#my fic**

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Failing

Summary: Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: G

Warnings: angst, a lot of inner thoughts, panic attacks, Joel and Ellie do not talk, Joel is a mess, lots of talk about being a failure and not good enough, messy breakup, unplanned pregnancy

A/N: This has been going through my mind since I saw the new pic yesterday. This is really different from everything I write usually, so let me know what you think. And yeah, come yell at me in my inbox

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He knew he should have stayed home tonight.

He could have worked on… something. He could have talked himself into picking up his guitar and pretend everything was okay.

He could pretend that he wasn’t a failure.

He could pretend Ellie was still talking to him.

Instead he was here, the people around him celebrating god knows what, music playing, people dancing and he?

He was hoping to at least get a look at the girl that had become like a daughter to him. The daughter he lost because he lied to her.

Turned out his mother was right, lying was not getting him anywhere. 

He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, not getting more than a fleeting look at her from afar like a creepy stalker.

Tommy was right, he needed to give her time.

But somehow he felt like time was running out. 

Tommy had been right in a lot of things lately. Something Joel was not used to, still having the irresponsible young man in the back of his mind he had been before outbreak.

But Tommy wasn’t that man anymore.

He was a husband, a father, a respected leader of the little community he had helped build.

And Joel was…. He did not feel like he changed much. He was still angry all the time.

Angry at the world.

Angry at the people.

But most of all angry at himself.

The way he was feeling now? Alone and lonely?

He had no one but himself to blame for it.

It was moments like these that you came to his mind.

You would know what to do. You would know how to fix this mess that he got himself into. You always did. Until he had pushed you away for good, almost six years ago when he got even more involved in the underground in the Boston QZ.

Meeting and falling in love with you had been the only good thing that had happened to him since the outbreak. You had seen him, the real him.

The broken man that was desperate for… something.

That something seemed to be you.

But like every good that happened to him, he managed to fuck this up too. Not at first, but definitely in the end. 

And he tried. He tried to become a better person. Tried to become the man you deserved, not listening to you when you told him that he did not have to become a better person.

That you fell for him the way he was. With all flaws he thought he had.

But maybe if he had worked on himself he wouldn’t have reacted so poorly when you told him that you were pregnant.

Maybe he wouldn’t have blamed you and you only, taking the easy way out and telling you he would not go through this again.

He should have talked to you, instead of lashing out, should have told you how fucking scared he was about losing another child. About losing you. About raising a child in this fucked up world. About fucking up.

He did so anyway.

He chose to forget about the whole conversation the two of you had after you told him that you were pregnant and that you were intending to keep it from his mind. Or he tried. God, did he try.

But now, deep in the night, when he was laying awake and alone in bed, only the shadows of the night in his company, the words he spat to hurt you creeped back into his mind, not that they had ever been gone.

I don’t love you.

Get rid of it.

Get out of my life.

I never loved you anyway. 

He could still see the way your face crumbled, tears running down your cheeks. 

He broke you that night. And he broke himself. 

He thought about this last argument, this breakup a lot if he was honest with himself.

He never told you, not in words, how much he loved you. He took you for granted. He shouldn’t have been this surprised to learn that you had left the QZ days after he broke you. 

Not a day went by that he wondered what happened to you.

If you were alive.

If you kept the baby.

Would it have your eyes and his hair?

A boy or a girl?

Where they as stubborn as Sarah was?

Did you still love him as much as he still loved you?

Shaking his head he took a sip from the surprisingly good beer someone had offered him when he came here, his eyes wandering through the room, sneaking glances at Ellie who smiled at Dina, deep in conversation with the other girl.

Sucking his bottom lip in, his hand flexing on his side as he tried to find the courage to walk over to Ellie and ask her if they could talk, again, when he heard laughter behind him.

Laughter he heard before, a long time ago.

A laugh he heard in his dreams when his mind allowed him to dream about you instead of the nightmares that plagued him. 

Narrowing his eyes he tried to remember why he was hearing that laugh, why that voice that spoke in low tones now, made his heart flutter, when he saw Tommy walk towards him in a fast pace, his face worried.

“Joel,” he said but Joel wasn’t listening to him.

He was busy preparing for a breakdown that was creeping slowly into his body. 

Joel’s heart seemed to make the connection before his brain did, heart beating widely in his chest as he slowly turned around, his brother’s hand on his shoulder to keep him for turning. He shrugged it off with a grunt, bracing himself to be let down, that he was finally turning insane and imagining you when his eyes landed on you.

Blinking his eyes in disbelief he released a shaky breath when you were still there. 

You were sitting at one of the picnic tables, still as beautiful as he remembered a small smile on your face. A man had his arm wrapped around your back and in your lap sat a girl not older than five who had your eyes and his brown curls.

His heart stopped, he was sure of it.

“She got in yesterday. You were on patrol, I was trying to find you and tell you but….” Joel heard his brother say, but he ignored him.

You were here.

You were here.

And you were alive.

And you had a girl sitting in your lap that was….

His eyes widened when you leaned back and he saw a little boy sitting in the lap of the man next to you that looked like a mini copy of Joel himself.

His chest felt heavy.

Closing his eyes he tried to take deep breaths, but he just couldn’t.

This was too much.

This hurt too much.

This was the happiest he ever was.

“Joel?” he heard his name from his side, Ellie looking down at him worriedly as he pressed his hand against his chest, his eyes watering.

This was the first time she had talked to him in weeks and it might as well be the last time from the way he felt right now.

He was having a panic attack.

But it felt so much worse than it had ever before.

Looking away from Ellie he turned his head back towards you, finding you now looking at him with wide eyes.

“Deep breaths brother,” a strong arm came to pull him up and his frantic eyes found Tommy’s.

“In and out,” he said, trying to calm down his brother. Joel’s hands grabbed his brothers shoulders. Trying to mimic the way he was breathing but couldn’t.

“Joel?” he heard your voice, his head now turning towards you, finding you looking at him worriedly.

Joel shook his head, dark spots at the corner of his eyes.

“You’re here,” was the last thing he whispered before he passed out.

[glorious-spoon]

"Naturally gravitating closer together" for buddie 🥰

hello and thank you! this sort of turned into a bobby POV ficlet and i'm not sure why?? anyway, here you go! (can be but doesn't have to be read as a continuation of this ficlet)

-

Bobby's not even sure they notice they're doing it. It's like watching a slow-motion dance across his backyard, the way they keep drifting back toward each other like celestial objects caught up in each other's gravity. Buck goes to get a pair of beers from the cooler and hands one to Eddie, who takes it and leans into his shoulder. Then they're off again, Eddie wandering over to talk to Christopher and Buck darting in to help Maddie catch Jee-Yun's party balloon before it floats off. A few minutes later, Eddie slips back into Buck's space, bumping shoulders and sipping his beer.

It's not that different from how they've always been. Bobby's not even sure he can put his finger on what's changed, only that there's an awareness to them now, an intentionality that wasn't there before.

"You've got your thinking face on," Athena remarks, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning into him. Bobby smiles and leans back.

"Just watching the party."

"Mmhm." She's quiet for a minute, sipping her drink. Bobby's quiet too, savoring the moment: the light breeze shifting the trees, the happy family gathered in his home, the familiar way his wife fits against him. Then Athena says, "You think they finally got it together? Buck and Eddie, I mean."

Bobby glances down at her. "What do you mean?"

"Bobby," she says, a fond, indulgent eye-roll in her voice.

"It's not my business."

"Mmhm. Could be your business, seeing as how they work together on your team."

He laughs, looping an arm around her hips. On the other side of the yard, Christopher has abandoned his barbeque wings for some kind of card game with Harry and Denny on the patio, and Buck and Eddie have closed the distance on the bench where he was sitting, pressed together shoulder to hip as they talk. And the thing is, Athena's not wrong. If he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing, it'll have to be his business, at least as far as HR forms go. But he remembers those early, heady days of sneaking around with Athena—kissing her behind the firetrucks, thrilling at every casual touch, drawn irresistibly into her orbit and the delight of something tender and new growing in the scorched wreckage of his personal life—and he can't quite bring himself to be a responsible fire captain about this just yet.

"I think I'm going to give them a minute," he says. "They deserve that."

Over at the bench, Buck says something that makes Eddie laugh and ruffle his hair. He leaves his hand on Buck's nape once he's done, the sort of half-casual plausibly-deniable touch that Bobby remembers pulling as a teenager in the back row of movie theaters. He doesn't mean to snort, but he can't quite help it.

"Oh, they're really not slick, are they," Athena observes mildly.

Bobby laughs. "It's new. It's exciting. I remember how that feels."

"Mm. You do, do you?"

"Yeah." He turns away from Buck and Eddie, and smiles down at his wife. "I really do."

[surielstea]

Lunch Break

Based on this request.

Pairing: Modern!Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel surprises reader at work with food and a clingy attitude.

Warnings: Az being handsy with reader | cursing

2.5k words

I was in the middle of scheduling a meeting on my boss's calendar when the loud ringing of the phone made me jump.

I quickly picked up the phone and tucked it beneath my ear then continued my typing before I lost my train of thought.

“Velaris enterprises, how can I assist you?” I say with a polite tone.

“It’s Feyre, can you tell Rhys to pick up his phone?” A familiar female voice sounds on the other side of the line. A smile curves my lips.

“Hi Fey, I’ll transfer you to him right now,” I say to the woman with a light tone.

“Thank you,” She sings as I redirect the call to my boss who seemed too busy to pick up his wife’s call.

The line ends and I hang up the phone and then return my attention to my desktop, I had only one more report due until I was letting myself take my lunch break, reclining in my chair with a huff as I continue to type, manicured nails clicking along the keys at a fast pace. In the middle of my sentence, the phone rings again and I pick it up blindly, keeping my eyes on my screen.

“Feyre I could knock down his door but I doubt he’ll answer—” I begin but I am cut off by the other line.

“It’s me.” Is all I heard and my spine straightened at the baritone voice that was so very familiar.

“What’d I tell you about calling my work phone?” I say slightly hushed, afraid my coworkers will notice me being off task.

“You weren’t answering your texts,” He defends, his tone playful, making me suppress a smile.

“What’s so important you couldn’t wait until my break?” I ask, the amused tone in my voice unavoidable as I mindlessly doodle on a blank sticky note, unable to multitask when talking to him.

“I brought you lunch, come downstairs,” He replied and a smile tugged at my lips.

“Right now?” I mumble into the phone with a soft sigh.

“Yeah, c’mon gorgeous it’s going to get cold,” He urged and this time I let myself smile.

“Alright, I’ll be down in five just need to finish something up real quick,” I say, and before he can protest I hang the phone up.

I rush to finish my report, doing it in three minutes instead of five, and feeling slightly accomplished with myself as I close the tab.

I stand from my chair, brush my short skirt down, and round my desk to approach the door to my Boss’s office. I knock lightly before creaking open the door, only to spot Rhysand on the phone with his wife presumably, feet propped up on his desk casually as he did anything but work.

“I’m taking my break,” I whisper and he nods, giving me a wave of my hand. I close his office door and pivot in my high heel.

I walk down the aisle of cubicles with a small skip in my step, excited to see my boyfriend, and also the food he brought for me.

“Taking your break already?” A man named Matthew had asked, leaning back in his chair and peering up at me.

“Yeah, I didn’t get the chance to eat anything this morning,” I reply politely, passing by him.

“You should come out with me and some of the other guys after work tonight, we’re going to the bar off Ninth Street,” He gestures westward and my brows raise a fraction.

“Sounds fun, I might have plans but I’ll let you know,” I say with a gentle smile and he nods, then turns back to his desk.

“Have a nice lunch,” He lowly whistles as I continue my path toward the elevators.

Mathew and his friends had always been so kind to me, I hadn’t really known why, they knew I was with Azriel, which meant they knew they had no chance. And they didn’t seem like the type to respect women, especially not secretaries. So it was best to let them down easy and politely decline their offers or at least give them false hope.

I clicked the button of the lift that would take me down to the lobby, the ride was long from the top floor, giving me the chance to wonder what kind of foot Azriel had brought for me since he hadn’t mentioned it.

I bounced on my heels impatiently until the elevator dinged and the doors parted. I smile and walk out, tucking my arms behind my back to contain my excitement. Gods, I felt like a teenage girl meeting her first boyfriend in the hallway.

“Hi, Mrs. Levvy,” I wave to the older woman who sat at the check-in desk in the building.

“Leaving, dearie?” She asks with a soft smile that I return.

“I’ll be back, just going to pick up lunch,” I say and she nods, pushing her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose.

The automatic doors open and I immediately spot my boyfriend leaning against his black bike, arms crossed over his chest as the sun beams down onto him. His eyes lock with mine and a dimpled smile takes over his features as I approach him, taking in the way his compression shirt hugs his large arms or the way his tattoos run up the side of his neck.

“Hey, gorgeous,” He greets, hands coming to my waist as I stand between his legs.

“Hi, handsome,” I return, wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck and pressing a soft peck to his lips then pulling away a moment later. “What’d you bring me?” I ask, pinching my bottom lip between my teeth. He turned to his side, his helmet and a paper bag propped onto the seat of his bike. He grabs the bag and hands it to me. I peer inside and am immediately met with a familiar savory scent. I look up at him with a beaming grin. “My favorite?” I ask and he nods.

“For my favorite girl,” He hums, hands lowering to my hips.

“Thanks, Az,” I sling my arms around him and hug him tightly. He returns it, his head nuzzling into the crook of my neck. He stays like that, not wanting to move away until inevitably I pull back.

“What’s the occasion?” I say, placing the bag beside his helmet, I still had ten minutes left to my break, and I was determined to spend every last second with him.

He shrugs. “I didn’t get to make you breakfast before you left this morning,” He said and I smiled at the memory, how he sleepily clambered from bed only to coerce me back to the mattress with his deep voice and lazy kisses. It hadn’t lasted long before my alarm went off for the umpteenth time and we both knew I had to leave if I didn’t want to be late.

“That’s sweet of you to leave work for me,” I smile down at the bag and then back up to him, one of my hands intertwining into his hair.

“The shop was slow today, I only had a few appointments until I decided to close early,” He excuses and I tilt my head up at him.

“Still, means a whole lot,” I murmur, leaning into his chest as his hands snake down until finding purchase at the curve of my ass. “Az,” I warn.

“What? This skirt is so short and I’m only a man,” He defends and I roll my eyes.

“Keep it in your pants,” I scoff.

“Afraid I can’t, gorgeous,” He shakes his head. “What about all the other men in that office? They shouldn’t be staring at what’s mine,” He practically whines and I look at him in both disbelief and amusement.

“I assure you, they know I’m yours,” I put him at ease, my hands coming to his jaw.

“Now you know how I feel when you wear these slutty shirts,” I say, tugging at the hem of his compression shirt. He smiles because he knows exactly what I’m talking about. The bastard was highly aware of what he was doing to me.

“Guilty,” He smirks, his hands gripping my ass and I squeal, an uncontrollable grin coming to my features, I was going to retort only to be cut off by the alarm from my phone, that familiar ringing that only meant separation for us. Azriel audibly groans as I quickly silence my alarm, my smile fading away.

“I’m sorry, babe I’ll see you at home okay?” I say and he pulls me impossibly closer, stuffing his face back into my neck.

“Don’t go,” He practically whines and I run my hand through his hair reassuringly.

“You know I’d stay if I could,” I sigh and he tears from my neck in favor of looking me in the eyes.

“Come back home, I’ll take the rest of the day off and we could spend it together,” He pleads, the male awfully clingy despite his usual cold demeanor.

“Az, I can’t my boss—” I start.

“Who? Rhys?” He cuts me off and I frown up at him, then give him a dip of my head as a nod.

“Let me talk to him,” He urges. “I promise you’ll get the rest of the day, paid,” He says and I look at him pointedly, not believing him one bit.

“And how are you going to do that?” I retort.

“He owes me,” He shrugs.

“For what—” I start but he grabs my hand and pulls me towards the entrance of the building.

“C’mon, I want to be home already,” He says as I intertwine our hands.

Mrs. Levvy looks up through her glasses at the two of us with an arched brow. “You can sign her out, she’ll be leaving soon,” Azriel says, dragging me towards the elevators. I apologize for his behavior as the doors close on me but she only waves me off with a chuckle.

“Why are you so needy today?” I say, poking his abdomen as the lift takes us to the top floor.

“Can’t help it when you’re dressed like this,” He replies, arms slinging over my shoulders and hugging me from behind.

“So possessive,” I murmur as the doors slide open and I leave his grasp. I walk down the line of cubicles, heads turning as Azriel walks behind me with his hands stuffed into his pockets casually. “I’ll tell him you’re here,” I whisper in the quiet office, dialing on the phone but when I glance up at the brunette I spot him opening the door to Rhysand’s office. Panic rises in my chest and I pale, rushing to stop him.

I enter the room and wedge between Azriel’s frame and the door. Rhys looks at me expectantly. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what he’s thinking,” I smack my hand against my boyfriend’s chest before gesturing him out of the office. My boss only chuckled.

“Relax, if you think this is the first time Azriel’s barged in on me you’re sorely mistaken,” Rhys says with a coy smile.

“Gather your things, baby,” Azriel says with an outmatched confidence. I stare up at him in bewilderment and he only jerks his head as a gesture to my desk and I glare in warning, silently telling him that I’ll kill him if he gets me fired.

Reluctantly, I leave the office and go back to my desk, the door closing behind me. Anticipation rolls into a mass of anxiety. To distract myself I do as Azriel said, collecting my items and putting them into my purse, slinging it over my shoulder, and by the time I was ready to leave Az had exited the office with a soft smile on his lips.

I look at him expectantly. “You ready?” He asks and my jaw nearly drops.

