods as he releases your hands.

Each button undone, pulls the tucked part of the shirt out of his pants, he takes it off slowly. 

Shirtless, the light hides nothing from your gaze.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.” The most it gets itchy when wears certain fabrics or when he has nightmares. Phantom pains are rare these days.

You touch the top center of his chest, his heart racing against your hand. “I love you. Thank you for trusting me.” His breath nearly stops as your hand slides down his chest. The button of his pants is undone with two fingers, “Take these off for me then lay down?”

He follows your directions though he sits on the edge of the bed unable to completely not feel less anxiety.

“Can I show you how beautiful you are, Norton?”

He nods, it is a lie when he still covers the scar on his face with his hair. It is a touchy subject, one you try to tell him when glares at his reflection how beautiful he is. Not just handsome, beautiful like the way someone calls a diamond when it shimmers in the light.

“Words, my love.”

“Yes.” Breathy, deep, his eyes widen seeing what you are doing.

The mirror moved in the front bed, you crawled behind him wearing only your smalls. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.”

Norton can see and feel your hands trace the outline of his arms, your lips on the side of his back covered by scars from the blast. Each touch sends a shiver down his spine straight to his cock. The rise and fall of his chest felt up by your hands, he groaned at the way you groped his pecs. Your teeth bite into the damaged skin and for the first time, he learns it is sensitive. His eyes are not on the wandering hands mapping him out but on your hooded eyes that stare at him through the mirror, it is akin to a panther stalking its prey.

A thrill as his cock twitches with eagerness, with laboring breathing as your hand squeezes digging nails and dragging them downward leaving angry red marks in its wake. He hums when you play with his nipple, hips jerking up when he feels your other hand on his thigh rubbing up and down before slipping towards his inner thigh.

“How do you feel, love?” A sweet purr of your voice close to his ear.

“Good.” Your nails dig into his chest, “Harder.” Said when you bite into his shoulder.

You smile and start marking every part you can reach, “That’s a start.” Spoken against his skin, savoring him, making sure he feels the buzzy of desire first. “Be vocal for me.”

The reflection of his confusion changes immediately when your index finger traces the clear outline of his defined cock. Norton is by no means small, you know you will need some prep before even attempting to fit half of him inside of you. It has… Been a while for you.

“Shit.” Cursing out a groan as you use your nails to tease the poor man, “Touch me.” He had fantasies about you back then. Any man at the mines would have given you were the only woman there. On lonely cold nights when his mind raced with too many troubles, the easiest way to tire himself out without going to the mines was to exhaust himself. Not an ideal jerk placed himself in the quarters he slept in, yet, most of the men either slept at the brothel or were too drunk to notice him.

It was quick, a few good strokes and he would cum to the idea of you sucking him off. Not really creative when it came to his fantasies honesty, all of it was straightforward.

“(Name),” The tossed-off long johns, “Fuck.” His brain was drawing blanks on what to say when your hand is pumping his cock so differently than he did, your hand barely fits around it too. Hot, hotter than he ever thought.

You lick the shell of his ear, tease his nipple, and stroke building him up; all captured in the reflection you had him stare into. “Beautiful,” You mean it, “I don't think I could handle sleeping another night without touching you.” Desire, raw, you express it using yourself as the brush and him the canvas. 

His cock is hard now, weeping precum, his hair sticking to his face as he gets worked up. Your rhythm is evil, going slow then suddenly picking up speed nearly knocking the wind out of him, only going back a slow pace. His hands grip the edge of the bed, his body leaning slightly forward, his eyes squeeze shut as his mouth is agape as lungs are working hard to keep him breathing.

Your body weight on Norton’s back, “Relax, relax, love.” Your other moves to rub his back, your stroke going to a stop when he started wheezing. “Easy, take it slow.” He misses the warmth of your hand on his cock even if his chest is killing him.

There would be tears in his eyes from how gentle you are with him, supportive by being there simply with your presence, loved even if he believes himself a monster.

When he finally can breathe again, you ask something of him.

“Are you able to lay down for me?”

“Yes.” It might be better to expand his chest he figures.

The bed creeks as you get up and move in front of him and Norton shifts to lie completely on the bed. His body aches to be touched again, to feel your hands all over him, yet he wants to return the favor.

“(Name), I want—” 

“Soon, I promise.” Crawling up the bed to hover above him, he swears he is gazing upon an angel.

There is no rush, you told him this. There is no need for him to push himself, you assured him of this. But he is a prideful man and you will not deny him when he gives such a desperate-- a hungry and merciful pleading look. The worship you gave to him from head to toe and the places in between have made him jittery, excited, and itching to have his way with you. The darker part of him that refuses to submit, to be gazing up at you.

Norton all his life has been forced to crane his neck at the rich and powerful. Forced to bend his back, to dig tirelessly in the earth, to poison his lungs, to fight to keep his scraps, to— “Norton.”

Your voice pulls him out of the dark fog that took over his mind for a brief moment, his eyes blinking A few times then focusing on you under him.

“Looked in a daze.” Your hand moves behind his head and pulls him further down, touching foreheads, “It's okay. You have me.” 

He has you, they have you.

The kiss is heated, consuming, with teeth, as the former prospector— Your soon-to-be husband, feasting on you like a starved man.

His hands are everywhere, studying and mapping out the body he hated at times sleeping next to you. Smelling you long when you are in deep sleep, longing with the ache to touch you. Killing him to not take you, killing him.

Your moans are music to his ears, the way you gasp, smirking when you cling and scratch his biceps. Though inexperienced, Norton knows the linguistics of where to touch you. The miners shared their tales of conquest like a badge of honor, most sounded like hot air being blown though.

“Curl them,” Softly telling him how to please you, “Norton, right there!” As he finds your g-spot, that part inside of that he is excited to use against you. “Oh!” Edging your orgasm until his face is between your legs. Then you see stars, your body falling apart, hands tugging at the dark fluff of his hair, your cries of bliss saying his name.

To say it took all night would not be a joke, of course, you both have the rest of your lives to have many chances to bed each other but at this moment it is like opening a door you both have been walking past.

When Norton finally entered you, the union completed, he did not move immediately.

The stillness gave you time to adjust to, God help you, very gifted cock. Filling you and the slightest movement have you whining needing everything. Everything that is him.

His lips on yours, cheeks, your neck; your neck and breasts littered with hickeys.

His hand creeps up then wraps around your throat, he so badly to ruin you.

“Like this.” Adjusting his finger placement then grinning, “I won't break.”

“We'll see.”

Oh, he groans at the way your cunt squeezes around him clearly stating your excitement.

One arm holding himself up, the other applying pressure and his hips setting the fast and hard pace. Mercilessly and hellbent on ruining you completely and only for him.

You both are early birds, old habits. This morning, afternoon now, neither of you got up from bed. Norton’s weight is comforting, his skin on yours, his snoring muffled by him burying himself under the blankets and your breasts.

The cats outside are meowing, the birds singing, and the wind rustling the trees.

A happy ending. That is what this is, a fairytale happy ending achieved and living through together.

#reader insert #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #idv prospector #identity v x reader #identity v #idv x you #idv reader insert #idv x reader #idv norton #norton campbell x reader #norton campbell #norton campbell x you

[cherrieflavouredheadcanons]

Lover behind bars

Summary: Set after 4.0. You visit Childe in Fontaines prison, unsure of how to react to the fact that your lover is behind bars. You know he is innocent but Fontaines juridical system is convoluted, what if he gets punished as if he was guilty?

CW: None Cross posted to AO3 GN Reader Spoilers for 4.0

Walking down the stairs of Fontaines prison, being led by a guard you thought back on how you got into this situation.

It started when you wanted to visit Childe on his mission in Fontaine. It was a surprise visit since you two hadn’t seen each other in a while and you really missed your boyfriend. While he often tried to make time for you, lately he has been flooded with work over work and barely had any time to see you. If you saw each other it was only for a few seconds where he quickly kissed your cheek and told you that he loved you.

So when you learned that he would be stationed in Fontaine for a bit, you decided to pack your bags and visit the nation of Hydro and surprise your boyfriend while doing so.

And surprised he was when he suddenly felt you tap him on his shoulder and he turned around and saw you smiling at him while saying “Surprise!” He had been so happy that he had picked you up and spun you around, not caring that the people around you started staring. You did not care either, just happy to enjoy the feeling of being in his arms again.

The next days were peaceful for you two, even though Childe had some business to attend to and some champion duelists to battle, he made sure that you two were spending some good quality time together. He spoiled you to the best and most expensive food Fontaine has to offer, buying you whatever items you laid your eyes on for more than a second. Even if you told him that he did not have to do all this, he insisted, especially with how absent he was the last weeks, he wanted to spoil you. Knowing there was no way to get him to change his mind you let him keep spoiling you.

That is until one day the two of you were walking together near the Fountain of Lucine when suddenly 

“11th of the Fatui Harbingers Tartaglia. You are under arrest for being the prime suspect in the serial disappearances case!”

Both you and Childe were confused, neither of you having even heard of this case, so how was he the prime suspect? 

But there was nothing you could do as he was being taken away but to await his trial, surely it would come out that they had the wrong suspect and that Childe did nothing wrong…Right?

When the Traveler had entered the courtroom and revealed who truly was behind the disappearances you felt a heavy weight lift off of your shoulders, it would all be fine and you and Childe could go back to your peaceful lives. He apparently just had to be judged by the Orattrice and he would go off free. You had been sure that since the Chief Justice declared him innocent, the machine surely would too but clearly you were wrong and honestly somewhat annoyed but also scared of what would happen to him now.

Childe clearly was even more annoyed than you, just in his case he decided to actively rebel against the judgement which ended with him being on the ground after Neuvillete had stepped in. You wondered how strong the Chief Justice was considering he easily knocked Childe down, even when he was about to use Foul Legacy.

You tried to shake the thoughts of the past days off as you walked along the many cells in Fontaines prison. 

Though you were quickly brought back to reality when you bumped into the guards back since they had suddenly stopped.

“Here he is. Only 15 minutes. You are already lucky enough you can even be here. Normally this never happens.”

“Yeah, yeah…thank you.” You mumbled as you turned to the cell and looked into it.

