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joelsmochi · 5 months

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honeypie - joel miller

summary: part 2 to honey (can be read as a standalone, doesn’t have much to do with the original plot!) warnings: not proofread, 18+, slight angst?, age gap (everyone is legal!!!!!), bickering/arguing, double date trope womp womp, degradation, dubcon, creampie, joel is a smidge misogynistic insecure and possessive wc: 2.6k a/n: this is mainly just some self indulgent yet rushed storytelling (so sorry, i wrote it in an hour because i was bored at work lol)! i wanna write a part 3 and actually include the beekeeping a little more but i have nooo idea how i’m gonna do it but we WILL get there one day babes!!! until then, enjoy this fluffy angsty sex 😽!!!💓

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“If you guys are gonna bang when I’m in the house the least you could do is be quiet!” You heard Sarah shout from the other side of Joel’s bedroom door after banging on it.

Joel grimaced, his body tensing beneath you but you were almost oblivious to the complaints of your best friend. Almost.

You didn’t let up on your movements or noises whatsoever and as much as Joel loved those sweet little moans spewing from you as you humped against him, he loved his privacy much more especially when it came to his daughter.

You shook your head profusely when he attempted to get you to stop, insisting on how you were almost there.

“Soclosesoclosesoclose—just w-wait, I’m cu—fuck. Ahh, fuck, I’m cumming. Oh yes! Yesyesyesyesyes! Ohh—oh, my God—“

Joel covered your mouth with a clammy hand, feeling torn from his mixed feelings of lust and embarrassment.

Going downstairs didn’t help him feel any better either, especially when Sarah began berating you both, not that he blamed her for it.

“Call it payback for all the times I let you and your boyfriend have sex in my bed,” you retorted.

“In your bed?!” Joel mumbled to himself.

“Yeah yeah, could have at least waited until I was gone,” Sarah muttered.

“Sorry, Sar,” you hummed, “your dad is just really hot.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Come on, man.”

“I didn’t even know you were home,” Joel complained. “You’ve been with Jared or whatever his name is all week.”

Sarah’s squinted her eyes, annoyed by the lack of care from her father. “Alex. His name is Alex dad—see, I hate this!”

“Oh, by the way, Sarah,” you said, pattering behind the kitchen counter, “wouldn’t use the open jar of honey if I were you.”

“UGH! EW! Fucking ew!”

♡

“Other than the obvious,” Sarah mumbled, “how’s my dad taking care of you?”

You wore a bright smile and looked away from your reflection momentarily. Joel was… Joel. Rough around the edges but he was a genuine person, confident in the external reality but a little insecure. Not unbearably insecure though, just enough to make you know he was trying his best.

He wasn’t the most romantic but you figured it was just from him being out of the game for so long and you knew you could train him to be more romantic if it was needed.

He didn’t push you aside or make attempts to subtly suggest you needed to leave after sex either; he’d pout real big and give you those gorgeous puppy dog eyes until you held him. He loved making you laugh.

But it definitely still felt like just sex rather than a relationship. You weren’t particularly complaining, but you weren’t bragging about it either.

“Good,” you answered.

Sarah could tell from your tone how honest it was. Good meant great, happy, damn near perfect.

“Good. I’m glad,” she said. “I was worried he’d be like one of those incels that get real creepy and pervy after thirty-five.”

“No, no, he’s great,” you reiterated. “He’s very funny. Smart. He asks me to tan in my bikini while he’s working on the hive or the yard.”

You watched from the corner of your makeup coated eye how tightly she grimaced.

“Images. In head. Don’t want them there,” she dramatized.

“I have to hear every last detail about you and Al up to where he’s shoving your cervix into your stomach. You can deal with a little sexiness from us,” you said.

“It’s just so weird,” she whined.

“Do you want me to stop seeing him?” You asked.

You had slowly began to worry about how this would affect your best friend over time, you knew it was a weird situation. You had no issue cutting Joel off if it meant Sarah got to be happy. There were other men in the world, there weren’t other Sarah’s.

“No, God! No. It’s just not as simple as I was expecting. You know?” She explained kindly.

“Totally! I’d be weirded out if you were hooking up with my dad while I was across the hall. I’m not blaming you there, or anywhere for that matter. Just know you come first.”

“Well, yeah, who else is going to wax your back hair and not judge you for it?” She teased.

You rolled your eyes at her.

“Lots of men with weird fetishes.”

♡

“Can’t believe I agreed to this,” Joel huffed.

He adjusted the waistband of his jeans making his shoulder briefly flare. You let your mind wander while Joel complained about the double date you had arranged with Sarah and Alex. You were currently waiting in the parking lot for them to arrive.

“It’ll be fun. You’ll get to meet Alex and see he is a respectable man and you and I get to pretend we’re a couple for a few hours.”

“Pretend?” Joel questioned. “W-what do you mean pretend? Are we not together?”

“Uh, no?” You said.

Joel didn’t appreciate your amused reaction and questioned you a little more.

“You never asked me to be your girlfriend— you haven’t even taken me on a date,” you explained. “Did you really think that conversation wasn’t necessary?”

“So if we’re not together then what is this?”

You sucked your teeth before simply saying, “Sex.”

Once the four of you were inside Sarah and her boyfriend felt the tension between the two of you.

You watched Joel punch in all of your names into the keypad before pressing ‘start game’.

“So Alex, what do you do for work?” Joel asked.

“Oh, well right now I’m working at a café downtown, but I’m majoring in political science to become a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” Joel sounded impressed.

“Lawyers are great at communicating,” you antagonized. “They know what questions are… Important to ask.”

Joel rolled his eyes and motioned between you and the bowling balls. “Just go. Good God.”

“Dad, what did you do?” Sarah asked.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” He defended.

“Girl, what did he do?” She asked you.

Shrugging, you said, “I don’t know. Since Joel thinks he’s so great at communicating, maybe he should answer. I’m gonna go bowl.”

“Hope you gutter!” Joel shouted after you walked away. “She told me I needed to ask her to be my girlfriend.”

“You thought she was your girlfriend?!” Sarah said with wide eyes.

“Well… Yeah? Do I really need to verbally ask her that?”

“That’s why I got a strike, bitch,” you said while slapping the back of Joel’s head.

Sarah and Alex awkwardly stood up so that he could pretend to teach Sarah how to bowl properly. But the bickering between you and Joel didn’t end there.

“I thought it was obvious,” Joel told you. “I have you over all the time. We fuck. We laugh. Did I really need to ask?”

“So what would have happened if I pissed you off and you were to say ‘it’s not like you’re my girlfriend’?”

“I do not sound like that!” Joel scoffed. “And I would never do that to you, you know that. I just kinda figured you were mine, you know?”

You squinted at his unearned possession over you, feigning offense and scoffing obnoxiously.

“Yours? I’m not your property, Joel. You don’t get to claim me.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you goin’ to do about it? Fuck some other loser?”

You grinned, and immediately he regretted his words.

“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” you whispered.

Alex and Sarah sat back down and you asked if they wanted anything to eat or drink before walking away to go to the bar.

“Hi, what can I get for ya?” The boy at the counter asked.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, why?”

“You see the older man on lane twelve?”

He looked and then nodded.

“Well, I wanna make jealous so if you could just smile and pretend to flirt with me I’ll give you ten bucks,” you explained with a sly smirk.

“Fifteen,” he negotiated.

“Ugh, fine. Can I get two lemonades, a beer, and a water please?”

“That’s not coming out of my tip, is it?” He questioned whilst punching the order into his screen.

“It will if you don’t start looking at my boobs,” you said through your faux smile.

You leaned onto the counter and gave the employee a clear view of your cleavage, which he seemed to appreciate very much.

But Joel wasn’t only focused on the teenage boy behind the counter, he noticed the numerous men gawking at your short shorts that showed off too much of your ass with you bent over the counter the way you were.

“Dad,” Sarah’s voice brought him back to reality. “Your turn.”

By the time Joel managed to spare you had returned with everyone’s drinks and Joel didn’t give you the satisfying reaction of jealousy like you’d hoped.

Wondering if you went too far, you drank a bit of Joel’s beer to imprint a lip gloss stain for Joel to taste in between sips. Something you noticed he loved to do over the past few weeks whenever he made you coffee or tea. You never finished your drinks and Joel always lined his mouth up with your lip print to taste you every chance he got.

And as you gave him the cheap plastic cup that held his beer, you watched as he habitually sipped right where your lips had been. Occasionally licking the rim of the cup before taking his next swig.

A couple of games later, you and Sarah managed to team up against the boys and kick their asses each and every frame. They sulked while you two gloated from the ending of the final game all the way back to the cars.

“Okay, okay. We get it, girls rule, boys lose,” Alex said.

“It’s boys drool,” Sarah corrected before turning to hug her father who placed a kiss on her forehead. “Night, dad. I’m gonna stay at Alex’s.”

“Okay, babygirl. Call me tomorrow.”

“Oh, and word of advice,” Sarah whispered after you got into Joel’s car. “Girls like what boys consider pointless communication. Take her out a few times, make her feel special, and ask her to be your girlfriend. She really likes you, she’s just making you earn it.”

Joel softly smiled and nodded. “Mmkay. Thanks.”

Once he got in the car he didn’t acknowledge you in the least bit, finally free to punish you for letting those men get a free show.

“Not a word?” You nudged his arm as he drove. “You could ask me now.”

He snickered, the most noise he’s made in the last ten minutes.

“You don’t get to just fucking claim me, Joel!”

Joel sped up before pulling into a rest area.

“Come’ere,” he hoarsely demanded.

He unclipped his seatbelt and began undoing his belt and jeans.

“Don’t get all fuckin’ shy on me now, girl. Come on.”

You hesitated but unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed into his lap; he moved his seat all the way back and pushed his jeans low enough for his cock to spring up and slap his belly.

Instinctively you reached for it, but he removed your hand from his hardening length and held your wrists tightly behind your back with one hand. Using his other hand to grab your face by your cheeks he forced you to look into his cold eyes.

“Do you not want to be with me?” His voice strained as he asked that, a hint of hurt glaring in his dark eyes.

“Of course I want to be with you,” you answered.

“I don’t play games,” he said, gripping your wrists even tighter. “Don’t fucking—“ A soft smack landed upon your cheek. “Don’t fucking do what you did tonight ever again. Get on your knees.”

He slightly shoved you back as he loosened his grip on your hands and face; you submissively sank to the rough carpeted floor of the car and he wasted no time pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and shoving his fat dick into your wet mouth.

He tasted so fucking good, the mix of his clean flesh and salty precum like honey dripping onto your tongue. Your eyes rolled back and you moaned along his shaft as you eagerly bobbed your already hazy head up and down.

Joel’s hips rolled up in pleasure, gurgling out helpless moans as your nose rubbed the wiry hairs along the base of his shaft. Despite the aching and soreness, you loved having your throat full of Joel.

You took initiative and pushed against his hand, nonverbally telling him to make you suffer, and he shamelessly did so.

He couldn’t tell if the slick that was coating his balls was your spit or tears and he didn’t give a fuck. If you were going to show some loser teenager your tits and some loser bachelors your ass the least you could give him was some fucking remorse, right?

Joel felt powerful, in charge in ways he never experienced before. Your flooded eyes looked into his and saw how contorted his face was, so even if he was the one telling you what to do you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“Give me that fuckin’ throat, baby,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck! That throat is so fucking tight—mnh. God…damn baby. Feels so fucking good.”

He smacked your wet cheeks as encouragement before slowly pulling you off of his dick; you coughed at the gust of oxygen that flooded your lungs, giggling as he smacked his fat tip against your puffy mouth.

“Look at you, baby,” he whispered. “So pretty when my cock shuts that smart fuckin’ mouth a’yours up.”

“You love my fucking mouth,” you smugly said as you climbed into his lap.

“I do, but I think you forget what it’s supposed to be used for,” he whispered.

“You can stuff my mouth all you want, I’m still gonna give you a reason to use it.”

An eyebrow of his cocked up and a grin spread across his face at your confidence.

“Take your pants off,” he instructed seductively. His rough hands ran up your arms and back while you did what he said. “There you go,” he moaned when you slid down on his wet cock. “You’re such a good fucking slut for me, honey.”

“Just—just ask me, and I’ll s-say yes!” You shakily moaned as you relentlessly bounced on his dick.

Joel gripped your neck and began fucking into you from below, pushing deeper than he needed to, definitely bruising your cervix.

“You know you belong to me. All that fucking shit about claiming you and how I don’t own you, fuck was that?”

“Joe—elll, ugh!” You screamed into his chest, not sure if you were cumming or if your cunt was just overwhelmed with sensitivity. “Just ask, just ask baby I promise I’ll be good I’ll never misbehave again.”

He popped your ass and chuckled cruelly when you flinched and moaned. “Be my girlfriend, babydoll. Hmm? I want you to be my girl. You’re already my slut. Will you be my girl, babydoll?”

Your eyes gawked up at him and you couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged against your lips.

“Yes! Yes, yes, baby! Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

“Say it,” he begged. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours Joel! Fuckfuckyes I’m yours! I belong to you! I fucking belong to you!”

Joel felt the familiar deep stretch in the peak of his belly at your cries. He listened to you submit to him, let him claim you as his, ultimately marking his territory as he began to cum inside of your warm cunt.

“Thaaaat’s my good girl,” Joel growled as he fucked the last of his spend into you.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, climbing off of him. “You’re such an ass.”

He chuckled at this, the softness in his laughter coaxing a giggle from you.

“You love me,” he mumbled.

“Mmm, not quite,” you said as confidently as your tired body would allow.

“Oh, honeypie… You’ll get there soon enough.”

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imninahchan · 8 months

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⌜ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: strangers to lovers, my poor spanish skills, casual and unprotected sex [you can't do that, c'mon!], readerʼs a brazilian woman, some portuguese words, dirty talk, age difference, finger sucking, male oral, manhandling, light pussy spanking, ʽpapiʼ, dumbification, dacryphilia. ˚ ☽ ˚.⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹ʼ𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 ꒱ sooo never thought about posting something in eng but @femmechaotic (thx baby) showed me her translation and i gave it a second chance. This was originally written by me in portuguese, thatʼs why the reader is brazilian. Eng is not our first language, sorry for any mistakes, just posting for the fun of it♡

𓍢ִ໋🀦 HE'S THE KIND OF MAN YOU'LL ONLY MEET ONCE IN A LIFETIME ─────

You realized this from the moment you laid eyes on him for the first time. Sitting a couple of tables away from his, on the balcony of the hotel lobby.

You simply couldn't help but notice it: the thick strands of dark hair, how his hands run through it, as the gentle morning wind blowed. The basic white tank top, a coat hanging over the chair next to him at the table. His big and pointed nose, his eyes hidden mysteriously behind the lenses of the fancy sunglasses.

He's definitely not Brazilian. You could tell just by the food he chose from the buffet on his plate. Youʼre just so genuinely intrigued by the whole set of ongoings, obsessed with watching him, that you forgot about your own — boring — breakfast. The buns were cooling next to the black coffee in the porcelain cup.

You wanted to open the messaging app on your phone and send a sassy comment to your best friend, saying something like: “omg u won't believe how cute is the guy i just saw”, but you didn't even have time for that. The man raises his chin, with his attention shifting from the phone device in his hands to noticing your presence ahead.

You look down immediately, feeling as if you had committed a crime and you've just been caught in the act. You bite your lip, trying to hold down a childish smile, like a vicious little girl. Your palms starts sweating; suddenly cold. The intention was to keep yourself busy with the porcelain cup in the short meantime, trying to deal with the awkward sensation of being caught.

Itʼs not working, of course. You didn't know whether to drink or not, sometimes you try to sip the hot liquid, but you give up halfway through, lost like a robot in a breakdown. And when he raises his eyes once more, in the same direction as you looked for so long, the man's gaze meet yours again.

It feels, apparently, like youʼre going to faint, to actually die, Jesus! You've never felt so embarrassed in your entire life and you insist on thinking about how you're never gonna be able to eat, think or breathe while being in this crime scene — also known as the balcony of the hotel lobby.

“Get up, then!”, you think to yourself. You pick up on a couple of the cold buns from the plate, taking a sip of the — now cold — coffee, and walking towards the lobby. Like, damn, youʼre not even dressed up, maybe the clothes are not so bad but you donʼt even have any makeup on or hair done the way you liked it so much (and did it religiously every day).

But there is an actual explanation for you not being ready. The plan, initially, was just having breakfast and enjoying the view for a short period of time, so you could visit the downtown in Madrid afterwards. Now, you are running away like a criminal, with your mouth full of bread heading towards the elevator.

When you finally thought that the closing of the gray automatic doors would mean freedom, your heart has one more reason to flutter, as soon as the man steps into the cubicle before he could lose the sight of you.

You decide to chew more quickly, hiding the other roll of bun between your hands. Standing next to you, he takes off his pair of glasses, holding his coat and a crossbody bag.

He looks at you.

— Enzo — he says, and from the way he announced his name, you can tell by his accent that he speak Spanish. You swipe the back of your hand over your mouth, wiping away any remaining crumbs.

— Oi... hmm — You stammer the response in Portuguese, automatically panicking again for a few seconds when realizing that your brain couldn't think of a greeting, even in your first language. After some quick struggles, you tell him your name.

— ¿Eres de aquí? ¿de Madrid? (Are you from here? From Madrid?)

— Ahm... — You stutter, again (unfortunately). — Brasil!

He smiles.

— Ah, sí. Brasil... ¡Es un lugar magnífico! (Oh, yes. Brasil... It's a wonderful place!) — and praises. But his gaze turns sharp, he needs to know: “Entiendes lo que digo, ¿no?” (Do you understand what I say, right?)

— Sí, sí! (Yeah, yes!) — you return with a wide smile back at him, almost hyperventilating.

Your desperation is pathetically noticeable, itʼs cute actually. He watched you, smiles softly, almost like a chuckle. The curiosity gets into your nerves, you wanted to ask more questions, extend the conversation, but the elevator reaches your floor, and you leave, too withdrawn to say anything.

“Shit”, you curse at yourself, it wasn't so difficult to have a decent small talk, you should've said something, anything. You brood all day long, thinking you're such a dummy for missing the opportunity. Why did you have to act like a stupid teenager, huh? Then, after what happened, not even the museums — that you were so excited to visit — were fun anymore, no place in this goddamn city could take away that little thread of regret from you.

In the next day, however, you go down for some coffee at the same time as you did the other day, with the foolish intention of trying to see him again, and thatʼs it, it worked; like a freaking miracle. The man was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, it seemed like he was waiting for you too, what were the odds?

You can even feel your legs wobble.

— ¡Buenos días! (Good morning!) — he greets you. — ¿Cómo se dice ‘Buenos días’ en Brasil? (How do you say ‘Good morning’ in Portuguese?)

It takes a few seconds for you to think and say it back, ‘Bom dia’ (Good morning), you respond. He smiles.

— Es muy parecido (It's pretty similar) — he comments, awkwardly. Then, looks at the buffet, “¿Vamos?” (Shall we?)

Although he sometimes used terms that you completely donʼt know the meaning of and have to ask him to explain again, the conversation is, apparently, going very well. You discover that he is older, Uruguayan, and not Spanish as you immediately thought he was. You tell him a little about the country you come from, and he gets enchanted by the way your accent pronounces his name. Enzo. Paying attention to the ʽzʼ sound, unlike the pronunciation in Spanish.

it was with his company that you explored the city. The both of you went to a small square together, had some ice cream, met tourists hotspots, then chatted while exploring a little shop nearby. You hated to admit it but the situation was indeed romantic. Later in the afternoon, you were taken by him to a bar.

There, the conversation extended even further, including the beer you guys shared. When you didn't understand anything he said, (what was quite often in the conversation) you just laughed, your cheeks getting really hot and red from smiling that much. Honestly, you could leave him talking to himself for hours, just because you loved the husky sound of his deep voice and his pair of brown sparkling eyes.

It didn't mean that you were in love or anything, right? Besides, there was no way you could fall in love in such a short period of time.

But the heat you felt emanating from your own body definitely meant something. It could be because of the dark blue button-down shirt — these pieces never fail to be attractive, right? —, or the silver ring that caught your eyes every time he articulated with his hands in the air. Even his perfume... ah, the perfume! A fragrance that filled your lungs, woody but with a slight sweet note. Projecting all day long, torturing, practically inviting you to bury your face in the curve of the moreno's neck.

At nighttime, he takes you back to the hotel: his excuse was that he wanted to help you with the shopping bags, as if you had bought all of Madrid. And it was supposed to end there, at your hotel room door, simple as that. He hands you your things, and the most he does is lean over, slowly, as if he is silently asking for permission, and so, he places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, millimeters away from touching your lipstick-painted lips. But you hold his hand, before the man walks away down the hall, you donʼt let him escape.

He approaches you again, his other hand touches the corner of your face. Warm, affectionate. ¿Qué te pasa, nena? (What's wrong with you, baby?) The focus of his brown eyes are on your mouth now, the question is whispered, seductive. The touch of his fingers bypass your jaw until it gets on your chin. ¿Quieres algo más que un beso? (Do you want something more than a kiss?)

Youʼre not sure which words to use, which command to prefer. In fact, you donʼt even want to be thinking. You want to shut your brain, to be so dissociated so that only your body can enjoy the moment. You wrapp your arms around him, your face can finally hid in the curve of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his. You hear the sound of his chuckle, feeling his big hands being placed on your waist. ¿Qué quieres? Dímelo. (What do you want? tell me)

You look up to him, shy. The tip of your nose rubs against his, creating a friction that, just because of the absurd proximity, makes everything even more tense, burning erotic.

— No Brasil — you say, trying to hide it by biting your lip —, se diz ‘foder.’

Enzo's smile grows, almost in slow motion. “Foder” (fuck), he repeats the word in a whisper. Again, you donʼt even have to think much to understand. Everything sounded similar, and it seemed that your mind was connected to his by a chaotic carnal desire.

The Uruguayan's lips meets yours; his hot tongue brushes against yours. Your bodies take on a life of their own. Little by little, the main setting stopped being the hotel hallway and became your room. The door gets closed with a gentle push from his feet, while the chosen path is towards your bed.

His hands moves up from your waist to grab your blouse and take it off from your warm body. When you lay on the mattress, supporting on your elbows, itʼs the cue the man needeed to messily pull down your shorts.

— ¿Quieres ponerte de rodillas? (Do you want to be on your knees?) — he asks, as he unbuttons his own blouse. The sharp look he gives you, bathed in desire, delirious. On his lips, you notice the smudged red of your lipstick. — Correrme en tu boca... (Cum in your mouth...)

Maybe itʼs your mind lost in urgency, because you donʼt process what was said to you. You keep your eyes still, your mouth half-open, taking in air, panting. So pathetic that all he does is laugh at your face, running his hands through his hair instead of going straight to the belt of his shorts.

— ¿Qué? ¿No lo comprendes, no? (What? you don't understand it, do you?) — the tone used with you bordered mockery. And contrary to what you would normally feel like, it gives room to a sick feeling, butterflies in your stomach, you feel even more horny, stimulated. He leans in close. — Mira. (Look)

And as if you were learning something for the first time, you imitate him when he parts his lips. You let the man's thumb drag over your lower lip, and then his middle and index fingers together slide over your tongue, until they occupy your mouth. “Así” (like that), he pushes and retreats with his hand, in a slow, sensual movement, “Metértelo en la boca.” (Put it in your mouth)

Ah, now you understand him well. Your face burns, the wet way the fingers come out of your mouth, a little strand of saliva kept resisting in the distance, itʼs wanton. You nod, kneeling on the wooden floor, eyes glued to him unbuckling his belt until you could have his erection in full view.

