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thatoneyanderewriter · 1 year

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Love or Obsession?

pairing(s): young!yandere!nick goode x shadysider!reader, platonic!ziggy berman x reader.

summary: after seeing you with tommy, nick’s not sure what he feels for you is love or obsession. but one thing’s for sure, you’re his.

warnings: toxicity, gore, blood, murder(?), manipulation, obsession, yandere, tommy becomes possessed lol, possession, mentions of sacrificing, mature language.

i wasn’t sure if I should add a spoiler warning considering the three movies have been out for some time now so I didn’t add one. sorry! but enjoy. and don’t really worry it doesn’t go by the plot of the movies anyway(mostly).

You were a camper. And he was a counselor. Okay, you weren’t that young. Only two years younger than he was. You wouldn’t deny having a small attraction for Nick Goode, Sheriff Goode’s son and the king of Sunnyvale.

Though he didn’t have a huge ego like you had expected. In fact, he was down to earth and kind, and kind of introverted. You shared similar hobbies. But you were a shadysider and sunnyvalers didn’t particularly get along with Shadysiders.

It was an normal day, well, a normal Sunny day. You definitely liked nature, but was worn out from the hiking and activities.

“Worn out? Tommy teased. “Kind of yeah, you chuckle. He wasn’t that much older than you yet a counselor. You didn’t even plan on becoming one anyway.

Yeah, you liked helping out with children but wanted a better job and focus on studies at the same time. “Hey, it’s fine, he assured you.”some of these kids never run out of energy.”

“I know right? You chuckle. Neither of you noticed that Nick had been glaring daggers right into Tommy’s skull. He was pissed. More so jealous. That you were the one Tommy was interested in. Everyone knew that.

Including him. And he needed to do something about it. He felt something for you, that he knew for sure. But wasn’t sure on what. Love or Obsession? Could it be both.

It had been passed down from family to family. Sacrifices. Possessions. And it was Nick’s turn. He already had a name in mind. At that moment, he decided Tommy would be the perfect candidate for possession. And kill all. Then you wouldn’t be so interested in him now would you?

Shadyside wasn’t a shithole for no reason. And as everyone suspected, it was a curse. Placed by Solomon Goode all those years ago back in 1666.

You suddenly trip, but Tommy caught you before you fell. You laughed. "You're a life saver. I swear." He blushed. "It's no big deal, Y/n."

You smile. "Well, I mean, i think so. You're so sweet. You know, helping everyone." "That's what a counselor does... He smiles, before rushing over to help with the next activity.

You didn't know then, that would be the final time you would see Tommy before hell broke loose. You grew tired so eventually you fell asleep quite early. Normally, You were up and ready.

When suddenly, You hear screams. You leave your cabin quick. "Y/N! Ziggy yells. "Ziggy! What's happening? You exclaim. "The witch... she possessed Tommy... Ziggy said.

"No... You frown."Not him. Why him?" Ziggy replies,”I don’t know we just have to go! I don’t want you to die!”

“I won’t, just promise me you won’t, and you’ll live, You say, standing close by your best friend. “I promise, she replies.

You both ran for your lives. You always believed that witch shit even though you shouldn’t. Because last summer, you found something you shouldn’t.

Back then you were a skeptical of the Sarah Fier Legend. A curse on Shadyside, Really? You knew the town had bad luck but a curse was out of reach.

Then you found a ritual. someone who worshipped satan or whatever had a place to go for that. And look what you found. The names of each shadyside killer carved into rocks no human could’ve done with their bare hands.

And it seemed quite obvious that Sarah fier was behind it. After all, she wanted revenge. But that was before Tommy’s name had been put into it. Which explained why Nurse Lane attacked him.

You didn’t want to admit it but she should’ve. It would’ve prevented a huge massacre. But you adored tommy. Though oblivious to his obvious feelings for you.

You two ran for a while until you screamed,”Tommy!” He was right in front of you and was about to strike but turned his attention to Ziggy.

“No! You yell and as he was about to you move her out of the way, both of you unharmed. “Y/N, you could’ve died! I can’t lose you! She said.

“Look, we’re both okay? And it was odd, he didn’t even… try to kill me, You say. “I know, maybe his feelings for you were why, ziggy blurted.

“What? You say. “Oh, She said. "You didn’t know? It was so obvious he was in love with you.” “I thought he was into Cindy… You say. “No, she’s into Alice and everyone also knows that, Ziggy said.

"Whatever, we need to hide! He killed Jeremy, Jesse, Stacey and More kids! You yell, sobbing but tried not to. Ziggy nods. You grew up with her, if you lost her, you wouldn't know how to live.

You run with her, her hand in yours, you didn't want to let go. "Hey look! I found somewhere we could hide... Ziggy begins."Fuck, Cindy! Where is she?"

"Where did you see her last? You asked. "I-I don’t remember, we just should find her, Ziggy said. "Also, I locked Sheila in the bathroom." "Good one, You said. "But she could be killed. Plus, I heard something about Cindy and Alice going somewhere involving Sarah Fier."

"Okay, come on! Ziggy said, you run to the bathroom but now you were growing exhausted. "Sheila? You say. "Fucking Shadysider Bitch! Sheila replied. "Did you lock me in here?"

"Y/n didn't, I did... But come on, Ziggy entering the bathroom before Sheila began attacking her. You pulled her off of Ziggy. ”Calm down. there’s a killer and you have to leave or-“

“Of course it’s always a shadysider huh? Sheila said. "I mean, you’re the reason this shit is happening.” “Shut the fuck up, you don’t know what’s going on first of all, You say, laced with venom in your voice. "Second, I think we can all agree none of us want to die so-“

“Hello! Cindy said, and you could hear her voice. "Can anybody hear us?” Ziggy realized like you that it was Cindy and follows the voice. Only to see them under the bathroom.

“What are you guys doing there? You say. “Oh thank fucking god, Alice said. “It’s a long story but… can you help us out? Cindy said.

“Yeah of course, You reply. Ziggy come help me.” “No hesitation, Ziggy said, relief that her sister was okay. You help them up. Apparently Tommy was possessed first there. He killed Alice's stoner friend, Arnie.

"Wow, You said, hearing everything. "I mean, i knew of the whole ritual stuff. But-" "You knew he would be possessed? Ziggy asked. You shook your head."No, But i knew then this witch shit was real."

"Oh."

"In order to stop this, we need to reunite her hand with her body, Cindy said. You nodded. You noticed how she held onto Alice's hand. You hadn't seen Nick, Will, Joan or Kurt in a while. Which made you wonder if they were murdered too.

Nick was acting kind of lately, you didn't know why. But either way, you had to find out. "Well, where is her body? I don't think she had been buried anywhere near here, You point out.

"Y/n's right, Ziggy agreed. "Look, she is, Alice said, moving the book in front of you. You read and looked it over. "Holy shit she is, You exclaimed.

"Fuck, Ziggy said. "Which is why we could bury her hand with her body, we know where her hand is too, Cindy explained. You nodded. "Then what are we waiting for? We could end this curse now."

"Okay, Cindy said. "Come on." Sarah Fier's hand was in the front on fhe table. It soon made sense why she had been buried under the tree where she had been hung. But when you accidentally touched her skeletal hand, you saw everything. You wiped your bloody nose. "I saw the witch. She was pissed. So we we should hurry up."

You grabbed any weapons you could. Even if you didn't know if you could kill or hurt anybody. But before Alice could even kill, Tommy killed her. Cindy angrily lunged at him, and so did you.

Your eyes were filled with tears but you didn't let them fall. "Alice, don't die on us, You said softly. "Please." However, she took her last breath and became another victim. But everyone couldn't mourn for long.

Everyone heard someone singing. "Ruby Lane, You said. "Come on, we have to go." Cindy was naturally reluctant but agreed. Somehow, you got lost from Cindy and Ziggy, who you figured were digging.

As you walked, hoping you could find your way back, you bumped into Nick. "Nick! You're okay! You said, sighing of relief. "Y/N, where were you.. He said, his voice filled with concern. "I... think we could end this curse, You said."

"Y/n, come on, this witch stuff isn't real, he just went crazy, Nick said. "No, Nick, I saw her, She's pissed, I saw the fucking witch! You exclaim. Tommy, the sweet guy you knew, didn't just go crazy. Neither did Nurse Lane. She was right. Of course she had been.

"Hey, this will all be over, Nick assures you, suddenly hugging you, pulling you close while you cried on his shoulder, not seeing the smirk on his face.

Everything was going according to plan.

#nick goode x reader #yandere fear street #yandere nick goode x reader #yandere nick goode #fear street x reader #horror #tw obsession #tw yandere #ziggy berman x reader #alice x cindy #long fic

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tropes-and-tales · 7 months

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If You Weren't You, Part Two

Day 1: Hate sex (Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Light angst, kinda; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5618

AN: This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by @thesandbeneathmytoes!)

The weekend passes uncomfortably for Benny Magalon.

He has the usual bullshit chores to catch up on. He gets groceries, does his laundry. He calls home, gets the updates on his family from his mom. He goes through the pile of mail that accumulated on his table during the week.

Every idle moment, his mind drifts to you. That moment with you, specifically. The moment of insanity.

Nighttime is the worst. He doesn’t fall asleep easily anyway, but Saturday night, Sunday night…it takes longer than usual to drift off. He keeps replaying that moment. In the darkness of his room, he swears he can exactly remember the weirdly tender way you touched him—your hand in his hair, the gentle way you kissed him.

The way he made you laugh—really laugh—when he jokingly accused you of getting turned on by being mean to him.

The curiously hurt look on your face afterwards when he implied that fucking you was some bottom-of-the-barrel situation for him. It was inexplicable, the hurt in your expression, because Benny hadn’t thought you were capable of feeling hurt. You were too cool, too dispassionate…or so he thought.

Sunday night stretches out long and uncomfortable. The minutes tick by slow, and he’s no closer to falling asleep. In only a few hours he’ll have to get up, get dressed, and face you.

“Goddammit,” he mutters in the darkness of his room, and he rolls over, punches his pillow into shape, and tries to push you out of his head.

-----

He doesn’t have to face you Monday morning. Lobbin’ Bob is the one leading the morning debrief, and you are nowhere to be found.

Benny finds out later that you are with the LAPD, plying your charm to get some case files they have on the suspect on a separate case. Right now, though, he’s just relieved to not have to see you.

He and Big Nick go outside after the debrief to head back to Major Crimes. His boss looks awful—he hits those Friday parties hard and never seems to have enough time to recover. Nick gestures to Benny to wait a moment, and he leans against his truck, slides a pack of smokes out of his coat pocket. He lights a cigarette with a grumble, then tosses the pack and lighter to Benny.

They smoke together in silence for a beat. God only knows what Big Nick is thinking.

Benny? He’s thinking he’s dodged a bullet, but that he’ll have to face you soon enough.

Big Nick takes a deep drag of his cigarette. “Sorry about Friday night,” he says. “You drew the short straw.”

Benny flicks the ash off of his own cigarette. “S’ fine.”

“You missed a good party.” A beat. “So how was she? Lobbin’ Bob’s pet ice queen?”

He shrugs. He refuses to tell his boss about that moment of madness in the backseat of your SUV, the weirdly tender moment that turned sour as soon as you both put your pants back on.

“Same as always,” he replies.

Big Nick chuckles, shakes his head. “You know, I’m all for women in law enforcement. Equal rights and all that shit. But I hate it when they get too high on themselves. The way she marches around, acting like she’s better than everyone…there’s no room for ego in this game.”

Benny bites his tongue, doesn’t point out that Big Nick has the biggest ego of anyone. How he insists on being the center of attention, the center of any moment. The Sheriff’s department resident bad boy who get results at the cost of….well, everything. At the cost of good procedures and policies, at the cost of his family, at the cost of his detectives’ personal lives…

“She needs taken down a notch or two,” Big Nick says. “Think we should be the ones to do it.”

