#dunno when this will go up on ao3

[hballegro]

chapter 6; lobster dinner and with a side of anguish is OUT

bts as usual

i think i need to put 'my noodle is second to none' in the next chapter somehow. feels like a hawkeye thing to say

[cinnbar-bun]

Kiss the Swordsman (Mihawk x Reader)

Summary: Inspired by "Kiss the Girl" from The Little Mermaid.

Perona is frustrated that Mihawk won't confess his feelings for you, so she hires Zoro to take part in a scheme to get Mihawk to admit his love for you.

Word Count: ~2.9k

Rating: SFW

You can read this on my AO3 here!

Perona glared deeply at you and Mihawk, who were quietly sitting and eating breakfast. You passed him the butter without him asking, and he refilled your cup while you were cutting your food. 

Zoro raised a brow as he stopped shoveling his pancakes into his mouth. “Why’re you so angry?” 

Perona’s frown grew fiercer as she crossed her arms. “I’m mad Mihawk hasn’t made a move!” 

Zoro glanced at Mihawk, who was taking a sip of his coffee. 

“I dunno, he looks like he’s moving just fine,” Zoro shrugged. Perona smacked his shoulders. 

“Not like that, idiot!” She shouted. Zoro picked his ear and continued to eat. 

“Dunno what you mean then.” 

“Ugh! You’re so clueless!” Perona pointed at you and Mihawk. “It’s so obvious they like each other!” 

Zoro swallowed another pancake whole and shook his head. “I know you didn’t just say that while I’m eating.” 

“Well I did!” 

“Ugh… whatever,” Zoro sighed. “Besides, what are you talking about? They don’t like each other.” 

Perona narrowed her eyes and forced Zoro to look at Mihawk. “You’re blind. Look at how he looks at (Y/n)!” 

Mihawk, at the moment, was focused on his breakfast and Zoro grit his teeth. 

“He’s not even looking at them…” 

“Y-you just missed it!” Perona’s cheeks turned red as she wagged her finger. “Trust me, he stares at them a lot!!” 

“So what? Maybe (Y/n)’s just got a stain or something. What do you want me to do about it?” Zoro tiredly responded. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything ab-,” her eyes lit up as she gasped loudly, making Zoro jolt. “That’s it! You’re a genius, Zoro!”

“I am…?” He asked, unsure if he was going to like her next few sentences. 

“Mhm! You just gave me a new idea! We go make Mihawk confess his love for (Y/n)!” 

“But does he even-“ Perona cut Zoro off by placing her index finger to his lips. 

“Shhhh… trust me. It’s foolproof.” 

---

“So, tell me again how this is supposed to make Mihawk confess?” Zoro asked as he held the shovel in his hand. 

“Duh! (Y/n) will just fall into this hole and maybe get injured or something,” Perona proudly smiled as she covered the hole with a net of leaves. “Mihawk will swoop in and realize seeing the love of his life fall into a hole was too much, then he’ll look into (Y/n)’s eyes and be so emotional over their safety and have to confess!” 

“I don’t think that’s gonna pull a confession out of him.” 

“What do you know, lughead?! Have you ever dated someone before?” 

“No,” Zoro scratched his chin. “Neither have you.” 

“Well that’s just- um, ah- just hush! Shhh! I hear them coming.” 

Perona dragged Zoro behind a tree to peek out and see her victims. Mihawk and you were clad in your usual farming attire, with you carrying a bucket of compost for your garden. Perona rubbed her hands and chuckled, waiting for the glorious moment to come when… 

“Oh, wait, Mihawk, there’s something over there,” you pointed out. 

“Hm? Ah…” Mihawk hummed in acknowledgment as you both began walking away from the path where the hole was. Perona gawked and gripped the bark of the tree. 

“No! Those two-!” 

You and Mihawk noticed a small burrow close to the field of root veggies. “A rabbit, I believe,” Mihawk murmurs, crouching down to the small nest. Before he can even take a look, a grown rabbit bolts out of the hole and dashes under Mihawk’s legs. 

You jump as the rabbit runs past you, and Mihawk recovers to quickly chase after it. The swordsman is fast and swift, able to keep up with the animal, while you’re struggling to close the gap due to the heavy bucket in your hands. 

“And, got you-“ Mihawk leans forward to grab the rabbit, but as he does so, his foot makes contact with the nest of leaves that Perona hid the hole with. “Agh!” 

Mihawk lets out a loud yelp as the rabbit slips from his fingers and he plummets to the bottom of the (thankfully) shallow hole. 

You drop the bucket and rush over to him, looking down at him inside the hole. 

“Mihawk! Are you alright?” 

He dusts himself off, examining how his white shirt is now stained with brown mud and crumbled leaves. 

“Yes. I’m quite alright,” he answers smoothly, as if he didn’t just fall face first into a hole. 

“Do you need a hand?” You ask, extending your hand to him. 

“Thank you, (Y/n),” he accepts, pulling himself up with ease. “Are you alright? You’re not injured, are you?” 

You shake your head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t the one who fell into a hole, anyways. I’ll go check on you back at the castle.” 

“Much appreciated. But first-“ he craned his neck to Perona and Zoro’s hiding spot, causing them to shriek and fully hide themselves behind the trunk. His hawk eyes narrowed at them as he slowly made his way over to them. 

It all happened in a blur, as suddenly the two were lifted by their collars as Mihawk made them face the fields. 

“Since you two love playing in the dirt so much, I’ll allow you the opportunity to till each and every field today. And while you’re at it, fill that hole again,” he stated coldly, his voice giving no room for argument or interpretation. 

Perona and Zoro gulped at the massive garden. 

“If you two try this stunt again, I will have you become fertilizer. Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes, Mihawk,” Perona and Zoro nodded and weakly gave in. Given how Mihawk could be, this was perhaps his form of mercy to them. Mihawk dropped them and walked back to you, examining your hands. 

“Ah, you have a small mark. Next time, I’ll carry the bucket for you,” Mihawk commented. 

“It’s not a problem, Mihawk. I can do it just fine,” you chuckle. “Come on now, let’s go make sure you’re not bleeding.” 

“I most certainly would not be injured from that small of a hole.” 

---

Perona growled as she crossed off yet another idea from her list. 

“Maybe you should give up,” Zoro stated nonchalantly as he was taking a sip of his drink. 

“I can’t! I can’t, because if I don’t, Mihawk is never gonna do it and he’ll die alone like a boring old man!” Perona sobbed. “He can’t keep hiding his feelings! I just don’t get why none of these have worked…”

“Gee, I wonder why injuring (Y/n), burning books, breaking glass, and ruining dinner would make Mihawk not confess,” Zoro deadpanned. 

“Shut up, smartass! I just… I just know that deep down, (Y/n)’s the best thing in his life, and I’m not letting them walk away thinking he doesn’t care!” 

“That’s surprisingly caring of you.” 

“I’m gonna get violent!” Perona stomped her foot. 

“Just take it easy! You’ve been bombarding them nonstop and making us have to do so many chores. I’m not gonna clean any more dishes because of your matchmaking.” 

Perona huffed and nodded. She was exhausted from all the punishments Mihawk gave her after the many stunts she pulled, and manual labor was so not cute. She slid to the floor. 

“This is hopeless…” Perona mumbled. Zoro saw how dejected she looked and sighed. 

“Look, I’m not a romance expert, but why don’t we try something a bit smaller? Ya know? Something that doesn’t end up with (Y/n) or Mihawk getting something broken?” 

“Like what?” 

“Well, I dunno, I figured you’d tell me what people to be romantic. Damn, if only I had that cook here…” 

“Cook?” Her eyes lit up. “Cook! That’s it! We can make them a candlelit dinner!” 

---

Another of Perona’s shenanigans. Mihawk sighs as he opens a letter that tells him to get dressed and be outside in the courtyard. 

“Why did she sign it as (Y/n)…” he asks himself, confused why Perona would think he wouldn’t recognize what your handwriting looked like. Regardless, considering she seemingly put so much effort into this, he plays along and does as told, careful to “dress up nicely” as Perona so eloquently wrote. He fixed his hair and made sure to brush his facial hair before heading to the courtyard. 

“Now, Perona, I hope you have a good-,” he stops when he sees you’re the person standing, waiting in the courtyard. You look breathtaking, elegantly dressed up in an outfit that fits you perfectly. For a moment, Mihawk forgets what he was doing and trying to say. You chuckle and step closer to him. 

“You got her letter, too?” You ask. Mihawk nods. 

“I’m not sure what she’s thinking now.” 

“Neither do I. But it’s been a while since I wore something like this, it’s a nice change of pace.” 

Mihawk stares at you unemotionally, and you’re worried he thinks poorly of what you just said or how you look. 

“Yes… it’s a lovely change of pace,” he adds, his face softening. “You look stunning, (Y/n).” 

The compliment makes you smile, and he feels his face get warmer at seeing your gorgeous smile his way. 

“Come, let’s take a seat, I’m sure Perona has some plans for us,” he offers his hand. You take it and he glides swiftly to the small, white table with a beautiful candelabra in the center. Mihawk pulls out your chair and helps you sit, like a true gentleman. 

“I’m honestly surprised she’d done all of this,” you comment. “I wonder why.” 

“I could hazard a guess,” Mihawk replied, before Zoro arrived in a tux. 

“Evening, you two,” he states, holding a notepad. “The uh-“ he flips through the notepad and you and Mihawk see an obvious script that Perona wrote for him. You hold in your laughter while Mihawk looks unamused. “Y-yeah, sorry, the dining room proudly presents… your dinner!” 

Zoro turns around and makes a motion to grab something, only to grab air. “Wait, where’s the food?” 

Mihawk pours you a drink as Zoro fumbles with the notepad and flounders to find the cart full of food. 

“It seems there’s been a technical difficulty,” Mihawk mumbles. 

“Oh, be easy on them,” you tease. 

Perona stomps to where Zoro is and smacks his head with the notepad. 

“I told you to put the cart there!” She hisses, you and Mihawk are able to hear her perfectly. “Now they’re going to have their dinner ruined!” 

“Hey! I’m sorry! I thought it was here!” Zoro whisper-yells back. He thankfully finds the food cart this time and pushes it towards the table. He then places a silver dish in front of each of you and removes the lid. “There we go! Dinner!” 

“Appetizer,” Perona corrects. 

“Appetizer,” Zoro amends. 

“Thank you. May we have some privacy?” 

“Ohhhhh, of couuuurse!” Perona nods, too obvious in her scheming. She grabs Zoro as the two of them hide in a nearby bush. 

“They do realize we know where they went, right?” Mihawk whispers to you so they can’t hear. 

“Just let them have this. They worked very hard for it.” 

“I understand, but their behavior is quite…” 

“Intrusive?” You add. 

“Very much so,” he sighs as he drinks. “It took me until Perona broke three cups to understand this was deliberate.” 

“For a bit, I thought they were trying to kill me,” you joke. 

“They’d know better than to try such a thing,” Mihawk shakes his head. 

“Although, knowing they’re trying to pull this off makes it a bit sweeter,” you comment. 

“What do you mean?” Mihawk raises a brow. 

“It’s sweet that they’re trying to do this for us. It’s rare we get to spend time together like this nowadays. Usually it’s us taking care of them and training them, but now they’re making us a candlelit dinner.” 

Mihawk’s lips curl into a grin. “You are correct. Even though I would not have done it like this, it’s still rather charming.” 

You and Mihawk quietly chatted throughout the three course-meal. Occasionally, you heard the grunts and arguing between Perona and Zoro from their hiding spot in the bushes. Mihawk would urge you to ignore them as you two laughed and reminisced throughout the evening. Seeing Mihawk relax more and more as he continued talking to you was a treat for Perona and Zoro. 

“I think… I think I’m starting to see what you mean,” the swordsman said. 

“See! Told ya!” Perona smirked. “Look at how he’s melting at their words and smiling.” 

“I didn’t think he could do that,” Zoro replied, impressed at how you managed to make Mihawk’s lips form a grin. 

“They’re almost done eating, now for phase two!” Perona pumped her fists and shot up from the bush. You and Mihawk glanced at her as she floated towards the woods, with Zoro following after her. 

“What do you think they’re up to now?” 

“I feel as if I really do not want to know,” Mihawk sighed. You two waited patiently, until Perona and Zoro came back with a pack of Humandrills. Your eyes widened as you gasped, while Mihawk stayed silent, waiting to see what would happen next. Perona forced the Humandrills to stop before she pulled out a box from a nearby bush. 

“Now do what we said!” She demanded as she shoved a violin to a Humandrill. The Humandrill began to make disapproving noises at her commands. She gave a few more Humandrills other instruments before she pointed at Mihawk. 

The Humandrills looked up the Warlord and then forced a nervous grin and nodded, beginning to play their instruments in sync. You were amazed as they played a slow, romantic song. 

“I…I didn’t know they could do that,” you mumble. 

“Neither did I,” Mihawk stared in awe. You were so entranced by the makeshift orchestra that you didn’t notice Mihawk looking at you, as if debating with himself. He heard Perona and Zoro clear their throats and glanced to them. Perona and Zoro pointed at you and nodded. 

“I guess this was their plan from the start…” Mihawk whispered before he stood up and cleared his throat. “(Y/n).” 

“Hm? Yes, Mihawk?” You asked, looking into his eyes with an expecting expression. He extended his hand to you. 

“Would you like to dance?” He inquired, his eyes briefly moving away from yours. A bright smile was on your face as you nodded and took his hand. 

“I’d love nothing more,” you answer, and for a second, you think you notice a red blush appear on his cheeks. 

You two head to the center and Mihawk gently pulls you in closer, an arm around your waist as your other hands are clasped together. He sways with you, careful to not be too forceful or rough. The Humandrills are getting more excited, along with Zoro and Perona, as some of them begin to hum and vocalize. 

Your smile is bright and beautiful as you look radiant, even in the night sky.

“I hope you are enjoying tonight.” “I am, very much. I won’t forget this night for a long time,” you reply. Mihawk closes his eyes and nods. 

“I don’t think I will, either.” 

He twirls you around as you let out a laugh from the thrilling motion. You two continue to look into each other’s eyes, the unspoken feelings you have for the other clear to the both of you. Despite being in such a vulnerable position, Mihawk finds the feeling rather enjoyable. Having you in his arms, dancing underneath the stars to some beautiful music after a lovely meal- he hasn’t felt this carefree in a long time. You lean closer to him and Mihawk enjoys how you’re trying to get his attention. But you already have it. 

He stops dancing, keeping you both locked in an intense eye contact with his arm around your waist. It’s only you two now, as Mihawk gulps and slowly leans his face to you, silently asking for you to reciprocate. You close your eyes and do the same, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss. 

It’s not lecherous or sloppy, but a gentle kiss with you that says everything he cannot verbalize. 

He loves you, loves you so much that he can’t help but be so gentle and yearn for you. How he wishes to protect you and continue to have your presence within his life. How he loves your smile, your voice, your words, your everything that makes you, you in this lonely world. 

He wishes to say more through touch, but the need for air arises as you both move away. 

“I love you,” you say first. He presses kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you, too.” 

Perona and Zoro clap at your confessions and Mihawk remembers that he’s in front of others. 

“Perona, Zoro,” he calls, his voice low. The two jolt nervously, unsure of what he’s going to do. His lips curve upwards as he glances at them and says a simple phrase, “Thank you.” 

[dandylovesturtles]

And here it is, part 4 of the Room Fic! ...or well. part of part 4.

see, Part 4 is going to be pretty long and take me awhile, so I decided to release it on tumblr as I go, in parts. and since we're already in a numbered list, I'll go by letters now. So this is Part 4 Part A!

it's fine, it makes sense!

I'm going to release it here on tumblr in parts, and then when it's all done I'll put it on AO3, and probably do some proper editing and may add/fix some things up once the whole thing is written. So consider this a semi-WIP. but I doubt it will change much because I usually don't change things too much after I finish writing them haha

anyway, hope you enjoy!

content warnings: discussions of food issues, anxiety, aftermath of torture

also, if you're confused, start here!

-----

Raph spots the change in Leo’s train car on the way to breakfast. He stops and tries to make sense of it for a minute, before making his way to the kitchen.

Mikey is already there, as is Splinter, making some tea. “Morning!” Mikey trills, scraping some scrambled eggs into a big platter.

“Mornin’,” Raph echoes back. He meant to sound neutral at worst, but his tone still earns a worried look from Mikey.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong,” Raph says quickly. “I just… noticed Leo did some redecorating.”

“Oh, yeah…” Mikey chews on his lip. “What’s up with that?”

“I dunno, but it makes Raph uneasy.”

“What is it?” asks Splinter, looking at them each in turn. 

“Leo covered up all his windows,” Mikey tells him.

“Ah, I see.” Splinter sets cups in front of them, followed by the tea pot. “I will go check on him.”

Splinter leaves Mikey and Raph looking at each other uncertainly.

“Why would he need the windows covered?” asks Mikey. “What does he need to hide from here?”

“I dunno, Mike.” Raph sighs. “I guess he doesn’t feel safe yet.”

“But he’s home,” Mikey insists. “He’s with us.”

“Yeah,” says Raph, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I told him to talk to us if anything’s bothering him.” Mikey taps the spatula against the empty skillet. “He said he would, but…”

Raph doesn’t know if he should feel surprised or not. “He hasn’t talked to you about anything?”

Mikey scowls. “Nothing important,” he says.

Raph chuckles. “Well, you are his little brother-“

“I’m not that little!” Mikey snaps, throwing the spatula down and rounding on Raph. 

Raph’s a little surprised by the sudden anger. Sure, Mikey has been insisting on his independence more and more, but this is more aggressive than usual.

“Raph didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, but Mikey doesn’t stop glaring. Raph is saved by Splinter’s return.

“He is sleeping quite soundly,” their dad announces, hopping up onto a stool and grabbing for the platter of eggs. “He was even drooling a bit.” Splinter chuckles.

“Okay, but you’re going to ask about it when he wakes up, right?” asks Mikey.

“No.” Splinter scoops the eggs onto his plate. “If he wants to explain, he will.”

“You don’t think it’s… I dunno. Concerning?” Raph asks.

“It is not hurting anyone. And it has helped your brother sleep. There’s nothing wrong with it,” says Splinter, and it has an air of finality.

Mikey looks unsatisfied with that outcome, but he doesn’t say anything. He fixes a plate for Leo and puts it into the microwave for safekeeping.

Raph isn’t sure where he lands. All he knows is that he sure as heck isn’t going to be the one to ask about it.

-----

Leo comes in about twenty minutes later, after they’ve already finished eating. He’s still wearing his pajamas, one of his thinner throw blankets, with the Jupiter Jim logo, pulled around his shoulders like a shawl. If you focus on his torso, he almost looks like a healthy teenager, thanks to his shell.

But his hands are still drawn and thin where they grip the fabric, his wrists bony where they peek out of his sleeves. His cheeks are still sunken in and his skin hasn’t regained its usual vibrancy. And there’s a subtle shake to his movements, like the effort it took to walk from his room to the kitchen was immense.

Oh, and there’s the absolutely devastated look on his face when he sees the empty plates.

Raph remembers, again, when Leo had practically begged them not to let him sleep through breakfast in the motel, and he feels a sick twist of his stomach.

“Geez, you guys didn’t leave any for me?” he asks, and his voice sounds light and joking and completely at odds with the expression on his face. Raph is pretty sure Leo doesn’t even know he looks like that; their self-appointed face man, who usually has so much control over his appearance, not even aware of how far his heart has slipped onto his sleeve.

“We have you a plate right here,” says Mikey, scrambling to open the microwave. “Want me to warm it up any?”

“No,” says Leo a little too quickly. His eyes stay locked on the plate even as he pulls on a smile that is so carefree it’s in obvious opposition with the rest of him. “I’m sure it’s fine - thanks, Angelo.”

