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millersdjarin · 1 year

Text

Some Invisible String

Chapter V: One Single Thread of Gold

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (afab)

Rating: E (18+ only!)

Summary: Ten years after Reader left Joel for reasons he still doesn’t know, they find themselves together again in a town called Jackson. Joel has questions he’s too afraid to ask; and Reader dreads having to give the answers.

Chapter length: 4.2k

Warnings/Tags: injury recovery, light angst, SMUT, crying during sex (but in a happy way), happy ending, unprotected p in v

Chapter Four (Previous) | Series Masterlist | Fic Masterlist

notes: final chapter! thank u for reading, i hope you enjoy ❤️

ps since tlou has new fans from the show (YAY!), just a heads up that this is post TLOU part 1 and following the details of game canon vs tv show canon, so spores for example. so, spoilers ahead for the story ❤️

“See? Told you she wouldn’t believe us.”

“I do,” I find myself saying, blinking at Ellie and Joel in their kitchen like each of them has just grown a second head. “I do believe you. I just…holy shit. You can breathe in spores, and everything?”

“Yup.”

I stare at Ellie with wide-eyes. Her sleeve is rolled up, revealing her bite. I never thought I’d see a healed bite from an infected. “Jesus,” I breathe out. I reach down for her arm, then ask, “Can I?”

Ellie nods and lifts it up to meet me, letting her forearm sit in my hand. I run my finger over the scar, feeling its raised bumps and wrinkles, completely dumfounded by the fact that this is an actual infected bite but it’s not red and angry, threatening to turn its victim at any minute; it’s been there for a year and a half. It’s healed, just as if it was from a dog, or something. Except it is absolutely, without question, the kind of bite that should’ve rendered her a clicker by now.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I let her arm go. “I assume you don’t tell anyone about this?”

Rolling her sleeve back down, Ellie shakes her head. “No. We agreed it’s safer that way. Only a few people know.”

Something warm spreads in my chest. “I’m honoured to be one of them,” I give her a smile, hoping it comes across as genuine as I mean it to. “My lips are sealed. It’s pretty amazing, though, right? Did you get bitten when you were with Joel?”

“I…no. No, it was before that. We actually met because we…”

Gently, Joel continues for her, “We were going to the Fireflies. They thought she was the key to finding a cure, but…it didn’t work out.”

The vaguest hint of a frown works its way onto my face. I study Joel where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, delicious arms folded over his chest, his jaw working away. I’ve never been able to describe what it is about him that I pick up on when he’s lying. All I know is that I know a lie from Joel when I hear one.

He looks at me like he knows that. Like he’s saying Not now.

“Damn,” I say to Ellie, then offer her a smile again, “you got a badass scar, though. Not that you can show anyone it, but still.”

She laughs a little. “I guess so.”

“So you came all the way from Boston to Wyoming together? How the hell did you manage that?”

“A whole lotta luck,” Joel says with a wry smile.

“And teamwork,” Ellie adds.

I laugh. “I’m impressed.”

“You survived on your own, too,” Ellie says. “That’s also pretty badass.”

“It’s very badass,” I agree, but resist a shudder at the bad memories from the last decade that instantly pour into my mind.

“We should get you sitting down,” Joel says, gesturing to my leg. It is starting to throb; we’ve been standing here talking about all this for a while.

I nod and start hobbling to the living room. Joel puts his arm around me to help, and to be honest I probably don’t need it, but I will take any opportunity I can get to be close to him. Our kiss from this morning is still fresh on my skin like it only just ended. I can feel his lips, his breath, his hands; a perfect ghost of him all over me.

“Ellie, why don’t you go get the horses ready, then we’ll head out for a ride? I just gotta talk to Tyler over here before we go.”

My heart leaps in my chest.

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Who the fuck is Tyler?”

Joel gives me a smirk.

“That’s what he used to call me,” I explain with a nostalgic smile, remembering the first time he called me it. “I’m from Tyler in Texas. When we first met, all we knew about each other was we were both from Texas.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Ellie laughs. She points her thumb towards the back door and says, “I’ll go get ready to ride. Do you wanna come with us?”

“I should probably get some rest,” I reply. “But thanks.”

Then, when Ellie is gone and out of earshot, I turn to Joel where he stands by the living room window. He’s got one thumb hooked over his belt, the light from the window shining around him, making him into a lovely silhouette. I’d ask him to come closer, to kiss me, to even just hold my hand, but I have a question first.

“So,” I say, leaning back against the sofa, “why’d you lie back there? About the cure?”

Heavily, he sighs. Steps over to me, sits down, rubs his hands over his face.

Then, he tells me.

“And…she doesn’t know,” I clarify after the whole story is out there in the open. Like a mist in the room, lingering, waiting for my reaction.

“She doesn’t know.”

I exhale. His hand is sitting on his knee now, his other running over his beard with his elbow propped on the arm of the couch.

I’m not surprised he did that for Ellie. Rushing through an entire army of Fireflies to save her life. I’m not surprised in the slightest, and I also know why he kept it a secret.

What I am, though, is so fucking in love with him that it hurts my chest; and this only makes it stronger. I reach out and take the hand on his leg, threading our fingers together.

“Do you feel that you did the right thing?” I ask, looking at his side profile.

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind,” he answers without hesitation, then turns to look at me. “I’d do it a thousand times for her.”

A smile tugs at my lips as my chest blooms with affection. I squeeze his hand, trying to come up with words that don’t just sound cheesy, that don’t sound like I’m making fun of him. “Who knew you were so soft?” I ask. Which, okay, is partially teasing. But not entirely.

He chuckles. The smile on his face is so precious to me, and I think I’ve seen it more in the past week I’ve been here than I ever did in our five years together back then. He just looks so light. Still weighed down by the weight of this world, of course, and not without his own grief or fears; but, God, he smiles like he means it. Like he’s not afraid to anymore. Like the fear of the smile ruining everything has lifted from him.

Naturally, I can’t get enough of it.

“I think you did,” he answers my question, sincere.

“Hm, I think the Joel I fell for was a little rougher around the edges,” I smirk, fully teasing now as he turns his body towards me and leans over me, brushing his hand over my cheek.

His eyes locked onto mine, he rasps, “I can still be rough around the edges. If you want me to be.”

With my hand on the back of his neck, I lean in and kiss him. Because he’s so fucking handsome, he’s here, he’s Joel.

There are still thoughts in my head that keep trying to push through; thoughts of doubt, of worry, of fear. I don’t know where this is going, where I’m going, or what I should assume about either of those things.

But with his lips moving against mine, I force the thoughts away, because I’ve waited so long for this feeling and I’m not about to ruin it as soon as it’s started.

“I gotta go,” he says against my lips, rueful. He lifts up his thumb and smoothes it over my bottom lip. “We’ll pick this up later?” He asks, hopefully flicking his eyes between both of mine.

I nod, biting my lip. “Please.”

When Joel gets back, he makes us dinner.

The three of us sit around the dining table in the living room, a candle in the middle of the table, flickering along with the fireplace across the room. It’s been two decades since I had a home-cooked meal like this; sitting at a table, inside a house, safe and warm. With people I know and trust.

Ellie and I talk about movies and music, teasing Joel for his taste in both. We talk until it’s late and Ellie is yawning while Joel tells her that maybe she should get some sleep. She protests, claiming she’s ‘not even tired’, to which Joel responds, “I’ve heard that before.”

But after a while, she gives in to the tiredness so obviously weighing at her, and stands up from the table. “Alright. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Thanks for dinner, Joel.”

“Night, Ellie,” Joel says, watching her as she walks towards the living room. “Sleep well.”

“Night,” I say with a smile. Ellie gives us both a wave, lifting her arm up high without turning back, and then she’s up the stairs and gone.

I look at Joel, and warmth settles in my chest. The light in here is warm, mostly coming from the dim lights in the living room now, along with the candlelight flickering over Joel’s face. It casts highlights and shadows and I want to reach out and touch them with my fingers, with my mouth.

Reaching across to him, I run my fingertips over his knuckles, and he smiles, twisting his hand so he can take hold of mine and squeeze.

“You want some wine?” He asks into the comfortable quiet.

“Love some,” I reply. “Can’t remember the last time I had any. Decent stuff, at least.”

He pours a deep, red wine into two glasses, and when he comes back to the table, he doesn’t sit back on his seat. Instead, he pulls away a chair and turns to me, perching on the edge of the table, his legs at the same level as my shoulders. Then he holds up his glass for me to tap mine against.

I do. “What are we toasting to?” I ask, looking up at him from under my eyelashes, drinking in more than just the wine; his heat, his hard thighs so close to my face, the way he’s looking down at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. Like we’re not living in the end of the world. Like we’re just on a regular date at his house, drinking wine after sunset.

“Think we got a lot to toast to,” he says after taking a sip. With his spare hand, he reaches out, and brushes some pieces of hair back from my face. “This, right here, for one.”

Smiling, I lean into his touch, closing my eyes. My lips press into his palm before he lays it on my cheek. “Agreed.”

His lips spread into a small, contented smile. I put my spare hand on his waist, then slide it around so it’s pressed against his back. We just drink our wine like that, sitting with a hand on each other, existing in one of the only quiet moments we’ve ever had together. It’s just us, right now. It could be that nothing else exists. Just us. Just him, leaning against the table, gazing down at me like I’m something precious he can’t take his eyes off of.

When I’ve finished the last of my wine, I put my glass down on the table, and make use of my newly freed hand to rub it up his thigh. He sighs, swallowing the last of his.

“You wanna go to bed?” I ask, letting my voice run soft and sultry.

“I’d love to,” he says, “just one thing first.”

“Hm?” I hum, pressing my forehead into his thigh, right against the denim of his jeans. His hand slides back into my hair, gently playing with it. I can feel heat rising in my belly, a need to be closer to him just thrumming through my veins.

“Don’t tell Ellie, but I’ve been working on a little somethin’ for her. The shed out back, Tommy and I have made it into her own space just for her. I thought she’d appreciate having a place to call her own.”

I look up at him and smile. “She’ll love that.”

Joel nods. He stares at me for a minute, pondering. “And…since we’re talkin’ about living arrangements…”

Dread shoots through my stomach, piercing through any of that rising arousal that his touch had ignited.

He doesn’t want me to stay.

That has to be it, right? He’s been thinking about it, too, ever since I got here. I don’t blame him; how can he ever trust me again? How can we ever—

“I was wonderin’ if you wanted to move in.”

Oh.

Well, that brought my racing thoughts to a shuddering halt.

He seems to take my silence as apprehension, because suddenly he’s nervous, trying to explain himself, “Only if you want. I know it’s…I know a lot has changed, especially today, and I really was going to offer for you to live here before we…you know.”

I swallow down the lump of emotion that has made itself at home in my throat. I’m just staring up at him, wide-eyed, probably looking like I’m on the edge of tears.

He wants me to stay.

Fucking fuck, he doesn’t just want me to stay in town; he wants me to stay with him.

“You…” I stammer. “You want me to…”

He holds up a hand like he’s trying to calm a situation, one that actually doesn’t need calming, but the look on my face probably suggests otherwise— “Now I know it’s sudden, and if you want to ask Maria for your own place, she’s already suggested some…or…unless you don’t want to stay here at all?” Doubt creeps into his features, a jolt of anxiety I so rarely see.

“No!” I manage to squeak out, tightening my grip on his jeans. It doesn’t seem to clear anything up for him; he just frowns. “I mean, no, I…I don’t want to leave,” I say, finding that I mean it. Why wouldn’t I mean it? Why the fuck would I ever want to leave this place? And now that I have Joel…

Fuck, I have Joel.

There are no words. None that are good enough, big enough, to express the overwhelming feelings that are bubbling up inside me.

Instead of talking, I stand up, lean into him, and kiss him.

He makes a pleasantly surprised noise, his hand staying on the back of my head as he lets my lips press to his, my hand going to mirror his. I open my mouth, feel him sigh when he opens his too, moving our lips together slowly but passionately. Desperately. Because it’s the only way I can think to tell him how I really feel.

Maybe in another life, I’d have said it’s too soon. That we’re rushing into things.

But we live in a world where one of us could die any day. And after everything, after all this time, I don’t want to waste any more time.

If he’ll have me—I’ll have him.

“So is that a yes?” He pulls away for a second and gives a nervous little chuckle. His thumb strokes at my cheekbone, his eyes looking down into mine, glowing in the candlelight.

I nod. “Yes, it’s a yes,” I say. The heat is back in my belly again, feeling his knee pressed up between my legs, his face so close to mine and breath blowing against my mouth. “Yes, it’s a fucking yes, Joel. God, I—” I kiss him again, because I can’t not. “I can’t believe this.”

He laughs into my mouth and kisses me quiet, bringing up his other hand to cradle the other side of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair again like they did this morning. I sigh, unable to resist, and melt at his touch. At his mouth. At him.

“Joel,” I say, breathless, “Joel, will you please take me to bed?”

He laughs again, a breathy chuckle that brushes into my mouth before trailing down my neck along with his lips, pressing closed-mouthed kisses all along my jaw. “Can you make it up the stairs?”

“For this, yes.”

When he pulls back, he’s grinning, showing his teeth and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. I dive in and kiss at each line, each mark of his life, everything he’s been through, all his laughs and tears and shouts and smiles—

“Joel,” I find myself whimpering against the corner of his mouth.

His hands, steady on my waist, squeeze me. “You alright?”

Tears are stinging in my eyes and nose. I try to swallow them back, press my nose into his neck. “Take me to bed,” I beg again, this time in just a breathy whisper, “Please.”

His hands are precious and gentle on the back of my head again, cradling me in his warm palms, his fingertips threaded into my hair. I’m sitting on the end of his bed and he’s bending down to kiss me, my head craning up to meet him as best I can. I’d strain to reach him forever if that’s what it took. If the only reprieve from the stretch was his hand on the back of my neck. It would be enough.

