yandereworlds

[rqnarok]

thinking about being old man!logan’s little housewife...

headcanons - cws/tags: sexual content, mdni! old man!logan. dom/sub undertones. age gap. both characters are of the age of consent. unprotected p in v. 18+ only.

logan’s all worn out. there is no justification made on depicting how done he is with the world. he lives his days in an accustomed routine - dread crawling on his scarred skin - digging the soil for his own grave. 

when he meets you, however, the horror, the panic, and the terror begin to fade away from his blurry orbs—replaced by the sight of your sugary sweet smile. you kept him calm by easing down his drinking and self-destruction. and he just can’t deny you, not when his dick gets so fucking hard when you’re around.

you can’t help it either. the need to fix someone seems very familiar in your generation—so sentimental and at the same time, pragmatic. never accepting ‘no’ for an answer, including when he tries to back you down by saying “ya’ don’t want me, kid. i’m an old dog.” as if sunlight to a plant, it only motivates you. leaving him flushed red and burrows knitted after you whispered filthy remarks to his ear. 

up to the point where he finally tears down his prejudices towards marriage and puts a shiny ring on your finger. 

he turns a blind eye to anyone glancing at him weirdly at how much older he looks compared to you, his salt-and-pepper beard not helping either. when charles notices the changes in him—how he seems to smile more and how hickeys sprawled up on his neck—he just can’t help but make snarky comments about it. logan’s too old for you (or so charles told him), and logan finds himself balking at that. 

“if she doesn’t want it, she would’ve left already.”

he’s right. if you didn’t want it, you would’ve left him. oh, but you stayed. and not only did you stay, but you also took care of him. letting you eat out the palm of his hands. 

greeting logan when he comes back from his blue-collar work, cooking and baking his favorite foods, ironing his work clothes and spraying the fabric with a lovely scent, kissing his bloodied knuckles, putting the prettiest outfit for him as a show, warming his cock when he sits lazily on the couch, nuzzling his thighs while you wait for him to get harden again, and letting him have you anywhere and anytime he wants.

logan keeps a polaroid of you while he’s away. a reminder to himself that he has a home now. he’d keep it in his wallet or his jacket pocket or hanging it on the car’s rear-view mirror. how empty was he to be so full of you now?

he never thought he would live a life like this—like how it is supposed to be. without you knowing, logan added one or two hours into his shift so that he could earn more extra pennies. the money he’ll use to pamper you, to make you feel comfortable and content. let you buy anything you want—all things on your shopping list are checked out by the end of the week.

and y’know, he’s an old man who’s not as strong as he used to be. so you pay for all this hard work by burying your face in logan’s neck as you ride him on the sofa. his head tilts slightly to catch your red-kissed lips with his - logan breathes something about how good you’re making him feel, “such a good little wife f’r your old man.”

he loves to tease you—telling you that you’re making him feel younger than ever when he’s with you, “gettin’ tired already, baby? need me t’do it for ya’?” his murmurs get to you as his large palms cup your ass, getting a handful of the plush skin before guiding you up and down his girth. 

logan knows how tired you can be, especially when you start whining desperately like this, so he gives one or two light smacks for encouragement, “there ya’ go, kiddo. fuck. don’t stop now. doin’ so well, baby. so good.” 

how you always ask for kisses from him ignites that taboo, perverted part of him he did not even know existed. anything that reminds him of how needy you are for him — feels so fucking wrong. but again, it gets his dick so fucking hard, too. he cannot help but to give in. 

“bet no one has ever fucked this pretty pussy like i have, huh? need a real man to do it.”

he’s so fucking smug of himself since he had you. knowing those boys your age wishes that you choose them instead. but he’ll know that would never happen because when he says something like “look acha, drooling over an old man like me. gonna let me fill ya’ up, hm?” your walls manage to grip his girth tighter - squeezing him in so deliciously logan wonders what kind of a heroism act he did to deserve you. 

makes you do a little ‘fashion show’ for him in the living room, parading yourself wearing all kinds of clothes that he bought. logan spreads his muscular thighs wide as he reads the newspaper—and the sight of him wearing his glasses that rest at the tip of his nose is holy to you, waiting to be worshipped. 

you’d come out with a white lingerie that barely covers anything, “do you like it, lo?” whilst you giggle and twirl in front of him, you almost miss how he adjusted his seating position to palm himself through his trousers. telling you, “c’mere here, baby. lemme take good look at’cha, gimme some sugar.” 

by ‘taking a look’ he means hiking up the sheer cloth to inspect your glistening mound, “hm. such a perfect pussy you got here, sweet’art.” probing his thick finger on the wet slick, humming at the dirty squelching sound. the look that he has makes your legs tremble  - his untrimmed greying beard - his vague-looking face scars. 

oh, coming home to you is the best part of his day. always. he’d see you heating the soup you made earlier and loses his fucking mind. turning off the stove in quick movements before hauling you up in his arms. 

skin meets skin slapping fills the room and praises come out of his mouth so naturally, “f-fuck. gon’ stuff ya’ up, darlin'." you’re vulnerable and bare, you can’t even think when he’s got you like this. 

logan would intertwine his fingers with yours. placing them side by side to see the wedding rings. a legitimate reminder that you’re his and he’s yours—forever. 

“good little wife. my good little wife.” 

[postmoe]

In the Next Moment:

Yandere/Alpha Gojo Satoru x Omega Reader

I can't even tell you how long ago I started this. I had no idea how to end it and I took away and added a bunch of things haha. Here is your alpha Gojo Satoru, here to save the day and take you for himself!

omegas are lesser creatures, familial abuse, self-deprecation, like your father in this is literal scum

.

What kind of God deals a life like this? Where status is given the moment you’re born. Where you can be cast away at birth and shoved into a home just for having the wrong scent. It used to be that families would wait until puberty before they knew what breed their child would be. Now? Now they have the technology to make accurate guesses. Not one hundred percent, but, accurate enough.

              In your case, call it lucky or not, your family didn’t send you away to a home. Omega’s aren’t completely useless, and can fetch quite a high penny on the market. Every day you were reminded of your failures as their daughter, that being bred by them should have produced an alpha.

              “This is all your fault,” your mother would say to your father, “Your cousin is an omega, it runs in your bloodline!”

              “How was I supposed to know?! No one ever spoke of them I had no idea until we did the test!” He would shout back.

              It’s a common argument you heard growing up. One that would seep into the marrow of your bones and claw its way into your dreams. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Even though they argued with each other, at the end of the day it came out to you being wrong. You were a curse.

              Eventually, your mother left. Being an alpha with you in the home, it was irredeemable. She had not bonded with an omega like her DNA screamed, your father a Beta and those relationships were never to last if an Omega came into the picture. Just an example of the homewrecker in your genes.

              He would drink and smoke on the couch all day and night. “We had such a happy family, such high hopes for you…” Another swig of the bottle in his hand, “It’s your job to take care of us now. Your mother did everything. Go make some money and bring it back home.”

              Quivering, afraid to even speak in front of him, you had to ask, “B-But what if people find out I’m a- AH!”

              You cower as the bottle smashes against the brick wall next to your head, glass and liquor breaking around while your father stands and screams, “You stupid bitch! Go get blockers, fuck! How hard is it to come up with things on your own? You’re so fucking pathetic, stupid fucking omega,” he continues to grumble as he storms past you, “Clean up this fucking mess.”

              Of course, you’ve thought about running away, thought about life outside of your home. The realism of it is not pretty, though. You’ve seen how omegas are treated on the streets if they get caught, they’re not allowed in the city because their scent can be such a disturbance. You have to be really taken care of to live amongst others. If you weren’t so rare then it wouldn’t be an issue, but unfortunately omegas can’t be shared around to every alpha.

              Getting blockers is probably the hardest job. Most doctors don’t want to sell them to you unless you have a good reason for being an omega, ie; rich spouse, breeding bitch, selling, etc. Anything on the black market is a gamble between being really good or really shit. Eventually, another omega you came across in passing had recommended a ‘hole in the wall’ doctor. They hide down an alleyway in the slums of the city but are open to helping omegas. When you went there it had ignited your fear and you started releasing poor, omega pheromones. Many, hungry looks your way were cast, though thankfully you made it out in one piece.

              Now you were left to try and survive in the wild.

.

“Yo!” Your head shoots up from the stall oven, seeing a familiar head of white hair and blindfolded head.

              Honestly, you were shocked, once people found out the ‘lovely’ attendant at the crepe stall was an omega, they generally never returned. “Ah,” you try not to gape at him, “You’re back. You didn’t come with your, um, students?”

              It’s been a little over a year now that you’ve manned the crepe stall in a deserted park. You think that’s why your boss put you here, because not many people came by so business wasn’t that great; it also gave him a good excuse to berate you when you didn’t meet income quota. Earlier this week you were met with a unique set of customers, one of them being this man and then two younger boys and a girl to whom he introduced as his students – very proud of them. In that same interaction, whilst the students were enjoying each other’s crepes and you were making his, he had suddenly leaned in and inhaled a few times, sniffing you and grinning cheekily, “You’re an omega, aren’t ya?” It shocked you because you shouldn’t be smelling like anything right now, the sugary crepes usually enough to hide and scent that seems to waft from you. Now, he had returned alone, acting as if you were buddies, “My dear students are in a fierce battle! I have made some time to see my favourite crepe omega.”

              His words were too loud, you had to look around in fear that maybe he was trying to let others know, trying to get you boycott. However, no one was there. Was he trying to bait you? Maybe you should just go along with it, “Did you really like them that much?”

              He perked up, arms open in a welcoming stance, “Of course! The food, the chef, both are a delicious snack~.”

              Flirting?! Definitely a joke.

              Your shocked expression must’ve spoke volumes as he laughed at you, wiping a faux tear from his blindfolded eyes, “Don’t be so unsure of yourself. Surely a treat like you gets hit on all the time.”

              “Are you hearing yourself,” you blurt out without thinking. How could he be so casual about this if he weren’t planning something sinister. All the memories of manipulation and abuse from strangers in your life come flooding back, your body subconsciously recoiling in on itself in defence. Your voice is meeker now, “Please, if you’re going to do something just get over with it.”

              The man’s footsteps sound calm as he strides towards you, his hand reaching forward. You cringe in on yourself, awaiting a slap or a hit, only for your body to be taken over by surprise when he speaks, his index finger pointing towards the flat stove-surface of the kiosk, “Your crepe is burning.”

              “Oh no!” You squeal, quickly going to flip it off the surface and onto a serviette. Tears start to collect in your eyes as you think of all the different ways you’ll be punished, “Shit shit shit. He’s going to know! He always knows and I can’t hide it, I’m screwed-“

              Silence engulfs you as you watch, stunned, at the man who picks up the hot and charred crepe, worms out his tongue and opens his mouth, before scoffing it down in a single gulp. He pulls out a few bills and sets them on the kiosk counter, “Whew! In hindsight I should have put cream or something on it. Definitely not as good as the first one I had.” Honestly… What was his deal? He didn’t question your shocked expression, only smiling and reaching out his finger to wipe at a stray tear, using the kiosk to lean over and reach you, “Name’s Satoru. Or, well, Gojo is my last name and tends to be what others go by. For you, cutie, I’d rather be addressed by something more to heart. So, you free after this? I know a great restaurant near here.”

              Your mouth opens and closes, gaping like a dehydrated fish. You didn’t need to look down to see his arms begin to sizzle on the pan, the sound and smell enough to alert you both. Ven so, you informed him with ghostly words, “Your arm is cooking.”

              “Not gonna move it ‘til you say yes!”

              … You couldn’t believe what your day has come to, “Okay.”

.

The restaurant he had decided to take you to was something way out of your budget, and just as you were about to voice your concerns for it, he quickly put his finger to your lips and spoke, “Shh, I know what you’re going to say and don’t worry. I’ve got us covered.”

              Neither of you were particularly dressed for this place, he wearing a black uniform with the neck of it covering his chin, and you in your small, ripped (not by design) shorts and oversized t-shirt. Even with this, the waiter at the front smiled widely at Satoru, “Gojo-sama! What a pleasant surprise. Table for two?”

              You were thankful that the waiter didn’t acknowledge you. No greeting yet no glare or scowl either. Satoru flicked his fingers into guns and pointed at him, “You betch’ya! One of those cosy, independent booths, please.”

              “Of course, right this way.” The waiter lead you through the open area of the restaurant, many patrons idly enjoying their dinner with their loved ones by quiet candlelight, whilst the ones you walked slightly too close to were able to smell you and tell just what breed you were, some even trying to complain to their designated waiter. You just hung your head in shame until you got to the booth, following Satoru’s lead until you heard a door being slid shut.

              Quickly, you turned to face him, seeing that he had shut you both in a secluded area with a table, the walls made of a deep coloured screen that didn’t quite go to the ceiling, yet provided all the privacy one could need in a place like this. “Don’t worry,” he says, walking around to pull out a chair for you, “The owner and I get along real well. I’ve helped them out a few times.”

              He slides the seat in as you sit, and you still can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t done anything bad to you yet. This man has singlehandedly given you the most kindness you have received in your entire life. Perhaps he wants to break your heart in the end, at least you might get a free meal out of it. “I see… Are you a chef? Is that why your hair is up like that and you didn’t flinch when you got burnt?” You knew some chefs were godly in the kitchen and a little stove sizzle wouldn’t quit them.

              Satoru laughed, bringing his hands up to act as a resting spot for his chin, “Nooo~ Not a chef, and my hair just sits this way with the blindfold.”

              Which brings you on to your next question, “Why do you wear a blindfold? How can you navigate like that?”

              His cheeky grin only widens, his hands now moving to sit flat on the table so he can lean forward and whisper, “Would you believe I have… Special powers?”

              This made you quirk your eyebrow, now you were unintentionally leaning in as well, “Huh? Behind your blindfold?”

              Satoru chuckled, leaning back again in his chair as he nonchalantly waves the discussion away in the air, “Ah, I don’t think you can handle this conversation just yet. Oh! I know, how about this,” he holds his hand up, five fingers pointing towards the sky. Using his other hand, brings down his thumb so he was only showing four fingers, “Four more dates and I’ll reveal my eyes to you.”

              Another flustered expression overcame you. You hadn’t even finished this date – this is a date?! – and yet he was already planning more. Subconsciously, you tilt your head away from him, shoulders coming inwards as you mutter, “I don’t have anything to offer you, Satoru.”

              “I just,” he falters, and for the first time he sounds a little unsure of how to say something. Easily, his motions fluid and controlled, like he knows exactly what he wants to do, he reaches for your upper arms and pulls them forward, sliding down the length of your arms until he can comfortably hold your hands, “I just need you to be there. That’s all I want.”

              You swallow thickly, thinking it over. It wouldn’t hurt to see how tonight turned out, and even if you said no, he knows where you work. You suppose you can see where this takes you, until it falls flat like it should for an omega.

.

That night, you managed to tip toe back into your home, your father snoring on the couch. It was a miracle you weren’t berated, at least you had thought so until the morning.

              Cooking breakfast for him, he had decided now was prime time to slam his fist into the archway of the room, making you flinch as he roared, “You stupid bitch, don’t think I didn’t notice you not home last night. Where the fuck were you?”

              What to say… Could you lie? You’d have to lie, he would accuse you of trying to do something shady if you said you had a date. No omega would get a date, especially you, and so that would mean you were planning something bad. Or maybe it was your catastrophising thoughts that made you see it this way, a defence mechanism, if you will. “I was working late,” you tell him, quietly, “My boss is trying to extend the crepe business into later hours for couples on dates.”

              To this, your father scoffs, planting his body at the table as he awaits his meal, “No couple would want an omega to serve them, you might try to make off with their mate.”

              You really did try to hold your tongue, but maybe Satoru’s easy-going behaviour had mellowed you out a bit, “I just thought you might want the extra money.” It wasn’t a smart-ass comment, but no matter what you’d say he would take it as one.

              This morning, he seemed to have had a bad hangover, as he could only growl out, “What was that, you runt? Know your place.”

              Oh, how you desired to spit in his food. You gazed longingly at the bacon and eggs you were making, such a simple meal. Last night you had come home to see new pizza boxes laid around. Honestly, you felt a sort of betterment from that. You had dined like royalty, and he was stuck here eating shit from a sole. If only for last night, you were better than him.

…

“A curse?” You questioned, your wide eyes looking over your teacup. It was an authentic, British set, Satoru had taken you out to a little garden café on the other side of the city. It was amongst some of the historic temples around, the trees making you seem far away from the city and the food a kind of exquisite you had never been privy of knowing.

              He grinned at you, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling from behind his dark glasses, “That’s right! Kind of like a ghost or a monster. They feast on collective, negative energy and such, I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

              You tried to keep an open mind, “And you… Hunt them?”

              “Yeah! See, now you’re getting it,” he grins, excitedly.

              With a smile, you set your cup down and ask, “Are you an author, Satoru?”

              He waved his hand dramatically in the air, “Oh, you flatterer, you. I’m not that creative, it’s just my job.”

              As much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that he was lying to you. Like, this was your third ‘date’ together and he still had yet to bully you or do something horrible. This wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to make you scared and freak out. Maybe he wants to laugh at the weak, little omega and her fear smell. Is that why you were in a crowded café?

              “Hey, hey,” he reaches over, holding your hands in his, “I can sense you’re troubled but not for the reason I’d think. You still don’t trust me, do you, (Y/n)?”

              Your mouth opens and closes, unsure how to word your thoughts. You were caught in a predicament you didn’t want to be in. Of course you still didn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust him after everything you’ve been through. Would he take such offense to that?

              Satoru seems to take your shock as his answer, smiling sincerely at you, “I don’t blame you, it’s okay. That’s why we’re doing these dates! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from now on.”

              Flaming heat erupts on your cheeks, the feeling of his thumbs caressing your skin feeling like an iron, “How can you just say that? You don’t know me and I’m-“ you stop suddenly, looking around you to notice the faces of disgust, you really didn’t need to finish that sentence. Your blockers had grown thin, so now you were cutting them in half to try and spread it out since your doctor was on holiday. Unfortunately, they didn’t prevent the smell of your pheromones enough, it was painfully obvious everywhere you went.

              “Ah, my darling omega, you truly are sweet,” he inhales, smiling contentedly, “Once you realise the world is your playground, nothing else matters. I could kill everyone here and take you away, and as long as no one can stop me – and trust me, they can’t -, anything is possible, and your dreams really can come true.”

              You didn’t know what to say to that, his words always bordering on genuine and humour. Even with the knowledge of Satoru’s like to play, the undeniable dark truth of a true alpha manages to waft in the air.

              Like a switch, he grins widely, all teeth and charisma, “That’s not saying I will, but it’s such a nice feeling, don’t you think?”

              It’s quiet as his words sink in. You think about your life so far, how you couldn’t even get away with greeting someone without a knife to your throat and spitting words of how an omega doesn’t get to speak without their alpha allowing them to do so. As much as you’d like to punch them in the gut, you don’t think you’d really want to kill them, everyone growing under their own circumstance. Instead of getting into political debates, you think you don’t want anymore stares and judgement for today, deciding that even if Satoru is okay to talk to, you’re still uncomfortable, “I suppose so, it must be nice having such strength, and being able to see… Curses.”

The rest of the date was enjoyable, and he even answered some of your questions about the creatures he hunts. Apparently, omegas are prime suspects, easy to feast upon and no one questions when they go crazy, the second lot of victims being alphas that had an omega as a child. You’re honestly surprised you and your father haven’t been attacked yet if that’s the case.

              Satoru drives you home and it’s relatively quiet in the car, the thrumming of the almost noiseless engine enough to fill the silence. You go back to what Satoru says during your date, and now you’re memorising the smells he emitted during your conversation. Before, it was hard to really tell since you were stressing, and the restaurant was full of blooming alphas and betas. However, now it was lingering through the car. He had spoken so easily about death and killing, like it was second nature to him next to breathing. Some curses were sentient, able to talk and think, and then there was the comment about killing everyone else in the restaurant, who were definitely not curses. He was happy, proud even, to have that kind of strength and show it off to you. Tonka bean and vetiver… Perhaps even an orange blossom. It was nice, even if the reason behind it was a little morbid, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and indulge.

              The scent got stronger, and suddenly you were startled by a low chuckle, your eyes flashing open to see you were leaning towards him. Satoru had slowed down in front of your house and turned the car off, his cheeks a flush in the dim light, “Having you relax around me like that feels so nice. I can’t tell you enough how happy you’ve just made me.”

              You open your mouth immediately to say sorry, only to close it after a moment’s thought. He doesn’t smell like he’s trying to bully you or mad that you thought you could get so close to him without repercussions. How much longer can you hold out from someone who is being so kind to you?

              “You don’t have to reply to that,” he tells you, saving you from thinking of an acceptable response. Satoru gets out first, hurrying to your side while you unbuckle yourself to let you out. You smile at him and let him take your hand, holding you close as he closes the door and pushes you against the car. A small gasp is pushed from you, surprised at his boldness. You’re lucky that this neighbourhood was relatively quiet, no one being awake at this hour to see you with anyone. “I really want to kiss you,” he says, face inching closer to you, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold back in the car.”

              Your eyes shift in nervousness, hands coming to press to Satoru’s chest, “W-wait, s’too soon-“

              “It’s fine,” he cuts, not letting you get another word out, smashing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss. Your eyes dilate, his scent and taste making your heart jump with a certain anxiety – excitement – you’re letting your shoulders relax and clenching the front of his shirt as he takes the lead. Maybe… Maybe this isn’t so bad… His leg finds its way between the both of yours and gently grinds down, a small moan slipping from your mouth at the electric feeling. Next, he starts to slowly introduce his tongue to your mouth, the wet muscle a new sensation to you.

              Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain, your gut tightening and your eyes watering as you double over into his chest. Your body is hot, panting, you lean into him and can hardly hear anything. Satoru is speaking, saying something, ‘sorry’ and ‘test’ are two words you think you understand but you can’t focus on sounds. What does help you, though, is the gentle caress his hand brings to your head. He holds you tight, safe, his pheromones echoing security and comfort through your mind. You mumble into his clothes once you feel you’re able to talk again, “Wh-what was that? That hurt so much…”          

              Satoru hums, both hands coming to your face which he cradles and regards you with loving eyes, “Have you ever been in heat, (Y/n)?”

              You sniffle, shaking your head, “No, I’ve taken suppressants since the day they found out what I was. It made puberty really difficult…”

              Satoru’s lips curl into a frown, “I imagine it would. It seems your body jumped into overdrive, the stimulation from kissing alone too much for you.”

              Your arms curled around yourself for some comfort, “My suppressants, they’re running low so I’ve been halving them to spread them out but they’re just making me feel sick.”

              “When did you start halving them?” He asks, eyes now wide with worry.

              “Uhm, I think about a few days ago? But I can’t get a hold of my doctor and it’s hard to find anyone that will willingly prescribe suppressants.” Your head falls into his chest, a feeling of defeat washing over you.