Mikey tries to smile as he hands the lukewarm plate of eggs and toast to Leo. Leo takes it and grabs his fork with urgency he tries not to show. His bites are so steady and evenly paced that Raph bets he could clap the beat out if he wanted to - Leo doing all he can not to look like he’s scarfing.

Okay, so Leo clearly isn’t better yet; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Any conversations Raph wants to have about what happened in that room will have to wait. That’s okay - he can be patient.

To keep from watching too obviously, he takes out his phone. April texted the group chat twenty minutes ago, saying she had some homework to catch up on but she’ll be coming over later today. Raph’s glad, because having her around keeps them all in better spirits. He spends way longer than necessary trying to find the exact gif to use as a reaction to the news.

“Can I have another piece of toast?” Leo asks, pulling Raph’s attention from his phone. He’s already eaten the ones Mikey gave him, and about half his eggs. He taps his fork against the empty half of his plate at a quick pace.

Is this the first time Leo has actually asked for something outright? Raph isn’t sure.

Mikey grimaces and checks his phone. “Barry said to give you that much… Oh, but if you’re still hungry, you can have yogurt!”

He opens the fridge to retrieve it. Leo scowls, scooping up a bite of eggs with more force than before, the scrape of metal on porcelain.

“Barry said,” he grumbles. “How long do we gotta listen to that guy?”

“He’s doing a lot of work to help you, Leo,” says Raph. “He seems to know what he’s talkin’ about.”

“Aw, come on. It’s one piece of toast!” Leo leans toward Mikey. “It’s not gonna hurt me!”

His voice is light, almost joking, but he’s doing it again: that sad, pitiful look. Raph is sure he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

It feels impossible to deny that face. Raph looks at Mikey, who looks back at him, both of them equally unsure.

“Well…” says Mikey weakly, glancing back toward the toaster. He’s going to give in, and Raph can’t blame him. Splinter doesn’t step in to help, either. “Barry said…”

Leo smiles. It looks almost manic. “What Draxum doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says in a singsong.

“What won’t I know?”

Raph jumps. Everyone jumps - some family of ninja they are.

Draxum stands at the foot of the escalator into their makeshift kitchen, arms folded. Raph has to hold back a sigh of relief, and he sees Mikey’s shoulders sag in turn. Leo scowls, whirling to glare at Draxum.

“Oh, come on!” he snaps. “Don’t you have other teenagers to torture today?”

“It’s Saturday,” says Draxum, crossing the room to sit at a chair. “So you have the benefit of my full attention.”

“Auuugh,” Leo groans, slumping dramatically at the table, and ignoring the effect his casual use of the word torture has had on everyone else in the room. Raph feels ill. Mikey looks it.

“Can Blue have another piece of toast?” Splinter asks, cutting through the awkward silence that follows this. He sounds almost annoyed as Leo, but as far as Raph can tell he’s letting Draxum take the lead on this one. Raph wonders if they’ve talked about it without him or his brothers around.

“Hmmm…” Draxum looks at Leo’s plate, considering. “Finish your eggs and yogurt first. If you’re still hungry, you may have another piece. But only if you’re hungry.” His expression turns even more stern, leveled directly at Leo. “Do not eat if your stomach is full. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m not gonna make myself sick,” Leo argues.

“Hmph,” says Draxum, the short noise coated thick in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything more. Leo goes back to his rhythmic eating.

Raph grabs the empty plates from Mikey and Splinter and takes them to wash. Anything to keep himself from staring at Leo. And it’s his lucky day: there’s a whole stack of a distraction waiting for him in the sink. He runs the hot water and gets to work.

“Morning, family,” comes Donnie’s sleepy voice a few minutes later. Raph doesn’t look, and he doesn’t have to, because Donnie characteristically beelines straight for the coffee pot on the counter. Raph knew he went to his room after their talk in the lab the day before, but he’s not sure how much sleep Donnie actually got.

He leans sluggishly against the counter and checks his phone while the coffee brews. Raph keeps his focus on the dishes. Leo finishes his eggs and Draxum agrees to half a piece of toast - Mikey scrapes his stool against the floor as he jumps up to make it.

Donnie fills his mug and immediately takes a drink with no fear of scalding his mouth. Then he turns around and says, “Why’d you cover all the windows in your train car, Leo?”

Raph fumbles and drops the dish he had just pulled from the soapy water - thankfully it doesn’t break on the way down. Next to him, Mikey freezes. The toaster dings into the silence.

“Oh, that,” says Leo, nonchalant. Raph doesn’t turn around, so he has no idea if his face matches his tone this time. “I was just trying to envision how the room would look with curtains.”

“Using towels?”

“What can I say, I’m a visual guy.”

“Hmm…” Donnie pushes off the counter and disappears from Raph’s view. “Well, did you decide you want curtains?”

“Uh, yeah… I think it would really up the feng shui in the joint! And our old rooms didn’t have any windows, so too much light gets into the train car when I’m trying to sleep, anyway.”

The argument rolls so naturally off Leo’s tongue that Raph is impressed.

“Okay,” says Donnie simply. “I can install curtain rods in your room later. I actually have some leftover scrap metal that I’ve been trying to find a purpose for, and I think it will work well for this.”

“Really? You’ll do it today?”

“Yes. I don’t have anything else on my to-do list… that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Leo chuckles, but he sounds genuinely happy when he says, “Thanks, Dee.”

“And I have some leftover fabric I can sew into curtains,” Splinter adds. “You can use them until you’re well enough to find some you prefer.”

“Yeah? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Blue! It will be a nice little project to keep my old hands busy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” says Leo sincerely. There’s some shifting around like he’s getting an ever-coveted Splinter Hug. It lasts a beat longer than those hugs normally do. Raph can’t blame his dad - if he could, he’d pick Leo up and never let him go again.

He hears a clink next to him and turns his head. Mikey has buttered Leo’s toast, but now he’s standing still, a pensive frown on his face, the butter knife clenched in his fist.

“Hey, Leo,” he says, turning around, and Raph senses danger. He turns around, too, watching as Mikey approaches the table. “Is that the only reason you want curtains?”

Leo looks between the toast and Mikey’s face. He tenses up, the empty yogurt cup crinkling in his grip. “Yeah, that’s all,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Mikey asks. He still has the half slice of toast in his hands. Leo’s eyes keep catching on it.

“What’s there to be sure about, Miguel?” he asks. “It’s just curtains. Lots of people have ‘em.”

“It’s just that you never said anything about it before. And now suddenly you need curtains today?” Mikey’s hands wave and take the toast with them - Leo’s eyes track the movement. “You told me, if anything is-“

“Michelangelo,” says Splinter sternly, making everyone jump for the second time this morning. “That is your brother’s toast - give it to him.”

Mikey seems to remember the food in his hands at that exact moment. He grimaces, quickly depositing the toast onto Leo’s plate. Leo’s face has that sad, desperate quality to it again as he grabs the toast in his fingers, like he has to make sure no one else will take it.

Mikey backs away from the table, crestfallen. The silence that ensues is uncomfortable again.

“Uh… well I think the curtains will look great!” says Raph. “Snazzy!”

Snazzy? Oh Pizza Supreme in the Sky help him.

“…Thanks, Raph,” says Leo, and takes a bite of toast. It doesn’t have the same warmth from before, and the awkwardness is thick now.

Raph dries the dish he has in his hands and sets it on the counter, pops the drain plug, and quicksteps for the doorway.

“I’m going to do my morning training!” he calls, to convince everyone, especially himself, that he isn’t running away.

-----

Leo sits alone in his dad’s recliner, staring very hard at the opposite wall and willing himself not to barf.

The piddling amount of eggs and toast he ate at breakfast would not have been enough to fill him up even three weeks ago, but now it’s stuffed his shrunken stomach. The truth is, he’d been full when he bargained with Draxum for another piece of toast, but he hadn’t been willing to let the fight go.

Besides, he doesn’t know when he’ll get food next. And better to be overfull than hungry.

He’s being dramatic, of course. He’ll get food at lunch… probably. No, definitely, because he’s home and his family would never deny him food.

Except, the way Mikey had held his toast and demanded answers about the curtains…

Leo really thought he had gotten away with it, too. No one said anything until Donnie did, and Donnie had seemed completely convinced by Leo’s casual responses! But of course Mikey saw through him. Mikey’s as keen when it comes to people as Leo himself is, but where Leo uses that insight to manipulate and obfuscate, Mikey uses it to tear open, to expose.

Leo will have to watch out, next time. He can’t let half-thought through excuses stand between him and food.

Not that they’d actually keep food from him. Because they love him and they’re his family. He’s just being weird again.

Still…

His stomach gurgles uncomfortably, and Leo grips the arms of the chair. He really doesn’t want to throw up. Besides the mess he’ll make of the recliner, and the unpleasantness of the sensation, he doesn’t want to lose everything he ate earlier. He still doesn’t know when he’s going to eat again. If he loses it here, he’ll truly have nothing.

“Blue? Are you alright?”

He turns his head. Splinter is standing by the chair, looking up at him. It occurs to Leo he didn’t actually ask if he could sit here, and he starts to push himself up.

“I can get in a beanbag-”

“No no, it’s alright,” says his dad, hopping up onto the chair to join Leo. He does it so lightly the recliner barely jostles. “You’re alright, Blue. Just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Leo does as he’s told, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He wonders how his dad seems to know the problem without having to be told - from raising four children alone, most likely. After a moment, he feels the chair move, the back reclining and the footrest coming up under his legs. Then furry hands gently tug his blanket from around his shoulders and spread it out over his whole body.

“There we go,” says Splinter after that’s done. “Are you comfy, Blue?”

All Leo can do is give a tiny nod of his head; anything more aggravates the nausea. It seems Splinter understands, though, as he hums approvingly and hops off the chair.

“What’s wrong?” asks a new voice, and Leo grits his teeth. He doesn’t move from his spot, though.

“Blue just needs some rest,” says Splinter.

“He ate too much, didn’t he?” Draxum asks, tone irritated. “I told him not to have more unless he was actually hungry-”

“Stop,” Splinter commands, in that firm tone that can’t be argued with. “We will talk about this later.”

Leo wonders if he’s included in the we. But Draxum grumbles something under his breath and retreats, leaving Leo and his dad alone again.

“Don’t worry about him,” says Splinter, moving to turn on the projector. “I’ll deal with it. You just get some rest, Blue.”

He turns on one of his stories on low volume, then climbs back into the chair and settles in beside Leo. The soft whir of the projector, the quiet voices of the actors, and his dad’s breathing lull him into a doze. The nausea, eventually, passes.

-----

After his workout, Raph goes to check on everyone again. It’s becoming a routine.

Splinter’s loud snores lead Raph to him and Leo, both sound asleep in the recliner in the TV room. Raph would wonder how Leo can sleep through that, but he remembers that their dad’s snores used to be piped directly into his room in their old lair. If anything, this is probably nostalgic for him.

Draxum’s in the kitchen. Apparently they’re stuck with him for the weekend. Raph decides not to say anything to him and slips away before he’s noticed.

Now to find his other little brothers. He heads straight for the lab first, already knowing it’s where Donnie would be at this time of day, even if he hadn’t promised to make curtain rods for Leo.

He has to go through the same song and dance as the day before with the voice lock, but the door slides open soon enough, and Raph walks in on an argument. At least he won’t have to go searching for Mikey.

“-don’t understand why you’re so worked up about it,” Donnie is saying. He’s bent over his workbench, goggles pulled down, soldering iron in hand but not on. “It’s just curtains.”

“Because everyone’s acting like it’s not weird!” Mikey argues. He spins on his heel, looking at Raph beseechingly. “Raph, you agree with me, right!?”

“Raph just got here,” Raph says, folding his arms. “Mind filling me in on what we’re arguing about?” Even though he already has a good guess.

“We aren’t arguing,” says Donnie, at the same time Mikey snaps, “Leo, duh!” Donnie sighs, raising his goggles and turning around.

“Mikey is upset that I’m making Leo the curtain rods he asked for.”

“I’m not upset about the curtain rods! But you’re all acting like this is totally normal!”

“Curtains are normal!”

“Leo asking for the curtains is not normal,” Mikey presses. “What does he even need them for!? We live underground!”

“He complained about the light coming through the windows.”

“And he never thought to mention it once over the months we’ve been living here? Come on, Donald, use your brain!”

“Excuse you, I am always using my brain-”

“Leo’s got insomnia, Mikey,” Raph interjects. “Maybe a totally dark room helps him sleep better.”

“He had insomnia in the old lair, too,” Mikey retorts. “And he’s so tired right now all he does is sleep! He was sleeping in the TV room when I came in here!”

Raph doesn’t have a response for that. And the thing is, he thinks he has an idea why Leo wants to block out his windows, and it has nothing to do with his insomnia. But he doesn’t know how much to tell Mikey now. Not without bringing up the security footage.

Maybe Donnie has the same thought, because when Raph glances his way their eyes lock. 

Of course, Mikey notices. Because Mikey is just as observant as Leo, when it comes to people.

“You guys know something,” he says, looking between them.

“No,” says Donnie, too fast.

Mikey pouts at him. “Donald.”

“Leo hasn’t told us any more than he’s told anyone else,” says Raph.

“But you know something. How could you…” His eyes go wide. “The security footage. Donnie copied it all.”

“Well, I did,” Donnie agrees, “but-”

“You guys watched it, didn’t you?” Mikey asks, but it’s more like an accusation.

“No,” says Raph, and now he’s the one who says it too quickly.

Mikey squints at him, then looks back at Donnie, weak link that he is. “Donnie, did you watch that security tape?”

“I did…n’t,” he says, characteristically unconvincingly. Raph groans.

“I knew it!” Mikey lunges for Donnie’s computer, and it’s only Donnie’s battleshell arms that stop him from getting to the keyboard. “Let me see it too!”

“Mikey, stop!” says Raph, coming and putting a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. He winces when it’s shrugged off. “We’re not gonna watch the video.”

“Why not!?” Mikey demands, ripping himself out of Donnie’s metal arms and jumping back from both of them. “Why can’t I see it!? You both got to!” He looks between them with wild eyes, and then his face falls. “It’s because I’m the youngest, isn’t it?”

“No,” says Raph. “It’s because we both decided not to watch any more for Leo’s privacy.”

“For Leo’s privacy?” Mikey doesn’t look convinced. “Raph, he’s hurting! What if what’s on those videos can help?”

“What if watching them hurts him more?” Donnie defends. “He’ll find out we watched them, and then what?”

“He’d understand!”

“Would he?” Donnie sounds doubtful, and Raph can’t help but doubt it, too.

Even Mikey falters. He’s quiet a moment, wrapping his arms tight around his middle.

“...I don’t want him to suffer,” he says finally. “I want to help him.”

“We all wanna help him,” says Raph.

Mikey turns his eyes on Raph, and they’re full of fear and doubt and uncertainty. “You won’t even talk to him,” he says. It’s damning and cold and worst of all, true.

Raph takes a shaky breath, trying not to show his broken heart. “Listen. All Raph’s saying is, it’s barely been three days since we got Leo back home. Let’s give him time. Hopefully he’ll open up about all this stuff on his own.”

“...Fine. I won’t watch the video,” says Mikey. But he steels his expression, defiant. “But I’m going to keep trying to help him.”

“Just don’t push him, Mikey-”

“I won’t! I know what I’m doing.” He gives them a smile, but it’s weak compared to his usual. “Trust me, guys. I’ve got Dr. Feelings on my side!”

He turns and leaves the lab, the door sliding shut with a reverberating shunk behind him. 

Donnie slumps in his chair. “At least it’s not Dr. Delicate Touch.”

Raph laughs at that. It’s about all he can do.

-----

They feed Leo lunch. Of course they do. He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking they might not.

Of course, Draxum is still there, looking over his shoulder like a warden to make sure Leo doesn’t eat so much as a bite more than he’s meant to. It makes the whole experience stressful, and Leo is ready to crash again as soon as it’s over.

(Is this all his life is now? Long periods bogged down in exhaustion, only broken by the reminder that food is always controlled by someone else.)

He hasn’t been dozing for long this time when a shout echoes through the lair, grabbing his attention.

“Hey guys!”

“April!” yells Mikey, springing up from the beanbag he was sitting in. He’d been there for a while now, looking intently at his phone, but Leo never asked. Probably a new game or something. “Come on in!”

She enters the living room, a bag with a familiar comic store logo hung over her arm. She gives Mikey a one-armed hug before making her way around the chair to hold the bag out to Leo.

“Here you go!” she trills. “I picked it up as soon as I got done with my homework.”

Leo takes it, baffled. He reaches into the bag, gripping something rather large and hard-covered; pulling it out reveals…

“…The Jupiter Jim Sixtieth Anniversary Comic Special!?” Leo cries out loud. He lays it in his lap, reverently brushing the cover with his fingers. “It came out!?”

“Uh, yeah, today.” April laughs. “Don’t you remember? You made me set, like, three different reminders.”

Leo stares at the comic book, feeling a strange sort of disconnect. He can remember when he thought about this comic coming out once a day, at least - he’d been counting down the days from the preorder. But… he actually hasn’t thought about it once since…

At some point, he stopped looking forward to the comic. Because he didn’t think he would be here to read it.

But he is here. He’s alive. Time is still moving forward, and the proof is his long-awaited comic book, finally in his hands.

(Maybe his life still has a few good things to look forward to.)

Leo may be tired of crying, but crying isn’t tired of him - the tears come on hot and fast as he processes all of it at once. The grief at what was almost lost and the impossible relief that it wasn’t.

He rubs furiously at his eyes and sniffs aggressively. Then he looks up at April with the best smile he can manage and holds out his arms.

“Thanks, April.”

“Of course!” She beams, not commenting on the tears, and gives him a hug that is tight and warm and everything he wants. “Now you don’t have to keep texting me about it.”

Leo laughs as he lets go. It’s still a little watery, but she doesn’t comment. “Well what are we waiting for? Wanna read it together?”

“Uh, duh!” April shoves him to the side without any force and settles in next to him on the chair. “I heard they brought back all the old comics characters for this!”

Leo nods excitedly, eyes rising to meet Mikey’s. “How about you, Mikester? We can do the voices!”

Even though he knows his voice won’t hold out for more than a few pages.

“Oh yeah!” says Mikey. “Just let me-”

He looks down at his phone, and Leo catches it as his expression changes - something on the screen taking his attention and causing him to furrow his brow.

“Aaactually,” he says, looking back up with a forced smile. “I have… something I have to do. Somewhere else! But you guys have fun!”

And then he disappears down the escalator toward their train cars.

Leo watches him go, then turns back to look at April. She’s craned her neck to watch, too, a worried pinch to her eyebrows behind her glasses.

It clears up when she catches Leo looking. “Welp. Guess it’s just you and me, then!”

Leo rubs his fingers over the cover again. His desire to read it disappeared with Mikey. Donnie’s busy, Raph’s avoiding him, and now Mikey has more important things to do.

At least April is here. He worms himself a little more solidly against her warmth and hopes he doesn’t drive her away, too.

“Let’s do something else for now,” he says. “Save this bad boy for when we can all read it together.”

April’s eyes go wide. “You sure? I don’t think the guys would mind…”

“Uh, no, Donnie would definitely kill me if I read anything with Atomic Lass before him.” Leo gently sets the comic aside. “Besides, how are we gonna do the voices with just two of us?”

“What, you’re saying I can’t handle it?” April asks, a challenge in her voice. “I bet I could do a one-woman show.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that!” Leo laughs, and it’s only because April is here that it’s genuine and not forced. “But I don’t think I could stay awake for the whole thing, anyway.”

“Well… fine.” April relents. “Anything you wanna do instead?”

“Mmm…” He hands her the remote. “It’s been awhile since we judged people on Say Yes to the Dress.”