You part your lips once again, as you were ‘taught’. He fills your mouth, up to a point where your nose touches his crotch, and comes back, completely wet. It allows the Uruguayan to control the pace, to catch the corner of your face. You raise your gaze to his, surrendered not only by the lasciviousness of what you were doing, but also by the beautiful view you had of his face from that angle.

Enzo uses the index finger of his free hand to run down the curve of your nose, affectionately.

— Qué ojitos más bonitos... (You have such beautiful little eyes) — he praises you, with a smile. At that moment, you could swear your heart felt like it exploded. — Eres tan bella, nena. Preciosa. (You are so beautiful, baby. Precious) — he sighs, his head falls back, then to a slide side angle. He looks at you in such a mischievous way that you avoid returning the look. — Me encantaría correrme en tu boca... pero prefiero guardarlo todo para dentro de ti. (I would love to cum into your mouth... but I prefer to keep it all inside you)

You get taken back to bed, easily manhandled by him when you silently gave up control of the situation. He comes over, dangerously close, unlocked the front fitting of your bra, getting lost between your breasts as soon as he releases them from the tightness of the piece. You hold onto his hair, restless under the delicious sucking of his tongue, the wild bite of his teeth. You gasp, having to move away from the black threads of his hair while his mouth travels down your belly.

He releases you from the last piece of underwear too, the wet kisses were loud and pornographic, crackling on your skin. The tip of his big nose rubs lightly over the area where he knew your sensitive clit was. His palm run through your wetness, the chill of the his silver ring sliding across your boiling skin.

He clicks two, three slaps in a row that makes you shudder, whimpering softly. Enzo smiles, he didn't need to, but he returned to that mocking tone from before, of someone who had to calmly spell out the commands so you could understand.

He brings his hand to your lips, gave a little tap on the top, de aquí, and then went all the way down again, leaving a wet trail until he gave your pussy another tap, a aquí. And itʼs these little details that makes everything even better. It makes you feel so dumb, foolish, but itʼs so strangely good...

When he puts himself inside you, you lock your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around him, feeling him dominate everything in you. He, however, insists on eye contact, lifting his torso, resting his forearm against the mattress, to look you in the eye. He smiles, panting like you; moaning low, hoarse. At first, slow, but soon he surrendered to the speed, to the sharp sound of your moans with each stronger thrust.

And there where so many thrilling impulses, fuck it... You want to cover your mouth, close your eyes to try to contain yourself. Itʼs the nasty noise of your bodies in shock, his deep voice, the scent of his hot skin. Youʼre so sensitive that your eyes get wet, a little tear runs down your cheek.

— Oh, no... Perdón, perdóname, cariño. (Oh, no... I'm so sorry, honey) — he stops, his thumb wipes the tear from your face.

'En—', you even started to want to call his name, but the frustration of no longer receiving the same thrilling sensations and to the same extent was such that you only knew how whine; your mind melting, finally murmuring “Dale, dale, papi.” (Give it to me, please, daddy)

Enzo smiles again. He leaves a few kisses on your lips, repeating your words between the kisses, as if he was making fun of your desperation and also the term you used to refer to him.

— ¿Más rápido, hm? Más duro? (Faster, hm? Harder?) — he turns you over on the bed, putting you on all fours. The dirty talk makes you smile, dumb with lust already, clinging to one of the pillows. The Uruguayan's body lead over yours, bringing his mouth close to your ear. — Tranquila, nena. Te daré todo lo que quieras. ( Calm down, baby. I will give you everything you want.)

#imninahchan #enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic fanfic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic smut #la sociedad de la nieve #the society of the snow #a sociedade da neve

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flowerandblood · 3 months

Text

Play with my heart (3/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: unprotected & proctected sex, smut, angst, fluff, sexual tension, feeling of guilt, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

They spent the next few days on set together with the other actors in a very pleasant atmosphere. He genuinely liked Daemon – he played the Princess's stepfather and had an incredible charisma that outshone everyone in every scene he appeared in.

He watched him intently from the sidelines, trying to remember his facial expressions and his reactions, wanting to use this later in his role.

To his satisfaction and relief, he could call his relationship with Rhaenys warm. She always smiled broadly at the sight of him and ran over to talk to him between scenes they weren't filming together, sometimes bringing him a sandwich or coffee from the vending machine.

"– you have to eat something – you can't survive on acting alone –" She said regretfully, and he shrugged his shoulders, biting into a sandwich with lettuce, tomato, cheese, pickles and sauce.

He had already forgotten about his eye patch and wasn't taking it off, not wanting to step out of character.

The day was fast approaching when they were to shoot the scene in which the Prince and his niece escape from the library together and spend their first night with each other.

It wasn't his first sex scene, but he had never played it with someone he cared about in any way, and her inexperience worried him.

As it turned out, he wasn't wrong, and the evening before shooting day she knocked on his door. When he let her in he could see that she was distressed and terrified, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

He let her in without a word.

"– I've never – you know – acted a scene like this and – more and more I feel that in front of such a large group of people I just won't be able to relax and get into character –" She muttered, standing in front of him but not looking at him, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was ashamed.

She was asking him for advice and help.

He nodded at her words.

"– it's natural – it's a very intimate scene – you have a right to feel insecure – me and the sexual psychologists are on set to help you –" He explained, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking away, feeling hot at the thought of what they were about to do.

Of course he knew they weren't going to have sex for real, however, they were going to be very close and he knew he was going to be touching her naked body.

She had a right to feel uncomfortable about this especially as he was more experienced than her, clearly not just as an actor.

She nodded and smiled at him, as if his words actually comforted her.

"– I – would you mind if we did a rehearsal? – I mean – if I go through it with you without cameras, hear your advice then maybe – maybe tomorrow it will be easier for me, I'll know exactly what I want to do –" She choked out in embarrassment, looking at him as if she was asking him if she was demanding too much of him.

He stared at her for a moment with his mouth open thinking he shouldn't be doing this, if only because his erection had swollen in his sweatpants at her request.

The fact that his cock wanted it meant that his mouth should refuse, but on the other hand he didn't want her to feel abandoned with something that obviously scared her.

He figured he needed to get a grip, think about her and her comfort.

He nodded and she breathed out loud, shifting from foot to foot, scared and excited at the same time.

"– so – where should we start? –" She asked quickly, and he involuntarily licked his lips, looking at her bare legs.

He wondered if she had panties under the material of her long, cream-coloured hoodie and cursed in the back of his head.

"– from the touch of a hand – a kiss – that opens the door to further emotions –" He replied in a hoarse voice, horrified that she had approached him, that she had taken his hand in hers, looking at him with her big, bright eyes.

God.

It wasn't good.

He kissed her more passionately than he had planned – his lips swollen involuntarily pressed against hers and brushed her skin with a loud click, from which she sighed, her soft, warm cheeks locked between the fingers of his hand.

He sighed quietly when it became apparent that his directness did not deter her – she followed his lead, her hands enclosed his cheeks in a tender embrace, from which he involuntarily put his arm around her waist. Her body slammed against his, and her belly felt what was happening in his trousers.

He felt her tremble and moan quietly in his embrace, surprised and ashamed, parting her lips invitingly, allowing him to tentatively slip his moist tongue between them.

They sighed against their throats, pressing against each other, his hips beginning to rub against her while his kisses became more ferocious, aggressive, messy, full of their saliva, teeth and tongues.

He heard her sound of surprise as his hands slid down to her buttocks and clamped down on them, slipping under the material of her shorts. When she threw her hands over his shoulders he simply lifted her, grabbing her hips and turned, throwing himself on the bed with her.

"– too much wine, uncle? –" She asked with amusement, following the script, letting their lips melt again and again in soft, deep, warm kisses, sticky with their saliva and tongues. He grinned under his breath at his words, running his swollen erection between her thighs.

"– you'll see in a moment –" He gasped into her throat, her arms hugging him close pressing his body closer, her legs intertwined on his back making him feel like his cock was about to explode with desire.

"– and now what? –" She mumbled excitedly, clearly wondering how actors performed these kinds of scenes without having sex.

The problem was, that he felt like it.

He rested the weight of his body on his hands, placing them on either side of her head, looking at her for a moment – her glossy, puffy lips were parted in an accelerated breath, her eyes shining, warm, bright, her gaze misty.

God, how badly he wanted to fuck her.

"– in the scene the Prince exposes her breasts – can I do it? –" He asked in a trembling voice and she nodded, the expression on her face full of trust and confidence from which he felt a tightening in his stomach.

As he grabbed the material of her hoodie she raised her hands above her head to make his task easier. He pulled it off her reverently, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat at the sight of her lovely, plump breasts and her little nipples.

"– so pretty –" He whispered, leaning over her body, placing a gentle kiss on her sternum, from which her whole body trembled.

"– so, so good –" He murmured, not knowing fully himself what he was actually doing, convincing himself that he was trying to reassure her, to give her a sense of security.

Her hands stroked his short hair slowly and tenderly as his lips, with loud clicks of his saliva, lazily found their way up her neck and to her jaw, her soft, warm cheek, and finally her mouth, whose wetness he welcomed with relief.

He heard her moan quietly, surprised, clasping her hands over his neck and the material of his shirt as his hips began to roll back and forth, rubbing against the space between her thighs, mimicking the movements he would make if he were deep inside her.

"– ah –" She sighed, tilting her head back, his hot, swollen lips trailing over her fragrant neck while his hands blindly found her smooth breasts, caressing them and kneading them tentatively between his fingers.

Despite the fact that they should be speaking their lines, only silent moans of shame and panting came from their mouths. He knew, feeling her hips come up to meet his, that what they were doing was slowly turning into something else entirely, but neither of them dared to admit it.

Her body, the touch of her hands, her embrace, her scent, it was all so pleasant, warm, familiar, sincere, desired.

"– fuck –" He muttered, involuntarily speeding up the rocking motions of his hips and groaned a tad too loudly, betraying that he was long past his role, that what she felt under the material of his sweatpants was embarrassingly real.

It seemed to him that she didn't know what to make of this fact, hugging him close, trying to understand what she herself felt, why she was allowing this to happen, what was actually going on between them.

"– it feels good –" She mumbled into his ear, making his hard erection push against her stomach. She gasped, surprised, clenching her fingers on the material of his shirt as she felt his slick, moist tongue run over her neck, his hand sliding down to her warm thigh.

"– too good –" He confessed, embarrassed that his hand had slid lower between her legs, his fingertips teasing the material of her soaked panties and what was beneath them.

She squealed and tilted her head back, at the same time wanting to push him away and hold him close, feeling his fingers wander around her hot, pulsing womanhood, squeezing it gently.

"– ah – ah, oh God –" She whimpered, involuntarily spreading her thighs wider, wordlessly giving him permission to do what they both knew they shouldn't have done.

They both groaned embarrassedly loudly when, with an impatient flick of his hand, he pushed the material of her panties aside, sinking his fingers into her warm, silky folds, all sticky from her wetness.

"– just like that – that's what you should feel – tension –" He whispered in a trembling voice, kissing her hot, soft cheek loudly and lingeringly, digging his fingertips into her sensitive, tender skin, teasing and rubbing the space around her little bud, making her whole body tremble under him in convulsions.

"– Aemond – a-ah – mghmmm –" She mumbled out as she felt his fingers invade her swollen slit, throbbing with desire, all leaking from his treatments. He closed her mouth with his own as he slowy and gently slid his middle finger into her quivering, fleshy, hot interior, her walls sucking and clenching around him, tight and swollen.

He moaned low as her hands slid down to the fabric of his trousers, undoing his button and zipper. Knowing what she wanted to do he finished the job for her, watching with his mouth wide open as she herself slid her shorts and panties down her thighs, panting loudly along with him.

They clung to each other again immediately, their kisses lustful, shameless, loud, intimate – his hands slid down between her thighs, his fingers spread the folds of her little cunt open to the sides, letting the fat head of his cock find her throbbing, weeping slit.

She threw her head back as the thick, smooth tip of his erection burst inside her with her loud moan of pleasure, the next helpless thrust of his hips into her throbbing, tight interior made him know there was no turning back.

"– I'm sorry – I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry –" He breathed out, pounding deeper and faster into her with each word, imposing an aggressive, rough pace on her, her body, however, welcomed him with ease – he leaned forward, listening as her slick pussy was filled with his swollen erection with each successive shameless slap of their bodies against each other, their breaths heavy, their moans helpless, too loud, too animal, too desperate.

"– m-me to – fuck – fuck, God, oh fuck –" She mumbled and pleaded at the same time, tightening her fingers on his buttocks, directing him back deep inside her again and again.

Her tight, warm walls gave him a wonderful squeeze again each time he slammed into her, his body pressed hers against the bed which began to creak loudly beneath them, their bodies bumping against each other like mad with loud clicks of their wetness creating one big, wet, sticky mess between their thighs.

"– fuck – so fucking good – God, yes –" He breathed out, chasing his own fulfilment, as was she, not thinking about what they were actually doing or why, focused only on the fact that it felt wonderful, that it felt safe and that he wanted to come inside her, inside her, just inside her, as deep as possible.

"– m gonna cum –" She muttered helplessly, as if she was about to burst out crying with pleasure, and then she wept loudly, coming hard on his cock, her warm, fleshy walls beginning to squeeze and suck him inside.

He felt his mind stop functioning, the tension and tingling in his lower abdomen, testicles and length was approaching its zenith, and he wanted only one thing – to come inside her.

"– do you – God, oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK –" He cursed, before he asked the question feeling his warm seed fill her insides, bringing his body a relief from which he groaned low, his mouth wide open by how a strong wave of pleasure shook his body.

They looked at each other with eyebrows arched in pain, her gaze warm and tender, her hands running down his sweaty back and cheeks.

"– i-its – it's okay – I'll make sure I don't find myself pregnant –" She mumbled, something in her words and in her gaze made him want to cry.

How could he have been so irresponsible?

"– I'm sorry – I'm so sorry –" He mumbled out, feeling with embarrassment that warm tears one by one began to run down his cheeks onto her face.

Not a second passed and they both burst into sobs and hugged each other like little children, lying like that, exposed and vulnerable, bare before each other.

"– was it – was it real? –" She muttered in a breaking voice, and he nodded, choking on his own tears.

"– yes –"

He personally drove her to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy so she could buy a ‘morning-after’ pill. He insisted she let him pay, but she said there was no need. She returned a while later with a packet and a bottle of water, getting into his car.

All around them only night and silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. It's my fault." He muttered, but she shook her head.

"– yes – I mean – I asked for a pill that will prevent conception if it hasn't happened yet – there's a good chance it will be enough –" She muttered, reading the leaflet quickly, and he nodded, feeling ashamed, sad and disappointed in himself.

"– I'm sorry –" He muttered, repeating it for the hundredth time that evening.

"– it's okay –" She replied, popping a tablet into her mouth and sipping it with water. She took a heavy breath, as if relieved and sad at the same time, then nodded.

"– let's go –"

By the time they got back to the hotel, it was almost midnight. He escorted her to her room, not knowing what to say, how to act.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

She looked at him, surprised, and swallowed hard.

"That's okay. Don't feel guilty. I have my own reason too." She replied, looking down at her fingers in embarrassment.

"I want to stay with you. If you want me to." He replied in a trembling voice, looking down at the floor, feeling ashamed of how small he felt now.

A great actor who can't even put a condom on his cock before putting it inside good girl who came to him for help and advice.

She nodded and went inside, and he came in after her, bitter and broken. They lay down side by side on her bed facing each other. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then he leaned in – she opened her mouth thinking he wanted to kiss her, frightened, but he only pressed his forehead against hers, his hand stroking her soft, warm cheek.

"– try to sleep – hm? – I'll stroke your head –" He whispered. Her eyes glazed over with tears for some reason, her small body clung to him, seeking refuge in his chest.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, stroking her back and hair, again and again placing a moist, tender kiss on the top of her head.

It felt so right.

They fell asleep like this, entwined in a tender, warm, safe embrace, and he thought, listening to her calm breath, that never before in his life had he felt such a need to protect someone.

Despite what he had promised himself, each of their meetings in her room, the pretext for which was to rehearse the script together, ended with their naked hips slapping against each other greedily with their loud moans of pleasure.

Their hands tightened on their bodies in a way that was not overbearing, aggressive, but tender, gentle, wanting nothing more than to become one.

He was ashamed that even though they pretended to meet as friends, he made sure he had a condom or two in the back pocket of his trousers every time before he was to come to her.

He didn't want her to go through again what she had when they first had sex.

On the one hand, the thought that she might have believed that he wanted to take advantage of her terrified him, so he assured her, kissing affectionately her exertion-soaked, sweaty cheeks, that he needed it as much as she did.

Never before in his life had he felt something like this, such an overwhelming need to be close to someone.

Afterwards, he always stayed through the night with her – even if he wanted to, he couldn't deny himself the warm embrace of her arms and fell asleep with his face cuddled between her naked, soft breasts.

It was real.

The director was delighted with the tension and electricity they were able to generate between each other on set without knowing that it had long since ceased to stem from their acting.

They teased and joked with each other between scenes, adding improvised, biting or ambiguous remarks to the script that they thought suited the era, and then, when it was all over, they sank into each other's bodies until they were one sticky, panting, throbbing mess.

His grandfather was proud of him and said that already several other productions were interested in casting him in the role.

"Seeing how you've handled the bed scenes, this will go easily for you." He said over breakfast, which they ate together. He felt a sense of discomfort at the thought.

"I want to limit myself to productions where I don't play intimate scenes. It costs me too much." He lied, not knowing how to explain that what was happening in front of the cameras was not because of his acting skills, but because his cock simply stood at attention when her tongue licked his on set.

His grandfather laughed under his breath.

"Don't be silly. You have to grab the opportunity. You're on a wave of recognition right now, everyone is waiting with bated breath for this show. If you are successful, the world will open up to you." He said, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

"Some great artists have never played any intimate scene. I'm not a porn actor." He said coldly, grabbing for his phone, hearing it start to vibrate and saw that he had received a text message from her asking if they were going to watch The Lion King tonight.

He smiled involuntarily at the thought.

"Are you listening to me? You think you're shagging that little girl and you've fallen in love? Romance on set happens, but you're being dramatic." Said Otto, and he looked at him, shocked to feel his heart leap into his throat.

"Don't speak about her like this. Never." He growled warningly, looking him straight in the eye. His grandfather was silent for a moment.

"That won't do. She lives far away, once the shooting is over the thing between you will be over too. Don't be naive."

"It's a three-hour drive from our town by car."

"What?"

"She lives three hours away from our town by car."

His grandfather looked at him in disbelief.

"You are making this naive girl hopeful. Don't waste her life and your career in the process. Don't turn down good offers."

He pressed his lips together at his words, looking at him indifferently.

"I will decide what proposals I consider good."

They had spent the last few days between shoots, during the day and at night in bed, and their disappearance together had sparked gossip and curiosity.

It was, however, the last thing he thought of when he could finally clamp his hands on her naked buttocks and slide her panties off her, a smile on her lips knowing that he certainly wasn't even bothering to take off the summer dress she had changed into.

"– the scene in Harrenhal – I almost fucked you there for real, you know? –" He gasped, kneeling on the bed in front of her, looking down at her with lips swollen with desire as his long fingers quickly took care of his trouser button and zipper.

"– come here –" He murmured, grabbing her by the hip and pushing her closer to him, her legs spread out in front of him in some natural gesture of trust and acceptance as he placed the condom over his painfully hard erection.

"– 'm sorry –" She mumbled out, thinking for some reason that she should be remorseful that he couldn't feel her completely, just like the first time.

"– stop – when this is over, we'll think about you taking pills – hm? –" He asked encouragingly, leaning over her, the weight of his body resting on his elbow as his free hand guided the head of his cock against her leaking, throbbing hot slit.

Her eyes got big at his words, as if she didn't believe he could want there to be anything after and she nodded quickly, making him feel that familiar heat spreading through his chest.

He leaned over and kissed her in a way he'd never kissed any woman before – their soft, warm lips were one loud, sticky, wet mess, their hands clenched on their bodies, holding them close together as he opened her wide on his long erection with one lazy thrust.

"– oh –" They both sighed, looking at each other with misty eyes, their mouths wide open as he began to pound into her quicker and deeper with loud, wet slaps of skin against skin.

"– A-Aemond – oh God –" She mewled, throwing her head back in pleasure, his hands blindly finding her breasts, sliding from the sides under the material of her dress, clamping down on their plump, firm structure.

"– you didn't touch yourself, did you? – am I right? – my sweet baby girl –" He hummed with a hint of sweet threat in his question, sliding his swollen lips down her cheek to her neck and jaw, leaving a warm, wet trail on her skin.

"– I – mghmm – n-no –" She mumbled out, stroking his hair and buttocks, her legs crossed over his back as his erection no longer slipped out of her, thrusting into her greedily, bringing him closer and closer to his peak, his mind and body hot with desire.

"– good girl – fuck – m close –" He gasped weakly, feeling a wave of pleasure approaching and a tightening in his testicles. His lover reached out eagerly to meet him with her hips, slapping against, his skin, crying and babbling about how much she good it felt, him deep, deep, inside her.

Their bodies intertwined in a close embrace as he pressed her tighter to the bed, imposing a brutal, fierce pace on her exactly as in the scene they were about to act out. Her scent, her moans, the warmth of her body and her fleshy walls, squeezing and sucking him inside, made him come in a condom with a low groan of relief.

He lay on top of her, panting heavily while his hand from between her breasts slid between their bodies, down to her thighs – his fingers gave her puffy bud a few encouraging, teasing squeezes before her little cunt began to pulse around his half-hard manhood in euphoria and her body was shaken by a sweet, hot orgasm from which she drifted off completely.

They lay like that for a long moment with their eyes closed, cuddled into each other, listening to the indistinct sound of conversation outside the window a few floors below, where the restaurant was located.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her quiet whisper, her hand stroking his head gently. He lifted his misty gaze to her, dreaming now only of a nap in her embrace.

"– hm? –"

"– what will happen after the shooting? –" She asked quietly, and he smiled lazily, for some reason calm and happy.

"– we will stop pretending to be actors –"

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 3 months

Note

You've been quietly seeing Cooper for months now. Avoiding the public eye while he's still in the midst of settling a long, drawn-out divorce. He's been exploring new things with you. You're a little on the demure side but willing to try most things when it comes to what Cooper Howard wants. Being in similar networks, one night, you both go to the same party separately. You get a bit drunk and wonder off from everyone else, with Coop following. Sexual exploitation, cnc, degradation? Soooft Cooper after. Idk just a thought. 👀

Duplicity (Part I)

Pairing: Prewar!Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Word Count: 11,275

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Possessive!Prewar!Cooper, jealousy, dubious consent, infidelity (physical and emotional), decomposing marriages, acrimonious divorce proceedings, alcohol use, choking, biting, degradation, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, soft ending.

Notes: I am such a sucker for darker portrayals of Prewar!Cooper so this took root right inside my brain, like, instantly. I think there's a lot more of The Ghoul already inside that man than many people talk about.

Thanks for the submission! I fell in love with this prompt and I will absolutely be continuing it; honestly, I think this version of Coop has so much potential and this framing is great fodder for freaky Prewar! antics. There's so much this man wants to try with (on) you.

This is more 'dubcon' than 'CNC', but there's always future installments. If y'all have ideas you'd like to throw on the pile for it, the askbox is always open! The length of this absolutely got away from me and I sincerely apologize for that. I am so bad at estimating how long my fics are gonna end up (I had originally guessed this would be around 8,500). Thanks for your patience and please enjoy!

"Oh, come on, you're gonna tell me you're not at all excited about this?"

Your coworkers words were more grating than usual as the two of you rode up towards your office in the elevator, alone save for the anticipation filling the small space thanks to the early hour.