              Satoru pets your head, quiet in thought before he says, “Why not just stop taking them?”

              You have to laugh at that, tilting your head to look up at him, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

              “I’m not,” he closes his eyes, burying his nose in your neck and holding you close, “You’ve got me now, I’ll look after you. Fuck, you smell so good.”

              “Satoru-“ Your wrists are caught in his as he stares you down.

              Or, at least that is what he appears to be doing. You’re stuck in his grasp as you wait for him to make his statement, which he does once your lips smacks shut, “You don’t need to hide who you are anymore. Just think about it, ‘kay?”

              To get him off your back you give an exhale of defeat, rolling your eyes to the side and complying, “Fine. I’ll think about it. Cool?”

              His charming grin is almost enough to even fool you into thinking it was okay to relinquish your omega self to him, “Cool.”

.

Things were not cool. Not long after getting inside, your father had waited to pounce once the car Satoru drove was out of sight. Your vision had waned with the punch he threw at you, your body colliding with the hallway wall. “Disgusting!” He had spat, literally, his saliva landing on your cheek and barely missing your eye. His foot was next to make contact, kicking you hard enough in the stomach that you threw up a little of your dinner, “You reek of a fucking omega! I see you whoring yourself out, slut. Tryna hide the money from me, eh?”

              Another kick had you crying out, this one on your bicep and knocking you back to the ground. You wailed as he bent down and held your hair in a tight and painful grasp, “I’m not! I swear, I have no money!”

              He ignored you, his breath badly stained with alcohol, however, you were certain even without the influence he wouldn’t hold back, “Tryna seduce me? Hm? Your own father? You fucking wretch. If you don’t stop that smell right now I swear to whatever fucking God is out there…”

              You were bawling now, you could only assume your hormones were worse, your own senses dull to the smell of you. It hurt internally as well, your omega working overdrive as you try in vain to calm down so you didn’t have to endure the full impact of emitting such helpless hormones. It may not have worked the way you wanted it to, but, your father seemed to calm down with a sneer.

He threw your head to the floor and began walking away, “If you don’t get back on those fucking meds by tomorrow then I will kill you. I promise you that.”

You didn’t dare reply to that, thankful that he decided to walk away while you were still breathing tonight.

..

How fitting the weather is today, the clouds a dark grey and the skies pouring with rain. You had one umbrella with a hole between two of the spines but it was better than nothing. This morning you left the house with a bag packed and a small suitcase, only the essentials.

              You were on a bus ride to the other side of town to see your doctor. If they weren’t going to pick up the phone then you’d have to arrive suddenly. If he didn’t have the suppressors then you weren’t going to go home, in fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you were going to go back anyway. Perhaps a life on the street was better than this. A woman’s shelter wouldn’t take you in for the fact that you were an omega, and an omega shelter had an 80% chance of being a front for something worse than illegal.

              The bus stops where you need to be, the passengers loudly exclaiming that they’re happy you’re finally leaving. It doesn’t hurt so much today, you just have one thing on your mind.

              ‘Why not just kill yourself?’

              You stop at the thought, in the middle of opening your umbrella, standing in the rain. It was a thought, right? Ending it was always a nice joke but holy shit that voice sounded like it was right by your ear and… genuine. You weren’t exactly scared, a little shocked, sure but, maybe you should bring that up with your doctor, too.

              However, as you got closer and closer to the clinic, you began to think they weren’t open. Though there was the receptionist’s and the doctor’s cars outside, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off and the sign, once you got close enough to read, was saying ‘Closed’.

              Your hand reaches to your heart as you feel it thumping hard in anxiety, your pheromones beginning to linger around you as a thick, steady aura. Thank goodness this place was off the city boarder, not many people around to subject you to bullying and hatred. You look back to the cars again, both of them parked neatly in the small lot. Even if it’s closed, you need to push past your nervousness and gently demand your medication. If you didn’t… Well, he knows just as well as you do.

              You knock on the glass with a firm hit, calling out for good measure, “Dr. Kodoka, it’s me, (Y/n).”

              Silence.

              You knock again, if they don’t want to be disturbed then the earlier they open up to you the better. “Dr. Kodoka, please, I really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency,” you plead, hoping he could tell by the sound of your voice how desperate you were.

              Your gut drops as more silence is your only response. You probably should have tried this first, grabbing the long handle of the door and trying to open it. No surprise, it’s locked. Perhaps there’s a back entrance? Oh, you feel so seedy scrounging around a doctor’s office.

              Past the skip bins there’s a narrow entrance just wide enough for one person between the building and a wired fence. You’re not sure why the wired fence is even here, it’s not attached to anything and only separates a portion of the office from an open wheat field. Luck smiles upon you as you try this door, the entrance clicking open and allowing you to step into the darkness.

              One deep breath before you call out has you positively gagging at the disgusting scent that assaults you nose and mouth. It’s unavoidable, the little bit of vomit that works its way up your throat is involuntarily spat out onto the linoleum floor. What. The. Fuck.

              This has to be the worst experience you’ve ever been through, the tears in your eyes falling freely as you persevere through the smell. You know you need to call the police, you know something like this isn’t normal. However, if you do, and they find out you’re an omega here to purchase suppressants then there’s a good chance you’ll both be dead. It’s happened before, police getting trigger happy or beating up omegas and any allies. Of course, society doesn’t care. More filth off the streets.

              There’s a sound towards the entrance, something being knocked over, as well as some sort of ‘sludging’ noise. Could it be one of them trying to get to the door? Someone must be alive! You quietly move towards the entrance, past the main office, the break room, and peak through the broken door of the reception. It’s horrendous.

              All the gore has been maintained in this area. Limbs, a spine, half a head that has been poorly cut from the top of their skull through their chin- and that’s only the background. In the middle of it all, this giant, wrinkly, slug-like creature appears to be waking up. It has an amass of arms and hands over it’s back and sides, and one twitching on the tip of its tail. The stalks that would be its eyes slowly raise, turning in all directions as if looking around.

              You fall against the door, your entire being freezing up in a shock mode. The thud of your body hitting the floor alerts it to you, and you notice now that instead of eyes, it was wearing the distraught faces of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist still had one of her eyes hanging from their socket, whilst the doctor was completely eyeless, with only a couple of teeth and the tip of his tongue drooping from the gaping mouth.

              It hones in on your position and starts charging at an alarming pace, the only thing you can do is scream your throat raw as your end nears. It’s too horrifying, too real to be a dream you can escape. The creature splits its mouth with human-like teeth in mismatched rows and thrashing hands over its body and you can’t look away from your demise.

              You don’t blink, and because you don’t blink it’s hard to believe anything happened.

              As fast as light itself, a man appears and slashes the slug in half, horizontally through its open mouth with a light so white there’s a tint of blue to it. The guttural scream it lets out is so closely related to a human’s that you are only filled with more fear. The man, who turns to give you a cocky wink and that you can now see is Satoru Gojo, makes a crude display of holding his index and middle finger in front of his face and slowly licking his digits with the flat of his tongue; before slicing the creature up into smaller pieces until it bursts into sprays of blood and nothingness.

              Your hearing was skewed, you barely recognise his footsteps as he walks towards you and bends down to hold his hand out. You tell your mind to grab it, to accept his kindness after saving you but you’re caught in your own sense of dread and confusion as not a speck of blood is seen on Satoru or his white hair, or his devilish smile, or that black coat with the collar sticking around his neck.

              Satoru’s smile softens and he’s sure you can’t hear him when speaks to you, “Ah, I see we’ll have to cut our deal short. That’s okay, we’re only one date off anyway.” He reaches for your hands, placing them both in one of his and stroking the backs with his thumb. He then slowly removes his blindfold and tilts your chin with his free hand to force you to meet his silvery gaze, “(Y/n), sweetheart, look at me. Everything is okay now.”

              His eyes are so blue… White… Silver… They’re like crystals or diamonds or two pools of galaxies – they’re out of this world. His lashes are gorgeous too, and for some reason you feel a ping of jealousy amongst all this chaos because how can a man be so beautiful just by taking off his blindfold. Like a character taking off their glasses to reveal they were beautiful all along. Wait, what are these thoughts? In this horrible situation you suddenly feel like giggling.

              Satoru chuckles, keeping your focus solely on him as he lifts you in his arms to carry you out. People in suits run past you but neither of you pay them no mind as he keeps talking, “What silly thoughts are going through that omega mind of yours?” You laugh incredulously, feeling your body fall heavier in his arms he adjusts you, “There it is, there’s that adrenaline leaving you. I gotcha, sweetheart.”

.

You’re sat on the back of an ambulance with a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water wedged between your legs. A few feet away is Satoru, talking to someone so casually you wouldn’t think he just killed a monster with his own hands; literally. You watch as he dismisses the person and walks back over to you with a smile, his blindfold back on and his hands coming from his pockets to bring you into a side embrace, “How are you feeling? That was quite an experience, huh?”

              Trauma makes people react differently to things, so if this was his job then it makes sense he wouldn’t be so distressed. “I smell of decay,” you sigh, though you weren’t covered in filth you definitely had some stains. Even without the mess, the stale air in the clinic was enough to cling to you. You squeeze the blanket tighter around you, “How could something like this happen? They were generous people. Kind; caring.”

              Satoru seemed to think for a moment, as if deciding what the best thing to say right now would be. Whether it was helpful or not, he opted for the truth, placing one of his large hands below your neck for comfort, “They were helping omegas, and regardless of their personality, a lot of stigma comes from there. Constant stress to keep a secret, harsh words from the few friends and family that know, it all adds up and creates the perfect scent for a curse to trail.”

              “I remember you saying you that they are attracted to negative energy. So, rather than feeding off the energy itself they eat the humans?” You ask, though you already know the answer to that. You just can’t wrap your head around how this is even possible. You recall his eyes, how pretty they are beneath the blindfold, “Is that why your eyes are so striking, because you have the power to fight them?”

              A laugh bubbles from his chest, his hand squeezing your back, “Sort of. Not everyone is like me, though. In fact, no one is like me.” He steps back, arms open wide and head tilted towards the sky, “I’m the most powerful sorcerer to exist! Killing that creature used nothing but a flick of my wrist.” When he looks back to you there is a strange, powerful feeling that emanates from him, even some of the detectives around you seem to tense, “Nothing can touch me. In turn, nothing will ever touch you.”

              What he says should be something kind, words of protection and safety. However, as his gaze burns through the blindfold and into your own, you feel like your breath has been whisked away and your body is being pulled to the ground, trapping you in place for him. It only lets up when your phone begins to ring, and to get out of this awkward feeling of a situation you answer it, “Hello, this is (Y/n).”

              The voice on the other side of the phone makes you almost vomit, your father sounding almost melancholic, “(Y/n)… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that. Come home.”

              You’re at a loss for words. He wants you home? No, that’s a lie, you can’t understand what is going on with him. Something tickles your ear and you jump to see Satoru leaning close so he can listen to your conversation. He smiles at you and nods, whispering, “Say yes.”

              Satoru saved you and promised to protect you. He wouldn’t be telling you to agree if you were going to get hurt, you’d like to believe. So, swallowing your hesitation you reply, “O-Okay, dad. I’ll come home.”

              He breathes a huge sigh of relief, “Thank god, thank you, (Y/n). Thank you so much.”

              You hang up and look to Satoru with worry, “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

              “Nah, I won’t let him,” Satoru says, confidently. You think you can trust him, especially since you watched him take down a strong monster, your angry alpha of a father would be no match for him. He sees you’re still worried, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand and his smile doing its best to calm you, “Let’s finish up here.”

.

By the time you two are at your house the sun was low in the sky. Satoru had parked down the street this time, the two of you walking slowly down footpath to avoid suspicion. You were already on edge, however, when Satoru told you he wanted you to go in alone, you froze up completely.

              He just stood there, allowing you to process what he said. You started by shaking your head, grabbing onto his hand, “No. No, please, you said-“

              “-I said I’d protect you and I will. I’m going to go around the back, you just walk up like everything is hunky-dory, ‘kay?”

              With a squeeze of your shoulder, he skips around, his carefree attitude not exactly lifting your anxiety. One thing is for certain, though, and that’s that you’ve seen him kill the other curse before. You know he can do it. You trust him. Alpha status aside, if you have any friend in this world then it’s Satoru Gojo.

              You take your time going up to the front door, hand trembling as you reach for the knob. It’s unlocked, the door creaking open ominously. You get a cold rush through your body, the inside at freezing temperatures. It’s unnatural, making you step back in shock and shivering in what you could only describe as unease.

              But it’s okay, because Satoru is here. He said he would protect you and the prospect has you feeling your cheeks flush. He’s like… your alpha.

              The inside is quiet, save for the humming of electricity coming from the fridge. You walk slowly in and look around, spying your father in lounge room on his recliner, hands intertwined as he leans forward. You don’t shut the door, feeling just a tad easier with the escape route.

              It isn’t until you’re standing before him that a whistling of wind causes the door to slam shut on its own, the locks clicking in place unnaturally. Your confused look in that direction has him huffing a laugh. Your father doesn’t give you the courtesy of eye contact, “You know that on the day you were born, your mother and I were at our happiest?”

              It’s an odd way to start a conversation, and though you were certain this was a trap of some kind, you don’t know what else to do except respond meekly, “I didn’t know that no.”

              A humourless laugh accompanies the way he sits up, shoulders slumped, and eyes dazed behind you, “No, of course you don’t. We only told you once when you were just a newborn. Once you got your status in life, well… It was too shameful to ever bring up again. We were completely embarrassed we every felt that way about an omega.”

              He’s not just staring off into nothing, you notice the way his eyes look specifically behind you. Is it Satoru, did he come inside? You turn your head, only to go rigid and fall back in fear. Not another one… Not another curse.

              It was too tall for the ceiling, curving over like a hook with its head twisted to be partially upright. Tiny mouths were strewn over its face and down its neck, human teeth in all sorts of odd places like the lips and cheeks of the creature. The main mouth was skewed to the side and grinning openly down at you, and the eyes that are sunken, almost giving a hollow effect, were as dark as a black hole; though you knew instantly that it had its gaze locked on you. Four lanky arms reach from its shoulders, the body a crooked mass of black and its fingers twitching in all the wrong directions with painful cracks of possible bone.

              The worst part that solidified its presence was when it spoke, his voice raspy and words barely tangible, “Dau…ght…er… Path..et..ic ome…gck.a. Delectabblle—dinn….eerrr.”

              You jumped at the firm hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place as the curse limped forwards. Your father spoke in a neutral tone, “It appeared not long after your mother left. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, who to contact or what to do. Eventually, I started nurturing it. It grew with every argument we had, relished in my anger and pain. I let it feed off me and now it wants more. Now it wants you. You’ll do this, right? It’s the only good thing you’re for, after all. It’ll save me, your family.”

              Tears streamed down your face, head shaking as you shifted back. Even with the bit of adrenaline you were able to muster, you were no match for your father, forced to endure the visual of this creature’s fingers itching to get a hold of your flesh. You could only sob, no words coming out, not even to call for Satoru.

              Thankfully, you didn’t have to. Your saviour appears once more, and as though the curse is nothing but a guy on the street, he places his hand on its back and gives a low whistle, “Low blow, dad. And here I was excited to finally meet my father-in-law.”

              There’s a pressure now in the air, one that has you curling in on yourself, and causing the curse’s open smile to turn into a low hanging frown. Its head spins on its neck, trying to get a look at the man that has it. Your father is more concerned about the words Satoru spoke, though, the tips of his fingers digging painfully into your skin, “’Father-in-law’? You whore. I knew you were out selling yourself. Looks like even to the end, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. That’s all going to change, though. Now you and your boy toy can die together.”

              Satoru laughs, and before you can even blink, he appears behind your father and grabs his wrist, easily shattering the bones and causing him to let go of you. You shift to the side, away from both him and the curse as he screams. Satoru tuts at him, waggling his finger nonchalantly in the air, “Parents should protect their children, not sacrifice them. Honestly…” His voice lowers into something almost sad, though you’re wondering if Gojo Satoru was actually privy to that emotion in the first place or if he was just a really good actor, “People like you disgust me.”

              A bright light that radiates such an intense heat envelops the lounge room. Your arm comes up to cover your face, eyes squinting, all you can hear are the pained cries of your father and the garbled curse. It sends fear coursing through your body, even if Satoru is on your side, just what sort of power does he control? The carnage you expect to see once your eyes adjust isn’t anywhere. The light is gone, everyone else in the room is gone, thin burn marks are left where your father and the curse once was.

              You jump at the hand on your shoulder, your saviour appearing once again out of nowhere. He smirks, acting a little flustered, “Sorry, are your eyes okay? I just wanted to show off a little bit.”

              Again, he’s able to treat this like it’s any other menial task. You ask him, voice quiet, “Where are they?”

              He tilts his head at you, a little pouty that your first concern was them and not the praise you should be heaping on your hero. He squeezes your shoulder, comfortingly, “What do you mean? They’re gone, does it really matter where?”

              It takes a few goes on shaky legs, but, you’re able to stand and face him, “I’m just a little concerned what even happened. Watching you fight the other one, I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and now this- … Are they…?”

              “Dead? Yes.”

              You exhale at his blatant response. Is this something you should blame yourself for, the killing of your father and that… thing? Or is that just your life-long need to put any negative responsibility on you for merely being born an omega.

              Satoru wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the lounge room to help your overclocked mind, "Here’s what would have happened if I didn’t do that: The curse would eat you, devour your father, and then go on a rampage hunting primarily other poor omegas. It’s happened before, baby. Besides,” he cups your face in his hands, making you look up at him, “He was a horrible man. No loss. Can you really say you loved him?”

              The only love you had for your father was before your scent kicked in. After that, he was worse than a stranger to you. You fiddle with your fingers, abashedly looking away, “What happens now?”

              “Now,” he excitedly jostles you, the smile on his face huge, “You come with me!”

              Your eyebrows furrow, his goofy attitude somehow lessening the severity of the situation for you, “I can’t just do that.”

              “Sure you can! Where else are you gonna go?” He questions, awaiting an answer he knows you won’t be able to think of. He takes your hands in his and gets down on one knee, “(Y/n), I know it hasn’t been very long, but when I say I’ve finally found the love of my life-“

              Cheeks burning, you push away from him, trying to cover up his teasing laugh with your hands to your ears, “Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop. Fine, I’ll come along with you.” You don’t think you can ever get used to being flirted with, especially in the unique ways that Satoru comes up with.

              He gives you a gentle push, “Go grab some valuables, baby. We’ll leave once you’re ready.”

              Satoru watches as you move up the stairs, grumbling about the sudden use of ‘baby’ he’s started getting attached to. Hah, how he really does love you. His hand comes to the straining of his cock in his pants, palming the ache that’s been prevalent for a while now. Not long now, he can’t way to absolutely ruin you. An omega that’s never had a proper heat, and he gets to be your first toy, just as much as you are his. His luck truly is divine, if anyone deserves it, it’s definitely him.

[arlowthenacho]

that funny feeling

(carmen berzatto x reader)

summary: you thought carmen berzatto was just a hookup. a fuck-buddy. key word, you thought.

warnings: cursing, allusions to sex but not really? its only mentioned a couple times. no smut, intended lowercase, if theres anything i missed plz let me know !!

wc: 1.1k

a/n: arlow thought about carmen spoon feeding them and made it angsty lol. this is rlly short but fret not !! i think this is gonna be a 2 parter, possibly 3 parter? idk, but i think its gonna be a series lol. anyway, enjoy my lovelies !! 🫶🤍

it started as a one time thing. a one-night-stand. a meaningless hookup. something that would and could only happen once.

until it happened again. and again, and again.

because carmen berzatto was a drug, and you were addicted to him. you craved him like lungs crave oxygen, but you weren’t sure that the feeling was reciprocated.

because if carmen berzatto was a book, he’d be written in code. scrawled in a language you didn’t understand, in writing to confusing to decipher. because carmen berzatto was nothing if not confusing.

a sudden vibration on your nightstand pulls you from your thoughts as you swipe open the screen. a text from carmen. shit.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

you up?

fuck. shit, shit, shit.

you quickly sit up and type back a response.

yeah.

you hold down the backspace button. too simple.

i wasn’t until you woke me up

pop. too accusatory.

i am now. whats up?

good enough.

you click send and set your phone back down on your bed, waiting for a response.

bzz.

the reply was almost instant. maybe that scared you a little bit.

your finger hovers over the screen, debating whether to open the text now, or just forget about it until the morning.

the former won.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

can you come over?

oh. oh.

you don’t know why you expected anything different. it’s not like you were dating him. even though you wish you were. in his eyes, you were just a casual hookup who he occasionally called for something not relating to sex.

you heave a sigh and shift your eyes back over to the phone in your hands.

yeah, ok.

sent.

you don’t really care if it sounds passive aggressive, or angry, or disappointed or whatever else it could sound like to him. to be quite honest, you just want to get this over with.

you quickly change out of your pajamas into something more presentable. a white sweater, blue jeans, throw in some lacy undergarments and you’re heading out the door and into your car.

you turn on the ignition and start the short drive to carmy’s apartment. you have his address memorized, (which you will deny is creepy until your dying day) so you don’t need to use a gps.

you turn on some music and try to distract your racing thoughts. its not like this is the first time you’re meeting him. no, far from it. but you don’t think your brain has processed that yet, because your heart is pounding and fluttering like a bird caged within your chest.

you finally make it to his apartment after what feels like an hour, and you’re standing—quite awkwardly—at carmen’s door, your fist hovering over the wood hesitantly.

after a full minute of standing at the door with your arm raised, you decide to bite the bullet and knock on the damn door.

so you do.

and he answers instantly. like a fucking gentleman.

his hair is tousled, and he runs a hand through it nervously. his eyes somehow look even more blue in the shitty light the hallway of his building provides, and it’s driving you crazy.

he is gorgeous. he is perfect. he’s all the synonyms for beautiful you can cram into one human being.

“hi,”

carmen’s voice is deep and gravelly, still thick with sleep even though he’s probably been awake for some time now.

“hey,”

a beat passes.

“can i-?”

he jolts up from the doorway he was leaning on.

“oh, yeah. shit—yeah, come in. sorry.”

an apron is tied around his waist, a gray sweater fitting loosely around his frame. it makes his eyes appear bright, like gleaming pools of sapphire that you want to spend every pretty penny on.

nonetheless, you smile politely and step into his apartment.

no matter how many times you’ve been here, the first thing you notice is always his bookshelves. more so, the books. cookbooks, magazines, culinary textbooks and newspaper articles litter his floor and decorate his walls.

the second thing you always notice is his ever-growing collection of denim. jeans and jackets make up most of his wardrobe, and are crammed into whatever space he could find.

after looking around his small apartment, a smell hits your nose.

its…pasta?

no, that can’t be it. you were just here to fuck, right? the food was probably for someone else. for work, or somebody he wanted a real relationship with. not you.

the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

you sigh, disappointment crashing into your heart like waves against rocks for the second time tonight.

despite that, you’re the first to break the silence.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you cringe at the tone of your voice. it sounded exactly how you felt. disappointed, hurt, maybe a little bitter.

