#but she loves big men so that was sort of a given

[fingertipsmp3]

There’s something weirdly nice about finding out you’re not the only person who dislikes someone. It’s such a relief to be able to be like “okay thank God I can bitch about this person now”

[discoreptile]

Shellycoat

[ravengards-rogue]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[mypoisonedvine]

Ok 1 I love your Halloween theme, and 2 can I request a delightfully unhinged threesome between estranged twins, jackson and Dr. Crane 👀

oh my i wonder who could've given you such a ridiculously thirsty idea!!! definitely wasn't me ummm anyways this turned out to be another full length fic, so. yeah.

𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎 | jonathan crane x reader x jackson rippner

length: 3.6k

warnings: NONCON SMUT (dark as fuck, 18+ only, read the warnings), kidnapping, implied stalking, yandere!jonathan, threesome with oral m receiving and breeding kink, housewife kink, slight corruption kink, possibly inexperienced jonathan??

It was eerie, seeing his twin on the other side of the doorway; it wasn’t quite like looking in a mirror, but it was closer than anything else was.

The differences were obvious, and had only become stronger over time: the hair, the glasses, even the way they dressed. But the biggest difference between the brothers was their smiles… in fact, Jackson was wearing that tilted, toothy grin already. “Well, look at you,” he greeted smugly, “Doctor Crane.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d really come,” Jonathan admitted quietly.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever call me again,” Jackson laughed as he stepped inside, despite never actually having been invited in. “Nice place, Doc— guess they pay you pretty good at the looney bin.”

“We, uh, try not to use that term,” Jonathan mumbled as he watched Jackson roam the apartment, getting a little nervous that he might break one of the more expensive decorations or artifacts.

“So, what’s this problem you needed my help with?” Jackson wondered as he spun on his heel to face his brother. “Must be a pretty sticky situation you’ve got yourself in if you have to ring up your big brother.”

“You’re only four—"

“Four minutes older, yeah, I know,” he rolled his eyes, “but somebody had to be first.”

“I need… advice,” Jonathan finally answered, “regarding a sort of… sensitive situation.”

“You can spare the foreplay, Jonny, this isn’t my first time,” Jackson smirked. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Nothing… happened, really,” he sighed, “I just… there’s someone that needs to be… dealt with.”

“If you want a hit, I don’t actually do that,” Jackson explained, “but I can call somebody for you—“

“Not a hit, no,” Jonathan shook his head, “the opposite, really… I need her kept alive.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Oh? A ladyfriend you want protected?”

“Uh, sure,” Jonathan mumbled awkwardly, “but I’ll take care of that. It’s her, um, footprint, if you will. Her old identity, and all that— I need her to disappear, so to speak. W-well, she already disappeared… I just need people to stop looking for her.”

“You know, you’re always full of surprises, Jonny,” Jackson laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have this woman in your basement.”

“I don’t have a basement,” Jackson replied.

“That’s… not the part I was expecting you to deny…”

Soon enough, Jonathan escorted Jackson to his bedroom, where you were tied to one of the bedposts by your wrists, curled up in a shaking little ball, watching with wide eyes as the two men entered the room. Jackson realized you probably hadn't seen anyone other than Jonathan since getting here-- that, or you were just thinking oh fuck, there's two of them?!

“Why’d you dress her up like that?” Jackson snorted, admiring the vintage-style dress and heels, with a matching set of pearl earrings and necklace. “I didn’t know you were so… traditional.”

Jonathan cleared his throat, his cheeks tinting a bit pink. “Can we just focus on the present issue, please?”

"And what a lovely issue it is," Jackson cooed as he stepped closer to you, admiring you with a tilted head.

You watched him approach with wide eyes, finally speaking in a broken whisper. “Please,” you choked out, “help me— he’s keeping me here, I think he’s gonna kill me—“

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Jackson smiled, “he’s real sweet on you. I’d just be worried about whatever freaky shit he’s into.”

“Well, as you can see, she’s not adjusting very well,” Jonathan sighed. “I thought my drugs would help— and she’s pretty obedient when she’s been given a large dose, so I was sort of right— but I can’t keep her high all day, she’ll build a tolerance. And I know her case is going to get a little too much attention, if there isn’t some kind of closure for the police or the family sometime soon. I mean, a beautiful, promising young medical student? Gone without a trace? It’s cable news catnip.”

“You’re right about that,” Jackson agreed. “There’s a pretty face perfect for the papers.”

As Jackson reached to tilt your chin, petting the line of your jaw, Jonathan slapped his hand away. “Hey, hands to yourself,” Crane warned, “she’s mine.”

“Okay, Mr. Defensive,” Jackson widened his eyes, raising his hands like he was perfectly innocent. “How sloppy were you? Are they gonna find any evidence that brings them here?”

“I don’t think so,” Jonathan sighed, “but you can’t be too sure. Even without evidence, she took one of my classes, so if they get desperate enough they can certainly trace her to me.”

Jackson sighed. “That’s tricky,” he nodded. “And it gives us two options.”

“Which are?”

“The happy ending, and the sad ending,” Jackson explained. “Happy ending: I get one of my little computer nerd friends to fake a plane ticket to somewhere exotic. Send a postcard to a friend. Just like that, she’s absconded from her old life, escaped the pressure of med school, and everyone thinks she’s off somewhere getting her groove back or whatever.”

“And the sad ending?”

“Bloody clothing planted by the woods, with a tip that somebody saw her hiking,” he shrugged. “Big bad wolf got to her. Simple as that. That one’s handy because no one’s gonna expect her to come back… and you can have her all to yourself, forever.”

Jonathan bit his lip, obviously excited by the idea. “I'm guessing that will require taking a sample from her?"

"Not too much," Jackson promised, "you're a doctor, you can do it safely."

"She's scared enough of me as it is," Jonathan sighed. "I thought she would... take to it a little faster."

"What, you thought she would like getting kidnapped?"

"I thought she would appreciate how well I can take care of her," Jonathan clarified.

"Oh, Jonny," Jackson laughed, "you haven't learned a thing about women since the last time I saw you, huh?"

Jonathan didn't even have the heart to deny it.

"When they ask if they look fat in something-- you just say no, don't even look, okay? It's like DARE: Just. Say. No." Jackson informed his brother sternly. "And when they say they're not hungry and don't want anything, just order some fries anyway or she's gonna end up with half your entrée. And most of all-- you can't forget this one-- they really dislike being kidnapped and held in captivity."

Jonathan crossed his arms. "I knew that," he announced defensively.

"Let me ask you this," Jackson began with a twinkle in his eye. "Have you used her yet?"

Jonathan shuddered a little, looking embarrassed as he looked at you and then to the floor. "J-just once..." he admitted. "That was... a lapse in restraint. I had wanted to wait until she was more comfortable, but..."

"But you just couldn't help yourself with a sweet little thing like this in your bed, huh?" Jackson finished. "I get it. And she looks cute when she's scared."

You shuddered under Jackson's hungry stare, and he winked at you. "So, you'll take care of it?" Jonathan reminded him. "Happy ending or sad ending, whatever you think is best."

"Well, I'm always a fan of a happy ending," Jackson smirked. "You know speaking of: I figure I can give you a good deal on this whole thing... you know, since you're family."

"Alright," Jonathan nodded.

“I’ll make sure her case is closed… if you let me take her for a spin.”

It seemed to take Jonathan a moment to realize what that meant, before he laughed incredulously. “No,” he asserted, “absolutely not.”

“Oh, don’t be so insecure,” Jackson pouted, “she’ll still be yours when I’m done with her. You can keep her for the rest of your life— I’m just asking for one night.”

"I can pay you very well for your time, Jackson," Jonathan promised.

"Eh, money's boring," Jackson shrugged.

"If I recall correctly, women tend to bore you pretty easily as well," Jonathan accused with a frown.

"Sheesh, you kidnap one woman and you start getting all judgmental that I haven't settled down," Jackson rolled his eyes. "I don't have a lot of time for anything serious, that's all. In fact, I barely have time for anything these days. That's why I figure I can help you break in Mrs. Crane over there."

"I don't need any help," Jonathan promised.

"Except for the part where, if I don't help you, you're probably gonna get caught with a missing woman tied to your bed," Jackson reminded him.

Jonathan sighed, clearly realizing the choice he had to make.

“C'mon, just a little favor for your favorite twin brother? You can stay and make sure I don’t do anything you wouldn’t… approve of,” Jackson rolled his eyes, “you prude.”

"She's innocent," Jonathan breathed, "that's what I liked about her-- it's why I had to bring her here. You'll... you'll ruin her. I can't let you do that."

“Seems like you don’t really have a choice,” Jackson noticed, lowering his voice and leaning in closer to Jonathan.

There was a pause, and finally Jackson turned to leave the room as he patted Jonathan on the back.

"Get a good lawyer, buddy," he offered as his final piece of advice.

But before he could take another step, Jonathan relented with a sigh: “Make it quick.”

“Hey,” Jackson shrugged with a grin as he shed his jacket and tossed it aside, “no promises.”

He all but leapt onto the bed, crawling up to you as you whined and shrunk away.

“Did y’hear that, babydoll? Jonny said it’s my turn to play with you,” he purred.

As you tried to shrink away, he grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you down, forcing you onto your back and keeping your tied wrists above your head as the rope when taut.

He growled as he laid on top of you, leaning in to kiss your neck. “I can make it good for you,” he breathed, “if you behave. It’ll be so much better than whatever my idiot baby brother does to you— promise.”

Jackson's hands crawled up your skirt, and he bit his lip as you kicked your legs in protest.

"Be good, baby," he warned you sharply. "Good girls get a treat... you know what bad girls get?"

You didn't seem that invested in an answer, but he continued anyways as he lowered his voice and spoke by your ear.

"Bad girls get fucked up the ass," he whispered, giving a quick little kiss to the side of your face; suddenly, you relaxed a bit under him and stopped resisting so much. "That's a good girl," he praised, spreading your legs a bit and petting them until he reached higher and found you totally bare under the dress. "Oh my, Jonny didn't even give you panties to wear? Poor baby..."

Jonathan shuddered and crossed his arms, looking away with his head and yet unable to actually look anywhere else but the bed. He was trying to figure out how his brother had gotten you to behave so quickly... when Jonathan had given in to temptation and forced himself on you, it was a constant battle to keep you down as you kicked and screamed and begged him to stop. Whether it was the sight before him now, or the memory of that night, Jonathan felt his cock twitch in his trousers.

Jackson sat up a bit, opening his own pants and sighing as he wrapped his hand around himself. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he purred as he held your legs open wide with his other hand. "Oh, we're gonna have so much fun together, sweetheart."

He spit straight down onto you, smearing it around your opening with his tip, before pressing right up to your hole. He groaned loudly as he slid inside-- one long, slow stroke as he filled you. You whined and shut your eyes tight, but otherwise resisted the urge to struggle.

"Fuuuuck," Jackson purred, holding on tight to your hips as he simply buried himself inside you for a moment. "So tight, honey, Jesus."

Beginning to move, he laid himself down over you and kissed your neck again, moaning against your skin. You whimpered, back arching slightly under him, and he smiled when he felt you tense up as he thrusted into you just a little harder.

"Oh, baby, feel how deep I am?" he grunted. "Feel how good I'm stretching out that little hole? Fuck, keep squeezin' me like that and maybe I will make this quick..."

He grabbed your hips and yanked them up a bit, holding you right where he wanted you-- and sitting up again, so he could get just the perfect angle as he started fucking into you again. Normally he would build up a little more naturally before being so rough but, well, you weren't going anywhere... he could just use you and chase his own pleasure. That said, he still grinned proudly when you moaned suddenly, your head falling back and your back arching. That was when he decided that, even though he had no real obligation to make you come, he was going to anyways-- if for no other reason than to know that he could take total control of your body, and force you to an orgasm even unwillingly.

"Right there?" he taunted as you whined, giving you fast and hard thrusts right into the place that made you bite down on your lip. "Yeah, that's it-- you're getting so wet, honey, you feel that? Gonna soak my fucking cock, aren't you?"

He tilted his head back and shut his eyes, letting himself bask in the feeling for a moment. You made little sounds, obviously trying to hold yourself back, but the longer it went on the less you were able to fight it-- soon you were properly moaning, arching your back deeper, your walls clenching on him rhythmically as you came.

"Fuck, just like that," Jackson praised as he watched you give into it. "Just like that, baby, fucking cream all over me-- good girl."

Jonathan watched in astonishment as you quivered all over, nervously clearing his throat as he tried to conceal the throbbing erection in his pants-- and it seemed to remind Jackson that his brother was still standing nearby.

"What was that about your girl being innocent, Crane?" Jackson laughed. "'Cause she seems like a desperate fucking whore to me."

“H-how’d you make her do that?” Jonathan asked with a shaky whisper, licking his lips a bit as he watched you writhe against the mattress.

“Nothing to it, really,” Jackson smiled, “just gotta find that spot and beat the hell out of it. Here, I’ll show you.”

You whimpered as Jackson pulled out and slid his fingers inside you, curling them against the place that had become more sensitive than ever.

“Right here,” he explained, “you try it.”

He took his fingers out as Jonathan approached the bed— and you felt Jonathan’s fingers slide in a second later, a bit more hesitance to his movements. He let out a wavering sigh, and Jackson smiled.

“Feel the swollen part? Rub her there— hard.”

He curled his fingers slightly and you bit your lip.

“Harder,” Jackson instructed.

“I-I don’t want to hurt her…”

“Well, she needs it rough,” Jackson laughed, “so man up and make her come!”

You yelped when Jonathan harshly pressed into the spot, making your whole body shake as he started to thrust the digits in and out of you. “Wow,” Jonathan breathed as he watched you, his brother smiling proudly next to him.

"She can probably come again pretty fast," Jackson assumed, "you should try. See how fast you can make her scream again."

Jackson, meanwhile, moved to kneel by your head, slapping your face a little to cue you to open your mouth. He groaned as he rubbed his tip over your tongue, forcing you to taste yourself alongside his salty precum.

You unintentionally clench on Jonathan's fingers, and he smiled wide. "Like that?" he asked eagerly. "Are you gonna come again?"

"Just keep doing it," Jackson urged his brother before speaking to you again. "C'mon baby, you can take a little more."

Holding your hair, Jackson started to fuck your mouth a bit more earnestly, making Jonathan frown at him after you gagged a few times. "Be careful," he warned him, "don't hurt her."

"I know, I know," Jackson rolled his eyes. "But look at that mouth, Crane, don't you think it's just made to take cock?"

Jonathan couldn't exactly disagree, he'd fantasized about your mouth plenty of times. But now, he was much more focused on your pussy-- he was watching it closely, enraptured by the way his fingers moved in and out of it... and the way it responded, gripping him tighter and tighter.

"Go on, suck it," Jackson ordered you impatiently, smacking you on the cheek again to try to encourage you. You whimpered and hollowed your cheeks, blinking up at him as he grinned down at you. "Oh, pretty eyes-- I can tell why Jonny couldn't resist you..."

You moaned again, and Jackson raised an eyebrow as he looked down for a moment at what Jonathan was doing-- which was moving his fingers faster inside you, watching you whimper and writhe as you reached the edge again.

"Show me," Jonathan begged, "come for me-- come on my fingers."

It happened pretty quickly, and Jackson let you take a break from sucking him for a second so they could both enjoy your pretty moans as you creamed around Jonathan's fingers.

"O-oh, fuck," Jonathan gasped, "I can feel her... pulsing."

"Yeah," Jackson grinned, "really something, isn't it?"

"Fuck," Jonathan said again, taking his fingers out and suddenly climbing onto the bed. "Need to feel that on my cock."

"Atta boy," Jackson praised with a laugh.