Benny has witnessed plenty of his boss’s pranks and mean-spirited jokes. Big Nick plays rough.

He remembers the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair, the soft way you pulled him to you to kiss him. The startling sound of your laughter.

“Nah, leave it,” he tells Big Nick, but he should know better—Nick does what Nick wants, and tough shit to anyone who doesn’t like it.

*****

You learned how to compartmentalize things when you were just a kid, and the knack for it serves you well in adulthood—in your personal life, but especially in your job.

When you make the terrible decision to fuck Detective Magalon, that decision straddles both your personal and professional life, which makes it harder to shove away in a box and forget it…but you’re a pro at sealing off unhappy moments, sliding them into some cobwebbed corner of your mind, so that’s exactly what you do.

You seal off that moment with Magalon, you push it away, you start to forget it.

Monday: you spend the better part of the day with LAPD, sifting through evidence tangentially related to your case.

Tuesday: you testify in an unrelated case, drive up to Sacramento and walk a judge and jury through your investigation from months ago.

Wednesday: you return to the office and the case at hand. The LAPD sent over all of their casework while you were in the state capitol, boxes of evidence, so you sigh and settle in for a day of combing through it all. It’s a proverbial needle in a haystack, but you aren’t alone for long.

An hour into it, you’ve only just ordered the boxes and cracked open the first one. There’s a knock at the door of your office, and Bob peeks his head in.

“Hey, the Sheriff’s Department sent over one of their detectives to help you sort through the evidence,” he said. He shook his head, chuckled. “I tried to tell O’Brien that we didn’t need any help, but he’s afraid of getting iced out.”

You roll your eyes and hope the gesture covers the way your stomach cramps and twists. You know it’s going to be Magalon. That shoved-away, boxed-up memory resurfaces—the gentle way he had cradled the top of your head in your SUV, the way he had smiled down at you…then how he had insulted you right after, and how hard that stung.

“It’s fine,” you lie to Bob.

“Good.” He raps his fist against the doorjamb. “He’s on his way up. Play nice, but if you need me, just call.”

“Will do,” you reply, and you have only a handful of minutes to compose yourself: to pull on a neutral face, to take some steadying breaths, and then Detective Magalon—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stupid—is in your doorway with an inscrutable expression on his face.

*****

You’re quiet all day. Through the morning, through lunch and into the afternoon—you say so little. The sum total of your conversation is you asking him what he wants for lunch, then you calling out to an assistant to place the order.

You eat in silence. You work in silence. Benny goes outside to smoke a cigarette, and he finds his hands tremble to light it. He lingers outside as long as he thinks he can, and he returns to your office slowly, drags his feet.

Your silence is unnerving. It holds weight and takes up space, like a third entity in the room with the two of you. Benny’s not used to women being so quiet when they’re pissed at him—and you must be pissed at him. Women he’s done wrong, they usually yell at him, scream at him, come at him like wildcats.

You just sit there and page through wire-tap records, witness interviews, phone records. You don’t avoid eye contact with him but you don’t stare him down. You’re perfectly neutral, exactly down the middle of the line.

His weird guilt and unease shifts back to a more familiar feeling: irritation. Lobbin’ Bob’s goddamned pet ice princess. Fussily perfect, completely boring. You drink water all day to stay hydrated. You brush and floss your teeth after lunch. When you get a headache, you pull open a desk drawer—neatly organized—and shake out a single tablet of ibuprofen that you toss back with a practiced flick of the wrist.

You’re a goddamned robot, not even a real person, and Benny hates that you took up so much space in his head over the weekend. He hates that he felt a burgeoning guilt over what he had said after your hookup; he hates that he felt nervous to see you again. He hates that he lost a single moment of sleep over you.

The sun reaches its apex and starts its slide into the west. The quiet murmur of office noise dies off on the other side of your door. Benny’s concentration wanes too; the numbers on the phone logs he’s combing start to blur together. His thoughts drift off to other things. He starts to fiddle with his phone, restlessly scrolling through his email, his texts, the handful of bare-bones social media he has.

You glance up at him from your pile of paperwork when his phone chimes—a text from Big Nick—and Benny feels your eyes on him. When he looks up from replying to Nick, he catches your studious look, your arched brow.

But you say nothing, so when you bend your head back to the task at hand, he goes ahead and breaks the onerous silence with a terse, “we gonna be much longer?”

“Big Nick got a line on some coke and hookers?”

There it is. Finally. He pushes a hard exhale through his nose and shakes his head. “That wasn’t Big Nick.” He doesn’t add more to the lie; he’s curious if you’ll think it’s a woman. He’s curious if any glimmer of jealousy will cross your features.

He’s disappointed a beat later. Instead of feeling jealous, you seem to see through his ruse but you play along. Your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.

“Oh, a hot date, then?” The smile widens, and you lift a hand towards your closed door. “If you leave now, you won’t lose your deposit on her.”

Another huffed out breath, and his irritation rachets up a degree. He hates your implications around him paying for women, but he hates even more how close to the mark you’ve hit. He hasn’t paid for it, not in a long while…but there was a time when he had, back when he was freshly-divorced and smarting from it, licking his wounds at their big seedy parties each weekend.

“Jealous?” he asks, and he hates how lame it sounds as a comeback, but he pairs it with a stony expression.

You nod, and a fake frown replaces your smile, a pouting moue that would be charming on anyone else but you.

“I’m devastated,” you reply, dead-pan, but then you sigh and look back down at your paperwork. “No, go ahead and go.”

He would leave if you’d leave, but you seem like you’re staying. The sun is almost set now, and your office is darker, but you make no move to box up the remaining evidence. You seem like you’re hunkering down until the job is done, and that needles at Benny even more. You’ve always obliquely—and not so obliquely—implied that you are the better cop. That he and the Major Crimes assholes are reckless tramplers of the law, and that you and Lobbin’ Bob are upstanding examples of law enforcement.

“You coming?” he asks. He stands up but doesn’t move towards the door.

“No.”

“It’s late.”

You tilt your head but don’t look up at him. “I’ve worked later than this.”

The implication, Benny hears, is that he’s never worked late before, and he bristles at your tone. “There’s probably nothing here,” he replies, and he gestures at the boxes of evidence from the LAPD case. “Leave it.”

You snort, and you finally lift your head. You stare at him dead-on, no blinking. “That’s excellent police work, Detective. ‘There’s probably nothing here.’” You repeat his words back to him in a startingly good impression of him, his lazy California accent and soft voice, and he bristles even more.

“This stuff was always a long shot,” he argues.

“Long shots pay off all the time. Some cases are built on long shots.”

“So you’re gonna stay here and finish?” He glanced over at the boxes you haven’t gotten to yet. There’s three of them. You’ll be here all night. He feels that familiar sting of guilt, and then he feels pissed, like you’re manipulating him into staying longer, even though you’ve been beating him with your silence all day—

“Yup. I am.”

“Well, I’m leaving.” He takes a step towards your door but goes no further because that fucking guilt keeps him rooted in place. The thought of you spending a lonely night with boxes of evidence, and he’s supposed to be your partner in this—

“C’mon, let’s just go,” he adds. “We can hit it tomorrow fresh.”

“Tomorrow I have to hit something else,” you reply. There’s tension in your voice, a tightness to your words. You’re getting irritated with him now. “And the next day there’s something else. I have to get through this now or it won’t get done.”

“Shit, there’s nothing—”

“Christ, Magalon!” You snap, sudden, and it makes him jolt where he stands. You toss your pen aside and bring your fist down on your desktop like a hammer, and the display of anger makes him take a half step away from you. You stand up, round around your desk, and you go to your door and yank it open.

“Go.” You stand in the doorway and point out of it, and you actually fucking snap your fingers as you point, like he’s a recalcitrant dog caught chewing on the furniture.

“Jesus, calm down—”

The words slip out despite knowing that telling any woman to calm down always elicits the opposite reaction: you actually stamp your foot on the floor, and it’d be cute as shit, how feisty you’re getting out of nowhere, but you’re you, and he’s been ready to leave for hours, exhausted by the boring work and the frustration to be paired with you again.

“Get out,” you tell him. “I’ll finish it up myself.”

“I only—”

“I don’t need any excuses. Seriously, Magalon. Go home. Go find O’Brien or your band of merry assholes.”

He should leave. He wants to. You’re back to being a bitch, a living cold front that leaves him chilled by your silence and your judgement. He’s completely free to stalk away; he has no obligation to stay and suffer more. Except…

…except you’ve been calling him by his name all day. Calling him by his title. Magalon. Detective. You’ve dropped the pretense of calling him the wrong name, the pretense of conflating him with his Major Crimes teammates—the message that they’re all the same, interchangeable, identical in their awfulness.

Does it mean you see him as himself now? Did he lay you well enough to distinguish himself from the pack and earn that scant bit of respect—razor-thin, admittedly—that you use his last name now?

“Calm down,” he repeats, and this time it’s intentional. He’s rewarded by more outrage: you stamp your foot again (it is cute, he decides now, because you’re usually so collected). You actually go so apoplectic that when you open your mouth to respond, nothing comes out. You glare at him gape-mouthed, and nothing comes out, so he adds, “shit, you need laid again? You already missing it after a few days?”

Your eyes go wider, and you huff out a breath so heavily that your nostrils flare at the effort. “Shut up.”

It’s not a no. Benny smirks at you, and your eyes narrow into slits at his expression.

“Just go,” you seethe, like you’re pushing the words out between your clenched jaw. “Seriously, don’t leave whoever waiting. Your date. O’Brien. Whoever.”

“I can spare you five minutes.”

You snort, roll your eyes. “What’s that come to, four minutes of foreplay and a minute of action?”

This is cute too, he decides. You talking shit about his game when you know better. You acting like you don’t know how he is, like you don’t have the first-hand experience of him pretty effortlessly coaxing an orgasm from you—

“Aw, sweetheart.” His smirk widens, and he reaches out to trace a fingertip down the curve of your face. “You know that isn’t true.”

You swat away his hand and make a dismissive tsch sort of noise, but you don’t reply. He lifts his hand again, traces his forefinger across the neckline of your blouse. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close, and when you go to swat him away again, he catches your hand in his. Pulls you towards him, takes you off your balance until you sway closer to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Five minutes, then we leave, and hit those few boxes fresh in the morning.”

He sees that you’re tempted. He sees the way your expression wavers, and he isn’t sure if you’re more tempted by him or the prospect of not spending the night in your office…but either way, he’s snaking his way around the wall you have up, and you’re wavering—

“C’mon.” He drops his voice to a low rumble right by your ear, and he catches the way your breathing picks up, the rise and fall of your chest quickening. “I know you’re already wet, sweetheart. You’ve been mean to me all day. You must be.”

It makes you laugh, and just like that night in your SUV, it startles him. It’s such a rare sound, he guesses. It’s throaty and low but loud, punched-out. Just like before, he feels a thrill of pride to draw it out of you. He bets it’s a rarer thing to make you laugh than to make you come, and he’s done both.

“I haven’t been mean to you at all,” you point out. “I’ve barely talked.”

“Silent treatment can hurt.”

Another eye-roll. “You complained the other day that I talk too much. Now it’s not enough.”

A fair point: he did snap at you that night, right before he kissed you. He doesn’t want to rehash it at the moment. His own arousal is awake, powering up, so he lifts his eyebrows at you and says, hopeful, “so?”

“So what?”

“Five minutes, then we go?”

“Fuck off.” You move past him, out of the doorway and back into your office. “You just want more ammo for your asshole buddies. Tell ‘em all about hooking up with the ice princess or whatever.”