“Wait, how did you?” I say with creased brows, looking at the closed office door and then at him quizzically. He shrugs innocently.

“When you’ve known someone since you were eight years old it’s easy to convince them,” He explains and I narrow my eyes on him.

“You blackmailed him, didn’t you?” I accuse and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I did, yeah,” He grabs my hand and guides me back towards the elevators.

I smiled up at him amused, before halting in my steps when I heard my name called.

I look to the culprit, spotting Mathew with raised brows. “I assume you found plans?” The man asked and I feigned a frown.

“I did, I’m sorry maybe next time,” I tilt my head sympathetically, the way one might pity an animal. My boyfriend’s hands snake around my waist protectively and I nearly roll my eyes at his theatrics.

“Maybe,” Azriel restates, emphasizing the low chance of it.

“Right, next time,” Mathew nods, and the male behind me tugs at my waist, urging me along.

“Have a good rest of your day, Mat.” I give him a small wave.

“You too,” He nods and I pivot on my heel, Azriel glaring daggers at anyone who stared for a moment too long.

Once we were back in the elevator, alone, he dropped the menacing act in favor of his original clingy one. “So are you going to tell me what you blackmailed Rhys with?” I tease and his brows raise.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous, but there are some things I can’t speak of, even to you,” He sighs and I giggle, knowing it must be bad if he didn’t have it in himself to tell me. I dropped it, knowing I wouldn’t be able to get it out of him if I tried.

The doors opened and we both exited. “I need to sign out,” I say to Mrs. Levvy, approaching her desk. She waves her hand dismissively.

“I already did, dearie,” She says and my brows raise, looking to Azriel who only had a cocky smile on his face.

“Then have a good rest of your day I suppose,” I say, backing away towards the doors.

“You have fun you two,” She waves and I return it before Azriel has me outside.

When we get back to his bike he opens the hatch at the front, the compartment holding my helmet. He hands me the light pink item and I smile, putting the helmet over my head and securing it tightly, flicking down the visor.

“You’re so cute,” He admires.

“Shut up,” I say, my words muffled through the helmet and mount the bike.

“You’re not driving,” He looks at me pointedly and I grasp the handles, looking up at him cheekily.

“Why not?” I arch my back playfully and his eyes trace down the crescent shape of my body, then back to my covered eyes.

“No,” He declares before grabbing my waist and taking me off the bike, placing me back onto my feet as I pout up at him. He straddles the bike and puts his helmet on. I huff and get on behind him, my arms wrapping around his torso reflexively. “Ready, gorgeous?” He turns his head to look back at me.

I nod, pressing the side of my helmet to his back, squeezing around him tightly, beyond excited to be going home for the rest of the day instead of heading back to work.

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[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (12/?)

Part Summary: You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.500+ | Warnings: Smut | Author's note: I honestly don't know what else to write in the summary without giving too much away, so without further ado… P.S. No cliffhangers this time ;)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI

-

A week after Thanksgiving, as the icy Maine wind whips across the tarmac at Rockland Airport, you find yourself holding a container of lobster cakes—your mother's way of sending a piece of home back with you. Despite her protests about you cutting your visit short, she spent last night in the kitchen, crafting your favorite dish, the smell of butter and ocean filling the house. “Eat these when you miss home,” she had said, pressing the container into your hands with a sad smile. The decision to leave early was anything but easy.

You initially planned to stay five more days in Camden, but Leigh's radio silence prompted you to book a direct flight to Los Angeles. It was eating you up inside; you had to go back. The familiar dark screen of your phone kept you on edge; you hadn't expected Leigh to strictly follow through on her promise not to contact you. She had a way of doing the unexpected. Or maybe you've been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you underestimated how deeply she wanted you that night. And perhaps you've overestimated your own anger, believing it would even slightly lessen your feelings for her.

Sitting in the window seat with the whole row to yourself, you stare at your phone as the flight attendant's voice crackles over the intercom, signaling it's time to switch to airplane mode. Impulsively, you tap out a text to her.

Belated Happy Thanksgiving, Leigh. If you’re free tomorrow evening, maybe we could talk? Perhaps over dinner?

It’s straightforward, maybe too much so, but it’s sent before you can overthink it.

The flight attendant's voice fills the cabin once more, reminding everyone to switch their devices as the plane is about to take off. You comply, toggling the setting and sealing off any immediate replies. The engines roar to life, and as the plane ascends, you try to push away the knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

As you wait to fall asleep, you think about Leigh—whether she’s seen your message and what she might be feeling. You wonder about the time apart, recalling the old saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or does it make it forget instead?

-

You touch down in L.A. just as the date ticks over to December 1st, the clock a little past midnight. The moment the plane reaches the gate, you grab your phone and switch off airplane mode. There's a message from your mom, checking in to see if you've landed safely, and you text her back to let her know you did. Suzie has also texted, saying Foreman called in sick and asking if you can cover at the clinic later. You shoot back a quick reply, saying you just landed, you'll catch some sleep, and might be in late in the morning.

But there’s nothing from Leigh. No text, no missed call, nothing to indicate she received your message or is interested in meeting.

You sigh and, without thinking, tap her name on the screen. The call goes through, and the phone rings as you make your way through the late-night crowd at LAX. It continues ringing, unanswered, until it finally clicks over to voicemail. You mutter a soft curse under your breath. Of course, she's not going to pick up—it's 12:30 in the morning. You consider sending a quick apology text but then reconsider, figuring you've already pushed enough boundaries by calling her this late.

Instead, you slide your phone back into your pocket and head toward baggage claim. You weave through the half-awake travelers and the sterile glow of the airport lights, finally spotting your suitcase trundling along the carousel. You heft it off and make your way through the automatic doors. You glance one more time at your phone, half hoping for a notification, but it's blank. With a sigh, you head for the exit, feeling the exhaustion settle in.

-

You check your inbox first thing in the morning, but there's still nothing from Leigh. You don't have time to overanalyze this again because you're already running late for work.

-

The whole day is swamped, with emergencies piling up alongside a packed schedule of immunizations and follow-ups. Suzie mistakenly booked an entire week's worth of scheduled vaccines for today, a Saturday. She explains that the clients requested to move their appointments to the weekend, adding, “We're closed on Sundays, so I thought today would work.”

You try to hide your frustration, not wanting to lay the blame on her. Your nerves are already frayed, and every hour that passes without a word from Leigh has you feeling more on edge.  As you tend to your patients and give instructions to the staff, you feel the pressure building, a headache beginning to throb behind your eyes. The never-ending stream of clients leaves you with no time to catch your breath. Between each appointment, you plaster on a polite smile, but inside, you're counting down the minutes until you can check out of, well, everything.

As the clock hits seven, you can't take another minute. The clinic has been a madhouse since the doors opened. You barely glance at Suzie as you callously tell her, “Close early. I'm tired.” Without waiting for her response, you trudge straight to your office and slump into your chair, eyes closed against the harsh fluorescent lights. Resting your head back, you exhale slowly, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. The fatigue wraps itself around you like a fog, and for a moment, everything falls away.

A few minutes later, you hear a gentle knock. It's Suzie, standing in the doorway with a paper in her hand. Without opening your eyes, you mutter, “What is it?” Your irritation seeps through, but you’re too drained to rein it in.

Suzie hesitates before stepping into your office, her expression unreadable. She extends the paper towards you. “It's my resignation letter,” she says quietly.

Your eyes snap open, and the paper feels heavier than it should as you take it from her hands. You’ve been nothing short of awful to her all day, snapping at every turn. 

“Is this about today?” you ask. 

She gives you a small, weary smile and points to the date on the letter. “I wrote this last week, right after you left for Maine.”

You glance down at the letter and see that it’s dated exactly a week ago. “Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your vacation,” she says softly. “I know how much you needed that break. And honestly, you’ve got enough on your plate right now without me adding to it.”

You can feel the burn of frustration and shame behind your eyes. “You’ve been a rock here, Suzie. I don’t want you to go. Please reconsider.”

She shakes her head gently. “I’ve thought this through. It’s time. I care about this place, and about you, but I need to move on.”

You let out a long breath. “I see. Still, I'm sorry today was so rough,” you say, looking up at her wistfully. You try working your puppy eyes, and for a moment it seems effective as her expression softens into a frown. 

But then she says, “It’s not the clinic or the work I do here. I got an offer for a research position; it's something I've always wanted to try.”

That makes you smile. If that’s the case, then you’re truly happy for her.

“I understand. I wish you hadn't felt the need to keep this to yourself, especially with everything else happening today,” you say, still clutching the paper tightly in your hand, crumpling it slightly.

Suzie shrugs. “I didn't want to add to your stress. Don’t worry, I’ll count the 30 days' notice from today, not the date on my resignation, so you have time to find someone to replace me.”

From that, you know her mind’s already made up. As you read her letter again, your eyes start to sting. You glance back up at her, your vision blurring. “Suzie, thank you,” you mumble thickly.

“Hey, it's okay,” she says gently. “I'm not leaving town. We can still grab lunch whenever. I know how glued to your desk you get, so I'll drag you out for a bite now and then.” You let out a shaky chuckle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“It's just—I’m going to miss you, and I don’t know how I'll replace you,” you say with a sniffle.

“Missing me is a given,” she says, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Actually, I might know someone interested in my job.”

Your ears perk up at that. Good help is hard to find these days, especially with more demands from applicants and a tight job market. “Who?” you ask, curious.

Suzie turns around as if she's going to leave without answering, but then she glances over her shoulder, her smirk widening. “Sara.”

-

A little while later, you catch Suzie just as she's finishing up in the lobby.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll lock up. You’ve done enough today,” you say, sending her home. She gives you a grateful smile, slings her bag over her shoulder, and wishes you a good night before heading out.

Finally alone, you take a moment to decompress. Clasping your hands behind your back, you stretch, trying to release the day's tension. A dull ache climbs up your spine, reminding you how tight your muscles are. Unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds, you relax, the discomfort too much to bear. It's hard to tell whether it's from the long-haul flight yesterday, your age creeping up on you, poor posture, or all of the above. 

On a whim, you book a late-night yoga session at the Beautiful Beast, hoping to relieve the tightness in your back. It’s been a while since your last visit.

Afterward, you head to the small bathroom in your office to get ready. It's basic, not meant for much more than washing hands and changing scrubs, but it’s all you've got. Stripping off your day's clothes, you step into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on your back. The steam fills the tiny space, and the heat melts a bit of the stiffness away. After a quick rinse, you towel off and slip into your yoga gear. The stretchy fabric feels liberating after being in stiff work clothes all day. You roll up your yoga mat, tucked behind the office door, and switch off the bathroom light.

As you're about to head out of the clinic, you check your phone, hoping to see something from Leigh. There's nothing—she hasn’t even read your last message. The stonewalling feels all too familiar, and you're tired of it.

You slide into your car, letting out a weary sigh. As you start the engine, thoughts of Suzie's suggestion to hire Sara sneak back into your mind. You can't help but chortle at the idea—it’s so unexpected, almost comical, considering how you know Sara and her standing friends-with-benefits proposition. It feels far-fetched, and knowing Suzie, she was likely just teasing.

The drive to the fitness studio is as mechanical as it gets. You're hardly aware of the turns you take until you park in front of the building. You step out, mind still elsewhere, and open your car door—right into someone walking by.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” you start to say, cutting yourself off when you see who it is. 

Leigh, of all people, is rubbing her elbow, wincing. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a plain white shirt under a jacket, paired with simple black tights. 

“See me? Lovely excuse,” she quips, her eyes fixed on her arm rather than you. Her expression is primed to unleash more frustration when she finally turns to meet the source of the blunder.

 “I—” Leigh stops, visibly surprised to see you. Quickly, her face smooths into something more neutral. “Y/N. You…you really should watch it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Are you alright?”

She rubs her elbow once more, then nods slowly. “Just startled me a bit, but I’m fine.”

Once you both regain your bearings, you unconsciously begin rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, hesitating despite the things you’ve rehearsed in your head all week. Your text message inviting her to meet tonight lingers at the forefront of your mind. But before you can bring it up, Leigh catches you by surprise.

“So, you’re heading in for a class?” she asks casually, as if the last time you saw each other didn’t end with a kiss and a confrontation that put the aforementioned kiss on hold.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I am,” you reply. Then you remember Leigh doesn't work here anymore, but with her mother owning the place, it's no surprise to see her around occasionally. 

Still, you ask, “How about you?”

“You mind if we walk while we talk?” Leigh suggests.

You nod, a little thrown off but managing to say, “Sure, just let me grab my stuff.” 

She waits a few seconds as you gather your belongings, and then you both start walking toward the building. Leigh sets a brisk pace, always a step ahead, and you find yourself almost hurrying to keep up with her.

“I just got back to working here again,” she says after a beat.

Surprised, you ask, “Oh, how did that happen?”

“Long story,” she replies with a slight shrug, her eyes focused ahead.

Unsatisfied with her vague answer, your eyes drift to her lips. Memories of that last kiss flood back—their soft, velvety feel and that distinct taste that’s all hers, like fresh water after a long, grueling hike. It's a taste that's unmistakably Leigh, nothing else like it. As you walk together, you struggle to stay present. This isn’t at all how you pictured your reunion with her would go. Not by a long shot.

“Leigh,” you call out, stopping abruptly. Your voice comes out higher than intended, quivering a bit. You clear your throat and try again, “D-Did you get my text yesterday?”

Leigh glances back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “No.”

The bluntness leaves you momentarily stunned. You wait for her to follow up, to ask about the text, but she doesn’t. As you both step into the Beautiful Beast studio, you start to ask if you can talk later, but Leigh gets there first.

“We can pick this up later, Y/N. We should really get to class,” she says, heading into the room full of waiting students without waiting for your answer.

You're left more stumped than ever. Last time, she was almost on her knees, begging for forgiveness. Now, she's acting like nothing happened. How did everything change so much in just a week? With a head full of questions and doubts, you roll out your yoga mat and try to focus on the practice ahead. You can't help but wonder if the kiss you shared with Leigh really happened or if it was just a mirage of your desires.

You struggle through some of the poses, wobbling and nearly toppling over more than once. Leigh, however, doesn't chide or correct you as she used to; she mostly leaves you alone, focusing instead on helping others who are struggling more than you. It makes you feel strangely isolated, even though you know she's just fulfilling her role as an instructor and there are plenty of beginners in tonight’s session.

As the hour winds down, Leigh's soft “Namaste” signals the end of the class. She bows gracefully to the students, and you don't waste a moment, rising immediately to make your way to her as she rolls up her mat.

“Leigh.”

“Hey,” she responds breathlessly, not looking up. Other students pass by, thanking her, and she responds with smiles and cheerful “see you next times.” You stand there, feeling awkward as you wait for a turn.

When the last person leaves, Leigh finally looks up at you. “What's up?” she asks.

You find yourself stuttering, still fixated on the text message. Feeling a bit pathetic about how much it’s affecting you, but you shake it off, remembering why you cut your visit to Camden short. It was because of this—because of her.

“Leigh, can we talk? About... you know, how we left things that night?”

Her face remains jarringly impartial as she wipes down her mat. “Talk? Here? Right now?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I don't mean right this second,” you clarify, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. Are you the only one feeling like you're on a tightrope? 

“You haven't had dinner yet, right?” You try to sound nonchalant too, but it's a struggle.

She looks around the emptying studio as if she needs a moment to consider. After a few beats, she nods. “Sure, why not? I’ll just change and meet you out front.”

You can't help but smile, mainly out of relief that she said yes. “Great, see you in a minute,” you say, realizing you need to change into drier clothes too.

Fifteen minutes later, Leigh steps out, looking refreshed as if she didn't just burn through a few hundred calories leading a rigorous yoga session. She's wearing a cozy gray sweater and cargo pants, a much more laid-back look compared to your jeans and cardigan.

As she draws near, she tilts her head slightly and says, “I actually brought a car. Have you thought of where we're going to get dinner?”

You scramble to think of a suitable place. In-N-Out pops into your head—quick, easy, but completely wrong for the kind of talk you need to have. You can't imagine hashing out your feelings under the harsh lights of a fast food place, over burgers and fries.

“Um,” you stammer, looking around like inspiration might hit you in the face. 

“How about we head to your apartment?” Leigh suggests out of nowhere. “It's closer, and we could grab some drive-thru on the way.”

You blink at her suggestion, surprised she'd even consider it after everything that went down last time at your place.

“There's only one parking spot,” you say blankly. “And the street has no parking after 10 p.m.”

Leigh seems unfazed, offering a quick solution. “Then we’ll just take your car. I can leave mine here.”

Your nerves flare at the thought of having her back in your apartment. Your tongue feels heavy, and you can't think of a single reason to tell her why it’s a bad idea.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Let's do that.”

You head to your car together, fumbling with the keys as you unlock it. Leigh slips into the passenger seat, and you take a deep breath before starting the engine. You pull into a drive-thru of In-N-Out and Leigh scrolls through her phone, picking out what to order. 

You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

-

The takeout is spread across your dining table, a small feast that Leigh ordered for the two of you. Boxes of fries, nuggets, and burgers crowd the surface, enough to feed a group. You barely nibble on a fry while Leigh is already finishing her cheeseburger, wiping her fingers with a napkin and eyeing the remaining food.

“You weren’t hungry, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess not,” you reply, wiping away the residual salt from your fingers.

Leigh takes a sip of her drink, washing down the last bite before looking at you with purpose. “Mind if I go first?” she asks.

You narrow your eyes. So, she's eager to dive right in. “Sure, go ahead,” you say. You observe Leigh closely for the first time in what feels like ages. Concealer cakes beneath her eyes, settling into the natural wrinkles there. She’s still undeniably beautiful, but there's a tiredness to her now that’s hard to miss. Her cheeks, usually lifted by her prominent cheekbones, seem hollowed out more than usual.