Childe’s hair was dishevelled, and he seemed to be exhausted, but that was probably due to trying to activate foul legacy and getting bodied by Neuvillette. 

His eyes were downcast, and he seemed confused, angry, and…tired. Yet when he saw you he put on a happy face.

“My sweet darling, how nice of you to visit me! My lonely day in this prison now has been severely made better.”

His happy attitude did not help you in your emotional state, he was in prison yet he had the nerve to act so happy and carefree?

“My my, why do you seem so annoyed? Shouldn’t you be happy to see me?”

“Happy to see you in prison? Ajax, do you know how much I had to beg to get to see you. Could you please not act so nonchalant? You are in prison! You may not have done what you are being accused of, but I always warned you that one day your idiotic and battle lusty behaviour would get your idiot ass to prison. And clearly I was right!”

Childe wanted to pretend to be offended, to lighten the mood and hopefully somehow make you laugh. That was when he saw the worry and tears in your eyes. You weren’t angry at him…no you were scared. 

He was with you when you learned that Fontaine had the Death Penalty. At that point that information had shocked you, but you hadn’t thought more of it until it now affected you and your boyfriend directly. Even if it was rarely carried out…Childe was a Fatui Harbinger and neither of you knew if that fact would make his punishment worse than if he had been a normal person. 

You had tried to keep your tears at bay, to not cry and instead to talk with your boyfriend normally and also maybe reprimand him for trying to activate his foul legacy in court but…you couldn’t. Seeing him behind bars and the uncertainty of what would happen with him was too much for you. You turned your gaze downward, not wanting to meet his gaze.

Childe’s heart broke when the tears were falling from you eyes. He wanted to reach out and wipe your tears away but he couldn’t, the cells in Fontaine had an invisible wall between the bars so convicts couldn’t even put their hand through them.

It hurt him to see you like this all because of him, when you two started going out together he swore to himself that he would make sure he’d never be the reason for your tears yet here you were crying because of him.

“Hey, look at me please?” His voice was gentle, kind, gone was the teasing and amused tone and replaced by that of a worried lover. So you did as you were asked, your eyes which were still streaming tears, meeting his blue ones which were filled with worry, love and comfort. 

All for you.

“I know this is not how you imagined we would spend our time in Fontaine and I am sorry that it has to be like this. I know you came here so we could catch up on lost time together and now this has all been ripped away from us. But I promise, promise by the Tsaritsa, the other archons and every other god that is out there, that I will get out of this soon and I will be able to hold you once again. To wipe your tears away and comfort you as much as you need. You are so important to me that I can’t be away from you long. Afterall if I am here in this dingy cell, who will be there for you to protect you from bad guys…well bad guys that aren’t me.”

The smile he had on his face now, wasn’t a fake one, it was one that showed you he was confident that every word he just spoke was the truth. It made you smile as well, despite the tears.

He would get out soon, and would be by your side again. 

And if he believed it with all his heart, so did you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin oneshots #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe #tartaglia #tartaglia x you #childe x you #childe fluff #childe one shot #childe genshin impact #childe tartagalia #tartaglia fluff #4.0 spoilers

[floralcyanide]

ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ɪɪ

Your job at the museum teaches you more than you think when it’s opening night for a WWII exhibit.

pairing: professor!john "bucky" egan / fem!reader

warnings: none!

author’s note: I'm thinking the next part to this will be an actual fanfic but we'll see (:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

✦ You work hard on your first paper based on your thesis. Dr. Egan gives you pointers here and there. Sometimes, you go to his office just to chat when you aren’t doing research. 

✦ He doesn’t go into detail about his personal life, but you do know he’s divorced and has a kid who’s a teenager. He talks about his son a lot, and it brings a smile to your face. Dr. Egan says he hopes his son is just as smart as you when he gets to college. 

✦ He mentions a trip to DC for the Master’s program. You jump at the idea, much to Dr. Evan’s delight. You ask if he’s going, and he says no. You wonder why but don’t bother to ask. There’s a lot that Dr. Egan doesn’t seem like he wishes to tell you. And you wonder if it’s simply because he’s your superior or if it’s something else. Either way, you’re curious. But you don’t want to cross a line. 

✦ You talk a lot about your grandfather to Professor Egan; he always listens patiently and even gives you a moment to gather yourself when you become emotional. You also talk about your father a good bit. Dr. Egan asks what he does, and you explain that he used to be a pilot in the last war. Dr. Egan makes a peculiar face but brushes it off quickly.

✦ He asks what squadron your father was in. “My father was in the Hundredth. He talks about his experience a lot.” Dr. Egan suddenly checks his watch and excuses himself, saying he had to be somewhere and that you were welcome to return to his office tomorrow.

✦ You leave confused about what caused the sudden change in Professor Egan's demeanor but shake it off. You do come again the following day and bring coffee, apologizing for anything you may have bothered him with.

✦ “It wasn’t anything you said, don’t worry,” Dr. Egan says, “I just lost track of time. I tend to do that with you a lot.” You try not to get flustered at his comment when he gives you a soft smile with it. 

✦ Whenever you aren’t researching or hanging with Dr. Egan, you work at the local World War II museum, creating exhibits and giving guests tours. It’s the opening of the new exhibit of the airmen of the war tonight, and you’re dressed your best. You’re happy to explain to guests the timeline of the war and show them photographs and artifacts. 

✦ A familiar figure catches your eye. You notice a tall, graying man with his hands shoved in his pockets, eyeing photos of the squadron your father was in that he donated to the exhibit. You approach the man, “Have any questions?” he turns around, and sure enough, it’s Dr. Egan.

✦ “Professor Egan! I didn’t expect you to be here!” you smile as he looks at you knowingly, with a bit of defeat. “I knew you’d be here, actually,” he says. You give him a confused look.

✦ Dr. Egan points at the group photo of the remaining airmen from the 100th who live to V Day to a specific man with a dashing grin. “See this guy here? Does he look familiar to you?” You squint, leaning close to the photograph you’ve seen many times. Then you realize that dashing smile only belongs to one person.

✦ You carefully look over to Dr. Egan, unsure of what to say. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask. “Didn’t want people, especially students, to see me differently.” “How would they see you in any way other than a hero?” you ask, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not really the ideal profession,” Dr. Egan swallows, unable to look you in the eye. You sigh, “It was war, Professor. You did what needed to be done, unfortunately. And it’s over now.”

✦ “I just felt you needed to know about my past,” Dr. Egan admits, “Especially since we’ve grown so close professionally and your father was in the same squadron as me. It was only time before you found out.”

✦ “I’d love to know everything you’re willing to tell me. Especially since it’ll help with my research. Not to mention there’s probably stuff my father never mentioned,” you chuckle. There’s a mischievous glint in Dr. Egan’s eye at that statement. “Lunch tomorrow?”

#john egan #john bucky egan #john “bucky” egan #callum turner #john egan x reader #john bucky egan x reader #john “bucky” egan x reader #callum turner x reader #mota #masters of the air #john egan fanfic #john bucky egan fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #floralcyanide writes

[residenthughes]

no bark, just bite

pairing: leon kennedy x reader 

word count: 1.3k

tags/warnings: fluff, tad bit of nsfw? (not even, just *cough* sexual tension 😳), biting, no use of y/n, leon is just too handsome for his own good :( 

summary: there comes a point where words are just not enough. 

notes: RAHHHHH 🧟‍♀️ imagine being so overstimulated with how good leon looks in tiktok edits that you claim you want to bite him, only to end up writing this? 🧍🏾‍♀️ this was pretty self indulgent and i probably just rambled a bit in this but it's just funny really. leon deserves to know how feral you are for him, haha :)

also, I posted this fic on my ao3. would really appreciate any feedback you have on these fics or just wanted someone to talk to, my inbox is always open! :) 

 enjoy! <333

You don’t know what comes over you. The normalcy of your current situation mirrors that of any other day. Cosy pyjamas and fireplace lit. Toasty and comfy, you sit with your long-time boyfriend, Leon, after a long day of work. Bare back to you, he kicks off his shoes as he fills you in on the events of his day - nothing you haven’t heard before. However, for some reason, your usual calm mood is nowhere to be found. Jittery. That best explains how you’re feeling. You’re unsure how this has come into being. Sure, Leon was home just a little bit later than usual but you missed him. You really did miss him so much today. And as you watch him saunter around your room, figure encapsulated by the glow of the fireplace - hair tousled and eyes tired - you want nothing more but to kiss his worries away and melt into him.

Your head swarms with excess Leon, senses consumed by everything his presence brings. The soft hint of his cologne that lingers in the air, the low hang of his trousers around his hips that leave his blonde snail trail in full view, the outline of his muscles as he effortlessly manoeuvres around the room. You’re absolutely mesmerised by him (when are you not?), especially today. For no particular reason other than he was Leon Kennedy and deserved to be fawned over.

You would think this heightened state of infatuation would translate into kisses that you’d pepper against his face, lipstick stains smudged across the expanse of his skin. Or in the excitement you met his words with. This wasn’t the case, even when he sat down on the edge of your bed, back towards you as he busied himself with getting ready for bed. You moved behind him without thinking, thoughts in absolute disarray as you let him ramble, taken in by the sight of him.

He's beautiful. He's so so beautiful, in a way that pained you and filled you with glee all at once. Perhaps this was the first sign of the rage of your emotions, but as mentioned before, you don’t know what came over you. You were just with Leon, listening to him talk but more focused on the sight of him. He’s too pretty for words, too handsome to describe - you could just–

“Uhm?” Leon hums in confusion, forehead puckered. “I didn’t peg you as the biting type.”

You were at a loss for what to do. All your emotions raged through you like a hurricane, wrecking absolute havoc in your mind and heart that only knew one thing. Leon. Your feelings, devastating in nature, were building within you like a volcano just waiting to explode and you needed an outlet. But, again, you were at a loss - weren’t thinking straight, or at all really. So, in your drunken daze, your jaw unhinges, teeth burying in the supple skin of Leon’s shoulder, channelling your overstimulation in the strength of your bite.

Your eyes dart up to your boyfriend who doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. In fact, he gives you a simple smile, that charming smile that has you putty in his hands and you bite down even harder, cheeks flushed as excitement bundles in your chest.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he remarks, no trace of malice in his tone as he brings his other hand upwards, caressing the back of your head in an attempt to calm you down. Your jaw relaxes. “Wouldn’t wanna leave a mark now, would we?”

