wtfdudesblog

[wtfdudesblog]

Big grumpy bear masterlist

Summary: He’s grumpy. You are sweet. A match made in heaven.

Pairing: Alpha!Walter Marshall x OmegaReader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, grumpy alpha, scenting, fluff, more to be added

Main Story

Big grumpy bear (1)

Big grumpy bear (2)

Big grumpy bear (3)

Big grumpy bear (4)

Big grumpy bear (5)

Big grumpy bear (FIN)

_____

Snippets

Big grumpy bear - Christmas snippet

Big grumpy bear – Valentine’s Day snippet

Big grumpy bear - Mother's Day snippet

Big Grumpy Bear - Family Day snippet

[wtfdudesblog]

Love 💗 will there be a part 2?

Under the Influence - Part 1

Summary: While investigating a suspicious pharmaceutical company, you and Clark find yourselves exposed to a drug that forces you to grapple with its unforeseen consequences. Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader  Word Count: 3.9K Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Dubious consent (reader and Clark are exposed to sex pollen), unprotected PIV, size kink, biting, angst and other untagged themes.  A/N: Thank you @ryebecca @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for holding my hand through this and Becca for beta’ing!

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Henry Cavill Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and the glittering skyline of Metropolis stretches out beyond the windows of the Daily Planet. The usual hum of activity in the bullpen is absent tonight – it’s just you, Clark, and an intimidating stack of boxes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. You may have indulged in a daydream or two about Clark just like this, but none of them ever involved so much paperwork.

You stifle a yawn, reaching for your coffee, only to nearly choke when you realize it’s gone cold. Grimacing, you set the offending mug aside and try to wash away the stale taste with water. The sound catches Clark’s attention and pulls him from his work. He offers you a wiry smile that you return, struck once again by just how handsome he looks. He makes it all too easy to have a crush on him, even though you know it wouldn’t go anywhere.

“I’ll put on a fresh pot,” he offers, stretching as he stands. 

Despite shedding his suit jacket earlier, and the way his tie is slightly askew, he still manages to look annoyingly chipper despite the late hour. You lean back to pass him your mug, your stiff muscles protesting. They ache from hours of sitting and sorting. 

“Back in a jiffy,” he promises, disappearing down the hall. 

By now, the two of you have been hunched over documents for nearly ten hours. Half of them are so technical they might as well be gibberish, but you’ve found a few leads in the financial papers. Unfortunately, your current stack of documents is so heavily redacted that they’re practically useless. You groan in frustration, resting your forehead on your arms until Clark returns, bringing the rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee with him. 

You accept the mug with a smile but quickly set it on the table when the warmth that seeps through the ceramic nearly burns your fingers. Not for the first time, you wonder how Clark managed to get the ancient coffee machine to percolate so quickly. For everyone else, it typically spewed out lukewarm sludge.

“Bet you're regretting volunteering for this assignment now,” Clark says. 

“Not for a moment,” you reply. “You’re still sharing that byline with me, right?” You question, squinting up at him.

“I always keep my promises,” he says with such earnestness that you’re reminded once again why Perry liked to call him a Boy Scout.

“I’ll hold you to it because this story’s turned into a beast.”

Clark sighs, resting his hands on his hips as he surveys the cluttered table strewn with file boxes and paper.  “It really has,” he agrees. 

When Perry called for a volunteer from the pool of junior editors to help with an expose on Salvation Pharmaceuticals, you jumped at the opportunity and not just because Clark was the writer assigned to the story. Most of your days were spent copyediting stories and arguing about AP style. You were just itching for some hands-on research experience, although neither of you expected the thread Clark pulled to unravel so quickly or so thoroughly. 

What started as an investigation into government kickbacks and dubious congressional dealings rapidly evolved into something far more unsettling. Salvation Pharmaceuticals�� R&D department was embroiled in deeply questionable research, from a gas capable of erasing memories to a potent drug they called a truth serum. All of their drugs had horrible side effects, particularly the latter which worked by lowering inhibitions but also triggered something they called sexual psychosis.

Clark’s freedom of information request resulted in your current predicament. Based on the sheer number of boxes they sent it was clear the company hoped to overwhelm you with an avalanche of data and make it difficult to find what you needed. Unfortunately for them, Clark Kent was one of the most determined reporters you’d ever met. If anyone was going to get to the bottom of the story it was him. 

“Well…once more unto the breach,” you quote, holding up a fresh box of files.

As you lift the lid, Clark offers you a small smile, his cheeks dimpling. For a moment, you’re too distracted by him to notice the cloud of yellow dust rising from the box. It quickly expands, swirling into a thick mist that engulfs you both. Immediately, your lungs begin to burn, and you gasp for air. You push your chair back and struggle to stand as your vision blurs. 

A strong arm around your middle hauls you back, dragging your feet on the carpet. Clark pulls you to the edge of the room, and you lean into him, desperately trying to clear your lungs. Behind you, he grunts, his fingers twitching and spasming against your hip. It takes several moments for the air to clear, but when it does, you watch in horror as the yellow dust seems to melt into your skin.

“What was that?” You ask, voice hoarse.

Clark is silent and looks grim when you turn to face him. “I think that was the truth serum. The reports described it as yellow dust.”

You stare at him, bewildered. “Why would the dust be in there?”

“I don’t know. But I can guess.”

You rub your chest and take a hesitant step back. “I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw twitching with tension. “Do you feel anything?”

You exhale slowly, taking stock of your body. “Maybe?” Your response is more of a question than a definitive answer. You feel oddly warm, but it could just be the adrenaline from the situation. 

“You’re sweating,” he observes, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. The warmth of his touch makes you shudder and you can’t help but notice how good he smells. “Your body temperature is elevated.”

“Huh?” You look up at him, momentarily lost in his gaze. “You’re hot, too,” you blurt out, mortified when the words leave your mouth.

“I feel fine,” Clark replies, either misunderstanding what you meant or choosing not to acknowledge the slip.

You step away from him, feeling your body buzz with embarrassment. Sweat dots your brow, and you’re halfway out of your thin cardigan before you even realize it. As you pace the room, you realize Clark might be right — the powder could be affecting you. You try to shake off the disorienting feeling that lingers, while Clark tracks your progress with sharp blue eyes.

“Should we call someone? Isn’t there a protocol for dealing with mysterious powders?” It’s difficult to think straight when your body feels like a furnace. “Clark?” You question.

His nostrils flare but otherwise, he doesn’t respond until you say his name again. “Yeah. There’s uh, an anthrax protocol. Perry’s got it in his office.”

Time seems to progress in strange lurches and lulls as you wait for Clark to return. You’re not sure how long he’s gone, each minute dragging as the heat within intensifies and your thoughts become increasingly muddled. There’s a growing pressure in your stomach too, something that radiates down. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s persistently irritating — a prickling feeling that needs to be soothed.

“I made the call,” Clark announces, reappearing. “They said it’ll be 30 minutes until they get here with everything they need. We just have to sit tight.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. If it really was the truth serum, and you’re starting to believe Clark might be right, there’s no telling what might come out of your mouth. Even now, as you pace back and forth, you feel a pressure under your tongue, as though the words are lurking just beneath the surface, eager to spring out. The last thing you want to do is reveal your stupid little crush on him.

“God, it’s hot,” you muttered, staring at the window. You press your palms to the glass. It’s cool to the touch and you lay your forehead against it, almost moaning in relief. You wish you could strip off your dress and melt into the floor. 

“Here.” Clark’s voice is closer than you expect.

You flinch at the feel of his hand on your lower back but let him turn you around to face him. He presses a glass of cool water to your lips, and you grasp his thick wrist as he urges you to drink it all, your gaze never leaving his. The moment you finish your mouth feels dry and your throat itches. 

“You have the bluest eyes,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.” You reach for them, but Clark stops you with a gentle hand on yours. Embarrassment rushes under your skin, and you draw back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s the drug.”

“Why aren’t you affected?” You question. “You seem fine.”