Jonathan moaned loudly as he pushed inside you, your own reaction a muffled groan around Jackson's cock which he shoved between your lips again. "Oh, god," Jonathan whined, "you feel even better than I remember, angel-- fuck, I missed you so much."

He was even more desperate and impatient than before, fucking you quickly and eagerly even though you were far too sensitive for it after coming twice in a row.

Jackson pulled back out of your mouth, but held your head steady as he stroked himself rapidly. “Gonna coat that pretty face,” he growled, “keep your mouth open, baby, I’m close…”

You whimpered and tried to keep your throat shut, afraid to choke on his come while laying back like this, and after a few more moments he groaned loudly as ropes of come fell over your face and onto your waiting tongue. You grunted a little in surprise but just tried to squint your eyes in case some got too close, but the vast majority went into your mouth or over your cheek.

"Fuck," Jackson purred, milking his cock for every drop before finally taking his hand away and sinking back, looking down at you with a new redness and sheen of sweat to his face. "Good girl. You can swallow now baby-- oh, wait, let's make sure you get it all first."

He swiped up the come on your cheek with his thumb, feeding it to you as you closed your lips and swallowed his salty spend.

"I told you good girls get a treat," he grinned.

Jonathan, meanwhile, was panting and whimpering and clearly trying to hold himself back-- but the way he held you tight enough to bruise gave away how close to the edge he really was. "I can't wait," he finally admitted with a groan. "I need to come, angel-- I need to come inside, get you pregnant. Then we can be happy together."

Suddenly, he started to rub your sore clit with his thumb; and you jolted again, pulsing around him as he sighed and dropped his head onto your shoulder.

"Fuck, beautiful-- just like that, let me feel you come again, please. Then I can fill you so deep..."

"You can make her come one more time," Jackson assured, "she's so sensitive-- go on and come for him, baby, let him feel how hard you come..."

Though Jonathan was a little irritated by the way Jackson made it seem like a favor you were doing on his behalf, he couldn't complain when he felt you coming around him, slick walls pulsing so perfectly around him that he had to come with a loud, broken moan. He kept moving until he was sure he'd given you everything, heart racing as he imagined and hoped that he'd properly bred you this time.

Then, there was a silence. Not very long, but plenty nervous as the three of you caught your breath.

"Well... mazel tov," Jackson offered with an awkward laugh, getting up off the bed and getting himself back in order. "I'll call you when it's all taken care of, Jonny. You, uh... you have fun with her, alright? Call if you need anything or, you know... feel like sharing again..."

"I wouldn't hold my breath for that, Jackson," Jonathan sighed.

"Don't miss me too much, honey," Jackson winked at you as he slipped his jacket back on. "But feel free to think about me so you can get off while this guy's fucking you," he joked, motioning to his brother with a tilt of his head.

"Don't listen to him, angel," Jonathan cooed at you as Jackson finally left the room. You shivered a little as he trailed kisses all over your face and neck, holding you a little tighter. "You're all mine-- you finally know that now, don't you?

[cherriegyuu]

red | csc

pairing: seungcheol x f!readergenre: smutword count: 1.6kwarnings: minors do not interact, kissing, a little bit of dirty talking, swearing, oral (male), masturbation (female), unprotected sex (please wrap it up kids), sort ot public sex, car sexa/n: not entirely sure how this one happened but here we are i guess. this was not how the story was supposed to go, i had different plans and maybe i'll write them later. if you filled the form to be tagged in my fics but was not tagged for this one, it means that you are either a minor or i didn't find your age anywhere in your blog.

this is part of my series, seventeen as songs from red (ts)

Seungcheol ➝ Red Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly↳ the sight of seungcheol driving had always been your favorite but when both of you were trying to escape while being chased down by the police, you couldn't help but make things a little more… interesting

“Baby, no, you can’t be serious” Seungcheol complained, his voice a weird mixture of moan and groan as he looked between the road and your hand that was dangerously close to the waist of his jeans. 

He looked at you again, but your eyes were focused on the rear windscreen, a small smile playing on your lips as the cops struggled to follow along. Clearly, the police academy should provide driving lessons, because there was no way those men were actually that bad at driving. 

“It’s going to be fun” you whispered against his skin. 

You pressed your lips over his jawline, right where it connected with his ear, going down his neck, lightly biting into his skin. Your kisses trailed down his neck until his collarbone, where you pressed them over his sweet spot, sucking his skin hard enough to leave a mark. 

You enjoyed knowing that his skin was marked by you.  It was only fair that he too carried marks after leaving a few of them himself all over your body. It had been hard to explain to your sister, ever so naive, how you had gotten those bruises. She saw you as sincere enough, pure enough, to believe that some of it had been due to your clumsy nature. Good thing she never saw the ones right above your panties and the two on your inner thighs. 

“We're going to get caught” 

Seungcheol had always been the first one to throw any sort of caution out the window and he was never one to tell you no. If you wanted something, it was yours. If he didn't have what you wanted, he was sure to get it for you. So when you undid the button of his jeans and slid your hand in, pushing his underwear and pants down just enough to set his semi-hard cock free, Seungcheol didn't complain. 

His words of caution had been a lot more for you than for him. You had been his quiet and shy girl, who sometimes got scared when the cars were too loud. He wasn't certain when that new version of you had come out, but he knew he liked it a lot.

Truth be told, it wasn't really a new version of you, but a you that was only his to see and know about.

“Do you really want Kyle back there to see me choke on your dick?” you pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth “Imagine the view he's going to get… my ass in this tiny skirt in the air, you dick in my mouth, my eyes filled with tears because you're too big to fit into my mouth but I want to take you all way”

God, he loved it when your mouth got a little dirty. 

Seungcheol grabbed your hair, pushing your head down into his cock. You smiled, finally happy that he had given it. You loved that he was willing to pull back but also loved that he didn't hesitate to say yes to you sucking him off.

You licked him, from the base to tip. Your hand pumped him once, twice, three times. A fourth one just for good measure, to be certain that he was almost fully hard before you took him into your mouth.

The moan that left Seungcheol's lips caused a wave of tingles to dance through your body, all the way to your core and you couldn’t help but moan too. 

The sounds he made while you sucked him had always turned you on. So to have him driving — probably your favorite thing about him — and moaning for you, while his hand was tangled in your hair, forcing your head down until his dick touched the back of your throat turned you on in ways that you didn't think were possible.

You had never been one for public sex. Not just public, but anywhere near someone else, or where someone else could hear the faintest sound. But with Seungcheol all of your inhibitions had been left behind and he was all that you could see and feel and want.

He went from the hot driver who helped you escape an illegal race, to the hot driver/boyfriend you were sucking off while being chased down by the cops. 

“Balls too” you managed to pull back long enough to say.

You pushed Seuncheol's jeans a little further down, glad he was willing to help by raising him hips just enough. Once all of him was out for you, you leaned over him again. Your hand was on his cock while your mouth was busy a little more down.

He let out a grunt when you grazed him with your teeth, moaning again when you took him again. His hand was back in your hair, maybe it had never even left, guiding you up and down, at the pace he liked the most. As if you didn't know it already, as if you hadn't memorized it.

“I love your mouth, so much,” he said, holding your head down “You take me so well, baby” 

Tears started to form in the corner of your eyes, spit Dripping out and coating all of him. You snaked your free hand into your soaked panties, needing some sort of pressure too. You moaned when the tip of your middle finger grazed your clit, the tiniest bit of stimulation enough to make your head almost spin.

“Are you touching yourself, baby?” whichever incoherent sound left your mouth was enough of confirmation to Seungcheol “I bet you're pulsing around nothing, begging to be filled.  Ready for me”

You moaned again, rubbing your clit a little more desperately than before. If you were going to get Seungcheol to his release, it was only fair that you got some sort of your own too.

Seungcheol looked at the rearview mirror for a second, when he reached the exit he was looking for, opting to get away from the main road. Those cops weren't aware of the alternative road, so you were almost out of any danger — if such a thing had even existed, for a moment at least.

He pulled you up, his hand on your jaw. He loved to turn you into a mess, with tear-stained cheeks and spit all over you. Your hand never left your pussy when he pulled you to him. He kissed you for a second, doing his best to keep the car moving, still on the road.

“Come ride me” he whispered against your lips.

Your eyes gleamed and you moved, pulling your skirt up and shoving your panties to the side. Seungcheol pushed his seat back, as far as he could go, to make room for you.

The position was a little awkward but it didn't matter as you angled his tip with your entrance, slowly coming down on him.

A long moan left your lips, until he was all the way inside you. You loved the burning sensation he always gave you, almost as if he was too much, like he wasn't going to fit in you. But he always did.

“How are you even tighter?” he moaned, his mind going blank for a second at the overwhelming feeling of taking you in public, of you riding him, of how your pussy sucked him in in desperation, of taking you bare.

Slowly, like torture, to started to move up and down, as much as you could. You moved your hips up, until he almost completely out and then let yourself fall into him. 

“Cheol” you begged, for what it was uncertain.

You wanted, needed, all of him, all over you.

“Take it, baby, it's yours”

Your moves became frantic, a mixture of bouncing on him, while grinding on him, searching for as much friction as you possibly could. 

Seuncheol moved your hand from his neck to your pussy, pressing your own fingers to open yourself up even further, giving you more room for friction.

“Cheol…” you moaned again, your voice louder as you moved over him “You're so so deep like this”

He no longer could take it. He pulled the car to the side of the road. The police had long been left behind and he had gotten to the point of not caring anymore. You were over him, almost on breaking point. He cared about getting you off, about seeing your eyes roll as your orgasm took over. 

“I got you, baby,” he said while kissing you “I've got you”

Seungcheol held your hips and started to pound into you at a relentless pace. He wanted to chase his high while giving you yours.

You moaned into his shoulder when he pressed a hand to your groin at the same time you started to rub your clit again, matching his pace.

“Cum with me, baby”

His words sent your body into a frenzy, your orgasm taking over as your entire body shook. Seungcheol swallowed all of your incoherent moans and words, his high following yours. He only stopped moving when all that was left was the small spams on your legs.

You leaned your head back when Seunchheol tugged at your hair. He loved that expression on you, when you were completely fucked out and pleased. He liked knowing that he had made it happen.

“Hi” he whispered

You laughed a little, your eyes still closed.

“So sex while the cops chase us turns you on, huh?” he said kissing your neck, enjoying the small goosebumps erupting on your skin “Fully noted”

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[zweiginator]

imagine being academic rivals with patrick, you both have some type of work to do but you both need some answers, and you both have some pent up frustration and tension, so you make it a sort of game so whoever makes the other cum gets the answers....

oh ive thought about lawstudent!patrick many times... his father is heavily influential in your city. he's a bigshot attorney in big law and he expects nothing less from his son. his father and his grandfather are partners at their own firm, but his grandfather is getting old, and patrick is next in line.

and while patrick has daddy issues and shares the same emotional unavailability that he fosters towards his son--all he wants is to please him. he scored almost perfectly on the LSAT; he got a 4.0 GPA at a top university. and he goes into his first day of law school with the belief that he is the best. that he will continue to be the best. having the last name zweig in this field makes him a god amongst men. and it's that cockiness and academic fervor that will make him partner directly after the bar exam.

but that's three years from now, and all he needs to worry about on his very first day is making a good impression. so he puts on his grey suit and a blue tie to match Yale's colors and he paints a big smile on his face. a zweig smile.

you have your first class with him. patrick was busy chatting up the dean of students--and frankly being an ass kisser--so he was a tad short on time. there is only one seat left and patrick takes it, straightening his suit jacket. you peer down at the nametag adjacent to his collar and have to hold back an eye roll. of course, patrick zweig goes to fucking yale.

from what you've heard about him, he's had his whole fucking life plotted out from the beginning. born to an uber-rich politically connected family in suburban connecticut, he lived in a huge mansion with maids and full-time nannies. he excelled in tennis due to his father paying for exorbitantly expensive lessons and he went to the best ivy feeder school on the east coast. there, he had dozens of tutors who taught him strategies for the SAT, the ACT, the AP exams. he got perfect scores on everything and was spat out at Stanford, where he conveniently played tennis all four years, aced the LSAT and was given four pristine letters of recommendation which landed him here--at yale.

but your story is different and you didn't have au pairs or private school connections. you had a work ethic and tons of scholarships. years of grueling dedication which made your acceptance letter to yale that much more meaningful. you doubt patrick was at all surprised to make it here.

patrick notices how your demeanor changes as you glance over his nametag. and he wouldn't care usually, but something about the tick of your jaw pisses him off.

and you don't like his know-it-all attitude. how he sucks up to the professor. he uses too much cologne and he has a staring problem too.

the second week of classes, one of your professors assigns you to study groups. she tells you that these are mandatory--you must meet with your study partner at least once a week to catch up on readings, ask and answer questions, and get to know each other.

and somehow, in a lecture of thirty seven students, it happens to be that patrick is your partner. you hesitantly enter your number into his phone.

your first few study sessions are tinged in a palpable tension and a bitter distaste for each other. you don't exchange many words outside of talk about the assigned cases and outlines.

you don't like where your mind leads you, but as you sit on his couch, you realize patrick is quite attractive. his hair is messier and he wears a well-loved stanford tennis t-shirt and linen pajama pants. his glasses are perched on his nose and a yellow highlighter sits between his lips as he flips through his text book.

and patrick would be a liar if he didn't admit you're attractive too. he likes your hair up how you have it, your eyes sleepy and your voice more relaxed. you're wearing shorts and a yale hoodie and you smell good--like coconut and vanilla.

but you both chug along, until it's well past midnight and both of you are burnt out, your hands marked up with pen ink.

"i don't think i'm retaining any of this." patrick admits.

"maybe if you had some work ethic you would." it's a lot meaner than you intended.

"what the fuck is your problem?" patrick caps his highlighter. "i thought i was breaking through to you--but i guess you're still just as fucking uptight as ever."

"some of us have to be uptight." you spit. "our daddies don't pave all of our futures like yours does."

patrick leans forward, grabbing the drawstring of your hoodie. "given how connected my family is to the legal field here, i wouldn't get on my bad side."

"is that a threat?" you grab his wrist.

"maybe so."

you slap him. it's loud and harder than you thought you were capable of. you expect patrick to lash out, to kick you out and email faculty--to ruin your life. but he pulls you onto his lap and pushes his mouth against yours. his legs spread wide and you straddle them. he still hasn't kissed you and you're both intently waiting on the other to do so. patrick cups your face impatiently and moves his face closer. you feel his erection on your core.

"we need to study." you say.

patrick sighs and looks down at your lips. "do we?"

you nod. "we do."

"but i really want to hate fuck you right now."

you cup his jaw; his cheek is hot from where you slapped him. "you hate me? it doesn't seem like it right now."

patrick's mouth ghosts over your ear. "hate's a strong word. but yeah--" he pulls your hair to expose your throat to him, pressing a firm kiss there. "i hate you." he holds your ass and grinds you on his cock. "i hate how you think you know me." you hold back a whimper. "i hate how you think you're smarter than me." patrick grabs your hand, placing it on his dick. "and i hate how much you fucking turn me on."

"i'll fuck you--" you say, pressing a kiss to his lips. "if you can tell me what-" you grab your study guide. "what three causes of action are in tort law. " you read the first testable concept you can find. "but if you don't get all of it right--then i leave."

patrick thinks. he knows this--maybe. but even then, it's hard to think when you're moving back and forth, your warm cunt stroking against his cock. his eyes are glued to your lips and he clears his throat.

"fuck--jesus--" he runs a hand through his hair. "one is ne-negligence."

you nod and untie his pajama pants. "two more." you whisper in his ear. you've never seen him so pathetic and submissive.

he knows these. but now your fucking hand is in his pants, palming him.

his head falls back and he mewls.

you pull him back up. "two. more."

"fuck--uh--intentional. intentional torts--"

"what's an example of one?"