Your lips leave the warmth of his tanned skin, eyes scanning the area that blooms with ruby red, teeth marks rigid yet shallow. Despite Leon’s lax nature about what has just occurred, you can’t help but feel just a tad bit sheepish, heat migrating to the apple of your cheeks as you wipe away any spit that may have transferred onto his skin.

“I got a bit carried away there,” you mumble, eyes averting his gaze that lights fire against your skin. Amusement tugs at the corner of your lips, snicker bypassing your lips as you add, “This is what happens when you’re too fine for your own good.”

A chuckle of delight sounds from Leon and you finally direct your gaze from his skin to look at him. Bathed in the soft tangerine glow of the bedroom, shadows cast against the slopes of his handsome face, the smooth smile spread across his face igniting the flutter of butterflies that have permanently migrated into your stomach ever since you laid eyes on Leon. Their forever home, courtesy of the man himself.

“My own good, huh?” he simply echoes your statement, but your teeth are sinking into the flesh of your lips. It’s so silly, really silly actually. It’s been so long since your romantic feelings towards each other were out in the open, yet here you are, flustered over the smallest of things. Over him.

“Easy with that smile, Kennedy,” your threat is doused in absolute humour, but you can’t help but think about how much truth there is in what you say next. “Otherwise you’ll earn yourself another bite.”

There’s a beat of silence and in that quietness, you wonder if your threat sounded lame, if you seemed lame - after all, this was just another blatant show as to how much your world revolved around Leon, how much he consumed you and your thoughts. There was nothing you wanted more than him and he knew it. It was strange, being in such a vulnerable situation - baring yourself, unabashed and so truthful with your thoughts and feelings. But, Leon made it worth it. Worth the shame and anxiety. As you did him, he worshipped you, hanging onto every word you said as if it were a prayer. However subtle he may have seemed in terms of his affinity towards you, you knew. You knew in the linger of his stare, the warmth of his touch and the easiness at which love confession left his lips. You were his, and he was yours. Forever and always, as you’d say to each other.

There’s a sudden weight on the landscape of your thigh. A thumb grazes the expanse of your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You don’t even need to meet Leon’s eyes to be confronted with the heavy intimacy of the moment. You gulp, eyes flickering towards the source of the hand, to meet with sapphire eyes that dazzle with all the desire in the world.

Out of the blue - everything feels so claustrophobic, walls closing in and clothes unbearably tight. You blame it on the blaze of fire Leon kindles in the mere palms of his hands. He gives your thigh an abrupt squeeze, smile sleazy and eyes dark. It’s sickening how disgustingly taut the coil in your stomach is.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a threat if I enjoyed it.”

His eyes give it a go at staring into yours until you’d ultimately look away, but he’s distracted. His eyes flicker down to your lips, eyes drinking up every hue and wrinkle of them as his hand shuffles upwards.

You heave, body burning like a furnace, to which you’re sure Leon can tell as well. After all, the smirk that settles amongst his features is a dead giveaway.

Your hand finds refuge against the back of his head, fingers threading through the soft dirty blond strands as your eyes take in everything before you. Every emotion you feel towards Leon comes at you in full force, unyielding and terrifying. The thump of your heart rings in your ear and you’re at a loss for words. How did we end up here? Where is this going? So many thoughts are racing through your head, but you only manage to utter one.

“Kiss me.” 

Brittle and pleading. Your voice carries an honesty that sends shivers down Leon’s spine. You watch as his pupils dilate, hands firm as he draws you closer into his web of desire.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

#resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 fanfic #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #my fics

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: Lazarus

Rated X / 2231 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Scully’s been glued to her couch for hours, lost in the melancholic churn of regret. She can’t help but feel partially responsible for Jack’s death, in some tangential way. Perhaps the vacancy left by her departure was too vast to be adequately filled, even three years later. Perhaps he never really got over her. Just as soon as she has the thought, she dismisses it as terribly self-important. 

The phone rings, and she half expects it to be Jack on the other end of the line, admitting that it was all a prank that went way too far. 

“Hey, it’s me. Just checkin’ on ya.”

Scully smiles and moves the phone to the other ear. 

“I’m okay,” she says with a sigh.

There’s a stretch of silence that begins to make her nervous. 

“Most people wouldn’t be okay after going through what you just did, you know. It’s okay to…not be okay,” Mulder says gently, and Scully cringes and closes her eyes. 

“I know, Mulder,” she tells him with just enough insistence that he’ll drop it. “I really am fine, though.”

“Okay,” he relents. “Message received. What are you up to?”

Scully looks at the open box of photographs strewn across her coffee table and the half empty bottle of wine sitting in the middle of them. 

“Not much,” she says, leaning forward to pick up a candid shot of Jack with a cigarette dangling from his smiling mouth. “Just…thinking, I guess.”

“About Jack?” It’s a rhetorical question, one she responds to with only a hum. “He seemed like a good guy,” Mulder comments, somewhat detachedly. It’s the kind of thing you say about people you didn’t know well after they die. The kind of thing that’s said more for the comfort of the living than the benefit of the dead. 

“He was,” she agrees, equally detached. 

They are both quiet for a beat, but it’s a comfortable silence. 

“I reviewed his case notes,” Mulder says carefully, like he’s unsure whether she’ll find it intrusive. “He had some interesting insights on Dupre and Lula’s relationship.”

“Such as?” Scully asks, curious but guarded. 

“He said that he envied their devotion to each other. That they lived in a world where nothing mattered but their own needs, which he found intoxicating,” Mulder recites without much affect, leaving his opinion on Jack’s musings up to her interpretation. 

Scully thinks back to the desperate, lovesick way Jack carried himself through their relationship, like he could never quite get enough of her. At first it had been exciting and addictive, but soon became overwhelming and burdensome. The more she withdrew, the harder he tried to get back in her good graces, and she finally came to the conclusion that he wanted something from her that she was simply unwilling to give. 

“That sounds like Jack,” she says, tossing the photograph back on top of the haphazard pile. 

“I hope you don’t take offense to this, but I was surprised to learn that you’d been romantically involved with him.”

“Because he was my instructor?” she clarifies. 

“Not necessarily,” he tells her, pausing to consider his words. “I guess I just…wouldn’t have thought he’d be your type.”

This makes Scully smile. 

“Oh? What did you think my type would be?” she asks, somewhat playfully. 

“I don’t know,” Mulder admits. “Somebody less…intense. Obsessive. Single minded.”

Somebody less like you, she thinks to herself. 

“I’m not sure I have a type,” she says, knowing it’s a lie even as it leaves her lips. Her type is older, assertive, and unavailable. Bonus points if they make her work to earn their affection.

“Well,” Mulder says in a markedly more upbeat tone, “my type is canadian bacon and pineapple. You hungry? I was thinking about ordering a pizza.”

“I could eat,” she says, and her stomach growls in agreement. “But you don’t have to drive across town, Mulder; I can feed myself,” she adds, feeling undeserving. 

“I need to return a movie, so I’m going out regardless,” he says, and she can hear in his voice that he’s already up and moving around his apartment. 

“I’m sure the late fees at the adult video store are steep,” she teases, and he humors her with a wry chuckle. 

She tidies her apartment while she waits for him, stashing the photos of Jack and corking the rest of the wine for another night. When she hears his “shave and a haircut” knock at her door, she answers with a “two bits” rap of her knuckles before she opens it and takes a pizza box from his hands. 

“I got a movie,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “I know it’s a school night, but I’m feeling reckless.”

“When are you not feeling reckless?” she says mirthfully, gathering plates and napkins. 

The movie is something silly that neither of them pays much attention to. It’s clear that Mulder’s intention in coming over was to lift her spirits, and he hits it hard with little self-deprecating quips that make her feel equally entertained and sad for him. She can’t help but see the similarities between Mulder and Jack, their shared restlessness and obsessive nature. Their stalwart belief that if they could just solve this one case, the world would tip back on its axis. 

At one point she turns away from the TV and catches Mulder looking at her. He does this sometimes, perhaps much more frequently than she’s privy to. He’s quite good at averting his eyes almost immediately, but she still catches the tail end of the pained, longing expression on his face, and it makes something warm blossom in her belly. She can’t help but wonder why she’s so drawn to these broken, chronically unfulfilled men. She can’t help but wonder why they are so drawn to her. 

The movie ends, and he helps her collect their dirty plates and cups and move them to the kitchen sink, offering to take the pizza box to the dumpster on his way out. While prone to thoughtlessness when he’s chasing down a lead, he’s the most considerate man she’s ever known, and she wonders for the first time if he’s like this with everyone, or just with her. 

“Thank you for dinner,” she says, following two paces behind him as he moves toward her front door reluctantly, shuffling from one shoeless foot to the other like he has something else to say. 

“Anytime,” he tells her. 

They stand there awkwardly for a beat, and an uncomfortable smile stretches across Scully’s mouth. 

“What?” she asks, and Mulder laughs and looks at the floor. 

“Sorry, I’m being weird,” he says, running his hand across the back of his neck. “I was just going to say…I just felt like I should tell you, or that you should know…” He lifts his head and meets her eye with a level of intensity she wasn’t prepared for, and her stomach drops a little. “I was really scared when you went MIA,” he says. “Just thinking about the possibility that we wouldn’t find you alive was…” He stops and swallows, pausing before he speaks again. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he finally says. 

She steps forward and opens her arms to him and he greedily accepts her embrace, scooping her up into a bear hug that nearly lifts her feet off the floor. It feels like this is what he came here for, to ease his own mind and see for himself that she continues to be alive and well. She feels the beat of his heart thrumming against her rib cage, hard and fast, and her own heart follows suit in anticipation. He holds her for much longer than is customary, and when he finally loosens his grip enough for her to pull away a little, she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth without giving it much thought. It just feels like the natural thing to do. 

Mulder stiffens, but doesn’t let go of her. A bolt of shock at her own out of character behavior makes her ears ring, and for a moment she doesn’t move at all. Mulder turns his head slightly, which makes his bottom lip brush across hers, and an involuntary little whimper escapes the back of her throat. 