“I guess I want to start by saying that I'm…” Leigh trails off, her eyes darting around as if the right words might be hidden among the packets of ketchup and silverware. “...a horrible person.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts you off smoothly.

“No, listen. You were right. I ignore you out of nowhere. I take advantage of your kindness. And it’s not just you—I’ve been doing this with everyone around me for a while now. I haven't cared about what others think or feel because I was focused on being true to myself, always playing the ‘dead husband’ card. I’ve taken everyone's patience and understanding for granted, and I’m really, really sorry.”

You sit back, stunned. The whole evening, you'd braced for a different kind of conversation. You expected Leigh to say the kiss was a mistake—just a result of nerves or a lapse in judgment driven by jealousy. You had been so sure she'd shut you down, just like all the other times. 

“You're sorry?” The words slip out unbidden, tinged with surprise and skepticism.

“Yeah,” she says, looking you square in the eye. “I know it's hard to believe, but I really am sorry for how I've treated you.”

It’s going well—too well. Your mind struggles to accept it, but your heart?

“I thought you were going to say that night was a mistake. That the kiss meant nothing,” you whisper so faintly, almost as if you don't want her to hear.

“It kept me up for nights,” Leigh replies just as softly, “and that doesn’t usually happen to me over a simple kiss.”

Your heart soars.

She doesn’t regret it. She’s sorry. This is all going too well.

“It was on my mind the whole time, even when I was all the way across the country,” you whisper wantonly. 

The corners of Leigh’s lips twitch upward, and you can't tell if it's a good sign. Her saying she’s just as affected blinds you to any other cues that might suggest otherwise.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Leigh says darkly, leaning back into her chair with a weary slump. “Because I’m done living in half-truths and half-realities. I can’t handle any more surprises.”

You feel a flash of confusion, trying to stitch together what Leigh might say next. She knows about your cheesy alter-ego on her advice column, the details of your past with Matt. But half-truths? What does she mean by that?

Leigh meets your gaze, and there’s something about her stare that tells you she’s coming apart, yet she's clenching every muscle to keep herself intact. You want to reach across the table, to offer a touch that might steady her, but her hands are hidden, clenched in her lap beneath the table. Her shoulders hunch, making her seem smaller, as if she's trying to fold into herself.

“Leigh, just tell me,” you urge, though not impatiently.

She exhales slowly, the breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I broke up with Danny,” she finally says, and for a brief, absurd moment, relief washes over you. 

That's…it? 

Your smile starts to form, naive in its inception, but it’s quickly stifled as Leigh’s voice drops lower, and her next words cut through the nascent joy. 

“And then he said something I didn't think could drive the dagger Matt left in my heart any deeper,” she says slowly, like she’s having a hard time dragging every syllable.

Leigh takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling deliberately. “He told me he was pretty involved when you and Matt got together. That you first knew him as Nick, and he helped Matt reach out to you.”

Your heart sinks. You had almost forgotten that night with Danny when you discovered his real identity and how he fit into everything. He'd begged you to keep quiet, and in his desperation, you agreed—not because he pleaded, but because you believed Leigh was happy with him. It wasn’t your secret to reveal, not then.

You've known this all along and never said a word. Your throat tightens as panic sets in, your heart racing with the implications of having kept this from Leigh. Guilt pricks at you, cold and sharp.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard, thinking, This is it, this is how I lose her. 

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you say. “I thought you were happy with him. I didn’t want to be the one to—”

“Y/N,” Leigh interjects softly. Her tone stops you cold—it's not angry, just… defeated. Which, somehow, feels worse. She looks down, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I’m telling you this because I’m finding out that secrets can be just as hard to handle as loss.”

You nod absentmindedly, still processing, and move to clear the table in a daze. Wrapping up the leftover food, you tuck it into the fridge. The mundane task doesn't ease the tightness in your chest, but it gives your hands something to do.

“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you?” you ask, like you can’t believe you’ll come out of this conversation unscathed.

Leigh takes her time to answer. With your focus on tidying up, you miss the way her hands ball into fists. When she finally speaks, her voice has a steely edge for the first time this evening.

“At first, I was livid, of course. But Danny bore the brunt of it. He claimed he wanted me, but he was never on my side. If he were, he would’ve never helped Matt cheat on me.”

You finish tucking the last container into the fridge and lean back against the counter, your eyes on Leigh. She's staring out the window. How is it that she’s telling you these things, yet it still feels like she’s not revealing anything at all?

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you say softly. “I’m sorry.”

Leigh gets up and walks toward you. She stops so close that your breath catches. You remember the last time she was this near, how the world blurred, and how hard it was to think clearly. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she takes a breath.

“It wasn’t your secret to tell,” she says.

“But—” you start to say, though the thought fizzles out as she steps even closer.

“You're okay in that regard,” she murmurs, her voice low. 

In that regard? 

You want to ask what she means, but Leigh shuffles nearer still, her eyes searching your face. She's so close now that you can see the faint reflection of the kitchen light in her eyes, specs of yellow in darkened green. It’s nothing short of dazzling.

“Do you forgive me for last time?” she asks quietly. 

A lump forms in your throat, and all you can think about is how desperately you don't want to mess this up. You had forgiven her long before stepping onto a plane back to Maine. It happened as soon as you let her walk away that night, but you just couldn't accept how easy it was. 

You nod, unable to trust your ability to speak. 

Leigh's eyes soften as she watches you. Her fingertips brush against your jaw, her touch feather-light. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you, then?” she asks, both careful and seductive.

Your resounding yes comes in the form of you closing the gap, your lips meeting hers like an arrow striking its target. Leigh’s arms wrap around your shoulders instinctively, her fingers brushing the back of your neck, and you pull her in even tighter, deepening the kiss. Her breath mingles with yours as she sighs softly against your mouth, and it’s only then that when you feel all of her that Los Angeles starts to feel like a second home.

There are still questions, an unending list that always surfaces around Leigh, but they evaporate one by one when her tongue flicks out, seeking entrance. You surrender, lips parting, allowing her to taste you. The kiss grows with a messy urgency in seconds. Her hands roam down your back, gripping tightly as she presses in, as if trying to melt into you. You draw her nearer, your chests flush together as the kiss becomes wet and breathless.

Your apartment is silent except for your soft pants and the slick sounds of your lips meeting.  Doubts about your ability to please a woman creep in after such a long hiatus. But before these thoughts can take hold, Leigh takes charge. She grabs your hips and gently guides you backward toward the bedroom, cutting off any chance for you to slow things down.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to slip your cardigan off your shoulders and whisper, her breath warm against your lips, “Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

It seems almost unfair for her to pose that question while simultaneously moving to your neck, drawing a soft groan from you. Her teeth gently graze a sensitive spot just below your clavicle, applying pressure that promises to leave a mark, then soothing it with her tongue.

Leigh smirks when she feels you struggle for breath, much less for words. Your knees buckle slightly, but she holds you up with a firm grip, guiding you back until you bump against the edge of the bed. 

You know you're on the verge of something that might change everything, but right now, you're entirely Leigh's. There's no space to consider the implications, to remember that she was Matt's grieving widow just months ago. Right now, she's just the girl who holds your attention completely, the one who couldn't get rid of you even if she tried.

Leigh tumbles with you onto the bed, her thighs straddling your hips. With practiced ease, she removes her shirt and bra all at once, leaving her bare above you. The sight strips you of any last coherent thought. She isn’t the image of perfection peddled in glossy and well-curated social feeds; her body is beautifully real. Her tits look heavy and asymmetrical, round as grapefruit; her nipples pinkish-brown, pebbled and inviting. There’s a soft fold in her belly, and an overwhelming desire washes over you to kiss it. You think you might die just from looking at her.

You look up at Leigh and tell her, reverently, “You’re so devastatingly beautiful.” 

Leigh's cheeks flush as she tries to hide her smile behind her hair. “You don't have to tell me that,” she whispers. “You already got me into your bed.”

You chuckle, nerves still humming under the surface. “You were just as beautiful when devouring a cheeseburger.” Both of you laugh, the sound light and easy, allowing some of the thick sexual energy to dissipate slightly. 

You find yourself relaxing just enough to admit, “I'm not sure how to touch you right, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Just do whatever feels good for you,” she suggests, her expression softening further.

You scrunch your face a little at her, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s the thing—I haven't been getting much action myself.”

Leigh’s smile spreads wider into something mischievous and you swallow dryly at the sight. She shifts off your lap and settles at your side, propping herself up on one arm to look down at you. “Let me help you with that,” she murmurs, her voice low.

You're no longer smiling, feeling your face flush as you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, Leigh’s fingers trace down to the button of your pants, deftly unfastening it. She gently scratches the skin beneath with her fingernail before sliding the zipper down. You watch as she bites her lip at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear before glancing back up at you. Her pupils are wide, the deep green of her irises barely visible in the surrounding darkness.

“Take them off,” she instructs softly.

You swallow heavily and do as she says, trying not to cover yourself despite feeling incredibly vulnerable. You haven't been naked in front of anyone in so long, and you're embarrassed by how exposed and wet you are right now.

Leigh watches you closely, and you can see the desire burning in her gaze. With her free hand, she reaches for you, her touch gentle, coaxing your thighs open as she trails her fingers up your inner thigh. You draw a sharp breath and close your eyes, expecting her fingers to graze your wetness next.

But Leigh surprises you—and herself—by guiding your right hand just below your navel, her fingers warm and sure on your wrist. Her times with Danny were about dominating and taking, but with you, she wants to give, to watch, to soak up every moan, every breathy reaction, every shiver. She wants to see you take pleasure for yourself, deriving her own pleasure from it.

“Start there,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “Tease yourself.”

Your hand hovers there, and she gives a slight nod of encouragement. As her touch slips away, you begin to explore the softness of your own skin, tracing light circles below your belly button. You utter a soft, “Fuck,” when your fingertips graze your slick, discovering just how turned on you really are. The filthy noises it creates make you whimper.

Leigh watches you hungrily. “You should be doing this more often,” she murmurs, eyes tracing the movement of your fingers now glistening with your own arousal. “You're so fucking hot. It's such a shame.”

The sound of her voice makes you arch your back further, hips bucking as you start a wide circular motion against your clit. Exerting every ounce of control not to come right away, you focus on the sensation of Leigh's eyes on you and the stimulation from your own fingers. You want to hold out, to let her watch you teeter on the edge. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to curb the wave of pleasure building inside you.

Leigh's voice is a soothing command, whispering, “That's it, be patient. Don't rush it.”

“Fuck, Leigh, I’m—” Your words die in your throat as she lifts your shirt slowly, exposing your nipple to the cool air for a brief moment before her mouth engulfs it. The sensation of her sucking, then laving your nipple with her tongue, circling it, mimicking the motion you're doing on your clit, sends a jolt through you. Little flicks of her tongue to the tip of your nipple drive you crazy, and you gasp, your body responding eagerly to her touch.

Your rhythm stutters as she discards her pants and panties in one swift motion, leaving her gloriously bare. The sight of her naked body ignites a strong wave of desire to touch her instead, but Leigh pins you with a warning glare, silently telling you not to stop.

She straddles one of your legs, and you gasp when you feel her warm, wet pussy against your knee as she starts rocking against it. You position your leg to give her better leverage, and she starts sliding against you, her tits bouncing with each motion. Leigh's sucking on your nipple becomes sloppier, more frantic, until she can no longer concentrate and releases it with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N—” 

Leigh’s face contorts in pleasure as her drenched folds meet your thigh over and over, sweat dripping down between her breasts from the strain of holding herself up above you. The sight of her fucking herself against your leg is nothing short of mesmerizing. You increase the movements of your fingers, rubbing harshly at your clit as you watch Leigh, her breath coming in short gasps. Her eyes flutter closed, and a soft moan escapes her lips. The sound drives you wild, and you curve your spine, lifting your hips to meet your own hand.

Sex with anyone else has never felt this good before, and she hasn’t even properly touched you yet. It’s intoxicating, the way she takes her pleasure and gives it to you all at once. You’re lost in the haze of it all: the smell of Leigh’s arousal, her sweat-soaked skin, the sight of her tits bouncing and her face flushed with desire.

With your free hand, you grab the back of Leigh's head, guiding her down towards you. “C-Come here,” you manage to say, your voice breaking with need. 

Leigh obeys, her mouth meeting yours in a frenzied kiss. You swallow each other's moans, the taste of her lips sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. It's this simple, sweet connection of lips that utterly dissolves all your defenses.

A keening moan escapes you as Leigh slides a finger inside you, pushing deep to the third knuckle, causing your head to tip back and break the kiss as the tightness in your belly becomes too much. “Leigh, can I—” Your voice is a mere whisper, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Leigh's eyes meet yours, and she nods vigorously, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, come. Come with me.”

It's too much—the sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s all too much. With a final, shuddering whine, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intense pleasure. Moments later, Leigh follows, her body shaking as she comes, her moans mingling with yours. Leigh’s face is a picture of bliss, her eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. You try to memorize it before she collapses on top of you, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and satisfied sighs.

Blindly, you stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath, feeling Leigh's hot puffs of air tickle your neck as she catches hers. Slowly, you circle your arms around her waist, keeping her on top of you, acutely aware of every point where your skin meets hers, the warmth spreading between you. 

You bury your nose in her hair and breathe in deeply. This act feels more intimate than anything you had done moments ago. The simple closeness, the quiet afterglow, the way you can actually feel her heart beating steadily against your chest.

Minutes pass in comfortable silence, your thumb tracing lazy patterns on her back. Her breathing gradually evens out, each exhale growing softer and deeper. Realizing she's fallen asleep, a contented smile spreads across your face. You press a gentle kiss to her temple, letting your lips linger there for a moment. Carefully, you reach for the covers and draw them over both of you. You hold her close until your own eyelids grow heavy, and you drift off to sleep as well.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Blinded

Azriel x Reader

Summary:

Word count: angst, feeling worthless, yelling, cursing, betrayal, jealousy, big sad people, pregnancy (Elucien), injuries, violence. Yup.

A/N: Honestly? Be prepared. 🤣💕

Again, thank you @sarawritestories for always giving me to kick in the butt I need when I'm stuck! 💕 Thanks @milswrites for the moral support too ily 🥰

Azriel was staring at your lips. Those full sultry lips painted with that same shade of pink Elain loves to wear.

Only, you weren’t Elain.

He tried to convince himself that he could get over it, get over Elain. He could love, praise, and touch another female without thinking about her.

Could he?

“Az?” You whisper, each one of your rapid breaths formed a cloud that filled the small gap between yours and Azriel’s face. His grip on your hips loosened as he snapped back into reality. He gulped down his shame. Shit. Your eyes, so soft, and loving, and pure filled with concern, Azriel’s stomach dropped. “Are you alright?” She stroked his face, his lips. His lips were still swollen from the kiss…

From the kiss that he fantasized about sharing with another woman.

He tried to shake the thought of Elain away, tried to ignore his shadows whispering wrong, wrong, wrong in his ears. He could do it, he knew it. You were kind, very pretty, caring… “Yeah,” He whispered, before attacking your lips once again. The kiss was feral, rough. His lips were crashing hard against yours, teeth clashing, as he tried so desperately to forget about Elain’s softness.

Your heart was beating in sync with the loud, yet distant busy chatting of the crowd at Rita’s, situated not far from the gloomy alley you and Azriel had stumbled out to. The frenzy was too intense for you to wait before touching him, tasting him, smelling him. Your lips parted when the exposed skin, compliments to the deep cut of your dress that barely covered your body, collided with the cool surface. The earthy and vigorous taste of the wine you had imbibed earlier that night filled his own mouth as his tongue caressed yours.

Elain would’ve drank something sweet, or fruity.

He slowly pulled away from you, his thumb grazing the exposed skin on the small of your back. It sent shivers up your spine, and your nipples hardened. He stared at you, observed how red your cheeks were, how his lips had smushed your lipstick, how the smell of you changed from your arousal. But the love and adoration that shone into those eyes, your eyes, felt like a stab in his cruel heart.

He couldn’t do this.

“Let me fly you back home,” His voice was raspy. He tried to give you a genuine smile, and pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, his fingers combing through your now very disheveled hair. “Will you be staying?” He wanted to drown in the cauldron and succumb from his sorrows at the sound of your pleading, hopeful tone.

“Another night, when we’ll both be sober.” He lied. They had talked and danced more than they had to drink, he was far from drunk, and you too. But you just shrugged, offering him a kind and comprehensive smile. “Okay,” Was all that you’ve answered, before he picked you up into his arms and led you through the clear night sky.

He dropped you off, bowed his head, and said “Thank you, for tonight,” before flying away without another word. He didn’t even kiss you goodnight.

—

The sky was clear, and the weather started to warm up in Velaris. You had gone shopping for lighter dresses today, and couldn’t wait to come back home and swirl in them for your Illyrian to see, since he had been too busy to spend the morning with you. There were always piles of paperworks lingering on his desk, you couldn’t blame him.

You turned on yourself in the mirror, admiring the last dress you had to try on. It was the prettiest, the deep blue fabric instantly drew you in. It was the exact same blue of Azriel’s siphons. “So, what do you think!” You beamed, spinning around to look into those pretty shades of hazel dancing in his eyes. Your toes were curling in your shoes, excited to get his reaction on your newest, and now favorite, piece of clothing.

“Mhm,” He hums absent-mindedly. Your face dropped, and your eyes turned a tad more glossy than normal. You lifted your chin up, and instead of exploding with rage, or bursting in tears, you cleared your throat as a last attempt to get his attention.

Desperate, pathetic.

Azriel lifted up his head at last, his eyes quickly scanned you, and he gave you a tiny smirk of approval, accompanied by a small nod of his head. “You look good, baby,” He adds, only for good measure.