“Ooo, you are so right!” April flips on the projector and starts loading up the episodes. “Hold on, let me find where we left off.”

Soon, the sounds of over-dramatic reality TV fill the room. Leo shifts until his head is tucked under April’s chin, and she scratches her fingernails over his shell as they watch. They give their opinions on the dresses and jeer the catty friends and family members.

It feels so normal. The most normal Leo’s felt since he woke up in a room that was nothing but white.

It proves to him that things can be normal.

(But still, in the back of his mind, he wonders when his next meal will be.)

-----

Raph isn’t sure how many more tense dinners his family can survive.

They’re eating beef stew, partly so Leo doesn’t feel like the odd one out with his soup. Except he’s still the odd one out, because they have big chunks of beef and veggies while he has mostly broth with easy to swallow carrots, and some more egg for protein.

Raph hates eating in front of him. It feels like rubbing it in. But would taking their food and leaving him to eat alone be any better?

Probably not, because Draxum would still be watching him. And that’s the biggest source of tension.

Draxum is sitting at the table like the rest of them, but he might as well be looming over Leo’s shoulder. Leo himself stays hunched over his bowl of soup like he thinks it’s going to be snatched away at any moment, eating with quick, furtive movements, his eyes darting to Draxum each time.

It’s the exact opposite of his measured eating from this morning, and even more unsettling.

April is here, thank the Pizza Supreme, and she’s trying to keep the conversation going so they don’t all dwell on the bad vibes from Leo’s direction. Only Splinter is biting, though. Raph tries, of course, but…

He’d take fighting a villain a million times over this.

“Oh yeah, Donnie, Leo said you and Splints are making him curtains for his train car,” says April, grabbing Raph’s attention. “How’s that going?”

Across the table, Mikey’s expression turns conflicted. He focuses his eyes on his food and doesn’t catch Raph watching.

“Oh, it’s going well,” says Donnie, “but I didn’t have enough spare metal to finish. I’ll go to the scrapyard tomorrow and see what I can scrounge up.”

“Hmm… I do not like the idea of you going alone,” says Splinter hesitantly. “We do not know if those people will come back.”

No one has to ask what people he’s referring to. Still, Donnie looks irritated.

“Papa, it’s just the scrapyard,” he argues. “I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

“Still…”

“I’ll go with him!” says Mikey suddenly, raising his hand to volunteer. “Then he won’t be alone. Buddy system!” He slaps his raised hand down on Donnie’s shoulder. 

“Ow,” says Donnie in a flat tone, reaching up and shoving him off. “Despite the unnecessary assault on my person, I’m amenable to Micheal accompanying me.”

“What’s “amenable”?” Leo asks in a stage whisper. 

(It’s the most like himself he’s sounded all day.)

“I think it’s what you say at the end of a prayer,” Mikey stage whispers back.

(Raph can help his smile. He hides it behind his napkin.)

“It means I’m fine with it,” Donnie snaps. “None of you read my Word of the Day texts, do you?”

“Only ‘cause it’s words no one uses,” Leo scoffs. “Seriously, who even uses words like “sanctimonious”?”

“Lots of people!”

“Lots of nerds?”

Donnie glares at him. “You are so lucky we’re having a nice dinner right now, Nardo.”

Leo snorts and refocuses on his soup. He has a big, cocky grin on his face, and it’s all so normal that Raph feels something unknot in his chest. Maybe, Leo really is starting to get better. 

And then Splinter says, “I also need to go out tomorrow… It’s been so long since we got groceries, I couldn’t even eat my usual microwave burrito for lunch!”

And just like that, the normalcy is ripped away again.

Leo’s eyes snap up, locking on their dad, unblinking. His knobbly fingers press tighter around his bowl, pulling it closer to him like he’s scared someone will snatch it away.

“We’re running out of food?”

He sounds so scared that Raph can’t stop himself before he’s reaching over. Just to put his hand on Leo’s shoulder, to give him a hug, if he wants. Anything he needs to calm down, to not look so terrified.

But Leo must misread the action, because he jerks away, gripping the bowl impossibly tighter, eyes blown out wide and a just noticeable tremble in his shoulders. Like he’s scared of Raph.

Raph pulls his hand back without making contact and hunches in his chair, as far away as he can get from Leo without leaving the table. Or maybe he should just get up and leave. How can he be around his little brother when he’s scared of him like this?

“Ah, no,” says Splinter, and this has finally broken his easy-going tone. “There is still plenty of food, Blue, don’t worry.”

“…Hah. Right. Of course there is,” says Leo.

His voice is high and reedy, his face twitching like it’s trying to force itself back into the big smile from earlier but just doesn’t know how to move its muscles. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

Splinter reaches out hesitantly and gives Leo a pat on the arm. Leo flinches, his grip on his bowl still tight, and Splinter retreats again.

“Hey, Pops,” says Raph, drawing attention off Leo. “I can go with you tomorrow.” 

They can get more food with more hands.

“Oh, thank you, Red,” says Splinter, relieved. “That will make things much easier to carry.”

“Sure,” says Raph. Then he upends the rest of his stew into his mouth and swallows it all as fast as he can before standing up.

“Welp, I’m done with dinner so I’m going to get a workout in before bed night everyone!”

And then he’s out of there. Running away from the haunted shell of Leo.

He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who ducks away from his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who covers windows and hides from his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who looks up at him and says, “That’s not what a hero would do.”

Raph is a big guy and he’s never been good with fragile things. So maybe the best thing he can do for now is stay back and let those with deft hands take the lead.

Even if it’s not what he wants.

What he really wants to do is go back to that facility. Find the men that did this to Leo. And then…

Raph lines up his punching bag and swings. Over and over and over, until his fingers sting.

-----

They’re leaving him here. They’re leaving him alone.

Alone with Draxum. 

Leo wants to protest. He wants to beg them to stay. He wants them to not want to leave him to begin with.

But Splinter said they haven’t gotten groceries in awhile. And even if he claims they aren’t running out of food, Leo is terrified of what happens if they do.

So he doesn’t ask his dad to stay. He keeps his mouth shut, focus on his bowl of soup, depressingly empty next to everyone else’s.

But Donnie… Donnie doesn’t have to go to the scrapyard tomorrow, right?

Yeah… Leo can survive the lack of curtains for another day. He slept just fine with his makeshift window blockers last night, after all. He appreciates that Donnie wants to get it done quickly, but there’s no need.

“Hey, Dee,” he says, looking up, and realizing too late that he just interrupted something April was saying. Everyone goes quiet, anyway, and he feels the suffocating weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

His mouth goes dry.

“Yes, Leo?” Donnie prompts when he doesn’t say anything. He looks confused, and concerned. They all do. Because it’s super weird for Leo to say something and then fall silent. Just like it would be weird for him to beg Donnie to stay because he’s afraid of being alone with Draxum.

“Just, uh… excited to see the curtain rods,” he says, pivoting to a neutral topic. Maybe no one noticed. Maybe he was quick enough.

Donnie’s face lights up the way it does when anyone wants to see his handiwork, which is good. Leo likes making his brothers happy. Pizza Supreme knows he hasn’t been good at it lately.

“Of course!” he says, practically bouncing in his seat. “I’ll show you after dinner!”

“Can’t wait.”

Conversation moves on. Leo finishes his soup.

“Are you still hungry?” Draxum asks, making him jump. “Do not lie to me, this time.”

“Draxum,” says Splinter in a warning tone. But that’s all he does. He doesn’t offer Leo more food. He doesn’t argue that Leo wouldn’t lie.

They haven’t been grocery shopping in awhile.

“…No,” Leo says, twisting his napkin in his hand. “I’m full.”

-----

“I focused on the windows directly around your bed to begin,” Donnie says as he leads Leo into his train car, a bounce in his step as he pushes past the curtain. “To help you get a good night’s sleep. And Dad already hung what curtains he had finished, so you can even see the final result!”

Leo steps into the middle of the room and looks around. The curtain rods are simpler than he expected, simple things fastened to the wall, able to be unlatched so the rods can be removed and the curtains swapped out. Every windows’ brackets are slightly different, a testament to the scraps Donnie used to make them, but Leo likes that - this hodge-podge, improvised way of home decor has always been their style. It has a charm you can’t get in a normal house.

Donnie has also painted the rods a gunmetal blue, and some of the brackets have Ls etched into the metal. It’s little details like that that leave Leo touched.

The curtains themselves are just black fabric, sewn so they can loop over the rods and be pulled aside when desired. It’s simple and quick, but they represent hours his dad spent today at a sewing machine, just to help him sleep.

Leo feels himself getting a little teary again, and he quickly blinks it back. He doesn’t feel like crying today.

“It’s so cool, Dee,” he says, and his voice is genuine; he catches Donnie flap his hands in a pleased way out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks. This will really help a lot.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you like them!” Donnie is all smiles, and it makes Leo smile, too. “I wanted to make them more elaborate, but I thought time was of the essence. I would have been done today, if I hadn’t run out of materials.”

“No way, man, you got a lot more done today than I thought you would.” Then again, Donnie always has been quick, even more so since he got his powers, so Leo shouldn’t be so surprised. “What else could you even do to them? Add AI?”

“Oho, don’t tempt me.” Donnie reaches up and taps one of the brackets with a nail, making a soft ping. “Then you could open or close all the curtains with voice command!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good using my hands.” He spins to take the room in one more time, then claps his arm around Donnie’s shoulders.

(The pang when his arm hits the metal shell is more jarring than it used to be.)

“Seriously, hermano. Thanks.”

Donnie doesn’t pull away quite as quickly as he used to. “Well. Save any more thanks until I finish with the project. Which should be soon, after my scrapyard run tomorrow!”

Right. The scrapyard. This is when Leo should bring it up. This is the perfect time.

He can just ask Donnie to stay. To put it off one more day, work on something else. Here, in his room, just the two of them, he doesn’t think Donnie would refuse him. He doesn’t think Donnie would make fun of him. He doesn’t think Donnie would call him weird.

“Actually, uh…”

He remembers Donnie taking his cracker and eating it.

“Hm?” Donnie turns out of his arm and looks at Leo, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He remembers Donnie’s reaction to the chewed up bottle cap.

“Leo?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his head. “Just… be careful, okay? We don’t know if those EPF guys have come back.”

Donnie’s face drops into a more serious expression. “Right. Don’t worry - I’ve taken precautions.”

“What precautions?”

“I’ve updated the software on all our trackers. If they leave the city limits, or if a third party attempts to interfere with the signal, they’ll immediately send an alert to everyone’s phones.”

“You don’t think that’s a little… excessive?”

Donnie folds his arms over his chest. “Not if it keeps everyone safe.”

Leo doesn’t know how to argue with that.

“I am working on a way that we can each override it, though,” Donnie adds. “We wouldn’t want to scare each other if we leave the area on purpose. And I have plans for even more enhancements that can-”

“Eugh boy.” Leo motions Donnie toward the door. “I’m way too tired for speech mode, Dee. Maybe later?”

Donnie scowls. “Exasperated sigh. There is never a “later” with you.”

Leo laughs. “You got me!”

“You could really stand to pay attention and learn something… But, alright.” Donnie steps toward the curtain. “I will let you get away with it this time, only because you’re still recovering.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.” But Donnie gives him a grin on the way out. “Goodnight, Nardo.”

“Night, nerd!”

As soon as Donnie’s gone, Leo sinks onto his bed and puts his head in his hands.

He couldn’t ask Donnie to stay. He couldn’t, because it would be weird and strange and bad. And now he’s going to be left alone with Draxum.

Will Draxum even let him eat? What if he decides Leo’s had enough…?

It’s a stupid thought. Of course Draxum will let him eat. Otherwise, Leo’s family would… do something!

Right?

He thinks about Donnie taking the cracker again. His pulse quickens.

He can’t go without food again. He can’t. He doesn’t think he would be able to take it.

But if no one else is going to give him food, then… then…

Leo takes a deep breath and steels his resolve. He knows what he needs to do.

He grabs the curtain on the nearest window and pulls it over, just a crack - just enough to see the lights outside, to see when they dim as the rest of his family goes to bed for the night.

And he waits.

-----

By the time Raph finally leaves the dojo, it’s dark in the lair, with only some safety lighting and a few neon signs still on. He can hear his dad snoring from the TV room, the projection flickering on the end card of a show, and as he passes their extra train car he sees Draxum inside, working on something under a desk lamp. Mikey and Leo are both in their rooms, from what he can tell, and Donnie must be in his lab.

He’ll go on his rounds in a bit; first, he beelines for the kitchen for water and a nighttime snack.

He’s quiet as he walks up the escalator, knowing exactly which steps creak and squeal and carefully avoiding them. He doesn’t want a conversation right now; not with his wrapped knuckles and sweat-soaked mask dangling from his fingers.

The kitchen’s dark when he arrives, and he fumbles around for the switch, missing it a few times. It’s so different from the layout of the old lair, and he’s not usually the first one in the kitchen in the morning.

He finally flips on the light, and finds he isn’t the first one in the kitchen tonight, either.

Leo stands frozen by the counter, eyes wide and panicked when they meet Raph’s. In his hands he’s clutching a half-full bag of chips, sour cream and onion, the plastic crinkling and snapping where he grips it tight. He looks like a terrified, wild animal, drowning in one of his own hoodies and stancing up like he’s ready to bolt. Like he’s doing something wrong, getting a snack in his own house.

Except… he kind of is doing something wrong. And that’s what breaks Raph’s heart.

But what is Raph supposed to do here? Tell Leo he can’t eat that, the same as his captors did? Try to explain to him why he can’t have it, when Raph barely understands the reasons himself? Rip the bag from his weak hands, and prove to Leo once and for all that his family can’t be trusted?

Raph is supposed to be the biggest brother. The one who always knows exactly what to do, exactly how to help, who protects his three little knuckleheads from a world that wants to hurt them.

But he doesn’t know what to do about this. It’s just not in his playbook.

He’s never been good with fragile things.

Raph reaches over and flips off the kitchen light. He goes back to the escalator, and dodges the squeaky steps. He goes to his train car, and pulls the curtain over the doorway.

He pretends he didn’t see.

-----

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A (here) | Part 4 Part B (not out yet)

[sugar-phoenix]

cowboy, you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly. ✦

synopsis: Boothill doesn't do things quietly. He's loud, and messy, and he likes doing things his way. Even though these all annoy you somewhat, the cowboy starts growing on you. And then one day, he does something unexpected. tags: f!reader, f/m, no smut, fluff, light angst, mentions of Boothill's past a/n: 2.5k words, this was a lot of fun to write. hope you guys enjoy it!

ao3 link here!

Your heels clacked as you walked down the halls, the ground littered with bodies and empty bullet shells. You sighed. Unlike Boothill, who left the remains of IPC soldiers and his mark everywhere in the form of bullet holes dotting the walls, you preferred to do your work neater, quieter. His loud whoops and hollers echoed down the corridor from ahead, making you cringe.

There were many things Boothill was in excess of. Too fierce. Too exposed. Too gleeful. Too loud.

You were not fond of loud.

“I got the place cleared for you, ma’am.” Boothill’s voice rang out like a bell.

“I noticed,” you responded, turning into the server room. In front of you, server towers loomed overhead, blinking with a million eyes. “You’re not very subtle, cowboy.”

“Subtle? Why would I wanna be subtle when I could strike fear into the heart of the IPC?” Boothill chuckled.

“Being subtle can be pretty scary,” you mused, going to the main terminal and typing the code you were given. “What could instigate more fear than an invisible threat you can’t see?”

“I dunno. I like to think that knowin’ who your enemy is and knowin’ that nothing can stop him is way more scary, lady.”

Boothill sank his pistol into his holster, then strode over to where you were standing, the sound of his body moving like oiled machinery.

“After all, ain’t knowin’ how you’ll die the most terrifyin’ thing of all?”

“Touché,” you conceded, scanning the database for the folder you wanted. Boothill waited at your side, and you felt a little shock that the man who was, only minutes ago a whirlwind of gunmetal and gleaming sharp teeth, could now stand so still.

Finally, you found the folder you were looking for, and you loaded it into a drive you inserted into the terminal. Boothill had offered the use of his own ports as a way to store the data, but you had refused. Data was no good to you if you could not parse through it with your own eyes.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you said as the download finished. “Let’s get out of this place.”

The cowboy at your side said nothing but smiled, flashing his razor teeth. You both stepped out into the hallway, only to be met with a new squadron of IPC guards.

“Looks like they sent the calvalry,” you remarked.

“Yeah? Well, if you know anythin’ about cowboys, you’ll know that we don’t take kindly to calvalry.”

And with that, he was off, shooting and hollering and kicking. You ducked back into the server room, letting the cowboy have his fun, and shook your head. When the sound of gunfire had stopped, Boothill leaned around the corner.

“‘S all clear! I took care of ‘em.”

You stepped out to find a pile of bodies and more bullet holes in the walls. Well, I guess this time it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like my handiwork?” Boothill commented at your slightly dismayed expression.

“Cowboy,” you sighed, “you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly.”

He only laughed, a rough raucous sound that reverberated down the hallway as the two of you made your exit.

✦✦✦

You stood in the middle of the ballroom in a shape-hugging red gown, fanning yourself with a paper hand fan. Eyes searching the surrounding crowd, you looked for the familiar cowboy hat. You found Boothill standing against the back of the room, looking absolutely miserable in his suit. A smile creeped up your lips. It took a lot of hemming and hawing to get him to wear that suit.

“I need my body bare, otherwise I’ll overheat,” he’d said.

“Boothill, darling, it’ll just be for the night. You’re going to cause an uproar if you just walk in with that sorry excuse for a jacket. It would be absolutely scandalous. We need to be subtle tonight.” You had adopted the pet name after a few missions with him. The two of you were slowly becoming fond of each other.

“What’s wrong with a little ruckus?” Boothill had asked. “I like ruckus.”

“I know you do, but just this once we could do without it. Come on. You get to cause ruckus every other mission we’ve had so far. You can live without making noise just this once.”

To your surprise, he conceded, taking the suit from your hands and walking to a room, muttering and cursing under his breath.

Now you felt a little sorry as you watched him. He looked like a dog that had been forced into a humiliating outfit just for its owner’s enjoyment.

Your eyes met, and you flashed your fan over your face. The signal. You had gotten what you came here for. Relief flashed over Boothill’s face, and he made his way through the crowd to you as you started walking towards the exit.

You stopped abruptly when you saw the exit.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Boothill asked, then, “oh,” as he saw what caused you to pause.

The archways were lined with more security guards than either of you had remembered when you first came in.

“They know we’re here,” you whispered. “They’re waiting to catch us on the way out.”

Boothill said nothing. You saw the calculations happen in his crosshair eyes. Slowly, he smiled, revealing his shark teeth in a devilish grin.

“Oh Boothill. No.” You said with dread.

“Oh but we don’t have much o’ a choice, do we?” he whispered. “Just let me do what I do best, darlin’.”

You looked at him, and he caught the worry in your eyes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I always get out, don’t I?”

You sighed.

“Fine.”

Boothill smiled wider than he had the entire night, and stepped away from you, making his way back into the crowd. You reached under the slit in your dress, hand on the dagger strapped to your thigh. The feeling of the hilt under your hand grounded you. It wasn’t long until you heard three deafening gunshots, and glass raining down from above. Chaos and panic erupted, and over all of them, the familiar laugh you’d grown to love. You watched as the archways were flooded, and the guards rushed towards the cause of the ruckus.

Taking the chance, you merged in with the panicked crowd streaming outside the ballroom, as more gunshots echoed behind you. Once you were out, you rushed to your sports car, and got into the driver’s seat. It roared to life as you turned the ignition, and you took it out of the car park and drove it to wait in front of the entrance. Panicked partygoers ran around your car, but your eyes were focused on the entrance. The way you white-knuckled the steering wheel would definitely leave imprints.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered. “Come on, cowboy.”

