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alltheirdamn · 2 days

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Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 6 Buried Truths

Summary: When the past can only be contained for so long, Joel is there to pick up the pieces. Rating: 18+ MDNI Explicit Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, mentions of a hospital setting, mentions of injury, mentions of past trauma, a FUCK ton of angst, little sprinkle of smut, another cliffhanger (don't worry, i won't make you wait long) A/N: This is the part where you all collectively say OH...

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s hand remained wrapped around yours as you stared blankly out the plane window. Everything had been a blur the last twenty-four hours. After you got off the call with Beth, you ran through calling the school to find a substitute, packed what you could into a small carry-on bag, and went online to book the first ticket out to Boston. You tried to talk Joel into staying back in Austin; he had work and Sarah to care for, but he was adamant about coming. He made a quick call to Tommy to make a plan for Sarah and contacted his work to find coverage for the rest of the week. He was only apart from you when he rushed home to pack his travel bag. Then you were both off to the airport: you bleary-eyed and Joel more stoic than you could ever recall seeing. He hadn’t said much between security and the flight gate, but you were too exhausted to try and force conversation.

“Hey,” Joel said, nudging you. “How you feelin’, baby?”

You glanced at him and shrugged, the tears from earlier still drying on your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I guess.”

His fingers squeezed around yours before he brought your hand to his mouth to kiss it softly.

“He’s gonna be alright,” he assured. “Beth said he’s recovering now, right? It’s just gonna take some time.”

While you and Joel were waiting at the gate, you called Beth again to find out what happened with your dad. She explained he had been up on the ladder fixing the roofing above the patio when his foot caught in one of the steps, ultimately forcing him to fall ten feet to the ground. He had a broken hip, a fracture in his lower spine, and a severe concussion—leaving him in a temporary medically induced coma. Beth had said he was lucky to be alive, but the anxiety still bubbled inside you in fear of what he would endure through his recovery. The thought of his injury only elevated the already strong emotions connecting you to the past, making it nearly impossible to cope with your dad’s accident while you simultaneously still struggled with your own.

The plane made a rocky touch-down in Boston well after midnight, the autumn rain causing the plane to slide against the tarmac before coming to a jarring stop. You and Joel rushed around the other passengers, filing out of the plane and sprinting through the airport to find Beth. You singled her out of the crowd, her face rosy and hair piled onto her head in a messy bun. The second she had your arms around you, you crumpled to the ground as the sobs broke out of your chest.

“It’s okay, sis,” she said, her voice breaking. “He’s stable. It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if—what if he’s not?” You sobbed.

You clutched onto her sweater, your head buried into her shoulders. She hushed you, her hand rubbing into your back.

“The doctors said he’ll make a full recovery. We just need to wait,” she said.

“Is there any…” Your voice broke once more.

“No,” she whispered. “There’s no serious damage to his brain.”

You choked on your breath, relief swimming through your veins. This wouldn’t be like your accident; he would be okay.

“C’mon,” she urged, pulling you to your feet.

You wiped your nose across your sleeve, sheepishly turning to Joel. Gesturing from him to Beth, you gave a weak smile.

“Joel, this is Beth. Beth, this is Joel.”

Joel and Beth stood motionless, staring awkwardly at each other. You glanced between them, your eyebrows furrowing. Why weren’t they saying anything?

Finally, Joel cleared his throat and extended his hand to Beth.

“Nice to meet you, Beth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Beth took his hand cautiously, giving him a friendly smile.

“Same here.”

You’d revisit this awkward interaction later, but you needed to go home.

“Is mom home?” You asked Beth.

You reached for your bag, but Joel gently nudged your hand away. He took it into his hand and walked to the parking garage behind you and your sister.

“Her and Stella are at the hospital,” she explained.

You stopped in your tracks, sending Joel staggering into your back with a soft oof.

“Sorry,” you muttered to Joel. You turned back to Beth. “Take me home.”

“No,” she said sternly. “They want you there. You need to be there.”

“Beth,” you started.

She lifted a hand to silence you, glancing over your shoulder at Joel.

“Can you jump in the car real quick? I need to talk to my sister alone.”

Beth tossed her keys to Joel, waiting until the back door shut before she glared at you.

“Does he know?” She questioned.

“Of course, he doesn’t know,” you argued.

She scoffed, folding her arms.

“Considering everything going on, you didn’t think to mention it to him?”

“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy getting my ass out here as fast as possible. It didn’t register in my mind to share the sad details of my accident with him.”

“You need to tell him, sis.”

“This isn’t the fucking time to do it!” You snapped.

Beth rolled her eyes, her lips pursed for another attack.

“It’s going to come out sooner or later. You know that, right? He’s not going to run away if you tell him.”

“Bennett did, so why is he any different?”

“Stop comparing him to Bennett!” She yelled. “He’s nothing like him, and if you seriously think that, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” you mumbled.

“What? The truth? Because the truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

Beth laughed. She actually laughed. Rounding the car, she left you standing teary-eyed and frustrated.

“Get in the fucking car,” she shouted. “We’re wasting time.”

You hauled yourself into the front seat, keeping your eyes out of the window and avoiding the heavy truth sitting between you, Beth, and Joel. If any one of them told him about your past, you’d kill them. It was yours to share whenever you were ready.

Beth drove like a bat out of hell to Mass General. No one said anything the entire drive, and you were grateful for it. After the blowup between you and Beth, you had no more energy left to fight. You just hoped you’d be able to reel in the anger with Joel; he didn’t deserve it.

Mass General loomed above the rain clouds settling over the city. Joel and Beth had already exited the car while you sat inside its warmth, your eyes stuck on the Emergency sign at the front of the hospital. Joel tapped on the window, stirring you from the numbing sensation rolling through your body. You didn’t even flinch at the sound of his knuckles on the glass. Joel cracked the door open, pulling it wide enough to fit his broad between the metal and your shaking body.

“C’mon baby,” he urged, offering his hand. “I know y’can do this. I’m right here with you, okay?”

“I can’t,” you whined.

Joel crouched slightly, leveling you with soft brown eyes, a curl drifting over his forehead. You wished you were both in bed, curled under the covers and far away from Boston. You wanted his soft hair between your fingers and his stubble ticking your skin. But no, you were here in Boston, with a rain cloud hanging in the sky and your father unconscious in a hospital bed.

“Look at me,” Joel breathed.

You wanted to look anywhere but at him. If he looked at you any longer, you’d shatter completely. He cautioned your name, coaxing you from your hesitation. His strong hands cupped your cheeks, holding you firm as he kept your focus on his eyes.

“I’m right here,” he repeated. “Ain’t gonna leave your side no matter what. Y’understand? Whatever happens, I’m right here.”

You chewed on your lip to keep the sobs from escaping. It was surprising you had anything left to cry; all you did was cry… and cry… and cry.

“I can’t go in there, Joel. You don’t—you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand,” he pleaded.

“Go without me. I’ll wait outside, okay?”

“Baby,” he groaned. “Beth will have my ass if I don’t get you inside.”

You scoffed, ripping his hands from your face.

“You speak a few words to her and suddenly know how she’s gonna react?” You glared. “You both acted so fucking weird in the airport and now you’re taking her side?”

Joel straightened to his full height, the shadow of his body blanketing you. You were pushing him away; you knew it, and so did he. You just needed to nudge him a bit more, and he’d run. You’d be alone again and spare yourself the humiliation and heartbreak.

“I ain’t takin’ sides,” he argued. “I’m bein’ realistic. I saw the way she went at you back there. I’m not ‘bout to get the same treatment for leavin’ you behind.”

“Just go!” You yelled. You shoved at his chest, forcing him back into the door.

He didn’t respond in anger like you expected. He did the opposite, pulling you towards him and into a desperate kiss. You tried to push him off—tried to fight it— but he only held you tighter.

“Keep fightin’ me, baby,” he said against your mouth. “I’m only gonna fight back.”

“I hate you,” you cried. “I hate you.”

But you didn’t stop kissing him. You gripped the wild curls at the base of his neck, pinning him to your lips as you sobbed through every slant of his mouth.

“Why won’t you leave?” You cried, the words muffled as his tongue searched for yours. “Why, Joel?”

“I ain’t leavin’ you again, baby,” he murmured. “I can’t.”

Joel pulled away from your swollen lips, tears pooling in his eyes. You instantly felt remorse for treating him so badly. You wouldn’t do to him what Bennett did to you.

“Remember when I said this was real?” he asked. “Do you still believe that?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears ran down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Then trust me when I say I’m never leavin’. Not now. Not ever.”

You inhaled a sharp breath and buried your head in your hands.

“Just give me a minute, okay?” You exhaled. “Catch up with Beth, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, echoing the words you spoke only a few weeks ago.

“You and your deals,” you grumbled, peeking out your fingers.

That garnered a slight grin from Joel, his lips curling upward.

“Take your breather, and I’ll wait by the back of the car. If y’wanna go in, we can go in together.”

You remained silent, hiccuping over another sob. Joel raised his brow, waiting for a response. Avoiding his eyes, you nodded, the Emergency sign taunting you from a distance. Joel leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead and abandoned you to retreat toward the back of the car.

You steadied your breathing, focusing on the slow inhale and exhale of the air within your lungs. It wasn’t you in that hospital bed; it was your dad. He didn’t sustain the same damage you had, and that’s all that mattered. Whatever the outcome, he was better off than you had ever been, and you needed to be grateful for it.

You let your legs move on their own accord as you took your spot beside Joel, his hand instantly grasping around yours. His touch grounded you in the moment, keeping you centered as your mind swam upstream through the rocky waves of the past. You had to stay strong. You had to prove you could do this.

The second your feet crossed through the sliding doors, all that strength collapsed. Joel hooked a strong arm around your back, bracing you to his side as he guided you into the waiting room. Your mom and Beth sat side by side in the worn-down seats, their faces grim and tired.

“Hey,” you said wearily.

Your mom's eyes snapped up, and she broke down at seeing you. She ran up to yank you from Joel’s grasp, smothering you into a tight hug.

“Oh, honey,” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How’s dad?” You asked, speaking into her hair that wrapped around your face.

“Doctors haven’t given much of an update, but he’s alright. They’re taking him in for surgery in a few hours to help reset his hip.”

“And his head?” You faltered.

“There’s no serious damage,” she whispered.

You peered over her shoulder to where Beth sat, eyes meeting in a quiet understanding. There was still a tension running thick between you both, but those words from your mom were enough to soothe the surmounting anxiety inside you.

“Mom,” you sighed, tearing away from her embrace. “This is Joel.”

You motioned to Joel behind you, an eerie repeat of what had happened between him and Beth. Your mom stood frozen, her eyes widening as she stared at him. Joel cracked a welcoming smile, extending his hand out to her. No one moved, and his hand remained wavering in the stagnant air.

“Mom?” You pressed.

She shook her head and opened her arms to Joel, inviting him in for a hug. It was strange but not entirely unexpected, considering the circumstances.

“Hi, honey,” she said as she rocked Joel back and forth in the embrace.

“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” Joel replied. You caught on to the way his biceps flexed around her, squeezing her just as tightly as he would with you. He was comforting her, and something softened inside you.

Beth cleared her throat behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your mom released Joel and turned towards Beth.

“She should go up and see him,” Beth told your mom.

“She is right here,” you snapped.

“Oh, now she wants to listen to me,” Beth snorted.

“Both of you!” Your mom shouted. “Enough!”

You shrunk away, folding yourself into Joel’s warm frame. The press of his body against yours quelled the anger rising back up, and you kept focus on his hands rubbing over your arms to keep from lashing out. Beth was pushing, and you knew exactly why.

“Listen, Beth, stay here and chill out,” your mom started. She glanced back at you and Joel before continuing. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll take you to see him.”

You followed your mom up to the ICU, your eyes shifting from one room to another. The repetition of machines beeping and murmurs of nurses through the hall slammed into your head like a hammer, and you found yourself clinging to Joel, twisting his cotton shirt until it stretched between your fingers.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel crooned. “I got you. Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

Mom guided you to the room where Stella was perched on a chair beside the bed. You averted your eyes from your dad, refusing to look. Stella turned to see you walk in and immediately sprinted into your arms, sobbing into your chest.

“I know. I know,” you cried.

“I was so scared it was going to happen again, sis,” she muttered.

“They said he was okay, right? It’s not going to happen to him,” you assured.

“But what if it does? What if he wakes up and doesn’t remember—.”

“Don’t,” you interjected. “Don’t say it.”

She peeled herself from you and wiped away her tears. Joel stepped forward, his hand pressed to your lower back, as he made his way to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he smiled, extending his hand.

Stella flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. Your mom watched them with a knowing look, something you couldn’t discern.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she sighed.

Weird. You only really talked to Beth about Joel and didn’t expect her to share it with anyone except your mom.

Joel rubbed her shoulders gently, then pulled away.

“Likewise, Stell.”

Stell. You didn’t recall calling her that in front of Joel; that nickname was reserved for you and only you. Your head was pounding, and the nagging feeling that you were losing grip on reality was slowly settling in. You worked so hard to remember everything; it wouldn’t happen again. Not now.

“You okay, sweetie?” Your mom cautioned, stepping beside you.

Her voice roused you from your confusion, and you made the mistake of looking at your dad for the first time. He looked so much smaller, lying in the hospital bed: a breathing tube situated under his nose and IVs running through the bend of his arm. Oh God, and his face. Both of his eyes were rimmed in dark bruises, and a thick layer of bandages was wrapped over his forehead. Was that how you looked all those years ago? Your stomach churned with nausea the longer you looked at him. The whirring of the machines in the room dizzied you, and you felt your body swaying in place. Joel quickly steadied you, his arms coming around your front to lock you into a tight hold.

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmured into your ear.

“Do you want to be alone with him, sweetie?” Your mom asked.

“Please,” you said, nodding.

Joel kissed the crown of your head before following your mom and Stella out into the hall. You glanced over your shoulder to see them all huddled together, the cracked blinds inside the room obstructing your view of what they were saying. You’d ask Joel about it later.

Turning back to your dad, you let the real tears fall. The ugly, gut-wrenching ones you had held back for so long. Tears that weren’t just for him, but for you as well. No one in your family knew the fear and pain that came with a head injury. No one could understand you—not even Bennett, despite everything he tried to say and do. You were alone in its entirety, but you’d be damned if your dad dealt with the same.

Cradling his hand in yours, you drew circles over his calloused skin with your thumb. You didn’t have words to express your pain, so you sat in silence. The constant repetition of machinery beeping throbbed through the recesses of your brain, a migraine looming on the horizon. You’d suffer with it later, but it would be worth it just to stay in this moment a few seconds longer.

“I love you, dad,” you whispered.

You didn’t know if he could hear you, but you hoped he did.

You remained silent for a few more minutes and glanced at the clock above the bed. 3: 13 AM. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had drained away, and the fatigue in your body was settling in rapidly. You wanted to lie down and wake up when everything was better, but it all came with time. And you hated that. You hated time and things it had stolen from you.

A light rap on the door startled you from your silent cocoon, and you turned to see Joel peeking in through the window. You motioned him to come in, and he bent beside the bed, his hand resting on your thigh.

“How ya’ doin’, baby?” He asked softly.

“I’m tired,” you lamented.

He smoothed his hand over your legs, the warmth of his touch radiating through your body. You leaned into his touch, letting your head rest on his.

“I’m gonna ask Beth if we can take the car and go home,” you said. “I can’t be here anymore, and I need sleep.”

“We can do that. Your mom said they’re gonna take him for surgery in a few, anyway. No point stickin’ around if we’d just be waitin’.”

“When he’s out of surgery, they can call me, and we can come back.”

“Sounds like a plan, baby. Let’s get you home.”

Joel offered to drive Beth’s car back to the house. You sat beside him, your head propped in your hand, watching as he drove through the city streets. Even cast in the late night sky, he was so handsome. The rich tan color of his skin seemed to be illuminated by the moonlight glinting through the windshield, his brown eyes softer than you’d ever seen. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his lips, but he still looked so kind and so loving. Joel glanced over at you as the car slowed in front of the red light.

“What’s that look for?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m just really thankful you’re here,” you exhaled. “I’m sorry you had to see me so angry earlier. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.”

Joel leaned over the dash to pull you in for a soft, fleeting kiss.

“There’s a lot happenin’ right now, baby. Be angry all y’want. I can take it,” he said.

You chewed on your lip and nodded, turning your attention back to the street as the light turned green. Joel drove in silence the rest of the way to your parent's house, guiding him quietly with directions every few turns. Even though it had only been a few weeks since you were last home, the streets were scattered with yellow and orange leaves, autumn settling over the neighborhood. The car's tires flattened over them as Joel slowed to the front of the house and killed the engine.

“This where y’grew up?” Joel asked, tilting his head toward the house.

You nodded, but your eyes were glued to the porch. The ladder was still lying on the ground; the metal pressed into the cold grass of the front lawn. Joel must’ve picked up on your fixation and sighed.

“I’ll go pick it up, baby. Why don’t you grab your bag and head in, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” But your eyes didn’t stray from the ladder.

You watched Joel reach the ladder, his body a beacon under the moonlight. His tall figure moved against the cover of the night sky, working quickly to move it off to the side of the house. You took an extra moment to collect yourself before gathering your bags and meeting him on the porch. Joel took them immediately from your hands as you guided him into the house. You’d give him a tour of it tomorrow; you just wanted to curl under the covers of your bed and waste away.

When you opened the door to your bedroom, Joel gave a low whistle, glancing around at the artifacts of your childhood. Miscellaneous pictures of you and your sisters hung on the walls, along with a collection of CDs stacked on the floor in one corner and a reading nook built into the windowsill. The dated white armoire was nestled against the wall beside your vanity, and the large queen bed sat untouched and nicely made with its white comforter and grey pillows.

“Nice lil’ room y’got here, baby,” Joel chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” you shrugged.

You dumped your bag on the ground, collapsing backward until your back hit the bed with a soft thud. Joel followed your lead, and you both lay there silently, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in circles. It was tempting just to succumb to sleep right in that moment, but you knew you needed a shower to wash off the lingering stress of the day.

“Come shower with me?” You asked, glancing over at Joel.

“Of course.”

The heat of the shower pelted your skin as Joel rubbed a loufa into your back muscles, working out the knots that had materialized through the long day. You basked in the warmth of his body pressed into yours, your head falling back against his muscular chest and eyes drifting shut. His tender touch helped alleviate the pressure building in your head, and you prayed that the migraine would subside soon enough.

“Doin’ okay, baby?” He asked, his mouth pressing into the side of your neck.

You hummed at his lips on your skin, bringing your arm up to wrap around the back of his neck. His fingers drifted over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips softly before trailing between your legs.

“Can I?”

“Mhmm,” you sighed, shifting your body slightly so that he could explore further.

His hand dipped between your legs, your arousal already pooling at your entrance. He was slow with his touch, each graze of his fingers over your sensitive bud eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Joel’s mouth roamed over the expanse of your neck as he continued to draw circles over your throbbing clit. Your fingers tugged at his wet curls, urging him closer. The blood coursing through your veins thrummed with pleasure as he teased the build-up of your release.

“You’re beautiful, baby. Y’know that?” He whispered in your ear.

Maybe it was the gentle touch of his fingers or his words swimming through your mind, but your climax shattered you into pieces in record time. Your thighs clenched tight around his hand as you let out a soft cry.

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Let go, baby.”

You slumped against his body, your heart settling back into a normal rhythm. Joel held you close, wrapping his arms around your front and swaying you under the spray of the water. Your eyes grew heavy the longer you remained in his embrace, so you decided to cut the water and drag him out and into bed.

Under the security of your comforter, you clung to Joel and buried your head into the crook of his arm. He traced circles over your bare arm, letting you lay quietly against him. The familiar pressure of a migraine began forming in your mind, the pounding ache settling behind your eyes. You squeezed your eyes tighter, curling yourself up into his body in hopes it would fade away as you slept.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked, noticing the tension paralyzing your muscles.

“Migraine,” you choked out.

“What do y’need? I can go get it.”

“No, I’m fine,” you lied. “Just stay here. Please.”

“These happen often?”

“Not in a while.” You couldn’t find the strength to form complete sentences, so the words came out choppy and pained.

“Will sleep help?”

“I hope,” you muttered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Joel’s arms tightened around your body, anchoring you to his side as he hummed softly into your hair. Pain pulsated through your head as you forced yourself to fall asleep, your limbs shaking as they wrapped around his torso.

All you wanted was for the pain to go away.

A few hours later, the morning light dancing through the window stirred you awake. The residual aching pain in your head still lingered, but it was far more manageable than it had been before you fell asleep. Joel snored softly beside you, and you took the chance to watch him as he slept peacefully beside you. The creases in his skin were softened in his slumber, his face relaxed and calm. His lips were parted slightly, the bottom one plush and pouty and tempting to kiss. You nestled into his body, your mouth roaming over his scruffy jaw and eventually reaching his lips. The strange urge to say I love you nearly tumbled out of your mouth as you kissed him, but you swallowed it and saved it away. It was the first time you thought those three little words in the space with someone other than Bennett. Knowing Joel was digging closer to your heart, breaking down every barrier and wall, it was still frightening. But if this sudden trip had taught you anything, he was right; this was real. You weren’t ready to confess those words, but in time you would.