"You really need to get a grip. Don't you also work at a movie studio? Haven't you met actors before?" you teased, trying to remain good-natured despite your annoyance, and despite your nerves. It was rather rare for you to be nervous about meeting with studio talent these days, but hey; even you were prone to a little fangirl behavior from time to time. You were, in fact, excited for a work meeting for once.

You'd heard Cooper Howard was actually nice compared to a lot of the actors you had to work with.

The early morning time slot you could certainly live without, as well as the hard edge of nerves that you couldn't shake, embarrassingly. For five years, you'd been employed by one of the country's largest and most prolific movie studios practicing contract law. Well, in name you practiced contract law. In reality, the department you worked for was so large that you were rarely involved in the actual negotiation process, the exciting part with the intriguing back-and-forth. Instead, you were left to finish things up, dot i's and cross t's. It wasn't exactly thrilling work, nor was it what you envisioned yourself doing when you were in law school, but the pay wasn't awful and everyone started somewhere.

Essentially, your entire job was to run around chasing (or sit around waiting for) signatures from people who usually thought they were better than you and treated you with contempt, so it was often difficult to feel any sort of genuine excitement. Granted, you were a little more of a fan of Cooper Howard than you were a fan of pretty much anyone else you'd met with, but you tried your hardest to remain professional and not embarrass yourself at all times. You'd grown up watching some of his earliest movies with your grandfather before he'd passed, and had even developed a little adolescent crush on him and his famous sheriff persona, but you also saw so much genuinely embarrassing name-dropping and star-fuckery in this job that you were determined to not come across that way.

Besides, there was enough of that nonsense in your household as it was, what with your husband in training as a junior executive thanks to his penchant for that type of behavior.

When you'd married him, bright-eyed and fresh out of undergrad, you hadn't necessarily been head-over-heels or anything, but wasn't that normal? Everyone around you told you that he was a good man, that he was the star to hitch your wagon to, and, in your youth and carelessness, you'd believed them unquestioningly, despite the fact that he never really had actively made you happy. The courting part of your relationship had been more like contract negotiations, long discussions about acceptable and unacceptable behavior in a marital partner until you'd settled on agreeable terms. The wedding had been beautiful and emotionless. You'd assumed that the 'happiness' part would come later, once you were both fully established and settled in.

It never did.

Well, the establishment came; you both graduated law school, you with honors, and when job offers had come in for both of you from the same firm that worked very closely with the studio he'd always talked about working for, you thought the deal was sealed. Your perfect life, perfect marriage were supposed to start the day you signed your offer. You'd found your stride in your work, bought a house, seen him get promoted...and you felt no more positive about him now than you had on your wedding day. The feeling was mutual, and it wasn't hard to tell; he'd had god knows how many affairs, lazier and lazier about hiding them over the years, including a number of flings with his assistant, who was undeniably in love with him, poor thing.

It was because of this that she clearly resented being asked to do anything that had to do with you, including arranging the half-cocked romantic gestures he'd perform in order to show others that he was a good husband. This was mostly made up of having flowers delivered to your office every other week, something he'd never take the time to set up himself, so naturally, it had fallen to the girl. Reserving little effort for the task, she had obviously made a standing order for a dozen red roses, sprinkled with baby's breath, to be delivered biweekly, and left it at that. It was a nice gesture, sort of, but frankly you'd grown tired of signing for the damn things every time when you didn't even like red roses, and he should've known that. You'd been married almost a decade.

Besides, the smell of baby's breath made your stomach turn.

Still, the poor flowers hadn't done anything, so you continued to sign for them, continued to let each bouquet molder away on the little ornamental table in the corner of your office. True, it was nice to have the splash of additional color, the life in the room, but increasingly the thorny blooms irritated you, looking at them distracting you with feelings of muted resentment.

That's what you felt as you looked upon them that morning, rifling through your file cabinet to find the proper contract as you waited, the door to your office standing open and allowing you to hear when the elevator doors opened. Standing there was the famous cowboy, dressed in a wool overcoat and nice slacks, smiling at you as you beckoned him and his companion, a tall, mustachioed man you took for his agent, into your office. Each of them shook your hand and took a seat at your desk, waiting as you made your way to your seat and began to chat with the unfamiliar man about the papers. Talent almost never had anything to say to you in these meetings, in your experience.

However, he surprised you, both by being fairly knowledgeable about the terms of his latest contract, as well as by speaking directly to you in a casual tone that implied he might even see you as an equal. Cooper Howard being so nice to speak to wasn't really a surprise, as he had a reputation for it, but you were shocked that everything he was currently going through personally didn't seem to impact his demeanor.

The woman representing him in his divorce had actually been in your law school graduating class, but you didn't figure that made for very good small talk.

"Alright, let's just make sure everything is squared away and we'll get this signed. " you said eventually, holding the little cluster of papers you'd scrounged up to scan it over. However, as the two watched you, your gaze caught on a misspelling; initially, you felt embarrassed, knowing it would have to be corrected, but then you noticed changes to the actual terms of the agreement and you fell completely silent.

Your eyes scanned slower as you quieted, realizing that the contract in your hands had changes that you didn't authorize, were sure that they hadn't authorized; subtle changes in the language that wouldn't draw much attention unless you were to slowly, carefully read through the entire thing right before the signatures went on...which was usually not the case. By now, the terms had been painstakingly ironed out and the thing had been edited and reread and reedited a million times. Typically, this meeting, the bulk of your job, was simply confirming agreed upon terms, collecting signatures, and filing the contracts away.

Something was awry here.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen." you said politely, sitting up straight and smiling as calmly, as normally as you could. "It seems I don't have the correct paperwork. This can't be the current version of the contract. We may have to delay."

"This is ridiculous. Ever since Vault-Tec took over legal, you people can't seem to tell your ass from your elbow." the mustachioed man rolled his eyes dramatically. "You don't have a para or anything to keep shit straight for you?"

"I really am sorry. It'll just be a few minutes, hopefully." you apologized again, cringing. You'd requested a paralegal multiple times and had been told that your role didn't require one, but you weren't about to tell him that.

"Well, if you're gonna make me wait around, I'm gonna go place a few calls in the meantime."

With that, the man rose abruptly and stepped out into the reception area. You followed him with your eyes, slightly worried that he would hassle your assistant in his seemingly aggressive frustration.

"He won't bother your girl." the man across from you said perceptively, surprising you. "He might seem like an asshole, but he's a good guy. Always done right by me. Just a little overprotective."

"Well, I don't blame him. Especially if he represents anyone else that works for this studio. Now every single negotiation has to come under extra scrutiny, not to mention all the contracts signed in the last year since the takeover..." you mused, a little too honest, but uncaring.

"I mean, if they've got you signing these dud contracts, too, isn't that bad for you?" he asked.

You chewed your lip for a long moment, your eyes dancing over the glass paperweight on your desk calendar as you thought things over. It was a sort of odd moment, having famous movie star Cooper Howard expressing concern for your wellbeing and job security.

"Well, I suppose that depends on how I ended up with a bum copy of your contract. Could just be me being forgetful or grabbing the wrong folder at some point, which would certainly be on me...but if I'm honest, that doesn't really strike me as something I would do. Besides, I don't even recognize some of these terms."

"Lots of interesting stuff happening around here since Vault-Tec started buying everything up." he replied, a glint in his eye as he leveled his gaze directly at you.

"I agree completely. And, again, I'm really sorry about this. Let me look at this and compare it to an old one. I know I have a hard copy of the final edit here, and I know that this one doesn't match it. Just let me prove it and we'll sign the real one, if that's what you want. If not, I guess we'll decide where to go from there." you said, feeling infinitely more at-ease than you had before.

"Think your boss'll be alright with that?"

You gave a crisp shrug.

"I feel like my time working for these people is dwindling. Maybe not immediately so, but I certainly can't see myself advancing here. Don't think I fit the corporate culture. You know?" you laughed, and he joined you. It was almost surreal to interact with someone like him who treated you like you were a real person, who acted like a real person themselves.

"Nice roses, by the way." he said, gesturing with his head over his shoulder to the flowers on the table. "Pretty. Are they from your husband?"

His question seemed innocuous, so you weren't sure why your response came out the way it did.

"Uh, yeah. He sends them every other week. It's nice." you replied, your tone unnecessarily flat and sending his eyebrows raising, his head tilting about twenty degrees in intrigue.

"It's nice, huh? Is he in the dog house every other week?" he joked.

"I just don't really like red roses that much and they're all I ever get." you said simply, unsure how much would be too much to say in this suddenly inquisitive moment. "Sorry, that probably makes me sound ungrateful."

"Lemme guess...you like sunflowers."

His statement actually surprised you, since he was right; granted, sunflowers were about the second most popular flower in the country, and you had several paintings and tchotchkes featuring sunflowers up around the office, but it was still sort of odd to you for him to notice that.

"Observant, huh?" you blushed.

The smile he shot back at you was genuinely heart-racing, sending blood racing to your cheeks and your gaze skittering around your desktop as you busied yourself with a random stack of papers. The meeting finished up quickly when his rep stuck his head back into your office and called Cooper away, sending him rolling his eyes playfully as he reached across your desk to shake your hand once more, thanking you sincerely for your help before politely dismissing himself.

You were still thinking about the feeling of his hand in yours that night when you brought up what you'd noticed with your husband over dinner.

"Maybe you do need a paralegal if you're mixing up your paperwork that badly." he muttered through bites of his entree, not even fully lifting his head to look at you. "I'll see what I can do about that."

You rolled your eyes.

"No, I mean it. I think something weird is going on. Like I said, I went though the copy I kept and compared it to the one we had to sign. I didn't make some of those edits, and the terms of them were so unfavorable for them that I really get the feeling that they didn't make them. What if someone is messing with my paperwork or something? I'm the one that'll have to go to court and defend myself if someone ends up suing the company or the studio for contract fraud!" you insisted, your own meal hardly touched.

"Fine. If we've gotta go to court, we've gotta go to court." was all he said.

"We'd never win, though. They'd have a slam-dunk case."

He laughed in response, and you were shocked at how much the sound annoyed you.

"Oh, please. You think Vault-Tec doesn't have the money to keep them in court forever fighting over it? They'll run outta money eventually. Doesn't matter if they're right." he shrugged. "Don't worry about it. We'll get you a para so you can stop screwing up your papers."

You sat there in silence, unable to formulate a reply in your disgust with him. After a long moment, you excused yourself, emptying your plate into the trash before climbing the stairs to bed. The next morning, you called Cooper's rep the moment your husband left the house and invited him to come and pick up the contract copies from your office, all the discrepancies noted clearly. He happily agreed, the star showing up before anyone else had taken their places for the day.

"You're not wearing your ring." he said as he took the manila folder from your hand. You paused, confused, before focusing on your outstretched left hand and noticing that he was correct; your engagement ring and wedding band were missing, clear tan lines in their absence.

"Oh. I, erm, must've forgotten it at home." you replied after just a moment too long, your eyes flitting between his face and your naked finger as you felt your cheeks warm.

You'd never forgotten it before; putting it on was the first thing you did every morning to ensure just that. It was such a tiny, easy-to-lose bauble. Ever since you'd been given the thing, you'd been afraid of misplacing it and the reaction that would earn you. A muted tingle of worry crept up your spine that you may have dropped or lost it.

Both of them, though?

He thanked you sincerely once more, seeming like he wanted to say something else before dismissing himself. Both of you were a tad skittish at the sounds of people arriving in the hall outside, so you let him go, waving in response to the way he nodded at you as he pulled the door shut behind him. That night, when you returned home, you found your wedding bands sitting right on your bedside table where you left them every night. You were both relieved you hadn't misplaced them and curious about how you'd managed to completely forget about them that morning. Cooper Howard was quite the distraction, as it turned out.

You were still thinking about your interaction a few days later as you poured over already-signed documents from previous months, noting multiple differences between final drafts and signed copies, a feeling of dread building in the back of your mind. That smile he'd shot you from across your desk still managed to distract and make you dizzy, though, even as a memory, one you were indulging in yet again when the sound of the front office door opening broke your concentration.

"Your flowers are here to sign for!" your assistant suddenly called from the front of the office, sending you rolling your eyes at the timing until she followed it up with a pleasantly surprised, "They're extra nice this week!"

This sent you moving towards the door with just a little more hustle than usual, your brows furrowed deeper and deeper as a realization set upon you: it was the right day, but the wrong week for your usual rose delivery. The usual man was there to drop them off, standing right at the door and waiting politely. Same song and dance as usual.

"He picked out super pretty ones this time. Must be for something special." she mused dreamily from her chair as she watched you sign for them, nodding politely at the delivery guy as he let himself out.

There, on the desk, was a gorgeous, glossy blue vase filled with goldenrod sunflowers the size of your hand, nestled with tall, royal blue gladioluses and star-shaped balloon flowers. You could smell the arrangement from where you stood. Quickly, you carried them into your office and shut the door, not waiting for her to realize the date was off and start asking questions. Setting them on the usual side table, you inspected them closely. Nestled among the blooms was a thick little card, crisp handwriting inside the rich gold border when you opened it that read:

Thank you so much for your help with the contract edits. If you ever need to get ahold of me again, for anything, please don't hesitate to call me directly. - C.H.

Beneath that, a phone number that you promptly wrote into your address book and burned into your memory, a strange tingle in your gut as you looked your gift over once more. The card itself you tucked into your desk drawer, beneath some innocuous, boring papers.

You hadn't done anything wrong, except maybe in your employer's eyes, but you didn't want to risk anything seeming...untoward, despite your inability to simply throw the card away. You had the phone number now and didn't necessarily need to keep it, but something made you feel a little sad when you thought about tossing it in the trash can.

That evening, after everyone else had left, you called the number, fully expecting to have to leave a message and floored when he actually answered, rather quickly, in fact.

"Thank you so much for the flowers." you said softly, almost shyly after the two of you had exchanged fairly formal greetings. You should've followed up the statement with a "...but they aren't appropriate." or a "...but I'm married." However, you did not.

Interesting.

"Well, thank you for your help with the contract stuff. Really, it's so rare to find anyone really honest around here anymore." he said, and you could hear that killer smile in his tone. It sent your heart fluttering. "I'm still not sure what I'm gonna do, but I'll call you when I decide. Or maybe I'll come bother you at your office and see them in person. I didn't get to see the actual arrangement when I went down to order them, so I'm really glad you like them."

"You're always welcome to come see me if you need." you offered up much too quickly. "I usually stay late a few hours to look over things, especially recently."

"Well, you don't have to tell me twice." he replied teasingly.

After that, you'd swapped small talk for a few minutes before getting off the phone, the feeling of not wanting to hang up first heavy on both ends.

After that, flowers you actually fancied came for you every week for months on end, and still came to this day. It wasn't even the same flowers every time. He knew you liked sunflowers, but would often shake things up by sending arrangements of pale asters and black-eyed Susans, buttercups and gerbera daises, all in beautiful shades of rich yellow, studded with clusters of blue phlox, cornflowers, and larkspur.

His colors.

Over and over you'd told him that it wasn't necessary, that he didn't have to spend that much money on you just for flowers. But your arguments were rather flat and halfhearted; not only did you love having the gorgeous, vibrant blooms to brighten your office, you felt incredibly special at the effort he took to specifically gift you something you actually enjoyed. Besides, he refused to hear it, anyway, rebutting that he was a grown man who knew how to manage his money and what he liked to spend it on.

You started breaking up the bouquets of roses your husband sent, distributing them among the ladies in the office; some wanted color for their desks, others something to brighten up their window sills at home, and you were happy to provide.

The baby's breath, however, went into the trash.

You just tried to not think too hard about the lovely gifts technically coming from someone else's husband, including how the first few bouquets had come before he'd moved out of their shared home.

It had been when he'd finally done so that you two really started to become close. Already you'd reached the point of staying late an hour or so most nights just to talk to him on the phone in your office (with the door locked, of course), so you became quite accustomed to getting to speak to him directly, and regularly, especially when something was bothering you. At first, you mostly just talked about your days; you tried to avoid talking about your suspicions about your work, a little nervous about the security of your phone, so you largely listened to him talk about his latest divorce negotiations, his daughter, asking him questions about himself and answering questions in return. Sometimes, you would both lapse into a silence that was strangely comfortable, even over the phone.

Eventually, you both began to to open up more. You confessed that you got married for less than thoughtful reasons at a probably-too-young age, and all but said you regretted it. You also told him that you really hated your job, actually, and mused about the kind of work you'd do if you weren't where you were. Maybe something in the nonprofit sector.

He told you about his decision to get involved with Vault-Tec, about how he felt like Barb used his career to bolster hers, not caring what the impact towards him was.

Surprisingly to you, he never so much as implied that he resented her for it, but you could sense it there, deep beneath all of the very apparent feelings of betrayal and sadness. One night, he confessed that as much as he loved his wife, he didn't feel like he truly knew her anymore, that he'd always thought they'd shared the same values, and he now didn't think that was really true. There also seemed to be something else, something darker beneath it all, something that frightened him, but you could never get a good sense of what it was.

Over the next few months, you grew closer and closer, stealing rare opportunities to see one another for a few minutes during the day, trying to tide yourselves over until you could talk at night. Quickly, your talks became a necessity for you, a peaceful refuge where you felt you could truly get things off your chest with no judgment.

It became apparent that he felt the same the first night he'd called you at home.

The phone's ring had actually frightened you awake, sending you grabbing at the handset that lived next to your side of the bed in a blind, half-conscious panic. Your husband, asleep (or, based on the smell, passed out) beside you, didn't really stir.

"Hello?" you murmured, groggy with an edge of alarm.

"Hey." came a soft, familiar drawl. "I'm sorry to wake you. I didn't really know who to call."

Cooper's voice was a welcome sound, but the room, the whole house, was so quiet you weren't sure how much you could say without being overheard. For a long moment, you were silent, struggling to decide on what to say.

"Are you safe?" was the question you decided on. It seemed a little dramatic, but you weren't sure what was going on.

At the other end, there was a muffled squeaking sound, like someone shifting around in a leather chair, and a tinkling like ice in a glass.

"Yeah, m'fine. Just sitting here in the new place." he said, followed by an audible swallow. "So quiet. It's weird."

"Mmm." you responded cautiously.

Things were quiet for a time, and you felt a little awkward just sitting there, saying nothing, straining to hear any sounds from him.

"I miss you." he said suddenly.

"Miss you too."

"I'm sorry." he said again, and you could hear the intoxication creeping into his voice. "I know it's not a good time to call. Should've let you sleep."

"It's okay. Happy you called." you responded lowly, trying to use as few words, make as few sounds as possible. "Worried about you."

Finally, it seemed he was ready to say what was really weighing on him.

"Haven't slept without Janey in the same house since she was born." was all he said, his voice thick and strange. You wondered if he was crying, and it broke your heart.

"M'sorry, honey."

The pet name was soft and bittersweet as it rolled off your tongue for the first time. You wanted so badly to be able to be there for him, with him, keeping him company through this. Holding him.

Maybe if you were quiet, you could sneak out...call a cab from downstairs...walk down the drive and meet it...

But before he could respond, before your plan could form any further in your mind, your husband let out a cough, his chest jumping as he turned over roughly in bed. You lie as still as you could in response, trying to feign sleep, the phone cradled secretively against your pillow until he eventually resumed his deep, rhythmic breathing.

"He's there tonight?" Cooper asked. There was an edge to his voice that you didn't really recognize, but between the liquor he was almost certainly into and your still sleep-addled brain, you thought nothing significant of it.

"Yes." you said concisely, adjusting yourself just enough that you could crane your neck to make sure he was really asleep.

"Alright, I'll let you go, sweetheart. Sorry to bother you."

"You're not-" you began, but the line went dead before you could finish your thought.

The next morning, you'd tried to call him after your husband had gone, wanting to make sure he was alright after your call had ended so abruptly, but it was too late in the day and there was no answer. This made you worry that he was upset with you, that you'd done something or said something wrong in response to his vulnerability.

In fact, you'd been fretting about it, staring at the latest bouquet from him, some vibrant buttercups, chopped short and dotted with blue-and-yellow-streaked African violets, when your assistant poked her head in your door, an interesting glint in her eye as she spoke, pulling you from your distraction.

"Cooper Howard is here to see you." she said with a mild air of impression.

You stayed sitting until he strode in, thanking the girl as he removed his coat and hung it on the stand by your door. Smiling pleasantly at her, he shut the door behind him, hesitating for a moment before locking it. This sent you rising from your desk, making your way around the side to approach him, hesitating as you moved within a foot of him. He looked a little tired, which was unsurprising as you knew his sleep had been poor, but put together as always, clad in what looked like a thin denim shirt covered with a very soft-looking sweater. Standing so close, you could smell his cologne.

You'd intended to ask if he was alright, but you never got the chance. Cooper closed the distance between the two of you, his hands softly cupping your face as he leaned down to pull you into a tender, passionate kiss. You were taken aback a bit by the gesture, but easily let him guide you back a few feet until he was pressing your hips into the edge of your desk as he stole the breath from your lungs. Both of you were left panting when he eventually pulled back, quiet for a long moment as he petted your hair affectionately.

"Thank you for talking to me last night. I really needed it." he said, gazing at you tenderly before kissing your forehead. You didn't know what to say, and didn't get much chance to reply before he stepped away, adding "I have to get to set, but I wanted to come tell you how much I appreciate you. Talk tonight?"

You nodded enthusiastically, somewhat dazed as he went out. That day had dragged by so slowly, the minutes passing like hours until you could speak to him again. The next morning, his newest floral gift had arrived, and it surprised you: roses, but gorgeous, full blooms of a light purple that tickled you deeply. He'd never given you roses before, and you understood why, for sure, but these were beautiful. Your assistant seemed to agree, as well.

"Aww, how sweet." she smiled at you as she appraised the new blooms, leaning down to give them an appreciative whiff. "Love at first sight."

"What?" you asked, brow furrowed slightly.

She nodded to the flowers just inches from her face once again.

"Lavender-colored roses. They usually symbolize love at first sight. Or, at least, that's what I've read. Who knows, could be nonsense."

Her reply made your face redden again, taking the vase into your office and placing it in its usual place of honor. It had distracted you all day, another decade passing in your mind before you were able to call him that night.

"Did you like the roses?" he asked when he picked up. "I know roses aren't your absolute favorite, but..."

"I loved them." you said decisively. The heat in your cheeks was blooming further, intensifying, but the strange excitement that washed over you made it easy to ignore. "I really want to see you tonight."

That evening, he'd come up to your office and the two of you had shared a takeout dinner together, chatting and holding hands until it was time to part ways. Soon you were doing so most nights, ending with you in his lap, his tongue in your mouth as you rubbed yourself against his clothed erection, fooling around like teenagers.

This man was going to make such trouble for you, you could tell.

You also didn't care, really, which is how you ended up on your husband's arm, suffering through one of his colleague's fancy Friday night parties for once instead of sitting at home in your pajamas, clad in an outfit chosen just for the occasion.

Your dress wasn't especially scandalous, a dark grey wrap, soft and stretchy with sleeves that reached your elbows, the hem stopping just above your knee. Something comfortable and elegant, something you could wear to the office.

Something with deniability.

But you were also aware of the way this particular dress hugged every line in your body just right, form-fitting in all the correct places, making you feel feminine and sexy and powerful at the same time. Your husband complained it was "matronly", but you ignored him; his opinion didn't matter. Besides, the thing was nice and stretchy, so if anyone special found their way up your skirt for a few minutes, as you were hoping would happen, it'd be nice and easy to get in and out. You'd even worn a special set of underwear, red and lacy, beneath.