"that wasn't the fucking deal--jesus christ." he watches you spit in your hand.

"tell me an example."

"battery."

you yank his boxers down and stroke him in your hand. a carnal groan escapes him and you clamp your hand over his mouth.

he pulls your wrist away. "one more?"

"one more."

"strict liability."

patrick's demeanor changes as you tell him he's right. he pins your arms behind your back and pushes your face into the couch cushions, pulling your panties down your legs.

you feel his cock line up with your entrance and you're so fucking wet for him, so desperate. but he stalls as his head pushes inside, just the tip.

"patrick--fuck--" you look back at him; he feels your pulse quickening in your wrists.

then he bends down to whisper in your ear.

"i'll fuck you if you tell me the legal difference between motive and intent."

you can feel the fucking smirk against your cheek.

"i fucking hate you."

[bi-bard]

On My Line, You’re Hooked, I’m Fishin’ - Scott Imagine [Twisters]

Title: On My Line, You’re Hooked, I’m Fishin’

Pairing: Scott [Twisters] X Reader

Word Count: 3,126 words

Warning(s): argument, grabbing someone's wrist

Summary: [Somewhat inspired by "Too Easy" by Tanner Adell] When a new company rolls into town during tornado season, Tyler's team is curious. Perfect uniforms, all looking ready for picture wasn't exactly the normal look for tornado chasing. (Y/n) volunteers to be the one to gather some much-needed intel, doing whatever they need to in order to get it.

Author's Note: I have about five Twisters imagines in my drafts right now.

Listen. I'm have something cute about this guy in my drafts, but he pissed me off in this movie, so I have to get that shit out first. It's part of my process.

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

There was always a lot of energy during tornado season, but nothing beat the feelings on those first few days.

There was all this hope. This adrenaline going for something that hadn't even happened yet. A little while in, you would get an idea about how the season was going to go. The not-knowing before that was the best part. Endless possibilities and all that.

All that to explain that it felt normal for our team to be jumping off the walls like kids in a candy shop when we first all made it to Oklahoma.

Boone and Tyler were sorting out the truck. Dexter and Dani were making sure the trailer was stocked with merch and food for those who needed it. I hadn't been given a task, so I was left to pretty much my own devices. As a result, Lily was left working on her drone while I talked her ear off. She didn't seem to mind it.

I looked up over her head to see a group of white trucks and vans pulling up. Nice ones. Clean, new. I saw the logo slapped on the side.

"What in the hell is Storm Par," I asked.

"What?" Lily looked at me before immediately turning to the other vehicles. "No idea."

"Hey, Tyler!" I walked over to the truck.

"What's going on? Sugar high crashing?"

"Very funny," I replied before pointing to the white vehicles. "Who's Storm Par?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "No idea. Look like a big corporation."

A group of men started climbing out of the vehicles.

"Woah," he muttered.

"Proper science fair dudes," I commented. "Bet you twenty bucks that they have pocket protectors."

Tyler reached out and whacked my shoulder. "Be nice."

"Fine," I grumbled as he turned back to the truck.

I caught one of the men staring at me. He was tall and seemed to have a completely emotionless face. His clothes were neat, perfectly pressed. When he saw that I had noticed him, he had turned away from me, going to follow his team into the gas station.

"Want me to get intel?"

Tyler chuckled. "Intel? What year do you think it is? We can look them up tonight."

"Yeah, but I just caught one of their boys staring at me," I explained. "Let me do it; it'll kill two birds with one stone."

I heard Boone laugh from the other side of the truck. "I love the way you think!"

"Thanks, Boone."

"Alright, fine," Tyler relented. "But hurry up, we gotta get going."

"Thank you," I said. "Anyone want a drink?"

"Get me a Mountain Dew!" Boone called. I pointed at him and nodded.

"Be back in a minute!"

I walked back to the fridges along the back wall. I saw the man who had stared at me was now standing by the fridges.

I stood next to him. "Hey there."

He didn't respond, just staring straight ahead at the fridge. I had to hold in my laugh as I stepped forward to grab two Mountain Dews.

"Did Storm Par put a ban on talking to other tornado chasers," I asked. He didn't reply again. "Or are you just scared? Promise I don't bite."

"I'm not scared," he replied.

"Oh my goodness, he speaks." I placed a hand over my chest to pretend to be shocked. I chuckled at his clearly unimpressed expression before holding my hand out. "(Y/n)."

"Scott." he shook my hand before very quickly pulling it back.

"Nice to meet you, Scott," I said. "So, what exactly is Storm Par?"

"We track tornados so the data can be used for research."

"Real specific there," I chuckled at him. "What kind of research?"

He didn't respond.

"Oh, come on, I'm not gonna steal your ideas."

"I'm not worried about it."

"Are you worried that I won't understand it? I'm smarter than I look."

He let out an amused huff before grabbing a water and starting to walk to the checkout. I followed him.

"Maybe you could explain it to me later then," I suggested, hopping in front of him just before he got in line. I smiled at his blank look. "Tonight. There's a bar not too far from here, right next to a hotel that our crew's staying at; I'll buy you a drink."

I watched as his eyes scanned me for a moment. It looked like he was trying to figure out whether or not I was tricking him. I was almost hurt. I mean, I was tricking him, but not in the way that he was assuming.

I turned around to pay for my drinks, so I could step out of the way.

"Come on," I pushed before rattling off the name of the bar. "Meet me there tonight. One drink. If I'm that bad of company, then you can leave and I won't complain once. I'll even try to stay out of your hair during the chases."

Scott took a deep breath. "Fine."

"Yes," I cheered out of mostly fake excitement. "You won't regret this."

"I hope not."

I reached out and fiddled with a button on his white shirt. Far too perfect to be out there chasing storms. "Can't wait to see how well your perfect uniforms last out there."

I stepped back, not missing how his eyes followed my hand.

"See you later, Fancy Pants!" I waved as I started running back out to Tyler's truck.

"How'd it go," Tyler asked as I hopped into the passenger seat.

"Didn't get much," I admitted, handing Boone his drink before buckling up. "But I did get him to say yes to meeting me for a drink later."

"Atta kid!" Boone clapped his hand over my shoulder.

"I know, I know, a miracle worker," I replied. "Ready to get out there?"

"Absolutely," Tyler said.

The rest of the day went so much faster than it had any right to.

We saw Storm Par a lot. It took everything in me to not be a bit of a dick when we passed them. I did wave once when I spotted Scott in the passenger seat of one of the trucks. He nodded at me in an awkward greeting, which led to him getting a bit of a weird look from the man who was driving.

"What are you doing?" Tyler laughed as I relaxed back into my seat.

"Playing with the food," Boone answered before I could, causing me to laugh loudly.

"I was gonna say 'being friendly', but that's better," I said.

Maybe that was the excitement of it all messing with my head, but it felt like it took a matter of minutes before we found ourselves driving to the bar that I had told Scott to meet me at.

I walked in ahead of the group, trying to keep from laughing at the comments that Boone was shouting over my shoulder.

I saw some of the other guys from Storm Par at a table together. At the actual bar was Scott. He looked a bit tense, almost disheartened. I started to wonder just how long he had been there. Had I kept him waiting? Did he think that I stood him up? Was that the face of stubbornness just before calling the night a bust and going back to wherever he was staying?

I guess it didn't matter now. I couldn't back out.

"Fancy pants!" I called before walking over quickly. He seemed startled as I plopped onto the barstool next to him. "How was your day?"

"You should know, you were there for most of it," he replied.

"Was that a joke or are you just annoyed with me," I asked.

"Guess you'll have to figure it out." he shrugged. I saw a small grin form as he took a sip of his drink.

I let out a scoff. "Wow, Fancy Pants is bold now. A couple of sips is all it took?"

Scott rolled his eyes. The bartender walked over to us. I just asked for the same of whatever Scott had been drinking before focusing back on the conversation.

"The uniform held up well, I see." I pulled lightly at one of the white sleeves of his shirt. "Research must not be as hands-on as I thought it was."

"We do the same thing your crew does," he argued.

"With a bigger paycheck, I'm sure," I replied.

"Our work is a bit more important."

"And what work is that?"

"Why don't you tell me about yours first?" he smirked at me before taking another sip of his drink.

He thought it was clever. I could tell. Avoid my question by focusing the attention back on me. In any other situation, it would have screwed me out of the information that I needed.

But in this one... it was a mistake.

Here's the thing: I could talk. I could go on and on for hours about absolute nonsense. I could go from story to story without taking a breath.

And I did.

I told him about all the work that we had done to help people. About digging through the destroyed debris to try and find some pieces of people's lives. About making bundles of food. Then, I just started telling stories about every funny or weird moment that had happened since I had joined Tyler's crew.

The time that I burned served me well. Scott relaxed. Whether that was a result of his drink or simply because I was earning his trust was a mystery to me. I didn't bother focusing on which it was.

"Alright, alright," I said. "That's enough about what I do. Tell me about Storm Par."

"I told you; we collect data for future tornado research," Scott replied.

"Oh, come on." I rolled my eyes. "I mean, not to be rude, but I've seen your team. You're all a bit young to be jumping into research all on your own. And Storm Par doesn't sound like a company attached to a college."

"No, no, we're a private company," he explained. "We've had some luck finding a few really interested investors."

"Like...?"

"The biggest one is Marshall Riggs. He's a big-name real estate guy."

I couldn't quite put the pieces together at the time, but I felt a pit in my stomach. Unease that formed all too fast. "What would a real estate guy want with tornado research?"

"He's helping people," Scott's response felt like an attempt to twist an image that hadn't even been made yet. "He uses it to find people that have lost their homes and businesses and such and he buys them. It allows those people to move forward with their lives without having to wait for insurance to make a call on it."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Doesn't a disaster usually force the prices down for land?"

"I mean, it's lower than the normal price. It's not like he's buying this land up for five dollars and a pack of gum."

"What other aid does Storm Par offer them then, if they're getting rid of their homes and land?"

"Our investors focus funds on the research."

"So no?"

"So we're focused on the bigger picture. More long-term consequences."

I took the subtlest deep breath that I could. "I see."

I looked down at my watch.

"Oh, look at that, it's a lot later than I thought," I said, completely lying through my teeth. "We have to head out early in the morning."

I handed my card to the bartender, muttering for him to just cover both of our drinks.

"I can walk you out," Scott replied.

"Yeah, sure, okay," I mumbled, scribbling down a tip and putting my card away.

I followed Scott outside, letting him hold the door open. I wanted to seem less tense than I was. I was doubting how well it was working, but all I needed was for it to be good enough to get out of there without being questioned, so who really cares?

We made it outside. I was about to insist that we go our separate ways for the night, but he cut me off.

"You were right," Scott said. "Didn't regret that."

"Oh, good," I replied. I may have regretted it.

There was a long pause. Scott went to step closer to me. I almost scrambled back before he could, forcing out a chuckle.

"Well, I should go." I shrugged, continuing to walk backward before eventually turning around and just calling to him over my shoulder. "Have a good night. Stay safe. See you around, fancy pants!"

A few minutes later, I was knocking on Tyler's door like I was a landlord looking for late rent.

"(Y/n), what the hell are you doing," he asked as he yanked the door open. "You're gonna piss off somebody."

"I'm already a bit pissed, so maybe it'll do some good to share the suffering," I replied before shoving my way past him. "I have answers."

"About Storm Par?"

"No about what Scott likes to do on a nice summer day- Yes about Storm Par!"

"You are grumpy when it's late." he sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Shut up," I slapped his shoulder. "I found out about Storm Par's funding."

"Okay..."

"So, yes, they do research and track the storms and report that data back to their investors," I explained. "The problem is that their major investor is named Marshall Riggs, who has apparently made quite a name for himself in real estate."

"What would he want with it?"

"Well, he's going to the places impacted by the storms and buying up land from people who lose their homes and businesses and stuff. He's apparently spinning some story that he's allowing people to move forward with their lives, but come on, he's just using this information to get his hands on cheap land."

"Do you know what he's doing with the land?"

"I didn't ask."

"Okay..."

"Storm Par is giving this man power to do some real harm here."

"I know, I know."

"So, what are we gonna do," I asked, looking at Tyler again.

"I... I don't know," he replied, running his hand over his face.

"We can't just let him keep doing this!"

"(Y/n)," he sighed. "I don't even know if this guy is doing something that's technically illegal-"

"It's still wrong!" I snapped at him.

"I know!"

I froze.

"But whatever we do won't stop him. He'll keep preying on desperate people and whatever we say won't change what impact he might have on them. They're desperate, they think they're alone."

"So we just do nothing?"

"No." Tyler shook his head. "What we can do is continue helping people."

I nodded. "I just... I feel like there's just so much more that we could do."

"In a perfect world, we would be able to speak out and it would stop him." he shrugged. "It would make him give up and walk off with his tail between his legs. But we can't. We just have to do what we can."

I took a deep breath. Tyler pulled me into a hug.

"We're doing good work. And we'll only earn more outreach. We'll continue to do better."

I stepped back. "I'm still going to be an asshole tomorrow."

"Just don't end up dead or in jail."

"I'll do my best," I shrugged before going to walk out. "Good night!"

"Night!" he called out after me.

I was hoping that the next morning would have been mostly calm. That we would get out into the field before Storm Par or vice versa. Something to keep me from having to face Scott for just a few more hours.

I was walking back to the truck after picking up some breakfast. I was occupied with my own thoughts. I was still upset. I was still fighting the urge to go scream from the rooftops about Marshall Riggs and the bullshit he was doing.

"(Y/n)!"

I considered sprinting to the truck when I heard Scott say my name. I just wasn't feeling mean enough to do that... yet.

"Scott," I said as I turned around. "How are ya?"

"Good, good, what about you?"

"I'm fine, just busy," I replied, going to step away. "Heading out early and all."

Scott stepped forward. "I was hoping to ask if you wanted to meet again tonight. Maybe dinner instead of a drink."

"I... I don't think that'd be a good idea."

His face fell. "Oh... why?"

"I just don't think we clicked like I thought we would." the goal was to maintain the peace until the end of the season. "But hey, we tried it, that's what matters. I'll... I'll see you out there."

"Did I... Did I do something wrong?"

"Nope, you were just fine. Just didn't work."

I turned to walk away but was stopped when Scott grabbed my wrist. "I don't believe that."

I yanked my arm from him. "Don't ever fucking grab me again."

"I just want the truth."

"I told you the truth." I turned away again.

I was grabbed again. "Just wait-"

I pulled my arm away and shoved him backward. "I fucking warned you to not grab me like that again."

He seemed to still be reeling from the fact that I shoved him.

"You want the truth? Fine," I shrugged. "I find your company and what it stands for to be completely despicable. I think it's disgusting that y'all would accept money to help a man take advantage of innocent people. I think it's disgusting that you don't seem to give a damn about it. If I could tear your company down, I would, but in reality, my words would never stop you or your damn investors. And I hope that one day you wake up, look in the mirror, and feel the crushing pain of all those that you helped that man manipulate."

Scott stepped forward, a response clearly ready, but he looked over my shoulder and froze.

"(Y/n), you good?" I heard Tyler's voice call over to me.

"Yeah," I yelled over my shoulder. "Just having a quick chat!"

I stepped away again, walking as quickly as I could to make it over to him and the rest of the crew.

"Didn't end up in jail," I offered, trying to look at the bright side.

"I almost did," he muttered. "Get in the truck."

I did a little salute to him before going around to the passenger seat. I saw Tyler stare down Scott for a few more seconds before hopping in the driver's seat.

Maybe there was some argument to be made about the benefits of killing someone with kindness. But that just wasn't how I operated. And I think I'm better off that way.

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[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

This is complaining day because I realized there's more than one thing that got on my nerves lately and it's not just about the treatment of a kpop idol's mother. Let's begin.