“My biology is different from yours,” he says almost absently only to freeze a second later. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. For the first time since you met him, Clark looks genuinely unsettled. “The reports said it affected women quicker,” he adds before stepping back.

Your hand falls limply to your side as you watch him. Clark tugs at his already loosened tie, stretching his neck with an audible crack. A dark red flush creeps up his cheeks, making the skin around his eyes glow faintly. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Maybe I should wait in the other room,” he grits out.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Clark barely takes a step towards the door before a sharp, unexpected wave of searing pain rips through your stomach, sending you crashing to your knees. The impact jolts your entire body, but that discomfort is overshadowed by a deep gnawing ache between your legs. You pitch forward onto all fours, struggling as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Oh,” you whimper, terrified as your mind recalls the adverse event report for the truth serum with perfect clarity. 

Following an increase in basal body temperature, patients exposed to the drug exhibit symptoms of full-blown sexual psychosis. This condition necessitates achieving climax to alleviate symptoms. Patients who are unable to reach climax experience a marked increase in heart rate and blood pressure, which in some cases progresses to cardiac arrest.

Every muscle in your body tenses, as a fierce, relentless pressure builds. Then, like the tide, it recedes, leaving you curled into a ball on the floor. Through half-closed eyes, you meet Clark’s gaze. He kneels in front of you and his expression mirrors your anguish.

“Clark….”

“I know,” he says quietly. His hands hover at your shoulder for a moment before he finally helps turn you on your back.

None of this feels real; it’s like a twisted wish gone wrong.

“Help me, please,” you cry, the words escaping in broken sobs. You’re too hysterical to feel ashamed about what you’re asking him to do. Details from the report keep replaying in your mind, fueling your terror. You don’t want to die.

Clark looms over you, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You stare up at him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pain in your core pulses and builds. The ache in the body is all-consuming, overriding everything else. Worse is the feeling of emptiness that you know he could fill. 

“Please.” Your voice fizzles out as a strong wave of pain slams into you. It leaves you reeling and disoriented. You claw at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. 

“I’m going to help you.” He says, his gaze lingering on you as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “If-if you want me to,” he adds, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside you. Of course you do, you’ve dreamed of him since the day you met him in the breakroom. You just never imagined this. 

When another cramp leaves you panting and desperate you grit out a pained, “Yes.”

His large hand encircles your calf, gently but firmly pulling your legs apart so he can kneel between them. The cool air makes you groan and you try to curl in on yourself again, but Clark pins you to the floor easily. With shaky hands, he drags your dress up to expose your simple black underwear. The sight seems to transfix him and you watch his chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths that mimic your own. 

“I have to ah, I have to…” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he shakes his head his glasses fall down his nose. “I need to get you ready.”

“I don’t care,” you sob. “Fuck me, please.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the part that's still you, is horrified by your words. You’ve never spoken to anyone like that, let alone a colleague or the man you have a crush on. But you know with a terrifying certainty that if he doesn’t fuck you, you’ll both die. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, the calm tenor of his voice betrayed by the way his hand trembles against your thigh. He tears off your underwear with an ease that would give you pause if you were in your right mind.

Shame is a thing of the past as you spread your legs even further, allowing his hungry gaze to drink its fill. He parts your folds and draws two fingers through the wetness gathered there, starting with light, teasing strokes that quickly build to more. When his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, he rubs slow, soothing circles until the pain in your stomach eases a fraction. 

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, sounding breathless. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

You moan his name and he shifts closer, bent forward to watch himself work. Soon one kind of pressure recedes and another begins. You gasp, throwing your head back as Clark continues his slow assault, building in its intensity. When your legs thrash his other hand settles on your hip, holding you still as he works a thick finger inside. Your cunt clenches in response to the intrusion. Above you, he groans and his thumb moves faster. 

“More, oh god I need more,” you beg, keening when Clark pushes a second finger inside. 

The stretch of them both burns but that’s eclipsed by the pleasure you feel. You rock forward, trying to take more of him but he doesn’t let you, controlling the pace. You can hear yourself babbling, nonsensical words streaming from your mouth as he draws you closer and closer to your orgasm until, all at once, it overwhelms you completely. Your orgasm is almost painful and your hands curl into fists, your body contorting in response. The room blurs around you, and every fiber of your being is consumed by the relief you feel. 

When it passes you’re left trembling on the floor, avoiding Clark’s gaze. He hovers over you, his arousal hard to miss with the way it tents the front of his gray slacks.

“Clark.” You touch his chest, inhaling when his dark blue eyes snap up to meet yours. “Do you…” 

You can’t even force yourself to say it now that you’re back in your right mind. Clark shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. You wince, and he looks pained. 

“We should —” he starts, but whatever he is about to say is abruptly cut off as he grunts and hunches forward, a visible shudder running through him. 

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his face. When your fingers brush over the curve of his cheek he moans and surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. He forces his tongue inside and the heat of him is almost unbearable. You push at his shoulder, but he doesn’t relent. His hands travel up and down your sides and you feel that familiar pressure return to your core. It builds slowly, like the spark of an ember that will soon flare into a blazing fire. 

You shift under Clark, drawing your legs up as he swallows down your needy whine. By the time he pulls away, you’re feeling dizzy and gasping for breath.

“We need to,” you begin, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembles.

“I know,” Clark replies.

He fumbles with his pants and you look up at the ceiling as he pulls himself free. It feels like a violation to look, but without your permission, you find your gaze drifting down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, just as big and thick as the rest of him. It’s red and weeping. Your cunt aches, and you toss your head side to side, trying to dispel the pain. 

Clark plants a hand near your head while he lines himself up between your thighs. He pushes inside slowly. It hurts, god, it hurts, but you need more of him, and you need it now. Wrapping his tie around your hand, you pull hard, urging him closer. He snaps his hip forward with enough force to jar your bones, and you wail in response. For one blissful moment, everything is quiet. Your buzzing mind and aching body are finally filled in a way they’ve been craving.

“Fuck.” The curse falls from Clark’s lips and brings you back to the moment. “You feel so good. You feel…” he trails off, his words bleed into one long, low moan that has you clenching around him. 

Above you, his handsome face contorts, his lips pressed tightly together. Tension lines the muscles of his jaw and his dark brows furrow in an expression that teeters between ecstasy and pain. Pleasure skitters along your nerves as he drives into you over and over again to reach some unknown place hidden deep inside. Your second orgasm rises to the surface just as swiftly as your first and Clark is relentless as he fucks you through it. 

There isn’t even time to catch your breath before his hands encircle your hips and he leans back, drawing you with him. The backs of your thighs drag over the fabric of his slack as he moves your body to meet his thrusts. As one orgasm fades you feel another spring to life, hastened by the feel of his calloused thumb on your clit. The need inside you burns even brighter, and a litany of desperate pleas spills from your lips. 

“You feel,” he pants, “just like I imagined.”

When you gasp his name he curls his body over yours, the new angle allowing him to move even deeper. You hold onto his biceps and listen to the desperate little noises that escape his chest with each thrust. His lips find the soft skin of your throat as his fingers dig into the neckline of your dress. He pulls hard and buttons scatter, giving him access to your shoulder. Teeth scrap over tender flesh and your back arches as another orgasm blooms in your stomach.

Waves of pleasure ebb through your body and your fingers tangle in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Clark doesn’t falter even when you fall still beneath him. Your muscles ache, and your body feels tense and exhausted, but that frenzied need that’s driven you since the dust melted into your system slakes away until you’re left feeling everything. Guilt and horror fill your body like sand, weighing you down. 

Clark groans and you realize he’s still in the throes of the drug's effects. The ceaseless rhythm of his hips has turned painful and your insides feel raw. You push at his shoulder but he doesn’t even seem to notice, hitching your leg over his waist to push himself deeper. 

He shudders, gasping, “like that, just like that.” Then his teeth sink into your neck and he finally stills. 