You only slightly regretted your choice of footwear, some very classy stilettos; while they really completed the look, sexed it up a bit, your feet had been aching for over an hour already, leaving you scanning the room for a free seat to flee to once you were able to slip away from the group chat you were currently enmeshed in.

The man you'd shared your home and bed with for the last eight years was strangely affectionate this evening, consistently cradling you into his side as he spoke boisterously and even occasionally sending a compliment your way. It made you wonder which young lady in the room he was trying to impress with his "perfect husband" routine, scanning around and noting several of his type; though, at least a few had already been crossed off the list. They avoided your glossy gaze, turning their faces into their Pip Boys or their wine glasses as your spouse continued to absentmindedly massage at your hip, his arm tight around you as he recited yet another unamusing anecdote to the men standing around you.

Among them was Bud Askins, head of some department of incapable jackasses with no moral compass, though which one, you could never remember. What you did remember was how often you caught him looking at you, the number of times he'd gotten close just to linger a few seconds too long. Fortunately, you'd always managed to slip out of the odd-feeling conversations he'd try to start with you. He wasn't the only one, either; so many of these men seemed eager to betray one another in basically whichever way presented itself first. It made you eager to remove yourself from this corporate world, to find a better way to live your life, and sooner rather than later.

Out of the corner, you watched as Cooper Howard sat on a chaise, sipping a cocktail and eyeballing you so hard you didn't even have to fully look his way to feel his gaze burning into you. You'd been waiting all week to make it to this party, not because you had any particular desire to hobnob and mingle with studio execs and Vault-Tec higher ups, but because you'd known the older man would be making an appearance.

You knew that, personally, he didn't really revel in the attendance of these get-togethers himself, but you also knew that socializing and getting face time with important people was one of the top ways that actors continued to get work. That was why he and Barb had quite literally had to iron out a social schedule with their lawyers: to ensure neither of them had more networking opportunities than the other.

He had to be glad that everything was said and done at last, finalized a few days before. You hadn't really discussed it; he hadn't brought it up much, save for to confirm it to you as truth. It certainly didn't feel like your place to mention it, so you didn't, wanting to be as supportive as possible.

An especially loud burst of laughter drew you back into the present, just in time for your husband to make a joke at your expense, sending you rolling your eyes and pushing your hand against his chest as he bent to pepper your face and mouth with half-assed, drunkenly apologetic kisses. You gave him one peck in return, not wanting to be the topic of gossip for the night. Feeling strange kissing your husband, especially with your present company included, you peeked over towards him as slyly as you could. There was a polite smile on his face, but it didn't touch his usually warm eyes, a tight irritation there as he cradled a half-full gin martini against his chest. A feeling of guilt sunk into your chest, but you were quickly distracted as the group around you moved into the kitchen, sort of herding you along as they went.

A couple hours later, when you finally managed to excuse yourself, the evening had begun to wind down, though not entirely; about two thirds of the guests had slowly flowed out, but those that remained seemed to be getting a sort of second wind where they all convened around the pool outside. You stood hidden away in the corner of the living room the party had vacated from, finally alone save for one or two caterers moving around, collecting abandoned glasses and emptying ashtrays in silence. Scanning the group outside, you failed to locate the one guest you actually wanted to see.

In fact, it had been over an hour since you'd even laid eyes on the older man, and you pondered that fact as you turned and made your way down the hallway, trying your best to look for a bathroom without seeming like you were casing the place or being too nosy. However, the cocktails you'd been nursing just to have something in your hand had been stronger than you'd anticipated, and it made walking completely straight, seeming normal, much harder than you'd thought. Your feet ached deeply from the uncomfortable shoes.

Eventually, you found a nice washroom, decently appointed with a massive mirror, into which you stared for a minute or two, willing yourself to sober up more as you washed your hands. You didn't want to make yourself seem foolish in front of Cooper, and you were fairly positive he wouldn't have left without you two speaking.

When you stepped back out into the carpeted hall, you assessed the wall of windows and the adjacent hall to your right, decided that he likely hadn't gone that way, and turned to head back towards the pool area, almost willing to ask one of the staff if they'd seen the incredibly recognizable man around recently, but you were quickly stopped.

"Nice dress." a low voice murmured, lips pressed firmly and suddenly against your ear as a pair of strong, wiry arms wound around your waist. The gasp you let out quickly melted into a giggle as his lips found the nape of your neck, kissing and nipping there playfully as he pushed his hips against your ass; a much bolder move than he would typically pull, but you were certainly open to his attention as he turned you, pressing your back into the wall behind you to kiss you deeply.

His hands were knotted deep in your hair as his tongue worked his way into your mouth, his thigh rubbing at the apex of your own as best as it could. Soon, you were far too worked up, arms wound around his neck as he shepherded you into a nearby open door, shutting it firmly behind you.

The guest room he'd tugged you into was cozy, but pristine, the low, full-sized mattress to your eleven o'clock covered with plush layers of bedding and rows of decorative pillows. Quickly, he tugged you over to the foot of the bed, urging you down onto your back as he hovered above you, one knee braced on the bed as he latched his lips onto your throat, dragging his teeth and tongue along your pulse point as his hands pushed at your skirt.

Despite the two of you never really going at it like this, his hands didn't stop the roaming along your body they'd started doing in the hall, didn't even pause as he continued to work your dress up your body, bunching it at your waistline, quickly and roughly exposing your lacy red hip-huggers to his hungry eyes. A rumble left his chest, low and deep like a growl, when two of his fingers met the warm, wet gusset covering the mound between your legs. For a minute, he rubbed firmly at your erect clit through the rough material, making you squirm and whimper. Eventually, he pulled his fingers away, tucking them into the waistband of your panties at your hip and yanking at the seam there.

"Wait, baby." you chastised, words still sort of slurred, but they obviously didn't register or were ignored, as he continued to yank at the fabric until it gave way under his hand, pinching lightly at your skin as he ripped the leg of the garment open before repeating the motion on the other side. This made you frown, upset at the loss of your favorite pair of underwear before he'd even properly gotten to see them on you.

"Cooper, stop." you said, trying to push your hands against his chest, your heart racing when he continued to ignore you, yanking the fabric loose from beneath you and stuffing it into his pants pocket.

Your lover's lips were attacking the exposed side of your throat and shoulder, nipping and sucking and huffing, your back pressed firmly into the plush mattress as you wriggled beneath him. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, between the one-too-many cocktails you'd had during the party and the way he was touching you, moving you, positioning you the way he wanted as he softly gyrated in between your legs, kneeling over you on the edge of the bed.

"Maybe we should wait." you breathed, your breaths deep and deliberate as you tried to sober yourself up enough to string together a clear thought.

It would've been difficult enough simply trying to resist his kisses, but your head spinning from the alcohol only made it harder. Still, this was some random Vault-Tec executive's guest bedroom. There was a party going on. Your husband was likely still outside mingling, possibly looking for you. The odds of that weren't high, but they weren't zero. While the two of you had fooled around a bit up until now, his hands slipping up your skirt once or twice during your make-outs in your office, you couldn't help but feel like you wanted things a little different for the first time you really had sex, for when you really took that plunge and committed to this path.

The man on top of you seemed to feel differently.

"Don't think so." he purred lowly into the crook of your neck, running his teeth along your collarbone and making you shudder. You could smell the gin martini he'd been holding earlier on his breath. "You made me watch him touch and kiss on you all night, and now you're gonna make it up to me."

Cooper's warm, softly calloused hand found your throat, holding you firmly as he gazed down at you. He wasn't choking you, per se; at least, not in the way that you would've anticipated someone would choke you, squeezing around your airway until your breathing was cut off. No, instead, he pressed his fingers and thumb into the soft flesh on each side, digging into your twin pulse points and slowing the flow of blood to your brain.

It didn't hurt or make you feel panicked. In fact, quite the opposite happened, your squirming finally ceasing almost entirely, your brain buzzing with warm, tingly docility. Between that and the already warm feeling coursing through your veins, you haltingly allowed your defiant legs to fall open halfway, slowly forgetting the reasons you'd been resisting, forgetting where you were.

"That's a good girl. You know who you belong to, don'tcha?" he praised, his free hand stroking the sensitive inside of your thigh reverently. The feeling of two of his thick fingers sliding inside of you suddenly sent you whining in response, both at the stretch and the slight sting of it. That sent a smirk ghosting across the actor's face, leaning in to run his lips along the soft, flushed skin of your cheek.

"Pretty little cheatin' slut. Now, be quiet and let me have what's mine."

His words both stung and fanned the flames in your gut, leaving you feeling frozen under his touch as he pulled back to look at you, now free hand leaving your throat and moving up to finish pulling the top of your dress down enough to expose the bra beneath.

"Mm." he hummed as he ran his free hand along the softness of your exposed clevage, though it was a curt sound. "This why you didn't wanna fuck me? Had other plans, huh?"

Briefly confused, you shook your head vigorously, your heart rate revving up once more at his tone.

"It's not like that, baby." you pleaded hoarsely, but your protests died on his tongue as he forced it back into your mouth, his hand knotting into a fist between your breasts, twisting the stretchy nylon of your bra's waistband around his knuckles and using the leverage it gave him to yank you up, dangling you for a few seconds above the bed as the seams popped and cracked at the tension. He was trying to destroy the thing.

A small whimper of discomfort left your throat as you felt the hooks in the back digging into your skin; the noise seemed to lift him partially out of the fugue he was immersed in, and he dropped you back down to the bed, the cups now bunching uselessly over your breasts, leaving them exposed to his warm hand. He was gentler with them than you thought he'd be, softly cupping them and rolling each nipple between the fingers on his free hand before sliding it up to cup your face, holding you and making you look at him as you muffled your cries into his palm. Your vision was blurry with unshed tears.

His fingers were still buried as deep inside you as he could get them, fucking you shockingly rough, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as he continued to toy with your aching clit. One particularly perfect movement made you cry out rather loudly, clenching around his fingers rhythmically as you came close to your peak.

"Nuh-uh. If you're gonna cum, honey, you're gonna cum on my cock." he whispered, his voice more steady than you'd heard it all night as he pulled his hand from between your legs. "Is that what you want?"

You couldn't stop the way your head set to nodding, the fat tears in your eyes finally spilling over and running down over his fingers as they cradled the side of your face, still muffling your sounds. Your eyes slipped shut for a moment, trying your hardest to collect yourself to some degree as you could hear the quiet sounds of his belt and fly coming undone.

A small voice in the back of your mind noted that he definitely wasn't wearing a condom as he let the leaking head of him trace back and forth through your soaking folds, tapping along your clit and gathering the slickness there as he teased you. The worry you'd felt melted away rapidly with his teasing, though, and soon you were breathily begging him to fill you, to properly fuck you.

Your name dripped from his tongue, syrupy and hot, as he pushed inside you.

"Fuck." you cried.

You couldn't see well in the dim glow of the bedroom, but the sensation, the slight burn of his girth stretching you open was vivid and detailed as he slowly began to work his hips back and forth, giving you a few breaths to sort of acclimate to his size before moving more earnestly. The bed frame beneath you was surprisingly squeaky as he fucked you harder, and you wondered, mortified, just how apparent the sound would be from the hallway. At least you knew he'd locked the door.

However, you didn't stay clear-minded enough to fret forever, his cock inside you and his fingers back on your clit rapidly soothing you into a state of hypnotized bliss, your body jolting along beneath his with every rough thrust into your flesh.

"This body belongs to me. This pussy belongs to me." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force.

"Oh, Cooper. Fuck me, baby." you begged, your nails digging hard into his shoulders through the softness of his shirt.

He sighed your name in reply, an echo following it a moment later.

The sounds of your coupling filled the room, making it difficult to hear anything outside, save for the occasional very loud splash from the pool in the courtyard.

He slid his tongue back into your mouth, winding and rubbing it along yours as he continued to use your body. Another echo of your name from somewhere that wasn't here.

"I think someone's looking for you, sweetheart." he whispered in your ear, sliding his tongue along your lobe and making you throb around him.

It was clear as day now: someone out in the hall was calling your name. Someone with a voice that sounded suspiciously like your husband's through the thick wood of the door.

Suddenly, there were shadows moving beneath. The sound of the handle jiggling made you freeze like a deer in the headlights; his movements slowed, but he didn't stop pumping between your thighs as he cast a downright impish look from your face and back to the door.

"Occupied, man." he called, pulling back enough so that his free hand could move down to slowly flick at your clit once more. Your hand that wasn't trapped between your bodies moved to cover your mouth, desperately trying to silence the whimper his touch drew from you as he continued on. There was some more shuffling, the shadows barely visible beneath the door dancing back and forth.

"Oh, erm. My bad. Sorry." the voice called, moving away.

It resumed calling your name as it faded to nothing.

Shockingly, you felt almost nothing, save for the older man's pubis grinding against your clit deliciously as he slowly began to build his pace back up, the creaking of the bed frame slowly growing louder and louder once more as the calling faded. There was no guilt, no sour sting of knowing you were betraying someone who supposedly cared about you like you thought there'd be. There was only the pleasure your lover was gifting you and the satisfaction of knowing you wouldn't be pulled away from him in this moment.

When the calling faded away to nothing, he picked up the pace tenfold, fucking you with wild abandon as the bed slid back against the wall with a thud. Your vision was quickly blurring again under his intense, animalistic attentions.

"Fuck, Cooper. I'm gonna cum..." you breathed harshly, tucking your head against his firm chest, your cheek rubbing against the overheating, rumpled silk of his shirt.

That drew a groan from him, his hips stuttering for a moment before regaining their tempo.

"Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock, pretty girl?" he replied, his question low and urgent as his lips pressed to the crown of your head. "Go ahead, make a mess all over me."

Regardless of how quiet you tried to be, a fluctuating, nasal whimper escaped you as you fell completely apart under his touch, feeling your greedy cunt fluttering as you did, trying its best to milk him for everything he was worth. It must've worked well enough, as he seemed immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, his hips beginning to buck wildly as his fingers dug harshly into the plush meat of your outer thighs.

It was nearly impossible to remain quiet as he fucked you hard through your orgasm, pushing you closer and closer to overstimulation as he continued to abuse your swollen walls. Cooper's breathing was loud and harsh, broken up with muttered curses and little huffs of praise that made you clench around him even harder. At one point, he lowered his mouth back to your chest, grabbing the closest nipple between his teeth and lathing at it with his tongue, making you moan loudly.

The sound must've really turned him on, as he let out a long, low groan in response, his hands pushing on the backs of your thighs to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, folding you in half as he brought his other knee up onto the bed, thrusts reaching even deeper than they had before. You jumped as his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it quickly and firmly, again rapidly bringing you right back to the edge, your aching pussy fluttering hard and making him groan once more.

"Cum with me, baby." he whispered feverishly, lips pressed to your forehead as his nose tickled along your hairline. "Cum with me while I fill up this pretty pussy."

This made you whimper, his words shooting down your spine and straight into your gut, which clenched tight in response, and it was all over for both of you. Your second orgasm wasn't quite as intense as the first, but it was no easier to stay quiet as you rode out the overwhelming waves of pleasure tucked beneath him, especially as he dug his teeth into the side of your neck to keep the growl that escaped him muffled. The sensation of his warmth pooling in your womb, his teeth back on your skin made you see stars.

You weren't sure how long you two laid there, him slumped loosely on top of you, most of his weight supported by his knees as you held him close, your own legs lowered back down to wrap around his waist. He was still throbbing away inside of you, and the feeling was so surreal; you and your husband hadn't had sex for months, but before that, it's not like it was a regular occurrence, and you certainly wouldn't let him do this. For years you'd been afraid of catching something...or having a baby that would tie you to him forever. When you'd first married him, you'd just assumed that you would eventually feel ready to have children with him.

Then again, you'd also assumed you'd eventually really love him, or feel loved by him, and look at how that worked out.

"Come home with me." your lover murmured into the side of your sweat-slicked throat. "Stay with me tonight."

His request settled into your chest weightily, excitingly, tingling its way upwards over your breastbone and spreading to your mouth, sending you scrambling to hold back the grin that wanted to steal across your lips. Your heart raced with a kind of pure, joyous elation you hadn't felt since you were young. A response didn't immediately jump to your lips, however; instead, you brought both hands up to cradle the back of his head, petting his slightly damp hair and neck affectionately.

Were you really considering just flat-out not going home to your husband? It wasn't like he'd never done it before. Hell, for all you knew, he'd given up his search for you and gone home with one of his roster. Maybe that hadn't even really been him at the door. Maybe it was Bud Askins looking to finally shoot his shot with you or something.

Frankly, you didn't really care.

"I'd love to." you said quietly, both of you moving to sit up.

For another few minutes, you sat on the mussed bed together, holding and petting tenderly at one another as you let your breathing and body temperatures return to normal. Eventually, the man beside you stood to right his clothing, his belt jingling musically as he tucked himself away, still turned so you couldn't really see anything. He was such a tease.

Pleasantly, you noted that your face no longer burned like it had earlier; that is, at least, until you stood to join him and felt a quick, warm rush of slickness race down your inner thigh, thinning and cooling as it wound its way around the back of your calf towards the floor. The gasp that left you instantly drew your lover's attention, and his gaze was still shockingly hot as he scanned you up and down.

"Makin' a mess." he teased, cutting his eyes at you playfully as he tugged the bedding loose, using the corner of the top sheet to quickly and crudely clean you. An indignant little noise left you at that, embarrassingly close to a cluck, which he chuckled at as he tossed everything down on the floor.

"Don't want some poor, unassuming soul sleeping in the mess, you know?" he explained when you looked at him quizzically.

"Oh...I still feel kinda bad that someone's gonna have to remake that bed." you responded, leaving the 'likely an underpaid housekeeper' part unsaid.

"Point me to the linen closet, sweetheart, and I will happily make it happen. Little late to save that labor now." he smirked. You took his point.

"Alright, let's get out of here before you get us caught." you replied, rolling your eyes to try and keep the impending grin off your face, failing miserably when he swatted you firmly on the ass. Your hands flew to your mouth, covering it to hide the cackle that jumped out of you, sending you glaring at him.

"C'mon, this way." he grinned, tugging you back down the hall towards the bathroom you'd used. Confused, you followed wordlessly, moving closer and closer towards the wall of "windows" you'd seen before until you realized that one was really a door to the gorgeous deck you could now see. As you stepped outside, the last remnants of the day's scorching heat kissed at your face. You were pleasantly surprised to see a set of stairs that led down to the ground level, into what looked like a strange statue garden: clusters of pillars along a winding gravel path, topped with geometric marble shapes of seemingly no significance. The whole thing was fairly ugly and reeked of "more money than taste", which wasn't surprising for one of the best and "brightest" at Vault-Tec.

At the very least, there were some very lovely bushes and flowers, the aroma of which enveloped you as the two of you descended the wooden stairs. Maybe fifty yards out, the edge of the flawless black driveway was visible.

The two of you stood out back for a while, hidden beneath the deck stairs; you leaned against the warm terracotta wall and watched him smoke a few cigarettes as he finished sobering up enough to drive, the ghost of his hands still running all over your body, his teeth still digging into your neck and making you shiver despite the balmy heat. Absentmindedly, you wondered if you would bruise where he'd bitten you.

You stood with your legs close together, a little afraid that you'd have another mess on your hands if you weren't careful. He didn't seem to notice, but you were quickly realizing that he was slicker than you'd given him credit for. In an attempt to distract yourself, you turned your eyes to the treeline, watching the crisp leaves sway back and forth in the soft breeze. You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

"I can't believe the number of people who had the gall to ask me where Barb was tonight." he muttered eventually, breaking your companionable, though contemplative shared silence.

You turned your gaze back to him, but remained silent, sensing one of the times he'd appreciate a chance to simply vent. Cooper Howard wasn't really a man to complain much, so when he wanted to, you let him.

"It's not like the divorce was a secret or anything. Been in and outta the headlines, the trades for a fuckin' year. Not like we both haven't been out alone. But it just so happens that tonight of all nights everyone wonders where she is within earshot. I don't understand the desire to play weird mind games with people you barely know."

There was real, deep frustration in his tone as he spoke, his eyes gazing out over the ugly little statues, unseeing. Softly, you reached out and put your hand on his arm, massaging gently.

"Some people just really enjoy other people being miserable because they, themselves, are miserable. Marriage issues are like catnip to the gossip mill. Especially the marriage issues of the beautiful and famous." you teased, fawning towards him and batting your eyelashes as you leaned against his shoulder.

"Oh, it's not just my dead marriage they're out there yappin' about, sweetheart." he grinned, burning cigarette hanging from his lips as he leaned towards you. "You had a face like a slapped ass when he kissed you, y'know. They ate that shit up."

"I think you mean you ate that shit up." you rolled your eyes, cheeks hot again as you turned your face to hide from him, from the truth of his words. It was rapidly coming to a point where you couldn't even stand your husband's touch. Maybe it really was time to start considering your options for divorce.

Well, the fact that you were even standing here said that it was time for divorce. No maybe about it. Your stomach turned unpleasantly, wondering how much fighting and negotiating you'd have to do yourself.

"Hey." he called, pulling you from your snowballing thoughts. "It's all gonna be alright."

You didn't look straight at him, but you let him slip his hand into yours when you felt it brush your palm. The feeling was shockingly soothing, and you quickly pulled him close for a long hug, smiling into his chest when you felt him kiss the top of your head.

"How are we getting outta here?" you asked when you pulled back, giving a casual glimpse around when you heard a particularly loud sound from the pool on the other side of the house. "Where's your car?"

"It's down the hill a bit. I just walked up here." he said, nodding towards a little gap in the trees you could now see, just the slightest glimpse of yellow nestled there.

"You parked that thing on the street?" your voice piqued, knowing how particular he was about his beloved car. To be fair, it was very nice.

"Yeah, in Beverly Hills. I think it'll be fine." he chuckled. "Besides, you never know when you'll need to make a quick and low-profile getaway. A valet would make that awfully tough."

Taking in the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the devilish way he was looking at you again, you couldn't help but suspect that this whole ordeal had been orchestrated. You also suspected you ultimately didn't care; you felt happier, calmer than you had in a long time. Cheeks burning again, you looked away from him shyly as the two of you fell silent once more, the stars struggling to be seen overhead among all the light pollution of L.A.'s buzz as you began to walk towards the driveway, still hand-in-hand.

The sidewalk was dark, save for the elegant street lights, the sky overhead painted in subdued inky indigos as you made your way down to the little yellow roadster. You weren't surprised when he led you to the passenger's side and opened your door for you.

When he slid into his own seat, his hand went right to your knee, petting sweetly as you two began the drive to his new place. You sat back in the plush, soft leather seat and watched the fancy, oversized houses go by. The affectionate hand on your knee slipped upwards after a few blocks, kneading the muscle of your thigh absentmindedly as it slowly worked its way beneath your skirt. This sent you tensing in anticipation, but his hand simply reached your mid-thigh and sat there, warm and pleasant, for the rest of the drive out of the hills, moving northeast towards Pasadena. The drive was longer than one would think, for the distance...if one had never been to Los Angeles, that is.

Overall, things were quiet again, and your mind turned to reviewing the events of the party. When the image of him standing over you, your leg caught in his grip as he maneuvered it over his shoulder flashed across your vision, you felt your swollen cunt clench, embarrassed that your engine was still running after all that. Not nearly as embarrassed as you felt when another warm trickle ran down the inside of your thigh, pooling in the skirt of your dress, though. You fidgeted in response, reaching underneath yourself as casually as you could, trying to gather the soft fabric to soak up the mess. Fretting, you tried your best to remember anything you could about stain removal on leather as the car slowed, creeping down a little residential street lined with condos.