Benny shuts the door to your office, but he’s on the wrong side of it. He takes the few steps to follow you and says, “I didn’t tell them.”

Another one of your bitter tsch sounds. “Because it’s embarrassing. Yeah, I know. You already—”

“It isn’t their business.” He cuts you off, and if he’s been teasing you before, he’s deadly serious now. It isn’t their business. Not Henderson, not Z, not Connors. Certainly not Big Nick. He chafes under their closeness sometimes, hates that they work and party together so much that it feels like he has no privacy. But this thing—a one-time hook-up that maybe is burgeoning into more—belongs to the two of you. You and Benny. No one else. He tells you so, in far fewer words.

You don’t believe him. You finally turn and watch him, and the expression in your eyes is pure wariness. Underneath it, though, he swears he sees a glint of something else, something not easily defined—

“Come on,” he says. He sounds whiny but he doesn’t care. “You keep scrapping with me, and we could already be fucking.”

It makes you smile. It blossoms across your face like you can’t help it, and in the moment Benny just thinks got you, sweetheart, but afterwards he’ll think about how your smile, rare as it is, holds no artifice, not a single ounce of guile. He’ll think, later on, how your smile transforms your entire face from one of a brittle sort of prettiness to something extraordinarily beautiful.

“Fine,” you answer him, and if you weren’t you, it’d be adorable how you act like you’re put out, like you’re doing him a favor. “Lock the door then, Magalon.”

-----

The interlude in your SUV wasn’t romantic by any stretch, but you try to make this moment even less so. At least that first time, it started with him kissing you, you kissing him back. Now, you’re all business, and he stares for a beat as he watches you kick off your shoes, as you start to unbutton your pants.

“Damn, slow down,” he says.

“You have five minutes.” You push your pants down, give a little shimmy to get them over your hips, over your ass. You get them off but you shake them out and hang them over your chair, fussy as ever.

Benny closes the gap between you, and he manages to reach down and still your hands before you can get your panties off. He clasps them and draws them up, presses them to his chest.

“Slow down,” he repeats. He says it softer, almost a whisper, and it makes you lift your gaze to find him.

The corner of your mouth quirks into a near-smile. “Well, now you have four—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He bends his head and cuts off your smart-ass mouth with a kiss, steals the words from you. Your lips are just as soft as that night, and when he groans at the feel of them, he feels them curve into a smile. A beat later, he feels the sharp line of your teeth nipping at him, not very hard, and then the tip of your tongue tracing along his lower lip.

Benny releases your hands. He wraps one around the back of your neck to hold you to him. He places the other on your waist, and he pushes his fingers under the hem of your shirt to revel in the feel of your skin—soft, and so warm that you feel almost feverish.

You? You don’t romance it beyond kissing him, but you’re eager. He can feel it shimmering off of you like heat on pavement on a summer’s day. Your hands reach down on him; one fumbles at his belt and the button and fly of his jeans while the other cups him through the denim. He inhales sharply at your touch, even through the layers of clothing. He breaks the kiss a moment later when you snake your hand under his jeans and his boxers—the sudden feeling of your warm palm on his cock, coaxing him from half-hard to fully erect.

“Eager. Knew you missed me,” he gloats. He tries to catch your eye but you avoid him, shake your head.

“Shut up,” you mumble, and it’s defensive, and it could lead to you stopping this whole encounter and putting that wall up around you again, so he leaves it be and kisses you again.

Benny wonders what it would be like to take his time with you. This is paltry; it’s a meager mouthful, barely enough to sate any appetite. When he hoists you onto the edge of your desk and pushes into you—you’re already wet, just as he had guessed, so you must get turned on by scrapping with him—it feels just as amazing as before. Your pussy is molten, velvety, gripping him like a fist until he grits his teeth so he doesn’t embarrass himself and come too soon…

…yet he wonders how much better it would be to take his time. To have the luxury of time and space and privacy, to strip you completely naked and see what you really look like. He’d love to edge you, he thinks. He’d love to see you stretched out on a bed, back arching away from the mattress as he pushes you to the precipice of your orgasm only to deny you at the last moment. He’d love to strip away every bit of ego you have, every bit of smugness that sets you higher than him in your own opinion. He’d love to frustrate you completely in bed, would love to see your eyes leaking tears, that mean mouth of yours begging him so sweetly…

…because even like this, once he gets his cock in you, you turn so nice. It gentles you, rounds off the sharp bits and edges of you. Your face goes soft with wonder. Your eyes go soft when you meet his gaze. As he fucks you—sharp thrusts, steady pace—you tilt your face up to him, and you look so unlike yourself that he kisses you again. You sigh into it, hold him tighter where your arms are wrapped around his shoulders to help hold yourself steady at the awkward angle.

Neither of you say much else. He wraps an arm around your waist as he drives into you, and you mumble when you’re close but he already knows: as inscrutable as you are, as placid as your face can be when you’re masking yourself around him, your body is an open book. He feels like he’s tuned in perfectly to whatever wavelength you’re operating on. He hears the way your breathing picks up, feels how your kisses get sloppier as you sink into the sensation of your approaching orgasm. He feels how your cunt grips him tighter, how your arousal coats him and makes it easier to bottom out in you.

He tells you he’s close too, and that’s about the sum of your conversation for the rest of the night: you come a beat later, with a keening whine that sets him off and gives him barely enough time to pull out before he’s painting your belly with his cum.

You’re both quiet afterwards. He resists the urge to kiss your forehead before he parts from you. You might be resisting a similar urge, because you pat him awkwardly on his shoulder in a “way to go, sport” sort of way. But neither of you say much as you clean up, dress, reassemble yourselves. You’re both silent as you leave together, likely remembering how quickly shit turned mean the last time you fucked.

“Hit the rest of the evidence tomorrow morning?” he asks, and you meet his gaze and then nod.

You turn towards where your SUV is parked, but you turn back a beat later, tell him to drive safely.

*****

The case progresses slowly.

You and Benny continue…well, whatever it is, you continue it.

It gives you whiplash. The mean sniping with each other, the insults and barbs you trade. He still follows the ice princess routine, the prissy, bland, clean-living routine. He makes wild assumptions about your life—accuses you of loving beige, of being boring, of decorating your home in “live, laugh, love” décor. His speculations about your sex life—as it exists outside of your hookups with him, that is—make you sound repressed and tedious. You fuck white-collar men, he claims. With the lights off. Missionary. Through a hole in the sheet.

All of that contrasted against how he’s kinda, sorta nice when you hook up. He kisses you nicely, helps you clean up afterwards. You tend to fuck in inconvenient places that test your flexibility, and Magalon is nice about it, considerate to take as much of the discomfort as he can rather than let you twist or strain to make it work.

Tall, Dark, and Stupid. He is capable of being nice, you guess. Who would have thought?

Only capable of it, though. It’s not an innate character trait, you assume. He’s still a mean asshole, snarky, and sometimes his words hit their target dead on and other times they only glance off of you. You’re never sure when they’re going to hurt and when they’re going to make you laugh.

Once, you hook up in your office again, quiet because it’s the lunch hour and there’s twenty fellow FBI agents on the other side of your locked office door. Magalon makes a crude joke afterwards about how you need to take a day off to meet up with your waxer, and your anger at the double standard—this dude who rolls around Los Angeles in a flannel with scruffy facial hair, judging you—washes through you immediately. You open your mouth to argue because his judgement still stings, still makes you feel small and unworthy, but you catch him holding back a smile. His stupid dimple gives him away, and he reaches down and smacks your ass lightly before he goes to leave.

“Save that feistiness for next time,” he tells you, and he drops you a wink, and you hate that he knows you will hold onto his comment, that you will likely visit your salon before you see him again. You hate that he’ll see the results and smirk knowingly.

You hate that he’ll know he is capable of getting to you.

Another time, he hurries you along. It’s early evening, and he’s watched the clock all afternoon. It’s distracting and keeps your orgasm frustratingly out of reach, like you can brush your fingertips against it but not get a firm grip. You do what you always do, then: you gasp beside his ear, you bear down. You fake it.

You think he probably knows, because he peers at you through narrowed eyes right before he comes, and you hate that he’s savvy enough about your body to know the difference between the real thing and faking.

“Got somewhere to be,” he tells you as you clean up. You hear the rustle of his jeans, the clink of his belt buckle.

“Well, don’t let me hold you up.”

“Got a date,” he adds, and you catch the sidelong glance he gives you. No dimples though. You wonder if it’s true or if he’s riling you up.

“Lucky girl.” You perch on the edge of your desk and pull your shoes back on.

“You sound jealous.”

“I’m not.” You aren’t. You’re relieved to find the thought of Magalon going on a date with someone else doesn’t spark any emotion at all. You’ve done a lot of dumb things lately—chiefly the detective standing in your office, zipping up his pants—but at least catching feelings for said detective isn’t one of them.

“You sure?” He peers at you again, and his face is back to its usual stoic stoniness. Not a hint of smile, and you can’t read whatever is going on behind his dark eyes.

“Be sure to hold the door open for her,” you advise him. “Women love basic politeness.”

“If you’re jealous…”

“I’m not. Go. Have fun.” You shoo him away. You sit down at your desk, not wanting to leave with him and go through this jealous-or-not-jealous routine in the parking lot too. You see him out of the corner of your eye while he lingers in your doorway, and then he’s gone.

You don’t catch the faint hurt, the disappointment on his face when he leaves, like he was hoping you’d be jealous of the thought of him out with another woman, wining and dining her properly instead of just hate-fucking her.

And he, of course, isn’t there later to see when the jealousy finally does hit you. It’s just a small feeling; there’s no wild tears or tight chest. You’re already home and walking your dog when it hits. You imagine him out with a nameless woman, and you fill in all the features based on where you find yourself lacking: this nameless woman has smaller, perkier tits, a better ass, a perfectly landscaped pussy. She oozes warmth and openness. No one has ever accused her of being an ice princess. She has a complete, happy family: parents who are still married and still very much in love, an older sister, a younger brother. By the time you’re done walking the dog, you have written an entire history for this nameless woman, and the sting of jealousy needles deeper.

“It’s just fucking,” you remind yourself in bed that night, chiding yourself for getting so worked up over nothing. “It’s just hate sex.”

Still, maybe this is the moment you need to end it. It’s just a bad idea all around. Magalon says he’s never told his buddies, but you can’t be sure and you certainly don’t trust him. Hooking up isn’t against the rules, per se, but you’d hate the judgment that would spring up around the office. It also distracts you when your attention should be elsewhere; the thought of prior hook-ups, the promise of more. And now that you know he’s seeing other people outside of this thing you have, you’d have to make him wear a condom anyway. No sense in putting yourself at risk.

“Easier to just end it,” you mumble as you roll over, tuck your hands under your pillow and try to make yourself comfortable.

Yes, that’s what you’ll do. You’ll just end it. Cold-turkey. No need to make a scene about it. The next time he reaches for you, you’ll just gently and firmly decline. You’re not really the sort of woman to go for hate-fucking anyway, so breaking off your thing with Magalon is just you getting back to who you really are.

A temporary break from sanity, but now you’re returning to who you are.

#benny magalon imagine #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x reader #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon imagine #borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon #den of thieves #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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navybrat817 · 1 year

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Put on a Show

Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female Reader, surprise guest Summary: Nick doesn't like to share, but he'll let you put on a show. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive behavior, slight dirty talk, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Third day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to Nick Fowler and a surprise guest of @rookthorne's choosing! Inspired by this ask here and as a thank you for the beautiful banner (and being awesome in general). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

One thing Nick prided himself on was how well he could read you. Part of his job was to pick up on subtle cues and tells from the people around him. It was only natural that he would use his skills to figure out your likes and dislikes when the two of you started dating. If he didn’t know what you enjoyed, how was he supposed to take care of you?