Just not now.

Joel roused himself from sleep, groaning softly as he pulled you in for a gentle kiss.

“Mornin’, baby. How’s your head feelin’?”

“Better,” you sighed.

“Ready to go back to the hospital?”

You groaned, shoving your head under the comforter.

“I hate it there.”

He squeezed your side, urging you back up to the surface. Your eyes connected with his, the morning light coloring his eyes a rich shade of amber. Flecks of gold scattered through his irises, blending into the rich chocolate brown you were drawn to.

“Why do y’hate it so much?” He wondered.

“I—I just don’t have good memories of it.”

“Y’wanna talk to me ‘bout it?”

You rolled onto your back, closing your eyes as the memories waded through the headache still swimming in your head.

“Bennett, there’s a chance this could actually work,” you begged.

“I’m not risking it. What if it doesn’t work and things get worse?” He argued. “Isn’t it easier to just move forward?”

You rubbed circles into your temples, trying to soften the onset migraine surging to the surface. All this arguing was making you nauseous and tired. Why wouldn’t Bennett be on your side about this? Why wasn’t he agreeing with you?

“I want to remember,” you lamented. “I want those two years back.”

“The doctors said it’ll take time. Why isn’t that enough?” Bennett sighed, crouching down to meet you at eye level.

“You don’t understand, Bennett.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped.

It was the first time you’d experienced his anger in such a way. He wasn’t taking your side, and he wasn’t even listening to your requests. You could only nod and cave to his arguments; he was the one holding the power now. You had to trust him.

Situating yourself against the headboard, you inhaled sharply and glanced at Joel.

“I might as well tell you since everyone is on my case about it,” you groaned.

“Only if you wanna, baby. I ain’t gonna force you,” Joel sighed, looking up at you.

Giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts, you dove into the story.

“I was in an accident when I was twenty-two, or I guess twenty-four. The last thing I remember was being twenty-two and just moving to Austin with Bennett. We had just moved into our apartment, and I was about to start substitute teaching while finishing my Master's degree. Everything was great. Then, I got in an accident on the way home from school, and the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital.

“I guess in the crash, my head hit the dashboard hard enough to cause serious damage to my brain. They—the doctors, told me I had sustained enough trauma to cause retrograde amnesia. I woke up thinking I was still twenty-two, Joel. I lost two years of my life. I couldn’t remember a single thing.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whispered, propping himself on his elbows.

“Bennett tried to fill me in on pieces of it, but trying to remember did more damage than anything,” you continued. “I had migraines all the time. I could barely function for the first couple of months, and that’s when my parents talked me into coming back here. To Mass General. They ran so many tests on me and tried to find solutions, but there was no hope. Bennett was adamant about not causing any more damage to my brain, so I just gave up,” you explained.

“You gave up tryin’ to remember?” He asked, pulling himself up to sit beside you. There was a deep furrow between his brows and a noticeable shift in his body language. Everything was tense, from his jaw to how his fists clenched together.

“Yeah. I trusted Bennett with the memories I no longer had and knew he would take care of me. Or at least, I hoped he would. The doctors suggested I stay in Boston to go through psychotherapy to help try and piece together those memories, but Bennett was against it. It caused a huge riff in my family since they wanted me to stay and get help.”

“He kept you from rememberin’ things,” Joel frowned.

You nodded, digging your knuckles into your eyes to try and push away the pressure building behind them again.

“We were here for almost two months, just constantly going in and out of the hospital. I’d have these debilitating migraines that would lead to fainting spells, so I was always back at the emergency room for more testing. The outcome was always the same, though. I felt so defeated every time like it was my fault,” you confessed.

Joel laid a hand on your thigh, smoothing over your skin as you tried to drag in a lungful of air.

“It ain’t your fault though, baby,” he assured.

“I should have advocated for myself more. I just did whatever Bennett said because he knew things I couldn’t remember. He even proposed here. He made this big, long speech about how he never wanted to face the fear of losing me again, and I went with it because I loved him. I loved him enough to do whatever he said because I owed it to him.”

“You were tryna heal from everythin’,” he offered, trying to make sense of it all. “It’s not your fault for what happened after.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“But it is,” you argued. “It’s my fault Bennett left. If I thought our fights before the crash were bad… It only got worse. We moved out of our apartment and got this big house. We decided to speed through our engagement for the sake of my fucking memory. All the while, Bennett just started to get angrier and angrier. I was trying so hard to remember things, and he just started to remember less. He was always fighting with me over every little thing. He barely touched me or looked at me. For fuck sake, he wouldn’t even sleep in the same bed as me! It’s like he didn’t want me to have those memories back, and I just—I don’t understand why.”

Joel pulled your head into his hands, his eyes darkening as he stared at you. His thumbs rubbed over your cheekbones in an attempt to calm your rambling. You wanted to flinch away from his touch, but he only held you tighter.

“None of this is your fault,” he emphasized.

“It is, though,” you sniffled. The tears were ready to slip at any moment. “He wanted the girl I was before the crash, and I was so hell-bent on trying to fix my memory that I stopped being that version of myself. I couldn’t be what he wanted, so he left. I wasn’t enough, Joel. I couldn’t fight for him to stay because he didn’t want me. I—I’m so fucked up, Joel.”

Joel’s nostrils flared, a wash of anger clouding his eyes. But you knew it wasn’t anger toward you. It was toward Bennett.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “You’re not fucked up. Bennett was an asshole, and I swear I’d kill him if I could.”

“That’s not funny,” you deadpanned.

“It wasn’t meant to be funny, baby. I’m serious. Ain’t no way y’went through hell and back for him to do that to you. Y’didn’t get the time to heal because you were so focused on tryin’ to make him happy, and he didn’t deserve you. You know that, right? None of this is your fault.”

You shrugged off his hands and scooted out of the warmth of the bed. Digging through your bag, you pulled out a change of clothes, carelessly throwing an outfit together while Joel sat motionless on the bed.

“Baby,” Joel pleaded. “Stop for a minute, ‘kay? Are you listenin’ to me?”

He threw back the covers and strode to where you stood, your arms halfway into a sweater. He helped tug it the rest of the way, settling it over your body before reeling you in for a long kiss. It was his weapon for shutting you up, and he was really fucking good at using it. You dragged yourself away from his mouth, staggering back until there was enough distance between you and him.

“I should have fucking listened to everyone,” you heaved. “I should have fucking stayed in Boston, but I wanted to prove I could do it. I wanted to prove I could continue living with this fucked up part of myself.”

Joel cautioned your name, and you took another step back.

“Look at me, Joel!” You laughed. “I’m fucked up! I still can’t remember a damn fucking thing, and being here is only a brutal reminder of that. I lost so much of myself because of that accident. And I swear to God, if I lose my dad, too. I—I can’t…”

Your knees hit the ground before it even registered in your mind. Joel was quick to drop to the floor in front of you, pulling you into his lap as the sobs wracked through your body. You rocked yourself back and forth as Joel’s arms wound into a vice around your chest. He hushed you softly as you audibly cried loud enough to echo around the room.

“You aren’t gonna lose him,” Joel whispered in your ear.

“What if—.” You choked on another cry.

“Breathe with me, baby. Just breathe. C’mon.”

Joel inhaled loudly, coaxing you to do the same. You followed his lead, exhaling when he instructed to. You both repeated it a few more times until you felt the surge of emotions slow.

“That’s it, baby,” he sighed. “I’m right here with you. Everythin’ is gonna be okay.”

You burrowed your head into his chest, your tears dampening his bare chest. How was he not running away from you? You laid all your damaged pieces out, and he still had his arms around you. You didn’t deserve it. You couldn’t make sense of it.

“What do y’say we get back to the hospital?” Joel offered after a moment. “We can check in and see how the surgery went. It’ll give you some peace of mind.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced.

Joel helped you to your feet, and you both finished changing in silence. You grabbed your purse and followed Joel to the car, and you both returned to Mass General.

“He’s fine, honey,” your mom said, giving you a weak smile.

You were all crowded in the hospital room surrounding your dad as he lay unconscious on the bed.

“The doctors say he’s going to make a full recovery,” she continued. “They’re going to slow the sedative down, and hopefully, he’ll be waking up in the next day or so.”

Beth and Stella stood close together, Stella’s head resting on Beth’s shoulder. Their expressions were painted with relief, and you felt your muscles loosen at the news.

“So, we just wait?” You asked.

“We will wait,” your mom corrected. “You and Joel should go back to Austin. There’s no point sticking around now that we know he’s alright.”

You turned to stare at her, your lips twisting into a scowl.

“I am not leaving until he wakes up,” you argued.

“We’ll call right when he wakes up,” she offered. “I know being here is hard for you, honey. And you’ve got a job that needs you.”

“Mom!” You shouted. It was loud enough to startle everyone. “I’m not leaving.”

“She’s right, baby,” Joel chimed in. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“I want to stay.”

“Look, let’s make a deal. We stay another day and then go home, okay?”

You glanced between everyone in the room, finally settling your eyes on your dad, still unconscious in the bed. Everyone was right, but you didn’t want to leave yet. You weren’t ready. Even if being here felt like hell.

“One more day,” you agreed.

You remained at the hospital most of the day, shifting between the waiting room and your dad’s room. Everyone took turns visiting him and meeting with doctors, and Joel stayed at your side every minute. Stella took a liking to him most out of everyone, spending a good majority of the time talking his ear off about Sarah. Seeing Joel engage with her as he did was endearing as if they knew each other and were old friends catching up. He treated everyone in your family so kindly that it was hard to continue shoving down those three little words. You wanted to say them more than ever…but weren’t sure when you’d feel ready.

Eventually, the day faded into night, and your mom urged everyone to go home while she insisted on staying. You didn’t know when she had slept last, but she was adamant about staying with your dad. Beth drove you all home, humming some song that floated through the radio. As the house came into view, she dialed down the volume and turned toward the backseat.

“Joel, Stella, will you guys head in while I talk to sis?” Beth asked as she parked the car.

You gave her a confused stare as they filed out and walked up the driveway toward the house.

“Did you tell him?” She asked, turning to look at you.

Her eyes were dark with heavy circles, and her lips stuck in a straight line.

“I did,” you nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He just sympathized with me. There’s not much else to say,” you shrugged.

“That’s it?” She pressed, her brows scrunching together.

You scoffed, glancing out the side window.

“What did you want him to say, Beth? There isn’t much to say when you tell someone your memory is all fucked up.”

“I just figured he’d say more,” she offered.

“Like what?” You snapped. “Nothing he says is going to magically make it better.”

“I know, I know. I just thought he’d say more.”

You stared at her, the tiredness creeping into your bones. You didn’t want to argue anymore, not about this or anything.

“Can we just go in? I’m tired,” you said.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Beth and Stella offered to make dinner that night, all four of you quietly eating in heavy silence as the evening drifted later. Once dinner was all said and done, you and Joel retired to your room, curling up under the covers once again. You tangled your legs between his and kissed up his chest and under his jaw.

“Baby,” he warned. “The girls are right down the hall. Don’t be doin’ that.”

“Why?” You questioned, continuing the path up his cheek and to his lips.

Joel captured your mouth in a hungry kiss, his hands tangling in your hair. You moaned softly as the kiss depended, his hands roaming over your body.

“I want you, Joel,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Baby, we can’t,” he groaned. But he didn’t stop kissing you.

He rolled his body over yours, pinning you to the bed as his hand slid under your pajama bottoms. You bucked into his hand, searching for a fleeting touch to quell the ache growing between your thighs. Joel responded to your desperation, slipping a finger between your slick folds.

“I’ll be quiet,” you promised. “Just keep kissing me.”

Joel relented to your pleas, locking his mouth with yours again. He added another finger, plunging them inside you as you cried out at the pressure. His teeth quickly bit down on your bottom lip, a silent demand to keep your voice down.

“Sorry,” you exhaled.

“Be good for me, baby,” he whispered.

His fingers abandoned you, but it was barely a moment of loss before he sank his cock into you. You used all your strength to hold back a groan of relief as the slight sting of your body stretching to him faded into bliss. Joel kept his hands tangled in your hair as he rocked into you, your bodies moving in unison as he drove himself deeper with each thrust.

“Joel…” You whimpered against his mouth.

“Stay quiet, baby.”

His mouth roamed down the column of your throat, sucking gently at your skin as he reached one arm down to hook around the back of your knee. The change in position only sent his cock deeper inside you, your core clenching around him with every drive of his hips.

“It feels so good,” you panted, rolling your hips. “I’m so close, Joel. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he hummed. “Cum for me, baby.”

His hips snapped harder against you, and you bit back another cry of pleasure. Your body thrummed with the need for release, the waves crashing inside you growing stronger. Just a little more… a little more. Joel’s other hand snaked between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your clit. You arched into his touch and ground your nails into the skin of his biceps.

“Joel,” you choked.

The orgasm exploded through you, fogging your vision as your core pulsated around his cock. Joel let out a strangled groan and tumbled over the edge with you, his release filling you only seconds later.

Joel collapsed against your body, his cock slipping out of you as it softened. You welcomed the weight of him, letting his skin meld into yours. I love you. It was just a breath from escaping your lips, but you kept it shoved down.

Another time, you told yourself.

“Can I sleep like this?” Joel chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Whatever you want, handsome,” you giggled.

He peered up at you, a grin curving over his face.

“There’s that word again,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up. You like it.”

“I really fuckin’ do.”

You bent your neck to kiss his forehead before settling back against the pillow. It was easier to sleep like this, knowing you’d have him in your arms when you woke up. It made everything inside you hurt less.

After an extra day at the hospital, nothing new had progressed with your dad. Your mom assured you that she would call if she had any news of him waking up, so you and Joel said your goodbyes and made the trip back to Austin.

Nothing had changed in Austin, not that you were expecting it to. Joel returned home after spending an extra few hours under your bed sheets with you, groaning about not wanting to leave. You urged him to go, knowing Sarah was probably missing him. That first night home alone was the hardest; the nightmares continued again now that you had no distractions. The migraine had returned at full throttle when you woke up the next morning, and you had to make an extra effort to pull yourself from bed and dress for work. Not a single cell in your body wanted to return to a classroom full of loud kids, but you had missed enough days and needed to make up for lost time.

Maria was the first to drill you with questions as you arrived at the school.

“Is everything okay? I asked around and only heard that it was a family emergency.”

You shuffled into your classroom, Maria hot on your heels. You could barely stand the stream of light coming through the windows, let alone the sound of her voice.

“My dad had an accident, that’s all,” you assured. “Everything is okay.”

“Oh, thank God he’s okay.” She flung her arms around you, giving you a suffocating hug.

You peeled away from her, steadying your body against the corner of your desk.

“I’ll tell you more later, okay? I just need to prep for classes before the first bell.”

“I’ll check in on you later,” she announced before leaving.

The day moved on slowly, and before you knew it, your final class was over. As the students filed out, you started gathering your things but noticed Sarah lingered behind.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” You asked as she approached your desk.

“Um, kinda?” She gave you a sheepish look. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

She shifted her weight between her legs, her hazel eyes on the floor.

“Are you dating my dad?”

Your breath stalled, and you were unsure of what to say or do. Was it appropriate to lie? You and Joel hadn’t discussed the possibility of her finding out much and now was definitely not the time.

“Why do you ask?” You were deflecting.

“I overheard him talking to my Uncle Tommy last night,” she explained.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and blood rushed through your ears. God, what had they said? What did she hear?

“Go on,” you insisted, your voice unsteady.

“My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.”

At that moment, her hazel eyes met yours, and everything came crashing down. You tripped over your words and found yourself gripping the desk.

“Miss Smith?” Sarah cautioned.

“I’m sure your dad was talking about someone else,” you lied. “Why don’t you head home? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She looked at you with confusion written all over her face but eventually followed your request and left you in an empty room.

You sank into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew Joel’s feelings were there for you, but you didn’t want to hear it from Sarah. You wanted to hear it from him. Searching for your purse, you found your phone and dialed his number with shaking hands.

He answered immediately.

“Did y’hear from your mom?” He asked in a rush.

“No, it’s not that. Can you—” You steadied your breathing. “Can you just meet me at my house?”

“Of course, is everythin’ okay? You’re worryin’ me.”

“I’m fine, Joel. I’ll see you there in a few.”

You hung up before he could say anymore and be-lined for your car. You drove home on autopilot, the words jumbling together in your head.

I think he’s already falling in love with you.

My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.

Over and over again, Beth and Sarah’s voices played on a loop. You turned onto your street and blinked back tears. You weren’t ready to face this. What were you going to say? What would Joel say? What would—

You slammed on your brakes right before you got to your house.

Joel’s truck wasn’t there.

But Bennett’s car was.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #pre outbreak!joel #angst angst angst #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

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ilyrafe · 15 hours

Text

𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: ex!rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: angst, physical injuries, blood (it's brief), objetification of reader (not by rafe).

word count: 1,1k

the vibrating sound of your phone on the bedside table startles you a bit. even with your vision blurry, you manage to read rafe’s name shining on the screen. it’s late, the clock marks fifteen past two, and getting a call from him at this time is worrying, but fighting the fatigue, you answer his call.

“hello?”

“it’s me. you home?” his tone is urgent, which worries you even more. he’s definitely in trouble.

“why?”

“are you home or not?”

“yes, rafe. why are you calling me?”

“i’m at your door and i need your help right now.”

he hangs up abruptly and you sigh, anticipating yet another stressful interaction with rafe. it’s in situations like these that you wonder why you gave him the time of the day for almost a whole year of your life.

rafe is trouble, and you want none of it.

you quickly get up and head to the entrance of your small house. small, but yours. all the furniture, even if it is second-hand, is yours, as it was bought with your money, earned with a lot of sweat, something rafe will never understand.

as soon as you open the door, you come across a bruised and bloody rafe, which scares you. before you can say anything, he enters your house and sits on the tiny couch.

the scene is deplorable.

“rafe! what- what the hell happened to you?!”

“been in a fight, alright? i just can’t come back home looking like this.”

“in a fight with who?”

“i doesn’t matter. just help me.”

you sigh, tired and irritated. rafe is difficult to deal with. he beats the others out of tiredness and that is irritating. you go to the bathroom and grab a small bag with first aid items, and return to the living room right away, sitting next to him on the couch.

he winces when you pat the cotton ball on his bruises, but you don’t feel bad at all. this is what he deserves. you avoid looking him in the eye while you’re cleaning his face up. you know you can’t resist his baby blues.

you take his hands in yours. the contrast of size is beautiful, somehow. his huge, calloused hands with golden rings have always been attractive. his knuckles are red and quite swollen. you clean his hands up and only hear rafe’s huffs when he feels the sting of the rubbing alcohol. you might be doing that on purpose.

very quickly, you put some bandaids where you find necessary and bandage his hand up, where it’s swollen.

“all done.”

“thank you.”

oh, he knows the magic words. you know you’ll regret it, but you have to ask.

“what happened, rafe?”

he sighs and leans back, taking a deep, exhaustive breath.

“it doesn’t matter, y/n. it’s solved, it’s done.”

“you woke me up in the middle of the night, came over unannounced and made me patch you up. i deserve to know what the fuck happened and if i’m in trouble.”

“you’re not in trouble.” he clarifies, as he passes his fingers over the gauze on his hand. “one of barry’s friends said some weird shit about you.”

“who said what?” you frown.

you never really liked barry, let alone his “friends”. they’re beyond shady and you hate how rafe keeps them in his life.

“you don’t want to know.” you cock an eyebrow and rafe sighs once again, defeated. “babe, it’s inappropriate, don’t make me repeat it.”

babe. you forgot how much you loved when rafe called you sweet nicknames. yes, rafe is an overall asshole, but he isn’t all bad, you have to admit it. the thing is that he actively lets his bad side take over, and you can’t handle that.

“say it.”

“it was bryan. he, um… he said he… um…”

“say it, rafe.”

“he said he hoped to be the next in line to be inside your c-”

“okay, i get it.” you feel like crying and throwing up, but you maintain your composure. “he said that because he wanted to get to you, rafe, that’s all. i’ve never even spoken to him.”

you don’t know why you’re explaining yourself to rafe, but you feel like you have to. for some reason, you don’t want him to think you’re a slut that fucks every guy. deep down, you want rafe to realize he lost something really great, but that day may never come.

“i know, i’m not worried about that.” he says. “i just don’t want him near you.”

“rafe-”

“i know we’re not together anymore, and i swear i’m not being controlling, but bryan is bad and i don’t want him near you, ever. okay?”

“okay.”

after your response, rafe seems to relax a bit. he closes his eyes and his smug makes a comeback.

“you should’ve seen his face. what a bitch.”

you roll your eyes and chuckle.

“thank you for defending me, but really, let them talk. they just want to get to you.”