Good. Not stunning, not flawless, not delightful, not ravishing… Just good. You noticed how Azriel’s eyes drifted back to whatever paperwork he was doing the second you turned back around to face yourself in the mirror, you noticed how his gaze did not linger on any of your features for one second. The shadowsinger had always been a man of few words, showing his love mostly through actions. But lately… lately he was also a man of few actions.

You gulped down your tears, maybe he was just busier than usual, you thought, and yet… You pinched your arm, mentally scolding yourself for being so selfish. Azriel worked hard, he always bought you anything you’d wish and ask for, even more. He had to work a lot to get you all that. You concluded that you simply needed to be more grateful and understanding.

Maybe he needed space. Maybe you were too clingy. You inhaled, trying to get all of the possibilities of why Azriel was acting this way around you out of your mind, and you exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled. You repeated the action a few times, and once you were sure that your voice was steady enough to talk to him, you did. “I'm going out to see Elain today,” You said, your eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror, secretly analyzing how his body reacted to the second Archeron sister's name.

Azriel barely reacted, only the slight twitch of his fingers around his pen proved your point. Something about Elain was upsetting him, but what? “Have fun,” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand. Azriel tried so damn hard to not think of how Elain’s scent would linger on your clothes for hours, maybe even days when you'll come back from your stupid little play date with her. Tried to ignore the insufferable truth that Elain, even when she belonged to another male, even when himself belonged to another female, to you, still haunted his memories every day, noon, and night.

“I will.” It took every ounce of your self-control to not snap at him. It was getting so hard to ignore that pull, that painful throb in your chest that kept screaming at you more, more, more! But deep down, you knew that Azriel would probably never be able to give you more.

To give you his heart, completely.

—

“How is Azriel?”

Elain's melodic voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Your fingers still plucked at some invasive weeds competing with Elain's stunning flowers for the nutrients, sunlight, and water. But you didn't dare lift your eyes to meet hers, knowing she'd see the lies dancing in your eyes. “Good. Busy, but good,” Which was true, in some ways.

He kept telling you he was fine, and it was true that he was busier than usual, but deep down, you knew he wasn't doing “good”. Elain nodded, the chestnut curls that escaped her bun bouncing on her forehead as she did so. She knew better than to press the topic with you.

“You're… pale,” Her stunning doe eyes burned with concern, and you felt so bad for lying to your friend, even if it was only partially a lie. “I'm fine.”

Suddenly, the air shifted, and a cool breeze ran at the back of your neck, leaving a veil of goosebump on your delicate skin. The sound of Elain's gardening tools clashing to the ground made you jolt. You rapidly lifted your gaze, and gasped when you took I'm the sight of her once brown eyes now turned completely white, the wind flowing through her hair. It was as if she commanded the air itself.

“Leave him,”

Her voice didn't sound like her own, it sounded like nails on a blackboard, scrapping your soul. You hissed, covering your ears, your eyes wide with fear. But you could still hear her voice, and her face was so close. Your body was frozen in place, as if you were hypnotized by those cold white orbs, and your mind screamed at you to back off, to call for help. To call for Lucien, Elain’s mate.

“The shadow male is bound to be blinded.”

The shaddow male could only be Azriel. Was he okay? What was happening? You hated riddles. “Blinded by what?!” You pressed, begging for answers and yet begging for the kind Archeron to come back to her usual self.

“The seer… The shadow male is bound to be blinded by the seer.”

“Elain!” You hadn't heard the grass sweeping against Lucien's fancy leather boots. Nor his hurried footsteps, and breathing, as he not so delicately moved Elain away from you. You landed on your butt, but you didn't take Lucien's actions personally. After all, he was only reacting instinctively as a newly mated male. You swiped a hand on your face, your brain reeling from the information.

Rage, jealousy, despair.

“Y/N…” You faintly heard Elain's voice, her real voice, call out for you. You didn't even realize the tears that rolled down your cheeks until you felt her soiled hands brush against your damp skin. “I need to go,” You didn't wait to be granted your leave before you hastened back inside the River House.

You almost tripped on the marbled floors, your shoe soles were now slippery because of the dew that had coated your heels. You shoved them out of your feets, the coldness of the floors not bothering you for one bit as you kept running, and running through the halls.

Rhysand’s office doors slammed open, making the Shadowsinger, and the High Lord startle slightly. You felt your heart being ripped open when you saw his eyes, on you, filled with worry.

It has been years since he last looked at you, truly looked at you.

“What is this about?” Azriel rose from his chair, his steps towards you careful, his shadows swirling around you frantically. “Elain,” He froze in place, and his pupils shook. “Is she alright?” Her. It had always been her. Her safety, her well being, simply her. It would always be her before you.

The shadow man is bound to be blinded by the seer, not you.

“She is,” You gulped, swiping away your own tears, the tears he yet hadn't noticed. He reached his hand to touch you, but you smacked his hand away, he frowned. “I am not, Azriel. I am not alright. This is not alright,” You gesture between him and you. “I'm done.”

He fell to his knees, his hand curled at his chest as he looked up desperately at you. “What have you done…” His voice shook, his face red with anger, shame even. “What have you done!” He screamed, desperately trying to hold onto the hem of your dress, trying to keep you here, with him. He was angry, furious, at himself, at you, at Elain, at the cauldron that kept torturing his fate over and over again.

The bond snapped into place only for him to tug on the crumbling thread, watching as you reject the one thing Azriel longed for most in this life. A mate.

He fell to his knees, his hand curled at his chest as he looked up desperately at you. “What have you done…” His voice shook, his face red with anger, shame even. “What have you done!” He screamed, desperately trying to hold onto the hem of your dress, trying to keep you here, with him. He was angry, furious, at himself, at you, at Elain, at the cauldron that kept torturing his fate over and over again.

Rhys ran to Azriel's side, holding him back. You stumbled back, ripping the hem of your dress out of Azriel grip. He sobbed, and screamed as his soul was being ripped in half. Yours was too, but the damage had mostly been done throughout those years of being ignored, unloved and denied. Your soul and heart have been broken for a while now. You winnowed away, far away, and never came back.

Good riddance.

Taglist: @berryzxx @thelov3lybookworm @sidthedollface2 @favsrachz

[barblaz-arts]

Hey so... I finally updated my Chaggie fic :D

[jordyn14]

The jig is up | Joe Burrow

Summary: After coming home to Joe after a long week of being away from him, the thought of him ever cheating is heartbreaking and it leads to a big fight that gets somewhat physical. Luckily, there’s one thing that can always make Joe feel better.

Pairing: Joe burrow x fem first person

Words: 6522

Notes: I hope this is nasty enough for you all 🫣🫣 I hope you enjoy 😉 <3

Taglist: @wickedfun9

I walked inside Joe and I’s house in Cincinnati that we bought after a year of being together and immediately dropped my bags on the ground with a big sigh and waited for Joe to come greet me. For the past week I've been in California for a business meeting that I turned into a little vacation so I was so excited to come home to Joe. Although we've face timed so we could see each other, we both were extremely busy; I was busy with work stuff and having fun with some friends in California, and he was busy here with games and practices since he was in the middle of the season, and it was an important one because he’s back after his season ending injury.

Ever since we met each other at one of his nfl games four years ago and had a one night stand that turned into two, then three, then those one night stands turned into romantic dates, we've been together. It only took a year of realizing that we were in love to move in with each other. Some people said we rushed things and would never last. Everyone always said that since he was in the NFL, he was apparently a terrible guy who would eventually break my heart and move onto the next girl. We really proved them wrong. After waiting a few seconds for Joe to greet me with that amazing smile and shower me in kisses while telling me how happy he was that I was home, I decided to head upstairs. It was only 8pm, so he definitely wasn't asleep, but maybe he was showering or watching some game film and didn't even realize I was home.

Before I went to our room, I decided to go to his little office next to our room to see if he was still watching some game film for the upcoming game, but as soon as I passed the room, I heard some heavy breathing from inside. Raising my eyebrow, I walked closer to the closed door and pressed my ear against it to try and listen to what was happening. "Oh fuck. Right there….fuck.” I heard Joe moan from inside of the room. My heart dropped in my chest as I took a step away from the door. My mouth hung open and I felt tears prick my eyes. "You mother fucking cheater." I whispered to myself, my hands beginning to shake. I felt so betrayed and hurt. My boyfriend of four years, who I thought would be the man I grew old with, was in our bedroom fucking some random girl and cheating on me. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe he really was a terrible guy. How could he do that to me after giving me a fucking promise ring two weeks ago. Hey, maybe I even knew the slut in there with him.

I didn't even know what to do. I was frozen in place as I continued to hear heavy breathing and the occasional moan or groan from Joe. Deciding to spare myself, I began to back away from the door so I didn't hear his noises which I loved to hear when I had sex with him. "Fuck you Joe!" I yelled before walking down the steps. I wanted him to know I had found him cheating on me before I left him to live all alone in this huge fucking house that he probably had girls over every time I was gone. I wanted dread and regret to fill his body when he realized I had caught him and that we were done for good. I was a good girlfriend…I was loyal. I never did anything wrong to make him want to do this to me. Yes, we had our fights and sometimes yelled, but I never thought he would do this. I never gave him a reason to. As I began to storm downstairs, I heard the door open quickly. "What the fuck do you mean? Whats going on?” He asked and followed after me quickly. I could hear his heavy and rushed footsteps as he tried to keep up. I turned my head a little bit to see his glossed over and tired eyes he always gets after his orgasm. I loved seeing those eyes after a long night of him fucking me which always ended in never ending cuddles. The thought that I would never be able to have that or see that again made me so incredibly sad. What did I seriously do to deserve this? I should’ve listened to my parents and friends when they told me he was a no good player and to leave before I got my heart broken.

Once I got to the bottom of the steps, I couldn’t take it anymore. I quickly turned around while biting on the inside of my cheek, surely drawing blood, balled my hand into a fist, and punched Joe right in the nose without a second thought. Anger drove me instead of reason and I didn’t even realize what I had done until my knuckles began to throb. Not expecting to be punched by his girlfriend so suddenly, he stumbled back a few steps and brought his hand to his nose which started to bleed a little bit. His eyes widened and he looked at me like I was the crazy one in this situation. “What the actual fuck!" He yelled while putting his whole body into the scream, confused by what was going on. "I know what you did you piece of shit! Where is she? Is she going to come down and introduce herself?" I yelled at him and pushed him in the chest, but this time, he didn't move a single inch, even when I pushed him a second time to try and make a point. I could feel his muscular chest before my hands fell down to my sides, giving up with using force since he was much stronger than me. "Don't hit me, what the hell? I'm so fucking confused right now!" He yelled and put his hands on the top of his head, running his fingers through his long brown hair in distress.

I laughed while looking him up and down. How could he seriously stand here in front of me and lie right to my face. I caught him and all he could do was deny it and play stupid. Typical. I should've known that it was too good to be true, even after four fucking years. I guess he lied when he said he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. It's truly my fault. Although he would never act like it, deep down he was an entitled piece of shit, of course he would cheat and then lie about it to try and save his own ass. What the fuck was I thinking. Joe’s face turned red from yelling and that vein on his forehead that always stuck out during fights or sex made an appearance. Any other time I would find it extremely attractive, but right now, all I wanted to do was punch him again and again until all of the welts, cuts, and blood hid his perfect little face that had everyone falling head over heals. “You are such a fucking lier, Joseph! I leave for a week and boom, it's like we were never together." I said.

Joe began to breathe heavily as he looked down at me with those bright blue eyes and before I knew it, he yelled, "fuck!" I stepped back a little bit as he turned away from me, trying to compose himself a little bit so he didn't completely lose his shit. Every time we fought, he tried so hard not to lose his cool. He always raised his voice, cussed me out, walked away in frustration before coming back full force with his voice. When he made me cry he tried to make up for it then go to his office to release some anger or go to the basement where the bunching bag was. It was because of his horrible communication skills and not being able to express himself properly. I was the only person who could help with those flaws, but now he wouldn’t have me anymore. Part of me felt bad for dragging this on, but I was so incredibly pissed off at him.

"I know you were upstairs fucking some girl! The jig is up, I found out! Tomorrow morning, I'm out of here." I said. Joe just looked down at me like I was missing something, but he was still seeing red and extremely angry at me for hitting him and yelling at him. Then I saw a small smile of disbelief spread across his face and he chuckled slightly, realizing why I was so mad at him. "Oh of course, lie some more!" I said and was about to walk away but and I stopped in my tracks, ready to go off on him for finding this funny. Before I could go off on him some more, that same smile fell from his face quickly and he took a step towards me. “I was fucking jerking off!" He yelled at me. Sucking in a breath, I looked him up and down before pushing past him and running upstairs. "My nose fucking hurts by the way, you gonna apologize!" He called up after me while following me up the stairs. While I ran, he instead walked up the stairs, finding no need to chase after me. I ran into the room, expecting to see some naked girl on the bed, but there was nothing. Only a bottle of lotion and one of my bikini magazines.

My heart once again dropped in my chest, but not for the same reasons as last time. Instead of being heartbroken that I supposedly caught my boyfriend cheating, I felt so incredibly rude, selfish, and I was so angry at myself. I just accused my boyfriend of cheating on me and I actually punched him. I fucking punched him. I've never laid my hands on another person before, let alone punch anyone. After looking at the bottle of lotion for a few seconds, I turned around to see Joe staring straight at me as I stood there. I felt so incredible stupid and embarrassed. "Holy shit. I am so, so sorry." I said quickly as he breathed heavily. I could tell he was so close to losing his shit and going absolutely crazy, especially after I punched him, but he kept his cool. All he did was stand there, jaw and fists clenched while glaring down at me. Before he talked, he tried to take deep breaths to calm himself down, but he was still too worked up. “I would never cheat on you. Ever. We've been together for four fucking years and if you think that I would ever fuck some random girl just because I miss you, you obviously haven't been paying attention to how much I fucking am in love with you!" He yelled, looking me up and down angrily.

I looked him up and down as well as he wiped off the remaining blood from his nose. He looked down at the red blood on his fingers which he smeared around slightly and then just like every fight to release some steam and not yell anymore, he turned around and stormed off angrily to his office where he could be alone and release his anger. Sometimes he would go to the basement where the punching bag was, but he instead headed to his office this time. Joe disappeared down the hallway before I heard his office door slam shut. I could hear him throw something on the ground and I was about to go see if he was okay, but just sat on the bed instead. I sat in my thoughts for a few seconds, knowing he didn’t want to see my face tonight or even for a week. I felt like a terrible girlfriend. I can't believe that I actually punched him and got him all worked up over nothing. I've never accused him or even thought about the possibility of him cheating because I knew he would never, ever, cheat on me. So why would I accuse him? I know I heard him moaning in the room, but I should've known better. I should've known. I felt like such a psychopath. Joe would never even think about getting physical with me or laying a hand on me, so the fact that I got physical with him made me so incredibly disappointed in myself.

I looked down on the bed and picked up my magazine, but immediately dropped it when his load that he shot onto a picture of me in a revealing bikini dripped onto my thigh. "Fucking hell." I said, wiping it off my thigh quickly. But, as I looked down at the magazine and started to imagine him jerking off to a picture of me and imagine the sounds he would make, I started to realize just how horny I was. I was so busy with work and I was so tired at night that I didn't even get to finger myself or use my vibrator. It was the same vibrator Joe bought me when I started complaining about how much he was gone. As I imagined Joe jerking himself off and moaning my name, a throb started to build between my legs. I let out a sigh and crossed my legs quickly, trying to find any form of relief.

After a few minutes, I got up and slowly started to walk to his office where he was probably trying to take his mind off of the fight with some game film or by throwing a ball at the wall repeatedly, which always drives me crazy. As I got to the door, I knocked on it twice before I heard Joe say, "I'm really not in the mood to get yelled at again." I rolled my eyes at his annoying ass and then twisted the door handle, but it was locked. "Joe I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Please let me in." I said with a defeated sigh, resting my forehead on the door. I could hear him typing some things on his computer and the squeaking of his broken chair that should've been replaced four years ago. "Are you going to punch me again?" He asked me. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh at his sassy tone. "Probably not, but maybe." I joked with him, but stopped laughing when I realized that he wasn’t laughing at all.

I could hear him get up from the chair, so I listened as his footsteps got closer. There was a small click of him turning the lock, and then I could hear him sit back in his chair. Slowly, I opened up the door and swung it open to see him facing me in his chair. His arms were crossed over his thick chest and he was slouched down in the chair. The throb started to build as I looked him up and down, admiring him as he sat there, manspread. I then looked down at his hands. Oh those hands. My eyes danced over every single vein that shot up his arm. He truly was like a work of art that deserved to be displayed in a museum.

My mind was so focused on the man sitting in front of me that I barely heard him clear his throat, but it pulled me from my thoughts. "How can I make it up to you?" I asked him. "You can't, not right now at least. I'm busy and frankly, not in the best mood. I wonder why that could be." He looked up at me with that cocky smirk on his face. I tilted my head and then walked closer to him. "I have an idea, it won't require you to ruin a perfectly good magazine though, is that okay?" I asked him. Joe just looked me up and down, and, even though I could see the tent that started to grow in his pants, he still wanted me to understand how angry he was at me. "I'm not in the mood." He said. "Let me make it up to you." I told him and was about to fall onto my knees in front of him when he stood up, towering over me. "I said, I'm not in the mood."

I looked up at him and made eye contact with him and put a hand on his chest. Occasionally, he loved it when I took charge, so I decided to go with it and make him let me make it up to him. "Sit down, Joe." I demanded, pushing him back slightly. As he sat back down in the chair, the smirk got even bigger and he looked up at me with those amazing blue eyes. Continuing what I wanted to do before he stood up, I dropped down to my knees in front of him and put both of my hands on his thighs. I tried to spread them open, but they wouldn't budge. Making eye contact with him again, I glared at him and then leaned back on my heels. After a few seconds, he sighed and spread his legs open for me.

