#but i also need rest........goddammit

[compaculaaa]

How does alpha trion keep up with the children and work? Or is he just not offline for a long time? If so... ULTRO MAGNUS GET HIM TO SLEEP ALREADY. SO AND DIE FOR A SHORT

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

[kiwisbell]

helen ; chapter three

the red circle

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the truth.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, mentions of rape/SA, cars, bill is here, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, hitman!joel finally hitmans, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST (still unresolved oopsie), we're getting there though, exposition, conflicting emotions, joel's tattoos are sexy but they're also plot-relevant, Sleeping Together, but not like That, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 7.6k a/n: this chapter marks this fic being halfway done already, which is madness. also, can i just say that i'm loving the amount of people who've specifically been watching john wick because of this fic?? this is my agenda!! as always, thank you so fucking much to mya baby @cavillscurls for beta reading this fic and being, idk, generally the loml. i hope you enjoy chapter 3, my friends! i'm sorry it's been such a long time coming, but life lifed, y'know?? prev | next

“How much?”

“Two million. For now, at least. It’s open.”

“Goddammit, Tommy.”

“I told you to be careful, brother. Now look at you. You’re a loose end.”

Joel resisted the urge to toss his phone. The shower continued running in the bathroom, muffled by the closed door. 

He couldn't lose you. He didn't know life without you. Love had no name until he knew you. He'd christened it with that first kiss, maybe even in the first breath he'd shared with you.

If there was a chance Cabrera’s kid could come back for you, even if just to hurt Joel, he needed to see this to its end. There was no choice. 

“He tried to rape my wife,” said Joel. “He's lucky I’m only tryin’ to kill him.”

Tommy only sighed, and the call ended.

I married you, Joel.

I loved you.

You lied to me.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he watches you doze. The sunlight shines neatly through the break in the curtains, and you squint against it in your sleep, turning over with a little huff and bringing the duvet over your head. You’ve always needed total darkness for a half-decent sleep. 

You’ve been crying. The tears leave remnants on your cheeks, a dryness at the outer corners of your eyes, salt seeping moisture from your skin. He’s never known a thing so soft as the drag of his hand down your back. 

I loved you.

You lied to me.

You will never understand. There are reasons—too many to count—that civilians cannot know. He may have gotten you to relative safety in the Continental, but there are a hundred dangerous people in this building who have a long-standing grudge against Joel Miller or the man he worked for. A hundred people who would take you as collateral the moment you stepped outside the grounds. But as long as you remain inside, you’re safe.

He just needs to finish the job. He needs to see it through, and he’ll be out. You’ll realise he’s done it all for you.

I loved you.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he watches the rise and fall of your chest beneath the sheets. He broke your heart last night. He watched you turn in on yourself, your eyes so cold, so far away. He listened to you scream, and inside he pleaded: Keep hitting me, baby. Keep shouting. Be mad. He wanted you loud and furious and spitting fire. If you were angry, you still cared. He could work with that. 

And to see you walk away, the fire frozen over, the fight in your marrow sucked out… 

The anguish of losing your ire still stirs in his chest. The guilt peels him away in layers. Acid. 

She’ll understand, he tells himself, you, anyone who’ll listen. She’ll get it someday—why I did it, why I lied. She’ll forgive me.

Forgive me, baby. Don’t let me live the rest of this life never seeing you smile.

“Stop looking at me,” you grumble, your eyes still closed.

Joel averts his eyes. His throat feels tight. “You sleep okay?”

You haul yourself upright and stretch out your back. Joel studies the curve of your spine and the nape of your neck. You’re the muse painters rave about. The reflections of sunlight on water at dusk. The pond of water lilies. 

“You didn’t. Your sheets haven’t even moved.”

“I can’t sleep without you.”

You give him a heavy look, your eyes bleary with sleep. “You managed all those years before me, Joel. Let’s not do this.”

“What if I want to do this?” he says, dropping to the floor next to your bed and taking your hands in his. You try to pry yourself free, but he drops his head and traps you in his rapt vigil. 

“Joel…” Your voice is still groggy, but there’s agony in the way you say his name.

“You’re my wife,” he says against your skin. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. You’re the girl I saw that night in the restaurant with the pretty eyes and you’re the girl I called every night just so I could hear your voice, and you’re always gonna be the only fucking girl for me. You’re my reason for everything, baby. I need you. Please… please just understand. You have to know that.”

You’re silent for a long while, your legs curled under you as your own husband kneels as if in prayer. Your throat burns with more tears you have little energy left to shed. You whisper his name.

He looks up and you find you cannot meet his eyes. So you stare at one of the patches of skin that disrupt the brown-grey of his beard. “That first night at the restaurant,” you say, trepidation colouring your voice blue, “you disappeared after the second course. When you came back, you told me you had to take a call. Was that the truth?”

Joel’s eyes are frantic in their search for an answer. “Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t lie to me again. Was that the truth?”

“There—” His voice cuts off, his eyes shuttering. “There was a target. That’s… why I was there in the first place.”

Your sob dies in your chest. It doesn’t even make a noise. You wrench your hands out of his, and he lets you, still kneeling at your bedside like a lost sinner. “Love has never been the problem. You might love me, but you’ve never told me the truth. Not from the first day.”

One of his hands wraps around your ankle. “I wanted out. I wanted out my whole life, and you’re the one who made me find the way. Cabrera, he… He gave me an impossible task. I completed it. And I gave you this ring.” He brushes his thumb over the knuckles of your third finger where your bands are still secure. “You said yes. You married me. Doesn’t this mean something?”

The sound of your hollow laugh hurts more than any words you could use to cut him. “It did,” you confess, “when I knew exactly who my husband was.”

He shakes his head, his lips parting in another desperate cast, but you’re standing up and crossing the room, gathering your toiletries for the bathroom. “What happens now?” you ask. 

Joel stares at the ring on his finger. “I’m going to talk to the Manager. You have to stay here.”

“Okay,” you say softly. Your back is rigid. “Just tell me something.”

“Anything,” says Joel. 

“If I asked to leave,” you whisper, “would you let me go?”

Joel feels his heart crack in two. He remembers the small outdoor wedding, in the heart of May, when he’d seen you walk down the aisle toward him and struggled to find the words, as he always did, that would be good enough. 

I vow to love you, he'd said, his hands trembling as he took yours. I vow to be your partner in all things. I vow to show you every piece of my soul, the way you've given me yours, and to be gentle with your heart. 

I vow to be the man you want, the man you need, and the man you love. 

He’s failed. He knows that. But you smiled at him that day, your eyes brimming with tears that turned black from your mascara, and you kissed him before the officiant said the words. 

I loved you.

“I’d do anything you asked me to,” he says, “but not that.”

Joel made a stop at the Continental Tailor before he went to find the Manager in the lounge. He paid the Tailor a bit too much for the new suit, he realises now, the sleeves a bit too tight, the pants not quite tapered. He was dressing a different body than the one he knew all those years ago. 

Joel weaves through the darkness as a crooning voice sings something about evil men up on the stage. The band is playing along, a smooth jazz tune, and the bodies around him smell of expensive cologne and perfume and vodka. He remembers with a start why he hated this place so much. 

Adjusting his jacket, he finds the Manager sitting in the VIP section on a long curved booth upholstered in crimson velvet, sipping a dry martini. 

“Joel,” he says, lifting his glass in toast. 

“Bill.”

The Manager doesn't look particularly thrilled. “You know there’s an open contract on your head. Who did you have to kill to end up back here?”

“Just a couple people.” Joel sits opposite him. “I need information.”

“And you're here on more business. Does your consort have anything to say about that?”

Joel curls his fingers into a fist atop the table. “I’m invoking my guest privileges. And she is my wife.”

Bill sniffs in amusement. “So, you did end up marrying the gal. Good for you, Joel. She's a stunner.”

“Fuck you, Bill.”

A short, booming laugh. “Nobody will so much as look her way. You have my word and all it means.”

“Doesn't mean much,” says Joel. “I’m just visiting.”

“Don't be the idiot I know you aren’t,” says Bill, leaning forward and setting his glass aside. “You dip so much as a pinky back in this pond, and you won’t get out so easy. Sometime, somewhere, someone’s going to come to you with another impossible task.”

“And I’ll complete it,” says Joel. “Emiliano Cabrera. Where is he?”

“You really wanna do this, Joel?”

“Yeah.”

“Your wife may be safe now, but she won’t be forever.”

“That’s why I’m going to finish it. That’s why I’m going to kill him.”

The Manager sighs, polishing off his martini. “You know damn well business will not be conducted on Continental grounds, Joel. You may as well go have a drink at the bar, take a load off. I can’t tell you anything while you’re inside my hotel.” 

Joel suspected as much. “Then tell me something you can.”

Bill’s nostrils flare and Joel feels some satisfaction knowing he can still push the old man’s buttons. “I’ll tell you what: the game has changed since you left it. Your only chance is to get out now, while you still can. What could possibly warrant the Boogeyman reentering the fold?”

Joel licks his teeth. Your eyes blurring with tears as your skull connected with the ground, your body going limp as he stood above you. The clink of a belt buckle echoes still in his head. If he hadn’t been fast enough—

“It’s personal.”

Bill’s gaze dips. “Well,” he says, “then, unofficially, I wish you the best of luck. But, as a former friend”—Joel snorts —“let me give you a piece of advice. Take your wife home and forget about all of this. I like you, Joel, but for her sake and yours, I’d rather never see you again.”

Joel doesn’t take it personally. “Tell Frank I said hello.”

Bill grabs a full glass from a passing server. “Fuck you, Joel.”

He nods his head, closing the lapels of his jacket and slipping the first button through the opposite slit. As the singer on the stage transitions into the next song, Joel orders a glass of bourbon and watches the bartender slide his drink over on a pristine white napkin. 

“On the house, per the Manager’s request,” says the bartender. “Welcome back, Mr. Miller.”

Pristine—save for the small red circle drawn with marker on the centre. Across the bar, Bill raises his glass in another toast, and Joel leaves the lounge, his drink untouched. 

It’s a Tuesday night, and the Red Circle is lined up around the corner. One must know someone to get inside, and that someone must be a paying member. Joel had a membership by default, being contracted under Cabrera, but it was revoked along with his other privileges once he had completed his task. 

You would hate this place. It’s throbbing bass and flashing neon lights and sweat-slick bodies rubbing up against one another. It’s brick and industrial metal and glass and the people don’t mix, either. 

Maybe part of him is hedonistic, too. He doesn’t think he ever used to be. The job gave him wealth to spend that he never cared to; when he met you, he began to understand the pleasure of material things. Gold shone when it hung around your neck and wrapped around your fingers. Diamonds glittered like the jewels in a crown when you wore them on your ears. And when he pulled you close to him for the first time, undressing you slowly, hooking his fingers in the lace panties he’d bought for you and bringing his mouth to the heat between your legs, Joel began to understand the draw of pleasure. 

It isn’t that he’d never had sex before you. He’d just… never been interested before you. Bodies always felt… too cold. They were complex. They were things to be followed, things to be killed. They were names on a piece of paper. They would bleed all their warmth and light into his palms and he would return, limping, to a house he never cared about and absolve himself of red. He’d never known the thrill of a body until he tucked his hand under the soft swell of your naked breast and put his mouth on yours and felt your heartbeat bleed into his hands. He never wanted to wash it off. 

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

After the orphanage, Joel visited a church only once. 

He hadn’t meant to find it. He’d heard an organ humming from within. The cathedral was taller than it was wide, built for a small gathering. He’d slipped inside during a sermon, delivered by a pastor with white hair and a pair of wilting hands. Joel watched the tremors pass through his face, the agonising pulse of the vein in his throat, the way he would gulp down mouthfuls of water. He spoke with rhythm, with melody, and when he was finished, he grasped the edges of the pulpit, his head bowed in silent prayer. Joel thought he had never seen a more devoted man in his life. 

When the sermon was over, he waited his turn to speak with the pastor. He did not know why. He hadn’t felt a stirring in his chest at the word of God; he never had.

I’ve never seen you in here before, my son.

Joel shook his head, frowning at the ground. I… left the faith, in a way. When I was young. I’m… sorry.

Devotion is a choice, said the pastor, taking Joel’s hands in his own. They were wrinkled, speckled with age spots. Joel lifted his gaze to find the pastor smiling. As with all things in life. Devotion, my son, is not a birthright. We must find it. Though it may not be His word, you will know someone’s word. And you’ll find it will move you enough that you choose to follow it. To whatever end. 

Joel has been slashed, burned, drowned, whipped, beaten, strangled. He could count the telltale black spots in his eyes like dreamers count sheep. He developed a reputation because he was good at what he did. He was efficient, fast, lethal. He once killed three men in a bar with a pencil, they whispered. A fucking pencil. Word in the Underworld spread of a boogeyman who would take your life in your sleep if you wronged the wrong person, if you were just an unlucky bastard.

Their word never mattered. He’d never knelt in the blood of a victim and prayed for absolution. He would never find it, anyway. His soul was black. 

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

No word has ever cut so deep as yours. How could he wake up every single day next to the love of his life and lie so easily to your face? How could he put a ring on your finger knowing damn well he’d betrayed your trust every second of your time together and you never even knew about it?

How could he wear the mask of your husband and dream of blood on the very same hands that touched you each night?

Joel checks his watch. It’s one o'clock in the morning. You’ve been sleeping since breakfast. You won’t sleep a wink tonight if this keeps up, but it seems you’d rather do anything in the world than speak with him. 

He doesn’t blame you.

He found his word that night in the restaurant. He’d followed it, followed you, wherever you took him. And he will follow you, his almighty word, beyond the grave, to whatever end you decide. 

He will not abandon his faith. His purpose. He will not throw up his hands and let you walk away. He’s made mistakes he cannot mend. He can’t go back to the day you met and tell you all he should have, rules be fucked. He cannot fix what he’s already broken. You cannot put a piece of tape over fractured glass, a bloodied hand over wounded skin. 

He made his fucking vows. It’s time he lived up to them.

Across the street, Joel watches, turning over the knife in his pocket by the hilt. Emiliano Cabrera and his lackeys step out of Joel’s Mustang and toss the keys to the valet. They skip the line, smacking one another around and jeering at the ladies in line, and Joel feels the hunger pull at his teeth. 

His first target is posted by the east entrance. Joel takes the alley, stepping aside trash bags brimming with used needles and slipping the Glock from the lining of his jacket. The weight of it is formidable in his hand. Under the cover of dark, he slides into a second skin, black as the names they call him. Bringing the gun to the back of the guard’s head, he watches those huge shoulders stiffen.

“Francis,” he says politely.

“Joel,” says the guard. 

“Workin’ late?”

“Why?” says Francis. “You want in?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I do. You lost weight.”

“Twenty-seven pounds, if you’ll believe it.”

Fuck. 

Twenty-seven guards tasked with protecting the little shit. Joel may have a reputation, but it’s been years. He was ambushed in his own home last night. And after it all, he’d let the bastard slip between his fingers. 

“Why don’t you take the night off?”

Francis lowers one meaty hand to the piece in his ear and takes it out. Turning his head, he says, “Can you at least lower the gun?”

Joel does. “Wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“Word’s going around. They say you’re back.”

“I’m just passin’ through.” 

“Sure, Joel.” Francis offers his hand, and Joel shakes. “You better make it quick. I don’t feel like getting fired.”

“Understood.” Joel slips inside, letting the door click shut behind him. 

Even from afar, the music lives in his chest, a writhing thing that seeks departure by way of his throat. He tries to swallow and it wriggles back up again. The bass throbs hard against his ribs. 

There’s a bathroom on the VIP floor. As he sneaks by the frosted glass partition that separates him from the public, Joel hears the squeak of locker doors. He puts his palm on the door and pushes inside.

Did you see the tits on that girl? says one man in Spanish. Emil got a pretty one.

Another lets out a booming laugh. Shut the fuck up, man. Good pussy and you tuck your tail and run.

Yeah? And you're in here because you scored? 

I’m in here because bitches prefer to choke on clean dick. What's your excuse?

Neither feels the breeze of the shadow slipping behind them. Neither of them sees the man in black lock his arm around one of their necks and squeeze until there's no air left. By the time the other has turned on the porcelain sink and begun to splash his face, the boogeyman has him by the scruff of his neck, fisting the collar of his fluffy white bathrobe. The sink continues running, and he’s choking on the warm water as Joel holds him down.

“Jesus! Fuck!”

“Where is Emiliano?”

“Vete a la mierda,” he splutters. “Let go of me, motherfucker!”

Joel takes one of the man’s fingers and bends it all the way back. His screams are muffled by Joel’s hand.

“Where is Emiliano?”

“The bathhouse, downstairs,” he groans. “Fuck, let me go, pendejo!”

Joel bares his teeth, breaks the man’s neck, and leaves him slumped over the sink, the water still running. 

The bathhouse is doused in red and blue. The water is illuminated from within, and the whites in his victim’s eyes glow where he stands half-submerged, toasting a bottle of champagne to his rowdy friends. Joel flattens himself to the wall, listening for the tread of dress shoes. The music pounds too loudly for him to hear, but he can see the shadow before he sees its owner. 

“Clear,” says the voice. 

When he rounds the corner, Joel drives his knife into the man’s throat and silences his gurgling moans by clamping a hand over his mouth. He slides down the wall, and Joel holds his gaze while the light slowly dims in his eyes. 

One. 

Two more men are waiting behind the partition, hands folded in front of them. Joel does not recognise them. Their suits are pressed, Italian; it seems Cabrera has made some alliances. Joel lies his first victim on the ground and prowls toward his next two. 

They go easily: unsuspecting, they bleed out under his blade, choking on their blood, and he leaves them lying by the foggy partition. Three. 

The music is dreamy, the crooning of two voices set to a throbbing track. In the bathhouse, he hears the sloshing of water and the singing of a group of men nearby. They're singing an old folk song, Joel realises. A song about a ghost. 

Hurry, fall asleep, or the Boogeyman will come for you…

They don't sound particularly frightened by the spectre haunting them. Joel watches them toast their bottles of champagne and grab the waitresses’ asses. It's Emiliano and his friends, all right. Joel spots another five guards around the waist-deep water and another two by the doors upstairs. 

There's a childlike self-assuredness about him—this kid. He thinks he's protected, safe, almighty as God. He sings about Joel and smiles. 

A guard leans over him and sneers. “You need to stop drinking.”

“Are you scared of the fucking boogeyman?” jeers the kid. “I’m not! Hijo de puta.”

The guard plucks the bottle from his hand and passes it off. “You wanna vomit while you run away? Or would you just prefer to get shot in the head?”

Emiliano’s haughty sniff makes Joel wonder if a bullet in the head is retribution enough. “Get me another fucking bottle!” he says to his friend. 

Joel picks up a bottle of complimentary cologne and tosses it. The glass shatters, potent liquid pooling on the shiny floor. Three guards flank the partition. The music is too loud to let the sounds of his blade in flesh seep through. 

Six. 

On the other side of the glass, coloured blue and red and slick with humidity, the singing continues. 

From the swamp he will come…

He feels the wet splash of blood on his face. 

… and take the children that don't behave. 

Another man rounds the corner as Joel is tearing the knife from the last guard’s throat. He doesn't have enough time to slash his throat, so he pulls the handgun from his holster and shoots. He crumples to the floor, but Joel’s cover is blown. 

“He’s here! Miller’s here!”

The partition explodes. Glass rains on him as he rolls to evade the gunfire, raising his barrel to strike at the remaining guards. 

Seven. Eight. 

The men by the stairs are shouting some Spanish, some Italian. The music carries on, but the song they're singing has ended. 

Joel finds the man he's been looking for: hiding behind a petrified waitress, Emiliano Cabrera looks like a goddamn child. He's wrapped himself hastily in a bath towel around his waist, and his eyes are wide as saucers. Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m going to enjoy this a little. 