“now they know what happens when they speak of you.”

there’s a brief moment of silence between you both; it’s comfortable.

rafe seems tired, and you really don’t want him to leave, but you know it’s not going to end well if he stays over.

it’s been over four months since the definitive breakup and you’ve tried to go no contact with rafe, but it’s hard because you live in the same place, you have the same friends and rafe never wanted to stop talking to you.

“i still feel like i need to protect you,” he says, breaking the silence.

you lay next to him, your faces being so close, your noses are almost touching. this is dangerous territory, but you don’t care at this point. you touch his cheek so softly, he closes his eyes again.

he leans in, trying to get to your lips, and they touch briefly, before you lean back, effectively rejecting his kiss.

“i think you should go.”

rafe stares at you, clearly hurt. he gets up from your couch and leaves.

if you could, you would do everything necessary to make this relationship work, but that means changing rafe completely, and you don’t know if you’re in love with rafe, or are resigned to the crumbs of kindness he gives you.

no relationship should survive on small moments of love, and you’re no longer satisfied by the thrill of having a good moment with rafe.

when you broke up with him, he begged you for another chance, but you had already given him a thousand chances. you’ve played this game before and you ended up hurt and slightly traumatized.

you can’t change rafe and he doesn’t want to help himself, so there’s nothing left for you to do.

i love feedback, tell me your thoughts! <3

#my writings #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #drew starkey #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey oneshot #drew starkey imagine

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mrsparrasblog · 2 days

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The selection pt.1

Unable to feel emotions, a deadly weapon, unable to empathize with the enemy, a calculated killer. It was as if you were listening to a presentation about yourself. So this was your new place now, musty, dirty, and you needed to work with men. Unbelievable. You were so much better alone, so why send you with a team? But order is order.

Your new boss was like every other boss you had in the past fourteen years: white, old, and unable to protect himself. He relied on you, didn’t trust his allies, closest friends, and sometimes not even himself. But it was easy to trust a mindless creation, someone who shouldn’t be able to feel or think—at least that's what he says. Did he really think you hadn’t got a voice in your head? You had it—it wasn’t always there, but it was sometimes. You weren’t dumb.

"Welcome to the Team," Price said, extending his hand to you. Shepard introduced you to him and his team of barbaric monkeys. You didn’t bother to shake his hand; you hated fake niceties. Was he your boss too? You hoped not. There were already enough useless men in charge of you.

"Shake your superior's hand," he grunted out, not amused by your behavior. Superior—only more men in power. How usual. You ignored him, only rolling your eyes and looking at Shepard, your real boss. If he said shake this man's hand, you do; if not, you don’t.

"John, she doesn’t work with ranks," Shepard tried to explain. I’m an assassin, not a soldier, you thought. Soldiers weren’t something you were particularly fond of, nor were your teachers. Well, if you don’t count him, but that’s not important right now anyway.

"Well, bad for her. I don’t need someone on my team who can't show me a tad of respect," he snorted, glaring at you like he wanted to kill you—sweet, you thought, how naive he was. He really didn’t know what you were capable of.

"There is no discussion. She is on the team as long as I need her, understood?"

"Understood, General."

The boss left, telling you to try to listen to John but always listen to him first. Reasonable. You’d heard weirder requests.

"So, we're stuck with her now," the boy called Gaz, what a stupid name, asked.

"Yes."

"At least you aren’t hard on the eyes, lass," Soap joked. The man with the stupid name and the worst haircut chuckled while his hand touched your shoulder in an attempt to tease you and soften the tension between you and the new team.

By instinct, your hand grabbed his, putting it in a position where it would be so easy to break his hand. "Прикоснись ко мне снова, и я убью тебя!" you hissed, and the men only looked stupidly at you.

"Ah, she just doesn’t understand English, poor lass."

"I understand English perfectly fine. I said if you touch me again, I’m going to kill you!" The monotonous look in your eyes sent shivers down Soap's spine. He knew you weren’t playing; crazy, that’s what you were to him, and you didn’t mind, as long as he didn’t touch you again.

"Okay, why don’t we all calm down?"

"Great, Cap."

"Tell us your callsign or something about you," the older man said, and you asked yourself what would happen if you just stood up and left. But the mission was more important than your ego or annoyance for all of them. Well, except the ridiculous masked man; at least he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

"Love, 19," was all you said. The truth was, you didn’t remember your name anymore. It was all gone, buried deep between all the sessions you needed to endure until the final selection. You knew that you were called 0694 most of your life, until the accident which made them call you Love.

"You don’t seem like someone with the callsign 'Love,' more like Medusa."

"Gaz, stop!" the old man scolded. You could see the wrinkles on his face. He was at least 40, you thought. Was he more like Shepard, or Durinov? Well, he wasn’t a good guy, that's what you knew about him. But who is a good guy after all?

"Okay, Love, the Lieutenant will show you your room."

"Хорошо" You bark at him, getting ready to follow the Ghost masked guy to your new room.

"Speak English, Love."

"Fine, Captain," you scoffed at him. You were sure you wouldn’t like it here. Why couldn’t a better boss get you someone who just gave you orders? You were good at following orders: Kill him—done, torture him—done, make him pay—easy. Just this American sitcom family situation was too nauseating for you. Your thoughts went away to the prospect of skinning some of them alive, but not allowed.

You walked with Ghost to your new place. He was taller than you and bulkier, but that didn’t mean he was stronger. You fought a lot against guys like him—brutes—and they always lost. Strength isn’t enough without a brain, but he seemed smarter than the other ones; he didn’t talk, and you could appreciate that.

"This is it," he gestured to a single room with white walls and a twin-sized bed in the middle. It was one of the better places you’d slept in, if you forget Budapest, Moscow, and Prague. Stupid girl, you thought to yourself. Don’t dwell on your memories; they're gone, gone, gone.

"Okay."

"You don’t talk much," he observed.

You only nodded firmly, not bothering to use your lips to form words.

"Good," he said before walking away.

You threw your bag into the corner. You didn’t have much besides your uniform, weapons, and that washed-out picture of him, which you should have thrown out a long time ago. But it's like a warning for you, you thought. Maybe it was indeed sentiment, which you wouldn’t admit—not after that day.

In search of the training room, you walked past the meeting room where the men still sat as if time stood still.

"Shouldn’t the TF 141 have just four of us, Cap?" the man with the cap asked. If you remembered right, he was called Gaz or something like that.

"Shepard only approved of this task force if she would join, so it's off the table."

"She is crazy," Mohawk guy stated.

"Maybe so, but she's great in the field."

"How do you know, Ghost?"

"Met her in Lisbon four years ago, but as an enemy."

"Four years ago, she was 15."

"Indeed."

"This can't be true."

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Lisbon, March 2018

The storm howled through the gloomy streets of Lisbon. It was one of your first solo missions: just kill the target and finish. Nothing special, but lying on the rooftop with your sniper gun was more uncomfortable than you had originally imagined. Of course, you were used to discomfort, but the missions were always your safe space. Sleeping outside was easy—safer than there.

But now you were soaked through to your underwear, and the damn target was taking his sweet time. You were trained to lie here on the rooftop for several days, and you won't mess up your first mission; it all factors into the evaluation. And you already messed up that hard. You needed to improve before the grand selection.

Footsteps echoed behind you. You had the choice to turn around and fight off the intruder or to keep focusing on your mission. If he caught you turning around, you would fail, and you really didn’t need this. You decided to foolishly turn around, aiming your gun at him. He was tall, bulky, with blonde hair and several scars on his face—a soldier. Probably, your survival rate was around 75%.

Of course, he pointed his gun at you too, making this even more annoying than it already was. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” He had a British accent, probably SAS, judging by his uniform.

“I’m a NATO soldier just keeping watch. No one shoots the governor,” you tried hard to speak with an American accent, maybe he was a brute and not a brain. The uniform you wore didn’t have any flags, atypical for NATO.

“Don’t bullshit me, tell me the truth before I put a hole through your head,” he barked at you, at least only half an idiot, you guessed.

“Bold of you to assume that I won’t put a hole through your head first.”

“As if you were able, little girl.” Before you could form a cocky remark, you already had a bullet in your shoulder. He thought you would leave your position because of the bullet, but you stayed put; you needed to finish the mission. He hunched over to you, turning you around while drawing his knife out.

“Блядь, неужели ты не можешь просто позволить мне быть,” you cursed under your breath, drawing your knife too, standing up without a hint of pain in your eyes, making him wonder how this was possible.

“NATO, huh?”

He tried to bring you down with his pure brute strength, but as always, he forgot that strength isn’t everything. “You shouldn’t have such a bad stance,” you smirked before he could defend his technique; you already put a knife inside his hip.

The big, incapable soldier winced on the ground as if a knife wound hurt that bad. Before he could reach for something, you were already on your way to your rope, grabbing it to jump from the rooftop.

“By the way, never disturb my work again, сука,” and with that, you shot him in the shoulder, eye for an eye, and jumped from the rooftop.

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

"That's how the governor died?" Price asked, and Ghost only nodded. It wasn't one of his proudest moments; he would have won if he hadn’t been so unfocused. Since then, his missions were always about constant focus and never underestimating an enemy.

“She is a terrorist, we don’t work with terrorists,”

“Have fun fighting me, you lose, short man—all of you will lose,” you said, showing yourself from the corner where you had been hiding. They needed to tolerate you for their silly little task force.

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bakubunny · 18 hours

Text

actually i need to see that conversation happen.

@dummy-mars

tw: semi-dark content, hurt/comfort

y’know the one where you flat out tell aizawa the truth about what makes you tick and why you are the way you are. you’ve explained what you want plenty of times, and all of that is fine and good, but you’ve never put all the pieces together for him plainly in your own words.

“…no, shota. i don’t think you understand. i feel like i need you in a way that would make my father’s stomach turn. and i would enjoy it,” you said.

“oh?” he replied, his gaze stoic.

it was almost irritating, how calm he was about the whole thing. yet whether you could see it or not, he was feeling you out. he was trying to figure out what it was you needed in that moment.

“yes, i -”

your face grew hot. your throat burned as you turned away from him to busy your hands.

“fuck it. fuck this whole conversation,” you spat out, voice laced with frustration. “i know i’m being incredibly immature right now. i’m sorry, but i can’t do this.”

he nodded. “okay. you can’t do what?”

“i can’t talk about this,” you replied, chest tightening by the second.

“…you can’t talk about what you need?” shota asked gently.

“i-i didn’t say - i didn’t mean - i don’t need any of this,” you sputtered. “i want things, yeah. but there’s nothing i need.”

there was a long pause. shota wrapped his arms around your middle from behind and kissed you on the head and stood quietly with you.

your face continued to heat up, whether from embarrassment or impending tears, you weren’t sure. “i’m serious. i don’t need anything,” you said.

shota sighed softly and pulled you closer. “how long have you told yourself that?”

the fabric of his sweatshirt under your fingers was the only distraction you had to keep yourself from crying.

“when was the last time you accepted your need to be loved?…” he asked.

you chewed on your lip as a tear fell and stained your shirt.

“i’m right here. i’m not going to leave. and i want to give you what you need,” shota said softly. “will you let me?”

#u try to say smth to gross him out or maybe get him goin and it totally backfires 💀#this… this was meant to be spicy and it did not turn out that way 💀#x reader #aizawa shouta #tw dark content #tw daddy kink #sort of?#bakubunny

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vodika-vibes · 22 hours

Text

Cowboy Casanova

Summary: When you decided to move to the middle of nowhere to get some perspective in your life, you expect to be bored out of your mind. You definitely don’t expect Bacara.

Pairing: Commander Bacara x F!Reader

Word Count: 4123

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, biting, hints of a breeding kink

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: This started out at one thing, turned into another, which turned into a third thing, and anyway it's now what it was supposed to be so I had to change the name, which makes me sad. The Original name was Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy. Anyway! I hope you like my sin. Also, this is a western au because...I don't have a reason other than Bacara with a cowboy hat. I'm sorry. Anyway, no requests got done today because of this. Note, this isn't edited - so if you see any errors, no you didn't.

“You’re staring,”

“Am not.” You reply absently as you drag your gaze across Bacara’s bare chest, your eyes lingering first on his dog tags and then on the nipple piercings that he got when he lost a bet.

He chuckles, low and deep, “You’re still staring.”

“If you don’t want to be stared at, then you should put on a shirt.” You counter, unrepentant.

Bacara arches a brow and flings a rag at your face, making you sputter and scrunch up your nose, “You wouldn’t say that if I was staring at you.”

“Of course not. Double standards are a thing after all.”

He rolls his eyes and walks over to you, leaning into your personal space as he picks up his rag again, a smug smirk crossing his face when your gaze drops to his chest and then his waist, before snapping back to his face, “See something you like, city mouse?”

Your face heats, but you keep your gaze locked with his, “Just worried that your pants are going to fall down since they’re hanging so low.”

“Fashion choice,” Bacara replies with a shrug, as he walks away from you and back over to the machine he’s trying to make work, “Besides, it’s hot as balls out here, and I hate the feel of my shirt sticking to my skin.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that.

Bacara leans back into the engine block and reaches in, “Why don’t you just pay someone to come and fix it?” You ask.

“You have the money for some repair man from the city to drive out here and fix this? Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

“You own, like, a dozen cows.”

“There are three dozen of them, actually.”

“That’s not the point that you think it is.”

He laughs and pulls back, “Yeah, yeah. I know. Come here, I need a small hand.”

“I don’t fix things, Bacara.” You warn, though you do hop off the bale of hay that you’ve been sitting on and walk over to him.

“You need to learn, city mouse. What happens if something breaks in your home?”

“Uh, I’ll call you.”

“What if I’m not available?”

“Why wouldn’t you be available?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t exist to come running at your beck and call.” Bacara replies dryly.

“What? Wow! Really?” You marvel sarcastically, and then you yelp when he pinches your side. “Rude!”

“Alright, Little Miss Sass, I need you to reach into there and feel around for any loose wires.” Bacara explains as he presses his chest against your back and points where he needs your help.

“Wires? I’m not going to get electrocuted, am I?” You ask as you try, really, really hard to not get distracted at the feel of him pressed against you.

He shoots you a look, “Of course not. It’s totally safe.”

“Fiiine.” You sigh out as you reach into the opening and feel around blindly, “Um...okay, I found a wire.”

“Excellent work,” His voice is low against your ear, and you can’t help but shiver. Embarrassingly, he notices and a quiet chuckle falls from him, “I need you to follow the wire and tell me if it’s connected on both ends.”

You ignore him, as best as you can, and feel around for a moment, “I...think so? It doesn’t feel loose at least.”

“Damn, I was hoping you’d say the opposite. Alright, pretty girl. You’re done. This is now, officially, someone elses problem.”

You pull your hand out and make a face at the oil on your fingers, “I thought you didn’t want to pay-”

“I don’t, which is why I’ll have Neyo come and fix it.”

“Ripping off your own brothers, shame-”

“What are brothers for if not a little unpaid labor every now and then?” Bacara asks rhetorically, “Come on, you can come inside and get that stuff off your hand.” He picks his hat up off his work table, and pauses before setting it on his head.

He shoots you a small smirk, and drops his hat on your head, it immediately tilts over your eyes, and you use the back of your hand to tilt the rim back so you can look at him, “Well, how do I look?” You ask with a small grin.

Bacara lazily drags his gaze across your body, his smirk growing, “Hot as hell,” He drawls.

Your face heats again. Still, you’re not able to stop the delight from sliding across your face, “Well, thank you~”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and then motions for you to follow him. It’s kind of unnecessary, you could navigate Bacara’s ranch blindfolded and drunk, but you do appreciate being able to walk with him.

After you get yourself cleaned up, which takes a lot longer than you anticipated since the oil just did not want to come off your hands, you meander from the guest bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

He’s still not wearing a shirt, and you’re beginning to think that he’s walking around like that intentionally. “Did you manage to get the oil off?” Bacara asks as he turns to face you.

“Yeah, eventually. The bottle of special soap was empty, so I had to make some more real quick.” You shrug easily as you sink into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. You don’t mind, you normally make it for him anyway.

Your parents would be so proud. Thousands of credits spent on a fancy Chem degree...and you use it mixing oil removing soap.

“Sorry about that, I should have checked earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You fold your legs under you, and your attention lands on something interesting on the table.

Now. Bacara is a rancher, there’s always new and interesting things laying around his house that he needs to explain to you. Over the year that you’ve been friends with him, you’ve learned a lot about ranching and about the things that he needs to do his job well.

This, however, is new.

“Bacara?” You sound slightly bemused as you reach across the table and hook a finger under, surprisingly silky, maroon rope, “What’s this for?” You ask as you turn your gaze to him.

Unless your eyes are deceiving you, there’s a hint of a blush on his face.

“It’s a joke gift. From Cody.” Bacara replies as he walks over to the table and picks up the rope, only to hesitate for a moment, “Although-” he murmurs quietly, as if to himself, as he pulls some of the rope out and lays it across your wrist, “It would look amazing wrapped around your wrists.”

You tilt your head and your mouth is slightly dry, you’re pretty sure that his comment was meant to be an inside thought, not an outside one, but it’s not like you can unring that bell.

“I think it’d look better wrapped around yours.” You blurt, and his gaze snaps to meet yours, “The color would look amazing against your skin tone.” You add, sheepishly.

He stares at you, and you stare right back at him.

And just as you’re about to apologize, Bacara smirks.

“Alright.”

You blink at him, “Alright?”

“Alright. Lets see what you’re capable of.”

You blink at him again. And then a third time as his words process, “Wait! Really?”

“Really. Unless you think you can’t handle it.”

“I can handle it,” You shoot back, “The question is can you?”

He folds his arms across his broad chest, “Let’s make this a little more fun-”

“-more fun then you getting tied up?”

His grin is predatory and sharp, “I don’t beg. Ever. For anyone.” He advances on you, “However, if you can make me beg in say...an hour, you win this little challenge and I’ll do whatever you want for a week.”

“You already do whatever I want, Bacara.” You point out.

“Unimportant.” He replies, “But when you lose-”

“-if. If I lose-”

His gaze locks with yours and his grin becomes even more predatory, “When you lose,” Bacara repeats, “I get two hours to make you beg for me, and when I win you’ll do whatever I want for a week.”

“Hold on now! How come you get two hours and I only get one?” You demand.

“Because I’m going to spend the first hour with my face buried in your pussy, that’s why.”

Your entire thought process screeches to a halt as your train of thought derails. “...oh.”

“So what do you say, city mouse? Do we have a deal?”

And, really, there’s only one thing you can say to that, “Deal.”

Bacara advances on you again, essentially crowding you, as he walks you through his home and into his bedroom. His eyes a glittering with arousal, but he doesn’t touch you, as much as you can tell that he wants to.

He kicks the bedroom door shut and turns on the lamp so there’s some light in the room, and then he folds his arms and waits.

You gaze at him thoughtfully, a small smile on your lips, “You’re wearing too much. Strip.”

His gaze is hot as it lingers on your face, “Yes ma’am,”

You consider watching him strip for a moment, but instead turn to the bed and start setting up the rope, while pulling out your phone to look up safe ways to tie him up.

“Alright,” You murmur to yourself as you make sure the ropes are secure around the bed frame, and you climb off the bed to focus your attention on him, “Pick a position that’s comfortable for you, Bacara.” You say as you carefully don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Not even gonna steal a peek, kitten?” Bacara asks, as he moves passed you and settles on the bed, with his back pressed against the headboard.

“I lady doesn’t peek, Bacara,” You sniff.

“Oh? Do they tie up their friends.”

“I can leave you know.”

He laughs and grabs your wrist to tug you onto the bed, you tumble against him, your hands settling on his shoulders, as he reaches around you to settle his hand on the back of your neck, “I want you to look, kitten. After all, I need to know if I meet your approval.” You have to shift to get more comfortable, eventually straddling his thigh so you’re not twisted uncomfortably.

You roll your eyes, but slowly drag your gaze down his chest, a nearly silent sigh of delight falling from you when you see that he’s still wearing his dog tags. Bacara chuckles lowly, and you hurriedly continue your visual perusal of the man beneath you.

He’s solid, your Bacara. Oh sure, he has a belly, but you’re pretty sure that he’s solid muscle, like the professional weight lifters you used to know in college. Big, beefy, and could lift you with one arm if he was so inclined.

Absently you trail your fingers down his chest, teasingly skirting around the nipple piercings, and down his stomach, and then your gaze lands on his cock.

Already erect and with precum leaking from the head.

He’s gorgeous.

But that’s not what catches your attention. No. What catches your attention is the golden piercings.

You blink at the piercings dumbly for a moment. “Holy shit Bacara.” You blurt, “Why didn’t you say that you had cock piercings?”

“Not really something that comes up in polite conversations,” He counters with a grin.

“But...If I had know then my-” You cut yourself off before you finish the thought, and you snap your gaze to his face, “Never mind.”

“Oh no, you definitely need to finish that thought, kitten.” Bacara practically purrs, “Come on, your what?”

“Nope. Not going there.” You shift your weight slightly, and reach down to grab his wrist, but Bacara doesn’t let you move it. “Really?”

He smirks, “Tell me, and I’ll let you tie me up.”