A beat passed, then two, then ten, and Boothill was nowhere to be seen. You got anxious, watching the large golden arches that led into the ballroom with the giant crystal chandelier that hung above them outside.

Just when you were about to accept that Boothill had been captured, or worse, dead, he emerged from the entrance, a crazed grin on his face, his expensive suit torn in shreds. You sighed in relief. Just before he reached the car, he turned around, aiming upwards, and pulled his trigger. Five bullets flew through the air, severing the chains of the giant chandelier. The guards chasing Boothill were trapped in the ballroom as the light fixture fell to the ground in front of them, shattered glass scattering everywhere. Boothill cackled, then leapt over the hood, taking his seat in the passenger side. You wasted no time flooring the gas pedal, the car screeching away from the ballroom.

“Should teach those muddlefudgers not to waste money on showin’ off,” Boothill laughed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

“Hard time wrapping things up neatly,” you said.

“That’s just my trademark, darlin.’”

The two of you glanced at each other, grinning wildly, as your car sped into the night.

✦✦✦

You gazed out the windows of the Astral Express. The endless expanse of space unrolled before you, a landscape of endless opportunities.

Boothill had been called to the Astral Express for a favor, and he thought you should tag along.

“They’re a pretty cool bunch, you should come meet ‘em. Who knows, they might come in handy for ya in the future.”

You didn’t need the cowboy’s persuasion to come and meet the famed Nameless. You were more than happy for a chance to come face to face with these trailblazers, to converse with them and see how they operated.

The Astral Express crew surprised you at first. They were less of an organized team and more like a ragtag family of people from all different walks of life. Pom Pom, the little conductor of the express, scrutinized you for a bit until they sniffed (disapprovingly or approvingly you couldn’t tell), and announced, “Pom Pom welcomes you aboard the Express.”

Soon after, you got to meet the rest of the Express crew. There was March 7th, the cheerful girl with bubblegum-pink hair. There was Dan Heng, the quiet, reserved young man who often kept to himself in the Astral Express' database archives. There was Stelle, the mysterious gray-haired girl who was apparently a repository for a Stellaron. She kept quiet at first, but soon you learned she had a joke for every occasion and didn't hesitate to crack one even at the most inopportune moments, to the chagrin of her companions. Then to the two stewards of the Express: Himeko, the red-haired, confident navigator, and Welt, deep in thought and with a walking stick he kept close to himself at all times.

 Boothill seemed to fit right in. He was the one who introduced you excitedly to Dan Heng, cackling and talking about how they were “best buds.” Despite Dan Heng’s embarassment at first, you could tell he enjoyed the presence of the cowboy. In that way, you felt a sort of kinship with him.

 The two of you hung out on the Express for a few days, as Boothill helped them with one of their trips. They were currently orbiting a planet named Jarilo VI. Boothill had encouraged you to stay aboard the Express and take a break, but today, Himeko saw you watching the window.

"If you want, you can go down with the rest of them," she said.

"I think I might,” you responded. “Forget what Boothill said about taking a break, I'm at my happiest when I'm working on something anyway."

She smiled knowingly.

It wasn't long before you landed on the cold planet, and it was an even shorter time before you found the crew. Stelle, March, Dan Heng, and Boothill were in a clinic, accompanied by a small child with bright yellow hair and a doctor who wore a large apron. You'd soon come to know that these two were Hook and Natasha, respectively.

Boothill made a show of being upset that you weren't on the Express, but you could tell that he was very happy you had decided to join them after all.

Apparently the crew had been on a wild goose chase, and to your mild disappointment they were finished with the whole affair. Stelle, March 7th, and Boothill all attempted to explain the situation to you, and Dan Heng kept sighing and correcting them every five sentences, so in the end you understood very little.

As the four of you walked out of the clinic, Hook caught up to Boothill and tugged at his pants.

"You aren't leaving, mister, are you?"

Boothill turned around, and in a manner you'd previously thought uncharacteristic, he crouched down and ruffled the young girl's hair.

"I am, sweetheart," he replied.

 "But, but, you're a member of the Moles now! You have to stay with us."

"Oh, and I'm only an *honorary* member?" Stelle asked, in mock anger. Hook giggled mischievously, then turned back to the cowboy.

"Also, I need your help with something," she added.

"Oh? What's that?" Boothill asked. Hook produced a strange trinket from one of her pockets.

"I wanna give this to my daddy, but I dunno how to wrap it up."

Boothill chuckled, ruffling her hair again.  “Your daddy sure is lucky to have a little girl like you.”

Then he did something that was so unexpected, the action of it was seared into your memory forever.

Slowly, he took off the bandana from around his neck, and laid it flat on the ground. Then, he took the trinket from Hook's hands and put it on top of the bandana, in the center. Deftly, and with a gentleness you'd seen from him very rarely, Boothill wrapped up the object with careful folding and gentle knots, then presented the object to Hook.

"There you go. And once your daddy opens it, you can wrap the bandana around your own neck, and I'll be there with ya and the Moles in spirit."

Tears sprung to Hook's eyes and she surged forward, hugging his neck and wailing loudly. Boothill chuckled, patting her back tenderly.

✦✦✦

The crisis with Jarilo VI solved, you and Boothill bade the Astral Express crew goodbye and went on your way. In the small spaceship you sat in, you gave Boothill a look.

What Hook and the Astral Express Crew didn't know was that the bandana he wore around his neck was very dear to him. A remnant of his past, a past that he had talked very little about with you, even though the two of you had gotten very close with each other.

Boothill sighed, feeling your gaze on him. "You wanna ask me about what happened with the girl, I can tell."

"Well, I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I guess that's fine with me--" you started.

"No, no it's fine. It's somethin' I should've told ya long before. It's just painful for me is all."

You wanted to tell him that it was okay for him not to tell you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

"What I never told you before, darlin’, was that I used to have a little girl of my own."

You raised a hand to your mouth. Never in your life would you have thought that the man in front of you—loud, brash and reckless—was ever a father.

"Before I was a Galaxy Ranger, before I got this metal body that I have now, I used to be just a cowboy. And one day I found myself with a daughter. Precious thing, loved her to death." He paused, taking in a deep breath, then let it out. "The IPC, they came to our planet... and they took her away from me. Took her and my whole family away from me. Razed everything I had to the ground.

 “That bandana I wore, well. It was my only reminder of her."

"Oh," you said, understanding why he was so guarded about it in the past. There was a long pause as you waited for Boothill to talk again.

 "But that girl, Hook," he started again, "she… reminded me of my daughter." Boothill took a shuddering breath. He had lost his ability to cry a long time ago, and you knew this, but sometimes he did things that told you he was weeping, invisibly. Until now you hadn't known what about.

"They would have been friends," he said softly.

"I'm sure they would have," you agreed.

You thought about the way he wrapped the gift for Hook.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" you asked.

"Do what?" he replied.

"What you did with the gift. How you folded it."

"Oh, that," he chuckled. "Some things you pick up being a dad."

There was another pause before you decided to speak again. "Well, I'll admit I was wrong about you then."

 "Wrong about what?" he asked, and you chuckled a little before answering.

"Turns out, cowboy, you do know how to wrap things up neatly."

Boothill laughed then, a soft, light sound, and you smiled.

comments are also very appreciated!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[d6volution]

Nascent

Jax/Reader. [Fem alinged reader.]

tags: oral sex, virginity, loss of virginity, established relationships, soft(?) jax, fluff, and smut, jax has a tongue.

Also found on my Ao3 | 2k words.

minors dni.

Jax's gloved fingers tip toed up your side, and you shivered.

"What's wreckin' ya mind dollface, you're bein a little too quiet tonight." You shuffled on the bed before rolling onto your side to face him. "Thinking too much.. I miss home. Being stuck here.. sucks." Jax was silent as you spoke, but a lazy smile was atill present on his lips. "Mnh. Yeeaaahh.. never gets old does it?" Jax laid on his back, hands folded behind his head now. 

You took this chance to lay on his chest, nuzzling him a little. He grinned , but before he could say something sly you spoke up instead— 

"Jax, I ... think I wanna try it." You mumbled into his chest. 

"Mhmm.. try what?" His eyes were closed now. He was clearly relaxing, and your words weren't exactly clicking right now. 

"It.. you know.. I just need something to take my mind off of things and—" Jax suddenly sat up , his chest bumping into your nose. His hands were on your shoulders, steading you. "You're not messin' with me, are ya? I'd like to think I've been really respectful of your boundaries lately, ya know." It sounded like he didn't believe you, but he was trying his hardest not to sound like an ass. He got a few gropes in here and there but never pushed you farther than you wanted to go. 

"I'm.. serious. We'll just take it slow.." You said and felt your cheeks growing warm at the thought of being intimate with him. You've thought about it a lot but always chickened out.

"I dunno toots, I'm not sure I could hold bac—..." His hand was gliding up your back, but you shot him a look and he chuckled. Raising his hands in his defense. "Alright, alright slow it is.." After all he doesn't have to move fast to drive you crazy anyways. 

"W.. Well how do we.. start? It's.. not like I can make out you.. I think." Right, you guys always exchange nuzzles instead. But Jax rolls his eyes and adjusts himself on the bed, "Just lay back will ya? I'll lead the way." 

You swallowed and did like he said, falling to the plush of your bed and you felt his hands on your legs. Spreading them apart , you were resisting a little and he paused. "C'mon , I said I'd be gentle and I will babe. Scouts honor." He crossed his heart before grinning down at your nervous form. 

"S.. Sorry, I haven't even been this far in the real world no less the digital.." You said embarrassed by your lack of experience. Hoping Jax wouldn't tease you too badly, but he seemed to be taking your feelings into consideration. 

"Digital or not , I'm glad ya happened to save yourself for me. Now let me show you how much I appreciate that.. yeah?" He removed your lower clothing and the cold air hitting your skin caused you to shiver. You swore you saw his eyes grow dark for a moment but you didn't have a chance to analyze his expression too much before he yanked you a little by your ankles down the bed and closer to him. "Eep..!"  His head was in between your legs now, and you felt something wet running along your thighs, "Jax !?" 

"Mmn? I'm in the middle of something doll—" 

"I.. Is that your ..tongue..!?" You cut him off and he chuckled you could feel his breath against your skin but he didn't answer. Continuing his assault on your thighs until the wet muscle finally found your folds and you stiffened up, trying to move away from the strange and new sensation but his hands pulled you back gently. "Mnh.. listen , babe. Ya gotta let me know if I'm doin' somethin' wrong alright?" He lifted his head, leaving your cunt clenching and aching for more.

"N.. No, I..I'm sorry I was just surprised— I didn't know you could.. it doesn't matter just continue.. please." You turned your head to the side, avoiding his intense eye contact.

"Before that, give me a word. So....ya know. I'll know when to stop," He said , still admiring your more vulnerable position right now.

"Uh.." You can't think, your mind clouded by the ever growing lust bubbling in your core. "I.. I don't know.. uh, circus!"

He scoffed, clearly amused. "How original." 

"Ha. Ha. I can't really think right now, Jax– aahh..!" Your hips bucked as his tongue flicked against that sensitive bean hidden between your folds. Oh, he liked that noise. A little too much, and now he needed more. And he a knew a trick that would keep you singing so sweetly for him. 

He licked and flicked at your clit before flatting his long tongue against you dragging his tongue agonizingly slow along your puffy cunt before pulling back, maybe because your thighs were crushing his head now. "Look toots, I know I'm rockin your world here but ya gotta keep those legs open for me yeah?" He said in a somewhat strained voice, prying your legs apart again.

You nodded, your eyes glossy with tears. You were so needy in this moment that you'd do anything he'd ask. "Close 'em again and I'll stop, how about that for a little motivation.~" His voice was playful but, you knew he was serious and that made your insides twist a little.

"Th.. That isn't fair Jax..!" You whined and kept your legs spread even so, though they trembled and you felt even more exposed keeping them open yourself rather him holding them apart.

"Pleaaasee. To be honest, I think it's perfectly fair. You told me to take slow, not that I couldn't be a little mean.. isn't that what ya love about me after all?" He said in a breathy tone, before his eyes were on your cunt again.

"You're gorgeous ya know that? Don't.. tell anyone I said that. Compliments are like currency here." He said with a tad bit of annoyance lacing his tone, "I only wanna spend that on you .." He muttered before lowering himself to go down on you again. 

But this time, he was purposely being more attentive. His tongue even diving into your cunt, wiggling its way into your tight hole. And a thick finger sliding inside, you yelped and your legs threatned to close around his head but you forced to yourself to hold your trembling thighs apart. Having his finger to clench down on made it easier to cause friction and push you closer to climax.

Tears spilled over your cheeks from the stimulation and frustration. 

"Mmn... mmf.." Jax moaned against your sopping wet cunt, removing his finger and using his tongue instead.. thrusting it in and out of your hole. His lidded eyes bored into your skull, you looked delicious to him when you cried.

You couldn't take it, your body jolted and legs locked around his head as you came. Soiling his face in the process. "Hh.. Hhaa..! Damn it.." 

Jax tutted as he lifted his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ya didn't keep your legs open at the end there.. Hm, I'm not sure I should let you get away with that." The tone of his voice was playful. He grins, that shit eating grin while staring at you as he climbed atop your quivering body. You were clearly still coming down from your high. 

"H..Huh..? Jax.. I couldn't help it.." You sighed, chest heaving up and down. "Please.." You reached out for his hand and he allowed you, still speaking as his gloved thumb rubbed the back of your hand gently. 

"Yeah, yeah of course you couldn't.. .I'm good at what I do after all," He said and kneeled in front of your spread legs. "But, we can agree ya need just a little punishment right?" He took your intertwined hands and locked them atop your head, leaving you a little exposed and vulnerable to his touch. 

Pulling his cock from his overalls with the opposite hands, he started stroking it slowly. "But, I'll be gentle like ya said.." He gives a wink before leaning down and nuzzling the side of your face reassuringly. It's all apart of the bit, "You ready for this?" He whispered, making sure you were okay to move forward. 

You were soaked between your legs. More than ready but still a little nervous. "Ready.." You agreed quietly, the tension in the air was palpable. 

You should be relaxed after his reassurance, but the size of his cock resting in his hand was making your body tense and cunt clench around nothing.. in both anticipation and a dash of fear. 

He rubbed the thick tip against your sopping wet hole, and dragged it against your clit, teasing you. "Gentle.. yeeah... mn.." He muttered, getting lost in this bit of pleasure. "So good for me.."

Gentle. Slow. Teasing. 

Fuck, you couldn't take it. He had to be grinding against your cunt for two minutes straight now. 

"Jax..please..please just put it in.." 

"Mmn. Don't worryy..  I'll take of care ya, make you feel reeaal good.." "He said and let go of your hands as he focused on lining himself up with your hole, his tip nudged at your tight hole. Slipping a few times when he tried to push forward, "Too fuckin' tight doll, hold on yeah..? Your cute cunt seems to need some convincing.." He thrusted forward rather hard, a few inches finally pushing past the resistance in your cunt. 

"Jax..!" You yelped in pain, a burning sensation was felt in between your legs and he shushed you, staying completely still. "Hey, hey.. I've got ya, I'm right here.. breathe doll." He said and watched your expressions.. so determined to take him, yet so vulnerable. It made him throb inside of you.

After a several seconds you finally spoke. "Y.. You can move now.." 

He was trying so hard to hold back, it's been forever since he was buried in a pussy. So once you gave him the okay he began to move, albeit slow. More inches sunk into your wet hole. Causing your back to arch a little, "Nngh..." Jax was grunting in your ear until he finally bottomed out inside of you, "There we go, nice and deep in there... ya feel that? Feel me?" He said as his hand traced your stomach just long your belly button.

"So big .. Jax.. feels good.." You panted out, unintentionally bucking your hips forward. "Mmn.. I know doll, Im gonna move alright..?" He said and you nodded, arms around his neck now as he started to slide in and out of you, lewd squishing noises and soft moans and grunts filled the room. You were both lost in the pleasure, your body relaxing more and Jax becoming a bit more rough.

"Yeah.. nngh.. ju-just like that ... take it .." He panted out, taking one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder, his hips were a blur now but your expressions and cries of pleasure was all the reassurance he needed to keep drilling into your cunt. 

Your mind felt cloudly with lust, but that unmistakable knot in your stomach was only getting tighter, threatening to burst. He could feel you, and took this opportunity to draw gentle circles along your clit, "T.. There ya go.. wanna come for me, c'mon.." He egged you on , rolling his hips deep into your cunt. His full weight accompanied each hard thrust.

You tried to hold on , but he knew how to hit every sensitive spot. Over and over. His hips slapping against yours , the sound of your bodies colliding rung in your ears.

"Ffuuahh Jax, gonna co.. come .. gonna..!!" You whined, nails digging into his back as you held him close. Cunt clamping down on his size hard. His own hips stuttered, "D..Damn it, doll.. ya tryna milk me or something..?" He sighed as he spilled into your cunt, unable to resist the way you clamped down onto him. 

He gave a few more shallow thrust, forcing back in the cum that threatned to spill out. "You're perfect.." He sighed out, clearly spent and slowly pulling out of your twitching hole.

"Mmn.. thank you Jax, for this.." You kissed his cheek and out of all things, that seemed to make him flush a little. 

"Don't sweat it.. let's," He cleared his throat, "Get you cleaned up alright.. I'll run a bath," 

"Can't we cuddle for a bit first..?" 

Jax froze and rubbed his neck, "Look toots, I'm not sure about gettin all cuddled up on cum stained sheets," He rose his hands, "Hey, but if thats what you're into I'm not one to kinksh– oof." You tossed a pillow at his face, and he chuckled. 

"Heh, like I thought, now let's get all cleaned up first, then I'll cuddle all you'd like doll.

"Sound like a deal?" 

[alwaysmicado]

You wanted this

3.1k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 1

When he gives you this look, you know you're fucked - literally.

Warnings: no outbreak au, implied age gap, alcohol, smut: piv sex, rough oral m and f receiving, rimming, choking, D/s dynamic, creampie, pet names, degradation/praise Summary: Joel and you have a fun dynamic going. You provoke him, he punishes you - you both get off. When you meet him after you’ve fucked someone else, he decides to show you who you belong to. It’s all fun and games, right? A/N: Please read the warnings before you continue! You're about to read unadulterated filth. We're headed straight for Whoreville™️ and there's no getting off early (wink wink). We'll see more of these two for sure... Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 🖤 pt. 2 / series masterlist / AO3

“You look hot,” you purr into Joel’s ear, “expecting someone special?” He chuckles and turns to look at you.

“I actually was,” he smirks, “but she was too busy flirting with some random guy over there, so now I’m just entertaining myself with a drink.”

He taps the glass and studies your face. You look especially stunning tonight, your skin is glowing and your smile is illuminating the dimly lit bar.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it flirting,” you coo, playing with the straw of your cocktail. Joel raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Is that right? What else would you call it, darlin’?”

“Trying to explain to him why I left him alone in bed a few days ago and never returned his calls,” you answer while maintaining eye contact.

“Hmm, and why did you?” Joel asks, taking another sip of his drink.

You scoff and shake your head. “None of your business, Miller.” He gives you a knowing smile and nods. 

“It’s a shame though,” his deep sultry voice makes you shiver, “I know how nice it is to wake up next to you.” He puts his hand on your knee, causing your skin to heat up and a familiar ache to grow between your legs. 

“You’ve only ever done it once because I was too drunk to go home, so how would you know, hm?” you purr, leaning in to be closer to him.

“So feisty today,” he starts caressing your thigh gently, brushing the hem of your mini dress, “I’m assuming you’re frustrated because you haven’t been fucked right?”

You chuckle and down the rest of your drink. “I dunno, Joel. What would you call not being able to walk for the past three days because he fucked me for hours on end? I’m sure you could still see bite marks on my thighs if you looked closely,” you smirk and open your legs for him to see you’re not wearing any panties. 