He locks eyes with Emiliano for only a moment. The guards at the top of the stairs begin to fire at Joel. He ducks behind the wall as shots chip brick from the wall or plunk uselessly in the water. By the time he flanks them around the other side of the wall and brings them tumbling down the stairs—ten—the kid has already run. Joel growls at the loss of the kill and follows him into the club. 

With an eruption of deafening music, Joel bursts into the crowd. Behind him, a gigantic LED screen is illuminated with spirals in red and blue and white. Women dance in elevated cages while the crowd below becomes a sea of skin and sequins and sweat. Joel reloads, checks the clip, and resumes his hunt. 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Joel feels the punch of the barrel into their chests as he fires, again and again and again. The commotion is lost in the din of the music and dancing. Bodies connect and grind and Joel kills. 

Fourteen. A guard by the wall. Fifteen. Another lurking by the LED spirals. Sixteen, seventeen—two men rushing him in an attempt to ambush, eyes wild with rage and a bit of fear. Joel puts them down like sick dogs and continues to push through the crowd, his eyes locked on the retreating Emiliano, who's waving a gun about like a white flag. 

But it's no surrender. It's a beacon, a sign that the deer is spooked. Joel feels his lip curl. So frightened, he thinks. 

Eighteen, nineteen…

Your bleary eyes, blinking through the pain, limbs limp and helpless as he unbuckled his belt above you. A cut on your face, barely bleeding. The red still consumes him. 

You were so afraid that night. 

Twenty. 

Twenty-one. 

He's getting closer. The crowd parts down the centre as Joel marches toward his goal. But the music is loud and he does not hear the approach from behind. 

The gunshot grazes his shoulder, but he feels the flare of pain ooze its way down his arm. Joel grunts, knocked askew from his path, and turns to forge at his assailant. 

The man is fast, though, and rushes him. The tackle brings him down to the ground, winding him just enough to briefly stun, to send his Glock spinning along the floor. He’s taller, broader, madder. 

But he shoots one-handed. 

Joel knocks the gun aside and it misfires into the gap in the crowd. In the dispersing, he sees more guards closing in his periphery. The only protection he has is the hulking body on top of him. So Joel uses it, bringing his elbow to the man’s throat and bunching the lapel of his jacket in his fist. The guard attempts to reach for the blade in his thigh holster, but Joel reaches down and bends his arm backward until the crunch crackles in his ear. The man howls, and Joel grasps the hilt of the knife. 

Twenty-two. 

He picks up his gun and fires a shot into each of the three approaching guards, but Emiliano has fled to the first floor. Joel grimaces as he stands, blood on his fingertips where he's prodded the wound in his arm. “Goddammit,” he mutters, following his target upstairs. 

The air is dizzying. Hot. Joel never liked clubs. He hated the closeness and the bodies in cages and the way skin felt so sticky, too tight, like he needed to step outside of it. He hated the feeling of being suffocated by strangers, as if any of them could be lurking low in the darkness, waiting to strike. 

He didn't understand the lure of the scantily-clad body until he saw you wrapped in a tight black dress. He didn't know the pleasure of dancing until you took his hand one night, his old vinyl player crackling out Frank Sinatra, and lay your head on his shoulder. It felt like stepping over the threshold into consecrated territory. He should not be touching you. But you were touching him. 

Joel spots Emiliano running for the back entrance, shoving another guard in Joel’s path. 

Twenty-six. 

The final man, approaching Joel from the lounge, pulls his gun in time to shoot, but not in time for Joel to notice. The bullet shatters a glass of wine and topples a waiter’s tray. Joel fires. 

One to go. 

He has no choice but to lunge for the kid before he can run out into the street. Joel’s heart is pounding in his chest, his blood electrified. The take-down is sloppy and his ankle rolls, but Emiliano Cabrera is pinned beneath him and yelping like a kicked dog. 

“My father will kill you,” he gasps, his cheek pressed to the floor.

“Your father knows exactly why I’m here,” says Joel, “and he knows how stupid you are.”

“Hijo de puta, it was just a fucking car,” he spits. “I was just going to have some fun with your bitch. I would've given her back.”

Joel isn't quite satisfied. He turns the kid onto his back and grasps him by the jaw, forcing him to meet Joel’s incendiary gaze. 

“Everything has a price.”

The knife goes in smoothly, the flat of the blade glinting in his gaping mouth. No light flees his eyes. There is nothing but cold slate-grey. And although Joel feels no happiness feeling the pulse slow to a crawl beneath his palm, he does not pull the knife out. 

Your body, sacred, helpless, lying on the floor. A predator’s gaze. The clink of a belt buckle. Joel steps over the body and leaves, limping to the valet and slipping him a golden coin. He slips back inside his Mustang, turns on the engine, and drives back to the hotel. 

You’re tucked in the alcove by the window, staring out at the moonlit night. Your chin rests on your knees as you hug yourself close. The lamp between your respective beds colours the room orange. 

“You’re limping.” 

You haven’t even turned to face him.

“How—”

“I know how you sound when you walk.” Your temple is cool where it rests on the windowpane, your breath frosting the glass. Joel staggers to the small table and braces himself on the back of a chair as he watches you. 

You’re as warm and bright as the day he found you that night in the restaurant. Your eyes may be a little older, but the glow is the same. He folds his bleeding hands around the back of the chair. Everything around you curls in, darkens, and wilts when it confronts your beauty. 

“I’m all right.” He doesn’t deserve your concern. He’ll swallow any bullet to keep you from worrying.

You stand at last and cross the room to face him. His heart jumps like it’s the first time you asked him on a date. Like the first time he kissed you, his chest taut with tension and nerves and the assumption that you’d reject him. 

“You can lie to me about lots of things, Joel, but I know this face.” The pad of your thumb ghosts over the crease between his brows. “I’ve painted it a hundred times. It doesn't lie.”

It's the first time you've touched him in days. Joel closes his eyes. Part of him, the part that jolts back to life under the tender weight of your soft skin, means it when he says, “I’m okay.”

You seem to ponder him for a moment. “This wouldn't be the first time I patched you up,” you say, as if resigned. “Go on. Bathroom.”

He winces. “You don't have to—”

“Go. And afterward, you can tell me everything.”

The pads of your fingers memorise the ridges on the gold coin. The time is close to dawn. 

He’s no longer bleeding, and although you have nothing close to the Doctor’s prowess, you’ve managed to disinfect and wrap the wound in his arm. You can’t do anything about his ankle, but it’s a sprain; he’ll heal in time. The mangled black and blue on his tender skin reminds you of a night sky without the stars. It doesn’t seem to pain him. It only makes you wonder what sorts of agonies he’s faced—ones you never knew about.

The hurt has festered in your time away from him. He’s an open wound in the shape of a hand on your back, searing cold through to your heart. The hand sports a golden band, and it reflects in the one you still wear. You don't quite know what to make of it now. 

He looks exactly like the man you knew. Not a part of him has changed—he's still scruffy, still tired, still jaggedly gorgeous. You paint him with blurred edges, with blues and greys. Your heart still pulls when you look at him. Your chest still gapes wide open, and he digs his thumbs into the bruises. He lied to you. He broke your trust. And there's still so much of your Joel in him, from the skin to the bones. 

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, turning the coin over. 

“Technically, it’s not money,” Joel says. “It is currency. They can be exchanged for favours, information, relationships.”

“A hotel room,” you add. “Good to know I don’t have to move any savings around. Where have you been keeping these?”

“There’s a safe in the basement,” he says, “under the floorboards. When I left, I buried all of it. Weapons, coins, contacts, anything I had from the Underworld.”

The Underworld. A fitting name, if you’ve made any sense of it at all. “Do the police know about all of this?”

“Most of them are in the pockets of High Table members. Those are the ones who control how it all works. Rules and consequences,” says Joel, “is how they operate. They're what separate us from the animals.”

You lift your brows. “And who sits at this High Table?”

“Twelve leaders. They're the ones who run most of the major crime families and organisations. They control police, politicians, banks—”

Your shuddering sigh makes him stop in his tracks. He watches you lean back in the chair and bends forward slightly, as if tied to you by an invisible thread. 

“So… the girl who serves me coffee on the corner by my office could be part of it.” You frown at the coin in your hand. “She could be a witness, a runner, a messenger. She could be like you.”

“She isn't,” says Joel, “but that is the general idea.”

“But civilians are immune.”

“More or less,” says Joel. “There are… heavy penalties for harming them.”

“Penalties like death.”

“Most of the time,” he says. “And there are rules here, too. No business can be conducted on the grounds of any Continental hotel.”

“Any? You mean—”

“There's a Continental in every major city in the world. It's where we go to remind ourselves we’re civilised.”

“Civilised,” you scoff. “Civilised murder, sure. I’m buying it. And now that you’re back—”

“Visiting.”

You just glare at him, and he ducks his head. 

“—there's a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “Two million.”

You curl your fingers over the coin in your palm as your stomach bottoms out. “That's a lot of incentive to put a bullet in your brain.”

“They won't,” he says. “Cabrera holds the contract, and he only opened it because of Emiliano. He’d pull it the second I agreed to stop looking for his son. He doesn't want me owing him.”

“I don't know if I’d call that a debt.”

“Considering everything I did for him,” says Joel, a bite to his voice, “anything short of killin' his kid is a favour.”

Despite yourself, you open your hand and slide the coin toward him. “Tell me what you did.”

His head shoots up, his brows knitted together. “What?”

“Tell me what you did to get out. Tell me about this ‘impossible task.’”

“Baby, that’s…” He rubs his hand across his jaw, and it strikes you then how deep those half-circles colour the space beneath his eyes. 

“Stop,” you whisper. It never used to hurt when he called you baby. “Tell me how much blood you thought I was worth.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. His knees barely touch yours under the table. “You don't wanna hear the answer to that.”

“Then start here. What did you do, Joel?”

The sigh he releases feels heavy. “I came to Cabrera, asking him to release me from my contract. He told me he'd let me out, no strings attached… if I hunted down his enemies.” 

Your mouth drops. “Which enemies?”

He picks up the coin and turns it over in his palm. The silence drops an anchor on the ground. Your belly churns with the movement of the golden piece as it catches the light. 

“All of them,” says Joel. “All of ‘em, in one night. That was his impossible task.”

The scrape of your chair legs across the floor is grating. But you stand anyway, your head vaguely stirring with the beginnings of a headache. 

“Oh my God.” 

You barely feel your own hand on your cheek, barely smell the iron tang of blood on him, barely see the red cutting through his pressed white shirt. “How many people?”

Joel shakes his head, his shy eyes lowered, still as the paintings you've made of him. “I… I don't know.” 

I lost count, he means. There were too many, he means. 

Your throat is just wide enough to let your breath escape. The air you take in feels poisonous. He killed every single one of them. All because he wanted to marry you. 

All because he wanted peace. 

“Is there anyone in the Underworld who doesn’t know your name?”

Joel’s repentant silence, head ducked as if in prayer, is all the answer you need.

“How did this happen?” Your voice is uniquely quiet. 

“When I was a kid,” he says, and your heart sinks, “I lived on the streets. Lived like a rat, mostly, but I survived. You know that much.”

You nod solemnly, lowering yourself into the chair once more. “The Sisters reunited you with your brother.”

His dark eyes reflect the lamplight and it resembles a flame igniting in the depths of the iris. “Found me on Canal Street, runnin’ drugs for a mobster I don't even remember. Tommy was only five, but he must've told them about me. They took me to the orphanage and started my training.”

You swallow, your temples pounding. Deep in your gut, something wild and dry begins to kindle. “They were the ones who taught you all of this?”

“They teach the word of God above everythin’ else, but yeah. They train children to thrive in the Underworld. We were taught knives, guns, hand-to-hand. Hell, they even taught us how to dance—how to move faster than the opponent. I knew how to kill someone before I could read.” Joel chuckles, and part of you thinks he actually thinks it's funny. “Probably why I’m so slow.”

You aren't slow, you want to say. You've never been slow, not from the first day. 

The kindling curls and you can feel your mouth pull at the corners. He had only been a child. An orphan. A child had no way to choose, to resist how they were raised. He hadn’t been given a choice—his life in exchange for a roof over his head. 

“Those fucking bastards.”

Joel’s laugh is mirthless. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

You angrily swipe the tears that warm your cheeks. “No adult should have that power. They should nurture and comfort and protect, not—” Your breath hitches. “You were a child. You didn't deserve that.”

Your fingers have curled into a fist atop the table. With both hands, he gently lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. You expect it to feel foreign, wrong. It just feels like Joel. 

“The Sisters were cruel,” he says softly. “But I made myself into a weapon. It was the only way I would survive.” He reaches out as if for a wounded deer and brushes his thumb over your jaw. “They never made me believe, sweetheart. That was all you.”

You sniffle, your head bobbing absently. You don't know what to think. You don't know how to feel. Your own husband has been through the seven circles and crawled back out only to teeter back over the pit once more. There’s an ancient weariness in the black of his eyes, an old hurt, a mansion slowly crumbling at the edges. 

“You hid this all from me, and never told anyone,” you say, the ache widening. You find you want to assume, consume, even a modicum of the pain that he's felt. 

One of his shoulders lifts in a mild shrug. “I wanted to forget all of it. I wanted to make something of the new life I’d killed for.” He meets your gaze and you swear part of the open wound in his pupils has sealed. “I didn't want any of it to touch you.”

And you remember lying in bed with him that first night, after that first time, tracing a scar on his back. White and ridged, it spread like lightning feelers from the middle of his spine to the dimples in his lower back. 

You'd put your mouth to his shoulder blade and felt him melt into you. 

What happened? 

The silence that followed could have heard the brush of a feather over skin. 

I was raised in an orphanage. In a church. They weren't kind. 

And that was that. You'd prodded and fussed and he'd said I’m fine. It was a long time ago. 

“But that's what you do, Joel,” you tell him. “You hide your hurt and you bury your feelings and you do it all because you're afraid it'll make everyone leave you.” 

Sometimes he would wake in a cold sweat, heaving, tossing aside the sheets, but he would never make a sound. You'd see him, pretending to sleep, and place your hand over his chest. His fingers would grasp yours as if marooned on the water, seeking driftwood, his hand suffocating yours. He'd keep it pressed to his heart until the beats slowed. 

You regret those times you never pressed. In a way, you were afraid, too. If you opened your eyes, if you asked him to confess, he would close the lattice and turn his back to you. You didn't want to lose him, either. 

But you did. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it doesn't hold the weight you want it to. It doesn't blow out the candles in the cathedral. It doesn't pluck the scared little boy from the streets or give him a warm bed. It doesn't stop the beatings and the lashings and the pain. 

It does not pry the pain from his heart and bury the shrapnel in your chest instead. It is something he bears, as he always has, and must. It is something you cannot take from him. And you feel more helpless than you ever have. 

He shakes his head. “I know we can't go back,” he says, tracing one of the little daisy charms on your bracelet. “But it feels… good. It feels good to finally tell you. Even if we were too late.”

The sound of his voice breaking shakes your heart loose from your rib cage. 

“Come to bed.” Your voice is raw and used. “Just… come to bed, and sleep.” 

He doesn't dare look hopeful, though you can see the tremor that courses through his hand. He wants to take yours, the way he did the day he proposed, dropping to one knee with your palms flush. 

He looked a little hopeful that day, too. With rapt attention, he'd taken hold of you and said, I love you. I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend. Will you marry me? Will you let me be your husband?

You realise now why he'd let himself hope. He'd gotten out. He'd started his new life. With you. 

You can see his old scars, even in the dark. You think, in all your time together, you've learned his body as you learn the earth you tread upon. The praying hands of Dürer lie beneath the name inked in small black lettering. 

Your name. 

You gingerly reach out and place your hand on his back. Joel shudders. He does not turn to face you where you both lie on your sides. 

“If you bleed on the bed sheets,” you say to the darkness, “will management make us pay?”

He chuckles. “Strongly worded phone call at best. I’ll take the hit.”

You frown, ghosting your fingers over the tender skin around the makeshift patch job on his shoulder. “Does it still hurt?” 

“No,” he says, leaning into your touch, “not anymore.”

“You never told me about this scar on your back.” You touch the edges of the puckered skin. “I never stopped wondering. But I should never have stopped asking.”

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Don’t say any of that like it's your fault.”

The silence bleeds as viscous as an open gash into the dry air. His watch broke the day of your wedding. He told you it was all right, that we've got all the time in the world, and you'd kissed him and laughed. He’d replaced the battery since then, but sometimes the little hand lags behind, as if afraid to chug forward. Afraid to let time, of all silly, trivial things, consume your world. 

“Do you remember your vows?” you ask him. 

“‘Course I do.” 

“Do you remember mine?”

His head bows slightly on the pillow. “‘I vow to be your partner in all things,’” he recites. “‘I vow to protect your heart like it's my own. I vow to take your pain, and to shoulder it so you don't have to.’” 

The tears saturate the pillowcase beneath your cheek. You fall asleep with your arm around his waist, your hand next to his, not touching, but nearly. 

[doll3tt33]

Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer ♡

(colin zabel x under arrest!reader)

Summary: once again, you find yourself being arrested by Colin, adding to his piling stress from an unsolved case. However, you discover that a tiny favor for the detective might bring him some much needed cheer…

Wordcount: 5.7k

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), car sex, coaxing, reader is under the influence of alcohol, brief mention of a bar fight, aggressive and rude reader, rly vague implied age gap, technically abuse of authority (it’s obvious, but I’m still putting it out there. I advise not to read if any of this makes you uncomfortable)

A/N: sorry for the major inactivity guys, I’ve been busy! And this fic ended up being longer than I expected, but I hope it’s good enough quality. My first ever smut, so hope u guys enjoy <3 (also sorry if any typos btw T^T)

You stood motionless, reeling from the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the alcohol's effects faded. The rush of emotion receded to an eerie calm. As your vision adjusted in the dim light, the scene came into focus - onlookers surrounded you and a woman now being helped from the floor. Through the buzz still clouding your mind, one detail emerged with painful clarity: her bruised and bloodied face, a stark reminder of the harm just caused in a moment of impaired impulse and from your god awful temper.

Now the woman who you beaten black and blue, almost to the point of passing out, wasn't the focal point for dispelling the haze of your impulsive rage. Nah, this lady had it coming when she slut shamed you for being oh-so-bold enough to wear a tank top tonight. No, it was the bright flashing hues of blue and red seeping through the windows that acted as your wakeup call.

Just like that, a realization hit with sobering clarity - “Shit. Cops.” Without pause, you shoved through the crowd, desperation driving every move. Bursting through the door, the frigid night air raised goosebumps across your skin. Damnit, maybe the tank top wasn’t the best choice after all. Intoxicated or not, you were in no shape for an arrest. Stumbling at first, you found your footing and picked up speed, putting distance between yourself and the scene of the incident you started. You were gonna make it through! You were gonna outrun those pigs and they would never get their grubby hands onto you!

…That was until, a loathsome voice sounded from behind.

“Hey- hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Before you knew it, you felt hands locked around your arms, yanking you to a halt. The telltale jingle of metal broke through your panic and with a sharp click, cold steel encircled your wrists. A glance back confirmed your dread. You weren’t being handcuffed by just any stinking cop - it was that good for nothing detective Colin Zabel arresting you once more, and for what, the third time this week? That’s one hell of a streak.

You sighed inwardly, the fight draining from your limbs, knowing any attempt in resisting would be in vain. “Goddammit Zabel, can’t you give it a rest?…” you muttered under your breath, as he hauled you back to the police car.

"I know, I know - save your excuses," Colin cut you off wearily, the smile not reaching his eyes. “Jus’… don’t start, ‘Kay? Do me a solid and quietly get in the car.” He opened the car door to the backseat, gesturing for you to step inside. Despite his perpetual mask of affability, you detected an edge of irritation - his good humor and patience clearly worn down by your repeated encounters.

“Whatever man…” you sighed as the door clamped shut with finality. Through the window you watched Colin slip into the driver's seat, releasing a long exhale as if to shed the stress of your latest encounter. At least you provided some diversion from his endless paperwork, though you doubted he'd admit as much.