“what? sorry, couldn’t hear you.” carmen leans down to you to hear better, his breath a faint whisper against your skin. your breath hitches.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you repeat, a tad louder than before.

“oh. no, no, no. no, that not—that isn’t—” carmen seems to be at a loss for words, and he feels like a total dick.

“we aren’t?” you’re confused, but hide it well. you raise a brow pointedly. “then why’d you ask me to come over?” for the first time in a couple of minutes, you notice where you followed him.

“i—just,” he searches around for something.

a spoon, full of some kind of red sauce. he cups his hand under the utensil to catch anything that drips, and urges you to come closer.

you’re in his kitchen. his safe space. his fucking sacred space.

and suddenly a wave of confusion and frustration and hope is erupting within you. so many emotions and so much fucking hope. hope that this could be something more. hope that maybe you were wrong. silly, foolish, childish hope that enthralls you completely in its deceitfully warm embrace.

he’s still holding the spoon to your mouth when he speaks.

“can you try it? it’s something for the bear. for the new menu. wanted your opinion on it.” he looks nervous, like he wasn’t the one who invited you over. like he isn’t currently the one lighting your cheeks ablaze and causing your to heart implode under the sheer force of your adoration for him.

“oh, um, yeah. of course.”

he smiles. a close-lipped thing that makes you want to kiss it off of him.

you move to take the spoon from him, but he gently shoves your arm down against your side, says “open up,” and puts the spoon in your mouth.

the food is great. more than great. but you’d be lying if you said you were paying attention to that.

because carmen fucking berzatto just spoon fed you. like a couple.

and now the domesticity is crushing you, mind, body and soul.

because you’re in love with carmen berzatto.

and by some miracle, he might be in love with you too.

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST

Unchained Melody (Part One)

Summary: It had been almost two years since you had become overwhelmed by motherhood, fleeing from both your husband and son in attempts to escape the suffocating blanket of worries and self-doubt that had enveloped you. With a life now filled with poverty, you scrimp and save every shilling, every penny to make the costly weekly journey to catch a glimpse of your son from afar at the market. But your usual Sunday trip back to Birmingham suddenly turns your life upside down for a second time when you are unexpectedly faced with the presence of your husband and his refusal to let you do anything but return to Arrow house, back to him and your son.

Warnings: Language, angst, smut, mutual pining, postpartum depression

Word count: 4993

Authors Note: This series is inspired by another oldie but goldie, "Unchained Melody" by The Righteous Brothers. Tommy's feelings will be heavily influenced by the lyrics of this melodic and timeless song throughout the story. The song Y/N sings to William is an old British classic called "I do like to be beside the seaside" .

"Calling at Birmingham New Street ladies and gentlemen, Birmingham New Street " the ticket conductor shouted walking briskly along the carriageway, going from coach to coach announcing the last and final call. One year, seven months and fifteen days. You thought to yourself picking at the frayed upholstered chair you was sitting on as a single solemn tear slipped over the curve of your cheek down into your lap, escaping the pools of your eyes too quickly for you to brush away. Not now Y/N. Don't start. You scolded yourself, not wanting to bring your fellow passengers' attention to your escaping emotions as you let yourself sink into the guilt you had been keeping tightly against your chest for almost two years, keeping it hidden from the vicious judgment and critical eyes it was undoubtedly worthy of as you did every Sunday you made the journey back to Birmingham, every Sunday you desperately tried to get a glimpse of your son from afar. Brushing the steady flow of tears from your face, you turned your head to the window, wiping the condensation that had built up on the tempered glass to see your reflection staring back at you, cruelly forcing you to see what you had become. Ragged clothing, unkempt hair and chapped hands, reddened from the countless hours you had worked night and day laundering linen for people that resembled your former self. You were unrecognisable, a far cry from the woman you once were, the wife and mother you once were. Broken and beaten, you were barely getting by with the hand life had dealt you. How had it come to this?

Nineteen and half months ago...

"He's crying darling. Y/N?" Tommy said, walking into the nursery after a relentless day in the city to find you in the rocking chair, aimlessly looking out the window as your son wailed loudly in your arms. You were starting to worry him. He'd been so occupied trying to make things legitimate for his new family that the long days he had spent with his head buried in paperwork were slowly turning into long sleepless nights stuck within the four walls of his office. The birth of his son had ignited an unstoppable force within him to keep the two people he loved the most safe and away from the wickedness of the world he himself played a role in, all at the behest and advice of those around him. He just had one more thing to do, one more thing to finalise, then he would stop. He'd promised himself.

"Tommy..." You muttered, blankly looking up at him as he took William from within your hold, the sudden quietness from his father's comforting warm arms snapping you out of your trance-like state. "He's hungry" you said as you picked up the small brown bear among all the various necessities needed to care for a child of only four months. "He just...he won't feed properly. Won't settle" you huffed, internally blaming yourself as you wiped the front of your blouse, reaching for your son, then suddenly recalling, afraid if you took him he'd start crying again. Was it you that unsettled him?

"He dropped his bear love, that's all. Maybe getting some teeth as well, ey little man?" Tommy said, looking at William as he tried to diffuse the criticism you were undoubtedly burdening yourself with. "Hey, c'mere" Tommy sighed, pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as tears welled in your eyes. You were slowly drifting away from him, he could feel it. But with Tommy being a man true to his time, he felt powerless as to what to do, what to say. Stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on. The British way...maybe the wrong way. You'd pull through, wouldn't you? "We'll fetch him some warm cow's milk or a wet nurse, so you can get some sleep"

"No. No Tommy!" You angered quickly at the mere suggestion of anyone but you feeding your son, determined to battle through whatever it was that had a grasp on you without aid. "You think I'm a bad mum, don't you? You think I can't look after him?" you sobbed, your temper and fatigue spilling over into an angry display of pointing fingers and high emotions. You knew you were being unfair, you just...you couldn't help it. You needed an outlet for your mounting frustration, and unfortunately for Tommy he had the unlucky pleasure of being at the receiving end of it.

"Darling, I never said..." Tommy huffed, before you took your son back into your arms and your position in the rocking chair, your eyes fixing on a small light in the distance beyond the grounds of Arrow House as Williams bottom lip wobbled and his whimpers resumed. What would he do without you? Tommy reflected, a sudden feeling of guilt washing over him for all the nights he had spent away as he watched you in admiration, humming a soothing tune to his son, your fingers stroking gently over the curve of his ear and massaging the soft cushioned lobe until his cries quietened and he fell asleep. You were just tired, the small surprise weekend away in Blackpool he had planned in a few days time for the three of you would see an end to your worries. Sea air and sandy beaches, just what any doctor would order. Then he'd stop, he'd try harder. He'd promised himself.

" Fuck baby...you feel so good" Tommy moaned against your ear, his labored breath hot against your skin. "Let me make you feel good eh?" He said breathlessly, sliding his finger down between you both as he pressed on the small bundle of nerves swollen from his thrusts. Just relax. You told yourself. And for the love of god, stop fucking thinking too much. You berated yourself once again as you closed your eyes, a feeling of guilt pooling in your stomach from the little attention and affection you had given your husband since the birth of your son. One month since you were last intimate, one full month since you had let him get close to you. Had he been with someone else? Your brain quickly panicked at the thought of him with another woman when a hard thrust from Tommy had you moaning into his shoulder, your hands threading through his soft hair as he kissed down your neck sending a ripple of goosebumps over your body.

"Wait...Tommy not there" you pulled his head up as his tongue swiped over your nipple. "Shit" you huffed as a trickle of milk flowed down your cleavage whilst you frantically scrambled for the freshly laundered sheets to wipe away your embarrassment.

"Y/N, darling, it's ok" Tommy chuckled, kissing tenderly around your swollen breast as he rocked his hips into you, his thrusts suddenly intensifying when his eyes darted down to between you both. "Stop. Let me see you" he said, pushing your self-conscious hands away from shielding your stomach from the small scars you bared from nine months of carrying his child. " Fuck sweetheart...look at you" He moaned watching himself drive in and out of you, his wet length glistening, the sight sending a surge of pleasure through his throbbing cock. He's so into it. Why? Was he just saying these things, was he thinking of another woman? Your mind plagued you as you reluctantly kept your hands by your side. You felt like shit, looked worse than shit. That and your mind was elsewhere, to a never ending timetable of feeds and nappy changes you seemed incapable of getting right. As the room filled with the moans of your husband and the sound of his body basking in the awaited comfort of you he'd been patiently longing for, your eyes drifted over his lean shoulders to your suitcase covered by the netted curtains of your grand bedroom window. With the sudden fear that you had already made your decision, you turned your head to your husband, crashing your lips onto his as you held tightly onto his broad frame. Would this be the last time? The last time you felt the weight of his body on top of yours?

"Tommy..." you whimpered, a tear falling down the side of your cheek, desperate to tell him how much you were struggling as he gasped at your sudden eagerness, unaware of your inner turmoil in the throes of his own pleasure as a surge of electricity fueled by adoration pumped through his body, his imminent high quickly approaching. With every part of you clutching onto him, tightly clenching you both to a daze of heightened arousal, you let go, loudly crying your husband's name.

" Fuck...i'm gonna, Y/N I'm..." Tommy moaned incoherently into the curve of your neck as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh and his hips came to a sudden stop, releasing the built up tension he had been desperate to be rid of inside the tight warmth of your body with a shaky groan leaving his lips. "We've still got it eh?" Tommy chuckled breathlessly moments later as he settled down beside you, pulling you into his strong hold.

"Still" you replied quietly as you turned your head to look at him." I love you" you said longingly, your voice catching in your throat as you buried your face into his chest, hiding the shame in your eyes of the choice you knew you had made.

" I love you too. Y/N what's..." He said, tilting your chin up to look at him, cutting his words off and what he really wanted to ask, as the glazed over look in your eyes sent an uncomfortable heavy feeling of worry to the pit of his stomach. The far-away look in your eyes frightening him more than any enemy he had ever come up against. You were just tired, he'd call Polly tomorrow morning to come and help you with the baby. Tommy reassured himself as he held you tightly in his arms, his hand cupping the side of your head as he pressed a yearning kiss to your temple. This weekend would fix everything.

" Y/N...baby's crying..." Tommy mumbled half asleep as he rolled over, so used to you being the first to bolt up and hurry to your sons' whimpers. A dairy cow in human form, a living comforter to aid your son to sleep. You couldn't help but feel as you rubbed the fatigue from your dry eyes, another surge of guilt hurtling your way for thinking such things.

"Shhh darling, mummy's here" you said flatly as you approached his bassinet, picking him up and cradling him in your arms. "Please William, please stop crying. I'm so tired, I'm..." you sobbed, caressing his soft skin as you placed the tip of your finger to his mouth for him to suckle on. "What do I do? Help me William" you cried quietly in desperation, rocking him back and forth in your arms as you looked up at the ceiling, tears streaming down your face, your mind absent from the fact you were doing it, you were doing everything any mother would do in an attempt to soothe their child. Why couldn't you see it? "I don't know what's wrong with me" you sobbed to yourself, sniffing away the tears as you looked down at your son, his finger holding tightly onto yours as Frances the housekeeper listened outside the nursery door, her hand firmly enclosed around the handle, every part of her wanting to enter and magic your distress away. The thousand yard stare, they called it. She had seen it with her sister after the birth of her niece and then she saw it with you, the moment Tommy returned to work, popping your little bubble of the three of you lying in bed blissfully happy within the comfort of one another. She'd talk to Tommy in the morning. She promised herself as she backed away from the door, and back to her duties. She promised.

"Oh I do like to be beside...the seaside. Oh I do like to be beside the sea" you sang quietly, your bottom lip wobbling with each passing word. "I love you, I love you so much" you cried as you placed your son back into his cot, pulling out your handkerchief with your name embroidered delicately in the center for him to hold, hoping the scent of you engraved into the light fabric would comfort him in your absence." I'm sorry William, I...I can't be the mother you need " you sobbed as his little fingers clutched around the small piece of cotton. "Daddy will look after you, better than I can" you said as you bent down, placing a tender kiss to his head. "I just need a little break, a small one. I'll be back, I promise" Your voice broke, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gently glided your finger over his ear, caressing his soft skin and gently lulling him into sweet dreams and slumber. "Goodbye my love, my sweet, sweet boy" you cried, turning to the door and shutting it as a searing pain shot through your chest, through your shattered heart and the unbreakable bond a mother shares with her child, tearing and fraying from what you was about to do. Would you ever be able to come back from this?

"Come back to bed darling..." Tommy mumbled as you stood beside him, running your hands through the top of his hair, a quiet moan escaping his lips in response to your gentle touch as he lazily reached for your hand before his weighted eyes and tired body drifted him back into a heavy sleep.

"Soon Tommy..." You replied, muffling your sobs as you picked up your suitcase and turned to the door, glancing back one last time to your husband, to the love of your life. Meters away, it may as well have been miles. You thought to yourself as you came to the end of the long driveway of your home when the light of your son's bedroom suddenly turned on in the far distance and the loud call of your name from the depths of your husband's lungs resonated throughout the grounds. There was no going back now, it was done. They were better off without you.

Present day...

"Fuck sake" you mumbled quietly, hiding your face in your shoulder as you frantically wiped your tears away from the memory of the night when you abandoned your family and your former self. As you cursed yourself for being being so weak, so feeble, the small girl seated opposite you scrunched her brow in confusion, her little thoughts plagued with worry as to what had you so upset, as her mother, who looked as tired and weighed down with her own misgivings, sent you a sympathetic knowing smile.

"Hardly the time and place to let one's emotions get the better of them, this is public transport not a woman's bloody wash house" a man seated next to you clothed in the finest of suits grumbled rolling his eyes, begrudging the fact the train was not divided by class when the engine suddenly came to a stop and the mother ushered her daughter out of the carriage giving the gentleman a stern look, all while her daughter conveniently stepped onto, rather than other the pompous man's foot dirtying his perfectly polished loathers. "The little..." He spat as he folded his newspaper in half, turning to face you as if you had a role in the small girls worthy retribution. "Thiefs, whores and murderers. What would one except from this dump they call the second-biggest city in England" he seethed looking at you from head to toe as you stood to leave when he crassly stuck his foot out, causing you to fall face first onto the grimy train floor as a satisfied scoff left his lips. You were nothing to him, a beggar, the scum of the slums of the city he reluctantly found himself in. With no will or want to confront him about what you believe you undoubtedly deserved, you stood up, wiping the front of your dress down and adjusting your hat with only one thing on your mind...your son.

" Excuse me...please, excuse me" you said, pushing your way through the bustling market. You were already late, and with only the briefest of opportunities to get a glimpse of your child until another full seven days passed, and he made his Sunday outing with Frances again, you were desperate to see him. Standing by a stall filled with seasonal fresh fruits and juices you adjusted your woven hat, pushing the knotted strands of hair behind your ears in attempt to make yourself look proper, more presentable. Who were you kidding, you were but a ghost in a crowd full of people. Your disheveled appearance your only shield and cover from any potential sightings of yourself that could be relayed back to your husband. If he cared to know. You thought to yourself as you raised your head, your breath suddenly catching in your throat. There he was, your William. Watching from a distance, you followed his small wobbly steps, his hand holding tightly onto France's as the sun beamed down on them, heading with determination to the market stall he made a beeline for every Sunday. Perching yourself on a large wooden barrel next to a shelf of neatly stacked bottles of cider, you smiled as your shaky fingers came up to cover the joy on your lips as your former housekeeper picked up your son and showed him all the various jars of sweets and lollipops his wondrous eyes were beaming at. "Barley Sugars" you whispered, a small laugh leaving your lips as he pointed to his favorite and only choice of sweets whilst Frances tried to coax him into trying something different, when a smartly dressed man stood beside them turned around. Tommy.

"Barley Sugars again, eh?" Tommy chuckled, nodding to the stallholder as he reached into his pocket for a penny, smiling lovingly at the boy that resembled you more with each passing day. Wha...what was he doing here? You panicked at the unexpected sight of your husband, the last time being the night you had left him sleeping soundly in your shared bed. With shaky legs and your panicked eyes darting frantically around the market for any of his men, you slid off the barrel stumbling backwards into the shelf of cider, causing a small commotion of crashing glass and spilled beverages.

"You'll 'av to pay for that, miss" The seller frowned, waving his finger at you as he came marching around his stall to your trembling body frantically picking up the shattered glass, apologising profusely for the days' takings and mess you had made. With unsteady feet you stood up, your eyes cast down at the muddied ground, unable to meet the piercing stare you could already feel boring into you with every stifled breath that left your lips.

"Y/N..." Tommy whispered as he steadied himself against the wooden frame of the market stand, his knees buckling, his eyes widening in disbelief as time and everything around him suddenly slowed to an abrupt stillness, his ears deafening him with a piercing high-pitched whistle. "Y/N" he voiced louder, as the sound of the teeming market entered his muffled eardrums and your sheepish eyes finally met his." Y/N" Tommy called your name again as he pushed through the crowds of people, his eyes fixed on you as you started walking backwards, tears welling in your eyes from the panic firmly setting in."Y/N Shelby!" His voiced boomed into the crisp spring air, gaining everyone's attention, his brisk pace turning into a quickened run as he stumbled past people in a frantic attempt to get to you. "No! Don't you dare!" He bellowed, fear tightening in his chest as he watched you turn and run out of the market when he misplaced his foot and fell forward, tripping over the curb of the path as the end of your dress glided behind the corner of the bricked wall and out of sight.

" Shit...shit!" You sobbed running through the cobbled streets as you scanned the neighborhood in a frenzy of labored breaths and hysterical cries for somewhere to hide. What was he doing here?

" Hey, hey!" Tommy said, turning the corner onto the street you had been on mere seconds ago as he grabbed the arm of a young boy running past him with a hoop and stick in his hand. "Have you...have you seen a girl, in a...a dark red dress" Tommy asked breathlessly, whilst his mind frantically tried to make sense if what he saw was real, if you were real.

"That way, Mister" the rosy-cheeked child replied, pointing to a back alley leading to a row of terraced houses before running off to his friends that were patiently waiting for him at the bottom of the street. With shaky steps Tommy ran across the road, raising his hand in apology to a car and it's horn blaring at him from the near collision his dazed state caused. With his hands trembling, and his breath held within the tight confines of his burning lungs, Tommy turned the corner. And, there you were.

"Tommy..." You sobbed, backing up against the roughness of the slabbed wall as he stood in front of you, his own eyes welling with the unspent tears he'd been holding in for the past two years in an attempt to push away the reality of your absence.

"You're dead...I..." he said, his voice catching in his throat as he stepped closer, his brow furrowing in confusion at the acceptance he had surrendered to, now thrown into a disarray. " I.. I thought you were dead" he muttered in front of you as you shook your head, the back of his hand coming up to gingerly stroke across your cheek as the soothing coolness of his wedding band he couldn't bare to part with brushed along your delicate skin. But as the initial shock slowly started to fade, Tommy's jaw suddenly tightened and his gentle touch dug into your skin, his fingers twisting in anger as the creases of his brow deepened and the fury of feeling fooled took over. "I thought you were fucking dead!" He snapped through gritted teeth grabbing your chin, his grip painfully pushing into your flesh as he pressed his forehead to yours and his own tears spilled over between the curves of your cheeks. "Fuck!" He bellowed pushing your face away in disgust as he stumbled back to the wall opposite you, pulling his peaked cap from his head to cover his face as his body forced the contents of his stomach up onto the bricked floor. For months he had believed you had killed yourself, thrown yourself in the cut. And for months he blamed himself, burdening his body and mind with the responsibility of your death. The realisation and shock of you being alive was too much for his body to comprehend, even for someone as hardened to life as himself. " I thought you were dead..." Tommy wept quietly as he turned his head away from you, his reserved demeanour crumbling apart, leaving a man broken and tired from two years of heartbreak in its wake.

" Tommy I'm sorry, I..." You sobbed, approaching him as he put his hand out to stop you.

" No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to fucking say sorry" he sniffed back his tears cutting off your meek attempt to apologise as he stood up wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his disheveled hair hanging over the perspiration sticking to his forehead." Why?" His voice wobbled barely above a whispered as he searched your eyes for an answer, his back pressed firmly against the brick wall to stop his legs from finally giving in as the adrenaline that had been pumping furiously through his veins slowly dispersed and fatigue took over.

" I couldn't do it anymore Tommy, I..."

" Mummy!" a little voice caught your attention as you turned your head and your eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of your son in Frances' arms mere feet from you, his little hands reaching desperately for you as Tommy watched your panicked reaction, a scoff catching in his throat when your eyes sheepishly darted away from your son and back to him.

"Mrs Shelby..." France's voice broke as her hand flew to her mouth and tears pooled in her eyes at the sight of you standing before her. For she believed as everyone else did, that the poor Mrs Shelby had succumbed to her troubles and parted from this world, now free of her tormented mind.

" Take William to the car, Frances" Tommy ordered turning away, adjusting his coat and demeanour as he breathed heavily through his mouth, every part of him desperately trying to regain some form of composure.

" Mummy! Mummy!" Your son wailed as your eyes brimmed with tears, and you apprehensively stepped towards him with your hands out when Tommy hurried between you both, and you came face to face with the remnants of his anger firmly etched on his face once again. He didn't trust you. Your initial reaction to seeing William not good enough of one for your husband who was now evaluating your every move, your every word.

" Mummy's coming, isn't she?" Tommy said, grabbing you by your arm as he waited for a response, his jaw tightening at every passing second as his patience grew thin, unwilling to let you go, unwilling to give you an option. "Isn't she?"

" Yes" you whispered, nodding your head as Frances hurried to the car with William wailing loudly in her arms.

" Look at you" Tommy said, glaring at you from head to toe, his words laced in disdain as he took off your hat, throwing it to the muddied ground with despise. Disheveled clothes, matted hair and muddied fingers. He had given you the world, given you a warm home, anything you could have wished for and yet you chose this, a life of labor and poverty over him and your son. With a mind clouded with fury, Tommy was doing what he promised he'd never do to all the gods he had prayed to, all his ancestors he had pleaded to if they would just grant him one thing, and bring you back into his arms. He was judging you.

" Wh...why is he calling me mummy?" you said, sobbing as you hurried alongside Tommy's quickened pace, his hand still painfully grasped onto your arm, dragging you with him to the car. William was only four months old when you left, he didn't know who you were, did he? " Tommy?"

"Just fucking move Y/N" Tommy said, opening the car door and pushing you in, slamming it behind him with enough force to frighten William into tears again. " Frances, please" Tommy sighed pinching his brow, his elbows resting on the steering wheel as William cried loudly in the back of the car. As Frances tended to your child, searching for his brown bear she feared he may have dropped in all the commotion, you kept your eyes fixed firmly ahead of you, your hands clasped in your lap not daring to look at anyone as shame engulfed you and reality hit home that you would now have to face not only what you did but everyone in your life you had left. Tommy had now plunged you head first back into a world you had abandoned without an ounce of sympathy or understanding, the anxiety of what awaited you was becoming unbearable.