Joel’s grip on your thigh tightens, his eyes completely black now. “You wanna act like a whore, baby?” he growls and grips your hip with his other hand, “You know I got no problem treating you like one.”

He starts kissing your neck with his warm wet lips, mumbling into your skin how he’s going to enjoy putting you in your place. You’re legs are trembling and you’re moaning softly into his ear. 

He loves seeing you like this - squirming under his touch, pupils blown, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. All because of him.

“Get up,” he orders, “we’re going.”

---

“Last chance, darlin',” Joel growls, “I ain't gonna be gentle, so get the fuck out now if you can't take it.” Oh, now he did it. He's playing you like a fiddle and you both know it.

“Do your worst, old man,” you bite back, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.” He glowers at you, the darkness in his eyes setting all of your nerves on fire. 

He closes the distance between you two in a few strides and towers over you menacingly. You can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the irresistible scent that is so uniquely him. The ache between your legs is becoming unbearable. 

Joel leans in, his left hand pulling you close by your waist, his right hand grabbing the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget you ever even met that asshole. You understand?” “Yes, sir,” you nod, wetness seeping out of your pussy. You fucking love it when he gets like this. 

Joel’s eyes carefully search yours and when he’s satisfied with what he finds, he immediately pulls you close to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. He’s greedily sucking and biting at your lips, tangling one hand in your hair and squeezing your ass with the other, wanting to devour you - make you his. 

You’re just as eager to give him what he wants, completely pliant under his touch, moaning into his mouth and rubbing yourself on his thigh. 

“Fuck,” Joel pants, breaking the kiss and tracing your swollen bottom lip with his thumb. 

He looks into your glazed over eyes, mesmerized by the fact that such a stunning creature is submitting to him so willingly. He palms himself over his pants, his cock painfully hard and in desperate need of relief.  

“On your knees, baby. Hands on your thighs,” he commands, his gaze never leaving yours while you lower yourself on the floor. “Good girl,” he praises, unzipping his pants and pulling them down together with his boxer briefs just enough to free his heavy cock and balls. 

You gasp at the sight, never really getting used to his sheer size, despite having taken him before. You bite your lip and press your thighs together to relieve at least some of the burning ache in your core.

“God, you’re beautiful when you’re desperate for my cock,” Joel murmurs, tilting your chin up and pressing down on your tongue with his thumb, “my beautiful girl. Now, you’re gonna take what I give you, darlin’. I’m not gonna stop, so don’t even try your whining. The only thing I wanna hear is you gagging on my cock, got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good.”

Joel positions himself in front of your mouth and taps your lips with the tip of his cock. “Open up, baby, stick your tongue out.” You do just that and Joel hums approvingly. 

Holding the base with his right hand, he slides his cock into your warm wet mouth in one single thrust until he’s hitting the back of your throat. “Fuuuck, that’s it, baby,” Joel groans, “I’ve missed your perfect mouth so much.” 

You gag and sputter, trying to move your head to relax your throat for a second, but Joel is faster than you, gripping the back of your head with both of his hands, effectively holding you in place. 

“Nuh-uh, princess,” he tuts mockingly, “where do you think you’re going, huh?” Your eyes are watering and you feel like you’re choking, but Joel just smirks at you. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. I want you to look at me while I’m fucking your pretty face,” and with that he sets a punishing pace, bucking his hips into your mouth over and over again. 

You're gorgeous - on your knees, reduced to a crying, drooling mess over his cock. Joel's clenching his teeth, every muscle in his body strained while forcing you to take his length. 

“You’re doing so well, baby. So perfect for me,” he groans, sending shivers down your spine. Your clit is throbbing and you can feel yourself growing wetter with every second.

When one of Joel’s thrusts hits particularly deep, you instinctively brace your hands against his thighs, trying to push him away. He just laughs at you, tightening his grip on your neck. 

“Poor baby,” he scoffs, “not used to my big cock anymore? Why fuck that loser if he doesn’t even do it right, hm?” Your cheeks are burning and you shove at his legs again. “Keep doing that,” Joel chuckles, “you look so cute when you try to fight me.” 

He thrusts his hips a few more times before pulling out with a strangled groan and releasing your head. “Don’t wanna come yet,” he mumbles. You’re immediately gasping for air, chest heaving, tears still spilling down from your now closed eyes. Joel scoops up the thick string of saliva that connects his cock with your lips and spreads it on your cheeks. His soft touch doesn’t match the filthy action.

He crouches down so he’s on your level and tilts your head up gently. “Hey, look at me,” he scans your face, “you okay?” Your eyes meet his concerned gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Just needed a second to breathe,” you reassure him.

He looks at you intently for a moment longer before getting up and motioning to the bed. “Take your clothes and shoes off and lie on your back.” 

You get up and pull your dress over your head, take off your heels and sway your hips on your way to Joel’s bed. It smells like him and you hate that you can’t stay and fall asleep here. Pull him close at night, savor his warmth, marvel at his precious sleepy face in the morning. 

As soon as you’re lying in the middle of the bed, your head propped up on Joel’s pillows, he walks towards you. “Spread your pretty legs for me, darlin’. I wanna see how wet you got choking on my cock.” 

You slowly open your legs while keeping eye contact. Joel sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of your puffy and glistening cunt. He unbuttons his shirt hastily, letting it fall to the floor. “Touch your clit, baby,” he pants, unlacing his shoes and keeping his eyes on you. 

You obey and start circling your neglected bundle of nerves with two fingers. A desperate moan escapes your lips as you’re finally able to get some relief. Joel takes off his shoes and pants, staring at you for a second before climbing on the bed and stopping between your legs.  

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.” He slowly traces your legs with his fingertips, enjoying how you writhe under his touch. When he stops just at the apex of your thighs, you whine desperately, only for him to do it again.

“Please touch me, Joel, please,” you whimper, unable to keep your composure anymore. He sits back on his heels and keeps caressing your thighs while you’re continuously drawing circles on your clit. 

“D’you fuck him raw?” he asks, grabbing your wrist to halt your movement.

You gaze into his dark eyes and shake your head, “No.” He nods and starts peppering your thighs with kisses, gripping your hips with his calloused hands.

“Good,” he murmurs, nipping and biting at your soft skin, “‘cause I’m not wearing a goddamn condom with you. Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll be leaking me until I fill you up again.” You whimper at the prospect of feeling Joel’s warm cum deep inside you again and try to shift your hips, so he’ll finally touch you where you most need him.

“Mmm, yeah baby, I like the thought of that, too,” he smirks, his face now hovering right above your wet cunt, “but I really wanna taste you first.” He starts by spreading your lips with his hands, opening you up for him to look at you fully exposed.

“Fuck me, sweetheart,” he groans, “you have the cutest little pussy I’ve ever seen.” He draws the hood of your clit back with his right thumb, keeping your lips spread with his left middle and index finger. You mewl at the sensation, spurring him on to finally latch his lips onto your yearning clit, sucking eagerly before licking a broad stripe from your asshole up to your wet slit. 

“Oh fuuuck!” you cry out, clawing at the sheets when he repeats the motion with his tongue, now also circling your clit with his thumb. “Mmm, you taste divine, darlin’.” He slides two fingers inside your warm cunt, pumping them in and out of you steadily. The squelching sounds from your pussy mixed with the sound of your breathy moans are making Joel dizzy. 

Right when he feels your walls starting to clamp down around his fingers, he stops his movements. “Turn around for me, baby. Ass up face down,” he orders, sitting back on his heels to watch you get into position. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, “being so good for me, doing everything I say”. He caresses your ass cheeks and the backs of your thighs before dragging his nose through your wet folds, inhaling your intoxicating scent. Your whole body shivers at the sensation.

Joel starts sucking on your clit again while fucking you with two of his thick fingers. You clench around him, the way he’s rhythmically pumping his fingers in and out of you almost enough to send you over the edge right then. 

“Fuck, baby, so sensitive today,” Joel teases, licking from your clit up to your asshole. He starts lapping at the tight ring eagerly, reducing you to a whimpering, trembling mess when he dips his tongue inside of you repeatedly. “Mmm, I love the pretty little sounds you make for me,” he groans, wiping his mouth and chin with his forearm.

He spreads your cheeks and looks at your exposed holes in awe. You look absolutely delicious and Joel wants nothing more than to bury himself as deep inside you as possible. He laps your juices up thirstily, the vibrations from his moans sending shockwaves through your whole body. His throbbing cock is leaking precum, screaming for attention.  

“I need to fuck you, baby” Joel hisses, manhandling you onto your back. He’s on you in an instant, kissing you hungrily, his hand tangling in your hair. You squirm underneath him, tilting your pelvis to gain some friction. “Please, Joel, please fuck me.”

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he finally aligns his tip with your core and pushes his cock into your wet hole in one quick thrust.

You gasp at the intense sensation of him splitting you open, not allowing you any time to adjust to his size. “Oh fuck, baby, your cunt is gripping me so hard I can barely move,” Joel moans breathlessly, rolling his hips to pump his cock inside of you again and again. 

His pelvis puts delicious pressure on your swollen clit and you start to push against his thrusts to chase your high. Joel grabs your legs and puts them over his shoulders, kissing and biting your calves until you scream. The new angle allows him to hit a spot deep inside you that has you quivering and shaking, bringing you closer to your orgasm with each powerful thrust of his hips. 

“Oh fuck, Joel, you feel so fucking good,” you moan, throwing your head back and curling your toes. He grins, reaching around your legs to grab your soft tits with his hands. He massages them roughly, tweaking your nipples until you cry out in pain. “You’re so perfect for me,” Joel pants, mesmerized by the way your body moves under him, “my perfect little slut.”

Your cunt involuntarily clenches around him and you can’t hold back the needy moan that escapes your lips.

“Oh, the princess likes that, huh” Joel teases, “likes when I call her my little slut?” You furrow your brow and nod at him. “Mmm I like it, too,” he groans while continuing to snap his hips at an unrelenting pace, “always want you to be my slut. Mine.”

You can feel your orgasm approaching fast, the combination of Joel’s cock and possessiveness hitting all the right spots in your cunt and mind. 

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s choking the fuck outta me,” he chortles, burying his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin. You cry out from the overwhelming mix of sensations and Joel answers you by putting his hand around your neck, expertly shutting you up without cutting off your air supply. 

“Stop being a brat if you can’t take the consequences, baby,” Joel murmurs, his face hovering above yours, an amused smile playing on his lips. You glare at him, but he quickly disarms you by leaning down and kissing you passionately. You wrap your legs around his waist and dig your nails into his back. Your skin is on fire and you have zero control left over your body. It’s all his.

He puts your left leg over his shoulder again, splitting you open even more. The volume of your desperate moans increases as Joel keeps fucking your pussy with abandon.

“Fuck, that the spot baby?” he pants. “Yeah,” you whimper, “please don’t stop.” “Look at me,” he grabs the side of your neck and rubs your cheek with his thumb, “tell me your mine.” He looks at you with wild eyes, sweat glistening on his skin. 

“Yes, Joel, fuck I- I’m yours. Fuck, keep going,” you whine, the tension in your core so close to snapping. “I got you, baby. Let go for me, I wanna feel you,” Joel encourages you, chasing his own high deep inside you. 

“Oooh, Joel, I’m gonna come,” you sob as your walls spasm and contract around his cock, shockwaves of pleasure gripping your whole body and blurring your vision. You’re convulsing in ecstasy, not knowing where your body ends and Joel’s begins.

In this moment right now, you’re one.  

“F-Fuck!” Joel comes so hard his final thrust pushes your body up the bed. He spills himself deep inside you, your pulsing pussy milking every last drop of his cum. He collapses onto you with a strangled groan, panting heavily. 

“Fuck, darlin’, you tryna kill me or something?” You giggle and start drawing shapes on his back with your fingers. Joel kisses your neck and hums contentedly, making sure his cock stays buried inside of you for as long as possible.

---

“Are you gonna be good from now on, hm?” He nudges your cheek with his nose. You turn to face him and look into his eyes. 

“No, sir.” 

He chuckles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Good girl.”

You press a soft kiss on his lips before turning around and getting up. You put your dress and heels back on and walk over to the bathroom. 

“You don’t need to leave, you know,” you hear Joel say from behind you. You sigh and flick the light on. 

“I can’t stay, Joel.” You look into the bathroom mirror and quickly comb through your hair with your fingers. Your makeup is smudged, but it’s dark out so you don’t care. 

“We could order from that Indian place you like and watch Heat again. Besides, it’s getting late,” he murmurs, looking at you with his big puppy eyes. 

You smile at him, but don’t answer. He nods and gets up from the bed to lead you to the front door. 

“Okay, sweetheart. But text me when you get home, alright?” 

“I will.” 

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“See you around, darlin’.”

---

next part || series masterlist ||Joel masterlist

[wandagcre]

fall apart | sam carpenter 🔞

(Normal college gfs! Sam Carpenter x Fem reader)

Living with Sam is thrilling. You wore her favorite boxers and accidentally ended up teasing her. Of course, she gets her way with you.

WARNING: dom!sam, sub!reader, thigh riding, praise, degradation, daddy kink (sam), subdrop (reader), mild corruption kink, possessive sam, aftercare +18 / men & minors dni.

Words: 2.7k | [ AO3 ]

This morning had been different, there was something in the fresh air – it's promising as you woke up on Sam’s strong arms, you were snug, and she’s already pressing kisses on your face – progressing from gentle to sloppy ones just to tease you until your eyes were fully opened. Sam loved mornings like this. More so that you have a couple minutes to spare before both of you prepare for classes. She felt giddy enough to insist on being in charge of making breakfast today. 

You sit up on your bed as soon as Sam dips out of it. Unbeknownst to you, Sam can't help but sigh and stare at you lovingly. From her view, you’ve got bed hair, a little cranky expression, and wearing her old sweater - every detail is so endearing to Sam’s sight.

"What’s up with you? Am I missing an important date?" You question, voice raspy and head tilted in confusion.

Sam has a winning smile and she laughs at you. She sees your face obviously racking your head over the milestones you have with her in a span of less than a year.

"Can’t a girl be this cheesy without a reason?" Sam retorts with a hand on her hip.

"I suppose you can be," she has proven to be unpredictable for a lot of moments already. You frown at her. "You didn't eat my leftovers in the fridge, didn't you?"

"Excuse me, I do have some self-control!”

"That’s very debatable. I’m begging you to not burn the kitchen, baby."

"You had me at begging." Sam had a glint in her eye and she stuck her tongue out playfully. She chuckled when you returned it just as childish. “Are we having breakfast in bed or at the counter?" She asks.

Sam was confused by the delay in your answer, she turned around only to see you with a spreading crimson on your cheeks. She clicked her tongue at you once she understood.

Of course, you only heard “breakfast” and “counter” and then saw Sam. 

It isn’t hard to recall your activities in those areas, especially if it was only made last night.

"Perv. I'm trying to be sweet and here you are... thinking of dirty this early? Come on. Have some decorum.”

Why did you have to say that? Now you’re temporarily revoked of goodies. “Ugh. Shut up, you’re one to talk.”

The crankiness starts to appear on the surface with you rolling your eyes. Sam ended up giggling a little because God, she adores you so much and everything you do.

“Maybe you’re the one with no self-control. Don’t give me that attitude, baby.” Sam gives you a pointed look and you yield immediately, nodding your head.

“I know. Sorry. Can I… get a proper kiss?” you sheepishly say.

Sam approaches you. She tucks her loose hair behind her ear and slithers her arms around your waist. She simply held you close, not kissing you just yet.

“Mm, dunno baby, aren’t you missing something?” she moves her face closer to yours.

“Please?” 

Sam finally leans in and brushes her soft lips against yours. It was slow and gentle, different from how intense she can be sometimes. Nevertheless, you loved her just the same.

You ended up eating her special pancakes and even if you giggled at the slightly burnt edges, Sam still showered you with kisses. Both of you proceed to have a PG-13 shower and you thoroughly enjoy it. Sam continued to take care of you and you loved the sight of her bending her knees so you can reach her hair better to wash it. So far, your morning is normal. 

Until you were changing with Sam who was going through her wardrobe. You look at her amused when you see her going through every single of clothes, and her movements between confused and frantic – like she was looking for a specific thing.

“Baby! Have you seen my– oh.”

She saw you in front of the mirror, nothing with your ordinary bra and the boxers that Sam cherishes oh so much. It’s her favourite. There’s nothing special about the details, simply in the color of blue, but it's one of her most comfortable undergarments that she owned for ages. She remembers having told you in passing that she'd like to see you in these inner clothes some time, just because.

So, yes, she's more than ecstatic to be graced with this view, paired with her girlfriend's body still drying up from your shower together earlier.

“Hm?” you hum non-committedly, putting on your shirt.

You appeared so casual while Sam was losing her mind and as though you weren’t responsible for igniting the fire in her loins. She ended up coughing to cover her flustered state.

Sam shook her head, “Nothing. You look good, boxer thief.”

“Thanks!” You grin innocently at her words. You twirl around, looking and feeling the material. “It is really comfy, just like you said.”

“That’s why it’s my favorite.” Sam says, her voice going an octave lower. You still did not notice, even with her blatant staring and you only naturally nod in agreement. 

She shook her head, bearing her thoughts and decided to wear a sweatshirt, pulling it above her head and then some shorts. It was fairly breezy and Sam was easily sensitive to the cold.

It’s safe to say that you were testing her self-control now. 

More so when Sam laid to the couch, opening her notes. She was about to recompose herself, calming her breathing pattern, and begin to study in peace. Maybe she’ll watch a show with you. However, she can’t help but continue ogling at your figure. She let her eyes follow each of your moves, watching you flit with ease at the kitchen, doing the dishes from earlier. Sam had long forgotten the notes in her lap as you presented her an insanely inviting appearance of your ass.

You just had to drop low, emphasizing the curves of your ass, and she saw the way your shirt rode up as you reached the cupboard. From the distance, you hear Sam exhale sharply and this makes you turn around as you dry your wet hands.

“You okay babe?” you look at your girlfriend with concern and Sam merely hummed in response.

She ran her fingers through her dark tresses before speaking. “Babe, what’re your plans for today?” 

A part of you worried that Sam probably wanted a distraction because she knows your schedule by heart. But it could’ve been nothing too, simply wanting you to reiterate your agenda and then squeeze some time with you.

“Um, I want to watch something with you before I read later. Continue that horror movie we’ve been binge-watching, maybe?” 

Sam bounces her legs rapidly, seemingly…impatient? A deep sigh comes out of her mouth.

“Come here – sit on my lap.” She tapped on her thigh, voice stern, leaving no further questions to be asked.

Shiver ran on your spine yet you do as told, straddling one of Sam’s thighs. You hold onto the top of the couch. It felt odd – the uneven pressure felt heavy on your part and it easily pressed against your cunt. It doesn’t help that Sam’s a gym rat – meaning her muscles were defined and stern and you feel most of it even with the fabric of her boxers. 

“Wanna know my plans for today?” You see your girlfriend give you a wolfish grin as she feels you pulse. 

“Yes,” you shortly answer. 

You expressed in passing on earlier times of your relationship that you worry you might be too heavy for Sam, when she first made you sit on her lap. It was in a wholesome context then, yet even now as turned on as you were, you still cannot help but think about how you might inconvenience her.

Sam senses your troubles. She trailed her hands to hike up underneath your shirt and holding you from your lower back, then to your hips – squeezing them. Your breath hitched at her ministrations.

“I plan on doing just you, princess.” She husked out, looking at you deliberately. “This is how I want things to go: I’m gonna need you to ride my thighs and cum while wearing my boxers. You look so good in it baby. I’m losing my mind here and you’re completely unaware of it.”

“O-okay,” you respond, dumbly agreeing with ease.