True to his by-the-book nature, he slinked the seatbelt over himself, securing it with an assured click. Out of habit, he craned his neck over his shoulder, asking out of the goodwill of his heart. “Oh! Almost forgot. Do ya need a lil’ hand with fastening your seatbelt too?“ he offered warmly, “Don’t want any extra accidents happening tonight, am I right or am I right?” A hearty chuckle followed, dying abruptly once he took in your expression - eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line.

“Fuck off Zabel.” you growled in response, fixing your stare out the window. He felt tension coil in his gut but forced it down with a hard gulp. As a veteran officer, he had faced far worse than you, yet something about your unpredictable defiance unsettled him. For a moment, under your glare, an angry retort rose to his lips but he bit it back, sensing it would only stoke the flames. Best to let the dust settle, he decided. Starting the car, he pointedly kept his eyes forward and drove in loaded silence.

“Alriiiighty then, no seatbelt it is. I’m just gonna… ah- y’know….” He cleared his throat, voice petering off into a nonsensical mumble as he shifted gears.

An uncomfortable hush fell over the car, only the revving of the engine permeating the stillness. Colin tapped the wheel, wishing for a distraction from the tension. His mind raced through possible conversation starters but came up blank. A stolen glance in the mirror found your stony profile unchanged. With a sigh, he focused back to the road, flicking on the radio more for the static noise than any musical preference.

Colin hummed softly to fill the silence, earning another kick from the backseat - your fourth such outburst. He was the pinnacle of what it meant to be a pushover, but he still stood his ground when needed to… in his own unique way. “H-Hey, Cut it out kid! And be nice,” he let out a weary sigh, peeking up at your vexed form through the rearview mirror “You know, I’m not a fan of this attitude you’ve got going on. Haven’t been for the past week.”

You sank lower into the seat, glowering. “First of all, old man, lay off the ‘kid’ crap. I’m not a child.” You rolled your eyes at his feeble attempt at reprimand.

Colin bit back another retort, clenching his jaw. Pride demanded he have the last word, if only to reclaim a shred of dignity in his own vehicle. “Hm no, I think I’ll call you a kid. ‘Cause you know why? You’re acting like one, like right now.” he replied evenly, bubbling frustration leaking through his amicable veneer, yet he still maintained some semblance of civility between him and your not-so-good of a temper.

As you drew your breath to speak, Colin beat you to it. “Look- all I’m sayin’ is, this isn’t good for you. This is the third time this week I’m haulin’ you in here. The third time!” Weariness tinged his laughter as he splayed his fingers out in front of him, only to reclaim the steering wheel in a swift motion. “Not only is this not doing you any favors kid—-“

“I said don’t call me kid.” You interjected sharply, cutting him off this time.

Colin continued on autopilot, fatigue chipping away at his usual cheer. “It's also not doing me any favors either. I've got a case to crack, but Mare - my partner - thought it’d be best if I dealt with you while she took charge of the investigation for the night…”

His shoulders slumped, eyes downcast as a cloud of disappointment settled in. As a county detective, he longed to prove himself with this investigation, not play referee to petty disputes. But saying no had never come easy, especially when others mistook his calm demeanor as weakness.

Silently, your eyes veered away from the passing scenery outside the car window, finally taking notice of his careworn features in the mirror. Attuned to the new lines of fatigue etched upon his face, you perhaps began to understand that this was wearing him too.

“Must suck being everyone’s errand boy.” You observed, tone lacking its usual bite.

Colin offered a tired nod. “Comes with the job, I guess…” his words trailed off, accompanied by a somber tone as his gaze returned to the road. “But y’know what they say- it is what it is.” he added softly, punctuating the statement with a self deprecating laugh.

Surprisingly, a twinge of sympathy tugged at your heart - a rare reaction to the shithead county detective. For all his attempts at camaraderie, which admittedly grated, you had to respect his resilience in the face of your unrelenting hostility. Hell, that time you clocked him during arrest, most would've thrown the book - but not Colin. His patience and optimism seemed a superpower, weathering your worst without breaking stride.

A strange blend of sympathy and guilt surged through you, as the realization struck you hard like a freight train - you had subjected the poor detective to a relentless barrage of undeserved hardship, oblivious to the weight of his personal burdens. Your chest tightened, and a foreign sensation stirred deep within as the reflection in the rearview mirror held your gaze captive.

The need for redemption gnawed at your conscience, but how could you possibly make things right? You've been a real pain in the ass to him for a good while now. Within the depths of your alcohol-induced haze, a daring idea began to take shape - could you perhaps make amends through a little bit of... shared pleasure?

It was pure insanity. Drunken impulses (and drunken you) are the epitome of idiocy. Vivid images flooded your thoughts, projecting the sheer horror that would contort his face if you dared to make a move now. It was likely that he hadn't experienced the touch of a woman in quite some time. And yet, that was precisely the point. The poor guy may have been deprived of any intimate encounters since his fiancée abruptly left him, and the growing urge within compelled you to do something about it.

Undeterred, an unwavering determination fueled your decision to make a bold move and test the waters. Shattering the silence, you adopted an uncharacteristically sweet tone to conceal your true intentions. "Hey Colin, think I could sit up front? It's kinda cramped back here."

Colin glanced over, clearly skeptical of your politeness given past rides. "Not sure that's protocol..." he began, ever the rule-follower.

Your lips formed a slight pout, an innocent plea. "Aw c’mon, I'm starting to feel queasy. Just to the station, what's the harm?"

“Uhh….”

Colin's head snapped in your direction, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized your expression. Despite his suspicion, a flicker of genuine concern crossed his face. The thought of you unleashing your 'gastric distress' all over his car seemed to be a genuine fear he really wanted to avoid. He did not need an extra pukefest tonight.

Reluctantly, he caved in to your request, his voice colored with a mix of resignation and caution. "Ah, jeez... Look, you're not supposed to sit in the front, but fine, I'll make an exception this time." He maneuvered the car to the side of the road, stepping out to open the door for you. As you settled into the passenger seat, he retook his place beside you.

"Jus' promise me you won't end up throwing up in the car, 'cause I'm not looking forward to cleaning up that mess." With a playful smirk, he wagged his finger at you, but there was an underlying seriousness to his words.

"Chillaaaax, Colin. Don’t even worry, you won't see me hurling tonight. I've got it all under control," you declared, gracing him with a reassuring smile. The unexpected warmth of your expression caught him off guard, contrasting sharply with your usual snarky demeanor and the piercing death stares he had grown accustomed to.

However, Colin’s initial reservations melted away, reciprocating the gesture as a warm smile played across his face. He resumed his position behind the wheel, ready to continue the drive. But just as he was about to press the gas pedal, you captured the moment and took action. It was officially reckless business o’ clock. You sank down from the car seat, your knees grazing along the surface as you shifted toward the detective.

Colin's eyes widened comically, his mouth agape, utterly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. "K-Kid, what on earth are you—"

Cutting him off, your slurred words emerged with a hushed urgency. "Shush. And I told you not to call me kid. Just wait, let me..."

Your words trailed off as you grappled with the cramped space of the car. Hindered by the handcuffs that still restricted your movement, you struggled to find a way to support yourself without the use of your arms. Nonetheless, you persevered, inching your way beneath the steering wheel and between Colin's legs.

You released a sigh of relief as you settled comfortably onto your knees. “Phew! Crawling around is no walk in the park without some arms. Anyways...”

“Hi.” An impish grin spread across your face, your eyes flickering upwards, locking with his apprehensive gaze.

“Wow hi, haha!“ his smile, already awkward, stiffened further as he involuntarily sunk deeper into the car seat, attempting to create as much distance as possible between the two of you. “So um… is everything okay? I mean, what’s happening right now? What are you… doin’ down there, specifically?” His words tumbled out, laden with confusion and a touch of concern.

“What do you think I’m doing?” you giggled, thoroughly amused by the sight of the detective squirming uneasily in his seat. A delicate flush of pink tinted his cheeks, a detail that didn't escape your notice. Your voice dropped into a low purr as you continued, relishing in the tension that swirled between you. “Weeeell... I had this little thought, you see. I wanted to make amends. You know, for being such a pain to you over the past few weeks."

A coy little shrug followed your words, as if you were merely toying with the idea. “And I figured, what better way than to help my favorite detective relieve summa his stress off his shoulders.”

You awaited his response with a wide grin, but all that greeted you was a dumbfounded Colin, his face now aflame with a deep shade of crimson blush, eyes wide and unblinking. The sound of his breathing, short and heavy, filled the tense silence, leaving you to wonder if perhaps you had made him uncomfortable. Although a certain part of his body seemed to betray a different sentiment, stiffened and undeniable.

As both of your gazes inadvertently dropped, your eyes locked onto a conspicuous tent forming beneath Colin's slacks. A mix of surprise and amusement flickered across your face, mirrored by the silent murmuring of the word 'crap' that escaped his lips. “Hah… that’s uh- real strange. Don’t know why that’s happening,” He gulped. “Good ol’ keys in the pocket, huh? They’re a pain, especially when they decide to stick out in weird angles. It's like, whoa, things can get a little… funny, you know? Awkward, even.” He added, his voice revealing a hint of panic as he desperately attempted to maintain his composure, all while his raging boner was in plain sight.

“Oh for god’s sake,” you groaned, impatience tracing a light furrow on your brow as the restraint of the handcuffs exacerbated your frustration. "You're not seriously trying to play dumb with me, are you?" You said, annoyance and amusement bleeding through your words. The power dynamics had shifted, leaving you unable to take the lead, and instead relying on the nervous wreck of a detective before you.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, taking in a deep breath to steady fraying nerves. Determined to take a gentler approach, you decided to navigate this delicate situation with care.

"Come on, Col..." you cooed, leaning forward as far as you could, resting your head gently on his thigh. Your voice took on a soft, persuasive tone. "Let me do this for you." With a subtle flutter of your lashes, you batted your eyes, mimicking the innocent charm of a puppy seeking its owner's attention. Colin flinched, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of your sudden touch. Yet, he remained motionless, his eyes fixed upon you in mounting suspense.

A smile curled upon your lips as you sensed his lack of immediate resistance, emboldening you to press forward with your gentle coercion. "Just once," you whispered, your voice filled with earnestness. "Let me do this once, and I promise you'll feel so much better afterward."

“..Jesus, I don’t know ‘bout this… I….” Colin mumbled, trailing off with a heavy uncertainty.

He sat frozen in place, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His bottom lip bore the marks of his nervous chewing, while his brows knitted together in a hesitant frown as he weighed his options.

He knew he shouldn't, he reaaaally should not. It was morally wrong, a breach of professionalism, and could jeopardize his career if discovered. His eyes darted frantically outside the car's windows, scanning the desolate darkness that enveloped the streets in secrecy. But technically, no one would find out, would they?

And god, it had been a long while since he had been with a woman, especially since the bitter end of his engagement. And there you were right now, on your knees, your eagerness to please him palpable. Just the sight of you pouting sent his stomach into a frenzy of uncontrollable flutters, a reaction unexpected even from someone with a volatile temper like yours.

Bewitched by your feminine wiles, he barely registered how his hand had crept onto the top of your head, his thumb caressing your scalp with a tender touch. The throbbing heat in his pants intensified, overpowering any remaining restraint. With cautious swiftness, he glanced around, scanning the surroundings for any prying eyes, before his gaze settled back on your face - your smile, a comforting anchor in the sea of his conflicting emotions.

He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "F-Fine... Jus’ promise me you won't breathe a word of this to anyone, alright?" His hands returned to himself, fingers trembling as he loosened the clasp of his belt. The once ironclad resolve that had held him together began to crumble like fragile dust, succumbing to the pull of the moment.

“You have my word Col.” you reassured, your voice a soft murmur teeming with exhilaration.

Colin proceeded to undo his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing through the confined space. As he shoved them down, the dim glow of a distant streetlight seeped through the car window, casting a faint illumination on the scene. You couldn’t see all that clearly in the dark, but you did catch a glimpse of the outline of his cock protruding beneath his boxers, the fabric adorned with a telltale wet spot. Needless to say, he was far more excited than he was letting on.

Your mouth watered in anticipation, your core aching with need. Your senses heightened, thighs instinctively clenching as you awaited his next move. But just as Colin's thumb looped under his waistband, he hesitated, uncertainty settling over him like an icy veil. Restraints confined your hands, the itch of frustration crawling beneath your skin. In this moment, the immobility of your arms felt like a punishment far worse than being thrown into a holding cell later that night.

Unable to physically intervene, you relied on the power of your voice to guide the hesitant detective. "It's alright," you coaxed, tone laced with soothing encouragement. "Shake those nerves off, just this once. No one will ever find out..."

Colin's response came in the form of a hesitant nod - quick, uncertain, but nevertheless a nod. With painstaking slowness, he mustered the courage to give his boxers a small tug, gradually lowering them at an agonizingly slow pace. The measured movements seemed almost teasing, as if he were intentionally prolonging the moment. However, the truth was he basically personified a bundle of nerves, as though he was a schoolboy experiencing the thrill of his first make out session, unsure and skittish in his actions.

"How about we ditch these stupid handcuffs and let me take charge?" you suggested, your tone cutting through the air with an assertiveness that bordered on demand. Colin's head snapped up, surprise briefly shadowing his features as he registered the sudden shift in your demeanor and the scowl that tugged your lips. He couldn't entirely fault you for your impatience - he had been taking his sweet time with dropping his boxers. However, a part of him harbored a lack of trust, as dubious as it may sound. The restraints provided a sense of comfort and security, keeping you in check.

Colin's throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Ehh... sorry, but that's a no-can-do," he deflected your proposal with his trademark easy smile. "You understand, right? It's nothing personal. Jus’ think it's... better this way."

“Ugh…” you grunted, eyes rolling in annoyance. You relinquished your desires, holding back any further comments or demands.

After what felt like an eternity, Colin steeled his nerves enough to continue, no longer willing to delay the inevitable. In a swift motion, he grasped the waistband, sliding it down until his cock sprang free, bobbing slightly in the air. Your gaze, once fixated on the crop of brown pubic hair adorning the base, now traced the veiny pathways that ran along his thick length, leading to the swollen tip—flushed red and leaking. For a seemingly meek police detective, he sure had a nice looking dick.

You smiled as you leaned in, tilting your head closer. Your eyes, brimming with excitement, darted back and forth between his face and his erection, gauging his reaction as you tested the boundaries. Despite his initial apprehension, there was a glimmer of delight in his gaze. Encouraged by his response, you inched closer, your lips ghosting the underside of his shaft, your warm breath teasing his sensitive skin, coaxing it to twitch in response.

Colin squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the moment. “Crap, look- in case it wasn’t obvious enough, it’s been a while for me,” he blurted out shakily, already roused by the sight of your pretty lips caressing the heat emanating from his dick, sending a wave of warmth sweeping over him. His legs parted further, an unspoken invitation for you to draw nearer. “So sorry if I…. Y’know.. too early.” He stammered with urgency.

“I mean, you already look like you’re ready to burst before I even touched you,” you shrugged with a light chuckle. “But I kinda like that.” You flashed him a playful smirk.

He remained speechless, his face flustered and turned away, a deep red painting his features in the stillness of the moment.

Regardless, you took the plunge, gently pressing your lips against the sensitive underside of his cock. A soft, almost inaudible moan escaped his lips, a clear sign for you to continue. From top to bottom, you peppered his length with tender, soothing kisses. His hand immediately reached for your hair, his fingers finding solace in the roots to distract himself from cumming too fast, careful not to exert too much force and risk hurting you.

"And sorry about the whole hair-holding thing. I, uh... need something to hold onto when I'm really focused," he confessed, his bashful laughter intertwining with his words. His face still burning a deep scarlet hue, the admission both vulnerable and endearing. "Habit," he added, his lips twitching with shy sincerity.

“You can grip my hair as hard as you want. I don’t mind a little rough treatment.” you shot a wink, a giggle escaping your lips. Lowering your head, you tilted it to the side, your tongue tracing a stripe against his sensitive balls. Eagerly, you pressed your face forward, your lips latching onto one of them, suckling on it with a gentle yet insistent rhythm, each release elicited a small pop.

“Mmff!— fuck..” Colin‘s jaw went slack, a deep groan rolling off his tongue the moment your mouth made contact, his resistance melting away under the spell of your touch. His dark brown eyes dilated, glazing over your form below him. “Yeah, jus’ like that… jus’ like that…” he managed to utter out, his heaving breaths punctuated by muttered words of approval. His fingers entwined with your hair, massaging the crown of your head in a visceral gesture of pleasure.

“Ooh, you like that don’t you?” you remarked, a playful lilt in your voice as you pulled back slightly, savoring the sight of the detective's face contorting with undeniable bliss. “I wanna hear it baby, tell me how much you needed this.” You crooned, face colored with a teasing grin.

“Okay-okay fine, I won’t lie…” Colin huffed, admittance causing eyes to flutter away. Amused, you chuckled, flattening your tongue against his length, gliding it along a long and deliberate path, coaxing the rest of his words to spill out. A delicious shiver of electricity ran down his spine, sending a cascade of goosebumps rippling down his skin from his erection being teased. “Agh!- y-yes I needed this, I really… really needed this.” he babbled out, his breath hitching with the weight of his confession.

Satisfied, you continued. Your kisses swept from the base and drifted all the way up to the tip of his cock, tongue salty with precum as it expertly caressed the ridges. Colin's body quivered, responding with an urgent jerk of his hips, a wordless plea for you to take his cock into the warm and wet comfort of your mouth. You could feel the urgency in his veins buzz with an electric fervor, beckoning you to go further. For the sake of soothing him, you pressed your lips right onto the swollen head, treating him to small kitten licks on his sensitive slit.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous...” Colin moaned, teetering on the edge of a whimper. His hips bucked forward once more, ramming his tip deeper into your mouth. Each squirm of his body against the supple leather of the car seat produced a small squeak, almost serving as a subtle backdrop to the moment. “God, you scare the living crap outta me... but f-fuck, you’re sososo p-pretty!” He choked, another whimper caught in his throat.

“Mhm… that’s what I do best detective…” you mumbled with a full mouth, the warmth of his fluids clinging to your breath.

The evidence of your arousal was just as indisputable as his, your panties most definitely soaked from the act of using your mouth on the detective alone, cunt weeping from the lewd noises leaving him with each stroke. Your lips glided further down along him, accommodating his warm slickness as you relaxed your jaw. “Ohmygod- holy shit you feel so good...” he groaned. He slumped back against the backrest, head lolling over his shoulder as he fought to stifle a moan. “Ngh- so good f-for me…”

Despite the discomfort that knotted your knees and the soreness that gnawed at your back from kneeling on the unforgiving car floor longer than you should’ve (all while handcuffed too!), that fiery bundle of elation simmering in your belly powered you through it. After all, Colin was all you could focus on, eclipsing everything else. His raw groans, the incoherent praises that spilled from his mouth, and the way your name danced off his tongue like silk - it was all you needed in the moment, utterly invading every fiber of your being.

However, it wasn't just you who was losing yourself in the moment. Colin's mind short-circuited completely, overwhelmed by the mounting pleasure that had him seeing dazzling stars. Your heavenly skills had transformed his body into a molten state of arousal, practically dissolving into a puddle of liquid. In this state, his thoughts scrambled like a glitching, outdated computer, and your lack-of-hands situation compelled him to take the reins in a mindless frenzy.

"Hope ya’ don't mind if I jus’..." he mumbled hoarsely, his words stumbling out spontaneously. His hands cradled the sides of your head, anchoring you in place, hovering inches above his seat to steady his rhythm. His cock delved deeper into the confines of your throat as his hips undulated to the flow of his ragged panting. His heart galloped like a wild stallion, synchronizing with the rhythm you created, while he sunk himself further into the depths of your wet heat.