“Don’t you automatically lose if you don’t let me even try?” You try to bargain.

His smirk widens, “No, because I saw that look on your face. You want my face in your pussy.”

Damn him for being right.

“Fine,” You drag the word out, “I might have fantasized about you before. Maybe.”

He smirks smugly, “Knew it. Alright, you may continue.”

“I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to be the one in control right now.” You counter, even as you bring his hand to the headboard and carefully loop the rope around his wrist.

Bacara hums and his still free hand comes up to caress your hip, “Oh, kitten. I need you to understand that I’m letting you do this. But I need you to know that I’m the one in control here, not you.”

Your fingers slip on the rope, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t say that for the sake of the challenge.” You finally say once you finish with your knot, “How’s that? Too tight?”

Bacara tugs at the rope experimentally, “Good enough.” He finally says, as he lifts his other hand to the headboard.

You’re a lot faster this time, now that you know what you’re doing, and you sit back on your heels as you look at him. “I was right,” You finally say as you climb off of him so you’re able to peel your own clothes off.

“Bout what?” Bacara asks as he watches you strip with hungry eyes.

“That color does look amazing against your skin.”

He hums his understanding, tilting his head so he’s able to watch you push your shorts and panties down your legs. “I can just about guarantee that it’s going to look much better against yours.”

You set your clothes on a chair and climb on the end of the bed, settling yourself between his feet.

Bacara looks completely relaxed, and you’re beginning to accept that he was right, he is the one in control here, as much as it might seem like you are. “Just gonna sit there and stare at me, kitten?” He drawls.

“I’m thinking.”

“Do you need some direction?” He offers, “Because I can do that.”

“I’m not giving up yet, Bacara.” You counter as you slide up so that you’re better able to reach him, your fingers feather light as you glide them across his thigh.

His muscle twitches under your touch, “Yet, huh.” Bacara says with a small smirk, “Good to know.”

Finally fed up with his comments, you surge up and crash your lips against his. Your hands wander across his chest, lightly flicking his piercings, as you trail your tongue across his lower lip.

You’re almost surprised when he takes control of the kiss.

Almost.

He catches your lower lip between his teeth, and nips you roughly enough that a squeak falls from you. Bacara then soothes the sore spot with a lazy swipe of his tongue, and the moment you part your lips for him, his tongue slides against your own.

He maps out your mouth with a single minded intensity that leaves you moaning, and encourages you to straddle him again. When you break the kiss, you’re slightly breathless, and his gaze is dark as is slides across your face.

“You should give up, kitten.” Bacara purrs.

You shake your head, “I can still win.”

He laughs, “You’re already straddling me, and we haven’t done much more than kissing.”

“That-”

“I’ll make you feel so good, kitten.” He purrs as he tugs his wrist once, causing the knot to unravel. He presses his hand against the small of your back, and pulls you closer, and you shiver when you feel his hard erection pressed against you.

Unthinkingly, you grind against him, the head of his cock pressing deliciously against your clit and a moan fall from your lips as you do so.

His arm hooks tightly around your waist, and he pulls you closer so that he’s able to trail his lips against your throat, “Say you give up, kitten. And I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Your lips turn down into a small pout.

“We can try this again later,” He promises, very temptingly, “After you’ve had some time to prepare properly.”

You peer at him, and then release a heavy sigh, and reach up to untie his other hand, “This isn’t me giving up.”

“Of course not.” Bacara agrees, suspiciously easily, “But, it is you forfeiting, which means it’s my turn.”

You squeak as he flips you so that you’re under him, smoothly using one hand to pin your hand over your head and tying them together and to the headboard.

Bemused, you tug on the ropes, but there’s no give whatsoever, “How-”

“Practice. I’ll teach you properly for next time.”

“...this game was designed for me to lose from the get go, wasn’t it.”

He grins and leans over you, his lips hovering just over yours, “Good girl, I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Not gonna deny that.” He replies before he kisses you deeply, but quickly.

And then he’s moving down your body, biting marks into the soft skin of your neck and throat, across your collar, and down your chest. You squirm and writhe under his attention, biting your lower lip to keep yourself quiet.

He takes a quick moment to lavish your nipples with attention, before he’s moving again. At this, you’re unable to keep yourself from gasping out his name, and you feel his lips curl up into a smile against your breast.

Bacara litters your stomach and sides with possessive marks and then he leaves a trail of bite marks from your hip to your thighs. By this point, you’re a moaning mess, you don’t care if this means that he wins, you just don’t want him to stop.

And only then, when he’s sure that you’re covered in his marks, and when you’re whining for him, does he spread your legs to make room for himself between your thighs.

“Look at you,” Bacara praises lightly as he drags a single finger between your folds, a pleased smirk crossing his face as your hips twitch towards him, “You’re already wet. Do you have a biting kink, kitten?”

Your face burns at his words, and you stubbornly press your lips together to not say anything.

Bacara clicks his tongue, and his hand lands, heavily, on your outer thigh. It surprises you more than it hurts you, and you blink at him wide eyed, “I asked you a question.”

You know what he wants to hear. Even though you’re so horny that you almost can’t stand it. Even though his large, calloused finger is circling your clit in a way that is kind of driving you insane. You still know what he wants to hear.

What he’s expecting to hear.

Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you plaster on your most innocent expression, “Did you?” You ask, slightly breathlessly as you clench around nothing from his teasing, “I wasn’t listening.”

Bacara stops. His fingers stop moving, and his hand, which was caressing your thigh and the red mark blooming there, stops moving as well. He searches your face for something, and then a slow smirk crosses his lips.

“Safe word or color?”

Your heart racing with excitement, you breath out, “Color.”

He hums, “What color are you?”

“Green.” You blurt, “Very green.”

For a moment, there’s a glimmer of something warm and soft on his handsome face, before it’s gone. “So, it sounds like you are able to listen.”

“When I want to.”

“Then it sounds like I just need to teach you that you need to listen to me, doesn’t it?”

You feel a thrill of delight, “If you ever said anything worth listening to-” You words get cut off with a ragged moan as he suddenly thrusts a finger into your pussy and curls it, almost instinctively finding the spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.

“I’m going to tell you how this is going to go,” Bacara says, a hint of promise in his voice, “I’m going to give you as many orgasms as I want, you are only allowed to cum when I allow it.” He eases his finger out of your pussy, and licks it clean with an appreciative hum, “And, if you don’t obey me, I’ll have to punish you.”

“Punish?” You ask.

He just smirks, “Do you understand? Answer verbally.”

“I understand,”

“Good girl,” He gives himself a couple of lazy strokes as he examines your splayed out body appreciatively. “I did say that I was going to bury my face in your pussy, didn’t I.” He muses, loud enough that you’re able to hear him, “But I don’t think you’ve earned that.”

That pulls an unhappy noise from your lips, and he chuckles, “Only good girls get to have their pussy eaten, and you haven’t been a good girl.” He releases your legs, letting them fall back to the bed, before he reaches up to check the ropes one more time, and then flips you, making sure that the ropes didn’t twist in such a way to hurt you. “There we go,” Bacara murmurs as he smooths his hand over your ass and then squeezes roughly

You squirm under him, but settle when you feel his hand press against your lower back. He quickly eases a pillow under your hips and adjusts your legs so that you’re spread wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you for a moment, though you can feel his heavy gaze dragging against you body. Just as you start to squirm, a little self conscious about being so exposed, his hands are on you again.

His hands are calloused and heavy on your body, and you’re sure you’re going to have bruises from his hands covering your body, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care as his hands press into you.

And then you don’t care about anything as the blunt head of his cock presses against you. Slowly he eases inch after inch inside you, and you’re squirming and whining before he’s even halfway sheathed.

The piercing feels amazing inside you, and you find yourself clenching around him.

Bacara groans and bites down on the back of your neck, “No cumming, kitten.” He warns as he slowly pushes the rest of the way in. As soon as he’s bottomed out, he presses a light kiss to the mark on the back of your neck.

He doesn’t move for a moment, and then he slowly eases out, until only the head of his cock is inside you. Bacara waits a beat, until you squirm to try and get him to move again, and then he thrusts in hard and fast.

He keeps the rapid pace, his breath hot against your ear, his hand fisted in your hair to keep your head down.

The sensations of his hand in your hair, and low groans in your ear, adding to the amazing feeling of his piercings dragging against your walls and the delicious stretch of his cock, are too much to handle.

And try as you might, you’re not able to keep yourself from cumming with a cry of his name.

You feel him laugh, “That’s punishment 1, kitten.”

“Not my fault-” You gasp, “Feels too good.”

“Oh? What’s that? Harder you said?” Bacara asks, as he adjusts himself slightly, before he leans in and catches your earlobe between his teeth. Before he does exactly as he warned, thrusting hard enough that you release a noise that is something between a moan and a sob of sheer pleasure.

“Good girl,” Bacara purrs, “You’re taking me so well.” He smooths his hand up your spine, “Such a willing little thing,” He coos in your ear, “I’m going to ruin you, kitten.” He catches your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours.

“Please,” You whisper, “Please ruin me.”

For half a moment, Bacara’s hips stutter, and he releases a deep groan. “Oh, princess. Gladly.” He pulls out completely, pulling a disapproving whine from your lips and then he flips you back onto your back, before he thrusts back into you hard and fast. “I’m going to stuff you full of my cum, princess.” He promises, “Over and over and over, until I’m good and done.”

“Cara-” You whine his name as you arch against him as best as you can.

“So, be my good girl and take all of me,” He orders as he leans in and catches your lips in a passionate kiss, “Be my good girl, and I’ll ruin you.” He promises, his gaze dark.

And, really, how can you do anything other than obey him after that promise.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #commander bacara x reader #bacara x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #18+ fic #nsft

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worldofkuro · 3 days

Note

It's pr 2!!! YAAAY!! I love them.

5. When they just became close and Reader became really clingy and touchy, Alastor had to explain her that he has no-touch days. He told her that he just doesn't used to a lot of touching (but actually it was because his body hurts badly after his father's "bad days"). Reader was sad but trying really hard to understand and appreciate his boundaries.

6. When Reader was old enough to walk home from school on her own, she would sometimes go over to Alastor's house. Sometimes he would send her away because his father was at home. But sometimes she stayed to be with him and tell him everything that happened at school.

I think there was a moment when she came to his house crying. Someone bad at school told her that she was annoying, and even when she replied that she never annoys Alastor, this bully started to tell her that no she annoys him badly. So the Reader just needed to make sure she didn't annoy Alastor.

7. Alastor is much stronger than Reader, that's why he could easily lift her up. When they were children he could carry her home on his back because she fall down and her knees hurt. When they grew older he carried her home on his back or in bridal style because she walked all day on her (maybe not that big) hills and now her legs hurt. Sometimes she even fall asleep while he carried her!!

8. Not only her mama but Alastor too taught her how to cook. When the dishes that he knew how to cook ran out, because he had already taught her everything, he asked his mother to teach him something else, so that he could then surprise the Reader with it. In response, the Reader showed him recipes for sweets and even tried to learn how to cook something not so sweet that Alastor would like it.

Sry if my eng is too bad It's not my first language yeah...

Part. 2 let's dig into it!

Alastor has PTSD from his father's beating. But he still craves your touches which confuse him. Why did his body tense when you wanted to touch him although he wanted you to hug him. He tried to be strong but you felt it and asked him if he was okay. He did lie, telling you that he hurted himself sometimes when he went out hunting with his fathers and some wounds could still be painful. He never told you it hurted him, just that they might re-opened themselves. And you knew Alastor was too prideful to say to you “ I’m hurting.” so one day you went toward him with a ring that you made out of a flower. You told him that when he was hurting he had to wear the ring so you wouldn’t touch him. It was both difficult for both of you, Alastor wanted you to touch him even though his body didn’t want you to touch him. And you, you wanted to hold him but you had to hold back.

Of course, once your parents accepted that, you would run toward Alastor’s house as fast as you could without saying goodbye to your school’s friends. The first time you did, Alastor wasn’t home yet so you stayed with Marie who spoiled you. You hid yourself when Marie told you Alastor was coming. You hid behind his bedroom’s door and then jumped on his back screaming “ Welcome back”. You never saw Alastor so surprised but he quickly smiled as he teased you about how “you couldn’t stay away from him”. Of course, once you told him you would come every day he put you down and gave you the days you could come without meeting his Father. He didn’t want you to run into his father. And if one day you wanted to surprise Alastor and went to his place on an unusual day and you found yourself in front of his father… Trust me that when Alastor came back from school and saw you in the living room, sitting on the sofa with his father smoking while staring at you, he almost vomited from dread. He tugged you to his bedroom, checking if you were injured before scolding you. If you happened to cry, he would hug you but not apologize. The next day, you were surprised to see Alastor waiting for you in front of your house!

Of course Alastor is stronger than you. Since the beginning he would easily pin you on the floor or maintain you at arms length if you were being too clingy. But indeed, if you did hurt yourself and couldn’t walk he would carry you on his back, even if his wounds were still hurting. In his teens years, he would sometimes lift you in the air, loving how free you looked. You were free, but in his arms. Perfect. In his adult years? Mhn.. We will see later~

Cooking is important for Alastor, it’s sharing something he took time and care to make. He sometimes laughed at you when you couldn’t handle a spicy dish his mother gave you. But each time, you wanted to eat something new, so he would ask his mother for more dishes, even dessert if it meant seeing you smile because he cooked for you.

Don't worry dear, english isn't my mother language either ! You are doing well!

#alastor headcanons #human alastor #human alastor x reader #x reader #painted smile headcanons #painted smile #human alastor headcanons #scenarios #alastor scenarios

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ahockeywrites · 1 day

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the service

pairing: aurelia mcavoy x trent frederic word count: 2.5k warnings: swearing, it’s my fic, there’s always swearing authors note: hello and welcome to another series that I hope I can finish (lol). hope you all enjoy!

Trent pushed open the door to the garage, feeling as though he was somewhere that he shouldn’t be. Charlie had recommended this garage as it had the best reviews for Porsche maintenance and was where he took his car. But it didn’t seem right. All he had to do was see if ‘Peanut’ worked here and if he did, then he would know if he was in the right place.

A gruff looking man with white hair and a long beard sat behind the counter and now Trent felt as though he really shouldn’t be here.

“Charlie McAvoy said I should come here for my car’s service?” He weakly asked, really feeling as though he was in the complete wrong part of town.

“Freddy with a Porsche?” He man behind the desk asked, after flicking through a few pages of the large diary that sat in front of him.

Trent nodded, feeling slightly more relaxed that be was definitely in the right place and that Charlie hadn’t sent him on a wild goose chase around the city. That wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen to him.

When he was a rookie in Providence, the older players told him that they were having after game drinks at a bar. A bar that didn’t exist in Rhode Island. It was in California. Trent was pissed but ended up channeling his anger into a fight in the following game.

“Peanut will be with you in a moment, they’re just finishing up on a vintage 911,” the man explained.

Fuck, a vintage 911. How Trent wished he could own one of them but the upkeep on it would be more than he could handle. Especially when he had no clue about cars. But fuck, if he knew someone who knew their way around a car, his first purchase would be a vintage 911.

“Okay,” Trent replied, swinging his car keys around his finger as he wandered over to the notice board on the other side of the reception. The Bruins key ring hit against the plastic of his car key as he kept himself distracted waiting for Peanut.

“Freddy with a Porsche Cayenne?” A distinctly feminine voice with a strong Boston accent called out into the reception. Trent looked around, realised he was the only person in the room and then figured out that it was for him.

“That’s me,” he replied, spinning around to be greeted with a short woman with an imposing stature. Her dark hair was tied up in a ponytail behind her and Trent had no inclination of who she was except for the name Peanut. That surely couldn’t have been her name. But it was the name that was stitched into her dark blue overalls.

“I’m Aurelia but everyone here calls me Peanut. You met Gramps,” she pointed at the older man sat behind the counter, who offered Trent a wave. “It’s dad and I who are working today but occasionally you’ll get Adam who’s my brother working when he’s not at collage.”

Trent just nodded, that was more of an info dump that he expected from his mechanic but it really did feel like a family run business the way they treated him.

“Sorry for the run down,” Peanut apologised, most people here are regulars and know all of us. But you’re new, so you get the speed rundown. So, your Cayenne, what we needing for it?”

The hockey player thought for a moment. Why did he actually come here again? Oh crap yeah.

“Just a yearly service,” Trent got out, slightly in awe of the pretty girl standing in front of him. She was beautiful, he hoped that Charlie hadn’t mentioned this garage to any of the other players as he wanted to call dibs on her. Well, if that was still a thing that people did.

“I can’t sweet talk you into an engine upgrade, car wrap or new rims?” Peanut giggled as she headed out to the front where Trent had parked his car.

You could sweet talk me into anything, he thought but did say that. He just apologised and reaffirmed his need for a service and nothing else.

Peanut shook her head in mock disgust. “Damn, I always try that with the cute ones and it never works,” she laughed once more as she squatted down to look at the brake discs and callipers for a quick first inspection. “Left hand side looks good, from first glance but let me check the right.”

Peanut zipped around to the other side and did the same tyre and brake check confirming her initial thoughts that there probably wouldn’t be anything wrong with them.

“Looks like you don’t need new tyres but I can’t confirm that until I properly check them,” Peanut smiled. “So I’ll just need your keys and it should be a few hours.”

“Sounds good, do you need my number?” Trent asked, not realising how it sounded.

“Well,” Peanut raised an eyebrow, “my personal phone is missing the number of an attractive Porsche driver.”

A faint blush tinted the hockey player’s cheeks as it clicked in his head what he said and how it could be interpreted.

“Not like that,” he quickly backtracked, not wanting to make it seem as though he wasn’t interested but he was. He had placed himself in a sticky situation.

“Don’t worry,” Peanut explained. “Gramps will take your details before I drive it around the back. He’ll also explain how much it’ll cost. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to move my car out of the way.”

Peanut skipped back to the garage and opened the roller shutter doors. A white Porsche 911 Carrera from 1973 backed out of the opening and the same person who he was envious of earlier happened to be Peanut as she reversed out of the garage and into a spot on the side of the road.

She jumped out of the driver’s side door and invited Trent back inside to fill in all the paperwork that they needed before they could get started on servicing the car.

“Right, I’ll leave you with Gramps to get all the boring stuff sorted and I’ll be in the back, see you later!” Peanut waved and stormed through the door at a speed that had Trent concerned for the door.

“Don’t worry about my granddaughter, she’s always had this sort of energy,” the man that Peanut called Gramps explained. “That will be 300 dollars for the service and if Peanut finds anything else, it’s labour hours plus parts. All good?”

Trent nodded again before handing his keys over to Gramps and calling an Uber to take him back.

“You’ll call me when it’s good to pick up, yeah?” Trent asked, just making sure that he knew what was going on.

“Sure thing,” Gramps replied. “Should be done sometime this afternoon, provided no hiccups.” Trent nodded in appreciation before making his way outside to jump in the Uber to head back to his place.

Trent sat in front of his monitor, playing a solo game. He didn’t want to risk being involved in an online game with some of his teammates when he got the call to pick up his car. He felt limited in what he could do as Tuesday afternoons were usually the days he went food shopping, as long as he was in the city and not on a road trip. It was a slight change to his routine.

The doorbell went and Trent paused. He wasn’t expecting anyone or any deliveries so it must have been one of the guys. But why would any of them be visiting him on a random Tuesday afternoon?

He stood up and walked across to look through the peephole. Charlie was stood outside his door, hands in his pockets looking awkward. Trent had no idea why the defenceman was at his apartment when he knew Trent’s car was at the shop.

Trent opened the door and Charlie barrelled his way into the Boston apartment. He walked straight over to the kitchen, grabbed a glass for himself, filled it with water and drank the whole thing in one go. Water dripped from Charlie’s mouth but he quickly used his sleeve to wipe it away.

“You okay?” Trent asked, very confused as to what had just happened.

“Please tell me why my cousin just called me to say that Fit Freddy’s car is ready and that I should bring him to the garage?” Charlie growled, slightly concerned at what Aurelia had said on the phone. “And why she really wants your number?”

“It might help if I knew who your cousin is?” Trent replied, trying to make sense of the situation. He was racking his head to see if he knew an Aurelia.

“Aurelia McAvoy, short, dark hair, sounds like she was raised in a barn?” Charlie explained, hands flailing around as though he couldn’t keep control of them. “You know, the cousin I consider a younger sister?”

Trent still looked confused. He didn’t know any Aurelia McAvoy… wait…

“You mean the mechanic?” Trent questioned. “Your cousin is Peanut?”

“Yes!” Charlie exclaimed. “My cousin is Aurelia. You went to my grandfather’s garage and my cousin is the one who has fixed up your car and supposedly given you the friends and family discount that no one outside of the actual family gets?”

Trent could see steam coming out of his teammates ears as he tried to make sense of the situation and also diffuse it. Playing mediator wasn’t his usual role on the team but he needed to today.

“Charlie,” Trent started, “I don’t know why she said that but if my car is ready to pick up. Maybe we should go and grab that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie responded before grabbing his keys from his pocket. “Let’s head out, see if Gramps can explain what’s going on. Fucking hope he can.”