With a smile, I reached forwards and pulled his cock out of his pants. I couldn't help but gulp at the sight of it right in front of me. Although it was extremely hard, the size and weight of it weighed it down and I could see the dots of pre-cum on his slightly red tip. Getting closer, I opened my mouth slightly and swirled my tongue around the tip of it while giving the base of his cock a few lazy pumps with my hand, knowing he was far too big to fit the whole thing inside of my mouth. "Fuck, don't tease." He groaned out at the feeling of me licking circles around the tip. I watched as he started to tense up and grip onto the arms of the chair. Deciding to listen to him, I slowly took him in my mouth and went all the way down until his tip hit the back of my throat, and started to bob my head in and down quickly, slurping and sucking him into oblivion.

Looking up, I could see his eyes roll into the back of his head, and when I licked up the long vein that started at the base and went to the tip, he let out a groan. Knowing he loved it when I did it, I started to rub the sweet spot on his cock, gaining another groan to fall from his parted lips before I took him in my mouth once more and started to bob my head up and down quickly. Although I was going at a pace that seemed efficient, Joe reached forwards and gathered up all of my hair into a makeshift ponytail and started to force my head down farther on his cock while exasperating my movements. I let out a moan and made eye contact with him, struggling to take it all. "Be a good girl and take it for me, you can do it. Keep breathing." He said, encouraging me to keep going.

As I continued to make eye contact with him, I opened my mouth farther as he pushed my head down onto his dick, his tip hitting the back of my throat with force each time, making me gag occasionally. Tears and mascara ran down my cheeks, but joe reached down to wipe them away. After a few more seconds, Joe started to thrust back up every time my head went down, meeting me with force each time until his hips started to buckle. "Just like that pretty girl." He groaned out as I felt him twitch inside of my mouth before I could feel his warm liquid being shot into my mouth. I pulled away from his mouth and was about to lean over to spit out his cum when he grabbed my chin gently and turned my head to look back at him. "No, no, no...swallow." He said. While making eye contact with him, I allowed the salty and warm liquid to flow down my throat.

Immediately after I swallowed, he stood up and then held out his hands to help me up. Reaching up, I placed my hands in his and he lifted me off of the ground with ease before he turned me around and put both of his hands on my hips, digging his fingers into my skin impatiently. "Pull your pants down and bend over the table." He ordered quickly. In a rush, I pulled my pants and undies down as fast as I could and bent over his table. He then pushed his computer and everything to the side. My thighs were coated with my own arousal and all I could think about was his dick inside of me. "Please." I sighed out while I began to squirm.

All of a sudden, I could feel his thick fingers slide through my slick folds, trying to see how wet and needy I was for him. "You're so fucking wet for me." He groaned as he continued to curl his fingers so they were going inside of me a tiny bit, teasing me just like I did with him. "I need you." I wined, fidgeting in front of him while I leaned on the table. Without warning, one of his hands found my hip and gripped tightly while forcing himself into me. "Oh fuck!" I moaned out loudly as he filled me up and stretched me out so incredibly much. He didn't even give me any time to acclimate to his size and started to thrust into me with force. Soon, both of his hands found my hips so he could drive my hips back towards him to meet his thrusts, gaining loud moans to fall from my lips every single time. Joe leaned his full weight onto me as his hips met my ass each time, wanting me to take every single inch of him. "You're so fucking tight." He groaned from above me as I clenched around his dick.

Every time he snapped his hips against mine, he hit my g-spot, making me weak at the knees. "F-fuck." I moaned out and moved my hips forwards instinctively as a mixture of pain and pleasure washed over me. "You can take it. Stay still." He groaned while he wrapped an arm under my waist, pulling my hips back and holding me still as he continued to rut into me. With every hard thrust, he let out groans freely, knowing the effect it has on me. Hearing him be vocal during sex always drove me absolutely insane. Joe grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, wanting me to look him in the eye as he fucked me. He loved looking at my fucked out face. The way I winced and moaned every time he hit my g-spot, making me nauseous sometimes.

As soon as we made eye contact and I saw how he was biting on his lower lip in concentration, I felt a knot form in my stomach. "Faster." I moaned out breathlessly, knowing I was close. Joe dropped my hair so he could fuck me faster and then he leaned down and rested his head on my shoulder and started to slam into me. "Oh fuck!" I cried out. With each thrust, a loud cry escaped my lips. I was unable to control myself as he fucked me into oblivion. Pure ecstasy coursed through my veins and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as I was pushed against the desk. There was pain, but it was good pain. Pain that drove me mad. "I-I'm so close." I moaned out. Knowing I loved when he did it and because it makes my orgasm even better, he reached down with one hand and started to rub slow and gentle circles into my clit. "Cum for me baby." He groaned into my ear while thrusting into me.

It only took one more thrust for me to release the knot in my stomach. I let out a loud moan as my whole body began to shake. "Oh Joey." I moaned. Before I could even fully come down from my high, Joe turned me around so I was facing him. Before continuing, he looked deeply into my eyes, looking for approval, and when I nodded, he picked me up forcefully and before we even got to the couch in his office, he forced his cock into my soaking wet walls while he carried me. "Oh my gosh!" I moaned out as I hid my face in his neck, continuously moaning inaudible things. While we walked, his hands that were gripping my hips tightly lifted me up and down on his cock and he said, "look at me, you know I love to look at you pretty girl." He said.

Once he got to the couch and I forced myself to look up at him, he sat down on the couch and pushed my hips down on him, making me sink down on his hard cock. I let out a loud moan since he wasn’t letting me go at all and just looked up at me while I struggled to sit with his dick all the way in me with no movement. “Are you sorry for punching me and screaming at me?” Joe asked me. I lifted off of him slightly and, Looking into his eyes, I opened my mouth to talk but all that came out was a moan as Joe forced my hips back down onto him. “I’m sorry, Joe. I’m really, really sorry.” I said, feeling terrible for what I did, but my face flushed red from finding this so incredibly hot. The way he held my hips onto him so incredibly tightly and forced me to take it while getting another apology out of me.

With a nod, Joe released my hips and rested them on the top of the couch, taking turns between looking me in the eyes, and looking down to where we were connected. "Ride me like a good girl then.” He smirked. Taking a deep breath, I started to rock my hips forwards and backwards, starting slow and steadily getting faster. I bit my lip hard and put both of my hands on his chest as I started to bounce on his dick. Every time I went up, I braced myself to fall onto his dick because every single time he hit my cervix. I let out continuous moans of pleasure while he watched me ride him. "Mmm, you feel so good." I moaned loudly, throwing my head back as I went into sensation overload; Feeling him fill me up and stretch me out while rocking my hips.

As my legs started to feel weak, I instead put both of my hands on his thighs behind me so I could continue bouncing up and down. Joe, knowing I couldn't go on for much longer, took matters into his own hands and started to meet my hips. "Joey!" I cried out at the feeling of his dick ramming into my g-spot. Joe let out continuous groans while watching my fucked out face and thrusting up into me. Every time I went low on him, he thrusted his hips up towards me, filling me up and stretching me out each time. Within a few seconds, I felt the same knot come back. All I had to do was look into Joe’s eyes and he knew I was close, so once again he dropped his hand to where we were connected and started to rub slow and gentle circles into my clit with his thumb. The added stimulation drove me over the edge and in a matter of seconds, I was crumbling onto his lap as my orgasm crashed over me.

My whole body shook once again and I screamed in pure ecstasy, seeing stars everywhere I looked. While I road out my high, Joe held my hips down on him so he was all the way in me, and I loved it at first, but it became too painful. Opening my eyes, I put both of my hands on his abdomen and tried to lift myself off of him, slightly over stimulated. "Take a little break, baby. You're doing amazing. You're doing so good." He encouraged me, giving me a small smile as I breathed heavily, starting to feel weak. I focused on my breathing when I lifted myself off of his dick and rested on his abdomen, needing a little bit before I could go another round. My chest rose and fell quickly and before I knew it, he had his hand dropped down to my heat and was rubbing slow circles into my clit and running his fingers through my folds, trying to make me more wet and worked up so it didn't hurt. I always envied people who could go more rounds because I knew Joe could go all night without a break. I wanted to give that to him, but I wasn't able to.

As he rubbed circles into my clit, I closed my eyes and began to let out continuous sighs. It was just the right amount of pressure too, because soon enough, I could feel how wet I was, and Joe could tell too since I was sitting on his abdomen. "I need you." I groaned out, still able to go another round. Joe, still extremely horny and hard, immediately grabbed me by the hips and set me down on the couch on my back and crawled on top of me. The chain he was wearing dangled in my face, tuning me on even more. "Are you ready?" He asked, checking with me first since he knew I didn't have the stamina he did, although I could tell he wanted nothing more than to fuck me. It was so hard to take my eyes off of him and his hair that dangled onto his forehead while his chain swung above my head, but I forced myself to nod and make eye contact with him.

After I nodded my head, he picked up my legs and threw them around him and I immediately braced myself, knowing he was going to fuck me hard. Just like I thought, he quickly thrusted into me, once again giving me no time to acclimate to his size as he picked up speed. "Don't stop." I moaned out as he continued to rut into me. I felt so full and stretched out as he fucked me. Part of me hoped he would cum soon, though, since I knew pain would replace the pleasure soon. “Take it for me, you can do it." He groaned into my ear before he thrusted into me harder than before, making me arch my back. I then put my hands on his back and started to dig my finger nails into his back, surely leaving scratch marks and blood in their wake. I sealed my eyes shut and furrowed my brows as the pleasure started to slowly get replaced with pain. After a week of not having sex, my body wasn't used to this.

"Holy fuck!" I cried out, digging my finger nails into his back more. I wasn't worried about leaving scratch marks all over him or drawing blood. Joe loved when I marked him up, maybe even more than when he marked me up. While he loved seeing hickies on my body, he was obsessed with looking into the mirror in the morning and seeing all kinds of scratches and welts on his back that I left.

Although I did love this feeling, It was getting harder to take, and Joe could tell. "Take it a little longer." He groaned into my ear while slamming into me, hitting my cervix with the tip of his cock with each snap of his hips. My eyes rolled into the back of my head while he fucked me and my body moved around like crazy, being manipulated by Joe as he moved my body up farther and farther on the couch as he fucked me so extremely hard and fast.

When I started moving too much, he grabbed my hips to stop himself from moving me too much and rutted into me just like before, except this time I didn't move up and he went even deeper inside of me. There were so many times where it felt like he couldn't get any deeper, but then he would find a way to go deeper and hit a new spot. "Joe." I moaned out in a serious way, the pain was slowly becoming too much and I needed some relief. When he looked into my eyes while breathing heavily and saw my expression, he quickly dropped his hand down to where we were connected and started to rub circles into my clit again. I let out a loud moan at the feeling, some of the pleasure returning, but it wasn't enough.

Tears streamed down my face as he fucked me harder than he ever has. This was a lot. It hurt a lot. But I loved it. I couldn't wait until he would cum, but I still loved it. I loved the way he made me feel. I loved how he fucked me until my whole body shook. I loved how he fucked me so hard that I couldn't walk the next morning. When I felt a knot in my stomach, I arched my back and lifted my hips up to meet his thrusts. I screamed in pure ecstasy and tried my best to hold my orgasm back a little bit. I knew I couldn't go another round, but I tried to prolonged this as much as I could. I forced my eyes open and made eye contact with Joe who slammed into me every time. I went back and forth between looking him in the eyes and watching his chain swing back and forth in front of my eyes. We held eye contact even when he leaned down and kissed me. We both breathed so incredibly heavily into the wet and sloppy kiss, but it was so hard to kiss him back. Angling my hips a different way, he thrusted into me and hit a spot he missed all along, immediately making my orgasm wash over me. "Oh Joey!" I moaned loudly. Our lips were together, but we didn't kiss each other. It was too hard to kiss him in this moment.

My whole body shook like crazy underneath of him, but I didn't feel him ease up at all as he fucked me through my high. "I-it's too much." I moaned out loudly. Joe quickly looked into my eyes and leaned back as he continued to thrust into me. I would say it was too much for different reasons. The main reasons were because I needed him to rub my clit or change positions, or in this case, stop. Once he read my expression and knew I couldn't go any longer and was tapping out, he gave me a few more thrusts, allowing himself to cum while still thrusting into me since It felt too good to stop right away. To make it easier on me, he dropped his hand down to my clit and continued to rub my sensitive bundle of nerves extremely slowly and eventually, I felt another knot in my stomach.

Within a few seconds, his thrusts slowed and got sloppy and before I knew it, I released the knot in my stomach and I felt a twitch inside of me. My whole body once again shook like crazy and I sealed my eyes shut, this orgasm was more powerful than the others. My whole body coursed with pure ecstasy as he pulled out of me, both of our liquids dripping down my legs and onto the couch that would definitely need to be cleaned. The both of us breathed so extremely heavily as we came down from our highs and I was exhausted, although I could tell that Joe could continue on for hours. "Are you okay? You did so good." Joe said, knowing he could be too rough sometimes. "I'm exhausted...but that felt amazing." I said breathlessly as he fell by my side on the couch and put an arm under my head so I could rest my head on it.

We just gazed into each other's eyes for a few seconds, needing to catch our breaths before we could talk. "Was that a good enough apology?" I asked him after a few minutes, still feeling bad for accusing him of cheating and punching him. “I can't believe you fucking punched me," he chuckled while holding his nose that was bruised from me, and there was still a little bit of dried blood, "but yes, that was a very good apology." He said. I could tell that his eyes were getting heavy. “I can't believe I fucking punched you too. I really am sorry. For that, and for accusing you of cheating." I said. All Joe did was nod and smile before leaning in to kiss me gently. When our lips separated, he wrapped his other arm around me and held me closely to him. "I hope you know I would never cheat on you. I love you more than life itself and I would be lost without you." He said.

"I know you wouldn't. I should've just walked into the room and 'confronted your cheating ass,' like I wanted to so I could've seen that you were only jerking off instead of punching you over nothing." I said, using air quotes. "I love you either way, and by the way, after the initial shock of you punching me wore off, it was actually extremely hot. I got a fucking boner just thinking about you punching me earlier." He chuckled. My eyes widened a little bit, shocked by what he confessed. "I love you too," I laughed with him, "so does that mean I can punch you more often when you make me mad or annoy me?" I joked with him, pushing his muscular shoulder a little bit. Joe looked like he was contemplating whether or not I was allowed before he looked me dead in the eyes and said in a serious tone, "absolute not." I rolled my eyes with a laugh and snuggled up to him, burying my head into his neck. "I love you so incredible much." He whispered to me. I yawned and then whispered back, "I love you more." From above me, I could feel him shake his head. "That's impossible."

[hazbinshusk]

Hell wasn’t a happy place by any means, but these simple moments with Husk were as close to perfect as you could imagine. You were laying on your back in the middle of the bed, the red light of the afternoon casting the room in a soft, rosy pink through the drawn curtains. You’re propped up by a couple of pillows, soft enough to almost lull you into sleep, a book in your hand. Husk is a comfortable, reassuring weight on top of you, his legs bracketed by your own. His wings are for once relaxed, spread out across the sheets and his tail waves lazily back and forth between your feet.

His eyes are closed, but for once there’s no crease between his brows, no agitated tilt to his ears. No, there’s a small smile on his lips and he leans into it when your fingers tease through the fur between his ears. He’s lulled by your slow, steady breathing, and in turn you find yourself relaxing with the steady thrum of his purring.

Your fingers find the sweet spot behind his left ear and he keens, his whole body shifting against yours as though hoping he could find some way to get even closer. You lean down to bump your nose against his and he lets out a soft trill at the feeling, his eyes opening slowly.

“Sorry, minou,” you murmur, smiling down at him and smoothing your hand down over his cheek. He lifts his head slightly, and his purring doubles as you scratch under his chin. He tilts his head down to press a kiss to the middle of your palm. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He hums, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Never gonna complain when it’s you, doll.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

You set your book aside as you scratch behind his ear, your other hand coming up to card through the fur between his shoulder blades. Husk groans, rolling his back under your touch.

“Ohhhhh, darlin’, you’re spoilin’ me,” he mumbles, his wings fluttering at the sensation. He buries his face in your chest and you feel his tail wrap loosely around your ankle. You chuckle quietly as his hands take hold of your waist, squeezing at your flesh in a gentle show of possessiveness. His eyes roll back slightly before closing again, snuggling further into your embrace as he breathes out a low, quiet, “Fuuuuck…”

“Such a good boy,” you coo, closing your eyes too as his wings settle over your again. He groans quietly at your words, his ear flicking just once. “Love you, Husk…”

“Love you, baby,” he mumbles back, his words running together as he lets himself be soothed back into easy sleep. “Love… you..."

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Shifts In Perspective

Summary: Sam holds a Phantom protest.

...

“I just… I don’t understand it,” Valerie says.  “We’re enemies.  Right?  Like we actually are.  But I swear he took that hit for me.  There’s nothing else he could have been doing.”

Danny, for his part, has adopted his usual strategy when Valerie starts talking about Phantom: say as little as possible.  So instead, he just makes a small noise of acknowledgement.

“I just don’t know what to make of it, is all,” Valerie says.  “I mean, I don’t know.  Does it sound like him to you?”

Stopping you from getting hurt by one of my parents’ weapons?  Yeah, that sounds like me, Danny doesn’t say.  Instead, he adjusts the bandana that hides his hair over the sunglasses that hide his eyes and says, “I don’t know.  Not from what you’ve said of him before.”

“I know,” Valerie groans, turning so her board flies into the alleyway in between the buildings ahead.  Danny tightens his grip around her waist from behind so he doesn’t fly off.

