#he also stalked sarah

[areesvt]

I don’t think topper ever watched “consent it’s simple as tea” video :/

[beastsovrevelation]

I'm working on Hellfire Ch 3. and... Man. You've spoken to this woman twice.

Though, I'd probably profess undying love to Cordelia after a couple conversations also.

I mean...

She's perfection.

[noonslullabies]

A short quick question to my mom about the phantom of the opera, and she's for phantom/Christine.

She's a big fan of Michael Crawford's Phantom.

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[mountainsandmayhem]

Shhh...Just A Little Bit More

DBF!Joel x Fem!Reader

18+ MDNI

Masterlist || Part Two || Part Three (Soft Version) || Part Three (Spicy Version)

Summary: Joel catches you somewhere you shouldn't be, twice. CW: all p no plot! age gap, spanking, dirty talk, parental guilt, brat and brat tamer, sub/dom dynamics, edging and degradation kinks if you squint AN: I found the bottom right photo on Pinterest and @mermaidgirl30 said it screamed DBF!Joel. I have never written for DBF before so please be kind. Dividers by @saradika-graphics - thank you for all your amazing graphics and dividers, I'd be lost without your page.

“Let go of me, you fucking psycho!” You’re practically yelling over the music of the club, wrenching your arm from Joel’s strong grasp. The security guard approaches and Joel shoots him a glare so dark that he holds his hands up and steps back. “What the fuck, Joel?”

“What are ya doin’ here, sweetheart” he demands, one eyebrow raised. 

“I’m working!” You stomp your foot and then get right up in his face, pointing a finger at him. Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, hanging out in a strip club one town over. “The real question is, what are YOU doin here?” 

You’re only a bottle girl, you don’t get on the stage and have no intentions of stripping. It’s good money, great money actually. At 22 you’re already well on your way to having a down payment on a condo, it’s just too bad you’re having to lie to your parents. 

“With my crew, they picked the place. I’m takin’ you home. Go get your coat.” He crosses his arms over his chest, staring at you sternly. The music is pounding in your ears, the air thick with smoke. Even in the dimly lit hallway you can see the way Joel’s eyes rake over your body, taking in the very tiny Jean shorts and bralette you’re wearing. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spin and flip him the bird as you walk away. You know he’s staring so you give a little extra wiggle of your ass as you walk away. Joel Miller, staring at your ass. The fourteen year old inside you does a happy dance - that version of yourself had a tiny crush on him. Too bad he’s a stuffy, grumpy asshole now. You miss the fun, young Joel. He used to do cannonballs in the pool with you and his daughter Sarah. She was a few years older than you, but he was much more fun than your father. But now? Now he’s a certified prick. Thinking he can drag you away like some sort of barbaric caveman. He’s not your dad, even if he was, you’re an adult. 

When you finish your shift you head outside and pull up your Uber app, men often want to do shots with you so even though you never get drunk at work you also don’t drive there. 

See, Joel. I’m responsible. 

“Let’s go,” his voice is deep, still angry with you. You didn’t see him waiting by the door so you jump. 

“Jesus. You fucking scared me.” 

“Watch your language. Get in the truck.” 

You grumble under your breath that he should kiss your ass as he holds the door open for you. He stalks around to his side of the truck while furrowing his brow and shaking his head. 

“Got somethin’ to say young lady?” 

“Ya,” you say, slumping in the seat and putting your white vans on his dashboard, “kiss my ass.” 

He presses his lips in a thin line, you can see him eyeing your long toned legs from your peripheral vision before the engine roars to life and he speeds off down the gravel highway. 

When you pull up to the house he hops out of the truck and is right on your heels as you open the door. 

“I’m fine, Mister Miller.” You say with a sneer. You know he hates that, he has told everyone he’s ever been introduced to to call him Joel. 

Joel steps into your parents house and calls your dad’s name. “What the fuck! Joel! Shut up!” 

He calls for him again and your dad comes stumbling from his room, tying his robe around his sleeping attire. “Joel? What’s going on?” He flicks on the light, squinting against the brightness. “It’s 3 in the morning.” 

“Just thought I’d let you now know that the guys at work wanted to go to The Skin tonight. Caught your daughter working there.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?!” You yell, pushing at his broad chest. Your dad stands there stunned. Eyes wide and mouth agape. He thought you were working as a nurses aide overnight at the hospital on weekends. He’s even seen you leave the house in scrubs. All a part of the web of lies you have weaved. 

“Don’t speak to Joel that way,” your dad snaps. “Go to your room young lady. We’ll talk about this later.” 

“Kiss my ass, cowboy.” You practically spit at him as you stomp to your room. As you round the corner your mom is standing in the hallway clutching her crucifix necklace. You have a sudden urge to hiss at her with the way she’s looking at you, like you’re a disappointment. A sinner, the worst kind of person in her eyes. 

The next morning was the fight of all fights with your parents. Your dad tried to ground you, your mom started shoving church pamphlets at you. They wouldn’t even fucking listen. 

“IM NOT A STRIPPER,” you yelled at them over and over again. 

Finally, when the yelling ceased, your dad said in a very quiet anger, “young lady. I FORBID you from going there again. Is that clear? I don’t care if you’re 22 or 42, if you live under my roof, you live by my rules. You’re going to go to continue going to your university classes during the week, and on weekends you will be home. Studying. Helping your mother with the chores. You will go to bed at respectable hour. If you need money, you ask us. Is that clear?” 

You blink back tears and head to your room, slamming the door behind you. You are NOT quitting that job. 

When the next weekend rolls around you say goodnight to your parents at 10pm and head to your room. You worked it out with your boss to work the midnight to 4 am shift. So you wait - ear pressed to your door until you finally hear your parents go to bed. You sneak out the same way you’ve been sneaking out for years and run down the street with your newly embroidered denim shorts in hand to meet your Uber. 

You peel yourself away from the men and the booze around 2am to get some fresh air, exiting through the back to the dimly lit alley. You take a big inhale through your nose before you see it. The truck. Joel’s truck. And Joel. Leaning against the truck box, arms crossed, one foot up on the tire. 

You flip him off and then turn back towards the back entrance to the club. He’s on you so fast, grabbing the back of your bicep in his large hand. “You little brat. You aren’t supposed to be here.” 

“Read the shorts, MISTER Miller.” You say it as much venom as you can muster. 

His eyes rake down your body and you can almost feel them burning into you. It feels so good, you never want him to stop. Your pussy throbbed when he called you a brat and you wouldn’t be surprised if your light jean shorts hadn’t been soaked through already. When his eyes reach the pocket he sees ‘Kiss My Ass, Cowboy’ stitched in baby pink lettering and his grip tightens. 

He’s fucking furious with you. Furious that you’re here. Furious that other men get to see you dressed like this. Furious that he wants you so fucking badly. But mostly, furious because he knows you want him too and he’s a weak weak man when it comes to pretty little things like you. He yanks you back against his body and you let out a pained moan. 

“Don’t make me punish you,” he says coldly in your ear and you fight to stop your knees from buckling. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say breathlessly. 

Joel’s lips graze against the shell of your ear, hand gripping so tightly that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow. “So that’s what you want? You want me to punish you? Put you in your place? Huh?” 

You grind your ass back against him, “you would dare, Joel.” 

His other hand clamps down on your hip as he steers you to his truck, walking you around so no one can see the two of you. He opens the back door and pushes you forward until your legs are against the cold steel frame of the vehicle. “You don’t get to call me that. You call me Mr Miller from now on. Understood?” 

“Go fuck yourself, Joel,” you emphasize every vowel of his name, digging deeper. Pushing him. Pushing to see how far he’ll go. You get off on being a brat, and by the way his hard cock is pressing into your ass, he does too. 

He unbottons your shorts then lifts you slightly and pushes your upper body down onto the seat, the truck is high enough that your feet are dangling, ass stuck out for him. “Look at these slutty little shorts.” He tugs on the hem, your shorts now sitting just above your knees. Your pert ass is exposed to Joel and the night air. He tuts at the sight of you, “No panties. Little fuckin’ tease.” 

You whimper at his words, slick starting to coat your thighs. “You’re the one standing back there doing nothing.” You taunt. 

The cool night air spreads goosebumps across your skin, your clit twitches in anticipation of his touch. Other men have fucked you hard to get you to shut your mouth. And finally, FINALLY, you’re going to get fucked by Joel Miller. However, you grossly underestimated the different between the boys were with before and the man behind you now. 

His hand strikes your cheek hard and you let out a loud pained yell. “What the fuck, Joel!” 

“If you’re gonna be a brat,” his hand lands on your ass again, “you’re going to get a spanking.” His voice is harsh and rough as he hits you a third time. The sound of his skin on yours echoing through the cab of his truck. He hits you again, not caring about your cries of protest. 

You’ve never been spanked before and you’re thrown by your bodies reaction to it. At first you were shocked, then humiliated and then the pain and heat travelled to the base of your spine and you found yourself starting to get turned on. Arousal pools in your belly with each strike of his palm and when your pussy throbs the humiliation starts to creep back in. Are you supposed to be enjoying this so much, is this what Joel wants?

You bend your knees up, trying to make space between your bodies. One of his strong hands wraps around your ankles, pinning them to the back of your thighs as he spanks you again. 

“Stop! I’m sorry. I’ll - “ he strikes you again, harder than the last few times and there’s no more pain, every slap is full of pleasure. You let out a deep moan, your pussy practically gushing onto the leather seats. “Oh fuuuuck.”

Now that it’s turning you on it almost eggs Joel on. “Put your hands out in front of you,” he commands. Your arms shoot out, stretching them across the seat above your head. “Such a needy little slut. You’re drippin’ all over my fucking seat, baby girl.” He strikes you again and your arms flinch. “Keep them there.” 

Your ass is starting to get pink, his splotchy handprints covering it. The world around him starts to fade, all that he can see is you and your ass - and he wants to make it hurt. Then he wants to make it good. So very good. 

His strikes keep coming, he’s like a man possessed. “Stop, Joel. Please.” 

He drops your ankles, then uses his hand to spread your thighs apart, the denim biting into your knees. “Shhh…just a little bit more. Look at this messy pussy. You don’t want me to stop.” 

He hits you again and you start to hate how much he’s right. You don’t want him to stop, you’re on the verge of coming and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You’re sure the second he’s near your clit you’ll explode. 

Both of your cheeks are glowing red and Joel finally stops. You’ve both lost track of how many times he’s hit you. His large palm rubs the marks. You know you should keep your mouth shut, but fuck do you love to rile him up. 

“Are you done now? I have work to get back to.” 

Joel growls behind you. You hear the sound of his belt undoing, the leather whipping out from the demin loops. “I’m sick of your goddamn mouth, baby girl.” 

Your eyes widen in fear, stomach twisting up over the thought of him striking your sore ass with his thick leather belt. Your pussy, however, flutters in excitement. Slut, you think to yourself. 

You hear his buckle clinking, he grabs you by the hair and jerks your head back. “Open you mouth,” he says with a snarl. You obey him and he slides the folded up leather between your teeth. “Bite down on this. You can speak to me again once you’ve learned your lesson.” 

You press your teeth into the rough leather, waiting for his next move. His hand comes across the back of your thigh and it’s a whole different sensation. The pain shoots straight to your core, the walls of your pussy clenching harder than your teeth do as you whine out a high pitched squeal. On instinct your hands shoot back, knees bending to protect yourself from him. He steps back from you, without his heat you’re left in the cold air. 

“Arms up and legs down,” he says in an eerily calm voice. 

You whimper again, grinding your teeth against the leather of his belt before slowly peeling your arms and legs away from your body, returning to Joel’s desired position. You’re so wet that it’s staring pool along the leather seat of Joel’s truck, your hips slipping slightly. 

“Dirty little thing. I’m tryin to punish you and you’re sopping wet.” He steps forward and lays a loud sharp slap with perfect precision right across your sore thigh. 

You yelp again, whining as your lash line fills with tears. This is not what you thought would happen when Joel threatened to punish you. And you definitely didn’t expect to fucking love it. You’re so turned on that you feel dizzy. 

Joel’s lips come to your thigh. Light kisses and his scratchy facial hair peppering along your red hot skin. “Fuck me,” you say around the leather clamped between your teeth. 

Joel laughs into your skin, kissing along the handprints he’s left on your ass. You’re squirming underneath him, pushing your ass towards his face, desperate for him to make you come. His hands grip around your shorts and your whole body relaxes at the thought of him finally fucking you. “I need you to listen to me now, ok?” 

You nod fervently and he lets out an amused laugh. You arch your back at him invitingly, but instead of removing your shorts he yanks them back up. You moan out in protest as he lifts you down from the truck. His strong fingers work to do up your shorts before he spins you. You look like a wreck; mascara smudged under your eyes, cheeks pink, eyes glazed and dopey looking. Cock drunk and he hasn’t even given it to you. He grabs the belt and you release it for him. It’s killing him not to fuck you right here and now. 

His hand cups your chin, squeezing your cheeks and locking eyes with you. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

You try to nod but he’s gripping you so tightly. “Yea? Then you need to do what I say. Ok?” 

“Mm-hmm” 

“Go in there and quit. Then come back out here and I will fuck you so hard that you’ll feel it in your throat.” 

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag  @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde  @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @mermaidgirl30

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

A Day in Life

Synopsis: A day in your life while working as the Justice League's assistant. Also, they are all yanderes for you and it's Valentine's Day.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader

Tw: 18+ just because of a mention of Superman misusing his X-Ray vision and the mention of hooking up, aside from that, this is pretty SFW; Flash and Green Lantern are a little delusional; Hal Jordan is pushy; Batman is probably a little out of character (and I’m ashamed to keep it that way) bc I can't see him giving anyone flowers as Batman, just as Bruce Wayne; Mentions of them all secretly stalking you; This League members are Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash (Barry Allen), Green Lantern (Hal Jordan; John Stewart is mentioned), Aquaman and Martian Manhunter; I wrote too little about Martian Manhunter, Aquaman here because I don't know much about them; Wish I had more ideas for Wonder Woman’s interaction here too cause I love her; My crush on Hal is very obvious; Reader doesn't struggle much against them but they're also pretty tame; The physics in flying and running at super speed might be wrong but this is comic book science so it's wrong either way; English is not my first language.

Word count: 1,6k

Requested? No.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

The zeta tube flashes and the AI voice announces the arrival of Flash. Your heart goes fast.

— Hey, (Y/N)! — In a flash, he's in front of you. — Happy Valentine's Day! — You tear your eyes off of your schedule on your tablet and see him holding a rose towards you.

— Oh, hey, Flash… — You reply a little tense. — Thank you… You didn't need to. — You hesitantly take the rose from him and whilst your attention is on staring at the flower and holding back a grimace, you miss the glint in his blue eyes. His blush is covered by his mask. His mind seeks for something to say before you decide to break the momentary silence. — You're really sweet, it's great to have a friend like you! — You make sure to exclain, the tone a notch higher, trying to make your point come across. Flash’s face falls.

— Uh- I- Actually- — His speech gets cut off by the zeta announcing Superman. Before you can have a heart attack, the boy scout also zooms in front of you, this time your hair blows back with the wind. He must've come flying.

— (Y/N)’s heart is pounding, what are you doing, Flash? — Superman alternates between looking at your face worriedly, then your chest, then glaring at the speedster by his side.

— What? Nothing! — Flash looks wide-eyed at Superman. Then his mind clicks and he looks at you again. — Wait, what? Your heart is pounding? Is it… Is it because of me?! — You see the dazed look on his face coming to the surface again. Oh boy.

You casually make the effort to take a breath you didn't know you were holding and make your heart go down. You hate when Super uses his X-Ray vision on you. You can never be sure when he is doing it, but why else would he analytically stare specifically at your body when he is worried about you? Also, that time when you commented with Sarah from the kitchen’s crew that you forgot to do your laundry and went to the Watchtower without underwear. Seconds later, Superman appeared in the doorway, looking startled and flustered, ears red. Although he pretended to have just arrived at the tower and you and your friend chose to ignore your embarrassment that your boss with superhearing might have chose that exact moment to focus his hearing on only the places around him, including your too intimate conversation, you still caught him red handed sneaking glances specifically at your hips, and he hurriedly exited the room after that. At the time, you had just recently started the job as the Justice League’s assistant. After that you were a lot more aware.

After a while you realized you had a reason to be.

Superman was glaring at the rose in your hand and Flash was daydreaming while looking at your face when the zeta flashed again and you snapped out of it fast enough that by the time you started talking, your mind didn't pay attention to who had just arrived.

— Hm, no. It's just you fast people are always catching me off guard. — Flash deflates and- Is he pouting? Bro. Superman lights up and looks at you again.

— Oh, sorry, (N/N), we always forget about that. — The alien chuckles while rubbing the back of his head.

— Superman. Flash. — You and Flash jump, but Superman, not surprisingly, doesn't react and just follows you three and looks behind the two heros in front of you to the one with the gruff voice that just arrived.

Flash groans and Superman just rolls his eyes, you can see that while trying to peak past the men’s towering frames blocking you. You don't have to guess much though, because they make space for the newcomer and you suppress a tired sigh at seeing Batman making his way to you with a gigantic arrangement of flowers that covers his entire torso, arms and head, only his bat-ears, legs and cape being visible.

— (Y/N). Those are for you. — Color me shocked. Before you can try to start thinking about how you are gonna take this absurdity anywhere, vengeance speaks. — I'm gonna leave it at your desk.

— Hmhmm. Thank you, Batman. — You refused to watch his retreating form and let any member of your yandere harem think you actually have an interest in any of them and look down at your tablet again. The action makes you remember the rose you're still holding and you hurriedly walk away from the two nutcases stuck glaring at the third and go to his side. — Actually, take this with you. — You stick the rose amongst the rest of the flowers and before any of them can say anything else, you get out of the room.

You take a deep breath. Since the League’s weird obsession started seemingly around a year ago, you had a whole crisis over it. The pay was good, and it increased even more when they took this insane liking to you, so it's not like you could just quit like it was nothing. Besides, it's the Justice League, you could run from the fucking planet and they would still find you. It's easier to adapt.

You go on with your routine for a few minutes until you bump into a neon green brick wall. Scratch that, it's just Green Lantern’s chest.

— Hey, cutie, I was looking for you. — Your eyes widen when the space cop suddenly holds you by the shoulders, pushes you against a wall, then lets you go just to keep his two muscular arms on each side of you, trapping you and keeping you close to his frame. Ugh, the Lantern with brown hair has always been the more touchy one. You miss the one with dark skin and common sense.

— Need me for something? — You hold a groan with the limitless possibilities of how he could use that sentence to be crude, but you just wanted to get rid of him. He smirks.

— I was wondering if you were free today and would like to go on a date with me later… — He knew you were free. You knew he knew you were free. Every time you have a date (and you never told them) the League seems to get more on edge and suddenly your workload increases. Tsk, you hate them. Unfortunately, you love nice things even more.

You raise an eyebrow.

— I don't even know your name. — You point out, maybe that would make him give up, but he just shrugged.

— I could tell you, trust is a fundamental part in any relationship.

— Is a date a relationship? Also I don't think Batman would like that. — Any of that. He cocks his head to the side and his beautiful hair moves down.

— Cutie, you don't have to worry about Spooky. And I don't want to just hook up with you, you know that. Now just stop playing hard to get and-

A golden light catches your attention, it could be a miracle, but it's just Wonder Woman's lasso wrapping around the lantern's neck and pulling him away from you. Unfortunately, she tied a it in a way that the action wouldn't strangle him or break his neck.

— Ugh, men really have no boundaries. — The amazon rolls her lasso back and takes a step towards you, keeping said man sulking behind her while analyzing you. — Forgive my friend, (Y/N). He grew up in a barn. — The stunning demigoddess smiles at you.

Ugh, if she wasn't just as crazy as the rest of them you would happily swoon over her.

— Right. Well, I have to go. — You turn your back to them and take fast but casual steps away from them and the empty hallway. It never fails to scare the shit out of you and give you goosebumps whenever one of them catches you alone in one of those, and the competition between them for your heart somehow makes you confident enough that if there are at least two of them, no harm will come to you.

You clear your throat. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. The martian should’ve arrived by now and you don't doubt he reads your mind 24/7 when he’s close enough.

You’re about to turn a corridor when you spot Aquaman poking his head in a room, looking for something, it's probably you, only his body is visible and he can't see you.

You hold a groan and run as quietly as possible away from him without him noticing, remembering the time he ranted to you about seahorses being the most romantic fish species, with monogamous mate bonds for lifetime, and all the times he promised to show you Atlantis one day and make you rule his people by his side.

A few minutes later when you look at the clock, you know by that time they're all already in their meeting and not wandering around, desperate for a crumb of your attention. To confirm that, you open the camera’s feed that not many had access to and idly check their presence in the meeting room. Your stomach churns seeing your figure in one of their monitors, the others displaying normal missions info. Of course they would follow you around through the cameras, because that's just as important as discussing wars and crisis in Earth countries and other planets.

You passively shut the screen when you finally get to your office, in which you avoid staying until you absolutely have to, or the coast is clear enough to, otherwise it's the most obvious place for them to force an interaction with you.

You look up and your shoulders drop in defeat at the sign of too many flowers, gifts and letters from each member of the League.

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[novy2sirius]

The type of characters you’d play in films

— based on your moon

Actors Moon Placements:

The Moon in astrology is associated with emotions and emotional responses. It can show how your emotions come off. For this reason its closely associated with acting of course there are other planets that could come into play when discussing your acting style but I find the Moon to be most common in showing what characters and actor typically plays

Examples:

These are some western and sidereal examples

• Adam Sandler — Known for playing a lot of funny characters in comedy films. His Moon is in the sign Gemini in his Sidereal chart which is one of the signs most closely associated with comedy

• Tom Holland — Most known for playing the superhero Spiderman has a Scorpio Moon in his sidereal chart. Scorpio and Aries placements are commonly found in the charts of people who play superhero’s most likely because Mars and Pluto can be associated with crime/fighting. Also Robert Downey Jr, Scarlett Johansson, Chris Evans, Benedict Cumberpatch, etc have either their western or sidereal Moon in the signs Aries/Scorpio

• Penn Badgley — One of his most popular characters is Joe Goldberg in “YOU” who is a serial killer and stalker. Penn has a Scorpio Moon which is the sign ruled by Pluto the planet associated with things like stalking and death

• Jeremy Allen White — Plays aggressive characters really well such as Lip Gallagher in Shameless and Carmy in The Bear. He has an Aries Moon. Aries is ruled by Mars the planet associated with anger and aggression

• Emmy Rossum — Her most popular character was Fiona in Shameless who is a very broken character that has lots of daddy/mommy issues and must take on the responsibility of raising her siblings. Emmy has a Capricorn Moon which is why she plays this character so incredibly well

• Alexa Demie — Most famous for her character Maddy in Euphoria where she was Nate’s love interest. She has a Libra Moon which is the sign associated with romance since it’s ruled by Venus. Maddy is also big on fashion which Venus also is associated with. In Sidereal she’s a Virgo Moon which also aligns with the character as Maddy is very sassy

• Leonardo Dicaprio & Kate Winslet — Their most famous role was in the movie “Titanic” which is a romance film. They both have a Libra Moon, once again, ruled by Venus the planet of love

• Sarah Jessica Parker — Most known for her role in the show “Sex and the city”. Her Moon is in the 8th house which is the house of sex meaning she does well in more sexual roles

• Reese Witherspoon — One of her biggest roles was in Legally Blonde where she plays a regular college girl who aspires and is working to be a lawyer. She’s a Capricorn Moon in western which is the sign associated with your career/work and in sidereal she’s a Sagittarius Moon which is the sign associated with law (other than Libra) as it’s ruled by Jupiter the planet that represents justice

The best type of characters for you to play:

I recommend checking both your western and sidereal moon as I’ve seen both have accuracy

(1h/Aries Moon) They do best in films involving action, crime, or films involving war. They could do well playing characters that are a superhero, sexual character, athletic character, aggressive character, fighter, villain, and you could also do well in adventure films too.

(2h/Taurus Moon) They do best in romance or musical films. They could do well playing a character that is someone’s love interest, a chef/baker/cook, stubborn, determined, or that’s wealthy and materialistic.

(3h/Gemini Moon) They do best in comedy films. They could do well playing funny characters, a fraternal twin, a character that’s gossipy such as regina george, a character that’s popular on the internet, a character that’s crazy, a character in school, and characters that are neighbors to the main character.

(4h/Cancer Moon) They do best in family films or emotional films. They could do well playing soft, sensitive, caring, be a child star, a chef, be a mother, and roles literally involving lunar topics in some way such as Robert Pattinson who plays in Twilight. Twilight itself involves the Moon/Sun.

(5h/Leo Moon) They do best in thrillers, dramas, or romance films. They do very well as main characters or as characters that are sassy, as child-like characters such as Tom Hanks voicing in Toy Story, a famous character, sometimes as superheroes, and possibly flirtatious characters. They also tend to play gay characters sometimes like Cameron Monaghan and Noel Fisher for example.