“Mmh!- ‘m almost there! Need a lil’ l-longer.” Colin sputtered out, throat straining to keep as quiet as possible. He could see the glistening of tears stinging your eyes, whimpers muffled out around him. He truly never intended to subject your poor mouth to such rough treatment, his tip bullying the back of your throat with each jerky thrust until it was sore, pushing so deep that your nose buried itself in the tufts of hair on his pelvis. Despite the guilt welling up in him, he couldn’t help himself at this point. His body was now like a machine, moving on its own accord to milk every ounce of pleasure he could get.

Even then, you didn’t even break eye contact, not even once. Not when this police detective who nursed a hidden disdain for your tempestuous presence behind faux smiles, was now coming undone right before you - His once neatly styled chestnut brown hair now clung to his sweat-drenched forehead, strands falling over his flushed, pale features. His lips, now parted and glistening, revealed a glimpse of vulnerability, while his doe eyes sparkled with a feverish glimmer. Everything about him in this moment was enthralling, leaving you no choice but to be mesmerized.

The rippling tremors jolting through Colin's frame reminded him that he was nearing his climax, fire pooling low in his abdomen ready to erupt. Between heavy panting, he plucked up the courage to voice his request, his fretful eyes scanning the confined space of the car. “Hey sooo uh- you um… y-you don’t mind if I don’t pull out… right?” he asked, vulnerability threaded through his tone. He definitely wasn’t eager to see his load spray onto anything inside his police car.

Your nose scrunched up in clear disapproval, a glare shooting daggers at him, clearly not a fan of swallowing. He clicked his tongue in disheartenment, head tilted to the side “C’mon, do me a favor will ya?… Not really lookin’ forward to making a mess in the car.” He pleaded breathlessly. To his relief, no signs of protest emerged, though a sullen mask adorned your face.

As he noticed your lack of resistance, he seized the opportunity to follow through with his words. “‘m sorry!- So sorry. I-I’ll make it up to you later. Really!” Colin bleated, tone brewing with guilt and that familiar undercurrent of pleasure.

Squeezing his eyes back shut, he rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the tightly coiled spring in his belly, yearning for release. His balls tightened, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turned sloppy. Consumed by a blinding, searing white that engulfed his senses, his mind completely blanked. With one final forceful pump, he held your head close, ropes of cum painting your mouth white. Trapped in his surprisingly strong grip, you gulped down the bitter torrent, suppressing the almighty urge to gag as your tongue battled with the assault.

Once you swallowed every last drop of his cum, Colin released his firm grip, withdrawing his now softened cock from your mouth. His hands fell limply to his sides, the air in the cramped car heavy with sweltering breaths, as though the two of you had just completed a grueling marathon on a hot summer’s day.

Gradually regaining his composure, Colin peeled his eyes open, his gaze fixed upon your chest rising and falling, your lips swollen and glistening with wetness. “Jeez uhh, are you okay?- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Post orgasm clarity rushed over him like a gust of fresh air, his lips downturned with genuine concern. He hastily reached into his coat pocket, digging out and opening a tissue packet, gingerly dabbing away the saliva and residue from your chin and mouth.

You blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the unexpected act of care from the detective. Well, that was a first - no one had ever wiped your mouth for you after a blowjob, but then again, your hands were bound, rendering you immobile. “Yeah I’m fine, you didn’t really have to do that, but I appreciate the gesture.” you replied in a hoarse voice, head shying away from him.

Colin's face brightened with a smile, a wave of relief washing over him. You were right - the weight of his once overwhelming stress seemed to dissipate. In fact, he felt like a brand new man! It had been a long time since he had been intimate with a woman, so this encounter meant more to him than you could ever know.

In an unexpected twist, he scooped you up from the car floor, strong arms cradling your waist as he pulled you into a tight embrace, cocooning you on his lap. In that moment, the softie within him had taken over, aching to shower you with affection and gratitude for the pleasure you had shared.

Your shoulders tensed in his firm grasp, your wide eyes betraying a mix of surprise and alarm. You couldn't help but wonder if he always got this sentimental after engaging in intimacy, and you couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Woooow okay, so we're hugging now huh? Someone's feeling affectionate tonight," you noted with a touch of sarcasm. Yet, despite your initial resistance, you allowed him to hold you, gradually surrendering to the warmth of his arms. Deep down, buried beneath layers and layers of pride, a part of you secretly enjoyed this, even if you'd rather be drawn and quartered than admit it.

“Yeah, hope you don’t mind. It’s jus’ that… you did such a good job.” Colin chuckled, his hand gently caressing the small of your back. “And hey, would ya’ look at that! I really do feel so much better now. So, genuinely, thank you.” His words resonated softly against the crook of your neck as he rested his chin there, his arms remaining securely wrapped around you.

You allowed the weight of the moment to sink in, basking in the warmth and tenderness enfolding you. Then, an idea suddenly sprang to mind, and you couldn't resist voicing it. “Say… since I did one hell of a job, does that maybe mean I’m off the hook now?” You pulled back, a sly brow raised as you awaited his response.

Colin let out an exaggerated huff, his smile filled with amusement as he ruffled your hair into a delightful mess. “Nope,” he replied teasingly. “You’re still getting your butt thrown into the station for the night.“

Your expectant smile swiftly dropped into a deep frown, prompting a hearty pat on the back from the detective as he erupted into a fit of laughter. “Sorry kid,” He said between chuckles. “Now chop-chop, time for you to get in the back!”

-------☆-------

I’m aware I made Colin more pathetic than he actually is and I apologize- Idk I just could resist 😭😭 Hope the aftercare made up for it tho??

🤍 only tagging one person cuz idk who else wants to be tagged:

@lacucarachapisser

[piratefishmama]

Fake it 'till you make it | Prompt

When Steve Harrington came out to his parents, he expected a few things to happen. Jumping back a little, he hadn’t even meant to come out. His parents meant well, they did. He couldn’t deny that they meant well.

They knew he was lonely when they were gone, they knew he was the type of person who kind of… needed someone around. He wasn’t a lone wolf, he wasn’t someone who could just go it alone, while they were away for months, and while Robin was lovely, Robin was also a lesbian.

So Robin was out of the question.

So it fell to the women they knew. Through their connections. And unfortunately those women tended to be, for lack of a better phrase, ‘Daddies money is how I intend to live for the rest of my life’, and completely comfortable in switching out who Daddy was.

Steve… didn’t have a daddy kink, thanks.

Okay maybe he did a little but not in the call him daddy kind of way. More the other way around.

After the fifth attempt to throw some business partners daughter at him, a woman who’d actually kind of impressively deep throated a hot dog at the office barbeque while looking directly at him before he’d even gotten her name. Impressive, kind of terrifying.

An image of his life consisting of an unhappy marriage where his wife used sex as some kind of transaction rather than the big family full of love that he wanted flashed before his eyes.

He'd had enough. So when the sixth one came up, Vivian, he hadn’t even been able to wait for them to explain who she was, which business associate she was related too, it just. Came out.

Or rather he came out. Spectacularly.

“I’M GAY!” Okay less spectacular initially, more manic desperation. He expected a few things to happen after he realised what he’d blurted out.

He expected anger, he expected disappointment, he half expected disownment, not fully expected, his mother would probably be on his side. He expected violence, judgement, demands of him to tell them it wasn’t true, or demands that he hide it, keep pretending for appearances sake. He’d heard the coming out horror stories.

He did not expect—

“Oh oh! What about Jonathan!! From Tennis club, honey you remember Jonathan right? Peter’s son?” His mother turning to look at his father, who’d turned a little pale. That was it, his father would be the one to blow up, his mother was in his corner that was sort of expected but his fa—

“Lynda he is not dating someone with the same name as me, that—no. No, I don’t think I’d recover if those thin walls at the chalet struck again.” Goddammit. “What about Timothy, Dorothy’s nephew? Didn’t she say she’d caught him with some punk boy on that family holiday to London?”

“Yes but she was trying to get points around the water cooler for being hip and homophobic, did you not hear what she called the poor boy? I’m not associating with Dorothy, good heavens.”

“I hadn’t heard, why have I not heard? Lynda we’re trying to create an inclusive work environment, I can’t have homophobic people working in HR!” And John was up, newspaper down, and off to his study to deal with Dorothy muttering about how he was sure the monthly office newsletter, which included the updated company values, would have weeded the bigots out by now.

“…Did my coming out just get someone fired?” Steve finally broke his shocked silence, his mothers attention turning back to him, her eyes wide, mouth puckered in a little, silent, oh.

“……Maybe.” His shoulders slumped, expression dropping to deadpan, she moved quick to reassure him “Don’t worry about it, Steven, she really wasn’t well liked.” It didn’t make him feel better… okay maybe it did, one less homophobe in the workplace. “Oooh, what about—”

It didn’t stop the matchmaking. The potential suitor pool just got bigger. Especially when he quietly, defeatedly corrected himself, revealing it was bisexual, not just gay, accepting his fate.

So it was no longer Vivian, Jessica, Bethany, Barbara, Carol, etc.

It was Vivian, Thomas, Jessica, Peter, Bethany, Robert blah blah blah

“Okay but you know some people would kill for that kind of support right?” Robin spoke the truth while rewinding the latest batch of returns. And maybe he was whining, maybe he was being overdramatic, his parents were supportive and were trying to make sure he’d be happy while they were gone on their long business trips.

Honestly they could have probably just let him get a dog. It’d have been easier. Less expensive than any of the people they were suggesting.

“I know… it’s just… they could at least try and find out what my type is. Instead it’s like they’re trying to throw a whole Indy gay bar at me in hopes that one person just kinda sticks. And now I’ve got a whole week with them coming up in some remote chalet, what if they bring someone, Robs? What if they bring someone and try an set us up an—”

“Can your parents just… adopt me?” She wasn’t listening “I’d kill to have the dating thing simplified for me, I can’t even talk to girls, you’ve got your mother doing all the work for you. I’d appreciate them, tell them I’d appreciate them.”

The door chimed, neither of them looked up, too engrossed in what they were doing. If a customer needed their help, they’d make it known.

They’d just adjust language used to not out themselves to strangers.

“You tell them! Pretty sure they’d find you someone.” Apparently his parents would be thrilled to help. He wanted to be happy about that, he really did, it was just exhausting having to fend off people who were interested in him but only for the last name, the business connection, the money. He wanted someone who wanted him for him, and none of those ‘potential suitors’ fit that bill. “Robbie I’m serious here, what if— what if they try when I can’t escape. I can’t spend a whole week in the woods with some stranger they’ve thrown at me, I think I might actually perish.”

“Then take a date.” Both young adults turned to look at the culprit behind the door chime.

“Henderson!” Steve’s favourite of the brat pack. Having met him while ferrying the kids home when Jonathan couldn’t pick Will up from Mike’s on a night when Steve had been hanging out with his at the time girlfriend Nancy. The kid was hilarious, a little bit of a know it all, but when you actually know it all, you’ve kind of earned the right to be obnoxious about it. “What did you hear?”

“That someone’s setting you up with people? Which is that a bad thing?” He directed the second question to Robin who shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Not in my book lil man, not in my book.”

“Okay It’s not the attempt that’s the problem, it’s the quantity of attempts, and the quality of people they’re throwing at me! Quantity and quality are the issues here, people, it’s not that they’re doing it,”

“It’s that they’re doing it badly.” Dustin finished, Steve pointing at him with clicked finger guns.

“Exactly… and I don’t want my parents at my future wedding claiming they were responsible for getting us together cause that’d be weird! And pathetic. I want a fun first date story, a meet cute, or a ridiculous ‘yeah we were trapped in an elevator for like, three hours and bonded’ kind of story, I want an ‘I met them on a train’ or ‘they hit on me at the bar, and it just worked’ not an ‘my parents set us up in a remote cabin in the woods’, do you get me?”

“I can see your dilemma, but remote cabins in the woods can be really roman—"

“Nobody wants to hear about you and Suzie again! We get it, she’s your soulmate and future nerd wife you lucky little shithead.” Long distance and tricky as it may be, they were kind of perfect for each other. “Now what were you saying about taking a date?”

“Exactly that, take a date with you. Tell them you’re bringing someone and just… bring someone.” Dustin let his eyes flick to robin purposefully, quirking his head a little to subtly nod at her “you could take Robin” as if to say now’s your chance, dickhead, take it.

“Somehow I doubt Robin would be able to convince them that we were dating.”

“Cause we’re not.”

“And will not be.”

“At all.”

“Eh—"

“—ver”

“You guys make no sense.”

“We make perfect sense, my strange little child friend. You just don’t have all the information to make it make sense.” Robin wiggled her fingers at him as if it was some kind of mystery, it was to Dustin but that wasn’t important. “He does have a point though, you could take a date, there’s plenty of people in Hawkins who’d kill for a rich person get away, just gotta let them know that it’s a pretend date situation. Or… actually find a date. If you can.”

The "you suck" board flashed into his mind momentarily. He couldn’t. Not within the time frame he had. He was so far off his game his parents were matchmaking for him.

Dustin’s voice broke through his thoughts once more, offering salvation. “I know someone you could hire for that…” hallelujah, Dustin Henderson everybody.

Part 2

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Spring challenge.

Sprung

Prompt: Spring | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Struggling to Make Ends Meet, Light Angst, Sacrifice, Love, Making a Life Together

"Steve, please," Eddie says, and Steve stills.

"I thought you were asleep?" Steve whispers in the dark, and Eddie's not sure why Steve's trying to be quiet at this point. They're both awake now. Steve's made sure of that.

"I was," Eddie huffs out, annoyed, because he had been. But Steve's constant flopping around has ruined that. Steve's become the world's shittest sleeper lately, and that's not exactly ideal in a bed partner.

"Sorry," Steve says, stilling, "I'll try to stop moving around."

Eddie just mutters something that he hopes passes as a thanks, and rolls back over. He has to get up at six, and he fucking needs his four hours. That's not too much to ask for, goddamnit. 

Steve's still for a few minutes, but then rolls over in his sleep, again, and the whole bed shifts and shakes. Again. Eddie's had enough, and snags his pillow off the bed, padding down the hallway to crash on the couch. He's exhausted. He can't do this tonight. He can't.

He still wakes up tired, because it was too cold in the living room. Their shitty radiators either don't work, or boil you. No middle ground. Fucking shithole. But it's the best they can do for now, since they're barely keeping their heads above water, as is. Working just to live. It's been hard. Harder than Eddie expected, and he grew up with fucking hard. 

He'd hoped they'd be past that now, hoped he'd finally catch a goddamn break.

Of course not.

It's the Munson curse. 

And now Eddie's in a bad mood, even as Steve's pouring coffee into Wayne's old thermos for him, packing Eddie's metal lunchbox, to keep him going on the jobsite all day. 

"Thanks," Eddie says, taking it, and Steve just nods silently, clearly aware Eddie's in a mood this morning.

Eddie worries they're circling the drain, from circumstances alone. It's not a love problem, it's a life problem, and that makes it worse.

And before long, Eddie realizes he broke the seal, having introduced a new wedge between them. Now that the couch is in play, they aren't even sleeping in the same bed most nights anymore. Steve will go, or he will, and now they're sleeping apart more nights a week than they sleep together. Maybe they're getting more rest, but they're also growing even further apart. 

Today, Eddie's coffee and lunch are on the counter, but Steve's already in the shower, and their ten minutes together in the morning are gone.

Just like that.

Eddie grabs his work boots from the closet, flopping down on Steve's side of the bed to put them on, and he's suddenly assaulted, poked right in the ass by whatever Steve's left laying on the mattress. 

Standing up, he's sliding his hand over the bed in the dark to see what the fuck he sat on. Nothing. He yanks the sheets back, and there's still nothing, so he strips it further.

It's a spring. 

And it's threatening to fully poke through, probably right where Steve's back rests. Goddammit. No wonder Steve can't fucking hold still at night. He's being tortured, Eddie thinks, as he presses his hand against the spring, feeling it bite into his hand. 

A rogue mattress spring.

That's what's divided them, broke them down. 

Eddie sits back down, lets the spring dig into his ass, and holds his head in hands. He's not gonna cry. He doesn't have time. He has to go to work. But goddamn this. 

He's still sitting there when Steve comes in and is rifling through the closet, "You okay?"

"No," Eddie says.

Steve walks over and puts the back of his hand on Eddie's forehead and Eddie laughs, wetly. 

"You don't feel hot," Steve declares. 

"No, I don't," Eddie mutters, because damn, he fucking doesn't feel hot at all. He feels broken down and worn out. 

He reaches up and catches Steve's hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing it. 

"I'm sorry about the mattress. I didn't know," Eddie says, looking up at him.

"It's okay, I'm used to it," Steve says, and he rubs his fingers against the top of Eddie's head.

"You shouldn't have to be," Eddie says, dejected. 

Steve Harrington chose him, loves him, and Eddie can't even give him a bed to sleep on that isn't trying to pierce his spleen every night.

They can't afford a new one, not right now, and Eddie hates that he can't fix this. 

"We'll flip it," Eddie offers.

"Then it'll have the crater on your side again," Steve says with a laugh. And yeah, Eddie'd forgotten they flipped it last year, after his side started breaking down. Sucking him inward, like a gate into the Upside Down.

That doesn't matter.

"Well, that's gotta be better than this," Eddie admits, bouncing a little. Anything would be better than this torture device.

Steve kneels between Eddie's open thighs, "It's okay, Eddie."

It's not. 

"I'm sorry I was being a jerk. I didn't know," Eddie says.

"I know you didn't," Steve answers, "I didn't want you to worry."

Eddie brushes Steve's hair off his forehead, "I'm still sorry. I love you. You know that, right?"

Steve grins, and it's blinding, "Always. Work now, worry about the mattress later."

Eddie nods, smiles, and when Steve moves from between his knees, Eddie leans over and laces up his boots. Ready to start another day.

That evening, when Eddie pulls into the driveway, Wayne's truck is parked behind Steve's car. Eddie hadn't realized Wayne was coming, and grins. This day just got way better.

Eddie plows into the house, and finds Steve in the bedroom, a pair of needle nose pliers dug into a small hole they've cut in the mattress, trying to bend the spring back into its original position. Wayne's standing there, talking Steve through the temporary fix, until they can afford something better.

It's gonna be okay, Eddie realizes. They're just a little bent out of shape right now. A little sprung. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[sinofwriting]

Horny on Main - Daniel Ricciardo (listen, please verse) (y/n's edition)

Summary: Y/N can’t seem to control herself in her boyfriend's comments. (Part of the listen, please verse. Read the first part here, Daniel’s version here, and explore the rest of the listen, please verse here)

Taglist | Masterlist | Patreon

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, riccisthicc, maxverstappen and 245,754 others danielricciardo: cheesin’

view all comments

yourusername: omg. He so boyfriend y’all yourusername: how the fuck man? yourusername: want you so bad ⤷ danielricciardo: when and where babe? landonorris: i remember when he use to smile like that at me ⤷ maxverstappen: same mate dannyriccsmile: another one for the collection!

danny3ricc

liked by tattattack, yourusername, and 1,283 others danny3ricc: New photo of Daniel’s thigh dropped! How we feeling?

view all comments

user1: i need to know his tattoo artists like stat yourusername: not feeling good. Who gave him the right to have such nice thighs? ⤷ danny3ricc: what are you doing here? ⤷ yourusername: nothing! Thanks for the photo! danny3ricc: why are her and daniel the exact same goddammit

danielricciardo

liked by landonorris, f1fans, yourusername, and 128,232 others danielricciardo: So many rules in Texas but always a pleasure to visit

view all comments

user1: daniel not having a seat when there’s race in austin just isn’t right ⤷ user2: i’m trying not to think about how austin is going to be in a few months yourusername: they say everythings bigger in Texas… that true? ⤷ danielricciardo: want to find out? ⤷ yourusername: i’ll be there in two minutes user3: why is orange still his color after mclaren? ⤷ yourusername: he got all the luck

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, danny3ricc, redbullfanatic, and 203,382 others danielricciardo: LA bound for the next week

view all comments

yourusername: begging for a warning next time yourusername: i want to lick you yourusername: you are stupid hot ⤷ danielricciardo: right back at ya, sweets landonorris: i hate this app ⤷ yourusername: deal with it, child user1: y/n needs to find some chill. Goddamn. user2: could daniel forever go around shirtless ⤷ yourusername: i wish

danielricciardo

liked by mvdr333, sebastianvettel, yourusername, and 214,328 others danielricciardo: not allowed to wear shirts anymore, so working on my tan

view all comments

user1: the lords work 🙏 yourusername: best rule i ever made yourusername: also that seat taken? 👀 ⤷ danielricciardo: always available for you charlesleclerc: never letting you borrow a yacht again ⤷ danielricciardo: we weren’t that bad. And I paid for the cleaning bill. ⤷ charlesleclerc: never again

F1

liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen, yourusername, and 376,474 others F1: BREAKING! Daniel Ricciardo to replace Nyck de Vries at AlphaTauri for the rest of the 2023 season

view all comments

redbullracing: welcome back Daniel! user1: holy fuck user2: daniel in Austin??? Lets fucking go!!! user3: i don’t know if this is good or bad news yourusername: best looking driver is back on the grid and i can’t wait to be a wag.