The drive to the suburbs was painful for both hockey players. Charlie was still fuming that Trent had been flirting with his cousin, he couldn’t have Aurelia dating one of his teammates. As much as he loved his teammates, he did not want any of them dating someone he considered a second sister. Aurelia could absolutely deal with one of the Bruins, but she deserved better in his head.

Trent was slightly annoyed that Charlie thought he was flirting with his cousin. He didn’t intend to flirt with her and if he did, he was only responding to her flirting. Maybe she flirted with all the customers to try and get as many extras sorted as possible. That had to be it. She must also have been riling up Charlie. This could be one of the things they did growing up and Trent was now just a pawn in their game.

The drive was quiet, just the sounds of a local radio station in the background. But Trent could see that Charlie’s ears were still red so he was still angry.

Charlie turned the steering wheel and parked up outside the garage. He had tried to use the drive to calm down but it really didn’t help. It didn’t help when the recipient of his anger was in the enclosed space with him.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he muttered under his breath before opening his door and then slamming it shut. Trent followed suit but didn’t use the same amount of force as his counterpart.

Charlie stormed his way into the reception area of the garage and Trent was hot on his heels. He just wanted his car back, he didn’t want to get in the middle of a McAvoy family argument, but it seemed like he would.

Aurelia looked up from over the counter to see her cousin looking at her with angry looking eyes. Crap, she thought, have I gone too far with this one? It was no secret that she fancied Trent, but it was something she didn’t want to share with Charlie as his rule since he started playing hockey was that she couldn’t date any of his teammates or opponents. Which she understood at the start when they were all teenagers.

But then he started playing in the big leagues. And he was playing against Mat Barzal, Nathan MacKinnon and Sidney Crosby. The latter was the first player that Aurelia had on her wall when she used to play hockey, before she moved onto racing cars.

But Trent was Charlie’s teammate. One of Charlie’s friends. Charlie was the one who took Trent under his wing and showed him around the city. Trent was also the only teammate who Charlie had sent to her garage. Well, Patrice Bergeron had also been there, but he was no longer a teammate to her cousin.

“What can I do for you, dear Charles?” Aurelia asked as she stood up, spinning Trent’s car keys on her index finger, just to provoke her cousin slightly more.

“Trent is here for his car,” Charlie pointed to the forward standing next to him. “Gramps can show him the car. You and I need a little chat.” Aurelia rolled her eyes but handed the keys across to Gramps who took Trent out to the back to explain the costs and how much he owed.

It was silent and the tension between Charlie and Aurelia was high.

“Peanut,” Charlie groaned as he ran a hand through his locks. “Please tell me you didn’t give him a friends and family discount?”

“What if I did?” She retaliated before popping a piece of chewing gum into her mouth. “He’s a friend of yours, so he’s a friend of mine. You didn’t get like this when I gave the discount to Bergy?”

“You gave the discount to Bergy?” Charlie questioned. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this.”

“Whoops,” Aurelia shrugged. “So what, I’ve had a crush on Freddy since he fought Tanev. Makes sense I’d give the guy I fancy a discount, right?”

“Fucks sake,” Charlie had to sit down to control himself. “You fancy Freddy? That’s breaking rule one.”

“No,” countered Aurelia. “Breaking rule one would be if I started dating him.” She blew a large bubble with the gum in her mouth. “Today is the first time I’ve met him. Did I flirt with him? Yes, I mean who wouldn’t. Would I date him? If you let me get to know him, yes.”

Charlie opened his mouth to speak but Aurelia raised his hand to shut him up.

“But do I trust your opinion and reasoning as to why you don’t want me dating your teammates? Yeah, I do.”

Charlie understood where Aurelia was coming from. She wasn’t the young girl he remembered. She was 25 now. Ran the family business and had a successful racing career on the side.

“Peanut,” Charlie started. “I just wanna protect you. I won’t give you Freddy’s number just yet.” To that she rolled her eyes. “But if a load of us are hanging out with our partners and you’re free, I’ll invite you. How does that sound?”

“Significantly better than keeping me in my own bubble,” she replied. “Can I go and get Freddy sorted now? And can you fuck off until family dinner.”

“You got it peanut, just don’t make too many mistakes.”

Aurelia saluted before tacking her cousin before he was ready and took him down to the ground.

“Pfft,” she exclaimed. “NHL defender my ass.”

#ahockeywrites #trent x aurelia #nhl imagine #hockey writing #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey story #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #trent frederic fic

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tgmsunmontue · 2 days

Text

Where do I know you from? 4/?

Hangster crackfic. There are too many Jakes and Bradleys for Jake and Bradley to be dealing with. Or the Universe is just as fed up with them being blind.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

PART FOUR

Jake is still trying to not imagine Maverick and Cyclone together, although Three and Five are of course asking more questions. Jake doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but the rate at which new Roosters are arriving seems to have picked up. Twelve and Thirteen arrive together and they’re both older. Bradshaw still looks good, especially the one in uniform, but the one not in uniform is making a beeline for him, looking worried.

“Jake. Are you okay? This has to be really fucking weird for you.”

“Yeah. Very weird.”

“You’ll be okay. I mean, you time travelled in my universe so –”

“He what now?” Three, Five and Eight all exclaim, and Thirteen looks a little taken aback at the response from them all.

“Just Jake travelled… not me.”

“Nothing freaky happened where I’m from, if that helps…” Twelve states.

Three and Five, along with Eight who just watches go back to their spreadsheet, asking the two new arrivals the standard questions he’s heard a few times now. Jake has also noticed that the ticks in the naval aviator column are also increasing, although Rooster Thirteen has an asterisk by it. Fourteen has arrived and is listening in horror as DADT is explained to him, because it somehow wasn’t a thing where he comes from. His Maverick and Iceman were together since the Eighties. Which seems to be normal judging by the way Three and Five react, despite them having DADT.

“A lot of me are naval aviators. Interesting.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, my mom didn’t want me to be a pilot. Seems like I went against that wish in a lot of different universes.”

“Oh…” Jake says, because he cannot imagine a Rooster that doesn’t fly. “He’s the best of the best.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Of course not,” Jake replies, rolling his eyes and Three bumps his shoulder again in a friendly gesture. “I can’t imagine him not flying.”

“Oh, I fly. I’m just not a fighter pilot.”

“Same. Mav started teaching me when I was like, fourteen,” Five states.

Three and Five seem to have a lot in common, even if there is about an eight inch height difference.

“Hangman. You look good.”

“I am good…” Jake says automatically, and it feels almost right, but this Rooster, number Fifteen now, is looking at him like he already knows all of Jake’s secrets and he doesn’t know if he’s a fan.

“Hmm… you are,” Bradley says, stepping right up against him and his Rooster would never. He’s pretty sure his Rooster would only help him out of obligation. Or payback for saving his life. “You blush very prettily, but I better leave that for your Rooster to find that out hmm?”

“You know what, you can go and sit with number ten,” Jake states, pointing to the pool table where he banned Ten to. “I’m sure the both of you will get on great.”

Of course, there are universes where Rooster is even more confident and walking -sex-on-a-stick, but Jake has limits. And they are being stretched.

“Want me to go tell him to back off?” Thirteen asks and Jake shakes his head. He kind of likes the way Thirteen seems to be looking out for him, and he doesn’t want to explore why he feels like he needs to do that. Fucking time travel.

Sixteen arrives with Seventeen. Sixteen is simply in service khakis, looks comfortable entering the Hard Deck. Seventeen on the other hand… Jake’s mouth goes dry. Seventeen is wearing cowboy boots and hat and he looks like a fucking wet dream and Jake didn’t realize this was a thing he had, and he’s sure he actually doesn’t, but on Rooster it’s just too much…

Because the universe hates him Eighteen walks in wearing an almost identical get-up, but with a whip swinging from his hip and Jake lets out a little whimpering sound, holds out his hand and makes a grabby gesture to Six for another drink. Fortunately Six is forthcoming and Jake throws it back gratefully. Two Roosters dressed like cowboys. Not just dressed like it but they also seem comfortable and capable and Jake cannot cope with this.

“Oh. Now there is a look I wouldn’t have thought I could carry off, but I look good…” Ten says; he and Fifteen have come to watch the door, because the door does not even close before another Rooster is walking through it, which is why they’re almost arriving in pairs now; one of them sometimes holding the door for the other. He’s starting to lose track of who is who, the number of identical uniforms and almost identical faces making the job a lot more difficult. Three and Five are also starting to look a little overwhelmed, which he doesn’t find reassuring at all.

“You said you know your Bradley. I think we should maybe either get him to come here or we go to his place.”

“How am I meant to transport twenty people?”

“Hound isn’t around?” Rooster Nineteen, maybe, asks, eyebrow raised in question and Jake shakes his head.

“Who the fuck is Hound?” Jake asks, because it sounds like a callsign.

“Just my Universe then…”

“Apparently.”

#Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfic #where do I know you from?

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philsmeatylegss · 13 hours

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please yap about dip and pip's relationship with pj, I want to know more

FUCKING YESS!!! WHOO HOO!! I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY!!!

Okay so I haven’t brushed up on my PJ lore in a while, so correct me if any of this is wrong, but I’m sticking with the basics.

What gets me about their friendship is that they’ve been through it all together. Once again, correct me if I’m wrong, but him and Phil were friends before Dan started making videos, correct? It could’ve been after. Point is, he was there pre youtube era, bat shit insane era, and out era. And there’s proof they’ve stayed close through it all. I cannot imagine the pressure of maintaining a normal friendship under the circumstances they were under. I will fully admit myself I am one curious mf first thing I would ask is if they were together. And to have a bunch of 13 year olds yelling at you to do so, I can’t imagine just seeing all of that and then casually heading out to see a movie or get dinner.

I have a head cannon which I feel like I have enough reason to treat it like cannon and that’s that dnp only were close to YouTubers who didn’t care about their sexuality/relationship. You had to be there, but the 2014 british youtuber boom, dnp were making collabs with people who just were so different and it showed. And I don’t think people will understand if they weren’t there how big of a thing “phan” was. They were described usually something along the lines of “those friends with the matching hair that fans think are together.” So when you mix personalities that, to no one’s fault, just don’t blend, mix it with the pressure of five million thirteen year olds, and mix it with people who one has a lot wrong with them, that’s a really bad mixture to set up a friendship. I believe other than Louise and PJ, who dnp knew before hand (pretty sure louise, might have been at the start of their career), tyler oakley and Anthony seem to be the only creators they seemed comfortable around. I forgot why I started talking about this. Oh, the conditions in which friendship had to stand under.

I truly don’t know how to explain how insane the phandom used to be. And how widespread. As someone approaching the age they were when they started to blow up, I am amazed they didn’t leave the internet.

This whole long rant is to say that it was overwhelming to even be in the vicinity of dnp. The amount of pressure is something I truly cannot describe. And it’s hard to explain if you weren’t there, but I cannot imagine an outsider maintaining a relationship with the two of them with the pressures both within the relegation ship and outside. Because let’s also not forget Dan’s mental health and trauma was triggered every time a “phan is real” comment happened. It was truly such a chaotic time and I think the reason they didn’t have a lot of friends was because they couldn’t.

So it’s just that it must have been so fucking hard. And they must have a very close bond to have survived what their friendship endured. It was such a unique scenario to be pulled into and deciding to come along for the ride is something I find so admirable.

I also think PJ has been a part of their journey with sexuality and how public they were about being together. From what we know, Phil and PJ filmed together back when it was just millennials. To as recent as filming April Fool’s. That experience of watching that dynamic rise and fall and having to just follow and work with must’ve been crazy

If you look at a lot of the credits in dnp’s more professional videos, PJ is often in the credit and often has a big role. Really, it’s mostly the same people who dip and pip work with which gets me the most. It’s obvious they feel comfortable and genuine around him. We’ve seen behind the scenes how they discuss ideas. It’s just very relaxed, which is something dip and pip were deprived of as soon as they started blowing up. Everything had to be planned and thought through. And I think having an old friend who they were likely open to about their relationship and sexuality probably kept them sane. I do believe they are a lot closer than they put forward online and good for them. I think that’s why they’ve stayed friends for so long.

A lot of this is pure speculation. But it must be so cool to have watched your close friend go through the journey pip did, all the while being with someone he loved. But also helping them through it and helping them express themselves within their own boundaries.

That’s what I was yapping about at the start. I think the few YouTubers dip and pip remained close to Anthony, Louise, and Tyler, is because they seemed to like dan and phil because they liked dan and phil. There was no ulterior motive and they genuinely didn’t give a shit their relationship or what fans said. If I were dnp, I would have become very guarded with my emotions. But, at least from what we’ve seen, they seem very comfortable with Pj and his gf I forget her name but she’s so pretty.

When I think of friendship I think of what Peej has with dip and pip. There was so much obvious discomfort for so many years and being able to adapt to that is something special. Balancing public versus private. And just having such long history together. Once again, I’m not up to date on my lore, but I’m pretty sure Phil and Pj knew each other before Phil knew Dan. Or at least it was very close. Like they have been friends from the start. Pj was there for every stage. Every stage. And having a friend who remained neutral during it all probably really helped dip and pip not go nuts.

I truly cannot put into words how out of control the phandom was. Like I don’t even know how to phrase it. It was such a unique phenomena that I have never seen anything even close since. So it’s hard to really get across what it meant sticking with dip and pip during the height of their career, but it must have been so fucking hard on all sides.

And to just see after that chaos that they are still close, that they still film together, that they just hang out,,, I just find that very neat. And admirable. And I’m so curious to know more about it.

I’m not rereading any of this so enjoy the typos

#asks #dan and phil #phan

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irondad-defensesquad · 3 days

Text

You're all I need to get by

Also on AO3! FINALLY!!! I FINISHED THIS!!! I can't believe this was meant for Sicktember of last year, I feel so ashamed 😭 Anyway, the original prompt was "But if you stay, you'll get sick too". Just a fluffy sickfic with some tiny bit of angst :)

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony feels like he has just returned to reality. Was he sleeping? Was he awake? Was he not even here?

Either way, Peter is shyly appearing in his room.

“Oh, hey kiddo,” Tony sniffs, unable to move without everything aching and burning. He checks his phone on the bedside table. “Shoot, sorry I’m late. I’ll get ready and we’ll fix your suit.”

“Actually… I brought you hot chocolate.”

Tony freezes, right when he’s about to remove his blanket. Peter is gently holding a customized Spider-Man cup that the kid made for him. Hopefully, Peter won’t know that it’s Tony’s most treasured cup.

“I noticed you weren’t feeling well yesterday,” the teen explains. “So… I thought it might make your day a little better.”

The man feels like he could cry. Peter is so shy. So adorable. It doesn’t help that he's wearing one of Tony’s old MIT hoodies.

“Gee, thanks, bud,” Tony smiles, taking the hot chocolate like it’s a precious invention. Anything Peter Parker creates is indeed revolutionary.

Peter grabs his chair and puts it next to the bed, sitting next to Tony.

“Wait, you’re staying?” The latter questions.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“If you stay, you’re gonna catch whatever gross thing I have.”

“I’m not gonna get sick, I’ll be fine.”

“Peter…”

“I mean,” the teen suddenly grows nervous, “do you want me to stay? Because it’s okay if you wanna be alone.”

Peter is already standing up.

“No, no,” Tony stops him, “you can stay if you want.”

The other is sitting again. He stays quiet for a moment, watching the sick man.

“You don’t usually get sick, do you?” Peter asks.

Tony shrugs, muttering, “I’m just good at hiding it.”

Peter obviously hears it and doubts him, even if he doesn’t verbally say it.

“Did you take any medicine?” The boy asks instead.

“Yeah. I’m still feeling like shit, though.”

Peter hums. “Can I help with anything else?”

“I dunno.” Tony takes a sip of the hot chocolate. “I miss my lab,” he whines.

“Maaaaaybe I could bring DUM-E here?”

“And have him fire extinguish me to help with my fever? No thanks.”

Peter blinks. “Did- Did that happen?”

“Yeah, when I was doing the first flight tests for my armor. I wasn’t even on fire.”

The kid snorts, wanting to laugh really badly. Tony glares at him.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, you little shit.”

“Jesus, Mr. Stark. You’re so grumpy when you’re sick.” Peter then lowers his voice, “More than usual.”

Tony’s glare becomes a face of betrayal. “Well, why wouldn’t I be grumpy when literally everything hurts?”

Peter smirks, “Okay, that’s fair. Sorry.”

Tony sighs.

“But you know DUM-E loves you, right?” The teenager reminds him.

Tony’s face softens. “Yeah,” he says. Like a liar.

He briefly faces the hot chocolate before taking another sip, feeling it warming his soul, before he gazes at the sun again. The brightest smile of all. It’s impossible not to smile back.

“Yeah.” This time, Tony sounds a little more confident.

Peter’s grin becomes brighter, somehow. The man doesn’t hide his eyes behind his loyal sunglasses, instead welcoming the warmth.

They share this moment in silence, but a comfortable one. Tony finishes the hot chocolate, taking a relieved, deep breath. There’s still too much snot inside him, but it helped, a lot.

He wishes he didn’t get sick, because he’s the one who should look out for the kid, and he misses working to keep his active mind busy. Still, Peter convinces him to relax and stay in bed with delicious hot chocolates and those big puppy eyes.

“I think I’ll have one more, please,” Tony requests, handing the empty cup to Peter.

“Wow, really? I didn’t think you’d like it that much. I mean, the chocolate is super fancy, but…”

“It’s because you made it, Pete. It’s special.”

Peter blushes. “Um… thanks. I-I’ll be right back.”

Tony smiles and watches him leave, waiting patiently.

It’s a quiet, easy day today. Things haven’t gone as planned, but that’s not all that bad.

Peter is eating now mostly due to Tony’s insistence. He’s checking social media in the meantime, and with his spider-powers, he makes sure Tony is doing okay even from afar.

That’s how he realizes his mentor has fallen asleep, judging by the loud snores coming from his room. They might sound a little stuffed, but it shows that it’s a heavy sleep.

He smiles to himself, glad to know that Tony is finally getting some rest. The hero is the kind of person who can’t stand still, not even when he’s sick. He didn’t stop working last night and Peter didn’t mean to pry. Knowing how stubborn he is, Peter admits he’s a little surprised that Tony is complying.

The teen decides to go there and check on him, doing as little noise as possible. Tony doesn’t seem to have noticed him. Peter then realizes three things: one, Tony drank all the hot chocolate given the empty cup on the bedside table. Two, there are many dirty tissues around the cup. Three, the blanket is on the floor. Peter throws the tissues in the small trash bin near the desk, then he uses the tiny hand sanitizer to quickly and carefully tuck Tony in again, hoping he’s not feverish. To confirm that, Peter lightly touches the older man’s forehead. It’s mild. That’s a good sign, he thinks.

Tony quiets down at the touch, like he’s relaxed.

Peter grins.

He bends down…

He doesn’t really notice what he’s doing until Tony lets out confused noises.

“Hm…? Wha?”

Peter is…

He’s kissing Tony’s forehead.

Shit.

Peter doesn’t know what came over him. It was completely automatic.

He, unfortunately, is not quick enough to run away before Tony catches him on the doorstep.

“Pete?” His mentor calls, sniffing.

“H-Hey, Mr. Stark! I just came to get your cup, nothing important!” Peter can’t contain the nervousness in his voice. “Sorry for waking you up, y-you can go back to sleep! Okay, bye!”

He leaves before the conversation goes any further, and he runs to his bedroom with the empty Spider-Man cup. Leaving it on his bedside table, Peter takes his pillow and screams in it, still not wanting to be too loud.

“Why did you do that?! You stupid idiot! That was so creepy!” He curses at himself.

Uggghhhh. He can only hope that Tony wasn’t too conscious when it happened.

Why? Why is he like this?

Walking on tiptoes, looking behind to see if he’ll get caught, Peter approaches the bed and the stuffed breaths in the half dark room.

“... Uncle Ben,” Peter whispers. “Hey, Uncle Ben!”

“Eh?” Ben moves around, smiling when he sees the boy. “Ah, hey sport. You shouldn’t be near me, or you’ll catch my bug.”

“It’s okay, Uncle Ben, I don’t mind. I just wanted to give you hot chocolate.”

“Aww, thanks, Pete. You can leave it here, I’ll drink it soon.” Ben grins like his nephew is the whole world to him. “You’re an angel.”

Peter grins and puts the cup next to him, but he’s quickly busted when the door opens behind him.

“Peter, I told you to let your uncle rest,” Aunt May scolds him. “And you’re going to get late for school!”

“Ah, it’s alright, May. He just wanted to look out for me,” Ben argues. “But really now, you should get going. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I hope you get better soon, Uncle Ben.” Peter approaches and plants a little kiss on the man’s forehead. “I’ll see you later!”

“Alright, kiddo. I love you.”

“Love you too!”

Peter, already in school uniform, is walking away to follow his aunt, who despite being initially stern, seems to have softened.

But before he leaves…

“Pete?”