“And he put himself in harm’s way too,” Valerie continues.  “I don’t understand it.”

“I don’t either,” Danny says.  And because he can’t help asking, “So uh, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Right now?  Nothing,” Valerie says, taking them up over the next building.  “But it was definitely weird.  I want to know more.  Maybe… maybe I’ll just pay closer attention, watch him for a little bit.”

Well, that doesn’t say anything about what he should do.  He really doesn’t want to manipulate Valerie’s feelings in regards to him, even if her no longer actively hunting him sounds nice.  But he can’t see any clear direction for ‘I’m going to watch to see what I can learn.’  Obviously he’s not going to suddenly start being nefarious.  But if he does more good deeds than usual, that’s manipulative, right?  But it’s not like he can just ignore it if people are in danger, and he can’t just stop fighting ghosts.

Honestly, there are times he wishes he hadn’t found out who Valerie is just because of the headache of trying to figure out how to act around her anymore.

“That sounds like an okay idea,” Danny says anyway, because he has to say something to that.  “Just be safe, okay?”

“Aww, are you worried about me?” Valerie asks, and Danny can hear the tease in her voice even through her mask.  “Don’t worry, Danny.  I’ll still kick some ghost butt.”

Danny smiles a little.  “I have no doubt about that.”

Valerie laughs, and flies them both down to an alleyway a little ways from the school.  Danny hops off, and after making sure no one’s around, takes off his sunglasses and bandana.

“Thanks for the ride to school,” he says.

“No problem,” Valerie says, retracting her suit into her backpack.  “Sure beats the bus, huh?”

Danny grins.  “You said it.”

They walk the rest of the route to school, holding hands until they reach the parking lot, at which point they let go.  Danny did manage to ignore his guilt at the idea long enough to tell Valerie he doesn’t want Sam and Tucker to know they’re dating.  Valerie asked no questions, which Danny appreciated.  But that means all their dates take place outside school, and inside, they act as they always have— or, as they always have since they became friends.

So as they part ways in the hallway, Valerie turns and gives him a bright smile, says “See you at lunch,” and that’s that.

Danny grabs his stuff from his locker and starts heading for his first class, when suddenly, as he’s walking past the janitor’s closet, he hears a very clear sob from the inside.

He startles and turns to face it.  He doesn’t hear another sob, but there’s some very obvious muffled breathing.

“Uh you okay?” Danny calls.  He knocks gently on the door, only for it to swing open, the person inside clearly not having shut it all the way.

The person inside whirls around, and Danny stares at her for a minute, stunned.

“S-Sam?” he asks, trying to process what he’s seeing.  “Are you alright?”

Sam pulls in a shaky, horrible sounding breath, and gives him a terrible attempt at a glare.

“Leave— leave me alone,” she gasps, but it ends with her pressing her hand over her mouth in another sob.

“Hey,” Danny says, his hands and concern both shooting up as he takes a step into the closet.  “Hey, what’s wrong, you—”

“I said leave me alone!” Sam screams, and reaches out and shoves him hard back into the shelves of the closet.  Danny wheezes, the wind knocked out of him, but Sam runs out past him before he can say anything else.  Danny runs out into the hall as soon as he gets his breath back, but Sam’s already gone.

…

After that, Danny doesn’t see Sam for the rest of the morning, which makes him even more concerned.  He looks for a chance to talk to Tucker about it, but doesn’t manage to find one before lunch.  So he meets up quickly with Valerie, tells her he’ll be right back, and heads quickly to the lunchroom to check on her.

Instead, he finds Tucker sitting alone at a lunch table.  He looks up as he sees Danny approach, and looks away quickly after, but Danny can still see the nerves on his face.

“I haven’t seen Sam all day,” Tucker says anyway.  “Do you think she’s sick?”

“She’s not,” Danny says, looking at Tucker until he draws his gaze.  Tucker looks at him for a whole half a second before looking back down at the table, which has to be a record for lately.

“Actually,” Danny says, sitting down across from him.  “I found her this morning crying in the janitor’s closet.”

Tucker’s head snaps up, and now he’s looking at Danny.  “What?”

But before Danny can explain the little he knows, a box slams down on the table next to them, startling them both.

“We’re having a protest about Phantom,” Sam announces, glaring down at them both from over the box.

Danny and Tucker both exchange a brief glance before turning back to Sam.  Her face hasn’t changed from the firm glare she’s wearing.

“Um, okay,” Danny says, carefully.  “Sure.”

He doesn’t want to ask why, because while he doesn’t see any traces of that morning’s breakdown in her face, the fact that he hasn’t seen her since then can’t be a coincidence.

“You’re joking, right?” Tucker asks, looking at Sam in a way Danny can’t read.

“Absolutely not,” Sam says, with a harsh glare right at Tucker.  “My permit’s in the box, we’re setting it up after school.”

“You and me?” Tucker asks.

“No, all three of us, obviously,” Sam says.  She still hasn’t sat down.  “I’m not just going to leave Danny out.”

Danny raises his eyebrows slightly but doesn’t say anything.  It doesn’t feel like it would go over well to say much.

Tucker, however, does not seem to get this memo.  “Sam—” he starts.

“Great,” Sam snaps instead of letting him finish.  “I’ll meet you out front after school.  Bye.”

With that, she picks up the box again and storms off again without sitting down.

“She’s joking, right?” Tucker says after she leaves, seeming to be directed more at the empty space than at Danny.  Danny responds anyway.

“I don’t think she is,” he says slowly.  “But really, she didn’t look great this morning.  I don’t know if…” he trails off, not exactly sure what he’s trying to say.

Because what he’s thinking is I don’t know if I should take this too personally.

But he can’t say that to Tucker.

He looks after Sam for a moment, but though he can feel Tucker looking at him, when he turns Tucker just drops his gaze back to the table.

But after a second, he nods.  “Okay,” he says.  “After school, then.”

Danny nods.  “Yeah,” he says.  And that’s that.

…

Sam really goes all out.  It isn’t that surprising, especially with how rich her family is, but it’s still rather impressive in the course of a single day.

There’s giant posters with his face— well, his face as Phantom— on them, inside a stereotypical red circle with a line through it.  Sam hangs up a list of major grievances right next to the stage that’s already set up.  There’s stuff like property damage, public disruptions, time taken to finish fights, and a list of every single person who’s ever gotten hurt during a ghost fight.  Admittedly, the last part stings the most.  Danny keeps away from the stage.

He personally is standing at the archway entrance, handing out rubber bracelets that read “Phantom Sucks,” which, well if anything he can laugh at the irony.

And for the most part, he’s succeeding in his “don’t take this personally” plan.  Sure, it doesn’t feel great that so many people show up, many of whom he recognizes.  There’s people who got caught in the line of fire and some whose cars got smashed or store windows got broken.

But for the most part, Danny’s able to keep his mind off it all.  In part because he’s put himself technically out of the actual event, and in part because he’s thinking more about Sam’s slightly manic energy as they helped put everything up.  This still feels like an aftereffect of the way he found her this morning.  Which just makes it more worrying that he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

He’s interrupted while watching Sam up on the stage, making a speech that, thankfully, he can’t quite hear.

“You are kidding me, right?”

Danny turns to see Jazz standing behind him with her arms crossed.

“Okay look let me explain,” Danny says, holding his hands up.

Jazz turns her head to the sky in exasperation.

“Jazz, seriously,” Danny says.

“Fine,” Jazz says, waving a hand at him.  “I’d love to hear it.”

“I found Sam having some kind of breakdown in the closet this morning,” Danny says, glancing briefly back at her.  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think this is really about me.”

“And that means you have to show up why, exactly?”

Danny crosses his arms.  “I’m worried,” he says.

“You can do that at home.”

“Yeah, okay Jazz, thanks,” he says, glaring at her a little bit.  “I’m just waiting until I can get a chance to ask her what’s wrong.  Then I’ll come home and you can lecture me.”

“Who said I was going to lecture you?” Jazz says.  “You’re free to make your own terrible choices.  Have a great time at the Danny Phantom protest.”

She turns and starts to walk away.

“I’m really not taking it personally,” Danny says before she’s too far away to hear.

Jazz glances back at him again.  She looks him up and down for a couple seconds, obviously scrutinizing, before her glare fades just a little.

“Okay,” she says.  “Good.”  And then she leaves.

Danny sighs and leans back against the cardboard archway, shortly before realizing that’s not a great idea when the flimsy cardboard collapses and he falls on top of it on the ground.

“Cardboard, it’s cardboard,” he mutters to himself as he pushes himself back up, and pulls the arch with him.

“Danny?”

Danny squeezes his eyes shut.  Oh, great.

“Valerie, hey,” he says, turning to face her with the best smile he can muster.  “You here for the protest?”

Valerie, however, has a look of slight disgust on her face, which throws him off guard.

“Uh, no,” Valerie says, which doesn’t help in his confusion.  “Are you?”

“Oh, nah, I’m just helping Sam out,” Danny says with a glance back at the stage that hopefully just screams “casual.”

Valerie steps up next to him, and when Danny looks over he sees her looking at the stage.  He’s not sure how he feels about the look on her face.

Sam screams something about how dangerous Phantom is loud enough for the two of them to hear, and Valerie wrinkles her nose.

“Wow,” she mutters after a second.  “I hope I haven’t ever sounded like that.”

Danny blinks.  “Huh?”

Valerie turns to face him.  “Let’s get out of here,” she says.

“Uh, I was actually waiting to talk to Sam,” Danny says, looking back at the stage.  “She… I don’t think she’s alright.”

“Oh she’s definitely not,” Valerie says.  “Let’s get out of here anyway.”

“What?  I can’t just leave her if I know she’s not okay.”

“Sure you can,” Valerie says.  “She’s been awful to you.  I know that, and I don’t even know everything that’s happened between you guys.  She also hasn’t asked for your help.  You can’t be telling me you want to be here.  You don’t look like you want to be here.”

Danny crosses his arms.  “Of course I don’t want to be here,” he mutters.

“Then let’s go,” Valerie says.  “Come on, I’ve had a date idea I’ve been meaning to take us on for a while.”

Danny hesitates.  He looks up towards the stage one more time.

…He’s not getting Sam’s attention any time soon.  And he can always ask her what was up tomorrow.

Danny takes a deep breath, pushes his guilt to the side, and turns to Valerie.  “Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go.”

…

Valerie takes them both a ways away from the protest before she pulls out her board.  By the time she does, Danny’s been expecting it though, so he puts his bandana and sunglasses on and climbs on behind her.  Then he wraps his arms around her so he doesn’t fly off as she takes off.

He wouldn’t be in any danger if he did fly off, but she doesn’t know that, and that’s not really how he wants her to find out.

Valerie doesn’t go nearly as fast as he can, but she still likes to go fast, and Danny can appreciate the rush of wind in his face as they both head upwards.  For all the problems being half ghosts causes, he’ll never get sick of flying.

They both end up high in the air, high enough that Danny can see the clouds around them.

“Are you nervous being this far up?” Valerie asks as they stop.  “We can go lower if you are.”

Danny shakes his head.  “I trust you,” he says.  It’s only a partial lie.  He knows Valerie won’t let him fall.

Valerie smiles back at him, then hits a button on her board that locks it in place, and sits down, pulling her hood off.  Danny pulls off his bandana and sunglasses and sits down next to her.

“We’re gonna be up here a while,” she says, leaning back on the board.  “For the sunset for me, and then the stars for you.”

Danny grins.  “Awesome,” he says.  He doesn’t have to try too hard to get excitement in his voice.  Even though it may not be his first time stargazing this high up in the air, it never gets old for him.  And doing it with someone is new.  He’s glad it gets to be Valerie.

Valerie grins back at  him, and leans back on her board.  There’s just enough space there for her to lean on her hands, and Danny marvels a minute at how calm she looks.  She doesn’t have any natural abilities to rely on up here.  If something goes wrong with that board, as far as she knows, they’re both in trouble.  He wonders for a minute who she got it from.  She said they were anonymous, but she must trust them for some reason.

“So hey,” Valerie says, bringing an end to his thoughts and drawing his gaze to her.  “Can I ask you something?”

Danny nods.  “Sure.”

“When you talked before about someone who makes you feel like you’re just around to vent to.  Was that Sam?  And the thing she vents about all the time, was that Phantom?”

Danny looks away.  “Uh,” he says, “maybe.”

Valerie doesn’t say anything for a moment.  When she speaks again, it’s definitely not what he expects to hear.

“Danny, why didn’t you tell me to stop talking about Phantom all the time?”

Danny looks over at her in surprise.  “Huh?”

“You had to be sick of it.  And you had to have not wanted to hear me go on about him too.  Tell me to stop, dumbass.  I will.”

“But you were angry about him because he ruined your entire life,” Danny protests.  “It’s not fair of me to ask you to stop talking about all your problems.”

“Danny, that’s like, what our entire relationship is built on.  We don’t ask about things the other person doesn’t want to talk about.  Why shouldn’t that go the other way around too?”

“Because—” Danny starts, but he’s not sure where to go once he does.  Because our not talking about anything made it so I never realized you were the Red Huntress?  Because our not talking about anything means you still don’t know I’m Phantom?  Because maybe sometimes we actually should talk about these things?

“Danny, I don't want you to make yourself miserable for me,” Valerie says.

“I’m not miserable,” Danny mutters.

Valerie snorts.

“Hey!”

“Well, come on.  I’m not blaming myself entirely.  But Danny.”

Danny looks down and starts fidgeting with his hands.  “You weren’t supposed to notice that,” he mutters.

“I like you,” Valerie says.  “We’re dating.  I’m supposed to pay attention, aren’t I?”

Danny doesn’t say anything.

Valerie reaches out and takes one of his hands and squeezes it.  “Hey,” she says.  “Tell me what Sam and Tucker do that bothers you so much.”

“It’s not their fault.”

“Did I ask whose fault it was?”

Danny moves their hands so their fingers are interlaced and looks out at the sky.  Partly because the sun is starting to set, and partly because it’s easier to talk when he’s not looking right at Valerie.

“We’ve been friends since we were little kids,” he says quietly.  “They’re two of my favorite people in the entire world.”

“But?” Valerie prompts.

“I hate being around them now,” Danny says, wiping at his eyes with his free hand.  “It’s never fun.  It never feels like I can just enjoy the time.  Sam is… angry.  Constantly.  And before, she— I mean she’s always been passionate about things, but this feels different.  And Tucker never looks at me anymore.  And he won’t tell me why or what’s wrong.  And every single conversation we ever have is about Phantom.  I mean, can’t they give the guy a break?  He’s not perfect!  And he shouldn’t have to be!  Why does everyone expect him to get everything right all the time?  It’s too much to put on one person— ghost, whatever,” he finishes with a mutter, stopping himself before he says something he shouldn’t.

Valerie’s quiet for a long moment, and Danny looks away and braces himself for some kind of comment about how he has to keep in mind that Phantom is dangerous, and it’s good that Sam and Tucker are wary of him, and god, he wants to go home and sleep.

Instead, however, Valerie turns him back to face her and pulls him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” she murmurs.

Danny sniffs, and rests his head on her shoulder.  “For what?”

“Making it harder for you,” Valerie says.  “I mean, you still should have asked me to stop.  And I’m not kidding about wanting you to do that from now on.  But I am sorry.”

“You have a reason to be upset,” Danny manages.

“Yeah, I do,” Valerie agrees.  “But there are things I have in my life now that I didn’t have before.”  She squeezes Danny one more time and pulls back, smiling at him.  “I’m closer with my dad now.  And I wouldn’t trade that relationship for anything.  And I’ve got you, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything either.”

“Those didn’t happen because of Phantom,” Danny says weakly.  “You did that.”

“I know,” Valerie says.  “But I’m starting to think… my life doesn’t have to be about him.  I don’t have to define myself based on what happened with Phantom.  And I mean, seeing that protest today, I…” Valerie shakes her head.  “Maybe I’ve been a little hard on him.”

Danny sniffs, and wipes at his eyes again.  “Sorry,” he says before Valerie can say anything.  “I don’t know why I’m crying, ‘s stupid, I—”

“Oh shut up,” Valerie says.  She pulls him back in for another hug, and doesn’t seem to mind when Danny takes the chance to shake in her arms.

“Hey,” she says after a while, and Danny pulls back to see her looking up.  “The stars are out.”

He looks up and sees that she’s right.  He sniffs again and blinks quickly to stop his eyes from blurring.

Valerie wraps her arm around Danny and points up at them with her free hand.  “Which constellations can you find?”

Danny leans his head on her shoulder, and looks to find the stars that are visible.  So high up, there’s less light pollution, and more to see.

“Aquarius,” he croaks, and neither of them mention how terrible his voice sounds.  He points up at the constellation.  “That star there is the supergiant Sadalmelik, and you can follow it down to Sadalsuud.  But you can’t see the whole thing.  We’d have to go further out in the country.”

“Next date, got it,” Valerie says with a smile in her voice.

“And that over there is the square of Pegasus,” Danny says.  Valerie follows his point.  “See it?”

“I think so,” Valerie says.

Danny sniffs one last time and drops his hand.  “Sorry we talked all through the sunset,” he says.

“Oh yeah, I’m real pissed about it,” Valerie says in an obvious tease.  “We have no choice but to do this again so you can make it up to me.”

Danny’s smile fades, and he doesn’t say anything.  Valerie doesn’t say anything else, though, and for a long while they both sit there.

Rather than stargazing, Danny spends it trying to feel better about the decision he’s made.

[magicalrocketships]

How are de aged Max and Daniel doing?

I think about them at least once a day 🥹🥺

Me too, oh, me too. I think about them significantly more than I'm well enough to write them right now, but such is life and anyway, here is a new bit. This was part of something bigger but I think it works quite well by itself :)

All earlier parts can be found in this masterpost and on AO3 here (although i've got a couple of bits now to update on AO3).