“But first, I’m going to strip you out of that shirt.”

Your girlfriend tugged at the hem of the material and was painfully slow with her pace. As the shirt revealed more of your skin, her eyes suit followed, you feel as if being eaten at the intensity of her gaze alone. You sharply inhale when you feel Sam’s touch moving to your ribs then up to your breasts, palming and squeezing them. 

She smiled at your reactions – loved how easy it was to pull it out of you. 

You feel Sam much closer as she wraps her arm around you, reaching for the clasp of your bra to remove it next, and her mouth pressing wet kisses all over your shoulder.

“Beautiful.” she whispered before sucking on the skin of your neck. You moan, already feeling the angry red and purple patches she’ll leave there. “I love how your tits bounce. Not gonna spare the chance of not seeing them as you ride me while wearing my favorite boxers, baby.”

You were so lost in anticipation that you grew quiet, and so ready for her to take. Sam was more than happy to see this. She slaps your thigh out of nowhere, startling you. 

“Do it.”

Nodding, you prepare and have your hands depend on the couch to support the rest of your weight. You were less conscious but blood still rushed on your cheeks, feeling embarrassed by your position. It was your first time doing something inappropriate like this and to see Sam looking at you intensely while not exerting any other effort, made you feel so heated.

You wet your lips and sucked your breath. You finally move your hips, rolling them, albeit tentatively – testing out the waters. 

You hear Sam grunting along with your attempt at grinding on her thigh.

“Ah, sorry Sammy, I- I’ve never done… this…” you breathe out, almost finding the rhythm. You feel the cotton material of the shorts being sucked in by your cunt, folding, and the friction felt so new to you.

With your words, Sam growled possessively, her hold by your lower back and hips tightened. 

“I sure hope not. This,” Sam husks, hands more harsh this time as she firmly placed both on your hips, guiding your rolling. “is for me only. Mine alone.”

You sighed in content, nodding stupidly at Sam’s words. The breeze on your dorm did not help as it added to the pebbling of your nipples besides being so turned on.

“Yes, yes!” 

Desperately, you roll your hips more, eyes screwed shut. The fabric was melting deliciously to your liking and the wetness gushed out of you. 

Sam had her full attention to you, cherishing the view unravelling in front of her. Even with eyes closed, you can feel how she’s burning a hole with her siren eyes, staring at you. The thought made you wet as you humped her, now soaking beyond the cotton material and Sam felt it seep on the exposed part of her thighs.

“Are you sure that you didn’t plan this? To whore yourself out to me?” Sam pries, grabbing a handful of your ass and lifting it in a different angle for you to grind better. 

“No- I didn’t, just want- to be comfy,” you stutter on your words and Sam only darkly chuckled at this.

She clenched the firm muscles on her thigh. “Of course, my little innocent angel could never think that way. Look at you, right now.”

You mewl at Sam’s words, your grip only worsened as much as Sam did on your skin, feeling her fingernails deepening too. You feel your folds secreting more slick and you’re absorbed with the odd friction as you hump faster, it’s like a drug you can’t get enough of, as the rubbing is hitting your sweet spots.

Sam bit your shoulder. The sting of her teeth was raw and fresh, making you let out a throaty moan.

She plays with your pebbled nipple, tugging them with force. You groan at the simultaneous feeling while riding her and Sam had to capture your mouth agape, kissing you to oblivion.

You were glistening, moaning, so fucking desperate and it's so beautiful.

"You’re so pretty this way. Head full of nothing, just relying on me alone.”

Your hips become somewhat aimless, completely reckless with your grinding. You just wanted to cum right now.

"Babe. 'm not gonna last- if you- you keep on..."

“Keep on what? You’re the one humping so desperately at my thighs like a bitch in heat. Are you enjoying this?”

When you gave no answer and continued riding Sam’s clenched thighs, arched back, she squeezed your cheeks together.

“Answer me.” she demands with a deep voice. 

“Yes I- I love this,” you struggle to answer.

“Yes what?”

The coil on your lower stomach increased tenfold. You knew what Sam was referring to. Your clit throbbed harder. You bit your lower lip, riding her on a faster pace this time.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Sam grinned at your answer. 

“Good girl. I thought you fucked yourself too dumb already.”

It made your pussy pulse stronger and contracted rapidly and crazy against the fabric and Sam’s thighs. She sees how ruined her boxers were now, thoroughly dark and wet, marked with the damp that was caused by your arousal. The slick had spread to your inner thighs and all over Sam.  

The fact that you looked like this, made Sam so proud of herself. She has rightfully claimed you, in ways that only she could do so. She successfully had her do it in her way, too. The touch of possessiveness in the action that made Sam feel giddy on the inside. 

“God- oh my god, Daddy, I think I- I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” you moaned, gasping for air, having no shame now in how loud you could’ve been.

Your thrusts were rapid and stronger, tits wildly bouncing as you rode Sam.

She moans, white hot breath tickling against your bare skin. You felt her rubbing your lower back to comfort you.

“Let go baby. I got you – cum for Daddy.”

You felt the stimulation becoming unbearable yet so good for you. The friction did its thing as you continued to ride Sam’s continuous clenching, as your cunt did and dripped. You feel your orgasm washing over you in relief, coming out of your soaked cunt. It was like a puddle of your mess, but you can’t bring yourself to worry about it right now. You tremble at the new sensation right after you fell apart on Sam, a few tears escaping your eyes.

Sam had you in her grasp, holding you dearly.

“I got you. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Her arm slithered to keep holding you firm to her grasp, while the other hand was tracing patterns and rubbing you in comfort. Sam’s chin was tucked on the crook of your neck. It was enough to ease you.

Finally, you move slowly to look at your girlfriend and meet her mesmerising eyes – partly heavy lidded – but what strikes you is the way her eyes crinkled by the corners. You can't help but return it warmly. 

“You did so good for me, princess.” Sam whispered as she stared at you. Her hands cupped your face and had her thumb running to the apple of your cheeks to soothe you.

You resume to your position earlier, moving closer to Sam’s embrace, letting out a gasp as your sensitive core accidentally grinded again as you moved. Sam hushed you, murmuring careful - it’s alright. You wanted to be gently rocked in a hugging position for a few minutes to which your girlfriend sighs contentedly in.

“I hope you do know that I won’t be able to get back on studying for today.” you quip at Sam and you feel her laugh vibrate against you.

“Not my fault you had to look so scrumptious in my boxers, baby.”

 

You shake your head when you feel her exhale heavily again, with her strong hands wandering back to your ass. She gives it another squeeze, although it wasn’t as harsh as she previously did.

“You are such a bad influence to me.”

“You love me. Whatever.”

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[iluvpjo]

HII !!

HEAR ME OUT. Charlie is definitely a thigh guy,he loveeeees to just lay on ur thighs and kiss them and theyre js so squishy and UGH.

I think he'd be very sweet in general like if you had scars (Sh or just normal scars) he's definitely kiss them and tell you how beautiful they are

REMEMBER TO EAT ENOUGH AND STAY HYDRATED !! 🫂

-🌻

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓰𝓱 𝓖𝓾𝔂

Synopsis: Charlie being a thigh guy, basically headcanons but also not rlly ??? Idk what this is tbh

Warning(s): IT GETS NSFW! MDNI, thigh stuff, talks abt scars, talks abt sh (in its own seperate bit so ur able to avoid it, I’ll put a warning there)

Pairing: Charlie Bushnell x fem reader (could be seen as GN except for one part where he calls u a sweet girl but you can just imagine otherwise if u wish!)

Word count: 528 words

Notes: I tried to write this n tumblr closed on me n didn’t save my draft ARGH 😭 but I’m so sorry I been away for a moment.. on an unrelated note last night I dreamt abt cuddling w Charlie n omfg

ALSO I’m so sorry it’s a lil short ahhh

Come find me on AO3!

Send me a request! Here’s my req rules!

(NSFW-ish!) Charlie whenever he sits beside you will always have a hand on you wether it be on your shoulder or on your knee, or other times where he’ll be squishing you’re thigh under the table in public somewhere. He of course does this at home too, and occasionally if he feels like it sometimes his hand will wander upwards. He still likes to do it nonsexually though, squeezing softly whenever he wants your attention.

(NSFW!) He would love to kiss your thighs while laying between your legs, often using it to tease you and not touch you where you need it the most. He also gets a little distracted, the feeling of your warm cushy thighs near his face can easily make him lose time. Charlie will kiss softly at your thighs, but he will also nip them gently too between his teeth just to watch you yelp and whine.

He would definitely get super hard from eating you out, I mean just in general, but especially when you cum undone and you squeeze your thighs around his head. Fuckkk he’d be in heaven, and he’d let you know that too when he dives back in for round two and has you repeating the same actions over and over. He will do it until you tell him to calm down, but if you don’t then I’m sure he’d be going on forever and ever until something inevitably disrupts the two of you.

(Scar stuff, more specifically sh) If he noticed you had scars on your thighs he wouldn’t be quick to point them out, maybe he’d spend a little extra time kissing over the marks or trailing them gently with his finger tips if they were healed. If they weren’t healed fully though maybe he’d ask about them, cooing softly for you to talk to him about what happened to make you do it. He’d leave it if you didn’t wanna talk about it though, simply comforting you with gentle kisses and cuddles.

“Don’t look at them..” You’d say, perhaps being a little insecure about them when his eyes would linger a little too long on your thighs, and Charlie would smile up at you dumbly before placing soft pecks to them and saying “Why not? Your thighs are so beautiful.” And you’d grow a little flustered. “No, they’re not, my scars-“ he wouldn’t even let you finish the thought about them, because he’d butt in and say “Your scars are beautiful sweet girl, I ‘dunno what you’re talking about..” and then his voice would get muffled n a lil quieter as he gets lost in the feeling of ur soft plushy thighs and he keeps leaving kisses all over them, his hands gripping at them like they’re his favourite thing in the world (and they are, after you as a whole of course.)

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain. 

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside. 

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him. 

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already. 

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to. 

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound. 

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you. 

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness. 

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him. 

…And Sam had.

_

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Tentatively

Summary:

You don’t want to tell him the truth, that most of your friends have grown up and don’t talk to you anymore, that while you love your family it’s too difficult to find time to travel and see them, that you are incredibly lonely.

Contains: Fem Reader, Death Mention (but only as much as you would expect given the source material) Word Count: 2,235 Read on AO3

You still feel strange a few hours after leaving the chatroom. Grim, who despite all evidence to the contrary, is actually the Grim Reaper, left pretty abruptly after telling you there is something incredibly wrong with your soul and you are unsure if you should be concerned or offended about the whole thing. 

After a disappointing meal of microwaved leftovers and an attempt at enjoying a relaxing bath despite your apartment’s abysmal water temperature, you find yourself laying back on your bed and staring up at the all too uninteresting ceiling as you wait for your hair to dry. The window above your desk is open and the cool breeze is pleasant, but you’re already getting the sense that you will have trouble getting to sleep tonight, despite Grim’s uncharacteristic insistence that you get some rest after today. 

There’s something so lonely about these summer nights, lonely enough that you find yourself scrolling through your contacts list, looking for someone ( anyone ) to talk to. Calling your parents this late will only make them worry, and all of your friends from uni have much better sleep schedules than you do and will already be out cold. You toss your phone onto the vacant pillow beside you and let out a sigh, that really only leaves one option. 

Hoisting yourself from the bed, you walk over to the desk and grab your laptop. Quickly tapping open the chatroom app and turning off your camera before hitting the call button. You push your lamp and pot-plant out of the way to leave room for the laptop on your bedside table and lay back down as you wait for an answer. 

You spend the first seven rings worrying that he won't pick up, by the eighth you are proven wrong.

“I thought I already told you to go to sleep.” He says in lieu of a greeting. 

All the lethargic energy in the room suddenly dissipates, and your mouth tugs up in a smile, “Hello to you too”

“I was being serious.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t my boss.” He huffs, “I am your reaper.” “Oh?” You reply, smirking to yourself, “ My reaper, are you? Just mine?” “No! I- I’m just assigned to you. That does not mean-”

You laugh, “Sorry, sorry. I’m just teasing, thank you for picking up, I mean it.” It’s quiet, but you swear that you hear a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the call, “I- well, I just wanted to be certain that you were not suffering any side effects from the soul connection.” He clears his throat, “You…aren’t…are you?”

“I’m having trouble sleeping, but I don’t think I can blame that on you. I suppose I feel a little jittery? But that makes sense given my emotional state right now.” “What is it?” “What’s what?” “Your uh- your emotional state.”

“Oh.” You say, feeling your heart beating a rapid tattoo behind your ribs, “Well, I dunno. I’m a little overwhelmed, I suppose. I really just thought you were an edgy cosplayer, and I mean, you still are but you are also literally the Grim Reaper, so I’m still just dealing with that I guess.”

“That is perfectly normal, then. Though you should have been feeling frightened the moment I contacted you, your reaction was quite delayed.” “Hey! I never said ‘frightened’ I said overwhelmed! That’s a completely different emotion.”

He chuckles, “Unable to stop thinking about me, then?” “That also isn't what I said.” Though, he isn’t entirely wrong, “I’m just worried about how I'm going to focus at work tomorrow when I’ll be spending the whole day looking over my shoulder to make sure some white-haired twink isn't about to commit murder upon me.” 

“White-haired what? ” “Twinnnnk~” You reply, “Look it up, I’m sure that will keep you busy for a few hours.” “I hardly need to be kept busy , I have important work to do.” “Like stealing my soul.” “Yours and others, I do not just follow you around all day.” He says dryly, “You are not that important. Also, I will not be murdering you. I am pushing you in the correct direction, one you have stubbornly been avoiding for far too long.” You hum quietly to yourself, reaching out to pat your cat where he sits next to you on the bed, “How was I meant to die anyway? Just out of curiosity, since you seem to know everything about it.” He doesn't answer for some time, and the deafening silence makes you regret even posing the question. 

“Do you really want to know?” He finally asks, “Most people never find out, because unlike you they die when they are supposed to.” “Hit me with it, Grimmy.” He groans, “Do not call me that.” then you hear him sigh, deeply, contemplatively, “You were supposed to die of food poisoning.” “Oh.” You reply, feeling your heart sink a little, “Damn, that sucks. That’s so…boring”

“Death often is.” “I guess, well, I guess I was hoping that the way I die might be interesting at least. What food would have poisoned me anyway?” “Ham sandwich.” “Yikes. Was the ham poisoned or something?” “No, just expired. On a related note, you do need to clean out your fridge more often.” He’s right. Your fridge is pretty nasty, and it kind of always has been. It’s a very low priority on your list of tasks.

“Grim?”

“Yes?”

You swallow, unsure how to phrase the real question hiding in the recesses of your mind, “could you…I dunno, kill me gently, if it comes to it? I mean, I just-“ you roll over onto your side, making eye contact with the black screen of your laptop, “If I have to die, I don’t want it to hurt.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then he replies, “I don’t want it to hurt you either.”

“That’s…sweet, Thank you.” “Lacking desire to see you suffer does not make me sweet , it makes me considerate .” He sighs irritably, “More importantly, does this mean you’re finally willing to hand over your soul?” You laugh, “ No! I just- I dunno, I had a weird day and I'm feeling kinda existential now.” You look through your window, staring up at the night sky, “Do you feel that way sometimes, or is it just a human thing?”

“I do not see how that’s any of your business.” “C’mon, Grim. Just play along for once, get silly with it.” You hear him huff on the other end of the line, you can picture the exact pouty face he must be making right now, “I have been a reaper as long as I can remember, and will continue to be one for the rest of my life, there is little for me to be existential about.”

“Hm.” 

“What?” He says brusquely, “What are you ‘hm-ing’ about?”

“The thought of having one job for the rest of my life is exactly the sort of thing that makes me existential, that’s all.” “Well you don’t have to work at the same job for the rest of your life, so what exactly are you complaining about?” “I mean, the rest of my life might only be a few more days.” You say, “Provided you win our bet of course, which you will not be doing.” “Do not doubt me, Sunshine. You may come to regret it.” You giggle, “Doubtful.” There’s a rustling sound on the other end of the call, you can only assume that he is also lying in bed right now, “I am quite literally death, and I even gave you concrete proof of this fact this evening.” his voice turns quiet, dare you think it, wistful, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” You shrug, even though he can’t see you, “You aren’t very scary.”

“I am going to take your soul .” “You are going to try and take my soul.” a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, “And even if you do, you’ve already promised to do it gently .” “I promised not to hurt you, I never said anything about being gentle .” 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see the difference between those two statements.” He groans, and when he speaks again his voice is muffled. You suspect he has his face buried in a pillow, “You are infuriating. When I leave the chatroom for the evening I assume that I am done with you, I was not prepared for you to insist on continuing our conversation well into the night.”

“What, are you tired?” All goes quiet for a moment, and then, “No. Are you?” “Nope.” “Hmph, you should be at this hour, especially after a day of work.”

“I- well, I dunno…”

You don’t want to tell him the truth, that most of your friends have grown up and don’t talk to you anymore, that while you love your family it’s too difficult to find time to travel and see them, that you are incredibly lonely. You are tired, you have to be up at 5:00 to get ready for work tomorrow morning, but the idea of saying goodbye, of hanging up, makes something ache deep inside you. Something inside the very soul he wants to steal. 

“You don’t know, what?”

“Huh?” Grim huffs again, “You said, ‘i dunno’ and then stopped talking, which is very out of character for you, by the way.” “Oh? Did you miss me? Were even those brief seconds of silence enough to make you realize how much you love hearing my voice?” “I will hang up.” 

“Don’t.” You say before you have time to think better of it, “Please.”

“I-“ he clears his throat, “Only if you can act normally for the rest of our conversation.”

“I’m plenty normal, you’re the weird one.”

“What’s weird, how am I weird?”

You roll onto your back, staring up at the celing, “Oh i dunno, just the whole ‘I am death incarnate! I have come for your soul! I will connect my soul to yours! ’ schtik” 

“You know fully well that it is not a…what did you call it? A schtik?” He pronounces the word completely wrong, “Whatever that is, it is not one of those. I am death incarnate, I am here for you soul, and you were literally an active part in the soul connection.”

“Oh, about that soul connection thing, by the way.” He scoffs, “Your ability to change the subject at a whim is still strong as ever i see.” 

“I know, I’m very talented- anyway! I wanted to ask if you can do anything cool now that we have a soul link or whatever.” “I have already told you, I cannot control your body. As entertaining as it would be to embarrass you publicly, even my exceptional abilities could not do that” 

“Oh kay , how about something easier, then?” You feel the warmth of your cat as he snuggles up against your side and instinctively reach out to pat him, “Read my mind, go on!” “I cannot do that.” “C’mon, Grimmy, give it a go!” You squeeze your eyes shut, “I’m thinking about something real hard right now.” He sighs, “Are you thinking about your cat?” “ Whaaaat? How did you know?!”

“I didn’t know , i guessed. I can’t read your mind, but i am still attuned with your soul.” His voice has turned uncharacteristically soft, he’s almost whispering, “It… flutters …when you are happy, and your cat makes you happy. So I guessed…”

“So you’re a soul reader, then?” You ask, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach also feels oddly fluttery right now.

“That is not a thing. You’re just making things up now.”

“Try again.” You say, your mind unwittingly flooded with thoughts of soft white hair and judgemental red eyes. Of hands you wish were bare, of sharp toothed smiles. Your heart slows to a languid rhythm, and something you aren’t ready to put a name to curls warmly in your belly. You close your eyes, softly this time, and breathe, “What am i thinking about now?”

He goes silent for a long time, you can hear the slow, even draw of his breath. You can picture him laying back on his bed, hair splayed over the pillow, brow creased in concentration and you wonder if he is thinking about you too. After what feels like an age, he finally answers, “your…plant?”