His mouth tastes like sweet pineapple and acidic tomato sauce, and it’s so abundantly clear that he’s wanted to kiss her since long before tonight. She’s wanted to kiss him too—of course she has—but they can’t. They can’t, but they are, and she’s not sure why she’s doing this but she knows she doesn’t want to stop. His tongue is in her mouth and they’re pawing at each other like horny teenagers, and she doesn’t want to stop more than she doesn’t want to find out what will happen if they don’t stop. 

“Wait,” Mulder says, grabbing her hands to stop her from unbuttoning his fly right here in her foyer. It hits her like a ton of bricks just how stupid this is. How reckless. “What are we…what does this mean?” he asks, his eyes questioning and his cock visibly hard. 

Scully shakes her head softly, dazed and aroused beyond rational thinking. “I don’t know. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she says, and she means it. She knows he has nothing more to give her, and she knows that she is unwilling to sacrifice a larger slice of her life to him than she already has. 

He stares at her for a beat, debating, and then his mouth is right back on hers. 

When she was with Jack, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. His arms around her waist were an anchor, and his kiss stole the air from her lungs. His love was an obligation. Being with him felt like drowning, and she had to swim for the surface to save herself. 

Mulder is nothing like Jack. She’s never felt as safe in anyone’s arms as she does in his, and when she kisses him her whole body lights up. He’s not asking her to love him, though she thinks she could. He’s not asking anything from her at all, and yet she desperately wants to give herself to him. Give him her mind, her dedication, her body. He treats each of these with equal reverence, and whatever the opposite of objectified is she’s feeling it now as he peels the clothes from her body and lays her down gently on top of her bed.  

He crawls over her, nude and stiff to the point of leaking, and nudges her leg to the side with his knee. He watches her face while he touches her with two gentle fingers, mapping her body by feel, and his undivided attention is the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced. He makes her come embarrassingly quickly, first with his fingers and then his mouth, before she manages to get her hands on him. He tucks his face into the crook of her neck while she strokes him firmly, murmuring little words of pleasure and affirmation that make her feel like a goddess. 

It’s been so long since she’s been with anyone that she doesn’t have a condom, but she trusts him enough to rely on her birth control and his promise to pull out. He pushes into her slowly, kissing her all the while, and the stretch of him makes her gasp with surprise and pleasure. 

“Am I hurting you?” he asks quietly, his hips stilled. 

“No,” she whimpers, wrapping one leg around his hips to pull him closer. “You’re not hurting me, Mulder.”

Somehow it feels like fucking and making love at the same time. His mouth on her neck, his hand clasped with hers, his cock buried deep inside her. Being with him feels like flying, like an endless endorphin rush. She may never be able to get enough.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” he sputters.

Suddenly his slippery cock is laid out on her belly, streaks of hot white cum shooting up onto her breasts. She wraps him up in her fist, stroking him through the final few throbs until he begins to grow soft in her hand. He looks up and smiles at her, a kind of uncomfortable was that a mistake? smile, and she smiles back at him. 

“I’ll get you a towel,” he says, and she averts her eyes out of habit as he makes a run for the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later they are back at her front door, fully dressed. Scully picks the pizza box up off her dining room table and hands it to him sheepishly, and he drums his fingers against the thin cardboard lid as he tries to think of something to say. 

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” she says casually, like they just ate pizza and watched a movie, nothing more. 

Mulder sighs, potentially with relief, and nods. 

“I’ll bring you a coffee,” he offers.

“That’d be great,” she says casually, opening her front door for him. 

They wave at one another awkwardly, and she watches him walk down her hallway and out the building before she closes and locks her door.

Mulder is nothing like Jack, she’s sure of it. And she’s not going to run away this time—she’s going to see where he takes her. Where he takes them both. 

She’s never felt more excited in all her life.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic

[blacksailskmeme]

Prompts and Fills Are Open~~ EARLY~~

Hello piratefam!

I'm excited to announce that we've already gathered enough early prompts and there is so much enthusiasm for the event that I'm going to go ahead and start posting prompts!!

And also, the 2024 Black Sails Kink Meme AO3 Collection that will be used to post fills is open and ready!! (heh heh) 😀😀

Information regarding posting to AO3 collections can be found here. The expanded guidelines and rules for fills can be found here.

A reminder that there is NO CLAIMING PROCESS NECESSARY! If you see a prompt that strikes your fancy, you are IMMEDIATLEY encouraged and free to fill it, there is NO LIMIT ON FILLS for each prompt!

Both prompt submissions and fills will be open simultaneously through the entire span of the event.

As more prompts come in, I will continue to assign them numbers and post them using the tag #2024BSKMemePrompts. As they come in, fills will be reblogged under their prompt using the tag #2024BSKMemeFills. (If you submit your fill and do not see it immediately, please remember it's just me handling the organization and I might be asleep. But rest assured just as SOON as I get the notification on the collection I will publish it on Tumblr.)

If you are unsure of something, tags, anything at all, please do not hesitate to reach out to me either through the event blog or my main @jaynovz. I will respond to questions as soon as I'm able :DD

GOOD LUCK EVERYONE, HAVE FUN IN THE SPLASH ZONE OF SMUT AND KINK~~ 🎉🎉

#2024bskmeme #announcements #black sails #black sails event #about #i'm posting the first 20 ish prompts tonight #the rest will go out in q tomorrow #feel free to keep submitting

[causeitsagame]

UNTITLED ANGSTPROMPT THE FOURTH (OF FOUR)

(At some point, I will find a real title and put it up on AO3. Watch this space!)

My thought when posting the previous chapter: "I don't want to draw out a resolution too far, so I'll promise that there is only one more chapter to go." Me, finishing this chapter while upholding that intention and seeing it brush the 9k word mark: "Well,"

-----

Hajime didn't know what to do.

That wasn't supposed to be possible. He'd been warped and molded and repurposed into the world's Ultimate Goddamn Hope, and that Hope was supposed to have all the answers. But he didn't. He hadn't been able to stop the assault on Jabberwock, and the desperate sacrifice play there had been made by someone else.

Plus, he hadn't even known that particular sacrifice could happen. Talents could only be studied if they were demonstrated, and this wasn't the sort of thing that got shown off to Hope's Peak. And so now, Fuyuhiko was bruised and beaten and hollowed out, and Peko didn't know anything more about how those memories were lost, and Hajime didn't know what to do.

He leaned against the ship's railing and studied the water, unsure of what he was looking for.

Eventually, a voice spoke up. "Hajime?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Ryota. "Yeah?"

Ryota pointed to an insulated travel mug. "It's time for this, again. Do you want to…?" He was the one on the ship who wasn't taken much aback by Fuyuhiko not recognizing him, and he'd made fully half of the infirmary visits so far.

Hajime shook his head. Inside that mug was broth from a pot that Teruteru kept simmering. The calories were important; the warmth, more so. Due to injuries, malnutrition, and low weight, Mikan had diagnosed poikilothermia, or an inability to regulate body temperature. She planned to be in the infirmary constantly until it resolved, and that was a good enough excuse not to be there himself. "No. Thanks."

It probably made him a despicable coward, but he couldn't see Fuyuhiko's condition and know that he was responsible for it. He couldn't watch Fuyuhiko look at him like a total stranger and know that it was because Fuyuhiko had cared more about Hajime than about himself. If Hajime had an idea of what to do next, he'd face down all of that in service of getting it fixed… but he didn't know what to do.

Hajime shook his head again, and Ryota silently walked away.

Memories had been burnt away in torture's incinerator and he was the motivation behind it all. How was he supposed to handle that? Seriously, how in the hell was he supposed to manage his thoughts, his emotions? The gutpunch of nausea that gripped him every time his imagination wandered to the infirmary?

Memory loss aside, this wasn't like Izuru. Fuyuhiko hadn't been scoured away and turned into someone else. Logically, that was a huge relief; emotionally, it somehow made it worse. He was still totally him, voice and expressions and powerful personality. There wasn't anyone to identify and retrieve. He was Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu, the same as ever… but he just had absolutely no idea who Hajime was.

There were always more tasks to handle on the ship, but no one bothered Hajime as he looked over the edge. He stayed there staring over the water as the sun's reflections moved overhead, and then toward the west.

"Hajime?"

The voice behind him sent a spike of adrenaline rushing. "Is everything okay?"

Mikan nodded, seemingly without any emergency coming along with her. "He's doing better today, I think. But I just… I'm sorry, but I've been with him for twenty-two hours, now. Could you maybe—"

"Oh, God, sorry," Hajime interrupted as he caught up. Now that he bothered to pay attention to anything besides his own misery, he could notice the dark circles under Mikan's eyes and the way her fingertips trembled from exhaustion. He hadn't set foot in the infirmary since the last time she'd taken a sleeping break, and so he hadn't realized how long that'd been.

"No, I'm sorry!" she instantly countered, and held up one of her shaking hands. "I shouldn't need to sleep, but I just nearly dropped a—"

"I've got him," Hajime promised Mikan, and clutched that hand. "Go rest."

She nodded. "I'm only doing a few hours at a time, so I'll be back soon!"

"That's…" Sighing, Hajime let her go. It was probably no use ordering her to look after herself with more than a nap here and there. Well. Time to check on Fuyuhiko.

Peko was waiting outside the infirmary door, and looked as tired as Mikan but far more composed. "You did come," she said with mild surprise.

That hadn't been judgment, but it sure felt like it. "Yeah. Sorry." Hajime ran a hand across his face. "It's just been hard."

"I can only imagine," Peko agreed, with what sounded like real sympathy.

"You look like you could use some sleep, too. I'll be here, if you want to go."

Peko hesitated, but nodded gratefully and stepped away. She turned to look over her shoulder as she left, like she was verifying that Hajime would actually manage to set foot inside the infirmary.

He did so before he could lose his nerve, and was relieved to see Fuyuhiko sleeping. Good. No conversation, no lack of recognition.

First, Hajime reached for a thermometer and aimed it at Fuyuhiko's forehead. Cooler than he should be, so it was no wonder his fists were clenched around a blanket that couldn't keep him warm enough. Hajime reached over and tapped a message window, calling for more hot broth from the galley.

Fuyuhiko was watching him when he turned back.