(6h/Virgo Moon) They do best in dramas, comedy, or medical films and shows. They play very analytical and funny judgmental characters well or sarcastic ones. Sometimes even awkward characters suit them well like Jonah Hill in Superbad for example.

(7h/Libra Moon) They do best in romance, musical films, or even sometimes in Disney films such as Halle Bailey. They often do well playing romantic, charming, attractive, and artistic characters. Sometimes their character could be involved with law in some way such as a lawyer.

(8h/Scorpio Moon) They do best in action, crime, mystery, or horror films. They play dark characters really well, scary characters, murderers, and brave/ambitious characters good as well. They could even play good surgeons.

(9h/Sagittarius Moon) They do best in comedy, adventure and sometimes superhero films. A character that’s positive, humorous, blunt, seeking justice for others, or is in school would suit them well.

(10h/Capricorn Moon) They do best in historical films or films with sarcastic/dark humor. As sad as it sounds they play broken characters really well. I notice a lot of people with this placement play characters that have daddy/family issues as well. If not broken they can play hardworking characters or business men/women really well.

(11h/Aquarius Moon) They do best in sci-fi, supernatural, or just very unique films in general. Characters such as Neo in The Matrix played by Keanu Reeves, characters that are a bit of an oddball/weird, and characters that are the life of the party/party animals such as most of James Franco’s characters.

(12h/Pisces Moon) They do best in fiction or fantasy films. A character that’s a princess/ethereal, not human, musically talented, artistically talented, characters pretending to be something they’re not, and as characters that have a lot of secrets.

Note:

I do think sometimes the Sun can be more accurate with this as well since it’s related to self expression, drama, talent, and spotlight. Make sure to check your Sun placement as well

[babygorewhore]

Prey

Part one

Part two

After text messages from Rafe Cameron who completely ruined your night at his party, he knows every move you make and asserts his intentions through text messages. This starts a game to see how far Rafe will go to make you his, even if that means threats of punishments.

The horny demon took over with this guys. WC. 4,500

Warnings! Not a ton of plot. Dark! Rafe! Stalking! Panty stealing! Perv Rafe! Idk if she’s considered kind of bimbo because she’ caves in easily or what. Take it as you will. Female and male masterbation! Drug use,threats of violence and actual violence! Gun play! BDSM themes! One use of the Daddy! Choking!Degrading! Drinking! Hate fucking! spanking! unprotected sex! Reader is alternative but clothing is relatively generalized so it’s still inclusive. Damn that’s a lot of warnings.

Two days since your last text from Rafe Cameron. He knew about breakfast with John B. You tried not to check your phone as often as you wanted but the anxiety was hard to ignore. It was so insane. He just decided he wanted you after a bet. Why?

You kept tearing apart your room for any sign of a camera, microphone and you even taped the camera of your laptop for good measure. Maybe if you stayed home, that would be the best. But he knew what was going on. How?

John B asked you if you wanted to go to their traditional bonfire with the Pouges. You wanted to say no but maybe spending time with them would deter Rafe from his apparent need to text you vile things. You’d have a barrier. Surely, he couldn’t scare them all off.

It wasn’t as hot in the evening and you were thankful for that. Sarah gave you an extra pair of flip flops, but she did make sure they were black. You wore them and a black mid thigh dress. It was flowy and comfortable. But it was missing something as you sat down on a beach chair.

You left your underwear at home, on your bed. It was a test. To see if he really was getting in your house or he would go that far. It was a really bold move but you wanted bait him. Maybe if he broke in, you’d have something to report.

“Earth to you-“ A hand waved in front of your face.

“Oh, sorry.” You chuckled and adjusted your skirt. “What were you saying?”

“How are you? Since the whole bet thing happened?” Kie asked and you breathed heavily. This was the last thing you wanted to talk about. Apparently just with the videos disappearing wasn’t enough. “I’m okay. Doubtful I’ll ever swim in a pool again.” You started twirling the end of your hair nervously as time ticked.

No text yet. Maybe this was working. Maybe he was bluffing.

“We’ll kick his ass. Piece a shit picking on a Pouge.” JJ crushed a beer can and glared. “I’m sick of him getting away with it. We need to do something.”

“My brothers crazy. He would probably kill you.” Sarah pointed out and leaned further into John B.

“The fuck he would! He’s just some rich little punk whose never been put in his place.” JJ argued and you started to panic inside.

That was the furthest thing from the truth. You knew Rafe wasn’t just some punk. You didn’t even know him but you trusted your instincts.

“Guys, really. It’s okay. They’re taken down and it’s what I needed. I don’t need protection.” You insisted. God the suspense was killing you. Were you an idiot? Probably.

“Something weird happened today,” John B interrupted, “When I got into the car before her, I had this weird feeling someone was watching me,”

He started but you tuned him out as the night went on. You still didn't mention the texts. You didn’t wanna stir up anymore threats from JJ. You thought about the way he kissed that girl. His big hands roaming all over her hips and ass. It was so wrong for you to think about that considering how much of a dick he was.

But you couldn’t help it.

You were also scared shitless when you closed your bedroom door after you both arrived home, Sarah joining John B. You didn’t want to see that…so you locked your door.

You covered your mouth with both hands when you saw your panties. They were on your pillow and you could see even from here, they were wet and drying on the sides. Your bed was messy, your drawers moved open.

He had been here.

You carefully moved closer, gingerly lifting them. The creamy substance was evident on what it was. He came on it. And from the way it was almost dripping, multiple times. You dropped it on the floor and dug in your dresser.

All your panties were gone. Your mouth was wide open with shock.

You stepped forward, prepared to tell John B that Rafe Cameron broke into his home when your phone finally buzzed.

Frantically you brought it to your face.

“Put them on.”

Oh no. Was he serious? How did he know-there must have been a camera. Where was it?

“Put it on, or I’ll kill him.”

“You wouldn’t.” You speedily responded. Growing angry. How dare he threatened him. Just to get what he wanted in his perverted mind. “That’s a pussy ass threat.”

“Who says it’s a threat? I know exactly where he goes. When he goes. And who he talks too. I know everything about this place. And I know everything about you.”

Chills ran down your spine.

“I don’t believe you.” You started breathing heavier as you clutched at your chest. He wasn’t joking. You knew that. If he was rich enough to afford that house without a second glance, surely he could pull this off.

“You graduated with impressive grades, you’re an only child, you have a habit of reading kinky porn, your parents owned a music store for three decades. John B is your cousin on your Mothers side and you…you’ve only had one boyfriend. Chris. From high school.”

Your knees almost gave out. Everything was true. Not all of those things were even on your instagram. Fuck, not even your FRIENDS knew some of that shit. How did he find out? Did he run some sort of-

“You ran a fucking background check on me?” You typed in all caps, your thumbs slapping on the screen. “ARE YOU INSANE? JUST STOP IT AND DON'T THREATEN JOHN B!”

“Then put them on.”

You weren’t getting out of this. “Okay if I put them on, what then?”

“Lay down on the bed.”

You slithered them on, his cum coating your pussy as you rubbed your thighs together. Maybe it was your own fault with this experiment but he would have done it anyway.

Your back met the top of the covers and you had the image of his leaking cock around the material. Spilling onto the silk and lace. You spread your legs, assuming that’s what he wanted.

“No, you’re not allowed to touch yourself or cum. Not unless I’m inside you with my cock, fingers or tongue. This is just showing your pussy exactly who gets to cum in it. The longer you fight this, I’ll punish you. And I don’t think you’ll like that.”

“Punish me?”

“That’s what I said. If you’re not a good girl, then your little pouge friends are gonna pay. Do you understand me?”

You wanted so badly to tell him to fuck off. “No I don’t speak asshole, I did it. I put them on and now you leave me alone.”

You closed your phone and decided you wouldn’t listen to anything he said. Laying back down, you pulled off the underwear easily and it’s slick smeared on your inner thighs.

You were pent up from sadness, anger and now spite. If he was watching, then you’d put on a fucking show. Spreading your legs, your fingers delicately teasing your cunt and you started circling your clit. You twitched and clenched around the air as your own wetness combined with his. He couldn’t possibly read your thoughts. His muscular arms would hold the headboard as he pounded into you.

You liked challenging him. Secretly, that’s one of the things that made you wet. Talking back to him. Your core tightened as your speed increased before you slipped two small fingers inside, curling them up. They couldn’t reach the spot you wanted. You tried to move at a different angle before settling on just playing with your clit.

You curled up when you came, harder than usual and you bit your lip to keep from making too much noise.

After calming, you hesitated before clicking on your phone.

“Oh, pretty girl. I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

That was all he said.

Now, you were trembling again. The threat echoed. You started biting your nails. What would happen? What punishment was he talking about?

It wasn’t like he would break in with John B here or would he? He wasn’t concerned about your cousin in the slightest.

You took some initiative. If he knew so much about you, you could return the favor. Have something on him.

You googled his name.

Rafe Cameron, eldest and only son holding Cameron’s name after Ward and Rose Cameron’s passing.

Rafe Cameron, under thirty CEO bringing numbers to the maximum within two years.

You sighed, only getting a superficial history of his age and family line. Huffing, you needed more. There was one option. You went to instagram and found his official and only account. Your mouth went dry. His photos consisted of golf yards, parties and two photos of him wearing a suit next to a giant table in an office that looked like it was in the future.

Absolutely nothing. Nothing to go on. And nothing to rub in his face. Of course.

An idea came to you. Maybe you couldn’t find anything online. But you had an entire group of rebels who could tell you everything you needed to know. You smirked. Finally, you could get back at him.

“So, John B, was it…hard to be Sarah’s boyfriend? I mean the war between Pouges and Kooks seems pretty intense.” You sat at the dock while he tackled some sort of contraption, working back and forth between boats. It was a half lie when you said you wanted to go with him while he worked.

But you needed information. You didn’t get a text yet but you knew that wasn’t defeat on his part.

“For a while,yeah. Topper made it his mission to come after me. We got into it a few times, then he pushed me. I broke my wrist. Rafe…it’s complicated.”

You quirked an eyebrow, trying not to look too interested. “How?” For good measure, you played with the end of your skirt. All your panties were gone and you were trying not to shift every five seconds.

“Rafe’s crazy. He used to be this out of control, frat boy cocaine addict and he was,” John B stops moving, “Dead set on destroying us. Came at us with guns. He’s dangerous but now he’s got money. All the money.”

Your heart fluttered. And now, Rafe had his sights on you.

“What about their other sister..?”

“She lives with him. He almost shipped her off to boarding school but I guess she’s his one soft spot. Sarah talks to her sometimes. That’s why I was upset you went to that party. They’re bad people. Stay away from him.” His warning makes you nod.

But would he stay away from you?

A week later, you arrived at the Pouge spot with John B that was even marked by a tree they carved. You carried a cooler of booze as you got closer to the circle but you, John B and Sarah realized Pope and JJ were missing

You were all searching for at least ten minutes now, you called out his name, cupping your hands. “Pope! JJ! Where are you?”

Your converse were getting in the way of the sand and you finally stopped being stubborn, removing them as you maneuver through the woods. You were alone and it felt uncomfortable.

The moon was illuminating your ring clad fingers as a snap of a branch caught your attention. “Pope?”

A large strong hand covered your mouth and you eyes widened, you were being yanked off the ground and carried off. “Mm-he-“ You tried to form words but the hand pressed harder. You kicked, flailed but to no avail.

The assailant dragged you off to a darker corner where you saw a unconscious Pope and JJ lying on the ground as you were pushed against a tree.

Rafe stood in front of you, even in the darkness you could still see the desire and anger in his eyes. “Scream and I’ll kill them.” He growled. “Can I trust you?”

You nodded rapidly, glancing between him and your friends.

“Good girl,” He approved, his hand sliding to your throat. He didn’t even bother wearing black to blend in. His beige shirt was layered with another light jacket and dark jeans.

Rafe’s hair was in his eyes and he leaned in closer. “I told you. I’d punish you if you didn’t do as your told.” Your core fluttered. You knew it shouldn’t but his voice was rasping as his hand tightened. He pulled something out of his pocket.

A pair of red panties. He shoved them into your mouth, far enough you gaged. “Stay fucking still.” You knew if you didn’t listen he would hurt them, he proved that.

Pope and JJ had bruises, swollen eyes and bloody noses. But they were breathing. You started jerking around, trying to gain some sort of release from his hold when Rafe yanked out a gun. You gasped, the sound muffled. “Yeah? You see that?” He pointed it at them. “Do you think I’m kidding?”

Rafe pulled out the panties, a string of drool escaping from your mouth. “Answer me.”

“No-I know you’re not kidding.” Tears came from your eyes but you tried to pull them back.

“My poor little angel, not so tough now, are you?”

“Fuck you-“ Another attempt to defy, fake like you weren’t as scared as you truly were. “You’re bluffing.”

He pressed you harder against the wood. His iron clad muscles pinning you hard enough it hurt. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that.” Then he moved the gun between your shorts. Grazing against your jean covered pussy.

“This is fucking real, princess.” Rafe started smirking. “Move around a little bit. Give me a hint of how well you can bounce on a dick.”

Your face became hot but you obeyed without thinking. You circled your hips, holding your breath and praying the gun wouldn’t go off. He nodded, his lips nearing yours and your mouth parted.

“Rafe-Why? Why are you doing this? Why did you do any of this?” You whimpered as his lips found the sweet spot of your neck. They were warm and soft in contrast to the gun rubbing against your pussy.

“Because you’re mine. That first day I saw you. I was going to have you. John B couldn’t hoard away something that belonged to me.” You wanted to shake your head but he started sucking the connection between your shoulder and neck.

That’s why he stared at you. That’s why he even started the bet in the first place.

“I liked how you stood out with your fucking band shirt and converse you won’t stop wearing. And this,” He pulled back to your displeasure and tapped the gun against your cunt.

“That belongs to me too. I’m gonna walk away, you’re going to yell to your cousin you found them. Feel free to scream and pretend you’re not soaking wet. And you’re going to be a good girl again, aren’t you? You gonna to listen to daddy?”

“Yes.” He stepped away, taking your panties with him. He scanned the scene, nodding behind you.

“Don’t disobey me. This can get so much worse,” With his final warning, Rafe started walking backward before he disappeared.

You waited a few seconds to collect yourself. He teased you but not enough to make you cum. Just enough to mark his territory and scare you.

“J-John B!” You weakly called out. “I found them!”

He arrived in seconds with Sarah right behind him.

John B, Sarah and Kie panicked, trying to wake JJ and Pope. You hastily wiped your face and shook your hair loose.

“I-I just found them like that. I’ve been searching the whole time,” You lied, hoping your voice was steadier than how you felt.

You stayed quiet as they woke by the fire. Your knee bouncing as flashbacks of how the gun felt, Rafes lips. His warnings and worse. How much you liked it.

When no one was looking, too busy planning their wild accusations downfall, you took out your phone. He had texted you.

“Behave.”

You pressed your knees together, concealing your phone behind them. “What will it take for you to leave them alone?”

“That’s a dangerous question, little girl.”

You had to change your tactic. The last thing you wanted was for him to actually shoot them.

“When will I see you again? I don’t want you to break in anymore. If you want something, just take it.” Oh no, the words slipped out before you could even think.

Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes went by.

An hour.

“Tomorrow. My house. 8pm. Wear what’s in the box in your bedroom. I’ll have someone pick you up.”

The tense drive home couldn’t have ended sooner as you stepped in your bedroom. Continuing to lie to your cousin about what happened in the woods. You knew he wasn’t stupid. Eventually he would catch on that something was happening. But his life probably depended on it. This was going too far.

You were so stupid for opening the white small box on the center of your bed.

Lifting the lid, your eyes widened as you pulled out a black lace shirt, matching bra, a thong and shorts that would barely cover your ass. Knee socks and connecting garter belts. But the most toe curling item in the box was a pair of black handcuffs. Expensive kind.

You held them to your chest. You’d have to wear something over them to get past John B. Your conscience fought you, insisting to tell John B. Rafe almost killed his friends.

But he felt so good. It was so wrong that it was right. You almost didn’t care right now. He was obsessed with you and you weren’t any better. The way you spent time trying to find information, the way you listened to every word he said. He was breaking you down. You almost didn’t recognize the person you were when you arrived.

Rafe Cameron was intoxicating and you’d only seen him twice.

Third times the charm right?

He had his own personal fucking driver pick you up the next night. You left when John B was passed out in his room, worn out from a day at the docks. You slipped on an oversized black shirt long enough to hit your thighs as you climbed into the car. You were disappointed that there were no texts today but you had a feeling he was going to make up for it. Or else you’d face another punishment.

The drive was quiet but when you arrived at his house it wasn’t. Another wild party scene was before you, the same changing colored lights on the outside and consistently bright on the balcony. As you got out of the car and started walking, this time wearing your high heels. Only this time you were wearing a hand selected piece from the King Of Kooks.

You hoped you could slip in easily through the front door silently but someone opened the door. He was shorter than Rafe, dark brown hair, wearing a wife beater and shorts. “My bad, come on in.” He ushered you in with a wave and you cringed.

Obviously he knew you. Whether from Rafe or the videos.

“And you’re…?”

“Just like Country club not to mention anyone else. Barry.” He gave you a nod. “He’s up there.”

You couldn’t help but shiver as everyone was dancing, drinking and making their way to the outdoor pool. You understood this could be another set up.

Barry dipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a bag full of cocaine, apparently offering you some.

“I’ll pass,” You declined and forced yourself to smile and calm your nerves. You could do this. You had too

You wanted too.

Climbing the stairs in high heels was difficult enough but fighting a crowd made it even harder. You couldn’t hardly concentrate and you had the urge to plug your ears to muffle the noise.

Once you reached the top, close to the balcony, your phone buzzed. Embarrassingly, you yanked it out of your clutch.

“Colder.” You jerked your head around, looking for any sign of him. No one. He wasn’t here. No one looked even close to him.

You went left towards another lounge, peering inside the darker room where they were dancing.

“Even colder.”

Okay, you were very clearly not in the right direction.

But you needed something to give you a boost. Marching towards a brunette young man holding two cups, you reached out your hand. “Can I have that?” He stammered but handed it over.

Without even knowing the content, you gulped it down before gagging. Whatever concoction was strong and had you coughing.

But then you took the other one. “Hey!” He protested but you ignored him, going to the opposite side.

You threw them both on the ground, a surge of electricity going through your veins.

“Warmer.” It said when you fished out your phone from your bra.

You resisted wiping your mouth, not wanting to ruin your makeup. Your legs carried you down a hallway, the noise growing into a quieter thump against the walls. There were no photos. Almost no signs of living if you imagined the guests gone. The clacking of your shoes neared the first door.

“Hot. Almost there.”

Swallowing, you walked past the second door.

“Hotter.”

You breathed like you were blowing out a candle as you drew to the third door.

“Open it, pretty girl.”

The alcohol must have given you an extra boost as you opened the door roughly, your lips forming a natural pout as you took in Rafe standing beside a bed. He was wearing a three quarter length white shirt with small strips and the same dark jeans as he did in the woods. His hair was messy, like he constantly ran his fingers through it.

His entire body radiated danger, lust and control.

But his eyes held a fire, one you were terrified and eager to provoke.

To the right of him was a large desk with several monitors and a laptop. Your mouth parted into a gasp when you saw they were all live feeds.

One of them was outside your room, the others were at the docks and the rest were of his own home. That’s how he was watching you.

“You-you’ve really been stalking me.” You whispered.

“It’s really not that hard. You make it too easy.” He mused with a low voice. “But I’m-I’m having a hard time understanding why you’re wearing something other than what I gave you.”

“Don’t change the subject, Rafe. This isn’t okay. You’re going to stop. I did everything you wanted. Now you leave John b and the rest alone.” Your voice wasn’t steady. From nervousness and the drinks.

And he knew that from the way a smirk formed on his pink lips. “But not you?” He clicked his tongue. “Naughty girl. You don’t want me to leave you alone. I didn’t forget our last…meeting.” His eyes lingered around your hips. “With a gun to your pussy.”

“No, no, stop. I don’t know-I don’t like you.”

Rafe only stepped closer, inching towards you. “Your body does.. Your pussy love our little games. You’ve had so many chances to run. Not that they would work-“ He chuckled darkly. “But you’re doing everything I want you too.”

His hand shot out and ripped the shirt in half. You shrieked, your legs almost buckling as your body was exposed. Rafes breathed in the scent of your perfume as he roamed with his fingers the lingerie, his palms falling to your tits, squeezing before he gripped your waist and spun you around. Your ass against his cock.

“Move like you bounced on my gun,” He ordered against your ear, his warm breath and you could feel his lips trace the side of your jaw.

All your thoughts disappeared as he guided you to grind against him, your pussy dampening the material as your eyes drifted shut. His own breathing quickened as your hand flew behind to palm him.

“Dirty slut, you’re so scared but I know you’re fucking dripping.” He was so tall that he could slip his hand easily between your legs and gather the slick leaking from your center. He then shoved it in your mouth, forcing you to suck.

“That’s all fucking mine, I don’t care if you hate me. I want you to fucking hate me. You like that I stalked you. Watch you, that I know everything.” He was growing more aggressive as he threw you face down on the bed, ripping off your shorts, he slapped your ass hard enough you jolted.

You heard his belt and pants drop as he manhandled you, wrapping your hair around his free hand as you felt his dick line up to your pussy. “Say you hate me,” He spat and slammed into you without warning.

You almost screamed from the stretch and fullness as he thrusted into you. You couldn’t even breathe from the hold he had on your hair, as you started rubbing your clit. “I-“ You tried, barely managing to squeak.

“Say it!” He yelled, slapping your ass again and you fell on your hands.

“I hate you!” You gasped for air and he pushed your head down. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Your core clenched around him as your stomach tightened, you were so close, so fucking close. Rafe moaned deeply, his movements slowing but still brutal.

He spilled into you and you came right after. Sweat dripped from your face as you jerked. Your mouth was still open, spit gathering and you wiped it off. Your breathing slowed as he pulled out, releasing you to flop on the mattress. Your makeup stains the white comforter.

Trying to calm down and assess the situation you got yourself into, you heard Rafe clear his throat in an expected manner.

You crawled around as he pulled up his pants. “I hope you liked that, because that’s the last time you get to cum tonight.”

“W-“

“You forgot to bring the handcuffs.” You almost fainted. Half from being cock drunk, still spilling from both fluids and half from horror.

Rafe only gave you a very threatening smile. “But don’t worry. No one is getting through that door. And besides, even if they tried, I can see every move they make.” He pointed to the monitors.

“I’m nowhere done with you yet.”

Tagging @scene-and-dandylover @xxhellfirebunnyxx @drewstarkeyslut @daivny @slvt4jamesmarch @imyourdaninow @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @chrrymunson @take-everything-you-can @reidsbtch

Please let me know if I forgot anyone! Comment if you wanna be tagged in future Rafe or all my fics!

[crookedteethed]

Heyy on your Rafe nsfw abcs you mentioned Rafe and r having a quickie at midsummers 😭 curious to know what all went down

Heyyy!! Thanks sm for the request, and I hope you enjoy the fic. <3

Warnings: 18+ semi-public sex, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Jealous!Rafe, Possessive!Rafe, dub con(?) mentions of violence, angst, fem reader

(the post they're referring to: here )

Rafe liked the way the heel in your stilettos raised the ball of your foot. Streamlined and pointed, their shape is in line with the elegant leg-lengthening effect that they give you, causing you to appear much taller than you were.

The stilettos also had an effect that made you have a sudden flair of sexiness and confidence that (unbeknownst to you) had Rafe seething and wondering if you knew just what these effects had on not only Rafe but the other men attending Midsummers.

Rafe also liked the way your tight-fitted slip dress left little to imagine about your body in his mind. Though, he wished you had gone with the all-black thong instead of the bright pink thong with the star on its mound—the thin bright pink was starting to show through your white dress. 

Of course, Rafe marveled at the sight of your hot pink thong bleeding through your dress, but it was always that nagging thought in his head that said: the other men, the other men are watching. That instantly turned Rafe off. 

Either his nagging jealousy problems were causing him trouble, or everyone else around him having fun besides him. Ward and Rose are laughing and toasting it up with Ward's work colleagues, Wheezie is in the corner dancing with her friends, Sarah is secretly taking shots with Topper, and you are being pulled onto the dance floor by two of your friends.

And here Rafe was, downing his third shot, leaning against a wall, watching you like a hawk.

He should've been happy. 

This was his first year coming to Midsummer's with a date that wasn't one of Ward's big-haired coochie colleagues' daughters or some slut who let him in her panties once or twice. 

He was supposed to be here with you, but there you were, getting ogled and preyed on by gross (old and young) men. And if it weren't for your stupid, stupid friends dragging you onto the dance floor, Rafe wouldn't be looking at you swaying your body in a sensual movement as Usher's Yeah! started to play. 