He pulls away from my lips for a second and breathes against me. “Goddamn,” he curses.

I stroke his forearms, running my fingers through the hairs there. “Yeah,” I breathe, “yeah.”

“You know how long I’ve wanted this?” He asks.

I didn’t used to. I thought he’d never want this. Want me.

But now…

I nod, and pull him down further, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. “I think I do.”

Carefully he backs me up along the bed, crawling on top of me as I shuffle up towards the pillows. I try to kiss him as we move but it ends up too clumsy and my leg kind of hurts as I’m crawling backwards, and he chuckles at my efforts, settling above me once I’m lying down.

The backs of his fingers trace down my face. He gazes down at me, his eyes glittering in the warm, dim light of his bedroom. I want to dive in, devour him, let him devour me, feel him as close as possible because I’ve wanted it for so fucking long—

But he’s so soft above me, so comforting and familiar and new all at once, and I could just as easily just stare at him like this forever, the look in his eyes, gazing like I’m something he wants. Something he needs.

“Do I have something on my face?” I tease, just a little shakily, not sure what else to say. “You’re staring.”

He shakes his head once. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

I smile up at him, press my hand to his cheek. “Me, neither.” My other hand moves around to the back of his neck, and I dip it down below the collar of his shirt, feeling at the heat of his back, pushing it down as far as it’ll go. He stifles a moan, letting his eyes flutter closed. “Joel,” I whisper against him, pressing our foreheads together, “how many times do I have to ask you to fuck me?”

His breath hitches, catching in his throat. “You technically haven’t asked me that at all yet, darlin’,” he replies after a beat.

“Well, then, I’m asking you now,” I pull away to meet his eyes again. Lightly, I curl the hand that’s under his shirt, running my fingertips over the small of his back, digging them in just a little. “Please, Joel. Take me. I’m yours. I’m—”

He dives in before I can say anything else, opening his mouth against mine and kissing me with a new, fevered urgency. He holds himself up above me with his palms on either side of my head, and at the feeling of his tongue brushing against mine, my hips instinctively buck up to try and find some friction.

Without moving his mouth from mine, he shifts his legs, gently using his knee to push mine apart and then settling it there between them. Slowly, as he kisses me so quickly and passionately that I only just register what he’s doing, he slides his knee up and presses it against my centre.

It feels fucking incredible. I’m throbbing already, pulsing for him, desperate for more friction. Another instinct, to grind down against his thigh, pushing myself further against him as he kisses me like his life depends on it.

One of his hands moves a little so his fingertips are brushing over my temple, pushing bits of hair away from my face. I let the hand on his cheek slide back into his hair, taking a handful of it and pulling, revelling in the choked moan he lets out against my mouth. The vibration of his voice is intoxicating, and I wonder, not for the first time, how it’d feel against the place that his knee is currently pushed against.

My hand on his back scrapes again, digging my nails in probably a little too hard, but he doesn’t complain; his lips break away from mine with a loud smack, and I’m about to protest, about to pull him back in when they start to messily trail down my jaw in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. I gasp, my mouth falling open. His mouth is so warm, so wet, I can hear him breathing through it with his nose right up at my ear, can feel the heat of his thigh where it’s pressed against me—

“Joel,” I gasp out as his mouth settles at the pulse point on my neck. He starts to suck, and I can feel just enough of his teeth that I know it’s going to make a mark, the suction pulling sparks of pleasure from my neck all down my body.

He hums in approval as I put my other hand on his waist, above his shirt this time, but starting to ruck it up, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans.

“Joel, please…”

“Mm?” He trails his lips, open and hot, back up to the underside of my jaw, and waits there. “What do you need, darlin’?”

“I need…”

Pulling himself away from me, he takes a careful hold of my hands, withdrawing them from both under and over his shirt. He takes them, entwines our fingers, then presses them down against the pillow on either side of my head. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he promises in a low, husky voice that I have literally dreamed of hearing say that for God knows how long—“just tell me what you need, darlin’, and I’ll do it.”

My mouth suddenly dry, I swallow, gasping for air even without his lips on me. He licks his own, glancing down at my mouth, hungry. “I already told you,” I say, breathless and squeezing his hands, “I need you to fuck me.”

One side of his lovely lips quirk up into a smile. He leans down, kisses me, this time soft and close-mouthed. Then he presses our foreheads together again, and his breath is hot and fast against my face. I want to lean up into him, kiss him again, feel the burn of his beard against my skin, let it mark me up. But before I can, he whispers, “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for too damn long.”

Then his hands are leaving mine, and he leans back, pulling far enough away that I can feel the loss of his body heat. He sits against my thigh, one of his still pressed just not quite hard enough to my middle, and I’m just about to pull him back down again when he takes his hands and starts to unbutton my shirt.

Oh, fuck.

The way he does it so carefully, calloused fingers working expertly on each one, just slow enough that it drives me insane. He watches his fingers, hunger growing in his eyes, licking his lips with every inch of my skin that he exposes.

Then, when all of the buttons are undone, he first meets my eyes for a quick moment with a grin, then takes hold of each side of my open shirt and flings them aside, revealing my bare stomach and bra.

“Oh, darlin’,” he exhales, gazing at that part of me like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. All I can do is lie there, watching him watch me, feeling as his hands press against my navel, slowly sliding up my ribs, to the curve of my breasts, back down again. “You’re so beautiful.”

Sudden, unexpected emotion bubbles up in my throat.

I never thought any of this would happen. Hell, I thought I was going to die not two weeks ago.

When I left Joel, I thought I’d never see him again. And I thought that, even if I did, he’d not want anything to do with me.

And yet here we are, and he’s not just here, he’s mine, touching me with such care and desire and lust and I, God, I can’t put into words how it feels to have him like this—

“Hey,” his soft voice breaks me from my tumbling thoughts. His eyes leave my torso, and I swear to God I feel the lack of their heat. He meets my gaze instead, a soft frown of concern creasing his forehead. “You alright?”

Frantic, I nod. I need him to know that I’ve never been better. I have literally never, in my life, felt like this. I reach up for him, taking hold of his face and bringing it down to mine, not quite pressing our foreheads together. “Joel,” I whisper. He lifts one of his hands from my stomach, brushes the backs of his fingers down my face. “I’ve literally never been happier.”

He smiles. A beautiful little tilt of his lips that has me feeling just as much heat between my thighs as I do with his touch—

Speaking of, I grind down on him again, and my eyes flutter closed at the sensation. I need more. I need more, but he’s still hovering over me, concerned, and I realise that he’s not just brushing his fingers over my cheeks to touch me, he’s brushing away tears.

Tears.

I’m fucking crying. We’re supposed to be having sex, and I’m fucking crying.

Humiliated, I feel my cheeks flush bright red and immediately rush to wipe away the tears. “Sorry,” I croak out, finding more tears in my throat ready to fall, “God, I’m—I’m sorry, I’m fine, I promise…”

He keeps stroking my face. For a moment he watches me, and I can see in his eyes that he’s not judging me. He still looks a little bit worried, but as he looks between each of my eyes, he asks, soft, “Are you sure?”

And I nod in an instant. “I really am,” God, I can’t believe I’m crying. I’m still crying. “It’s just…” The weight of the last decade—fuck, the last two decades, who are we kidding—feels like it’s weighing me down and lifting all at once, suddenly washing over me in a wave that I can’t find my way up from and I don’t know if I want to.

Joel nods like he understands. Leaning down, he kisses away the newest tears on my cheeks. “It’s a lot,” he says, gentle. “I know. After everything.” The hand that isn’t on my cheek moves from my ribcage, instead taking a hold of my hand again, and putting it on the pillow by my head like before. “I’m here, darlin’. Alright? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Feeling just a little pathetic, I sniff. “I’m alright,” I promise him. My hand finds purchase on the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

He gazes down at me for another long moment, his free hand stroking at my hair. I close my eyes into the touch, focus on him, his breathing, his body over mine, protecting me. Keeping me there, because it’s the only place I want to be.

“I just love you,” I find myself whispering with my eyes still closed. At the confession, a small shot of dread shoots through my stomach in an instant, and at first, I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. But as the silence stretches on, I have to.

I open one eye first. A part of me expected him to get up and leave.

But I don’t know why. Because instead, he’s just staring down at me, a new softness on his features that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. His lips quirk into a small smile. His eyes are glistening, disbelieving. “I love you,” he breathes out. I feel the words on my skin, sinking into my bones.

Relieved, I close my eyes again. Then I feel him kiss me, soft.

“I love you,” he says again. “I always have. I always will.”

Feeling a fresh wave of tears threaten to fall, I nod and press my nose into his cheek, grasping on to the back of his head like it’s a lifeline. It kind of is. “Can you please be inside me before I embarrass myself by crying again?” I whisper into his ear, not totally unaware of the fact that I sound even more like I’m crying now. Which, I’m not. I don’t want to cry anymore. I’ve cried enough.

His chuckle is breathy and warm against the shell of my ear. “‘Course I can,” he gently nips at my earlobe, then in one smooth movement, he pushes his knee right up against my still very clothed pussy and I let out a cry. Pleasure shoots through me, and the tears subside to make way for a gasp that pulls out of my lips.

It all happens very quickly, and yet very slowly, after that.

One minute, we’re both still clothed and kissing slowly and softly. The next, I’m tugging off his shirt, he’s unhooking my bra, putting his head between my breasts and kissing the centre of my ribcage with an open mouth. I undo his belt clumsily, push his jeans down to his ankles. He kicks them off and climbs back on top of me as soon as he can, helping me out of my own jeans. It takes a bit of working around my bandage, a distant pain still throbbing away over it.

He looks up at me and raises his eyebrows. “You tell me if this starts hurting,” he says, not a suggestion.

I nod. “I will.”

He wastes no time getting back to my lips, one of his hands travelling all-too slowly down my body towards my centre. I ruck my hips up into his touch, and soon his fingers are pressing against my bare skin, right above my clit where I need him.

“Joel,” I say, “touch me. Please.”

He obliges without a word, sliding the tips of his two fingers down through my folds and towards my entrance, gathering wetness. I hear the slick of it, feel it, and he takes it up to my clit before pressing there in earnest.

“You tell me if it don’t feel good,” he murmurs against my lips. “Need this to be good for you.”

Desperate, I nod, clutching his head with both of my hands as I press my hips up into his delicious touch, the circles he’s making around my clit.

His fingers are inside me, then, thumb pressing against the precious bundle of nerves that he seems intent on pushing on.

“God, Joel, that’s just—that’s just right,” I gasp.

He smiles against my mouth and keeps going, slowly pumping two fingers in and out of me, stretching them apart a few times to get me ready. The sheer anticipation of having his cock inside me is enough to have me pulsing, getting wetter and wetter by the minute.

He readies his cock, holding it against my entrance. Looking into my eyes, he smiles, and presses the tenderest of kisses to my lips. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you…” the words fade off into a breathless whisper as he slides inside me, past my folds and right to my core, so hot and warm and wide and, God, fuck, it was so worth the wait—

I cling to him, scratch my nails down his bare back. As he starts to thrust, slow but not hesitant, he attaches his mouth to my shoulder and sucks. With one hand stroking my hair, he brings the other back to my clit, working it in time with his thrusts.

“Jesus…God, you feel so good…” he grunts against my neck.

“Joel,” I plead, “please…harder, faster…I need you…”

My words pull the loveliest of moans from his throat and it’s like he melts beneath them, beneath my breath and my hands, pushing himself further inside me so the head of his cock is reaching as high as it can go, gently pushing against my cervix. Before he starts going any faster, he pauses, panting in my ear, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Joel, I can take it…”

“Your leg…”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts. Joel, please…”

He lets out a shuddering breath.

Then, he does just what I ask him to do.

It’s not painful. But it is a lot.

His dick hits the highest point inside me he can get to, and it’s so sensitive, it feels like he’s fucking up into my belly button, thrusting so hard that it meets resistance at the top of each curve of him inside me—

His finger gets harder against my clit, too. And, fucking hell, if it wasn’t intense before, it’s fucking overwhelming now.

Not-quite-painful pleasure sparks through from deep inside me to every inch of my body.

“Darlin’,” he gasps, opening his mouth against my neck in pleasure, as his pants get more frantic and his thrusts more erratic. It feels so good, and I’m just pinned underneath him, my left knee pressed into his hip, the other leg still flat on the bed.

His thrusts are jolting me, and there’s definitely pain coming from my wound, but it’s absolutely nothing compared to the feeling of him inside me, fucking me into the mattress as I feel the sweat on his skin—“Darlin’, you feel so good, wrapped around me like this…wanted you for so long, so fuckin’ long, thought about this so many times with my hand on me—” he keeps spilling words, filthy words, into the place where my neck meets my shoulder, and I lap it all up. His voice is like sweet, husky syrup to my ears and I hold him there with his words buzzing into my skin, letting them carry me away to a place where it’s just the two of us, just his cock sliding in and out, fucking me just like I always dreamed of it, his finger still rubbing earnest circles over my clit—

It comes over me suddenly, builds up unexpectedly. “Joel! Joel, I’m gonna…”

He kisses the shell of my ear, all hot breath and wet spit, “Do it, baby, come on my cock…come for me, darlin’, I gotcha…”

And I do. Pleasure rises and rises and rises and then drops, a strangled cry finding its way out of my throat before Joel presses his hand over my mouth to swallow the sound. He moans along with me, and when he lifts his head from my neck, the look on his face keeps me riding my orgasm for just that little bit longer. Totally relaxed in pleasure, his eyes fluttering as they struggle to stay open, his mouth hanging open with spit glistening on his lips. He comes, then, inside of me, and it spills down my thighs with each push back in and out.

I stroke the back of his head as the aftershocks from my high milk his pleasure out for as long as they can. I can feel the release of his muscles, the last of his orgasm fading and leaving him flushed and hot and lovely inside me.