Except it’s not Uncle Ben calling for him.

… Peter has been staring at the Spider-Man cup for what probably feels like hours, when he sees that his door is open wide (though it was never actually closed), and Tony is gazing at him with his big concerned eyes. Peter has been sitting miserably at his bed this entire time.

Apparently it’s dark out.

Tony looks a little better now, no longer pale or dead-looking. He still sniffs every now and then.

“Are you okay?” The man asks.

Peter puts the cup aside, on his bedside table, and completely ignores Tony’s question.

“You look so much better, Mr. Stark!” He comments, forcing a smile. “Do you want anything? You’re probably hungry, right? I could make more hot chocolate too–”

He’s on his way to the door when Tony goes in, not allowing him to leave.

“Kid, you’ve been looking after me all day. Obviously, I’m glad you’re here with me, but you don’t have to push yourself aside to take care of me.”

Peter looks down, not sure what to say.

(He keeps wondering if Tony remembers the forehead kiss. He’s scared of bringing it up.)

“... I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Oh, that wasn’t supposed to come out.

“I mean…” Peter sighs. “I-It was automatic, y’know. I can tell when someone isn’t doing great, a-and I- I have to help them. I want to help! And I know you don’t rest a lot, so that’s why I thought…”

He’s kind of rambling, not really knowing where he’s going with this.

“But what about you, Peter? Did you eat? Did you rest?”

“Well, I ate breakfast.”

“But not lunch?”

“I wasn’t hungry–”

“Peter–”

“Look, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I did- anything, and I’m sorry I kissed your forehead!”

Truly he understands why everyone else tells him to shut up.

“... oh.”

Tony doesn’t actually sound surprised, but maybe he thought he had imagined it. He was half-asleep, after all.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Peter says, when he knows what did. “It was stupid and probably creepy and- and maybe we shouldn’t bring that up again–”

“Hey, kid, I’m not mad about that.”

Peter covers his eyes with his hands. “Ugh, it was so dumb.”

Tony sighs.

Defeated, the teenager sits on the bed again, glancing at the cup watching them.

Suddenly, Tony is kneeling down in front of him.

“Peter,” he begins, “you have a big heart. You have so much love to give, it’s no wonder why you’re a hero. And I’m glad to know I’m worthy of your love.”

The boy sees the hidden tears in his mentor’s eyes.

“I don’t want you to feel that I don’t want you here,” Tony insists, “I just don’t want you throwing away your needs to focus on me or anyone else. Sure, you have responsibilities… but you’re still a kid.”

He doesn’t mean that pejoratively.

“Seriously, thank you for everything. But you’re important too. You’re important to me, kid,” Tony affirms, smiling sadly.

He gently cups Peter’s face with both hands, gazing at him for a few seconds before Tony stands high enough to kiss the teen’s forehead.

“Sorry for getting my germs on your head,” the man jokes. Still, he looks at Peter like he’s Tony’s whole universe.

Peter can’t even react properly. He thought he ruined everything between them, and here is the man he’s admired for years acknowledging and praising him, and reminding Peter that he’s worthy of love.

Tony is not outright saying he loves Peter… but does he have to?

The boy wraps his arms around Tony, who hesitates, probably because he doesn’t want to get Peter sick. Then his mind must say “screw it”, because Tony is hugging him back.

Peter never imagined he needed to hear Tony’s words this badly.

They stay there for a while, before Peter’s stomach rumbles, and Tony decides to do something about it.

“Wanna order something?” He suggests.

“Oh, that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, you choose, kid.”

“Okay.”

They order burgers and fries. Part of it is because Tony loves them, but Peter has been craving some all day.

They watch some TV, and this time DUM-E is here. The bot is happy to join them.

Tony mostly keeps some space between him and Peter, though he eventually wraps an arm around him to lightly squeeze him.

“Nothing better than spending time with your kids at home, right?” Tony smirks.

Peter blushes and smiles. “Yeah.”

DUM-E agrees.

#lotus speaks #irondad #fics #my fics #sickfic #anti starker

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random-fandom-chaos · 2 days

Text

You’re Alright..I’m Here…

Hi! Hi! First ask! Thank you to: @arttime567!!!

Solar Angst! This takes place in Solar’s dimension in the start but in Sun & Moon’s dimension towards the middle or end. Basically Moon comforting Solar at the end

And if it’s Solar’s Moon than it’s: S!Moon

but if it’s New Moon than it’s: N!Moon

This is Solar’s POV! This wasn’t checked over-

Angst 💔 -to- Fluff 💕

pairings: None! All is platonic!

Characters: (New) Moon!, Solar, And Solar’s Moon

Started: 9:43pm!

Writer: Chaos

Leeets get to writing!!!

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Here we go again…my Moon’s screaming…again…I get I did build a damn satélite without permission! You don’t have to explain…Ugh I wish he would kill me or something…

S!Moon: “The Gator’s coming later.”

Solar: “What- why?!”

S!Moon: “probably because you built a satélite without permission…”

S!Moon responded With a snarl…god I hate him…As he walked away I mumbled

Solar: “I built one for a friend…a better friend that’s you…”

Around an hour later I continued working on the go-karts…Stupid kids…they always manage to break them! They’re toddlers! How can they unscrew a dang bolt?!

I sigh…Finally being able to fix the darn thing…

As I walk back to trashed place I call “my room” I see Moon…he just glared at me…And pulled me somewhere?? That can’t be good..

S!Moon: “So?…How have you been doing on fixing My brother?”

Solar: “…it’s not as easy! We need new parts!”

I respond…so that’s what it’s about…

Solar: “He’s practically a vegetable-“

I get cut off my a slap…He looked at me angrily, and for the first time I feel…afraid?… S!Moon: “SHUT UP. JUST ORDER THE DANG PARTS I DON’T CARE.”

Of course he doesn’t care…I look at him

S!Moon: “I SWEAR- I should just kill you! You’re the reason my brothers like this! It’s your fault!”

I look up at him…sighing…Before running out of that room

…god I miss Lunar, After he came here to my dimension I still don’t know how! But he is a good kid…as if on cue I hear the portal…Moon wasn’t there here right now at least after his fit of anger he went to the gator’s…who could that be?….I See…ANOTHER MOON?!- F##k- gotta hide- gotta hide-

I managed to duck behind a play place there…That Moon looks around…I can hear him mutter

New!Moon: “Where is that dude…Lunar told me about him…”

He walked around- WAIT. LUNAR?!…WHAT DID HE SAY… I stayed hidden probably a damn second away from a panic attack as I drop down with my knees toy chest just waiting to see what happened…again that darn feeling! The feeling of being afraid! I hate it. I just stay there…oily tears softly spill- WAIT- NO- nonononono- this can’t be happening I can’t cry. Not here. No…C’Mon Solar! Stay strong…That Moon can’t know you’re here…I was shaking though…my anxiety was at its peak…I was muttering curses before feeling a…soft hand? On my shoulder?…SHI- that’s the other Moon…please don’t hurt me- please…

Solar: “Fuc-“

I softly muttered flinching and backing away from him…What’s he going to do to me?…He give me space- what- He just kneels down next to me…I don’t mind…I don’t know why I don’t mind! He looks kind…WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME-

N!Moon: “Hey?…You’re Solar right? Lunar’s talked about you…he wanted me to come get you?….I don’t know, but by the looks of this place I think it would be better…”

I softly shook, Just sighing

Solar: “…Yes I’m Solar…”

the shakiness in my voice visible…why was I so scared?

He nodded and got me up…just walking me to the portal as I fidgeted with the gloves I had…Hoping my Moon wouldn’t come now…

Speak of the devil…

He Walked in…The other Moon almost instinctively pushed me into the portal…whom I fell FACE FIRST. Into…him soon jumping in. Solar: “…ugh…”

N!Moon: “You good?”

I give a thumbs up

Solar: “Who even are you?”

N!Moon: “I’m Moon…Lunar’s older brother…He isn’t here right now…Anyways…are you okay…you looked a second away from a panic attack back there-“

he pulled me up to my feet as he took me to his room, still talking or asking questions I answered appropriately for my standards.

He just sat me down on one of his chairs at his room and hugged me?…I didn’t know why but I just…Cried? In a very long time…My mind is foggy and fuzzy since I just let my emotions out…This Moon comforts me…This feels so weird but calming? He just hugged him tightly…

N!Moon: “I know I just met you but I heard of the horrors of that place…but..”

he shakily sighed

N!Moon: “You’re Alright…I’m Here..”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Time ended: 10:13pm! @arttime567 Hi! I hope you like it! I tried my best! I’m sorry if you didn’t find it to your satisfaction.

❤️Thanks for reading lovelies

#hi :) pls notice me :)#solar angst #One shot

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gch1995 · 2 years

Note

I’m a Kenobist but I will explain to you why I believe Obi Wan is Asian and African coded along with him having traits of the lgbtq community. (I’m a straight white British male however I’ve spoken to my Asian and Black friends and they have no issue with me saying Obi Wan is Asian and African coded) first, Obi Wan was originally meant to be played by a Japanese actor, George Lucas wanted this lad to play Kenobi but it never happened and second, Obi Wan shows respect to poc people unlike Anakin

When has Obi-Wan ever shown any respect to the disabled, mentally ill, or people of color? How is he at all “Asian” or “African coded?”

He belittled Jarr Jarr and Anakin by calling them “pathetic life forms” upon first making their acquaintance.

The Jedi weren’t as bad as the Sith when Anakin was growing up, but they weren’t very respectful of other cultures either. In fact, they were exceedingly distrustful, judgmental, and occasionally even hostile towards them if they got in their way.

As for Anakin, he never had a problem with POC in and of themselves. Did he become more hostile towards people from outside cultures and enemies over time under the influence of the Jedi and Sidious? Yes, but he certainly didn’t start out that way. It happened gradually over time through decades of grooming by corrupt cult soldier authority figures in the Jedi/Republic and Sith/Empire and through personal negative experience when he was constantly in battle.

#anti kenobists #pt jedi critical #obi wan is not Asian or African coded #and yes he was racist #a lot of the members of the Jedi and Sith grew to develop racist ideals and stereotypes #but it wasn’t something that happened overnight #they were involved in insular soldier cults that encouraged excess paranoia towards the outside world #not saying it’s okay but I’m explaining why it happened

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myfandomhalf · 6 months

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Season Finale

Sick and tired of reading about people say that Dazai knowing about the plan beforehand somehow takes away from the genuineness of the skk moments

You mean you WANT Dazai to choose to kill Chuuya for the greater good and then not give a shit immediately after?? Ignoring the speech for a second, the reason he was able to be so carefree after “killing” Chuuya is because he KNEW Chuuya was gonna be okay.

First of all, Dazai knowing Chuuya wasn’t gonna die doesn’t take away from his speech. He replayed all those memories for himself, nobody else was seeing what was happening in his head. He was GENUINELY upset at the idea of losing Chuuya and having to put Chuuya through that, DESPITE knowing Chuuya would be okay. He was STILL upset. That’s way better than him thinking he just killed Chuuya, sparing him a thought, not even crying (bc no that wasn’t a tear) and then just moving on being silly as if nothing happened.

And then the other speech him saying that they’re destined to - do you seriously think he’d just make that up for shits and giggles? He was being serious. If he was gonna play it up for Fyodor’s sake he would’ve said the most emotional out of pocket line to ever be written, which to them would be related to him leaving Chuuya behind. But no he just said they’re destined to do something.

Dazai talks a lot about the past to Chuuya (Chuuya does not participate) but those two are clearly emotionally constipated bc they never have a conversation about what they mean to each other (which I think is bc Asagiri is not ready to reveal that yet). This was clearly Dazai taking his opportunity to say what he REALLY thinks / feels forcing Chuuya to listen without the commitment. Bc if anyone gets the ick later he can use the convenient excuse of “oh I didn’t mean that” which is bullshit.

And I do think an element of this idea that it’s worse that Dazai had everything planned comes from the misunderstanding that Dazai has completely changed since he was in the port mafia. Dazai just tends to make “better” (as in more objectively good) choices, but he very much still puts on a front. You guys do realize that his silly persona is just that right? A persona? He’s literally being fake every time he’s silly. That’s not his real personality. He’s a morally gray character. He never became a purely good person and he never will. It makes MUCH more sense that he planned everything out with Chuuya beforehand.

He met up with Akutagawa before getting arrested, he probably did the same with Chuuya.

And yes, this means he DID use and manipulate Sigma the entire time. Why wouldn’t he? Sigma has an ability Dazai needed. I’m sure Dazai planned for sigma to not die bc in his role as a detective it’s part of his job to mitigate losses of innocent lives, he knows this, but also bc Dazai needs to know what sigma learned. I genuinely hope there isn’t anyone out there thinking Dazai wouldn’t manipulate sigma bc he cares about him? He just met him. He has no personal investment in him. But he WILL make sure sigma is alive bc of the aforementioned reasons.

#soukoku #skk #bsd skk #yes I did just make a new side blog to post this lol #I just read something and it made me angry so this probably sounds really aggressive 🥴#I swear I’m usually more chill #I also can’t explain how angry and heartbroken I was when I saw in the manga that Dazai didn’t care he just killed Chuuya #and started just messing around with sigma #I genuinely can’t fathom why you guys want that to have happened #I can look back at those scenes and breathe now knowing Dazai knew Chuuya was gonna be okay #I will probably be less angry if anyone replies in a few hours and will be able to have a civil discussion if anyone disagrees lol #tho pls be aware since this IS a side blog I can’t reply directly bc it forces me to reply with my main blog #and I don’t really want anyone to see my main blog #so I’ll have to reblog and then @ most likely #unless this has been fixed??#if I can reply with a sideblog pls lmk #also pls don’t be rude I’ll reply if you respectfully disagree that’s fine but not if you’re just gonna yell at me #I know a lot of this is probably a hot take #but I’m feeling brave what can I say

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tenitchyfingers · 11 months

Text

Did I just construct an entire fan theory about how Chip from Serial Mom is Stu Macher? You better fucking believe I just did. And it actually does make sense (to me anyway, but i’m high on weekend relief so idk I think it fits).

Like hear me out- Serial Mom doesn’t really have a time setting but it was released in 1994 and the story takes place in Baltimore, Maryland while Scream is set in 1996 in California. Matthew Lillard plays Chip in Serial Mom and Stu in Scream, right? Well, that’s not the only thing the two characters have in common. First off, both are weirdly insensitive and kinda cruel although Stu is more extreme in this sense, and both are horror super fans (and Chip works at a video store which like, hello Randy??) and both love gore and morbid shit (ok but same thing). Also, both are weirdly into the idea of murder, and while Chip looks kinda flabbergasted by the idea of murder he’s also kinda really excited by the idea of it. He’s also kinda detached by how horrific the murders his mother committed are, although most other characters in the movie ARE properly horrified. He doesn’t turn against her, and let’s say he’s the most ride or die member of her family like, he’s probably his mom’s biggest fan right from the moment he hears she’s suspected of murder.

His mom is also VERY flamboyant and over the top, just like Stu is in Scream. And both have a weird relationship with the idea of rules, both really strict and really lax.

So anyway, he witnesses his mom get away with SIX murders with just as many witnesses, during trial (let’s give them leeway on how the trial goes, although I have heard of enough cases where murderers got away with it or justice wasn’t served based on bullshit loopholes and nonsense even though there was plenty of evidence right there and I don’t need to suspend disbelief too much, especially considering how closely the whole media worshiping angle mirrors the OJ trial and how part of it does sound like the Casey Anthony trial) so he’s like “I could do that too”, right? Beverly (mom) could get away with 6 murders, so wiggling out of more murder accusations is gonna be easy peasy (although she’s bold for murdering another person RIGHT after her trial, right outside the court she just came out of) and here’s how it goes: the poor dad, Eugene, is kinda stuck with a serial killer wife and two crazy kids who don’t see how bad what she did is, so he just decides to move everyone out of Maryland and try to lay low in a small town in California (where death penalty is still a possibility and Beverly LOVES that her husband is even thinking he could get away from her like it’s FUN

So they move to Cali and change names because the Serial Mom case was pretty big, they all change their looks and personas (which is how Chip, who now goes by Stu, is so good at mingling with other people by the time ‘96 rolls in whereas Misty, now called Leslie, does manage laying low and doesn’t really commit crimes and once she finds out Stu is the killer she completely breaks contact with him, but she won’t tell anyone cause that kinda opens a whole can of worms and she doesn’t want to (her whole moral system was pretty much fucked the moment she realized her mom was a serial killer).

So anyway, in Woodsboro Stu meets Billy, and he immediately sees this kid is not like all the others, and once he hears Billy’s mother left, given how Stu loves and admires HIS mother, he’s like, fuck yeah let’s do this because god i’d be a wreck too, thank fuck my mom is still around. And when Billy reveals his mother leaving is due to Sidney’s mother he’s surprised, but he’s even more sympathetic, like wow this kid has it really bad. So, here’s an alternative, homebrew motive for Stu, because yeah he’s way too insane from the start to think his “pressure” motive is anything but an excuse.

And then this theory kinda offers an alternative explanation to the ‘my mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me’ line (other than it was ad-libbed YEA I KNOW) aka dad is gonna be mad because holy shit why can’t I have a normal family, now I’ll have to move everyone again and it’s your fault Chip, and mom is gonna be mad because I got away with six murders with plenty of witnesses, I AM DISAPPOINT CHIP (and he doesn’t wanna disappoint mom!!! 😢)

This also sneaks right into the Stu Lives theory because that is THEIR house, and since it’s THEIR house and they have lots of money mostly due to dad being a successful dentist (hehehe Little Shop of Horrors) and mom knowing enough about the ins and outs and gossips around the Westboro police, they manage getting Stu’s alive body discreetly switches out for someone else’s and fake his murder.

And hey, he might move with his family somewhere close to Maryland now and go back to his previous identity now, since he’s innocent of any wrong doing when he’s Chip Sutphin.

#serial mom #scream 1996 #matthew lillard #SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SCREAM DOESN’T GIVE ME MORE STU CONTENT #I MAKE UP MY OWN FUCK YOU LMAO #this is how I cope with having so many loose ends on Scream #if the people at Paramount want me to stop they’ll HAVE to bring Stu back MY STUPIDITY HAS POWER #THIS IS A THREAT #no ok but I spent half of this movie (which is admittedly not very good and nowhere as good as Scream) thinking of this whole thing #and admittedly at this point I’m used to explaining things with crossovers which is why the multiverse is right up my alley #seriously though Chip DOES show signs of insanity that closely resembles his attitude at the start of Scream #like the whole not giving a shit about victims of murder thing #which admittedly makes him fit right in with all the other kids #let’s say most kids in Woodsboro are not doing okay in that movie lol #this is probably the longest I’ve ever rambled about something I completely made up in a long time #but hey this is my canon now since Scream doesn’t really give us much about Stu’s past #I HAVE MADE UP MY OWN #that’s what fandom is for #does this make sense? I DON’T CARE

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gay-flyboys · 1 year

Text

Yeah so fun fact, me explaining ways that you and the group have made me feel alienated and unwanted in a space is not the same as me blaming you for my insecurities.

(In fact, I made more note of the group as a whole and what affected me there than I did of things that you did.)

#a quote from you #and if things had happened in the server that upset you #you have every and had every right to say something #aka what I did. finally. but when I explain how and why I feel something I’m toxic and demonizing you #okay!

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rowarn · 5 months

Text

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2

simon riley / reader

FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: this is part two and contains the gratuitous smut portion ur all looking forward to <3

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k

Things seem to get much better between you. Your anger and resentment towards Simon diminishes significantly and you can finally say you feel comfortable around him again. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten everything that happened, you fear that the entire ordeal has left its scar on you.

But you finally feel ready to truly begin to work on yourself and get to a better place mentally.

You’re humming to yourself as you dust the surfaces in your living room, cringing in disgust when you see how dusty a particular shelf was.

Just as you go to give it another swipe, your front door opens and Simon stumbles in, huffing from effort as he carries two armfuls of groceries.

“Simon!” you cry out, watching with wide eyes from the stepstool you stood on as he ungracefully dropped them on the floor, “Why did you bring them all up here like that?”

“Didn’t wanna make another trip,” he explained lamely, flexing his hands as he looked over all the bags.

“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly.

Simon finally looks up at you, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” you shrug, waving the duster at him, “I haven’t felt like doing it until now so might as well get it done when I feel like it!”

He’s quiet for a moment before he steps over the bags of groceries.His boots thunk heavily on the floor as he approaches you. Suddenly, he wraps an arm around your middle. You squeak in surprise when he very carefully and gently pulls you off of the stool and places you back onto your feet.

Then he walks away like nothing happened, snatching up a couple groceries up from the floor to take to the kitchen.

You decide not to comment on his behavior and simply choose to grab a couple of bags and help him out. When you get inside the kitchen, he’s already stuffing things into the refrigerator. You place the bags down and go back to pick some more up, transferring all the bags of groceries near him so he can easily put them away.

You notice one of the bags has some piping, lightbulbs, wires, and other things you can’t identify.