Tagging: @cixrosie @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @topguncultleader @copper-boom @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @benstormy

[nathaslosthershit]

Pickles and Pregnancy||Quinn Hughes x Reader

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, I am not pregnant nor have I ever been so this is going to be insanely inaccurate! 

Request: Can I get a pregnancy fic with one of the boys you write for? Maybe the reader wakes up in the middle of the night with cravings and her and her husband have a cute moment in the kitchen? Love you lots!

A/n: Thank you to everyone who voted on who should be the reader's husband in this fic! Couldn’t have done it without you

Word Count: 600+

“Quinn, Quinn. Wake up please goddammit!” Is what Quinn heard as he was shaken awake by his very much so pregnant and distressed wife. 

The fear on Quinn's face as he sat up would have made her feel bad if she hadn’t been in such misery.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Is it you? How can I help?” He said in one breath.

You began to cry. These stupid fucking hormones were absolutley ruining your life.

“I’m sorry I’m just really hungry and the thought of having to wait till morning to eat just-” You cut yourself off when sobs overtook your body. It really wasn’t a big deal but at the same time it absolutely was. 

Relief that there wasn’t something seriously wrong with you or the baby overcame the slight feeling of anger Quinn had felt from being woken up at… 3:26 am. 

“What can I do? Do I need to go out and get something? Most places will be closed at this time, love.” He said cautiously, you were already crying and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

“I just… I just want pickles. So badly. Please, Quinn, I will do anything for you to go get some.” You beg, sniffling as you try to calm yourself. It broke Quinn’s heart to see you like this, especially when he couldn’t do anything. Luckily though, he was prepared for this exact scenario. 

“Hun, I got some after practice, they are in the fridge.” Seeing the look of happiness and relief wash over your face made Quinn laugh. Your ability to change moods that fast after hearing you were going to be able to eat pickles at 3 am was astounding to him. 

“Come keep me company?” 

“Always, love.”

You feel Quinn’s hand on your back as you waddle to the kitchen. Opening the fridge to find those fucking pickles almost made you jump with joy, and maybe you would have if you had been able to jump in the current state you were in and had been in for many months. 

“I’ve never had a better pickle holy shit.” You moan.

“Okay first cut the swearing with our child present. Also, can you cool it with your pickle horniness please?” Quinn asks as he reaches for the jar.

“Absolutely the fuck not. These are mine. Grow your own child and I’ll share but I didn’t invite you here to give you some.”

“Then why am I here, love?”

“Because if the child I am currently making inside of me decides I must eat pickles or I will die, then the man who put the kid in me will also have to be awake at 3 am in solidarity.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll stay in solidarity” at that, he leans in to kiss you. As one kiss becomes two, and two become a very heated start to a makeout session, you pull away, putting your hands on his chest as he leans in for more.

“Absolutely not. I'm here to eat, not recreate our baby’s conception.”

“You are disgusting, you know that?”

“I love you too.” You say as you close the jar. Before you open the fridge he stops you.

“I love you more than anything. And I will gladly spend the rest of my 3 am’s awake, watching you eat pickles if that is what you want.” He leans down to kiss your head before you both walk back to your room.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Where is My Husband (PT2)

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Ghost x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Fluff, a bit smutty, a bit emotional, kissing, language, married couple, remaking memories, flashbacks,

𖤐Recap: Ghost had unfortunately lost his memory after getting injured. He lost all memory of his wife Y/n, he lost 2 years worth of his memories. His wife tries to help him gain all those memories back of her into his mind.

𖤐 where-is-my-husband (pt1)

—————

—————

Ghost has been going to the physical therapist for about a week now, he’s definitely having trouble moving his arm a lot, the therapist told him not to lift anything heavy for a while at least not in till his feels more confident.

Y/n has also been going with him as well, he just wanted her to come so he could show her that he will be okay.

Y/n was driving them home from one of his appointments, he leaned back in the passenger seat head leaning on the window.

He didn't want to say it...but he felt very useless.

"How many more appointments?" Ghost asked.

"In till you feel comfortable and till you show some signs of improvement."

He groans. "This is annoying," he says.

He's definitely the same ol' Ghost from before leaving for the Military, no patience, and always grumpy.

"It's not annoying, Simon, you need to go so you can become healthy again and so your arm can move like it used to." She says, while pulling into the driveway.

They both got out, Ghost using his key to unlock the door, and both were greeted by Phantom, he meows loudly rubbing his head on Ghost's shin and pawing at Y/n's shoelaces.

She smiles bending down and picking up Phantom. He lets out some loud purrs and rested his head on Y/n's shoulder.

Ghost went to the kitchen to make himself some tea as Y/n followed behind. The doctor had said to keep an eye on him from lifting heavy things, he wasn't even allowed to carry a gallon of milk.

He opens the fridge and tries to grab the gallon of milk, but Y/n put Phantom on his cat tree and grabbed the milk for him.

He signs of annoyance, and looked at Y/n.

"I could have used my other arm."

"It's okay, Simon, I got it for you."

"Don't...I'm not thirsty anymore."

"Oh, stop it, Simon..." Y/n says.

Ghost just rolls his eyes and she set the milk down on the counter, Y/n looked at Ghost and smiled.

Ghost may hardly remember Y/n but he's slowly remembering that sweet smile of hers. Ghost stares at her and then wonders how did someone like her fall for someone like him?

--------

Y/n has to go to the store for groceries, she was getting her jacket on and zipping it up halfway. Simon looks over the couch and saw her getting her shoes on next.

"Y/n? Where are you going?"

"The store-OH! Would you like to come with? I figured you may not want to come but I should have asked instead of assuming."

"No, I'm fine, go on without me," he yawns and turns back to the TV. Y/n grabs her purse and walks to the couch, she leans over and kisses his cheek.

"I'll be back," she whispers and walked out of the house. Simon felt his cheeks heat up.

"Goddammit," Simon says.

Once she was gone, Simon stood up and wondered the house. He found some photo albums and started to look through them. He looked through one that was small, a light pink colored cover, the first photo he flips to was on Y/n on her back with a summer dress, she looks beautiful, it was like the one that sat behind the couch.

He flips to the next page seeing him sitting on a big rock looking at the river, he looked like he was in hiking gear, it must be a date and vacation photo album.

Going on he finds one of both of them in a hot tub together, his right hand held her waist, the other holds the camera, he was smiling but not one that showed his teeth just a small mouth smile, Y/n's arms wrapped around his neck, and she showed a bright smile. This must be an important date or vacation, he then noticed something.

The first photo of her on the picnic blanket her finger were bare but this one in the hot tub, her left ring finger held her wedding ring.

He proposed to her this day.

Flashback

Simon and Y/n had gone to the states and their vacation was in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Simon had rented out a cabin for a week, and in this week, Simon was nervous...he was going to propose to Y/n.

Y/n and Simon were in Gatlinburg enjoying the sights and hiking, it was Y/n's idea to go somewhere in the States, she hasn't been in a while and Ghost hasn't been to the States before.

Simon's left hand was in his pocket messing around with the small black velvet box in his pocket. Y/n was at a wine testing bar as Ghost was behind her, he was making sure she was okay and whatever she wanted Ghost was going to spoil her with whatever she wanted it was all about her this week no one else, not even himself.

She picked out two wines a classic white grape wine and a cotton candy flavored wine. Ghost had bought them for her. Ghost and Y/n were now shopping, Y/n wanted some souvenirs as Ghost just bought a keychain, it was of a black bear with Gatlinburg engraved in it.

They headed back to their cabin and Y/n really wanted to get the hot tub, she packed a swimsuit and Ghost had brought his swimming trunks. They both changed into their swimming gear and Ghost removed the cover on the hot tub and let Y/n go in first.

Then he got in, he sat across from Y/n, she was a little confused on why he was so far.

"Why are you all the way over there?" She asks.

"I...I'm not sure," he chuckles and moves closer to her. He put his arms on the side of the hot tub, one behind Y/n's head and the other was rubbing his fingers together. He looked over his shoulder and saw the black velvet box just peeking out from under his towel.

"What?" She asked, ready to turn around but he stopped her.

"Nothing, hey look at me," he says. She does and giggles at him.

"What?" She asks.

"Just...wanted to look at you that's all," he said, kissing her lips. His hands went to her cheeks and soon fell to her waist pulling her closer to him.

"S-Simon, why so sudden?"

"Why not?" He asks, kissing her some more and he stands up still kissing her and grabbing the black box. "Y/n?"

"Hmm~?" She hums, looking up at him.

"I umm~ I wanted to ask you something...something that's very important."

"Okay...ask away," she smiles.

"Well...when I met you, I was wondering how could someone like you end up with someone like me? How did I get so lucky to have someone like you in my life? Y/n...I want to keep having those thoughts, I've been holding this back for a while because I didn't know the right time, but I think now is the right time to ask," he shows her the black box and she immediately knew what was inside.

She covers her mouth with her hands and waited patiently to open it.

"Will...Will you make me the happiest man on Earth and..." he opens it to show off a beautiful ring. "Marry me?"

"Oh Simon, yes, yes, of course, I will," she hugs him tightly and he was smiling and hugging her back. He slides the ring on her finger and grabs her waist and pulls her closer to him, he other hand, held the camera and took a photo.

"I remember..." Ghost mumbles before flipping to the next photo.

The photo was a bit...scandalous...it was of Y/n, and it was her on the bed, sitting on her knees in some white lingerie, her straps had fallen down and her bra was undone but she held it against her chest to cover herself.

He chuckles and shakes his head.

Next, she was feeding a buffalo at a Zoo they went to, she looked so happy, he could see the ring in the photo, it made him smile even more at the thought of her.

Ghost remembers a random time that just randomly popped in his head. It was of him, and Y/n just lying in bed and talked for a little bit, he doesn't remember the conversation or anything it was just random.

He places the book down and grabbed another album. It was the wedding one, it was white and in big letters in cursive saying 𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒲ℯ𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝒻 𝒮𝒾𝓂ℴ𝓃 ℛ𝒾𝓁ℯ𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒴／𝓃 ℒ／𝓃.

The first page the picture was of Y/n getting ready, curlers in her hair, eye masks under her eyes, and she was drinking from a coffee cup while his guess her mom was behind her with her hands on her shoulders.

He turns the page and saw him and his friends smiling at the camera and holding glasses full of liquor, none of them were ready, Simon's shirt was unbuttoned, and his belt was undone.

"What are you looking at?" He heard Y/n's soft voice.

"...Memories," he said, holding up the album.

"Oh...yeah," she places the groceries away and went to the couch sitting next to him as he turns the page.

"What was happening here?" Ghost asked, but he probably knows what's happening.

"Well, Soap had a few too many drinks and wouldn't stop laughing, so Price tried to get him to stop by covering his mouth, but everyone was having fun," she says.

Ghost looks at Y/n's finger seeing the ring.

"I remember how I proposed to you."

She seemed shocked he remembered.

"HUH! Really?!"

"Yeah...we were in Gatlinburg and we both where in the hot tub together and I proposed," she cups his face.

"You remember?"

"Yeah~" he sounded confused maybe he was wrong?

"Oh my god," she hugs him tightly and he hugs her back.

"But...I still don't remember much," he says.

"I understand," she says.

They kept going through the photo albums and he was smiling at the wedding and then Y/n grabbed another vacation album.

"This was us at Bora Bora for our honeymoon," she says.

"Is that-"

"Yeah~" There was a photo Ghost flipped to and it was of Y/n in the water...naked. Ghost looked at her and her face was red, she was embarrassed.

"I mean we were in our own private area, so it didn't matter, but you WANTED a phot after I said no, so many times," she giggles. "We don't show this album a whole lot because of...some of the photos," she confesses.

"I can see why," he flips the page and saw where he was laying in the bed completely bare, and the white sheet rested on his lower half, but you could see his v-line. "I wonder who took this photo?" He says chuckling.

"You took so many of me, I thought I should do some," she says giving him an awkward smile.

The next one was both of them in bed together, Ghost's legs pushed open hers as she laid on her back and covered her red face.

"Did we?"

"We did...you were so adamite on taking a picture of me after doing it," she acted shy.

Most of the photos in this album was always them naked in some way or Ghost embarrassing Y/n, in a good way.

Y/n put the album away and looked at him if he wanted to look at more photo albums or if they wanted to talk about memories instead.

-------

Y/n had made tea for the both of them, as Ghost asked questions and Y/n would answer them.

"Did we ever talk about having kids?"

"A couple of times, but we also talked about how we should be prepared, and finically stabled before we have any," she says.

"I see...when did we move in together?"

"A year after we started dating."

"How did we meet?" He asks.

"We met by Soap and Price, I was Price's friend, and we went to his party together and Soap and him set us up together, we started hanging out, then you asked if we could date, and I said yes."

"Wow Soap was useful for something," he jokes, and Y/n playfully pushed him giggling.

Phantom plopped himself on Ghost's lap and Ghost pets his head as he kept asking questions.

"Do you ever miss me when I was gone?"

"Every time and every day, I will always miss you," she says.

Ghost stares at Y/n as she pets Phantom's head and heard him purring, Simon's and Y/ns hands grazed each other, and she looks up at him.

"I want to...want to kiss you..." he confesses.

"You're allowed to...I am your wife," she reminded him. He moves forward and Phantom jumps from his lap as Ghost cups her face pulling her closer.

His lips landed on hers. She moans into the kiss; his hands went to her waist, and he mumbles in between the kissing.

"You are so beautiful *kiss* gorgeous *kiss* incredible *kiss* and my *kiss* very cute *kiss* sexy *kiss* hot *kiss* wife." He says. He pulls away and looks into her eyes.

Her face was red and bright, she was embarrassed but is also glad he is remembering her.

"S-Simon."

"God...I love you...my wife, my wife, my wife," he repeats and kisses her again.

---Tags---

@ash-tarte

@thisisaphrodite

@mrflyingbanana03

[bloodynereid]

Reapers & Ravens

<< prev | chapter iii | next >>

pairings: jordan li x oc

tw: swearing (like A LOT but come on it's gen v), seizures, mentions of death, drinking of alcohol, mentions of sex, iffy morals, bad parents

description: the story of a girl. a girl cursed by compound v to live a life without touch.

a/n: so this chapter is a little shorter that the rest cause i tried to stay as faithful to the ep as i could! hopefully u enjoy the addition of vic's dad and some more convos and interactions between jordan and vic. lmk if you wanted to be added to the taglist and my asks are open if you feel like chatting :) also one of my wonderful mutuals (the same one who created gemma) helped me write a few of their interactions so writing credits to them as well <3

The harsh white light that illuminated the stairwell cast strange shadows on Cate’s face as she convulsed. It had already been over 3 minutes and she wasn’t stopping, Andre and I were completely lost on what to do. We couldn’t just call an ambulance - we were in a restricted area of the school where a top secret Vought bunker was literally placed.

Then I remembered the incident with Luke’s blood, the way that his power seemed to have soaked into my veins when I absorbed the remaining energy in his cells. If I could control it, I could save Cate. Control over greed. Control over greed. Fuck okay I can do this.

Taking a deep breath, I looked over at Andre, watching as he scrambles to do anything and everything to get Cate out of her seizure. Goddammit. I start pulling off my gloves and stretch out my now naked fingers.

“Andre… I have an idea.” He looked up at me with pleading eyes but then he realized that my hands were uncovered.

“What- Vic, you know what don’t tell me, just do it.” I nodded and inched my hands closer and closer to Cate’s convulsing face.

“You need to be prepared to pull me away if I can’t stop myself.”

“Wha-” Before Andre could finish his exclamation my fingertips shakily laid on top of Cate’s forehead. As soon as I felt her energy start entering my body I wrenched my hand away and took a deep breath. I could feel everyone’s life force around me, even the ones behind the concrete door.

“Vic what the hell did you just do?” 

Ignoring Andre’s voice I focused on the foreign force that tingled in my brain. Unlike the cold fire that corresponded to Luke’s powers this sort of felt like spicy chocolate. Sweet but also imbued with something peppery.

I focused the power on my hands. I delicately placed them again on Cate’s face, this time I didn’t feel any of her life force seeping through. Only human skin. Oh wow so that’s what it felt like.

“Stop Cate. Relax.” Once the words left my mouth Cate stopped spasming and the spicy chocolate feeling left my brain, suddenly replaced by a rush of my power which instantly started to absorb her life force. I jerked my hands away and rubbed my wrists. I did it. I actually did it.

“Oh my god Vic, what the fuck?” I blinked up at Andre and pulled on my gloves, taking extra time to do up the clasp.

“I- I don’t know Andre. Something happened when Luke’s blood hit my body and I took a chance.”

Andre opened his mouth to respond, thankfully his eyes didn’t seem to hold anger, just a whole lot of confusion and something like… awe but then Cate let out a loud groan.

“Uh guys?” My eyes left Andre’s and looked down at the blonde, she had a confused but weak smile on her face and her eyes were all bloodshot.

“CATE! You’re okay, oh thank god.” Andre gingerly encased her in a hug and a fragile laugh was heard in the corridor.

“Aww thank you I wasn’t aware that I’d been raised to the status of god.” I said with a chuckle and Cate looked at me with a confused look on her face.

“What exactly did you do Vic?” Andre asked while we both helped Cate to her feet, I unrolled my sweater from where it laid on the floor and pulled it onto my shoulders. Carefully maneuvering around the guards, we stealthily (not really) walked up the staircase.

“So you know how I told you ages ago that I never once absorbed a supe?”

“Yeah… what does that have to do with this?”

“Well, a few days ago when he umm died, I was sort of able to siphon some of his power from the blood that hit me. I don’t have any idea how I did it but if I didn’t do anything Cate could have gotten really hurt so I needed to at least try.”

“You two are literally going to be the death of me. It’s like looking Reckless #1 and Reckless #2 over here.” Andre said with a roll of his eyes but a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Oh and you’re one to talk.” Cate adds meekly, a teasing tone evident in her statement. I laugh slightly and make her lean more of her weight against my side.

Once we got Cate to her dorm room, I left Cate and Andre to talk. They had this tension between them that I very much didn’t want to get involved in. Then a realization hit my brain like a freight train. The fucking interview! Shit I had promised Jordan.

I twirled around in place and started sprinting to the auditorium where we had the shoot earlier today. My heels clicked hard against the concrete and my enhanced stamina helped me stay at the same furiously fast pace until I reached the doors.

Slamming them open with as much force I could muster (with supe strength it ended up with the doors being knocked off their hinges slightly) and walking into the now darkened auditorium. The only things in sight were not camera equipment, a talk show set or even any other people. At the end of one of the rows, I heard whistling and saw one of the school’s janitors mopping the floor.

I let out a frustrated sigh through my teeth and rubbed a hand over my hair. Pulling on a couple of the blonde strands, I twirled around and made my way back out into the warm night.

“Fuck!” I moaned out, kicking a stone into the green grass surrounding the walkways. I needed to find Jordan. I needed to find them quickly.