I pant against his cheek. He breathes against mine, fast, taking deep breaths. He’s still inside me. I don’t want him to ever not be.

So when he goes to pull out, I twist my leg at his hip so my foot presses into the base of his back, anchoring him there. “Stay,” I say, pleading, “please. Just for a minute.”

Wordless, he nods, and leaves precious little kisses all across my face and neck. Peppers them down my chest as far as he can go with the way I’ve got him pinned in place. I could keep him here forever. Inside me, on top of me, all around me. His hair is wet with sweat, beads of it dripping down from the back of his neck and onto my breasts.

Jesus.

“Joel,” I whisper. It feels like I’m only ever going to be able to say his name again. “That was…Jesus, Joel, that was good.”

Breathy, he chuckles. “Better than good,” he says. Then he pulls away, and I feel the cold nip of the air start to tickle against my skin, the wetness between my thighs getting cooler. Goosebumps raise on my skin, and Joel notices. “Sorry, darlin’, I’m gonna have to pull out now. Get us cleaned up a bit and warm.” He sounds genuinely sorry, stroking my face as if in consolation.

I sigh, but I know he’s right. Nodding, I give him one last, long kiss on his mouth. “Hurry back,” I say when he climbs off of me and heads into the bathroom.

Hearing the gentle slosh of water, I close my eyes, and feel the cool sheets beneath my skin. There’s a mess between my thighs, dripping down onto the sheet. We should probably have put a towel down. But.

I am about to tell Joel as much when he comes back in with a warm, wet washcloth, but then realise he’s brought a towel with him, too. Too little, too late.

“We made a bit of a mess,” I say, letting my head loll towards him on the pillow. He chuckles in the quiet dimness of the room, the low light flickering over his bare skin.

“Nothin’ we can’t clear up,” he replies, settling between my legs again. Carefully, he wipes at my skin with the washcloth, clearing away my own wetness and his release. I sigh, enjoying the warmth, the way he rubs absently at my knee with his spare hand. He cleans himself up next, then tosses the washcloth across the room.

“Scooch,” he says gently, pushing at my hip. “I’ll put a towel down.”

“Joel, I think you’re about a half hour too late with that,” I smirk, but do as he asks so he can lay the towel over the mattress, spreading it as far as he can.

“We can clean the sheets properly in the morning,” he announces, the grabs the comforter from the floor—I don’t even remember when it got there—and carefully brings it up over my body.

I sigh into the cool fabric and feel the mattress dip beneath Joel’s weight. He crawls into bed beside me, and soon his arms are pulling me against his chest.

I settle with my head over his ribcage, my leg hooked over his as he lies on his back. The covers are pulled right up to my neck, and I take a moment to pull the corner over the top of Joel’s chest, only just avoiding my face.

“Joel,” I say, quiet.

“Hm?” He murmurs as his hand absently rubs circles into my shoulder. His eyes are closed, his other hand propped under his head. When I look up at him, he looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, blissed-out and content. It’s such a beautiful sight that I debate resisting the tiredness in my body and just staying up to watch him like this.

I lift my hand, take hold of his cheek. Turn him to face me, then lean in and kiss him. “I’ve always loved you,” I whisper against his mouth. “I need you to know that.”

His eyes crack open to look into mine. “I always loved you, too,” he strokes at my bottom lip with his thumb. “Now, come on. Let’s get some sleep, alright? Been wantin’ to hold you to sleep for a long time.”

Warmth blooms in my chest. I kiss him again, just once, and snuggle in closer before putting my head back where it was.

And, just like the invisible string that seemed to tie us together all this time, I sit comfortably in this space, letting all the tangles and the knots in my mind unravel. What’s past is past, and we’re here now.

After everything, after the good, the bad, letting this thing between us come back from the dead—

We’re here.

{❤️end❤️}

notes: ah i can't believe it's finished ❤️ thank you SO much for reading and enjoying this fic with me, all your responses have made me so happy and i'm just so glad it's brought some of you joy. i hope you enjoyed the final chapter! i'm considering maybe writing some one-shots set in this universe at some point, or some little drabbles, so keep an eye out for those :)

love u, take care of yourself! ❤️

ps: as always this is post-apocalyptic and a fanfiction but in real life don't forget to always practice safe sex babes!

taglist below

@rosymythologies @lover1307 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @pinkrose1422 @lavenderhhze @abbyhaslongshorts @trippoverrt @emilianamason

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller story #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #my fic #my fic: joel #my fic: joel smut

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the-duke-of-nuts · 1 year

Text

The Florist and The Tattoo Artist

Day 1: Tattoo Shop/Florist @dukexietyweek

Author’s Note: It’s Spooky Gays week bbs! You all remember last year when I said I'd write a fic to this exact prompt based on my post? Of course you do! I of course did not write it yet B U T don't scroll away just yet I promise there's something. I've written a little snippet (I say snippet as if it isn't literally half of one of the chapters) on one of the scenes that happen in the story but I made sure to write in a way where you don’t really need the whole fic to understand what’s going on. With that being said enjoy I guess!

Summary: Pretty much just Remus coming up with a tattoo design for Virgil and asking him out on a date.

Pairing: Dukexiety

Word Count: 1018

Warnings: Food Mention, I guess Remus mentioning his ass I don't know there's not really much here so I think just those should be fine

"Y'know for a tattoo artist I'd expect you to have at least one." Virgil commented as he started watering the beautifully grown plants in the shop. "Oh I do I gave myself a tentacle sword one on the right side of my ass." Remus answered casually. "How did- Y'know what I don't wanna know." The tattoo artist cackled at seeing Virgil shake off the impressive yet disturbing thought.

"Trust me I'm gonna get more soon. So what about you, have you ever thought about getting a tatt?"

"I mean... I wouldn't mind getting one I just don't know of what." The florist shrugged as he finished watering the plants and walked back to the counter. "Well for starters where do you want it?" Remus asked. Virgil thought about it for a moment. Despite the florist's appearance he never thought that far ahead about where'd he even get a tattoo let alone hoped for one in the first place but knowing the tattoo artist, the mustached man would probably come up with a big or possibly suggestive kind of design for him so he went the safe route.

"I don't know probably like..." Virgil started rolling down his sleeve and pushed his wristbands and bracelets out of the way and pointed to his wrist and forearm. "On my wrist or forearm or somewhere around there." "Hmm..." Remus suddenly took Virgil's arm and started lightly tracing the design he had in mind on the emo's wrist area. The florist fought back from shivering at the touch already knowing the smug words that would come out of the tattoo artist's mouth if he did or looked back up and saw how much he was blushing but luckily Remus was still distracted with figuring out the design.

How did we get to this... One moment we're working across from each other and I'm trying to kick you out of here as much as possible on the daily and next thing I know I can't get enough of your stupid flirting...

"Got it."

Virgil immediately snapped out of his thoughts once he heard Remus speak again. "I think something like a stormcloud with patches on your wrist would look good. Something like... OOH! Do you have any paper?" Virgil looked under the counter and found his sketchbook and handed it to Remus with a pencil. The florist mentally hoped and prayed the tattoo artist didn't carelessy flip the pages too fast and see the drawing of him on the very last page.

If he asks or says anything just tell him it's Freddie Mercury but edgy.

But Virgil instantly relaxed when Remus thankfully started sketching the design on the first empty page he spotted which was in the middle of the book.

Remus was known to be fast with his sketches but he made sure everything was detailed and perfect to the point where he didn't even need to use the eraser. After a minute or two Remus finally finished the drawing and looked at it satisfied. "Like this."

Once the tattoo artist flipped the sketchbook over to reveal the design, Virgil stared at it amazed. When Remus said a stormcloud with patches he certainly delivered. It was so detailed that the emo even immediately knew what colors he wanted it all to be.

"Woah holy shit that actually looks pretty badass!" "Thank you! I tend to give only the best for my Muses~" Remus winked smirking as he put the sketchbook back down.

Wink at me with those damn pretty eyes one more fucking time and I'll give you something to be smug about

Virgil cleared his throat blushing. "I'll think about it." "Cool just let me know and I'll give it to you for free." The florist went wide eyed at hearing that. Normally people would be grateful for not having to pay for a tattoo but the thought of Remus possibly needing the money one day just didn't sit right with Virgil.

"What? Ree no no no I can't but what if-"

"No butts except yours getting the tatt for free Vee Vee!" Remus booped Virgil's nose to which the florist sighed defeated trying to swat the tattoo artist's hand away. "Fine." Virgil playfully huffed and crossed his arms looking away. "Good..." Remus suddenly smirked. "Fair warning though tatt's on the wrist hurt like a bitch but I'll gladly hold your hand if you need me to~" He teased wiggling his eyebrows. "Shut up." A flustered Virgil playfully hit a cackling Remus' shoulder.

"But if you really wanna pay me back I'll also take a date as a form of payment~"

"Not that I'm immediately saying yes or anything but what did you have in mind?"

"There's an Italian restaurant down the street... I know how much you love pizza and bread sticks~" Remus took Virgil's hand and kissed it smirking as the emo's face became even redder.

Can you stop making me wanna fucking kiss you for 10 seconds!?

"Alright fine you had me at the pizza and bread sticks." Virgil said not letting go of Remus' hand. The tattoo artist beamed at hearing that. "Really? Well how does tonight after we both close sound?" Virgil couldn't help but smile at Remus' eagerness. He missed seeing that pretty spark of excitement in the tattoo artist's eyes. "I'd like that." "Yes!" Remus fist pumped whispering victoriously to himself.

"You won't be disappointed-"

The tattoo artist was cut off by his phone alarm ringing to which he dramatically sighed and turned it off.

"Looks like my lunch break is over... Meet back outside of here later?"

"Sounds good."

Remus smiled at the approval and before he could turn away and leave Virgil tugged him back to him and kissed his cheek causing him to freeze and blush. "Now go before I change my mind and you mess up your schedule and if you do, that won't be on the lips tonight." Virgil teased. "Yes Sir~" Remus smirked and quickly ran out of the shop and back to his job. Virgil chuckled and shook his head.

I'm in love with a dork.

#dukexietyweek2023 #dukexiety #virgil #virgil sanders #remus #remus sanders #ts virgil #ts remus #sanders sides #thomas sanders #dukey writes

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maladaptive-jcb · 10 months

Text

Chapter 7: I See You

Jamie x female!reader

(fluff, safe for under 18)

Click here for chapter 6 if you missed it

Summary: Reader is an independent artist who lives on her own in a small town and meets Jamie, a musician, in an art studio where their budding relationship formed through shared interests of different forms of art.

Warning: There will be talks about trauma and PTSD from sexual assault, domestic abuse and dissociative episodes throughout the story.

I haven't felt like visiting the beach in a very long time. I try to avoid any swimming activities mostly so I can hide my skin better. It doesn't matter what kind of swimsuit I'll wear, the vulnerability will always overwhelm me and somehow it makes me believe that people will stare right at me… at my scars. It's now looking right back at me on my mirror reflection. I haven't worn this two piece bikini in so long. I wore it so much when I was back home and spending so many summers with my family. I chose this today specifically to make me feel better. And maybe… Just, maybe, I can make better memories with Jamie with this.

Yet, as I'm running through my fingers on my scars, my mind still flashes back to a certain awful memory. That night…

Aaron didn't notice I was bleeding. He was too drunk to notice much. I had to cover the cuts with pieces of clothes I could find in my closet. He was so full of rage that he turned off the lights in our room and passed out right after all his drinking. While I was wincing from pain, I tried laying next to him silently. It was a sleepless night for me until morning came and I drove myself to the hospital. The doctors told me that they found tiny shards of glass in my wounds and it took them almost an hour to clean them up before the cuts were stitched.

Everything went by so fast that I didn't even have time to process it during the incident. It even took me a while to finally realize how wrong the situation was towards me. And I guess, what hurt the most wasn't the wound and glass shards. It was my broken trust and love I had for him. His love, or so I thought, dissipated. He never looked at me like he used to anymore. I was no longer enough for him.

I turn to look at the mirror again. My lips are quivering.

Ding!

I shake my thoughts away and shift my focus to my phone. It's Jamie. He says that he's 10 minutes away from my apartment.

I grab my light, breezy beach dress and quickly put it on over my bikini. I can't do this again. I'll have to be strong for Jamie this time. With one final big exhale and gulping my glass of water, I calm myself down.

____

Jamie is wearing a slick back ponytail that highlights his cheekbones and jawlines even more than usual. His black form-fitting T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up a little bit flatters along with it. He has a really particular fashion sense and it's always working for him.

"Guess what I brought?" he asks excitedly.

I look at the backseat. "A basket?"

"A picnic basket, darling. Oh, and a blanket too so we can sit together," he raises his eyebrows in glee.

"Jamie, these are wonderful!"

"I hope you like bagels, blueberry muffins and juice boxes. I'm sorry, I… I haven't done grocery shopping yet," he scratches the back of his head.

"Stop, it's perfect! I wished you would have told me though I could have brought something!"

"You brought yourself. That's enough for me," he turns to wink at me.

After all these times, I still get flustered whenever he does that. I immediately turn my head the other way to the window. I hear him chuckling silently and then turning up the music that's playing on the radio. The music fills the air. It's nice. It's an R&B song I haven't heard before which is now followed by a low humming following the tunes. The melody of his voice captures my attention. I catch myself smiling as I silently listen to him, enjoying his sweet, sort of raspy voice that tugs my heart in ways that I haven't experienced before. I stare at him in admiration as he starts singing. He looks so serene.

"What?" He notices and smiles back.

"You were singing. It's… lovely. I love it," I smile at him.

"Really?" He almost looks surprised at my compliment. "Y/n, you're so sweet. Thank you."

"You're very talented. I'd really like to see you sing and play your music sometime."

"Actually, I'd really like to show you something that I've been working on. It's still a work in progress by the way so go easy on me."