“What’s all this?” you ask, holding the bag out to him when he turns to look.

He grunts, closing the fridge, “Gonna fix some shit around here.”

“Why?” you ask, scrunching your nose up as you place the bag on the counter.

“Shithole needs it,” he mumbles, moving to start opening the cabinets, “Since you refuse to let me move you out of this place, I’m gonna make sure it at least functions.”

You hum and nod your head. Simon had attempted to convince you to move out and into an apartment of his own choosing but you flat out refused. He was already paying the rent on this place, you weren’t going to let him spend more money for a different place – because you know Simon would choose somewhere that would cost a lot more than your current flat.

But you couldn’t deny, the idea of Simon doing a little manual labor around the apartment made your heart flutter in your chest. The way he took care of you and was willing to get his hands dirty just to make sure you were comfortable. The little domestic tasks you could imagine him doing.

It almost felt like something a husband would do.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately at the train of thought. How embarrassing and juvenile to think something like that

“I can cook dinner!” you mumble after clearing your throat.

Simon actually has the audacity to laugh. You frown as he shakes his head, closing the cabinet before turning to you.

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Your jaw drops, “Why?!”

“Because,” he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before breezing past you, “You’re a terrible cook, love.”

You open your mouth to retort but can only huff. Because he’s right. The last time you tried to make dinner for the two of you, you had confused cayenne with cinnamon and made the most diabolical stew known to man. He vowed to never let you cook anything that required more than boiling water since.

You pout your way back to the living room, mumbling a petulant, “Fine…” as you went.

You didn’t catch the broad grin on Simon’s face as he watched you sulk away. He was just happy to see your vibrance returning before his very eyes.

True to his word, however, he began to do some random odd jobs around the apartment. He changed that damn leaky faucet in the kitchen first. He would never admit it but it was beginning to drive him completely mad. He swore he could hear it dripping into the metal sink basin in his dreams.

Then he fixed the piping in the bathroom so they would stop all that god-awful clanking that practically woke up the entire complex. But after that, he figured he might as well fix the piping under the sinks as well.

That’s when you saw him. On his back, big body sprawled out as he worked underneath the cabinet, wrench in hand and soft grunts of effort coming from him. His t-shirt rose up just a bit, exposing a small stretch of tummy and his happy trail. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it made your mouth go completely dry.

You felt like a Victorian man seeing his first ankle on a woman. Ridiculous.

Sure, you’d seen Simon shirtless countless times – hell, you walked in on him completely naked once or twice. But there was something particularly…delicious about him like this. Unaware, casual, just doing work.

It made a swell of heat settle in your abdomen. You squeezed your thighs together as you watched him. His biceps flexed and bulged, making the sleeve of his t-shirt grow taut around his skin. His muscles moved underneath the tattoos inked into his skin.

You dragged your eyes down his body, past his pecs, past the sliver of tummy. You imagined yourself crawling between those thick thighs and unbuckling his belt, tugging at the button of his jeans. You imagined getting to see his cock chub up inside his boxers before you would pull it out and wrap your lips around the leaking tip.

Salty, you imagine. You’ve always heard that men’s cum and pre-cum would be salty. Would Simon’s taste as bad as some of your friends had told you back in highschool? You hoped not. You couldn’t imagine not enjoying every part of him – even his cum.

You wanted him to shoot in your mouth, let you taste it. You wanted to milk it out of him, give him no choice but to cum down your throat.

“Are you just going to stand there or do you need something?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts.

Wide eyed, you looked to meet his gaze but you found he wasn’t even looking at you, still staring at the piped overhead.

“Um,” you cleared your throat, floundering for an excuse as to why you were ogling him like a piece of meat, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I-I was just wanting to make sure the shower was okay to use?”

He grunts, letting out a soft sigh before pushing himself out from under the sink, closing the cabinet before wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “Yeah, go ahead and shower, love.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, casting one last glance to see that his t-shirt had fallen back into place. Disappointing.

You trudge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Softly, you close the door and turn on the shower. The pipes don’t clang when the water shoots through them. It brings a smile to your face.

Once you’re stripped and standing under the warm spray, you let your hands wander your body. First, you cup your breasts, watching your nipples harden under your own touch before you slide one hand between your thighs. There’s a slickness between your folds that's distinctly different from the water, it’s slippery and sticky. But it makes your touch against your clit easy.

You bite your lips to keep quiet, scared to death that Simon could hear you from under the sound of the water. You make quick, tight little circles against your clit. The bud is hard and twitches under your fingers. It makes the breath stutter out of your chest.

You need more room, you realize, hiking your foot up onto a shelf. It spreads you open just a little more, gives you a little more access for your fingers to play. You sigh, head tipping forward to watch as you circle your own clit.

But the more you touch yourself, the faster that tingling, warm sensation dissipates. You huff through your clenched teeth, frustrated.

Usually, you could at least feel the beginning of that peak forming but this time…not even close. So you shamefully close your legs and go about your shower as if nothing happened, taking care to wash the slick from between your thighs especially.

As you lay in bed that night, Simon breathing deeply beside you as he slept, you were lost in thought.

Surely, you were in the wrong for thinking about Simon like that – for getting wet at the sight of him. And then sleeping soundly next to him as if you weren’t some kind of pervert. Maybe you should just confess and apologize to him.

No. You quickly admonish that thought, glancing over at his prone form. You couldn’t bear to see him be disgusted by you. He’d already rejected you years ago, finalized it and put the nail in the coffin so you would never be dumb enough to do it again.

What would he do if he found out about your…attraction to him? He practically lived with you now, after everything happened. He was in your flat more than he was on base now. It was only a matter of time before he caught you with your hands dancing in your pants.

Your cheeks flushed at the idea. Part of you thought it hot – for him to find you needy like that, desperately playing with your clit as you try to make yourself cum.

But on the other hand, you could see the wrinkle of disgust in his brow and sneer on his face as he walked away. That outcome was not worth it, you decided.

With a sigh, you rolled over so your back faced Simon and closed your eyes for the night.

You both should have known better that the fragile peacefulness between the two of you was just that – fragile, balancing on a delicate precipice that could shatter at any moment.

The ring of his phone was the break.

“Answer that for me, love!” he called from the kitchen where he was busy preparing dinner.

You leaned forward to check the number. It wasn’t in his contacts but Simon never got calls from people unless he knew them. So you slowly slid the button over and accepted the call.

“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.

There was a beat of silence before a woman’s voice responded in kind, “Hello?”

“Um…” you swallowed down the apprehension that settled in your chest, casting a glance towards Simon’s back as he stood over the stove, “Who may I ask is calling?”

“I’m looking for Simon,” she said, sounding much more coy than a second ago. She knew his real name and that irked you. People from work always referred to him as Ghost, only those he considered trustworthy or friends were privy to calling him Simon.

“Um, he’s busy at the moment, can I take a message?” you ask, loud enough for Simon to hear in the kitchen if he was interested in intervening. But he didn’t move.

“Sure!” she giggled, “Tell him that Victoria really wants to see him again and to call me so we can!”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, “Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know…”

“Thank you,” she cooed in a sultry tone, “Oh! And tell him I really had a great time last time we were together and that I’m looking forward to a repeat performance.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” you assured, hoping you didn’t sound as tense as you felt.

She giggled before the call disconnected and you were left glaring at his stupid stock phone wallpaper.

“Who was it?” Simon comes to the archway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. You can’t hear anything cooking anymore so you assume he’s finished dinner.

“Victoria,” you spit the name out like it’s poisonous, “Says she wants to see you again and she had a fantastic time with you last time.”

Simon shifts where he stands, looking down at his feet before looking back up to you, “Alright. I’ll call her back later.”

That sends knives straight through your heart. It aches so badly that you want to bite your own tongue off to make it stop.

Jealousy, you realize. You’re fucking jealous. Some girl calls and asks for his dick and he just says okay?

He’s not yours, you tell yourself. He can fuck whoever he wants.

But that does nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you.

There’s other feelings brewing inside you; rejection, fear, loss.

You feel bitter that you’re right there and he would still never choose you. He’ll always choose someone else because he doesn’t see you like that. It feels like he’s throwing it in your face, just spitting at you to show you that he doesn’t love you like you love him. He never has and he never will. You’ll never be an option to him because he doesn’t want you.

Then you’re scared he’s going to leave you. He’s going to go to this Victoria chick and leave you all alone so he can get his dick wet again. Just like last time. Maybe he’ll like it so much he wants to stay with her. Maybe he’s going to leave you behind so he can start a new, happy life without having to worry about the dead weight that’s been dragging him down since he was 8. You. His responsibility. His problem.

You’re so scared that he’s going to be ripped from your grasp. That you’re going to lose him to someone else and it’s going to be you and your pathetic one-sided love for the rest of your life. Fuck, you’ve loved him since you were 4. You’ve loved him for so long that it makes you nauseous to think about. How many people loved one person for this long?

Please, you wanted to cry to him, please love me.

Please, just love me back.

“So you’re gonna go then?’ you finally find your voice, bitterness and resentment thick in your tone, “You’re gonna leave me to go to a booty call again?”

He stands up straight at that. Arms cross over his chest, he watches that way you glare at him, heated and teary-eyed. Hurt.

He knew you still weren’t over the way he left you that time – when you needed him the most. You’d been ignoring the residual hurt that lingered, intent on pretending that everything was fine. He had been doing his best to make up for it but it always felt like one step forward and two steps back with you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures softly, “I’ll call her back to tell her that it won’t happen.”

He tries his best to remain level-headed and soft, to be reassuring like he knows you need. But your expression doesn’t change. You continue to glare at him with that furious, hurt look in your eyes.

Suddenly, you stand.

“I don’t believe you,” you hiss, turning your back to him, storming down the hallway.

He almost winces when he hears how hard you slam the bedroom door. He thinks about going back there to talk to you but decides against it. You need some space to calm yourself down.

He eats the dinner he made for both of you alone, putting your half in the fridge for later. He goes about the apartment, locking the door and turning out all the lights. Then he gets to the bedroom door and goes to turn the knob and it doesn’t budge.

Despite himself, he laughs. He jiggles the knob, jerks the door a little harder like it’ll open with a bit of force. And it might, it’s a flimsy ass door if he’s being honest – he’s forced bigger and heavier doors open before.

He snaps your name, humor gone from his voice. You don’t answer.

“Open the damn door,” he snaps, trying the knob again. He gets silence in return so he slams his fist against the surface. The sound is loud enough that it makes his own ears ring, “I said open the door. I’m not playin’ this game with you, sweetheart.”

“Sleep on the couch, Simon!” he hears your wobbly voice call back. Of course you’re in there crying, he thinks.

“I’m not sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch,” he hisses, leaning his forearm against the door, resting his head against it with a sigh, “Open the door and let’s talk.”

“Don’t wanna talk to you,” you whine, bratty as all hell. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed, “Why don’t you go sleep with Victoria since you like her so much.”

You don’t know why you say that last part. You don’t want him to go to her, you don’t want him to go anywhere. The thought of it brings more tears to your eyes.

Simon is silent on the other side of the door for a long while. You almost think he walked away and succumbed to the couch. You wouldn’t actually let him sleep on that awful thing, of course. You just…you don’t know what the end goal here is, if you’re honest.

“Fine,” he finally spits, “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck off and find Victoria.”

You hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he walks away. You sit up straight in bed at that, eyes wide as you listen to him stalk through the house. You swear you hear the jingle of his keys and that’s what has you lurching out of bed in a panic.

You almost trip over the sheets as they tangle around your legs but you manage to free yourself and wrench the door open.

“Simon!” you practically shriek, rounding the corner of the hallway to find him standing with his back to you, facing the door.

He’s got his hoodie and mask on, boots firmly on his feet and keys in hand. He stands still, back straight as his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. But he waits.

“Don’t go,” you find yourself whimpering, “‘M sorry. Come to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t move and that makes your heart pound in your chest. You know he’s pissed, can see it in the way his fists stay clenched at his sides. His fingers twitch and he makes a move for the doorknob and you surge forward, wrapping yourself around his other arm, yanking him away from the door as hard as you can.

He lets your weight knock him off balance, lets you drag him away from the door. He lets you tug him down the hallway, sniffling and crying as you do.

“J-Just…” you find yourself frantically tugging his mask off, tossing it away before you rip the hem of his hoodie up. He doesn’t help you or fight you as you try to take it off of him. He just stares blankly at you, like he’s assessing you. You hate it. “G-Get ready for bed, okay? Just…we can go to sleep.”

“Why do you make this so fuckin’ hard for me?” he finally breaks his silence, the question cold and calculating. Like he’s tired. Exhausted, “I keep tryin’ to make it up to you. But every time something goes wrong, you throw everything back in my face and you act like you hate me again. I can’t keep…” he trails off, shaking his head before he sits at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and head hanging between his shoulders.

“I love you,” you blurt out, a sob breaking out of your lips as you do. Simon doesn’t move. Your hands cover your eyes, as if being blind to his reaction will make the rejection hurt less, “I love you and i-it just keeps messing me up inside. I’m sorry.”

“You love me?” he asks, still no emotion in his voice.

When you peek at him, he’s in the same position as before, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bowed. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing and you’re scared to find out.

“Yes,” you hiccup, sniffling softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks softly, almost solemnly.

“I promised,” you cry, another choked sob escaping you.

“Promised..?” he doesn’t sound cold anymore, just confused, “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

“W-When I was 14,” you whimper, shame filling you as you recall your now-broken promise, “I-I told you I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same. You told me to never bring it up again and I promised I wouldn’t. B-But…” you sobbed again, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he breathes, bringing his hands to his face, scrubbing them up and down vigorously in a way that looks like it hurts. Then he laughs.

He fucking laughs.

It’s like your worst fears come to light. He’s laughing at you, at your confession. At your feelings. A fresh wave of tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You bite your lips to keep from making your sobs audible anymore. You didn’t want him to laugh at that too. You hang your head, wringing your hands together behind your back anxiously as Simon quiets down.

“Shit,” he breathes, getting to his feet. He stands before you, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He frowns when he sees the utter despair on your face, the heartbreak in your eyes, “No, baby. No, no. I wasn’t laughin’ at you.”

Baby. You catch onto it. He’s never called you that before.

You dash the spark of hope that it causes.

He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away.

Then, he leans forward and slots his lips against yours.

It’s like fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart races so fast that you feel lightheaded. You can’t even respond to the kiss in time before he pulls away, your mind is moving too fast for you to process any meaningful thought. But he kissed you.

Simon kissed you.

“What?” you finally manage to whisper, looking up with wide, shocked eyes, “Why did you..?”

He looks confused for a second, still cupping your cheeks as he looks into your watery eyes, “You really have no idea?” Your brows furrow immediately and you shake your head, “How I feel about you?”

“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat.

He smiles softly, thumb rubbing softly over your cheekbone, “You really think I don’t feel the same?”

“B-But when…when we were kids I…” you stumble over your words, the truth you’ve believed this entire time seemingly false, “You s-said you didn’t feel the same.”

“Jesus, love,” he huffs softly in disbelief, “You were fourteen. I was seventeen. You were way too fuckin’ young for me, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“B-But then…” you stutter, reaching up to wipe your cheek, “When did you..?”

He shrugs, “Not sure exactly. Suppose sometime after you turned 20 was when I realized I felt somethin’ for you.”

“So you really…” you whisper, snagging your hands into his hoodie to pull him close, “You really…I mean…”

“Love you?” he smiles softly, “Of course I do.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He hums, wrapping one strong arm around your middle to pull you even closer. His lips work magically over yours, taking control of the kiss with ease. You easily melt into it, following his lead. It’s not as easy as you thought it would be and you hope Simon doesn’t notice.

But he does, of course he does.

He pulls away and smooths the palm of his hand down your cheek before it comes to rest on your jaw. His thumb slides over your bottom lip and he hums.

“You ever kissed before?” he asks, voice calm and level with no teasing to it at all.

Still, heat explodes all over your face. Embarrassment overrides the euphoria of your requited feelings. You try to pull away but Simon’s much stronger and he won’t let go unless he wants to.

“Hey, don’t run,” he coos softly, turning your face to look back up at him, “I was just askin’.”

“No,” you mumble, still burning with embarrassment, “I-I’ve only ever liked you so…”

“Fuckin’ hell…” he whispers, letting you step back just a bit so he can look over you, “Is that right?”

“You should know that,” you mumble, feeling small under his scrutiny, “You know everything about me.”

“Didn’t think datin’ history was somethin’ you felt like sharin’,” he shrugged off.

“Well, now you know,” you mutter, your gaze glued to the floor.

“That I do,” he hums in agreement, reaching out to brush a hand down the length of your arm.

A soft, quietness falls over the two of you. You’re not sure what to do and it seems he’s content where he is. He’s watching you, tracking every little shift and fidget you make until he finally seems to take pity on you.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says softly, giving you a soft nudge towards the bed.

You take the opportunity to dive into bed, yanking the blanket over you as Simon strips himself out of his boots and hoodie. You go to look away as he yanks his belt free with practiced hands but you can’t seem to. He slips the belt out of the loops and drops it on the dresser before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him in a tight pair of navy boxer-briefs slung low on his hips. You can make out the shape of his–

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he mumbles half-heartedly as he turns to root through the dresser to find some sweatpants.

“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught.

He chuckles under his breath, pulling the sweats on before he rounds to his side of the bed and drops onto the mattress, “Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

He leans over you and turns out the tableside lamp. Then he settles into his pillow with a soft sigh.

“Si..?” you whisper.

“Yeah?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Are we um…” you clear your throat, “I mean like…are we…together now..?”

You feel him roll over and toss his arms around you. You squeak when he tugs you towards him roughly, securing you against his chest before he kisses the top of your head.

“Do you want to be together?” he asks, muffled by his lips pressed against you.

“Yes,” you whisper quickly, wrapping yourself around him almost possessively.

He tilts your head up and carefully slots his mouth over yours again. You sigh happily at the feeling.

You notice that he keeps it a lot slower than he had before, moving his lips carefully against yours. Like he’s trying to make it easier for you to keep up. It makes your cheeks flush again but you sink into the pillow and let him kiss all he wants as you do your best to match his movements.

His body shifts, torso hovering over you as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. Your hands rest against his shoulders and simply get lost in the kiss.

After a moment, he deepens the kiss, sinking into you with his chest pressed against yours. You whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his cropped hair.

One of his hands moves, coming to grip your waist, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dream come true. Literally.

All those nights you spent with your hand between your thighs, thinking of him. Thinking of him touching you like this – with his hand sliding your shirt up a little further every second. You even feel that familiar wetness soaking your panties.

Then why was your heart racing from anxiety instead of excitement? Why did you feel a fearful tremble setting in your thighs, as if your knees would be knocking together if you were standing. Why were you scared?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving your hands against his chest with a weak, “No!”

Simon is off of you in seconds but you can feel his gaze on you in the darkness. You struggle to catch your breath as you lay there, heart pounding in your ears. Your head hurts, you realize with a wince.

“Um…” you find yourself attempting to appease him, “I-I don’t…I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s alright,” he whispers sincerely, settling down into bed with a content hum, “Nothin’ to worry about, love.”

You scoot closer to him and hesitantly place your head on his chest. Simon’s arm wraps around your back and tucks you even more snug against him. You close your eyes and will yourself to relax and sleep as you feel Simon’s comforting hand rubbing your back.

Neither of you talk about it in the morning. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. You don’t bring it up, even though you want to, and Simon doesn’t try touching you like that again. Part of you wants him to, you’ve been dreaming about his touch for years but once you finally get it, you freak out?

You can’t stop beating yourself up over it.

But then you think about the anxiety that it had caused. The apprehension. How uncomfortable it felt – how you wanted his hands off of you.

You sighed, flopping onto your side on the couch where you sat. Your mind was buzzing annoyingly from your thoughts.

Regardless of your problems, you were happier than ever with him. He was finally yours. Wholly and truly yours. It was bliss.

“Got a call,” Simon says, snapping you out of your daze, “Gotta leave.”

That makes you sit up, “Leave?”

You finally notice that he’s got his bag packed – the one he only takes when he’s getting deployed. You’re on your feet in seconds, following him to the door. He’s wearing his skull balaclava so all you can see are his eyes – sad, apologetic.

“H-How long?” you ask, unable to ignore the ache in your chest as you watch him.

“Few weeks, probably,” he mutters, placing the bag down so he can tuck his feet into his boots.

He straightens up with a grunt before turning to you. He sighs, gloved hands cupping your cheeks when he sees how sad you look – like a kicked puppy. You wish you could feel his bare hands on you but can’t find it in you to ask.

“I don’t want you to go,” you find yourself mumbling.

It’s selfish and even a bit cruel of you to voice that desire. Simon’s thumb strokes your cheek in that sweet way he always does and you melt into him. He lets you thump your head against his chest as you suppress your cries, biting your lip so you can keep your tears at bay.

“I know,” he softly whispers, stroking your back as you cling to him, “I know, but I have to.”

“I know,” you mumble, finally looking up at him. You know your eyes are glassy and you make sure to blink back the tears so they never overflow, “Just be safe and come home, okay?”