The little brick townhouse looked nice, even from the outside, though certainly much less opulent than the home he'd lived in for the last fifteen years. You'd seen photos of it. This place was still lovely, though, and the smell of fresh paint tickled your nose as the garage door opened and then closed behind you. The room was pretty empty from what you could see, save for some boxes stacked in the corner and a tool bench, as you turned to find him staring right at you, his hand finally slipping further and further up your skirt until he was softly brushing at your slit with his fingers again.

A huffing little moan left you, quiet and tense, as two of those long fingers slipped back inside you all of the sudden, pushing whatever had leaked down your leg back up inside you. You clenched around his hand involuntarily, and he let out a dreamy sigh in response.

"Still makin' a mess." he murmured, leaning in and pressing his lips back to yours as his free hand moved up to cradle the back of your head. For what felt like an hour, you simply sat in the quiet garage, immersed in one another's breathless kisses just like all those nights in your office. Except now, there was no chance anyone was going to come along and interrupt you.

The fingers inside you remained still throughout, his thumb stroking teasingly at your abused bud before eventually sliding his hand away.

"Alright, kiddo. Let's go inside." he smiled, turning to pull himself out of the low-sitting vehicle with just a bit too much swagger and making his way to your side. Letting out a deep sigh, you took his hand as he offered it, cringing at the wet feeling of your inner thighs. The shit-eating grin on his face was impossible to avoid as he leaned in close, the musky, fading smell of his cologne wrapping around you.

"By the way, if you make a mess on my new floor, I'm gonna make you clean it up with your tongue." he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers played in the stickiness coating your skin. An involuntary groan left you, your hips twitching towards him with zero permission; that drew out a gasp when you felt something poking you back, digging into the softness of your belly.

You got the distinct sense that the evening was far from over.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #prewar!cooper howard #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv show #fallout prime #submission

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endlessthxxghts · 1 year

Text

You Better Jump... (1 of 2)

neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈2.5k

Summary: You wake up after a drunk night out to the lock on your door broken. The neighbor who lives in the same apartment complex as you offers to fix it for you.

Warnings: canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). allusions to further sexual activity between reader and Joel, mainly fluff and flirting and embarrassing interactions that'll give you butterflies, an unhinged best friend (vulgar dialogue from said best friend), cellphone audio connecting elsewhere where other people can hear..., 18+ MDNI. F masturbation in a bathtub, Joel having incredible self control until he doesn't, making out... (I think that's it! As always, let me know if there's anything I missed that should be in here!)

Author's note: I intended for this to be a one shot, but I just know the next part will be pretty long. I still need to write up a few more details for part 2, but it will be posted VERY SOON! For now, please enjoy this. :)

PART 2 HERE (VERY NSFW, 18+ MDNI)!! || MASTERLIST

“Shit, I don’t even know which lock to get,” you mutter to yourself as you stand helplessly in the middle of the aisle.

You went to the bar last night, got a little too drunk for your own good, and when you woke up in the morning, your front door’s lock was broken. You genuinely don’t know how that happened, but you do know that you need to fix it as soon as possible, especially with the fact that you just moved in not too long ago and you live alone.

“Hey there,” a rough Texan drawl says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You look up to see a tall, broad man. Soft, brown eyes, a mustache and some scruff along his jawline. He’s clad in a dark blue t-shirt and some jeans. He’s handsome, and oh god, you’ve been completely gawking at him instead of responding. You finally meet his stare, and his eyes twinkle in delight, like he’s enjoying the attention you’re giving him. “Oh, hi, uh- I’m sorry, just kinda zoned out there for a sec,” you ramble on, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “don’t worry about that.” He smiles, and you’ve never experienced anything more beautiful. “I, uh, couldn’t help but recognize ya, and overhear ya about the locks?” You give a confused look, and he continues, “I think we live in the same apartment complex. You just moved in a few weeks ago, right? I’m Joel.”

You are seriously so confused right now because you are so sure you would never forget if you had a neighbor that looks this handsome. And apparently all your defenses are down right now because you just fucking said that out loud.

You can see Joel’s cheeks and neck flush into a bright red, his hand shooting up to rub the back of his neck and the blush in your face follows. “Holy shit, I did not just fucking say that out loud,” you groan as you bury your hands into your face. You realize you still haven’t introduced your name, so you quickly squeak it out. He tells you it’s nice to meet you followed by your name, and he rambles on, “And I, uh, I’m flattered...you’re, uh, not too bad yourself.” Your head shoots up, and you swear your face cannot get even redder, but somehow it does.

He senses that you can’t handle anymore of this god awful attempt at flirting, so he saves you by continuing his original thought. “Well, what I was tryna say was- I overheard you sayin’ ya didn’t know which lock to choose? I’m pretty handy in the maintenance department, and I’ve helped a few neighbors in our complex with much more complicated than door locks. Maybe I can help ya?” You feel all the stress from your body completely fade away, and you absolutely take advantage of this beautiful man offering to help with your locks.

“Oh my god, really? I owe you one, thank you so so much,” you tell him. He smiles. “It’s no trouble at all, darlin,’” he says as he grabs the correct lock for the apartment complex, “this is the one we’d need.”

All you came here for was for the lock, but you ended up staying with him and having conversation throughout his entire Home Depot run. Turns out he’s a contractor, used to live in a home but since his daughter moved out he doesn’t find the necessity of having a big home for himself. He didn’t sell it though, he let his brother and his wife take it over. Very minimalist kind of guy.

You forget you two didn’t drive to the store together, so you’re almost kind of bummed at the fact that you have to separate from him. He bids you goodbye and says he has to run a few more errands. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Is it okay if I swing by your place then?”

You’ve been so entranced by his presence and your guys’ conversation that you forgot the entire reasoning behind why you began talking in the first place, and it’s heavily evident in your confused look. His lip quirks up again, “…to fix your door lock,” he adds, amused.

You mentally slap your forehead. Fucking get it together, you think to yourself. “Yes,” you immediately blabber out as soon as you realize you’ve gone quiet again. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Alright, darlin’, I’ll see you in a few,” he says as he shoots you a wink and begins walking in the direction of his truck, and there goes that nickname again.

Oh, you are absolutely fucked.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s a ten minute drive back home, and as soon as you get back in the car, you call your best friend and tell her what an absolute fool you made out of yourself.

“BITCH,” she screams, gasping for air at how hard she’s laughing, “I can’t fucking stand you, oh my god, I’m crying.”

“You’re such a bitch,” you tell her, while tears are also streaming down your face, attempting to catch your breath. “Dude, I swear, once you get a good look at him, you’ll see what the fuck I’m talking about, and you’ll see my reaction was VALID to such a beautiful looking man.”

She stays on the phone with you for the rest of your little drive, and ends your guys’ conversation with, “In all seriousness, though, you better jump on that di-”

You gasp out and yell her name, “OH MY GOD, you’re done. Goodbye.”

She cackles, “Update me later, babe. I love you.”

“I love you more, you fuckin’ menace,” you say as you park.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your next few hours are filled with you absolutely stressing. You know Joel is just coming to fix the door, but you can’t shake away the nerves. So you spend the first hour absolutely deep cleaning your apartment.

You still have about maybe an hour left, so you decide to try and calm your nerves some more with a quick bath. You quickly undress and give yourself a quick wash in the shower to wash all of today’s dirt before you set up your bath.

Filling up the tub, you throw in some lavender scented bubbles and light your favorite cashmere vanilla candle, the combination of the scents immediately relaxing you. Maybe a little too relaxed, though, because as you sink deeper into the tub, your body can’t help but continue to rise in heat at the thought of Joel. Without thinking, your eyes slowly close and your hand drifts closer to where you’re aching the most.

You start by drawing soft circles on your clit, pulling soft little mewls from your throat. The thought of those big rough hands pushes you to move a little faster, and the thought of that scruff rubbing against your inner thigh pushes you to dip your middle and ring finger into your entrance, pumping in and out with such a need you haven’t experienced in a while. The sounds coming out of you now are high pitched and whiny, and you can’t help the way your body writhes against the bathtub, sloshing water out the sides.

Your hips are grinding up against your palm, stimulating your clit while your fingers hit that velvety spot that drives you absolutely mad. You bring your other hand up to your mouth as a reflex to silence your sounds, but an image flashes in your mind that it was Joel’s hand over your mouth instead, and that’s what ends you.

Your eyes clamp shut, head thrown back, spine completely arched, and all you can see are little white fireworks behind your eyelids as your orgasm breaks you, the lukewarm water feeling hotter than when you first drew the bath.

You sit there for a moment to catch your breath, willing your body to work since the man you just touched yourself to should be here in any minute.

You dry yourself off, putting your hair up in a towel and dressing in some gray sweat-shorts and a tank top, not caring to completely doll your figure since he’s in your home after all. Right as you finish up your skincare, you hear a knock at your door. You take one more look at yourself, and you’re still absolutely flushed with a hint of that orgasmic glow, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If he can make you cum like that with just the thought of him, you’re absolutely gonna take your best friend’s advice from earlier.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You open the door for him and immediately the heat you tried to save yourself from is back, tenfold. “Hey, darlin’,” he says with a smile. The nickname makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter harder than before. You give a sweet smile back. It’s his turn to melt, but you don’t clock it as easily as he can with you.

He steps inside, a little closer to you, and immediately he falls to his knees. You watch him, wide-eyed, as he pulls out a few little tools from his back pocket, and suddenly you realize you were holding your breath. Here he is, wasting no time getting started on fixing your door for you while you stare at him like he’s giving you a strip tease, all because he got down on his knees.

You clear your throat, trying to regain your composure, and you offer, “C-can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

He looks up at you, and he cannot get enough. Your flushed cheeks, the way your body language shows your excitement and nerves all in one, your towel lopsided on your head. So goddamn beautiful, he thinks to himself. Again, it’s his turn as he zones out in his thoughts, but this time, you do notice, and you can’t help but feel a sense of confidence shoot down your spine at the fact that you’re affecting him just as much as he affects you.

Your smirk grows the longer he stares, and finally he realizes what’s happening, and his face goes tomato red. He’s pretty sure no one has ever seen him blush this much since he was a teenager. “Some water would be wonderful, sweetheart, thank you,” he says, thanking whatever God in existence that his words were coherent and not a blubbering mess like his brain.

“Coming right up,” you say, and make your way into your kitchen, thankful for the little private moment to yourself. As you grab Joel a cup and fill it with ice and water, you feel your phone ring in your pocket. It’s your best friend. You bring your phone to your ear, hitting the answer button on the way up.

“Hello?” you repeat several times before you hear your best friend, but not through your phone. Forgetting the water for a minute, you scramble to the living room, where Joel is right next to, to hear your best friend coming from your living room speaker: Hello? Can you hear me?? I said did you jump on sexy neighbor’s dick ye-

You hurriedly end the call and throw your phone across the room. Your heart starts to pound even harder when you see Joel in your peripheral view, still working hard on the lock, but he is definitely in the proximity to have seen and heard everything. You quickly turn back to the kitchen to grab the glass, purposely avoiding Joel’s eye.

Quickly you grab the glass and place it on the little table near the front door. Joel sits back on his haunches for a moment and takes a long gulp of the ice cold water. Too amused at the display that happened moments ago, he can’t help himself when he says, “So… sounds like ya got your hands full with that friend of yours, hm?” He looks up at you with mischief in his eye.

And just like that, any sense of confidence you had at having the upper hand over this Texan man went down the drain. You completely fumble. “Oh- I- yeah, my best friend… Did you hear- Fuck, no, of course you heard, I-”

Joel pulls himself up to stand at full height, now towering over you. He brings his pointer finger and thumb to your chin, pulling you to meet his eyes while also pulling you from the hole you keep digging deeper. You immediately shut up. He has a crooked grin plastered on his face when he says, “I didn’t hear a thing,” followed by a wink. You can feel your knees wanting to buckle. You breathily squeak out an okay and he assures you with another okay in response. You two stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before Joel, without thinking, says, “Let me take ya out to dinner.”

You slowly pull away from his grasp, afraid you’re invading his space even though he just asked you out on a date. He takes it as a sign of discomfort and immediately creates an arm’s length of space between you. “I-I’m sorry if I overstepped or made you uncomfor-”

“No, Joel, hey,” you cut him off quickly, stepping slightly closer. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’d love to go to dinner with you,” you beam up at him, your bottom lip wedged in your mouth to ease your nervousness. “I just pulled away because I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything,” you quickly add.

“That’ll never happen,” he softly says. He steps closer again. “I’m sorry, but I- Shit, okay, I’m a gentleman through and through, but I-” he pauses for a moment, “I just- I really need to kiss you-”

You don’t let him finish his thought as you grab onto his arms and pull him into you, guiding both his arms around your lower back and guiding your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. It’s a battle of teeth and tongue, and the way your noses bump each other ever so often is enough for you to completely buckle. His hold on you is tight enough to keep you standing, but you truly don’t know how much more of this you can take with a certain bulge pushing into your lower belly. His one hand falls lower and testing the waters, he lightly grasps onto your asscheek. You moan into his mouth at that, and he takes that as your signal for him to fully grab you, hiking you up onto your tippy toes in an attempt to consume more of you. He breaks the kiss a little to give you some airflow back, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings his kisses to the side of your mouth, to your cheek, gliding down your jaw and neck, licking and nipping anywhere you give him access to.

You were right. It’s not quite exactly your thighs like you were imagining earlier, but the way his plump lips, mustache, and scruff feel along your neck is absolutely sinful and addicting, and…

Oh, you are absolutely fucked.

Author's note - extended: I hope you guys enjoyed this enough to tune in to part 2! The 2nd part will be very SMUTTY, so... ;)

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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call-me-mrs-winchester · 4 months

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𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

PAIRING : dean winchester x original female character

STORY SUMMARY : in series masterlist

CHAPTER WARNINGS : age-gap. pining. teasing. underaged flirting. language. violence. gaslighting. gun play. murder. description of death.

A/N: i've had this series replaying in my mind for over a year. i'm so happy to share with everyone and i hope you enjoy it as much as i do. i've got big plans for this story! thank you all for your support, feedback (preferably good) is always appreciated!

check out the teaser if you haven’t already.

Maricela's POV

I've known the Winchester brothers for four years now. I was fifteen when they visited Kenosha, Wisconsin, on a hunt for a Lamia. I remember hearing the roar of the Impala's engine pull into the gas station before it drove to the opposite side of the pump I was using. The motor's purr cuts just before the driver's side door creaks open, freeing a tall and handsome specimen. Once he reappeared from behind the pump, I did a double take. I couldn't help but stare at the man who wielded the most beautiful green eyes, trying to place where I'd seen them before. The longer I studied his chiseled face, the more familiar it seemed.

The man noticed my gaze and turned to look at me. He gave me a small smile, and I realized what I had been doing. I tear my attention away while my cheeks begin to heat, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I say, focusing on the ground. "You just look really familiar."

"Oh, I don't know about that," his deep voice responded. "I'm not from around here."

I nodded, taking in his words, but felt in my gut that he wasn't telling the entire truth. Instead of thinking too hard about it, I push it to the back of my brain and look at his sweet ride.

"Pretty nice car you got there." I compliment.

"Thanks," he says before flashing me a charming smile.

I was instantly mesmerized by him. I had no intention of ceasing our conversation in hopes of becoming closer to him while I had the chance. Who wouldn't do the same? Regardless of any age difference.

He looked away and stared into the distance, getting lost in his head. I clear my throat before speaking again.

"What year is it?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation alive.

"'67." He answers proudly.

I ask, genuinely curious, "What kind of engine does it have?"

A slow smile spreads across his face as if the question doesn't get asked often. He nods for me to follow him, and I smile as my plan succeeds. He pops the hood from inside the car before walking towards the front of the Impala. As I pass the driver's side door, the man sitting inside gives me a tight-lipped smile. I give him one in return, then turn my attention back to the gorgeous man as he props the hood.

"Impressive. Let me guess—this baby pushes out 460 hps." I comment, staring at the redone engine.

"461. How did you...?" He trails off. I catch him staring at me in my peripheral vision. I turn to the attractive man and can't help but smile even wider at the amazement shining bright in his eyes. He thrusts his hand out and says, "I'm Dean."

I take his hand and squeeze, giving him a firm handshake. "I'm Mari."

"Ma-dee...?" He repeats in question.

I giggle at his uncertainty and nod at the correct pronunciation of my Spanish name. "Yes, sir."

"What's a girl like you know about engines?" He smirks, leaning against his now-closed hood.

"I know a thing or two." I shrug nonchalantly. I heard the gas pump jerk, indicating that my tank was full. "I should get that."

I turn to walk back before his voice stops me.

"Hey, uh—you wouldn't happen to know where the nearest motel is, do you?"

"Wow, Dean, I'm flattered, but I like to be 'wined and dined' before we sixty-nine." I causally joke.

His eyes widen with shock as the blush rises to his cheeks, his jaw dropping slightly. I found it arduous to keep my smirk hidden after his overt reaction. His head shakes violently, his hands rising in defense before speaking.

"What? No, I didn't mean—I don't want to—Not that you're not—" His green eyes quickly skim every inch of my body. "I'm not saying you don't look good 'cause wow—but I just—"

This man, who exudes confidence, getting so flustered over my words was unexpected. I couldn't help but stop his self-torture with a laugh.

"I'm just fucking with you."

Relief washes over his features before letting out a large breath. After a chuckle, he says, "You're good, really had me going there."

"Well, if you're this easy to rile up with words, I can only imagine how well you'd respond to actions." I smile at the vulgar things I had in mind.

To say I surprised even myself with my comments is an understatement. I have never been confident enough to speak to any guy like this. Let alone one this jaw-droppingly sexy, but he definitely brought that side out of me.

A mischievous smirk plays on his lips as he gets closer. "You've got a dirty little mouth there, sweetheart."

"You going to clean it out for me?" I say seductively before sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

Dean's eyes widen again, but he tries covering it with a huge grin. He opens his mouth to reply but gets cut off by the man in his car attempting to mask the words "jail bait" with a cough. I can't help but laugh; he wasn't wrong. The man standing in front of me turns red once more.

"Why don't I give you those directions?" I offer, hoping to ease the awkwardness.

He nods, giving me a shy smile. He thanked me after I gave him the information.

"No problem." I walk to my car and grab the nozzle from my gas tank. I put it back into its machine while he does the same. "I hope to see you around."

He winks before I slip into my front seat. I smile at his small but powerful gesture and pray the last words I spoke to him become true.

And they did, just not in the way I would've imagined. What I didn't expect was to see a monster—a real monster—attack someone important to me. Two FBI agents tracked me down in my hometown for an interview. And just my luck, the agents happened to be the gentlemen I met earlier. Their faces were just as surprised to see me as I was them.

A knock sounded on the front door. I pause my movie before surreptitiously peeking out of the living room window that faces the street. My eyes widen as I see a familiar classic car parked outside my house. My heart rate spiked, knowing that the Impala could only belong to the man I met just the other day. Panicking, I push myself off the couch and run to the bathroom.

I look in the mirror and see a nightmare staring back. My eyes were red and puffy, and my hair was in shambles. I heard another knock, but this time louder. With no time to run a brush through my bird's nest of hair, I groan in frustration. I drag myself out of the bathroom before the rapid pounding begins against the front door.

"Coming!" I yell while combing my fingers through my thickly tangled brunette curls.

I stand just before the door and take a moment to breathe. After straightening the sweats I chose to lounge in, I curse myself for not being presentable at a time like this. I suck in a breath before reaching for the door handle, bracing myself for the judgment and embarrassment that was guaranteed to come my way. In one quick motion, I swing open the wooden door to see the two familiar, tall, handsome men standing before me.

Their eyes became wide as they recognized who I was. I self-consciously sink into my hoodie, shy from their attention.

"Mari..." says Dean, just as surprised to see me.

"What are you guys doing here?" I ask, confused.

"We're uh, we're FBI agents. Just came to ask Maricela a few questions." The gentleman with long hair answers. "Is she home?"

"That's me," My eyebrows knit together. "Wait a minute, you're FBI agents?" I ask, not believing them as I eye up their suits.

"Yes." Dean and I locked eyes, and I could tell from his facial expression that he was hiding something.

"Let me see your badges." The words spilled out of my mouth.

They exchanged a look as if they didn't know what to do. They fumbled over their words before I cut them off.

"Well," I cross my arms. "Let's see it."

"Look, I don't think we need to—" Dean starts.

"Then you're not coming in. Plain and simple." I sass, standing my ground to the suspicious strangers.

Sighing in defeat, they pull their badges from their inner suit pockets. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose before taking their badges for a closer look. My eyes thoroughly examine their IDs, noticing an off detail, realizing why they were, or at least Dean was, hesitant about showing their badges. I hand them back before recrossing my arms.

"So... Jimmy, huh?" 'Dean' looks at me in confusion before the realization dawns upon his face. "I recalled you introducing yourself as 'Dean.'"

"Well, uh..." I see him struggle for an excuse. "I go by my middle name. Each time someone called for 'Jimmy,' my dad and I didn't know who they were referring to. So yeah, I—uh, I go by Dean."

I give him a 'you've got to be joking' look. He clears his throat and smiles, trying to play it cool.

"Right..." I stare at his face, hoping to magically remember where I knew him from—other than the day we met. Knowing my luck wasn't great, I brushed it off once again.

"May we come in?" Mr. Robert Plant asks.

With the faintest nod, I step aside to let them pass. Once they were in, I closed the door and led them to the living room. They settled on the couch and nervously smiled at me as I sat across from them.

"Are your parents home?" 'Dean' asks.

I shake my head. "No, they're not. But I'd rather get this done and over with, so please make this quick."

They nod before starting. "All right, tell us how you knew the victim. Then, walk us through what you saw last night."

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady my nerves. "Luke and I had been friends for a while. I had the biggest crush on him. I figured he only liked me as a friend, so when he asked me to dinner, how could I have said no? He wanted to drive down to Kenosha and try this new restaurant."

"So, it was a date?" 'Dean' questioned.

"I guess you could call it that. Everything was going great until I stepped away to use the restroom. When I came back... Luke was with another girl." I replay the awful memory. "She was all over him. I was furious! Why ask me out, then allow some random chick to finish our date? It just didn't make any sense. But I refused to stay and watch, so I left..."

My voice began to waver as the emotions I felt the night before came rushing back.

"I called my best friend to come pick me up. While I waited, I decided to go back and confront him, giving him a piece of my mind. That's when I found him..." I hesitate, fearing they wouldn't believe the truth of what I witnessed.

I didn't expect them to, especially since the local cops didn't. For two sole reasons: One. Who ever listens to the crazy person who says monsters are real? Two. I was a minor, and no one takes you seriously if you're under the age of 18—even then.

"Found him..?" 'Dean' asks, sitting at the edge of his seat. My eyes found his, and just for a moment, I felt safe in the comforting pools of green.

My lips part, contemplating what to say next. Hesitation got the best of me, so I settled on; "Dead."

They nod, taking in my statement. "You told the police you saw a monster kill Luke."

I give a dry laugh before nodding in agreement, my gaze wandering. "Yeah, I did."

"Is there anything more you can tell us about this so-called 'monster' you saw?" Robert questions.

"What's the point? You're not gonna believe me. No one else does." I shrug.

"Hey," 'Dean' made it a point for me to make eye contact with him before saying, "We just want to help. So, try us."

I bit the inside of my cheek while frantically searching his beautiful green irises for clarity. His brows furrowed, woven with hope yet silently pleading to trust him. So, with a deep breath, I confessed. "When I went back, he—uh, he was on the ground, and she was... eating him. She looked human, but her face—it changed."

"Changed? Changed how?" Robert eagerly inquired.

"I swear it warped into something snake-like."