I ran over to the junior dorms, knowing that Jordan’s dorm was only a few rooms away from Cate’s. Pounding on the steel door, I prepared myself for the inevitable backlash my decision was going to result in.

“Fuck off.” Jordan’s voice seemed almost distant because of how muffled the door made it.

“Jordan look I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” I heard some distant scuffling inside before the door was unlocked and pulled open. There stood Jordan, eyes rimmed with red and in pajamas. Still looking as stunning as ever.

“What?”

“I don’t really know how to explain this without fucking things up but uh Cate and Andre needed me.”

“Oh really? So you just decide to go against your promises for a quick fuck?”

“WHAT? No, no. Where the fuck did you hear that? I didn’t sleep with them.” I frantically tried to explain myself, stumbling over my words like there was no tomorrow.

“Yeah sure.” Jordan’s face was now covered in a mask of annoyance and indifference, a sarcastic smirk trying to cover the cracks of her vulnerability.

“Jordan… Cate had a seizure, Andre was busy doing something illegal again and dragged me with him. Cate tried to help but she pushed too much. I was trying to help her.”

“Oh. Shit. Is Cate okay?” Jordan’s face no longer looked angry instead pure worry seeped through their pores, they instantly shifted with a soft pop.

“Yeah uh Andre and her are in her room.” I chuckled slightly but Jordan just rolled his eyes.

“Sorry for assuming I just thought-”

“No you’re good, I would have done the same thing. Probably would have blown up more to be honest. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“Oh it’s fine, not like the trustees would do anything different.” Jordan answered in a self-deprecating tone.

“Did Marie at least say something?”

“Oh no she was playing her part like a perfect little puppet.”

“God I’m really fucking sorry, Jordan.”

“The system’s fucked what can I say? At least we have the memorial ball tomorrow, I can try to get some sponsorships and stuff there.”

“Fuck right the ball. My dad’s supposed to be coming to that.”

“Shit I’m hoping and praying that my parents don’t show up. Uh do you want to come in?” A smile immediately blossomed on my face at their suggestion.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah come on in. It could be like our first meeting of the shitty parents club.”

“Oh do you have stories cause I have plenty?” I aaked as I shut the door behind me and stood slightly awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“I’ll give you one better, I have stories and weed.” He said as they held out a bag of gummies.

“Fuck yeah!”

I, as silently as I could, carefully opened the door to my shared dorm. The sun had risen about an hour ago and it felt like I was living the literal definition of ‘walk of shame’ even if Jordan and I hadn’t actually done anything yesterday.

Somehow I had completely forgotten that Gemma was an early bird so the second I stepped through the heavy door, my roommate jumped up from her bed.

“Ah Vic where have you been? Did you sleep with someone? Ooo was it Andre? Tell me everything.” Gemma said as she joyfully jumped up and down around me, before I could even take notice of her barrage of questions I realized that her hair had changed. It no longer was her usual shade of red instead it hung down her shoulders in strawberry blonde ringlets.

“Your hair? Also wait- Andre? Why does everyone keep thinking I’m sleeping with Andre?”

“Oh right, I got bored last night but come on! Tell me what happened. And I don’t know you guys just have this vibe.”

“We do not! I think we’re going to need all morning for me to clarify the fact I’m very much not sleeping with Andre.”

“I don’t have any classes and I’m pretty sure you don’t either so stop making me wait.”

“Alright, alright.” I let out a laugh at her contagious joy and spent the next hour discussing every minute of last night’s adventures, even the illegal bits.

After our little catch up, I decided to get changed out of my day old clothes and finally get some softer gloves on my hands. When I had inevitably crashed on Jordan’s bed last night, I wasn’t able to change into my usual pair of sleep gloves. So after having leather on my hands for more than 24 hours I was more than glad to welcome the feeling of soft and pillowy cotton.

Once I had put on a whole new outfit and washed my face I felt like an actual person again. The soft sheets crumpled around my body as I readjusted my reading position. In front of my eyes stood the text of a psychology book on conspiracy theories. It was actually pretty interesting and so far removed from my usual school readings that the world around me just disappeared for a little while.

Unfortunately, my little moment of solitude was disturbed by our dorm room’s door flinging open and as I turned to look at who the intruder was I recognized her to be Emma. Emma who hadn’t even realized I was there so she just kind of threw herself onto Gemma’s bed. Since the divider to our room stopped me from being able to see what was going on I just decided to rely on my senses. Closing my eyes, I blindly shut the book and focused.

“Gemma, I- fuck I need you to shift into me.”

“Uh okay sure?” 

A second later I hear sounds of kissing and my mouth drops, oh OH shit. The sounds of moaning and whimpering seemed to start increasing in volume and I realized I probably should leave. Two sets of loud moans made me make up my mind instantly. Yup definitely leaving.

As silently as I could, I grabbed my books, iPad, headphones and phone before shoving them into my canvas bag. I also put an extra pair of gloves, purple this time, in case they were needed for whatever reason.

Tiptoeing my way over to the door, I risked a glance at the couple with a slight smile on my face. Gemma deserved the fucking world and hopefully Emma would be able to provide some of it. I twisted the knob of the door and just as I stepped through the door I turned back one last time.

“Wear protection!” I said with a teasing lilt in my voice and let the door slam close as a loud ‘fuck’ echoed through the hallway.

Group Chat with Cate, J, A.A. & Luke

Me: anyone free?

don’t have classes until the afternoon

i’m boredddd

J: can’t

got some stupid essay i need to do for a fucking extra branding seminar about lunchboxes

Me: lol what

why r u taking that?

J: fuck if i know

it’s mandatory supposedly

Cate: WHAT

no it’s not

who told u that?

also vic i’m free meet me @ the tables outside the caf

Me: k omw

J: ITS NOT MANDATORY?

fuck that little fuck louis

A.A.: really?

u trusted louis?

J: he’s my academic advisor u bitch

ofc i trusted him

Laughing, I locked my phone and tried to spot Cate at the tables. My eyes caught hers at one of the end tables and she waved with a smile on her face, urging me to join her.

“Hi. It’s good to see you’re doing better.” I said once I put my bag down on one of the benches and got a good look at the blonde. She looked absolutely radiant today, clad in a sage green blazer and dangling pearl earrings.

“Yeah, thanks for that. You quite literally saved my life.”

“Hey that’s what friends are for right?” I asked as I laid my gloved hand over hers. She smiled and tugged a flyaway strand of her hair away from her face.

“Of fucking course, now tell me all about what happened with Jordan last night.”

“How did you know?”

“I have my sources.” She says in a sing-song voice as a smirk paints her face. I huff out a laugh and shake my head fondly.

“Fine, keep your secrets but… you have to tell me everything that happened with Andre.”

“Deal.”

Cate and I talked for what seemed like hours (in the best way possible) and we ended up ordering lunch. A pasta dish that was probably one of the best things I had ever tasted.

“Vicky, I didn’t realize you had already made some friends.” The familiar voice made my spine seize up and goosebumps appear on my arms, and not the fun kind. Cate’s mouth had dropped open as I swiveled around to look directly at my dad’s hazel eyes.

“Hey dad.”

“Kiddo! Come on, give me a hug.” He had a wide smile on his face, he looked genuinely happy - not buzzed happy. That was probably one of the only reasons why I actually decided to hug him. After he left me out of a slightly too tight embrace, he looked towards Cate and smiled.

“Oh right dad, meet Cate Dunlap. Cate, meet my dad.”

“Uh hello Mr. Oaks or uh Frostbite, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She said, politely offering her gloved hand.

“Nice to meet you as well Cate. These are beautiful gloves, similar powers to my daughter then?”

“Uh kind of, I can mind control people using my hands.” Dad’s eyes widened as he whistled appreciatively.

“Wow, now that’s a cool power. If you can excuse us, I need to pull my beautiful daughter away for a bit. We have a fitting.” Right, the memorial gala. Ugh. 

“Yeah sure. I’ll see you there.” Cate quickly encased me in a hug and then leaned close to my ear, “I forgot how hot your dad was.”

“Cate!” An outraged gasp left my mouth as she just laughed while she walked in the direction of her dorm.

“Well isn’t she a charmer?” He was watching her walk away with a smirk on his face causing my mouth to turn into a disgusted sneer.

“Dad, really? I told you I had a rule about my friends, plus you’re like decades older than her.”

“I know, sweetheart. Come on, I found the perfect dress to match my suit. After your little interview stunt you’re going to need all the help you can get to stay in the top 10.”

“Yeah dad, I get it.” 

I rubbed my temples as we made our way to one of the many cars that are in dad’s collection. This one was an Aston Martin DB5, the James Bond car. It was a wrap gift from one of Vought’s many rip off movies my dad starred in, he had gotten to play James Bond-type for 3 movies and somehow managed to still get roles.

My heels sunk into the plush of the red carpet, flashes of the many cameras seemed to permeate my eyes and kept me changing my poses. I was wearing a beautiful sleeveless dress that made me seem like I was floating. The folds of bluish gray mixed perfectly with the pearly white, even my gloves were designed specifically to complement this outfit.

Sometimes you had to give my dad some credit, he did have an eye for fashion. He stood next to me with an open white shirt and steely gray suit. Once I had done enough solo posing I skipped my way over to dad and gave him a one armed hug, painting on a cheerful smile for the cameras. I was careful not to let any exposed skin near his hand because that would be bad… not for me but for literally everyone else.

It was like the cameras exploded, so many flashes were now directed towards us that it was blinding. I endured it for another minute before thankfully dad dragged into the ball… where we were greeted by even more cameras. I adjusted the ribbon that dad insisted I wear and gave a little smirk to the cameras. Dad walked next to me until finally the cameras focused on Marie and the dean behind us. Now that was a weird pair.

“Good job sweetheart. You ready to mingle?”

“Are you?”

“Always.” He flashed me his politician smile and quickly grabbed two glasses of champagne before handing me one and moving towards a group of old white guys, the trustees probably.

I took a sip of champagne and looked around the room, spying quite a few familiar faces before I landed on Gemma’s, she was standing off to the side with a glass of water - staring out into the sea of people with a thoughtful look on her face.

I weaved my way through all the trustees and potential donors until I finally sidled up next to her and offered the glass of champagne in my hand.

“You look like you need this more than I do.” Gemma jumped slightly at the sound of my voice and turned to look at me.

“Shit you scared me. Ooo champagne thank you.” She passed me her water and then proceeded to down the entire flute in one go.

“Okay wow, what is going on?”

“Nothing. You look incredible by the way.”

“You do too,” I looked down at her impeccable suit, it had bubbled sleeves and a sheer patterned shirt under the white blazer, “but there is clearly something up. Come on, you know I’ll probably just ridicule you slightly and not actually judge you for it.”

“So you know how I slept with Emma…”

“Yes? I was there for like the first bit of it.” She cringed back for a second and took back her glass of water, taking a sip before she continued with her admission.

“I don’t think I can actually have a serious relationship with her.” Oh okay wow, heavy topics already and I had only had a sip of champagne.

“Okay do you mind if I ask why? You know I support you in anything you might choose.”

“Well… she’s really hot and sweet and so goddamn nice but I can only see us that way in the short term. I was able to help with the whole video thing and I’m actively trying to help her realize how fucking incredible she is but I don’t think we would be good together.”

“Gem, for the short time that I’ve known you, you are quite literally the most selfless person ever. That’s really fucking rare for people like us so if you feel like this is something that is going to help you then I think you need to choose it. Keep being friends with Emma and have fun but do what you need to do.”

“Yeah, I just don’t feel like I’m at a point in my life where I can be a serious girlfriend. I literally just made it to university and everything is already pretty fucking insane. We talked about it a lot... afterwards. Emma knew that I was happy to help her get through this and to learn to love herself - a bit literally I guess - but we both decided that she needed an actual partner and not a shapeshifting fuckbuddy therapist. She needs someone that is going to be there for her in ways I can’t. I just… I feel like I change too much. ��

“Woah hey, you’re perfect how you are but honestly I agree with you, getting into a serious relationship right now might actually mess up everything else so I’m glad that you actually know what is good for you. I’m so fucking proud of you Gem, and it’s good you talked about this with Emma so now you’re both on the same page and weird shit won’t go down.”

“Aww stop it. We’re going to make each other cry and our makeup will get all kinds of fucked up.” I laughed wetly and pulled her into a hug, gingerly maneuvering so none of my very exposed skin was touching hers. The single problem that this dress had was that I could literally kill anyone instantly.

“VICKY! Darling get over here, look who I found.” Gemma and I both turned to look in the direction of the voice that just shouted my name. My dad was standing next to Andre and his dad and was frantically waving me over.

“Your dad?”

“My dad. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Yeah thanks for checking up on me. I think I really needed that.”

“Anytime.” I smiled at her and then started making my way over to the little group, dropping off the champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray.

“Hey dad, Mr. Anderson. Good to see you again.”

“You too Victoria. You look absolutely beautiful tonight, as always. Doesn’t she Andre?”

“Hmm yeah Vic, you look incredible. The color really looks good on you.”

“You have to thank dad for that one, he picked out the entire thing.”

“Aww Vicky you give too much credit to your old man, I have way too many designer friends that were happy to finally design something for you.”

“Right, Adrian - you and I have some catching up to do. Let’s leave the bright young heroes of tomorrow to mingle.”

“Yes, let’s see if they’re serving any of that top shelf whisky.” I heard their chuckles as the pair walked off towards the bar and I turned to Andre.

“So… you and Cate huh?”

“Fuck off.” He answered with a laugh clearly slipping into his voice as we started making rounds around the groups of trustees. Better to be a united front against these people.

I grabbed two glasses of champagne and made my way out of the main reception. There were too many people and everyone’s clothes kept brushing against my naked arms. All I wanted to do was grab someone’s exposed hand and take away every inch of their life force just to feel a little less staticky. So I thought that the next best thing was to absorb any and all of the plant life outside the building.

Sitting down on the stone steps I pulled off one of my gloves and eased my fingertips into the soil. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and focused. The little pulses of the underground root systems started to sing against my power, each cell produced enough energy that after a few minutes the static that filled my mind faded away. I dusted off my hand and pulled my glove back on and was about to head back into the hall when I heard some leaves rustling.

“Uh, is anyone out there?”

“You know if this was a horror movie you would definitely be dead right now.” Jordan’s unmistakable voice rang out into the night making let out a laugh.

“Aww don’t kill me Jordan, I want to make it to season 2.” Jordan walked out from behind one of the bushes and ran a hand through their hair. It made her look so fucking good that it should be a criminal offence.

“Of course you like Scream. What are you doing out here?” They asked as they took a seat next to me and grabbed one of the champagne glasses, shifting as their mouth made contact with the rim of the glass.

“Killing some plants and trying to get away from all the people. Why are you out here?” I took a sip from my own glass and leaned back so my elbows made contact with the cold concrete floor.

“Trying to get away from my parents. They’re just so fucking frustrating, like I know they’re trying but I’m not just their son. Fuck you really don’t want to hear this.” Just as they were about to get up, I extended my hand and grabbed her forearm.

“Hey look, I do want to hear about it. You don’t need to pretend everything is perfect all the fucking time cause it’s not.”

“I- yeah thanks. I just don’t want to be too much and we literally just met.”

“Hey! We got high and have gone through more trauma than most people have in their lifetimes. I think we’re bonded for life now.” He lets out a chuckle and traces a hand over my gloves. A giddy little smile appears on my face.

“Yeah I guess we are.” His eyes level up with mine and something softens in them, they are about to open their mouth again when I hear a loud shout from inside.

“Vicky!” Fucking hell not again.

“Seems like someone is calling you.”

“Yeah my dad is having fun showcasing me like a prize trophy to all the trustees. We’ll talk later?”

“Definitely.” They switch with a pop and extends their hand. My leather gloves stop the contact from feeling too intimate but it still felt like sparks were extending all over my body.

“Vicky!”

“Fuck, see you in a bit.” I blow them a kiss as I dash inside searching the crowd for my dad, once he sees me he points at the people next to him with a smile and mouths: ‘trustees’. Great, just perfect.

I leaned my head against the cold bar top, the dean’s speech had grated my already raw nerves and dad had almost started giving me an entire lecture on why I should have been up there with Marie. I was happy for her truly, but this whole situation was fucked.

“Oh wow you two look rough.” Cate’s voice made me look up from my position on the bar to see that Jordan had silently joined my side and was downing a glass of champagne. 

“I hate this.”

“What happened to you?”

“Parents.”

“Dad.” I said at the same time as Jordan and we sent each other empathetic looks.

“Say no more.” Cate took off her glove in a swift move and pressed her fingers to the bartender’s hand. “Vodka. The expensive shit you save for the big swinging dicks. Oh and three glasses.”

I got up from my position and smiled gratefully, grabbing the extra glass I followed the duo over to one of the more secluded sections of the room. We spent the next few minutes, while everyone pretended to give a single fuck about Brink, steadily downing multiple shots of vodka and talking about campus gossip and the latest shitty show Vought had put out.

“Hey Moreau.” I turned to look in the direction that Jordan had directed her spiteful tone at, there stood Marie, looking stunning in that red dress. As their argument progressed I silently poured myself another shot (if you could even consider it a shot) of vodka.

“I didn’t know I had powers until my first period… I couldn’t control the blood so it sliced right through my mom’s body. My dad came, same deal.” My heart dropped, holy shit - and I thought my situation was bad.

“Fucking hell.” I said I took a sip of my glass.

“Yeah so if you can excuse me, I have just spent the entire night being dragged around like a fucking showpony.” 

“Hey.” Cate pulls up one of the seats to the table and pats the cotton cushion.

“My family and I were on a camping trip, my little brother kept kicking at my shins. I didn’t know about my power so I grabbed him by the arm and told him to go away and never come back. He did just that - they sent out search parties and everything but… we never found him. My mom never touched me again. Neither did my dad.” I swallow dryly and move a drop of condensation along the rim of my glass. Why the hell would Vought do this to us? Greed probably. It’s always about greed and power.

“I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Marie stuttered out and I cleared my throat.

“It’s not your fault. Your parents gave you a dangerous drug as a baby to make a buck off you-”

“No, no they weren’t like that.”

“Yes they were, they did this. You didn't, so don't you spend a second crying over them.”

“I- uh. I know the official story is that my mom died giving birth to me and that I got my powers much later but umm that didn’t exactly happen. I don’t remember it much because supposedly I was just a few days old but she touched my hand while singing me to sleep one night. My dad puts on a show for everyone most of the time. He expects perfection because that’s the only way he can cope with the literal murderer of his wife living under his roof.” 

I felt a tear slip from my eyes and wiped it away quickly as the entire group just looked at with guilt in their eyes. 

“So yeah there’s my little sob story. I still feel responsible even if dad gave me these godforsaken powers, which fucking sucks.” I laughed wetly and took a swig of vodka, letting the burning sensation cloud my thoughts.

“Vic, holy shit. I’m so fucking sorry.” Cate rubbed my shoulder and I smiled at the feeling of warmth that radiated from her gloves against my skin.

“You know… I killed my grandpa with my powers.” I turned to look at Jordan who was staring at me with a neutral expression on their face.

“No you didn’t.” Cate responded.

“Yeah I know… I was just feeling left out.” I let out a loud snort and covered my face with my glove as I continued to giggle. Jordan smirked at me and nudged their pinky against mine.

“Hey… umm guys - I fucked up.” Andre said as came up to the table, panic clearly showing in his eyes.

“Andre…” I started, a clearly annoyed tone seeping into my voice.

“What did you do?”

“It’s about her roommate.”

“Emma?”

“Who the fuck is Emma?”

“Andre…” I repeated as I realized what he had done. Oh no.

“I think she’s stuck.”

“You didn’t.”

“Where? Where is she stuck?”

“You know where.”

“Andre. You promised.” 