He lifts his mask up just enough to expose his lips before he leans down to kiss you. It’s a whole body experience this time. He clutches you against him like his life depends on it, gloved hands fiercely gripping the back of your t-shirt. His lips move smoothly against yours, hand coming up to cup your jaw so he can tilt your head and pull you even deeper into his kiss. He pulls away when he needs to breathe, smiling when he sees the dazed, lovesick expression on your face. He tugs his mask down and lets you go but you stay as close to him as possible.

“Make sure you stay warm,” he coos, “Gonna start gettin’ real cold in a couple days.”

“I will, Si,” you assure him.

“Left some cash for you to do your shoppin’,” he adds, “I know you’re a shit cook but I left a list of some easy recipes. Don’t burn the flat down.”

You snort and playfully smack his shoulder, “I’ll just buy some cup noodles in that case.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your side to make you gasp from the ticklish feeling, “Don’t even think about it.”

Your grin falters when his phone makes that obnoxious beeping noise that lets you know it’s something urgent. He sighs, the tranquil happiness between you two broken immediately. He kisses your forehead through his mask and pulls the front door open.

“Keep this locked,” he mutters, stepping past the threshold, “I’ll be home soon.”

He closes the door and you’re left with an emptiness that overcomes you. You’ve always been scared for him when he has to go off on missions – you know that his job is extremely dangerous and he could lose his life at any moment. That thought alone makes a nauseous pit settle in your stomach. You push down the feeling of bile rising in the back of your throat and click the lock on the door with a sigh before you go about your day, trying your best to keep your mind off of him and where he might be in the world.

True to his word, however, the temperature drops bitterly cold within 2 days after he leaves. There had already been a chill in the air that drove you to turn the heating on just a bit but now it was full blast. But now, it was dipping to freezing and you were anticipating the arrival of snow soon enough as well.

You wake up one morning, however, and your apartment is bitterly cold. You sit up, confused before climbing out of bed. Your feet are immediately freezing as you step onto the floor. You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stumble over to the radiator in your room. You touch it and find absolutely no heat emanating from it.

All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat.

You curse, realizing you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. You curl up on the couch under a heavy throw blanket as you type with bitterly cold fingers into Google, looking for anything that can help you. But it’s to no avail. You can’t understand a thing.

Your next thought is to call the building manager but you know that’s pointless. The useless man never actually helps with any work for his tenants.

There’s no way in hell that you can afford to call someone to come and fix the problem. You have money for groceries but if you spent that you wouldn’t have anything to eat. You sigh, resolving yourself to bundling up and trying to stay as warm as you can.

You pile all the blankets you have into bed and pick out only your thickest, warmest sweaters.

This is going to be miserable, you think.

The snow comes just a short week later and it feels even colder. You venture out of your flat to go to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for the dishes Simon wrote down for you and also some cans of soup that you can cook to stay warm. You also throw some boxes of tea and some hot chocolate in with it, figuring why not. Warm drinks will help.

It’s almost 3 weeks of living like that. It’s miserable and makes your bones ache from how stiff the cold makes you feel. You make sure to eat nice, hot food to keep yourself warm and make frequent cups of warm drinks so you can keep your hands warm for as long as you can. You do your best.

The worst is showers, though. When you’re standing under the blisteringly hot spray, it’s bliss. But the second you step out and your wet body is hit with the freezing air, you couldn’t have felt more miserable.

The night Simon walks through the door, he finds you bundled up on the couch sipping a cup of hot chocolate.

“Simon!” you gasp excitedly, tossing the blankets off to take a running leap at him.

He huffs contentedly when he catches you in his arms, letting you embrace him for as long as you need. He strips his mask off and brings you in for a delicate kiss.

“Let me wash up,” he mumbles, stalking through the apartment.

“Um, before you do, Si,” you catch him at the entrance to the hallway. He turns to you and looks at you with a brow raised, “The um…heating is broken so…just letting you know when you come out of the shower it’s gonna suck.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before,” he mutters and pauses, “The fuck you mean it’s broken?”

“Heating cut off a few weeks ago…” you shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself as you start to feel the cold creep in again.

“A few weeks ago?” he hisses, running a stressed hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ hell. You didn’t call someone to fix it?”

You pout as he raises his voice, clearly frustrated, “I couldn’t afford it, Si! I had the money you gave me for food but I wasn’t gonna spend that to get the heating fixed. You know the building manager is a piece of shit, not like he was gonna call someone.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly thinking something over. Then he turns on his heel and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“I’m sorry, Simon!” you call through the door, “I didn’t know what else to do! Please, don’t be mad.”

The shower turns on and all you can do is look up and sigh in exasperation. The second he’s home and he’s already pissed at you.

You sulk over to the couch and flop down, tossing your blankets over you as you grab your mug. The hot chocolate is still warm but not as hot as it was. It’ll have to do.

Simon comes out of the shower, gets dressed warmly, and joins you in the living room. He doesn’t even look at you as he makes a move for his bag that he left by the door. You almost think he’s going to scoop the bag up and storm out the door. You sit up, ready to stop him but instead, he stoops down and zips it open. He pulls out his wallet and approaches you.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, watching him flip the thing open.

It’s old and worn, a simple black leather wallet. He’s had it for as long as you could remember and you’ve put the poor thing through the washer and dryer so many times that you’re shocked it's still intact.

He pulls out a bank card and promptly hands it to you. Your brain stutters to a stop as you look at it.

“Take it, fuck sake,” he mutters. He sounds annoyed but the way he looks away and his ears turn pink you can tell he’s…shy.

Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.

You take the bank card out of his hand and look at it, flipping over in your hands, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“So you can use it,” he mumbles, slamming his wallet shut and tossing it onto the table, “That way, in case anything happens you can withdraw from my account for what you need. If an emergency happens and I’m not around, use it.”

“Simon…” you mumble, looking up at him, “Are you sure..?”

“Course I’m sure,” he scoffs, taking a seat beside you before softly rattling off four digits.

“Huh?” you dumbly ask.

“It’s my pin,” he responds, grabbing one of the blankets you have piled on the couch and tossing it on his lap.

“That’s my birthday…” you say softly as you repeat the numbers over and over in your head, “Your bank pin is my birthday?”

He snatches the remote up from the table and turns the TV on without another word. But you can see how pink the tips of his ears are. It makes you beam and before you know it, you’re curling snugly into his side.

“Love you, Si,” you whisper, earning a kiss to the top of your head in response.

Simon calls the next morning to have someone come by and fix the damn heating. You listen to the man rattle off some information to Simon about what the problem was but it makes virtually no sense to you so you resolve yourself to sitting on the couch and waiting until it’s warm again.

But even when it’s nice and toasty inside, you still plaster yourself to Simon’s side, snuggling as close to him as you possibly can.

“I want you to meet my team,” Simon says one morning while he’s making some eggs.

You’re standing by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up but his words make you turn to him, “You mean 141?”

“Who else?” he huffs, flipping one of the eggs. It sizzles loudly in the pan, “They wanted me to go out with them tonight. Thought you could join us.”

“Really?” you realize how incredulous you sound and then try again, “I mean really? That’s okay with you?”

He nods, plating the eggs, “I think it’s time they met you.”

“I-I’d love to,” you say, unable to hide the excitement you feel.

You catch a slip of a smile on Simon’s face before the toast pops up and distracts you.

You have to dig into your closet that evening, after a shower, to find something nice to wear. You figure an occasion like this calls for something a little nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt like you usually wear. But you can’t find much of anything.

“What’re you huffin’ about in here?” Simon asks when he walks in, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still dripping wet from the shower and you can feel the way your mouth fills with saliva at the sight.

“I uh…don’t know what to wear…” you respond, turning your back to him just as he slips the towel off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, imagining Simon completely naked behind you.

“Wear those nice jeans you got,” he mumbles, grunting as he gets himself dressed, “And that little blue top you got.”

“The cropped one?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised as you turn to him. He’s got some jeans on now and he’s meticulously unfolding a black t-shirt so he can put it on, “I haven’t worn that in a while, how’d you even remember it?”

He shrugs, the muscles in his back rippling with his movement before he tosses the shirt over his head and pulls it down, covering his skin once again, “It’s cute. We’re just goin’ to the pub, love.”

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching into the back of your closet to pull the little shirt out, “If you’re sure this will be okay.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles softly, grabbing his balaclava off the dresser. But he doesn’t put it on yet. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches you change.

You’re acutely aware of his eyes on you as you strip your shirt off. You keep your back to him, trying to ignore your racing heart. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all, instead you feel…excited.

Your mind runs wild, imagining him stepping up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping your bare breasts in his big hands. They’re a little rough from his line of work and you wonder what they’d feel like against the sensitive skin of your tits, thumbing your nipples and pinching them a little meanly.

“C-Can you hand me a bra?” you find yourself asking.

He grunts in acknowledgement and the bed creaks when his weight moves off it. He opens one of the drawers and is behind you in a second. His body heat permeates through his shirt as he presses his chest against your back.

He slings your bra over your shoulder, holding it with one finger by the strap. You can’t help but tilt your head back to look up at him. He’s towering over you, pretty, brown eyes looking down his nose at you.

You realize in this position, he could clearly see your breasts but he keeps his eyes on yours. You take the bra from him and he lets you, simply staring into your eyes with that stern silence he has about him.

“T-Thanks…” you find yourself whispering, mouth feeling particularly dry.

He grunts, lips quirked up just a bit before he turns his back and walks back to the bed. You let out a quiet, slow breath, willing your heart rate to go back to normal.

Simon was so exhilarating. Just being around him sets your heart racing and fingers trembling.

You put your bra on and slip your top over your head, ignoring the sticky feeling in your panties as you do.

“I don’t know, Si,” you mutter, turning to face him, “I-It’s a little tight on me now.”

The fabric once hugged you nicely but now it was snug. It molded around your breasts, even showing the lines of your bra. The neckline was low, giving a good show of cleavage – it didn’t help that Simon picked one of your more well padded bras.

Simon looks up, his eyes immediately falling to your breasts. He sucks in a quick breath and looks away, licking his lips.

“Looks fine,” he mutters, standing to pull one of the drawers open again. He searches for a second, brows furrowed until he pulls out the jeans he was talking about. The ‘nice jeans’ as he called them, were just some low rise jeans you’d only worn about 4 times.

You look dumbly at them as he drops them into your hands.

“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”

He quiets you with a kiss to your forehead, “Trust me, love.”

He steps out of the room after that, leaving you to your own devices. You’re thankful that you can change your panties without him seeing how saturated and sticky they’ve become because of him. You bury them in the laundry basket and remind yourself that you should do the laundry before he does because you’d be mortified if he found them.

You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror, afraid you’ll feel too self-conscious if you see what you look like. But you trust Simon’s judgment on what he thinks would look good on you – and you can’t deny that dressing up how he likes feels nice.

You step into the living room, intent on pulling your shoes on when Simon catches you with an arm around your waist. You gasp as he turns you to face him.

“You look lovely,” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke your skin.

You swallow thickly as your heart starts racing in your chest again. He leans down and pecks your lips but pulls back before you have the chance to kiss back.

“Let’s go,” is all he adds before walking away, leaving you no choice but to follow like the lovesick puppy you are.

Walking into the bar, your heart pounds painfully in your chest from pure anxiety. Your hand is clasped tightly in Simon’s as he easily moves through the crowd. You suppose his height makes it easy to see over people.

“You alright?” he asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Haven’t been in a bar since I worked at…” you trail off, giving him a half-hearted shrug.

“If you wanna leave, just say the word,” he mutters, giving your hand a squeeze.

“N-No,” you shake your head, shooting him a wobbly smile,”I wanna meet your team at least.”

He smiles reassuringly and gives your hand a tug to encourage you to follow him. He leads you right to a table situated in a corner, three men laughing and drinking.

“There he is!” the one with the mohawk cheeks, holding up his pint in celebration.

“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grumbles petulantly as he pulls out a chair for you.

Soap, you note to yourself. You know them by name but you’ve never actually seen the faces to put to them. Soap looks like you imagined, a broad grin and pretty, bright eyes – you imagined them green but they’re blue.

“And who is this lovely companion of yours, Simon?” an older man with a hat and mutton chops asks with a kind smile, eyes on you.

Simon says your name before he sits down with a grunt beside you.

“Price,” your boyfriend supplies when you look curiously at him.

The man in question holds out a hand which you take and softly shake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Had no idea Lt. had someone waitin’ for him at home,” Soap says, a teasing lilt in his voice.

So you’ve met Soap, Price, and that leaves; your eyes land on the quiet guy sitting back in his chair, a cool smile on his lips. He meets your gaze and his smile broadens – not teasing like Soap’s but purely kind.

“You can call me Kyle,” he gives you a polite nod.

“Gaz, then?” you question, tilting your head to the side. Kyle looks surprised, eyes flicking to Simon who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “He’s talked about all of you before. I only know your call signs though.”

“John will do fine if you’d like,” Price says, tipping his beer back to take a chug.

“Simon calls me Johnny,” Soap adds, “You’re welcome to as well. Anyone important to the Lieutenant is important to us.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Simon roll his eyes. It makes you smile. He leans over, nudging you with his knee, “You want anything to drink? I need one.”

“No thank you, Si,” you reply, intent on having a clear head for the night. You’ve never been much of a drinker anyway.

When Simon’s gone from the table, you suddenly feel incredibly out of place. Price and Kyle have the decency to not stare you down but Soap seems keen on keeping his baby blue’s right on you and a goofy little smile on his face.

“Um…” you shift uncomfortably as you look back at him.

“We’ve never gotten to meet anyone from Ghost’s private life before,” Soap says, saving you from having to think of what to say, “Just shocked s’all.”

“You’re gonna start giving the poor thing the creeps with your ugly mug,” Kyle chuckles which also makes Soap laugh.

“Sorry about that,” Soap lifts his glass and cheers to you before tipping it back.

He grimaces slightly as it goes down before slamming his glass back on the table.

“It’s alright,” you respond, “Si’s not really the open book kind. So I understand.”

“How long have the two of you known each other?” Kyle asks.

You find yourself wondering where the hell Simon even is but answer regardless, “Since we were kids. Um, we lived next door. His mom and mine were friends, I guess.”

Soap nods his head, elbows on the table as he gives you his full attention, “You guess?”

You hum, “I’m 3 years younger than Simon. The way it was told to me by my mom is that…his mom came over and,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you recalled the story.

“Oh this has got to be good,” Soap nudged Kyle excitedly at your grin.

“Told my mom that Simon didn’t have any friends and that he was a…soft-hearted boy and she wanted him to have some friends,” you giggle, holding a hand in front of your face to hide your laughter, “So she wanted to set up playdates with me even though I was still a baby. My mom didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Soap tosses his head back and laughs, “No fuckin’ way.”

“I’m shocked to say it but that actually makes him sound cute,” Kyle adds, unable to hide the laughter in his voice either.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Price says, but there’s a smile on his face, “Simon’ll knock you out cold on this table.”

“So you and Simon have been together since?” Kyle asks, glass cupped in both hands.

You nod, “Only time we’ve been apart is when he enlisted and had to go off for a few years to train.”

Soap opens his mouth to say something but a large figure finally drops down into the seat next to you. Simon has a glass of bourbon and a glass that he slides over to Soap who catches it with ease.

“Thanks, Lt,” he nods, taking a sip before making that disgusted face again.

“What are you lot talkin’ about?” Simon asks, drumming his fingers against his glass.

“We were discussin’ all your dirty secrets,” Kyle teases with a charming grin.

“Nothin’ too damning I hope,” Simon huffs before he takes a large gulp of his drink.

The other three men all hide their grins behind their glasses.

The anxiety you had felt at the beginning of the night is long gone. The task force is full of jokes and laughs and even Simon seems like a different person.

With you, he’s kind and even soft. He’s by no means gentle or patient.

But this side of Simon is so jovial and comfortable that it warms your heart to see. He drinks a few glasses and by the end of the night, he’s got a relaxed, lidded look in his eyes that lets you know he’s got a bit of a buzz going on.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Price says when you all walk out of the bar.

“I really enjoyed meeting all of you as well,” you smile, letting Simon tuck you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Get him home safe,” Soap teases, your smile only widening when you hear Simon huff in annoyance.

You bid goodbye to the three of them and make your way to the car with Simon, plucking his keys out of his hand and forcing him into the passenger seat despite his grumbled protests of how ‘he’s not that drunk’.

When the two of you finally get into your apartment, you let him lock up and turn out the lights while you go to the bedroom and get ready for bed.

“You looked really nice tonight,” Simon mutters when he finally walks in as you crawl into bed, “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I’m glad they liked me,” you huff, leaning back into the pillows, “They were all really nice guys.”

“Yeah,” Simon hums, tugging his shirt off of his head, taking his mask with it, “They’re good people.”

You nod your head and tuck your knees to your chest while he gets undressed. He slips on a plaid pair of pajama pants and shoves the drawer closed with his hip before yanking the blanket back to make room for his large body.

You bounce a little on the bed when he drops his weight onto it. He smacks his pillow a couple times before he lays back and sighs. It’s clear he’s still a little buzzed from the way he fights to keep his eyes open.

“Simon?” you ask, turning to face him.

That makes his eyes open back up before he looks at you, “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you ask.

He snorts and it makes you smile. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of your head. You let him tug you down, pressing your hands against his firm chest as you kiss him.

His hand travels down your back as he sighs into your mouth. You pull away briefly to look into his eyes before you kiss him again, this time deepening it as much as you’re able. Simon sighs contentedly, his other hand coming up to caress your arm.

“I like kissin’ you…” you find yourself whispering against his lips.

He groans at that, the sound going straight to your core. You feel yourself clench around nothing, already starting to leak into your panties.

“Yeah?” he coos, cupping your cheek, thumbing over your lips, “You can kiss me all you want, love.”

You whimper, surging down to kiss him again. His hands grip your waist, intermittently squeezing you, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Suddenly, you feel the warm, slick slide of his tongue against your lips. You whimper and pull back, brows furrowed.

“Shh, love,” he coos, pulling you close again, “Jus’ relax and let me…”

You huff, struggling to catch your breath as he urges you to meet his lips again. You feel his tongue again and eagerly open your mouth, letting him taste the inside of your mouth. You shyly meet his tongue with yours and feel his grip on your waist tighten as he groans in his throat.

You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve.

You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away.

A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes.

With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it.

“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body.

You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.

“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”

“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”

“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”

You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously.

“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”

It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself.

“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light.

You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night.

“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”

He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”

“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”

He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”

You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”

Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”

He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”

He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything.

“All night,” he finally mutters, “You’d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”

You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.

“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”

Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about.

“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.

“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy.

He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone.

“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”

“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”

“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.

Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him.

He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.

“Why..?”

“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely.

“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying.

He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”

“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”

“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”

He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.”

You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was.

“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”

“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”

He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”

You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”

You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”

“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”

“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”

“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”

“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.

“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…”

You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”

Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”

You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”

He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”

Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?

“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”

Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”

“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you.

He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”

You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away.

“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”

With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom.

You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”

You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head.

Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them.

You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material.

“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”

“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious.

His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take.

Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him.

Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh.

“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”

“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”

His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand.

“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”

You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants.

It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced.

That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good.

“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal.

“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug.

You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.

“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp.

His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious.

He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap.

“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”

You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are.

Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze.

He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”

“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.

And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body.

He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him.

Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”

You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again.

“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”

His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows.

It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger.

You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention.

He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder.

“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”

“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.

You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end.

“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.

“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.

“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”

You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside.

After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.

“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”

“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”

Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.

It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.

That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.

And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange.

He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock.

If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him.

“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.

He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it.

You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself.

All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body.

You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him.

His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away.

He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good.

That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair.

“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard.

He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat.

You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud.

It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.

This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum.

Then everything stops.

His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.

“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake.

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”

That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes.

“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”

Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.

His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.

“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”

You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy.

But it’s you. You’re special.

He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different.

He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy.

He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit.

You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you.

“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation.

When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out.

He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”

“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”

“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.

He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it.

It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock.

So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you.

You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop.

But you don’t.

You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you.

Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.

You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”

“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”

Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail.

He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix.

He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation.

It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper.

His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good.

Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure.

“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips.

You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there.

“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”

“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”

“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”

You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge.

It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts.

You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.

It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant.

You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy.

Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises.

“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”

You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life.

All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again.

Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him.

But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock.

He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot.

Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still.

Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.

“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours.

“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”

“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”

You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you.

Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you.

He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute.

Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you.

“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”

“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further.

His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”

But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much.

Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it.

But instead, he does something else.

You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact.

So he does it again.

And again.

Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it.

He needs you to cum for him again.

“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.

As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.

He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels.

Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock.

You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.

“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”

“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.

It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down.

But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.

His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk.

Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him.

“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”

And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent.

“Alright, love?” he asks.

“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.

“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”

You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.

It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together.

When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him.

“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.

You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”

“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”

Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”

You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again.

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it.

And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.

It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him.

Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him.

PART ONE.

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