Pulling up to Arrow house, the confines of the car were silent, and had been for the majority of the journey with William now soundly asleep in France's arms, the only audible noise being that of the muddied driveway of your forgotten home and the sound of Tommy's flesh gripping tightly onto the stirring wheel. He was furious, the moment he could have only dreamed of as he sought solitude in the pits of grief now engulfed with hatred. As Tommy and Frances exited the car, you stood seated, panic suddenly enveloping you, your body unable to move as you watched the familiar faces of the grounds men coming to a halt as they squinted into the car and at your face they thought they'd never see again. You wanted to run, not from the heavy weight bearing down on your heart but run from their critical eyes and the things you were sure you could hear them saying.

" Get out" Tommy said opening your door, pulling you out and marching you to the front of your once, shared home.

" Tommy" a lady beamed upon seeing him as she waited in the foyer, her dark brown locks cut into a bob bouncing on her shoulders with every step she took as your husband stormed through the grand entrance with your arm grasped tightly between his fingers. "And who's this?" she frowned looking at you from head to toe, her assumptions of you firmly setting in stone from your appearance alone. A thief no doubt, or a whore. She thought turning her nose up at you as her crimson nails curled into her palms as she crossed her arms, ready to have you thrown off the grounds or better, dumped in a ditch. You had no place in this grand house, in the house she was now not only the governess of, but a woman that the maids and workers believed had wormed her way into ruling the manor Tommy had abandoned his interest and care for to the grief of losing you. " Well, who are you?"

" She's my wife"

PART TWO

Tag List: @garrison-girl-08 @call-sign-shark @red-riding-wood @look-at-the-soul @lau219 @peakyswritings @babaohhhriley @naevisct @galactict3a @satanhauntedmytorment @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @kmc1989 @latorsgatorz @garfieldsladybird

[calisources]

FANTASY MAGIC & ROMANCE SENTENCE QUOTES. various quotes about romance, and sometimes magic in a fantasy setting from various media. you can change names and pronouns according to how you see it fit.

“Rejection is an opportunity for your selection.”

“They say the soul cannot rest until it finds its match. Then it ignites.”

“You don't love someone because they're a dream of perfection. You love them because of the way they meet their challenges, how they struggle to overcome."

“She's magic, (name). A single flower blooming in an endless desert.”

"Is loving me really enough to endure everything you have to just to be with me?"

"Do you really want to put yourself through this?"

"You are under my protection now, and I protect what is mine.”

“I cannot come with you, my prince."

“You're exquisite. You're transcendent. And you are mine.”

"A man even a wealthy, beautiful, magically gifted princess would be pleased to call her own."

“One is always on time if time doesn't matter to them, little mouse”.

Call him. Claim him. Speak his Name. Make him thine before all others.”

“You think a courtship and a hunt are two separate things. They're not.”

“I’d once believed I could enamor her. But ’twas I, indeed, who was enamored.”

“Here it comes; the light chasing away the darkness.”

“Your mistake is thinking that without magic, I'm defeated.”

“The gods are nothing more than the monsters who happened to hold the pen."

"The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet."

"As they say, a jeweler knows the uncut gem. And I am. And she was. And so."

"In a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart. "

"In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect."

"In many ways, unwise love is the truest love."

"You are the harbor of my soul's journeying."

"We should have taken our chances back then, when we were young and beautiful and didn't even know it."

"If you were a lord, you should be my lord, And the same if you were a thief."

“Take me with you. For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.”

“Perhaps we all give the best of our hearts uncritically–to those who hardly think about us in return.”

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while." 

 "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

Here's the second prompt of my Penny Dreadful Series for the SPOOKINKY event by the lovely @tsukimefuku ... This is about GOJO x DR.JECKYLL AND MR HYDE... Hope you'll like it!

Summary: after weeks of chaste dating, you finally get to discover the hidden side of Gojo's identity... 😏

4.3k words (sorry this turned out endless 😅)

Warnings: smut/nsfw (unprotected pinv,mentions of praise kink, soft bondage, edging and overstimulation) and dark content (body horror descriptions) ahead---MDMI!

This fic is dedicated to @gojhoes :of the kindest souls on this Earth🩵

"I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both."

-R.L. Stevenson

💙GOJOO💙“Good morning, sweetheart. How is my princess today? Looking forward to Halloween 👻 🎃 can't wait to see your pretty face again”

 A smile lights up your drowsy face as you shuffle toward the kitchen, the remnants of sleep still numbing your muscles. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room just as a notification from Gojo Satoru, that enigmatic boy you’ve been dating for a while, shatters the quiet. His clear, cerulean eyes captivated you from the moment he first said 'hello,' and since then, you have been ensnared by his cheeky smile, a playful secret hidden behind his angelic façade.

You read his message again, feeling a thrill dance along your spine: you’ve never quite understood how Gojo always seems to know when you wake, even though he is currently abroad for work. Each morning, your phone vibrates on the bedside table, precisely at the moment you stir from sleep. It’s as if his mind is somehow connected to you, a ghostly presence lingering in your routine. This is but one of the many mysteries cloaked within the curve of his lips.

No matter how your bond has been growing stronger by the day lately, there remains a vast chasm of secrets between you. Indeed, you still know very little of his life, and at times he becomes elusive to your questions: you’ve learned he is some sort of teacher during your last date at a quaint downtown bakery, abruptly interrupted by a frantic phone call from two breathless children. You watched, heart racing, as his alabaster brows knitted together in concern, his expression darkening before he disappeared in the crowded streets of Tokyo, leaving you with nothing but the faint echo of his hurried apologies.

On that particular afternoon, just before his sudden departure, he had surprised you with your first, fleeting, passionate kiss—elusive and intoxicating. His lips brushed against yours without warning, igniting a fire that left you breathless, a mere flicker of what was to come. He pulled away, leaving you dazed, his trademark smirk lingering in the air like smoke from a dying fire. Each encounter with him is like a storm—unpredictable, electric, and utterly consuming.

Though your time together is limited by his mysterious work, each moment is charged with an intensity that makes the air around you crackle. Yet, as the time to part draws near, you are always left with an insatiable thirst for more��a yearning to delve deeper into his world, to bask in the light of his presence. You find yourself anxiously awaiting Halloween night, the date of your next rendezvous, when you will finally meet Yuji and Megumi, the boys Gojo mentors.

A flicker of hope stirs within you. You know he will have to drive the boys back to their dorm at midnight, meaning that you two probably won't get to indulge in a passionate night together, but a part of you—one that has been aching for weeks—hopes that tonight will be different. You crave the feel of his hands on your body, an electric connection that has yet to be fully realized. His teasing stares, his accidental touches, the sly innuendos that always charge the air around you with a crackling sexual tension —will they finally culminate in something more? You can’t shake the nagging thought that perhaps he doesn’t desire you as much as you crave him. You can't help wondering why such a confident and cheeky guy hasn't laid a finger on you yet otherwise…

Shaking your head to dispel such thoughts, you remind yourself to embrace the moment. You begin your day, anticipation thrumming in your veins like a heartbeat, until finally, Halloween night arrives.

…

You step out, the city cloaked in an eerie ambience, shadows stretching as if alive, whispering secrets of the night. The sky is a swirling mass of clouds, translucent specters drifting against a backdrop of a pale, full moon that casts an unsettling light over the streets. A gentle breeze nudges you closer to your destination, the air thick with the scent of autumn and the faint echo of laughter from masked children.

As you approach, the moon breaks free from the veil of clouds, illuminating the figure of Gojo in the distance. He stands with an effortless grace, leaning against the sleek door of his Tesla, casual yet striking—his leather jacket unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his alabaster, toned chest beneath. His sunglasses, a puzzling accessory for the night, lend him an eccentric charm under the neon glow of nearby clubs.

For a moment, you cannot help but admire him, the way his messy, white hair falls across his forehead, how his presence seems to draw the very essence of the night towards him. He almost glows, ethereal in the midst of the crowd, a guardian angel in the crowd.

Yet, as you near, an unsettling sensation prickles at the nape of your neck, a sense that something is amiss. The thrumming energy of the crowd—children and adults alike, lost in their masquerades—feels like a collective wicked ritual, a dance of shadows and light.

Just as you are about to call out to Gojo, a hoarse voice slithers from a darkened alley, pulling your attention away. “Pretty girl, come closer, please…” You turn, heart racing, to find the figure of a grotesque old woman, her hunched frame pressed against the cold pavement, a deck of worn tarot cards clutched in her gnarled hands. Taken aback by her rough voice, you freeze midstep, imagining the woman, probably a beggar, is in need of help: “Excuse me…you meant me? How may I help you? Do you need anything?”

“Perhaps I am the one who can help you, my dear…” Her voice trembles with an otherworldly timbre. The old woman’s face tilts up, revealing eyes that are eerily closed, as if she were a specter herself. “Spare change in exchange for a revelation… I can offer you a glimpse into the mysteries of the man who has stolen your heart...”

You find yourself captivated, a shiver racing down your spine. “Choose a card,” she beckons, her voice laced with a knowing that sends chills coursing through your veins. “The tarot always knows what lies hidden in the folds of time.”

With bated breath, you reach for a specific card of the worn-out deck, the air thick with anticipation, ready to unveil the secrets the universe holds for you.

XVIII. The Moon. Reversed.

“What an intriguing card, my dear…” she muses, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Intuition. Yours has already whispered many truths tonight, even those you dare not voice. Secrets. Some of them will be soon revealed… and then…Duality… the moon has always two faces; do not be deceived by its bright side. Remember, nothing is ever as it appears! Now go, your moon awaits, and you do not wish to keep it waiting…”

As the old woman’s words reverberate in your mind, you feel the weight of her prophecy settle upon your shoulders like a shroud.

Your evening begins with a familiar thrill as Gojo greets you with an unexpected embrace, his warmth enveloping you, careless about Yuji and Megumi’s amused gazes studying his open display of affection towards you. Yuji greets you warmly as soon as Gojo lets go of your embrace. Megumi eyes you down perplexed at first, just to surprise you with a final, small smile of approval, while Gojo opens the car’s door for you, signalling your empeding departure. “The guys adore you already...” Gojo says while turning the engine on, ready to pull up. He smiles sheepishly at you “...who wouldn’t fall for such a doll face?” his right hand leaves the steering wheel to find your hand, entwining your fingers. You feel a spark of warmth spreading through your chest at his sweet gesture. 

But as the night unfolds, the mysteries deepen, and the boundary between light and shadow begins to blur, leaving you to wonder just how far into the darkness you are willing to venture for the sake of desire and discovery.

…

Gojo was a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and tonight, the air crackled with an electric tension that hinted at the secrets he was guarding. “ Tonight is all for us, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “We have a couple of hours all to ourselves before we pick up the boys… and tonight, I mean getting to know you better…”

His warm hand found its way to your exposed knee, caressing it sensually, igniting a fire within you that you had long kept hidden. Your breath caught in your throat, and in this intoxicating moment, all doubts and fears evaporated. All that mattered was the sensation of his knuckles brushing against your skin, tracing a tantalizing path up your thigh, dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

A mischievous grin spread across his face as he noticed the goosebumps that danced along your skin. “What’s wrong? Are you cold, honey?” His teasing voice was laced with a playful challenge. “Look at you, you’re shivering… is there anything I can do to warm you up?” There was a deliberate pause, as if he were savoring every second, before he added with a smirk, “Maybe we should just stay here in the car instead of taking a walk outside in the cold.” He deftly shifted his hand to the car controls, cranking up the heat, but the warmth he offered was nothing compared to the heat building between you.

You cleared your throat, desperately suppressing a groan of frustration at the sudden interrupt of his touch, and replied, “Thanks… I think it would be a really good idea to… get to know each other better.” A gleam of mischief sparkled in his eyes as he turned the car down a winding dirt road that led deep into the heart of a thick, shadowy forest. The moon hung high above, casting an ethereal glow that illuminated the foliage, a stark reminder of the woman’s ominous words that echoed in your mind.

Every fiber of your being buzzed with anticipation, and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper, something darker, lurked beneath the surface. Gojo’s demeanor shifted, his usual playful confidence replaced with an intensity that made your heart race. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles turning white as he focused on the path ahead. “I know we both want what’s about to happen tonight, and believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to know the pleasure you can give me, darling… but promise me one thing…”

His request was tinged with a vulnerability that struck you as unexpected. Flattered and intrigued, you nodded. “If… anything strange should happen…at any point…please stop me.. I don't want to.. get lost in the moment…and make you uncomfortable” A spontaneous laugh escaped your lips, the absurdity of his warning catching you off guard. “Strange? Gojo, this is not my first time, I know how it goes…are you some kind of perv? I bet deep down you hide the new Christian Grey behind that angel face…I wouldn't mind that at all actually…” sensing his growing desire at your playful words, you decide to tease him even further “Oh wait… Now I get why Yuji addressed you as ‘the Strongest’ with that little smirk before we left… I  can't believe you boast about your sexual life with your students…you're definitely a perv!” Your voice lowered to a sultry whisper as you leaned closer, teasingly tickling his neck. “Am I right? Are you known as ‘the Strongest’ in this?”

A deep, throaty moan escaped him, the sound vibrating through the air, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through you. In an instant, he brought the car to a halt in the thick of the woods. The fog outside enveloped the vehicle, creating an intimate cocoon that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

Gojo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours hesitantly, as if afraid you might shatter at any moment. “Let's just say I treasure some ...techniques of mine. But I want to take things slow with you tonight…” he whispered back to you, leaning forward to the passenger seat “Don't think you can understand everything about my strength this soon… I would never want to overwhelm my princess.”  His hot breath tickled the skin of your neck, and at this point your mind was already too entranced by his closeness to even notice the hint of sincere concern in his voice. He was clearly trying to distract you from asking further questions, but you were totally oblivious of it. The kiss began slowly, a soft exploration, but quickly ignited into something  more fervent. Your tongues danced, and his hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve ending with his touch. The world outside faded into nothingness as your breaths mingled, each inhale steeped in the heady mix of passion and urgency.

As his hands travelled from your hips to your breasts, a low growl of desire escaped his lips, and the kiss deepened, transforming into something primal and hungry. The condensation on the windows thickened, obscuring the outside world, but the sounds of the night crept in—rustling leaves, distant howls, the echo of something lurking in the shadows.

His fingers found their way beneath your clothing, teasing you until you were gasping with need. Your body betrayed you, betraying the wave of overwhelming desire that washed over you, leaving you breathless and wanting more. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he murmured, his hand guiding yours to rest on his jeans, letting you feel the growing evidence of his desire. It felt warm and your eyes widened as you felt his cock hardening further under your hand, his body responding to your touch. “Fuck, you’re so sweet.” he moaned, gripping on your shoulders and pushing you flush against him. You could feel the moment you longed for approaching and barely managed to hide your excitement.

Just as the tension reached a fever pitch, Gojo’s attention snapped to something outside the car: His lips pulled away from yours abruptly, as he turned his head back, sensing a mysterious, impending danger from outside. His features darkened and a visible unease settled over him. Frustrated and flustered, you still couldn't understand why he was acting like that all of a sudden “Hey babe…What’s going on? Hey…” you started, but he was already out of the car, locking you inside. Panic surged as you called out to him, your voice swallowed by the thick fog.

You pressed your palms against the glass, trying to peer into the darkness, but the world outside was a murky abyss. Now you started to hear some confused noises, animalistic cries you have ever heard before…The unsettling sounds grew louder, a cacophony of primal growls and rustling that sent chills racing down your spine. And then…

 “WHAT THE FUCK-,” you gasped, heart pounding, as a monstrous face suddenly materialized at your window, its grotesque features illuminated by the moonlight—inhuman eyes, a gaping maw filled with sharp teeth.

Where was Gojo? Before you could even scream, a flash of blue light pierced through the fog, illuminating the night. Gojo emerged from the mist, his striking blue eyes glowing like twin stars in the darkness. He approached with an unsettling calm, his demeanor shifting into something fierce and predatory.  As you watched in horror from the passenger seat, Gojo leaned out of the car window, his expression disturbingly calm. In a swift, fluid motion, he seized the creature’s head, detaching it with a strength that defied belief: the creature, a grotesque blend of twisted limbs and snarling features, writhed in its final moments, its inhuman shrieks piercing the night sky. Gojo grasped the creature's decaying head, the wet sound of flesh tearing filled the air, and blood splattered against the glass like a macabre painting.

For an eternity, he stood there breathing heavily,holding the severed head aloft like a grotesque trophy. His white, messy locks falling in his face rhythmically, almost hiding his blue eyes, now glowing brightly with a sinister, unnatural sparkle in the midst of the darkness. His big hands held the severed head, his expression obscured by the shadows that danced across his features. Then, a haunting smile unfurled on his lips, sending a jolt of fear and thrill through you. He reached for his phone, and called someone: after a while a feminine voice picked up the call…you tried to catch a glimpse of the short and crypto conversation he was having: the woman at the other side must have been his colleague, Shoko Ieiri. The few words you heard clearly made your eyes widen, leaving you with a sense of impending dread. “I got the sample…it seems to have a material body. A cursed womb?… I’ll bring it to you at school tonight… yes, I’ll leave it in your lab. See you soon.”

As the car door swung open again,you understood the boy you had been kissing just moments before had transformed. Who was this cold, feral man sitting beside you? And where did he do to your Gojo ? The playfulness had vanished, replaced by a chilling intensity that sent a shiver through your entire being. “Here I am, sweetheart. Sorry for making you wait. Work is work; I hope you can understand… where were we?” even his tone sounded differently, lowered by an octave and conveying a hint of danger.

You stared at him, confusion etched on your face as your trembling hand hovered above the splatters of fresh, dark blood on his cheek. “You…you’re… stained… the blood…” Your voice trembled, breaths coming in jagged gasps.

Seeing the fear in your eyes, Gojo’s expression softened momentarily, the atmosphere shifting back to the warmth you used to know “Don’t be scared, please… I think you can now guess the reason of Yuji’s words…I belong to a hidden part of society: my clan belongs to the chaste of people who can see curses - this means…I am a sorcerer, the Strongest on Earth to be precise… this implies…there's a darker part of me that you don't know yet…sometimes it comes to the surface…and that's what it unleashes…” he paused, searching for any signs of discomfort on your face “Is this too much for you? Do you think you can still... Accept it?”

Your heart raced as you tried to process his words, adrenaline coursing suddenly through your veins: you felt an unexpected rush of desire. You crashed your lips against his once more, the taste of blood and danger igniting a fire within you. “Sorcerer or not… Blood still looks good on you; it’s almost…endearing” you admit shyly, your voice laced with a mix of fear and appreciation.

A shiver ran through him at your words, and the spark of madness flickered back to life in his eyes. “Do you think this side of me is sexy?” he growled, a predatory edge now creeping into his voice. “Now I’ll show you what I can become.”

With a zeal that took your breath away, he dragged you to the back seat, tearing your clothes off with a fervor that was both thrilling and terrifying. His kisses were fierce, biting into your neck as you moaned in pleasure, lost in the intoxicating haze of desire. “Be a good girl for me… Just like that… let me feel how much you want it…is it better now? I bet you wanted it rough from the very first moment”

You surrendered to the moment, the world outside forgotten as you explored the depths of his dark desires, entwined in a dance of ecstasy that blurred the lines between pleasure and peril, love and madness. The forest whispered secrets around you, as shadows deepened and the night became an ally to your most primal instincts.

You find yourself irresistibly drawn to his lips once more, your fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt to unveil a torso that seemed sculpted from the purest alabaster, each muscle defined and glistening under the dim lights. Your hands glide down, slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, where you discover him, rigid and unyielding, as if chiseled from the very essence of desire. Your fingertips dance along his length, slickened by the tantalizing bead of precum, igniting a primal groan that escapes his lips.

"Stop. Playing. With. Me." he growls through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching, each word a low rumble filled with a raw hunger that sends shivers down your spine. Yet the sight of Gojo's dominant side only stirs your defiance; you smirk, biting your lower lip in a way that teases the last crumble of his restraint.

In an instant, he lunges, pinning you beneath him, a predatory gleam in his azure eyes that speaks of insatiable lust. With swift movements, he secures you with the seatbelt, a binding that both confines and excites, as he plunges into you with a ferocity that borders on madness. The leather seat cradles you as his body claims yours. His whispers—unholy and fervent—fill your ear, intertwining with the frantic rhythm of his thrusts.

Your body writhes beneath him, struggling to accommodate his size as he lifts your legs in a mean mating press, positioning you in a way that elicits gasps of pleasure from your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, rolling back in bliss as each thrust strikes your sweet spot with a precision that sends shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through you. His grip on your ankles tightens, leaving marks of possession, a crimson hue blooming on your skin.

“Please… don’t stop… oh… feels so good,” you manage to articulate between breaths, your desperation palpable. A brand new, incredibly powerful pressure builds in your core, an impending wave crashing against the shore of your sanity. You claw at his biceps, fighting against the constriction of the seat belts wrapped around your wrists, in the attempt to hold on to him, leaving scratches down his popping muscles, while teetering on the brink of euphoria.

But just as you feel the gates of paradise beginning to part in front of you, the sharp sensation of your nails digging into his flesh pulls him back from the brink. The gentler side of Gojo emerges, his rhythmic assault halting as he brushes stray hair from your damp forehead, concern etched into his striking features. “Sorry… I let him… take control. Is it too much? Are you okay?” he breathes heavily, his voice a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity.

Frustration bubbles within you, a mixture of disbelief and longing. “ Oh No…Just shut up and fuck me, Satoru,” you demand greedy and harshly, your hips grinding against his, desperate for the friction that ignites every nerve ending in your body.

“Here we go again…” A wicked smile spreads across his lips as the dominant Satoru reclaims the moment, his eyes igniting with unholy delight. He resumes his fervent pace, deciding to test you even further: he starts tormenting you to madness, drawing small, fast circles on your swollen clit with the determined aim of pushing you closer to the edge once more. Reduced to a quivering mess, you whimper and beg for release, every sound a testament to your total submission.

“Do you know how beautiful you look when you’re close to your limits? How hard I get in front of your pretty face begging me to let you come?” he taunts, a spark of madness dancing in his gaze. A shiver races down your spine as he continues, “I want to see that face… over and over again tonight.” His cock twitches within you, a sadistic promise echoing in the depths of your mind, the world outside forgotten as you plunge deeper into this carnal abyss.