Tears leak from the corner of your eyes as your breath comes in short little sobs, your heart fluttering in your chest. After a few moments, Clark stiffens and you know he’s come back to himself. He shifts, slipping out of you with a quiet exhale. You can’t stifle your whimper of pain and his gaze jumps to you. For a moment you stare at each other and the silence is deafening. Then he passes a trembling hand over his lips and rocks back, moving to his feet in a fluid motion. He turns from you to tuck himself away and runs a hand through his curls. 

You sit up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest while you hold the fabric of your dress together in an attempt to give yourself some dignity. It’s almost laughable after what just happened. Clark says your name and you stare at his outstretched hand. After a moment of hesitation, you take it and he pulls you to your feet. When he drops his jacket over your shoulders you feel a swell of gratitude. You let him guide you to a chair, wincing when you sit. Everything feels raw and tender. 

He clears his throat. “The response team is downstairs.”

“Okay,” you say numbly. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

You want to tell him it’s okay, that it’s not his fault, but the words catch in your throat. All you get out is his name. Nothing about this is okay. How could it be? 

You wait together, Clark standing half a step ahead of you while you stare at his broad shoulders, lost in thought. He’s the one to greet the men and women in hazmat suits. You don’t catch everything he says, but his eyes drift back to you as he speaks. Before long, you’re separated, and the last image you hold onto is his hair tousled from your fingers and his wrinkled, untucked shirt.

From there, everything becomes a blur; moments merge into a disjointed sequence — being herded into a decontamination shower, the uncomfortable scratch of paper scrubs against your sensitive skin, a distressing medical exam, and then the questions. Endless questions bring back the haze of disjointed memories you’re struggling to process.

By the time you’re allowed to leave, the first rays of light filter through the windows of the bullpen. You watch the soft golden glow and listen to the faint chirping of birds. The city is waking up, bustling to life as it always does, but you feel disconnected from it all until you step into the elevator and turn to find Clark standing there.

He halts the doors from closing, his sad, mournful eyes meeting yours. A powerful wave of emotion rises in your throat as the weight of his guilt and your embarrassment settles inside you like a stone. There’s so much you want to say, so much that needs to be said, but it’s overshadowed by a deep ache in your chest. You feel so lost and unsure, terrified about what lies ahead that tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked. 

Clark exhales softly and steps back, but just before the doors close, he whispers your name. In that moment, everything else fades away — it’s just you, him, and all the unspoken words that linger between you.

Then, he’s gone and you’re left utterly alone. 

♡

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[wtfdudesblog]

I am deprived of Henry Cavill/characters fics. The drought is insane. Tag or comment any OP that’s I can read from PLEASE 🙏

[wtfdudesblog]

Hello, wonderful souls! 🤍🌍

I hope you're doing well. 🌿

Could you help me amplify my family's story and bring awareness to our struggle? 🙏🏻

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or consider donating just $5—your support could truly make a difference in saving lives amidst war and hardship.

Your kindness and voice matter more than you know. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🤍🌿

🕊️ @mosabsdr | Every share counts. 💫

Will do !

[wtfdudesblog]

💬 Just a Small Update, and a Big Thank You

Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,

When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.

From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.

💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength

As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.

But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.

“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed” A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.

“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins” This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.

🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now

Despite everything, we’re still here. Still surviving. Still hoping.

But things have only gotten harder.

The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.

We’re trapped.

🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next. 👨‍👩‍👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves. 📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.

And yet…

Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.

Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us: You’re walking this road with us. And that gives us the strength to keep going.

💖 What You Can Do

If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words. If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.

Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.

✨ Why It All Matters

This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity. It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity. You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.

🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology

There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.

When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.

If that happened, I am truly sorry.

Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.

I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.

If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.

Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.

Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )

With love and endless gratitude, Mosab and family ♥️

[wtfdudesblog]

I need this like water I love 💗

The search is afoot (Reader!Bridgerton x Sherlock Holmes)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @sweetheartlizzie07 

Your curiosity sparked when your sister entered the drawing room. Posture slightly bend, head turning from side to side. Clearly in search for anything. You slammed the novel shut you were boringly reading. Tossing it aside on the sofa between you and Anthony. Hopping up to meet your sister half-way.

“Looking for something?” – you asked. Eloise hummed soft. Bending down to catch a glimpse underneath the sofa’s. You moved aside when she came nearly pushing you over. Agitated she kept searching in silence. To Anthony’s annoyance. – “Just communicate.” – he spoke with a sigh.

Eloise’s posture straightened. Her hands settling with a shove at her side. – “I seemed to have lost my notebook.” – she admitted in a frustrated tone. – “The blue one with some pencil markings on it?” – you questioned curiously. Your sister humming loud.

You clasped your hands together in delight. Eyes twinkling in delight. You then cleared your throat, moving your hands to your back. – “Where did you last saw it?” – you asked, tapping a finger thoughtfully against your chin. – “Between what hours was it? Was anything out of the ordinary?” – you continued asking, circling around her. Eloise gaped confusingly back at you.

“No.” – Anthony called out, getting up as well. He came running over to you, grabbing you by your elbows. – “We are not doing this, Y/n.” – he let know. – “But…” – you responded when he started shoving you away from Eloise. – “This is a serious matter. It needs investigating.” – finishing to proclaim your intentions. Anthony sighed loud. – “You are not a detective Y/n!” – making clear. – “But…” – you repeated being shoved towards the door.

Anthony shoved you outside, holding the door frames with both his hands. You huffed annoyed at his behaviour. – “Get your head out of the clouds.” – were his final words before shutting the door in front of you. The sudden shut, startled you. Puffing annoyed, you crossed your arms. Turning away to mope. Colin crossing the hall, caught a glimpse of you. Making him pause in this stride. – “You alright, sister?” – he questioned, coming over.

With a distress sigh, you untangled your arms. – “Anthony is being mean to me again.” – you called out. – “How so?” – Colin furrowing his brows. Approaching as he rustled his fingers through your hair. You took a deep breath. – “Eloise has lost her notebook and I simply wanted to help look for it.” – you explained. Colin letting out a long ‘aah’ as he understood. – “You’ve been playing detective again haven’t you?” – he replied.

“I just wanted to help and he tossed me out!” – you dramatically called out for it being the worst. Colin only chuckled, patting his hand on your shoulder. – “I know I shouldn’t say this, but you should read less… specially those mystery novels. Look how filled your head is with it.” – he spoke, making you shove his hand annoyed away. – “You just don’t understand me.” – raising your voice to him.

With force, you let your shoulder bump into his to shove him out of the way. –“ Y/n, I!” – Colin called out. Sighing afterwards as it was no use. You stomped angrily up the stairs. Not caring if you were being too loud. Crossing the upper floors, you paused near Eloise’s room. Humming curiously before entering. Door still open as you look around. – “Where would one misplace a notebook.” – you mumbled to yourself.

Getting on your knees, you looked underneath her bed.  Going through her drawers and searching in every nook and cranny. Your searching brought some noise along, drawing the attention of your youngest brother Gregory. He walked past, furrowed his brows and simply walked backwards. Staring confused back at you.

“What are you doing?” – he questioned. – “Searching.” – you replied, ignoring him half to keep your attention on your search. – “Mother!” – Gregory then shouted loud into the hallway. – “Y/n is playing detective again!” – he finished making you widen your eyes. Dropping everything to rush over to him with a shushing tone. Covering up his mouth with your hand.

“Quiet, Gregs.” – you let out with a hard stare. Gregory wiggled his head free, trying to shout for mother again. – “Mo… mother!” – he repeated making you struggle to keep his mouth shut. – “Stop it!” – stomping your foot on the ground. Gregory kept shouting against your hand with muffled sounds.

Groaning loud, you decided to take a run for it. Picking up the hem of your skirt, rushing towards the stairs. Huffing and puffing loud at the dismay of your family. Dismay for recognizing your talents. To not let you go with your admirations and interests. Claiming it to be foolish and absurd. For no lady could become a detective or should concern themselves with mysteries.