"I'd love to hear it," my heart jumps at the thought.

He turns to me and asks again, "Would you like for me to continue singing?"

"Please."

Jamie sings throughout the ride and the sound of his tender vocals sent me into a deeper state of peace. My body sinks deeper into my seat and my eyelids suddenly feel a lot more relaxed than usual. I haven't felt this relaxed in so long.

_____

I feel a warm hand gently touching my face. Almost like trying to move my hair away from my face.

"Hey, y/n. We're almost here."

Shit.

I sit upright immediately. "Jamie, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to fall asleep!"

He laughs. "You're absolutely fine. Look!" He points to my right.

I turn to look and my gaze is met with the beautiful blue ocean that fills the horizon as we drive down the road. The sun is almost setting and the sky is painted with breathtaking colours of orange and blue as the sunlight glistens around the clouds.

"Wow," is all I could say.

"I know." He exclaims back. "I gotta tell you though the view of you sleeping is a thousand times better than this."

I gasp and turns towards him. He's holding his laughter. "Shut up, Jamie!", his arm is met with a smack from me.

"Alright little beast, not too hard. I'm driving here," he chuckles.

I adjust myself and straighten up before Jamie pulls over to park near the beach. We step out of the car together as Jamie holds the picnic basket. The breeze coming from the ocean feels cooler the closer we walk towards it. Jamie is now spreading his arms apart to feel the breeze and just taking it all in. I suddenly notice that my dress starts waving with the wind too. l sense a little panic when I remember what is hiding underneath.

"Let's lay our stuff out there," he points towards a spot with a tree over it. A little further from the shore but close enough to have a good view of everything. The sun is setting and it's such a beautiful view. It's been a while since I've seen a view like this up close. I've missed this.

I pull out my phone and hand it over to Jamie. "Take a picture of me with the view!"

"Alright, go stand over there!" He starts taking photos and gives me directions on how to pose. Jamie even tells me to jump as he counts to three. I start laughing and tell him that I got everything I need.

"Nope. One more!" He runs towards me, puts his arm around my shoulders and holds my phone up for a selfie. He sticks his tongue out and takes the picture.

"No! I wasn't ready!" I try to grab my phone from him but he quickly snatches his hand away. He just smiles and looks at the screen.

"God, you look beautiful," he says and hands me the phone. His clear blue eyes looking down at me in admiration.

"Oh shut up," I shove him playfully to hide the warmth in my cheek.

He just chuckles and finally hands me my phone.

"Well come on, let's sit," he nods his head towards our laid out blanket on the sand.

We both sit and he starts opening up the picnic basket. "Alright, miss. Would you like to see the specials on the menu today?" he says in an amusing manner.

"Aahh yes the blueberry muffin, sir," I say, committing to his bit.

We laugh while we eat and chat as the sun is setting. Jamie's muffins are delicious. Apparently he actually baked it the day before but couldn't finish it so he brought them for me. Of course he also bakes. I look at him, wondering what else has he not told me about?

Everything feels right. The view of the beach. The crashing waves. The warm sand in our toes. Seeing children playing around with the sound of their laughter in the distance. I feel so at peace for the first time in a long time.

"I knew you needed this," he says as if he just read my mind.

"Hmm?"

"The beach. There's… something about it. When you step into one it's like nature's telling you that you need to slow down in life too. The chaos in our minds… just goes away," he says as he stares at the ocean.

I put my head on his shoulder. "Thank you. For this."

He lifts his arm and put it over my shoulder. I just wish this moment lasts forever. Yes, the beach is breathtakingly amazing. The colours of the sky is like a real life painting. However, what makes the moment perfect is Jamie. Being right here with me.

We stare at the sun setting real low as we lean on each other. After a while, I feel his shoulder starts shifting and I look up at him.

He looks at me and asks, "Would you like to swim for a bit?"

My body freezes again. I want to say something but I just start stuttering in my words.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?" I hear him say as I try to control the tightness in my chest.

I try to control my breathing as much as I can before saying something. Jamie immediately notices my shaky hand clutching on my waist.

"Hey, hey, hey. You're okay. You're okay. Listen to me. You're safe," he keeps repeating in my ears while he holds me.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," is all I can say as I regain my breath control.

"Nothing is going to change the way I look at you. I promise," he calms me again in his low tone voice.

"I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm so sorry," are all the words that come out of me.

"No, don't you dare apologize for this. Look, we don't have to if you don't want to-"

"It's okay. I want to," I cut him off.

"Okay," he stands up and holds his hand out to take mine. I take his hand and pulls myself up.

"Can you… turn around first?" I ask him.

"Of course." He smiles and turns his back. I hear him taking off his shirt as I take mine off too. I take a deep breath for a minute to calm myself. Then, a tap on my shoulder.

"Are you ready?" He checks up on me.

I exhale. I look down to my waist and turn around slowly. I can't seem to find the courage to look up to his expression for the first time seeing me like this. I just can't and-

His fingers. I feel them on my chin.

Jamie lifts my face up to look at his. He beams like I have never seen him does before.

"You look fucking amazing," he smiles. Genuinely smiling.

"What?"

"You are smoking, y/n. That's what I'm saying."

I start laughing and then I feel the stream of tears falling down on my face. He then starts laughing with me as he gently wipes my tears away with his thumbs. I fall to his chest and feel his embrace. He likes me. I know that now.

"So you don't mind?" I ask.

"Nothing will ever change the way I see you."

Chapter 8 ______

Sorry I've been away from writing in a while but I'm finally back on my trip! I'm so glad I could continue this again and I hope you enjoy these really vulnerable moments in the chapter. I'm excited to continue again!

#jamie bower fanfic #jamie x reader #jamie bower x reader #jamie campbell x reader #jamie x female reader #jcb #jamie bower #jamie campbell bower #vecna #jamie x y/n #jamie bower x y/n #jamie campbell bower x y/n #jamie bower x female reader #jamie campbell bower x female reader #fanfic fluff #romance #artist #musician #jamie campbell bower x reader fluff

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garoumylove · 1 year

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Garou and romantic relationships

I don’t usually write meta, however, I just want to get this down as a ‘meta’ for my headcanons of Garou and romance and why I will always view him like this.

NB: This post will include mentions of sex and sexual feelings.

Also, this is my meta and I do not assume everyone has to agree with me. Everyone has their own opinions and analyses of Garou and I respect however people choose to headcanon him but this is mine and how I view him.

Let me be frank. To me, when it comes to romantic and sexual desire, deep down inside, Garou is not different to the majority of young men. That is, he has the same wants and needs as those of us who don’t identify as aromantic and asexual. To me, there is nothing in the manga to suggest he does not have these thoughts and feelings or that he doesn’t desire romantic companionship somewhere deep inside.

He is standoffish, aloof, pushes people away and does everything to protect himself from any kind of interpersonal relationships, save for Tareo, but all this is coming from a place of fear (which he won’t admit). We can want something, like intimacy for example, and be absolutely frightened at the prospect of actually getting it. I know I have experienced this myself with things in my life.

He has been emotionally burned and tortured so many times by so many people in his life that to him, to have that romantic and intimate connection is basically a crazy fantasy. Something he believes will never ever happen so I believe he has buried those wants and needs so deeply he doesn’t let himself go there in his mind. He is not so inhuman as to have actually lost the basic human desire for connection, no matter how much he rails against such things. All sound and fury, signifying nothing in the end. A blustering act.

Also, he has been relentlessly bullied and, as we all know, lacks a lot of confidence in himself. I think on the surface he is aware that now as a young adult he might turn heads or that people react to him in a certain way but he doesn’t actually believe it and probably finds it somewhat amusing. He is also not the kind to focus on looks so even if girls (or boys) were non-stop telling him how handsome he is, it wouldn’t do anything for him. He would still feel like shit about himself inside, that sort of inner child part of him. He basically sees himself as defective and the outside isn’t going to make up for it.

I don’t believe Garou is not interested in love and sex and romance. It’s just that he believes these are not an option for him, and him wanting or not wanting these things has nothing to do with it. He believes everyone sees him in a very terrible light and there’s nothing he can do about it except become the self-fulfilling prophecy and become the monster everyone thinks he is (in his mind). We know he yearns for at least something resembling romance as evidenced by his cute Gau Rangers crush but he does not believe it is possible for him to have this with another person.

So, catching feelings... Garou wears his heart on his sleeve pretty much and feels things extremely deeply. I do not think he would fall for someone very easily or fall in love at first sight, but once someone has caught his attention he would be in the deep end. The kicker though is that he would rather die than admit that he has those feelings since he’s trying to preserve this cold, lone wolf image, this independent cocky bastard that doesn’t need anyone. But as we all know he is just a soft cinnamon roll on the inside. It would take him a while to be ok with the idea of having these feelings inside as he’d see it as a form of dependence. And at first he’d see it as a terrible thing that ties him to something and stifles him but eventually, as things progress, he’d realise the comfort you can have with someone whose love you can depend on and how safe stability can feel.

As for sex, and I guess this is something I can talk at length about (but I won’t) having written the vast amount of Garou smut I have, I do not believe he’d be particularly shy or timid about getting naked and physically being with someone...the thing that would set his heart pounding, get him completely overwhelmed is getting naked with someone he had caught feelings for. Because it’s the feelings, the emotions he’s been fighting so long, it’s the intimacy that frightens him, not the physical act.

I’ll stop here before I write a whole PhD on the subject and just TL;DR: Garou wants love, romance and sex but is too afraid of being burned and has no confidence in himself when it comes to these things.

Thank you for reading this far. I’d also like to just mention, I appreciate people headcanoning him completely different from me but I don’t really want to debate anyone on this topic. I respect people have their own opinions and the last thing I want is to try change them, just like mine aren’t going to be changed. If you’d like to engage with me on this topic, I’m more than happy to chat but I don’t want to debate. This is Garou to me. Always has been, always will be. My ideas and the details and nuance of my interpretation of him are always evolving and developing but I’m not going to change my basic stance that Garou is a touch-starved and lonely young man who wants what many of us do but that his trauma prevents him from really going for it.

xoxo ^.^

#lover boy #garou #garou meta #opm #opm meta #one punch man #one punch man meta #garou in love #garou analysis #one punch man analysis #meta #analysis #character analysis #character meta

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jack-is-lost · 2 years

Text

Had another weird dream again. This one was pretty detailed but I didn't wake up in time to write it all down, ended up rolling over to sleep more, so now things are kind of blurry.

This was my first time dreaming about Spike and Angel — my first Spangel, in a sense. I'm not sure why it occurred. I haven't been reading any fics as of late. Nor re-watching the show in recent months. Anyway, here's what I can remember:

The setting is an abandoned warehouse. I'm exploring it, I guess? Not sure why else I'm there. A little reminder that my dreams often jump between first POV and third POV, so it is difficult to decipher who I am at any given moment. As I am wandering around this old and surprisingly still standing building, I come across Angel. A very deranged vampire who can't seem to keep himself together. One moment attacking, as if crazed, the next stalling into a heap of tears and whispers. He clearly has his soul still but it is barely hanging on.

Not dream me recognizes him, putting shape to this hunched over black mass on his hands and knees openly weeping, so suddenly the dream me does. ✨Dream Logic✨ I watch myself try to approach him and he warns me to stay back. Going the extra mile to try and attack again so that I'd run off. It works but I won't stay gone, however. I come back the next night.

Maybe a little surprisingly, Angel is still there — still teetering on sanity. It takes a lot of effort but he finally gives in and starts talking. More like muttering to himself again, but I'm listening closely. This bit is fuzzy so I can't say if I kept coming back, if weeks have passed, or if it were just that easy.

He had lost Spike. It has been decades apparently since everything I've known about the series. It has been long enough that he has lost it all, everyone. Leaving him here like some... extremely lonely, lost vampire who is purposefully distancing himself — hurting himself. Typical Angel stuff, honestly. Recounting his loss seems to tear a new hole. I can see it in the way he winces, grabbing his chest as if his non-beating heart just lurched, and now he is walking and I follow.

I follow him throughout the sub-basement, and while we walk the area seems to shift. I'm going into memory lane alongside him. Again, dream logic. At some point, Spike manifests and they are in a heated argument. I watch them go at each other's throat, metaphorically. I can't recall what they are saying, not now, but I can tell it is some serious relationship/sire-like discourse.

As we continue to walk the memory sequences continue to alternate, showing different moments in time. Of love and tenderness, hardships and bitterness. By the time we are in this dilapidated lobby-like area, I am witnessing their biggest dispute. I feel like a fly on the wall — there but out of reach to do anything. What would I even do if I were there?

Then, as dreams can often be this unbalanced like force of nature, I am Angel. I am clinging to Spike's sleeve, trying to hold him there as he tried to shove away — venom in his speech practically threatening my very existence. I can feel the ache, the fear, and the lack of power. That's when I see the doors smash open behind Spike, revealing multiple shadowed figures, and they charge. It is a blood bath, all things considered, but not enough. I'm not quick enough to prevent it. One moment I am running, ready to throw myself in front of the stake poised for Spike, and then we collide.

Big blue eyes, wide with shock, staring into my face as he freezes. There isn't even enough time to speak — to utter a simple word — and he is gone. Ashes fall through my fingers like sand as the once solid form in my grasp breaks apart. I couldn't save him. I didn't save him. Why was I not quick enough? Why did he have to die and not me? These words rush through my head, tumbling over one another, before the pure unfiltered rage overtakes. Kill. Kill. Kill. Revenge.

I am myself once more as Angel looks to the still unhinged, barely holding it together by a few chains, entrance doors. I can tell by the dim growing light that the sky is starting to light up — that the sun is slowly making its way over the horizon. I can feel dread. It doesn't take much to realize the vampire before me has a plan in motion. Stopping him seems impossible for I am not important — I am a stranger — so my words hold very little weight to them. What could I even say to prevent what was bound to happen?