Hajime jolted, and took a step away before he could help himself.

"So," Fuyuhiko said wryly, and tilted his head toward where his chart hung on the wall. "The guy responsible for all of that." To Mikan's dismay, she'd run out of room when she started listing his injuries. She'd needed to add multiple pages.

Swallowing, Hajime said in a thick, heavy voice, "Yeah. Guess so."

"You never told me why I apparently gave so much of a shit about you. And neither will anyone else." What good humor was in Fuyuhiko's expression flattened into nothing. "You'd think I could get a simple question answered, after everything."

"We…" Hajime looked away. "I'm your best friend." That was the simplest answer.

"Bullshit. I don't have friends."

"Yeah. That's what you told me." It was easier to talk if he didn't meet Fuyuhiko's gaze, and so Hajime kept his attention on the wild landscape beyond the portholes. "But after everything, we were friends. And you realized Peko was actually your friend, too, outside of the clan. And there are other friends here, too. We all care about you."

"'After everything?' After what 'everything?'" Annoyed, Fuyuhiko snapped, "Mind looking at me when I'm talking to you?"

Miserable, Hajime turned back toward Fuyuhiko and the nearly countless injuries he'd taken for Hajime's sake. "After getting away from the… the bad things that you remember. We're all together after that, and we're your friends."

"And you're my 'best friend.'"

"Yeah."

"Who I did this for." Fuyuhiko lifted a forearm, showing off what remained of intricate tattoos. They were marred by a twisted burn scar and jagged, mismatched lines where some deep cuts hadn't healed together in proper alignment.

Hajime closed his eyes and inhaled a shaky breath. "I tried to stop you. You wouldn't listen to me."

"Must've been a reason for it, beyond you being my 'best friend.'" The words came out twisted, mocking. "Why'd I do it?"

"You shouldn't have," Hajime said morosely. "I'm not worth what you went through."

"Not worth it? What, I acted like an idiot when I signed up for this? You're saying that I fucked up?"

Hajime clenched his jaw and didn't respond. He didn't know what to say and every word was just making things worse. The two of them had talked so easily to each other that he didn't know how to handle this reset.

"So," Fuyuhiko said, still with the mocking tone he'd used on Hajime. He looked expectantly toward the new arrival waiting with his latest broth delivery. "Are you one of my best friends, too?"

Hajime turned to the door and winced. Of all people to have gotten that message he'd sent.

Mahiru paused, then said in measured tones, "I wouldn't use that term, no." She stepped into the infirmary and presented Fuyuhiko with his latest meal.

He didn't take the offered mug. "Huh. You're the first person who's had any sort of problem with me," Fuyuhiko noted with genuine curiosity. "Everyone's just been shoveling bullshit to keep me happy. So, what's your deal? What'd you do?"

"What did I do?" Mahiru repeated, uncertain.

"When we were all… y'know."

"Ah. Right." Mahiru set the mug down next to him when he refused to take it. "Propaganda, basically."

"Makes sense. You're…" Fuyuhiko squinted at her, then looked abruptly pleased as his scrambled mind put something into order. "Photography, right? Koizumi?"

She brightened. "Oh! You do remember things. It sounded like you'd forgotten everything, but I guess not. That's great!"

Hajime looked miserably at the floor and said nothing.

"Great?" Fuyuhiko echoed. "I thought you didn't give a shit."

Mahiru perched on the edge of a nearby counter. "We… didn't get along for a long time, but by now, we do. We'll never be each other's first choice to spend time with, but we're honestly fine."

"Fair enough." Fuyuhiko considered her, then asked with a wicked grin, "What happened? You sound like you're dancing around land mines."

Uneasy, Mahiru darted her gaze toward Hajime. "Does he know?" she asked in a strained whisper.

"No, I don't think so," Hajime whispered back. "Probably needed to forget about the whole process."

"What are you two whispering about?" Fuyuhiko demanded.

Mahiru inhaled. "Okay. You're going to find this out, so let me just tell you. To stop being those awful people, we went through a virtual reality simulation. But it went wrong and people started killing each other."

"Virtual," Fuyuhiko repeated without any gravity, clearly picturing some sort of small-scale experience. "So, what, you killed me?"

Mahiru blinked at him hard, then scowled.

Unconcerned, Fuyuhiko corrected to, "Or I killed you?"

"You were going to," Mahiru admitted. "But Peko stepped in."

"Well. Makes sense." Fuyuhiko grinned more broadly and honestly than a face that injured should be able to. "Guess that explains why we're not each other's favorite people, huh?"

Mahiru couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Well, obviously. Anyway, drink your broth. You're supposed to have it while it's hot."

Still smirking at her, Fuyuhiko reached for the insulated mug and lifted it like he was making a toast, then took a drink. She apparently took that as both thanks and farewell, and left the infirmary with light steps.

Hajime stared after her. Fuyuhiko was getting along better with Mahiru than him? Mahiru?! What the hell was going on?

"I'll get some more sleep," Fuyuhiko announced when he'd finished. "So you can stop looking ready to shit yourself."

Hajime could argue with that assessment, but he wouldn't make a very good job of it. With fresh sighs, he stared out the porthole until Fuyuhiko had fallen asleep, then waited aimlessly for Mikan's return.

Days passed like that.

Fuyuhiko's purple bruises faded to green and yellow. Thinner cuts disappeared into barely-there scars, while deeper gouges healed under Mikan's stitches. The hollows under his eyes and cheekbones didn't look quite as cavernous, and he finally managed to sleep through the night without waking up shivering. But he never recognized Hajime.

Hajime Hinata did have a talent that Hope's Peak had never cared about, and that was caring about people. But he wasn't allowed to use it, now. Izuru Kamukura had every talent on the planet. But none of them were any good, here.

He couldn't take this any more, Hajime told himself as he stared at nothing. Fuyuhiko had graduated to actual food, but with the scope of his lingering injuries, he still stayed in the infirmary. That meant that he yet needed to be brought his meals, and once Mahiru had held a successful conversation with him, everyone else was willing to try.

"You lied to me!" Kazuichi insisted. He was next to Fuyuhiko while Hajime stood just outside the door, but voices carried.

Fuyuhiko shrugged and slid a spoon into the thick, hearty stew he'd been handed. "Probably, yeah."

Kazuichi gasped, betrayed.

"You're easy to fool and you panic in a crisis," Fuyuhiko continued. "I remember that much. And you want to believe in people."

Though Kazuichi's offense deepened with the first two additions, the last one softened his outrage. "Well, yeah. I didn't know how you were going to get out of it, but when you said you had a plan to save everyone, I believed you. One hundred percent."

Fuyuhiko smirked. "As expected."

"Jerk," Kazuichi snorted, but the easy back-and-forth had him happier than he'd been ever since they saw the invading forces on the radar. "Hey, so, what else do you remember about me?"

Fuyuhiko made Kazuichi wait until he'd chewed and swallowed a mouthful. "That's a pretty damn big ask. Narrow the scope a little."

"Okay." Kazuichi screwed up his face in thought. "What's the first thing you remember about me after we woke up?"

"Woke up?" Fuyuhiko echoed.

"On the island."

He shrugged. "I got rid of all of that. People have told me there was a program, but I must've thought it was too risky to know about."

"Oh." Dismayed, Kazuichi considered, then tried again. "Uh, okay… what about when I showed up to class in a suit?"

Staring at him for a long, considering moment, Fuyuhiko abruptly laughed. "Fuck, you looked ridiculous. To 'impress Miss Sonia,' right?"

Kazuichi grinned, delighted. "I saw you go off to handle some family business, and you looked a lot cooler than in your uniform. I thought maybe it'd work for me, too."

"It didn't," Fuyuhiko said, then rolled his gaze thoughtfully upward. "Heh. Guess there's more in there than I thought. Even if it's nothing that really matters."

"No, this matters. It matters like you wouldn't believe!" Cheerfully, Kazuichi clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll let you eat, all right?"

"Finally," Fuyuhiko agreed, but with no real rancor.

Still in bright spirits, Kazuichi moved for the door, only to process that Hajime had been listening in with an increasingly gutted expression. "Uh. Sorry, man," he whispered, and hurried down the corridor.

Well. The good news was that Fuyuhiko was feeling better. His pain tolerance was beyond description, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Now that he was on the mend, and his pain steadily ebbed and his body again functioned like it should, his overall mood had followed suit. That'd opened him up to bits of nostalgic connection with the people brave enough to try it.

The bad news, Hajime thought as stepped away to let Fuyuhiko eat in privacy, was exactly the same as ever. To Fuyuhiko, Hajime was still as much of a blank void as what he'd been turned into during the Kamukura Project.

Had Mahiru really been the one to set this off? She'd practically skipped into the mess hall and announced that Fuyuhiko had remembered specifics about her, and that sent a jolt of optimism across the entire group. Which made sense. It was logical. But it still just seemed so odd that she—of all people—had been the first ray of real hope for Fuyuhiko.

Of course, Fuyuhiko had clearly appreciated that Mahiru had been the first 'stranger' to be honest with him about any darker topics. Maybe there was a lesson in that. Hajime waited, and considered, and eventually decided. He steeled his nerves and walked into the infirmary. Without preamble, he asked, "So. You really want to know why you did this for me?"

Fuyuhiko blinked. "Obviously," he said and set aside his empty bowl. Finally, he looked interested in something that Hajime had to say.

How to approach this? "When we were at Hope's Peak," Hajime slowly began, and took a chair near Fuyuhiko, "I got experimented on."

"Experimented?" Fuyuhiko repeated. His brow furrowed. "How?"

"They wanted me to be able to do more things," Hajime summarized, neither wanting to get bogged down in the details nor to relive his own horrors by doing so. "It involved a lot of surgery and some… other stuff."

Fuyuhiko's gaze grew increasingly curious as he studied the scars running across Hajime's forehead. "'Do more things?' What can you do, then?"

"Anything." Fuyuhiko's curiosity and good mood vanished at the seemingly flippant reply, and Hajime insisted, "Seriously, anything. That was the point of the project. Medicine, combat, languages… anything. And they did some physical development work to support all of those talents, too."