The endless cycle of pleasure and denial blurs time as his personalities intertwine within your very being, each thrust a reminder of his dominance, each shift a new wave of ecstasy. Until finally, he grants you release, the highest of highs exploding within you, while your bullied gummy walls flutter around him in a frenetic dance, your whole body unraveling as you succumb to the powerful climax, collapsing against him. Incapable of holding on any longer in front of such a marvellous sight, Gojo follows you into the forbidden paradise of maddening pleasure soon after, exploding in a series of forceful, copious spurts of thick seed, hitting your cervix , proving you further overstimulated pleasure bordering with delicious pain.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight…” he whispers against your forehead,  his breath warm, the frenzy in his eyes now dimmed to a soft glow. “Well…” he chuckles, his tone teasing as he helps you gather your still trembling self. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind for our first time together, but I think we can agree it surpassed any expectation.” you let out a tired,contented sigh, running your hands in his hair, caressing his nape sofly right above his undercut “ that was perfect, indeed…just…I was scared you would never let me finish at some point… guess you also have the ‘strongest stamina’” you joke “by the way..how long has it been?” You pull back slightly to look up at him with a questioning look. His eyes wide as the picture of Yuji and Megumi waiting for you on the sidewalk out of the cinema, pissed by his usual delay. “Oh shit…I forgot …Yuji and Megumi should be done with the movie by now..” he stood up in an uncoordinated motion and gently helped your still trembling form to get dressed.

You leave the darkness of the wood behind under the pale rays of a sneering moon, finally in full display, free from the veil of clouds: he starts the engine and drives back to the city, the remnants of your wild encounter linger in the air, unbothered by the chilling presence of the demon’s severed head resting in the trunk, a stark reminder of the darkness that lingers just beyond the thrill of your desires.

This is the song I had in mind writing this...(I would say Number 18 would suit better😅)

[myillicitaffair]

One of your girls part two | Carlos Sainz Jr

Summary: after a fateful outcome, Carlos wants to fix what he unintentionally broke.

Warnings: english not being my mother tongue, angst, alcohol consumption, dirty dancing, small description of throwing up, cheating, mentions of sex, messed up dynamics, slight swearing.

Notes: second part of this fic. i also wanted to say i’m currently taking request, to anyone who might be interested xx.

Credits: the gif used belongs to @neymarhamilton ‘s tumblr account, so all credits belong to them. this part, just like the one before, is inspired by the song “one of your girls” by Troye Sivan.

1.8k

SIX MONTHS AGO:

A chilly night welcomes my friend group as we make our way through a prestigious and crowded restaurant situated in the heart of Madrid.

Being born and raised in Spain´s capital city, the girls now walking into the facilities have been by my side my whole life; faith brought us together our first day of school, just three frightened little kids trying to survive elementary.

I like to believe that we complement each other, even if we hadn´t met all those years ago, life would have found a way to connect us.

A girl’s night out is a rare occurrence between us; always being on the shy side, we very much prefer staying in, drowning ourselves in sweet treats while marathoning our comfort romcoms.

The reason why we´re summoned tonight is quite simple… my very first broken heart.

You see, in an attempt to lighten the mood, my friends brought us to an extremely exclusive eatery, one where we clearly didn´t fit in. The difference was quite notorious, surrounded by leggy models and their handsome companions, I quite frankly begin to wonder why I ever agreed.

With a deep breath, I straighten my back and let the hostess remove my coat. “In for a penny, in for a pound” I think with a resigned shrug of the shoulders.

As we´re carried to our spot, I try and take the essence of the place in. I start noticing its eccentric décor, dim lights brightening the burgundy walls, leather booths scattered all over the classy tile floor.

What makes an ordinary dinner such a big success? Its bizarre modality.

Our table is filled with strangers, completely engulfed in their different conversations. The main reason for my friends to take us to this unconventional location was exactly this; the inexorable need to engage in conversations with foreign people.

The first round of dirty martinis arrives as the last costumers take their places next to me, with a lousy cheer I pour the drink down my throat, feeling its pleasant burning down my body, warming me up, making me forget.

“Easy there tiger”- the man sited by my side chuckles, gesturing towards my empty glass.

I take a moment to wander across his features. Thick eyebrows, big brown eyes, plump lips. Definitely attractive, exactly what I need.

A smile creeps up my face, the wires in my brain getting to work.

I notice an elegantly worn designer shirt hugging his chest, his forearms resting against the wooden surface, his attentive stare trying to read my thoughts.

“And you are?”- I condescendingly tease him.

“Carlos”- his hand travels to mine, embracing me with his warm- “Carlos Sainz.”

The subtle body hair covering his fist tickling my naked skin, igniting a fire deep inside me.

And in that moment, I simply knew there was no getting out, not anybody else as long as he kept staring at me like this, eating me raw with his gaze.

That was the first night I ever came back home with him.

————

FOUR MONTHS AGO:

Carlos is away for the weekend, oceans separating us, palpable distance every time he races through my mind.

I try convincing myself It’s the sex I miss, the obvious physical attraction, the invisible force that pulls us towards the other, the feeling of his warm skin being impossibly closer to mine.

Truth being told, I’m sitting immovable on my bed, nervously waiting for a call.

I can’t help but recall his soft locks intertwined with my fingers, his tongue inching towards my neck, how he never fails to make my blood boil with a simple grin.

My phone brings me out of my daydreams, screaming for attention as a call enters it. His name glistening on the screen, filling me with pure bliss and forcing me to hold my giggles.

Acting like a schoolgirl with a crush while being a full-grown adult… how pathetic!

Two rings go by before i pick up, bitting my bottom lip to keep my voice calm as if I wasn’t desperately clinging to it seconds ago.

“Gorgeous, you got a minute to spare?”- he asks, clear amusement in his tone, abusing the charm he knows he has.

“That depends, Carlos, who’s asking?”

I’m gobsmacked at how composed I sound, nowhere near how I actually feel.

My knuckles turn white from grasping my sheets.

“Don’t be like that, princess, I know you miss me”- his smile visible through his speech.

My heart skips a beat, can his words be revealing my true feelings?

“Oh honey, keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night…”

I’m met with his scandalous laugh filling the line, raising my pulse until it’s beating on my ears.

Everything stops, everything keeps going.

I close my eyes in acknowledgement, being forced to admit what i’ve been denying ever since I met him.

Oh, how screwed I am!

———

TWO MONTHS AGO:

The music rumbles at the disco, throbbing on my skin with its intensity.

Being dragged to a hip party, my friends and I are bundled up in the comfort of our own group, dancing between ourselves.

As I rock my body to meet the pulsating rhythm, I embrace Carlos’s presence behind me, tightly grabbing my waggling hips.

He presses himself into me and I rub against his growing erection, purposely torturing him. His kisses start straying while sucking visible red marks into my neck.

His penetrating cologne invades my nostrils, clinging into my bare skin like a golden tattoo.

The mix of the alcohol I insisted on chugging and his hands shaping my whole body becoming intoxicating.

A foreign touch on my shoulder makes me open my eyes, leaving me to face my friend staring at me like i’ve grown a second head.

“You’re coming with me”- she pronounces as she drags me away from Carlos, who snorts in disbelief.

“What? Why?”- I ask as i’m forced to take a seat at the bar.

“Have you gone mad? You two were literally dry humping each other in the middle of the crowd!”- She hisses worriedly, forcing me to drink the water bottle she bought for me.

As she sits next to me, I prepare myself for the lecture she’s about to impart me, letting my eyes wonder across the dance floor.

I catch a glimpse of Carlos standing against a wall, hemmed by complete darkness, sometimes interrupted by one of the dj's lights.

When the spotlight lands on him, I start noticing the delicate hands hugging his broad shoulders, the almost nonexistent distance between him and the blonde caressing his cheeks.

Bile climbs up my throat, threatening to be ejected thanks to the scene before me.

Her lips all over his neck, staining the collar of his white shirt with lipstick.

Realizing i’m not paying an iota of attention to her, my friends follows my gaze stumbling across the sequence.

Effortlessly, she yanks me away from the enclosed space and into the garden.

Without being able to stop myself, I empty the contents of my stomach into the ground, constantly replaying the flashbacks of their sensual dance.

“Everything’s okay now, love”- My friend states while caressing my tangled up hair. Her fingertips come into contact with my cheeks, brushing my tears away.

Sobs are quick to scape my lungs, becoming more and more erratic as I imagine the second by second unfolding inside the disco.

———

PRESENT:

After running away from Carlos’s house, in the middle of a Madrilenian night, I’m fast to hide into the loneliness of my apartment.

I can’t even find comfort in blaming him as I was the one to agree with our “no exclusivity policy”, believing I could make it work.

How stupid of me to think I would be capable of not being trapped into his nets.

Clearly the only solution I can possibly come up with is crying it out, and that’s how I found myself in this situation; puffy eyes, completely ruined mascara, quivering eyes from shedding way too many tears.

Could I have been more stupid? I can’t even resonate one good reason why I would ever accept what he’s willing to offer me while wanting him in his entirety.

My determination is easily devastated as desperate fists bang against my door.

“Please, open up”- A too familiar voice implores from outside the apartment.

“I don’t ever wanna see you again”- I manage to scream through whimpers.

“I beg of you, please let me in! I swear I can explain.”

Standing right on the other side of the door, I feel my hand toying with the doorknob, trying to determinate whether or not to listen to his pleas.

“There’s nothing to explain, Carlos!”- I say, above a whisper, my voice to fragile for anything else.

“There’s been a while since i’ve been with anyone else, alright? Not since all I could think about was you!”

An unbreakable silence fills the hallways of the building, only the sound of his pantings and heavy breathing interrupting the stillness.

Without much hesitation, I open the hinges separating us.

Clearly, I was nowhere near prepared for the view before me; his full brown eyes now shimmering with unshed orbs, accumulated in his tear ducts.

“How about the girl from the voicemail?”- I ask, almost scared to find out this is all a product of my imagination.

“I know what that seemed like, but I promise you it’s not what you think!”- he says, piercing me with his gaze- “That was my ex girlfriend. She has a hard time letting go of me, even though there’s been more than a year since we’ve last been together. I never answer her calls and that’s why she’s getting more and more desesperate.”

Everything around me stops just to listen to his next words, my heart betting so out of control he might even hear it.

“Back at my apartment you told me you were enamored by me, well, there’s no use in trying to deny i’m in love with you”- he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear- “so much it’s physically painful, it’s all I can think about.”

My brain turned into mush as his confession sinks in. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous the idea seems to me; the man I love, probably the only one i’ll ever love, stating that my feelings are reciprocate.

A sigh leaves my parted lips as a quiet tear runs down my face.

“I know i’ve made my mistakes and believe me when I say i’ll regret them every minute i’m on this earth, but I promise you, that if you give me the chance, i’ll make it up to you until my dying breath”- his voice sounds shaky, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of him.

I don’t think I ever reacted as fast as now, jumping into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso. Little giggles leave both of our mouths at the ridiculous situation.

“I love you”- He murmurs, muffled by the kisses he’s pressing against my checks.

“I love you too”- I answer back, with our bodies still entwined.

[crazyk-imagine]

Bartender, I did it this Time

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Bartender!reader

Characters: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, Bartender!reader, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, Penny Benjamin, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reuben "Payback" Fitch

Warnings: Fluff, Mickey is a emotional drunk, such a simp, Jake is lit in here, instead of saying plain coffee, I wanted to make it fun and change it up, Nat can't keep her mouth shut, Bob is a himbo in my mind for this but it doesn't, reader always liked Mickey, Bob is wingman material, Bob and Nat are my gossiping hens

Word Count: 963

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

"I'm going to marry her," he says, fawning over you again.

"Is he talkin' 'bout the bartender, again?" Jake asks, his words lightly slurring.

"Yep," Reuben sighs. Already knowing he's going to be hearing more about you later, as usual. "When isn't he?"

"I'm offended but- she's coming over. Act natural." His natural is placing his head on his closed fist, staring out the window like he's a statue.

Everyone shakes their heads.

You stop in front of them, grabbing their empty glasses. “Everyone, okay? Does anyone want-”

“You?”

You glance at him through your lashes, staring at him with a deadpan expression before turning towards the soberest of the group, “Bob?”

He nods, wiping his hands. “What’s up?”

“Take him home first.”

He sheepishly smiles, “okay.”

You walk away, cleaning the dirty cups and snack bowls as you and Penny shut things down.

Your boss and well-known friend makes her way towards you, “how’d it go?”

“How’d what go?”

“You know.”

You shake your head, “nothing’s going to happen so you might as well kill the little fantasy you have in your head.”

“That boy is so into you; he can barely see straight.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You turn around to wipe down the counters and catch Mickey looking like a baby deer.

“I didn’t mean it literally, but this makes things better.”

“Penny.”

She raises her hands, “not now, got it. I’ll just be-”

He stumbles to the bar, slamming his hands down to keep himself balanced. “Woah there, sailor.”

He pouts, “I’m not a sailor.”

You crack a smile, “I know, flyboy. I’m just messing with you.” You glance over his shoulder, “where’s Bob?”

“He took everyone home.”

“Did he forget you?” You groan, pulling out your phone. “Bob, I swear to-”

“I told him to go.”

You pause your angry texting and glance at him, “what?”

“I wanted to stay, wait until you went home.”

“Wh- why would you do that?”

He shrugs, closing his eyes, reminding you of a tired puppy. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Damn, softy,” you mumble to yourself. You tap his hand, “come on, I’ll take you back to base.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want to go back.”

You close the door, turning your head to face him. “Where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

You nod, turning on your ignition. “Right, so to your base.”

“No,” he reaches over for your hand. “With you.”

You blink, opening your mouth to respond when you notice he fell asleep.

You can’t fight the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

-

You sit on the couch, waiting for him to wake up and see what he remembers.

He stops at the entrance, scratching the back of his head, eyes widening at the sight of you curled up on the couch sipping your chai latte.

You look away from the tv and find him there, you offer a smile and pat the open spot beside you.

He slowly takes a step towards you, “what- uh- what happened last night?”

“You don’t remember?” You ask, playing dumb.

He scoffs, “of course I… remember.”

“What did you tell me last night?”

He stands still, thinking back to last night.

“You had a few drinks.”

He nods, he does remember that.

“Then you had a few more.”

“That’s where things get a little hazy for me.”

“What does home mean to you?”

“Home?” He furrows his brows before his eyes widen. “I didn’t, did I?”

You nod, the smile never leaving your face as you stand up. “You did, you definitely did and, I’ll admit, it did throw me for a loop but a good one.”

His face scrunches in confusion. “It did?”

You cross your arms as you stand in front of him, bending down as you stare into his eyes. “You basically called me your home, words of a poet and a romantic.”

“I sounded like a poet?”

“Are you surprised?”

He nods, “does it sound like I’m being confident?”

You cup his cheeks and lean in, leaving room for him to lean in or pull back.

“What’s happening?”

“Something,” you glance down at his lips, “that should have happened a while ago.”

You raise your gaze to find his adorable chocolate-y eyes light up in delight. “I’m leaving the next part up to you, kiss me or don’t, it’s your choice what-”

You can’t finish your sentence because he’s already made his choice.

His hands slowly make their way to your hips, he pulls you closer.

You nearly melt in his grip and have to hold yourself together enough to pull back.

You chuckle under your breath and brush your fingers against your lips. “That- you didn’t let me finish.”

The corner of his lips curved upwards into a smirk. “I didn’t need to; I knew what you were going to say.”

“Cheeky, very cheeky.”

“Only for you, mi corazón.”

Natasha bursts through your front door, “where’s the coffee?”

“Good morning to you too, cranky pants.”

“No.” She pulls back from the kitchen and makes her way towards you. “Oh, good. You two finally got together. Bob!”

“Yeah?” He calls out from the driveway.

“They did it!”

“Oh my god.” You chuckle, “no we did not.”

“Oh," she turns around to yell over her shoulder. "They haven't done it yet but they’re together!”

“Finally!”

Mickey shakes his head, gesturing for her to stop.

“Seriously?” She asks.

He shrugs and pulls himself closer to you, “would you want to-”

“Yes.”

He chuckles, “now who’s not letting me finish?”

“Your girlfriend.”

“That- that is very true.”

“Okay, now they’re gonna do it,” she whispers to Bob.

“Shut up,” you tell her, the smile never leaving your face.  

-

Tag list

@kmc1989 @blueoorchid @chickensrule

[waklman]

Hi Tilly! So, I’m living by myself for the first time and my dishwasher just flooded my apartment 🫠I’m fine😀, really… 😭. Anyways, I just wanted to ask you to maybe write something with Bradley and babybear 🥺. They are my comfort characters! love ya ❤️

summary: you and bradley go out for a late night snack or bf! bradley who stands there in silence x gf! who orders food for them both.

warnings: mentions of strict dieting, one or two suggestive jokes. fluff, 18+ blog.

note: helpp the way that kind of made me laugh. as a fellow girlie who also gets herself in trouble when left alone, i hope your floors are okay! excuse the quality as writers block has me by the neck

something 'bout you masterlist.

It’s not often that Bradley dines out. He’ll indulge in some of Penny’s greasy bar snacks once in a while—nothing more than that.

With the one time he did slack off, it wasn’t exactly easy to get back to his original physique. In fact, Bradley even found himself struggling to keep up with the likes of Hangman at one point.

And that was just the wake up call he needed to finally get back on track. 

Since then, he’s made sure to double down on his efforts to stay in shape, scarfing down his protein packed, repetitive, plain meals. It’d be a lie to say that it wasn’t a bit tasking, but it's nothing Bradley Bradshaw couldn’t put up with. And when Bradley was committed towards something, he was all in. 

But what he forgot to include in his ‘fool proof’ plan to remain loyal to his diet, was his stubborn girlfriend who loves to spoil him rotten. Which is why he's finding it difficult to swallow down his food tonight.

The usual pre-prepped dinner has never tasted so bland and downright dry, especially when you’re planted in front of him with that tablet in your hands.

For the past thirty minutes, Bradley has been subjected to a screening of strangers eating a variety of foods—from huge portions of instant noodles—to enormous crab legs being dipped in buckets of cheese. 

He’s seen it all. 

“Give in,” you whisper, fingers tightly curled around the edges of the ipad, though, you’re careful enough to not block the screen itself.

Across the rounded table he’s sat in, you’re standing there like you’re getting paid to show him a compilation of mukbang videos. You’d put the billboards lined up on the nearby highways to shame. 

“Not a fucking chance,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head firmly. 

Stabbing his fork into another piece of boiled chicken, Bradley stuffs it into his mouth in defiance. He refuses to wave the white flag, not when he’s worked so hard to finally restrain himself.

Maverick would have to come twirling into the living-room in ballerina-get up for him to take it as a sign to treat himself to a cheat meal. 

At his clear refusal to give in, your head peeks out, just so slightly, behind the thirteen inch screen, eyes narrowed with fiery determination igniting them.

“Mcdonalds. Wendys. Burger King. In and Out,” you repeatedly chant, legs starting to tremble under the strain of standing up for so long. 

Bradley only flares his nostrils, a sign that he is not backing down either.

In any other scenario, his knees would’ve immediately buckled after one plea from you. But right now, he knows you’d stuff his face with junk—that he’s been successfully cutting out for months, if you were given the okay from him.

Though, he does have to admit, he’s finding it hard to keep a stern face because your legs look like they’re about to completely give out. Not wanting to keep you up any longer, Bradley tunes out your endless chant of fast food chains—which somehow turns into a catchy song, as he shovels more strips of chicken in his mouth.

Maybe if he finishes his dinner faster, he could coax you onto the couch to watch more Ryan Gosling movies. 

Following your gut feeling, you lift a finger to the front of the screen, tapping repeatedly on the skip button—until it felt right. After spamming your pointer just a few times, you lift the index off the glass, letting it play at a random point in the compilation.

Bradley’s tongue prods his cheek, straight face starting to falter. “Baby it’s not gonna work. Please just sit dow—” 

His mouth immediately clamps shut, throat moving as he swallows back a wad of drool pooling inside his mouth. The boring dinner under him is long forgotten. 

Noticing his dazed state, you lower the screen to probe what finally caught his attention. Bradley’s eyes practically trails the movement of the tablet, not looking away for a second.

A platter of juicy burgers leaking oil and mountains of fries is what breaks him. 

“And he’ll have the double bacon-burger, two large fries, one coke and—” 

The teenage boy behind the register blinks in disbelief, watching the giant man in front of him lean down towards his girlfriend, shyly whispering in her ear. 

Bradley draws back again, standing a head taller than you with his arms crossed around your front, glassy eyes roaming the lit-up menu stretched above the line of registers. 

“Oh, can we actually make that a root beer? Also I’m really sorry, but can you remove the tomatoes from the burger as well?” You request, giving Bradley comforting strokes on the forearm he has slung over your chest.

“Yes, Ma’m I can…I can do that for you,” the worker clears his throat, editing the order on the screen, customer service voice practically cracking. 

When you two first walked in, with matching pajama pants, the fast food employee assumed he was dealing with a pair of psychos from the streets.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, he’d always get one or two unsettling visitors in the duration of his night shift. But they’d always prowl inside the joint by themselves—they never had company—nor have they ever teamed up on him before. Briefly, he considered hovering his hand over the dusty emergency button directly under the counter. 

But to his surprise, you two were just a relatively normal couple with a craving for burgers at midnight. 

“Alrighty, your total comes out to 18.50,” he reads, eyes nervously darting between the two of you. “...Will that be cash or card?”

Almost in a race with each other, you both drop the lovely couple act, digging in your own pajama pants for your wallets. The anxious worker behind the counter starts taking a careful step back, afraid you two were going to pull out a weapon on him all of a sudden. God, he shouldn’t have let his guard down so easily. 

He stills as you beat Bradley to it, holding out a credit card between your fingers, excitedly pointing it towards him. 

Bradley begins to panic, patting down his empty pockets. “Babybear, where the fuck is my wallet?” He tilts his head down at you, a knowing look settling on his face. 

As the credit card is taken from you, your mouth stretches into a wide smile, and you crane your neck backwards to look at him. “I tossed it in the back of the car when you weren’t looking,” you gleam in satisfaction.

Bradley sighs in disbelief, no wonder you were so clingy in the car. 

“Is that why you were crawlin’ all over me during all the stop lights?” 

“Gimme a kiss,” you suddenly demand, cutting him off. 

Bradley blinks at your puckered lips.

It practically pulls him into a trance, because he’s already dipping his head down to give you a quick peck. In a strange way, it’s almost a perfect recreation of that upside-down spider man kiss scene. 

Ultimately, he decides to keep the comparison to himself. If he were to mention it, you’d most likely start gushing about another movie actor.

He’s already heard enough of Ryan Gosling lately.

“I know you can open your mouth bigger than that,” you frown in his lap, readjusting the bundle of fries between your fingers. 

The buckle of his undone seatbelt hits your ankle when you wriggle to find a comfortable position next.

Bradley licks the ketchup off his lip. “Yeah, you would know,” he teases, giving your butt a quick squeeze, sleazy look on his face. 

Somehow, he’s the same person who was barely able to order food for himself inside the burger joint that’s currently behind his parked Bronco.