It's You And Me (I Know It's My Destiny): Meet The Parents (pt 1)

Pretend you don't know anything about Pokemon, Daniel texts his mum. Max knows lots and lots. 

It might be harder if we had to pretend we did know anything about it, his mum texts back, but when Max climbs onto the seat next to him and asks if it's time to talk to Daniel's mum and dad yet, he looks nervous and a little bit shy. 

"You can go and play anytime you want," Daniel tells him, wrapping an arm around Max's shoulders. Max shakes his head. His cuddly Pikachu has come with him, Max clutching his paw under the table. 

"Are they nice?" Max asks, still holding on to his Pikachu. 

Daniel works quite hard not to let anything show on his face. "My mum and dad? I think so. I think they're very nice."

Max nods. He's been quiet all morning, following Daniel around like a little shadow. When Daniel presses the call button on his tablet, Max tucks his hand into Daniel's. The expression on his face is one that Daniel recognises from grown up Max; his bottom lip jutting out, his frown little and fierce. On grown up Max, it's determination, focus. On this Max, small Max, it's him being scared and trying not to show it. 

Daniel squeezes his hand, and Max, realising he can squeeze back, holds on for dear life. 

"I'll tell you a secret," Daniel whispers as the call rings out, "I don’t think my mum or dad can name a single Pokémon. I bet they haven’t even heard of Pikachu."

Max's eyes widen. 

"I know," Daniel says solemnly, as the call connects. "I think you'll have to tell them all about it."

Max's grip on Daniel's hand doesn't loosen, but he looks serious. He pulls Pikachu onto his knee. 

Daniel leans down and kisses the top of Max's head, and that's the first thing his parents see, Max looking up at him quizzically, Daniel grinning down at him. 

It doesn't matter. They know Daniel's fucked up over this kid. His kid. Legally his for the whole time he stays small. 

There are moments — fleeting but nevertheless there — where Daniel wishes Max wasn't ever going to go big again. 

Losing this is going to break his fucking heart. 

"Hi Mum, Dad," he says, one arm around Max's shoulders. "This is Max."

"And this is Pikachu," Max says, looking up at Daniel uncertainly. 

Daniel winks at him, and Max grins. 

Thanks to @writesharriet for a little bit of Pokemon grammar, and @andwegogreen for reviewing multiple versions of the final sentence. it takes a village etc etc even for a little Tumblr post.

[moonshynecybin]

i feel like maïna sent me an ask/prompt about. SOMETHING. like this for forced coming out au genuinely so long ago but i can’t find it for the life of me so perhaps i simply made that up. anyways here’s a short fic set in that universe about them dealing with the panopticon. and in fact being pda whores in the panopticon. bon apetit

“There’s a photographer over there,” Marc whispers in his ear, breath warm and close. He loops his arms around Vale’s neck as he says it, sounding nonchalant, but Vale knows him better than that by now, can see the tension tucked in his shoulders, hidden in the carefully collected smile on his face.

“Hmm.” He replies, amiably, nosing at Marc’s cheek. They’re in the paddock and they’re together— of course there’s a photographer on them. There’s probably seven photographers on them. Par for the course in years past, but especially these last couple of months.

And Vale’s always believed that if people are going to look, he might as well give them a show.

He lifts a hand and flips Marc’s cap off of his head, setting it down backwards so the brims of their hats arent competing. Marc’s face catches the sun, and Vale leans in to kiss where it hits the jut of his cheekbone because he can— because it’s what he would do, if they were actually together. If Marc was a girl. If any of this had happened the way it was supposed to, for people like them.

His stomach clenches, involuntary. He thinks he can hear the click of a camera firing. Good.

“Now he can see me.” Marc complains, leaning closer. He tries to hide behind Vale, using their height difference to squeeze himself into his shadow, and Vale laughs, tugging at where his hair is starting to curl behind his ears, where Marc’s skin is smooth and warm.

“It’s been a few weeks— We should probably give them something to see.”

“It has.” Marc agrees, sneaking his hands down now, snaking them inside Vale’s jacket and under his shirt. “We should.”

Vale yelps, curves his body inward reflexively. They’re like ice.

“That’s cold!” He pulls a face. Camera flash.

Marc ignores him, cackles an evil little laugh into the fabric of Vale’s shirt around his collarbone. Vale lets him, wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans back in, making sure Marc is the only one who can hear. It’s their preferred mode of communication these days— close, edging on the line of plausible deniability. His lips catch on the delicate skin of Marc’s temple as he speaks, and they’re in public, so it’s okay to keep them there.

“Karen from PR asked the next time we are available, so we can, ah, do another date.”

Just a few months ago this would all have felt like a minefield, but when he raises an eyebrow —a question— Marc just nods easily. Understanding without words. They’ve been getting good at this part, after everything, all the press and performance and years on track, years in each other’s beds. In MotoGP, you have to be adaptable, able to read another rider’s move, know how they’re going to take a corner almost before they do— and there’s a reason Marc and him are the best at what they do.

“We’re in Phillip Island next week— do you want to try out that place we went last year?” Marc responds, voice lower a little more reserved. His fingers edge under the elastic of Vale’s waistband. His hands must really be cold.

Vale nods, even as his chest clenches, resentment and something less empowering spiking through him. Last year. Right at the end. Phillip Island.

Not a good memory.

He lays a hand to Marc’s neck, thumb hitting the hinge of his jaw. Tilts him where he wants him. Marc goes— like he always does, moving easily with him, body pliable everywhere but the track. His brown eyes focus in on Vale’s face, intent. Unsettling, if you know how he catalogs information, if you know how what sort of instincts he has on the bike— shoving in beside Vale on track without a thought. Risking a bit more than Vale’s ever been able to comfortably stomach.

But Vale’s always thrived in high pressure situations, under attention, and the way Marc’s eyes laser on him only makes him settle. Makes him sharper. Clearer. Hot danger zipping under his collar, shivery and sweet. He wonders what Marc will let him do, out here in the middle of the paddock, with a photographer on them.

Marc’s hands flex, where they’re pressed under Vale’s shirt, like he can understand what Vale’s thinking, that same uncanny ability to predict a move rising to the surface. His nails scrape a little, dragging along the skin of Vale’s lower back.

“Let’s do that.” Vale says. He doesn’t really remember what were they talking about. A date, he thinks. Marc all to himself.

Alone.

The careful attention of Marc’s eyes drop to his mouth, then once, quick, over his shoulder. The photographer. Right.

The show.

“Okay,” Marc says, eyes searching Vale’s face, uncharacteristically serious. Contemplative. Like he’s thinking about something. Vale raises an an eyebrow, but before he can say anything the look on Marc’s face condenses, and he leans up to kiss Vale sweetly, open and a little messy.

And this has always been the thing that’s worked most between them. Easy and magnetic. The push and pull. The perfect picture.

And then Marc’s pushing forward, deeper, licking into Vale’s mouth. Kiss skewing dirty, dirtier than they usually get nowadays, making Vale’s pulse jump— a dare. How far are you willing to go? it asks, that same impudent instinct he has when he’s diving up the inside of Vale’s race line coloring the kiss, and Vale answers.

His teeth bite at Marc’s bottom lip, exercising a little more control, and he crowds forward, using his height to push Marx’s head back, hand splayed on the edge of his jaw. Directing him, coaxing him. And Marc relaxes like that, back arching into Vale as the kiss extends. A surrender.

Vale’s got him where he wants him, and he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to lift a thigh, get Marc pressed up high and tight against him, wants to drag him off to his motorhome, see how far Marc is willing to let him go, wants to—

Another camera shutters, louder, closer, and it breaks the thread between them, bringing them back to reality. To why they’re here. Vale clears his throat, and Marc ducks his head.

Suddenly Vale’s chest hurts, feels cracked open with Marc tucked up against him, nose edging inside his jacket to find some warmth against Vale’s collarbone. So solid and warm and real. The only way Vale gets to hold him anymore is like this, for the cameras.

Love you, he lets himself think, probably for the first time. Love you, he doesn’t say. The camera shutters, and he pulls Marc closer into the well of his body.

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for for @glitterypirateduck‘s ‘#GhostChallenge’

Title: Body Heat

Pairing: Ghost X Female Reader (callsign Cypher)

Warning: Canon typical violence, fluff, smut, 18+

Scenario: The heat goes out and it's freezing & Ghost or Reader wakes up in the other person's house/safehouse/etc. after being rescued

Word Count: 2.8k

Your leg felt like it was on fire but there was no time to worry about that right now. The zodiac that you were currently belly down in on the floor is flying up the river but it is rapidly taking on water. There was no way you were going to outrun the helo tailing you, the boat had taken too much damage.

"Ghost we have to bail," you yell out as the helicopter clears the trees from around the bend. "We're not getting to the evac in this."

"Watcher this is Ghost," you hear him come over the comms, "we're four kilometers out from the evacuation site. Boat is fucked, we need an alternate option."

"No alternate at this time," Laswell came back. "Find a place to lay low and-"

The rest is cut off as the helicopter launches a missile that hits the water a few feet behind the boat. It doesn't matter that it wasn't a direct hit, the effect is the same. The aftershock of the wave sends the boat flying up out of the water and you scramble for purchase to try and ride it out.

"Cypher!" Ghost yells out, though it's barely audible over the rushing wind and the gasp you let out as you hit the frozen water back first.

The water feels like a knife stab right to the gut as you sink below the surface. You can barely think as you kick out before flinching at the pain in your calf at the movement, it hurts even more than the knives of cold all over your skin. You stretch toward the surface, your hand hitting a chunk of ice from the flows that were moving rapidly with the current.

"Ghost!" You yell out as you finally break the surface, though it sounds more like a squeak and a splutter as you spit out water. It's too fucking cold to be in the water, you had minutes to get out before you froze to death.

Kicking your legs again you push toward the shore as the helicopter blows past. You turn your head to see if it's going to continue, satisfied with it's destruction but it's circling back. Fuck. You swim faster, though it feels like your trying to lift an extra hundred pounds of weight with each movement. The water is sweeping you rapidly up river but your feet finally hit bottom and you stumble onto the shore.

"This way," comes Ghost's voice as he stomps through the snow and grabs your arm. He's soaked as well and you can hear the tension in his voice as he drags you toward the trees, practically carrying you with your arm slung over his shoulder. The helicopter is coming back and you hear the staccato of bullets hitting the water.

"We're fucked," you mutter as Ghost clears the tree line. You throw out an arm to catch yourself on a trunk before he yanks you onward. "We have to get out of these clothes," your numb fingers on your left hand fumble for your vest but Ghost stops you.

"We have to get out of range," he orders, his eyes trailing back behind the way you came. The snow has messy trenches in it where you both had pushed though but they are tinged red. Your leg was openly bleeding and you'd be a bit more concerned if you could actually feel it. The numbness that you had been hoping for before has finally settled in but now it was making it difficult to walk.

"And go where Ghost? We're in the middle of nowhere," you stumble but his hand digs hard into your side to hold you up. "Fuck it's cold," you mutter as you see your breath puff in front of you with each word. "Didn't ever picture human popsicle was the way I'd go," you say with a false laugh as bullets start to pepper the trees.

Ghost drags you deeper into the woods, trying his comms as you both stumble and slip over snow covered tree roots. His voice sounds like it's coming from far away after a bit and you only know he's there because you can feel him pressed against you. His own body shaking hard from the cold and you can feel each involuntary tremble as he continues to tout you along.

"Little more," he grouses and you blink slowly up at him realizing he's slapping your face to get you to look at him. How long had you been walking? How was he still walking? Maybe just a small break, both of you could use a rest, your knees buckle at the thought.

"Knock that shit off," Ghost snaps as he hauls you back on your feet again. "Cypher," he warns as you buckle again, your grip on his body slackening from lack of energy to hold on anymore. Your knees hit the snow and the last thing you see before toppling down further is Ghost scrambling to catch you.

Cold. That's all you can think as soon as consciousness hits you again. Then the pain follows a few moments later and you groan as you shift trying to figure out where you are. Something is holding you back from being able to move too much and you push against it weakly.

"About fucking time," a voice comes to you and you realize what you are pushing against is soft and while it isn't exactly warm, it's warmer than you are. "Going in my report you're sleeping on the job," Ghost says simply as you tilt your head back to look up. You hiss as your soaking wet hair hits your back before his hand comes up to lift it up and away before fixing the blanket wrapped around you to keep your hair off your skin.

"Where are we?" You ask as your body wracks with shivers again and you curl your arms tighter against your chest to try and hold in some heat. That's when it hits you that your hair had hit your bare skin and your hands are pressed between more of your own bare skin. And Ghost's. Was this one of those mortifying dreams when you realize halfway through you were naked?

"Old hunting cabin," Ghost answers as his arms tighten around you, his hands splaying on your back to rub some warmth back in. "You passed out on me, had to carry you the rest of the way," he explains as he looks down at you. His face is free of his balaclava, the eye black smeared and splotchy down his cheeks. Your eyes trail down to see he's also shirtless as he has you pressed tightly against him. "Been out for a good while now, didn't even flinch when I tied up your leg. Through and through shot," he tacks on in explanation.

You shift a bit on him, as if to lean down and look at the wound, when you realize you aren't only shirtless. The blanket scratches the skin on your hips and you can feel his curls against your own pubic bone. You're completely straddling him and tucked tightly to his body in every sense of the word.

"Body heat," Ghost says simply, as if he is not fazed by the fact his sergeant is fully naked pressed against his own naked form.

"I hardly think," you splutter as you move to pull away. Just the few inches you create between your bodies sends a jolt of goosebumps down your body and you see the same reaction over his chest. You may be inside somewhere but it was still cold enough to see your breath. The scant body heat you were sharing was not going to linger if you were apart.

His hands slide down your back and grab your ass to tug you tight against him again. You huff at crass gesture before giving in and pressing tightly against him, your arms moving to wrap around him as well. He shifts so your fingers can fit between his back and the wall and you rub at his back a bit. His skin feels frozen and you can feel the muscle twitching in an attempt to generate some warmth.

"It was this or we both froze to death," he says. "Can't light a fire, the helicopter is still circling," and as if someone turned the volume back on in your ears you hear the whir of the blades overhead. "And while you were resigned to be a popsicle, I refuse to let that be the final entry on my service record."

"How long until extraction?" You ask quietly doing your best to not think about the fact Ghost's hands are still on your backside holding you tight to him. Or that you are nuzzling your face into his chest as your fingers dance over small ridges and valleys of scars on his back.

"Not sure," Ghost answers as he looks down at you. "Johnny is going to have a field day when he finds us," he smirks at the thought which only makes you groan a bit. "I mean you can put on the soaking uniform if you want," he inclines his head at the red tinted snow fatigues.

"No," you answer quickly. Even now, the places where your skin isn't touching Ghost's are frozen, you can only imagine trying to put those back on. You shift a bit on him trying to find more skin, more warmth, to burrow into. He flexes his grip on you for a second before sliding his hands slowly up your back to your shoulder blades. It's a soft gesture and you feel yourself arch to it despite yourself.

"Just for the warmth Sergeant," Ghost says after a second, obviously feeling the subtle shift of your body.

"Right, of course," you answer back. If you could see yourself you knew you'd be bright red. "Sorry, I didn't mean," you continue before Ghost adjusts himself and you realize he wasn't admonishing you. He was saying that however your bodies were acting it wasn't your fault. You were pressed in a compromising position because you needed the body heat and you couldn't help what was happening outside of that.

You swallow as you both sit in the silence, listening to the helicopter circle overhead. How many times had you thought about this? Perhaps not this exact scenario, but getting Ghost alone and his body pressed against yours. It was a thought that kept you company many nights, different situations that always ended up with you panting under him. He barely paid you any mind aside from the job so it was just a fantasy that occupied your lonely mind to pass the time.

Yet, you could feel him pressed up against your center. Feel how his hands shift to rub at your sides and the sweep of his thumbs graze over the sides of your breasts with each pass. You grip his back a bit harder as his hands move down to now run along your thighs, his fingers massaging some heat into them as he works his way from your knees up toward your hips.

"Lieutenant," you barely breathe into his neck and you feel him twitch against you. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold goes through you and you press your hips against his length and hear the small gasp of air that escapes his lips. His pulse is jumping in his neck and you dare to brush your lips over it and he grabs your hipbones hard in response. "Just body heat right?" You ask softly, your lips still whispering along his skin. "Just us trying to keep warm."

"Right," Ghost nearly growls as he flexes his up into you and you sigh against his neck. The blankets shift as he moves to grab your face to make you look at him. You stare at his hazel eyes, watching as he surveys your face as you slide your hands from behind his back to wrap around his neck. You are careful to keep pressed against him in all the movement, not wanting an ounce of heat to escape your small cocoon. "I don't want you to," he starts but cuts off as you grip the back of his head and pull him in for a kiss.

This may not be exactly how you wanted him, but you were going to take what you could get. He doesn't hold back from rolling your hips over him now, his hands helping move you knowing the injury to your calf. You whine into the kiss as he moves your effortlessly over him, the head of cock passing over your clit over and over working you into a frenzy.

Ghost dares to slip a hand between your thighs to your core and you gasp into his mouth. He finds the slickness there that he glides his fingers through as he ever so slowly pushes a finger in. You groan as he curls his finger and slowly pumps into you, letting you rock on him as he feverishly kisses you through the pants.

"Fucking warm down here," he taunts as he slips another finger in. "Are you going to share?" He continues as he lets you rut your hips over him, letting his palm give you that friction you were desperate for. "Or just going to let me freeze out here?" He chuckles as you let out a particularly needy whine as he scissors his fingers.