“Andre, you fucking idiot.” I leaned back in my chair as I uttered the words and closed my eyes tightly. This nightmare seemed to be never-ending.

links to the outfits cause i was bored: vic's dress but greyer, vic's dad's suit, gemma's suit

lmk ur thoughts <3

taglist: @neapolitantoebeans @scorchedfangirl @losers-club6 @vvyuqi @bubblebuttwade @fix5idiots @ponypickle @nellyboosworld

[waitineedaname]

Um. do you think about how mr & mrs kageyama are undoubtedly on the Good-er side of the Parents scale but also are probably viewed differently by ritsu and shigeo. like i think about how ritsu probably had to be the easy one (the one that doesn't need you to care about them and comfort them) since shigeo has probably come home beaten up and bloodied enough times for the both of them?? also i feel like they might've said something like "well shigeo you don't HAVE to do [thing that will make any parent happy/proud] right ritsu :)" at some point. like idkkk i feel like that is definitely part of why ritsu feels so pressured to be twice as good at whatever he does (to make up for whatever mob lacks) but also if anyone said that to me i'd kill myself on the spot because it puts Zero trust in mob's abilities? like i feel it doesn't give him a chance to try because well ritsu will do it anyways why do i need to :/ (but then body improvement club happened. W)

anyways i just thing his parents (unintentionally) put sooo much pressure on ritsu. like the bar for being Good is drastically different for ritsu and shigeo*. and pre-claw ritsu thought that half of this pressure would probably disappear if mob did what he was ""supposed"" to do as the Older Sibling which might be one of the many many reasons ritsu thought he hated him?

*marathon arc is the first instance that comes to mind cuz...idk..before it happens they're like Hm. we should go wait in the middway of the path for shigeo (who waited for ritsu at the finish line?🤨). and after it they're like hehe ritsu got 9th place and shigeo did his best :) (this just sounds. damn. the bar's that low/high?). and both of these are normal! considering how shigeo and ritsu are! but i also feel like they're only normal because that's what you'd expect from shigeo and ritsu respectively which kind of. fucked up my worldview.

okayyy this got long. Sowwy. 😆

the kageyama parents make me NUTS when I think about them too hard bc they're probably the best parents in the series and definitely the most normal, but with being normal comes very normal flaws and parenting fuck ups, like comparing their sons. like comparing kids against each other is a very normal and common thing for parents to do, but it fucking sucks, and it's only made worse with the specific baggage the brother have

they absolutely put so much pressure on ritsu, which is one of the components of him snapping in the cleanup arc. he's like,, the ideal that they compare shigeo too, like they're always like "shigeo, why don't you get better grades, like ritsu. shigeo, why don't you stop doing weird things, like ritsu." I feel like the best example of this is these two pages from the cleanup arc (chapter 23, if you're curious)

literally every day I think about "ritsu is way smarter than I am. he doesn't do anything weird" [panel of ritsu looking so fucking haunted]

I'm going to put the rest of this under a read more because I had a Lot To Say

anyway, this sets up the expectations for the two of them. shigeo is the one who struggles at school, who messes up, whose psychic powers do weird things. ritsu is the star student, the perfect son, the Normal One. neither of these expectations are fair to them at all, especially since shigeo works really fucking hard when he sets his mind to something, and ritsu has to wear the mask of normalcy and perfection even if it doesn't feel right. it puts too much pressure on ritsu and sets mob up with the expectations of failure! goddammit!!

I don't necessarily blame the kageyama parents, I mean like I said, this is a very normal thing for parents to do, especially with kids so close in age. I've been compared to my stepsister, I've seen this happen to friends who are close in age to their siblings. it sucks ass, but it's a very normal flaw for a family to have. but also, even though the series really emphasizes that psychic powers are just a normal thing, I don't think the kageyama parents were equipped to deal with the specific issues their kids have bc of psychic powers. I can't help but wonder how much they know about that part of their sons' lives... the more I think about it, the more I think that ritsu definitely didn't tell them the truth about the first ???% incident, he definitely lied to protect his brother because I feel like they would treat shigeo differently if they knew he almost killed his brother and several teenagers at age ten. and it's unclear how much, if anything, they know about the major arcs of the show. do they know ritsu was kidnapped? do they know shigeo was trapped in a mental hellscape for six months? I'm pretty sure ritsu actively hid the events of the world domination arc from them. we see their mom watching the news report in the confession arc -- did she see her son on the screen?

idk, I just get the impression that the brothers don't really let their parents into that part of their lives, which means they still get treated normally but also means their parents don't really understand them. I think that's part of why reigen was so important to mob's development as a kid, because he gave him a person he could go to about things he couldn't talk about with his parents. it also means ritsu was especially isolated because he didn't have that kind of person, at least not until he and shou became friends

also what you said about ritsu being the "easy one", that fits directly into the way I think about both of the kageyama brothers being autistic. I think mob was much more visibly autistic, probably needed more support, and because ritsu didn't need the same support, everyone assumed ritsu must be allistic. I think he knew he was the "easy one" between the two of them and I think that got wrapped up in him masking a LOT to make things easier on his parents so they could focus on shigeo. this kid is so damn undiagnosed that I don't think he even realizes he might also be autistic until his teenage years at least

something something psychic powers as a metaphor for autism something something ritsu desperately trying to seem normal because he doesn't have powers, but also desperately wanting to get powers and stop having to act normal. this kid is so fucking sick of masking.

[judasgot-it]

I JUST WATCHED A TIKTOK AND OMGJSBELSNEN I need my favorite writer write something with it😭

It was about a wife having period cramps and using her husband’s hand as a heating pad and I instantly thought that that would be definitely a tecchou thing, I mean, It would be his idea fr

You're not only right about this - Tecchou is the kind of guy to go to the store and buy pads and say "It's uterUS babe. This might not be a battle I can fight, but I'll be there to support you." or some stupid shit. Probably made a whole speech about how men should support women and all that (he's a feminist goddammit)

Also omg I'm your fav writer ?? I'm screaming rn like rolling around on the floor. ILY anon <3

Scenario: Tecchou helps you relax on your period

"...that fart on my face saved my life."

Tecchou watched as on the TV screen, a group of scantily clad women poorly acted out being electrocuted. His face cringed as they bounced around, the screen flashing with the poor effects - how they shrilled in fake horror.

You were next to him, your head laying on his lap as you somehow found joy in the piss-poor acting of a film. The room was filled with over-the-top, unrealistic gore, and your overly entertained laughter.

He closed his eyes, relaxing deeper into the sofa as he tried to tune out the movie. He tried to distract himself by playing with your hair, feeling the strands slowly sift through his calloused fingers while you relaxed deeper onto his thigh.

A laugh escaped him when he finally heard the main character die, his hand hovering right above your shoulder as he let himself have a moment of joy.

"Are you enjoying the movie, babe?"

Opening his eyes, he watched as you twisted your body to look up at him, smiling a wide toothy grin. It was cute - like a cuddly cat, ready to dig her paws into his shirt. Without warning, he lightly squished your cheeks together with his fingers, watching the fat on your face squeeze and pill around, stretching and shrinking your lips.

A small smile pulled on his face as he watched your brows pinch together, your body further adjusting to accommodate his gentle teasing. Your nails dug into his hips, like a cat he thought, as you found a comfortable position laying across his thighs.

"Tecchou."

You stretched out his name, groaning as he moved his hand to start rubbing up and down your back. The soft pressure gave a gentle relief to the aching pain in your lower back, the small contractions causing you cramps that no man could survive.

"Do you need something?"

Tecchou tried to say this as gently as he could, his voice carrying over the film. You hummed, your jaw knocking back against his thigh.

"Can you get me a heating pad? My crampings are killing me."

You groaned as you said this, using Tecchou's obnoxious amount of body heat as an escape from the aggressive pain your body was putting you through. Maybe it was all of the working out because he always seemed to be warm enough to cause a housefire.

"Here. I have a better idea."

Without warning, Tecchou moved your aching body as if you were an ailing cat - with ease, although he was more than gentle. Carefully, he shimmied himself to lay underneath you, with your head lying on top of his chest and his arms resting against your stomach.

His body was warm, permeating through your skin as his calloused fingers traced your exposed navel, leaving invisible patterns in the skin. The pain that had started to lessen instead replaced with an overwhelming feeling, Tecchou.

The movie had faded away into the background - bad horror acting and awful sound effects, soon replaced with thinking about the feeling of the man lying underneath you.

"You know, this movie kind of sucks. No offense."

His voice was deep, reverberating through his chest like a cello while you pressed your ear simply just to listen. Simply humming, you felt his fingers tap mindless tunes along your skin, his palm being a light weight against your stomach.

"You look like a sleepy cat, it's cute."

"Don't move. I think I wanna fall asleep this way, you're just really comfortable."

Tecchou let out a huffed laugh, his leg pulling up to press you closer to him. You went back to watching the film, drowsily and numbingly listening as Tecchou complained about some inaccuracy in the film involving law enforcement. It was easy to drown out, with his soft T-shirt brushing against your ear each time he spoke, his arm readjusting you carefully as if you barely weighed anything.

He felt safe.

This movie is real btw and it was kinda ass but also kinda ok?? IDK

[ave09]

Can you do an Indy x female! reader where Indy meets a single mother who has a 4 month old baby girl? When Indy meets her daughter, the baby instantly likes him, and he over time bonds with the baby, plays with her, rocks her back and forth, sings her lullabies and the reader is slowly falling for him! They even bond and fall for each other.

ofc! i kinda went overboard and off the plot line, but i hope you like it! if not, i will 100% rewrite it for you 🫶🏻

promise

indiana jones x reader

note: i know wizard of oz came out in 1939, but for the sake of a sweet moment, it came out in 1931, okayyy?? also i apologize for anyone named beth 😭

“please, honey, please just rest.” 

beth seemed to only wail louder. you were now receiving glares from those around you trying to study in peace. you were going to end up being kicked out of the library for sure.

“beth, sweetie, please.” you begged softly, trying to place the pacifier in her mouth, but she only spat it out, causing it to tumble across the floor, now completely useless. 

“goddammit.” you muttered softly, reaching for it, only to find someone was already reaching down and had their hands upon it. 

you glanced up at the figure, smiling softly, “thank you.” you recognized him

immediately to be doctor indiana jones. he seemed to recognize you too. you had studied in his archeology class for half of a semester before you had to drop out in order to raise beth. you never were crazy over the professor as most of the women in your class were, but looking at him now, he had to be one of the most handsomest men you’d seen, far more handsome then beth’s father. 

“your welcome,” he spoke, his voice low and smooth as he handed the pacifier to you. his hazel eyes flickered to the baby in your arms, whose gaze was locked on the man before you, her arms outstretched toward him.

the man smiled, “and who is this?”

“uh, this is my daughter, beth.” you were shocked to find that her wails had turned into whines as she continued to reach for the man before you. indiana glanced at you, “may i?” he seemed to be who beth wanted, therefore, you carefully passed the baby to him, she nuzzled into his chest immediately and began to suck her thumb.

your eyes widened, “are you some sort of baby whisperer or something?” you asked. indiana laughed heartily, “definitely not.” he glanced down at her, examining her, “she can’t be more then five months right?”

“four months.” you corrected. he nodded slowly, the cogs turning in his head, “i’m guessing she is the reason you dropped out?” 

you closed the book in front of you, “yeah. her dad dipped about two months into the pregnancy, i wasn’t working at the time, i needed to create a stable foundation.” you gestured at the books before you, “i’ve been trying to slow ease back into it, but it’s kinda difficult with a four month old.” 

“you don’t have any family? anyone who could help? 

you exhaled deeply, running a hand through your hair, “they still believe her father is around.” 

you had refused to tell them he’d left. beth’s father, william, was a cruel man. he was one who was in disguise of an angel only to reveal his true intentions.  but her family believed him to be a nice man. they’d find a way to bring him back to you, but you refused to have that man in your life. 

awkwardness fell upon the two of you, and you immediately regretted diving into your history. 

“well,” you rose from your rickety wooden seat, “i should go-get her home for dinner, y’know?” indiana nodded, trying to pass the baby to her, only to hear her burst into tears again. 

“beth, honey, shh.” you whispered, indiana glanced down at you, “someone seems attached.” he said with a soft laugh. 

“yeah, well, it’s gonna be difficult to get her home now.” 

the man remained silent for a moment, before clearing his throat, “i don’t wanna sound too forward here… but…” 

you collected your books, glancing up at him, “but?” 

“if you ever needed any help, with beth, or your studies or anything, i could be of some assistance.” it sounded exactly what you needed. assistance. 

“oh no, i-i couldn’t ask that of you, dr. jones.”

“well first off, you’re not asking, i’m offering. and please, i’m not your professor anymore,  call me indiana.” 

“well indiana, i appreciate the offer, but i don’t want to burden you with my issues.” 

he tilted his head slightly, adjusting the child in his arms, “burden me? is that what you think this is? i’m pitying you?” 

you suddenly realized how it sounded. “no-no. that’s not-that’s not what i meant.” 

“i know you’re an independent woman, but even the most independent people need a little help sometimes.” he was absolutely right. the life of a single mother was difficult, and you believe that you were doing the best you could, but you couldn’t deny how truly tired you were. 

you sighed softly, “what can i do in return?” 

“oh no, please-“

“i’m offering indiana.” you said, using his words from earlier. the man thought for a moment, “i’d say, dinner.” 

you furrowed your brows, “dinner?” 

he nodded, “mhmm, i haven’t had a good home cooked meal in a while. i could help you get beth home, and after dinner, i could help with your studies.” 

you smiled softly, a feeling of warmth washing over you, “that sounds perfect.” 

that one dinner turned into weekly dinners, and soon you found that indiana jones was constantly frequenting your home. 

and it was wonderful.

after work, indiana would stop by the house, and beth would be overjoyed. her relationship with indiana was nothing less then paternal. he was the father figure she was missing, and beth was most definitely a daddy’s girl. 

not only was beth’s relationship growing with indiana, but so was yours. the two of you had spend late nights together, studying at first, but would slowly turn into talks of his adventures. you wanted to hear all about them, indiana lived such an interesting life, and sometimes you’d wished you could adventure like him, but then you saw your daughter’s face light up, and everything became worth it.

you remembered coming home from the store one day to find indiana seated on the floor criss-cross, playing with the young girl. they were building a tower out of blocks, well, mainly indiana was building the tower, beth was trying to eat the blocks. 

“oh no, honey, take that out of your mouth, those blocks don’t taste good.” he said, reaching for the block, only to have beth move her hand away. “ah, you’re quick kid, but i’m faster.” he then took her pacifier off of the coffee table, carefully taking the wooden block and switching it with the pacifier. your daughter didn’t seem phased. 

and something clicked that day. you and indiana’s relationship has purely been platonic, but now, oh lord, you were in trouble. 

it had been two months since indiana began helping you out when everything changed. it was a later night, you and indiana planned to study after putting beth to bed, but the girl would not sleep. you’d fed her, changed her diaper, nothing.

“geez baby, what’s going on?” you whispered, brushing some of her hair away from her face. there was a soft knock against the door, and you glanced up to see indiana in the doorway, “how’s it going up here?” he asked. 

“she keeps fighting me. if i don’t get her to sleep now, she’ll be up all night.” you muttered, stifling a yawn. she’d been struggling with sleeping for the past couple

of days, causing you to lose sleep too. silently, he approached you, gently taking beth off of your hands. 

“go get some rest, sweetheart, we can study tomorrow.” you were too tired to object. you stood on your tiptoes, placing a kiss to his cheek, “thank you, indy.” and you then slipped out of the room, closing the door slightly. 

but as you began to walk to your bedroom, you heard indiana’s hushed voice. “goodness beth, you’re givin’ your mama a hard time, huh? well can i tell you something? she’s working really hard to take care of you, honey. i don’t think i’ve met such a woman like her, and she loves you very much. so, if you could sleep now, that would be very nice of you.” 

the baby cooed in response. indiana remained silent for a moment, before sighing, “you’re really gonna make me do this? okay beth, you asked for it.” 

and then, you heard the most angelic thing: indiana jones was singing. 

“somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. there’s a land that i’ve heard of once in a lullaby.” 

this was a song that you’d sang to beth countless times. it was your absolute favorite, and hearing indiana sing it caused butterflies, fireworks, a whole plethora of metaphors could be used in order to convey how you were feeling.

you were most definitely falling for him. 

“someday i’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me… where trouble melts like lemon drops high above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me..”

suddenly, a loud knock pulled you away from the beautiful singing. it was late, who could be here?

you moved past the door, heading toward the stairs. another knock, it sounded urgent.

what the hell?

you descended the staircase before rushing toward the front door. you unlocked it cautiously, before pulling it open. 

your heart dropped. 

“william?”

“hi babe.” no, this could not be happening. not now. 

“um, what are you doing here?” you questioned, immediately feeling uncomfortable. what was he doing here? 

“i want to see her.” 

you crossed your arms over your chest, “no.” 

“no?” 

“you can’t see her, william. she’s sleeping.” suddenly, he pushed past you, barging into your home. “goddamnit william.” he glanced around, nodding, “nice place you have here, personally i’m not the biggest fan of pastels-“

“why should your opinion matter? it’s not your house.” you snapped, your anger building. the man let out a sigh, approaching you, “listen babe, i want you back. i want to be part of becky’s life.” 

you took a step back, taking a shakey breath, “beth. her-her name is beth.” you said. “right, beth.” he corrected, brushing it off as though it was nothing. william then caught sight of a picture on the hallway table, shoving past you, taking it in hand. 

“who is this?” 

it was a picture of beth and indiana. you remembered that day. it was when he returned home from south america, and beth was so excited to see him again. you had immediately taken a photo to commemorate this moment. 

“william, i think you should leave.” 

“you replaced me? does she called her daddy? does she think he’s her dad?” 

you scoffed, absolutely appalled by his behavior, “replaced?? you left! you fucking left me william! i was pregnant with your child and you left! i don’t need you, i never needed you.”

“but you need him, huh? does he help you with every need? every desire?” 

“william, i swear, if you don’t-“

��is everything okay down here?” there he was, your knight in shining armor. indiana was descending the stairs, his gaze switching from you to william. 

“oh he’s in your house now?” 

“william-“

“this is william?” you’d told indiana all about him. it was safe to say that he hated the man with a fiery passion. you didn’t even try to stop him as he rushed down the stairs, standing in front of you. 

“i think it’s time for you to leave, william.” indiana stated. your ex scoffed, glancing at you, “really? this is the best you can do? he ain’t gonna stop me from seeing my daughter.” 

“wanna bet?” 

you let out a gasp as indiana socked william

in the jaw, causing the man to tumble to the ground. 

“indy-“

“what the hell dude!” 

“you listen to me, william, you are going to leave right now, and if you ever come back, i swear to God, you’re gonna regret it.” you’d never seen indiana so upset. 

“and let me tell you something, william, you ready? you’re a fucking idiot, leaving an amazing woman like this. i’ve known her for three months and dammit i love her and beth more then anything in this world-“

he loved you? 

“and i would’ve never in a million years left such a woman and my child like that. but she doesn’t need you anymore. so, get. lost.” 

he didn’t need to be told twice. william scrambled to his feet before rushing out the door. indiana sighed deeply, closing the door behind him, “son of a bitch..” he mumbled before glancing up at you. 

“are you okay?” 

“you love me?” 

he was silent, holding your gaze. 

you asked again.

“you love me?” 

this time he nodded, “yeah. yeah.. i think i do.” he said softly. you smiled, moving towards him, “funny. because i think i’m falling in love with you.” 

indiana’s large hands cupped your face as he pressed his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. it lasted a moment, before you pulled away, “wait-wait-“

“i’m sorry, was that-“

“promise me something?” your voice a hushed whisper.

“anything.”

“don’t leave me. don’t leave beth. go on your adventures, find your artifacts… but just don’t leave.” 

indiana brushed a stray hair away from your eyes, his thumb caressing your cheek as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, i promise.” 

[a-sentient-horax]

G/T Headcannons Pt. 2

More science/academia g/t headcannons I've been rotisserating in my noggin.