Receiving a silent look of disapproval from you, he finally clears his throat. 

“Okay, someone didn’t find that funny,” he mumbles, stretching his mouth wider for you.

“A little more. Ahhh,” you sing, encouraging him to take the fistful of french fries. Under you, Bradley nearly chokes when you stuff one more in his mouth, slamming his jaw shut with finality. 

“I like when your mouth is full. Less talking,” you jut your chin at him, all too pleased with the lapse of silence. 

Bradley stills his chewing, raising a brow at you. 

“Ugh! Stop it. Keep chewing those fries,” you complain, reaching for the large root beer resting on the dashboard behind you.

Bradley grins, mouth full of food, holding you steady when you twist your middle to grab the drink. 

Swallowing down a large ball of potato, he leans forward, wrapping his lips around the straw, taking a long sip from the drink cradled between your hands. 

“Are you full?” You question, watching him lean back after finishing off the remains of the beverage. You decide to set the empty cup into the driver's seat for now. 

“Feeling so full, baby,” he groans, shutting his eyes as if it’ll help him digest it faster. 

Pursing your lips to hold back a laugh, you place a suggestive hand over his stomach. “Yeah? Feel it all in your tummy,” your voice drops to a lower register, mimicking his dirty talk from the other day. 

His eyes snap open, immediately.

The cramped Bronco, littered in empty paper bags and greasy wrapping paper jostles as he rushes to sit up tall. “You said no more jokes,” he scoffs, pinching your sides. What you said was worse than everything else he spat out tonight. 

“Hey,” you whine, scratching his bloated stomach with your nails. “Don’t act all mad big guy. I know you’re about to give in anyways,” you giggle. 

Bradley traces his teeth with his tongue, failing to conceal his growing smile. Because you’re right.

If you weren’t, he wouldn’t be thirty minutes away from home, favorite person in his lap and favorite cheat meal in his stomach.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @s0uz4s @bradswolfe @swiftsgirlfriend @djs8891 @cherrylipgloss-baby @mannsachds @strokesofstokes @grxcisxhy-wp @anna1523 @coconut152 @goosterroose @chicomonks @pedrohoe04 @cruelmissdior @angelbabyange @shanimallina87 @ohgodnotagainn @cottagecori @maplesyurp07 @atarmychick007 @Olivia21blunt @s-u-t @hangmanscoming @geraltsaxii @wkndwlff @sammyrenae68 @bradshawed @roosterbruiser @gracelyn-writes @bubblegumbeautyqueen @angeliccks @zombiedeathsworld @blueoorchid @averyhotchner @laylaskywalker @swiftsgirlfriend @genius2050 @domeafavour505

[suenoji]

a penny for my thoughts? abby anderson and that’s it

contains: blackfem!reader, established relationships, pwop, penetrative sex, abby uses a strap, daddy kink? (never, just a… term…), pet names (mama, baby), choking, it’s short and sweet

abby anderson is plaguing every bit of my mind. mmm — i decided to rewatch tlou2 only to see abby. ‘nnnnnn now i’m thinking of her preparing to leave jackson. she’s frantic,, almost. three weeks of separation makes her dream and yearn for you. she hasn’t even left yet. you’re two steps away from her, under the covers of the bed. naked, afro a mess. your foreheads slick with sweat, and if you move the wrong way, your whole body feels numb. your thighs stick together; she’s making it her goal to engrave her touches into you so they last the duration of her excursion. so when you think about her you have fresh material that’ll keep your panties wet. it pays to slowly enjoy the moments that don’t occur as often, and abby’s taking her time with you tonight.

she exasperatedly sits on the bed and falls back, discarding the plans isaac gave her, the papers scatter — a mere reflection of her thoughts. she can’t focus on plans and cleaning her guns, she’s too busy focusing on the mess you made on the strap. you’re still perked up and teasing her while she lays in bed. you stalk her movements, swift like a cat. if you had a tail it’d be up in the air swaying side to side. her eyes fixate on your upside down form as you hover a few inches above her, boobs resting on her hair “think i want some more abs, from the side this time.” you bat your lashes and make the mistake of rising up to your knees. she giggles, “easy, cowgirl-“ as you fall over with a soft thud to the sheets, stomach jerking, your clit’s still thumping, pussy still throbbing eliciting a soft whine. you feel the shape of her still fucking deep inside of you. that’s the condition she fucks you in to every time, but tonight just feels different. it’s a trance she wants to stay stuck in, it’s sticky and sweet, sweeter than honey — it’s you. sex with you makes life seem so simple. stress dissipates, orders are meaningless. the thought of leaving looms over her head. a dark, gray, spatial cloud follows her every step, stress and worry boom faintly in her ears. she feels her stomach twisting.

leaving Jackson sucks so bad. when she leaves, you make her feel bad about it too— as if it was her decision to leave you to romance clikers and all those other demons. juxtaposed to, innocent, pretty, light hearted, her pretty angel — you! she’s thinking about the moments you two have shared since she stepped into the room this evening.

your moans have been on rewind. she thinks about how she’s made had you cum over and over again on her fingers, on her tongue, on her dick. soft, and opaque, pink with a soft white substance coating its base and the black straps of it as she dug it so deep inside of you curating that mess.

“‘’m cummin’ ’” you’d mumbled, thighs quivering shut, “keep em open, mama, you look so pretty ‘n daddy won’t be back for a while, so let her enjoy it.” she still can’t believe she said that crazy shit.

“‘mmabbs , we’re not done yet right?.” you whine in her ear and she shoots up. every organ in her body ignites with lust. every nerve ticks with impatience. her fingers itch. situational lust, every situation where you have her like this. when you beg and insist for her to do as she pleases. your voice cups her ears and whisper endless affirmations. it’s dreamy.

she’s thinking of how you look when she grips your throat. your little pleas, dry; high pitched. your throat’ll vibrate, your eyes’ll roll to the back of your head and your precious fingers’ll grip onto her arms. they move up to feel the muscles, the ridges and dips of her skin. your pussy gets sloppier the harder she chokes you. pinned down to the matress so you can’t get away. it’s a fun feeling. you feel how hot she is, your lips so soft, saccharine. they fall into a frown, you want her take up all your space, you want her to fill you up. you’re hearing, vision, and mind feel fuzzy. it all feels like a dream, but dreams never feel this real.

“look at me, baby.” she lightly smacks your cheeks. the palm of her hand lightly plays at your cheeks till your eyes crack open. your turn your head to look back at abby as she taps you deeply from the side. “i am.” you whine. tears prick at the corner of your eyes and your legs tremble the harder abby’s thrust pick up. she picks up your right leg and grinds her hips up into you. your fingers dig into the blue velvet blanket she laid you on. the squelching gets louder and louder. she fucks you till your mouth drops open and whiny profanities wisp out. “it feels good, right there?” she asks, kissing your cheeks as one deep sigh rolls out of your mouth. she’s pounding that one soot over and over, you’re creamin’ all on her shit now. “you’re making a mess, does it feel that good?” she teases and nips your neck.

“yes…nghh— right there.” you drool it out and your legs spasm for the nth time. you slowly cum on her dick. grinding until you lost all feelings in your hip. she’s pop it out and tap it against your ass. “good girl. you should feel real tired, you gonna let me do some work now?” she rolls over and pins you with her body. “only of we can do it till bed time when you finish.” abby giggles, your concept of bed time doesn’t reflect hers, “mhm? and what’s your definition of “bedtime”?”

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Not A Coincidence

Bradley Bradshaw x Penny’s niece!reader 3k words

summary: It’s not a coincidence that you turn up at the Hard Deck for a beach day. It’s not a coincidence either that you end up inside the bar all alone with Rooster. And after what happened on Tuesday, well...  

fair warning: allusions to smut. no smut in itself. 

a/n: this is my first bradley oneshot and i am so fucking scared imma fuck up but yknow. we’re vibing. also the jake slander in this is all fun and games. i love him. 

main piece to “Tuesday Night”, “ Rooster At 5, Bradley At Night" and “Take Me On A Joyride”, can be read seperately tho

top gun masterlist

You were early. Too early. Much too early, considering it was currently 10am and your shift began at 5pm. But here you were, sunglasses high on your nose, bikini on under a loose shirt, straw hat on your head, towel and sunscreen in your bag on the passenger seat. 

It wasn’t a concidence that you’d decided on coming early for a beach day. It was far from that, actually. And you hoped, prayed, begged that Penny wouldn’t let it slip, that she wouldn’t rat you out. Because if she did that, you were not sure you’d be able to handle the teasing that would follow. Of course she wouldn’t want anything bad for you - just a little push in the right direction, she’d call it, and smile that smile of hers that had you and Amelia giving each other the side-eye every time.

But you’d have to take that risk. 

Because you sure as hell weren’t missing out on this shit. 

And it was all Penny’s fault in the end anyway. Penny’s fault because she was here on a Thursday morning, Penny’s fault because she was sitting outside, Penny’s fault because she just had to send you a picture, didn’t she? God damn her. God damn her for being your aunt. God damn her for not sending you that picture earlier. 

You grabbed your keys a little too tightly as you turned off the ignition and pushed the door open and close again with a bit too much force. One deep breath. Then another. You needed to calm down. 

You didn’t bother with the front door - if you could save the time it’d take to find the keys in your bag, you absolutely would - instead walked around to the tables at the back. This side of the Hard Deck was hardly ten metres away from the beach, so the second you rounded the corner, you stood, frozen in spot, and watched the picture Penny had sent half an hour ago become reality. 

And reality was much better than the crappy photo in any and all ways imaginable. 

The squad was all shirtless, all greased up, running after two balls, tackling each other, sand sticking to every inch of exposed skin, sunglasses on and drenched in golden light. It was like a scene straight out of some summer rom-com - actually, no, it was pretty much like a scene coming straight out of some soft porn. Unfurling right in front of you. 

Oh, you were in trouble. 

Especially the moment anyone spotted you. And they would. They fucking would if you didn’t move it right about now. 

As quietly as you could - and as invisible as possible, which was harder - you walked up to Penny, keeping your eyes firmly planted on the aviators rolling around in the sand. You were pretty fucking sure nothing would ever top this moment right now. Thirteen of what had to be the most attractive people on the planet tan, sweaty and half-naked? Yeah, there was no way in hell it would ever be any better than this right here.

You only glanced away for a second to sit down next to Penny, to take a look at the blank Sudoku in front of her. You snorted. 

“Looks like I’m not the only one who dropped everything to get here”, you said, eyebrows raised, put your bag down next to you and looked back at the beach where Phoenix was just throwing her arms into the air to celebrate something you guessed was a good thing for her team. Hangman looked livid. 

“What can I say?”, she chuckled. “Even an old woman can enjoy some eye-candy sometimes.” 

“You’re saying ‘old’ like you actually are.” 

“Well-” 

She was going to argue, like she always did (you’d had this conversation a ton of times already), but before she could, Maverick came jogging up from the beach to a little chair he must’ve brought for himself. He waved in your general direction. You knew better than to think it was actually meant for the both of you - you were aware enough of the history of his ‘relationship’ with Penny to not be that arrogant. It always went the same: the two of them stumbling across each other every few years, with the exception of the half decade when she’d been married, they hooked up, they had a great time for some weeks, maybe even some months, then Maverick got himself into some kind of trouble and had to move across the country, leaving behind Penny and her broken heart. 

As he sat down to keep watching the game, you realised that you’d been spotted. Someone had noticed Mav’s wave, had seen not only Penny, but you too, and well, you were fucked now. You were fucked because it was Rooster who’d spotted you. Rooster who had a shit-eating grin on his face as he peeled his sunglasses off and made eye contact with you. Rooster who you knew was smart enough to connect the dots, to figure out that you being here wasn’t some coincidence. Rooster who probably realised you were checking his team out - checking him out - even all the way down the beach and through your sunglasses. 

But who could blame you? 

Hell, he looked gorgeous in his dumb Hawaiian shirts and jeans already, you weren’t particularly shocked that he looked even better without them. 

He waved at you. Waved at you to come over. To come join them. 

Within a few seconds, the rest of the aviators were catching onto his idea, were looking at you sitting there watching them, were following his example and waving at you to come down. You bit the inside of your cheek. 

You’d thought that if you were sneaky, careful enough, that you’d be able to just sit here and stare at them, watch them play, admire them for a while. Maybe pretend to read a book if they were to spot you after all. But, no, of course not. Of course Rooster had to demolish your little plan, crumble it up into nothing. Curse him. 

You sighed, but you knew the squad well enough by now to understand that you had lost. You had no choice but to do what they wanted you to do - they’d find a way to force you anyway if you didn’t do it willingly. 

Penny’s laughter in your ears, you got up and made your way down to the beach, arriving to a chorus of cheers that had you grinning and bowing. You could very well just play this off as some funny coincidence as long as Rooster kept his mouth shut. But with the way he was grinning at you, you were doubting he would for long. 

“I gotta admit I feel a little insulted that I wasn’t invited to your private beach-party”, you said, letting your eyes rake over Rooster with no concern whatsoever for being caught. You had sunglasses on. Nobody could prove you were doing a damn thing. And he was just too attractive for his own good, too attractive to ignore, too attractive not to look.  

“In our defense”, Phoenix said, still a little breathless from the game, and held both her hands up. “We didn’t know we were even having a beach-party.” 

“You didn’t even know?”, you asked. 

“Mav took us by surprise. Only told us this morning.” 

You snorted, interrupted before you could reply by a ball landing at your feet. 

“You playing, Junior?”, Jake shouted, making sure to flex his arms just short of ridiculously. If he weren’t Jake and you weren’t you, you’d probably be super into him, more turned on and less annoyed, but this way you just rolled your eyes and flipped him off. 

“First of all, Texas boy”, you yelled. “Quit calling me that or I’ll cut your fucking dick off. With some elementary school scissors as well because that’s all I’d need. And also, you know I hate sports, the mere fact that you’re suggesting I move any more than necessary is laughable.” 

You heard Phoenix and Rooster snicker as Jake laughed and threw you a sloppy salute. 

“Whatever ya say, Junior.” 

Junior. How you despised that goddamn nickname. Mainly because it didn’t make sense anyway - you weren’t even Penny’s daughter, you were her niece. They’d make more sense calling Amelia Junior. But no, it had caught on, and now you were just short of slapping people every time you heard it.

You turned back to Rooster, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to keep your eyes on his face this time. 

“I’ll get you guys some drinks”, you said, smile tugging at your lips. “If, that is, you’re allowed to drink.” 

“A drink won’t kill us”, Phoenix winked, and then hauled the ball from where it still lay at your feet and charged at Jake. 

You chuckled. There was a heavy silence hanging over you and Rooster even after half a second, your sunglasses protecting you from too much eye contact and him holding it effortlessly anyways.

“You look good”, he muttered, his voice low enough that you knew none of the others heard it. A shiver ran down your spine. Your throat went dry. God, why had you got yourself into this? You should’ve saved the pic, thanked Penny and stayed home. None of this complicated shit. But well, seemed as though you liked it complicated. 

“Do I?”, you asked quietly, barely suppressing a grin. He made an acknowledging sound that almost had you throwing caution into the fucking wind and pulling him in for a kiss just like that. 

“I think I could use a helping hand”, you said instead, voice sounding more breathless than it probably should. “You know, with the drinks.” 

His lip quirked up at that, the indication of a smile that you were much too familiar with already. You swallowed. This man should not have this effect on you. But he did, and well, who were you to argue with god’s gifts? 

“I’ve always got a free hand for you, sweetheart”, he chuckled, his fingertips dancing across your upper arm. You sucked in a breath. 

He’d flirted with you before, yes. But ever since Tuesday, he’d taken it up a notch. You’d have expected something like this from Hangman, surely, but not from Rooster. Sweet Rooster. 

Not so sweet after all. 

“You’re unbelievable”, you muttered, shaking your head and looking down (a mistake, in hindsight, because that meant you were staring right down at his abs) to escape his eyes on yours.

“What, you don’t like these hands?”, he asked with a grin, his finger snaking just below the hem of your sleeve before he pulled back, holding his hands up in front of you and turning them around - palm facing you, back facing you, palm facing you. You could’ve slapped him. 

The thing was that he had really fucking nice hands. And you didn’t usually notice that. But his were big, his fingers long, so goddamn perfect on your waist, your jaw - useful too, you could imagine. 

“I like those hands carrying the drinks out”, you quipped. “Think the guys can make do without you for a few minutes?” 

He didn’t even take a look at the squad before raising his eyebrows. 

“Sure they can.”

You couldn’t help the grin on your lips as you turned and walked up to the Hard Deck, passing by Penny (with that annoying smile that told you She knew, she knew, she knew), only leaning down to tell her you were getting the squad some drinks before you were pushing open the door, stepping behind the bar and getting out a tray. You set it down on the wooden bar top, put a bunch of shot glasses onto it and got out a bottle of vodka, only looking up when you heard Rooster laugh.

“And here I thought I was getting my hands dirty after all.” 

You snorted, resting your palms against the edge of the bar and leaning closer over to him. It was dark, light barely flooding in through the windows with the shades down, especially with your sunglasses on, and you really should have taken them off, but the sweet advantage of Rooster not knowing where you were looking was a bit too sweet to give up just yet. 

He looked good even in this dim light. One arm on the bar top, his face turned to you, his sunglasses still up high in his hair. Usually he’d hook them into his shirt, but - well, he wasn’t wearing one. A layer of sweat was covering his entire torso, droplets dripping down his neck. 

“You” - you pointed a finger at him - “are a cruel, cruel man.” 

He leaned just a bit closer, grin playing on his lips, and your breath caught in your throat as he raised a hand, prying your own sunglasses off of your face. Carefully, slowly, paying close attention to not hurting you. 

“Now is that good or bad?” 

He folded the glasses, put them down next to the tray and caught your gaze. For the first time today, you were actually looking at him. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip all on their own. If he knew about even half of the power he had over you, you were fucked. 

“Well for me”, you grinned, not daring to do anything but stare right back at him. “For me, that could be very good. Depending on what you define as good, Bradshaw.” 

“Would be beneficial if our definitions matched.” 

You let out a laugh and shook your head, finally breaking eye contact to turn around and get out another tray, another few glasses (bigger ones, this time) and a bottle of water. Drinks were well and all but the squad needed actual fluids in their systems that weren’t alcohol and as far as you knew them, they had not brought enough to even last them much more than a few hours.

“You’re a menace, Bradshaw, is what you are. And now help me get these drinks out.” 

You grabbed one tray, grabbed the bottle of vodka and maneuvered everything out from behind the bar, towards the door. Your pulse was a bit too quick, your breathing a bit too shallow, but you were fine considering what had just gone down. Considering you’d been in here alone with Bradley goddamn Bradshaw, the literal finest man on the whole planet, and had managed not to throw yourself at him. Even after what had happened Tuesday. Even after knowing just how heavenly he felt close to you. Even with how horribly obviously he’d been flirting today. 

You had hardly taken two steps away from the bar top when you were tugged back - an arm around your waist, the tray wobbling dangerously. You put the bottle of vodka down on the bar, hard, much too forcefully, to keep everything from clattering to the ground. You were good at your job, yes, but not even you could keep a tray of close to fifteen shot glasses safely on your arm when someone was purposefully tripping you up.

“Shit, you can’t just do that!”, you cursed, carefully steadying the tray and putting it down as well before you looked up at Rooster. He’d let go of you, but he didn’t seem guilty or regretful in the slightest, that grin still on his lips. 

“You really want to leave me here without making use of these hands?”, he muttered, so close to you now that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. You wanted to be mad at him. You so, so badly wanted to be. But he was making it way too hard. 

“With what those hands did already”, you hissed, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t know if I want to find out whether the rest of what they can do is just as destructive.” 

He laughed, his hands back on your waist again suddenly, fingers splayed across your skin (the shirt was really, really thin after all and you felt like you were on fire wherever he touched you), pulling you flush against his front. Your palms came up to his chest to steady yourself and you sucked in a breath - sweaty skin beneath your fingertips, well-defined abs against your stomach. Most definitely god’s gift. Shit. 

“Changed your mind that quickly?”, he hummed, thumb tracing the hem of your bikini bottoms over your shirt. “Think I can recall you being very eager to find out two days ago.” 

“You kept track?”, you asked breathlessly, the question sarcastic but your tone - sadly - outing just how affected you were by all this. By his closeness, his touch, his words. Oh, you were down bad. He chuckled. 

“For such a pretty girl like you? Always.” 

He held you just a little tighter, pulled you just a little closer. You hadn’t thought it was possible. 

“Bradley”, you whispered, and something in his expression changed like a switch had been flicked in his mind. His fingertips dug into your hips. 

“Say that again.” 

You didn’t think your mind had ever been this absolutely blank as you looked at him, rolled his words around in your head, your lips parted and your eyes wide. 

“Bradley”, you repeated - had you ever said his name before? On Tuesday you’d kissed him, sure, but you’d both been tipsy and it had been 1am and you were pretty sure you’d called him ‘Roos’, even with his hands pinning you to his Bronco and your arms crossed behind his neck. “Kiss me again.” 

[ohtobeleah]

Odds Are? // Robert Floyd

Summary: A quiet night at the Hard Deck doesn’t stay that way when two men hold you at gunpoint for the combination to the safe.

Warnings: Gun violence. Bob Floyd x F!reader. Character death. Bobby boy whump.

Word Count: 3.1k

Author Note: Day Five of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Held At Gunpoint. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“For a guy who doesn’t drink you sure like to hang around my bar an awful lot Bob.” It was one of the quietest afternoons the Hard Deck had ever seen. Monday night was usually the most boring night to close, but every now and then you didn’t mind the lul in patrons. It gave you a good excuse to reset the bar supplies, clean the nooks and crannies that often got missed, refill salt and pepper shakers that sat on the dining tables along with the accompanying sauce bottles. “Do you wanna help me slice these lemons?” 

Bob sat across from where you stood slicing a new batch of lemons and limes into small wedges. He nursed a glass of lemonade between his hands as he nodded in response. Completely and utterly spellbound by the sound of your voice coaxing him to come behind the bar. Uncharted territory for all the Daggers. 

Penny had a rule: No fly boys behind the bar. But you wouldn’t tell. Not when it was half an hour till closing time and Bob was the only patron left in the entire building. 

“I uh, I enjoy the company, Miss Simpson.” 

“What are the odds that I’m going to have to tell you that it’s Y/n again?” You sighed playfully as the heat in your cheeks rose. Bob came to stand behind where you stood, slicing your latest lime. He couldn’t see it, but he knew a smirk was creeping across your oh so beautiful face. “Or Gidget at least.” 

Bob was feeling a little more bold than he usually was, so before he answered he gently pushed your hair to one side to expose the junction of your neck. His fingers danced across your skin igniting your senses as they did so, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“At least once more, Miss Simpson.” Bob cooed as he leaned in to softly press his lips right below your ear. “You’re dad scares the hell outta me, I wouldn’t want him to think that I would ever disrespect his daughter.” 