And if you weren't swaying your body in the center of the dance floor, then Rafe wouldn't have noticed that shit-pouge waiter ogling at your curves.

Shouldn't he be working? Rafe thought.

Who gave that pouge the right to look at his girl? Better yet, who gave any of these shits the right to look at his girl? Kook or pouge, they didn't have the right to look at you--not in the way they did.

Rafe begins stalking towards the waiter, ready to pluck out his eyes, just when he hears you calling his name.

"Rafe!!" You call out, motioning him to join you on the dance floor.

Rafe stops in his tracks, watching you watch him; he then starts walking towards you, most of his anger tarnishing.

Ok, so he'll get back with that waiter later, get him fired or something.

"Come." You say, putting your hand in his. "Dance with me."

Rafe kept that stoic look on his face as you and your friends danced around him. He saw the same waiter looking at you again, and that's when Rafe told you:

"Let's go."

His tone is very assertive, analogous to your parents putting you in time out after you've been bad.

"What?" you say, worried.

Rafe's heavy hands grip your forearm and drag you from the dance floor.

Rafe didn't care.

He didn't care about your friends calling your name or the worrisome stare you gave him. He didn't care at all.

"Rafe, baby, please tell me what's wrong." you say, your footsteps becoming maladroit as you walk under Rafe's guide.

Rafe didn't say anything, so you didn't say anything afterward, knowing to remain silent when he gets like this.

You were shocked to see that Rafe had brought you to the men's bathroom, and Rafe was even surprised himself.

He looked around the spacious bathroom, letting you go for a second to look on the other side of the divided room.

When he comes back he says: "Come on, get in there." while harshly grabbing your forearm again and lightly dragging you into the last stall to the right.

Rafe had a funny feeling brewing in his stomach as he pushed your front against the bathroom stall's cold tile walls and unbuckled the belt holding up his slacks. It was as if he was mad at you, but how could he be?

You, in particular, hadn't done anything to provoke him; those slimy men looking at you provoked him. Of course, he wanted to take his anger out on the waiter and the other men, but why you, too?

As Rafe hitched up your dress to bunch around your waist, you felt the sudden cool breeze pierce the skin of your ass.

He marveled at the sight of your hot pink thong, fucking finally. Biting his bottom lip at the skimpy fabric snugged between your ass cheeks.

"Rafe." you moaned, detesting in the anticipation.

"Shut up." he tells you, pushing your face into the wall.

Just after, Rafe index finger dug the string from your ass, and gently pushed it aside.

His belt buckle clacks quickly, and you hear his pants and underwear being pushed down to his ankles. You try to catch a glimpse of him, but Rafe's hand is splayed across your head and your cheek is again meshed with the cold tile.

Rafe's rage was radiating from his body, and you could feel it (it being his tip) teasing the flesh of your ass. You wondered what you had done this time, beginning to feel Rafe's length—all 7.1 inches of it—push inside your tight cunt, stopping you in your tracks.

An elongated shrill escapes your pouty lips, like the sound of a person getting stabbed in the back with a knife and letting the knife twist the bone, but to you at that moment, that's exactly what Rafe's cock felt like.

Like you just had an iron-hot poker thrust through your gut--repeatedly.

Your slick feels the silence, along with you and Rafe's grunts and pleas, but mainly the filthy squelching sound that manifested itself from each time Rafe's cock plummeted in and out of your cunt.

For a second, Rafe takes his eyes off your plump ass and looks at you for the first time during this fuck. Your legs are weak and nearly buckling, your makeup smudging on the tile wall due to the tears that strain from your eyes, and you had a tight grip held onto the metal accessibility rail bolted into the wall.

He'd gotten a feeling of guilt wash over his body, a sense that he predicted that would prevent him from cumming.

Here he was, with the finest girl on figure eight, fucking her in the bathroom stall like she was a slut.

What if, after this, you decide to break up with him?

or worst

You break up with him and decide to date that loser waiter pouge or any of the men out there ogling you, find someone who can treat you better.

Rafe slowly pulls himself out of you. You pout at the feeling of emptiness inside you, but your insides feel relieved.

There's a dull silence for a second, during which Rafe turns you around and brings your pouty lips to his in an everlasting kiss that almost turns you both into jelly.

You swear that after the kiss, Rafe says, "I'm sorry." But, before you can say anything more, words die on lips as he gives you another mouth-watering kiss, wraps your leg around his waist, and starts to fuck you again—this time slowly—leaving you speechless with the realization that he's the only man who gets to treat you this way.

[tieronecrush]

🎃 trick or treat 🎃

summary: it's halloween and joel's taking your girls trick-or-treating with you in a family costume. feeling uncomfortable in his clothes and his skin, he's on edge most of the evening but does his best to disguise it in order to not spoil the fun. back at home, when his girls lightheartedly tease him about everything he already thought about himself, you're sure to end the night showing joel exactly how you feel about him and his body.

wc: 10k (oops?)

warnings: established relationship/married, canon divergent (no outbreak, ellie & sarah are both his kids, sort of obscure with if they're both his bio kids/your kids - basically y'all are a cute lil family either way! also joel is ~40, no age mentioned for reader!), halloween, family/group costumes, DOMESTIC JOEL!!!, fluff, body insecurities, age insecurities, joel has minor sensory issues?, his kids poke fun at him, sensitive joel, SMUT. it kind of is a thing for the basically the second half, descriptions of joel's body, tummy & thigh worship, oral (m receiving), cowboy rule (for a costume), unprotected piv, lowkey sub!joel for a lil bit, reader is "giving cunt" according to bestie el, then quickly gets back to dom!joel as he gets his confidence back, joel gets that strength in an adrenaline rush that moms get lifting cars off babies but his is for chasing a nut, also, dirty talk!

a/n: my contribution to spooky season, basically at the buzzer lol. this started with me thinking how cute it would be for joel to dress up and go trick-or-treating with his kids, and ended with wanting to s*** his d*** big time. anyways, enjoy my version of halloween with joel, and thank you to @kiwisbell for screaming about this scenario with me and as always a big thanks to my sweet, sweet girlfriend @northernbluess for beta-ing!!!!

Brought on much later than the northern states, fall in Texas is not quite an impactful sight. The one thing that can’t be beaten though is the Texas sun; shining across expansive horizons all times of year, temperatures of the light shifting with the seasons. Orange evening sun stretches across the sky and seeps down in between the leaves speckled with changing colors while Joel’s truck coasts down the neighborhood street. Kids retreat from running around in the road when his car approaches, returning right back to their gameplay when he’s through. Half are dressed up, a medley mix of witches, zombies, vampires, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney Princesses, and countless outfits that he has no idea what they’re referencing.

Fibrous, white faux spiderwebs litter the front porches of the houses lining the street, Jack-O-Lanterns carved and lit up stack on the stairs or create a path along the front walkways. Some of the pumpkins’ faces are wrinkly and sagging, signs of overeagerness from when the fall season started earlier this month. A handful of scarecrows find themselves pitched in the middle of yards with hay spilling out of them, and some of the houses have turned out an expense to get those motion-sensor decorations — the ones really intended to scare the kids that will be unleashed on the neighborhood to trick-or-treat this evening.

Rolling to a stop as he turns into the asphalt driveway, throwing the truck in park, he sits in the cab for a still moment, staring at the signs of life scattered around his family’s house. Four pumpkins, gutted and showing off their faces, a family feud that reached a compromise when it was decided that yes, they would carve pumpkins but no, they would not sit to rot on the front porch all month long; the corn stalks wrapped around the posts of the porch, tied with burlap twine and arranged with sprigs of fall foliage; pots of colorful mums framing the path up to the house, carefully selected by your eye and less delicately planted in their terracotta vessels by Joel’s hands. 

Aside from the seasonal decorations, the usual markings of the Miller family were easily spotted: chalk drawings on the shared sidewalk in front of the yard and along the driveway, replaced every weekend by Sarah once the old was washed or worn away; Ellie’s bike discarded on the front lawn, small tire tracks digging up the grass, no matter how many times Joel and you have asked her to put it away when she’s done; the porch swing that Joel built for you, swaying in the breeze and now unoccupied — unusual for the evening routine around the time that Joel comes home from work. He’s normally greeted by his girls, not merely their artifacts. But tonight is a different night, much busier than the slow, molasses life Joel gets to enjoy in the colder weather.

Gathering his lunch bag from the bench seat and bunching up his jacket in the same hand, Joel climbs out of the car and walks into the open garage, leaving his tools behind in the flatbed to be dealt with tomorrow morning. Passing your parked car, he shakes his head with a subtle smile as he closes the driver’s side door of your SUV left open. He can picture you now, running around after picking the girls up from school, mental space occupied by getting everything and everyone together to make it out the door before the sun went down completely. 

There’s a trail of evidence to support his musings: a lonesome plastic bag filled with groceries left on top of the car, Sarah’s purple jacket looped through the handle of the garage fridge, probably left behind after she went looking for a juice, and Ellie’s army green backpack tossed on the ground in front of the shoe racks lining the wall next to the door. None of that would fly had you been your usual focused self — more often than not, you’re the parent to put their foot down and keep the girls in line while Joel is the total pushover.

Along his way inside, he picks up all the left-behind items, balancing everything in his hands while he steps into the mudroom. Ellie’s backpack gets shoved into her designated cubby, and Sarah’s jacket gets wrapped on a hook screwed into the wall as Joel kicks off his work boots. After depositing his own belongings in their spots, lunch bag in his cubby and jacket on the hook next to Sarah’s, he grabs his boots in one hand, leaning out the doorway to place them on top of the shoe rack. Closing the door behind him, he picks up the singular bag of groceries left on top of your SUV and pads across the tile further into the house. Immediately, he’s embraced by the warmth radiating from the kitchen, the smells of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and more wafting into his nose causing a smile to stretch across his face and his stomach to rumble. 

Every year that he’s known you, without fail, you use Halloween night as an excuse to cook up your family-favorite chili recipe. Sure, it doesn’t get too cold for October in Texas, but damn, does he look forward to the night every year simply for a bowl of it. Laboring over the prep and slow-cooking it all day long, anyone who tries it can taste the care in each bite; like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders that lasts with him for the entire evening spent outside with the kids.

The pleas of his stomach lead him straight into the kitchen, his smile growing wider when he sees you standing over the kitchen counter, affixing a sheriff badge to the cow print vest laid out in front of you. He strides over to your side, resting his palm on your lower back and swiping his thumb against the material of your shirt while he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head, drinking in your scent and feeling the ache of missing you all day. Losing focus from your task, you turn toward him with a bright smile, a quiet sigh leaving your lips, and your shoulders relaxing from their tensed position. Wordlessly, he folds forward, catching your lips in a lingering kiss. Heat pushes against his chest through his denim shirt, your hands skating from his pecs, up and across his shoulders, and down his arms to rest on his biceps. The motions raise goosebumps in their wake, trailing down his spine with a tepid drip.

Joel steals another kiss before he stands up straight again, voice rasping from yelling over powerful tools all day and volume low to keep the semblance of a private moment between the two of you for as long as possible; anything louder would expose his arrival, bombarding him with questions and conflicts to resolve between his daughters.

“Hey, baby.” He greets you with one fleeting kiss pressed to your forehead, hand at your lower back now rubbing side to side, fingers carefully lifting the fabric and pressing the tips of them into your deliciously soft skin. 

Turning back to the vest, you drop your hands from his arms not before giving them a gentle squeeze, “Hi, Joel. Good day?”

He shrugs, unable to step away from you just yet, “It was fine — much better now. And I take it yours has been a busy one?”

Joel holds up the plastic bag of groceries with two fingers, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk. His hip pops out as he leans against the counter, the smirk turning into a smile when you grimace. His heartbeat skips when your laugh fills his ears, the sound still exciting him after all these years, and you stand over the bag to take a peek inside.

“S’all good. Non-perishables.” It’s Joel’s turn to laugh, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle as he places the bag on the counter, unloading its contents into the pantry while you go about recapping your day for him.

In the midst of you speaking, the tumble of footsteps down the stairs draws his attention away, eyes focusing on the open threshold that leads from the living room into the kitchen. As the quickened steps grow closer, Joel turns to you and holds up three fingers, counting down with them. When he lowers his last finger, a mop of curly hair, a bouncing ponytail, and a whirlwind of chaos disrupts the initial peace of his return home.

“Hi girls, how was today?” he starts before a cacophony of noise fills the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he exchanges a look with you before facing his daughters, already overwhelmed with their two voices talking over the other.

“Dad, Dad, Sarah said—”

“Dad, Ellie’s saying that I said—”

Holding his hands up, he flicks his eyes between his two girls. Sarah, the older of the two at eleven years old, stands in front of him with her arms crossed and brow furrowed — a look he is all too familiar with, the similarities between him and her emphasized with her annoyance. Ellie, your youngest, stands with her fists clenched at her sides, her mouth twisted up in frustration and the same furrowed brow as her sister. She looks so much more like you at the moment, only a nine-year-old version, calling back on times Joel can remember of you giving him that very look.

However, with their tempers, there’s no doubt that they’re his kids.

Dropping his hands back to his sides, he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath before addressing them.

“So, what’s going on now?” he asks, brows raising and head tilting when the girls each take a sharp inhale, about to speak over each other again, “One at a time. Ellie.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at her younger sister being called upon first, expectantly looking at her sister with annoyance still painting her face. Ellie shoots her a smug look before turning back to Joel, drawing a pout onto her lips to sell her story. He can’t say it doesn’t work for a second, it always will with these two and they know it, but with a quick glance in your direction, he sees you turned away from your task, watching the drama from the sidelines. Mustering the strength to stand his ground against the sweetness of his girls, he clears his throat and listens with his best poker face as Ellie begins explaining.

“Sarah said she wouldn’t trade all her Skittles for my Three Musketeers even though she knows I hate Three Musketeers and she said last week when we were getting our costumes that she would—”

“I never said that, Dad! She’s lying—” Sarah gestures with her hands as if to physically point out the obvious falsehoods in Ellie’s story. Spiraling back out of the fleeting control he had over the situation, the kids get riled up again, yelling over each other, and inching closer. The dad-instincts kick in and he grabs one of each of their shoulders, separating the two of them and turning them to face him again as he puts on what you affectionately call his ‘no-bullshit’ voice.

“Okay, okay, okay! Enough arguin’ about candy that you don’t even have yet. Ellie, you don’t even know if a single house is gonna give ya Three Musketeers, and you don’t even know if Sarah is gonna get any Skittles. Save the trade negotiations for tonight or tomorrow morning. ‘Sides, you gotta pay the Dad Tax before either of y’all get to trade around your pickings.”

“What?”

“No way!”

Joel smiles, waving his pointer finger between his daughters with a single nod of his head. “See? Something y’all can agree on. Now go get washed up for dinner and plot how you can hide your candy from me and Mom.”

As quickly as they came in, they rush right back out, this time a united force scheming against their parents. Joel huffs out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself as he turns back to face you. Met with a growing smile, you unravel your arms crossed in front of your chest to pick up the vest from the counter.

“Nice conflict resolution there, hon. Now I won’t see a single piece of candy.” You throw a pout at him, bottom lip jutting out as he steps over to you, one hand splaying on your hip and thumb rubbing languid circles.

“Don’t worry, baby, I think I know every single one of their hiding spots from how many times they had to move their candy last year. They won’t even notice anything's gone.” With a quick wink, he leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. Standing up straight, the smile on your face mirrors his, your left index finger reaching up to fit into the valley of his dimple.

“Are we bad parents to be scheming how to steal from our children?” you question, biting back a laugh.

“I think that’s just part of parenting, darlin’.”

The laugh you held back escapes you, rolling your eyes playfully at his facetious answer; the vest in your hands catches his eyes again, and he sighs to himself as he holds a hand out for it.

“So you really did find a cow print vest for me? How lucky.” Sarcasm coats his tone and you lift the material, depositing it in his open palm.

“It is lucky, isn’t it? I think you’re going to look great in your costume. Got all the perfect parts, plus you can wear your own jeans and boots. Economical.”

“You sure you need me for this group costume?”

“Joel. You’re literally one of the main characters from the damn movie. And the girls really want you to dress up and take them trick-or-treating. Plus it’s probably going to be one of, if not the last year that we get to do all this as a family. Our kids are growing up.”

“Don’t remind me, means m’getting older too,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes falling to the fabric in his hand.

It’s true what they say about having kids: the days are long, but the years are short.

At times, Joel wishes he could pull each hair out of his head instead of dealing with the shit his kids bring to him sometimes — “Dad, I got called into the principal’s office.” “Dad, I threw a softball and broke the window.” “That’s so unfair, Dad! Why do you have to be so mean?” It’s easy to get lost in the mess that is his family, but it’s a mess he loves. It feels like it was only yesterday that he was becoming a father when Sarah was born, getting a grasp on the whole thing and then Ellie came along. What he would do without you there by his side, he doesn’t have a clue.

Like flipping through a scrapbook, he can remember every year prior for his girls. In a flash, they’ve grown from dressing up as princesses and unicorns — a dragon for Ellie — to being Spy Kids and vampires. His oldest is verging on becoming a teenager, and if he knows his daughters, he knows that once Sarah quits dressing up each year, when she asks to go to her friends’ houses instead of spending the night with Mom and Dad, Ellie will want to do the same as her older sister, always looking up to her despite their differences.

There’s only so much more time for his kids to be kids, even if they may always feel like the tiny baby girls he held in his arms. All he wants to do is to protect them, keep them under his eye as long as he can, but he can hear your voice prying his grasp away from them, encouraging him to let them grow, let them experience the world as he got to do when he was younger. You’ll remind him that you were a teenage girl once, reassuring him that they’re always going to need him. He knows it’s all going to sneak up on him; one day, he’s going to pull into the driveway and notice the lack of chalk drawings. He might even be happy at first about Ellie’s bike being put away, but when he goes into the garage to work on some of his projects, he’ll notice the smallest bit of dust on it from disuse.

Stepping away from him to shuffle across the kitchen, you reach on your tiptoes to pull out four bowls from the cabinet. Joel steps over behind you, a hand on your back as he intercepts your movements, grabbing the ceramic dishes and handing them to you.

Like a shadow, he follows behind you as you walk over to the pot filled with dinner, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his chest pressed against your back and hands on your waist as you lift the lift. Aromas waft with the steam rising, the delectably rich dish slowly bubbling as it finishes melding altogether. It smells like home, always the mark of the changing of the seasons in the Miller household, and one of the little traditions that he so appreciates you creating for your family. Just like the way you make crinkle cookies and still sign presents from Santa at Christmas, despite the fact that your daughters found out about that a couple of years ago from a yappy kid at school.

Joel was very close to driving over to his house and letting his parents know how he felt about their kid murdering the magic of Christmas for his girls.

All he can hope is that these little traditions continue even when the girls are grown up; the four of you gathering around the table for your annual chili dinner before they head off to hang out with friends and you two are left to watch cheesy Halloween movies and hand out candy to children that remind you of your daughters.

With another deep breath, warmth surrounds him. Joel’s lips find the spot just under your ear, kissing gently before he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Smells so good, baby. Have I told you how much I love you?”

A breathy, incredulous laugh falls from your lips as you stir the pot’s contents around, your smile sticking around as you counter, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m feeding you.”

A dramatic, exaggerated gasp sharply inhales into his lungs, standing up straight and patting his hands on your sides, “Absolutely not, darlin’. I love you all the time—”

“But especially when I feed you,” you finish, turning out of his arms to grab the stack of bowls. He stops your motions by wrapping his arms around your waist, feeling the press of you against his torso and relishing in the heat of your body against his. Curling up like a cat in the sun, he nudges his nose against your hairline, peppering kisses along the contours of your face.

In between kisses, he says word by word, over and over, “I. Love. You. My. Beautiful. Wonderful. Incredible. Wife.”

“Alright, alright! Gosh, you’re clingy,” you tease, leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful glint in your eye and a smirk held tight in your lips, “I love you too, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible husband.”

Your free hand smooshes his cheeks together and tugs him down gently to exchange a tender kiss. It ends much too soon for Joel, him chasing your lips and pouting when you turn away to start serving up dinner.

“Better go tell the girls dinner’s ready before they’ve finished plotting how to stow away candy in the floorboards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, punctuating the conversation with a cheeky smack to your ass, scampering away quickly before you can pretend to scold him.

Tugging at the material across his stomach, Joel combs his eyes over his reflection in the mirror of your en-suite bathroom. Rolling his shoulders back, the fabric of the yellow and red plaid flannel pulled taut, lifting the hem a couple of inches and showing off the skin of his softened tummy. Dark curls of hair litter the center of the sliver of skin, trailing down under the waist of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t bother tucking the shirt in, giving himself the breathing room of the few inches at the hem. Fingers grip the thick fabric, sharply pulling it back down to lay over his jeans again.

Picking up the cow-print vest you were adorned with the plastic gold Sheriff badge downstairs in the kitchen, he’s taken back to a few weeks ago at the Halloween store.

You and he had opted to spend Saturday morning taking Sarah and Ellie to pick out their costumes for the holiday, letting them run free until they decided on a shared costume for once. Sarah quickly picked out her size in the Jessie costume, and all of the family agreed to be different characters from the Toy Story movie.

Ellie wandered the aisles, searching for the perfect combinations to create her ideal costume, which was, of course, the mechanical spider toy with the baby doll head that the kid Sid builds in the film. She returns to where Joel is standing with you, staring at the walls of costumes to find something for the both of you; he looks down at his youngest, jumping minutely when he’s faced with a mutilated baby doll mask, shiny plastic reflecting him in the surface.

“Ellie. You can’t be the creepy baby doll,” he sighs, hand falling to his hip as he rests his weight on it, the other leg stepping out while he slowly shakes his head.

Tipping the mask up to the top of her head, Ellie stomps her feet, shoulders falling and head leaning back as she groans in complaint, “Why not, Dad?” She draws out his parental title, kicking the toe of her shoe against the buffed tiles of the storefront that remains empty eleven out of twelve months of the year.

“You’re gonna scare the little kids, and it’ll be your mom and I who are dealing with the angry parents.”

Ellie huffs out a breath, reaching up to snatch the mask off, turning on the heel of her sneaker, and stomping off to go find another costume. Turning his attention back to you at his side, he notices a cheeky smile on your face as you find your size in a woman’s Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What? What are you laughin’ at?” he questions, his lips tugging up in a grin.

“Oh, nothing. Jus’ that you told our daughter she can’t be the creepy baby doll 'cause you’d be the one scared of her.” A laugh takes over the end of your sentence, a flash of your bright smile widening his own.

“Did not. It’s ‘cause we’d have a bunch of crying little kids and judging parents to deal with.”

“Sure, honey, sure. It’s okay if you’re scared.”

Stepping closer to you, he pinches your side playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, speaking softly, “Know me too well, baby…”

Your free hand pats his chest affectionately and you unravel from his hold. Joel takes your hand before you get far, intertwining your fingers together while you both shuffle along the wall of costumes. The plastic bags shine, displaying cartoonish outfits of various characters. The exaggerated smiles of the models give him the heebie-jeebies, shuddering his shoulders at the thought that any grown person would be that excited to wear itchy polyester once before letting it collect dust in their closet and giving it away before next Halloween.

Halting in front of the costume you were looking for Joel, you bend down to flick through the sizes, your lips pulling together in a thoughtful pucker. Standing back up straight next to him, your teeth toy your bottom lip left to right, eyes scanning for any other options before you turn toward him.

“Can’t find what you’re lookin’ for, baby?”

With a shrug, you respond, “They have the costume the girls wanted you to wear, but they don’t have your size. Think I can find some stuff at the thrift store or TJ Maxx or online to make the costume up if that’s okay—”

“Whatever you need to do. S’fine.”

“I’m sorry, hon, but you don’t need to worry about it, I’ll find everything.”

“Said s’fine, darlin’. Don’t even need to dress up, really.” A small seed of shame is planted in his gut, insecurity watering it and causing it to grow, branching off to tangled in his chest. Comfort eases him out of the spiral when your hands find his chest, rubbing softly and tilting your head to meet his gaze with pure affection.

“Still gotta dress up with us, hon. Who’s gonna be the Woody to my Buzz if it isn’t you? Can’t dress up as one half of the best friend duo without my best friend,” you grin, standing on your toes to catch his lips in a gentle kiss, which ends too soon for his taste despite being in the middle of the shop.

Vest shrugged onto his shoulder, and he gives himself another once over in his full outfit, the same insecurity from a few weeks ago pouring down to cultivate his shame. He doesn’t look the same as he did when he met you, even the same as he did last year. Graying hair and salt and pepper beard, lines next to his eyes and across his forehead, only deepened when he furrows his brow at the look of him in his costume.

He looks ridiculous.

Better to get this night over with, let his girls enjoy themselves, and attempt to forget his discomfort in the outfit. Picking up his cheap cowboy hat that arrived in the mail earlier that week, he avoids another look in the mirror before he slips out of the bathroom, eyes focused on the toes of his boots while he walks out the door of your bedroom, past the full-length mirror next to your closet and the small round one on your vanity.