When it came to what you wanted in the bedroom, he sometimes enjoyed outright asking.

Like tonight.

“Need me to fuck your pretty pussy, sweetheart?”

As fun as it was to whisper dirty words in your ear, he preferred looking into your eyes when he asked what you wanted him to do to you. Watching your dilated pupils peek through your lashes as you pressed your thighs together let him know how badly you wanted him. Which is why he wouldn’t settle for you giving him a single nod.

No, he needed to hear it.

“Use your words. You need me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“With my tongue or cock?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the same way it did earlier in the day when he wore your favorite leather jacket. He owned a couple and considered buying more since he knew how much they turned you on. You liked how he looked in his suits and sweaters, too, but something about the leather excited you. He paid special attention to anything that got a reaction out of you.

“Nick,” you whispered when he nudged your thighs apart with his hand.

“Don’t ‘Nick’ me,” he said, biting back a groan when his fingers found his prize, getting them nice and wet. "Hardly touch you and you're drenched. You know exactly who you belong to, don't you?"

Your back bowed when he shoved two fingers in without warning, but your hips moved to take them in deeper. He didn't care if you ruined the couch. He wanted you to be a writhing mess by the time he finished with you.

“There you go. You can take it,” he smirked, grabbing your chin with his other hand when you tried to turn your head away. “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”

"C'mon, Fowler. Lemme see her."

Nick huffed as he spared Lee a glance. The sheriff smirked back as he palmed himself through his slacks. The man helped him out of a bind when he was still a rookie agent and they ended up forming a partnership of sorts. He was a man who didn't mind getting his hands dirty. He respected that.

"You're seeing plenty, Bodecker," Nick said as he pumped his fingers.

"But she wanted this," Lee said, unbuckling his belt.

"I know she did. I set this up, remember?"

The observant man Nick was, he quickly picked up on the attraction between you and Lee when you met. The sheriff put on the Southern charm for you and you smiled almost bashfully under his gaze. It didn't upset him the way he thought it would, but he did slip his leather jacket over your shoulders to remind his friend who you belonged to. He was never good at sharing.

But knew deep down his partner wouldn't make a move on his girl and you wouldn't leave him for another man.

It didn't stop him from asking you about it later when you were riding him.

"That's it, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my cock," he smirked, gripping your hips to stop you. "Unless you'd rather be riding the sheriff."

"What?!" you gasped as he tightened his hold on you.

"You like him. Tell me why."

He was still hard inside you when you hesitantly admitted that you thought the sheriff was good looking. You explained that you admired Lee's confidence and respected his position of power. You enjoyed seeing him in his uniform, especially when he put his leather jacket on.

You really did like that look.

But the most attractive feature to you was that Lee reminded you of Nick. The sheriff was a bit heavier than Nick was and didn't have the same scruff he did, but he agreed that they bore a resemblance to each other. They were also men who lived their lives in the gray.

It made sense why you liked him.

"He wants you," he told you.

You squirmed in his lap and shook your head. "Doesn't matter. You said you'd never share me."

"Do you want me to share you?" he asked, watching you carefully.

The few times he caught you lying, you pursed your lips before you spoke. It was your tell. He never pointed it out to you.

It gave him a sense of control.

"No, I don't," you answered, framing his face. "I'm yours and I'm happy with that."

You didn't purse your lips.

"Then why is your cunt clamping down on my cock?"

"Because I want him to watch," you said without hesitation, beginning to ride him again when his grip loosened enough. "Wouldn't you like that? Showing him I'm yours?"

The way his cock throbbed inside you, he loved the idea. It was a bit of a power move. A way to show Lee you were his and make you happy at the same time.

He made the call the moment you passed out.

Lee's only stipulation was that he got to drink Nick's best scotch while he watched.

"I wanna see more," Lee smirked, bringing Nick back to be present. "You didn't answer his question, darlin'. Almost like you wanna be punished."

"He's right, sweetheart," he said as his lips ghosted over yours. “Tell me how you need me to fuck you or I won’t fuck you at all."

"No, please," you whined.

“I’ll cuff you and make you watch as I stroke my cock. I won’t touch you even if you beg," he threatened, nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to make you whimper. "I’ll finish on your weeping pussy and smack it for denying me an answer to a simple question.”

"Not exactly the show I want, but I'd love to see her in my cuffs," Lee said, taking himself out of his pants. "Tick tock, darlin'. Time's a wastin'."

"Cock," you moaned, clenching around Nick's fingers. "Want your cock, please."

"That's my girl. Desperate for my cock," he whispered, taking his fingers out to open your legs more. He'd give you what you needed, like always. "You wanted to look at her. So look."

Lee's teeth tugged over his lip as he stared at your glistening cunt, pumping himself at a slow pace. "Shit, darlin'. Pretty pussy's desperate to be stuffed fulla cock, ain't it?"

"My cock is the only one she'll get," Nick reminded him, that possessive streak starting to show as he released himself.

"Sure she can't give me a lil' kiss?"

"No kiss," he snarled, making the other man chuckle before he leaned back to give you room.

You blew Lee a kiss before you began to straddle Nick, your legs shaking as you faced away from him. It was overwhelming to be at the center of their attention. It was what you wanted.

You'd thank him later.

"Give him something to remember you, sweetheart," Nick ordered as you took in every inch of him.

"You heard him," Lee said, brushing his thumb along the tip of his cock. "Gimme a show."

That's exactly what you did.

Could be fun to visit them again. 😏 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Nick Fowler Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #navy's naughty & nice nonsense #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x y/n #nick fowler #nick fowler fanfiction #nick fowler imagine #nick fowler au #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x female reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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mico-evelyn2 · 2 months

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WHY YOU SHOULD BE A YOTES FAN! (or at least like them) (Pt 1)

Social Media admin: the yotes social media admin has lost their mind and honestly i think they're on crack

2. Our jerseys look fly as fuck a.k.a when we lose we lose in style 😎

[⚫Home, ⚪Away, 🟣Alt]

3. Clayton Keller (sean avery's opp): No. 9 is the yotes superstar. He's the unofficial-official captain and his hockey is so fun to watch (also he's a pretty white boy with dimples, you🫵will love him, you have no 🙅‍♀️ say in this) (btw i'm never getting over that second picture)

4. Travis Dermott is an amazing person🤩. The NHL banned the use of pride tape and Travis Dermott gave the league a massive middle finger (he is literally my hero) (his interview where he spoke out against the NHL) (Via The Athletic)↴

5. the future: Listen i understand we might not be in Arizona in the next 2 years but idc. I'm here to talk about our draft picks. they currently have 34 picks in the next 3 drafts with 20 of them being in the 1st 3 rounds (this is fucking insane and I cannot wait for the future)

5.5) 2022 round 1 draft: This photo isn't relevant but it is to me because I love how short Maveric Lamourex (6'7ft, 2.01m) and Conor Geekie (6'3ft, 1.93m) make Logan Cooley (5'10ft, 1.78m) look

6. like every team you need someone who looks like their mascot and arizona is no exception. Allow me to introduce No. 29 Barrett Hayton and Howeler the Coyotes

7. No. 39, Connor Ingram my precious goalie🫶. He is important to me because he's open about his struggles with OCD & past addiction. And also he's a good goalie (that saves the yotes ass a lot of times) read more here

8. @/did_the_coyotes_lose on Insta or @/didtheyoteslose (twitter) is small community of yotes fans :) and also sometime the main title card is posted by the arizona account

(usually they lose two games after and go on a horrendous losing streak. When will the yotes admin learnt that posting did_the_coyotes_lose is a curse)

9. MIKE SMITH GOALIE GOAL!! HE SCORES WITH JUST 11 SECONDS TO GO! It got in the net with 0.1 seconds remaining on the clock. Needless to say, best goal in yotes history.

10. Father a.k.a Nick Bjugstad (No. 17) and his wife Jackie have a foundation called Goals For Kids, "Provides youth from all backgrounds with the skills to be successful" <- paraphrasing what their website says

11. Travis Boyd (No. 72) he is literally just a family man. That is kinda his whole thing, it's sweet.

12. Michael Carcone (No.53) knows how to serve on and off the ice because his grandfather owned a bar and a pizza joined (but genuinely i need to know if MC53 can serve drinks, it would be great if he can)

13. Logan Cooley my goat 🐐 all you really need to know about him is that he's just a little guy and is good at hockey

14. speaking of little guys clayton keller & logan cooley are both the second shortest (michael carcone is the shortest) but i would like to bring your attention to this photo, it's beautiful 🥹

15. barrett hayton & clayton keller are in love (bromance) (to add more BH29 profile picture on insta is a picture of them)

16. Lawson Crouse (No. 67, Alt captain) his nickname is "the sheriff" because of his style of play (not important but he's ginger and i felt the need to mention this because they're a very rare breed)

17. Dylan Guenther - another little guy (he's 6'2💀) - scored THE game winning goal for Canada at world juniors in the gold medal game against czechia (it was a beautiful moment)

18. Barrrett Hayton serves cunt on and off ice (i mean look at this goofy ass hat, only someone with confidence can pull this off)

19. Harvard graduate Alexander Kerfoot (No. 15, alt captain). He did a Q&A with The Athletic in 2019 and I think it say all you need to know

20. No. 63 Matias Maccelli, oh i love this man. He looks like a teddy bear and if you squeeze him for long enough he will squeak. And also he's good at hockey and is going to beat his season high points scored (49)

21. Jack McBain (No. 22) if i'm being honest idk much about him and i couldn't find out much. But something i know is that his insta is private and i respect that🫡

22. No. 38 Liam O'Brien or Big Tuna. He's an enforcer with the most penalty minutes in the league (133) (he's a ginger, a very rare breed) also he's going to be a girl dad 🔜

23. One Step Coyotes is a program that allows adults with special needs to play hockey (@/onestepcoyotes on insta)

24. The short leash line was a line with Keller - Schmaltz - Garland in the 2020-21 season. It was nicknamed this by rick tocchet and it has got to be my favourite line name

25. this video is actually everything to me 🥹

Lawson Crouse saying, "You go baby go ahead." changed my brain chemistry.

And the Cooley repeating to himself, "don't fall, don't fall, don't fall..." 😭😭😭😭

#not making a part 2 #i'll make a part 2 when i have time 🫶#arizona coyotes #nhl #logan cooley #clayton keller #lawson crouse #dylan guenther #yotes lb #nhl imagine #nhl hockey

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sailor-aviator · 5 months

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Tom and Jake's Relationship

Story: The Dagger Posse Universe

Word Count: 2k (oops)

TW: Mentions of death, Mentions of illness, Mentions of pandemic, Mentions of funerals, Mentions of burials, References to prostitution, Mentions of hanging, Starvation. Think that's it.

A/N: Been sitting on this one for a while. I wanted to show the kind of relationship that Jake and Ice have, and I sure hope I was able to give you even the slightest glimpse into how much they care about one another. Please enjoy!

The epidemic that swept the small town of Maverick was as quick as it was devastating. It slaughtered several of the different townsfolk, and left several with no family left. Tom had been there to comfort Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and a small Bradley Bradshaw when Nick and Carole had been lowered into the cold, dark earth of the desert. Bradley had been so young, and he had clung to Maverick's leg, hiding his face away. Tom wasn't sure if it was to keep from seeing his parents like that or to keep his parents from seeing him like that.

They had been good, kind people. Goose was well liked by most and Carole was well liked by all. Both always having smiles for whoever had the fortune of encountering them. And they had been fighters, holding out until they couldn't find the strength to draw another breath.