Anthony blamed it on the novels you had been reading. Colin blaming in on the Holmes’s. Close friends to the family. For the Holmes’s had an interest in solving mysteries as well. You ran for the door, leaving the household. Needing to have an escape from your siblings taunting. You hated their mocking. For not taking you serious on that matter. Going straight for the streets. Running away a couple of streets away till you slowed down. Sure that none of your siblings would pursuit.

Catching your breath, you enjoyed a nice walk. Clearing your head and getting rid of the annoyance lingering inside of towards your brothers. You loved them dearly, but hated that they didn’t took your interest serious. Calling it un-lady-like. A waste of time. Idle hobby’s to skip lessons. All calling it such things to make you lose interest in it. Looking around, you narrowed your eyes slightly.

Trying to read people like so many detectives did in your novels. Trying to read their stories off their faces and gestures. Moving closer to a vender, you tried to understand snippets of his life. Taking a keen eye of his hands. Seeing how rough they were. Calluses on his knuckles. Then your gaze went further up, meeting up with a pair of angry eyes. The vender cleared this throat loud at you for staring. Changing your expression, you pulled up a humble smile. Apologizing.

Moving a bit away, you recognized some voices. Turning round you saw Enola and her brother Sherlock leave a shop. Knowing mystery always followed them, you couldn’t withhold your excitement. Wanting to be a part of it. Leaving the vender, you hurried over. Making sure you weren’t trampled by a passing carriage on the road. – “Splendid day is it not, Mister Holmes.” – you breathed out, catching your breath from hasting over.

Sherlock and Enola paused when you came jumping in front of them. – “No.” – Sherlock immediately responded already knowing your intentions. He tugged Enola at her arm to follow. You weren’t going to let him win so easily, going after him. – “I didn’t say anything.” – you told him, hot on his tail. Sherlock stopped abruptly, making you nearly bump against his back. He swiftly spun around.

“Your eyes made it clear, you had alternative intentions, also did your posture.” – he started pointing out with his finger. – “The tone in your voice gave you away that you are seeking. Not to mention the flush in your cheeks indicates you hurried over because you knew we might be solving a mystery.” – he answered.

“Are you?” – you responded ignoring most of his speech. – “No.” – Sherlock said clear, turning his back to you once more. – “I know you are lying to me, just let me join.” – you begged going after him. – “No miss Y/n.” – he repeated, staying true to his words. – “Please mister Holmes.” – you reached for his elbow, pulling it towards you.

Wanting him to stop walking. – “No, miss Y/n.” – he called out like speaking to a puppy to sit still. You pouted your lips in response. Enola pressed her lips together to withhold a snicker. – “Fine, you are just scared.” – you called out once he had begun walking away again. – “Scared that I’ll solve it before you.” – hoping to get under his skin would do the trick.

“A man’s observing eye is not that great. Not compared to a woman’s eye.” – you casually said to give him that extra nudge. Admiring your own hands out of boredom. To look indifferent. Enola glanced from between her brother to you. Sherlock puffed his chest, being riled up by you. – “Ha!” -  he let out with a hard sound. Intended for mockery.

“Intimidated?” – you questioned moving your hands behind your back. Leaning a bit closer to him. Sherlock puffed loud. Suddenly grabbing you firm by your arm. Pulling you along. Enola snickering quietly at the display. You chuckled amusingly, pleased that your scheme had succeeded.

Sherlock led you to a place, shoving you inside. – “One wrong thing and you are out.” – he warned you. – “You sound like my brothers.” – you replied moving past him with crossed arms. Sherlock shot his sister a scowl to stop smiling like a damn fool. You entered the room with a humming sound. Cheerful that you could involve yourself with mysteries.

You looked around the room, going straight to a painting that caught your eyes. Before you could fully reach it, you felt a gip on your elbow stop you. Sherlock shaking his head as he pulled you away from the painting. Making you huff annoyed, trying to free you from his grip. – “Why do you go for the most obvious thing. First observe then search.” – he spoke.

“Don’t go running in like a blind fool.” – he finished letting go of your arm back by the door. – “Who are you calling a fool?” – you called back. – “You.” – Sherlock tapped his finger on your nose to tease you that extra. It made you scrunch your nose and slap his hand away. You crossed your arms, looking at the room. Sherlock staring in silently, trying to take in every detail. Enola scribbling some notes down. Sherlock began moving from his position after a while.

He stepped a certain way, suddenly stopping. Looking down as he lifted his shoe up. Seeing something black and sticky underneath his shoe. It made you laugh loud. – “If you would’ve been observant, you might have seen that there had clearly been a struggle. The desk is slightly shoved back over the wooden flooring, hinting those scrape marks.” – you approached him with a smug expression.

“If you had observed that, you would’ve also seen that the commotion had tipped the ink bottle over.” – pointing in a certain direction as Sherlock followed your point with his gaze. – “For the ink bottle is over there, where is normally would be on the desk. Someone must have picked it up and moved it away. Perhaps trying to clean it up, but forgot a spot near the carpet… you are currently standing in.”

Sherlock kept staring at you. – “She’s good.” – his sister spoke with a pleasant smile. Sherlock hummed deep, fidgeting with something in his hand. Looking with a quizzable brow from you to his sister and back. Fighting hard the urge to compliment you for your observations.

“As I said, a woman’s eye.” – you repeated holding out a handkerchief to him. He curled up a smile at your silliness. – “Do continue then, miss Y/n.” – he gestured at you to go on. Bending a bit down to clean the underside of his shoe from ink. You hummed soft looking thoughtfully around. His sister was looking around as well. Taking notes near a knights suit.

Displayed for art from a long time ago. Enola narrowed her eyes on it. Her brother’s calling catching her off guard. Making her turn sharply around, but accidentally knocking an elbow against the armour. The armour started to wobble back and forth. Enola gasping loud as she jumped aside.

The armour came falling forwards towards you as you were the next close target. – “Miss Y/n!” – Sherlock shouted out, coming to the rescue. Rushing over to you, wrapping his arms around you. Turning you away, keeping you in his arms.

Staring up close to your face, panting quietly on your lips as the armour clattered to the ground behind him. Enola gasped again with her hands up to her mouth. – “I’m so sorry.” – she let out in shock. Her brother’s eyes still on you. – “Are you alright miss Y/n?” – he questioned. You nodded with a bashful flush in your cheeks. He slowly rose your posture up so you stood steady on your feet once more.

His hands still on you, till his sister made him aware of it. Making him clear his throat, immediately dropping his grip. Quickly turning away, scratching the back of his head in the process. You swallowed hard, turning away as well. Wanting to hide the fluster in your cheeks. With a nervous atmosphere, the two of you focused on the matter once more. Unaware of the Holmes gentleman catching glimpses of you.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[wtfdudesblog]

Fake It Till You Feel It - Rafe Cameron Series Masterlist

Summary- You arrive at Topper Thornton’s party, expecting a fun night with friends—until you see Alex with a new girl wrapped around him. The same Alex who told you just weeks ago he “wasn’t ready for a relationship” after you had slowly started to fall for him. The betrayal stings, but what hurts more is how easily he acts like you never happened.

Mutual friend Rafe Cameron is dealing with his own issue—Amelia, a girl who refuses to take the hint that he’s not interested. When you and Rafe start talking about your current situations, Amelia interrupts your conversation. You impulsively pretend to be Rafe’s girlfriend to get her to back off. To your surprise, it works. You also notice Alex looking pissed. After Amelia leaves, you and Rafe strike a deal—pretend to date until both Alex and Amelia get the message. Simple right?

However, longer the deal goes on, the more the lines blur between what’s real and what’s not.

••••••••••••••• •••••••••••••• ••••••••••••••

Part 1- The Beginning of a Game

Part 2- An Unspoken Routine

Part 3- The Rescue Mission

Part 4- Two Can Play This Game

Part 5- Blurred Lines

Part 6- Mixed Signals and Missed Chances

Part 7- Confessions

Part 8- Sunsets and Stolen Kisses

[wtfdudesblog]

Whatever happened to this series?

Honestly this story is crack that I have not proof read, but in terms of plot I love it and if you like Henry Cavill chances are you will too. Thanks for your guys’ support. 