No need to foul his mood and spoil the fun. It’s for his girls. 

The screams and laughter of children echo into the deepening night sky, the street bright from the lamps lining it along with porch lights staying on, open garage doors, all signaling a welcoming to the trick-or-treaters to come and grab their haul from each vast bowl or cauldron of candy.

Blurs of costume cross below Joel’s sightline as he walks hand-in-hand with you, kids running around blindly, the safety of such a crowd in the small neighborhood blanketing them with trust that they’ll be able to find their way home wherever they end up. Sarah and Ellie are ten paces ahead, moving quickly and efficiently to “maximize their candy collection”. Ellie’s words, after she presented her hand-drawn map of their neighborhood and the one across the main road, highlighting which houses are notorious for King Size treats and noting which ones give out toothbrushes or nothing at all.

The collar of his flannel is tightened around his neck from the string of his chestnut cowboy hat. Pulled down to rest on his clavicle, the body of the hat swings against his back as he walks, only adorning the top of his head for a few photos that you insisted on dragging out the tripod and self-timer for in the middle of the living room. He took the rest of the photos you wanted, maybe a bit too eagerly getting out of the frame and relaxing the slightest bit behind the camera. Photo evidence of how laughable he looks does not need to exist en masse. With a sigh, he reaches a hand up to tug the string down for what feels like the tenth time in thirty minutes of walking, relief felt for a few seconds before it slides back up to the base of his throat, flipping up the collar of his shirt with it.

Denim from his dark wash bootcut jeans starts to dig into his hips, roughening the skin there from his strides and their inch-too-small size from the year prior. These were deemed his “nice” jeans, per your request, only pulled out a handful of times a year for occasions that he was meant to look nicer than his raggedy Levi’s, covered in spots from paint, wood stain, oil, or dirt, the fraying, white strings hanging from the hems and ripping when caught under his step — all the signs of his day-to-day life. What he’s comfortable in.

These — these are not comfortable, not worn in enough to feel buttery against his skin, and not returning to his size even after washing and line drying. These are stiff, formed to his skin and resisting a tightness with each swing of his legs. The fresh material rubs against his bare skin underneath, the waist of his boxers falling an inch or two down to create the perfect space for the waistband to chafe. He’s tempted to pause the two of you walking along, long enough to tuck in the material of the flannel, but quickly decides against it when he thinks about the exaggeration of his stomach with the form-fitting, tucked shirt stretched over it.

Occupied in his thoughts, he barely notices that you've slowed down until you come to a stop at the end of a driveway, two streets over from your own home, waiting as your daughters wait in line for their packaged sugar. 

You hold onto his bicep with your opposite hand, leaning your weight against his side. Like a weighted blanket, in the interim of a hug from you, he takes on the change to his equilibrium, relishing in the comforting press of your body against him. Easing away his anxieties and his insecurities that, of course, had to be present for this wholesome, once-a-year family night; he rests his chin on your head, breathing in the smell of your rosemary and mint shampoo, tingling his nostrils and drinking down the scent he’s so familiar with.

His focus draws to Sarah, hair in a French braid pulled away from her face and cherry red cowboy hat on her head, and Ellie, lime green face paint that she insisted on and an antenna sticking up from the top of her head and exaggerated, pointed green ears all attached to the same headband. The two of them are near the front of the queue for candy at this particular house, the process a bit more involved with a haunted graveyard required to pass through to earn your sweet reward. 

All she’d been saying the whole night since getting dressed had been “The claaaaaw!” or “I have been chosen!”. She screams the latter in the face of a teenager who pops out from a bush to scare her, completely unphased as she sneaks past him, grabbing a handful of candy for her and Sarah, running back down the path with her older sister before they pause to distribute the goods.

Joel lifts your joined hands, hooking his arm over your shoulder and laying your arm across your chest as he gathers you closer.

“So how many cavities do you think we’ll be paying for ‘cause of tonight’s candy haul?” he wonders aloud, a smile ticking up the side of his mouth when you giggle at his joke. It never gets old, being able to make you laugh, and it’s like a weed whacker to the strangling vines of his insecurities growing tightly in his chest. A looseness that gives him the chance for a deep breath, gratitude wilting the branches as he studies the grin on your face, the admiration twinkling in your eyes.

“Probably should be callin’ the dentist to see if they have a two-for-one discount.” It’s his turn to laugh at your response, tautening his arm around your shoulders to tow you closer to him, your head tilting back as you swing your front toward him. Joel bends his neck, pecking your lips with a smile before he looks back toward his daughters walking back to the two of you.

Annoyance thumbs the bruise of shame, driving his frustrations higher; his hand reaches up again with a huff, yanking the string away from his neck, “Thing’s like a damn noose…”

“Jus’ take it off, hon, I’ll carry it for you,” you sweetly suggest, swinging your joined hands between your bodies.

“But, you got it for me…” he mumbles guiltily, a worry in his voice over your potential irritation with him. Ever the masochist, Joel argues with you, not wanting to disappoint. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut—

Pausing in your steps, you hang behind him long enough to snatch the hat off his back, releasing it from around his neck and depositing it on your head in one smooth movement. Taking his hand again, you continue, unphased by his complaints and happy to hold onto the new accessory.

At the next house, the two of you wait at the end of the driveway for the girls; Joel taps the side of his pointer finger on the brim as you look up at him, a cheeky smile growing on his face as a thought distracts from his festering doubts. His voice lowers, rasping as he speaks only to you, attempting to disguise the conversation from all the people milling about.

“Y’know, there are consequences for stealing a cowboy’s hat, baby.” Wetting his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue, his hands drift to your waist, fingers stretching to skim the top of your ass, dangerously close to grabbing a handful in front of everyone.

“M’well aware of those consequences, cowboy. Why d’you think I took it?” You shoot him a wink that goes straight down below the belt, a brazen flash of mischief in your eyes, the reflections of yellow lamplight lighting them up further. 

Gripping his biceps, your nimble fingers squeeze gently while your thumbs rub massaging circles into his slightly flexed muscles. A nearly inaudible hum of a moan rolls from your chest, one of his hands gathering the polyester material of your dress tightly at the sound. Beckoning him to fold forward with one look, he molds his lips to yours in a supple kiss. It lasts only the length of an inhale, drinking in the taste of your lips before your warmth is fleeting, hands patting his chest in a signal to wrap it up.

He grumbles, irritation heating under his collar as he itches to get home and for the night to be over, now for more than one reason. You laugh softly at his annoyed pout, poking his chest as you tease, “What? Mad ‘cause you got a snake in your boot?”

“More like in my jeans…” he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear and playfully jab his arm, shaking your head as you breathe out a chuckle from your nose.

“Nice, Miller. In a costume for a kid’s movie no less.”

He matches your laugh, shrugging when you turn in his arms, back to him as you await your daughters to make their way back to the both of you. His arms drape around your hips, tugging you into his chest to press against him comfortably, the plush-filled wings of your costume padding you against his torso. Lips find your ear, chin resting on your shoulder as he responds, “What’s the saying from the movie? To infinity and beyond? Reckon that’s where I’ll be takin’ you by the end of tonight.”

“Joel!” you attempted to chide, your laughter exposing your real feelings over the suggestive comment, laying your arms over his. The girls walk toward the two of you, and he takes a second to press an open-mouth kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin before unfurling himself from you. A light smack on the side of your ass is the punctuation to the teasing, Joel standing up straight and taking your hand.

“Giddy-up, partner,” he murmurs before turning his attention to Sarah and Ellie, overly excited and completely calm. “Whatcha y’all get this time? Anything good?”

They answer over each other and he nods along, corralling them to start to walk to the next house, “Alright, mission accomplished at this house. Onto the next, we gotta get this wagon a-movin’! Only got another hour in me, girls.”

Protests whine against his announcement and your daughters start to walk faster, determined to complete their hit-list for the houses with the good stuff. You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Joel looks over at you, feigning innocence.

“What? Got a bad back, bein’ out in the cold makes it worse.”

Now back at home, the four of you are gathered in the living room, costumes all on still as you seek out the comfort and warmth of the soft furnishings and blankets. Joel lounges on the couch, you next to him, back leaning against his side while your legs stretch out on the rest of the sofa. Ellie and Sarah have taken to the floor in front of the coffee table, massive pillowcases dumped out and beginning to be sorted. Every so often, you or Joel get up with the sound of the doorbell, passing out candy to the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters. Eventually, the intrusion stops completely, the TV playing a bad, kitschy Halloween movie per the request of the girls.

They trade their earnings, and you and Joel steal on the sly, both from the bowl you were handing out and from Sarah and Ellie’s piles. Wrappers are strewn around the floor and across the surface of the coffee table, the sound of another torn open by the girls making you sigh and sit up.

Holding out your hand, you shake your head, beckoning for the treat with your fingers, “Okay, Ellie. No more candy. You’re not going to be able to go to sleep if you keep eating it now, it’s too late.”

Ellie whines, rolling her head back with a groan before pleading her case, “Please, Mom, just this last one! And then I’ll be done, promise. Please.”

Joel chuckles when she shoots you the same puppy dog eyes that he gives to you to get what he wants, knowing his smirk grows wider when you fold easily. Shooting your head over to him, you announce to the whole room, “No more candy for anyone. C’mon girls, put it all back in your bags.” 

Calmness finds itself back in the room once all the complaints are lodged with you, the girls lying down to watch the movie while you continue to sit with Joel. Spaced out as he focuses on the film, his attention is grabbed when he hears the crinkle of wrappers and glances around to find all three of his girls indulging further.

With the remote from his lap, he pauses the movie, pouting as he exclaims, “Hey! What happened to not havin’ any more candy? If I can’t have anymore, y’all can’t either.”

Sneaking the last bite of her fun-size Snickers bar, Ellie giggles and shrugs, always the smart aleck, “Well, you are gettin’ a little pudgy, Dad, maybe less candy’ll help.”

Sarah and you giggle at her lighthearted teasing, and Joel waves it off with a breathy chuckle, leaning back against the cushions as Sarah chimes in with her jests, “Yeah, think you’re getting a little fluffy, Dad. Better to lay off now than at Christmastime with all Mom’s cookies.”

Joel attempts to defend himself from the teasing by threatening their candy supply, eager to end the conversation as the back of his neck heats up, “If m’already gettin’ pudgy then I guess that permits me to eat all your candy.”

They both are in a fit of giggles, continuing to tack on silly comments as Joel sits quietly on the couch, trying to mask the way the words worm their way in, feeding the shame and insecurity that was already festering in his chest from the last few weeks.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smile as you laugh softly, “Alright, alright, enough. Think that’s the sign that it’s time for bed. C’mon, up up up.” Before standing, you pat Joel’s thigh and shoot him a carefully concerned look, but he wipes away your worry by sending you a warm smile back, laying his hand over yours and squeezing gently. 

Joel stays downstairs to clean up, the girls both saying goodnight before you follow them upstairs to get them ready for bed. Gathering candy wrappers in his fists, he throws them away in the kitchen, stomach rolling as he replays the small comments from minutes ago. He knows it was teasing, all in good fun as it always is between his girls and you, but he can’t shake the heaviness inside of him, the hot prickles of shame when he passes by the mirror in the hallway on his way back to the living room.

The bowl of extra candy you were handing out gets placed back on the coffee table, his silly cowboy hat from the evening deposited on top of it to hide the contents. Not that he was going to eat anymore, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of anything else when all he could think about was how much he desperately wanted to shed his skin at that moment. Breathing shallows when he settles on the couch again, one of his hands pressing onto the left side of his chest and willing his heart to slow down, for his brain to silence itself.

The skin of his palm meets the scruff of his beard, scratching against the roughened, worked skin. Grays in his hair, salt and pepper beard, wrinkles on his forehead and at the side of his eyes, softened tummy from years of love and care, from an easy life with you.

He certainly isn’t the same Joel that you met all that time ago, that you fell in love with. Have you noticed the changes as much as he has?

He swears you haven’t aged a day; all the more beautiful with each passing day.

Light steps carry you back downstairs, the sound shaking Joel out of his thoughts as you swing around from the staircase and through the entrance to the living room. Joel relaxes on the couch, the same spot he was occupying before, only sinking further into the cushion, shifting to pull the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach. Glancing up at you, away from whatever was playing on the TV that did nothing to distract him from himself, he sends you a tight smile, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to welcome you in.

Accepting it, you sit next to him, curling up into his side with your legs under you, leaning against his frame with your comforting weight. Your hand rests on his chest, your head on his shoulder while you both watch the TV movie playing. Silence falls between the two of you, minutes passing by with only the noise from the speakers, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the kids upstairs.

Joel feels your hand move against his chest, curling up to leave your pointer finger extended, the pad of it skimming against his flannel. He ignores the feeling, figuring it’s you fidgeting as you do while you focus. The same thing as twirling your hair while you’re reading, tapping your foot as you cook.

But when your hand stairs to wander, his eyes flick down to watch its path, your gaze still facing forward and quiet. With your thumb and index finger, you work open the first button on his shirt, trailing down with the rest undone in your route. Slipping under the material, your cold hand presses against his chest, nails scraping against the skin there. With a sigh at the contact, Joel finally uses his hand to gently caress your chin, turning you to face him.

Low and rasping, he questions, “What are you doin’ exactly, darlin’?”

Innocently, you shrug, bottom lip bit down on while your touch moves lower again, skimming across his stomach and reaching the waistband of his jeans, “Well, I still have to face the consequences from stealin’ your hat, cowboy.”

Fingers dip below his belt line, toying with the elastic band of his boxers. Slipping away, he almost protests at the loss, biting his tongue when you move next to him, sitting up on your knees while both hands reach for the button and zipper of his jeans. When his button pops from its secure place, he warns with a breathy exhale, “Baby…”

“Mhm, yes, honey?” you reply, words trailing up at the end, feigning naivety. Through your lashes, you send him a pout, tongue poking out to dampen your plush lips that he stares at, his mouth parted with heavy breaths. His blood is rushing from his head, leaving him feeling light, as it all pumps to his cock, your delicate and teasing touches getting him half-hard.

Before you can tug down his zipper, you pause, taking your hands off of him; he holds back a whimper, the sound dying as a low hum in his throat.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’not done yet. Let’s go to our room, yeah?” Your voice is soothingly saccharine, an eager nod being his only response. 

Shutting off the TV, you stand from the sofa and take his hand, snatching the cowboy hat from the coffee table before pulling him to stand and follow you across the main floor, down the hallway into your first-floor bedroom. Joel shuts the door behind him, your nod toward the handle serving as a reminder for him to flick the lock.

 “Y’know, honey, you’re always showing me how you feel about me. I think it’s time we had a night that’s all about you…” He’s holding in a breath as you stalk closer to him, shaking his head as the back of his neck heats up.

“No, baby, you don’t—I don’t…” he stutters before trailing off, ashamed that he can’t think of any other excuse than the truth of why he does not want the attention on him tonight.

“You don’t…?” Running your hands across the expanse of his chest, he drops his shoulders in, curling around to make himself smaller, one foot stepping back but he doesn’t move from under your touch.

Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, faintly confiding, “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I jus’, I’d rather give to you, baby.”

“Oh, Joel…you deserve it and more, honey. Why wouldn’t you?” Your fingers graze up, skating across his skin and carding into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not…not the same. I don’t look like who you fell in love with. Everything’s changing, catching up to me. Got gray hair and white in my beard and wrinkles and a beer belly startin’ and my back hurts all the time. M’not who I used to be but you—”

“Have changed, too. It’s not just you, Joel. Everything’s a little softer now, I’ve got wrinkles too. Found like four gray hairs yesterday and had a mild panic attack before I got into the shower. M’curvier and—”

“And you’re fucking beautiful, baby. You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful than the day I met you.” He’s quick to defend your negative self-talk, his hands running delicately along the curves of your sides and around your lower back. Enveloping you in his arms, he presses your foreheads together, nose notched next to yours.

“That’s exactly how I feel about you, Joel. Don’t listen to us teasin’ you, especially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t change a thing about you…” As you tilt your head back, your nose grazes against his cheek, feeling a rush of heat from your breath as your lips hover over his, deliciously close to a kiss, “Can I show you what I think about you, honey?”

Joel nods, wordlessly waiting in anticipation; in the next breath, your lips crash into his, drinking him down deep while the hand at the back of his head tangles further into his hair and tugs. He moans, parted lips allowing you to lick into his mouth, whining at the taste of him before you push the flannel material from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as you continue to dominate the kiss.

Pressing your hands against his strong chest, you push him back with a step. Joel follows your lead, carefully moving backward, your tongue melding with his. All he can focus on is the taste of you — sweet, fruity, with the tang of citric acid from all the sour candies you stole from the bowl, the softest hint of chocolate as an aftertaste from his indulgences. The flavors of you coat his mouth, the scent of your perfume and shampoo mixing in his nose, and the feeling of your soft skin in his rough palms when he hikes up the skirt of your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass; it all stirs together, creating an intoxicating cocktail of you that he can seem to taste enough of. Joel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s being pulled away from your mouth with a pop when you ease him to sit down. Curiosity flashes in his mind, the sight of you over him with kiss-swollen lips growing the bulge in his undone jeans. Eager hands find your hips, grazing over to your ass as he looks up at you standing over him.

“Whatcha wanna do, beautiful?” His voice is lecherous as it comes out in a rasp, dripping with desire and a bit of wonder over what exactly you’re going to do with your night in control.

You shake your head at him, standing up straight and reaching for his hands, placing them at the hem of your dress, “Go ahead, baby. Take off as much as you want.”

His choice is obvious, tugging the fabric over your head with your help, a hand around your back yanking you to stand close, between his spread legs, while his fingers work open the clasp of your bra. Sitting back on his hands, he observes greedily as you let the straps fall down your arms, dropping the bra entirely onto the floor.

“These too?” Your thumbs hook into the waistline of your panties, doe-eyed and biting down on your body lip teasingly. Cotton-mouthed, Joel nods slowly, lips parted with shaking breath as you strip completely, sinking to your knees in front of him before he can reach out for a handful of your curves.

He lets you work his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following in their wake, his cock springing free against his bare stomach. You keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him, his keen stare unblinking as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the need to see every single one of your movements outweighing the drying of his eyes with his slow, infrequent blinking. Scooting to settle comfortably on your knees, you stand up straighter, gaining enough height to bend your head over his lap, lips meeting his soft tummy and hands gripping onto his thighs. Delicate kisses and ghosting touches on his skin raise goosebumps, a warm shudder trickling down his back at your tenderness.

“So handsome…” you whisper, grazing your teeth into the flesh of his torso, biting down to nip. “Y’know I think about doin’ this all the time, baby. Every time you take off your shirt, jus’ wanna sink my teeth into you.”

His cheeks heat with sincere attention, muscles in his abdomen flexing when you litter lovebites and heated, open-mouth kisses all over him, the gentle touches and desire to relax his anxieties slowly. The focus on your mouth drops to his thighs, turning your head to the side when you sit back on your haunches, licking a stripe up toward his aching cock, a quivering exhale from his mouth drawing your eyes to his face. A satisfied smile stretches across your face, kissing his inner thigh before mirroring the actions on the opposite side. His fingers curl into the duvet, gripping hard as your lips wander closer to where his stiff cock drips needily, throbbing for any kind of reprieve.

“You’re so pretty, baby. So strong, solid.” The sweet nothings tickle at the back of his neck, words that he’s sure you’ve spoken before, but at this moment, they raise his body temperature and lighten his head, the only thoughts being how much he needs you.

Standing on your knees again, you bend your neck over Joel’s lap, eyes flickering up to his face to look at him through your lashes. Your lips part, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto his waiting cock, the sensation making him hiss with urgency. One of your hands wraps around him and strokes slowly. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, mouth opening in a small gasp at the languid stimulation. One swipe of your thumb across his tip drags the beads of pre-cum from where they’re leaking, melting them into the mix of your saliva that lubricates your motions.

Searing needles pierce into his skin when you finally give in and press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of his swollen length. Your thumb brushes against his tip again, another hiss of pleasure escaping from between his teeth. One of Joel’s hands finds the back of your head, tangling fingers into your hair. He doesn’t move to guide you, simply wanting to touch a part of you to ground himself.

Your free hand gently cups his balls as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his hard cock. A kitten-lick swipes up the fresh dribbles of pre-cum that have collected and Joel’s fingers tense against your strands. Humming satisfied with the reactions you’re drawing from him, he looks down at you meeting his gaze, feeling the splotches of redness growing across his cheeks and neck at the frustration of your light teasing. He groans out your name as your mouth works to tease him more, not having taken him fully in.

“Fucking hell, baby, quit teasin’, please.” Joel rasps as he watches your methodical seduction. He applies the smallest pressure against the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around just the tip of him, a moan of relief rolling from his chest.

Your eyes stay glued on his face, and he’s lost in the delicious warmth of your mouth, unabashed in every response that he’s having to your mouth working him. Starting a slow bob up and down, he moans at the weight of him on your tongue, saliva coating the underside of his cock as he feels you curl the muscle against every vein. With half of him with your mouth, your hand working what isn’t initially fitting inside. His noises grow louder and in quicker succession, hyperaware that his cheeks are likely visibly warm and eyes dark with a craving when he looks down at you again.

“Such a sweet girl. Look so pretty with my cock in your little mouth. Think you can take more, baby? Think I can fit in your throat?” You shift in your position slightly, thighs rubbing together and a chuckle rolls from his lips, smug in the need he’s drawing from you simply from enjoying his pleasure. A sigh exhales around him in your mouth as your thighs rub together to relieve some of your aches.

The rhythm of your head brings his cock deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. You swallow around him and it squeezes him just right, a loud moan rumbling from his chest, the reverberations sending aftershocks to the tips of his ears. At that point, he gets lost in the high feeling, his composure leaving him when his large hand at the back of your head pushes you down onto his cock, taking him down your throat further and causing you to gag. Tears spill from your eyes and spit drips from the sides of your mouth, the blow job quickly turning sloppy as Joel takes more control.

“Fucking hell, darlin’. Taking me so well on your own, being such a good girl for me,” he whines, heading tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of your head. “Gonna fuckin’ come, baby, holy fuck, I—”

A moan around him gurgles to nothing when he thrusts again, hand tangled in your hair pulling you back until his tip rests against your lips, “Don’t wanna—please—” His words are lost on the tip of his tongue, pleasure hazing his mind as he searches for the plea he wants to make with you.

You giggle from your knees, swiping your fingers to wipe away the drool from the corners of your mouth, a satisfied smirk on your face. Bracing yourself on his thighs, you push yourself up, standing in between his legs while your hands find his shoulders, scraping your fingernails against the curve of them.

“You wanna come inside of me? Not my mouth? Is that what you were trying to say, baby?”

“Yes,” he exhales, relieved to find the word he needed, blinking open his eyes to look up at you. Your thumb skates across his bottom lip, holding onto his jaw as you study his features.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Joel. Anything for my perfect, doting husband. D’you know how fucking good it makes me feel to make you feel good?” you question curiously, tilting his head as he lets you mold him whichever way you want. “Tell me how you deserve to have me like this. ‘Cause you’re so fucking good to me, tell me that you’re gonna let me fuck you, let me take your come inside of me.”

“Baby, I don’t think that—” he starts, palms pressing into the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you.

“Tell me, Joel. You said you wanted to be the one giving to me tonight. That’s what I want.” You use his earlier, shy request against his negative thoughts, and the intensity in your eyes bends him to your will.

“M’gonna let you have my cock, gonna let you fuck me and show me how much you love when I take care of you.” The words roll foreignly on his tongue, unconvincing coming from his mind to his mouth. You bend a knee, bringing it up to rest next to his thigh, nodding along to encourage him to continue, “I give you whatever I can give to you, and always gonna, baby. Now’s your turn to take care of me, right?”

“That’s right, honey. I should show you how much I appreciate you more often…you work so hard, give us exactly what we need, and provide for us. My big, strong man. You do so much for me, baby. Gonna show you how thankful I am for you, how grateful I am that you’re lettin’ me have this cock,” your words breathe hot against his ear, your other leg now straddling him on the bed, cunt hovering over his waiting cock. A hand leaves his shoulders, reaching between your stomachs to wrap around him, guiding him to your entrance. His breath catches in his throat when you ease down onto him, pushing through the wet seal of your slit.

Wet heat envelopes him, taking in a few inches of him; Joel groans under you, head falling forward onto your breasts, forehead pressed into your sticky skin. One hand tangles into his curls, dragging his head back to look into your eyes. Your hips start to move, adjusted to his size easily and taking more of his cock, letting it split you open inch-by-inch. His eyes wildly search yours, seeing the pleasure overtake your mind, lips parting to match his as you both breathe out shallow, hot breaths.

“Fuck, Joel, so fucking big…” you whine for the first time tonight and the sound goes straight to his cock, twitching him inside of you as his hips jerk up, giving you another inch. Lust clouds his mind, nodding confidently as you take him, desperate to feel your tight, dripping cunt around him entirely.