You burst into laughter and any tension in the air shatters, “My plant?! What about my soul was screaming plant just then?”

“Well, I don’t know! It was just happy again, happier, even and I assumed that you were smart enough not to just think about your cat again.” 

“Yeah, you got me.” You lie, “it was my cat again.”

“Hells, every single day you find a new way to get under my skin.” He sighs, and despite his earlier statement, his next words come out almost fondly , “You need sleep, mortal.”

“Yeah.” You reply, feeling that ache tug at you again, “I probably do.”

“I will talk to you tomorrow, that is, if you survive until then.”

That gets a laugh out of you, and you can’t tell if that was his intention or if he was being completely serious, “I look forward to it. Remember to murder me nicely, Grim.”

“As nicely as I can, I swear.” You can hear his smile, “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.

As A Dog

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,085

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.

Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.

I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!

Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.

He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.

Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.

"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.

He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.

"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"

She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.

He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.

That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.

The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.

His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.

"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.

Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.

"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.

The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.

"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.

"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.

His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.

"Leave him. He'll be fine."

"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.

"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.

"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.

She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.

"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.

"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.

"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.

"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."

That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.

Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.

True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.

When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.

It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.

It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.

The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.

"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."

"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.

"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"

He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.

"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.

The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.

She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.

When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.

For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.

By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.

But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...

And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.

She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.

"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.

"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.

He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.

"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."

When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.

She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.

"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.

Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.

"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"

He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.

A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.

There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.

Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.

She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.

When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.

Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..

He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.

"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.

Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.

"Prove it."

She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.

"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.

Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.

By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.

It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.

Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.

"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."

His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.

She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.

In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.

The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.

He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.

"Take that shit off."

Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.

"Suck me." he growled.

While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.

The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.

Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.

"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."

She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.

He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.

It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.

He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.

"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.

The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.

Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.

What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.

He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.

On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.

He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.

"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.

This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.

"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.

Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.

"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.

Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.

Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.

She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.

"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.

As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.

He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.

For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.

Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.

Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.

He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.

Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.

He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.

If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.

His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.

"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.

"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."

"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.

"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."

She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.

"Good girl." he murmured.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

[talktonytome]

11 please!

11. how you pause when you talk, when you’re trying not to laugh (also on ao3)

Tommy’s walking over to grab another beer from the cooler, when Evan comes sauntering up to him with an absolute shit-eating grin on his face. He smiles and shakes his head, ready for whatever his soon-to-be husband has for him. He wasn’t kidding back when he told Hen and Karen that he was just trying to keep up. 

“So,” Evan chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet. “ I have it on good authority you like me- like, like me, even,” he smirks. 

Tommy raises an eyebrow, looking over Evan’s shoulder, to where Chim is suddenly pretending to look busy. “Hm, wonder where you got that from,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Surely, you didn’t gather that from months of us dating, moving in together, getting engaged or anything.”

Evan laughs, like he does every time Tommy makes a dumb little quip and it makes his heart do a little flip every time. “I dunno,” Evan pouts, shrugging his shoulders and sighing exaggeratedly. “A guy sits here, unkissed for long enough and he starts to wonder.”

Tommy brings him in by waist with one hand and uses the other to tilt his chin up. “Oh, well we can’t have that, now can we?” He says, even though it’s been forty minutes tops since they made out a little in Evan’s jeep, before joining Bobby and Athena’s barbecue. “They revoke my hot firefighter pilot boyfriend license for that sort of thing, you know?” 

“Exactly,” Evan nods solemnly. “I’m glad you you understand the gravity of the situation.” His serious expression lasts all of two seconds before he breaks into a cheeky grin- the one where his tongue darts out from between his teeth when he’s smug or trying not to laugh, one of the many expressions Tommy loves. 

“Brat,” Tommy mutters, voice entirely too fond to sound anything close to chastising. He thumbs Evan’s bottom lip, before leaning in and kissing him for it. They’re both smiling into the kiss, and even if it weren’t sunny outside, that would be enough to warm him from the inside out. 

Evan’s still grinning when they break apart, because he got what he wanted and he knows it. Tommy suspects he also knows by now, that there’s practically nothing he will deny him. 

“Alright, what lies and slander did Chimney feed you?” Tommy asks, leaning in for another quick kiss.

“Hmm, not sure I should say,” Evan pretends to think. “It’s confidential information.” 

Tommy snorts. “Oh yes, because Howie’s famous for keeping secrets, the epitome of confidentiality, really."

They both burst out laughing at that. 

“Ok, ok, he might have said something about you drunkenly waxing poetic about me last karaoke night.” Evan smiles a little in disbelief. God, he’s adorable.

“That… sounds about right,” Tommy shrugs. “I stand by it.” 

“Oh yeah? So you think it’s cute that I tilt my head when I flirt with you?” He proceeds to demonstrate just that. “And that you just can’t tell me no when I do that?” He bats his eyes for the full effect.

“Oh, I’ve created a monster,” Tommy groans. Then, because two can play at that game, “you know, I had an interesting conversation with Eddie myself, the other day. 

It’s Evan’s turn to sweat a little, his eyes grow a little wide and there’s a flush growing on his cheeks. “Y-yeah? What about?” 

“He said he picked you up from Hen’s after you two got into the tequila bottle…”

“Ha, yeah good times,” he laughs nervously. 

“Mhm,” is all Tommy says. He likes watching him squirm a little. Then, he pulls him in, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his cheek, mouth hovering right by his ear. 

“I wish I could put a baby in you, too, sweetheart,” he punctuates with a kiss to Evan’s cheek. 

He cackles when Evan gasps, going red in the face. "Wow, betrayed by my own best friend?" He pulls away from Tommy, to scan for Eddie across the yard. 

“When I catch you, Edmundo!” 

[hotluncheddie]

high masking autistic steve harrington follow on from this post

ao3

wc: 2.6k | rated: T | cw: description of a meltdown with semi aggressive stimms | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie and robin but this is about stevie), hurt/comfort, stobin soulmates, steddie, steve Harrington has shitty parents

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he failed. he graduated. but he failed. those unsaid words between him and his parents. some get said. the bad ones, about him, they get said. over again like he’s 5 and being told is behaviour isn’t acceptable. that how he is isn’t right. ‘shape up or ship out’, basically. steve knows he can’t go anywhere new, not right now. only freshly recovered, physically at least. mentally; he’s still unacceptable. 

when steve works at scoops. it’s so fucking bright in there. so fucking bright, all day and he can’t focus and talking to people gets so much harder. it’s not like school where he can zone out in class and turn it on during lunch, in between, keep up his face with the people around him and sink back into his head during chemistry. no. now it’s all the time, customer after customer. that he has to talk to, put on a smile for, read so he gives them what they want and they leave happy. it’s exhausting. girls don’t like him anymore, they don’t react to him the same way. he doesn’t think he likes them much either though because they’re so much more annoying when it’s so fucking bright. 

but robin (robin who cycles to work with sunglasses on and doesn’t take them off till she has too) she turns the lights down during open and close. so those couple hours, it’s not so bad. not so stressful. a little bit less loud. 

after the mall burns down steve starts letting her in. tries too. she makes it obvious enough to him that she wants him there. she asks him to stay and calls him at night and he just wants to be enough for her. eventually he’d swallowed his pride and bolstered his courage and called her after a string of nightmares. asking her to stay the night. but then she was there, and it was like everything was thrown off. she was grating on his already freyed nerves but he didn’t know what to say. how to fix it without upsetting her. 

but that night, a mirror of the mall bathroom played out in steves en-suite. steve had freaked. hidden. but she didn’t leave. and he tried to explain. 

he needs her but he doesn’t know how to have her as a true friend. ‘i dunno how to talk to a girl if i don’t wanna date them. i uh, maybe, don’t really know how to talk to someone as myself. as a friend. sorry.’ 

‘well i don’t know how to talk to jocks so. same boat.’ and she has this glint in her eye. like she knows. and it’s okay. 

because robin, she made it simple. she makes it easy. she says just ask and she’ll be honest and give him a yes or no. she’ll say if she can’t be touched right now, or if the movie he chose is pissing her the fuck off. and she wants the same from him. if the music is too loud, if she needs to let him not speak for a while. wants him honest and present and real. real friends. someone close. finally. 

it’s rocky at first. she’s honest and he’s not used to it. it feel like criticism more often than not. makes him see red and lash out, like he was never able to with his parents. but he apologises and she stays. and he’s learning; that’s it’s okay, he’s not perfect and that means she’s knowing the real him. and she’s still his best friend even if he has to tell her to stop picking her nail polish off around him because it makes him want to die. and she laughs at him the first time she sees him in real recovery mode; hair not styled and he has on the only sweatshirt that ever feels good when he’s like this. 

they lay on the floor in darkness and silence. it’s perfect. they share a tin of soup and a grilled cheese. it’s perfect. 

being around robin as much as he is, its so new, having someone see so many parts of you. sometimes she laughs at him asking steve ‘why’d your voice change?’ but steve didn’t even know it had. he was, he was just talking to someone else quick, being nice like you’re supposed to, attentive to make them feel good. he didn’t know his voice changed that much. 

‘girls would like you more if you talked normal to them. how you do to me.’ 

steve swallowed thickly. he just. he just doesn’t know that thats true. nancy left, he talked to her about lots of things, too many things. she like him better at the start. before some of his black tar innards spilled out. before he freaked. before he was able to paste himself back together and she saw him for what he really is. 

he thinks of his parents. how they don’t know him and still don’t like him. anxiety prickles at his fingertips at the thought of those times they do come home. 

because with them there the routine he’s carved for himself, those quiet moments of darkness that he so craves. they’re gone. now it’s tv static and plates clanging and having to show his face at dinner again. but he’s not ten anymore. now he’s an adult whose still drowning in the tension of the room, never able to say what’s really going on, never allowed to ask how they really feel, never taught how to figure his feeling out. no listening ear for steve as a child, and the ice only grew thicker with time. 

it’s his skin itching at his mother stirring her tea across the house, spoon agains porcelain. it’s the hair on the back of his neck standing up at the sound of ice clinking in his fathers scotch glass. it’s triggered memories playing over and over again. it’s being plagued, by ghosts who haunt him, who left but come back every so often, like poltergeists. polietgists with the deed to the house, and ownership over steve, through blood and fear alone. 

‘when they get back you come to mine steve yeah? you come home.’

because now theres not just robin. there’s eddie. 

he sees everything. and more. even when steve’s trying to hide. eddie sees. 

he noticed steve squinting at the hospital and asked the nurse to turn the lights down. he saw how he started zoning out at a diner with the kids, their arguing reaching a pitch, asked steve to keep him company for a smoke break. once they were outside eddie said he just needed a moment, ‘those kids can be animals’. said it and looked a him like he didn’t need an answer, let steve just breathe a focus on the sound of the wind. 

it’s like there’s a million tiny moments, a million tiny cracks in him forming the more he’s around eddie. like his soft underbelly is mewling any time he’s around, wanting attention, wanting to let eddie see. let eddie touch. 

eddie used to look at him sometimes, across the lunch hall. stare at him with an expression steve couldn’t really make sense of. he used to think it was judgment, annoyance. now he wonders if that face was confusion or interest. maybe eddie’s always been trying to figure steve out. 

once it starts. them. eddie’s everywhere. more somehow, maybe, than robin because, you know, they go there. but it’s different, from those time, with those girls. instead now he’s there and his brains off and on in a, like, magical way. a new way that makes him feel whole and, and beautiful. 

this thing they have. it’s fragile. it’s not perfect. he messes up, takes him a moment to grasp how eddie can be so so himself, always, no matter what. especially when it causes him problems. ‘why not just try and fit in?’ but the stone faced reply told steve that was the wrong thing to say, he didn’t get it but he needed to respect it. respect eddie and his choices. ‘i’m not like you steve, even if my brain shit was all gone i’d still be poor, i’d still be othered. still be a gay weirdo little freak.’ 

and steve is trying to get it. he’s learning to recognise that it’s sadness and confusion in eddie’s eyes when he visits him at work, knowing steve is having a bad day and watching him pretend. watching that mask form thick and fast, hiding the real him, protecting but also keeping everyone far far away. steve thinks maybe they’re living parallels. finding different ways to survive. neither better, neither worse. both far from perfect. 

then that pinched sadness in eddie’s eyes. watching steve pretend. cover up. that damn breaks eventually. eddie sees all of him and more. those bits he always kept locked inside. between he and himself. it all comes spilling out. 

they were supposed to be going out soon. but eddie wasn’t feeling it anymore ‘let’s just stay here, be cozy a little longer. what do you say, sweetheart?’ it does sound nice. steves so tired. but they decided. they had a plan. 

‘we said we would. and i have to buy that thing eddie. we had a plan. and i have to go to work later, so we have to do it before. like we said and then i have to work eddie.’ and before he knows it there’s tears prickling his eyes and the ceiling fan is so loud and the desk lamp is too bright and he smacks a fist to the top of his head and it hurts a little but he’s so frustrated and so overwhelmed and so confused and embarrassed, suddenly. and he can’t breath. why can’t he breath? they had a plan. 

they were supposed to go see hopper and pick something up and he has to talk to him and ask about the game because he needs hopper to like him because it’s better when el can come when all the kids hangout. it’s important that she’s happy so hopper needs to trust steve so steve was going to talk to him today and pick something up. it was the plan. hopper makes him nervous but that was the plan. and then he had to go to work. but now he can’t breathe and he feels like he needs something to hurt. 

‘but he already trusts you with el stevie. hop trusts you with anything.’ 

‘i can’t know that. not for sure. when i talk to him it needs to be perfect.’ steve paces. a pinch at his arm. a tug at his hair. pivot. pace. repeat. 

‘i heard what he said to you steve, on your birthday, he was calling you son all day. you don’t need to prove anything to him.’ 

‘i do eddie! you don’t understand. people, they lie. adults lie. they don’t say things the way they mean. i can’t fuck up talking to him. not like i always fuck up talking to my parents. i need to do it better. do it differently. because everyone always leaves. and i just don’t want to be alone again.’ and the tears really start to fall and steve can barely breath and he’s so embarrassed. shaking hands try and cover his face but the tears slip through. 

and all he can think about is the plan. going to work. his vest hanging by the door. the way the plastic tapes feel in his hands. the smell of the bleach they mop the back room with. the day stretches before him. so many things in the way. so much anxiety still to come. if he can’t start, it can’t end. he gnaws at his lip. thumps a hand to his chest, trying to breath right, trying to ground. 

‘i have to go to work’ he mutters. like a prayer. speak it in to happening. taking him away from the now. thump thump thump at his chest. ear ringing. 

eddie’s holding his arms out, giving steve the option. he speaks so calmly, so earnest. ‘you can’t go to work steve. not like this baby.’

steve rounds on him. angry. when did everything get so messed up? if he was just left alone. he should’ve stayed on his own. ‘i cant just call in sick eddie! i’m not sick and and i hate the way they’ll sound when i say it over the phone and knowing what they’ll be thinking about me. they’ll know i hate the job and think i’m lazy and realise how stupid and useless i am and fire me. i can’t afford to get fired eddie. i’d rather just go in.’ he know it comes out garbled, his cheeks on fire. 

‘i’m not letting you go in steve. i’ll sort it. i’ll go pick up robin before and she’ll cover for you, she’ll explain. and she would never. ever think that of you.’ eddie’s voice dropped octave. he speaks clearly and plainly and finally there’s a new plan to follow. a new rule for the day. 

and all steve can do is curl up in a ball and sob. curl up in a ball against eddie chest, in his arms, squeezing his t-shirt between his fingers. clenching his muscles tight, his teeth grinding together. grunting out some of the decade old scream, still stuck there but more visible to him now. 

until finally finally, he relaxes. spent and exhausted. too afraid to open his eyes and face the lamplight, face what could be in eddie’s expression. he drifts..

eventually he gets up, blows his nose and splashed water on his face, turns off all the lights and get back under the warm blanket. fills his lungs. sighs. whispers, ‘m’sorry’ 

‘don’t say that. there’s nothing to apologise for’ eddie’s so close, so warm. 

‘no one’s supposed to ever, see that.. it’s okay if you want to leave’ 

‘steve. why the fuck would i leave you right now?’ 

‘who’d wanna date someone who acts like that? it’s. it’s not good eddie. but, but it’s okay. i’m used to being alo-.’ 

‘please stop stevie. your breaking my heart here. i want to stay, i want to be here with you. i really really like you steve.’ and steve’s cheeks feel wet again. he feels flayed open and young, like a little kid who fell off the swings and everything is different suddenly. 

later later when eddie picks robin up from work she stalks in to where steve’s wrapped up on the couch. curls up into his side and exhales. she bites into his bicep. huffing a sad, annoyed little ‘dingus’ before grabbing his hand and fiddling with his fingers. 

steve feels his eyes prickle again. looking up at the ceiling he croaks out a small ‘sorry.’ for the day. for everything. for anything he can be. and everything he can’t. 

robin kneels on the sofa right next to him. growling a little and placing one of her hands at his sternum and the other at the same height on his back. like she’s forcing herself inside him, holding him together. her hands start to rub up and down quickly, frenzied and grounding for both of them. steve let’s his head hang. eyes closing at the sensation. he grunts. robin grunts back. 

eddie joins. sitting at his other side. slipping a hand in steve’s hair, soothing his scalp with long scratching fingers. and steve humms, sighs, keens. eyes closed he drifts but not away from his body, instead into it. with gratitude, and warmth. at the centre of the two best things that ever happened to him. willing to try again. be just, better. never perfect. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

pt 3 snippet

a little happier for u @pearynice <3

ty @spectrum-spectre @vampyreddiemunson @fangirlycupcake @grandwretch for ur tags and additions, it was very inspiring

and tags for lovely @irethsune @willim-billiam-byerson @2jug2head

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling No Outbreak AU - Ch. 1: Rodeo

When Ellie sees you riding at a rodeo, she knows you have to teach her. Chapter 1 of the Yearling No Outbreak AU found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Yearling

CW: Fluff, Joel is a really dedicated father and we love that for him and for us, friends to lovers, no use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only.

Length: 4.1k

AO3 | Main Masterlist

Sunday, November 2, 2025

“No freakin’ way.” 

Ellie’s eyes were wide and she was smiling bigger than Joel had seen her smile in what seemed like forever as she watched the rodeo. 

It had been his idea to take her to the fair. He thought it would be good for her - get out, have some fun, take her mind off things for a bit. He offered to bring along a friend of hers from school, too, but she just gave him a look. 

“What,” she said. “Going to fly Riley in from Boston?” 

“Was kinda hopin’ someone a bit more local,” he said, awkwardly cupping the back of his neck. “Must have someone you’d like to hang out with…”

“Welp,” she said, flopping back on her bed and holding her comic book over her head. “Then I’m afraid you’re shit outta luck, old man.” 

He wasn’t sure how much fun she’d have just hanging out with him all day but she’d seemed to be having a good enough time. He showed her how to shoot the air rifles at the games and she dragged him through a fun house and they both delighted in all the deep fried snack options. 

It had been Ellie who wanted to go to the rodeo. Joel hadn’t been to one in years, not since he was close to Ellie’s age and he’d gone with his dad at this same fair, but it was something that Ellie wanted to do. And, after the last few years, he was happy to do whatever made her happy. 

He just hadn’t expected her to fall completely in love with the horses and one rider in particular. 

“We got a real special treat for y’all here today,” the announcer had said. “Now, she ain’t competing today - and let me tell you, every man in the building is thankful she ain’t because they’ve all lost to her at one time or another - but we have the one, the only queen of the rodeo scene doing a showcase in a few events today, startin’ with trick riding. Five time world champion -“ 

There was a loud whoop from behind Joel and he missed your name but he watched as you rode out into the arena, standing on the backs of two horses, a foot on each animal, one hand on the reins and the other high in the air waving at the crowd as you guided the horses past the stands. He watched - just as in awe as Ellie - as you jumped the horses and threw your body around on them as though you were a gymnast on a bar and not a 2,000 pound animal. 