As Bob's hands trailed down to your hips to keep you steady on your feet, he heard a soft but audible chuckle escape you as you placed the knife down on the chopping board and spun around to face him. 

“You call what we did last night respectful, Lieutenant Floyd?” The memory sat at the very forefront of Bob's mind. You were the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, physically and emotionally. But in all the time Bob had known you—he never thought you were more beautiful than when you were on top of him, completely naked and on full display just for him, rocking your hips back and forth as the angelic sounds of your needy little whines echoed off his bedroom walls. 

“You didn’t seem to have any complaints.” Bob teased as he pulled you into him. Your hands came flying up to cup his clean cut cheeks as his supple lips ghosted yours. “But no ma’am—that was very disrespectful of me.” Bob let his forehead rest against yours as he took in the way you bit your bottom lips in anticipation. “You should totally reprimand me, you know—for being so disrespectful to such a lovely respectful lady such as yourself.” 

“Hmm—“ You hummed in response. “How about you help me slice these lemons, shut up shop and maybe, I’ll let you disrespect me some more?” 

“You’re a miscreant, Miss Simpson.” 

“And you’re a very good fuck, Lieutenant Floyd.” It was then you reached around to grab one of the lemons that were still yet to be cut and held it up before Bob's face. “But lemons first.” 

Bob took the lemon in his hand before he looked back down at you. His eyes told you he was all in, all in for you and everything you could give him. His lips gently pressed themselves against yours for a fleeting moment. But with Robert Floyd time stood still. 

“Yes ma’am.” He replied before he let you turn back around to get back to the likes you’d been working away at. Sorting them into containers for the next few days. “I’ll uh, I’m just gonna head to the bathroom real quick and then I promise, I’ll be the best bar assistant you’ve ever had.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” You watched as Bob rounded out from behind the bar, you pointed the very tip of your knife at him as he walked away. “But I wouldn’t give up your day job just yet, I know flying multi million dollar fighter jets is life threatening and all, but I’ve had some pretty serious run ins with some pesky lemon seeds before that would just make your heart stop.” 

Bob knew in that very moment he wanted more. Whatever the two of you were, he wanted more. He wanted you at every point in the morning, noon and night. He wanted you day in and day out, hour after hour, minute after minute. Ever since he first saw you shaking hands with Penny after accepting a casual bartending job while you were staying at your dads place, he knew he wanted to know you in some aspect. 

But by god did Robert Floyd fall hard for Admiral Simpson's only daughter. You couldn’t make it easy on the guy could you? No—you just had to be the daughter of the guy who could make or break Bob's career. 

“I’ll be back in a minute—“ You expected Bob to call you Miss Simpson like he always did. Even when the two of you were romantically involved he wouldn’t say your name. It felt too real then. Like if he said your name you’d slip right through his fingers. It was simple ‘darlin’ if it wasn’t Miss Simpson. But as Bob stopped in his tracks and knocked his knuckles on the bar, he sent you a soft smile—half sided and crooked as all hell. “Y/n, I’ll be back in a minute Y/n.” 

“Hurry back, Bob.” Bob's eyes lingered on you for a few more seconds before he disappeared out of sight. You couldn’t contain the smirk that plastered itself across your face as you went back to cutting your lemons and limes. 

You could see yourself really falling in love here. With Bob, the shy but albeit sweet as sweet could be fly boy who just took your breath away with such ease. You always told yourself that you’d never fall for a Naval Aviator—you didn’t want to live that life. But with Bob it seemed so effortless, so simple, so—organically meant to be. 

“Are you still open sweetheart?” A man’s voice broke you out of the daydream you’d fallen into thinking about Bob and all the things that made him, simply him. 

“Oh!” You looked around for the clock, confirming the time before you answered the gentleman poking his head through the front door. “Yeah—yeah I’ve still got a good fifteen minutes before I start closing down the bar.” 

“Sounds like just enough time.” The man smiled as he entered the bar, soon enough he was followed by two other men who all wore black denim jeans in black puffer jackets. “I’ll get a rum and coke if that’s not too much to ask for, sugar.” 

“What brings you fellas in so late on a Monday night?” You asked as you wiped your hands on your apron, your hands were covered in lemon and lime juice. But you went about fetching the gentleman his order. 

“Oh you know—“ One of the men began as he sat up on one of the barstools. “We’re just here to make some quick cash.” You weren’t too sure if you had heard the man correctly as you poured his shot into the cool class. But when you looked up to see the handgun sitting on top of the bar, with the safety off and a fully loaded clip, you knew you had heard him correctly. “You’re gonna finish making me that drink, and then you’re going to give us whatever you’ve got in that till there.” 

Although you could have sworn your heart was about to explode out of your chest from the fear coursing through your veins, you stood firm and kept a stoic look upon your face as you reached for the soda gun. 

“Unfortunately gentleman you picked the wrong night of the week to hold the joint up.” You sighed, going about your business as normal. Finishing off the drink the man with the gun had ordered before you placed it right in front of him on a little Hard Deck coaster. “Float only carries two hundred and twenty five dollars in it at any one time, and that’s on a good night.” 

“All that extra overflows gotta go somewhere, doesn’t it girly?” The man sitting off to the right added as he played with a straw he’d plucked from the dispenser. 

“The hand soaps a little low in the mens.”

Your heart froze inside your chest at Bob's voice, sweet baby boy Bob. “I can refill it if you’d like? I just need the key—“ As Bob looked up to see three men sitting around the bar, he didn’t immediately think anything was wrong. It was only when his eyes saw the hand gun top of the bar that he froze. “Give them what they want—“ 

“Bob—“ You warned as you crained your neck his way. “Don’t.” 

“Oh what have we got here boys?” The main man with the gun chuckled to himself with utter glee when he noticed Bob wearing none other than his service khakis. “A naval man.” He snickered to his buddies as they all got up from the barstools they’d taken seats on. “How’s good old Uncle Sam treating you?” 

“Not as well as you’d expect—“ Was all Bob replied with as he made sure his hands could be seen. His eyes never left yours though as he watched you frozen behind the bar. “Whatever you want, take it—just don’t hurt her.” 

“Oh he’s a hero lads!” The man with the gun laughed as he walked closer and closer over to where Bob had frozen in his tracks. “Lucky for you—she doesn’t get hurt if she just gives us what we want.” 

“Then take it and leave.” Bob hissed, he wasn’t taking any risks here. Whatever these guys wanted they could have it. Nothing was as valuable as your life was. Nothing couldn’t be made back or re-purchased. But there wasn’t another you. 

“Where’s the safe dollface?” The man with the guy who’s eyes reminded you of soulless pits of darkness turned back to face you. “Because odds are you won’t wanna see Mr. Military Man here with a bullet between his eyes, would you?” 

“It’s in the back.” You whimpered as tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. Bob could see how scared you really were, how frightened you’d become the moment he walked in the room. “I’ll take you to it but I don’t know the code—“ You weren’t lying. Penny hadn’t told anyone the combination to the safe. She’d leave it unlocked until you cashed out. Once you put the cash in for the night? That was that—you couldn’t open it again. “And I already changed out the till for the night. So again—I’ve got two hundred and twenty five dollars here, all yours.” 

As soon as you had said you didn’t know the code, the man holding the gun with the dark soulless eyes pointed the gun he held in his head directly at you. Bob moved to step in the way—if that guy was gonna shoot anyone it was gonna be him. 

“Woah, woah, woah, woah—“ Bob panicked. This was not what he had had in mind for a quiet Monday night. “Just take the whole safe? If she can’t unlock it, just take the whole thing.” 

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve standing between this gun and that girl Lieutenant.” The man growled as his two buddies went to stand on either side of Bob as you watched from behind the bar. “Keep him busy while little miss over here shows me where the safe is.” 

Your legs wouldn’t move, it felt like you were glued in the spot you stood as the fear rushed through your adrenal glands. 

“Get the fuck over here before I change my mind and shoot you both.” Again you couldn’t move, you couldn’t barely begin to think about moving one foot in front of the other. But then there was Bob. 

“Y/n—“ Bob warned as he turned around to face you. “Just give them whatever they want, and they’ll leave.” He reminded you, making sure to keep his composure as calm as he could. “I’m right here, just show him where the safe is.” 

“Honey so help me god if we don’t get what we came here for someone is gonna end up dead.” The click of the pin being pulled back made you jump before you were rushing around to the other side of the way. “Atta girl—“ 

“Bob—“ You whimpered as you made your way past. He was all that you wish you could have been and more. Brave, heroic, calm. He reached out for you even though the two men who stood on either side of him stopped him from doing so, he still tried. 

“You’re okay, just do what he says, I’m right here, you’re okay.” Never did you ever think you’d find yourself in this situation. Being held at gunpoint in your place of work. Statistically it was bound to happen, you just never thought it would happen to you. Little old you in North Island. A town full of Naval men and women. “Go, I’ll be fine.” 

“Quicker we get this over with the quicker we’re outta here sugar.” The man still holding the gun reminded you as you walked with him towards the back of the Hard Deck. Penny had a small office you would use to do ordering in. In that small office she kept the taking for the week before she would bank them. 

Monday nights were usually bank nights. Which meant there was not left except for a double hundred dollars you’d only just cashed out. 

“Why are you doing this?” You asked nervously as you made your way into the office with the barrel of a gun pressed into the small of your back. There was a rather rugged hand guiding you on your shoulders, pushing you along. “There’s a million and one places you could have gone, why here?” 

“My buddy Harrison got tossed outta here not long ago by the bitch who owns the joint.” It was all the explanation you really needed. “Call it cosmic karma—“ You made your way over to where the safe was and pointed it out before you turned back to face your captor. 

“There, again I don’t know the combination—but if you and your buddies can carry it I’ll let you walk out with it.” 

“Oh will you.” The man snarled as he closed in on you. “You’ll just let me walk out with it will you?” He had you up against the wall in seconds—the gun pressed into your jaw. “Why do the real pretty ones have to have such big fucking mouth.” 

“POLICE!” It couldn’t have come soon enough. “POLICE GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” You could hear the yelling coming from out front as you smirked wildly. There had been a panic button under the bar, the second you saw the gun? You’d hit it without hesitation. 

“What are the odds you can carry that thing alo—“ Warm. That’s how you’d described it. The feeling of the bullet entering your stomach at point blank range felt warm as much as it felt as cold as ice. “Oh.” 

“What are the odds you make it out of here alive?” The man who’d just shot you snickered before he stood back and watched you slide down the wall. Your hand was oozing crimson red as you tried to hold a firm pressure against the wound you’d sustained. But your mind was fogging with every passing second. 

He ran. The man who’d just shot you and left you to die ran as fast as he could out the back door. You saw a police officer run after him in a blur. But time was moving as quickly as it was standing still. 

“Y/n?” Bob's voice barreled down the hall as he came racing through to find you. “Y/n?” He knew you would have been back here somewhere. He’d heard a shot ring out, a single gut wrenching gun shot that had him on edge. “Oh my god—“ 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could muster up as you bled through your work shirt. “I’m so sorry—“ 

“I—I need a medic!” Bob shouted over his shoulder before he was coming to your aid. He placed his hand over your and pressed a little firmer. “Hey, hey, you’re gonna be alright.” 

“What are the odds of that exactly?” You chuckled softly, Bob didn’t miss the way a little blood painted your bottom lip and the place’s between your teeth. “Bob?” 

“High as all hell you hear me?” Bob replied as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Y/n baby, do you hear me?” 

“I’m just gonna—“ Bob could see your neck struggling to keep your head upright. “Need to rest my eyes for a minute.” 

“No, no, no, no—you stay here with me.” Bob pleaded as your blood stained his hands. “We still have to finish cutting the lemons.” He tried to make you smile again. “I’ve still gotta show you just how good of a bar hand I can be.” 

“Show me tomorrow?” You felt the cold first, everything was numb before you even knew what hit you. Bob could tell too. He could see the light behind your eyes fading. He knew you were leaving, so Bob pressed his lips against yours gently just one more time. For the last time. 

“Tomorrow, and all the other days after, Miss Simpson.” Bob hoped you’d have enough strength to tell him just one more time. 

“It’s Y/n.” You did, without hesitation. “Please Bob—“

“What are the odds you tell me you love me?” Bob asked as he wiped your tears away with the hand that wasn’t holding yours against your stomach. Trying his best to stop you from bleeding. “Y/n?” But it was too late. 

Your eyes were trained on him but you were already gone. But as Bob cried he whispered it to you for the first and last time. He couldn’t let you go without you knowing. 

“I love you so very much.”  ***~***~****~***~****~****~***~***~***~***~***~

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers s @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

[callsigns-haze]

Out of All: Chp 3

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships

The studio walls seemed to close in, suffocating you with their unyielding presence. Bloody January, new year, new you, but here you were, stuck in the same cycle of frustration and disappointment. Hours had slipped by like grains of sand through an hourglass, each one adding to the weight of your exasperation.

Today was one of those days where nothing seemed to click, where every note was a struggle, and every chord felt like a battle. The music refused to flow, stubbornly resisting your attempts to coax it into existence. And as the hours stretched on, tensions simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Frustration radiated from every corner of the studio, a palpable energy that hung heavy in the air. The once vibrant space now felt suffocating, stifling your creativity with its oppressive atmosphere. All you wanted was to escape, to retreat into the sanctuary of solitude and lick your wounds in peace.

But duty called, in the form of your brother's plea to join him and his friends at Penny's bar tonight. You wanted to meet them, to connect with his circle, but today, the thought of socializing felt like an insurmountable task.

"Anna, we need to get this moving!" Harry's voice cut through the tension, his frustration mirroring your own. With a roll of your eyes, you shot him a pointed look, the weight of exhaustion bearing down on your shoulders.

"What do you honestly think I've been trying to do, huh?" you snapped, your words laced with frustration. You were tired, irritable, and every fiber of your being screamed for release. The studio felt like a prison, trapping you in a cycle of unfulfilled potential and dashed hopes.

As Harry left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for another attempt. One more time, from the top, and then you were out. With a resolve born of sheer determination, you began to play, your voice a beacon of defiance amidst the chaos.

Each note carried the weight of your frustration, each chord a testament to your resilience. Despite the odds, you refused to be defeated, pushing forward with a determination that bordered on desperation. And as the melody unfurled, weaving its way through the heavy atmosphere, you felt a glimmer of hope ignite within you.

The music may not have been perfect, may not have flowed effortlessly from your fingertips, but it was yours. A reflection of your struggle, your perseverance, and your unwavering commitment to your craft. And in that moment, as the music carried you away on its wings, you found solace in the simple act of creation, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still beauty to be found.

"Summer went away Still, the yearning stays I play it cool with the best of them I wait patiently He's gonna notice me It's okay, we're the best of friends Anyway

I hear it in your voice You're smoking with your boys I touch my phone as if it's your face I didn't choose this town I dream of getting out There's just one who could make me stay All my days

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes I waited ages to see you there I search the party of better bodies Just to learn that you never cared

You're on your own, kid You always have been

I see the great escape So long, Daisy May I picked the petals, he loves me not Something different bloomed Writing in my room I play my songs in the parking lot I'll run away

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes I called a taxi to take me there I search the party of better bodies Just to learn that my dreams aren't rare

You're on your own, kid You always have been

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this I hosted parties and starved my body Like I'd be saved by a perfect kiss

The jokes weren't funny, I took the money My friends from home don't know what to say I looked around in a blood-soaked gown And I saw something they can't take away

'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned Everything you lose is a step you take So make the friendship bracelets Take the moment and taste it You've got no reason to be afraid

You're on your own, kid Yeah, you can face this You're on your own, kid You always have been"

---

Bradshaw! Where's your sister at?" Natasha's impatience cut through the chatter, her eyes scanning the bar for your familiar presence. Bradley glanced at his phone, hoping for a message or a sign of your impending arrival, but found nothing. A sense of unease settled over him, a nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Don't know, Phoenix. She's probably stuck at work," Bradley replied, his voice tinged with concern. He watched as Jake and Javy played darts, his mind drifting back to the front door of the bar. "Where are you, Anna?"

With a flicker of apprehension, Bradley unlocked his phone, dialing your number in a desperate bid for reassurance. Each ring felt like an eternity, his heart pounding in his chest as he prayed for your familiar voice to answer. But the silence on the other end only deepened his worry.

Then, a message popped up on his screen, accompanied by a video from you. Relief flooded through him as he read your text, a small smile tugging at his lips. "We only wrapped up now. Give me ten and I'll be there!"

As he watched the video, a sense of pride swelled within him. Your voice, clear and strong, filled the bar, carrying the weight of your emotions with each note. It was a song about solitude, about facing life's challenges head-on, and Bradley couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for his talented sister.

"Hey guys! My sister's gonna be here in a bit. She sent me a video if you want to see!" Bradley called out to the group, excitement rippling through the air. He had mentioned your burgeoning music career to his friends before, and now they eagerly gathered around him, eager to catch a glimpse of the elusive Anna Bradshaw.

As the video began to play, Jake's eyes widened in recognition. The pieces fell into place, and he realized why you looked so familiar. With your distinctive features and undeniable talent, you were unmistakably Baby Bradshaw, the younger sibling whose musical journey had captivated their curiosity.

As the last notes of your song faded away, a chorus of applause erupted from your audience. Bradley couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in his chest as he watched his sister's talent being recognized and celebrated by those closest to him. In that moment, as the warmth of camaraderie washed over him, he knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always have a supportive network by your side.

He and Coyote both took a step back, their expressions mirroring a mix of shock and disbelief. Javy leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper as he posed a question that hung heavy in the air, "Isn't that the chick from last weekend?" Jake shot his friend a warning look, silently urging him to keep his thoughts to himself.

In that moment, the weight of his actions hit Jake like a ton of bricks. He had been sleeping with a Bradshaw, his wingman's precious baby sister. The realization washed over him, a wave of dread and regret crashing against his conscience. How could he have been so blind? How could he not have recognized you, despite your distinctive features and undeniable talent?

God, Bradley would kill him. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, his stomach churning with a sickening mix of guilt and apprehension. He had betrayed his friend's trust in the worst possible way, tarnishing the bond they had built over years of camaraderie and loyalty.

As he glanced at Bradley, he could see the color draining from his friend's face, his expression a mask of disbelief and shock. The room seemed to spin around him, the reality of the situation hitting him like a freight train. "Hey Bagman, you okay?" Fanboy's voice cut through the tension, his concern palpable as he glanced at his fellow pilot.

"Fine," Jake replied, his voice strained as he forced the words past the lump in his throat. But inside, he knew that nothing would ever be the same again. He had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and now, he would have to face the consequences of his actions.

---

You parked your car near the light blue bronco, recognizing it as your brother's vehicle. As you stepped out and locked the door, a sense of apprehension settled over you. You knew Bradley would likely be frustrated, perhaps even angry, that your colleagues had made you late for the meeting.

Entering the bar, you spotted Bradley with a group of young aviators. He walked down to greet you, enveloping you in a side hug. His whispered words tugged at your heartstrings. "You actually came," he murmured. With a playful eye roll, you leaned in to whisper back, "You pay the rent without allowing me to, I had no choice."

The resemblance between you and Bradley was uncanny, from the curls in your hair to the twinkle in your eyes. As he introduced you to his friends, you greeted them warmly, but your attention was quickly drawn to one individual in particular: Jake. Jake Seresin, Hangman, Bradley's wingman.

Bradley's introduction sent a jolt of panic through you. You had slept with Jake, your brother's wingman. Out of all the people, why him? The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, and you knew you had to tread carefully to ensure that Bradley never found out about your previous encounter with Jake.

As Jake greeted you with a Texan charm that sent shivers down your spine, you struggled to maintain your composure. Bradley couldn't know, couldn't suspect anything. So you smiled politely, nodding at Jake's introduction, all the while grappling with the knowledge of the secret you shared with his wingman.

Jake knew that Bradley could never figure out that the two of you had met previously, so he played it cool, maintaining his composure to prevent your brother from catching on. "Hangman, but you can call me Jake, darlin'," he said, his Texan accent adding a touch of charm to his words.

As Jake shook your hand, Bradley watched the interaction closely, his protective instincts kicking in. "Brad told me a lot about you," you remarked casually, withdrawing your hand and wrapping your arms around yourself as you engaged in conversation with Jake. "I could say the same," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed Bradley had rejoined the group, leaving you to converse with Jake. But before you could delve further into conversation, Jake leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "We need to talk."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you met his intense gaze, scanning the room to ensure no one was listening in on your conversation. "Yeah, that's putting it nicely," you replied, a sense of apprehension creeping into your tone.

----

"You're actually his sister," Jake sighed, his frustration evident as he ran his hands down his face while seated on the outside deck of the bar. The realization hung heavy in the air, both of you grappling with the unexpected twist of fate that had brought you together.

"Look Jake... Would you change anything if I wasn't his sister?" you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty. It was a question neither of you had anticipated, probing the depths of what could have been if circumstances were different.

"No," Jake replied simply, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering determination. Despite the complications that your relationship with Bradley introduced, he was adamant that he wouldn't alter a single moment they had shared.

His response left you conflicted. On one hand, you were relieved that he didn't regret what had transpired between you. On the other, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt about the potential fallout with your brother.

"What about Bradley?" You countered, your mind racing with the implications of your newfound connection with Jake.

As you contemplated the situation, memories of the rules you and your best friend, Caila, had established as teenagers flooded your mind. Rule number one: Never, under any circumstances, become romantically involved with each other's siblings. It was a pact born out of loyalty and mutual respect, a boundary that had never been crossed. You believed guys had some sort of similar boundaries.

But now, faced with the undeniable chemistry between you and Jake, you questioned whether those rules still held weight. Was it breaking a code if neither of you were aware of its existence? And could you deny the undeniable attraction that pulsed between you, despite the potential consequences?

"I've done worse things," Jake confessed, his words hanging in the air like a weighty admission. In that moment, you knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but the pull of desire was too strong to resist.

tagging:

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[spideystevie]

oo maybe 5 from the fluffy dialogue prompts w hangman?? ily -vinny

vinny my love <3 something possessed me and i blacked out and came to and saw i’d written almost 2k words. only a little insane. anyway i hope you like it!! [1.8k] @callsignsaturn | 5. "stay as long as you want"

It was sunny when you’d first gone inside the Hard Deck. The sun shining almost unbearably bright that it had caused you to squint, sweat starting to bead up around your hairline.

Now, as you ready yourself to leave, it’s like the sun has disappeared. The sky was dark and murky and seemingly seconds away from cracking open and unleashing a flood. There’s a distant rumble of thunder in the clouds that makes you tense. 

“You better leave now if you wanna beat out the storm,” Penny says, passing you your card. You smile weakly at her and nod. You’re in the middle of digging out your wallet to put your card away when Jake ambles up to the bar to close his own tab. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Jake. That was the problem, you liked Jake a lot more than you probably should, much to the dismay of your best friend Bob. And as much as Bob hated to admit it, Jake liked you too.