“I know, baby, I know. Should’ve let me get you ready. But I bet you like the stretch, like a lil’ bit of pain, huh?” he coos, arm snaking around you to hold you closer, your eyes fluttering closed above him as you nod languidly.

“Fuckin’ love it, makes it feel even better,” you whimper when his arm tugs you down further, only an inch or two away from him being fully sheathed.

“C’mon, be my good girl, baby. Show me how you sit on my cock.” He leans forward, bending you backward with his force and holding you tight, his lips attaching to the soft, velvety skin of your breasts and biting, “Gotta face your punishment for stealin’ my hat. Take a cowboy’s hat, gotta ride the cowboy, babygirl. I don’t make the rules.”

You giggle, eyes clearing as you’re pulled out of your cloud of pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders and holding eye contact as you finally sink completely down, burying Joel’s cock inside your soaked pussy. Moans echo in the room, bitten down before they get too loud, your hips immediately finding a quick, sloppy pace to chase your highs. The slick glide of your walls grip his cock lusciously, your flooding arousal coating his balls as thighs as you ride him. Little noises slip from your mouth, simmering the coals burning in the base of his gut as he feels the familiar bliss building.

“Is this what I’m supposed to be doin’, cowboy?” you wonder, hips continuing their pace and mouth twisting as you hide a smile. Joel is unashamed, a wide grin on his face as he unravels one arm from you, picking up the hat from the corner post of the bed, and setting it loosely on top of your head. Giggles erupt from the both of you, your pace faltering as the muscles in his stomach cramp from use. 

Recovering from the interlude, your thighs rub against the outside of his as you bounce, nails digging into his shoulders as your rhythm picks back up, the slap of skin against skin the only noise save for your airy breaths that get shallower and shallower. Flames have ignited in his gut, licking inside and burning hotter and hotter the closer he gets. Nearly at the edge, he needs more, body taking over and lifting you with him as he stands, holding you up on his cock as he thrusts hard and quick into you, dripping for him and gripping him tight to keep yourself up while he fucks into you.

“Oh—fuck, Joel! Right there, m’gonna—oh!” Your desperate pleas in his ear pitch up as you moan, cunt tightening with a flutter around him as you come, soaking his dick as he continues his hard pace, selfishly chasing his high. 

A growl rolls from his chest when you come, his fingernails biting into the flesh of your ass, the slap of his balls against your skin as they draw up. His eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name, the first rope of his come released into your cunt, smaller whimpers following in its wake as he fucks one, twice more, filling you up as deep as he can.

Limbs feeling heavy, he turns you both around, pulling you off of him and dropping you gently onto the mattress. He flops down next to you onto his stomach, blissfully out of it as you move to straddle his back, fingers working the knots and soothing the aches growing there after a long week of work, and a night spent corralling your kids.

The warm press of your body against his back makes him hum contently, your breasts at his shoulder blades as you lay on him, one of his hands reaching the rub his fingers softly against the outside of your thigh.

“You know I think you’re the most handsome, right, honey?” you ask with a hint of worry in your voice, barely above a whisper. He nods, rolling over to his back underneath you and meeting your eyes, brow furrowed with concern.

“I know, baby. Jus’ was feeling weird this whole week. You made it a lot better, though.” A knuckle nudges your cheek, and you take the hat off, Joel chuckling again as you throw it off to the side of the bed. Laying down on him again, he strokes your hair while you hug yourself to his torso, both your eyes and his fluttering shut with exhaustion, from tonight and life in general.

Before drifting off, Joel speaks up, cheekily asking, “So…can I wear this costume next year, too?”

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[tkwrites]

He's Got It Bad - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif by 40ep

Title: He’s got it bad

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (OFC) 

Warnings: Swearing, lots of teasing & chirping, mild spoilers if you've never seen the original Jurassic Park.

Summary: When Sarah meets the team at Conor's birthday party, not only does she get to know Quinns teammates and their partners, she enters a world she never expected. At practice the next day, the guys congratulate and tease Quinn mercilessly.

Word Count: 2,600

Comments: I’m sorry this one took me so long, Daisy! I started it two or three months ago, but couldn’t find the right way to finish it. And then earlier this week, as I was falling asleep, it just snapped into place. I hope you enjoy it! 

As before, the research described here is dubious at best, so please take it with a big grain of salt.

If you did enjoy this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

dasiysthings asked: If you’re taking requests/suggestions for Quinn and Sarah au doing a Sarah meeting the team for the first time has been on my mind lately. What would they think of her? Sure Quinn’s mentioned her and they saw sarah in the stands her first game but maybe she attends a team function like birthday party or team family meal. Something low key and not public maybe? Also how much do they tease Quinn after?🫣🤭

He’s got it bad

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

“Are you free on Thursday?” 

It was a rare night off, and he’d requested they order food and watch a movie. Currently, they were lounging in a giant bean bag in the gaming room. Quinn was partially on top of Sarah, his head resting on her chest as the first Jurassic Park played on the large screen.

“I think so. Why?”

“Garly’s having a party that night for his birthday. I hoped you might want to come with me.” 

“Who?”

“Garly,” he repeated before correcting himself, “Conor. Garland. From the team.”

Quinn had mentioned Conor before, and she knew he was one of the trio of guys he was really close to.  

“Sure,” she said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt. “Who will be there?”

“Most of the guys and their partners if they have them.”

“Is it going to be wild?” she asked, winding one of his curls around her finger. She needed to prepare herself if it was going to be a night full of drinking. 

“Nah, Conor’s pretty chill, and we have a game the next day.”

“Okay,” she agreed again, splaying her fingers through his dark waves, letting them slip and slide over her skin. For someone who washed it so often, he had remarkably soft hair. 

 Nuzzling into her chest a little more, he sighed. He loved when she played with his hair.

Sarah jumped when the Dilophosaurus appeared on screen, tilting its head at Nedry. 

Quinn laughed. She hadn’t even flinched when the T-Rex had tried to attack the kids through one of the park cars. “You okay?”

“I hate this one,” she said, turning her head to the side. 

He glanced at the TV in time to see the dinosaur hiss and pop its frill. “You hate this more than the T-Rex?” 

“At least the T-Rex is just a big predator. This one stalks and tortures first, and I hate it,” she said, face still turned away. 

“But Nedry deserved it.” 

“Maybe so, but I still don’t like to think about it.” 

He chuckled.

Only after the yells faded away did she turn back to the movie and continue tracing her fingers through his hair. 

By the time Thursday came around, Quinn realized just how nervous Sarah was. She texted him about the dress code three hours before he was supposed to pick her up.

It’s a party, he’d written back, unsure of what she meant. 

Yeah, but is it like a heels and cocktails party? Or a backyard barbecue party?

Well, it’s been raining all week, so I’m pretty sure we’ll be indoors.

Don’t be a smartass. 

Just casual. Food and drinks. 

She’d called him then, and he’d answered, confused. “Hey?” 

“I just…” she began, “this is the first time I’m meeting most of your teammates and their girlfriends and I don’t want to be the only one in jeans when everyone else is in dresses. I want to make a good impression.” 

“You’ll make a good impression no matter what you’re wearing.”

A breath blew out of her nose, whistling by the phone speaker, “you don’t get it.” 

“Don’t I?” 

“Quinn, you wear the same thing all the time.” 

“First of all, I do not.”

He continued before she could get out her retort that Brady could back her up on this fact. “And secondly, everything I’ve seen you wear would be fine for this. You always look nice.”

And he meant it. Even in her aquarium uniform, which consisted of a blue t-shirt or polo with the aquarium logo and whatever pants she happened to be wearing that day, she always looked put together.

She made some noise in her throat like she thought he was telling tales. 

“Look, you might get some looks if you showed up in a trash bag or something.” 

Laughter barked out of her mouth. “Why would I ever wear a trash bag?” 

“I don’t know. I’m just saying that barring an unhinged trash bag outfit, you’ll be fine. People are just excited to meet you.” 

“You told them I’m coming?” she asked, feeling sudden nerves attack her stomach. 

“Yeah. Conor suggested I invite you. The guys want to meet you.” Plus, ever since she'd met Brady, he'd wanted her to meet everyone in his life.

“Oh,” she said quietly. 

“Just wear what you feel comfortable in, and I’ll pick you up at six, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Sarah said, feeling even more anxious than before she’d called him.

She couldn’t even wear her go-to outfit for when she was nervous. St. Patricks day was the next weekend, and she’d asked Quinn to come to her uncles and needed the green dress for that. Plus, it was freezing and sleety outside. A dress was not the way to go. 

Jane walked by, and Sarah called her in. 

“What happened here?” Jane asked, taking in the clothing spread all over Sarah’s usually tidy room, and Sarah herself standing in her underwear. 

The only thing she could decide on was the blue bra, which always made her feel confident and sexy. She’d paired it with a matching pair of underwear.

“I’m going to a party with some of Quinn’s teammates tonight,” she said. 

Janes eyes widened with what Sarah thought was the appropriate amount of concern. 

“So I’m trying to figure out what to wear. The dress is out,” she said, gesturing to where it was hanging in the closet. 

Jane bit her lip, surveying the chaos. “My vote is for those boyfriend jeans that make your thighs look killer,” she said. 

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have someone express a definitive opinion. She’d put those same jeans on earlier but stripped them right back off, worried all the other women would be in fancier dress. “You don’t think they’ll be too casual?” 

“What kind of a party is it?” 

“Birthday.”

Jane looked her over, “you’ll be fine. Killer jeans, nice top. Quinn won’t know what hit him.” 

She pulled the jeans on, hopping as she tugged them over her hips, “thanks. I’m just so nervous.” 

Jane sat on her bed and began putting shirts back on their discarded hangers, “I don’t think you need to be.” 

“No?”

She shook her head, “from the way he was looking at you when he stayed for dinner that night you guys made up, I’m not sure anything could put him off you.”

Sarah felt her cheeks flush. 

“Anyway,” Jane said, pulling a purple blouse out from underneath her, “I think you should wear this. It looks good with your eyes.”

“Thanks, Jane,” she said, gathering the other woman into a hug, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Sarah was already in the lobby when Quinn pulled up to her building. She wore medium wash jeans a dark raincoat. He appreciated that she was wearing flat boots instead of some fussy heel. She threw the hood up to block the rain before running out to his car. 

When they got to the house, he opened the door without knocking before leading her inside. There was a coat rack already brimming with wet jackets, and Sarah stripped hers off to hang up with the others. 

Quinn stopped in his tracks halfway through unzipping his own jacket. 

He thought he’d seen all of Sarah’s clothes. Which was a stupid notion now that he thought about it — they hadn’t been dating for that long — but she tended to wear a kind of uniform.

Today, though, her jeans fit her like a glove — clinging to the curves of her thighs and hips. He was certain she’d never worn them before. He would have remembered. Seeing her in them now, he wished she’d given him some kind of warning.

When he didn’t follow her, Sarah turned, which was worse. The purple blouse she wore skimmed over her breasts and had a pattern embroidered around the collar. The color somehow made her eyes brighter and lips more pink. He had no idea that could happen.

He felt like he needed to catch his breath as a surge of attraction reared in his stomach.

Not only were the guys going to tease him mercilessly for being with someone new, he was going to have to watch her in those jeans all night. The mental exertion it was going to take to not pop a boner was already making him tired. 

Before his mind could truly go to war about the pros and cons of just turning to go back to his place, Conor called out, “Huggy? Is that you?” 

Too late to turn back now. “Yeah,” he said, not taking his eyes off Sarah. 

“Huggy?” she repeated.

“It’s a long story.”

The thrill of touching her reared to life again as he took her hand to guide her into the house. He made his mind focus on math equations for the walk into the kitchen and hoped it would be enough. 

“Hey!” Conor greeted, immediately grasping Quinn in a hug when they walked into the kitchen.  “You must be the elusive Sarah Huggy won’t stop telling us about,” he said as they broke apart.

“Good things, I hope,” Sarah joked as they shook hands.

“Well, he certainly didn’t lie about how pretty your eyes are,” a woman said, coming up to stand next to Conor, running her hand along his forearm before entwining their fingers.

The color that pinked her cheeks made Quinn’s knees want to buckle. God, he was in deep.

The strange thing was that he wasn’t scared about it. That had to mean something good.

“I’m Meghan, and this is Conor,” she said with a bright, friendly smile. 

More introductions were made, and Sarah tried to keep track of everyone, but there were at least 40 people there, and she felt instantly overwhelmed. She should have known. She knew how many people were on a hockey team, but it was still a little shocking to meet everyone all at once. 

They were absorbed into one of the small groups of people, and Sarah sipped from her seltzer only to find it was lemon flavored, not pineapple like she'd expected. She frowned at the can. 

“Do you want something different?” Quinn asked, noticing the disappointed look on her face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Conor and JT glance at each other. 

“No, it’s okay. I was just expecting pineapple, so the lemon was a bit of a shock.”

“There’s pineapple in there,” Meghan said, gesturing with her own can. 

“I’ll get you one,” he said, turning to the fridge. 

She caught his arm and he turned back, “it’s fine, Quinn. This one’s already open. It’s not a big deal. Most seltzer tastes the same anyway.” 

“I’m glad someone can finally admit that,” Brock said, lifting his beer to his lips.

His pretty blonde girlfriend smacked him on the arm, “just because you can’t tell the difference doesn’t mean no one else can.”

Sarah smiled at them. They were cute together - like a model midwestern couple. 

“So, Sarah,” JT said, pulling her focus, “Quinn tells us you work at the aquarium.” 

She went through her usual explanation of her schooling and research.

“Tell them about Tuesday,” Quinn prompted. 

Everyone in the group looked between them expectantly. JT and Conor shared another glance. 

“What happened Tuesday?” Natalie asked, taking the bait right away. 

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of experiments with Walter to see if he can taste my mood.”

“What?” 

“Octopus have tastebuds and nerve endings in every suction cup that far surpass our own, so I’ve been wondering if he can taste the hormones on my skin. Anyway, I sprayed some Cortisol, which is the hormone that releases when you’re stressed, on my hands to see how he’d react, and he went from seemingly happy to see me to very subdued almost immediately.” 

“Whoa,” Brock said. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, eyes brightening. “It was really amazing. With some more experiments, I think I could probably use this as the basis research for my thesis.” 

“Exactly how did this guy convince you to date him?” JT asked, pointing at Quinn.

Natalie smacked his arm. 

“No, I’m serious. You’re really smart. You know Huggy didn’t even finish college, right?” 

What the hell was this nickname? 

“I did finish college,” Quinn interrupted, “I graduated last year.” 

“Whatever,” JT said with a dismissive hand as if that detail didn’t matter. “Does he have you under some sort of mind control?” 

Sarah laughed out loud, and Quinn’s eyes darted to her, catching her wide open smile. 

“Cause she couldn’t just like me,” he defended, sarcastically

“A girl like this? This pretty and this smart?” JT asked, “it’s hard to believe, Huggy.” 

Even though she could see the glint of humor in his eyes and knew he was only teasing, Sarah still stepped in, “Nope. No mind control.” She emphasized the statement by reaching for his hand, “You know as well, probably better than I do that Quinn has really great qualities. He's a really good guy.” 

JT leaned back on the counter, a jokingly suspicious look still on his face as he glanced between them. 

Quinn could feel himself blushing. He didn’t mean for Sarah to come to his defense like that. He didn’t mean to put her in that position. All the same, he was a little glad for it. JT had a way of teasing a persons insecurities right out of them, and to know Sarah didn’t feel the same way eased something in him. 

“Our daughter loves the aquarium,” Natalie cut in fluidly as if she was used to smoothing over her husbands’ aggressive teasing.

“Let me know the next time you come by,” Sarah said without missing a beat, “I’ll give you a personal tour.”

“Oh, she’d love that. We’ll have to get a group of us together.” 

JT gave her a genuine smile, and Sarah let a little breath go in her chest. 

At the next mornings practice, Quinn ran through drills and exercises, ears pricked for the inevitable teasing he knew would be coming his way. 

To his surprise, it didn’t come until the end, after he’d showered and was dressing in his stall.

“Dude, you've got it bad,” Joshua teased as he walked by, “I’ve never seen you look at someone like that,” he said, adopting a sappy, lovestruck expression. 

“I don’t know if you can top the way he was about to chuck that can of seltzer away from her because she didn’t like it,” JT said.

“Right?” Conor agreed, laughing, “‘Do you want something different? Let me get you a new can.’” He mimed rushing around searching. 

“Don’t forget the first time he told us about her,” Brock cut in, “he was like fucking Aladdin, ‘she’s got these eyes.’” 

Joining in the laughter, Quinn tossed his towel in their direction. 

Conor caught it easily. “Our little Huggy’s in love,” he teased, elongating the last word into several syllables. 

“Guys,” he said, leveling them with a look he hoped would shut the conversation down. “We’ve only known each other 9 weeks.” 

“So you’ve been keeping track,” Brock surmised, glancing around with a knowing expression. 

Guess he may as well get comfortable in this hole he dug for himself.

He’d dished out this same chirping when Brock had brought Bella around for the first time and knew it was best to just let it lie, and eventually, it would become old news. 

When he didn’t deny it, the boys around him all whooped and hollered enough that everyone else in the room looked over.

“Seriously though,” JT went on, “I have no idea how you landed her, but she’s a great girl."

"And,” he continued with a smirk, “if you ever get bored of her, I'm sure Kuzy’ll take her off your hands. He wouldn’t stop looking at her all night.” 

Quinn glared, more offended at the insinuation he would get bored of Sarah. 

JT laughed, raucous and loud, “Oh, he’s got it bad, alright.”

He couldn’t stop the flush that rushed into his cheeks. 

“Don't worry, Huggy. No one's gonna steal your girl.” 

Shaking his head, Quinn shoved his sneakers on.  

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[chestharrington]

Infatuation || Gator Tillman x Reader

Part One: Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: SMUT (f!masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v), mild/implied stalking, abuse of power, brief non-sexual choking, harassment, slut shaming, misogyny, unplanned pregnancy, implied/referenced abortion, unhappy/ambiguous ending

Summary: As you face the consequences of your unsatisfying encounter with Gator, he finds new ways to worm his way into your life, for better or worse.

A/N: Here is the highly requested part two :) Thanks for all the love, and I hope you enjoy! This can be read as a finale of sorts to this story, but if there is interest I can write a "wrap up" epilogue :) Anyways, enjoy!

As it turns out, Gator Tillman beating the guy you were dancing on within an inch of his life wasn’t exactly good for your career. And the fact that you had technically stolen that guy’s money was the shit icing on the shit cake. 

The club was crowded, maybe more so than you were used to, but you couldn’t find a single patron who wanted you for a dance, or a private dance, or even a second of eye contact. 

And, really, you should have seen it coming just based on the general trajectory of your life, but by the end of the night, you were fired. Apparently, that stint with the realtor and Gator had harmed the stellar reputation of the business. That was bullshit anyway. Like, four people had OD’d in the bathrooms, and plenty of old guys had heart attacks on the floor. 

The problem wasn’t that the realtor got the shit beat out of him. No, plenty of guys came in, got drunk, and wanted to prove how tough they were. The problem was Gator, but, more than that, it was a fear of the Tillman’s getting too close. 

You left the club with maybe thirty dollars in tips and a box full of your shit, which you unceremoniously dumped into the trunk of your car. It was past five in the morning, which meant the sun would start creeping over the horizon soon enough. 

As you drove back into town, you couldn’t help but pull over at the twenty-four-hour diner. The homey interior glowed through the windows like a siren song to weary travelers. It always smelled like coffee and grease, and there were always oldies playing on the jukebox. You sat down in a booth and practically melted into the seat. 

The older woman taking your order seemed nice enough, though there wasn’t anything about working at the asscrack of dawn that brought a smile to anyone’s face. 

“Does Sarah still work here?” You asked, glancing back behind the counter. 

“Quit.”

Well, there was that. Your ex-husband’s skanky mistress wouldn’t be showing her face to ruin your night (or, technically, your day) even further.

There was a sign on the counter— Now Hiring! Probably in Sarah’s position, if you had to wager a guess. You chewed on the inside of your lip. It wouldn’t be glamorous, but it would be a hell of a lot better than it had been at the club. 

“You’re really hiring?” You eventually asked the older waitress as you nursed a cup of hot chocolate. When she brought out your meal— a big stack of pancakes and the greasiest pile of hash browns the world had ever seen— she placed an application and pen down right beside it. 

They really must’ve been desperate, because you got the call the following afternoon that they’d like to interview, and even that wasn’t formal. You walked in, got a three-page employee “manual”, and that was that. 

Things seemed to be getting better… at first. A new job that had significantly fewer creeps, and free food once a shift. You got to wear flat shoes and real clothes, which was also a plus. A little less money in your pocket, but it was more stable. 

Occasionally, you’d get a tipper who thought it was cute to leave a fake $100 bill with a bible verse on the other side, or an old man grabbing at your tits and ass “accidentally.” Spills and messes were more frequent than you expected— and usually wound up on your apron or soaking through your shoes.

The good with the bad. You had to keep reminding yourself to take the good with the bad.

It was a few weeks of getting on your feet before Stark County’s finest walked through the doors, boisterous and loud. You hadn’t noticed, hadn’t even thought to consider that Gator might visit the town’s best source for greasy comfort food. 

When you came out from the back of the diner, your eyes caught him immediately, sitting in your section. You swallowed, grabbed your order pad and a pen, and approached. 

“Good mornin’, officers.” He looked up at the sound of your voice, a sly grin spreading across his features. “Do y’all know what you want, or can I run through the menu for you?”

One of the other men just snapped his fingers at you. “Coffee all around.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll get that right out.”

You heard them snickering as you left, accompanied by loud whispers of don’t you know who that is? 

Gator was staring at you, maybe he had been the entire time and you just hadn’t let yourself look. “We’ve missed you at the club, sweetheart. Wanna give us a twirl for old time’s sake?” His grin was smarmy as he looked you up and down, reaching over the table to place down the mugs of coffee. Your blouse gaped open, giving him a glimpse of your cleavage and a remarkably unsexy comfy bra.

As you reached to place the last mug down, Gator slapped your ass hard, making you spill the hot coffee across the table. His little friends laughed as your face burned hot. You did your best to mop up the mess of coffee, but it wasn’t enough and the table was left sticky and gross.

“You’re not gonna get a good tip if you’re so clumsy,” one of them said with a grin, holding up a dollar bill. It felt slimy, like you were back in the club entertaining them for singles. 

An hour later, you had coffee and grits spilled on you, as well as a plate accidentally knocked off the table to shatter on the floor. They laughed at you on your hands and knees, picking up pieces of the china from the black and white tiled floor. And at the end of it all, unsurprisingly, there was no tip, no thank you, no anything.  

You wish you would’ve spit in their food, but there was always next time. And you knew there was gonna be a next time. 

But Gator didn’t like sharing, especially not his playthings. One morning of watching his friends make your life hell had been enough, you supposed. The next time they came in, they were nothing but respectful. All yes ma’am, no ma’am, thank you ma’am. The message was clear enough. He wanted you all to himself. 

After a day on your feet, all you wanted to do was watch a shitty reality show on the couch you’d stolen from your ex-husband. You smelled like the deep fryer, which made you nauseous, but you knew if you took a shower, you’d pass out shortly after.

There was a loud knock on your door that nearly made you jump out of your skin. You stood, wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, and opened the door just a crack. 

“We got a tip that you might be harboring illegal contraband on the premises.” Gator was leaning against your doorframe like he owned the place, his foot carefully wedged between the door so you couldn’t slam it closed. 

You grit your teeth. What bullshit. “You don’t have a search warrant, asshole.”

He gave a careless shrug. “Eh, maybe I don’t, but who fuckin’ cares about that?”

You stood firm, holding the door in place as best as you could while he pushed against it. “Gator, no. Whatever game this is, I don’t wanna play. I have a headache, and I’m exhausted, so—” He gave a firm push on the door, and your strength failed you. You fell to the side as he barreled his way in, making a beeline towards your bedroom.

The door slammed shut, followed by the click of the lock turning. With a groan, you went for the coat closet and retrieved a wire hanger that you could finagle the lock with. After a moment, the lock clicked again and you pushed your way into the room. 

What the fuck? He was rifling through your dresser drawers, tossing things onto the ground at random. You doubted he was even really looking for anything in particular. Gator’s priority, above all, was to be a creepy nuisance.

“Gotta be thorough,” he said with a smarmy grin, finally recognizing your presence. “Interfere, and I’m bringing you in for obstruction.” Like the perv he was, he was digging through your panties, grabbing handfuls of lace and cotton. He continued on, throwing things onto the floor just to piss you off. After he’d successfully wrecked one dresser, he moved to the nightstand. 

He smiled victoriously and dumped the contents of the drawer onto your bed. Your cheeks flamed with embarrassment at the sight of your modest collection of sex toys, right there for him to see. 