Please, stop refering to Jungkook's mother as mama Jeon. I know the tendency is to ignore so many of the cultural differences that exist, but in SK, people don't change their surname after marriage. It just sounds idiotic and westernized in a ridiculous way.

So, Jungkook's mother loves all BTS members. She LOVES them all. How does army know that? How? I'm genuinely curious and genuinely asking. Because they say it as a certainty. Or, forgive me if my memory is faulty as well, but the only instance that we as outsiders were privy to in which we heard that woman speak for the first time, it was in early 2021 on another phonecall with Jungkook when she said I love you to Jimin.

Of course, the same ot7 narrative came as a buldozer at that time too. Damn, does that mean Jimin = BTS? Sometimes yes, but only when Army wants to diminish Jimin's importance and doesn't allow him to stand out individually too much. Musically or otherwise. But back to this Big Love that Jungkook's mom is supposedly feeling for everyone and which has been invoked once again when that woman mentioned Jimin twice while talking to Jungkook on the phone. Cause she already knew they were in Jeju. I bet she didn't have to find out randomly from a schedule group chat.

So what happens? An assumption is turned into certainty because of small people being extremely insecure. Because they see that one person is once again given more importance on a personal level and we can't have that. No sir! So in a panic, they tweet, they post on tumblr, tiktok, youtube the old age, boring af, sounding like a broken record sentence: "Mama Jeon loves all seven". Fuck me gently with a chainsaw cause that sounds a lot better than the feeling of throwing up I get whenever I read such things.

No, she doesn't love all of them. That is not a fact. It could be true and it's not impossible. But it is not a fact based on the knowledge we have at the moment.

Also, it shows once again that an entire fandom is actively creating a reality of their own which is not even like some sort of simulacrum of the reality they must live through. In Army world, the mother of one member of a k-pop group must love all the members of such group. It doesn't matter than irl, our mothers a lot of the times don't even like all our friends, besties or partners. We might have the most incredible connections and it would mean nothing to our mothers.

In that same vein, another narrative that makes me want to pull my eyes out is the "awww, their bond is to die for, they are (like) siblings after all". Do any of them never had any siblings? Never saw other people and their relationship with their siblings? Or with their family?

I also had to read (which was followed by me blocking it immediately) how Jimin and Jungkook's relationship is the sum of the other relationships they have with other BTS members. I mean, why would I have any sort of expectations from any of these people when they are completely incapable of looking at JM and JK as actual people. As persons with individual minds and an intellect of their own. Let alone the fact that their world does not stop with the presence of 5 other men. In what realistic scenario does this translate in real life? That's not how it works. Yes, we are social creatures and a product of our surroundings, but it is not in the way in which these stans believe it to be. They think that living in a dorm for a few years and working together with other people, it means that those experiences are the only ones that actually shape the personality of a person. They are real people, not fictional characters. I've never heard such ridiculous theories in my entire life, to be used as talking points about someone's behavior or relationship with another person.

Maybe the need to create this elaborate fantasy comes from the lack of love in their life, which then gets projected into this Disney, kumbaya, capitalist heaven narrative in which everyone is a big family and they love each other so much and equally and all the parents of all the children love every single member and thus, harmony is created. Love is always platonic and ever present. The complexity of human relationships must not exist.

[flippinpancakes64]

The Cullens with a reader who loves plants

All of these are a pre-established relationship but other than that it's completely open to interpretation

Edward:

An enabler

The first time he visited your room (that you knew of or not) he immediately saw all of your plants

The perfect easy gift

Most men give flowers, this man gives succulents

If he hears in your thoughts that one of your plants isn't doing so well or if there's one that you really want but can't afford it/ don't have space, suddenly you have a new plant

His room becomes your personal greenhouse

Not like he uses it for much else anyway

When you move in, he asks Carlisle if he can build you a greenhouse

Spares no expense

If he had his way your greenhouse would be bigger than the actual house

He will read so many books on proper care for plants and follow your instructions to a T

Man said its ficUS

Alice:

She loves seeing you happy

And if little cacti and bright flowers make you happy then she is all over them

She accidentally got a couple visions of you going to the same store and buying more plants before she really knew you

She saw it enough that she already knew that you loved them before really getting to know you

I feel like she used to have some plants but doesn't really anymore

Will buy a whole Home Depot's worth tho

Enabler yet again

When you move in she obviously helps you bring all your plants too

As a welcome present she buys really pretty matching pots for all of them

When she buys you new ones she also buys another one of those pots

Side note but I feel like her favorite plant is probably the lily of the valley

Jasper:

Is a little shocked when he finds out

He's never met someone with so much of one type of thing

Like yeah Edward has a lot of CDs

And Alice has a lot of clothes

But this is excessive

He can't even see the walls of your room

Wonders briefly if you're some type of creature that needs all of the extra oxygen that plants can cycle in order to live

He doesn't say anything though

He likes you, you like plants, so he will like the plants too

Is a bit skeptical when you move in and want to take all your plants with you

He already has to share the space with Alice and her huge closet and now there will be literally over a hundred plants?

There simply is not room

He'll try very gently to suggest that maybe you get rid of a few

That goes about as well as expected

So he just lives like this now

He isn't actually upset though

He's happy that you're happy

Rosalie:

Sorry not sorry she's an enabler

She doesn't need to go to the grocery store

Yet somehow once a week there is always a new plant in your collection

When you ask her she says she saw it while she was grocery shopping and thought you would like it

I have a feeling she cannot take care of plants though

You gave her a succulent once and it died

Literally a week later it was dead

She doesn't know what happened

You don't know what happened

All you know is that she is not allowed to touch your plants

She thinks they are gorgeous though

Will help you build a garden or a greenhouse once you move in

She likes to go out there and chill when you're not around

She loves the big leafy ones

And any with hanging vines

Emmett:

He's like the dad with the dog meme

Except with plants

He literally has never given them a second thought

Until you of course

Now he's over here like "yes I do like the pink pot better than the blue one for your money tree"

In all seriousness I feel like he'd have a HUGE green thumb

When you move in he's instantly offering to make a garden for you

Well, he says it's for you anyway

He's the one out there 90% of the time digging holes and planting bushes

He has a damn forest out there now

And I guess a couple of your plants too

Jk jk

He really took to it though

If you thought you were obsessed

He's even worse

Carlisle:

He thinks it's nice :)

Sort of in the "oh that's nice that they have an interest" sort of way

He's a firm believer that hobbies keep people sane and rounded individuals

And what's more grounding than the literal Earth and things that grow out of it

He'll never admit it is a lot though

Esme is the one who likes to decorate a lot

His office is filled with more utilitarian things, not so much decoration

Doesn't mean he doesn't like it, just that it's not what he does

He will say though, when you move in and he starts to notice some plants sitting on some of his shelves, he likes the color it brings to the room

Is another one who will happily buy you whatever plants you want

He won't take care of them though

Not because he doesn't want to or doesn't care, but he knows this is your thing

Esme:

She is a total plant girly

She does most of the interior design wherever the Cullens go, of course she takes care of the plants too

There are a couple plants in the house in the movies

I think those are hers <3

Obviously tho she does not have as many as you

But she will make it work

Y'all instantly bonded over your shared love

Another one who will buy you whatever plants you want

She can't help it when she's the one who wants them too

She would LOVE a garden

I think she would find growing vegetables and herbs to be really fulfilling

Even though she has no need for them

Maybe she'd sell them or give them away or smthn idk

But I also think she would love the quality time that working on a garden together would be

so romantic

Vampire! Bella:

Sort of indifferent idk

She thinks it's a bit odd but she has definitely seen weirder things

She does come from a family of pretty eccentric people

Overall though I don't think she would mind

She might use them as a way to get closer to you or as just another means of hanging out

If she notices it's gotten too quiet and she wants to hear you talk more, she might ask about a random plant just to get you talking again

Or she would suggest going to a plant store to hangout

I think she would be helpful though

Water, sunlight, make sure they don't die

She can do that much at least

She doesn't understand the appeal but she doesn't make fun of you or belittle you for it at all

Everybody has their interests

She doesn't mind

[loulouwrites]

DIVULGATION . TOMMY SHELBY

summary: tommy's perfect life comes crashing down around him

warnings: angst, swearing, infidelity (sort of), talks of childbirth, terminal illness, child abandonment, infertility issues, period typical attitudes towards pregnancy and childbirth, period typical sexism/misogyny, loss of a parent, unedited

a/n: i will get to making a taglist, but life is a nightmare atm lmao

word count: 3.7k

In many ways, life had not been kind to Tommy Shelby. He had been raised in nothing more than a slum, in a town that saw no sunny days, any form of sunlight being covered by the thick smog of the factories that loomed over the town's residents - a constant reminder of their destiny. He had volunteered to fight for the King before he truly had time to understand what it meant, the thought of fighting men the same as him in a foreign country seeming better than being stuck in Small Heath for the rest of his miserable life.

He was meant for greater things, and he knew exactly what he had to do to get them.

As haunted as he was, Tommy excelled in nearly all aspects of his life. He had built an empire from nothing, he had secured a country manor for the cost of a shack in Small Heath, and he had a wife that had seemed to be put on this earth just for him.

Every decision he made, every step he took, was a calculated move to protect what he had built and to silence the ghosts that refused to let him be. Tommy Shelby was a man driven by both his aspirations and his demons, forever walking the line between triumph and torment.

She had married Tommy Shelby out of nothing but love. When they were wed, he had just arrived home from France, and people told her he was a shadow of the man he once was, though she never believed them. He was funny, charming, and clever; he just kept that part of himself hidden from everyone but her, which only endeared him to her even more.

They had come a long way since their wedding day. They had moved out of the terrace on Watery Lane into a mansion that was far too big for their small family. She no longer spent her days working in the shady betting office at the back of their house; now her days were filled with planning dinner parties and organising fundraising events for her husband's numerous charitable organisations.

Life was easier now, even if it felt a little emptier. She had thought her family would be bigger by now, expecting a few children to fill the vast house and keep her company, but it had never happened for her. She had wondered if there was something wrong with her, that her body was simply created wrong. It wasn't until she was having lunch at Polly's house that realisation dawned on her.

"You're pregnant," the older woman grinned behind her cigarette.

Her eyes widened at the words, and she dropped the china cup on the table. She had long given up on the thought of carrying a child, so the signs of her pregnancy had gone unnoticed. But the words Polly spoke hit her like a ton of bricks.

She was pregnant.

She left Polly's house hastily, barely glancing at the woman as she rushed to her car, a smile on her face, already imagining Tommy's reaction when she told him. She knew he would be thrilled. He had been pining for a child of his own even more than she had, and the hopeful looks he gave her whenever she was sick pierced her heart each time. But that didn't matter now, she was finally giving him a child, they were finally starting their family.

She called Frances' name as soon as she stepped through the door, asking if Tommy was home yet as she threw her bag and coat on the chair by the door. The housekeeper appeared in the foyer with a nervous look on her face, a rarity for the somewhat judgmental woman.

"Mrs. Shelby," Frances started, wringing her hands together in a timid manner, "you have a visitor."

"Who?" she asked, her joyful smile slowly fading.

"A woman," the older woman replied. "She claims to know your husband."

She understood Frances' apprehension in that moment. It was rare for Tommy to receive female visitors at the house, unless they were family or there for business.

She was about to question the housekeeper further but was interrupted by the front door swinging open. Her husband stepped inside, his eyes widening in confusion at the sight of the two women standing frozen in the foyer, their eyes burning into him.

"Mr. Shelby," Frances broke the silence. "You have a visitor."

"Who? I'm not expecting anyone," Tommy said, walking to stand beside his wife and placing a tentative hand on her waist, not missing the way she stiffened under his touch.

"A woman," his wife said, pinching her lips together.

"A woman," he echoed, his eyes flickering between his wife and Frances. "Did this woman happen to give you her name, Frances?"

"She said her name was Catherine, Mr. Shelby," Frances replied hesitantly. "There is something else..."

The husband and wife fixed her with such a burning gaze that the older woman had to lower her head to evade it, only daring to raise it again when Tommy cleared his throat, signaling for her to continue.

"She has a child with her, little thing, about ten years old."

The tension in the room thickened with Frances' words. All three bodies straightened, Tommy dropping his hand from his wife's waist to nervously rub along his lips.

He didn't notice his wife's absence at his side until he heard Frances' panicked voice call her name as she stormed towards his study, the skirt of her dress swinging from side to side with the force of her steps.

He joined Frances, calling out of her name, but she didn't listen, swinging the door to his study open, her heated gaze landing on the woman sitting on one of the seats at Tommy's desk.

"Who are you?" she spat out, shaking off Tommy as he caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

The woman's eyes widened. "My...my name is Catherine."

"I didn't mean your name," she hissed, approaching the desk. "Who are you?"

"I'd prefer to speak to Tommy alone," Catherine answered meekly, dropping her gaze.

"You'd prefer to speak to Tommy," she mocked, leaning a hand on the desk. Tommy called her name again, shaking his head at her when she looked at him.

"Do you know this woman?" she asked her husband, whose gaze flickered to the woman sat by his desk, a blank look on her face.

"No."

Catherine scoffed at his words, standing up from the chair on shaky feet. It was only then the frail state of the woman was clear. She may have been pretty once, but her sunken cheeks and pale skin aged her, and the drab clothes she wore made her seem worn and tired beyond her years.

"This," Catherine pointed to the child sitting beside her, and the other two adults in the room looked at the boy for the first time since they entered, "is Frank."

The young boy didn't look up at the mention of his name, his eyes fixed to his swinging feet.

"He's your son, Tommy."

"Ha," Tommy's wife scoffed. "I'm sure he is."

Your paragraph is mostly clear and grammatically correct. Here's a refined version:

Tommy called her name again, a warning in his voice that he seldom used when addressing her. She fixed him with a glare she seldom directed at him.

"It was before you went to France," Catherine interrupted the husband and wife's silent conversation. "You and your brothers were buying whiskey for the whole pub. I always remember you sitting in the corner, just watching everyone else have fun. I came over and asked you if you were drinking to celebrate or to forget, and you said..."

"Both," Tommy finished her sentence.

"Oh my God," his wife gasped, her hands covering her mouth.

Catherine ignored the other woman, turning her attention to Tommy.

"By the time I realised I was pregnant, you were already in France, and when you came back, everyone said you were different...I was managing fine so I didn't feel the need to tell you..."

"But now you need money," Tommy nodded, reaching into his breastpocket for a cigarette. "How much?"

"What?" Catherine frowned.

"How much?" Tommy mumbled as he lit his cigarette.

"I don't need your money," the woman had the decency to sound offended at the man's words.

"Bullshit," his wife scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't," Catherine insisted. "I'm sick, Tommy. Very sick, and I have no family. It's just me and Frankie."

The silent little boy in the chair finally lifted his head to look at his mother, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"He'll have no one when I'm gone."

"We run an orphanage," his wife spoke, her voice cruel and cutting, "we can reserve him a space."

Tommy's head snapped towards her, shock written clearly on his features. His wife was many things—sarcastic, witty, clever—but he had never seen her as cruel, not until this very moment.

"No," the boy shouted, getting up from his chair to stand beside his mother. "I won't go to an orphanage."

"You won't, son," Tommy addressed the boy for the fist time. "My wife was just joking."

His wife rolled her eyes, stormed out of the room, muttering a 'fuck you, Thomas' as she passed him on her way to the door.

It was late when Tommy finally entered the bedroom; his wife sat at her vanity, removing her earrings.

"They've finally gone then," she sighed, beginning to unpin her hair. "How much did you give them?"

He ignored her, throwing himself down on the bed and placing a hand over his eyes, doing anything he could to avoid meeting her gaze.

"Thomas," she warned, "how much?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Nothing? They left without a penny?" she scoffed.