Tom had been walking aimlessly down the streets of Maverick after their funeral, searching for what, he didn't know at the time. The day had been cold and eerily calm, like the desert mourned with the sheriff too. The image of young Bradley clinging to Maverick's leg as he tried so hard to keep a brave face replayed in his head. The only time he cracked was when the men began to lower the coffins into the graves below, and the boy had shed a single tear and let out a solitary sob.

Tom's heart broke for the son of his friends, but he knew that Penny and Mav would take good care of him. Still, it wasn't easy to lose your parents, especially at such a young age.

He rounded a corner near the edge of town, stopping short at the solitary figure that sat huddled on the foot of the stairs leading up to the back of the butcher's shop. Mossy, green eyes popped up to look at him, and Tom was taken aback by how gaunt the poor boy looked.

"Jake," he nodded, looking him over. There were dark circles under his eyes, skin pale and he definitely looked thinner than the last time the older man had seen him.

"Sheriff," the blond nodded back, voice barely audible as he slumped back in on himself. Tom felt a pang run through his heart at how tired he sounded. A boy of eight years shouldn't be sounding like that.

"What are you doing, Jake?"

"Sarah didn't make enough to feed us again," the boy whispered, eyes closed in defeat. "I always tell her that I found food somewhere else so she gets enough to eat without worryin' about me. Sometimes the butcher will give me scraps that I can cook."

"How long has this been going on?"

He shrugged. "Since Ma an' Da' died."

Tom's stomach lurched. A couple of weeks then. The sheriff knew he couldn't go on like this. He knew that Sarah was doing her best to provide for her and her brother, but there was only so much a girl of fourteen could do unless she chose to sell herself. Tom wasn't going to let that happen. He owed it to their parents to take care of the two.

"Come with me, Jake," he murmured, causing the boy to look up at him in confusion.

"What?" He frowned, stumbling to a stand. "Why?"

"We're going to go see Penny about a meal."

"I can't afford that, Mr. Ice," Jake exclaimed, despair in his eyes. Tom shook his head, placing a gentle hand on his shoulders to guide him back into town.

"Don't you worry about that. I'll get you sorted out."

And Tom had seen to it that Jake ate regularly, cooking him meals and sending him home with leftovers as often as he could. He had even taught him to hunt, and the boy was a halfway decent shot when he wanted to be.

Soon, Jake was old enough to work, and Tom made sure the boy was being paid fair wages, working odd jobs to earn enough to support him and his sister.

"You're not workin' too hard, are you, Jake?" He asked the young man one day. Jake had looked at him with a tired smile, rubbing at his eyes as he answered.

"No, Tom," he sighed. "I'm not working too hard. Just earning my living."

Tom had hummed, but made sure to slip a couple of extra dollars into the boy's pouch when he wasn't looking. Winter was coming up, and he knew Jake was in need of a new pair of boots. It had been too long since he bought the last pair, and it would do him no good to run around without proper footwear. Now that he thought about it, it wouldn't hurt to give him a couple more dollars for new clothes, so into the pouch it went.

Tom couldn't help the smile that grew on his face at the sight of Jake in his new trousers and boots two weeks later.

"What are you grinnin' about?" Jake had asked him, brow furrowed in curiosity. Tom just shook his head and chuckled.

"Don't you mind now."

Tom knew that Jake's heart was in the right place, but he could have done without the extra grey hairs.

"Bradley's problems are his own," he had groused to the blond. "You shouldn't go gettin' into trouble for someone who's fighting their own demons, son."

"Bradley is my friend, Ice," Jake had sighed, sipping on his beer at the bar. "I'm not leaving a friend to walk through hell alone."

Tom felt a twinge of pride. Jake had grown into a fine young man. Loyal, strong, kind, and clever. All things a man should be, Tom supposed, but Jake's loyalty was a double edged sword at best.

"I'm not going to be able to bail you out of these predicaments for forever, you know," he had grumbled, sipping on his own beer. Jake huffed out a laugh, patting the older man on the shoulder.

"I don't expect you to," he grinned, shooting him a wink. "One day I'll have enough money where I won't need to do this anymore. Maybe I'll even build you a fancy new house while I'm at it."

"Every single one of these grey hairs is because of you, you know," Tom scowled, shoving the younger man lightly.

"I think they make you look distinguished."

"Smartass."

Now this was something Tom hadn't expected. Of course, he knew that Jake had his fair share of flings with the women in town, but he had never seen the boy so transfixed before. And it appeared the young lady had taken an interest back in him, though the more he observed the two, the more he wasn't sure she knew the extent of her feelings.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you son?" He had remarked to Jake one day after the young lady had left him standing in the middle of the street. Jake squared his shoulders back, and despite his grin, Tom saw a look of quiet determination in his green eyes.

"I'm going to marry that girl one day, Tom," he had declared.

"Pretty sure she has to like you first."

"I'll get her to like me," the blond shot back. And for a moment, Tom was taken aback. In Jake's eyes was a mixture of two things the older man wasn't sure he had ever seen before: nervousness and longing.

"Give it time," Tom cautioned, squeezing Jake's shoulder. "A girl like that needs to be earned, not won."

It was now or never. Tom had convinced the marshal to go and get a drink to ease some of his tension, and now was the only chance he would get to free Jake. Tom was never going to let the boy hang, he couldn't let it happen. He knew there would be grave consequences for himself for letting Jake go free, but he wasn't about to let him down. While Bradley had always had Maverick, Jake had always had Tom. Tom wouldn't let the only son he had ever known leave this world by the end of a rope.

He stopped as the front door creaked open to reveal you, a bedraggled wreck as you stared at him. Now this was a surprise. Tom was sure that you wouldn't show up, after all it was late and you were a lady if nothing else.

“You shouldn’t be here, darlin’,” he drawled, placing his feet on the floor. “This ain’t no place for a lady such as yourself.”

“Where is he?” You asked him, stepping into the room and quickly closing the door behind you. Tom heard Jake call out, and as you moved towards the back room, he stopped you.

“Are you sure you’re ready to see him like this?” He asked you quietly, lips pressing into a thin line as he continued to study you. You stared at him with fire in your eyes, a fire that had Tom's mind blazing in curiosity. What a tough little thing you were.

“Please,” you murmured, your eyes never wavering. “Please let me see him.”

Tom stared at you for a moment longer before glancing at the door. Any chance of getting Jake out now was gone the second you stepped foot through the door. He would have to come up with another plan, but for now, the least he could do is let the two of you see each other.

“You have five minutes, Scout.”

Tom was still thinking about the way your eyes had sparkled as you saw the wanted poster for Isaac Cassidy. He could practically see the cogs in your head turning as you played the part of the damsel in distress for Beau, but Tom could see now that you were no fool. No, you were more than capable, and he supposed that you had come up with a plan of your own.

"That girl of yours sure is something," he had mused to Jake, watching the blue light of the morning filter into the jail.

"You have no idea," the young man croaked back. "I love her, Tom."

"I know."

"I don't want her to see my hang."

Tom paused at that. He had already come up with a contingency plan, but a feeling inside of him told him that you were hard at work making preparations for your own handiwork.

"Somehow," Tom drawled, "I don't think she will."

There was a moment of silence between the two of them.

"I'm sorry, Tom."

"What the hell are you sorry for?" Tom rolled his eyes, earning a sigh.

"I'm sorry for how things ended up. You always warned me to stay out of trouble, and now here we are."

"Yeah, well," Tom sniffed, pushing out of his chair and heading for the door. He had to speak with Maverick before time was up. "Maybe you'll listen to me once you get out of here."

And with that, he walked through the door.

Tom watched as Jake led you down the road, the crowd crowing eagerly behind him. He had to hand it to you, you were a cunning, ruthless lady. Not many people could have pulled off what you did, and Tom could count you as one of the few people in this world that left him impressed.

He supposed that Jake would try to stay out of trouble moving forward, but trouble had always had a knack for finding Jake if nothing else. Tom let out a sigh as he watched the young man place a gentle kiss to your forehead, squeezing you tightly as you continued to walk towards your home.

"You comin'?" Bradley asked him, an impassive look on his face. Tom nodded, turning to start making his way through the crowd. He wasn't one to take delight in death, but he was certainly one to make sure that no harm came to the people he cared about. Isaac Cassidy would die today in place of Jake Seresin. Tom would rest easy knowing that the boy he raised would stay safe for another day.

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lxstfathier · 7 months

Text

Hiding

Kinktober day 8 - deepthroat

Nick Goode x Reader

Nick loves to feel you mouth on his cock, licking and sucking all the way from the base to the tip, savoring every single inch of his throbbing length.

But he goes absolutely crazy when you manage to take him entirely inside your mouth, down your throat, gagging and drooling all over him.

And he doesn’t care about having you just like that on any place that he wants, not even while he’s working at the police station, hiding you under the desk, pushing your head down to make you choke on his thick cock.

No one ever suspects a thing. Who would know that Nick Goode, the great sheriff and the town’s hero, has his pretty girlfriend sucking him off while he talks with all the officers under his command?.

#the fs fandom is kinda dead i know 😭#nick goode smut #fear street smut #fear street fanfiction #kinktober 23 🎃

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meduseld · 2 years

Note

okay but now i want to know what it was like when they announced the plans for the mall? did nick ever avoid the tree since ziggy died right there? im sure he couldnt always avoid that spot tho, but letting ziggy get murdered there was literally his biggest failure. ziggy on the other hand probably didn't set foot in there till 94.

I think the general reception of the development was very warm, because it was Nick's idea thus magically boosted. I think the Goodes always owned the land (with the tunnels and og Solomon farmhouse being there etc) and it was leased to Nightwing (which added to why Nick wanted the Camp to Die, he wanted that land back and not crawling w kids). He gave it some time and though the mall era was the perfect development plan to use for the land and add in his special tunnel entrances to and from it (presumably through Devil Magic).

So Sunnyvalers were like "a mall! Oh yeah! Capitalism babyyy" while Shadysiders were more leery since families of the victims and such were around but not like they could do much about it and we know it mostly employeed Shadysiders serving Sunnyvalers. I think Ziggy really was V upset, but couldn't do much. I am sure, like you say, she never ever went there on principle until the events of 94.

I think Nick has very mixed feelings about the spot and the tree itself. I think he can't get rid of it, either bc it's important symbolically to the Pact and him sentimentally, or because Sarah's spirit has enough influence on it to keep it there (or else why would it be preserved within the mall? Beyond bc the plot requires it). Either way, it has powerful magic on it and Nick can sense it. (Well I think people do kinda feel a vibe but Nick is a literal satanic witch, he knows what's there and sees it clearly). The memories are very complicated to him, and it is, to him, imutably tied to Ziggy herself. I don't know that he thinks of it as a failure per se, since he might think of it more as there place he *resurrected* her. Anyway he does go to that mall, as Sheriff and as himself, Sunnyvaler that he is, and I think he always catches himself staring at it. He def gives it that good old googly gecko eyed look at the start of 94 post gunshots, and in fact might have chosen the mall for the massacre because of it.

If the point was reconnecting with Ziggy through it, which seems to be the case, or even if not, she was on the brain enough for him to decide to restart their connection at the source: the hanging tree and place of power she was tied to literally and figuratively.

#gdi nicky #nick x ziggy #nick goode #sheriff goode #goode family #ziggy berman #lots of thoughts

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onmysluttyknees · 13 days

Text

Can’t Get Over You

Pairing: Peña x reader.

Rating: E 18+ (minors dni). This is for mature audience only! By continuing reading you agree that you are over 18.

Words: about 7k.

—

“Can we please not do this now? I need to go,” he says, looking at me. The mask of indifference is back in place as he pulls his jeans back on. I thought we had moved past this. But apparently not. What I want and what he expects are not the same.