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Captain Syverson (Sand Castle), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Mike (Hellraiser), Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)

Hybrid AU

Summary: The usually confident Jess’s mother is sick with cancer. Preparing to grieve, she goes into the shelter knowing she wants to help a hybrid. She meets Lab/Retriever!Mike and his brother German Shepherd!Syverson, and then, eventfully, she meets and saves Arctic Wolf!Geralt. She also picks up a stray, Malinois!Walter Marshall. She swears that she doesn’t have feelings for them, because she can’t have feelings for those she has legal power over. It would be immoral. But how can she resist all four of them? How will the house dynamics fall into place, and what will they all have to live through together?

[wtfdudesblog]

Whatever happened to this series?

Witch Hunt Ch. 3

Cait kicked the door to her hotel room closed, throwing her suit jacket over the back of a chair. Sitting down on the foot of the bed, she pulled off her shoes, wiggling her toes in the carpet as she laid back, her hands covering her face.

There was something...different about this hunt. It had been a nightmare from day one, but there was a heaviness here that made her skin crawl. She had felt it the moment she walked onto the first scene and seen that poor man on the floor.

Cait was used to working by herself when coming to a new city, the local police taking her identification as FBI and washing their hands of the whole case. Not wanting to “do all the work” and have her “take all the credit”. They had been more than happy to just hand it over and provide absolutely no support with it, so having Detective Marshall—Walter—immediately ease into assisting her with the investigation had been refreshing, to say the least.

The man had a superpower when it came to compartmentalization, she found. They could be talking about nightmare inducing topics, and he’d be able to switch to something to make her laugh. He seemed to like making her laugh, taking any opportunity to do so. Or maybe he was just taking pity on her. Turned out, he had only been in Homicide for less than a year, having moved over from their Crimes Against Children Unit per his request. Having a daughter himself, it was getting harder and harder to deal with those kinds of crimes and not see his child when the victim was a girl around her age. He knew his limits, could admit to them, and she somewhat admired him for that. She had known too many who thought they could just muscle through it and not have it impact them, only to retreat into a bottle every night or write their name on a bullet.

It was nice working with him, but she had to remind herself that it was only temporary. She would move on when she caught her quarry, or she would move on because the one she was chasing had moved on as well and the hunt continued. Either way, she wasn’t long for this area and his company.

Walter was sitting in his office again when she got in the next morning, signing into the front desk with a few officers giving her curious looks as she went past. His brow was knitted and his shoulders were tight.

“You look...tense.” She said as she entered, closing the door behind her.

“There was a body last night.” He said, irritation leaking into his voice and making it rumble.

“What?! Why weren’t we—”

“It was discovered in the jurisdiction over. I wasn’t notified until I got in this morning about an hour ago. Based on the MO, my counterpart in that station decided to make it a dick measuring contest as he’s going for Captain this year. It would look good on his record if he solved it and got an arrest.”

“He won’t.”

“I know that, and I told him that it was being actively worked on already. I also told him that the first body was found in my jurisdiction and he needs to stop pissing in my yard.”

“You have his number?”

“Yes.” He said and she moved around the desk to stand next to his chair.

“Call him.” Cait said, “He wants to step up to the plate, then he needs to know who has the bigger bat.”

“Calling him now.” Walter said and punched the number into the phone on his desk, putting it on speaker.

“Detective Travers.”

“Travers, it’s Walter Marshall.”

“Detective Marshall.” His tone turned snide, “You get those reports I wanted?”

“Detective Travers, this is Agent Logan with the FBI.” She said, “Did you know that the first body was found in Detective Marshalls’ jurisdiction, yes or no.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“So you’re aware that any subsequent victims would be under his purview. That’s how it works, right?”

“W-Well, yes, but—”

“Detective Travers, I have been hunting this man for six months now. Did you even know the perpetrator was male?”

“Well, no, but—”

“This is my investigation, and Detective Marshall is assisting me as this is his yard. You will have the victim transported to his Medical Examiners office along with any and all evidence found at the scene and afterwards. Have I made myself clear?” There was silence, “Detective Travers, have I made myself clear?”

“This is—”

“I don’t care about your career aspirations, Detective.” She said, leaning against his desk with her palms flat on the surface, “I will have a conversation with your Captain about how you’re using a federal investigation to try to add a couple inches to the measuring tape. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No, ma’am.” He said, “I’ll have the body prepped and transported along with all files and evidence collected within the hour.”

“Good boy. I’ll be timing it.” She said and Walter hung up the call, leaning back in his chair as she straightened.

“Bigger bat, huh?” He asked, looking up at her and she shrugged.

“You should probably let your M.E’s office know that they’ll have an incoming.” She said, moving back around the desk to sit in the chair across from him.

“I like you.” He said with a chuckle.

“I like you, too.”

True to his word, forty-five minutes later, the M.Es office called them to let them know the body was in their possession and they headed down.

“Same as the first, Detective.” The examiner said, “My counterpart had yet to do the post-mortem, I’ll start when you two are done looking at it.”

“Anything stand out?” Cait asked.

“Female this time, African-American, ID puts her at mid-fifties.” She said, “Other than that, nothing that jumps out at me.”

“Thank you.” She said and they went into the examination room, the body already on the table. “Can I have a moment alone please? I want to take a look at her without distractions.”

“Of course.” Walter said, “We’ll be outside when you’re done.”

“Thank you.” Cait said and watched them go over her shoulder, the door closing behind them. Going over to the table, she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small, dark stone and set it on the table next to the victim. With a small uttered word, the victim’s face rebuilt, but only spectrally, her features building in a pale blue shimmer. She had been beautiful in regal kind of way, wise and kind looking.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” She asked, looking at her with sad brown eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Cait said lowly, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was meeting with a potential buyer at my office after hours.”

“What was his name?”

“Ethan.” She said, “Ethan Wyatt.”

“What was he looking to buy?”

“I came into a ring, dated mid-twelfth century, made of obsidian and ruby. He was very interested in it.”

“Do you have any records of the meeting?”

“On my phone. I had it on my calendar.”

“Is the phone locked?”

“Yes, with my daughters birthday. Can you—Can you tell her I love her?”

“She knows.” Cait said with a small smile, her hand hovering over her hair. “I can promise you, she knows. Rest now, and rest peacefully.”

“Thank you.” She said and her face dissipated as Cait picked up the stone, tucking it back in her pocket.

“I’m done.” She called over her shoulder with a sniffle.

“Are you okay?” Walter asked, seeing as she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her coat, reaching over and grabbing a tissue from a cabinet.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Cait said, taking it from him, “Never gets any easier.” His hand moved over her shoulders and she gave him a small, appreciative smile.

[wtfdudesblog]

Guys I’m looking for this Walter Marshall fic where an omega who he works with tries and court him and they work in the same place please I’m back on my Henry cavill kick

[wtfdudesblog]

The Element of Surprise: Part Two

Attn: I won’t lie to y’all, I almost forgot Sherlock for a moment there 🫣 how terrible of me lol. I hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 1,233

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC Philomena (Mena) Davies

Summary: Sherlock seeks out Mena for more help on his case.

Warnings: mentions of murder and kidnapping

Previous Part:

Part One

After a few days of gathering more evidence for his case, Sherlock finds himself seeking out Mena. His legs carry him down the busy sidewalk straight to the library. First he is met by Mrs. Davies behind the counter. “Mr. Holmes, in need of a book today?,” she asks kindly per usual. “Actually I was looking for… Philomena,” he says just as she rounds the corner.

“Sherlock! How good to see you again,” she says with a smile. Today her long locks are pulled back into a low bun, save a few tendrils framing her face. Her blue dress nearly matches the shade of her eyes. Sherlock doesn’t realize he’s staring until Mrs. Davies clears her throat. “Oh— I— I’m sorry. I was just wondering if Mena would care to join me for lunch. If that’s alright?,” he says as he looks at Mrs. Davies.