"They didn't leave," Tommy snapped, raising his voice and slamming the arm that covered his eyes onto the bed. He groaned as the hairbrush she had thrown hit him in the chest.

"They're still here?" she hissed, standing from the vanity and approaching the bed as Tommy sat up.

"Just listen," he attempted to place his hands on her hips, but she smacked them away, pacing the floor with her hands in her hair. "I am that boy's father, whether we like it or not, I am, alright?"

She shook her head, muttering under her breath as she paced.

"I'm not going to throw him and his sick mother out on the street," he continued. "That's not the man I am, and you know it's not."

"No, your moral compass is a beacon to us all, Tommy," she rolled her eyes.

"What do you want me to do?" he shouted, beginning to lose his temper.

"Not get whores pregnant, for one!" she shouted back, throwing her arms up. "You've betrayed me, Thomas."

"Betrayed?" he repeated, the disbelief evident in his tone. "I didn't know you fucking existed then."

"Well, I still feel betrayed."

Tommy sighed, rising from the bed and approaching his wife the way he would a skittish horse.

"I know, I know," he sighed, placing a hand on her cheek. She didn't resist, though she didn't lean into it either. "It's a fucking mess, and I'm sorry."

She choked out a sob, dropping her head. "It was supposed to be a good day."

"I know," Tommy murmured, moving the hand that was holding her cheek to the back of her neck and pulling her to his chest. "I'm sorry I ruined it."

If only he knew what he had ruined.

The clattering of knives and forks was all that could be heard in the dining room, there were more than ten people sat at the table and it appeared nobody could find a word to speak.

It had been exactly three days since Catherine and Frankie appeared on the Shelby's doorstep, and the tension had only been rising. She had thought she was doing a good job of being civil towards the woman and child who had ruined her life—nodding at them politely when her attempts to avoid them failed, and choking out a 'hello' whenever she ran into them in the corridors.

Tommy had been less than impressed with her attempts to hide from the strangers, and insisted he throw a dinner party to offically introduce his son to the rest of the family, much to his wife's chagrin.

"Lovely lamb," Arthur muttered awkwardly from the other end of the table, his words met with half-hearted murmurs of agreement.

"Frankie loves lamb," Catherine responded, receiving eye rolls from the woman sat beside her, and Polly who was sat opposite.

"How lovely," Polly offered a fake smile.

"I don't eat it a lot, though," Frank spoke from his mother's side. "Lamb's too expensive for mum."

She and Polly sniggered at the boy's words, covering their mouths when Tommy threw them both a glare.

"You enjoy school, Frankie?" John asked.

"It's okay," the boy shrugged. "I'm not very clever, though."

"Takes after his father," Polly muttered, earning a laugh from the man's wife.

"That's not true," Catherine placed a hand on Frank's shoulder. "He's a brilliant artist, and loves to read."

"What about you, Catherine?" Polly leaned forward, puffing on her cigarette. "Tell us about yourself."

"Well...I was a secretary until recently, I'm from not far from you..."

"Fascinating," Polly dismissed her.

"Polly," Tommy warned, subtly shaking his head.

"Why don't we take Frankie outside, Tom?" Arthur interrupted. "Show him how to shoot a gun."

"Oh, I don't-" Catherine started, but was interrupted by Polly.

"That's a wonderful idea, leave us ladies to chat."

Catherine conceded, not wanting to offend the older woman more than she already had. The men all left the table, Tommy having to gently drag Frank away from his mother, leaving the three women alone.

"So, Catherine," Polly began as soon as she heard the door close behind the boys. "Are you planning on staying here until you die?"

"Polly," the other woman gasped at her bluntness, but couldn't help but turn her head to Catherine to await the answer. She had been wondering that herself.

"Well, I hadn't thought about it," Catherine laughed awkwardly. "I just...needed to know Frank would be okay."

"He will be," Polly nodded.

"I know, I know that now." Catherine nodded. "Tommy has been very generous." Her eyes flickered to Tommy's wife, sat beside her, the omission in her statement clear.

"You have no other family that could take Frank?" Polly question, and Catherine shook her head, sweat beginning to pool on her forehead.

"No, my mother died when I was about his age, and my dad passed a few years ago. I'm an only child."

"Bless you," there was malice Mrs. Shelby's tone when she finally spoke.

"It must be scary, knowing you're not going to be here for your child. Trusing two strangers to care for him," Polly continued, not noticing Catherine's face getting paler, nor the way her hands shook when she lifted them to rub her head.

"Polly, I don't think she's feeling well," the other woman frowned when she noticed Catherine's body begin to slump in her chair.

"She's fine."

"No," Catherine said. "I'm not, I think I need to lay down."

They called Frances over, instructing them to take Catherine to bed, neither woman standing up from their seats to assist. They watched as Frances struggled to hold up the frail woman's body as she hald carried her out of the dining room.

"She's a fucking good actress," Polly muttered.

Frances returned to the dining room to inform the two women that Catherine had taken a turn, and the doctor would arrive soon to examine her.

Polly sat unaffected by the housekeeper's words; her counterpart's eyes, however, widened in horror.

"Oh my God, Polly," she gasped. "Have we killed her?"

"Oh, shut up," Polly scoffed, stamping out her cigarette in the ashtray. "She was dying before she even got here."

"Polly," she sputtered. "Your interrogation has literally put her in an early grave."

"Oh, because you were treating her splendidly?"

"I was just ignoring her. You've fucking killed her."

The dining room door slammed open. Tommy stood there, his face red, his eyes stormy.

"What did you two fucking do?"

Two days following the dinner party, Catherine's condition had not improved. The doctor had told them that her illness was so advanced that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Still, she couldn't ignore the guilt that was bubbling in her stomach when she thought about the way she had acted at dinner.

She knocked lightly on the door, opening it gently, careful not to disturb the frail woman that was lying in bed.

"I'm surprised to see you," Catherine choked out, weakly pulling herself into a sitting position.

"I'm surprised too."

"Is there something wrong? Is Frankie okay?"

"Everything's fine," she reassured the woman, moving to sit in the chair beside the bed. "I came to apologise."

She didn't miss the way Catherine's eyebrow's rose.

"The way I've behaved since you arrived has been terrible. I'm not a cruel person, I swear. I was just angry."

"I understand."

She paused, her breath catching in her throat at Catherine's words.

"I would be angry, too, if I were you."

"It doesn't excuse the way I've treated you."

"No," Catherine breathed with a laugh. "But I understand it anyway. You felt like you lost everything in a few minutes, and I was easy to blame."

"I am very sorry," she spoke through the tears in her eyes.

"I am too."

"Well," she coughed, standing from her seat. "I should let you rest."

Catherine called her name when her hand was on the doorhandle, and she turned to look at the sick woman.

"Look after Frankie, please," she said, her voice weak and teary. "He's a sensitive boy. Please look after him, and love him, love him as much as the child in your belly."

"How did you know?"

"I had the same mood swings when I was pregnant," she said. Both women let out a small laugh.

"I promise to look after him... and to love him like my own."

"Thank you."

She approached Tommy, who was leaning in Frankie's doorway, quietly observing the boy as he slept peacefully. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. Tommy jumped in surprise before reaching to hold his wife's hands, which were clasped around his stomach.

"You'll be a good father," she spoke into his back.

"Just wish it didn't happen like this," Tommy mumbled. "It should have been you and me."

"It will be," she promised. "You, me, Frankie, and the baby."

Tommy unclasped her hands, turning to face her, a frown on his face.

"You're..."

"I am."

Tommy's expression softened as he processed the news, a mixture of surprise and tenderness crossing his features.

"You're pregnant," Tommy breathed, his voice filled with a mix of astonishment and wonder. He pulled her close again, holding her tightly against him. "We're having a baby."

She nodded against his chest, feeling his heart beat faster beneath her ear. "Yes, Tommy."

Tommy pressed a kiss to the top of her head, overwhelmed with emotions. "I love you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you and I'm so fucking sorry."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she hugged him back, her eyes landing on the boy asleep in the bed.

Catherine's funeral service was small. There weren't many people close to the woman, the majority of the mourners being the Shelby family.

Frankie didn't say much the whole day, he just stood at his mother's grave, an empty look in his eyes that she recognised all too well.

They arrived home in silence, Frankie jumping out of the car as soon as it pulled up in front of the house, running inside before anyone could stop him.

"He just needs time," she told her husband, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I know," Tommy agreed. He was no stranger to death, nor the solemn emptiness that came after.

She knocked on Frankie's door later that evening, popping her head in to see him sat on the carpet, still in his suit from the funeral.

"I'm just checking in," she offered him a small smile, kneeling down beside him on the floor. "How are you feeling?"

Frankie shrugged in response, his eyes downcast.

"It's okay if you want to cry, there's no shame in it."

"I don't want to cry," his voice shook, "I just want my mum."

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know you do."

He didn't respond, he just kept his gaze pinned to the blue carpet beneath him.

"I lost my mum too, you know?" she said. Frankie's eyes snapped to hers for a moment, then snapped back down. "She died when I was a bit older than you. She got sick and died a few weeks later; there was nothing anyone could do."

"Do you miss her?" Frankie asked, turning to face her.

"Every day," she told him, "it doesn't get easier. You just learn to live with it. And then, someday, you'll be able to think about her and your time together, and it won't hurt so much. But you'll always miss your mum."

Frankie's lips pinched together in thought, and he nodded, accepting her ineloquent words greatfully.

"I know I haven't been very nice to you," she said. "But we're a family, and if you ever want to talk about her, you can come to me, and I'll listen."

"Okay."

"Okay," she rose from the floor.

"I'm sorry about your mum," Frankie said once she was standing.

"I'm sorry about yours," she replied, offering him one last smile before leaving the room.

Elsie Catherine Shelby was born in the early hours of the morning. She came quickly and was less fussy than other babies, according to the midwife.

Her big brother was excited to meet her, pacing the bottom of the stairs until the midwife allowed him to enter the room, a smile on his face as he greeted his little sister with glee.

"I'm not an only child anymore," he had laughed, poking the infant's cheek gently.

And just like that, the Shelby family welcomed their newest member.

[punksocks]

Astro Observations No.19

(Thank you so much for the support everyone! I appreciate you following my blog c:)

*Just based on my experiences, only take what resonates

-Starting a new relationship during Venus in retrograde is guaranteed to teach you a karmic lesson with a probably karmic partner (I’ll never forget mine oml)

-Under developed Venus ruled men/ Men with heavy Venus placements are a nightmare. Underdeveloped ones choose to be chaotic with charming energy. Like f-boys or like vampires. They just tend to run through people and use them for validation. Sometimes they grow out of it and become better. A lot of times they just get too big of an ego and get narcissistic in this energy and are just destructive.

-The house your Juno is in could be an indicator of your soulmate’s placements (ex if your Juno is in Aries your partner may have Juno in first. Or if your Juno is in 5th they may have Leo in Juno. If your Juno is in Libra they may have Juno in 7th.)

-Libra/Taurus/Venus in 1st house people can get away with such criminal behavior lol, people will never blame them or they will always want to see the best in their actions. I feel like Leo Asc/Sun in 1st can get through a lot of actions with confidence but they usually do face blow back at some point if they’re behaving badly.

-Neptune 1st house/Pisces rising will have a more erratic sort of filter applied to them. Like usually they’ll get like subconsciously softened and idealized by others but they’ll also get certain traits like air head or spacey applied to them. Basically getting elevated and infantilized the most imo.

-Having North Node in Pisces can be a murky karmic placement. I’ve found that North Node in Pisces can manifest as anything from spiritual devotion and detachment from others to lifelong addiction and reliance on substances, any path that has heavy Neptunian themes which feels like a roulette since Neptune rules over confusion.

-Mars MC can be a sex symbol placement for any gender, someone known for their body or having a striking presence.

-Venus MC is definitely someone that’s known for being a charmer at best and a player at worst. Still very good with people either way.

-MC in Scorpio can manifest as someone that’s seen as constantly going through transformations and tribulations in their career and public life. Alchemy or catastrophe, always at an extreme.

-Venus can show where you are the most appealing to others (Venus in 1st would be seen as charming and probably having a very pretty face, Venus in 2nd would been seen as luxurious and having many resources and having a pretty body, Venus in 3rd would be a very charming speaker and likely have a voice that draws in others, etc I can make a whole post on this if anyone’s curious)

-Aquarius Venus/Venus in 11th fall in love with someone unconventional, or someone they met in an unconventional way (online dating, penpal programs, stuff like that)

-I find all fixed moons have really intense emotions, they just express it in different ways (yo if you’ve ever just disagreed with an Aquarius moon you know they can get touchy if you’re not on the same page with their logic)

-Aquarius is not a great way to figure out if someone is queer imo. The connotation of being lgbtqia+ being essentially strange/out of the norm is … something already but plenty of queer icons that live with their careers/lives revolving around the queer community have no Aquarius in their charts at all (I was looking at Elvira’s chart after this Matt Baume video on YouTube about how she’s a queer icon that was elevated by the queer community and was a closeted lesbian and she turned out not to have a single Aquarius placement, a Virgo stellium and Leo placements stood out the most to me). Sappho is the asteroid to check out for wlw I’m not sure for mlm but I’m sure Greek mythology has given us a great asteroid for the mascs

-Squares to north node can present “delays” with your destiny (more so having to hone aspects of your personality, having certain experiences beforehand, and coming into your destiny later in life, Joe Biden is an interesting example of this lots of squares and harsh aspects to north node and he ran for president like 7 times before he won, even became Vice President before, so interesting)

- (TW scars, harm) Scorpio can show where you have organic scars/birthmarks (Scorpio in 1st birth marks/freckles just appear on my face) where as Pluto can show where you get scars through experiences (I have Pluto in 2nd and I got burned on the lower third of my body when my dad left me in a hot water bath as a baby :/)

[moodymisty]

Hi there! Big fan of your primarch fanfic, and I have a Guilliman request. (Because I am obsessed with this man.) I would love a Guilliman + FemReader fic where our favorite calm, reserved primarch goes FERAL after seeing his lover hurt or threatened. Bonus points if said lover finds it surprisingly sexy and NSFW times result. Thank you!

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: therhxkffkfkfkf I love angry Primarchs

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: I didn’t do full nsfw but it is sort of handsy and lewd, I just thought it flowed better I hope it’s saucy enough for you, Groping, Grinding

Guilliman's boots touch the planet's surface, and he hears his men follow moments after. They had insisted they follow him, and he allowed it only if they wouldn't slow him down. He'd leave them behind if they did.

"Lady Guilliman is in a separate part of the fortress with her retinue,” An Ultramarine says, keeping up with his strides. “They've already cleared a good portion of the area. They said she was hit with some shrapnel, but she insists she's fine. They agree it's a just a flesh wound."

To hear that negotiations had dissolved into a firefight had been nothing short of a nightmare. He knows his men will have no issue with this, but he fears a stray bolter round nicking your much softer skin, or something worse.

"Where is the instigator of all of this."

His men exert slightly more effort that usual to keep up with Guilliman's enraged strides, a few bolter shots being fired for cover as he walks without a care.

"The planet's high lords? They've apparently barricaded themself at the top of the fortress with antitank weaponry. The men were focused on securing the area before pursuing them given that they’ve trapped themselves." Guilliman knows that's the correct choice; However in the blinding fire of his anger he doesn't care in the slightest.

"We are going up there. I'm going to rip them apart."

One of his men looks up at him with a furrowed, confused brow, but doesn't comment; Guilliman notices. He supposes the anger he's feeling is foreign to them. Perhaps if he was injured, they might feel something close to what he is feeling, though still abit different.

Guilliman storms through the massive fortress with little issue, stomping out leftover, separated groups of enemy forces along the way. While equipped with strong firepower they were at the end of the day baseline humans, and stood no chance against not only Astartes, but a primarch.