“There we are. This goes against the city ordinance prohibiting the ownership of more than two personal pleasure devices,” he said matter-of-factly.

“That’s not a thing,” you argued with a scoff.

He grinned. “Oh, it is. My dad worked to codify an ordinance to fight obscenity. And Jesus Christ, sweetheart, this is obscene.” He surveyed the pile picking up the devices with amusement and a hint of disgust. “Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ fiend by the looks of it. What’s this even do?”

You grabbed at the vibrator in his hand, but he held it up above your head with a grin. “You’re a fuckin’ pervert,” You hissed.

He pressed a button and it buzzed to life, which only made his amusement grow. “You know, if you found yourself a man, you wouldn’t need any of this shit.”

You rolled your eyes at the notion. Half that stuff was collected during your marriage, not that it mattered. Jack was worse in bed than he was at being faithful. You grew to relish in the nights when he was in some other woman’s arms and you could finally find some release. 

And you especially relished an opportunity to relax and relieve stress when Gator was hellbent on ruining your fucking life, which was all the time. 

You crossed your arms and glared up at him. “That’s a crazy thing for you to say considering you didn’t even bother to get me off.”

He wrinkled his face in annoyance, dropping the vibrator back onto the bed. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about? You came probably, like, three times.”

You could have laughed. “Whatever. Just write the goddamn citation and leave me alone.”

“Maybe I’m concerned about you,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, if you’ve got this many sex toys, that’s some kind of perversion or somethin’. You’re sick in the head. What kind of officer would I be if I punished you for that?”

He grabbed another one off your bed, a rabbit vibrator this time, which only seemed to confuse him more. “Besides, I don’t think you can really afford the fine for breaking this law. I mean, with what you’ve got here, you’re looking at thousands.”

Anger flooded your veins. “Bullshit,” You snapped. “You’re lying.”

“I mean, you can find out tomorrow,” he replied with another stupid fucking shrug. “Or I can forget I ever saw ‘em. Up to you.”

You swallowed hard, already getting a warm, overbearing feeling in the pit of your stomach. Like your body wasn't sure if it wanted to jump his bones or kill him. “And what exactly would make you do that?”

He smiled, showing off his canines. “I mean… now I’m a little curious. Tell me how you use some of ‘em.” He waved the rabbit in his hand. “This one especially. Looks like some kind of fucked up torture device.”

You huffed with annoyance and reached up, grabbing it from his hands. “This one, I mean… this part goes in, and this part stays out.” You explained with vague gestures toward the toy. You grabbed another off the bed. “And this one is, like, just a standard, like, you know. It buzzes. And that one like, kind of thrusts a little bit. I—I don’t know what the fuck else to tell you.” Just seeing him standing there beside the toys made your brain go a little fuzzy with desire and mortification.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between the two of you. “I think I’m more of a visual learner, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low. He reached up, brushing a lock of your hair from your face, and you did your best not to lean into his touch. Why did you want that? “So why dontcha take off your clothes, lay back, and do a little show and tell, huh?”

The moment of hesitation in your brain dissolved in an instant. You wrinkled your face in disgust and shoved him back. “Ugh. Fuck that, and fuck you.” 

Anger flashed across his face, only for a moment, before he masked it with his usual shithead attitude. “Oh… I get it,” he said, looking down at you. “Probably on your period with all the attitude you’re givin’ me. Forget it, I don’t even wanna see that nasty shit.”

You narrowly avoided him as he shoved past you, heading back towards the door. The scales of kiss versus kill had firmly tilted towards the latter at his last comment. Anger unlike anything you’d ever felt flooded your veins. 

Without thinking, you grabbed a book off of the coffee table in the living room and threw it at him as hard as you could. It collided with the back of his head and he swore loudly. 

“You’re fuckin’ crazy!” His hand went to the crown of his head and came back covered in blood. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid bitch?” You grabbed another book and raised a brow in challenge. “Whatever, you’re not even worth it anyway.”

He slammed the door on his way out. The squeal of his tires as he peeled out was music to your ears. 

Later, you sighed as you collapsed atop your bed, exhausted from the long process of cleaning up the disaster he’d left in your room. But despite how tired you felt physically, your mind was still racing with thoughts of Gator. 

The worst person you’d ever met, who somehow still managed to light every single one of your cells aflame with need. You didn’t want to be with him, obviously. He reminded you of all the worst parts of your ex-husband. And yet… you were staring at the ceiling thinking about the next time you’d see him and all the bitchy things you could get away with saying to him. 

With a huff, you reached into your bedside table and grabbed the first vibrator you could get your hands on— simple, without any bells and whistles. Whatever. You were pissed at yourself as you stripped off your pajamas, then your bra… and then your panties. 

Stupid fuckin’ man. Your head fell back against your pillows as soon as the vibrator touched your clit, and you couldn’t help the whiny moan that escaped your lips. Your free hand rested on your breast, kneading softly until it wasn’t enough anymore. 

Your legs spread wider, hips canting up to seek out more as you began pinching and tugging at your nipples. The plain vibe wasn’t close cutting it, even at its highest setting. All it was good for was working you up to the point of dripping with arousal and needing more. 

You clicked it off and sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were a little sick in the head. Why else would you be thinking about him right then?

You reached back into the drawer, fumbling blindly until you retrieved the rabbit. It slid in without any resistance with how worked up you were, and you let out a contented sigh at the full feeling.

The second you turned it on, it felt like liquid electricity was dancing through your veins. The external vibrator was positioned just right, so intense that your thighs were trembling. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, back arching slightly. Maybe you could’ve let him watch you. It would’ve taught the asshole what it actually looks like when a woman cums. 

You could almost imagine what he’d say too— encouragements veiled with insults. Takin’ it like a fuckin’ slut, aren’t ya? Look right at home on your back like that, spread out all nice and pretty. 

You thrust the toy shallowly, eyes rolling back as it brushed against your sweet spot. You could’ve really drawn it out and made an evening of it, but fuck it. You wanted to get off and go to sleep. 

You held it just right, so the vibration was focused on your g-spot and clit simultaneously. It was so intense that your moans were pitchy and whiny, hips canting as you got closer and closer. 

With a moan more like a sob, you came, the pleasure so intense you had to pull out the toy altogether. As soon as it was out, wetness sprayed from you, making a breathless moan slip past your lips. 

Your fingers rubbed at your clit, prolonging the orgasm and making your cunt gush and leave a puddle beneath you on the sheets. When you finally came down, it was with shaky breaths as your body trembled with aftershocks. 

You laughed weakly at the ridiculousness of the entire night up until that point, unable to move for a solid few minutes until the fog cleared from your mind and you reached over to turn off the toy. Your legs wobbled as you stood to clean yourself up and change the sheets.

Well, at least if you were going to get arrested for possession of obscene materials, you got the best orgasm of your life out of it. If only you hadn’t been thinking of him the entire time. 

——

By noon the following day, you hadn’t received any citation, or been walked out of the diner in handcuffs for your depravity. A quick Google search proved your suspicions that the obscenity ordinance was complete bullshit. Which, you know, made sense considering the sex shop and strip clubs within county lines. 

When Gator showed up in his regular booth towards the end of your shift, you did your best to ignore him. One of your coworkers brought him out his artery-clogging usual order, and you were mostly convinced that you might be able to slip out the back without even having to utter a word. 

And yet… Outside, Gator was leaning on your car, fucking around with your radio antenna absentmindedly. 

“Can I help you, Deputy?” You asked, arms crossed as you squinted against the sun. Your entire body was achy and you just wanted to get home.

He made a vague gesture towards the front bumper. “Headlight’s out.”

You glanced at the front of your car, which was mostly held together by zebra print duct tape and sheer force of will. “Yeah, well, some fuckin’ pervert told me I should save my money to pay for some citation he’s writing up for me.”

Gator grinned. “Oh yeah… I decided to let you off with a warning. For the assault too. My head fuckin’ hurts, you know.” You rolled your eyes, pushing him lightly so you could open your door. “Y’know, you’re being ungrateful. Why don’t you be a good girl and say, ‘Thank you, Gator.’”

You hated the way your heart raced just hearing those words coming from his mouth, but you pushed it down and pulled open the door. “Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

A smug smile spread across his lips. “That’s an interesting choice of words, isn’t it? Bet you had a real good night after I left, didn’t ya?” 

He was looking at you like he knew, which he couldn’t have, but he also definitely did. You made a face as you slammed the door shut and flipped him off through the cracked and peeling window tint. 

There was one bar in town that was a certified Gator-free zone. Apparently, he’d gotten into a nasty fight there, slammed a guy’s head into a pool table a few times, sent him to the ICU for a week. Most people don’t realize that the actual table part is made of a giant slab of slate, but a lot was learned that day.

You sat at the bar, eyes trained on the photo of Gator on the Do Not Serve bulletin board. He could be kind of handsome when he wanted to. In that picture he looked a little younger, a little more serious. Maybe a little softer if you really wanted to believe it (which you did). 

Maybe it was the fact that you had conned the guy beside you into buying you all your drinks (of which there had been plenty) or maybe it was the weird mood you’d been in for the past month, but you really wanted to just wash all of that gel out of his hair and wash his face and maybe buy him a pair of pants with the normal amount of pockets. 

“Did you hear what I said?” The guy sitting beside you— Noah? Nathan?— asked. 

You tore your gaze from the photo and turned to him, batting your eyes a few times for good measure. “Sorry, I think I’m just a little buzzed.” You smiled flirtatiously and nudged his arm with your own. “You were talking about… a trip to New York, right? Some sort of walking tour?”

He smiled, nodding enthusiastically before continuing, going on and on about things you were mostly half-listening to. He was smarter than most people you talked to, not surprising after you clocked the giant gold college ring on his hand. Mid-conversation, you grabbed his hand in yours and marveled at it, playing up how impressed you were just to make him feel important. 

His family is from around here, but he lived in Minneapolis. He was in town visiting while his mom was recovering from surgery. He showed you pictures of the cows on his mom’s land, of the view from his apartment, and of the dog that was waiting for him back at his mom’s place. He was sweet, which made you feel guilty for using him to forget all about Gator. 

“Do you want to maybe come back to mine?” You asked, playing at bashfulness. He nodded enthusiastically, looking like you’d just offered him a winning lottery ticket. 

In bed, he was generous and eager to please, making sure your needs had been taken care of before his pants were even off. You were so worked up and sensitive that you came twice from his mouth alone, not that he was even particularly that great with it. And then he was inside of you, and you came again, which probably gave him quite the ego. 

It had to be some kind of fluke. He was a sweet guy, but he wasn’t exactly a sex god.

But there you were, boneless and panting and flushed and sweaty as you both came down. He was red in the face, fumbling for his glasses so he could really see you.

He wanted to talk and stay up the rest of the night with you, which should’ve been nice. Really, you wanted to be excited. He even tried to ease you into his arms, hold you against him all nice and cozy.

You couldn’t fucking do it. 

“I’m just gonna grab some water, alright?” You said before hopping out of bed. Your robe was slung over the back of a papasan chair in the corner. You tied it loosely and made your way out of the bedroom. Needing space, and distance, and god, you didn’t even know.

A sane person would have turned back around, spent time with him, and gotten to know him better. Maybe even wake him up in the morning with coffee and pancakes, or a second round in the shower. But you just wanted to be alone.

The knock on your door shouldn’t have been surprising. You had been pretty loud, even louder than the previous night alone. You tied the robe a little tighter and went for the front door, opening it a crack. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I know we were l—“ You trailed off when you caught a glimpse of who was outside. “You’re kidding me.”

Gator stood on the porch, arms crossed and looking irritable. “Got a noise complaint,” he said, glancing between you and the house behind you. “You alone?”

“No,” you replied, crossing your arm. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He scowled at that, and you recognized the way he was feeling almost immediately. Oh, he was jealous. A tiny laugh escaped you, which only served to piss him off more. 

“What’s so fuckin’ funny, huh?”

“Nothin’,” you replied with a shrug. “Is that all, deputy?”

He puffed on his vape and the sickeningly sweet smell of watermelon or cotton candy or whatever the fuck made your stomach turn. You gagged, mouth turning into a frown. “Do you have to blow that shit right in my face?”

“Nope,” he said while repeating the same action. The smell was overwhelming. You could almost feel alarm bells going off inside.  “Whatever. Better go on and send your fuck buddy back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

In the back of your mind, you could hear Gator going on and on, talking about how he bet Noah (how did he know his name?) didn’t even make you cum, and that his dick was small, and he’s probably just some big city loser who comes out here for an easy fuck. But that was in the back of your mind. All you were focused on was the overwhelming smell of sugar as he fucking huffed his vape, and the sinking feeling in your gut. 

Nausea clawed up your throat, and a familiar feeling of panic settled over you. You clapped your hand over your mouth, but it was no use. The contents of your stomach spilled onto the floor as you vomited right onto Gator’s boots. 

He swore loudly and colorfully, stepping out of the puddle at his feet. You wiped at your mouth weakly, and you would’ve said something like I fucking told you so, but you just felt awful. 

“That’s so gross,” was all you could offer. “‘M sorry, Gator.”

And then you were crying your eyes out, and he was walking you inside so you could sit down, and that made you cry more. 

“Jesus, you’re moody, huh?” He asked, but the bite in his voice was nearly gone. “Stay here, alright? Before you make an even bigger mess.”

You sniffled and nodded. You saw Noah stepping into the living room, wearing his actual clothes again, which was a relief. You didn’t really want Gator seeing him naked. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, taking a few steps forward. 

“I’m fine, I’m just embarrassed,” you said, voice croaky with tears. “I just got sick from the drinking, I think.”

There was a noise from the kitchen and Noah furrowed his brows. “You have a roommate?”

“No, he’s—“ you trailed off, unsure of what to say. “He was here to handle a noise complaint, and I kind of puked on his shoes.”

Gator walked into the room, then paused at the sight of Noah. His face furrowed in blatant judgment. He handed you a sprite, then went straight back to staring at Noah.

“Who’re you?” Gator asked, his arms crossed like a club bouncer. 

“I’m Nick.” Oh. Well, at least you were close.  

“You should head out, dick,” he said, standing taller, trying to appear more imposing than he really was. 

Noah glanced at you and hesitated until you gave a tiny nod. “I had a good time,” you offered. “Sorry about… all of this.”

He scribbled his phone number onto your grocery list by the door, offered a wave, and then headed out, leaving you and Gator alone. For better or worse. 

It was quiet as you sipped your sprite, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you pregnant?” He asked suddenly. “And don’t fuckin’ lie.”

“What?”

“You’re acting all bipolar, and you're puking over my vape, and your tits look bigger.” You glanced down at your boobs with a frown. They did? 

“I’m not pregnant,” you replied defensively. “I got my period, like, right after we fucked.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You wanna know what I do believe?” You didn’t, but he was going to tell you. “That you pocketed the money for the Plan B, ‘cause you want to get pregnant and blackmail my family.”

You scoffed. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

His jaw ticked with annoyance as he looked down at you. “Take a test.”

“Whatever,” you said with a shrug. “I’ll buy one after my shift tomorrow if you’re so fuckin’ worried about it.”

He shook his head. “Fuck that,” he said while tapping away on his phone. “You’ll just lie about it. I’m doordashing this shit.”

You would’ve protested, but what was the point in that? You had nothing to hide— certainly not blackmail. The idea of purposely letting yourself get knocked up by Gator Tillman almost made you want to puke again.

You had finished your Sprite by the time the poor kid arrived, probably seventeen, with his face burning red as he handed Gator a bag from the twenty-four-hour convenience store. Gator slammed the door and dumped the contents of the bag on the coffee table. 

Two boxes of pregnancy tests, a monster energy drink, and a pack of cheese bugles.

You grabbed the boxes and trudged towards the bathroom attached to your room while Gator followed close behind. You went to shut the door, but he held it open. 

“No fuckin’ way,” he said firmly. “If I leave you’ll just fake it.”

You rolled your eyes, the irritability you felt close to reaching a boiling point. “I’m not pregnant! I don’t want to be pregnant, least of all with your fuckin’ kid!” 

When he didn’t move, and, to his credit, stayed completely stoic. You huffed and turned. “If you’re not gonna leave, you can be useful. Hand me one of the little cups beneath the sink. Next to the mouthwash.” He furrowed his brows, but obeyed. “I’m not pissing in front of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen worse.” You closed your eyes, doing your best to ignore him and just pee into the fucking cup. The whole situation was so infuriating that you just wanted to scream. Once your shy bladder got over itself, it was easy enough. Dip the tests in the cup, cap them again, lay them out and try to forget they’re there. 

You’d taken plenty over the course of your marriage— and you hoped for the same result then that you did before. 

“What’d it say?” Gator asked as you washed your hands. He was squinting down at the tests, trying to discern what was happening. 

“It’s not instant. You’ve gotta wait three minutes,” you said. After drying your hands, you looked at him again.

Really looked. He was all fidgety, a little pale. His lip was bleeding where he’d been biting at it. He was just as anxious as you were, but you doubted it was for the reason he was saying. 

“You kind of want one, don’t you?” You asked, meeting his gaze.

He scoffed. “No. I hate kids,” the words came out quickly, defensively. He was lying, and he was just as bad at it then as he was every time before. “Besides, what the fuck would I tell my dad if I knocked up a stripper?”

His words should’ve had some bite to them, but he just reminded you of a skittish animal lashing out at anything near it. You leaned against the doorframe and sighed. “You’re pushing thirty, Gator. Who fuckin’ cares what your dad thinks about you?” Gator rolled his eyes, because you just didn’t get it, or whatever. But you knew plenty about outrunning parents and the weight of expectations. About outrunning the weight of not being what they wanted.

You looked at him again, narrowing your eyes. “What do you really want, huh? Outside of making my life hell, terrorizing the town, and making your daddy proud?” You paused, but were met with silence. “If you’d just try to be a decent human being for once, you might find a nice girl who wants to be with you.”

“And that asshole you brought back here and fucked was decent, huh?”

“I think so, yeah,” you replied.

“And you’re gonna see him again? ‘Cause he’s so nice?”

“No, Gator, I’m not gonna see him again,” you said sharply. “I’m not, because he deserves better than a second night with someone who didn’t want to be around him.”

Before he could respond, the timer on your phone went off, louder in the tiled bathroom. Your hands fumbled as you turned it off, heart pounding with nerves. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, just look,” Gator said, clearly annoyed by your hesitance. You watched him flip them over, one by one, all reading the same result. 

Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive.

Gator squinted at the lines, then at the back of the box, a few times until it settled in. 

“Goddamn it!” He shouted, slamming a hand against the counter. You flinched, but couldn’t bring yourself to react further than that. “I told you to take a fucking Plan B, didn’t I?”

You swallowed hard, doing your best to remain calm. “You did, and I did. Maybe, if you didn’t want to knock me up, you should’ve pulled out like I told you.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know, it probably isn’t even mine,” he said, glaring in your direction. “You let that asshole from the bar cum in you tonight?”

Your cheeks burned hot. “You’re disgusting,” you sneered. “And, no. I don’t make a habit of letting guys fuck me raw.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, but you were so willing to give it up for me, huh?” He grabbed your arm, hard for the briefest second before his grip softened. “See, this is why I know you’re tryin’ to fuck my family over.”

You gave an exasperated groan and yanked your arm out of his grasp. “One, you didn’t pull out. Two, how exactly am I gonna blackmail your family if there’s no baby, you fucking idiot?”

His expression softened slightly as he considered your words. His brows furrowed in confusion, as he looked back at the tests. “Those are all positive, that means you’re pregnant.”

You gave a long exhale and met his gaze. “And it’s early enough that I can still have it taken care of. Maybe not in this fuckin’ state, but my car can still make a trip to Minnesota. Probably.”

He processed the words and the implications before shaking his head. “No.”

You raised a brow, taken off-guard by that single word. “I’m sorry?”

He shook his head. “I said no. You’re not doin’ it.”

You scoffed incredulously, blinking away your confusion. “Five seconds ago you wanted to punch through my drywall because you thought you were being blackmailed. Now you suddenly care about the sanctity of life? Give me a break. You nearly beat that guy to death in front of me at the club, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve done worse than that.”

”It’s different,” he argued, annoyed that you called out his hypocrisy.  “It’s mine, so I should have some sort of say.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the curtains near the window so you could avoid his eyes. “Exactly. It’s yours. I don’t want to have your baby, Gator. I don’t want to bring another goddamn Tillman into the world.”

He had you pressed against the wall before you even had a second to realize he was moving. Your head knocked against the drywall, making you yelp. One hand was wrapped around your throat, keeping you pinned to the wall with a light amount of force. “I could stop you,” he finally said. “I mean… really stop you. Make it so you can’t leave. Could keep you at the ranch, make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because that would mean involving his father. Knocking up a stripper doesn’t exactly give men like his father warm and fuzzy feelings. 

When you swallowed, your throat bobbed against the palm of his hand. Your eyes trailed up, landing on his as your breathing came out in pants. 

His mouth was on yours suddenly, claiming you with a searing kiss. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, making you moan.

He’d never kissed you before, not once. You hadn’t even thought he’d want to. But there he was, groaning into your mouth as he made out with you.

“Gator—“ you gasped as he ground against you, already rock hard without any real coaxing. He shut you up with another kiss, hungry and messy. 

You got the message— no more talking about that. He pulled the tie of the robe you wore and it fell onto the ground in a pile, leaving you completely bare. 

He pulled back from the kiss, eyes raking over your body hungrily. Big hands traced over your skin, making you shiver. A gasp escaped you as he squeezed your tits. 

“They really are bigger,” he said with a wry laugh.

“Shut up,” you snapped, head knocking against the wall as you tossed it back. 

“You’ve got a bad fuckin’ attitude. But I can fix that.” One of his hands moved down your body, cupping your cunt, fingers dipping into the pool of your arousal. “You get this soaked for that asshole?”

You whimpered as his fingertips teased your entrance, just shy of everywhere you needed him. Just shy of slipping inside, purposely avoiding your clit. He locked eyes with you, his gaze intense. 

“Don’t be shy, you can tell the truth,” he said,  continuing to tease with featherlight touches. You could feel just how wet you were getting— dripping embarrassingly down your thighs. 

“Only ‘cause I thought about you,” you admitted. A sly grin spread across your face. You’d never let him have an easy win. “You’d probably be one of the best fucks I ever had if you bothered to make me cum.”

“Don’t fuckin’ piss me off,” he said with an eye roll. He thrust his middle finger inside of you, and you moaned softly. “Such a goddamn liar.”

He was a little more gentle with you, despite, well, everything. Warming you up with one finger before adding a second. Moans fell from your lips as he curled them just right, the cocky expression he wore told you he was dead set on proving that he really was top-ten material. 

His thumb brushed against your clit, making your legs tremble. You couldn’t help but clench around his fingers, your entire body overwhelmed with need. Maybe it was hormones, or maybe it was all the tension between you, but your entire body was aching for him. 

“Close,” you gasped out. Your open, panting mouth was like an invitation. He kissed you deeply, his tongue licking into your mouth as he continued fucking you with his fingers. When he pulled back, his eyes locked with yours. 

“That’s it,” he practically cooed. “C’mon, give it to me.” You moaned, walls clenching around his fingers as you grew closer and closer to the edge. He tried to pull his hand from between your thighs, but you grabbed his wrist and shook your head. 

“Gator, don’t fuckin’ stop until I tell you to.” His cheeks went pink, eyes flashing with something unfamiliar. 

Your moans grew pitchy as you got closer, hips canting against his fingers, shoulders digging into the wall as your back arched off of it. 

You barely had time to gasp out a feeble, “‘m cumming!” Before your climax hit.

Broken moans escaped you as pleasure radiated through you. His fingers kept their pace, and every brush of his thumb on your clit made spots dance across your vision. When you were finally spent, you had to tap his wrist weakly. “Okay, that’s enough,” you managed. 

He was coated down to his wrist with sticky arousal, which made you look away with heat burning in your cheeks, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

He grabbed your jaw and turned your face back to look at him, wearing a smug expression. “Don’t act all shy now. Tell me you want more.” Bold of him to assume he could make you cum again. But you nodded anyway. You’d like to see him try, at least. 

“I want more,” you said, even though it killed you to just give in so easily. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, before he pressed a little more and breached the pouty seal of your lips. 

“Yeah? Your friend didn’t wear you out before this?” He asked, his voice dripping with a false sense of concern. He pushed his thumb a little deeper, pressing down on your tongue while you sucked on it. You had a pretty good sense of what he was getting at, but a hot need was bubbling up in your stomach and you couldn’t deny yourself any longer. “I’m just saying, sweetheart. Takin’ two cocks in one night is… well, it’s pretty fuckin’ slutty.”

At his words, you bit down on his thumb until he withdrew it with an annoyed huff. “You wanna leave?” You asked, raising a brow. He shook his head. You stepped around him, settling in the middle of the bed. “Take your clothes off then.”

He was quick to undress, clumsy in his haste. His vest knocked against the wall and sent a picture frame tumbling off its hook. He stripped off piece after piece in a sort of never-ending Russian doll until he was finally naked and standing there waiting for you to compliment him, or something. 