The men exchanged glances before fixing their attention back on me. "How did she escape?"

"She heard other people coming near us and ran off. I tried running after her, but she turned a corner and was gone. I called the cops but not before seeing the huge gaping hole in Luke's chest." I numbly say as I stare off into thin air, as his lifeless and mutilated body flashes behind my eyes.

"All I know is whatever that thing is, ain't human. She's a monster, and I swear, she's gonna get what's coming to her." I seethe.

After persuading me to tell the truth, they tried convincing me what I witnessed, what that monster did to my friend, wasn't real.

"Look, Mari," 'Dean' started. "Forget what you think you saw, all right? Cause monsters aren't real. The sooner you realize that the sooner you can cope with your loss."

"My partner's right. It's easy to think that some—" Robert lifts his fingers to add air quotes. "—'monster' could be responsible for your boy friend's death, but the FBI can assure you, there's no such thing. In certain traumatic events, the witness can alter reality the more they try to remember what happened. It could just be that you have an overactive imagination. It happens all the time, especially in kids. I think that's what's going on here."

I glare at them in disbelief. How dare they come into my house and feed me lies—telling me I have an 'overactive imagination.' As natural as breathing, I begin expressing my anger.

"I don't care who you are—I know what I saw. This thing will continue to kill people until it's caught. So why don't you quit wasting your time selling me something I ain't buyin' and find the damn thing!" I say each and every word louder than the last, anger fueling the fire they only fanned higher.

Silence fell between us. It was evident that my outburst caught them off guard, but I couldn't care less. Time and energy were being wasted by trying to convince me otherwise. I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts before getting up from the couch to walk out of the living room.

"Now, if there's nothing else you need from me—" I say while opening the front door. The men take my hint and begin walking towards me. Robert delivers a stiff smile before walking out of the house, leaving me alone with 'Dean.'

"Thank you for your time." He mutters before exiting my home.

"Hey, Page," I called just after he walked down the porch steps. He pivots to meet my gaze. "If you don't find this thing, I will."

With a nod, he turns back around and heads for his car. As soon as they drove away, I threw myself into research. I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew these two from somewhere.

I soon found myself down a rabbit hole.

"Oh shit..." I murmur, finding what I was looking for but not what I expected. Then, it all dawned on me.

Sam and Dean Winchester.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin. That's where I knew them from. They came in January of 2007 and took hostages in a bank before escaping, dressed as SWAT agents. They were a huge story, especially since they were wanted for other heinous crimes. Those of which included—credit card fraud, breaking and entering, disturbing a crime scene, impersonation of law enforcement, assaulting an officer, breaking out of jail, mass murder, kidnapping, arson, grand theft auto, grave desecration, and lastly, desecration of corpses. I felt sick to my stomach, knowing I was alone with them. Yet, all I could think about was what they wanted and why they didn't hurt me if they had such a rap. My mind kept racing and racing until I made a plan.

After an hour, I had a theory on what kind of monster killed my friend. So, I decided to confront the mystery men and pray they really were here to help. After changing, I traveled down to the city where they stayed.

I pulled up to the motel and braved myself with a deep breath before exiting my car. I clutched the gun in my purse as I walked over to their room. With determination, I knocked on their door. My heart hammered against my rib cage, wondering if what I was doing was a mistake. Dean opened the door, and his eyes instantly widened. I brush past him and walk into the middle of the room while taking a quick scan, ensuring it was just us three before turning to face them. Without wasting a beat, I jump into business.

"I know who you are," I assert with as much confidence as my voice could muster. "Sam and Dean Winchester."

Their faces dropped at the mention of their real identities.

"Now," I begin. "I want the truth. Who are you."

"Well, if you know our names, you should already know who we are," says Sam.

"I read what the articles wrote about you, even what law enforcement officials have tried charging you with before you were 'killed.' Yet, here you are: alive." I take the loaded gun out of my purse and aim at the brothers. "So tell me, who are you."

The men raised their hands in surrender, no doubt startled to see me wield a deadly weapon. What'd they expect? That I'd walk into the lion's den unarmed? I might be foolish, but I'm not stupid.

"Woah, woah. Mari, put the gun away. It's not a toy." Dean said, taking a step closer.

"No shit, Sherlock." I steady my trembling hands. "Now, somebody better start talking, or I'll start using this thing."

"Okay! Okay!" Dean shouts after hearing the click of the safety release from the trigger. "We'll tell you. Just please, put it down."

I hesitate but lower the weapon at a 45-degree angle, not ready to put it away completely. "You're right. I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother, Sam. But we're not what everyone says we are. We're... we're hunters."

My brows narrow in confusion. "Hunters?"

"We hunt monsters. We try to save as many people as we can. It's our family business."

I take a deep breath before saying, "I thought you said monsters weren't real."

The brothers seemed to relax when I put the safety back on before shoving the gun back into my purse.

"We had to. It was for your own good. You're too young to learn about the things that go bump in the night." Dean says before sitting at the table near the window, across from Sam.

"I appreciate it, but I can make that decision on my own."

"If you really want to know, it was a Lamia that killed Luke," Sam says, trying to ease the tension between his brother and me.

I nod. "Yeah, I know."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "You know?"

"Yeah," I pull out the folded paper I printed earlier. He gets up from his chair, walking closer so I can hand it to him. "I did some research and came across it. Figured it could be a possibility."

"So why did you come here?" Dean asked.

I shifted my eyes to meet his. "Because if those allegations were true, you would've killed me. And you didn't... You came to me, looking for clues to—to help. Bad guys don't do that."

I watch as his eyes soften. He gives me the tiniest smile before nodding.

"Now, how do we kill this thing?" I ask.

"No, no, no." Dean gets up from his chair and walks over.

"What? I'm going to help you kill it." I declare.

"I don't think so, sweetheart." He quickly towers over me. "Leave it to the adults."

"You don't scare me, Dean Winchester," I say confidently.

The truth is, I was—just a little. His lips parted as if he was going to say something back but he didn't.

"I think it's best if we take care of this," Sam interjects.

I fought with them long and hard until I finally wore them down. They agreed I could come with them as long as I stayed out of the way.

We ascended the steps of the church and pushed the heavy doors open. The men led the way before stopping in front of the altar. I gasped once I saw the priest's dead body lying on the floor with his throat cut open.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed. "She got to him first."

"What do we do?" I ask, frightened.

"Call Bobby," said Sam before the Lamia made her way from the back room.

Dean whipped out his phone and dialed whomever Sam referred to.

"What's another way to kill a Lamia?" he eagerly asks. He looks to the priest lying at his feet before saying, "It didn't pan out. What's Plan B?"

While Dean took instructions, the Lamia charged toward us. She dodged Sam's punch before grabbing his clothes and flinging him across the room. He hit the pillar before shouting for his brother. Ignoring me, she runs over with supernatural speed and snatches him away from the column that kept him upright. Dean sprints to the back room just before the Lamia throws the tall man to the floor like he was nothing.

She then straddles him, wrapping one hand around his neck before hissing. Her fangs and forked tongue were on display, just like they were the first time I saw her. Fear freezes me in place, trapping me in the memory of Luke's murder. She uses her unoccupied hand to press her fingertips against Sam's chest as if she were going to plunge it into his body. He tries prying her hands away with no luck. The monster begins to dig her quickly, growing claws into the man, forcing out a pained cry. The sound of his torture pierces through my comatose state, snapping me out of it.

Without second-guessing, I feel my body rush towards the monster, tackling her off the youngest Winchester. I quickly crawl over and grab the knife near Sam. I stand, holding the large blade in front of me. She pants heavily as a slow smile spreads across her face. The same one that burned in my memory that fateful day.

That was enough for me to lunge the large knife at her. She quickly dodged and tried attacking back, only for me to do the same. I finally land a strike on her arm, slicing her skin open. Yet, just as fast as it appeared, I watched her heal. The sudden realization that she couldn't be weakened easily had hit me like a truck. She took the opportunity to jump me, knocking the knife out of my hand. We wrestled on the floor before her strength dominated.

"I remember you." Her voice spoke. "You're the girlfriend."

"Shut up." I hiss while trying and failing to push her off of me. Her taunting laughs echo off the church's walls.

"I've got to say, your boy toy tasted amazing." She adds to the torment. A fresh set of tears fills my eyes. I turn my head and see the knife not too far away. I look at her again while I reach for the knife. "Don't worry, sweetie. He didn't suffer... that much."

My fingertips lightly grazed the edge of the handle. With one last stretch, I grasped onto it, and with one swift motion, I jammed the blade into the monster's throat.

"I said—" Her eyes widen in shock before I yank the knife out. "Shut up!"

She stumbled off, allowing me to get away. I push myself off the ground and run towards Sam, still lying on the floor.

"C'mon." I pull him up with all my strength before shifting some of his weight onto me.

We stumble to the back room where Dean was with the Lamia on our asses. Once we were in the kitchen, Dean tossed what seemed to be herbs out of the bowl he held at the evil creature. She flinched as if it had stung while Dean pulled the stove away from the wall. The monster fixed her eyes on the older Winchester, ready to pounce. I threw myself in her path before she—very easily— flung me out of the way. I groaned in pain as I tried to sit up. Sam followed my actions, only for him too to be cast aside.

"Fire in the hole!" Dean shouted before lighting the gas that seeped out of its line.

We watch as the Lamia burns to a crisp while listening to her violent shrieks. Once she was dead, Dean cut the gas, putting out the fire. My chest rises and falls, trying to calm down yet attempting to register everything that just happened. Dean walks in front of me and offers me a hand. I hesitantly accept before he pulls me off the floor.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

I nod with reassurance before Sam walks over to us. "I'm fine."

"It's over now." Dean rubs my back. "She can't hurt anybody else."

After the hunt, they took me out to dinner. It was less eating, at least for me, and more them giving me the talk about all that is dangerously real in the world. It goes without saying I became a hunter that day. Once I turned 18, I made it a full-time job. As much as Dean hated the fact that I fell into hunting and as much as he tried to stop me, I would help them on cases if we were near one another. After hunts, we always found time to hang out. They became my closest and most trusted friends, family even. We were always there for each other, especially at our lowest. Sam was the big brother I never had, while Dean was the crush I never seemed to get over.

Since the day I met him, my feelings for the older Winchester have only grown stronger. Each moment spent with him was bittersweet, knowing I was so close yet so far away from where I craved to be. But anything was better than nothing at all. Even with Sam's year-long encouragement, I refused to tell his brother how I felt in fear of rejection. The timing was another reason I hadn't confessed my undying love as each Big Bad became worse than the last. Things got a little more complicated when every angel fell from Heaven only to receive worse news when I called Dean to question 'The Global Meteor Shower.'

"Mari," Dean's hoarse voice spoke. "It's Sam... He's in the hospital."

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jae-bummer · 1 year

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It's Only Lunch

Request: I just binged through My Idol Season 1&2 within a day and I’m in love with the way you write!! Then I saw your requests are open and I was even happier, cause I’m in desperate need of some idol!DK x nonidol!reader fluff :( I don’t have anything specific in mind you can do whatever you want, it can be angsty too if you want, just please give him a happy ending. There’s just not enough DK on this app in my opinion :( I hope you’re doing good and have a great day and if you ever actually write this then tysm!! 🩷🩵

Pairing: Seventeen DK x Reader

Genre: Fluff

"Hey, Y/N."

Looking up from your desk and towards the door of your office, you smiled. "DK, what brings you here?"

As soon as his name left your lips, you could see a bashful expression cross his face. Glancing down to his shoes before looking back up to you, he offered a tentative smile. "I just happened to be in the building and thought maybe you'd like to grab lunch with me?"

Blinking back in surprise, you cleared your throat. Technically, you and Dokyeom were coworkers, he an idol (obviously) and you working in the lower levels of management at Hybe. You had been part of the production crew for many a Seventeen project, so you had grown familiar with the guys over the years.

DK, more often than not, was the member that seemed to naturally gravitate toward you. When ordering lunch, passing out water, or resting on a break, he seemed to subconsciously seek you out. His shyness was adorable your first few run-ins, but once you realized he may have had a crush, you were already in far too deep yourself.

"I brought my lunch today," you managed, the words tasting sour in your mouth. "I was hoping I could take it at my desk to work through some things I'm behind on."

It wasn't a lie. You did need to catch up, but you also couldn't admit that hanging out privately with DK scared the crap out of you. He was gorgeous, side-splitting levels of funny, and completely unattainable. You knew if you spent more time around him, it wouldn't be long until you caught feelings.

"Oh," he chirped, beginning to nod. "Yeah, of course, I understand."

"Maybe next time though?" you asked, desperate to see that smile light up his face again.

"Of course," he hummed, giving you what you hoped for, but not nearly as genuine. "I'll stop by again when I'm back in the building."

And that's how the new routine began. At least once a week DK would show up in your doorway and you would think of a new and creative excuse not to fall in love with him.

Nearly a month after his original visit, you were typing out a relatively important email when your favorite nuisance showed up.

"Y/N," he drawled, leaning against the door frame. "I think I know your answer, but I'm here anyway."

You smiled sheepishly, ducking your head in an attempt to cool the heat scorching across your neck. You knew he would likely catch on to your MO, but you hadn't realized how embarrassing being confronted would be. "I'm sorry, DK. Things are so busy with your upcoming promotions and-"

"Can I at least grab your lunch for you from the common area?" he asked, tilting his head. "It'll save you a few steps."

"Sure," you nodded. He was incredibly sweet, which made it suck even more. "It's in the purple bento box."

"You got it!" he smiled, giving a quick spin before launching down the hallway.

You really did need to suck it up and either tell him to quit coming by or accept his advances. Just because you were a coward didn't mean that he needed to suffer. You were better not being perceived by anyone at his level of attractiveness. It would only be a matter of time before you somehow did something mortifying and turned him off forever.

After plugging away at the email for a few more minutes, you furrowed your brow and looked toward the hall. Surely, he should have found your food.

Just as you were about to hit send and head out his way, he appeared again. Holding your bento, his face was twisted in confusion. "This is yours, right?"

"Yeah," you said slowly. "Why?"

"Well," he sighed. "I looked for it everywhere in the fridge but couldn't find it. I moved everything around and was about to give up when I noticed it out of the corner of my eye. It was sitting in the communal sink, empty."

"Empty?" you muttered, standing. Crossing the room toward him, you took the lunch box from his hands. Sure enough, there was not a trace left of the food you had packed that morning. "I bring the same box every day. Who would eat out of it?"

"Did someone new start?" he asked, tilting his head. "Someone could have done it by mistake?"

"I guess," you sighed, dropping it on your desk. "I guess I can order in..."

"Why don't you let me go grab something?" he asked. "We can eat together in your office, so you don't even have to step away."

The hopeful look in his eyes crushed what little self-preservation you had left. This option really provided no wiggle room for an excuse. "I don't want to make you go to all that trouble..."

"No trouble at all!" he smiled, already turning away from you.

"Wait," you sighed, teetering on the line that you had drawn for yourself. "Let me send this email and I'll come with you."

"You will?" he gasped, but immediately schooled his features. "I mean, sounds good."

Mentally preparing yourself to rip off the Band-Aid, you may have spent a bit longer on the email than you had intended. It was difficult to think clearly with DK wandering around your space, peering at every framed picture and book you had haphazardly stacked around.

"Ready?" you asked, after reading through what you had written for probably the thirtieth time. At this point, you would just hit send and hope for the best.

"Born ready," he smiled, his eyes disappearing into crescents. "There's this really cute noodle place right down the street. I was thinking we could go there?"

Your brain fished around in its recesses for the restaurant he was talking about. If you could recall correctly, it was a notorious spot for couples. The thought made you swallow, hard. "Sure."

"Perfect," he hummed. "Madam?"

Offering his elbow to you, you hesitated before taking it. So, this was really happening. You were going to break down and go on a not-date with Dokyeom. He had labeled it as just "grabbing lunch," but why did you feel like it was so much more?

As you would realize later, it was because if you gave an inch, Dokyeom would take a mile. It wasn't long into your walk before he started complaining about it being sweltering outside. The weather was only 24°C, so it was hardly balmy. After peeling off his jacket, he quickly switched up to holding your hand.

Glancing down in surprise to see his long fingers intertwined with yours, you looked back up to him, wide-eyed.

"Is this okay?" he asked cheerfully.

You gave a silent nod before fixing your eyes in front of you again. You were so screwed.

Against your better judgement, lunch with DK was a blast. Being around him was so effortless. As you talked over jajangmyeon, it was easy to open up and show sides of yourself that you only reserved for those closest to you. You didn't realize you were even doing it until after you already had, making you go into an overthinking spiral of whether or not you were sharing too much.

In the end, it didn't really matter because Dokyeom seemed to like it that way.

When he returned you to your office, he gave you a long hug before insisting on coming by again soon. After everything, you sat behind your desk, a bit numb in the aftereffects of all things DK.

He hadn't asked for your number and aside from holding your hand, he really hadn't made any advances. His body language was overwhelmingly flirty, but you weren't sure if that's just how he was naturally or not.

"Accept it for what it is," you muttered to yourself, shaking off the cobwebs in your brain. Even if things didn't cross over into "more than friends" territory like your heart was already considering, just having him as a close friend would be fulfilling enough.

No matter how many times you told yourself that DK was just displaying normal, friendly behavior, it was all thrown out of the window when he showed up again the next week.

Carrying a bouquet of what looked to be a mix of wildflowers, he strode up to your desk and sat on the edge. "Now, we've made remarkable progress last week when you had no other options but to have lunch with me. Can we defy the universe and have it happen again?"

You let out a surprised snort. "Maybe if you gave me an idea of when you were coming, I'd be more prepared to leave the office."

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked. "These are for you by the way."

"I would have been only a little heartbroken if you came into my office with flowers that were not for me," you smiled, taking them from his hands.

"So, are you setting me up for a gentle letdown?" he asked, quirking a brow. "Or are you wanting to try the new burger place a block down?"

"I really-"

"Need to finish up this project, so I'm working at my desk," he finished with a soft smile.

"But this time, I really do mean it," you laughed.

"You didn't before?!" he gasped.

Shit. You didn't want to let that little factoid slip. See, this is what happened when you let your guard down around him.

"I may or may not have been avoiding your lunch invitation for a few weeks," you winced. "But you're intimidating!"

"On what planet?!"

"Earth!" you groaned, hiding behind your fingers.

DK sighed before sliding off of your desk and facing you. "I'll forgive you if you come eat with me."

"Well, that's not fair," you pouted.

"Fine," he harrumphed. "I'll just have to take it into my own hands like last time."

"Like last time?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

Covering his mouth with his hand, DK stood as still as a statue.

"You know," you grumbled, crossing your arms. "You're not going to get out of this by hoping I forget about you because you're not moving."

"It would work if you were a t-rex," he muttered, dropping his arms to rest at his side.

"Spill it, Seokmin," you sighed.

"I accidentally ate your lunch last week," he said quickly.

"I'm sorry," you laughed. "You what?"

"When I was grabbing your bento out of the fridge, I had a lightbulb moment," he whined. "I thought if you didn't have your food, you'd be forced to eat with me...so I just...inhaled it. You make excellent bibimbap by the way."

You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or smack him. "You set me up!"

"Because you were avoiding me!" he exclaimed, sending an accusatory finger your way. "You said it yourself!"

"Because you're intimidating!" you repeated.

"How?! How am I intimidating and why is this news to me?!"

"You're incredibly dreamy!" you blurted. "And I was scared that I was going to fall for you, alright?"

DK took a small step back as if you had actually chose to smack him. He kept quiet as his wide eyes blinked at you.

"Please say something," you whispered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

At a painfully slow rate, a smile spread across his lips. "You think I'm dreamy?"

Plopping into your rolling chair, you leaned against your desk, and hid in the fortress of your arms. It was not physically or mentally possible for you to be more horrified.

"Y/N!" DK cooed, immediately stepping around to where you were sitting. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he rested his chin on your head. "That is the cutest thing I have ever heard."

"I hate it," you muttered into your sleeves.

"I don't," he chuckled. "And if you haven't figured it out by now, I think you're pretty dreamy too."

"Really?' you squeaked.

"You think I offer to buy lunch and flowers for Mingyu once a week?" he asked. Nuzzling his face into your hair, he laughed again. "I guess we were both hiding something from each other."

"I can't believe you ate twice just to get me to go out with you," you muttered, finally sitting up.

"You're worth the stomachache I had afterwards," he smiled. "I was scared that if I tried to kiss you, the nerves would make my stomach pop."

"Please tell me you didn't eat my lunch again today?" you joked. DK's lips fell into a flat line as he looked away from you. "You didn't!"

"I was prepared to do whatever I had to do!" he gasped. "Now are you coming with me to lunch or not?!"

"Yes," you laughed, shaking your head. "I absolutely will."

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kingconia · 1 year

Note

could i request Vil with gn!younger sibling that looks up to Neige?

A/N: That was actually kind of fun to write. Poor Vil, he just can't take a break from Neige's fans...

GN!YOUNGER SIBLING OF VIL, WHO LOOKS UP TO NEIGE CONSTANTLY

— Since Vil was always working, he was prepared to miss changes in your character and life. You were growing up, getting new hobbies, and... Oh? You wanted to became an actor as well? Really? What made you–

— ...What do you mean you want to become like Neige Le Blanche?!

— I don't think he would be mad, most like disappointed and genuinely betrayed by this statement of yours. Why of all celebrities that existed you chose Neige?

— He will be very insecure because of that. You are his sibling, his family—if he is not enough for you, then how can he be enough for auditory and other people?

— However, I don't think Vil try to show his feelings about this matter openly. He would never confront you, because he understands that it would look too petty;

— But his eyes will always lose a certain type of sparkle, when you start speaking of Neige;

— Little did he know the origins of your strange dedication to him, though...

•

When you shyly invited Vil to come along on your first big interview ever, just as a moral support, he was more than happy to accept.

You worked hard for a while, and Vil couldn't miss something like this—you finally got the recognition you deserved, and not because of the family name as you afraid it would happen.

And, even more he was happy to see, that even throughout all these years, you still counted in his company in moments like this. He couldn't let you down.

However, when the interviewer brought up the topic of Neige Le Blanche, Vil definitely wasn't happy...

”Y/n-san, as far as I remember, in the last year, on the premiere of your first movie, you had mentioned that your first inspiration ever was Neige Le Blanche,” the woman started, looking through her notes. ”And, oh, I think we all love Neige, that is undoubted, but... I can't help but wonder what was the exact moment, when you realised it? What he said—or did, perhaps—that changed your life so suddenly?”

Vil scrunched his nose.

Truth to be told, it was the question he didn't know the answer himself.

When it came to speaking of this little devil, Vil ignored whatever you said. And eventually, as you noticed this tendency of his, you stopped talking about him at all.

”Oh,” your face softened instantly, smile raising on your lips. ”When I was a little kid, I often was left all alone—my dad and my big brother were always working, that was why—and so, I spent most of my time, watching something on the TV. And that was when I stumbled across his interview. Yes, yes, I am going to be honest with you—before that, I had never seen him acting. It was after this interview, when I started to learn about him more.”

Vil raised his eyebrows in a slight surprise. He always assumed that much like others, you saw talent in his roles. And now, your obsession seemed even more strange.

”It was an interview for the Magicgue, where he told about his way in the industry. He spoke a lot about his motivation, and his family situation—how he came there only to earn more money for people, who took care of him so wholeheartedly,” you started to explain, hands playing with the ring on your index finger. ”Oh, it is an amazing interview, by the way. I watch it often, even now.”

”Ah, yes, I remember it, too.”