Once Guilliman arrived at the peak of the fortress where the high lords were hiding, including the one who had instigated this by shooting directly at you, Guilliman barged in with little care.

The High Lords were absolutely horrified, stuck like fish in a barrel with a primarch and three of his astartes. They presumably hadn’t expected the primarch to care so deeply about one person, willing to tear everything asunder just for them.

"You are all going to pay for what you've done to her. Now you get me."

Guilliman’s return to you was more than a blessing, after so much chaos. While logically the denizens of this planet stood no chance against the Ultramarines, the fear of being still hit by something and killed was always present.

Afterall you had already been nicked by some shrapnel, but the cut had largely stopped bleeding by now.

Guilliman turns to his men as he enters. Not before quickly approaching you however, silently looking you over before picking you up into his arms.

“You know your orders. Let us conclude this mess.”

They give him respectful nods and take their leave, ready to do the work they were made for.

You however are taken by Guilliman and guided back to a thunderhawk, one that brings you back to the Macgragge’s Honour within what feels like moments. It’s deathly silent the entire time, and you can feel Guilliman fuming. His anger fills the air, mixed with the intensity of a primarch aura that can make most falter.

He fumes and boils in his armor the entire time he pushes you towards his study, which surprises you. You would’ve thought he’d send you right to the apothecary, but perhaps he doesn’t see the need. You don’t either, the cut isn’t even bad enough to need sealing or bandaging.

The moment he closes the door you feel his emotions bubble over, watching him clench his fists tight as he punches the wall. It gives way underneath his fist.

“They think themselves strong enough to try and attack m-“ Guilliman stops himself, turning to you.

There’s a small smattering of blood on his cheek and the collar of his chestplate. You feel your heart skip a beat, and not for the reasons you might assume.

“Your heart; Are you afraid still? I… That wasn’t my intention.”

Guilliman hesitates. The last thing he would want is to make you fear him the way so many others so. Primarch voices are loud and his stature in full armor looms over everyone else in the room like-

Guilliman pays more attention and realizes that your breathing is also heavier, your face looks warm, and you can’t look him in the eyes. You look at his chestplate instead of his face, hands wringing. Had it been just these clues, Guilliman might not have figured it out, but when he smells the lightest, sweet scent that he finds oh so familiar, one that he’d also smelled in the Thunderhawk but brushed it away as nothing, he realizes why you’re so flighty.

You weren’t just scared, you were also aroused. By him.

Guilliman had recently learned that you enjoy it when he throws his weight around with you; When he pushes you down, pulls at you, throws you onto your shared bed. But he hasn’t realized that his angry, defensive nature might also trigger this in you, and make you silently beg for him even so soon after you had been in danger.

Perhaps it’s his innate speed, but it feels like a blink before he throws you onto his desk and places his hands on either side of your body. His lips smash against yours, your back arching as your own hands grip the collar of his armor.

“Robout-“

His kisses are so rough and demanding, you can already feel your lips becoming puffy and well kissed only moments later. His tongue brushes along your bottom lip, as one of his hands moves to grab your thigh. He pulls it away to force your legs to part, giving your to press that same armored hand against your clothed sex.

The unyielding feeling of his cold armor so suddenly against you makes you hips writhe, trying to push harder against it. Guilliman can feel you mewl in his mouth, hot breath fanning across his skin.

He didn’t know how to feel about how his aggression, his protection, makes you so wet and wanting for him, but he knows he can’t deny the way it makes his cock painfully throb against his own unyielding armor.

“You enjoy this too much,” He growls against your lips, pushing his fingers and palm harder against your cunt through the fabric of your clothing and listening to you cry for more. With how large his hand is, he can cup the entirely of your clothes cunt with ease. “So many are afraid of a Primarch’s anger, but you…”

The desk creaks underneath his hand, teeth catching your lip roughly between his teeth as your legs kick uselessly. Everything feels so cold against you even through your clothing; His armor, the desk, the air. You can’t stop the way you shiver.

But you still want more, your cunt throbs tensing around nothing and yearning for him to fill you the way only he can. Your hands pull at his armor, unable to move it or him even a fraction, but he can tell you’re doing it.

Guilliman however suddenly pulls away, removing his hand from between your legs.

“I need to remove my armor. I will be back.” You look up at him wide eyed and shocked, cunt still throbbing.

“You’re leaving? I-“

“You will wait here until I’m back. Do not move,”

He starts rounding the desk, watching with dark eyes as you lay on it spread out just for him; Clothes wrinkled and asunder. An image he’s had in the recesses of his mind for awhile, and he’s glad to have it come true.

“If anyone tries to enter tell them that I am not here, and I forbade them from entering.”

The last thing he wants is for anyone else to see you like this. You’re splayed across his desk, no one else’s. You want for only him, you yearn for the way he does whatever it takes to keep you safe.

With that Guilliman leaves you alone to strip away his armor, leaving you to boil in his study alone with the feeling your underwear wet and sticky against your skin, as you wait for him to return.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Temptation and Need

Summary: Can Y/N tempt Dean into what he needs?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut - this is just all smut. Unprotected P in V sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, very brief m receiving), face-sitting, cum shot, overstimulation, big age gap (21 and 43), dirty talk, dub-con (sort of - the reader not taking no for an answer), masturbation, voyeurism (very brief), use of a vibrator, spanking, (brief), pussy slapping (brief).

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 3,895

A/N: A million years ago (okay, last December) I got a request from a lovely anon asking this:

hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap with dean winchester where the female!reader is like in her 20s and dean's is his 40s :) just some rough smut with like hair pulling where dean asks for her to sit on his face or something like that (if you're comfortable with it) and just dirty talks cause I absolutely love them haha :) I really love your writing btw!!!! thanks a lot <3

It took me about four and a half months to get to this, but it's finally here! Thank you so much for this request, hope you're happy with it Nonnie. And I hope everyone else who reads it enjoys it too. ❤️

Master List || Dean Winchester One Shots || Tag Lists

Y/N had known it would be good - no - amazing. Since the first time she’d laid eyes on Dean Winchester six months earlier, she’d wanted to feel him beneath her, above her, behind her, inside her. She’d wanted him any and every way she could have him.

She simply needed him with the heat of a raging fire that never cooled.

So she’d imagined this moment for more than a hundred nights, and she’d known it would be incredible. But her imagination had been woefully inadequate.

She’d been attempting to seduce Dean the entire time she’d known him. She knew that he knew how much she wanted him, but he’d been reluctant. Every time she sidled up close to him, he’d moved away. Any time she put her hands on him, his heart kicked up so she could feel it pound, and if she got close enough she could feel the hard evidence of his desire press against her. But inevitably he would gently lift her hands off of him and give her a look of warning.

“Stop this, Y/N.” He’d scold with heat pooling quick and fervid in his eyes.

One time he’d given her a look of exasperation and then scowled at her. “I’m too old for you dammit. I could be your father.”

She bit her lip and smiled, full of mischief, as she’d answered. “Well, I’m happy to call you Daddy, if that’s what you want.”

It was true that she was just barely twenty-one and Dean was forty-three, but she didn’t care. In fact, she’d always preferred older men. Men like Dean had experience and stamina, they knew just what to do to pleasure their partner. She’d never slept with anyone less than a decade older than her. Some people might say she had daddy issues (and maybe she did) but she didn’t care what other people thought - she pursued her own pleasure.

Yet in spite of plenty of sexual experiences with older men, despite all her fantasies about Dean, she’d never imagined this level of pleasure.

***

A few hours earlier:

Dean fell onto the library chair, closing his eyes with a groan and dropping his green duffel bag at his feet, just as Y/N walked into the room. 

“You’re back!” She called excitedly as she hurried towards him. “How was the hunt? Where’s Sam?”

Dean grunted as she hopped into his lap. His feet were planted on the ground, and he was slightly slouched in the chair creating the perfect seat for her. His long, muscular thighs rippled beneath her, and as she wiggled against him, she felt the telltale sign of his desire as the bulge at the front of his jeans hardened slightly against her thigh.

The muscle in his jaw jumped as he gave her a scolding look. “The hunt was long and bloody, but fine. It's finished anyway. And Sam is with Eileen."

She ran her finger across the small abrasion on his cheek. "Well, at least you're less beaten up than usual." She said with dubious cheer.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, it was a walk in the park. Now get off my lap so I can go take a shower.”

She nodded and slid off so he could stand, but when he moved off towards the showers, she followed. When he arrived at the shower room door, he turned to look at her standing close behind him. He gave a sideways nod towards the door.

“This is as far as you go, sweetheart.” He said with a raised brow; his gaze turned knowing as she pouted.

She tried for her most convincing tone. “But just think of how much more enjoyable it would be if I came in with you.” She could see in his eyes that he was thinking about exactly that scenario.

But he shook his head. “No. It’s late, you shouldn't have waited up for me. Go to sleep.”

She pouted some more and then sighed before giving him a winsome smile and a wink. “Yes, Daddy.”

Dean scowled at her but she just stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before slowly backing away. 

“Goodnight, Dean. I’m glad you’re home. I sleep so much better when you’re here.” She said truthfully.

He gave her a nod and then walked into the shower room. She heard the lock click and she sighed. Another night with nothing but her fantasies to sustain her. 

She went to her room and got ready for bed, slipping on the AC/DC t-shirt she’d stolen from Dean. He knew she had it, he’d seen her in it, but he’d never demanded it back. 

She crawled into bed and tried to go to sleep. But she was restless, her body aching in a way that wouldn’t end without Dean between her legs. 

Her skin was flushed and the soft wool blanket she was covered with irritated her overheated flesh until she threw it off of her. She brought her hands up to cover her face; she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep unless she did something about the longing that had overtaken her body.

So she rolled over and pulled open the bottom drawer of her bedside table, pulling out the modest-sized vibrator she kept hidden in there for nights just like tonight. Since moving into the bunker a few months ago, nights like tonight happened pretty much every night. 

She leaned back against her pillows and let her mind drift, allowing images to flash into her mind’s eye. Dean’s face, set in lines of intense desire; his hands, strong and hard, warm and rough, moving over her body. 

She slipped her hand past the waistband of her panties, letting her middle finger swirl around her clit, desperately trying to imagine it was Dean’s thick, blunt fingertip pressing against her.

After a few minutes of bringing forth endless hot and decadent images of Dean into her head, she turned on the vibrator and let it press against her clit a moment or two before sliding it through her dripping slick, and pushing it inside. 

As she fucked herself with the toy, she kept Dean’s body in mind - his powerful muscles and solid bulk - imagining him hovering above her. She worked at it for a long time, desperately seeking her release. 

But though she moved the vibrating silicone cock fast and hard in and out of her quivering cunt, she just couldn’t find it. After half an hour of coming so close, but constantly missing the mark, Y/N was whimpering and more frustrated than she could express. 

In desperation, she began to chant quietly, imagining that Dean was there with her and could hear her need. “Dean. Dean. Fuck me, please. Ugh, I need you so badly, I fucking need you.” Her voice crescendoed in a moan of disappointment as her orgasm stayed just beyond her reach. “Dean.” She whined as she bucked her hips desperately.

Suddenly she heard her door squeak open, making her squeal and rip the vibrator out of her body, shock coursing through her, making her heart pound. But then she fell completely silent as she saw Dean standing silhouetted against the hallway light.  

For a moment or two neither of them moved. Finally, Y/N turned off her vibrator and silence reigned. 

Dean finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “I heard you. Heard you calling my name.” 

He took a step inside her room; she could see now that he was dressed for sleep, sweats and no shirt - she gasped softly at the incredible view of his wide chest, his shoulder muscles flexing as his hands balled into fists. She could also make out more of his face; it was set in harsh lines, the muscle in his jaw flexing over and over. He licked his lips and her pussy clenched.

“Why were you calling me?” Dean asked, though he had to know the answer as she still gripped the vibrator, and the scent of her dripping sex perfumed the air. 

She could sense that the cord that bound them, that had been pulling them together and apart since the day they met, was about to snap - if she could just say the right words.

She went with the truth.

“I was calling out to you while I fucked myself. I was imagining it was your cock buried deep inside me, imagining your hands on my skin, your lips on my throat.” Dean’s eyes were blazing emeralds with dark onyx pupils spreading across them as she spoke.

“But this thing wasn’t cutting it.” She said, lifting the vibrator and then dropping it on the floor beside the bed. “I need the real thing.”

She pushed her feet into the mattress and opened her knees wide, pushing her hand into her panties once again as she stared at him. “I need you, Dean. Please.”

The cord snapped and Dean charged forward, stopping at the end of her bed and grabbing her ankles to yank her towards him. She gasped as he placed a knee between her legs and rested his weight on his palms as he leaned down to capture her mouth. 

His kiss was hard, desperate, almost violent, as he crushed her lips and stabbed his tongue into her mouth. She moaned at the weight of him pressed against her, lifting her hips slightly so she could press her aching cunt against his thick thigh. She groaned harshly into Dean’s mouth as the pressure caused an even hotter fever to rage across her body.

Dean pulled out of the kiss and stood up, taking hold of her hands to pull her into a sitting position. His chest was rising and falling with deep breaths as he grasped the hem of his stolen t-shirt.

His voice was all growl when he spoke. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt about ripping this fucking t-shirt from your body? How many mornings I had to sneak away to the shower to jack off like a fucking horny teenager, after seeing you parading around in it? It barely covers your ass, and every time you’d bend, even a little, I could see a glimpse of your little cotton panties, or sometimes, just your bare ass in a thong.”

His voice was slightly dark, a rebuke in his words. “I knew you were doing it on purpose, of course, knew it was your way of trying to tempt me into fucking ruining you.”

He yanked the t-shirt up over her head as a moan escaped her. Dean groaned too as he got his first look at her. “Fuck me.” He said quietly. 

He looked her in the eye as he reached out and roughly tugged on her puckered nipple. She cried out, her head dropping back, as she arched her chest forward.

“God damn, baby, you really do want it, don’t you? I thought it might be a game you were playing, but you really do want me to ruin this hot little pussy.” He reached his hand down to rub against her soaked panties. “You want that, baby? Huh? Want me to fuck you sensless? Till you can’t walk? Can’t think?”

Y/N nodded disjointedly. “God yes.” She whispered, grabbing his wrist to try and press his fingers harder against her cunt. “Please. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Dean knocked her hand away and grabbed both her wrists tightly as he used his body weight to push her back onto the mattress. He stared at her, making her feel like he could see straight through her. Finally he spoke, his voice softer.

“How much experience do you actually have, Y/N?”

She shook her head to dispel any worries. “Enough. I’m no virgin, and I know what I like.”

His mouth lifted slightly at the corner. “And what do you like, baby?”

“I like it rough and hard, but I’ll take some soft wooing too.” She said with a grin. She shrugged. “Basically, I like you - a lot - and whatever you have in mind, I’m down for.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, but give me a safe word, just in case.” He kissed her softly. “I won’t take any chances with you.”

His concern for her made Y/N’s stomach flip in a pleasant way. She smiled. “K, how about ‘shenanigans’?” 

Dean chuckled. “Perfect.”

His smile faded as he bent his head to kiss her again, slowly this time, thoroughly, as though he didn’t want to leave an inch of her mouth unexplored. When he pulled away, leaving her gasping for air, he slowly kissed a path down her body, between her breasts, stopping to nip and suck on her nipples, pinching one and then the other, before trailing his lips down over her belly.

When he reached the apex of her thighs, he got off the bed to kneel at the foot of it, pulling her panties down over her legs and tossing them aside. He reached forward to wrap his arms around her thighs, spreading her open and pulling her to his mouth. He made a deep, guttural noise as he sank into her cunt, immediately licking and sucking on her sensitive skin, so that she was writhing beneath him almost instantly. She called out his name in desperation as she sank her fingers into his short hair, tugging slightly when he speared her with his tongue.