I feel powerless as I watch him yank the chain till it snaps, the doors falling open with a sad unyielding groan. My feet are working before I comprehend my own motions. I see my arm outstretched to him, fingers splayed open to grab and pull him back into the shadows, and then I wake up just as a hard cut of light hits my eyes — the sun.

So that was my dream. My first ever Angel-centered dream. It was sad and confusing in some places. I wish I could remember the dialogue and could express some scenes better, but it is all blurry now.

#random thoughts and rambles #talking about my dreams #spangel #btvs

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i-feel-supernatural · 2 years

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Baker | Daniel Brühl ~ One Shot • Reader x Daniel Brühl

The cool weather finally pushed the hot summer away. I hoped that the cool weather would stay, but I figured that wouldn't be likely. Mostly because it was still August. But I tried my best to make the most out of the fall like temperatures. I was so looking forward to sweater weather. I decided to go to my favorite bakery. I hadn't been there in a while due to my busy schedule. But today I decided to treat myself to a good cup of coffee and some kind of pastry.

When I walked inside I was surprised at how busy it was. The cashiers were working overtime and the supplies were getting low. "Wow, you guys seem like you're having a very busy day." I said over the chatter of customers. "Busy? It's been down right chaotic. The new baker we hired to help didn't show up." One of the girls said. "How many loves of bread do we have left?" Daniel asked as he came out of the kitchen. He had flower on his cheek as well as chocolate and jams on his apron.

I felt myself blush when I saw him. I've secretly have had a crush on him for a while. "Y/n! I haven't seen you for a while. I'm afraid that I'm all sold out of chocolate croissants at the moment. But I have a fresh batch baking in the oven." He said with a look that said he was sorry. "That's okay. You've been having a very busy day." I said with a look of sympathy. I love his cute German accent, and hoped that I wasn't blushing much.

"Hey, can you bake? I could really use some help." He said after a moment of observing what he was sold out of. "Um, yeah. But I don't think I can bake as good as you though." I said with a shy laugh. "Oh, come on. I can teach you." He said as he motioned for me to follow him. I hesitated for a moment before following him to the kitchen. It was warm in there from the ovens. The place looked like a tornado had been through there. Flour was practically everywhere.

I took my jacket off and rolled up my sleeves. Then he started showing me how to bake his amazing bread. I hoped that I was doing everything right and that the bread turned out. As I helped, he accidently tossed some flower at me. "Hey!" I said with a giggle as I tossed a little flower at him. A big beautiful smile spread across his face. We had a little flour war before he wrapped his arms around me. He pulled me into a big hug, and I melted instantly.

He smelled sweet just like his pastries, and his arms felt so strong around me. I guess he would have to have strong arms to lift those huge sacks of flour and sugar. It took everything in me not to snuggle closer into his chest. "We... we should probably get back to work." He said with a soft laugh. We slowly broke the hug and I blushed when we made eye contact. Eventually we were caught up with all of the orders. We collapsed into chairs in the back. Slightly sweaty and covered in flour.

But I had a wonderful time baking with him. I wished I could do this with him every day. One of the cashiers brought me back a pumpkin spice coffee. I thanked her and sipped it, savoring the delicious coffee. A few moments passed and Daniel handed me a freshly bakes chocolate croissant. "Here, this is for helping me today. I really appreciate it." He said with a cute smile. "Thanks but... you don't have to do that." I said shyly. "It's okay. I want to." He said.

The two of us ate out croissants and drank coffee. We made small talk too. I could just imagine baking things with him every day and having a lovely peaceful life. But I was too shy to tell him how I feel. I was afraid that he wouldn't feel the same way. Especially since he's so handsome. He gave me six free chocolate croissants and a loaf of bread. He often gave me free bread and pastries. But I never really thought anything of it.

"Hey um... maybe you could be my baking buddy. You're really good at baking." He said with a light blush on his face. "Well, that's because I had a wonderful teacher." I said, and his blush darkened. "I mean it. I would love being able to bake with you." He said softly, and I got butterflies. I told him that I would think about it. He gave me his phone number in case I decided to take him up on his offer. I had been looking for a less stressful job.

When I got home I decided to call Daniel and accept his offer. I kept smiling as I thought about my day with him. He was so sweet and playful, just like I imagined he would be. I hoped that I would be able to confess my feelings for him someday.

++++++++++++++

A/N: Thanks for reading!! Check out more Daniel Brühl + Daniel Brühl character One-Shots here:

#daniel brühl #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel brühl one-shots #one shots #fanfiction #fanfic #wattpad #wattpad fanfiction #my friend gave me this idea

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thediariesofanobody · 1 year

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I think sometimes I forget how cruel people can be. How someone who barely knows you or understands your situation can hurt you with just words. Life is short. Very short. And I try very hard not to hold any hate or negativity towards anyone. Because I know how harmful it can be not only for others but for my own wellbeing. I try my hardest just to let things go and to be a bigger person and just let things roll off my back. But after so many years of trauma and abuse and having hate thrown my way for who I am. At what point do you give up trying? At what point do you just stop trying to be heard. I tend to be a person who wears their heart on their sleeve. I tend to rely heavily on my own emotions as well as my head. I try to my kind and respectful. I try to be caring and helpful. I give all that I can whenever I can without worry of receiving anything in return. I try to do the best I can for those around me. I try to think of others and not myself. I try to hold no ill will towards anyone. I feel like I tend to set boundaries but I don’t usually keep them because I try to help everyone. I guess once again I don’t know where I’m going with this I just need a space to write out my thoughts. I guess I feel like I don’t understand how someone can say something like “f**k*ng f*g**t” with no regards to how that person has treated you or how that may affect them and their mental state. I am not a vain person I am here on this earth because I want to help people. That is why I’m here. But sometimes people can’t get past my sexuality even if I do everything to help. Im starting to feel like Im burdening people instead of helping them just by being around. It’s making me want to shut down and just leave everything behind. Just leave everything and everyone I know and just go someplace small and quiet. Some place where I can be invisible and just live. But at the same time that’s hard. Because the people I let into my life are people I love deeply and consider family. I don’t want to hurt anyone or anyone to feel abandoned. I just don’t know what to do anymore.

#unsure #struggle #stressed #crying #i feel like a terrible person #i’m so tired #i just want to help #i want them to be happy #feeling alone #feeling stuck

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eristic-kaleidoscope · 1 year

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UnintENDed consequences | E.N.D. | Trial 2-2 | RE: Names, Fighting, and Time of Death

END frowns as the part-pity party, and part-guilt trip happens for a few moments. When Just Erika implies Lyrica may have done this to themselves, she grits her teeth and bites her tongue, but the displeasure and anger are clear on her face. She’s finally about ready to say something, to scold multiple people–in particular Byrne and Erika–when Erik A steps up.

He doesn’t address everything that’s on her mind, but it’s enough to let her anger shift down a gear and cool again. She really should thank him for doing that what, two trials in a row now? For better or worse, he’s a good way for her to vent her frustrations without burning too many bridges.

Back to the subject at hand, including the accusation…..

“Okay, I don’t even know where to begin addressing that…. Erika, you know we can’t really take you at your word for that, right? You have to give us some kind of Evidence, especially if no one can vouch for a lot of where you both were. Also, did you see the note when you were in the Eatery, earlier?”

At the very least, E’s alibi is the weakest, probably…..

“I’ll let you figure that out, and I’m not saying I think either of you did it, just yet. I’m still working stuff out, so let me just run through my thoughts, yeah? First of all…

Yeah, AIRika nailed it with the hair fluffing thing–that’s probably the most people we’ve had in our room at once? And I definitely didn’t keep track of things there. Other than that…. Well, in addition to the people who have visited AIRika, I’ve had Ae-ra, Erika L, and Eureka over to my rooms at different times, though much less so since the motive. People are withdrawing more, y'know? Anyway, while there’s potentially something there on the chicken front–

Our list of names isn’t all that simple, isn’t it? At the very least, we never found out who matched the identity theft listing on the crimes, which specified a fake name, and on top of that, both Kenshin and KOKONE use names that aren’t Erika in any obvious ways, despite An and Calluna saying everyone here is an Erika. On top of that, we still don’t know E’s real name, either. So that's up to four other people who could have Erika as a first name, if any of those three aren’t the identity theft person. Maybe any of the three of them have told someone else their real name who can vouch? But I don’t know any of them, so floating that there.

(CW: Broken Bones desc) Also, as someone who has had their fucking legs shattered before? No, Lyrica absolutely did not reach the cabinet themselves. You can't imagine how much pain that puts you in, unless you’ve felt it personally. I’d thought for a moment, perhaps, they could’ve used the chicken and tape to try and reach something, but no–even just twisting your hips and back to do that would’ve left you wracked with pain. It didn’t happen.”

(CW Over)

She has to take a few seconds to compose herself after that one. Her hands tremble faintly as she recalls those feelings.

Right, we keep talking about a struggle, and the blood under their nails. I think that pretty well suggests the gummies had to be forced into their mouth, since there are no other wounds on them aside from their leg, from the trap. As far as we could guess, their head wound was likely from the fall, but if anyone would like to argue that, be my guest.

Anyway, I was thinking about it, and if I were down on the ground and someone were trying to force me to take those gummies? The easiest targets would be for me to scrape would be the arms of my attacker. So, since some of us wear long sleeves and gloves–which are not a defense because there’d be thread, since we could just take them off–I’m proposing that everyone takes off any gloves they’re wearing and roll up their sleeves, so we can all check for scrapes. I’ll even do it myself to rule myself out, as long as everyone else agrees.

Also…. Well, I don’t have really any damn idea on how to clear or disprove anything on the motive, front, other than to assume that the serial killer’s the one most likely able to plan this out for a while? That crime kept floating near the top four, and so they would know about when to act to keep it hidden. But thinking on it…. I do wonder something–The Aiding and Abetting crime said they helped a loved one kill many other people. While it's possible, I guess, to have two unrelated serial murderers in this group…. What about the possibility that the person that person’s been aiding and abetting in the past is the same serial murderer we’ve got here? Maybe that’s nothing, but if someone’s already got that connection…..“

She rubs her face a bit. Man. This sucks. Why couldn’t the dramatic parts of this group be about car repair, instead?

"One last thing, Calluna, An, I wanna verify our time frame just a bit, tighten things up just in case. If someone took one to three of those DeLight Gummies, about how long would they take to take effect?”

#END #chapter2 #trial2 #submission

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ravagedarkness · 1 year

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Spider-Man: Home Rebuilt, Chapter 5: Grocery Shopping

Saturday morning rolled around. Last night’s patrol was relatively easygoing. Other than that one car chase, I didn’t really do much. New York was mostly quiet. So, when I woke up, I didn’t have much in the way of aches and pains – just the normal soreness, and that would go away soon.

I sat at my desk, looking down at a piece of notebook paper and a pen. I was friends with MJ and Ned again. And I’ve gotten closer with Betty than I ever did before the spell. I guess we were kind of friends during that time, but it was never to a point where we were in the same group chat, bantering with everyone else.

“Funny how things can change,” I muttered to myself.

I thought about the plan again – the original one I made before I wanted to keep my distance away from MJ and Ned for their sake. A part of me was screaming inside, telling me not to go back to that plan. Memories from the time leading up to the spell flooded my mind, reminding me about how every single mistake and fuck-up led to every bad thing that happened during that time, from MJ and Ned being rejected by every single college they applied to, to villains from other dimensions wreaking havoc across New York, to Happy’s apartment being destroyed…

…to Aunt May’s death.

I took in a breath and I clenched my eyes shut. I felt myself start to unravel. Slowly, I breathed in and out deeply, trying to keep myself from breaking down. It was something I’ve always done since that fateful day.

Don’t cry… Don’t Cry… Don’t...

I was taken out of my thoughts when I saw my phone vibrate. I took in another breath and blinked a few times. I then reached down and checked the text.

“Hey Dork.”

And just like that, my mood lightened. I shook my head. If only MJ knew the kind of effect she had on me. I typed back.

“Hey MJ. What’s going on?”

“Heard Ned invited you over tonight. You coming?”

“Yes.” I typed it and sent it without thinking. After a few moments, I sent another message. “Matter fact, I have to give him a call. I told him I’d let him know and meet him earlier.”

“Good. Because being the third wheel on Ned and Betty’s date is not how I like to spend my Saturday night. Like, ugh! Can you imagine! >.<”

“They love each other. But if you need me to suffer with you, I suppose I can do that for you.”

“Well aren’t you cute.”

“Oh I’m adorable.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you 2nite, loser!”

“Likewise.”

I set the phone down for a moment. I then looked down at the piece of paper in front of me. I picked up the pen and started to make a list of sorts. Once I was done, I put my pen down and picked the phone back up before I dialed Ned’s number. After some moments, he picked up.

“Hey Ned. I’m down to hang out. Where and when do you want me to meet you?”

A couple of hours later, I got ready to head out. As I was dressing, I eyed my Spider-Man suit. I remembered how Peter #2 wore his suit underneath his clothes. As I thought about it, it didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. Plus, with it still being winter, it would’ve been easy for me to conceal with clothes fit for the season. After thinking about it, I grabbed the suit.

A few minutes later, the suit was underneath a pair of blue jeans and a black sweater over a white shirt. I made sure my webshooters were concealed underneath the sleeves of my sweater and a pair of gloves. After I put on my sneakers, I grabbed my keys and made my way out.

About thirty minutes later, I met Ned in front of a supermarket.

“What’s up?” he greeted.

“I’m here,” I replied. The two of us shared a simple handshake. He then looked a bit confused as he withdrew his hand. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just… Okay, call me weird… I know we just started becoming friends very recently, but I feel like we should have our own handshake or something.”

I smiled in amusement. “Really?”

“Yeah. Weird, right? But… MJ and I were talking the other day. We feel like you fit in nice with our whole group. So, maybe it’s not just a coincidence?”