You push up on your knees, ignoring the burn in your leg as Ghost pulls his fingers away. It's a bit awkward as he lines himself at your center, careful to not let the blankets slip as you grab at his shoulders, but when you feel him notched you lean back. The slide in isn't painful, but it takes a moment for your body to get used to it.

Not that Ghost seems to mind you taking a moment to adjust. He tilts his head back at the sensation of you fully seated on him, his mouth slightly agape. You watch him for a second before grinding down on him, biting the inside of your cheek at the fullness.

"Warm enough?" You ask after a second and he lifts his head up to smirk at you.

"So fucking warm," he answers back.

You start slow as you ride him, wanting to savor how his eyes seem to devour you as you move. Commit to memory how those normally cold and calculating eyes seem at peace watching you. Ghost lets you take control at first as you use him for your pleasure and survival, seemingly enjoying being able to to sit back while you put in the work. But as your movements become a little less coordinated and put a strain on your calf he takes over without you having to ask.

Pulling you tight against his chest, Ghost loops his arms around your back to grab at your shoulders as he shifts. You gasp at the first experimental thrust he makes, and he chuckles in response before he beings to fuck you in earnest. He gives you no warning as he thrusts up into you and you cry out loudly against his ear as he hits that spot inside of you over and over.

You can feel the slickness of sweat on you chests as Ghost grunts and groans into your ear. One of his hands slides back down to your ass to help lift you as the other on your shoulder slams you back down on top of him. The rhythm has created an obscene slapping noise but you both drown that out with your moans and gasps.

"Don't fucking stop," you say into his ear as you grab hard at the back of his head, your fingers scratching against the short hair on his scalp. You can feel he's close, feel him twitching inside of you and how he's moving to pull out to finish. "Fuck, please," you say as you move your hips over him not caring about the strain on your injury.

He doesn't stop. He fills you up with a growl that seems to erupt from his chest and you let out a satisfied sigh as he continues to fuck you through it. The additional slickness, and feel of it between your legs, finally gets you over that edge and you come with him with a loud cry that you stifle by biting down into his shoulder. He moves your body over him until you finally come down, shaking from the high of your orgasm and not the cold.

"I told you body heat was the solution," he teases after a moment as you look at him. Both of your cheeks are flushed and you can almost feel the heat wavering off your bodies from under the blankets. You don't move from your position, keeping him buried inside of you as he holds you close.

Just for the warmth of course.

[glorious-spoon]

a miserable pile of secrets [9-1-1 | Eddie Diaz & Hen Wilson | 1/1]

1.8K words | friendship | emotional hurt/comfort | implied/referenced cheating

a miserable pile of secrets [on AO3]

She finds Eddie up on the rooftop, which makes sense, given that Buck is currently working out his feelings on the heavy bag after Bobby finally snapped at the two of them to get their acts together unless they wanted to be benched. Chim's down in the weight room with him, which means that Hen is up here in the warm night air to talk some sense into the other half of their codependent little unit, who is currently perched on one of the folding chairs that they usually leave up here. He's as still as a statue, tense like he's afraid of what his body might do if he lets it move.

"Hey," Hen says, and he gives a jerky little nod of acknowledgement. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks." She pulls out one of the other chairs and sits down. "So."

"Bobby sent you."

"I sent myself," she corrects mildly, and watches Eddie's shoulders hunch a little. "I don't think I've ever seen you and Buck fight like that."

Though the truth is, she really only caught the tail end of it. Buck's frustrated voice rising on, "Do you hear yourself? How did you think this was going to work out? Have you even thought about Chris? What, you were just going to introduce him to her like—"

"Chris? Since when is how I parent my son any of your business?"

"I don't know, Eddie, you kind of made it my business when you put me in your fucking will!"

"Yeah, well, maybe that was a mistake!"

There was ringing silence in the wake of that. Then Buck said something quieter, inaudible from where Hen and Chim were standing frozen outside the locker room door, and Eddie spat, "Go to hell. I'm done talking about this."

The door slammed open and he stormed out, only pausing for a moment when he saw the two of them standing there. It wasn't until he'd already stomped up the stairs to the loft that Buck emerged, scowling.

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped, before either of them could speak.

That was six hours ago. Neither of them has said a single word to each other since outside of the bare minimum on calls. The tension in the back of the truck has been thick enough to cut with a knife, and none of Chim's increasingly desperate jokes has done a damn thing to lighten the mood.

Hen doesn't blame Bobby for being fed up with the pair of them. She's caught somewhere between that and worry, herself. This isn't like them. Either of them.

Eddie shrugs again, tense. "I don't really feel like talking about it."

"Mm." 

Hen kicks her legs out, relaxes into the chair and waits him out. It doesn't take long. Maybe two minutes before he lets out an angry little huff and says, "Marisol dumped me this morning."

"Oh," Hen says. That explains some of the mood, anyway. "Well, I'm sorry to—"

"I cheated on her. She found out."

She closes her mouth. For a moment she just looks at him: his tight jaw, his hands in fists on his thighs, so tense he looks like he's about to snap. Like looking through a warped mirror to a younger version of herself, and maybe that's why she manages some gentleness when she says, "That doesn't sound like you."

"Yeah. That's what Buck said. Shows what he knows."

"Why'd you do it?"

"It doesn't matter. It was stupid. I fucked up."

"If you're waiting on me to tell you otherwise, you'll be waiting a while." Eddie lets out a sharp, bitter little bark of laughter, and Hen adds. "I've been there, you know."

"Yeah. But it's not—Karen forgave you."

"Eventually, yeah. She didn't have to."

"Yeah," Eddie says, and then doesn't say anything else. 

"Is that what you and Buck were fighting about?"

He shrugs again. Like talking to a damn teenager, Hen thinks. Not Denny, with his easy sweetness, but like one of the other kids who come through their home sometimes on temporary placements: already on the defensive, claws out, ready to fight. 

"I guess," he mutters finally.

"You put him in your will?" Eddie scowls at her, and she shrugs. "Hey, if you want it to be a secret, maybe don't have your domestics at the top of your lungs in the locker room we all use."

He scoffs, clearly annoyed, but doesn't get up and storm off, so she's counting that as a win. Finally, he says, "Yeah. He's down as Chris's legal guardian if something happens to me. Since—uh, since I almost died in that well collapse a few years back."

Oh. Hen contemplates that for a moment, squares it up in her head with what she already knows about Eddie. It's not, she'll admit, completely out of left field. But still. "And you think maybe that was a mistake?"

Eddie groans, dropping his head back. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it."

"Maybe you should tell Buck that."

"He's pissed at me."

"Seems mutual."

"Yeah," Eddie says, wry and still kind of irritated. But then he sighs. "You ever do something where you know the whole time you're doing it that it's going to blow up in your face, and somehow that still doesn't stop you?"

"Yep," Hen says, remembering a dark little motel room and the sharp cut of Eva's smile. A whole damn pile of fuck-ups, that relationship was, and she dragged it along with her to almost ruin the best thing in her life.

"I keep thinking I see Shannon. It's like she's just around the corner, like if I turn around fast enough, she'll be there, and I'll be able to go back and make it right. But I can't."

"No. You can't."

"It's been five fucking years."

"No timeline on grief."

"I went on a date with a woman just because she looked like her." Hen raises her eyebrows at him. He slouches lower in his seat. "A couple of dates. It—didn't end well."

"Mm. You mean because she turned out to be a whole damn person who wasn't Shannon, or because your girlfriend found out?"

"Both," Eddie mutters. "Believe me, I already heard it from Buck."

"Oh, I believe it."

"But he's—" Eddie snaps his mouth shut.

"Kind of a hypocrite on this particular subject?" Hen offers.

"That's not what I was going to say. He's with Tommy now. So."

"So?"

"Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Hen would dearly love to interrogate that line of thinking, but she keeps her mouth shut. For a little while, they don't speak. It's a transient kind of peace; their next call could come at any minute. But for now, the city's as quiet as it ever is, lit up and beautiful in the distance.

Eventually, Eddie shifts in his chair, straightens up like he's bracing for something, then says, abruptly, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Hen raises her eyebrows. "Go ahead."

"Have you ever been with a guy?"

"Excuse me?"

"Forget it," he says quickly, hunching in on himself again. "I don't even know why I asked. You can tell me to go to hell."

She almost does tell him to go to hell. Has her mouth open and everything. But then she takes another good look at his face and lets the words dissipate. 

"No," she says finally. "Kissed a couple of boys in high school, but I pretty much always knew it wasn't for me."

"Oh." Eddie's mouth twists. He's still staring a hole in the concrete by his feet, and Hen wishes like hell that this was easier for him, that he could have stumbled into it with wide eyes and open arms without leaving a trail of wreckage in his wake. Buck managed it, but it's not like that for everyone. She knows that.

"Karen was engaged to a man, you know," she says, and she watches him still, watches him turn, finally, to look at her. 

"I didn't know that."

"It was a long time ago. College sweetheart. She called it off a week before the wedding. Broke his damn heart, from what I hear. Probably better in the long run, though, all things considered."

Eddie laughs at that, a raw, horrible little sound. "I was a bad husband to Shannon. I loved her so much, and I still could never—and I always thought that maybe, if we'd just had more time, maybe I could have gotten it right, and we could have been a family again, and it would have been okay."

"But she died."

"She asked me for a divorce."

"Oh." Hen takes a breath, lets it out. Careful, careful. "I didn't know that."

"Nobody knows that. I mean. Bobby does. But nobody else. Because she died two days later, so I never had to—to tell anyone. I never had to admit it. I could keep pretending. But it doesn't even matter, because I've also fucked up every relationship I've been in since. So it's kind of obvious where the problem is."

"Mm. You know what my mama used to say?"

Eddie cuts her a look. "What?"

"Get down from that cross, we need the wood."

When he laughs this time, it sounds a little more real. Hen nudges her knee against his, and for a minute they sit there together in silence.

"I fucked up," he says again, but it's calmer.

"Yep."

"What the hell do I say to Buck?"

Not Marisol, Hen notes. Though the truth is she's pretty sure that whole relationship was dead and gone long before whatever went down this morning. Maybe from the very beginning. Eddie's just got a bad habit of dragging those corpses around. "Sorry might be a good start."

"He's gonna ask why. I don't have a good answer. I can't—" He looks over at her, and all Hen can think is that he looks so damn young. "I can't."

"So tell him that. You know he's not gonna push it."

"Yeah, he will."

"He's worried about you."

Eddie scoffs. "Yeah."

That was, Hen surmises what the fight was about in the first place. Unstoppable force, immovable object. Sometimes she wishes she could just knock their stubborn heads together until they showed some sense.

"He loves you," she says, and Eddie flinches.

"I know that," he mutters.

Hen sighs. "Just talk to him. You don't have to tell him anything you're not ready to tell him, but just—talk to him. Okay? For all our sakes."

"Yeah, okay," Eddie says, sounding defeated. "Sorry about that."

"We'll survive," Hen says. She bumps her knee against his again, and they sit there together in silence, watching the city lights, until the bell starts going off below.

[raina-at]

Nightmare

I've set myself the unofficial goal of hitting all my AUs this month. So have some Spare Parts Boys. All you need to know, though, is that this AU is totally canon compliant until TRF save for two things: One, Sherlock and John were together before the Fall, and two, they live on Titan in the 24th century.

----

It takes a while for Sherlock to accept how much he still has to learn when it comes to anything to do with interpersonal relationships.

Case in point, just because the person you love most in the world has forgiven you for the horrible thing you did to him, doesn't mean it's not still haunting both of you.

John has nightmares. John always had nightmares, even back before Sherlock jumped. John has enough trauma Sherlock isn't responsible for to keep him in nightmares for the rest of his life. 

Like his father's death. Or the incident on Mars that is responsible for his synthetic arm.

John had PTSD and was nearly suicidal when Sherlock met him, on his way down the bottle or his sidearm. Sherlock shocked him out of that state by providing adrenaline on a daily basis. In the beginning, the adrenaline was chasing criminals through the streets of New London and the frozen plains of Titan. Later, that adrenaline included sex. But John still had nightmares, and the bed they shared before Sherlock jumped was often besieged with these night terrors. John would wake up screaming. Sometimes he’d claw at his artificial arm as if he wasn’t sure what this thing was doing on his body. Sometimes he’d whimper and beg for it to stop, whatever was torturing him.

Sherlock hated these nightmares. Still does.

But it’s a special kind of hell when you’re the thing that haunts the person you’d literally die for. When you become the nightmare. 

It’s been a rough few days. John’s clinic was busy, and they had a truly gruelling case, human trafficking, sympathetic victims, and an unsatisfying outcome. They got the local thugs and they freed the victims, but the big fish escaped their net. 

They went home and both of them fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their respective pillows.

Sherlock woke suddenly to John screaming his name, over and over, panting with fear. Sherlock did what he always does, he gathered John in his arms and whispered, “I’m here, it’s all right, it was just a dream. I’m here. I’m here,” kissing John’s brow and breathing with him as he slowly calmed down and fell asleep again, still clinging to Sherlock like he was going to vanish if he let go. 

It’s getting a bit old, to tell the truth. It doesn’t happen that often anymore, but it happens frequently enough to bother Sherlock. He’s also more than a bit disgusted at himself for having the nerve to be annoyed at John’s subconscious. It’s been two years, a small, insidious voice inside his mind whispers. When is this going to stop?

Probably never. That’s the short answer. The long answer that it’s probably going to be less and less frequent, as the scar tissue over this particular wound in John’s subconscious grows thicker.

Sherlock still feels like shit every time it happens. Because it shows him, time and again, that no matter how much they’ve grown and changed and forgiven and promised, no matter how good he’s been, there’s a part of John that still lives in that moment. There’s a corner of John’s mind that’s stuck with the worst thing Sherlock has ever done. 

When he’s sure John is fast asleep again, he gets up and sits in the window seat, watching the clouds race over the murky sky, revealing glimpses of Saturn. Occasionally, a shuttle passes through his line of sight, or a hovercab. The city is quiet at this time of night. Never asleep, but dozing. 

John’s hands are warm on his shoulders, caressing tense muscles with soothing strokes. “Come back to bed,” John whispers in his ear, soft breath tickling against his neck.

“In a minute,” Sherlock replies, making room for John to slip into the seat behind him, letting John rearrange them so he’s resting against John as John’s arms come around him.

“What is it?” John murmurs into his hair, his voice soft and quiet and gentle.

Sherlock knows he could say nothing. He could just take John to bed and distract them both from the dark of the night with the heat of their bodies. Instead, he takes John’s hand between both of his and traces idle patterns over his palm. “It’s always going to be there. Isn’t it?”

He can feel more than hear John sigh, his chest heaving with the deep breath he takes and then lets out, slowly. “Probably.” John meets his eyes in the window’s reflection. “Doesn’t mean I don’t forgive you. Doesn’t mean I want to be anywhere but here.”

“I know.” 

And the thing is, he does know. And it still hurts. Both of them. 

“You know, I have patients who ask me why their synthetic limbs feel pain.”

Sherlock sighs, because he has a feeling he knows where John is going with this. “Are you going to give me another lecture on how ignoring pain is stupid?”

Sherlock can hear the smile in John’s voice when he replies, “I’m that predictable?”

Sherlock brushes a kiss over John’s knuckles. “Never.” Another kiss. “Well. Sometimes.”

John chuckles, kissing Sherlock’s hair. “Well then, Mister I-Know-What-You’re-About-To-Say-Before-You-Do, tell me what I was about to say.”

“That pain is good, because it shows you your limits. That pain reminds you of past mistakes. That it’s a teacher, and a guide.”

“A bit more poetic than I would have phrased it, but shockingly accurate as usual,” John answers, and Sherlock can feel him smile against Sherlock’s hairline.

“I know all of this. What bothers me is that you’re in pain because of my mistakes.”

“I know. And that’s the reason why I forgive you,” John says gently, moving their joined hands over Sherlock’s heart. 

Sherlock says nothing, pressing John’s hand closer against his heart. He can’t express what John’s forgiveness means to him, what this second life they have together has given him. And he knows that the pain he feels every time he watches John live through his death is both his penance and the price he has to pay. He just wishes he was the only one who had to go through it.

“Want to go back to bed now?” John asks, pulling Sherlock even closer.

Sherlock smiles. “In a minute.”

In a minute, they will go back to bed. They will chase away melancholy thoughts and lingering aches with hands and mouths and words of adoration breathed into sweat-slick skin. They will fall asleep entangled and wake together to greet a new day together.

For now, though, Sherlock kisses John’s palm and together, they watch their city doze the night away.

-----

Periodic reminder that I'm collecting all of these ficlets here on AO3.

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[xoxoemynn]

Those who dare spend even one night at Moonlight Cove disappear. The townspeople speak in hushed tones of a creature who lures unsuspecting visitors to a grim fate beneath the sea. Stede Bonnet, seeking adventure in a new town from from his lonely life, is one who dares. But soon he too will be drawn to the moonlit shore.

Written for MerMay 2024, this story is very loosely inspired by The Little Match Girl, but with less death and more mermaids. Many thanks to @monksofthescrew and @petrichorca for their assistance.

Read The Mermaid's Gift on AO3 here.

[leopardmask-ao3]

Day 16 - Wels

Drabble for @hermitadaymay.

Hypno awoke in the middle of the night to an odd noise from downstairs and a fluffy tail in his face. “Okay, okay, Max, I'm up,” he grumbled. 

He stumbled downstairs, following the sound of... crunching? Something breaking? Someone mining through his wall?

Hypno walked into the storage room. Wels - standing in front of a chest - froze.

They both stared at each other for a long moment. 

Wels was holding a thin sheet of deepslate, having clearly been eating it like a cracker. 

He swallowed the bite still in his mouth and held the deepslate out to Hypno. “Want some?”