He pulled away from her and licked his lips free of her juices. “Fuck, yeah baby, say my name again, just like that.” 

He let go of one of her thighs so he could bring his hand between her legs and slap it hard against her pussy. Y/N gasped and then her hips bucked as he did it again.

“You’ve been a naughty girl with this fucking pussy, haven’t you? Pushing this dripping mess against me every chance you got. Fuckin' rubbing on me, and constantly begging me to fuck you.”

He smacked her a third time and Y/N felt her cunt throb with a deep ache. “Fuck, Dean yes! I’ve wanted you to fuck me, wanted you to take me apart for so fucking long. Please, please! Bury yourself so deep in me.”

She screamed in pleasure as he rammed two fingers into her, knuckle deep. As he crooked them forward inside of her, he leaned down to flick his tongue against her clit, making her rear up off the bed. She was so close now. She could feel the tension in her body just on the verge of snapping, when he suddenly pulled back from her, removing his fingers and causing her to wail and plead.

“No, please, Dean. More.” She whimpered pathetically as he stood up.

But then he pushed down his sweats and she caught sight of his cock for the first time. It was long and thick, just as she’d known it would be - everything about Dean screamed, “Big Dick Energy”. It was absolutely beautiful, red-tipped and standing at attention.

She sat up and reached for him, wrapping her hand around the base and sliding her tongue through his slit, licking up the pre-cum that beaded there. Dean stood rigidly, letting her lick at him like a lollipop for a couple minutes more before he pulled her hand away. 

“That’s enough for now, sweetheart.”

She pouted at him, but he just leaned down to grasp her waist, lifting her slightly and tossing her further up the bed. She gasped at the pleasure of being manhandled like a rag doll. He was on his knees as he moved towards her. He grabbed hold of her calves and flipped her over onto her stomach before smacking her ass once and then twice.

She moaned and instinctively lifted her hips, pushing her ass towards him for more. 

He slapped her again, and then ordered her, “Get on your knees, and lean forward to hold on to the headboard.”

She did as he said, grabbing on to the rails of her headboard tightly. He pushed her thighs apart before turning to lay on his back underneath her, pushing her knees open even further with his wide shoulders. 

Y/N was surprised; she’d thought he was getting her into position so he could take her from behind; instead she looked down to see his beautiful face positioned directly below her dripping cunt. 

“Sit on my face, baby. Fuck yourself on my tongue. Ride me.”

Y/N moaned as he lifted his head slightly so he could lick up through her folds. He dropped his head back to the mattress, though, and his voice was hard when he spoke. 

“Now.”

Despite all of her experience, Y/N had never been ordered to sit on a man’s face, and had never had oral sex this way. At first she was worried that she could hurt him, so she just lightly gyrated her hips against his mouth. But after a minute or so Dean grabbed onto her thighs and spoke angrily.

“I said sit, not float.” His hands pulled her down, forcing her to rest heavily against his face, so that she was truly sitting on it. His nose rubbed against her clit and Y/N couldn’t help grinding down against his mouth. His tongue delved deeply into her cunt, stabbing in and out of her entrance. 

Very soon Y/N was truly fucking herself on his face, using the strength of his jaw and the slide of his lips to create otherworldly sensations. Every once in a while she’d lift herself slightly to check that Dean was okay, but he’d always growl and pull her back down. 

Finally she could feel her orgasm growing inside her, felt the coil low in her stomach tightening almost to the point of pain, but then it burst open and she screamed as she rocked her hips and slammed herself down against Dean’s eager mouth as he slurped up everything she gushed onto him.

Aftershocks of her climax along with Dean’s probing tongue and plump, sucking lips, brought on two more mind-blowing orgasms. It felt as though she’d been edging herself for months and was now finally free to let go; her whole body trembled as Dean finally pushed her back and then rolled her under him.

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked down into Y/N’s face; she knew she must look strung out, and she could feel unconsciousness creeping in. Dean must have seen it too because he shook his head and swiftly shoved three fingers into her cunt making her come alive again with a shout.

“No way, baby. You didn’t spend all these months begging me to fuck you, just to get off with coming a couple times and falling asleep. I want you fucked out completely. I want you stupid and useless beneath me. I want to fuck you so long that you’re just a boneless, lump of cock slut laid out on the bed.”

As he finished speaking he pressed his middle finger against her clit and that pressure, combined with his filthy words, was all it took to have her shouting out her ecstasy once again.

As she was coming down, Dean slammed himself into her, forcing her clenching walls open so her cunt could squeeze him tight as he sheathed himself inside. He pushed her knees wide open, keeping her feet in the air as he jackhammered into her. He slammed so hard and so deep, she knew he’d leave marks. 

And she knew she’d never experienced anything like it, nothing in her past, or even in her fantasies had prepared her for this level of raw passion and need.

She came two more times as he fucked up into her; he changed up his rhythm, going from hard and driving to slow and sensual as the mood suited him. By the time he flipped her onto her stomach Y/N did indeed feel boneless and stupid with pleasure.

“Please Dean.” She begged softly, not actually aware what she was asking for. 

“Come on baby, I didn’t say we were done, don’t give out on me now.” Dean said harshly as he lifted her hips. Her knees rubbed against the sheet, but really she was being held in place with Dean’s strength.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re seeing stars.” He told her before slamming her back onto his cock, drilling even deeper inside than he had before.

Y/N gasped, her pussy was so overly sensitive after being fucked for so long, but she couldn’t escape the intense rush of pleasure that came as Dean slammed his cock against her sweet spot deep inside her.

“Fuck, yes.” She mumbled into the pillow where her face was buried. 

“Yeah, that’s right baby.” Dean rammed into the spot again, making her scream, her throat raw from all her screams of pleasure. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you’ve wanted for months, isn’t it? Spent every minute I’ve known you trying to get us right here, haven’t you?”

He dropped one of her hips so he could spank her right cheek hard, watching it jiggle. “Answer me!” He demanded as he spanked her again before grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head up and back. “Tell me how much you’ve wanted this, little slut. Admit to prancing around this bunker, desperate for me to pin you down and fuck you just like this.”

“Yes!” Y/N gasped as he pounded into her over and over, never losing rhythm or strength. “Yes, fuck, yes.” It was all she could get out. She was truly exhausted, but she still chased the high he was raising within her with every thrust.

He spanked her again and then reached his hand around so that he could push against her throbbing clit. It took only a few circles with his finger, and a few more hammering thrusts before she shattered into a million pieces, seeming to shake and shiver forever.

As she came back to earth slightly, she could feel Dean pulling out of her. “I’m gonna come baby. Can I come on your ass?” She nodded and mumbled out a “yes.”

She heard him grunt obscenely, and despite her liquefied bones, her pussy still clenched at the sound, before she felt his sticky seed spurting across her ass, and lower back. He bucked forward, his thighs slapping against her ass as he shot another load, warm and wet, onto her skin.

Finally he fell to the side, and Y/N let her knees give out beneath her as she fell onto her stomach in complete exhaustion and immediate unconsciousness. She woke some time later to feel Dean wiping her clean with a warm cloth and pressing kisses up her spine.

When he saw her eyes flutter open, he tossed away the cloth and laid down beside her, kissing her nose and her cheek before pressing his mouth gently to hers. 

“You were so fucking perfect, Y/N. Everything I’ve dreamed about night after night.” He shook his head. “No, you were even more perfect than I imagined, so much more.”

She smiled softly and raised an eyebrow. “So you agree? You were an idiot and we should have done this so much sooner?”

He scoffed. “N’ah, it was perfect this way, at this time. But it’s gonna be even more perfect next time.”

Y/N grinned at him and tried not to be too obvious about how thrilled she was that there was going to be a next time. 

“I don’t know.” She teased. “You’re gonna have to try hard to do better than this.”

Dean grinned wickedly. “Challenge accepted.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

@safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@hobby27

@waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

The Orange.

You and Jake share an orange. He’s in love with you.

Part 2 - For Eternity.

Pairing - Jake Seresin x female reader

Warnings - None

Word Count - 2047

Masterlist. Requests.

The air conditioning rattles gently, keeping you company. You’re sat at the bar of The Hard Deck, reading the book that’s been sitting forgotten on your nightstand for months. Outside, you can hear the cheering and yelling coming from the Dagger Squad, who are playing their new favourite game – Dog Fight Football. Ever since Maverick introduced it, they’ve been hooked, finding any reason to gather at the beach and take each other down.

You man the bar while Penny sits on the beach, watching her partner and his team sprint across the sand. Inevitably, soon they’ll all come running inside, requesting water, beer, and popsicles to cool their heated skin and flushed faces. You prefer to shelter yourself away from the sun during the day, and make the most of the warm summer nights that seem to last forever.

You’re already mentally planning your evening – you’ll finish your shift, grab a drink, and walk down the beach, perhaps taking your book with you. You’ll sit on the cooling sand, rest your legs, and stay there until the ocean breeze gives you your cue to leave. You’ll offer Jake to join you, and he’ll make a big show of being sarcastically reluctant – but he’ll never say no to you. Those sunset conversations have become the best part of your days – and his.

Your friendship with Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin is a seemingly unlikely one. Arrogant, charming, decorated Naval Aviator meets intelligent, determined, stubborn waitress. When the Dagger Squad arrived in town for the uranium mission, Penny had given you a sarcastic, but slightly genuine warning.

“You better watch out, you know”, she says in passing one night. You quirk your eyebrow at her questioningly.

“These pilots. They’re gonna be all over you. Fresh new eye candy for them to fight over.” She winks at you cheekily and leaves you to serve another customer.

You knew it was always just convenience, for the Aviators. You were pretty, and witty, and served them their drinks every night. You were in their line of sight. They didn’t really want you, you were just available. Easy. Or so you thought.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin showed up that night with the confidence of ten men. The minute he laid eyes on you, you felt it. Some sort of shift. A crack in your universe.

He’d sidled up to the bar with a swagger in his walk that should have been off putting – but strangely wasn’t. The moment you heard that thick drawl flow like honey from his lips, you knew you’d have to use every ounce of self control you possessed. He was gorgeous.

And cocky.

The man had gotten accustomed to having women throw themselves at his feet. All he had to do was flash that gleaming smile, and he’d have girls dropping their barriers – and their underwear. He was a ladies man, and he knew it. You were aware he only ever spent a night with them – having had to rescue him from many awkward confrontations at the bar, usually along the lines of, “why didn’t you call me back?” and “you said you’d make breakfast!”.

You, however, became the exception to his rule. You didn’t expect anything from him, just his kindness, which he would happily give you by the tonne. Your kindness though, is what started your friendship in the first place. Or maybe it was stupidity. You were still deciding.

It was a Friday night at The Hard Deck. The Squad were over by the pool tables, drinking, and throwing darts. You’d been subtly watching Hangman from your position behind the bar. He was bragging to Coyote about being able to hit the bullseye with his eyes closed, and proceeded to demonstrate. He closed his eyes, hit the target, and reopened them to be met with an angry brunette with a point to prove.

“Excuse me, Hangman! You think you can just sneak out of my house, not call me, and then come in here and play darts like nothing happened?”

She jabs her finger angrily into his chest, but he doesn’t move. Stubborn man.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “let’s not do this here. I’m sorry I didn’t call. But I thought you knew; it was just a one time thing.”

He lays his charm on thick, and you see her falter for a minute. You’re almost willing her to give up, and save herself the inevitable embarrassment. But lo and behold, she continues.

She’s shouting now, yelling about his treatment of women, and how he should be ashamed, how he led her on with his false intentions. His squad are watching silently, attempting to stifle the laughter that threatens to bubble up between them. Javy has managed to take a few subtle steps back, as if to get as far away as possible from the danger zone.

She’s still yelling, and he’s just stood there, with that damned smirk on his face, taking it. You know whatever he’s going to say next is undoubtedly going to shred the poor girl’s self confidence, so, without much thought, you move from behind the bar, and make your way to the scene.

Placing your hand on his ridiculously toned bicep, you look up at him, praying that he’ll understand what you’re trying to silently say. You’re saving him.

“Babe, what’s going on?”, you ask cluelessly, as if you hadn’t been watching the entire situation unfold from mere feet away.

“Babe?”, she yells, more at the universe than at either of you.

Jake, for once, doesn’t quite know what to say. So, you continue.

“Yeah. I have no idea what’s happening, but I think we should talk.”

You look at him pointedly, and he seems to get the message. You apologise to the girl quickly, and drag Jake away, through the bar and out of the back door, into the cool evening air. You speak before he has the chance to.

“Please, Hangman. Keep your soap opera disaster of a love life out of my bar. No one wants to see it.”

It’s your turn now to jab your pointer finger into his chest. You expect him to snap back with a sarcastic remark, or to laugh. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you. Really looks. As if he’s seeing you for the first time, despite you serving him his beers every time he comes into the bar. Eventually, he speaks.

“You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

It’s your turn to look at him now. That wasn’t what you expected. You scoff, and raise your eyebrows at him.

“Seriously, Jake. It isn’t my business what you do with your spare time, but please, save us all from having to watch the car crash every week.”

He laughs. A real, genuine, hearty laugh, that settles itself into your ribs, into the cavity of your chest. You’ve never heard him laugh like that. It makes you like him more. Damn.

“I’m kinda done with it all anyway.”

“Done with what?”

“The sleeping around. One night stands. None of those girls are half as interesting or half as pretty as you.”

He’s looking at you again. You’re determined not to let him get under your skin, so you bark,

“Yeah, right. Bet you say that to all the girls, huh, Seresin?”

He laughs, and then pauses, million dollar smile still etched on his face.

“I’m serious. You won’t have to rescue me like that again, Angel. That’s a promise.”

He winks at you, and you swat his arm, before grabbing his hand and leading him back inside.

That was months ago.

Since then, you’ve spent an increasing amount of time with him. Laughing, joking, teasing. His friendship is more valuable than his weight in gold, you’re convinced, and you lower your guard ever so slightly. He’s worth letting in. You know he is. Warnings be damned.

You smell him before you see him when he enters the bar. He smells like cologne, salt, and sunshine – so distinct, so Jake. You’d bottle it up if you could, store a vial in every room in your house.

You feel him before you see him when he makes his way over to you. Feel his body get closer, the heat radiating off him. You can almost feel the salt on his skin when he plasters himself against your back, kissing the top of your head affectionately.

“Mmm, you smell good. What you reading, Angel?”

He’s moved to sit on the stool next to you. At this angle, you get a better look at him. He’s not wearing a shirt, golden skin on display. Begging for you to touch it, run your fingers along it, your tongue. You know he’d taste like the ocean and the sky simultaneously. Sunshine boy.

You pull yourself back to reality, and show him the cover of your book.

“Ah, smart girl.”

The praise lights up your bones, seems to settle into your ribs. You know, like all friendship does.

You look at him, and clock him watching you. He’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

Jake Seresin is in love with you.

You can see it clear as day, all of a sudden. Like you’ve been looking at him through a fog, a mist, and it’s evaporated without a warning.

He’s in love with you.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s kept his promise from that night. No more girls, no more one night stands. Since that evening, he’s only had one woman on his mind. You.

You’ve become suddenly aware of all of this, and you don’t know what to do with it. What about your friendship? What if this jeopardises everything? Losing him would be your worst nightmare. You’d rather have him as a friend than not have him at all.

But then, you realise, that’s not going to happen. Because he’s in love with you. And like a freight train, it hits you. You’re in love with him. You have been since the moment he stepped foot in the bar, all self-assured attitude and golden hair and bright eyes. You’re in love with Jake Seresin and he’s in love with you and the world is suddenly making sense. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle has been placed and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream or dance or all four or none at all.

So you stand, and make your way behind the bar. You slide a glass of ice cold water in front of him, and grab an orange. It’s ripe, bright and feels like a ball of light in your hand. A promise.