It wasn’t. That’s what I wanted to say. But I couldn’t.

Not yet, a part of me thought.

Instead, I smiled wryly. “Let’s be weird together, right?” I offered.

“Yeah,” Ned said with a nod. “But let’s go inside and get what we need.”

Once we were inside, we grabbed a grocery cart and went searching. Well, Ned went searching, and I just followed him around and helped him grab stuff. We started off at the meat aisle and grabbed two whole chickens that were precut into its major portions. After that, we went to the spice aisle and grabbed the seasoning Ned needed. As I looked at some of the spices, Ned spoke.

“I’m sorry about asking about your family the other night,” he apologized.

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it,” I said dismissively. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Are you like on bad terms with your folks or something?”

I grabbed a bottle filled with peppercorns and tossed it into Ned’s cart. “I almost wish.” I paused for a moment. I looked at him. “I don’t have much left as far as family goes. And I don’t really like to dwell on it.” I left out the part where I felt like a good chunk of it was my fault. “I’m just… I made some bad decisions before and I’m trying my best to pick up the pieces.”

“I see,” Ned said. “…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I smiled. “My life isn’t as dreary as it sounds, I promise you. GED classes are cool – it helps that my teacher is a pretty okay guy. But he’s very mysterious.”

“Oh really?” Ned inquired as he started to push the cart. I walked with him.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is about him, to be honest. He just gives me the impression that he’s like one of those movie characters, the ones that have mundane jobs but used to be some kind of Special Forces guy in the past.”

“You know, I remember a guest speaker at Midtown like that.” Ned stopped briefly to grab some brown sugar. “He’s this tenured professor at UMass, and he was a former Marine for a while that saw action.”

“Really now?”

We continued to shop, talking about lighter subjects. We talked about food, Star Wars (which mostly consisted of me defending The Prequel Trilogy), life as a student, and, as we stepped outside once we were finished, girls.

“So, you like MJ, don’t you?” Ned pried with a smirk.

We were walking down the street, heading towards the Time Square-42nd Street station. We both had bags in our hands. I decided to grab a few things for myself. As far as MJ went, I was trying my very best to lie, even though I felt my face getting warm. “Who doesn’t like MJ?” I replied, trying to brush it off.

“But you LIKE her like her.” He started to walk ahead of me before he turned around and faced me, walking backward. “Something about you two just click.” I would have hoped so, given how long we dated. But that was another life. “You know… February is around the corner. You should ask her out to the Valentine’s Day dance we’re going to have at School.”

“Oh, what do you think is going to happen? We’ll do a slow dance, confess our love for each other, and start a whole dance number that everyone joins in on like it is High School Musical? Somehow, I don’t think that’ll happen.”

“Well, I was kind of hoping you’d ask her out so she can actually come to the dance. She doesn’t really go to these things unless someone drags her along, you know?”

“She never went to Homecoming?” I asked. I already knew the answer.

“She has, but like only once. And even then, Homecoming is different. You can go to Homecoming by yourself. Having a date is encouraged, but not required. But going to a Valentine’s Day dance by yourself, though? The only thing worse than that is taking your sister as a date.”

I had a snarky comment about that. It dealt with a certain region of the United States. But I didn’t get a chance to say it. Just as I opened my mouth, I felt my spine tingle. There was a buzzing in my head and I felt my skin get a bit tight as the hair on my arms raised. My eyes went wide as I started to look around.

“Peter, are you okay, man?”

I didn’t answer, trying my best to get a bearing of my surroundings. I looked around frantically, trying to see what stuck out. There were people walking, a couple of kids having an impromptu snowball fight, people waiting at the bus stop, a man in a suit having an argument on the phone. Everything seemed normal. So why was my senses going off?

I finally got my answer when I looked at traffic again. There was a line of three armored trucks making their way through traffic. They were all abiding the rules of traffic. However, as they cross a nearby intersection, the lead truck was plowed into by a garbage truck! Quickly after that, three black SUVs moved in. After they skidded to a stop, all of their doors and men with black suits, black ski masks, and automatic rifles poured out of the vehicles. One of the gunmen quickly opened fired in the air, causing people to scatter. Not knowing what else to do, Ned and I ducked into the nearest alleyway. We both leaned up against the wall, with me looking out towards the street as people ran for their lives.

“Two times in one week?” Ned said. “How does that even happen?”

“I don’t know,” I replied as I shook my head. “We must be lucky or something.”

“You call this lucky?!”

“I mean, at least we didn’t get grabbed or something.”

And of course, that’s exactly what happened.

Before any of us knew it, we were pulled through the wall we were leaning on. Both of us stumbled backward before we landed on the ground. Unfortunately, all of our groceries scattered across the floor.

“Oh great, how can this day get any worse?” he asked.

“That’s a funny way to say thank you,” a voice replied. I looked up to see Kitty and Craig looking down at us.

“Oh, it’s you guys!” I said quickly moved to my feet and started to put my groceries back in the bag. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Aw, I thought us meeting under the threat of gunfire is our special thing,” Craig snarked. “But seriously, y’all didn’t get hurt or anything, did you?”

“We’re good, I think,” Ned said as he started to gather up his groceries. “Fancy meeting you guys here.”

“It was our day to go grocery shopping,” Kitty explained. “I was hoping we didn’t have to use our quick change costumes, but here we are.”

“You guys think you can handle this?” I asked in earnest as I stood up.

“Did you not see what we did at St. James?” Craig pointed out.

“True.” I then looked at Ned, who was gathering up the last of the groceries. “…How far are we from the subway station?"

“Not that far, actually,” Kitty said.

“…Can you phase Ned straight there?”

“Me?” Ned said as he quickly stood up. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” I said with a smile. I then gave him my bag of groceries. “Trust me.”

Ned stared at me. He then sighed as he stood up. “Okay, but only because it’s you.”

“Let’s go,” Kitty stated before she stepped up and grabbed Ned by the shoulder. “Whatever you do, don’t panic.”

After she said this, the two of them sunk into the ground before they disappeared completely.

“What was that about?” Craig demanded, giving me a look. “She could’ve taken both of you there easily.”

I looked at him for a second. I then grimaced. “…Can you keep a secret?” He stared at me for few seconds. He then nodded. I removed my jacket and tossed it off to the side. I then took off my shirt, revealing the top half of Spider-Man costume. Craig stared at me dumbfounded. He then huffed out a breath.

“Wow,” he said as he shook his head. “Wow, wow, wow… Just, wow.” He laughed as he turned and walked away a few steps. He then looked back at me. “So, you’re telling me that, this whole time, you, Peter, are freakin’ Spider-Man.”

“Yes,” I said as removed the rest of my clothes. I pulled the collar of my costume with my left hand before I used my right hand to pull out my mask.

“And do your friends know?”

“Nope.” I pulled down the mask. “Not yet. It’s a long story.”

It was at this point that Kitty returned, dawning her cat mask. “Okay, I’m back and… Spider-Man?!” She walked up to me. “When did you get here? And where’s Peter?”

“Take a guess,” Craig replied as he zipped his hoodie and brought his hood up.

Kitty stared at me for a few moments. She then tilted her head. “…You’re kidding?”

“No, it really is me,” I said in earnest.

“…Why didn’t you help us at the theatre?”

“Because his friends don’t know,” Craig explained.

“But they can keep a secret.”

“I’ll explain everything afterwards,” I cut in. “Just know that telling them I’m Spider-Man would open up a can of worms that I’m not ready to open yet.” I then heard the sound of sirens and gunshots. Craig looked towards the wall. He then sighed as he reached under his hood and pulled down a ski mask.

“It’s not like we got time to talk about it now, anyway,” he said. “Let’s just get out there and handle whatever it is that is going on.”

“Okay,” Kitty said. She then gave me a pointed look. “This ain’t over, Peter. We WILL be talking about this when this is over.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Just as long as you know.” She grabbed my shoulder with her right hand. Craig walked up to her and stood to her left. She grabbed his shoulder with her free hand. “Codenames from here on out. Frictor, you and Spider-Man will attack from ground level and above. I’ll ambush them from below. And remember – civilians take priority over everything. Okay?”

“Got it, Shadowcat,” I said as Craig nodded.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

We all walked forward and through the wall. Once we were all through, Kitty sunk through the ground. Craig looked at me before he pointed upward. I nodded before I quickly jumped up on the walk and quickly crawled upward. I paused for a moment to look down at Craig.

“Be careful, Frictor,” I called down.

“You, too Spidey,” he replied. “Let’s send them packing!”

I nodded before I resumed my ascent, once I reached the roof, I quickly ran to the other edge before I jumped off.

Let the fun begin, I deadpanned internally.

#fanfic #spideychelle #spider-man #mcu #peter parker #michelle mj jones #ned leeds #betty brant #scott summers #kitty pryde #carmilla black #original character #jade cargill #petermj #mj peter #michelle jones #mj x peter #Mj #tomdaya

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elysiadjarin · 3 years

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Day 2: Breeding Kink

Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink

Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober

Moonlight Through Colored Leaves

When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.

You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.

The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.

You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.

“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”

“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”

“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”

You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.

You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”

You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.

You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.

“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”

You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.

“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.

“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.

She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.

“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”

Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.

She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.

“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.

“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.

You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”

He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.

He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”

You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”

He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”

You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.

The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.

You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.

Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.

You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.

Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?

You fell asleep thinking about it.

You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.

Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.

Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.

Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”

You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”

He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.

Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”

Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”

You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.

By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.

As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.

“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.

He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.

You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.

“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.

You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”

She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”

Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”

“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.

You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.

“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.

“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”

You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”

He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”

You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.

You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.

“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”

Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.

You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.

His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”

His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”

You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”

He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”

Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”

“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”

When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.

You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?

The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.

They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.

Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.

“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.

“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”

Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”

“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.

You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.

It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.

“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”

You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”

Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.

He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”

You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.

He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”

You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”

You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”

He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”

He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”

You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”

He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”

You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.

An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”

You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.

He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”

You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”

He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.

Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.

It was only a matter of time.

Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.

The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.

And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?

You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.

Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”

She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.

In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.

It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.

The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”

Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.

“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”

You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.

“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”

The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”

Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.

Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.

The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.

Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.

With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.

The world spun into crimson.

Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.

Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”

Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”

“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”

It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—

“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.

Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”

Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.

But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.

With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.

He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.

Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.

“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”

You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—

“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”

Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?

“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.

He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”

Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.

“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“

You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.

You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.

But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”

You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.

The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.

Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.

The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.

You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.

Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.

“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—

He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”

And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“

You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.

Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.

With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.

“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.

“May I?” He tapped your shirt.

You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.

You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.

“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”

You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.

You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.

“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”

You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.

His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”

You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”

With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.

Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.

“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”

Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.

He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.

“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”

He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.

A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”

The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.

And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.

Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”

A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.

“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.

You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.

His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.

“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”

You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.

#elysiadjarinkinktober #elysiadjarin #x reader #my writing #mywriting #nsft #exophilia #terato #monsterfucker #xyou #smut #kinktober

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

If I Should Linger

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,979 (what is wrong with me??) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Best Friend's Dad Hotch, Confident reader, Flirting, Oral sex, Protected sex, Dirty talk, A little angst with a happy ending Summary: Your best friend stands you up at the bar, but it actually turns into the best night you've had in a long time—maybe the best night of your life. Unfortunately, things don't stay uncomplicated for long... *Requested by @hotforhotchner11 Link to A03 or read below! “I can’t believe you stood me up to have sex with a frat boy,” you hiss into your phone from your seat at the bar. Your best friend Julie—better known as Jay—is on the other end, and she’s completely ruining your plans for the evening at later than the last minute. She’s never on time for anything.

“He’s not a frat boy… yet. He’s rushing.” You pick up your gin and tonic to take a sip, but her comment makes you pause.

“He’s rushing? How old is he?” The breath she blows out before she answers tells you everything you need to know. Goddamn cradle robber.

“Twenty? Or, almost twenty.”

“Oh, you nasty girl. He’s nearly ten years younger than us.” At 28, you literally could not imagine being interested in a 20 year old. Anyone under 25 is practically an infant; what would you talk about?

“The pussy wants what it wants, babe. It’s more fun when they barely know what they’re doing.” Then again, you figure, she isn’t exactly doing much talking.

“That’s gross, Jay.”

“Is it any grosser than your thing for older guys? You’d fuck my dad if I let you anywhere near him, which is exactly why I don’t.”

“I would not fuck your dad—actually, what does he look like?” She groans down the line and you laugh. “I’m kidding. I’m trying to fuck someone’s dad tonight, but not yours.” You hear a choked laugh from beside you and you glance over at, objectively, one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen: he’s Black, bald, muscular, with a neatly trimmed goatee and a killer smile, and apparently your thirst for older men amuses him. You smile back. “Jay, I have to go; I’m embarrassing myself in public.”

“Okay, and what else is new? Bye!” When she hangs up, you lock your phone and turn to face the man at the bar.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget people are actually listening in places like these; there’s so much talking it’s all kind of white noise to me.”

“It’s kind of my job to listen to what no one else does, but I forget to turn it off sometimes,” he says, and no, that’s not intriguing or anything. “So you’re into older guys?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you lean in with your chin in your hand, elbow on the bar.

“Almost exclusively. You don’t look old enough to be someone’s dad, but I’d probably make an exception.” He laughs again; he doesn’t have a drink, so maybe he’s waiting for the bartender, but you sip yours.

“I’m flattered, but taken. I have a friend who’s probably your type; he doesn’t do one night stands, though. He doesn’t really do anything. We’re trying to loosen him up.” You hum thoughtfully, take a cursory glance around the room.

“I happen to be great at loosening older men up. Is he here?” He shoots you a smile, looks at you like you kind of amaze him.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Would you, if you weren’t taken?” He nods a little, like you’ve got a good point, and you both laugh. “Yeah, it’s a double standard. If you can walk up to a woman and ask her if it hurt when she fell from heaven, why can’t I walk up to an older man and ask if he believes in love at first sight, or if I should walk by again?”