”I just want to know what I am to you!” I raise my voice louder than I intend to, but it’s so damn frustrating. He wants me, but he doesn’t want to commit to me.

“Don’t do this now; I’m running late.” He huffs, and he pulls his clothes back on. I feel so used. He wants a warm body to fuck when he feels like it. And I want more. I can’t do this anymore.

“You know what, PeÃ±a? Let’s not do this ever again. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” I sigh, get out of bed, and start pulling my clothes on. I keep my body away from him as I do so. If I look at him, I’ll give in, like I always do.

“I thought we were on the same page about what this was, were we not?” He asks, and I hear him moving closer to me, but I don’t turn around.

“And I thought that I meant more to you than just a good fuck whenever you’re in the mood. But I suppose we both were wrong.” I walk into the bathroom and slam the door behind me, locking it to keep him out. I want so much more than what he’s willing to give me. I get that he has a lot on his plate. After coming back from Columbia and taking on the job as the sheriff in Laredo, a lot of people expect him to clean up the town and get the drugs out of here. But when he came back alive, all I could think was that maybe this was our chance at a second chance together.

We had been together when we were younger, before he left for Colombia, and I understood that when he left, what we had was over. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him while he went down there, since neither of us knew when he would be back.

But that didn’t stop me from hoping and wishing that he would come back one day, and maybe we could pick up where we left off. How silly of me to think that what we once had meant more to him than what it does now. I was still just a warm body for him to sink his cock into whenever he needed to blow off some steam. And frankly, I’m over it.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Nenita, please don’t be like this. What we have is good, right? Why do we need to make it into something it isn’t?” His voice is like butter on toast. It’s hard to resist him when he’s like that, but I deserve more. I want more from him, but if he isn't willing to give it to me, then I can’t give him more from me. I need to protect myself before I give him more than I already have.

“Just go, Peña; I can’t do this anymore. Please just go.” My voice breaks at the end. I try my best to keep myself together. He can’t see me when he’s on the other side of the door, but I know he can hear me.

“I’m sorry, nenita." That’s the last thing I hear from him before I hear the front door open and then close. He’s gone. Again. Only this time, I will still see him around town. Fuck!

4 months later.

With a glass of rosé wine in my left hand and the music playing loudly, I’m looking through my closet, trying to decide what to wear for my date tonight.

I’m not even sure I should go. I’m still not over Javier, but they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And since nothing else seems to have worked in the past 4 months, why not try going on a date?

Nick is cute; he’s kind, and he’s been asking me out for a date several times over the years. So here I am, getting ready for a date. With Nick.

My hand drifts over a white sundress with sunflowers on it. I used to wear this dress all the time. It was one of my favourites, and sadly, one of Javier’s too.

“I love the way this dress hugs you, ass, and your titts,” he whispered into my ear, his lips gently grazing down my neck.

“Stop it, Javi; we need to go or we’re going to be late for our reservation at ‘Hal’s’.” I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but not much effort was put into it since I didn’t really want to step away from his warm body. He pressed his front against my back with more force, making it very clear exactly how much he liked the dress. I could feel him through his jeans as his cock pressed against my ass. A soft moan escaped my lips as he pressed himself into me again, harder this time.

“Are you sure you want me to stop querida?” His teeth scraped gently along the shell of my ear, and his hands gripped my hips tighter as he let out a low groan of pleasure as I rubbed my ass against his growing erection once again. “I say we skip dinner and go straight to dessert instead.”

We never made it to the restaurant that night. Now that I think of it, we hardly ever went anywhere; we were always at his place or mine. I didn't mind because I got to have him all to myself without the other women of the town ogling him, but now, in hindsight, it feels like he didn’t want to be seen with me. Not that that mattered; in a small town like Laredo, everybody knows everything anyway. And people knew, just like they knew the moment we stopped seeing each other. In the first month or two, people would stare, and I would hear them whisper about me when they didn’t know I was in the next aisle, or perhaps they knew and wanted me to hear?

It was always the same comment: “Perhaps he got bored of her." “A man like that can’t be tied down; why did she think she would be able to get him to settle down?”. And it hurts. Far more than I care to admit. Because it was all true. In the end, I wasn’t enough for him.

I shake my head as if to try and clear the memory from it. But I’m not an etch-a-sketch, so the image of us in bed that night and all the other times stays burned into my brain as I try my best to get ready for my date with Nick. I down the rest of my wine, and out of spite or defiance, I don’t know, I grab the dress with the sunflowers. It’s just a dress, one of my favorites, so I pull it on. It still fits nicely, though it’s a little looser around my midriff now than it was before, but that is to be expected. I have been exercising more lately and eating better, so I have lost some weight.

Not that I did it because anyone told me that I needed to, but what else was I supposed to do with all my free time when Javier stopped coming around? Correction: When I told him to leave, he actually, for once, listened to me. I had to find something to put all my time and energy into. So I started running. It’s a good distraction. I keep pushing myself further and harder. The burn from running makes the hurt from not being with him a little bit easier to handle. And it usually tires me out pretty good. It keeps me from making dumb decisions like texting him late at night when I’m lonely.

A loud knock on my door startles me just as I put the last touch of lipstick on. I put the cork back on and set down the lipstick, walking over to open the door, putting on a bright smile as I do so.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” Nick looks me up and down before he settles on my face, a big smile on his lips as he hands me a bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.” He says.

“These are beautiful, Nick. Thank you. Let me just put these in water, and then I’m ready to go.” I take the flowers, and he follows me as I walk into the kitchen to find a vase.

After I’ve put the flowers in the water, I look over at Nick to see where he’s standing in the doorway to my kitchen. He cleaned up nice, in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And he trimmed his beard too; usually it’s a bit more wild, but tonight he has it neatly trimmed short. It suits him better. But for some reason, I can’t help but think about how I prefer a defined moustache over a full beard.

“Are you ready to go?” Nick asks, bringing me back to my kitchen and the man standing in front of me. The man that is not him. But that’s the point; Javier didn’t want more, and I do. So I give Nick a soft smile and nod.

The restaurant is nice, although I wish he hadn’t taken me to Hal’s. But the odds of him coming in here tonight are hopefully low.

We order food and drinks, and we talk about everything and nothing. And just as I am starting to relax and enjoy the date, I feel him. I can tell that he is there before I even see him. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot him over at the bar. He just walked in and is ordering a beer. I know he’s already seen me. The way he looks over at us tells me everything I need to know. And he looks pissed.

I try to concentrate on what Nick is telling me, something that happened this week at his work, but honestly, all I can think of is him. Javier is standing less than 10 feet from me over by the bar, but he might as well be standing next to me. The air in the room is electrified, and with every breath I take, I find it more and more difficult to breathe.

“Will you excuse me for just a second?” I get up from my chair and all but run towards the ladies room, not even bothering to think about the fact that I left Nick hanging in the middle of a sentence about whatever he was talking about. I need to get out of the room and away from Javier.

I lock myself into one of the ladies rooms and grip the sink with both hands so tightly that my knuckles turn white with the effort. My breathing is ragged, and I try my best to slow my racing heart. This is not what I had envisioned for my first night out after Javier and I broke up. Well, to be broken up, one would have to have actually been a couple in the first place, which we never were. He didn’t want anything serious, and I was dumb enough to think that if I stayed around long enough, he would change his mind. That he would want me just the same way I wanted him. Sadly, that never happened.

After several minutes of hiding in the bathroom, I pull myself together enough to stand up straight, run my hands down my dress, and look at myself in the mirror.

“You can do this. He is just a man you once knew. You can do this.” I tell myself the same thing over and over as my breathing evens out and my heart slows back down to somewhat normal. With a final, steadfast breath, I unlock the door and walk out, and straight into someone.

“What the...” I stop myself the moment I look up and my eyes meet his. Dark brown eyes I could drown in, if only he’d let me.

“Querida.” His voice is low and strained. He looks me up and down, widening a little when he sees the dress I have on, before he looks me in the eyes.

“You lost the right to call me that, Peña.” I try to sound strong, but my voice is wavering, and I have to look away from his piercing gaze before I do something stupid. Pushing past him to get away from him, just as I’m almost past him, he grabs a hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

“Please, don’t walk away,” he pleads, his hand still in a firm grip on my wrist.

“I’m not the one who walked away, remember?” I turn around and yank my hand from his. When my eyes meet his, he looks lost, even sad. But I can’t break. Not here, not now. “You’re the one who didn’t want what I had to offer.” The rage bubbles up; after being pushed down for months, it’s finally breaking free. I’m done blaming myself for what happened. He made me believe we could be more. He’s the one who made me feel like what we had was more than just sex, with his sweet touch, filthy words, and the way he would look at me. He’s the one who would hold me tight, night after night, as we fell asleep next to one another after we had our way with each other in bed.

“I...” He takes a step closer, but I back up. I can’t. I won’t survive him one more time.

“You what, Pña? You don’t want me. Not really—not all of me, at least. You only want me when you can’t have me. Or am I wrong? You haven’t called me in months. But tonight, the first night, I’m actually out with someone else. Now you care? Just leave me alone; I can’t do this again with you. I won’t survive it a third time.” It’s like my words burned him. He backs up a few steps. His eyes meet mine. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then he closes it again. Just like I thought, nothing has changed. He doesn’t want more, or maybe he isn’t capable of more. It’s only sad that it took me so long to figure it out. Having the man I love break my heart not only once, way back when we were kids, but again four months ago. And in a way, now, all over again, tonight hurts more than I care to admit. But I won’t let him do it again. I can't, and I won’t survive it one more time.

Without saying anything else, I turn and walk away. There is nothing more to say. He doesn’t stop me, either. So if that doesn’t tell me exactly everything I need to know, then I don’t know what will.

I walk back to the table where Nick is still sitting. He looks uncomfortable, shifting slightly in his seat, but doesn’t say anything about how long I was gone or that Javier was gone for a part of that time too. He really is a good guy. And for the rest of the date, I try my best to pay attention to what he says and not look over to my left, where I know Javier is sitting still at the bar, nursing beer after beer. I smile and laugh, and I can almost fool myself into believing that this night isn’t that bad.

The date actually turned out pretty well. When we finished eating, Nick drove me back to my apartment, but I didn't invite him in. I need to do this right this time. So instead, I let him kiss me goodnight. I thanked him for a lovely evening, and when he asked me if I would like to go out with him again, I said yes. And I meant it. I did have a good time.

But the moment I’m alone in my apartment, my mind drifts back to the way he looked at me. Javier, not Nick. Not that the way Nick looked at me was bad. Just the way Javier always looks at me is like a sizzling fire that burns underneath my skin. And the only way to quench the flames is when he has his way with me and pulls orgasm after orgasm from me.

But tonight he looked at me like I was something he had lost, and he wanted it, me, back. But he didn’t do anything or say anything. At least nothing that changes what happened between us or how it ended.

That night, I got little to no sleep. I tossed and turned for half of the night, and the other half I dreamed about the one man I can’t have.

3 months later

I keep running into Javier. Almost on a daily basis, I see him across the street or run into him. I can’t get away from him. I can be in the supermarket, and I turn around, and there he is. Or at the gas station, filling up my car, and there he is. Even when Nick and I go out on dates, he is there. Everywhere I turn, he is always there. Not in a stalker way, though. Not like it's that strange; we live in the same town, but still. It’s unnerving. I’m trying to move on from him, but all I see is him everywhere I go.

It’s late, and I’m getting ready for bed when my phone pings with an incoming text message. So I walk out of my bathroom, one towel wrapped around my body and one towel still in my hand as I’m drying my hair after the shower, when I flip my phone on my bed with the other hand, and I freeze mid-motion.

It’s a text from Javier. I sit down on my bed before I open the text and read it.