Fuyuhiko waited with obvious incredulity, but did look impressed when Hajime reached for a small dentist's mirror and bent its metal handle as easily as if it'd been a plastic straw. "Well, shit. Looks handy."

"Yeah. In theory, I could even try to fix your memories." Fuyuhiko also looked interested in that, but Hajime shook his head. He'd seen an answer to that question very quickly, but it had come with the simultaneous, gutting realization that there was no possible way to get access to what he'd need. And so, it hadn't really been an answer at all. "I can't actually do that," he clarified. "Ten different navies would be on us before we docked the ship."

Disappointed, but not surprised, Fuyuhiko shrugged. I knew what I was in for, the gesture seemed to say.

Hajime hesitated before continuing, trying to straighten out the mirror's handle as he did. His voice was quiet when he did speak. "There were side effects, too. Some… some really bad ones. But the school didn't care what happened. I was just their lab rat."

Silence answered him, hanging painfully heavy. A good ten seconds ticked by on the infirmary's clock. After that pause, Fuyuhiko concluded, "And they probably want their lab rat back."

Hajime looked at the floor and nodded.

"So… this isn't a one-time thing, then," Fuyuhiko slowly continued. "They'll always want to get ahold of you."

Hajime hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."

"Then I'm going to have to do this again."

The words stabbed terror through his heart. "Never," Hajime instantly spat. After a deep breath, he strove for humor, but only sounded agonized as he forced words through his tight throat. "I mean, you don't care about me, right? No need to do anything for me again."

Fuyuhiko's gaze darkened. "If I think something's worth doing, I stick to it. Even if I don't remember why now, I must have had my reasons then."

Fuck it all, why was he so kneejerk stubborn? "They are never, ever getting their hands on you again. I won't let it happen."

"You won't let? I don't take orders from you." Dark memory filled Fuyuhiko's gaze, and he muttered, "I remember being in charge. I was giving the orders. If this is what I decided I need to do…"

The thought of Fuyuhiko getting captured again filled Hajime with panic; the thought of him willingly walking back into hell had him practically delirious with it. "Well, you're not getting past every single person on this ship. We're not letting you throw yourself away again!" By the end, Hajime stood and was nearly shouting.

Instantly obstinate, Fuyuhiko leaned forward, uncaring of the fragile figure he still struck in the hospital bed. "I'd like to see them try and stop me."

A disbelieving laugh broke free. "Oh yeah? Look at you!" Hajime cried before he could help it, and gestured to the mess two months of torture had made of Fuyuhiko. "Say you could actually get past us. You think you could really head back for more?" Even as he said the words, he knew they were a critically wrong move.

Fury sparked behind Fuyuhiko's eye. "What, you think I can't take it?"

"Will you just��"

"Fuck off! From what I've heard from everyone, I'm who saved their asses last time, not you! Me, not some superpowered lab rat!"

Electricity seemed to run down his spine, and words poured out of Hajime before he could stop them. "You know what, Fuyuhiko? No. No, you can't take another round of this. You barely survived this one."

"Don't tell me what I can't do."

"Lose even another couple of kilos again, and you will fall back into poikilothermia and die in a torture chamber. It's not a question." Hajime leaned forward and propped his weight on the side of Fuyuhiko's bed. "You are not taking the bullet for me again. Because—listen carefully—you. Can't. Do. This."

As expected, nothing filled Fuyuhiko with fury like the implication of weakness. This was far from weakness, but was the simple limit of how much any human could take. Even so, it landed as terribly as he knew it would, but Hajime just hadn't been able to stop the words from pouring out. Spending this long mired in misery and guilt had worn away his defenses; hearing that Fuyuhiko was already planning for more torture and certain death lit a fuse.

"Get out," Fuyuhiko spat, looking ready to lunge out of his hospital bed with his hands aimed for Hajime's throat. "And don't let me see your face again."

"Heard that one before," Hajime said tiredly, and walked for the door. Once there, he turned. "You're not going to throw your life away for someone you clearly don't give one single shit about."

"This has nothing to do with you. This is about me and what I decided to do. Now: get out."

Hajime managed to round two corners before the first ragged sob ripped free. He leaned against a wall and wiped away hot, angry tears with a rough swipe of his wrist. Shit. Goddammit.

Trying to be honest with Fuyuhiko had been one bad fucking move.

Soon, he found himself doing engine repairs three months ahead of schedule, just so he'd have something to focus on. His hands stayed busy, his mind stayed quiet, and his heart hid in a corner and didn't dare to speak up. It worked for hours of distraction, but eventually, the dinner chime sounded. He didn't want people to come looking for him, and so Hajime tiredly headed to the mess hall. He'd sit by himself.

Everyone was there, save Fuyuhiko. Nearly all of the people who made up Hajime's world were right here in this one room. It was a dozen different shades of 'loud,' from laughter to arguments to excitement. Looking at them, no one would think the group had been chased from their home mere months earlier.

They probably want their lab rat back.

But they had been chased off Jabberwock, and they'd barely made it out alive. Because Hajime hadn't kept any of these people safe, despite being the military's biggest target.

They probably want their lab rat back.

He'd let that happen to Fuyuhiko.

They probably want their lab rat back.

The soldiers were going to keep coming.

Through dull eyes, Hajime looked around the room and imagined bullets ripping through skulls. The men targeting them planned to kill everyone besides himself, Sonia, and Fuyuhiko, right? And the other two would face torture until their knowledge was wrung dry. (…More torture.)

And what did they have to face those entire military fleets when they did inevitably come? Not a full island chain with its own defensive capabilities, like they'd used last time. No: now they had a ship, singular, and one helicopter. They'd failed before, and now their situation was even worse.

Hajime was pretty sure that he could single-handedly take over another vessel, if it came to that. But he'd need the opportunity to do so. If a battleship or submarine sent a torpedo at them from a kilometer away, he'd never get that chance.

If soldiers came for him again, all of these people would die or end up in torture chambers. Hajime wouldn't be able to stop it. And so, once again, he didn't know what to do.

At the end of his fatalistic survey across the room, Hajime's attention lingered on someone. Memories whispered, almost too softly to hear at first, until he really listened to what they said. His expression shifted slowly, from misery to uncertainty to realization.

Oh. Oh. Of course. He should have seen this sooner.

Nagito only looked up after the lightbulb had gone off. He blinked in confusion over Hajime blatantly staring at him, and gestured to himself like he expected a question to be asked. Hajime shook his head once. No need to ask a question; Nagito had already given him an answer.

Yes. Right.

That had been the answer, all along.

He just hadn't wanted to admit what was being asked of him.

At the end of his brief dinner, Hajime stood and walked over to another table. "I'm taking the chopper," he whispered to the Imposter. "I'll be back later."

That earned a confused blink. "What's happening? Do you need a co-pilot?"

"No. It'll be quick, I'll be back by morning. I just didn't want you to wonder where it was."

"All right." The answer was uncertain, but Hajime didn't bother offering reassurance or clarification as he walked off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nagito hurry over to talk to the Imposter. "The helicopter?" Nagito repeated with surprise, and Hajime sped his pace. He didn't want to deal with any sort of explanation.

Soon, the helicopter lifted smoothly off its landing pad under his controls. He tilted it toward the southeast, and as he circled around, noticed that he was being observed by a white head of hair dyed the colors of sunset. Hajime returned his attention to the sky and flew onward.

Two hours later, he descended toward a pitch-black expanse carved out of another forest. There were many such abandoned military bases around the world, and with a global power shortage, they weren't bothering to keep the lights on. Many of the supplies here had been carried off, but not all; they'd gotten the helicopter he was flying from this same base, along with enough replacement parts to last them a decade.

Using only moonlight and starlight, Hajime located a runway and used it as a landing pad. As he hopped out of the craft and to the ground, he hoped that the Canadian forces hadn't carried off what he needed as they pulled back to defend Vancouver.

Cracks ran across the tarmac, and weeds pushed through. Once, this had been a world-class facility for world-class soldiers, but so much had been abandoned when half the world fell. Those soldiers were now after him, Hajime reminded himself. They were after his friends. And they had hurt one friend in ways that he couldn't even describe.

Steeling his resolve, Hajime hurried through the crisp, chill darkness in search of a way to stop all of those soldiers from ever getting a second chance. His light, precise footsteps echoed across the sprawling pavement and between the concrete buildings. Only the soft cries of nearby owls interrupted him. This once-bustling base was silent, now, and the natural world was beginning to reclaim what humanity had abandoned.

Aha, Hajime saw as he trailed heavy cables across the ground and found the control box that collected them. It was attached to a concrete block of a building, unlabeled and unremarkable. Here it was. Not bothering with niceties, he kicked at the door like he was trying to drive in someone's chest, and proceeded inside when it wrenched off its hinges.

Relief soon swept him. Yes. They'd left behind exactly what he needed.

With the assistance of a few spare duffel bags, Hajime began scooping up every piece of abandoned telecommunications equipment left in this control room. Their group had been using that slow, secretive frequency, but it was time to take a different approach. Trying to duck down and hide in the shadows, as they'd been doing, could only protect them for so long. Hajime refused to be the prey again, left to be tracked and discovered.

As he exited the building, a gust of wind whipped past and caught a tattered flag left on its pole. Red and white. For a moment, Hajime was back walking through the ruins of military bases with a red sun flying over them, rather than a maple leaf. Those were the soldiers most desperate to find him. Although they had allies around the world who also sought the Remnants, it was Japanese forces who'd led the assault on Jabberwock and captured Fuyuhiko.

They'd regret that.

Confident that he'd found all that he needed, Hajime loaded the duffel bags into the helicopter, refueled, and set back off for their hiding place near the Alaskan Panhandle. There were still hours of darkness left when he landed. He should sleep, first, to make sure he had a clear head. He was trying to change the world, after all.

Well into morning, his efforts were going well. Hajime had taken over the control cabin of the ship, as he needed access to some of its systems. His in-progress work with the military electronics he'd raided already covered half the room.

"Hajime?" Nagito asked as he stepped into the control room.

He didn't look up from his work. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

Still studying the electronics in front of him, Hajime smiled. It might be a dark, unbalanced expression. Nagito's behavior inside the simulation had served as his inspiration, after all. "You'd probably say something about 'creating hope.'"

Silence. Then, "Whose hope?"