One student sneaks into the lab to sabotage their academic rival's experiment, but they end up shrinking themself by mistake. When their rival finds them, they present no empathy, only a malicious grin. They begin laughing and teasing their new tiny about their deserved fate. Ideally comes with any sort of fearplay or yandere behavior. "I think I had better keep you all to myself. Now that you're byte-sized I can make sure you don't interfere with any more of my work."

Two personality opposites are paired up for a group project. One is a sizeshifter, who is struggling with random bursts of size change, and keeps dodging their group partner's texts and meet-up requests. Finally, the two agree to a late-night study session in a library study room. Just when they really start getting work done, the sizeshifter feels a growth spurt coming on quickly. As they try to leave, their group partner blocks the door and demands that they stay and finish the project ("No way. You're not gonna make me do this all by myself"). The sizeshifter can't hold back any longer, and suddenly they shoot up toward the ceiling, their limbs expanding all around the room. Their head bumps into the plaster ceiling as they beg their group partner to keep the door locked and not scream.

Bonus if it is actually a group of four people, and now these two have to keep the secret from the other two for the rest of the semester.

Bonus bonus, all three of the other group members are struggling with random size changes. The one human in the group gets fed up while they are all at their full size. The human points an accusing finger up at all three of their giant peers. "I don't care what the fuck you people are. I am not doing this project all by myself goddammit!"

A human shows up to a club meeting on campus. After a few minutes, their mouth drops open in awe as they watch the people around them grow and shrink seemingly at will. “Aren’t you a sizeshifter? This is the sizeshifter club…” The human blushes crimson red. “I…didn’t know what club this was I just heard there was free food.”

Instead of the “I used myself as a test subject for my theory,” what about “I used myself as a test subject for my crush's theory?” Out of a research team, the most junior member’s suggestions always get passed over, until a more senior researcher takes a hard look at their work. They realize that the newbie might be on to something, and set up an experiment on their own. Later that night, the newbie hears a knock at their dorm door. When they open up, a now ginormous research assistant squeezes inside, excitedly babbling on about how the newbie was right and their work was exactly what they needed. Meanwhile, the newbie is doubled over having a panic attack because now they have to hide a giant bag of weed AND a giant from their RA.

"Can't you just...shrink down and take my exam for me?" "No, that's cheating." "It's also...being a marvelous friend." "Quit asking and start studying."

A sizeshifter and a human pair up for a hackathon. Whenever one is tired, the other drops them into their pocket for a quick nap.

[deancaskiss]

i’d marry you with paper rings

 Summary: In all honesty, Dean wasn’t sure why he had that stupid thing in his pocket. He’d picked it up at the end of a hunt, so long ago now that it had found a permanent place in the bottom of his jacket pocket. But now, with a monster breathing down their necks, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to give to Cas... right? It was just for a case. It didn't mean anything. Except, Cas starts wearing it all the time, and now Dean can't stop thinking about it, and suddenly, Dean realizes maybe this is what he's wanted all along. If only Cas knew the significance of one little gold band.

Or

The one where Dean proposes without actually proposing and Cas decides he very much likes wearing Dean's ring.

Word Count: 2,786 (continued under the read more). Also posted on ao3.

Happy September 18th and Cas day! Also, happy late birthday to the love of my life @capellacas <3

In all honesty, Dean wasn’t sure why he had that stupid thing in his pocket. He’d picked it up at the end of a hunt, so long ago now that Dean couldn’t remember what the hunt had been, or why he’d taken it, or what reason he had for keeping it. The damn thing had been wedged into the bottom of his jacket pocket for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there.

Until now, on this damn hunt, when Dean had shoved his hands deep into his pockets in a panic, eyes darting around to see if he could find anything that could serve as a distraction to keep him and Cas out of danger.

And that’s when his fingertips grazed over it. A distraction. A dumb one. But it could work, right? Since whatever this monster was wasn’t coming after…

Yanking the thing out of his pocket, Dean snagged Cas’ hand, earning a huff of surprise from the angel.

“Dean, what’re you-” Cas started to say.

Instead of answering, Dean slipped a ring on Cas’ finger, flickering his eyes up to Cas’, silently pleading for the angel to understand his reckless plan.

A wash of emotions passed over Cas’ face, flickering so fast Dean couldn’t even process what Cas was thinking. Cas broke his eye contact with Dean to glance down at the gold ring, intricate patterns wrapping around the band. Silently, Cas nodded, and he looked up at Dean with this soft little smile on his face.

And, goddammit, Dean wasn’t supposed to find that look so endearing. Not when Cas was his best friend and the ring meant absolutely nothing.

But, here they were, in the middle of some dingy bar, surrounded by strangers, trying to track down this monster without getting snatched themselves, and Dean had just put a ring on Cas’ finger.

Cas took a half step closer towards Dean, and Dean pressed his weight into Cas’ side.

See? They were a couple. Nothing to see here. Just two guys. Pretending to be engaged.

Dean felt Cas’ hand brush against his sleeve, a glimpse of the ring glinting in the dull light in the bar, and he felt a lurch in his chest.

“This okay?” Dean mumbled, swallowing thickly and finally forcing himself to glance at Cas.

Cas, with a ridiculously fond smile on his face, light shining a small halo from the ring onto his cheek, gave Dean a small nod. “Yes, Dean, it is,” Cas murmured.

And that was that.

For just a few minutes, Cas was his… Cas was wearing… they were… together.

~

“Well, for starters, if this plan is going to work, we’re going to need a ring,” Sam said, bending down to grab his bag from the backseat of the Impala. “I might have one of Eileen’s in here…”

Dean’s eyes flickered over towards Cas who was leaning against the trunk of the Impala, only to see the angel was already looking at him.

“Do you still have the-?” Dean started to ask.

Cas instantly nodded, reaching into the trenchcoat and pulling out the gold band Dean had slipped on Cas’ finger in a rush a few weeks ago.

And there was that lurch in his chest again. Cas had kept it, safe and secure, for the last few weeks. In the rush of adrenaline chasing down that last monster, Dean had forgotten all about the ring.

But now, staring at the band resting in Cas’ palm, Dean had a sudden urge to slide the ring back into place on Cas’ finger. A desire, etched deep in Dean’s veins, to make a claim on Cas, the same way Cas claimed him all those years ago with a handprint on his shoulder.

Sam flickered his eyes up after unsuccessfully rooting around in his bag and coming up empty, only to see that Cas was holding a ring in his hand. “Where’d you get that?” he asked Cas curiously.

And Dean felt that surge again, except this time it was rushing up from his lungs and catching in the back of his throat as Cas’ eyes locked with his. “Dean gave it to me a few weeks ago.”

Sam’s head snapped up towards Dean at an alarming rate. If it were any other situation, Dean would’ve made a comment about his Sasquatch of a brother breaking his neck. But instead, the words were caught in his throat.

“Gave Cas a ring, huh?” Sam teased, a knowing smirk crossing his face.

Dean frowned, kicking at Sam’s shoe. “Shut up,” he muttered. “S’not what you- it was for a case. Had it in my pocket and needed it as a distraction.”

“Sureee,” Sam said, drawing out the word, giving Dean the sudden urge to reach out and punch him. “Well, looks like you’ll have to play happy couple again, since we need an ‘in’ for this event.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled, even as he flickered his gaze up to Cas. “You up for it?” he asked, softer this time, watching Cas’ reaction.

Cas smiled and slipped the ring back onto his ring finger, the same way Dean had done not that long ago. Something about seeing it back on Cas’ hand made Dean feel oddly weak in the knees.

“I’m all yours, Dean.”

Sam choked back a laugh, and this time Dean did swing back and smack Sam upside the head. Mostly to cover up the way his heart seemingly kicked up a notch or two hearing those words from Cas’ lips.

~

It was late, and Dean couldn’t muster the energy to keep his eyes open any longer. The book he had spread out on the library table could serve as a passable pillow, right? Not the best way to sleep, hunched over with his back at a rather uncomfortable angle, but truth be told, he was too tired to even attempt to get up and walk down the hall to his room.

Instead, he let his eyes flutter closed, resting his cheek against the worn pages of the book. Just as he was about to drift off, he felt a warm hand glide over his neck.

“Go to bed, Dean,” Cas murmured quietly, nudging Dean gently in an attempt to get him to move.

“M’fine here,” Dean grumbled, refusing to move even though Cas’ hand was now settling on his shoulder.

“Dean,” Cas said, a little more firmly this time. “You’ll hurt yourself sleeping here. I can keep researching while you get some sleep.”

“Can sleep here.”

“No, you can’t,” Cas said, hands shifting until the angel was pulling Dean up.

Dean swayed, letting his weight drop against Cas as they made their way down the corridor to his room.

One step. Two. Three.

Dean froze, causing Cas to stumble to a stop.

“Dean?” Cas said, steadying them both as Dean’s tired brain started to catch up.

Cas had touched him… fingers grazing across his neck. And there was… Dean swore he felt something cool and-

Reaching out, he snagged Cas’ hand and moved it up until he could see it in the dim light of the Bunker’s hallway. A soft gold glint caught Dean’s eye.

“You’re wearing the ring?” Dean murmured, his thumb tracing along the weaving pattern across the band.

There was a soft rustle, and when Dean dragged his eyes up from the ring to Cas’ face, he could’ve sworn there was a tinge of redness to Cas’ cheeks. But he must’ve been imagining it, right? Just his tired brain playing tricks on him.

Cas glanced down, and then forced them both to start moving again. “Just… forgot to take it off after the case last week.”

Humming tiredly, Dean let Cas guide them into his room. Cas stopped at the doorway, watching as Dean flopped down onto his bed. Closing his eyes, Dean let out a breath as the tiredness tugged at his consciousness.

Blearily, he cracked one eye open, catching Cas still lingering in the doorway. “Keep wearing it. Looks good on you,” Dean mumbled, before he allowed the exhaustion to pull him down down down until he was asleep.

~

Now Dean was aware of it, he couldn’t stop himself from staring at it. During a hunt or driving in the Impala or in the Bunker during movie night. His eyes were constantly drawn to the gold ring wrapped around Cas’ ring finger. Dean’s ring. On Cas’ hand.

And, oh God.

Dean loved it and hated it.

Because that was his ring, right there, sitting snug on Cas’ finger like it belonged there. But God, it wasn’t for the reason Dean wanted it to be.

The longer Dean stared at the ring, the longer he let his gaze memorize the way the gold band fit on Cas’ hand, the more he yearned for it to be real. For the ring to be… more than a ring.

‘He just wears it because it’s comfortable’ Dean had convinced himself. ‘It’s just Cas being Cas. It doesn’t mean anything.’

Except he wanted it to.

But Cas didn’t. Otherwise he would’ve said something, right?

So instead, Dean just stared at the ring and pined.

~

This was a bad idea, Dean thought to himself as the rom-com movie played out on the screen. He should’ve never let Eileen and Sam crash his and Cas’ movie night. Because now he was sitting on the floor next to Cas, stuck watching some cliche love story.

Which wouldn’t have been all that bad.

If there wasn’t some massive sappy scene currently playing where the man was pulling out a ring, snagging the protagonist's hand and holding her close as he professed his love.

Dean caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and he carefully glanced over. Cas had his head tilted down, fingers twisting the ring back and forth on his finger, an adorable look of confusion creasing his brow.

And then, slowly, Cas was lifting his gaze to Dean’s, and their eyes locked.

“Say yes. Please, say yes. Marry me?” the man said on the screen.

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas, long enough to see the woman nod, and the man slipped the ring onto her finger, kissing the band before leaning in to kiss her.

The room felt like it was spinning, and Dean stood up in a rush, spilling the bowl of popcorn across the floor as he made a beeline for the door.

God. Oh God. Shit shit shit.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Dean leaned his weight against the counter. Why had he given Cas that ring all those months ago? Of course Cas wouldn’t want… and after seeing that… shit. How was he ever supposed to-

“Dean?”

Fuck.

Cas hesitated, taking a couple steps closer, before stalling out just before he reached Dean.

How was he supposed to turn around and face Cas? How was he ever going to be able to admit that the ring wasn’t supposed to mean anything, not at first, but now… now Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Cas that way. About Cas and him… them… together. And now-

“Do you want the ring back?”

Lungs freezing, Dean spun around, breath catching in his throat as he watched Cas twist the ring back and forth a couple times before he gently slipped it off of his finger.

And that part stung. Stung in a way Dean couldn’t even begin to explain. A stab at the way Cas rejected something Dean had given him. A burn at how Cas didn’t want it anymore. An agonizing ache at the emptiness Dean felt at seeing Cas’ hand without a ring on his finger.

“Why would I want it back?” Dean asked, a sudden rush of anger and hurt melting his lungs and causing them to move again.

“Because…” Cas started, his eyes flickering to the doorway, in the direction of the movie still playing, the distant sound of the characters voices floating down the hallway. “Because you didn’t mean it like that.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “And what if I did?” he asked, the words coming out as a whisper. “What then?”

There was a moment, when Dean finally forced himself to look up to see Cas’ expression, where their eyes locked, and Dean felt like he was drowning and floating and falling all at once.

Cas took a hesitant step forward, and then another, until he was gently nudging into Dean’s space; effectively pinning Dean against the counter, no escape and nowhere else to look but directly at Cas.

“Isn’t this a little backwards?” Cas asked softly.

Huffing out a laugh, Dean flickered his gaze down to Cas’ lips, before darting up again to meet Cas’ eyes. “What about us has ever been conventional?” Dean shot back.

There was that smile again. The same soft smile Cas had the very first time Dean put the ring on his finger.

Except now, Cas was pressing the ring into Dean’s palm, guiding Dean’s hand closer until their fingers were intertwined. Cas leaned closer, his lips hovering over Dean’s as he murmured, “Yes.”

Pulling back slightly, Dean tilted his head as he squinted at Cas. “Yes? What is that supposed to mean? Yes to what?”

Slowly, Cas guided Dean’s hand. In a very deliberate motion, he put the ring between Dean’s fingertips, and then nudged Dean’s hand forward until the band was secured back onto his ring finger again. “If you did mean it like that… I’d say yes.”

Dean laughed, quiet and breathy, as he glanced down at the gold ring, sitting on Cas’ finger again. He’d just put it there for a second time and Cas said-

“You’d say yes?” Dean repeated, dragging his gaze back up to Cas.

“Yes, Dean, I would,” Cas replied.

This time, it wasn’t Cas leaning in. It was Dean.

Dean leaned forward and captured Cas’ lips, his heart kicking wildly against his chest as Cas let out a soft little gasp before he was kissing Dean back.

Lips parting and exploring, mapping each other for the very first time. The tiny little crackled lines across Cas’ lower lip and the warmth of Cas’ mouth as Dean teased over Cas’ tongue with this own. The way Cas fully leaned into the kiss, his hands fumbling all over Dean as he pushed closer closer closer, chasing Dean’s lips over and over again.

God, if this was Heaven, Dean never wanted to leave.

The way Cas broke the kisses with stuttered breaths and dizzying gasps had Dean utterly weak in the knees. There was something about the quiet shared pants as Cas’ hand’s settled on the back of Dean’s neck that made Dean shiver; cool metal grazing across sensitive skin.

Dean tore his mouth away to catch his breath, only to have Cas chase him into another kiss a second later.

Oh God.

Kissing shouldn’t feel this good, but now that Dean had a taste of it, he never wanted it to end. Cas tasted like honey and the summer breeze and a jolt of lightning all at once. It was electrifying and Dean couldn’t get enough.

Cas tilted his head, his lips gliding along Dean’s at the perfect angle, and Dean let out a groan, slipping his hands around Cas’ waist and tugging him closer, until they were pressed firmly against the counter.

This time, it was Cas who broke the kiss, huffing sharp breaths against Dean’s cheeks before he was pressing their foreheads together.

“I thought a first kiss was supposed to come before getting engaged?” Cas teased.

Dean grinned, tilting his head up to catch Cas’ lips in another kiss, and then another, and then one more just because he could.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who said yes. You should’ve come and kissed me sooner. I put that ring on your finger months ago,” Dean said, pressing his lips to the corner of Cas’ mouth.

Cas smiled, and Dean could feel the shape of it against his lips. Oh yes. He could get used to this. “Stop wasting time and kiss me now,” Cas mumbled, turning his head to find Dean’s lips in a proper kiss.

Tracing the outline of Cas’ lower lip, Dean leaned in and took his sweet time kissing Cas; long and deep and ever-so-slowly. By the time they came up for air, Dean felt like his lips were tingling with a hint of Grace and Cas’ eyes were glinting in the kitchen lights.

Briefly, Dean wondered if he should take Cas on a date. Somewhere nice. A first date to celebrate their engagement. But as Cas leaned in again, lips pink and swollen from kissing, Dean decided that all he wanted to do right now was kiss his fiancé breathless.

[rocknluvy]

hiii i'm super bored, so here are dps sick headcanons

neil perry

seldom gets sick but when he does it hits him LIKE A TRUCK hates being sick he's allergic to penicillin so he feels very guilty about needing medication stubborn asf, will pretend he's fine for an annoying amount of time. will go to class watery eyed, sweaty, flushed red, shaking and half-delirious has to be forced to rest, but once that's managed he's very calm and sleeps through most of his sickness loves soup. his mom used to (and still does if he happens to get sick while he's home) make him some kind of special soup whenever he got sick and he loved it. give the boy some soup it will cure 99% of his illness.

todd anderson

gets sick frequently but goes through it pretty lightly he's never like, suffering, more like inconvenienced takes him such a long time though. he has never been sick less than a week fatigue hits him hard, he's falling asleep while standing gets pretty bad muscle pains and pretty irritable it makes him pretty snappy, which unfortunately, makes him funny asf, but no one can really laugh bc he's sick, that would be rude

charlie dalton

probably ate dirt as a kid so he's immune to all the germs, and doesn't get sick a lot but when he does his throat just... gives up on him. he looses his voice immediately i think since he barely gets sick the poets have no idea, so when one day he just shows up at breakfast dead silent they assume the apocalypse is near. gets really bad headaches. loud noises make his headaches worse. this is pretty ironic and funny to the other poets starts missing classes the second he can and doesn't come back until he's forced to by nolan himself would love being sick if it wasn't for the whole... being sick thing bc ouch... but like the attention is great

knox overstreet

gets sick at very unfortunate times, like just at the beginning of spring or during school breaks and weekends. convinced he's dying every. single. time. "This Is The End, Write Down My Will For Me Please... Please Call My Mommy, I Shall Bid My Farewell To Her..." to be fair he does get a horrible migraine every single time, so the guys are mostly forgiving of all of the bullshit inhales soup and tea with lemon&honey.

gerard pitts

his temperature spikes up by +0.1°C and immediately delirium hits him and it hits him HARD gets really emotional and cries a lot. mostly bc he loves his friends and animals and science hates taking medicine. you gotta hide it in his food bc he will not take it will not shut the fuck up, not even for a second. not even when he's sleeping (pray for meeks he's really going thru it), talks until he looses his voice also muscle pains get him soo bad, like his back and his legs are useless he can barely sit sometimes

steven meeks 

barely eats anything. all the food becomes repulsive to him and he has to be coaxed to eat literal toddler portions just so he doesn't starve. throws up a lot deathly pale + flushed cheeks and nose + teary, puffy eyes sleepy. hates it. hates missing classes and complains about it a lot. would over-medicate himself to get to go to class quicker luckily he can be easily distracted (mostly by crossword puzzles and music) charlie will go into his room and play saxophone for him sometimes <3

richard cameron

he technically has a pretty good immune system but he's so irrationally afraid of germs that he walks around in a medical mask during flu season to protect himself still gets sick though it's like a vibe check from god to stop fucking panicking like neil, he refuses to admit that he's sick and goes to class shivering, sweaty, and only half-lucid but he will go to class goddammit, gotta keep that perfect attendance somehow still believes that some painkillers would fix him. he almost overdosed once (or twice) has to be forced to rest and argues about it a lot he's hungry. all the time. could eat a five course meal and still be hungry. get my boy some sustenance, he's dying also gets migraines (he gets those anyways, they get way worse when he's sick though)