I stare at the text. Not knowing what to reply or if I even should reply. I’m with Nick now, right?

Just when I’ve almost convinced myself to not reply and ignore the text altogether, the bubble with the three dots appears, and with anxious breath, I wait for his next text. But nothing appears. No more texts come through. And as I stand there with my hair dripping down onto my bed, my phone dies.

Fuck! I was supposed to have plugged it into the charger when I came home from work, but work had been hectic today, so I forgot. I scramble off my bed as quickly as I can, grab my charger from on top of my dresser, plug it into the socket, and then plug the other end into my phone. It feels like it takes forever for my phone to light up. And who knows how long it takes for it to power back on? Without my damn phone, which is also my clock in my bedroom, I don’t know how many minutes tick by before it actually lights up again.

I open up my phone to see if he has sent any more texts, but no. Only the one from before my phone died. What am I supposed to answer? He misses me? Should I even answer? Before I have any time to think more about it, a loud knock startles me. Looking down at my phone to check the time, 11:43, I highly doubt that it is Nick. We didn’t have plans tonight, and he wouldn’t just stop by unannounced like this, at least not this late. Which meansâ€¦

“Querida, please open the door.” He’s speaking louder than normal, but not quite shouting yet. But I still don’t want my neighbors to get mad. Having someone half-yell in your stairwell isn’t most people's idea of fun at almost midnight on a fucking Thursday night. So I stumble my way to the door and yank it open.

Javier is leaning against the doorframe, looking worse for wear but still hot as fuck. No one should be allowed to look that good when he looks so disheveled and his hair is a mess. Like he has been dragging his fingers through it over and over for hours. His shirt is wrinkled, and his jeans are dirty.

“Javi, you can’t come here like this anymore.” I don’t even realize I used his nickname until he looks up at me with those big brown, sad eyes.

“You called me Javi.” A soft smile spreads across his lips, and that damn dimple appears on his left cheek. He knows how much I love that damn dimple.

“Slip of the tongue, what are you doing here?” I try to redirect the conversation, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what he’s doing here. He texted me not that long ago, and now he’s here, at my door, in the middle of the night.

“I’d like to give you my slip of the tongue.” He says it under his breath, with a smirk playing on his lips. He knows I heard him. It’s too quiet around us for me not to have heard him. And his words do things to me. I press my legs together in an attempt to ease the throbbing that's begun to grow. He always had a way with words. He could probably get me off with his words alone. But I can’t let my mind wander too far down the rabbit hole. I need to know why he is here. I don’t say anything about his comment.

I don’t know if I should invite him in or ask him to leave. But I do know that I don’t want to have this conversation in my doorway for any of my neighbours to hear or walk into. So I open the door a little bit more and let him in. He walks past me and straight into my kitchen, where he comes to a stop and casually leans against the kitchen island.

“It’s late; what are you doing here?” I ask again, trying to put some power behind my words.

“Nick isn’t here, I suppose, since you let me in.” He drawls, still with that dimple on his cheek, begging me to touch it, kiss it, and lick it.

“Is that what you came here to talk about, my boyfriend?” I ask, letting a strained laugh out. This is so surreal. My somewhat ex and I are talking about the man I’m currently dating.

“Does he make you happy?”

“What?” I stare at him. I'm wondering where he’s going with this.

“Does. He. Make. You. Happy?” He punctuates each word while simultaneously taking a step towards me with each word. I look around my kitchen, trying to find the words, and maybe even something to look at other than him. His eyes are on fire, and they are burning me with every lingering look. With every caress as he sweeps his eyes over my body, I just realize I’m still in nothing but my towel, and my hair is still damp as water trickles down my back.

“I...he...” I can’t get the words or sentences to form in my mind, let alone get them out of my mouth, when he’s looking at me like that. I am his prey, and he is the hunter. With a final step towards me, he has me between him and the kitchen counter. His hands land on either side of me, effectively caging me in. All I can see is him. All I can smell is him. All I can feel is the heat coming off his body, but that doesn’t stop my skin from breaking out in goosebumps all over. But I doubt it’s because I’m cold. Quite the opposite. I’m burning up, and all I want to do is lean a little bit, close the distance between us, and lock my lips around his.

“I know I said I couldn't give you more. But the thought of not having you at all is killing me. I can’t think, I can’t sleep, and I can’t breathe when I’m not with you. And every time I see you around town, all I want is to walk up to you and kiss you. I feel like you are the reason I made it back from Colombia in one piece, and I will die unless I get to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you. Please tell me it’s not too late.”

“Javi...” I’m stunned. I never expected to get as much from him in words as I just did. I try to think of that to answer him, but no words will come out.

"Words, querida, use your words. I asked you a question.”

“What...what question?” I ask, shaking my head. My mind is a mess from what he just said. He wants me? Why now? What changed?

“Does he make you happy?” His hand softly pushes my damp locks back behind my ear; his fingers move to gently caress my cheek; and I instinctively lean into his touch.

“Not like you do. No one can compare to you.” I confess. There’s no point in lying anymore, to myself or to him. He’s here for a reason. He’s told me as much. He wants me back.

“Please give me one more chance. I'm yours; say you’ll be mine.” His eyes search mine as his hand travels from my cheek down my neck. He can feel my pulse beat rapidly beneath his thumb, where his hand is now on my neck.

Without thinking, I reach up on my tippy toes and kiss him. I shouldn’t be doing this. I know I shouldn't. It’s wrong for so many reasons, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My hands move on their own accord and drape around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

His hands find their way around my waist and pull me in closer. The kiss grows heated, and he drags his tongue along the seam of my lips, asking for entry. I grant it, opening up and letting my tongue slide along his in a battle for dominance. His hands drift lower until they reach the bottom of the towel and slide in under it. Grazing the back of my thighs and up my bare ass.

“Mierda, you’re fucking naked under here?” He asks, his voice strained, before he grabs a firm hold of my ass. He lifts me up and sets me down on the kitchen counter, and in doing so, the towel comes loose, falls down, and pools around my waist. Leaving my breasts on full display. He breaks the kiss to look down at my exposed body. “Fuck querida, you’ll be the death of me.” He growls, unable to stop himself. He leans down and takes one perked nipple into his mouth and sucks on it. Dragging his teeth over it, one hand finds the other and plays with it between his forefinger and thumb, pulling a breathy moan from my lips.

My own moan startles me from what we're doing, and I put my hands up against his chest and push him away. Even though all I want is to pull him closer.

“We can’t, not like this.” I quickly grip the towel and pull it up over my body again as I jump down from the counter.

“You’re right.” He takes a step back but then changes his mind and grabs the back of my head as he pulls me in for another soul-searing kiss. When he finally breaks the kiss, he looks at me dead in the eye with his hand still on the back of my head, not allowing me to look away. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll wait. I’ll give you anything you want; be anything you want; just tell me you’ll be mine.” His chest heaves, and he breathes heavily.

I stare back at him. He’s finally saying all the right things. The only problem is that I have a boyfriend.

“I need to talk to Nick first.” I answer. “But, yes, Javi, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Give me a few days to sort through this, and I’ll call you, okay?” I don’t even know how to sort through this mess without someone getting hurt. Sadly, that seems to be Nick in this equation. But I can’t do anything more with Javi until I’ve ended things with Nick; I shouldn’t even have kissed him. We can’t start this time around with something like that. We need to make this right.

“I get it, but can I come over once it’s over with you and Nick?” He looks hopeful; his hand finds mine, and he interlocks our fingers and lifts my hand up to his mouth, where he lays featherlight kisses on each and every knuckle on my hand.

“I’ll call you. But I need you to go now before we do something really stupid. Like let you bend me over the couch and rail me while I still have a boyfriend.” I give him a soft smile while I gently push him towards the door.

He reaches for the door but turns around at the last second, grabs me by the waist, and pins me to the door. “I do, however, want to do that at a later time. But promise me you’ll call me after.” He leans in and plants soft kisses along the colom of my throat. My knees feel like jelly, and if he hadn’t been holding me up, I would have fallen to the floor.

“Yes, I promise.” I let out a breathy moan. “Now, go, baby; for mine and your sanity, go.” I beg.

“Good night, querida.” He gives me one of his devilish, lopsided smiles.

He moves me to the side, then steps away from me so he can open the door and let himself out. But before he’s out of sight, I notice his hand reaching down to readjust himself in those sexy, tight jeans of his. I can’t help but let the smirk on my lips grow as I think that he is as fucked for me as I am for him. Now I just have to break someone's heart before we can be together for real. And that’s not really something I’m looking forward to. But before I go to bed, I take another shower to cool off.

The next day I call Nick after work; I want to get this over with as soon as possible. There is no need to drag out the inevitable. I asked him to come meet me at a café near North Central Park. He had first asked me to come over to his place, but I thought it would be best to do this in public. If he got upset and wanted to leave, he could.

With my tea in my hand, I sit at the table, waiting anxiously for Nick to arrive. I have no idea how I’m going to break it to him, so I suppose I’ll just rip the bandage off the moment he sits down.

I see him coming down the sidewalk; he looks anxious too. He probably heard it in my voice when I called earlier. Nothing good ever comes after the dreaded line “can we talk” which is exactly the one I used earlier when I called him.

“Hey.” He leans in to kiss me, but at the last moment, I turn my head, and his kiss lads on my cheek. My pulse is racing, and my hands are clammy. I grip my mug tighter in an attempt to ground myself. “Everything okay?” He asks.

“I...” I begin, but I can’t seem to get the words out. Fuck, this is so hard! So I just open my mouth and hope I find the right words. “It was never my intention to hurt you, Nick. Please, you have to understand, and to be honest, I never expected Javi to...well, change.” I’m rambling, and when I look at Nick, he looks almost happy? Is he smiling at me?

“I understand. I mean, how can I compete with that guy? You love him.” I’m at a loss for words. Did he just tell me he understands?

“Say what now?” I ask. I must have misheard him. I stare at him with a dumbfounded look on my face, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Everyone here in Laredo knows about your story. Kind of like star-crossed lovers, always out of reach of one another. And to be frank, I think the whole town has been waiting and hoping for him to get his shit together and realise it's you that he wants. That it’s you he needs. And judging from the conversation you wanted to have with me today, I can assume that he finally came to his senses?”

“He...yeah, you could say that.” I let out a small laugh. The absurdity of how quickly this conversation unfolded is beyond me. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

“And you want him.” He asks. It’s not really a question, more of a statement.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, Nick. This is not what I had planned at all. You have to believe me that I never thought that he would change. It’s not like we haven’t tried before. But I don’t know; something is different this time. He’s different.” I reach out across the table and grab his hand in mine. “Please forgive me.”

“I know you didn’t mean for it to happen this way. And honestly, I’m happy for you. If you’re happy, then that’s all I want for you.” He says and squeezes my hand once before letting my hand go.

I don’t know how he’s taking this so calmly, but I appreciate it nonetheless. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t let him take you for granted this time. You deserve the best, and I hope he realises that.”

“I won’t, and thank you, Nick, truly. I hope you find someone who will care for you the way you deserve.”

He stands up and gives me a gentle smile.

“Thanks; I guess I’ll see you around town then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around.” I reply. And with that, he walks away. I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding in. This went way better than I expected.

After Nick leaves, I jump into an Uber and tell him where to drive. I have someone I need to go see. My whole body is buzzing with excitement as the car takes me across town and out to the countryside. When the car stops in front of the house, I get out on shaky legs. What if last night was just a dream, and this is all in my head? Or what if he changed his mind? Maybe he just wanted me when I wasn’t his to have? I don’t have to think about it long, though. The door swings open, and out steps Javi. My Javi, or at least, I hope he’ll be mine.