“She’s a woman of six and twenty years. I am not her keeper Mr. Holmes. She’s free to go to lunch with you if she so pleases,” she replies. Sherlock must look surprised because Mena happens to burst into laughter. “I see you did not realize you were befriending the town spinster Mr. Holmes,” she tells him. “Well it is impolite to assume a lady’s age, Miss Davies,” he says with a hint of a smile. “Hmm. Well lunch does sound quite lovely. Grandmama, you’ll be alright?,” Mena ask. “Yes dearie. Have fun,” she replies.

Sherlock shakes his head before following Mena out of the library. “So where to?,” Mena asks. Sherlock quickly steps around Mena, making sure she’s not walking closest to the street before answering. “There’s just a little restaurant up the street. Have you been?,” he questions. “No I can’t say I have. Grandmama or I usually make lunch,” Mena answers. “Well they are quite good,” he tells her. He opens the door for Mena, letting her enter first and choose where to sit.

After settling in and having their order taken Sherlock begins to speak. “So… I was wondering if I might have your help again with the case,” he tells her. “And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company,” she teases. Fret etches its way across Sherlock’s features, making Mena giggle. “You— you’re quite the little teaser aren’t you,” Sherlock chides. “I’m sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I’d be more than glad to help my new friend,” she then says.

Sherlock warms at the mention of the two of them being friends before steeling himself to broach this subject. “Well in my investigation I’ve found that this young lady whose family was murdered had a suitor they didn’t really approve of,” he says. “And where is she?,” Mena asks before sipping her water. “Currently missing,” he replies. Mena hums before sitting in contemplation. “Do— do you think she was involved?,” Mena questions.

“This is where I take issue. Could a girl have the constitution to— to kill her family? She’s only sixteen, and from what I’ve gathered, a kind, quiet, and usually obedient child. I’m quite confounded,” Sherlock admits. Mena nods. “I thought your perspective as a young woman yourself would be most helpful,” he says tentatively. “Honestly Sherlock, I have not yet been in love, but I don’t think I could kill my family over a man… or for any other reason. I know we’ve had hard times ourselves, but I wish them no ill will,” she says earnestly.

Sherlock is about to say something when their food is brought. “This does look delicious,” Mena says as her plate is placed before her. She scoops a spoonful of her stew up before blowing on it lightly. Sherlock watches the steam waft about before she takes a bite. “Mmm,” she hums contentedly. He smiles to himself before she catches his eye. “Sorry. I’ve interrupted you,” she says as she puts her spoon down. “No, that’s quite alright. I was just thinking if she wasn’t involved then she has been taken against her will,” he replies before tucking into his food as well.

Sherlock and Mena finish their food, and Sherlock begins to speak again. “So…,” he says a bit nervously. He wants to know Mena, but friendship has always been tricky for him. “Yes?,” she says, looking up at him with her big eyes. “What are your interest Miss Davies? Aside from helping solve crimes,” he questions, making her smile. “Well I quite like cats as you can imagine. My neighbor always had so many, and she’d let me pick one from time to time. Grandmama has an elderly cat named Elroy. He’s quite the grouch but he’ll let me pet him now since I share chicken with him. I like reading, which is fortunate for me seeing that I work at the library. I like learning as well, which books help with. I was always the smartest girl in my class growing up, which was a blessing and a curse,” she sighs.

“And why is that?,” Sherlock asks. “Because people prefer a dumb girl they can run all over. I was smarter than most the boys even. They hated it. Probably why I’ve never found love myself before, but I’ve always figured they didn’t deserve my time as it were since they didn’t respect me,” she shrugs. “How did you ever get so wise?,” he says with a bit of awe “Well I suppose I’ve learned a thing or two over the years about people as well,” she replies. “And what have you learned of me?,” he says before he thinks much about it.

“That you and I are quite alike,” she admits. “I agree. Although, I do think you’re the more humorous of the two of us,” he says, making her smile. “Well, maybe you’ll come around if you stick with me,” she winks. “Shall we?,” the then asks. “Yes, let me…,” she begins as she reaches into the pocket of her dress. “No, no. I’ve got the bill,” Sherlock insists. “Are you sure? I have money,” Mena asks. “More than sure,” he assures her.

After walking her back to the library, Sherlock hesitates before leaving. “Is there something else you wish to ask me?,” Mena questions. “Yes… I was wondering if you might join me for dinner Sunday evening? My family and I, well mostly my sister, Enola, and I, get together for dinner once a week. Mrs. Davies would be welcomed as well if she so wished to come,” Sherlock says quickly.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude upon time with your family Sherlock,” Mena frets. “You wouldn’t. Really. My sister Enola is seventeen, and truly she’s been worried about me b— because I don’t have any friends. She would be thrilled to know I’ve made one, and I think the two of you would get along well, just as we do,” he insists. “Well if you’re sure,” she says softly. “I am. Usually we meet around six, but I would feel better if I came to gather you from your grandmother’s beforehand,” he says. “That sounds lovely,” Mena replies, making Sherlock smile.

“It does?,” he questions. “It does,” Mena says as she reaches out and gives Sherlock’s arm a squeeze. “I will see you Sunday, lest you need my expert opinion again. If so you know where to find me,” she says mischievously. “It seems I do,” Sherlock says with a nod before Mena walks back into the library.

[wtfdudesblog]

I love these kind of series 💜

Once in a Blue Moon Ch. 17

It was a small grocery store, more a shop than an actual store, with a few specialized aisles and produce and meat sections sourced by local farmers. Samantha had gone through their fridge and pantry, taking note of what they had or didn’t have and what they needed. They had plenty of red meat and eggs, but not too much else for protein. A couple dusty cans of vegetables in the back of the pantry and a lot of instant ramen (she suspected that was Mike’s doing as she didn’t see the others indulging in something so sodium packed).

Chicken, fish, fresh fruit, and vegetables were prominent on the list, but she did acquiesce to requests for chips and other snacks to make it on there as well.

Sy had given her one of his faded ball caps to put on and she kept her hair down, trying to obscure her face as much as possible. She didn't think anyone would recognize her, but even a small possibility was a possibility.

It didn't need to be an all hands on deck kind of excursion so Sy, August, and Walter had opted to stay back at the cabin, leaving her with Mike and Geralt. Mike had immediately headed off to the snack aisle the moment they got inside with her shouting after him to keep it to a minimum. They decided to divide and conquer, Samantha picking out the produce while Mike and Geralt got the remaining, each with a copy of the list and, in Mike's case, instructions to adhere to it.

She was going through the various fruits, checking for ripeness, having already chosen an assortment of fresh vegetables when movement caught the corner of her eye. Looking over, she saw the State Trooper standing there, watching her closely.

“Um...hello.” She said, “Can I help you?”

“Can I see some ID please?”

“May I ask why?”

“Just let me see some ID.”

“I'm not trying to be evasive, but I would really like to know why. I'm not bothering anyone, I'm just doing some grocery shopping.” She was keeping her voice calm, light, conversational, but her heart was starting to pound in her throat.

“Ma’am,” He was starting to get annoyed, she could tell by his furrowed brow and stiffening shoulders, “I want--” He stopped, looking over her shoulder and she saw his hand drift to his sidearm a little. Samantha knew without looking that Geralt was behind her and she turned into his chest, his arm coming around her shoulders.

“Help you?” He asked, a growl to his voice.

“You're--”

“Yes.”

“She's--”

“My Mate.”

“She have a name?”

“Yes.” He didn't offer any other information.

“I asked to see her ID.”

“No.” Geralt said and turned his attention to her, his gaze softening somewhat. “Mike and I finished, we can send someone else out for the rest.” She just nodded and he quickly shuffled her away, aware that the Trooper was watching as they checked out and left.

Geralt drove, having borrowed Sy’s truck for the trip, holding her hand as he stayed focused on the road. Her hand trembled a bit in his and he squeezed her fingers gently.

“You think he recognized her?” Mike asked, having been told what happened.

“I don't know.” Geralt admitted.

“What if he did?” Mike asked.