He was awed again when, between other events, you stayed on the back of bucking bronco far longer than any of the competitors and again when you demonstrated roping calves. He didn’t think the announcer had been joking when he said the men here were thankful you weren’t competing, he had a feeling you blew them out of the water every time. 

“Hey Joel,” Ellie said when a girl who reminded Joel of Sarah when she was younger was doing her trick riding routine. “She’s out there again! I think she’s a coach…” 

He looked where Ellie was pointing and she was right, you were standing at the edge of the arena, switching between fidgeting with your necklace and yelling as the girl nearly dragged on the ground from the side of the horse. 

“Think you’re right,” Joel said. 

“Think she teaches lessons or something?” Ellie asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“I dunno baby girl…” Joel said, hesitant. 

“Can we find out?” She looked back out at the arena. “Because that looks so fucking cool.” 

“Language,” Joel said and he caught her eye roll out of the corner of his eye. He sighed. “But yeah, we can see if we can track ‘er down after the rodeo, see if she’ll teach you. She may not be anywhere around here, though…” 

But Ellie looked so fascinated, so happy, Joel knew that the location didn’t matter much. He’d figure something out. 

After the rodeo, the two of them made their way around, against the flow of people, finding the entrance to the place where the livestock and competitors were and Joel caught sight of you, talking to the girl who reminded him so much of a young Sarah. A man stopped to talk to you and you gave him some direction before he came toward where Joel and Ellie were standing and watching. 

“‘Scuse me,” Joel said as he went past. He stopped, frowning slightly at Joel. “Sorry to bother you but… well, we were wondering if you knew that woman there, the one who was doing the showcase riding before.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “I know her alright. That’s my sister.”

Joel tried to ignore the way his heart beat a little faster knowing that this guy wasn’t your husband. 

“Can I help you with anything?” He continued. “She’s also my boss, I work at her ranch.” 

“Was wondering if she did any teaching…” Joel said. 

“Because I really want to learn how to do that shit,” Ellie cut her off. “So fucking cool.” 

“Ellie!” He gave her a look. “Come on, baby girl, language.” 

“Sorry,” she flinched. 

Joel looked back to the man. 

“Anyway,” he said. “Was hoping she was taking new students…”

“She is,” the man said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a business card, handing it over to Joel. The words Triton Ranch were embossed on the front. “I’m Richie, you can email me there and I can help get you all set up for…” 

“Can you believe this shit?” You stalked up to Richie, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Been out here for 30 years and there’s still this sexist bullshit…” 

You seemed to notice Joel and Ellie standing there then, looking them up and down before raising your eyebrows to your brother. 

“Some new potential clients,” Richie said. “Interested in riding lessons.” 

You looked between Joel and Ellie again. 

“Which one of you?” You asked. 

“Me,” Ellie said, sounding almost giddy. 

“Good,” you said. “Need more women out here, some of these men… We’re based near Austin, that work for you two?” 

“Perfect,” Joel said, trying to not stare at you because damn were you pretty, especially this close. “That’s where we are, too.” 

“Tuesday, 5:30 p.m.,” you said. “Come with boots with a one inch heel on ‘em, you need something to help you stay in stirrups. I got other safety gear you can use… HEY ASSHOLE!” 

You stormed off mid-sentence, stalking up to a man who didn’t look remotely prepared to deal with you grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and yanking him around to face you before shoving him back. 

“Alright, that’s my cue to go rein her in before she does any real damage,” Richie said, going to follow you. “See you Tuesday, 5:30!” 

“Tuesday, 5:30!” Ellie called back before turning to beam at Joel. “This is going to be awesome.” 

Joel watched as Richie pulled you back from the man you were trying to pick a fight with, your eyes going wide like fawn, a look of almost innocent indignity on your face as your brother stepped in. Joel resisted the urge to smile a little, the idea of something like Bambi picking a fight. You were… something. 

“Think you’re right,” he said. 

***

Tuesday 

“Savvy, that horse is gonna walk all over you if you keep lettin’ her do that,” you said, watching her from near the fence, your thumb looped through your husband’s wedding band that hung from a chain around your neck. You fidgeted with it, sliding it back and forth as you tried not to panic at your daughter being on the back of a dumb broke horse, tried to remind yourself that you’d been on unbroke horses younger than she was now, tried not to hear Mark’s voice in your head, already nervous about Savvy wanting to go into the same line of work as you. “You gotta be firmer than you’re used to…” 

“She’s not responding though,” she said, huffy. 

“Because she’s not well broke yet,” you said. “You’re the one who said you wanted to try your hand at breaking horses, you gotta keep them under control…” 

Nova, the horse Savvy was on, started pawing anxiously at the ground, tossing her head. 

“Savvy,” you said cautiously, stepping closer and gripping the wedding band tightly now. “Ease up, she’s gettin’ restless, dismount if you can…”

She nodded but when she adjusted, the horse bucked and you shot forward as Savvy gave a sharp shriek, ending up on her back. You had to jump to grab the reins out of the air and did your best to pull Nova into a one rein stop from on the ground as Savvy scrambled out of the way. Nova stilled quickly, her nostrils flaring. 

“You OK baby girl?” You called to Savvy, keeping your eyes on Nova, staring her down. 

“I’m OK,” she called back weakly. “But ow.” 

You laughed a little. 

“Told you you were gonna get thrown at some point,” you said before reaching a hand up to pet Nova’s muzzle. “And what’s your excuse, young lady? Hm?” 

She huffed. 

“Can’t go throwin’ people,” you said. “You think you get treats when you behave that way? Hm? Because now I gotta get on you and take you around real quick to make sure you know you can’t get out of shit by doin’ that and neither of us is going to be happy about it.” 

She huffed again. 

“Well, s’long as we’re in agreement,” you said, keeping the reins in your hand as you ran it over her side. You mounted her and she tossed her head. “Savvy, back behind the fence.” 

She sighed. 

“Yes, Mom.” 

You kept a tight hold on Nova, your knees tighter to her ribs than they usually would be. You eased her into a walk, then a trot, gradually up to a gallup as you took her around the pasture before realizing that you had an audience, the large, handsome man from the rodeo a few days earlier with his teenaged daughter standing at the fence with Savvy and Richie as you rode back around. You brought Nova over and pulled her to a stop near them, the man watching you with a small, crooked smile on his face and fuck, he was handsome. Tall, broad, tan. Exactly your type when it came to men. 

“Now I know you didn’t forget,” Richie smirked a little and you wanted to kick him. Just because he knew this guy was your type didn’t mean he had to rub it in. “This is Joel and Ellie, they’re here for her lesson.” 

You nodded, catching your breath a little before introducing yourself. 

“And I didn’t forget,” you said, shooting Richie a glare. “Just had to get wild thing here under control before I put her away for the day. Don’t worry, Ellie, not putting you on her. I’ve got just the horse to get you started on.” 

You dismounted and gave Nova an approving pat before turning to Savvy. 

“Can I trust you to get her settled?” You asked, brows raised. 

“I can do it!” She said, a little defensive. 

“Alright,” you said, and she climbed the fence and took the reins from you. You shed your hat now that you needed to look up at Joel and jerked your head toward the barn. “Follow me.” 

Ellie was on you like glue and you looked down to see that she was in a pair of cowboy boots. 

“Good,” you said, nodding at the shoes. “You’ll be thankful for those when you’re trying to get a grip on a horse. You ever ridden before?” 

“We did a trail ride once,” she said. “But that was a few years ago, right?” 

She looked back over her shoulder toward Joel. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Before… Yeah, it was about three years ago now.” 

You nodded. 

“Take it you like animals?” You said as you made your way through the stables, going for the stall of the horse you’d had Richie get ready for this lesson. “Sure hope so, since you want to learn riding.” 

“Hell yeah,” Ellie said. 

“Ellie,” Joel said, a warning tone in his voice. 

“Sorry,” she said, rolling her eyes. You smiled. “Yes. I do. Even though Joel won’t let me get a dog.” 

“We can talk about it when you’re off school for the summer,” he said and you tried not to frown. If she was calling him Joel, he wasn’t her dad. You hoped this girl hadn’t been through too much, she seemed like a good kid. 

“Well,” you said, coming to a stop at the stall. “You can come hang out with Shimmer here even if he doesn’t let you get a dog.” 

Ellie’s face lit up, looking at the horse with a huge smile on her face. 

“Shimmer is a rescue,” you said, reaching up to scratch behind her ears. “Got her when she was a yearling a few years back from an unlicensed breeding operation. Poor thing was underfed and skittish as hell but she came around. She’s a real sweet, gentle horse and she loves when people can be real sweet and gentle with her. Think you can do that?” 

“Yeah,” Ellie said, smiling at you. “Definitely.” 

“Good,” you smiled back, reaching to a bin mounted between stalls and pulling some feed out. “Hand out, palm flat.” 

She obeyed and you gave her the feed. Her eyes went a little wide. 

“Now keep your palm real flat and hold it out for her,” you said. “You’ll feel her teeth kinda brush your skin a bit but she won’t hurt ya.” 

She obeyed and looked on in awe as Shimmer ate from her hand. 

“Go ahead and give her a pet,” you said when the feed was gone. “Let her smell you first and once she nudges your hand, she’s OK with you touchin’ her.” 

Ellie did as she was told, Shimmer pressing her nose into her hand almost immediately now that she’d associated Ellie with food. You smiled a little as Ellie beamed. 

“Hey Shimmer!” Ellie said affectionately, petting her gently. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing?” 

Shimmer chuffed happily and Ellie looked back at Joel. 

“She likes me!” 

Joel chuckled. 

“Yeah, think she does.” 

“How about we take her out, get you on her,” you said before turning to Joel. “Just assuming Richie got you all set with the paperwork and whatnot?” 

“He did,” Joel nodded. 

“Good,” you said. “Thank God for him, lord knows I don’t got the mind for the paper pushing side of this operation.” 

You nudged the two of them back and got Shimmer out, giving her an affectionate pat as you led her toward the pasture. 

You worked with Ellie for two hours and she was a natural. She was very in tune with her horse, learning how to apply pressure and how to work with her body weight quickly. Before too long, she was ready to do more than walk her a little and you got your favorite horse, Perseus, out of the stable, only putting a bit and bridle on him before jumping on him bareback so you could keep pace with Ellie on a trip around the pasture at Shimmer’s natural walking pace. 

To your surprise, Joel didn’t go and sit in the car or even scroll on his phone while you worked with Ellie. He just watched, leaning against the post fence with his hands lightly folded in front of him, a small smile on his face as she made progress. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a parent - or parent figure, you supposed - quite so engaged, especially for a first lesson. 

“Alright,” you said as the time was up and you dismounted your horse, taking the reins from Ellie. “Hop on down, we can take Shimmer back to her stall and you can say goodbye until next time.” 

“I can ride her next time?” She asked, eyes bright. 

“Course you can,” you said. “Shimmer can be your horse for a while.” 

“Hear that, Joel?” Ellie called, more jumping off the horse than anything else. “Shimmer can be my horse!” 

She started running for the fence without paying much mind to where exactly she was running, slipping on a puddle and going down quick into a pile of mud. 

“Shit,” you swore, running over to her, just catching Joel damn near hurdling the fence to do the same out of the corner of your eye. You got to Ellie first, kneeling beside her, and she was laughing, flat on her back and covered in mud. You breathed a sigh of relief. “You alright there, kid?” 

“I’m good,” she laughed, sitting up and looking at her mud covered hands. “Don’t know if he’ll let me in his truck now, though.” 

“Scared me, baby girl,” Joel said, joining you. “You hit your head or anything?” 

“Nah,” she said. “Just got nice and gross…” 

She reached out and smeared some mud on his arm, near his watch. He tried to look irritated but didn’t quite manage it. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, standing up again and offering her his hand. “Think there are some towels in the truck…” 

“If you’d rather,” you said quickly. “You can shower before you go. I’m sure Savvy has some sweats you can borrow until you’re back.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s way better,” Ellie said before Joel got a chance to respond, taking Joel’s hand and wiping her hands on her jeans. It didn’t seem to make much difference. “Because this is - sorry, Joel - fucking gross.” 

You laughed. 

“Yeah, welcome to ranch life,” you said. “C’mon, we’ll go up to the main house, get you cleaned up a bit.” 

You cut through the barn and asked Richie to get Shimmer and Perseus settled before getting Savvy from where she was sitting and reading, perched on a stall door next to Nike, your oldest horse that you’d bought off your old boss when you started your ranch 10 years earlier. 

“Savvy, this is Ellie,” you said, introducing the girls. Savvy looked like she was stifling a laugh and waved. “Ellie, this is my daughter Savvy. Savvy, do me a favor, we’re goin’ to the main house to get Ellie cleaned up before she heads home, can you show her where your bathroom is and get her something to wear home?” 

“Sure!” She said, hopping down and walking up to Ellie. “Nice to meet you. Are you learning how to ride?” 

“Yeah!” Ellie said brightly. “It was so f…freaking cool, I was on Shimmer and she was so soft and…” 

“Oh yeah, Shimmer’s the best,” Savvy said knowingly, the two girls walking ahead. You smiled a little, watching them as they talked, fidgeting with Mark’s wedding band again. 

“You really don’t gotta go through this much trouble,” Joel said, staying alongside you as you followed the girls to the large white farmhouse you called home. “I’m sure I’ve got some towels in the truck and I’d hate to get your house all muddy…” 

You scoffed. 

“This is a ranch,” you said. “The house sees mud every day. It’ll live. And it’s no trouble. I’d much rather send you home with a bag of muddy clothes than a muddy kid.” 

Savvy led Ellie upstairs, a little trail of mud behind them that made you smile. You’d clean it up later but, strange as it was, you loved the little signs of the life you led now. The one where you worked with horses that were yours or that you picked who to sell them to, got to work with passionate kids like Ellie and got mud on the floors of the house your husband had fixed up for you when you’d bought it for a steal years earlier. You kicked off your boots at the door. 

“C’mon,” you said, jerking your head toward the kitchen. “Let me get you a drink.” 

Joel just stared at you for a moment before following you, stopping at some of the pictures on wall as you went to the fridge. 

“Sweet tea?” You asked. “I got stronger stuff, too, but not sure how much of a drive home you’ve got…” 

“Tea’s good,” he said. “Thanks.” 

You poured him a tall glass and got one for yourself before joining him at the pictures and handing him the drink. 

“Thank you,” he said again and you just nodded, taking a sip yourself and looking at the pictures that you so rarely noticed individually anymore. Savvy’s school portraits, pictures of her on podiums, you at the world championships… 

“This your wedding day?” He asked, nodding to one of the bigger pictures, one of you in an floor-length white eyelet lace dress, the toe of your best pair of boots peaking out the bottom as you smiled up at your husband, who was standing beside you in his black jeans, a button down shirt and tie. 

“That’s it alright. Me and Mark,” you smiled, toying with the ring around your neck again. “Eleven years ago now. Doesn’t feel like that long but damn has a lot happened.” 

“Eleven years is a long time,” Joel said. “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks, but we only made it nine,” you said, taking a sip of tea and looping the ring onto your thumb. Joel frowned and looked over to you. “He died, just over two years ago.”

“Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” 

You shrugged. 

“It’s fine,” you said. “I mean… well it’s not, it is shit, but it is what it is, you know?” 

“I do,” Joel nodded. “My wife, Tess, died, too. September, 2023. Cancer.” 

“Shit,” you said this time. “That’s so hard. I’m sorry.” 

“Like you said, it is what it is,” he replied. 

“We could start a club,” you said. “The ‘it is what it is society for young widows.’ Membership fees are fuckin’ high but hey, at least he company is good.” 

Joel snorted. 

“What, too soon?” You asked, teasing lightly. You weren’t sure why you felt so comfortable talking like this with a virtual stranger but you were. There was just something about him that felt familiar, comfortable. It was something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. 

“Nah,” Joel said. “Just right.” 

“Good,” you said, taking another sip of tea. 

“Tess is part of how we ended up here,” Joel said. “Ellie taking lessons here, I mean.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, brows raised. “Was she a horse girl at heart?” 

“Not really,” Joel laughed. “No, she was from Detroit and not much of a naturalist but… well, her dying hit Ellie real hard. We adopted her about four years ago and her and Tess were real close. We were gettin’ on fine just the two of us for a while but then I had to move back here to help my brother out with his business so she lost the closest thing she had to a mom and then less than two years later left all her friends, too. It’s been a rough time for her. Watching you ride at the rodeo was the happiest I’ve seen that kid in months and lord knows I’d do anything to get her to smile again.” 

You smiled at him. 

“Turns out, all it took was a horse,” you said. 

“And you,” Joel said, watching at you with an almost uncomfortably honest look on his face. You realized then just how close you were standing to him, how fucking good looking he was - noticing him in a way you hadn’t really noticed a man since your husband died. Your heart sped up. 

“OK way less gross now,” Ellie said from behind you, making you jump and you and Joel turned to look at her. “Also, way more pink.” 

You stifled a laugh, Ellie in a pink sweatsuit of Savvy’s. 

“Well ain’t you pretty,” Joel teased her lightly and she glared at him. He smiled. “Alright, now what do you say?” 

“Thank you for the shower and the clothes,” she said. “Seriously. I was gross.” 

“Yeah,” Savvy scrunched her nose. “You really were.” 

You walked the two of them out to Joel’s truck, Ellie already telling him excitedly about everything she learned with you that day. 

“Sounds like I’ll see you back same time next week?” You said to Joel as Ellie got in the passenger seat. 

“Yeah,” Joel smiled. “We’ll definitely be back.” 

“Good,” you smiled back. “Looking forward to it.” 

Joel looked like he thought for a moment before he nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.” 

A/N: I hope you enjoy what will be a pretty short look into how things go in a no outbreak reality for Joel and Bambi! I went ahead and tagged everyone on the Yearling tag list, I hope that's OK! Thank you for reading and caring about these characters, I really cannot thank you enough for this journey we've been on together. It's been such a blessing to share it with you. Love you!!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

[loganwritesprobably]

Here I go :D – Shanks with the 2° genre, prompt (a.) ✨

You started with something nice and basic, and I did not start with it, but hey, what can I say, I'm doing it now!

Find the prompt list here

Content/Warnings: Shanks/GN!Reader, showering together, non-sexual but characters are naked, hurt/comfort, established relationship, slightly suggestive comments

"Let me wash your hair for you." Shanks offered as he stepped into the bathroom, finding you already in the shower. It'd been a long day, and your lover could always be counted on to be there to lean on when you needed him.

"Sure." You agreed easily, and he stripped down and followed you into the shower with comfort that came from familiarity. It was far from the first time he'd done this. He wrapped his arm around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, keeping you close and using you to warm him up a little. He pressed a few soft kisses to your jaw, where he could reach, rubbing small circles into your hip with his thumb.

Nothing much had even happened that day, just a small argument with some locals - it'd just really drained you. The final straw on the camel's back. But now, Shanks was here to make it better.

Silently, he pulled away to lean over to where the shampoo was stored, the traditional lid replaced with a pump so he could use it with his one hand. He pumped the liquid into his palm, then began lathering it on your head, massaging your scalp with his fingers. He knew what to do with his fingers, you'd give him that much. You relaxed the longer the two of you stood there, he had that sort of effect on you. Once he was done with your hair, he gently guided you to turn around to rinse it, and began to massage your body wherever he could reach, further helping you loosen up.

"I dunno what fancy stuff you do with your hair - but damn if I don't know how shampoo works,so I can do that for ya at least." He said with a soft laugh, and you couldn't help joining his laughter.

It was the little things that made you feel better after a long day, and Shanks was brilliant at knowing just how to make you smile.

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