You took in the sight of him hungrily, and the hormonal neediness of it all made you want him more than you had before. “You’ll do,” was all you said, smirking as he pinned you down against the mattress.

“You’re such a bitch,” he said, but there wasn’t any real malice in his tone. Actually, you were pretty sure he liked it about you. You spread your legs to accommodate him, shivering as he rocked his hips just so and let the head of his cock brush against your folds. “But you want me so bad, huh? Just need me to fuck that attitude out of you, don’t you?”

You whimpered when he pressed himself against your center, only letting the tip slip inside briefly before pulling back out. He raised a brow, wanting to hear you beg.

”Gator, if you don’t get inside me, I’ll call Nick to finish the job.”

You would have laughed at how quickly he buried himself within you after that if the force of it hadn’t punched the air from your lungs. His pace was brutal, and the sound of his hips slapping against the plush of your thighs with each rough thrust made sheepishness settle warm in your chest.

“You act like— fuck— like you don’t want me, but I don’t think this pussy got that memo.” A smirk played at his lips as he railed into you, soft grunts punctuating each thrust in. You wrapped your legs around him, pressing with your heels to encourage him deeper. 

He was such a self-assured asshole, but, fuck, if that didn’t turn you on. He had one of your hands pinned to the bed, fingers tangled with yours. 

“Go ahead and touch yourself,” Gator instructed. 

He didn’t have to tell you twice. As soon as the words passed his lips, you moved your free hand between your thighs to circle your clit. The feeling was damn near euphoric. Breathy moans fell from your lips as your head fell back against the pillows.

And Gator was fucking eating it up. 

“That feel good, huh?” His voice was breathy; his words were punctuated with moans and fucked-out pants. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. You’re really lovin’ this, huh? Bet you wanna be stuffed full of this cock every day. Coulda had this again a lot sooner if ya weren’t such a bitch all of the time.”

You could feel yourself reaching your finish, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him. Each moan slipping past your lips was even more debauched than the last as he buried himself inside your needy cunt. 

“It’s too much, huh?” He asked, fucking you with a relentless need to cum. With each thrust his cock kissed your cervix. “You can take it, can’t you? Made just to take this cock inside your needy little pussy.”

Your eyes rolled back as your walls clamped around him, your finish so close you could have sobbed with relief. You came with a cry of his name, which would have been mortifying, had you been in a mindset to retain your pride. 

“F-Fuck—“ He cried out, his hips stuttering. “Holy fuckin’ shit— gonna cum— fuck—“ He buried himself in you with one final, rough thrust before he went still, collapsing atop you with his full body weight. 

He laid there, panting hot breath against your neck until he came back to his senses. He gave one final wet kiss to your throat before rolling over with a pleased sigh.

“You finally know what it feels like,” you mused, staring up at the ceiling. 

Gator furrowed his brows as he turned to look at you. “I’ve fucked you before, it’s nothin’ special this time.” 

Gee, thanks. “I meant you finally know what it feels like for a girl to cum while you’re inside her.” You grinned as you watched annoyance twist his features. He rolled his eyes with a huff, but didn’t seem too pissed off at your jab. 

It was contentedly quiet until you remembered the pregnancy tests sitting on the counter just one room over. Your stomach twisted with guilt as you looked over at him, his hair a little messy, cheeks flushed from exertion.

It would’ve been nice if things were different.

“I’m moving,” you said finally. “Back to Texas, I think. Maybe even somewhere new. As soon as I’ve saved enough for a down payment.”

Gator turned quickly, anger making his brows furrow. “Leaving?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m getting out of Lehigh, and I think you should too. This place is poison. You know that.”

You watched him swallow, jaw ticking as he stayed quiet. You let the quiet linger in the air, nearly choking on it before he finally spoke. “This is where I belong.”

You nodded and said nothing else. When you woke up in the morning, his arms were around you, and he was drooling into the junction of your shoulder. His hand, flat on your tummy, almost made you yearn for that picture-perfect Tillman family, the one he thought he wanted so badly.

You couldn’t bring yourself to wake him up. When he left, he didn’t say a thing. It felt definite.

[grogusmum]

I'm so glad he is out there living his values. And i am not surprised.

I am also not surprised but disappointed seeing people here say finally, etc.

Can we just remind ourselves we are not privy to what is going on in his or any other celebrity's (or ANYone's) life?

We saw Oscar Issac just last week. Did anyone go, "Well it's about time?" We saw Sarah Paulson early in the strike, and then not again, is that bad?

Pedro was dealing with some unnerving stalking, and that was the one we knew about. I'm sure there is more that we don't.

[adhdnojutsu]

"Stop making them gay"

The main reason a lot of male characters in Naruto didn't have a chance with each other despite being written like lovebirds, is because Shonen doesn't do "gay". Itachi was canonically more attached to Shisui than to Izumi and Naruto more to Sasuke than to Hinata, but Shonen insists to be traditionally masculine, and traditional masculinity rejects what it assumes of homosexuality minus its allowance for "manly tears" or flamboyant outfits. Instead, it exaggerates male friendships/brotherhood to a point that is far from credible and has to screech "no homo" as a constant disclaimer. The Naruto franchise may have started "low key shipping" SNS as a joke, but it's not a baseless one at all.

ShiIta are so similar to Romeo & Juliet, it's ridiculous. While they weren't from warring clans, they were loyal to warring entities and bound to be pitted against each other in the coup if it had gone down and Shisui been alive. The conflict between the Uchiha clan and Konoha was in the way of them being as close as they wanted to be, with Shisui being tasked to spy on Itachi and Itachi tasked to spy on the clan Shisui was loyal to, so they had to meet secretly. Ultimately, they were both sacrificed for peace and for what was left of their respective allegiances (Sasuke and Konoha).

Naruto stepped in repeatedly when Itachi was beating up Sasuke, but kept pushing Hinata to fight Neji against whom she clearly stood no chance and who was intending to kill her, because he is pathologically ready to disrespect Sasuke's wishes to save him, but projected his own, naive ideals onto Hinata with no regard for her life, just because it made HIM mad to watch. I mean, he was visibly shocked when Hinata confessed to him 16 years into their lives... She was never a priority in his life before The Last, and he probably would have equally lost it if Pain had beaten up Moegi that way, because he was already livid over Jiraiya, Kakashi, the village etc. and wasn't about to stand for one more friend getting killed by this terrorist. Hinata, at that time, meant little more to him than his other classmates, Sasuke did and always has. He literally asked her why she'd risk her life for him because he did not see or feel anything that would make that question redundant. Izumi wasn't mentioned once post-mortem except vaguely, by Obito, while Shisui's influence on Itachi, both ideological and emotional, is canon gospel. It's so great that I can't help but wonder if he used Kotoamatsukami on Itachi before giving him his remaining eye. "Friendship" and "brotherhood" are NOT "emotional co-dependency and self-destructive emulation". Neither is a healthy romantic relationship, but people in fiction more typically go insane over or sacrifice their authentic self for, (lost) romance than (lost) friendship or siblings.

There's also nothing platonic about stalking your "friend" to a point where he feels compelled to kill you while you're screaming that you're gonna break all of his bones if that's what it takes to keep him by your side. Nothing cute or sane either, mind you. Sasuke and Naruto are a lot like Sarah and Setsuna of Angel Sanctuary. Sure, they're meant to be siblings or sibling-like, but DAMN that's not a sibling-appropriate degree of obsession.

Shonen has a tendency to exaggerate the importance of bonds and convictions, but Kishimoto took it to a level that has licensing companies make jokes in the form of couple-coded merch or fan service scenes. Even if he didn't do it on purpose, he clearly did it on such a blatantly obvious level that you get shit like this:

[sereinnu]

Fractured Tides 2

Warnings: STEP-CEST| drugs and alcohol use| Rafe Cameron| very foul language| more yet to come| DON'T read if you're uncomfortable with these themes|MDNI| I already warned you not to read|

Rafe Cameron x Step-sister!Reader

Despite your efforts to make peace, your stepbrother Rafe's hatred for you persists. Each attempt to bridge the gap only seems to widen the divide, leaving you wondering if you'll ever find common ground in this family.

The next morning arrived with an uneasy quiet, the tension from the previous night lingering in the air like a storm cloud. You went through the motions of your morning routine, but your thoughts were consumed by your late-night encounter with Rafe. His words echoed in your mind, the bitterness and pain in them impossible to ignore.

When you finally made your way downstairs, the house was already buzzing with activity. Rose was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, while Wheezie sat at the table, scrolling through her phone. Sarah was nowhere to be seen, likely off with John B, and Ward was in his office, as usual. But Rafe wasn’t around.

You sat down at the table, your mind still elsewhere, when Rose’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“You okay, dear?” she asked, her tone pleasant but distant. Rose was always polite, always well-mannered, but there was a disconnect between her and the rest of the family. She played the role of the perfect hostess, but she rarely got involved in the messy, emotional parts of family life.

You forced a smile, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Rose seemed satisfied with your response and went back to preparing breakfast. Wheezie glanced up from her phone, giving you a curious look, but she didn’t say anything. You were grateful for that—Wheezie had a way of picking up on things others missed, but she also knew when to keep her observations to herself.

As you picked at your food, your mind kept drifting back to Rafe. You hadn’t seen him since last night, and part of you was worried about how he was doing. The other part of you knew that worrying about Rafe was like worrying about a ticking time bomb—it was only a matter of time before he exploded, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Just as you were finishing your breakfast, the front door slammed open, and Rafe strode in, his expression stormy. His hair was disheveled, and there was a wild look in his eyes that set your nerves on edge. You could tell right away that something was wrong.

Rose looked up from the stove, her brow furrowing. “Rafe, where have you been?”

“Out,” Rafe muttered, brushing past her without so much as a glance.

“Rafe—” Rose started, but he cut her off.

“Not now, Rose,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to make her recoil slightly.

You watched as Rafe stalked through the house, his anger radiating off him in waves. You could tell he was on edge, barely holding it together. It was the same look he had whenever he was spiraling, and you knew from experience that it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge.

Against your better judgment, you stood up and followed him, your heart pounding in your chest. You found him in the living room, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. When he saw you, he stopped, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

You hesitated, not sure what to say. The Rafe in front of you was different from the one you had seen last night. This Rafe was volatile, unpredictable, and you knew you had to be careful.

“I just… wanted to check on you,” you said cautiously, keeping your distance.

Rafe let out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Why? So you can play the concerned little sister? Don’t waste your time.”

“I’m not wasting my time,” you shot back, feeling a flicker of frustration. “I’m trying to help you, Rafe.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can’t help me. No one can."

There was a rawness in his voice that made your heart ache, but you didn’t back down. “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he turned and punched the wall, his fist connecting with a sickening thud. You flinched, instinctively stepping back as he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He didn’t respond, his body tense and trembling with barely contained rage. You knew he was on the brink, teetering on the edge of a breakdown, and you felt helpless to do anything about it.

But you couldn’t just stand there and watch him self-destruct.

Carefully, you stepped closer, your heart pounding in your ears. “Rafe, please. Talk to me.”

He remained silent, his head bowed as he struggled to regain control. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. You had seen him like this before, but it never got easier.

After what felt like an eternity, Rafe finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

The admission was so quiet, so vulnerable, that it took you by surprise. You had never heard Rafe speak like that before, had never seen him so raw and exposed. It made your chest tighten with a mix of emotions—sympathy, fear, and a deep, aching sadness.

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. He tensed under your touch but didn’t pull away. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Rafe. You’re just… going through something. But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

He looked at you then, his eyes full of turmoil. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

You squeezed his arm gently, trying to convey as much reassurance as you could. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

For a moment, you thought he might actually open up to you, might finally let you in. But then, just as quickly as the moment of vulnerability had come, it was gone. Rafe pulled away, his expression hardening once more.

“Don’t bother,” he muttered, turning his back on you. “Just leave me alone.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Rafe—”

“Leave!” he shouted, his voice full of anger and frustration.

You flinched but didn’t argue. You knew pushing him any further would only make things worse. So, with a heavy heart, you turned and walked away, leaving him to his demons.

As you made your way back upstairs, you couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that had settled over you. Rafe was slipping further and further away, and you didn’t know how to reach him. But you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t going to give up on him, no matter how much he tried to push you away.

-

You stumbled back to your room, the sting of Rafe’s rejection still fresh. Each step up the stairs felt heavier, the weight of his anger pressing down on you. When you finally reached your room, you shut the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a moment to collect yourself.

The silence in your room was thick, amplifying the turmoil inside you. You moved to your bed and sat down heavily, the soft comfort of the space feeling at odds with the chaos in your mind. You needed something to distract yourself, something to ground you. Reaching for your book, you began to read, hoping the repetitive motion of the stories would help calm your thoughts.

Hours passed as you kept reading. Your book almost ended up looking like a sketchpad with all the small doodles at the side.

The quiet was interrupted by a knock on your door. You glanced up, unsure of who it could be. “Come in,” you called out.

Rose entered, her face showing a mixture of concern and detachment. She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on your sketchpad. “I saw you’ve been up here for a while. Everything okay?”

You forced a smile, trying to mask your worries. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed some time alone.”

Rose nodded, her expression distant. “I understand. But I have to say, Rafe’s behavior is becoming more concerning. He’s been acting out, and honestly, he’s a bit of a loose cannon.”

You looked down, feeling the sting of her words. “I know he’s troubled. It’s just... hard to see him like this.”

Rose’s gaze hardened slightly. “He’s always been unpredictable. Some people just can’t be helped, no matter how much you try. It’s not worth getting too involved. Sometimes it’s best to just keep your distance.”

Her words felt like a cold splash of reality. The kindness and warmth you had hoped for from Rose were absent, replaced by a pragmatic detachment. You nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. “I understand. I just want to do what I can to help him.”

Rose’s expression softened, but only a little. “Just be careful. You don’t want to get caught up in his mess. It’s not worth jeopardizing your own peace of mind.”

With that, Rose left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. You returned to your drawing, but the soothing effect was diminished. Her words echoed in your mind, making you question your own efforts.

As evening approached, you felt a growing sense of resolve. Despite Rose’s advice, you couldn’t simply walk away from Rafe. You knew his anger and pain were not insurmountable, even if others saw him as beyond help.

You wanted to be there for him, to find a way to reach the part of him that still cared.

You took a deep breath, determined to approach the situation with patience and understanding. Even if Rose thought Rafe was a lost cause, you believed in trying.

For now, you’d focus on being a steady presence, ready to offer support in whatever form he might need, hoping that eventually, he would find his way back.

-

The afternoon sun filtered through the hallway as you made your way to Rafe’s room. Your thoughts were muddled with concern and a growing sense of urgency. You had resolved to speak with him, hoping to address the tension and confusion of the previous night.

You raised your hand and knocked softly on Rafe’s door. “Rafe? Can we talk?”

There was a moment of silence before you heard the sound of movement from inside. The door opened slightly, revealing Rafe’s face, his features a mix of surprise and irritation. His gaze shifted behind him, and you caught a glimpse of the disheveled room. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Rafe was lounging on his bed, his bare torso exposed, and next to him was a naked blonde woman, her hair spread out over the pillow. You froze, your cheeks flushing with a deep red. The room’s disarray and the woman's casual nudity hit you like a wave. Embarrassment surged through you, and a pang of jealousy stabbed at your chest. You didn’t want to compare yourself to her, but it was impossible not to feel overshadowed.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your face burning. “I didn’t realize...”

Before you could say anything more, the door began to close. You instinctively tried to stop it, but the woman shot you an irritated glare. “Can’t you see we’re busy here?”

You pulled your hand away and took a step back, your heart pounding with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. “I’ll just...”

The door slammed shut, but just as you turned to leave, it flew open again. Rafe emerged, a towel wrapped hastily around his waist, his hair still damp from whatever had happened. His expression was a storm of annoyance and reluctant embarrassment.

“Agh, fuck” he said, his voice a mix of frustration and urgency.

You turned, facing him with a flushed face and trembling hands. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just trying to talk to you.”

Rafe’s eyes were hard, but there was a flicker of something else—panic. “This is not the time. Can’t you see I’m dealing with...”

Before he could finish, Ellie, the blonde woman, stepped into the hallway, the shirt she was wearing clearly coming from rafe's closet. She glared at you, clearly annoyed. “Ugh, we were in the middle of something..”

Your cheeks reddened even more, and you stumbled over your words. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Rafe cut in sharply, his voice tight with frustration. “Get out.”

Her eyes widened with surprise and a hint of resentment. “What? You can’t just—”

“I said, leave,” Rafe repeated, his tone firmer now, though he tried to keep it calm.

She huffed, shooting one last scathing look in your direction before turning and walking away. “Whatever. You’re such a jerk.”

The sound of her heels fading away left a tense silence in the air. Rafe’s face was a mix of exasperation and embarrassment. He rubbed his temples, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t even get to finish. I was...”

His frustration was palpable, and you could sense that the situation had disrupted more than just his plans. You stood there, feeling a deep pang of humiliation.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I...”

Rafe’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze. “It’s not just about you walking in. It’s... I had other things going on and, and now it’s fucking..”

You looked away, feeling the weight of the situation. “I didn’t realize. I just thought—”

“You know what, it’s fine,” Rafe cut you off, his tone a mixture of irritation and reluctant acceptance. “Just... don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”

As you turned to walk away, you felt a heavy weight in your chest. The embarrassment and awkwardness of the situation lingered, but you knew you had to respect his space.

-

You retreated to your room after the encounter with Rafe, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and embarrassment. You tried to shake off the images from earlier, but they lingered, replaying in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Every time you thought about the woman in his bed and Rafe’s annoyed reaction, you felt a pang of jealousy and discomfort.

Hours passed in restless contemplation. When you finally decided to venture downstairs for a late-night snack, you hoped the distraction might ease your mind. You moved cautiously through the house, trying to avoid any further encounters with Rafe.

As you entered the kitchen, you heard footsteps in the hallway. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned, half-expecting Rafe to appear. But to your relief, it was Sarah, looking tired but content.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice subdued. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be up.”

“Just needed a break,” you said, trying to sound casual as you grabbed something from the fridge. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Sarah nodded, her gaze wandering as she leaned against the counter. “I get that. Things have been pretty crazy lately.”

You engaged in light conversation with Sarah, appreciating the distraction from your earlier encounter. She spoke about her day with John B and the Pogues, offering you some welcome normalcy. The warmth of her presence helped to dull the edge of your discomfort.

After Sarah left to get some rest, you found yourself alone in the kitchen. You finished your snack and began tidying up, the silence of the house pressing in on you. As you turned to leave, you heard a faint creak coming from the direction of the stairs.

Cautiously, you approached the top of the stairs. Rafe’s door was slightly ajar, and you could see him standing in the hallway, dressed in a clean shirt and jeans. His posture was rigid, and his expression was as cold and intimidating as it had been that morning.

You hesitated, torn between wanting to confront him and fearing his reaction. Gathering your courage, you took a step forward. As you did, Rafe’s gaze locked onto you. His eyes, though dark, had a sharp intensity that made you instinctively take a step back.

“What are you doing out of your room?” Rafe’s voice was low, edged with a dangerous undertone.

You swallowed, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck. “I— I couldn’t sleep. I was just... looking for something to eat.”

Rafe’s gaze didn’t soften. He took a step closer, his presence imposing and commanding. “It’s late. You should be in bed.”

You nodded quickly, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I’m sorry for... interrupting earlier. I didn’t mean to—”

Rafe cut you off with a curt gesture. “Save it. I don’t need apologies. Just stay out of my way.”

His words stung more than you expected, but you tried to keep your composure. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Before you could turn away, Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly. He seemed to be weighing something, his expression cold and unreadable. “It’s not just about staying out of my way. You shouldn’t be around when I’m dealing with... things.”

You felt a pang of hurt and jealousy. Despite Rafe’s attempts to push you away, you couldn’t ignore the twinge of envy you felt when you thought about him with someone else. The woman he’d been with earlier was a stark reminder of how little you seemed to matter to him.

Rafe’s gaze remained fixed on you, his irritation palpable. He didn’t seem interested in making small talk or offering comfort. Instead, he appeared to be impatient, as if your presence was an unwelcome intrusion.

“I’ve got things to deal with,” he said, his tone clipped. “You should head back to your room.”

You nodded, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’ll go.”

As you turned to leave, you heard Rafe mutter something under his breath, but it was too quiet for you to catch. You retreated to your room, feeling the sting of his cold demeanor. The interaction had left you feeling more isolated than ever, but you knew pushing further would only drive him away.

Back in your room, you tried to calm your racing heart. The feelings of jealousy and frustration were unsettling, but you couldn’t let them deter you. Despite Rafe’s harshness and his attempts to shut you out, you knew you couldn’t give up on him. For now, all you could do was hope that, eventually, he might open up and let you in, even if it seemed like an impossible task.

-

The following days were a mixture of unease and routine. You continued to navigate the house with a growing sense of tension, carefully avoiding Rafe while trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. The interactions with him remained sparse and uncomfortable, characterized by his cold indifference and frequent outbursts.

Despite the strained atmosphere, you managed to keep yourself busy with daily chores and your own personal projects. You busied yourself with studies and a few hobbies to keep your mind occupied, trying to ignore the lingering discomfort and unresolved emotions.

One evening, as you sat in the living room working on a sketch, the front door creaked open, and the sound of laughter and loud voices drifted into the house. The Kooks had arrived, bringing with them an air of recklessness and exuberance that contrasted sharply with the oppressive atmosphere of the past few days.

You heard the familiar voices of Topper and his friends mingling with Rafe’s deeper, more commanding tone. It seemed like the gathering was going to be loud and chaotic, a welcome distraction from the tense silence that had settled over the household.

Deciding to make your way downstairs, you hoped the lively atmosphere might lift your spirits. As you approached the living room, you could see the crowd of Kooks and their guests gathered, drinks in hand and music blaring.

Rafe was at the center of it all, his presence commanding the room. He looked more animated than you had seen him in days, though there was still an undercurrent of agitation in his movements. The energy of the party seemed to mask his earlier frustration, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still on edge.

Topper spotted you and came over, a wide grin on his face. “Hey, glad you could make it. We’re just getting started!”

You managed a polite smile, trying to blend in with the crowd. “Thanks, Topper. I thought I’d check it out.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself drifting through the crowd, trying to enjoy the festivities. The music was loud, and the atmosphere was charged with a mix of energy and tension. You caught glimpses of Rafe throughout the night, but his attention was consistently fixed on you.

Despite the distractions around him, Rafe’s eyes remained locked on you. He appeared indifferent to the blonde woman who tried to draw his attention, her advances going unnoticed as he followed your every move from across the room. It was both unsettling and oddly comforting, though it only deepened the confusion you felt about your relationship with him.

Eventually, you found yourself near the bar, trying to stay out of the way. Rafe was engaged in conversation with some of his friends, but his gaze never strayed far from you. The weight of his stare was heavy, and it made you acutely aware of your presence in the room.

Just as you were about to turn away, JJ Maybank, a charming Pogues member with a laid-back demeanor, approached you. He had noticed you standing alone and seemed genuinely concerned.

“Hey there,” JJ said with a friendly smile. “You look like you’re having a rough time. Mind if I join you?”

You looked up, surprised by his sudden appearance. “Oh, sure. I’m just trying to find a quiet spot.”

JJ nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, this place can get pretty overwhelming. I just started working as a waiter here, so I know the chaos all too well.”

You laugh, your eyes twinkling as JJ copies you.

He struck up an easy conversation, his humor and genuine interest in your well-being making you feel more at ease. JJ’s respectful and kind demeanor was a welcome contrast to the tense atmosphere and Rafe’s intimidating presence.

As JJ chatted with you, you found yourself relaxing for the first time that evening. His light-hearted jokes and easygoing nature helped distract you from the underlying tension. Despite your initial hesitation, you found yourself enjoying his company and the brief respite from the party’s chaos.

Rafe’s gaze was still fixed on you, though he made no effort to intervene. His attention was unwavering, and the contrast between his cold demeanor and JJ’s warmth only heightened your sense of isolation.

Suddenly, Rafe’s mood shifted. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with a simmering intensity as he watched JJ’s easy conversation with you. Rafe’s irritation was palpable, and it became clear that he was growing increasingly possessive.

As JJ moved closer, making a light-hearted comment, Rafe’s composure snapped. He pushed through the crowd, his movements sharp and deliberate. The cheerful chatter around you faded as Rafe approached with a palpable air of menace.

“Hey,” Rafe’s voice cut through the noise, cold and commanding. “I think it’s time for you to move along.”

JJ looked up, startled by the sudden change in atmosphere. “Whoa, man. We’re just talking.”

Rafe’s eyes were fixed on JJ, his expression a mix of annoyance and barely concealed rage. “I don’t think you heard me. I don’t want you talking to her.”

JJ raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by Rafe’s aggression. “What’s your problem, dude? We’re just chatting. No need to be a jerk.”