That earned another smile. "Good question." Nagito didn't say anything else, but neither did he leave. Eventually, Hajime continued, "Nagito. I want to ask you something. About the Funhouse. When you learned the truth about us, what ran through your head?"

Those soldiers on Jabberwock had come hunting for Hajime, and they didn't care who they'd hurt in the process. No, that wasn't right: they'd come hunting for Hajime, and they would gleefully slaughter most of his friends if they got the chance. Those who they didn't slaughter, they'd torture.

And not just torture, Hajime knew as he thought about what was left of Fuyuhiko, but destroy. Utterly. The so-called good guys would rip out everything that made up the people he cared about. Those men who'd come for Hajime and the men who'd done this to Fuyuhiko could make zero claim at being on the side of good, despite all claims to the contrary.

Nagito's concern deepened at the seeming non sequitur, but he still didn't try to pull Hajime away from whatever he was working on. After that long pause, he answered, "I had to stop everyone. Before you hurt anyone else."

"Right. Exactly." Hajime reached for a wire and stripped its coating. "You asked whose hope I'm creating, so: our hope. I apparently have to pick, and so I pick our hope." He'd might have been created as the world's hope, but his world had been reduced to the people on this ship.

There was another long pause from the man at the door. Hajime wondered if Nagito would demand to know exactly what he was planning, or would spout off more speeches about how the entire world's hope rested in his hands. But no. After that aching pause, Nagito simply murmured, "I understand" and turned, closing the door behind him.

Hajime nodded and leaned back in to his work.

It took him eight days, and he barely left the room until he was done. Fuyuhiko was probably relieved about that.

At the end of those eight days, when Hajime was sure that his plan would work, he walked to the infirmary and was surprised to find it empty. A quick check of the roster told him that Fuyuhiko had moved to a normal room, right next to Peko's, and Hajime headed there with purpose. Even if Fuyuhiko connected with every other person on this ship better than with Hajime, it was doubtful he'd willingly spend much time socializing.

As expected, the door opened, and the face behind it wasn't happy. "Well," Fuyuhiko said shortly, and studied him. He looked much healthier than before; once he'd made it through the worst stretch, he'd apparently improved rapidly. A thick sweater appeared to be enough to keep him warm. "You listened to me for a week, at least."

Right. Fuyuhiko didn't want to see his face again. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm doing something for you on deck as soon as it gets dark," Hajime levelly said. "You don't have to come. But if you look through the porthole and wonder what you're seeing, you'll know what's up."

Fuyuhiko blinked. "Huh? The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't worry about it."

"If you're doing something for me," Fuyuhiko snapped, "without my permission, then I'm gonna fuckin' worry!"

"So, we're talking about asking the other person's permission, now?" Hajime said, and didn't try to soften how pointed the words were. "Anyway. You can come if you want, or not." He turned and left without further explanation, leaving Fuyuhiko blinking behind him.

Even if Fuyuhiko hated him, and even if he never wanted to see Hajime again, Hajime was his best friend. He was going to take care of Fuyuhiko and stop what had happened from ever, ever repeating.

Whether Fuyuhiko wanted him to or not.

And he was going to protect everyone else, too, Hajime calmly told himself as they joined him on the deck. Those soldiers never should have been able to sneak up on them, and the local radar never should had been the first warning sign they had. If he'd protected his friends to begin with, none of this would have happened.

Confusion ran wild. All everyone knew was that Hajime was working on something supposedly important, with components taken from a military base, but there were no weapons to be seen. He didn't look aggressive, either; if anything, he looked eerily calm as he stared up at the sky.

"Mind clueing us in?" Akane demanded, hugging herself tightly. She treated the cold as an opponent, and she always hated to admit defeat. At least she'd relented into putting on a pair of sweatpants, but she still refused to wear a coat.

Hajime smiled slightly at the sight, and of everything he knew of her. He'd protect her, too, like he'd failed to do on Jabberwock.

"Seriously," Hiyoko complained. She too had resisted dressing for the increasingly cold weather, but she'd finally given in at the first dusting of snow. As Mahiru leaned over to pull her in to a warmth-sharing hug, Hiyoko wondered, "What have you even been doing, anyway? Did your big fight with Fuyuhiko make you turn tail and hide for that long?"

It probably wasn't a surprise that secrets spread quickly within tight quarters. "Simple," Hajime said, and looked back up at the night sky. "I'm doing what I should have done before all of this happened in the first place: protecting everyone."

"How?" Kazuichi asked, audibly nervous. "Didn't you go to, uh…"

"A military base?" Nagito concluded. He wasn't outright nervous like Kazuichi, of course, but even he sounded at least apprehensive about Hajime's uncharacteristic behavior and whatever he'd left him to do in that room. Nagito sounding even mildly concerned about something managed to unnerve Ryota and Teruteru, too.

"Yes."

Hajime's blunt answer did nothing to soothe their nerves, and the group looked between themselves.

Sonia gathered her courage and stepped forward. "Hajime, when the five of us chose to shut down the program, we did so for the safety of the world. You musn't—" Her voice faltered when his attention turned toward her.

Hajime could only imagine what his expression looked like, right now. Those soldiers had come in search of Izuru Kamukura. After what they'd done to the people he cared about, they'd found him.

She collected her courage and tried again. "You mustn't hurt anyone, Hajime."

"I'm not going to hurt anyone," he said like it was self-evident. That lack of trust should have hurt, but he distantly realized that his voice had indeed gone flat, all its emotional affectation falling away. It had been a very, very long stretch of months. Feelings had failed him over and over again as they went on, and now, he just needed to fix these problems before they could happen again.

"Then what the hell are you doing?"

The voice sliced through Hajime's disaffected thoughts, and he blinked with surprise. Fuyuhiko stood near the stairs, ready to return below deck in an instant, but he was there.

"Sorry, Fuyuhiko," Hajime said as all of those squelched emotions rushed back into him like surging floodwaters, and he flexed his hand around the small controller it held. "I know you said you didn't want me making this decision for you. Well. I'm gonna."

"Huh?" Fuyuhiko asked, too confused to be angry.

Turning back to the sky, Hajime inhaled.

He was about to end the world.

Again.

Before he could talk himself out of this, his thumb clicked the button to confirm the algorithm he'd spent a week building. Humanity's greatest genius had used a modified satellite phone taken from the Canadian base to hack into every government and military system left in this broken world, and slithered into their cracks and shadows. After that, he'd started calculating angles and vectors and control mechanisms. And now, he'd just put all of those controls into effect.

There was a full minute of wary silence as they waited for anything to happen, finally broken by Nagito wondering, "Hajime… what did you do?"

"I'm not hurting anyone," he calmly repeated. "I'm just going to stop them before they hurt anyone else."

Nagito still looked unsettled, especially at the echo of his own words, but said nothing more.

As Hajime looked up at the sky and waited, his breath suddenly caught as he realized Fuyuhiko had walked up next to him. Though his tight expression demanded answers, Hajime could only say, "I owe you this."

"Owe me what, exact… ly…" Fuyuhiko's question trailed off into nothing as a spectacular streak of light burned across the sky.

A few people gasped. Realizing what they must be thinking, Hajime said, "It's not a missile. Don't worry. But keep watching."

Another streak of light blazed overhead, then a third. And then, suddenly, it became a waterfall of shining, gleaming color tearing apart the night sky. A meteor shower like the Perseids might see a hundred so-called falling stars in an hour. This was thousands of points of light, in minutes.

It was beautiful. Even though he'd known what was about to happen, Hajime couldn't help but stare up in awe at the choir of light singing an intricate melody overhead. Runs, chords, arpeggios; the glimmering lines wrote out a song that had never been seen in the history of the world, and would never be seen again.

"What did you do?" Fuyuhiko asked in an amazed whisper as he stared up at the glorious show above.

"I owe you this," Hajime repeated, also in a whisper, then stayed silent until calm, dark night finally returned.

A few final streaks of light followed their brethren down to earth. Only when they were sure that no more would follow did everyone turn to Hajime. Every last face demanded answers.

For it, he held up his hand to show off the small controller held in his palm.

"They had… that at the military base?" Kazuichi asked weakly.

"No." Hajime smiled as genuine relief swept him, like he hadn't felt for a very long time. "It just set off my algorithm."

"Which did what?" Peko prompted.

"Directed ninety-three percent of all functioning satellites out of orbit. And I now control the other seven percent."

That took a moment to sink in, then earned a collective gasp. "Those were satellites?" Mahiru demanded. "Like, television and internet and phone satellites?"

Hajime looked back up at a now-empty sky. "Like spy satellites. Like military targeting and attack satellites. They're never going to find any of you again. And with the ones I kept, I'll know if they even make an attempt. It'll be impossible to take us by surprise, ever again."

Overwhelmed, Sonia clutched her forehead. "Every telecommunications network around the world just collapsed." Gundham stared at Hajime like he'd wielded some dark magical powers to put on that spectacular display.

"Not every one," Hajime calmly countered. "Land-based towers will still work fine, and there are plenty of those. And I spent the last four days making sure that no satellites would angle toward populated areas, just in case they didn't burn up. No one was hurt. Which is a lot more than those soldiers can say.

"I didn't hurt anyone," he repeated in the silence. "But… I realized that I had to decide who I'm protecting, actively. And I picked you."

Aware of the stunned figure still standing at his side, Hajime quietly repeated, "I picked you. You won't have to do it again. And I'll stop talking to you, now."

Fuyuhiko's eye opened as wide as Hajime had ever seen it, and he looked up to stare again at the heavens that had been ripped down to keep him safe.

"All right. That's it." Hajime smiled. "Show's over. If we want, we could set sail tomorrow. They're never going to find us again."

He didn't know whether to expect it or not, but a knock came on his cabin door an hour later. When Hajime opened it, Fuyuhiko met his gaze for only a couple of seconds before studying the floor between them. "What in the hell was… I didn't ask for that."

"I know. But I owed you that much, Fuyuhiko. If I had done what I was capable of early enough, then you wouldn't have been forced into doing what you were capable of. I screwed up, so now I fixed it."

"When they figure out what happened, you're just going to be even more of a target," Fuyuhiko muttered. "Biggest bad guy on the planet."