”This interview got me thinking about so many things at the same time, but... Let me share with the most important ones,” suddenly, Vil noticed a hint of embarrassment on your face. ”Back then, when I first saw it, I used to be mad at my brother a lot. He was always away, tending to forget about me. And only when Neige spoke of how hard it is, to be a young actor and celebrity in general, I came to realisation that... My brother forgets about me not intentionally. Filming is not a silly entertaining work. And that the fact he still manages to remember about me, through whole labour he goes through—that what should matter the most.”

He had never thought about that. He didn't even know that you used to resent him before. Vil could never guess that you cared that much about his absense.

”... Instantly, I wanted to understand how can I help him,” you continued. ”I wanted to support him. And that only meant that for that, I need to understand him. So he could share with me the weight from his shoulders. It was the first reason I decided to try myself as an actor. Of course, later I found out that there so much more interesting and thrilling, though, tiring things about acting, but...”

Vil didn't hear the rest of it.

You were right, he realised. He was distant from you, until you decided to became a celebrity yourself. And if not for that, Vil would never share his fears and insecurities, different kind of experience with you. Because, he did only to help you in the future—either way, Vil would keep it to himself until the very end. How could he burden his little one like that, after all?

Suddenly, Vil couldn't be bothered by your Neige's obsession anymore. Not when it was always about him, in the first place.

Not when you cared about him all this time.

”We have a footage after that,” Adele hissed in his ear suddenly, tugging him on the sleeve.

”Yeah,” Vil nodded automatically, a loving gaze directed fully on you. ”And?”

”Stop ruining your mascara, idiot.”

He blinked a few times, and only when his fingertips touched his cheeks, he realised that there were tears, running down his face.

Yet, it only made him smile.

Today was a good day.

”I am just very proud of them,” he muttered.

And that was, indeed, a truth.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #neige leblanche

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melozykizzes · 2 years

Text

fatui harbingers first love ; part 1

warnings: blood, an injury.

scaramouche

scaramouche had never found anyone worthy of love, plus he had no idea how to handle it. when someone showed him the slightest bit of affection, he would think it was a prank, and insult them. till you came strolling into his life.

you met him in sumeru, though you didn’t know what his origins were you still went up to him “Hi! sorry to bother, but do you know where the nearest tavern is?” you say tapping on his back. “excuse me?” he says turning around with a judgemental face. “i said-“ “do you even know who i am?” he says with the still, judging face. you look at him, you both making eye contact. you giggle “i just asked you where the nearest tavern is! i don’t know why you think i’m a threat” at that moment, his face slightly softened, but not as much so you could read his face. he was shocked at the least, but he felt angry now. “i need you to stop pestering me, go find someone else to annoy.” he said sternly, looking you in the eye, you just smiled. he points behind you “keep waking forward and turn to the right, there’s your destination.” you smile at him “thank you, it wasn’t that hard was it?”

the next day, you had decided to go to the tavern, using the directions the blue haired man had given you. you find yourself at a table with a beautiful view out the window, you were having (insert food) while enjoying the view, then you realized the same blue haired man walking into the tavern. “hey! over here!” you call out to him, you see him hesitate but sigh and walk over to you, as you offer him a seat. “it’s special seeing you here! i didn’t take you as the type to hang out in taverns.” you tease at him. he looks at you then the scenery out the window. “i had nothing better to do. everything at work is boring.” he complains “well good thing you came here! and good thing you told me where this tavern is, otherwise i wouldn’t have been able to enjoy this view with you.” you say, looking out the window. “hey, i never caught your name?” he looks at you “just call me scaramouche.” you smile at him genuinely. “Y/N”

he didn’t understand it, why your so nice to him. why do you always make an effort to be acknowledged by him, why wouldn’t you just give up already? he was a fatui harbinger, he had mercilessly killed people before, he was a wreck. while you, you were a saint, you helped people, you cared for the smallest things. it was annoying, but it also made him perplexed. are you toying with him? why can’t you just be afraid of him like the others. when he could stare at you with disgust in his face, you would just smile gently back. he hated to admit it, he really did, but he might find himself inlove.

childe

childe, he personally never had the time for a relationship, as he takes his position to seriously. he thought he would just end up making someone hurt in the end, so he avoided it.

you were picking flowers, in a field in the mountains of liyue. you were minding your own, then you heard someone groaning. you concerningly try to follow the disturbing sounds, till your met with a ginger haired boy, laying down in a patch of dead grass “hello? are you okay?” you say as you walk up to his body, and you kneel down. he groans “oh, haha this isn’t a good timing to see me like this.” he slightly slurs on his words. you look down at his leg, which is bleeding out, you look at him with sympathy “your in luck, i always bring medical supplies with me.” you take out your supplies and place them on the withering grass. “oh please, i could handle this myself.” he says, chuckling. you decide to ignore his comment. “how did this happen anyway?” you say with concern as you are wiping his gash with wipes. he whines at the stinging pain. “oh- oh i actually uh fell down a cliff.” he says with embarrassment pigmenting his cheeks. you let out a giggle “but it’s not what it looks like. i promise you, i never get injured, i’m the one that does the injuring” he brags, and you just laugh. you finish up the last steps and bandage his wound, and pack your supplies. “here, take this medicine just in case you get into a situation like this ag—“ “i told you i’m not the type to get hurt” you internally face palm “as i was saying, here.” you hand him a small bottle of herbal medicine powered by your element/vision. “one more thing” you reach your hand for your backpack, grabbing your favourite flower, and you place it in his hand, and you smile at him. “oh well thank you, flower! your that smitten by me huh? can i at least get your name, flower?” he flirts, you just laugh in return. “Y/N”

after that interaction, he found that he always seemed to bump into you, which turned into a deep conversation, that of course made him lose track of time. he saw you more then you guys had even interacted, he always seemed to find you somewhere, helping an animal in the wild, playing with a kid in liuye streets, as if he couldn’t escape you. but maybe it wasn’t a bad thing, maybe it was something he could be okay with calling, love.

#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche smut #childe x reader #childe angst #childe fluff #childe smut #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia angst #ajax x reader #fatui x reader #fatui #fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers x reader #genshin x reader #genshin dark content #genshin fanfic

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mothwingwritings · 6 months

Text

Green

F!Reader X Strade

Really original name for this one, major kudos to me for that one. B)

Here’s another little Strade thing. I remember reading somewhere on Gato’s blog that his fav color is green so this was born from that. I honestly may have made that up in my head though so if I did just pretend it’s true. :)

Anyway, it’s just another little ficlet while I work on some little stuff. I hope you all enjoy and thank you, as always, for reading. (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

THIS IS 18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

Warnings: Mentions of noncon, torture, abuse, (briefly) suicide, and imprisonment.

Green was your favorite color.

You can’t really remember what originally attracted you to it, whether it was that you genuinely enjoyed the shade or if you were just trying to be cool and not pick a color that was overly ‘girly’. But after years of placing it on a pedestal, dubbing it your favorite amongst all other colors, your affection for it had remained solid.

Whenever you bought an item, whether it was something little or an object that was pricier, you always checked to see if it came in green. The walls of your childhood bedroom were coated in the color, and when you moved out on your own and were in charge of your own interior decorating, green was what you chose to paint most of the rooms. You adorned yourself in it, green being the prominent color in your wardrobe and jewelry collection. Sweaters, dresses, pants- at least one of each came in green. Even a vast array of your makeup was dedicated to the color, matching perfectly with whatever outfit you donned yourself in should you feel the urge to get a little more gussied up.

And on the night you met Strade green was one of the first things you talked about.

After he introduced himself you complimented his shirt. Or at least that’s how you remember it, the night itself had become a bit of a blur. You were shy by nature and not used to people ambling up to you for conversation, let alone at a bar (someplace you only went because you were meeting up with friends and just happened to arrive the earliest). You awkwardly tripped over your words, flustered by the man who had welcomed himself so easily into your space, taking the seat across from you so naturally it was as if he was the friend you had been waiting for.

After a preliminary exchanging of greetings and light pleasantries, an uncomfortable silence lingered between the two of you. He seemed perfectly content just being in your presence, sipping his beer with a twinkle in his eye as he watched you fidget and squirm through the forced interaction. You must have checked your phone at least a hundred times in hopes of an update, grimacing when one finally arrived in the form of a text stating your friends were stuck in traffic and probably wouldn’t be at the bar for at least another thirty minutes.

Your new companion’s unwavering stare coupled with the suffocating and boisterous atmosphere of the bar was starting to do a number on you. You contemplated hiding in the bathroom, but you weren’t too keen on sitting in a dimly lit, poorly maintained stall for a half hour while you waited on your friends. And if you dipped in there for a little bit just to find some reprieve, you’d still be facing the same situation when you came back out.

So mustering your courage, you decided to try and take some initiative in an attempt to make things a little less awkward.

“Um, I like your shirt,” you spoke just loud enough that he could hear you over the noise of the other patrons. Though you were overcome with nerves, you figured it best to lead a conversation with a compliment. Who doesn’t like to receive praise, even for something as trivial as a garment? “It’s a nice color, green is my favorite.”

Instant embarrassment caused your cheeks to flush. The words sounded a lot less childish in your head, and you chided yourself over how silly it sounded as soon as they left your lips. What kind of adult starts a conversation at a bar by talking about their favorite color? What were you, five?

But he laughed warmly, genuinely pleased by your comment, dispelling all feelings of bashfulness. At the time you liked the way his laugh sounded, warm and inviting as it fooled you into thinking that maybe he actually could become your friend.

“Thanks, and good choice,” he shot you a lopsided smile, raising his half-full mug to you. “Green’s my favorite, too.”

It was funny in a tragic sort of way, how something that you used to enjoy so much now just filled you with cold, deep, dread.

Now you could only associate green with pain. Green reminded you of his arms, constricting and choking you, squeezing you within an inch of your life as he dragged you away from the last semblance of normalcy you’d ever experience. Green reminded you of his chest, smothering you, muffling your screams as he tested out his newest weapon on you- the green handle of his knife getting stained with red splatters, your blood coating it as he carved into you with reckless abandon.

Green reminded you of the carpet in his bedroom, where he would hold you down after he finished brutalizing some poor soul in his basement, still high off his kill as he fucked you long and hard, getting off to your cries of pain as he spilled himself deep inside of you. Green reminded you of the bedsheets you would snatch off his bed, cocooning them around your body for a false sense of security, creating a flimsy shield against the rest of the world. Every night when you fell asleep nestled inside of them, Strade not far from your side, you wondered if one day he may use them to strangle you. You wondered if maybe that would be for the best, if you just never woke up again.

Green used to be yours, a color that loved ones and friends used to associate with you. A color you used to look at and see yourself in. A color that used to bring you joy.

Now all it reminded you of was Strade and just how much of yourself you had lost to him.

#btd strade x reader #boyfriend to death strade x reader #strade x y/n #strade x reader #btd strade x y/n #boyfriend to death strade x y/n #ykmet strade x reader #ykmet strade x y/n #ykmet strade #btd strade #boyfriend to death strade #also! fun fact! green is MY favorite color too! wowee!#mothwingswritings #thank you for reading and for being splendid and lovely #you kill me every time Strade

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woofwoofwolf · 1 year

Text

Go home, Hobie Brown

Hobie brown x reader

Part 2:

Notes: Alt reader, Aro Ace spec reader but this fic is still romantic in nature (bc im aro ace and this is wish fulfilment, so dont come for me if this doesnt line up with your lived experience), fluff, reader has anxiety over liking Hobie and he teases reader for it a lil, reader remains GN but might have a writing bias towards fem, nicknames: babe and sweetheart, Hobie and reader are adults, use of (y/n), no phonetic spelling of Hobies accent, brit wtitten by a European sue me

The type of alt space the reader belongs to is up to you. Alt meaning alternative, as in subculture spaces. I'm alt myself so this comes from experience. Get stared at a lot lol

Pls dont repost anywhere thx ✨️

There was a rush to the exit of the classroom. You were always slow packing your intricately decorated book-bag and were one of the last to leave.

"Thank you professor, have a nice rest of your day."

"See you on monday, (y/n)." The professors always knew your name, despite having so many students. Another curse or blessing (depending on the situation or your point of view) of dressing alternatively - people never seem to forget you.

You opened the door but immediately slammed it shut again, causing the professor to look back up at you.

"Oh. Hehe... sorry..." you turned back to the classroom. No other exits. Maybe you could jump out of the window?

But before you could reconsider your escape plan, the originator - or should I say instigator - of your panic and embarrassment entered the room with the heavy steps of his well-worn boots.

"Hey there," said Hobie Brown, as confident as always. "What are you up to,"

You felt an unwanted warmth crawl up your neck. You had always told your friends that romance wasn't for you and that you weren't going to date anyone just to 'find out.' You weren't ever ashamed of not ever having been attracted to someone before, but man, were you ever unprepared to have a crush as an adult.

You met Hobie through Gwen. From the moment he met you, it was as if a switch flipped inside of him. He decided that he liked you and that he wanted you. He had told you so right away.

"You single?" You were sure he didn't even know your name at that point. He liked the way you expressed yourself, and although you usually hated how people would pretend to know what you were about only from the way you dressed, it was like Hobie actually understood you in just a glance.

You felt it right to tell him that you didn't do dating, but it wouldn't leave your throat. Never had you been confessed to before, and you didn't know what to even say.

He started showing up places, more and more, he became an unpredictable part of your circle. You didn't know how to process him.

"Let's match pace together. You feel me?" He'd say.

"No, I don't, actually,"

But slowly, you did. It felt as if your slow and monotone life started to pick up some speed, all the while you felt more in tune than ever. You wondered if the pace of his life had slowed down a bit in return, but you were too scared to consider what he might specifically be feeling for you and why. You doubted he wasn't being genuine, but you had no idea why he insisted on you.

You'd bicker with him (oh. It was so fun to bicker with him- wait were you flirting with him?), but when Gwen asked if you wanted her to tell him to leave you alone, you told her not to. Which only further fanned the flames of Pav's incessant 'shipping' of the both of you.

And so, you realised that for the first time in your life, you felt something for someone. And you were completely unprepared to tackle it.

"I can't believe it, coming to see me while I'm at uni."

Your eyes shot back and forth from Hobie and the professor who looked at the both of you with sparkling curiosity. Even the small remainder of the otherwise consistently disinterested students were all looking at you. Dressing alternatively, you were used to people staring, but now you just felt embarrassed, as if even talking to him was the equivalent of making out in the middle of the room.

"You told me when your classes were yourself," Hobie reminded you with a little smirk, picking up on your embarrassment.

"No but-" you huffed. "this is harassment-"

"You know, I'll leave if you tell me to?" He teased, back straight, hands in his pockets. "You can say it, sweetheart. I believe in you. Say 'Go home, Hobie Brown'!"

You glared at him, yet no sound dared to leave your throat.

"C'mon babe, say it," he leaned forward challenging your gaze.

Both of you held it there for a couple of seconds. A pin could drop in that classroom and everybody would hear it.

Finally, after that afore-mentioned warmth reached your cheeks and had become visible to all, you broke.

"You like dunkin'?" You muttered, walking towards the door. You swore you could hear some students chuckle or gasp, and you wanted to get out as quickly as possible.

Hobie whistled and followed, just a few steps behind you, never actually invading your personal space until you were ready, "Asking me on a date? Now, that's bold,"

"It's not a date. But you ARE buying. I want a smoothie. And a donut, of course."

"Taking advantage of me now babe?"

"And why shouldn't I? If you're going to cling to me like a magnet, I might as well make use of you." You briefly stopped, and Hobie nearly walked into you. You peered up at him, batting your lashes. "You know I really don't know what you see in me. Maybe you better run home while you're ahead."

"Depends," Hobie said, ecstatic every time you took his bait. "Will you be going with me?"

-----------

Two fics in one day??? What is going on. Anyways hope you enjoyed, LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, don't be shy to talk to me lol

You know as someone who's aro ace spec, I find an escape in fictional characters and the idea that they could be the ones to finally sweep me off my feet and get me to feel some type of attraction. It sounds cringy and emberassing, but I don't think there's anything wrong with it. If you're like me then I hope this scratched some kind of itch for you lol.

#hobie brown #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie x you #hobie spiderverse #atsv hobie #scenario #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk #spider punk x reader

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vvishes · 2 years

Text

YOU MAKE MY SOUL SHINE

where you were brought back to kaichou after being injured in a mission …

ft. ver vermillion x gn!reader

50% sugar - this will mostly include being comforted and cared for by our beloved kaichou

warnings - you have been injured severely, you have also passed out

a/n - originally , i thought i would be describing blood , but i guess not ! you may also realise i’m trying to make my writing longer , and i hope you enjoy it ^^ (also to not create any misunderstanding , you and ver are already in a relationship)

“oh thank … they’re awa … hear me ? … haps, can you s— …”

your conscience slowly woke up from its slumber, your closed eyes furrowing from the sudden voice, but somehow you were unable to recognise it. it sounded so familiar too. every word honeyed with a peaceful melody that flowed from one sentence to the next.

“[na]… ou there ..? it’s m …”

you were greeted with a vague and blurry figure as your eyes fluttered open. after blinking them a few time, more significant features were becoming more and more visible.

their fluffy, pinkish-red hair, slanted eyes with a serene yet degrading gaze that could most definitely threaten anyone with one simple look.

“hey, [na] … [name] !” the voice said sternly, almost yelling.

after a while of attempting to clear out your clouded head, it hit you.

“the mob ! what about the— what about the mob ?!” you yelled, getting up from laying on the bed, only to immediately fall back down after feeling a sharp sting in your waist. you clutched it to try reduce any pain, stifling your cries.

“[name], your body is healing, don’t touch the wound.”

you quickly turn your head as the voice had startled you. although your sight was still slightly hazy, every feature was now visible. it was ver.

a long pause had filled the room with silence as you stared at him, processing everything.

“ver, i need to go back and finish off the mob …”

if ver were to describe your face and the emotions you felt at that very moment, he would say you looked helpless.

he averted his gaze. “no need to worry about them anymore, i took care of them.”

“then … i failed … right ..?”

ver’s eyes widened slightly at your question. he slowly walked to the bed you laid in and kneeled beside it. his calloused hand softly brushed your face, instinctively getting your head to rest on it.

at that very moment your focus was on ver and ver only. it genuinely did seem like he has cast a spell on you and had caused you to drop any thought out of your head and fill it back with him.

“i want to be absolutely honest with you, love,” ver started, saying each word slower than he usually would to make sure you would understand him the first time. “you tried your very best. you actually wiped out most of the mob. however few of the members had sneaked up from behind and, uh, injured you quite a lot.”

all the information you had gathered made you want to fall asleep, however you really wanted to get payback from the mob, so you continued listening.

“most parts of your body are slightly bruised, however you do have a concussion, so you may feel dizziness for the next few days.”

you knew that this was meant to be a serious moment when ver was explaining your injuries, but something about his voice felt so comforting and you tried your hardest to not doze off from his calm presence.

ver chuckled lightly and stood up, “don’t worry, i can stop talking. if you wish i can leave the roo—“

“no please, don’t.” you mumbled.

“huh ?”

by then, you were already to embarrassed to say anything else. you slowly curled yourself into a ball, even though it hurt slightly doing so.

“what do you mean by please, don’t, love ?” ver asked

“don’t go … stay .. stay here … please ..?”

ver hadn’t taken his eyes off you. he smiled as he got into the bed. you two were lucky enough that the bed fit both of you perfectly.

during this moment, ver starts rambling about recent shenanigans until you doze off, however this time, you were already asleep. he was quiet, making sure he wouldn’t wake you up.

he shuffled a little closer to you, admiring your relaxed face, your chest slowly lifting up, and falling back down.

he gave you a peck on the lips, and rested his forehead on yours.

“i love you dearly, [name]. i wish i could hug you right now but i don’t want to hurt you, so take these words, okay ?” he whispered, closing his eyes.

he thought you were asleep, but little did he know, you were listening to every single bit he had said, and a warm smile formed on your face.

you wouldn’t admit it to his face all the time, but you too loved him just as much.

#🌂 ┄ works #nijisanji #nijisanji en #nijien #vtuber #nijisanji x y/n #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en x y/n #nijisanji en x reader #ver vermillion #ver vermillion x reader #ver vermillion x y/n #ver x reader #ver x y/n #njsj #xsoleil #xsoleil x y/n #xsoleil x reader

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fizzyxcustard · 11 months

Text

Just My Imagination.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x Original Female Character (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Undercover agents, angst, insecurity, anxiety.

Word count: 5725

Summary: From the imagine: "Imagine that you are on an operation with Lucas North, where you have to use a cover story that you’re in a relationship. Only Lucas plays the part a little too well."

Comments/Notes: Requested by anon. Requested as Lucas x Amy. THANK YOU. You know how much I love writing about Lucas and Amy. This piece was requested to be a romantic comedy, but I’m so sorry to say that it wound up just being angsty again.

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Operation Greenacre.

Amy looked back over the folder in front of her, memorising all the information inside. Her name while on this operation was Amanda Reynolds, an office assistant in central London at a family law firm. Recently engaged to boyfriend of two years, Ben Waverley, aka Lucas North, her current operation partner.

Amy and Lucas had been given keys to a one-bedroom flat where they would act out their pretend lives, hoping to gather more inside information from their next door neighbours, a couple who were potentially funding terrorists through their charity.

“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Lucas asked, hovering at her desk. “If you don’t feel comfortable then tell Harry and we can stand you down.”

“I don’t want to let anyone down,” Amy sighed, giving him an anxious and embarrassed smile. Next to Jo Portman, Amy was the closest in age to Lucas, so could easily pass off as his fiancée. However, Jo was on another operation.

Lucas pulled a chair across from the desk opposite and sat down next to Amy. “Look, you’ve never done this before, and it’s kind of going against procedure here and taking a risk. You don’t have to say yes just to please Harry or to impress anyone. Your safety and wellbeing comes first.”

“But the only other person is Ros.”

“So?” Lucas asked, raising his eyebrows. “Ros and I have had cover stories before where we’ve been in a relationship. We can easily make it work.”

Amy looked at Lucas and felt the butterflies flap more viciously in her stomach. The man was gorgeous, and in Amy’s mind her being seen as his fiancée was even more inconceivable than Ros taking the place. Ros Myers had the confidence and grace that Amy didn’t. Amy was of short stature, more curvaceous, with short dark hair and what she considered more ‘plain’ features. While Amy had proven herself as a damn good analyst and office based intel officer, her confidence waned when venturing into new situations, or when in the company of Lucas.

Near the end of Lucas’ shift, he tapped on Harry’s door.

Harry Pearce, government renowned intelligence officer and senior lead of Section D, raised his head. “Yes, Lucas. Come in.”

Lucas closed the door behind himself and sat down opposite the middle aged man. “I want to talk to you about Operation Greenacre. I don’t think Amy is ready, Harry. I’ve got a feeling that she’s accepted this to try and prove herself to you.”

“Is this because you’re concerned about having to watch out for her, or a genuine interest in her safety?”

“I can’t believe you’d ask me that question,” Lucas scoffed. “I’m worried for her, not me. She’s not ready for field work. Can we just ask Ros to do it?”

“Lucas, Amy has already agreed to this and your documentation is being processed. I can’t stop this from going ahead, and Ros has, as of this afternoon, been put onto Op Hickory. I trust that you’ll be able to help her; the two of you seem to work well together and there’s something about the way she interacts with you. There’s an ease and a trust I sense.”

“I’m not questioning how we work together. I’ve always got on very well with her.”

Harry saw a very faint blush hit Lucas’ cheeks, which was quite rare for him. Not much seemed to faze him, but this conversation appeared to be bringing out the very first signs that Lucas may have been holding a secret close to his heart.