“That tired line would not work on my friend,” he says, and you grin.

“I think you’d be surprised. But, you know him better, so why don’t you just invite me back to your table, since I got stood up by my friend and I’m all alone, and let me do my thing?” You swirl your straw in your drink, try to look flirty, and he leans in on his elbow like you did before.

“You know what? What the hell. If nothing else, he gets some attention from a pretty girl and maybe it boosts his confidence.” You smile—you like this guy already.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” He rolls his eyes, and then the bartender presents him with his drinks. You take two—one is a neat bourbon, that has to belong to the older man friend—and follow him to his table while he just shakes his head.

“Looks like you brought back more than drinks,” a pale woman with dark hair and bangs says with a smile when the two of you approach the table. He hands her one of the beers, takes the cocktail from your hand and gives it to a petite blonde with fair skin.

“Her friend bailed on her and we got talking at the bar, so I invited her to come sit with us.” You introduce yourself to the group, and the friend Derek mentioned might be your type? Egregious understatement.

He’s everything you like in an older man: polite, well-spoken, handsome, clean shaven, with a great head of thick, dark hair—he’s wearing an expensive watch, a goddamn suit, a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, and if Jay were here, you’d be catching her attention and panting like a dog, with your hands up near your face.

To someone without your more refined palate for older gentlemen, he may look like an average white guy in his early fifties, but you have to look down to make sure your panties haven’t dropped involuntarily. Just in case.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask, gesturing to the one next to him, and he shakes his head, pulls it out for you before he sits back down—yes, he stood when you approached the table. Manners, check. You’re trying not to drool.

You smooth out your skirt before you take your seat—you always dress for the man you want to attract, and tonight is no exception, so you’re wearing a black lace dress and nude heels; the dress is fitted, but not clingy, and not too short, and you know the right kind of man will find it appealing. So far, your handsome potential love interest Aaron seems to be looking respectfully; that may change, but you’re happy to see it, for now.

“So Derek mentioned you’re all in the FBI; are you the boss? You look like the boss,” you say with a playful smile, and Aaron looks a little nervous when he nods, makes eye contact.

“Until someone decides to overthrow me,” he jokes, deadpan, and your smile gets brighter. Dry sense of humor, check.

“I’d like to see them try; I definitely sense that you can handle your own.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Derek hiding a smile behind his hand. He knows you’re flirting, even if no one else does, and another reason you hope to take Aaron home is so you can wipe that smile off his face—but mostly because Aaron’s gorgeous, and you know it would be a very good time for the both of you.

“Let’s play darts,” Derek says to the other people at the table—you can’t remember their names at the moment, all your attention focused on Aaron—and they get up and walk over to the board, so it’s just the two of you.

Aaron clears his throat. “Thank you. What do you do for work?”

“I’m in publishing; a copy editor. Mostly Tom Clancy type action novels, and romance novels. Lots of heaving bosoms and cries of overwhelming pleasure, you know?” You take a sip of your drink through the straw, looking over at him as innocently as you can. He’s a little flushed; you’re a huge fan of that look on a man. “Do you ever read romance novels?”

“Uh, no. Not my genre.” He takes a sip of his drink, and you watch his mouth while he does.

“Not mine either. When you edit enough of them, they become wholly unsexy… and they never compare to real life.” You flick your eyes over his body, briefly but not subtly, and he gives you a glance back. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest. “So what do you like to read? Wait, may I guess?” you ask, setting a hand on his arm. He nods, and you carry on, leaning just a little closer. “So I’m going to guess you’re a fan of the classics, novels you’ve read a hundred times. I think you would tell me your favorite is To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say, tapping against his sleeve, “and maybe intellectually it is, but you actually feel more when you read Moby Dick. I bet your heart yearns for adventure—not that life as a crime solving FBI agent is boring, but it's all too real. Moby Dick is the perfect blend of adventure and fantasy for a man like you.”

“You’ve known me for all of ten minutes,” he says with a raised eyebrow, and you shrug and take a drink.

“True. But am I right? Or close?” He smiles, the first full, unguarded expression he’s given tonight, and you feel awesome for making that happen.

“My favorite book is Moby Dick. I make a point to read it at least twice a year. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” You pull back, take your hand off of his arm; you’ve laid the groundwork for touching, and he’ll have to make a move if he wants more. “People often tell you a lot they don’t intend to, and books are my thing, so it’s easy for me to connect the dots. I recommend books to people as a kind of party trick.” You stir your drink, and he shifts a little, sitting closer.

“Have you disappointed many people with your recommendations?”

“Oh, I make it a personal mission to never leave anyone disappointed,” you say, your voice low and sweet like honey. His eyes move to your mouth. You sweep your tongue over your bottom lip. “Derek said your friends are trying to get you to loosen up; can I ask why?” He flicks his eyes up to yours, frowns a little, like he’s not sure that’s something he’s ready to tell you; ultimately, he just sighs.

“I’ve been divorced for five years, alone for five years. They think it’s time I…” He trails off, shrugs.

“Get back in the saddle?” you offer, and he laughs lightly, agrees. “Is that something you’re interested in? You shouldn’t feel pressured into it if you’re not ready.” You might want to sleep with him so badly it’s sickening, but not at the expense of his well-being.

He exhales deeply and lifts his arm to rest it on the back of your chair; you want to smile, but the conversation doesn’t call for it, so you hold off.

“I think I’m ready, but how do you really know?” You turn toward him a little more, lean against his arm; it feels easy, comfortable, almost like a real date and not you flirting like your life depends on it and hoping to get a bite.

“I think you should wait to meet someone who makes you feel a spark, and then explore it. Maybe it burns hot, but doesn’t last. Maybe it’s a slow burn. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I think when you’re really ready to put yourself out there, you’ll know.” He holds your gaze, wets his lips, takes a breath.

“You’ve been flirting with me.” You do smile a little, then.

“Yes, Aaron, I have.”

“Did Derek put you up to it?”

“Absolutely not.” You touch his arm again, gentle, lean in close. “I’m genuinely interested in you. You’re everything I’m attracted to in a man.” His smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“Old and uptight?”

“Older, and kind, and capable of having a conversation about more than just sports and money, and handsome. Very handsome.” You lift your fingers from his arm, brush them through his hair over his temple. “I feel a spark. Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, and when you set your hand on the table, he covers it carefully with his. His hand is big, warm, softer than you’d expected, and you’re met with the sudden urge to feel it all over your body. “I feel a spark.”

“Good. Do you want to come home with me tonight? No strings attached—just to get you back in the saddle,” you say with a tilt of your head, and he nods.

“I want to.” You’re certain that the smile that crosses your face is softer, inviting, but you get the feeling he won’t kiss you while his friends could be watching. You’re actually surprised he’s touching you so openly.

“Okay, so why don’t you give me a ride home? I was going to have to call an Uber, since my friend didn’t show up, but you’re a gentleman, aren’t you? You wouldn’t let me do that.” He catches on to what you’re saying, the excuse you’re giving him to give his friends, makes a noise of understanding.

“Of course. I wouldn’t rest not knowing you made it home safely.”

“I’m not sure how much rest you’ll be getting tonight,” you murmur, and you rest your free hand on his thigh under the table, squeeze a little. He’s very firm, and you kind of melt. “But that’s a very sweet sentiment, Aaron. Are you committed to staying here much longer?”

“Not at all. Would you like to leave now?” You hold his gaze for a moment, want to be really sure about this; you’re no expert on body language, but you’ve been here before, and he really does look less tense than when you first showed up, more comfortable and open. All really good signs.

“Yes, please.” He squeezes your hand, then stands, smooths out his jacket, and tells you he’ll be right back while he goes to say goodbye to his friends. You stand too, finish what’s left of your drink, and pull out your phone to text Jay.

Taking home the most incredible man. Guess I don’t need my wingwoman after all.

J: Tell grandpa I said he better treat you right.

Please. He’s not that old. If anything, you can call him daddy. :P

J: You can call him daddy. Have fun ;) The ride to your apartment starts out quiet, but you try to fill it by asking Aaron more about himself. You keep your hands on him while you chat, leaning as close to him as you can while wearing your seatbelt, running your hand up and down his leg, over his arm while he shifts gears. You know it’s turning you on, and you’re fairly certain it’s turning him on as well.

You learn more about his job, that he basically solves crimes by judging people, which is kind of funny; before that, he was a lawyer, which you can definitely see. He has one child, a daughter who’s upset with him because of the divorce (someone’s dad, check), and a brother who lives in New York, no living parents. It’s more information than you usually get out of someone you plan to sleep with, but you really do like him, and since he’s not the one night stand type, you think more conversation is the right way to go.

He asks about you too, about your family and your job and your lame friend who bailed on you, and when he arrives outside your building, parks in the lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean in closer, smoothing a hand over his waist.

“I’m really glad I met you tonight,” you breathe, looking up at him, and he puts his hand on your cheek and you meet for a slow, easy kiss. “Hmm. I knew you’d be good at that.”

“I knew you’d be good at that, too. You have the most beautiful lips.” He brushes his fingers over them, and you take his hand, bring two of them into your mouth to suck softly. His breath hitches, and you feel your panties getting damp. God, he’s gorgeous. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers, and you slip his fingers out, drop a hand to his lap where he’s—oh, so perfectly hard it’s unreal.

“We could get started out here, have a little adventure,” you say playfully, fully prepared for him to say he’d rather not, but he just licks his lips and looks at you like you’re going to be the death of him, but at least he’ll die happily. That’s another look you’re a huge fan of on an older man.

You undo his belt, his button and his zipper, pull his cock out of his pants; he’s of average length, thick, makes your mouth water, and you lean in to use that to your advantage, getting him wet with your saliva and then stroking him in your hand. You look up at his face, and he’s got his eyes closed, head back against the headrest—so fucking sexy. You reach your free hand under his shirt, where he’s hairy, strong, but a little soft, just the way you like it, and he opens his eyes and pulls you close for a kiss that’s a bit harder than the last.

“You’re absolutely perfect,” he sighs against your lips, and you press closer for another kiss. You almost regret the adventure comment now, because you want to undress him, and touch him, feel him all over, but you’ll just have to be patient. (That’s never been your strong suit.)

“Are you kidding? You are… everything. If I could build a dream man, he would literally be a copy of you.” He makes a sharp, self-deprecating sound, and you lean down to get him wetter, move your hand a little faster. “I’m completely serious. I’m a little upset I’ve been going to that bar for so long and our paths never crossed.” One of his hands moves to your hair, and he pulls you close for a kiss; he’s ready to come, you can tell, and you want him to more than anything, so you cover his hand with yours and dip your head, sucking his dick like you’re desperate for it. When it comes to Aaron, you’re kind of desperate for everything.

“Oh, god. That feels so good, baby.” You moan at the pet name—is there anything better in the world than an older man calling you baby? Maybe just Aaron specifically calling you baby—and he tightens his fingers in your hair while you glide over him, tight and wet, until he comes in your mouth.

You swallow it down, pull off breathless, and then swipe your tongue over him so he’s clean enough that you can tuck him back into his pants. You look up at him from his lap, and he’s panting too, rubs his fingers over your lips, your chin, down your throat. You’re desperately horny now, soaking wet, and when you shift to sit up, he catches you for a deep, steamy kiss, and that does nothing to help your situation.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and ugh, your heart flutters. Seriously, who created this man? He’s incredible. “Now let’s go inside so I can make you come, too.”

“Definitely,” you agree with a nod, and you kiss him once more before pulling back and climbing out of the car, straightening yourself up. He does the same, then walks over to you, takes your hand, and follows you into your apartment.

Sex with Aaron is… talk about adventure. He fucks like—well, like he hasn’t done it in over five years. As soon as you get inside the door, he gets on his knees, pulls your panties down, lifts your skirt up, and eats your pussy with such enthusiasm you come with your hands in his hair, rocking against his face, in less than three minutes. Seeing him down on the ground in the full suit, just going to town on you, is not an image you’ll soon forget, that’s for sure.

After that, the two of you stumble to your bedroom, hands all over each other, tugging at zippers and discarding clothes—he has you keep your shoes on, and that makes you feel slutty like a porn star, and super hot—and you kiss, touch, moving your hands all over each other's bodies until he’s hard again. You stay in missionary, and after he slips on a condom from your bedside table, he slides into you, kisses your lips and your neck and your shoulders while he rolls his hips against yours.

It’s slow and sensual at first, and you drag your nails lightly across his back, tilt your head when he nips at your throat.

“Aaron, oh. You feel so good,” you breathe, scraping your fingers through his hair, and his thrusts get a little deeper, his kisses a little rougher.

“You’re incredible. So gorgeous.” He moves a hand to your breast, massages it while your bodies work; you hitch your legs up higher, moan, and pull him closer, your hands on his body, and he fucks into you more frantically, humping against you hard, wildly. You’ve never really gotten fuck you like an animal, but that’s kind of what he’s doing, and you’re into it, clinging to him, pushing into his thrusts like it’s possible to take him deeper than you are now.

God, he’s going to spoil you, ruin you for all other men. You’re going to have your best sex at 28 and then be chasing this feeling the rest of your goddamn life. It’s both amazing and horribly unfair.

“Yes, Aaron, yeah. Fuck me hard, fuck me deep.” He groans, pounds inside you, moves his hand from your breast to the back of your neck and stares down into your eyes while he absolutely destroys you. You come clenching around him, pulling his hair and digging your nails into his shoulder, and his mouth comes crashing down for a kiss while he thrusts through it and then stutters, his orgasm right behind yours.

You sag against the pillow behind your head, and he puts his weight on you, hand still clamped around the nape of your neck, and breathes hot against your throat.