He shrugged, smiling lopsidedly. "Already am, right?"

Fuyuhiko snorted slightly, but admitted, "Who… made his project take twice as long, so that he wouldn't hurt people. I would've just figured that everything would burn up."

"None of us want to hurt people," Hajime agreed, and instinctively raised his hand toward the fresh, deeper scar that had been carved across Fuyuhiko's bad eye. He caught himself halfway there and lowered his hand. "But the 'good guys' apparently can't say the same. So I picked us. And I don't regret it. They won't be able to see or hear us well enough to find us, any more, and so you'll never have to do that again."

For once, the silence between them seemed comfortable, like it had been before, when they could sit in each other's presence and not feel the immediate need to fill the quiet. In that quiet, Hajime was finally able to think of the right thing to say. "Don't think of this as coming from a friend. We apparently can't be that, any more. But I owed you a debt, and I needed to repay it."

Fuyuhiko studied him, clearly aware that Hajime had deliberately chosen language from Fuyuhiko's world, and seemed to consider him anew. Maybe, just maybe, they did understand each other, despite all this time seeming to say otherwise. "Hey. Lab rat."

"Don't call me that," Hajime instantly countered.

Not bothering to apologize, Fuyuhiko continued, "So, you just took out every way for militaries to track us, right? Plan offensive maneuvers? Organize their fleets?" After getting a nod at each question, he slowly finished, "Then… didn't you say you'd thought of something that might fix my memories, if only you could get past the military?"

Everything went still, and Hajime's eyes opened wide as he realized what he'd accidentally done as part of his plan.

"I just…" Troubled, Fuyuhiko tried a few times to finish his thoughts. "What you did up there tonight, I…" He shifted his weight. "I guess you finally made me curious about caring that damn much."

Hajime gripped his hand before he could help it. "Okay. Before we sail back there, I need to know if they would have gone back to look inside a specific building. I don't think you do, but do you know anything about something called the Neo World Program? Anything at all?"

Fuyuhiko blinked back at him with a total lack of recognition. "That's a dumbass name."

With a crow of delighted laughter over the confirmation that Fuyuhiko had never told them a thing, Hajime unthinkingly drew him into a hug.

"Get off me!" Fuyuhiko spat, his good mood gone.

"Sorry," Hajime chuckled, and stepped away. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"If you try to act like a friend who hugs me," Fuyuhiko muttered, "I'm gonna change my mind about this."

Hajime held up his hands. "Right. No hugs. Sorry."

"Okay. Glad we've gotten that straightened out." Fuyuhiko cleared his throat. "We're not friends. You've just got me curious. That's it."

"Absolutely," Hajime agreed. "That's it."

"Well. Okay. Right." Fuyuhiko hesitated a moment longer, then turned and walked off without a good-bye.

Hajime watched him leave, then turned and flat-out ran the other direction, toward the stairs. It was time to weigh anchor, and he'd figure out the safest path back toward Jabberwock once they were in motion. That would be easy enough; they still had access to all remaining navigational and spy satellites, after all, while every single one of their enemies had just been thrown back into navigating by compass and map.

Eighteen days later, they were back.

Everyone looked wistfully at the familiar beaches and palm trees. Even if they'd blinded the world's militaries, it was too dangerous to stay permanently in this known location. They could make return trips to strip the islands of what supplies they had to offer, but this wasn't home, any more.

"Come on," Hajime said, and gestured to the dock. "In there."

Fuyuhiko looked warily toward the central administration building; familiar to Hajime, but an unknown location to him. "What are we doing, exactly? You said this is where that virtual game thing happened, but I'm not doing that again, am I?"

He shook his head as they set into motion. "No. In a worst-case scenario, I can look for the same memory files that were generated when the simulation ran before. That wouldn't be… ideal, since it'd have some holes and nothing past when we woke up, but it'd be better than now." And Fuyuhiko would be balanced on the edge of Ultimate Despair, again, but they could all pull him off the ledge in the right direction.

"Okay," Fuyuhiko said, clearly troubled, but making the active decision to trust Hajime. "What's the best-case scenario, then? How would you get the memories back, otherwise?"

"I don't think they're actually gone," Hajime theorized.

That earned a dark look. "I'm pretty damn sure I knew what I was doing, there."

"You absolutely cannot reach those memories," Hajime quickly agreed. "Which kept those guys from being able to, either. But, it's like… imagine two buildings with a road between them. When you told me about what you did, I realized that I don't think you blew up the buildings. They're still there. I think you just blew up the road, so there's no way to access them."

"Okay," Fuyuhiko said uncertainly. "What's the difference, then, in fixing them?"

"Cognitive psychology studies retrieval methods for information that has been stored in long-term memory." The formal explanation quickly earned annoyance, and Hajime changed to, "You changed your associations with them, so you can't pull your memories out. You blew up the road, in other words. But there are pods—" Please, let the pods still be there. "That are specifically designed to deal with memories. I'm positive I can tweak them to zero in on fixing your retrieval processes. I won't need to actually rebuild any memories. I'll just need to fix the roads."

"Makes sense," Fuyuhiko said, but sounded even more uncertain as the details poured in. "So, I'm going to get into a weird memory pod that was used to lock me into a killing game, and you're gonna fuck with my brain. Like the pod already did, once."

"That's." Hajime paused, then held back a grimace. "Yeah. I wouldn't use those words, but… that's technically accurate, yeah."

Fuyuhiko looked to the side, and Hajime realized someone had followed them to the building. "What do you think?"

"It's as I've been telling you, all this time." Peko nodded. "You can trust Hajime."

Fuyuhiko stared at the building looming overhead, then sighed. "Fuck it." He pushed his way inside, not waiting for them to follow.

When Hajime moved to do so, a hand caught his wrist. "Thank you," Peko whispered, with a rare smile.

He smiled, too. "You got him out."

"And you'll get him back." She stepped back, releasing his wrist. "I won't keep you. But truly: thank you."

Nodding, Hajime reached over and squeezed her wrist before he followed Fuyuhiko inside. He found Fuyuhiko in the lobby, looking critically at the looming statue representing the five islands; he hadn't known which hallway to use after entering. Hajime led him down a path that they'd walked countless times while working on their sleeping friends, and kept glancing at him to see if any recognition flickered.

None did, but that might also have been because of how focused he was on assessing the space around them. "No signs of forced entry anywhere," Fuyuhiko mused. "And there's dust."

"It doesn't look like anyone's been down here," Hajime agreed, but his pulse sped as they approached the final corridor. He took and held a deep breath as he pushed open the door in question.

The pods were still there.

His lungs emptied, and Hajime's heart lurched back into regular motion. "Okay," he said, and tried to not let on how worried he'd been that they might come all this way only to find that the military had carried off the island's heart. "Pick a pod."

Fuyuhiko eyed him oddly—Hajime's nerves had clearly come through—but he shrugged and walked over to the pod nearest to the main control panel. "So, I just…?"

"You just get in," Hajime confirmed, and tapped the pod's panel to open it.

Needing another few contemplative moments, Fuyuhiko let out a whooshing breath, nodded, and climbed into the empty pod. "Don't fuck up, lab rat."

"Don't call me that," Hajime reminded him, hopefully for the last time, and tapped the controls to close the pod. Inside, Fuyuhiko watched him through its fogged glass, then abruptly dropped into unconsciousness as its effects took hold.

Okay. Time to be someone's Ultimate Hope, again.

Hajime's fingers flew across the controls as he worked on repurposing the intricate code of the Neo World Program. Software code and neurological structures both reshaped under his expert hands, but it wasn't a quick process. He'd reprogrammed the world's satellites, but reprogramming Fuyuhiko's brain felt infinitely more consequential.

Eventually, he had to activate the program and turn it over to the machine. It was out of his hands, now, and he could only wait, watch, and hope. Eighty-seven anxious minutes later, a light turned from green to white. The program had ended.

Fear and anticipation filled him in equal measure. He was almost sure this would work, but if it didn't, Hajime didn't have another plan. It would work, right? It would work. It would work. It had to work, he told himself as he reached for the pod's controls and tapped OPEN. It had to work.

The pod door slowly opened, and Fuyuhiko's eyelid followed.

Hajime leaned over him, realizing his own hands were shaking. "H-hey." He swallowed, feeling suddenly weighed down by the gravity of this moment. Either he was about to get Fuyuhiko back, or it would prove impossible. "How'd it go?"

Fuyuhiko blinked at him once. Twice.

Hajime looked down, and again swallowed hard.

Abruptly, Fuyuhiko lunged halfway out of the pod and grabbed Hajime by his shirt collar. "You asshole! I told you not to bother!"

"You told me?" Hajime repeated with a tremulous, hopeful voice.

"All of those fucking satellites? They're gonna know it was you!"

He swallowed. "And who am I?"

Fuyuhiko's lower lip quivered. "Hajime Hinata. The world's biggest idiot."

Delirious joy overtook Hajime, and he leaned in for a hug that lifted Fuyuhiko the rest of the way out of his pod. One arm wrapped around the other man's back, holding him close, while his other hand rested along the curve of Fuyuhiko's head. "You're the idiot," Hajime laughed, and rested his face against Fuyuhiko's.

"Fuck you," Fuyuhiko snorted, and wrapped his arms around Hajime in return, allowing himself to be held like he seldom did. "My plan worked great."

"Well, so did mine." Hajime's grip tightened, though he remembered in time that Fuyuhiko still had deep injuries lurking inside. "I picked you. Just like you picked me."

Fuyuhiko tried to say something, but failed.

"Thank you," Hajime whispered. Now that sun had returned to his world, he could admit to what fate Fuyuhiko had saved him from. "God, thank you. Never do that again. Never."

"That's the plan," Fuyuhiko whispered, and laughed once. It faded into a soft, twisted noise. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"And you do. You see me. Right?"

"Yeah." Fuyuhiko nodded against him. "I do."

Ultimate Hope felt like a worthwhile title, suddenly. "Come on," Hajime eventually said. He didn't let go of Fuyuhiko, though, and Fuyuhiko didn't step away. "Let's figure out what home's going to be, now."

#my fic #i joke that my single favorite trope is 'earn your happy ending' #significantly fucking less of an ideal situation for the rest of the world but our focus is BIASED