Amy woke early the next morning and rolled over to see that it was quarter to five. She had only gotten a couple of hours sleep, sporadic through the night. Her mind was ablaze with all the details of her new life she was about to live.

Amanda Reynolds. Thirty one years of age. Born in Manchester. Older brother named Thomas. Fiancee of Ben Waverley. A gorgeous man like him wouldn’t ever be interested in someone like me….

The thoughts had trailed off many times, departing from the facts she had to memorise. All she could think about was how appearing engaged to Lucas would seem so far-fetched. She had even looked upon the engagement ring many times, wishing that it was all for real. What an absolutely stupid dream. This woman that she was pretending to be, Amanda Reynolds, had a better life than she had ever had.

At around half seven, after showering, pacing her flat with podcasts playing in her ears, Amy heard her front door buzzer sound. It couldn’t have been the postman, as he normally left all mail in the boxes in the lobby. Deliveries weren’t usually this early.

Amy clicked the intercom. “Hello?”

“It’s Lucas.”

Just his voice was like a wave of pleasurable electricity. It ran down her spine and made her smile. “I’ll let you in.”

As Amy opened her door, she saw Lucas walking up the hallway. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt, with the top two buttons opened. He held something in his hands.

“I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet, Aim,” he said softly.

“I thought we were meeting at nine, at the flat,” Amy said stupidly.

“I just thought you might like to have a bit of food first and relax a bit.”

Amy let Lucas into her flat, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves begin to descend.

“Malcolm has organised the moving van this morning, so a lot of the stuff should be there when we arrive later,” Amy told Lucas, stepping into the kitchen, with him just behind.

“Come and sit down for a bit and don’t think about the op. Relax and take your mind off it.”

Amy looked down at the brown paper bag on the counter and then back up at Lucas, feeling something in her chest, an ache that she had never quite felt before. Not only was he gorgeous, but kind. He actually saw her, and made her feel like she mattered. Or was this purely to try and help her feel more confident to better the outcome of the op? A method of getting the best out of her.

“Did you manage to get that sketch completed?” Lucas asked, taking a large bite out of a croissant.

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Amy said. Only a few days earlier and Amy had been sketching a photo of her nephew at her desk in work. It was a gift that she wanted to give to her sister for her birthday.

By the time that Amy and Lucas had made it to the flat where they would be spending at least the next couple of weeks, Amy felt a little more at ease. The two of them greeted the moving men.

Every now and again, Amy would catch a glimpse of a shimmer of rainbow colours from the corner of her eye, as the sun caught the diamond on her left hand.

It all felt natural as Amy and Lucas began putting items away after unpacking boxes. However, it all changed, when a tall red-headed woman came to their open door. She tapped on it and stepped over the threshold and into the living room. “Hello?”

“It’s okay,” Lucas whispered to Amy as they remained together in the bedroom, still opening boxes. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Then he winked at her, watching as her startled face disappeared out of view.

“Morning,” Amy said, her face beaming at the sight of the redhead. “I’m guessing you’re a neighbour?”

“I am. I’m Pamela from next door, at number five. I heard we were getting new neighbours. It’s been so long since anyone has lived here, and I was starting to wonder if they’d ever find tenants.”

Amy chuckled nervously. “I’m Amanda. My fiancée Ben is still in the bedroom trying to put the bed back together, so he should be out in a bit.”

On cue, just as Amy spoke those last words, Lucas appeared and approached. He curled his arm around Amy’s waist and drew her in against him. “Hi, I’m Ben. I hate moving. It makes me do some DIY which is one of my pet hates.”

As Lucas spoke, Amy was sure that she could feel Lucas’ fingers moving in an almost circular motion against her waist. She could feel heat rising up her body at the sensation of being in such close proximity of him.

“Is that a diamond I see?” Pamela asked, her dark eyes growing bright.

Amy raised her hand to show her new neighbour. “We’ve been engaged about two months now.”

Lucas pulled Amy that tad closer as she spoke, feeling a deep warmth rise upward and fill him. Without even thinking, he placed a kiss on her temple. Her skin was so soft under his lips and he could smell strawberries, no doubt from her shampoo.

“You’ll have to come over for dinner tomorrow,” Pamela offered. “We always enjoy hosting dinners for our neighbours. Ted is ever the showman.”

“That sounds lovely,” Amy said, her voice ever so slightly teetering on the edge of nervousness. She could feel the change in her voice now that Lucas was touching her.

“I’ll let you both get back to it. I’ll see you around no doubt.”

As Pamela disappeared into her front door, Amy immediately pulled from Lucas. She turned away from him and dashed away into the kitchen, where she flicked on the kettle for a drink. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel her legs shaking. For a few seconds, she watched out of the window, focusing on the clouds and took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Lucas asked. “You did well, Aim.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little flustered, that’s all.”

The rest of the day was fairly lowkey, with Amy and Lucas putting the belongings away, which hopefully wouldn’t be needed for too long. At the briefing, Harry and Lucas had explained that they hoped that the undercover part of the op wouldn’t be any more than two or three weeks. Most of it hinged on Lucas being able to wind his way into Ted Delaney’s trust and gain any hints as to his reasoning and motives for working alongside terrorists.

At around six there was a sharp knock at the door.

Lucas opened the door, only to see Ted Delaney in front of him. Positive ID made from all the documentation that had been gathered prior to the undercover portion of the op going live.

“I’m Ted from next door. Pam told me you’d moved in and that she’d invited you to dinner tomorrow. Thought I’d come over and extend my welcomes to you both.”

Ted Delany was a man who was easily in his mid-fifties. His greying hair was swept back and oiled, and his grey eyes were piercing. His clothing showed that he had money and position: a well-tailored navy suit and shined shoes.

“Would you like a drink with us?” Lucas asked.

“Sure,” Ted said, flashing a broad smile.

Lucas immediately approached the whiskey and vodka bottles that were neatly placed out on a small table next to a large bookcase.

Amy could hear faint chatter as she remained in the bedroom. For a second, she stood with her back to the wall, took a deep breath and then exited.

“Hey, babe,” Lucas said, seeing Amy. ‘Babe’ somehow felt wrong in his mouth, and he hoped that to Delaney the word didn’t come across too alien. “This is Ted from next door.”

“Ted, this is Amanda. The love of my life and wife-to-be.”

I think that may be a bit too much, Lucas. Amy mused.

Amy sat down on the black leather sofa which was opposite a matching armchair, where Ted had perched himself.

Lucas handed the glass of whiskey to Ted and then placed himself down next to Amy. His hand rested on her thigh, again doing that circular motion with his fingers. He looked at Amy, passing her a glance. “Do you want me to get you anything from the kitchen?”

“You’re missing out on the good stuff, love,” Ted said with a hearty chuckle and raised his glass in the air.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Amy replied. “I’ve never been able to hand alcohol particularly well. It just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“I remember when we first met, and she tried to impress me by drinking a couple of pints,” Lucas said. “She’s always tried to impress me when there’s no need to. She’s perfect the way she is.” Lucas, on instinct, squeezed her leg.

Amy felt a rod of red hot head swarm in her head, as if angry wasps were buzzing there. “I always felt I was out of your league, Ben, you know that.”

“Pam was always like that with me, too. Some women might seem like they have confidence, but deep down they don’t, and feel they need to be something they’re not. In fact, they’ve always been the apple of your eye from the very beginning.”

Lucas chuckled. “That’s definitely always been the way with her. She doesn’t see how amazing she is.”

Ted only stayed for approximately twenty minutes, before leaving Amy and Lucas for the night. There was a silence that had grown between them both now, and as Lucas remained in the living room, Amy sat in the kitchen with a mug of tea between her arms, which were resting on the table.

“Aim, what’s wrong?” Lucas asked, finally following her into the kitchen. “You’ve been quiet since Delaney left. Is it making you uncomfortable?”

Lucas looked down at the table to see the engagement ring. It was in the centre of the table, not on Amy’s hand where it should have been for the op.

“I can’t wear it, Lucas,” Amy said softly. “Not when it’s not real. I can’t close the door and still have it on my hand. It’s bad enough having to have you touch me.”

“Amy…”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. We see this op through and then go back to the grid and get on with things.”

Lucas lay on the sofa, while Amy had the bed, and thought on her words. It’s bad enough having you touch me. Was she disgusted by him? That very thought made his jaw clench and an ache rise in his chest. That was why she had dashed from him when Pamela had been at their door; Amy found him disgusting and couldn’t stand him touching her. And that touch had been real, so real in Lucas’ mind. To hold Amy next to him had felt like everything was perfect, and nothing was an act. The kiss on her temple...that was all from Lucas’ heart.

Amy tossed in bed, replaying the events. The way Lucas had touched her, and those words. They seemed to be somehow as though he was telling her, behind a mask of someone else, that…. Of course he wasn’t!

Lucas is good at his job. He’s done this so many times before and played the part well to get what’s needed for the case and then move on. Nothing is different about this operation whatsoever. It’s just my imagination.

Being in a different bed meant that Amy couldn’t quite get comfortable in the bed, and would keep peering out of one eye at the clock on the bedside table. The bed was big, enough space for her to roll around, but it reminded her of how isolated she felt. Cut off. Unwanted.

It was just after four ‘o’ clock and Amy knew she wouldn’t sleep any more that night. It was like the night before, just a couple of hours made up of half hour dozing phases. A dull thump was already starting up behind her eyes. As Amy pulled herself out of bed, she heard the whishing of blood in her ears.

She staggered out of the room and across the living room, heading for the kitchen. There, on the sofa, sprawled out was Lucas. He was on his back, mouth wide open. The patchwork quilt had fallen off him, so Amy tottered over to him, and placed the quilt back over his sleeping form. He twitched as the quilt touched him, let out a loud snore, and then rolled over.

Amy made a cup of herbal tea and sat in the kitchen, her eyes stinging and head thumping. It seemed as if Lucas slept easily, not worrying about the operation and certainly not about the tension that had risen between them. Was it only Amy that sensed any kind of tension? She was starting to assume it was.

By the time it had turned half six, Amy got dressed into a fresh strip of clothing, choosing jeans and a frilled white blouse: the attire of Amanda Reynolds. Amy Holland, MI5 analyst, would have opted for jeans and a rock band T-shirt with a waistcoat, or a bright coloured hoodie. Sophistication wasn’t something that Amy felt she had.

The streets were fairly quiet and Amy slipped into a café, ordering two bagels and two Americano coffees. Then she walked back to the flat, feeling that she could finally find a sense of peace out in the chilled mid-March air.

By the time Amy got back to the flat, she walked in to find that Lucas had vacated the sofa. She could hear the splashing of bathwater and an offkey singing voice coming from the bathroom.

Amy giggled and placed the breakfasts down on the coffee table in the living room, waiting for Lucas to re-appear.

When he finally made an appearance, Lucas sauntered over to the sofa and sat down, leaving a gap between Amy and himself.

“I hope you like bagels,” Amy said, giving a smile. “You brought breakfast yesterday so it’s only fair I do so today.”

***

Amy ventured out the flat after breakfast, deciding to get out of Lucas’ way for a few hours. The cover story was that Amanda and Ben were on annual leave for a week while they moved into their new property. Ben, being the owner of his own accountancy firm, had left the company in the capable hands of his best friend, and co-director, Patrick Lange. If any kind of phone call was needed to or from Patrick, Tariq had been asked to step in and lend his vocal skills.

First off, Amy sat down in a coffee shop and watched people wander past the window; tourists, residents. Some of them she could tell immediately as residents of London, carrying briefcases or dressed sharp for an upcoming meetings. Tourists tended to walk slower, some with cameras around their necks, and gazed around in excitement and wonder.

Her phone chimed. Well, Amanda’s phone. It was one of the many iPhones that were kept on the Grid specifically for operations, with disposable SIM cards.

Ben: Are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t seem yourself this morning. Love you. Xxx

Of course all text messages had be sent in character, in case the devices were ever compromised. No personal devices were allowed. One very basic Nokia 3310 model was kept in order to report back to Harry in case any challenges occurred, and that was in Lucas’ possession.

Amanda: Yes, I’m fine, sweetie. I’ll be back later.  xx

Sweetie. Acting out this whole made-up scenario was angering Amy.

Amy continued on walking, disappearing in and out of shops. All of the money she had was in physical cash. No personal credit and debit cards were to be used while on operation. Every aspect of who she really was had been erased. For the next two or three weeks, Amy Holland didn’t exist. When she looked into a mirror, Amanda Reynolds looked back. Amy could imagine the reflection smirking at her, the diamond sparkling so brightly on her left hand, with Ben’s arm wrapped around her. Ben’s steel blue eyes looking back, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the mere sight of Amy.

Like I’d ever look at you twice.

Back at the flat, Lucas put more items away, concentrating on the kitchenware. However, his mind couldn’t stop spiralling into thoughts of Amy. She was confusing him and it was twisting his gut so tight. Suddenly he got up from the tiled floor, where he had been putting pots and pans into the cupboards, and called her.

“Amanda?” he asked.

“Ben,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“No one is directly around me.”

“We need to talk on neutral ground.”

“Please, no. We can talk when I get back.”

“We have to be careful as we can be compromised, you know that.”

“I’m on my way back now. We’ll talk more after the dinner. I’ll be back in about half hour.”

The line then went quiet as Amy terminated the call.

Lucas sighed in frustration. In all the months that he had known Amy, which was almost a year, he had never known her be so aloof. She was naturally a shier person, but he had never known her react like this.

Amy got back to the flat within the half hour that she had promised. She stepped into the living room to see Lucas sat on the sofa. The gorgeous bastard looked up at her and smiled sadly.

“After the dinner, we’ll go for a walk,” she proposed.

***

Amy and Lucas prepared themselves for the dinner with their new neighbours at around six.

Lucas was dressed in a black suit jacket and white shirt, with the top two buttons popped open. It was complimented nicely with a pair of dark jeans, giving a casual edge.

Amy stepped out of the bedroom, her short pixie cut freshly washed and neatly brushed. She wore a black dress with frills on the wrist, and paired with black dolly shoes. Her whole look was sophistication mixed with a sense of comfort.

As Lucas looked at her, he swallowed hard. She was wearing a dark eyeshadow and mascara which accented her deep green eyes perfectly. He could sense her discomfort at the get-up, knowing that this wasn’t her usual style, but he couldn’t help feel it suited her so well.

Amy tried to avoid eye contact and made her way to the door in silence.

Lucas followed on behind, feeling his stomach twist yet again at her distance from him. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the table by the door, and then closed it behind them.

Pam was the one to answer the door. She grinned at her new neighbours and let them in. “Take a seat. Dinner won’t be too long now. I’m preparing smoked salmon, topped in my special sauce. Chef’s secret as to the recipe. Everyone who has ever tried it has raved over it.”

“Good man!” Ted exclaimed, taking the bottle of red wine from Lucas. “Priorities.”

Amy glanced around the living room, noticing that there was far less in it than hers and Lucas’ temporary abode. The flooring was wooden, and the lights bright. Everything felt too clean and sterile for Amy’s liking. She sat down on a black leather sofa, and then tensed as Lucas perched beside her. He took her hand and rested it on his knee, then caught her gaze and smiled, giving her a very slight nod.

“So, how did you two meet?” Pam asked, preparing glasses as Ted popped open the wine bottle.

“Do you want a coffee? You said last night you don’t drink,” Ted asked Amy, interjecting himself into the conversation before anyone else could speak.

“Oh, yes, please. That would be perfect,” she replied with a grateful smile.

Lucas began to talk, still holding Amy’s hand. He rolled out the spiel that he and Amy had been given as part of their briefing pack. Amanda and Ben had met through mutual friends at a Christmas party.

The words rolled effortlessly off Lucas’ tongue, Amy mused. And how she wished all of it was true. To be loved, wanted, proposed to, lived with. She desperately wanted it all. Life was cruel. Rather than be dealt such a lucky hand, she instead had to act it all out, pretend, and live behind a happy mask, where her heart beneath was breaking.

“You definitely struck lucky, love,” Pam told Amy with a wink.

The conversation between Lucas and Ted seemed to flow without much thought. However, Lucas’ hand moving up Amy’s thigh, curling further into the inside of her leg.

Shivers began to race up Amy’s spine as she felt his fingers caress her skin through her thin tights.

Most of the conversation seemed to merge into a mindless chatter as Amy concentrated on Lucas’ hand on her leg. She studied the veins in the back of his hand, which then caused images of him touching her in more intimate places to flicker through her mind.

By the time that dinner was ready and the group had moved into the dining room, which again was a sterile looking room, Lucas had finally got onto the topic of conversation that he needed: Ted’s work.

The table was only small, considering that the flat was large. It gave way for more kitchen space and cabinets. This meant that Amy was sat directly next to Lucas again, with Pam and Ted opposite them.

“How long have you owned the charity, Ted?” Lucas asked, slipping into his seat.

Ted began to answer while Pam laid out all the dishes in the centre of the table, her hands covered in oven gloves. “The charity was actually started by my father, who died five years ago, so it was handed down to me. He always spent his life helping disadvantaged children; it was all he cared about.” Something flickered across Ted’s face. Resentment, anger? Lucas couldn’t quite tell. But maybe that was where he could probe further.

“Are you alright, love?” Pam asked, sitting down directly opposite Amy. “You look a bit pale.”

“It’s probably the new foundation I’m using. I decided to try a lighter colour as the one before, by Clinique was too dark.” Where had that response come from? Maybe Amy wasn’t quite as bad at this acting while undercover thing as she had originally thought. Suddenly she felt something on her leg and jumped. Thankfully, Pam had started talking to Lucas and Ted again, so none of them noticed her jump. Why was Lucas touching her leg? Their lower halves were concealed beneath the table, which meant he didn’t have to touch her in order for anyone to believe they were lovers.

While Amy eat her meal, she couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas’ hand coming back to her leg.

“So, how did you choose to propose?” Pam asked, grinning. “I always adore love stories.”

Lucas blushed and then looked at Amy, catching her gaze. Then, he touched her leg again. Only this time, Amy didn’t flinch. In fact, upon instinct, she leaned her leg into his touch. “I just knew that I couldn’t live without her in my life. I wanted to wake up next to her, have kids with her. Cliché, I know. So I took her away for Christmas, to New York where she’d always wanted to go, and proposed in front of the Statue of Liberty.” His eyes were still locked on hers as he spoke.

A sudden wave of nausea hit Amy and she leaned to the side, away from Lucas.

“Are you okay, babe?” Lucas asked. “She’s been like this on and off the last couple of days.”

Pam’s bright blue eyes lit up in excitement. “Maybe it’s the pitter patter of tiny feet.”

“I’m going to have to head back to the flat. I’m so sorry to both of you,” Amy said, bolting up from her seat.

Lucas got up beside her and wound his arm around her waist. “Sorry to leave so abruptly, but she comes first.”

“Of course,” Ted chuckled. “We’ll have to re-schedule for a better time.”

Amy and Lucas bid their farewells to their guests and head back to the flat. Amy dashed inside and raced to the bathroom, slamming the door. Rather than vomiting, she got to her knees on the floor and felt the tears of sadness roll down her cheeks.

The door opened and Lucas stepped inside. He looked down as she sobbed and fell to his knees beside her. “Aim, what’s wrong?” he whispered. “You’re scaring me.”

“You don’t have to keep the act going, Lucas,” she snapped, glaring at him. “Pam and Ted aren’t here.”

“Get dressed into something more comfortable and warmer. We’ll go for a walk,” Lucas said, his voice becoming authoritative.

“I don’t want…”

“While we’re on this operation, I’m the senior officer. Please get changed and we’ll go for a walk.” Lucas felt a stab of shame as he spoke those words, knowing he was using his own position for gain, but he needed to know what was happening. Her behaviour was becoming more erratic. Not only was she worrying him for her wellbeing, but if she continued to act like this then the op would be compromised.

Fuck the operation! I care more about her.

Fifteen minutes later and Amy walked beside Lucas, the darkness and cold evening air wrapping tight around them. Once they were a few streets away from the flat, Amy and Lucas sat down on a bench in a small park.

“You really are scaring me, Amy. What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. “This is me asking because I care for your wellbeing. It’s not an act.” The word ‘act’ dripped with anger. He noticed that, yet again, she’d taken the engagement ring off.

Amy noticed him look at her hand. “I can’t wear that ring, Lucas. Please don’t make me wear it when I don’t have to.”

“We’re on surveillance and undercover twenty-four seven with this operation. You shouldn’t take it on and off when you please like this. This goes deeper than that, Aim. I know you hate me touching you, and I’m sorry I have to do it.”

“I know it’s all an act for the op, Lucas. Don’t apologise.”

“Is it all an act?” he asked. His gaze locked on Amy’s. “I know I shouldn’t have touched you under the table. There was no need for that. The truth is, none of this has been an act for me.”

Amy’s eyes were wide in shock and sadness as she stared at him. “It’s not just my imagination?” she whispered.

“No,” Lucas replied with a smile. “And when you said about not wanting me to touch you…”

“I didn’t mean that I didn’t want you to touch me. It’s I…I’ve liked you for a while Lucas, and it was getting too much. Playing it all like a game when deep down it’s something I want. I’m living another woman’s life that I want.”

Lucas slipped closer to Amy and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Is it me or Ben Waverley that you want?”

“Of course it’s you I want.” Amy replied, her face broad with a huge smile.

Lucas moved even closer to her still, until their lips touched. The kiss started as a simple peck, a moment of uncertainty, but Amy’s hand tugging Lucas’ jacket spurred him on. The kiss grew deeper, their tongues meeting and warmth rising.

As they both parted, Lucas smiled upon the slight of Amy’s beautiful flushed cheeks. She looked so innocent and angelic in those moments; her eyes sparkling in happiness, her cheeks flushed and her lips plump.

“Does this mean that if you want Amanda’s life that you’re planning on leaving MI5?” Lucas chuckled. “Pack up and go work as a solicitor’s secretary. We’d miss you.”

“Maybe I don’t want that part of her life.”

“If we do this, Aim, and have a relationship, we won’t be put together undercover again, you know that, don’t you?” Lucas asked. “Harry can’t risk any compromise. We’d be a weakness to each other.”

“Maybe on this op we can draw strength from each other. It’ll definitely make the act easier to keep up.”

Lucas and Amy walked back to the flat hand in hand. The whole time and Amy was beaming, unable to hide the happiness she was feeling in those moments. Her gaze would drift down to their joined hands every few minutes.

Back at the flat, Lucas let Amy in ahead of himself, his hand brushing against her lower back. He followed on behind her and closed the door. The way she turned to face him and looked up smiling, her cheeks still flushed, made his heart skip and his stomach flutter. She was so beautiful, with innocence shining brightly in her eyes and love curling her lips upwards.

Lucas stepped forward and wound his arm around her waist, drawing her in and then leaned down to kiss her again.

Their kiss grew hot very quickly, with their bodies entwining.

Amy opened her eyes slowly, looking up into the silver blue depths of Lucas’ gaze. That all too familiar smirk began to form in the corner of his mouth.

Amy slipped out of his hold and walked slowly into the kitchen, looking down at the table. The engagement ring was still in the centre where she had left it.

Lucas moved around her and picked up the ring. Then he gently lifted her left hand. “I know you don’t want to wear it, Aim, but please do this for me.”

With a sigh, Amy watched as Lucas slid the diamond solitaire ring onto her hand. It felt as though the ring had been sized perfectly and belonged there. “Maybe one day I’ll have someone doing it for real.”

Lucas smiled sadly, feeling a lump form in his throat. Words swarmed in Lucas’ mind. Just one sentence to respond to Amy’s sad comment. But the right one would not come. Instead, he remained quiet. Perhaps one day it might have been him putting a ring on her hand, and meaning it. However, for now, he would have to wait and see, and hope for that future to come.

***

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