You sit back in your original position, on the stool next to his, but turn to face him. Carefully, you peel the orange, bit by bit. Juice runs down your fingers onto the palm of your hand, and without thinking, Jake grabs your wrist and traces the journey of the drop with his tongue. You look up through your lashes and smile at him gently, and continue to peel, slowly, deliberately. When you’re satisfied, you split the orange, and hand one half to him.

The air conditioning rattles gently, keeping you company. You eat in silence, stopping occasionally to inhale the smell of citrus, salt, and sunshine.

Jake reaches out as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and runs his thumb across your bottom lip carefully. He places his thumb in his mouth, and sucks gently.

You’re not sure if it’s you, or him, or gravity, but somehow, you’ve ended up sat with your legs in between his, facing each other. Orange finished, he leans in, and brushes your lips with his. He tastes like citrus, and salt, and sunshine. So distinctly Jake, that you’d bottle it if you could. He pulls back, resting his forehead on yours. There’s a warmth emanating from him that you’re sure isn’t solely from the sun. You haven’t been outside in hours, and you’re omitting it too.

It feels like hours that you sit there, foreheads pressed together, orange peel abandoned on the bar top. Neither of you needs to speak. You both know exactly what the other person is thinking.

Jake Seresin is in love with you. Nothing else matters.

[callsignvenomcod]

a soft life

Prompt: Retired! Simon Riley. A slow life in a Manchester farm.

warning: mentions of PTSD, mentions of cartel related violence, mentions of violence, MDNI.

PS: Opening line is from the book "Jarhead" (2001) by Anthony Swofford.

______________________________________________________________

A story.

A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterwards he returns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

For a long time, it was hard to convince himself he deserved to grow old. It might have been a given fact to some other people but not for those in the military, not for Ghost, at least; not after Tommy and Beth, or Las Almas or Johnny. It took him a lot of time to be grateful to be almost 40. For several reasons, he never saw himself living past 20.

And now he was opening up the crates of the chickens he kept in his very own farm, a piece of land he actually owned, without a mask on, very far away from the bullet sounds and a barrack, from the mud and the camo, away from everything and everyone, not sound in the horizon but the chickens and Riley, the border collie dog he got, barking at a three somewhere in the distance.

He retired the summer he turned 40, there was a ceremony and everything, with Laswell and Price and he got more chest candy that would eventually end up in a wooden chest, never to be seen again, under the bed. There wasn't a reason, he just had to. He was in his prime, physically, but his mind was made of glass lately, everything rubbed him the wrong way, couldn't even train recruits without snapping too hard at them, making them quit, yell at them too much, scare them too much, beat them up to a pulp too much.

Every man in the military had a story. A life before, a life after. And in the middle, sand, or mud, or just camo. A war that last years, a mission that lasts hours. Silence and nosie.

He, like other recruits, like other Sergeants, Lieutenants, Colonels, had shadows over them. It took months for him to stop looking over his shoulder while doing the big shop on a sunday, started going to those overnight groceries store to shop alone instead. The butcher's reminded him both of his adolescence and the carnage he had caused, flinched whenever he saw a mohawk kid walking down the street, looked twice sometimes only to find a stranger.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets, aye.

He turned in his paperwork and retired silently with lots of medals under his name, lots of dead men and probably women under his knife, missing friends, missing nerves and too scarred to be a model now. Ha.

Oh, and Y/N's wanted to get away at some point anyway.

Y/N. The last drink he never should have had, the cut that made him hide his face, and the party that made him feel his age. Pulp's words, not his. All it took was a few nights shopping at the Tesco she was working in as a cashier, late night shift, for them to become acquainted.

A year of mutual pinning, a single night in which Y/N placed the bourbon bottle and the batteries inside of the paper bag and looked up at Simon, change in hand (because he paid in cash always, no traces behind) and smiled at him. COVID had made it easier to transition from the skull balaclava to a medical mask and then to a bare face, so Simon looked at her behind the black medical mask and stared at her while she opened her mouth.

-Why do bees have sticky hair?

Simon blinked, looking down at her. -Pardon?

No line behind him. It was the first time the cashier talked to him other than "Goodnight" and "Drive safe", or "It will be 5.66, please". There was a faraway sound of some sort of 80's American pop music, something to pass time by. Simon had noticed her since the first time he came into this very same Tesco a few months ago, had noticed how she sang along whatever music was on, how her Tesco blue uniform looked too big on her, making her look insanely small and slinky. He noticed how she was always almost without a medical mask and whenever she used it, it was laced around her chin; he noticed short, clean nails, and a heart necklace over her chest, a pair of dazzling dove eyes, full hips, a belly.

He really noticed the full hips.

The girl fucking giggled and repeated. She must had a bit of Irish in her judging by the sound of her accent. Simon felt as awkward as a teenage boy in front of any girl ever -Why do bees have sticky hair?

The man shook his head, still confused, a quid in his hand.

-Because they use a honeycomb.

Ah, a woman after his own heart. Such a lame joke.

He snorted out a laugh.

It simply slipped and he memorized the name tag before grabbing his shopping bag and shaking his head, hearing her giggle behind him as he exited the store, and he came back two days later after convincing himself he needed two jars of red bean jam instead of the usual one.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

And now she sleeps here; and Simon had stared at her sleeping form wondering how much time it would take for her to start hating his way of loving, of being, how many times he would go silent on the phone, a bad texter, a worst caller, how he hated crowded places and loud noises and most of their dates happened in her flat, when her roommate was out, staring silently at a film on TV, her friends thinking she's getting her brains fucked out by an experienced, older, lust thirst Vet when in reality, Ghost was gathering up the courage to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

And now she sleeps here.

In the crook of his neck, his thigh over his hip, wild hair all over the bed, sometimes inside his mouth because he stopped using a mask a while ago.

In the mornings, tangled in their bed, warm sheets, the soft breeze of Riley sleeping under the bed, her sweet sweat and vanilla scented skin under his, it took Simon a few seconds to realize he was sleeping in the company of someone; in the arms of a woman and in his own bed, a king size bed with soft white sheets that were washed and changed every 5 days, not a twin bed in a barrack, that his years of active service were over, not forgotten, as if, but that he could allow himself to become whatever he might end up becoming if the 141 didn't happened.

-Come here, boy. Come here, Riley. Yeah, yeah...- said Simon scrunching down to caress right behind Riley's ear, the dog sticking out his long tongue and barking of joy mixed with the hyper sense of his breed, the soldier being careful not to break the eggs he held in a small basket. Simon had found him a puppy a few months ago, seemed like years really, in a litter box with 6 of his brothers and sisters, a beat-up cardboard sign reading "For adoption." And Simon picked up the only one with a lazy ear. He knew deep down that Y/N would appreciate that and simply put him in the passenger seat of the black Bronco truck he owned and drove all the way back home. -You're up early, eh? You having breakkie with us?

He had fallen into a comfortable routine now. He would wake up, crawl over Y/N's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her with the crack of dawn, 5AM with the BBC on his headphones, a 6'2 shadow jogging through the hills of the outskirts of Manchester, for an hour only the dark of the road, the eventual baby blue of the sky, the warmth of the sun. Sometimes Riley was up for it, sometimes he stood behind cuddled up in their room. And upon his return he would work out in their driveway for another hour, noticing the growing presence of what the media now called a "Dad Bod" (Y/N's words, not him) and eventually hearing soft barefoot steps coming from the room.

There was tea for two before he had to head out, get some tasks done, and a soft kiss hanging from Y/NS plush lips, and he would always try to push it, try his luck. He would smile against it, whispering "Good morning..." with a lazy voice, hands on Y/N's full hips, kneading them, in need of them, and Simon would press up with hard on against her stomach, while deepening the kiss.

It never failed to make her wet. It never failed to make her forget the kettle on the fire for a minute and simply give into his kiss, his embrace; him, overall. Simon would pick her up, easily, laid her on the counter, and her robe would open for him, with or without his help, and she was always so wet for him, so ready to do it.

-Simon...- she will say. - Breakfast...

And he wasted no time into twisting her words, dropping to his knees as if he was in the presence of a saint, of a virgin, of the end of the world, staring at her glistening cunt first thing in the morning, looking up with the adoration she deserved; she would gulp and argue it was not what she meant but she would recoil and whimper when Simon stuck his tongue inside his cunt anyway, overlapping her folds, blissfully eating her out before the sun was completely out.

The dog kept barking all the way down to the house, past the barn and the driveway, the small stable with the one horse they had, the pen he was building to eventually own sheep, and Simon felt the cold breeze of the early morning seeping through his black knit sweater and his jean jacket, as he walked all the way across the grass fields and into his porch, the swinging chair Y/N liked to read in, in a need of a reparation.

-Right...- he whispered to himself seeing the hammer he left outside to remind himself to fix the damn chair, bloody hell. Riley's nose peeked through the front door, opening it with ease and technique allowing themselves in, and the cold of the outside world was quickly gone.

Simon stepped into a cozy home, with a color palette he would have never picked, all warm yellows and oranges, pinks and whites, and soft cushions, warm blankets, a picknick turntable in the coffee table; and music, soft music he didn't recognize coming from it, a spinning record on it with yellow and pink lyrics, a girl signing about a loved one, and another voice, a present one, horribly trying to sing along.

He snorted out a laugh when Riley started barking and the voice was interrupted abruptly.

-Simon?...- Radio silence. -Babe?

Oh, the sound of his name in her mouth.

He crossed his living room, stepping into the kitchen, holding four eggs in a small bowl, one from each hen they owned, and he stood in the door frame, just a tad taller than him, admiring the view. He had endured white missions in the Russian winter, literal months of the gruesome torture and gory tasks and they all suddenly made sense because there was a girl.

Ah, there was a girl, alright.

Today was English breakfast. No peas for him, no sausages for her. It was stereotypical but easy to make and no one was around to judge them anyway. Next house was a few miles down the road, and even the road was far away, the town was a 30-minute ride. It was their little bit of heaven. The man stepped in, handing her the basket like every other day and kissed her temple, as she grilled some tomatoes slice ups leaning back against him. His hands would find her hips again and she would yawn with intimacy, hair still a mess, thighs still sticky. -Teas on the table, love. It's gone get cold.

-Ah, it's alright...- he said, hugging her tightly, as she kept leaning on him. -Slow morning today, eh...

She had been there and stuck around whenever the PTSD started acting up. She was the one that loved him when he started going fucking mental; and stuck around when she found her burning up SAS gear, a lost look in his eyes as he did so. He would throw in a Ghost mask and watch it burn for a moment, before murmuring a shocked sob and reaching out into the flames to retrieve it. She stuck around while he drank too much bourbon sitting on the porch, skull mask on, his dogs' tags held so tightly his knuckles will go white with force. Y/N even stuck around when the nightmares came, and she would wake up to Ghost whimpering on his side of the bed, breaking a cold sweat, his jaw tight and her brows furrowed, screaming out "Johnny! Johnny!" before waking up in tears, in raged hot tears down his cheeks, short of breath, his head a full of bullet noises and sirens wailings, pictures of his team and the blood and the grease paint. A mess. A shaking shadow.

Every October 11, she will make sure to hold him a little tighter, kiss him a little softer, love him, if it was possible, a little louder.

And she was here now, cooking breakfast, no peas for him; now he was living a soft life, with tea every morning, and a dog named Riley, with soft hands that wondered around his chest whenever he thought about Soap too much, about Gaz and that helo. But she was here now, and she had no sausages today, as they sat down on their small chair in their small kitchen in their small farm. He was living a soft life, and he didn't think of himself as worthy of it, but he must have been done something good to have her cooking breakfast and sleeping in their bed and caressing their dog under the table.

Tomorrow, Ghost would ask her to come out to the porch to find her reading swing fixed and a wedding ring.

She's going to say yes.

He didn't heard the bullets anymore.

_____________________________________________________________

Hello! Venom here.

Thank you so much to anyone that's been liking my story.

Happy 2024!

[my-name-is-apollo]

Why is Hera so hostile to Leto in a manner that she isn't with the other lovers of Zeus? I can't think of any other woman who was targeted so much by Hera. One could say she didn't want Leto to give birth because her children would be a competition to Hera's children, but why bother her even after she had already given birth? Is it because Leto herself is also a threat to Hera?

Sort of I guess?

I don't think Leto would ever be a threat to Hera's role as the queen of the gods but Hera might see her as a competitor for Zeus' affection, even though I think Zeus would not marry someone else and replace Hera.

The twins are definitely a big reason why Hera begrudged Leto - it is outright stated in the Callimachus Hymn to Delos that the reason Hera especially targeted Leto was because she was told that Apollo would be dearer to Zeus than Ares is. Zeus is very proud of Artemis as well. As he himself puts it, he doesn't mind facing Hera's wrath for children like her.

But the continued hatred even after the birth of the twins (like sending Tityus to rape Leto) could have been for different reasons. This wasn't like one of those affairs Zeus would have with mortal women where he'd leave them behind once the child is conceived. Neither could Hera, despite her many attempts, get rid of Leto like she did with the other lovers. Not only did Leto give Zeus children that he loves dearly, she also stayed on Olympus despite Hera's hatred towards her (which isn't directed to any of Zeus' other divine mistresses, btw). It might have also been because Leto herself is dear to Zeus, if the way she's treated on Olympus is any proof. In the Homeric hymn to Apollo, Leto stands next to Zeus - in the Olympian assembly - to welcome their son. Hera is completely absent from the scene, as if Leto had taken her place even if temporarily. Now you could say this is because Apollo himself is such a powerful and glorious son in a way that no other son of Zeus is, so of course Leto would get such an honor (the hymn itself presents it this way).

But here's another instance - in the Iliad, when Hera goes to seduce Zeus, he is obviously very smitten but before getting into the action, he lists some of his lovers (I believe these were his favorite lovers, as a lot of others are not mentioned):

"for never has such desire for goddess or mortal woman so gripped and overwhelmed my heart, not even when I was seized by love for Ixion’s wife, who gave birth to Peirithous the gods’ rival in wisdom; or for Acrisius’ daughter, slim-ankled Danaë, who bore Perseus, greatest of warriors; or for the far-famed daughter of Phoenix, who gave me Minos and godlike Rhadamanthus; or for Semele mother of Dionysus, who brings men joy; or for Alcmene at Thebes, whose son was lion-hearted Heracles; or for Demeter of the lovely tresses; or for glorious Leto; or even for you yourself, as this love and sweet desire for you grips me now.’ (Book 14, trans. A. T. Murray)

Notice how when talking about most of them, he also mentions the children they bore to him but when Demeter and Leto are mentioned, he doesn't bring up their children at all despite them being some of the most accomplished kids of his. What's more, he takes Leto's name just before Hera's. I mean, this is an interpretation but it looks like not only did Zeus love Leto the most out of all his mistresses - giving her a place second to that of his wife, but also his love for her wasn't necessarily only because she gave him two amazing children.

Nonnus does something similar in the Dionysiaca (but this time Zeus is enamored with Persephone instead of Hera) but more notably, when Typhoeus attacks Olympus and Zeus is discouraged, Nike takes the form of Leto to encourage him and it's pretty telling of what Leto meant to Zeus.

One interesting similarity between Hera and Leto is that they both had a giant try to rape them. Porphyrion tried to violate Hera (Zeus inspired him to do this) and Tityus tried to violate Leto (upon Hera's order). Though both of them were killed, only Tityus got an eternal punishment in Tartarus of having his liver/heart eaten out by vultures so Zeus seems to have taken a greater offense at Tityus trying to assault Leto.

Again, I don't think Zeus would ever take anyone other than Hera as his permanent wife - she is irreplaceable to him. There's an entire myth about Hera leaving him and Zeus winning her back. Their relationship is obviously complex and involves all kinds of emotions including love and hate. But Leto is continually dear to him as well and that's something Hera can't do much about.