You stare up at the ceiling, catching your breath, and thank fucking god Jay stood you up tonight. Aaron is very sweet, kissing you and holding you, murmuring against your skin, and the two of you go to the bathroom, get cleaned up, and then raid your kitchen for snacks, talking easily and laughing. He doesn’t look like he’s about to bolt, which you’d been a little worried about; in fact, he actually suggests taking your snacks back to bed, jokes about not getting any crumbs on your white sheets. Never one to kick a man out abruptly after sex, and especially not a man like Aaron, you agree, and you end up in bed again, which means…

Another frantically torn condom wrapper later, and you’re on your stomach, your nipples rubbing against the sheets. Aaron’s hands are on your ass while you work yourself on his cock, rolling your body, moaning desperately like you aren’t already two orgasms deep; his dick hits just right, and between that and the nipple stimulation you’re coming fast, bucking hard against him so he’ll follow.

“Fuck, baby, coming already?” He tightens his grip, slams inside you, plants one hand on the bed to change his angle a bit. “Let’s try for another; your body is so perfect, built for sex, built for me.” You groan, roll your eyes back because his dirty talk is hitting the spot, and the two of you fuck together, noisy and eager and hot, until he shudders, squeezes your ass hard and starts to come.

You’re so close, right on the edge, and you sound wild because of it, your moans high, whimpering, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you beg, grinding against him, and he puts both hands hard on your hips, rails you into the bed.

“I’m not stopping until you come for me. Come for me,” he murmurs, and he wraps one hand around the front of your body, rubs your clit, and you climax, squeezing your eyes shut, seeing stars. You moan his name, drop your hand to cover his where it rests against your pussy, and this time when his body drapes across your back like a weighted blanket, you sigh and close your eyes.

He kisses your back and shoulders, runs his big hands over your hips and ass, then slides off and guides you to the edge of the bed, lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom. You think absently that you could get used to being treated this well, and you must say it, because he presses a kiss to your lips and whispers, “I will if you let me.”

There’s a little talk in bed, after you’re cleaned up and cozy beneath the comforter, about going on a real date; Aaron seems nervous, like he thinks you won’t go for it, that all you wanted was this night of sex. And yes, while that’s typically your MO, something about Aaron is different. He makes you want more, things like dates and picnics and sweet lovemaking at night and kisses—all the kisses, everywhere, all the time.

You ask him to stay, and he promises he will, and you fall asleep in his arms. It’s the best you’ve felt in a really long time.

You wake up to Aaron’s sleepy, handsome face, and you kiss and smile into each other’s lips, because last night was great, but this is even greater. Your plan is to take a shower together and then go out for breakfast, but there’s a knock at your door just as you’re planning to step in.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” you tell him with a kiss, and you pull on your robe and peer through the peephole, then pull the door open. “Well, well; now you decide to show up.”

Jay steps in with a box of doughnuts and two cups of coffee, looking properly shamed.

“I know, I’m a horrible friend. I broke the slut code: stay slutty, but never at the expense of your best girl.” You crack a smile, because you could never really be mad at her, but especially not after last night. You’re about to say that, but she looks over your shoulder at the clothes still strewn about your living room and grins. “Holy shit. Is your old man still here?”

“He’s not an old man, and yes, he’s in the shower, so shut up.” She shoves the doughnuts and coffee carrier into your hands and brushes past you, toward your bedroom, and you groan. “Jay, no, come on.”

“I just want to get a glimpse of him,” she says, peeking her head into your room. She sees more clothes, and the condom wrappers, looks back at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Okay, someone had a good time last night.”

“Yes, it was fucking incredible. He’s a sex god, I’m not even kidding. He ate my pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in months, then fucked me twice, so hard and sexy, and then he asked me if he could take me on a date, Jay.” You smile wide, can’t help it. “I really like him, so I actually owe you for not coming out last night.” She smiles back, pulls you close for a hug, and you step back with your hands on her shoulders. “So thank you, and thanks for coming to apologize, but can you please leave? I really don’t want to miss out on some potential good morning shower sex.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s all from a place of love, and she turns to head out of your room.

“Okay, but only because cockblocking you would mean breaking the slut code again, and I can’t have my membership card revoked. I have a date with the almost frat boy again tonight.” She grins, and you shake your head, pull off your robe when you hear the door shut and head for the shower.

Good morning shower sex has never been so good. One month and twelve dates later, and you’re head over heels for Aaron. He is so sweet, and smart, and secretly funny, the perfect gentleman when you’re in public and an absolute manic in private, and you seriously could not have imagined a more perfect man.

Jay is maybe a little tired of hearing you talk about him.

You’re out for breakfast on a Saturday morning—Aaron is on a case in Indiana, or you’d probably be with him—and she sighs around a bite of french toast.

“I get it, he’s the best lay you’ve ever had in your life. He makes your pussy wet and your heart horny, or whatever. When do I get to meet the old man who’s got you wrapped around his big sexy fingers?”

“He’s supposed to be home tonight, maybe I’ll see if he’s feeling up to drinks?” Sometimes he’s really worn out after these cases, and you don’t blame him, but occasionally they must touch him in a way that makes him want to enjoy life, because you’ve had some nice dates the same day he gets back. You’ll ask, and if he’s not up for it, you’ll reschedule.

“Ooh, yes. I can’t wait to finally get a good look at the hunk who turned my maneater best friend into a monogamous whore.” You gasp, affronted, and she cackles, takes a sip of her iced coffee. Sometimes you can’t even remember why you’re friends—but she never fails to do something completely unexpected and sweet that reminds you eventually. “Hey, maybe now that you’re obsessed with this guy, you can finally meet my dad, since I don’t have to worry about you trying to suck his dick at first sight.”

You know that Jay’s relationship with her dad has been a little rough since her parents split up, and you’ve always thought that maybe you could get her to open up to him, to talk to him, if you could get to know him, but her fears about your taste for older men have always been hilariously real. As if you can’t control yourself; as if you’d ever actually date her dad.

“Well I’ll have to ask my old man; maybe he’s down for a threesome?” It’s her turn to act offended, and you laugh and send Aaron a text about this evening before you forget.

Can’t wait to meet the infamous Jay, he replies, and you won’t lie, you’re feeling really good about your two favorite people finally getting to know each other.

That night, you and Aaron beat Jay to the bar, because of course you do—that bitch is never on time for anything.

You’re feeling cute in a sexy turtleneck dress (the neck of which Aaron tugged down to place a hickey under when you rode him on the couch before coming here) and a set of earrings he bought you—you’re wearing a set of lingerie he bought you, too for later—and he looks gorgeous in a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

You can barely keep your hands off of him, squeezing his thigh, kissing his neck; you only give him an inch of space when he gets up to run to the restroom, and even then, the way he smiles and presses his lips to yours before he goes makes you want to cancel drinks and take him home so you can be alone.

But Jay asked to meet him, and you have been a little obsessed lately, so you want to do this and make her happy.

You look down at your phone, ready to hit her with some inflammatory where the fuck are you??? texts, when she drops into the seat Aaron had just vacated, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry. Traffic was really bad, and I got into this huge fight with my mom on the phone...” She pulls off her jacket, drapes it over the back of the seat.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, concerned. The two of them usually get along pretty well.

“Yeah, she’s just pissed because my dad has a new girlfriend—which is stupid, because she’s the one who wanted to divorce him, so why does she care? But anyway, I told her I’d meet her and be nice to her, because it’s important to him, and she expects me to take her side or something. I don’t know. Let’s just say I’m really glad I’m out for drinks with you and your old man so I can forget about my problems for a while.” She takes a deep breath for practically the first time since she started talking, then looks around, realizes it’s just the two of you. “Hey, where is he, anyway?”

“Restroom,” you say with a smile, but something more must creep onto your face, because she rolls her eyes playfully.

“And you didn’t follow him in there for a little stall action?”

“Ew, no. That’s more your speed than mine; we had sex before we came, anyway, look at this hickey.” You pull the neck of your dress down and she whistles, impressed.

“Congrats on having such good pussy, babe. I know you’re sickeningly obsessed with him, but it looks to me like he’s got it bad for you too.” You grin, instinctively want to gush over him, but you see him walking over out of the corner of your eye, so you hold off.

He’s frowning, though, and you’re not sure why.

“Julie?” Jay whips her head around at the sound of Aaron’s voice, and her eyes get wide.

“Dad? What are you…” You stand up abruptly, looking up at Aaron, and Jay stands too, looking between you, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I… We…” He swallows, looks at you like you’ve both made a terrible mistake. You’re surprised how much that look hurts, but you know you have to take care of Jay before you can feel sorry for yourself.

“Jay, listen to me, okay? I swear to god I didn’t know.” You’re begging, pleading with your eyes, your hands on her shoulders. “I did not know.” She shakes her head like it’s not making sense, but when she lets herself connect the dots, she brings up a hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh my god. Are you fucking kidding me?” She pulls away from you, looking at you like you punched her in the face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Jay, I didn’t—”

“Julie,” Aaron says, reaching for her, but she steps back, palms up.

“I seriously can’t believe this. You two… After every joke we made about me keeping you away from him?” She looks at you like you betrayed her, and you exhale, shrug sadly.

“It’s not like I went looking for him, Jay. We just… found each other.” You don’t look at Aaron, because if the last month hasn’t meant the same things to him, you’ll have to be okay with that. “I know it’s shocking, and I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it feels like to find this out, this way.”

“You’re right, you can’t imagine. I just fought with my mom about my dad’s new girlfriend, and it’s-it’s you.” She laughs, humorless.

“You fought with your mom? When?” Aaron asks, crossing his arms, and it’s so clear how much he cares about Jay. Her eyes fly to his.

“On the fucking way here. She told me about your new slut girlfriend, and I was defending you! I told her I’d meet her if you asked me to, that I’d be nice because I know she’s important to you! And it’s you,” she practically spits, turning to you. “Such a whore that you’ll fuck anyone over forty who can still get it up, including my fucking father.” Her tone stings, and people are looking at the three of you, but you take a breath, remind yourself that she’s just angry right now, and she loves you, doesn’t mean that.

“Julie, that's enough. I’m taking you home and we can talk about this there.” Aaron steps past her, picks up her jacket, and glances over at you, but you’re collecting your things and and pulling up a rideshare app to get yourself the fuck out of there.

You head for the bathroom to wait it out until your ride comes, and you definitely don’t cry because the two people who bring you the most happiness in the world are gone and they barely even looked back. It’s five days before Jay shows up at your door with apology doughnuts and a bottle of rosé. You eat and drink and cry on each other, and then laugh at each other, and your heart feels a little healed by the end of it.

“I’m sorry I called you a whore. It’s just… what are the odds, after everything we said, that you would actually hook up with my fucking dad.” You laugh and take the last bite of your doughnut.

“You don’t think I was a little startled by that turn of events? I was as shocked as you. I knew he had a daughter around my age, but that’s not really what we talked about, you know?” She shoves half a doughnut in her mouth and cackles.

“You don’t talk a whole lot, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Didn’t,” you say, and your whole mood shifts. She looks confused. “We didn’t talk a whole lot. He hasn’t spoken to me since the night you found out.” She pulls out her phone, starts texting.

“Okay, I told him I was okay with you guys like, two days ago, so this probably means he’s spiraling. He tends to do that—get in his own head and beat himself up for things that aren’t his fault.” She looks up from her phone, gives you a soft smile. “Will you forgive me if I tell you he’s moping at home right now, and that I know he’ll be happy to see you?” You roll your eyes a little.

“I already forgive you, Jay, but if he hasn’t called me, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he was looking for an out, and I gave him one, or maybe he can’t feel the same way I do because he knows we’re friends.”

“He told my mom about you, remember? He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t serious about you, and I don’t think he’d be acting this emo if he didn’t have feelings for you.” She reaches out, covers your hands with hers. “I’m really, really sorry I fucked this up for you guys. Weirdness aside, I know what good people you both are, and I hate that you were happy and I took that from you guys. I’m 100% supportive of you being my future step-mom,” she says with a grin, and you roll your eyes again and give her a hug and then jump up to get a shower.

You’re going to go get your old man.

When you knock on Aaron’s door an hour later, he looks surprised to see you.

“I thought you’d be Julie,” he says softly, and you sigh.

“I know. She sent me. She wants us to get our heads out of our asses, but I told her I don’t know where your head is, because we haven’t spoken.” Seeing him makes you feel a little better, because he does look like he may have been moping the last few days, so that must mean the spark is still there, right? “If you want me to leave, just tell me, and I’ll go; I’ll get out of your life and you can pretend it was just a casual thing, if that’s what you want.” Your heart aches at the thought, but you’d understand, if being his daughter’s best friend is an obstacle he can’t overcome.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says after a long, painfully drawn out moment. “I don’t want you to ever leave. And I could never pretend this was casual.” He steps forward—so handsome in a t-shirt and jeans it makes you long to press kisses all over his face, to hold him and be held by him—and his eyes are trained on yours. “I know nothing about us is conventional, but it doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you. I want to be with you.”

You take a deep, calming breath, exhale and nod. Your hands ache to reach out and touch him.

“I want to be with you, but only if you can promise that if something comes up with Jay—Julie—we can figure it out together. I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt the other night, and while I get that you had to take care of your daughter, and I’m glad you two talked things out, I can’t just be abandoned if things get weird.” You approach him, wrap your arms around him, and sigh. He hugs you so tightly, rests his cheek against the top of your head.

“I promise. I know I could have handled that better, but the situation was just so...”

“I know, that’s okay. Family comes first—but just so you know, she gave me her full support to campaign to become her new step-mom,” you say, pulling back with a teasing smile, and he shakes his head and grins. “So, one last question: Are you ready to get back in the saddle, Aaron?” He leans in and kisses you so hard you’re breathless, weaves his fingers into your hair.

“Sounds like my kind of adventure.” Message sent with high importance: Do not disturb! Your dad’s indecent.

J: Gross. Thanks for the warning, mom.

That’s step-mom, to you. Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

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