And while both of those statements were true, neither of you had made any move to make anything official between you two. Sure, you’d gone on a couple of dates and kissed a few times and sure, maybe you’d almost slept with him but that was one time. And, okay, maybe he acted like your boyfriend when other people were around but that was it. 

You weren’t entirely blame-free. You knew you could ask him but you were stubborn and maybe a little bit prideful and you wanted him to do it first. And when he hadn’t, well, you were starting to get a little annoyed. You hurriedly shove your wallet into the front pocket of your jeans and push off the bar. 

“Thanks, Penny,” you call over your shoulder. You rush out the door, trying to hide against the wall while you waited for an Uber or maybe even Bob, though he’d left an hour ago, to come pick you up. The service you’re getting is less than satisfactory and you watch the homepage of the app load with no end in sight.

“Do you need a ride?” Jake’s voice startles you and the hand not holding your phone comes up to clutch the spot above your heart. He at least looks apologetic when you meet his eye.

“No, thank you, I’ll just take an Uber,” you say, looking back down at your phone. He tsks, causing you to look back at him with an eyebrow raised. You cross your arms over your chest, almost as a protective measure.

“C’mon, Bob would never let me live if he knew I let you take an Uber instead of giving you a ride and making sure you got home safe,” he says, only a little exasperated. Your arms fall to their sides as you grumble, knowing that he’s right. 

“Fine,” you sigh, shoving your phone in your pocket. “Lead the way.”

The drive to your house is quiet, save for the steady nervous beat of your heart and the rain that’s started to lash against the windows of his car. The windshield wipers are constant and squeak a little as they push the never ending rain off the glass. He drives slow, cautious, which you’re thankful for even if it extends the drive almost double.

He pulls up in front of your house and shifts the car into park. You stare at the windshield wipers swaying back and forth. It’s barely seven o’clock but it feels much later with the sun completely hidden beneath the haze of clouds and rain. 

You can hear him open his mouth to speak, a soft inhale. You beat him to it.

“Do you…want to come in?” you ask tentatively. He blinks at you and you start to stammer. “Just..just until the rain lets up! It’s probably not…safe for you to drive back to base in this.”

Slowly, he shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay?” you repeat, almost shocked that he’d agree. Something of a smile crosses his face only briefly as he cuts the engine and pulls his keys from the ignition. He nods. 

“Yes, okay,” and then he’s opening his door and running out into the rain. You’re not as fast, your mind still reeling because he’s going to be in your house and not for predisposed reasons. He takes the extra minute to pull your door open for you and help you out of his car. His palm is warm against yours as you run the short distance to your front door. 

Jake seems to realize he’s still holding your hand when you pause to pull out your keys and he lets go almost like he’s been burned. His cheeks look a little pink but that could just be from the cold rain. You make quick work of the lock before ushering him inside ahead of you. 

Water drips from your hair and the hems of your clothes as you stand in your front entryway after toeing off your shoes. You stare at each other for a beat and you will yourself not to stare at the way his shirt is sticking to his chest. You wonder if he can hear you gulp. 

“Um, I’ll grab some towels,” you say, disappearing down a hall and around a corner. Jake’s focus turns to the few picture frames you have hung up by the door. There’s an old one of you with your family on some kind of vacation. The other one holds a much younger capture of you and Bob at his graduation from the Naval Academy. 

“I grabbed you a towel and then some old clothes Bob’s left behind that might fit and you can throw the ones you’ve got on in the dryer if that’s…” you trail off when you see him smiling at the photos on the wall. He looks over at you and taps a knuckle against the one of you and Bob. 

“Cute,” he muses and you think you'll explode with the amount of heat rising to your face. He steps towards you and you hastily hold out the towel and change of clothes. It’s then that he notices you’ve changed into pajamas of your own. When everything’s out of your hands you take a step back and clear your throat. 

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the left. Laundry room on the right,” you gesture with your finger and he nods, giving you one last look before heading that way. You don’t think you breathe until you hear the door click shut behind him. 

You’re not sure why you feel so nervous around him all of a sudden. He’d had his hands in your pants and lips against your neck not even two weeks ago and here you were, feeling like you’d fall over at any given moment. Granted, the two of you hadn’t exactly talked about what had happened then and you spent the last two weeks skirting around each other. But that's besides the point.

You try to steel yourself, breathing deeply before you head into the kitchen to try and find something you can cook for dinner. The whole thing feels so domestic. Jake, who, at this point, might as well be your boyfriend, changing in your bathroom while you’re in the kitchen making dinner for the two of you. You’ve got enough heat on your face you think you could fry an egg with it. 

He comes in while you’re stirring the noodles for pasta. You turn to look at him, eyes soft when you catch sight of him in an old, tattered pair of plaid pajama pants and a black t-shirt. You turn back around before he can catch you staring. 

The rain still hasn’t let up by the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up the kitchen. It’s a constant thrum against your windows, accompanied by the occasional flash of lightning somewhere a few miles off. You’re putting away the last plate when he clears his throat behind you. 

“I should probably get going,” he says. You close the cabinet and turn to look at him. The dryer still spins down the hall, the sound of your clothes tumbling around muffled by the closed laundry room door.

“I don’t think the rain’s gonna stop anytime soon,” you say, hinting around an invitation to stay longer. His eyes widen if only slightly. You shift on your feet. 

“You’d let me stay the night?” he asks, a little disbelieving. You stare at him, your arms crossed over your chest. The expression on your face is a little impassive, though he thinks there might be a smile shining in your eyes. 

“You can stay,” you swallow suddenly feeling a little shy, “as long as you want.”

You have a hard time meeting his eyes. There’s a shuffling of feet, the socks you lent him sliding against the flooring of your kitchen. When your toes nearly touch, he presses a finger under your chin and nudges your face up gently. You think he might be smirking when you look up at him but it’s softer than that. His dimple is showing and there are creases by his eyes. 

“I knew you liked me,” he says. You roll your eyes and purse your lips, willing yourself not to smile. You tilt your head and his finger leaves the underside of your chin, his palm coming to rest against your cheek. 

“Hmm…and what made you think that?” you tsk, furrowing your eyebrows. He shakes his head, his smile deepening around the edges and the sight of it pulls your smile out of you. His thumb brushes against your lower lip. 

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice lowering an octave making a slight shudder run down the length of your spine. Something between the two of you shifts, maybe for the better you hope as his face lowers to yours. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you but it almost feels like it is. 

His lips brush yours almost hesitant at first, a silent question of is this okay? that you answer by cupping his face and pulling him fully against you. Your heart seems to soar, a light exhale leaving you as you shift your hands to wrap your arms around his neck. 

He kisses you soft and slow, all languid give and take, like he has all the time in the world. Like his sole purpose in life is to kiss you like this forever. You wouldn’t mind, not in the slightest. You pull back, your chest pressing against his with each inhale you take and the tip of your nose brushing against the slope of his. 

[vecnawrites]

(Dick or Treat) After Penny somehow managed to convince Ciel to participate in this year's trick or treat the dark-skinned Atlesian has been going around houses collecting plenty of candy. After knocking on yet another door she gets incredibly horny when Jaune steps out with his huge dick erect nearly poking her!

Ciel sighed to herself as she found herself going around with Penny and collecting candy, even though the robotic girl couldn’t ‘eat’ it in the traditional way. She could consume it, for sure, but she didn’t taste it at all.

As it was, Ciel didn’t truly care for this, since she had long given up the more childish aspects of life in exchange for her training, but she honestly couldn’t say no to her partner simply due to the fact that she had been so sheltered for so many years.

However, now, that her robotic friend had split away from her to go to a party with that Ruby Rose girl, she was only out because she promised to get more candy for her.

Though she was quickly losing her patience and planning on going back to the barracks, though, and grabbing some candy on the way back to fill the bag up. It wasn’t like Penny would actually know where the treats came from, right?

Coming up to the last house on the block, almost hidden, she decided that this would be the last one before she headed back. It was sparsely decorated, but the porch light was on, meaning that someone was home.

Walking up to the door, she knocked on it several times, tapping her foot and hoping that they would just give her a load of candy so she could just go straight back-

The door opened and she found herself herself blushing, seeing that the door had been answered by a a young blonde man (one she vaguely recognized as Jaune Arc) in a towel...or what would have been a towel, had the doorknob not caught it and pulled it off, leaving him naked before her.

She had obviously interrupted something, as his cock, hard and twitching, his tip leaking precum. There was a moment of pregnant pause before she saw the blonde scramble for the towel, stuttering an apology out as he tried to cover himself, though Ciel wasn’t hearing his words, her eyes focused on the large and thick shaft, and the heavy balls that hung down between his thighs.

The mere sight alone ignited a fire in her belly, reminding her how long it had been since she had gotten any sort of sexual pleasure and well...Ciel couldn’t deny that he was a very nice specimen…

After arguing with herself for a few moments, she nodded to herself, and reached out and cupped the blonde’s erection, making him gasp in shock as she began to stroke him, her fingers feeling the almost blistering heat radiating off of him.

Nothing was said as Ciel knelt down on the porch and leaned forwards, taking the large and thick cock into her mouth and beginning to bob her head, sucking and licking as she reached down and under her skirt, rubbing her fingers over the front of her black panties as she had spent so long this night getting Penny candy, it was time for her to get a treat for herself.

Loud sucking and moans filled the night air, along with a risk of being caught, but that didn’t stop Ciel. No, it just made her more eager and more forceful in her actions...

~

“Ah, Friend Ciel! How was your trick or treating?” Penny asked cheerfully as she saw her teammate enter their dorm room and set down her candy bag. “Oh! Wow, you have so much candy!” she exclaimed, seeing the bag practically bursting to the seams. “You were incredibly successful!”

Ciel smiled at her friend as she began to unbutton her jacket as she began to prepare for bed. “Yes I was, Penny...” she said, a dribble of cum making its way down the inside of her thigh unseen, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yes, I was...”

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 6 - Not Realizing They're Injured

title: exit 73

fandom: limited life smp

cw: blood and injury

~

Jimmy whoops, high-pitched and birdlike, as they run, their feet pounding against the asphalt. “We killed that one! Those Clockers didn’t know what hit ‘em!”

“Stop talking and just run,” Grian hisses, his words choppy. “We’re not out yet.”

They'd parked the van another block down, cleverly disguised as a plumber’s van—and if anyone opened it up, a plumber’s van is all they’d find. They’d spent a good bit of money outfitting it with drain snakes and wrenches and other tools, just in case anyone decided to find their van suspicious.

Right now, they’ve just got to make it there without getting caught.

Are they being followed? Probably not, they wove through some confusing alleys that Grian had somehow known his way through, they should be in the clear. Joel doesn’t look behind himself. He just keeps running.

They round another bend, and another, and Joel tries to keep himself pretty fit, but the stitch in his side is already burning and shouldn’t they have found the van yet?

“Where is that plumbing van?” he mutters angrily. Grian shushes him; Joel scoffs. “We lost ‘em ages ago, calm down,” he tells Grian, slowing just a bit to try and relax the stitch’s pain. “Where’d we park it?”

“Two more streets down,” Jimmy calls back—because of course he’s taken the lead, with his stupidly long legs. “I can see it, just over the hill.”

Great. Two more streets.

It’s kind of embarrassing that he’s already so out of breath. He swears he works out—it’s just been a long hit. He’s been hiding out at the cargo bay for hours, wedged behind some boxes, waiting for the moment that the Clockers showed up to sign for their contraband. Then it had been some quick moments of adrenaline—a fight, flashes of knives and fists—before Grian had the papers and they ran, the sudden energy still pumping through Joel’s veins.

He’d managed to grab Bdubs’s (one of the top Clockers that was overseeing the operation) famed pocket watch off the man himself, and that should sell for a pretty penny. It was plated gold with crystal glass, so the rumor went, and Joel couldn’t wait to have a jeweler test it.

Oh, that tiny man has got to be so furious right now. . . .

“There it is!” Jimmy cheers, pointing ahead. Joel still doesn’t see it all that well through the dark, but he trusts that Jimmy knows what’s going on and just focuses on one foot in front of the other, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Grian grabs his hand and pulls him forward, toward the van. He sees it now, with its crooked pipe art on the side, dimly illuminated by the starlight above.

Joel’s the driver, of course. The others poke fun at him for never letting anyone else drive, but he’s not going to go into or out of a mission with intense nausea, so he’s driving. He climbs up into the driver’s seat, shoves the keys in the ignition and starts driving before he even knows that Grian and Jimmy are in.

Judging by an annoyed shout, Jimmy wasn’t all the way in, but the door shuts and Jimmy rolls into the backseat, his annoyance clear in the darkened reflection of the rearview mirror.

Grian immediately reaches for the radio. Joel smacks his hand away. Jimmy leans forward, also reaching for the radio. They both smack his hand.

“No music,” Joel grits out. He’s usually high-strung after a mission like this, no real outlet for the energy flowing through him. Yet, despite knowing that he’ll be quick to anger, the others always manage to provoke him.

The no-music rule has been in place for as long as Joel’s been driver. Can’t the others stop being idiots for two seconds and let him drive in peace?

The van trundles along at thirty-five miles per hour, and Joel turns toward the on-ramp of the freeway, grimacing as that stitch in his side pulls when he presses on the gas. He can’t wait to get home and just sleep, once the adrenaline has run its course.

Grian beside him is shuffling through the pages, making a satisfied noise with every leaf he reads. “Yep. This is exactly what we were after. Good job, team.”

“They had a ton of weapon storage,” Jimmy pipes up. “They must’ve been storing stuff at their port.”

“Maybe we should put up some people to watch, see where they move it to,” muses Grian. “Now that we know it’s there, they’ll be in a hurry to pack it all up.”

“Especially now that we have the blackmail.”

“Mhm. Joel, how’d your side go?”

“Fine,” Joel says shortly. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road, even as the white lines in the darkness seem almost to float on water.

Never think that when you’re driving, his mom had told him once, when the eight-year-old Joel had pointed it out. It’ll make you sleepy.

How long was he at his post? Seven hours, maybe? That isn’t too bad. With the adrenaline still jolting through him, he shouldn’t be this tired.

“His seatbelt isn’t on,” Jimmy says, ignoring the fact that Joel is a bear that he shouldn’t be poking with a stick.

Grian clicks his tongue, leans over Joel’s entire body to grapple with his seatbelt. “Safety first,” he reprimands, dragging the belt over him. Joel cranes his neck to see around Grian.

He clicks it into place at Joel’s hip, then sits back, examining his fingers.

Which exit was it, again? 73? Well, that one’s 69. Maybe he should get off the freeway, take some backroads. He doesn’t think they’ve been followed, but there are more cameras on the freeway.

The freeway will get them back quicker, though. And it’s in the plans to go this way, he doesn’t want to change them right as the job’s wrapping up. Sudden changes in plan are the highest cause of casualties in this business.

“Joel,” Grian says slowly. “Is there blood on you?”

Joel glances over at him; Grian’s holding his hand up to the window, something dark shining on his fingers.

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “I broke Bdubs’s nose.”

“Did you get injured?”

“Here—I’ve got a flashlight—”

A light clicks on and Joel resists the urge to growl at Jimmy. No lights on in the car, first rule of driving, why is Joel the only one with a bit of sense—

Grian pulls at his shirt, lifting it (Joel tolerates it, as much as he wants to literally bite him).

A moment of tugging his shirt this way and that, of Joel’s teeth grinding as he stares at the road.

Then Grian gasps.

“Joel—shoot—someone got you—”

“Holy moly—that’s a lot of blood—”

It all catches up to Joel at once.

The anger, the exhaustion, the stitch in his side—

And Bdubs had had a knife, hadn’t he? A knife that Joel had lost track of after he’d nicked the watch.

Grian’s hand presses down right on the stitch in his side, and Joel shouts behind his teeth, hands tightening on the wheel. That—that hurts—

“Pull over,” Grian commands. “Timmy can drive. Pull over.”

“Absolutely blummin’ not,” Joel says. His stomach is already roiling, there is no way he’s going to let someone else drive. “I can make it. How bad is it?”

More painful pawing at his side. Joel bites the inside of his cheek.

“It looks deep,” Grian says. “We should call ahead, get them ready for medical attention—Joel, seriously, pull over—”

“I’ll be fine. We’re almost there, anyways.”

Subtly, he taps a bit more on the gas. Now that he knows he’s been stabbed, apparently, he can barely think through the pain. It hurts quite a bit more than it did a minute ago—and his head is starting to feel woozy—

Jimmy’s talking on the phone behind him, and Grian is digging through the glovebox—Grian withdraws a bunched-up emergency blanket (it’s not in the little package anymore, he thinks Jimmy opened it up a while back because Joel wouldn’t turn off the air conditioning) and flicks open his pocket knife, cutting a long strip off the blanket.

Grian reaches around Joel, wriggling his arm behind Joel’s back. “This would be easier if you would pull over,” Grian grunts, threading the strip of the blanket between the seat and Joel’s back.

Joel stares ahead, sweat breaking out all over his body. He might be sick, regardless of—

White hot pain bursts through Joel’s side, radiates up and pounds on the confines of his brain, stealing his vision for a brief moment. He cries out, arms jerking without his input.

“Pull over—Joel, hit the brakes and pull over!”

Joel blinks rapidly, the road fuzzing back into sight. He’s driving between two lanes, his arms luckily dragging him more toward the middle of the road rather than the median. He straightens out as best he can with his stiff, lead-like arms.

Which exit are they on? 72. Great, so the next one. The next one, the next one, the next one—

“None of this will be worth it if you crash the van,” Grian’s saying in his ear, his voice echoing around Joel’s staticky brain. “Pull over!”

Next one, next one, next one—

Exit 72 B?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joel breathes, pressing even harder on the gas. They’re going ninety-five now, definitely too fast for this tired old van.

“They’ll be ready when we get there, I told them it was bad,” Jimmy says. Jimmy’s voice doesn’t echo quite like Grian’s, but it does sound funneled into his ear, almost like through a cardboard tube.

It isn’t bad, he wants to say. He can’t quite get his lips to move.

Exit 73.

He remembers to click on his turning signal, somehow. It seems important.

“Joel, slow down, slow down, brake brake brake—”

“Am braking, calm down,” Joel mumbles. He is, he thinks. He definitely moved his foot to the other pedal, even if he doesn’t dare look down at the odometer. He thinks if he turns his eyes down, they’ll shut.

He knows how to get back to the mansion from here, but Grian gives directions anyways. His hands are still on Joel, holding the strip of blanket tight around his gut. Joel doesn’t have the strength to argue.

Left here. Onto that country lane. Keep driving. Keep driving.

“Talk to me. Say something, Joel, stay awake.”

Joel groans. He doesn’t particularly want to talk to Grian, and right now he’s doing nothing but severely irritating him.

“’m fine,” he manages around his heavy tongue. “Stop worrying. Like my mom.”

Grian laughs, shrill and anxious. “I wouldn’t worry so much if you could put together a whole sentence! Or if you would pull over—”

“Jimmy,” breathe, “can drive—” breathe breathe breathe, “when I’m dead.”

“Might not be too far away, to be fair,” Jimmy says.

Is this what death feels like? Clammy and fuzzy and sweaty?

Joel had better not die, then, because that sounds like it would be downright hellish in more than small doses.

Geez, he’s tired. Can’t he just pass out? Wouldn’t that be nice?

Can’t close his eyes. He has to keep driving. Can’t close his eyes.

“Never been stabbed,” he says through numb lips. “Just got shot. Once.”

“Turn here,” Grian says. Joel blinks. He hadn’t realized they’d already reached another turn.

“There is so much blood we’re going to have to clean up, geez louise. . . .”

“Right, I’ll jus’ . . . stop,” snarks Joel back at Jimmy, “stop . . . bleedin’.”

“Eyes on the road,” says Grian. Joel’s eyes are on the road, though, he’s sure they are. He’s going to great lengths to keep them propped open and staring directly at the road.

“Joel, eyes open. Keep them open.”

“They are,” he insists. Grian squeezes his arm with the hand that isn’t holding the blanket, sticky and warm.

“More open than that. We’re almost there, okay?”

They are almost there. The driveway is just up ahead.

Joel squeezes the steering wheel. He’s got this. It wouldn’t be good to pass out right here, right before they make it.

He isn’t sure how he gets there, but he does. He stares straight ahead, more focusing on keeping his eyes open than he is on the road, and he pulls up in front of the doors, finally letting go of the wheel to shift into park.

It’s silent for a moment as Joel stares straight ahead, at the dark mansion ahead of them.

“Told you,” he manages, shooting what he hopes is a smirk in Grian’s direction.

Then the fuzziness coalesces into darkness entirely, and he slumps forward over the wheel and knows no more.

-

The mansion’s library was converted into something of a hospital, long ago. Joel had always disliked it—they hadn’t bothered to paint it white or anything, left the walls a deep red and surrounded by costly books and polished oak shelves and expensive wood flooring, so it just felt like some rich mad scientist’s pet project every time he walked in.

That was why he didn’t particularly enjoy waking up there.

He groans, blinks several times as the library’s ceiling comes into reluctant focus. His limbs ache, and there’s some kind of pain pulsing from his side, but it isn’t as sharp as he thinks it ought to be. Painkillers, probably.

Joel looks down, sees an IV in his arm. Yep. Painkillers.

“Are you actually awake, or just faking it?”

Joel glances over to his other side.

Grian’s sitting there, arms folded. His leather jacket lies discarded on the floor, the sleeves of his red shirt pushed up to his elbows. His sunglasses are stuck in his greasy hair, doing nothing to hide his disapproving raised eyebrow.

“Hey,” Joel croaks. Then, because his memory is a bit spotty, “We made it, right?”

Grian smacks his shoulder.

“Hey—ow! What—?”

“It’s for being a moron—both Jimmy and I are perfectly capable of driving—and why didn’t you say you were injured?”

Joel’s seen the two of them drive, and he would like to disagree on that point. The him being a moron, though . . . probably justified. “I didn’t know,” he says, in response to Grian’s question. “Really.”

Grian holds his gaze for a moment longer, irritation in every line of his face—and then his face softens, and he rolls his eyes.

“Just try not to die, okay?” he says, smacking his shoulder again (gentler, this time). “I don’t have time for a funeral.”

Joel scoffs. “I wasn’t going to die. I was fine!”

Grian doesn’t speak.

Was he—was he genuinely close?

“Well,” Joel says, deciding not to think about that. His hand not occupied by an IV fumbles into his jeans pocket, and just as he’d hoped, his fingers find cold metal. “I did grab . . . this.”

Grian’s jaw drops as he stares at the golden watch, glinting in the low light. “No way. No—you got a Clocker’s clock?”

“Better. Bdubs’s clock.”

“Oh, dear,” Grian chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be in for a lot more trouble than a pesky stab wound.”

Joel just smiles, drops his hand to his lap.

He could use another nap.