“You’re here. Does that mean...?" He doesn’t finish his question. Instead, he looks at me intensely, his eyes roaming all over my body before landing on my face. Like he’s searching for something and hopes he’ll find the answer in my eyes.

“I’m yours.” That is all I say. And before I know it, he closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms.

“Mine.” He breathes as he squeezes me tighter to him. Hands drift down my back and land on my ass, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he all but runs back into the house with me in his arms. Pushing the door open and then kicking it closed behind us, his lips find mine, and he claims my mouth with his. Never once does he let go of our connection as he walks me into his bedroom with me still in his arms. Walking up to the bed, he stops by and lowers me down on top of it softly.

He climbs into bed on top of me. I scoot back further into the middle of the bed, and he follows. Deft fingers start to unbutton my jeans and then pull down the zipper. Leading in, he lifts my shirt up and kisses my exposed skin before he grabs the hem of my top and pulls it up and over my head, discarding it somewhere behind him on the floor. Sneaking one hand around my back, he unclasps my bra and flings it over his shoulder. Next, he grips my jeans and panties off in one swift movement and tosses them to the floor as well.

A deep goran vibrates from his chest as his eyes drink me in; now I’m naked in front of him, in his bed.

“Fuck baby, I can’t believe I almost lost you. I’m never letting you go again.” He says it so low, I almost don’t hear him. But I do, and my throat feels thick with emotions. He never used to be like this before.

“Say it,” I plead. I know he feels it; I need him to say it. “Say it, and I’ll be yours forever.” He knows what I mean. The thing I so desperately wanted him to say 7 months ago. But something I think maybe he didn’t know he truly felt until after he saw me moving on. Or attempting to move on. How can one truly move on if one never lets go of the one they really want?

His hands roam all over my body, moulding me like clay. Claiming me as his. He bends down, locks his lips around mine, and kisses me like his life depends on it. Like only my breath can save him from certain death. Tongues, teeth, and breath mix, and when his hand slips in between my thighs, I can’t help but arch into his touch, and the moan that tears itself from my throat sounds borderline feral when one finger slides in between my slit.

“I love you.” He kisses me again, stealing my breath, when he eases one finger into me. “Fuck querida, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” He asks as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me at a leisurely pace.

“Oh God! Yes!” I pant. His movements stop.

"No, my love, not God, Javi, I want you to scream my name. I’m the one who makes you feel this good. It should be my name that comes from your lips when you cum. Now, be a good girl and cum for me.” He picks up his pace, adding another finger. My mouth falls open, and moan after moan pours out of me as he keeps hitting that spot inside that I can’t seem to reach myself most of the time unless I use a toy. And even then, it’s not as good as when he pushes his thick fingers inside me.

The waves of pleasure build quickly, and I can feel it coming. I won’t be able to keep it down for long. He knows my body better than I do. Angling his hand just a little and pushing deep inside again and again when his other hand reaches up to punch my nipple sends me over the edge, and I crash into the waves of the oncoming orgasm.

I scream out his name as my walls pulsate around him, but he doesn’t let up. He lets me ride out my orgasm, still pumping his big fingers in and out of me just so until I finally come down from the high.

I open my eyes to find him looking right at me with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his lips.

“I love it when you scream for me, baby. Now, let’s see how many times we can make you cum before you beg me to stop. I have some time to make up for, don’t I?” He bends down before I even have a chance to respond. He licks me from the top of the slit all the way down to my entrance. Making me arch my back off the bed.

“Oh, fuck. Javi.” I breathe out. His tongue circles back up and flicks my clit, making me jerk in reaction.

“Say it.” He demands. Before he seals his lips around my clit and sucks. Stealing the breath from my lungs. My hands find their way into his hair, a firm grasp on his locks. I grind myself into his mouth as his fingers pick up speed again. Lifting his head back up, his fingers pull out.

I whine in protest. “What are you doing?” I question.

“Say it, say it, and I’m yours. I’ll give you anything you want.” He begs. Javi is not a man who begs. But he’s begging me. I know what he wants. He said it, and now he wants me to say it. How can I resist this man? All I’ve ever wanted was him, so I give him what he wants.

“I love you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that, querida. I love you so fucking much.” He replies, then bends his head back down, circling and licking at my clit while he pushes his fingers back inside.

He quickly works me up to another orgasm, and when I come back down again, he moves up on top of me, his moustache glistening with my arousal.

He moves to get up and stands next to the bed as he quickly sheds his cloths, dropping them on the floor where he stands. Before he crawls on top of me again, this time completely naked, his cock nudges against my hip.

“Kiss me, then fuck me, Javi.” My arms wrap around his neck, my legs wrap around his waist, and the heels of my feet push him closer to me.

“For you, my love, I’ll do anything.” And he does. He kisses hard and fast, then slow and soft. Then he lines himself up with my entrance and pushes inside, and I’ve never felt so goddamn good as I do in that moment. I’m right where I’m meant to be. With him.

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bloatedandalone04 · 1 year

Text

➪the one where you meet nick after your brother gets arrested.

Word Count: 1.5k

You practically bolted out of your car and into the police station, your face burning from both the hot weather and the fact that your brother has been arrested yet again.

You didn’t even get a chance to park in an actual parking spot as you were in too much of a hurry, something that would surely come back to bite you in the ass. For now, you could only hope that no one notices.

The receptionist didn’t even have to look up to know it was you, how embarrassing, and waved you through with her hand, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.

You walked past the desk, your cheeks red from humiliation as you quickly made your way to the sheriff’s office. Hesitantly, you raised your hand to knock, dreading coming face to face with the man for the third time this month.

Instead of being met with the aged face of sheriff Jacob, you were surprised to see a younger man with dark brown hair and blue eyes staring back at you. He had his arm crossed over his chest, his hand wrapped around the handle of a phone as he held it up to the opposite ear. He used his shoulder and head to keep it firmly there, his other hand on the door knob.

He gestured you to enter with a nod of his head, to which you quietly did, already feeling bad about interrupting his phone call. He walked back around to the front of the desk, still standing as he looked at the papers that scattered the top of the desk.

You sat down in one of the chairs that faced the desk, playing with your fingers while looking around the room. The family pictures and kids drawings were taken off the walls, you noticed, and were left bare. Your eyes went back to the desk, where the usual Sheriff Jacobs plaque was replaced with one that read Sheriff Goode.

Realization hit you when you remembered that Jacobs was retiring and needed to be replaced. You heard something about a man from Sunnyvale being elected, but you didn’t know that he already took over the position.

The man finished the call and put the phone back on the receiver before sitting down. He finally looked up at you, and you tried not to notice the way his eyes widened slightly before he gave you a smile. “Hi,”

You can’t help but smile at the sound of his voice and sit up straighter. “Hi,” you say back. “Um, I’m really sorry about….disturbing your call..or whatever.”

He looks at the phone when you point to it before shaking his head. “Oh, no worries,” he brushed it off, folding his hands on the surface of the desk and moving his chair back and forth slightly.

“Yeah, I was just expecting,” you trail off, meeting his eyes. “Well, not you.”

He laughed and the sound of it alone had your heart skipping a beat. “Yeah, I’m the new guy,” he said. “Nick Goode.”

He held his hand out to you from over the table, one brow raised in question. “I’m Y/n Y/l/n,” you take his hand, feeling it nearly covering the entirety of yours. When he pulled away and gave you a confused yet friendly look, you suddenly remembered why you were here in the first place. “Oh, um, my brother was arrested earlier today. Uh, I don’t know what for, the lady didn’t tell me.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that as he leaned back in his chair. “She didn’t? Well I’ll have to have a talk with her about that,” he said, an amused grin on his lips. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Michael,”

At the mention of the name, Nick quickly looks away from you, a look of pity mixed with second hand embarrassment on his face. He pulls his lips into his mouth, making a tight line appear as he nods. “Hm,”

Your face falls and you let out a groan. “Oh, God,” you whine. “What did he do this time?”

Nick kept the expression on his face as he reached over and grabbed a folder. He crossed his leg over his knee and leaned further back, placing the now opened folder against his thigh as his eyes scanned the paper. “Where do I start?”

You could’ve cried when he asked that. “From the beginning?” Your voice wavered and you dreaded hearing the answer.

“Vandalism, resisting arrest, disrespecting a police officer, that one is a bit of a stretch, by the way, and verbally assaulting an elderly woman who watched it all happen,” he laughed as he read the last one, but quickly covered it up by bringing his fist up to his mouth.

You, however, weren’t laughing. Your eyes looked all over the room, your mouth opened slightly as you processed his words. Your mouth closed once you realized you had no words to say, and you looked back at the sheriff, wearing the most disappointed and tired look ever seen on a person.

He gave you a small smile, pity written all over his face as he closed the folder and tossed it back on his desk. “That’s it,”

At that, you let out a small laugh, but it quickly turned into a scoff of disbelief as you leaned forward and put your elbows on your knees. “That’s it,” you mumbled to yourself, repeating it in the same tone he said it in, though much quieter. You pressed your hands to your temples as you stared at the floor. “I can’t believe this.”

“He broke the window of a shop in town,” he continued, putting his leg back down and spinning the chair so he faced you once again. “The owner is asking for it to be paid in full.”

You looked back up at him. “How much?”

“Six seventy,”

Your eyes widen as you sit back. “You know what?” You put your hands on the armrests of the chair as you begin to stand up. “You’re gonna have to arrest me in, like, five minutes because I’m about to go kill my brother.”

Just as you stood up, he reached across the desk, his hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you. “Wait,” he said quickly, making you stop in your tracks. “The owner is partially at fault, as well.”

That made you sit back down, his hand leaving your wrist as you waited for him to continue.

“He was discriminating against your brother and refusing to serve him based on his appearance,” when you heard that, your brows furrowed and you sank back in the chair, feeling sorry for your troubled brother but still very much pissed off at him. “When the owner began pushing Michael out of the store, that’s when he threw a rock at the window.”

You nod, pressing your palm to your face as you ask, “So, what does this mean?”

“Well, the store owner tried to make it out to be your brother’s fault entirely, but a few witnesses came forward and confirmed that Michael didn’t start it,” at that, you let out a relieved sigh. “So, retribution isn’t applicable in this case.”

When you leaned back and let your tense shoulders drop, you glared playfully at the man. “Why didn’t you tell me all that first?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to rile you up,”

“Funny,” you said, unable to stop the smile that spread across your face. You tried to ignore just how good looking this guy is, and you break eye contact before anything could slip out without your consent. “So, when can I take him home?”

“We’ll need to keep him overnight, to ensure we get the full story,” Nick answered, looking over the array of folders on the desk. “He’ll be able to go home tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

You nod. “Thank you, sheriff,”

“Nick,”

“Nick, sorry,”

He just shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he stood up. “Let me walk you out,”

You expected him to just walk you to the door of his office, the couple feet that it was, but he actually walked you all the way out to your car. When you saw it, your eyes widened and you ripped the piece of paper from where it was stuck underneath the windshield wiper. “Oh, no,” you mumbled, reading over the paper. “I got a ticket.”

Nick, who now stood behind you, peered over your shoulder. “Here,” he said, making you turn around. Once you were facing him, he gently took the ticket from your hand. “I got it.”

“Really?” You ask, not bothering to hide the surprise in your voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a grin.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him. “It was nice meeting you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“It’s all good,” he brushed off your words, tucking the ticket away in his back pocket. “I also have a younger brother who used to lash out all the time. He’s the Mayor now, believe it or not.”

“Wow,” you trail off. “Michael’s future looks bright, then.”

He just laughed and you turned around, opening the driver side door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded, stepping away from your car. “I’ll be here,”

You grin one last time before getting in your car and trying not to look back up at him.

Maybe your brother’s bad habits weren’t so bad after all.

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