“What happens next will happen, and we’ll deal with it when if and when it does.”

“It m-might have been nothing.” Samantha said, her voice small. “A cashier may have just gotten jumpy and thought I was stealing or something.” It sounded weak even to her, “Besides, you said I was your Mate, that implies I’m a wolf and everyone knows I’m not a wolf.”

“But you are a wolf.” Mike said.

“But I wasn’t when I “disappeared”.”

“True.” He said and Geralt’s hand tightened in hers.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She said, her thumb moving over the skin between his thumb and forefinger, “Don’t worry.”

Samantha filled in the others once they got back and after putting away groceries.

“I’ll call Leon.” August said, “We need to get ahead of this.”

“We don’t even know if there’s anything to get ahead of.” Samantha said.

“Still.” He said, “it won’t hurt to give him a heads-up. Besides, he’s taken a vested interest and I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t.”

“Why he take an interest?” Sy asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“She’s like him,” August said with a shrug, “And she’s the only other Blue he knows about. Also, probably because she’s Alpha passive and female Alphas are rare on their own.”

“So I’m extra rare. How wonderful for me.” She said dryly.

After dinner, Sy leaned back in his chair at the small kitchen table, hands on his stomach.

“Damn, babygirl.” He said, “You’re doin’ all the cookin’ from now on.”

“I didn’t know brussels sprouts could be good.” Mike said, getting up with his plate and heading for the stove, “Are there any more?”

“Plenty.” Samantha said, “There should be some chicken left over as well.”

“There’s not.” Geralt said, putting another forkful in his mouth and she snorted.

“Did you leave any of the mushrooms, at least?”

“I polished those off on my second plate.” Sy said as Mike sat back down with another serving of the roasted brussels sprouts and digging in.

“August and I finished off the potatoes.” Walter said.

“So the ramen and energy drink addict is the only one that went for more vegetables.” Samantha said and there was a beat before she stood, taking away empty plates, stopping to press a kiss to Mike’s hair on the way to the sink. “Good boy.”

“Kiss ass.” Sy grumbled.

“They’re really good!” He exclaimed in his own defense.

“You need help cleanin’ up, babe?” Sy asked, leaning back a little.

“If you want to take care of the baking sheets?” She said, “They won’t fit in the dishwasher.”

“Mike is the kiss ass?” Walter asked and snorted when Sy flipped him off as he got up from his chair, joining her at the sink and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Actually, you go on and relax.” Sy said, “The cook don’t clean.”

“Since when?” August asked.

“Since she spent the last few hours makin’ a kick-ass dinner for all of us and not just herself.” Sy said, “Go on, baby, we can handle it.”

“We?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, we.” Sy said, “Get your asses up and help out. It’ll go faster if we all tackle somethin’.”

“Are you sure?” Samantha asked and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

“I’m sure.” He said and they each gave her a kiss in turn as she passed them on the way out of the kitchen, stopping briefly in the doorway to look back them fondly as they cleaned up.

[wtfdudesblog]

3 - FIRST TOUCH ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ghost!rafe x shy!reader series

summary: rafe sneaks into your room late at night. he decides to answer the question that’s been brewing in the back of his mind.

cw: none, flirting, lowkey angst if u squint

the soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the grand windows, casting warm golden light across the lavish sitting room. you stirred, shifting slightly on the plush couch, the weight of sleep still pulling at your limbs.

a second later, the distant sound of clinking cutlery and muffled voices from the kitchen reached your ears. your brows furrowed as your mind sluggishly caught up with reality.

why were you on the couch?

the events of the night before rushed back all at once. the midnight glass of water. the painting. him.

your eyes fluttered open fully, scanning the room as if expecting rafe to still be there, but of course—he wasn’t.

just a dream, you tried to convince yourself.

“oh, dear, what on earth are you doing sleeping out here?”

you jolted upright, your heart leaping to your throat as your grandmother’s voice rang through the air. she stood at the edge of the sitting room, arms crossed, a concerned look on her face.

“i—i must’ve—” you cleared your throat, smoothing your dress as if that would make you look any less ridiculous. “i couldn’t sleep, so i came down here, and i guess i—”

“fell asleep in the draftiest part of the house?” your grandmother shook her head, though her voice was full of amusement. “honestly, dear, you’ll catch a cold.”

you scrambled to your feet, cheeks warm with embarrassment. “it was just an accident...”

your grandmother hummed knowingly, but she didn’t press. “well, come along, breakfast is ready.”

as you followed your grandmother toward the dining room, something made you hesitate. a prickling awareness ran down your spine, and without thinking, your gaze flickered toward the grand staircase—toward his painting.

your breath caught.

rafe was back.

frozen in oil and canvas, just as he always had been. his blue eyes bore into you with that same unreadable intensity, his posture upright, his uniform pristine. the golden frame around him seemed almost too perfect, too undisturbed, as if last night had never happened.

had it?

your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe as you stood there, unmoving. he looked exactly the same, and yet you could swear there was something new in his expression. something smug.

almost like he knew something you didn’t.

“are you coming, sweetheart?” your grandmother’s sweet voice snapped you out of your daze.

you swallowed hard, stealing one last glance at him. rafe remained perfectly still, the portrait of a long-dead soldier.

you tore your gaze away and hurried after your grandmother.

but as you walked away, it felt like he was burning holes in the back of your head.

——————

it’s late—later than you meant to stay up. you sit at your vanity, brushing through your hair, your eyelids heavy with sleep. the room is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling around you.

then, you feel it.

a soft little tug at the end of your hair.

your brush stills in your hand.

slowly, you raise your eyes to the mirror, your pulse quickening. at first, there’s nothing—just your own wide-eyed reflection staring back at you. but then, behind you, a shape flickers into view, leaning down close.

“miss me?”

your heart jumps as rafe’s face appears right beside yours, his lips curved into that lazy, smug grin.

you whip around so fast that you nearly topple off the stool, one hand gripping your vanity for balance. “oh my—”

“careful now,” he chuckles, straightening. “wouldn’t want you to get hurt on my account, darlin’.”

your pulse pounds in your ears, hands clenching at your the vanity’s edge. “you—you can’t just do that!” you whisper-shout, cheeks burning.

rafe tilts his head, feigning innocence. “do what?”

“you know what!”

he chuckles, arms crossing over his broad chest. “you should’ve seen your face.” his voice drops, teasing. “cute.”

your stomach flips at the word, but you scowl, refusing to let him see how flustered you are. “i thought ghosts were supposed to be all ominous and brooding.”

he steps closer, his translucent form passing right through the edge of your vanity. “maybe,” he muses, “but where’s the fun in that?”

you grip the edge of the white vanity as you’re still seated on the stool.

rafe is way too amused. his arms are crossed, his blue eyes glinting in the dim candlelight, looking like he just won some kind of game you didn’t even know you were playing.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost, hun.”

you glare at him, heart still racing. “you are a ghost!”

he shrugs, completely unbothered. “and?”

your mouth opens, then closes, because—yeah. and? what exactly is the proper reaction when a ghost just appears in your room at midnight, smirking like he owns the place?

your stomach is still in knots from the initial shock, but rafe just tilts his head, watching you, looking far too entertained. his gaze flickers over your body, your gaze following his.

you then notice where his eyes have drifted—

oh. oh no.

you’re wearing nothing but a tiny, lace bralette and matching sleep shorts. barely-there cotton that clings to your skin. clearly, you had not expected company.

heat rushes to your face. you fight the urge to cover yourself, but it’s impossible to ignore the way rafe’s gaze flickers over you, slow and deliberate.

his smirk deepens. “cute outfit.”

your whole body burns. “get out.”

he ignores that completely, stepping closer instead, his voice dropping to something lower, something teasing. “you’re mean tonight.”

“because you broke into my room!”