The tension between them was immediate and intense. Rafe’s posture was rigid, his body language exuding a dangerous energy. The crowd around them began to take notice, sensing the escalating conflict.

You felt a pang of anxiety, unsure of how to intervene or diffuse the situation. The atmosphere was charged, and you could sense that Rafe’s possessiveness was boiling over.

“Rafe, it’s fine,” you said, trying to calm him down. “JJ’s just being friendly.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked to you, momentarily softening before his irritation returned. “Stay out of this. I don’t want you around him.”

JJ stepped between you and Rafe, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. “You’re way out of line, man. She’s allowed to talk to whoever she wants.”

Rafe’s anger erupted. “Not when that ‘whoever’ is someone from the other side of the tracks. You don’t get to decide who she spends her time with.”

The two men were now inches apart, their faces inches from each other. The confrontation was escalating quickly, and the surrounding crowd was growing restless, whispering among themselves.

In a sudden burst of aggression, Rafe shoved JJ, sending him stumbling back. JJ’s eyes widened in shock, and he clenched his fists, clearly ready to retaliate.

“Rafe, stop it!” you cried out, stepping between them in a desperate attempt to break up the fight. “This isn’t the place for this.”

Rafe ignored you, his focus solely on JJ. “You need to leave. Now.”

JJ’s gaze remained steady, though his anger was evident. “Fine. If you’re gonna act like a jerk, I’m outta here. But don’t think this is over.”

With that, JJ pushed past Rafe, making his way through the crowd and out of the house. The tension in the room lingered, and you felt a mixture of relief and disappointment as the immediate threat of violence subsided.

Rafe’s rage seemed to drain away as he turned his attention back to you, his eyes still burning with a fierce possessiveness. The confrontation had left a mark, and you could see the complexity of emotions swirling within him.

“Why did you have to bring him into this?” Rafe’s voice was harsh, his anger now directed at you.

You looked at him, feeling a mix of confusion and hurt. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I was just trying to have a conversation.”

Rafe’s expression remained cold, though there was a hint of something else in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or vulnerability. “Well, now you know how it feels when someone intrudes on something that’s not their business.”

The crowd had begun to disperse, the party’s energy now subdued by the conflict. As you stood there, you felt the weight of Rafe’s possessiveness and anger pressing down on you, leaving you with more questions than answers.

The night had ended in chaos, and as you retreated to your room, the events of the evening replayed in your mind. The fight, Rafe’s possessiveness, and the tension between you all left a lingering sense of uncertainty. The lines between protection and control had blurred, and you knew you needed to confront these issues head-on if there was any hope of resolving the growing rift between you and Rafe.

[juniperxyz]

A Safety Net

Pairing: Yan!JayJo × F!reader

Content Warning: Yandere behaviour, mentions of stalking, physical abuse, female unsafety, mentions of forced marriage, maybe ooc Jay Jo?

Disclaimer: this should not be viewed as romanticization of stalking/yandere, it's merely a warped fantasy from the pov of a helpless character

Word Count: 4,645 words

Reblog if you want me to write more fics, and let me know what you want to read!

P.s can someone teach me Tumblr mobile formatting? 💀

M A S T E R L I S T

───※ ·❆· ※───

If there were two elements which would perfectly characterise the greatness which propelled Sara Kim's family into success would be gold and grandeur.

Grandeur for the glory her family of egoistic professionals and cut throat entrepreneurs parade around in. For the excessive flaunting of riches and endless achievements. Of grandiose luncheons, eclectic dresses and jewels in every colour of the rainbow that painted her monotonous life, like some montage of emotions.

But gold deserved its own special category, a very unique limelight to further underscore just how efficiently it encapsulated her materialistic life.

No, the woman wasn't referring to the golden spoon the daughter of elite entrepreneurs was born with.

But she was referring to the cage she was born into, a confinement which had even imprisoned her mind. Such boundaries of protection were what isolated her from the dangers of the world, as well as its sparse inhabitants and even sparser blessings, and especially from herself.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The sun had begun its ascent into the horizon, and so did her frantic housemaid's up the stairs leading to her room.

But Sarah had stirred awake long before, one of the few merits that walking around eggshells gifted her.

Or maybe a demerit, as the culprit for her sleep deprivation today no longer the fear of screaming mother, but rather the opposite: the unusual benevolence and kindness of her seemingly normal parents.

An odd kindness. Completely normal as per their perceptions, following their jovial announcement of her marriage being fixed last evening. Within an instant, the Dictator facade of her parents slowly thawed, perhaps from the relief of ‘accomplishing the responsibilities of the daughter’, of finally being able to brush her off their hands.

Choice was an illusion in her life, a concept Sara understood early on as she slipped bare feet into the one of the array of slippers aligned before her. But a mindful choice, a decision where the benefits were a majority, especially ones in her favour, was one piece of autonomy she bargained for from her authoritative mother. Perhaps it was the one sliver of mercy she granted in her unkind life, or maybe some form of training to get the woman primed to the decision making tasks required of a housewife. Had Mrs. Kim acted more of a mother, maybe Sarah would have considered the former possibility out of respect.

But maybe that autonomy she thought imagined to possess was also an illusion, just another one of their ‘spoiled’ daughter's whims that had to be entertained when their money couldn't fix it.

And here she was, with dishevelled hair, drooping dark circles, and a drowsiness threatening to plant her face-first onto the floor. 

But as her eyes traced the sunrise through bleary eyes, her heartbeat quickened momentarily as another realisation setting upon her. Another thing which had greatly contributed to her early bird tendencies. Another person.

She first met him years ago in the renowned secondary school Sunny High, the national factory which churned out some of Korea's most obnoxious elites. A man who was nothing but everything at the same time. An introverted studious loner who kept to himself, while also being the school's academic whizz and a cycling prodigy. He hangs out with no one, but had everyone's envious gazes hanging upon his every move. He made no advance towards any girl, yet every girl's lovesickness only advanced with every disinterested scowl he shot their way. Likewise, he'd ignored all the boys and didn't care for their aimless attitudes, but the expansive mountain of accomplishments he overshadowed wasn't ignored by them. A separate league, an otherworldly being, an extraterrestrial intellectual and many more praises were flown in his way, none of which he was receptive to.

Except to her confused rambling.

“Hey, I'm really sorry to bother you, and I know I shouldn't bother studious kids…”,that particular day was still fresh in her memory, her awkward stance, her awkward uniform and that awkward chuckle. Of all days, it just had to be that particular and with him, of all people? “But I think you're sitting on my seat? For French?”

Aloofness had long shielded her from the taunts and jeers she'd receive in earlier schools, but the sudden pin drop silence unnerved her. Had she made a mistake? Did she offend him somehow? Broken some important hierarchical rule of the Sunny high student body?

Although whispers gladly answered her anxiety, they only worsened it further.

No way she's talking to him, who does she think she is?

She's asking that guy to move??? Does her dad own the school?

She screwed big time, man. Talking to a superior while looking like that.

These newbies are no respect but all attitude-

“Sure.”

His voice was deep and clear, but not as deep as the second silence that filled the room. Confusion had rooted her feet to the floor, panic slowly creeping in as she took in all the frightened and frustrated faces of her clas–

“Here!”,metal screeched violently against the floor, as a woman with a pixie cut sprang up, “You can sit with next to me-”

“She's fine here, Yuna.”,he snapped instantly, rather rudely despite the monotonous tone. Yuna gingerly pushed back the chair, concern flashing rapidly across her face. Alongside sympathy.

The boy shifted his belongings to the adjacent desk, which only now she noticed had been suddenly vacated. A deep shade of red coloured her cheeks as she looked down. Had she paid enough attention to her surroundings, she wouldn't have to take his seat unnecessarily. And she would have also noticed an even more concerned and sympathetic bandaid boy sitting now next to Yuna.

“I never caught your name.”,she croaked, cringing internally as the boy frowned in confusion.

“That's because I never gave it.”,he replied curtly, prompting an uneasy chuckle as she beat herself up mentally. She can cover herself in all the Cartier she wants, but never can she carry charisma.

“Well…uh..”,she covered up the awkwardness by clearing her throat, “I'm Sara Kim, by the way.”

The man kept silent as his calculating gaze was fixated upon her. She took this opportunity to stealthily scan his features, and truly, some people's luck was really just in all of the right places. There was no denying about it, from the chiselled jawline, swan like neck, slender nose and alluring, sapphire-toned eyes that seemed to brighten with each second.

“Jae-hyun.”

Sara blinked in surprise, mumbling, “What?”

The boy titled his head ever so slightly, perfectly aligning with the window just in time for the afternoon sun rays to directly bounce off his face, illuminating his reserved, yet resplendent features so strikingly that stole her breath.

“Jae-hyun Jo.”,he lowered his eyes, the faint streams of mahogany in his iris beaming in the sunlight. “But you can just call me Jay.”

Jay. No matter what Cartier she always carried, his charisma was even more priceless. A price indeed she'd one day have to pay for.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“My, Jae-hyun dear, you never fail to impress us.”

Never did Sara believe she'd witness the day where a sliver of emotion would crack through Jay's heartless mask. Well, she also believed her parents wouldnt foolishly fix her marriage, but here they are. Forget the fact that this man was sitting in his house, an impromptu visit four years after their graduation, or that it was his first meeting with his family outside school.

Her mother's perfectionism knew no bounds, even going so far as to scrutinize all her friendships, crafting every playdate carefully to her standards, and only permitting any interaction within the safe confines of her ‘home’. This means it's her first interaction with a Sunny High friend outside school hours too. 

Well, at least officially.

Because Sarah Kim knew very well it wasn't the first time they two crossed paths outside.

Or at least have crossed paths where she wasn't aware of his looming presence.

All those three years at the wretched junkyard of elites, she had naively assumed she was taken under his wing. She revelled in being under the guidance of the valedictorian, who ensured she received stellar scores and minimum bullying throughout her tumultuous high school years.

He fixed every deficit in studies with their prolonged study sessions, but left her deficit in social awareness unfixed, which if patched up would open her eyes to the alarmed gazes of the students, the growing concern of his cycling teammates and sparse friends, especially the several interventions by some rabid redhead; the only one who ever stood up for her. The only one who ever understood what was in store for her.

But just like the gullible girl her mother raised her to be, she tossed those worries off her mind, and instead tossed her hair as she profusely thanked him at their graduation. Sarah expressed her gratitude heartily, perhaps even going overboard given it's her only friend since forever, only male friend since forever.

She regretted not having stressed on the ‘friends’ part harder, even holding back from saying so as to relish in the heated, innocent blush of his face. That one moment of illusionary love would cost her lifetime, as did all her gullible decisions.

No matter how overbearing or protective Jay was, Sara always chalked it up to the man's way of expressing his concern. After all, it was no different from her Father's, who also didn't let her take one step outside without his approval, and as bad as he was, Jay's not him, but simply a ‘concerned friend who's keeping her safe’, right?

It was right in high school, despite his stubborn insistence on walking her everywhere. Even feeling nice a few months post graduation. Then alright when she'd coincidently run into him on the street. Then okay when she'd spot him lurking from afar at times. Then when she swore some shadows were shaped strangely at night. Some camping awkwardly outside her window, some trailing right behind her footsteps during nightfall. Then when she saw visions of him everything she stepped out, when her phone drained too rapidly, filled its storage too quickly. When her web cameras began blinking too randomly. And when she began receiving parcels too strangely.

Through broken windows.

Just like his madness was a gradual process, so was her own descent into her own. Where she once was a simple girl who worried only about the clouds above her head, she had now descended into a paranoid insomniac who couldn't even trust her own shadow.

Like some protective older brother he paraded himself as, Jay would always reprimand her tersely whenever she got too close to some boy. Now, the instant she looks in a man's direction outside, her phone is instantly bombarded with spam messages and missed phone calls. Where before she'd snapshot pictures with every possible friend she could find, much to Jay's disdain, he now filled her gallery with snapshots of her own home the instant she breathed around any guy. Even if it was platonically. Even if it was professionally.

So the woman perfectly understood his intentions as he sat in his white coat next to her father, revelling in his first reunion with her like he hasn't been keeping his tabs on her since who knows for how long. Even when she closes her eyes she can still see his daunting silhouette. Even when she passed by her neighbour's and friends' houses, their terror-stricken faces, heavy with meaning, also reminded of him.

Her one shot at freedom, her long standing position as a creative director in a renowned firm, had slapped her in the face when she was to collaborate at the same hospital he worked at. Now he truly had her under his thumb, yet still graciously hides himself from her, like some cryptic grim reaper, always looming over her like some grotesque storm cloud, forever sealing her in a state of being watched.

It's the combined stress of having strict parents and a persistent stalker that deprived the woman of her only place of solace: sleep. But perhaps Jay's genius abilities surpassed it's limits as he formalized even in her dreams, switching them to nightmares that plagued her senses with shudders from their flashbacks.To walk on eggshells and tiptoe past bear traps. Sarah didn't realize when she switched from being an artist to an antelope.

Yet, all hope was not lost for the woman, she repeated to herself as she trudged into the washroom. Her mother still let her make some decisions, and as vindictive she could be, she kept her daughter's best interests in mine.

Her future husband would be great. Her future husband would be merciful. He would be strong and protective. Altruistic and considerate. That's why her mother settled upon him, didn't she? Her decisions were for her betterment, right?

Right.

Right.

She had nurtured her ambitions this far, built an impactful career in such limited time, acquired something no other woman in her lineage did; achieved some semblance of independence, even if it also was only accessible via her parents. There was a reason her company, her hard work, was eligible to be collaborated with Jay's hospital in the first place. Her job, and her future husband would be her new reset button. Then she can walk away from this life with her head held high, wipe away her tears with no regrets to carry with. Smile with no sorrow.

───※ ·❆· ※───

But in the silence of the bridal dressing room, Sarah carried nothing but regrets and sorrows with her.

Oh how gullible she was, how foolish, how naive, how starry-eyed and optimistic she behaved. Like her parents ever looked out for anyone but themselves, transforming any disposable being into their pawns for success, nor sparing their offspring as well. Keeping her child's emotional well-being in mind? She wanted to howl at her stupidity. Ensure she would tie the knot with some gentle man? As if! ‘Gentle’ is one thing, but geriatric is another. She should have seen it coming, oh how, just how could she miss it? Of course her parents wanted to climb up the social hierarchy , of course they'd discard her concerns and anxieties, tossing her into the arms of some aged millionaire. Of course they'd further entrench her in the very traditionalism she so desperately tried to escape.

And her meagre fantasy of her strong career? Laughable, utterly laughable considering it only bettered her marriage prospects as she was slaving away at her very fiancé's company. No wonder she garnered so much attention in so little time, her parents probably sat her up on some stage to be auctioned off too. That's of course why salary boosts and promotions came with such ease.

Though the August heat of Jeju Island was melting its inhabitants, Sarah felt an unshakable shiver rattling her heart, trembling her limbs and rolling bullets of sweat down her back.

Her engagement party just winded up a few hours ago, with her horde of tight-lipped cousins and family friends cheerily bidding her goodnight, like she was ignorant to their snide remarks. None of them understood what fate had in store for her. No one could understand what plight she was trapped in. The terrible fate of marrying into that geezer Song's family, where every woman lived, dresses, and birthed as per the conservative traditions. She wondered if their high collar and penchant for feminine attires was part of their modesty or to conceal certain secrets. Certain marks. Certain wounds.

Her nutritionist and ob-gyn ensured she was fed and fattened up like a cattle as part of wedding preparations. Yet, the bizarre conditions of her wedding, and of the ancient traditions that stripped a woman away from her identity, was a stress that kept her immobilized with panic and abhorrence, emptying her bowels night after night from the unyielding pressure as the Song's bride.

The duties, the expectations, the traditions, the culture, the environment, the family line, the children, everything, everything she struggled so hard to run away from came crashing down upon her. She sucked back tears all her life, enduring the beatings and beratings in hopes of escaping into a newer and better life, armed with her job and education a freedom

Oh what a lie, oh what a sham it all was! Those very two things she thought to be her weapons of rebellion had only solidified the Kim family's relations with the Songs, condemning her to a mediocre homemaker life for a decrepit man who sputtered enough life for lust. 

Sarah sank to her knees, the bare skin blistering upon contacting icy ceramic. Manicured fingers dug into freshly curled hair, ruining the hairdresser’s hours of hard work as her frustration bunched them up in her hands, pulling apart her scalp from the madness and hysteria.

Though it was sweltering even in the night, her bare legs were shivering as they paced anxiously around her room, ignorant to the scandalous slip dress she was to wear. Some meaningless bet she lost, where her heartless bridal party plotted to make her the butt of their jokes. She felt her vision sway once more, a hammer pounding her head as a third migraine attacked her in the night.

She felt dread pool her stomach, bubbling dangerously, threatening to hurl her innards even if no food was left to puke out. The panic intensified so tremendously alongside her migraine, that she didn't notice she'd succumbed to her knees, limbs paralyzed as the room spun around in circles. 

Memories flitted around the rotating room alongside reminders. Morning Make up session. Bridal outfitting fitting. Last minute venue inspection. First meeting prior engagement. Bridal party pictures. College graduation. Bridal photo shoot. Sunny High graduation. Catering confirmation. National exam preparation. Walking down the aisle. Walking home from school. Standing next to the groom. Standing next to the finish line. Staring into the void. Staring into the shadows-

Her eyes widened with disbelief, the room stilling back to its original position. Shadows. Exhaustion prompted her panicky mind to first whip her head around in search of shadows, nothing less from the gullible girl she always was. 

As if on autopilot, the woman slipped on her flats, not caring for their impracticality or of her dress. She draped a single shawl around her sickly figure, shielding her face as she strode outside the hotel suite, racing down the flights of steps, and slipping out from the employees-only exit, as if she were the shadows of a passerby.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Her heels throbbed with pain, knees reddened and jittery from the humid winds and walking. It was sweltering no doubt, but a flimsy dress does a good job in allowing every draft of wind to circulate her noodle limbs.

Still, she dragged her feet on, scraping the cheap rubber flats against the ground, refusing to give up so readily, to fail before she even began.

In the flurry of panic, she carried nothing of use to her, leaving her stranded and disconnected in some desolate shady part of the island. Desperation had long blinded her from the lustful gazes of suspicious street men, ensuring she quickened her steps whenever a man looked at her for too long. But it was her only shot at searching. Only shot at survival.

In the corner of her eye, a suspicious figure shuffled, but disappeared into the darkness the instant she focused upon it. 

Shadows. Like a moth to light, the woman sprang on her heels, dashing across the street and sinking into the twisted, dark alleys. This was certainly no place for a hopeless vulnerable woman, but no corner in this world offered her sanctuary from her nightmare, save for the one in this alley.

“Hello?”,she croaked, voice warped with trepidation. Was this a bad idea?. Another breeze sifted through her dress and her knees quivered, “Are you there?”

The ancient whirr of the overhead air conditioners and the flickering buzz of the street lamps comfortably filled the silence following her voice. It was hard to keenly sift through all noises while being stuck in a cramped residential area, where the monotonous whir of fans acted as a constant backdrop. It was a smart move for covering felonious antics, but it did little to quiten the growing footsteps approaching her.

Her heartbeat quickened, and a dull thud began ringing in her ears. No, she can not spiral into her emotions right now, “Hey….it's you, isn't it?”

The man stepped into a dimly lit patch in front of the dumpster, his tall stature seeming broader and more daunting since he last visited her house.

“Yo-you-”,the fear paralyzed her throat, constricting her airways, but she persisted, “You're him, aren't you? That guy, who's always following me around.”

She cringed at how pathetic she looked, dressed too lightly for the cold, chased down some stranger in a shady street, and tried to make polite talk with a brooding masked man whose eyes swirled with secrets. Dangerous secrets.

The man stepped closer, and it required everything in her willpower to not flee instantly, until a gloved hand left his pocket. “I came to make a bargain!”

He paused, eyebrows narrowing suspiciously, perhaps confused by whatever a powerless girl can possess to make a bargain. A girl with little possessions she was indeed, but there is nothing more she valued than her greatest, strongest, and most indispensable possession: herself.

“You want to take me, right?”,she shuddered, trying to hold back her tears, threatening to break her voice, “I-I'll come with you, okay?”

This seemed to confuse the man further, and she didn't realize he had removed another gloved hand from his pockets. Whether this was a good sign or a terrible one, she had to steer it towards the former.

“I have no objections against your wishes.”,she breathed, her heart pounding so violently to the point she heard it in her ears, “I'll do whatever you want, and go wherever you take me too, promise!”

Everything rested upon this one moment. Either she buys her ticket to freedom, or a one way condemnation to hell. A different type of hell.

The man stepped closer, before the street light fully illuminated his face, as he undid his mask and tugged off his beanie. Her heart plummeted as he attempted to gauge the emotional expression he continuously wore, fearing for the worst until he raised his arms, and she raised her hopes, and ran to close the distance in between them.

“Oh, Jay!”,she sighed, deeply inhaling his minty scent, a small aspect she realized she took for granted. The woman wrapped bony arms over his broad shoulders, barely able to lock hands while his own arms consumed her body with ease. 

Though she wouldn't deny he was a dangerous, deranged control freak, she also can't deny how warm and comforting his embrace was. How protective and soothing her sinewy arms were, how his hands felt soft and gentle as they stroked her small back reassuringly. His touch was inviting, uplifting, and so tender, that this momentary physical content was enough to dissipate all of her anxieties. Has she been deprived of a support system so terribly? Of physical touch that terribly?

“Please take me with you.”,she pleaded, pulling back to gaze deeply into those pair of eyes that forever kept her under his watchful gaze, “I'll do anything, but please take me away from my family.”

She doubted she needed to explain her circumstances, given his constant surveillance must have uncovered more answers than she herself was aware of. Perhaps that was another benefit of choosing him over that geezer, he already discovered and understood all of her worries and problems.

Large hands cupped her cheeks, heat emanating through the soft gloves as his thumbs caressed damp skin, “Don't worry.”,as always, his voice deep, endless, fluid and reassuring, “I'm here for you now.”

Just hearing that one sentence was enough to uplift the burden weighing down her shoulders. She felt her knees buckle, being caught just in time by Jay, as the gates to her heart flooded open, pouring out all of her bottled up emotions she'd harboured since childhood.

Sara wept silent tears on his shoulder, consoled by the gentleness of his hands that swept down her tousled hair. All her life, she was to be constructed for others, built for others, at the command of others. No facet of her life was spared as her parents, her family and her friends took advantage of her position to climb up the ranks of social hierarchy. Anything conducted in relation to her was solely for the benefit of others, or for some non-existent ‘greater good’.

Yet Jaehyun Jo, valedictorian of Sunny High, prodigy cyclist of HummingBird, the only friend who did not abandon her side, even when she did, his main desire from her was just….her. He asked for nothing at all, indifferent to all power and grandeur attached to her name and simply sought for her most priceless jewel within her possessions; her heart and her affections.

While others snatched her to deconstruct and rebuild the woman at their whims, forcing her to sport numerous facades to accomplish who knows what sorts of business ventures and social feuds, he simply wished to snatch her away from the watchful eyes of world, but to also leave her intact as she is, untroubled, undisturbed and at ease.

He knew how susceptible she was to anxiety and panic attacks, how socially awkward she could be in public, and how little elegance she possessed thanks to her nerve-wracking paranoia. He also knew how terribly weak she fared in studies, in fine arts, in tennis, and all sorts of extracurriculars shoved down her throat for boosting her image. And especially her image, he was well aware of how her shyness terribly sabotaged it one instance after another.

And yet it didn't change his perception of her, didn't prevent him from pressing a soft, tender kiss on her forehead, replacing his lips with his own forehead afterwards, “I'll keep you safe and sound, love.”,he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, reassuring in that same, melodious, reaffirming tone, “I promise.”

This was the truth she had been searching for all her life, the breakaway from the hellscape she once believed to be externally enchained too. The golden cage she forever resided in, illuminated not by the rarity of the metal, but by the searing hotness of the bars barring her from an escape.

When in reality, the true escape, the true sanctuary was in his love. A pure, untainted love that accepted even her lowest state and anguish, which suddenly reformed all those stalker incidents from one of infatuation to fondness.

The man side-stepped the woman, her hands automatically slipping around his bicep. It never ceased to amaze her how he only grew stronger with every interaction. Or maybe the stress just made her smaller, and every surrounding threat larger.

The woman pulled herself close to his warmth as they approached a limousine, for once not caring from where something sprang into existence. She didn't have to worry about that. She didn't have to worry about anything at all now.

Jay slipped into the leather chairs, pulling her hand alongside him as she comfortably snuggled into his side. The dim ambience coupled with the smooth jazz lulled her to sleep, a gift that at last came with ease from all her unease dissipating.

The golden cage from where she would forlornly admire the world no longer exists, and even though she was simply placed in another entrapment, the woman wouldn't mind it so long as her captor one who would let her flourish, and one where she was cherished.