“broke in?” he chuckles, shifting his weight onto one hip, all effortless confidence. “sweetheart, i don’t need doors. you should know that by now.”

your fingers tighten around the vanity. “why are you even here?”

he sighs dramatically, like the answer is obvious. “i can’t just check in on my girl?”

your face flushed with color. “wha—i’m not your—”

“oh, please.” he tilts his head, eyes dragging down way too slowly before flicking back up. “you picked that outfit for me, didn’t you?”

your skin burns. “NO—i did not—”

he just looks at you. that same cocky, knowing look.

you visibly deflate.

rafe grins. “that’s what i thought.”

your stomach churned at the certainty in his voice. the nickname, the way he spoke to you like he knew you better than you knew yourself—it was infuriating. and maybe a little bit true.

groaning, you stood from your vanity chair, and dove under the floarak-patterned duvet on your bed, desperate to create some distance from his stare.

you peeked over the top of your blanket, heart thudding. rafe stood at the foot of your bed, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had just appeared in your room.

your breathing quickened when he stopped right beside your bed. he tilted his head, studying you. “so… tell me, honey… if you’re so scared of me,” he murmured, “why aren’t you running? screaming? calling for help?” his voice was teasing, but his expression was softer now, curious. “or is it because deep down, you don’t want me to leave?”

“shut up.” your throat tightened. he was too close. too solid-looking for a ghost, despite the way the room’s dim light passed through the edges of his form.

rafe exhaled through his nose, almost like a sigh. then, slowly, he lowered himself onto the edge of your bed. the mattress didn’t dip. he didn’t move the blankets. he just sat.

he hesitated. then, after a second, he reached out.

you flinched instinctively, expecting the touch of nothing, of cold air. but then, warmth. a whisper of pressure against your wrist. faint. barely there.

rafe froze. his hand still hovered over yours, his eyes locked onto where his fingers had made the softest contact with your skin.

neither of you spoke.

then, carefully, like he was afraid you might disappear, rafe flattened his palm over the back of your hand. the pressure didn’t change much, but the warmth was stronger now. he wasn’t just there. he was real.

his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet. “you can feel me?”

you swallowed, nodding. “yeah,” you whispered. “i can.”

for a long moment, he just stared. then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted—not in a smirk, not in teasing. just relief.

you barely noticed when your own fingers moved, barely registered the way you turned your hand palm-up beneath his. his fingers curled hesitantly over yours, still light, still not all the way there.

his voice was barely above a breath. “guess that means i’m not just a memory, huh?”

you shook your head. “no,” you murmured. “you’re real.”

rafe swallowed, gaze still fixed on where his hand held yours. and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked almost human.

rafe didn’t let go. he didn’t move, didn’t shift away, didn’t tease you like he normally would. he just held your hand—light, but warm. real.

you felt like you couldn’t breathe. like if you spoke too loud, moved too fast, the moment might shatter, and he’d be gone.

his thumb brushed over your knuckles. it was the softest touch, just a whisper of pressure, but it sent a shiver up your spine.

rafe must’ve noticed, because his lips quirked up the tiniest bit. “didn’t mean to make you so nervous, sweetheart.”

“i’m not nervous,” you whispered back, even though the way your pulse raced in your ears completely betrayed you.

his grin deepened. “liar.”

you huffed, looking away, but he squeezed your fingers—barely, like he was testing how much he could actually touch you. the warmth was steadier now, stronger. his grip wasn’t solid, not quite, but it wasn’t slipping through you completely anymore, either.

it made your head spin.

“how is this happening?” you murmured. “you’ve never been able to touch anything before, right?”

rafe was still watching your joined hands like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “no,” he admitted. “not in two hundred and fifty years.”

that made your stomach dip. two hundred and fifty years. that was impossible. that was tragic.

you hesitated, then, before you could second-guess yourself, gave his hand a gentle squeeze. his head snapped up, eyes sharp with surprise.

you swallowed, shy all over again. “does it—does it feel the same for you?”

rafe exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “not exactly,” he said. “it’s like…” he frowned slightly, searching for the words. “like holding onto a ball of warmth. like grabbing at hot air.”

your brows pulled together. “so it doesn’t feel like real skin?”

he huffed another laugh, lifting his gaze back to yours. “no, princess,” he murmured. “but,” his face softened slightly, “it’s the closest i’ve gotten.”

something about that made your heart ache. his lips parted, just slightly.

“you’re the difference,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more thoughtful.

you blinked. “what?”

“you,” he repeated, brow furrowing. “i’ve never been able to touch anything. but you… you can feel me.”

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “why me?”

rafe tilted his head, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. “c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, voice warm as honey. “i think you already know why.”

your throat tightened. he wasn’t teasing. not really. he was right.

you’d spent your whole life loving the boy in the painting.

maybe that was all it took.

maybe love was enough to bring a ghost back to life.

a/n: i’m so sorry this took so long

[wtfdudesblog]

Guys I’m trying to find this one fic about rafe being a painting and reader having a crush on him

@rafestyles @rafesapologist @rafesslxt @rafeysbangs @rafecswhore @cameronspecial @cameronsbabydoll @cameronsprincess @drewswife @drewstarkeyluvbot @rafecswhore @rafecameronssl4t @rafecameronsslxt

[wtfdudesblog]

Made me feel single ahhhh

He is addicted to kissing you

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: Obsessive behavior (in a fluffy way), PDA, possessiveness, language (Rafe being Rafe), intense make-out sessions, mild teasing, extreme fluff, established relationship.

You could feel it the second he walked into the room, his eyes locking on you with a kind of intensity that made your heart skip and your stomach flip. His gaze always found you first, every single time, like his mind was wired to seek you out. And the moment he had you in his sights? It was game over.

You could be anywhere—your house, his house, a party, the grocery store, it didn’t matter. If Rafe wanted to kiss you, he would, and not just a quick, innocent peck. No, that wasn’t Rafe’s style. He kissed you like he needed it to breathe, to function. Like his day didn’t start or end without the taste of you.

Like now.

You were curled up on the couch at Tannyhill, half-listening to Sarah talk about something that had happened at school, when you felt the familiar presence behind you. Rafe’s hand slid over your shoulder, down your arm, fingers finding yours and interlacing like they were meant to be. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even announce himself, just leaned down so his lips brushed your ear.

“Missed you,” he murmured, voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled softly, tilting your head toward him. “You saw me this morning, Cameron.”

“Too long,” he grumbled, already pulling you up gently by your hand.

“Rafe, your dad and sister—” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

Didn’t matter to him.

In the blink of an eye, you were on your feet and then against him, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as his lips crashed into yours. He didn’t waste any time—he never did—tongue sliding past your lips to taste you like he’d been starving for it all day. His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers threading through your hair. He kissed you like no one else was in the room.

And technically, to Rafe, they weren’t.

You could vaguely hear Ward clearing his throat and Sarah groaning dramatically, muttering something like “Oh my God, get a room,” but Rafe couldn’t have cared less.

His lips moved with a rhythm that was almost addictive, deep and slow, tasting and savoring every inch of your mouth like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever known—and maybe you were. You gasped softly against him, but he only grinned into the kiss, nipping your bottom lip and pulling you closer.

When he finally—finally—pulled back, his lips were red, eyes dark, and he wore that smug little smirk that always made your knees weak.

“Better,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip like he was wiping away a trace of him, even though he loved leaving marks, loved the way you looked after he’d kissed you breathless.

You could barely catch your breath, cheeks flushed, but he wasn’t done. His arms stayed wrapped around you, holding you to his chest like he was afraid you’d slip away.

You glanced around, embarrassment tingling at your cheeks when you saw Sarah dramatically covering her eyes with a pillow.

“Rafe, seriously?” you whispered, laughing softly.

He shrugged, that damn smirk never leaving his face. “What? I wanted to kiss my girl. Not my fault she’s irresistible.”

Ward walked past, shaking his head. “Control yourself, son.”

“No promises,” Rafe shot back, looking down at you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple like he didn’t just devour you in front of his entire family.

And it wasn’t just at home either.

You’d lost count of how many times he pulled this move in public. At parties, he’d corner you against a wall or drag you outside for air, only to kiss you senseless under the stars. In town, he’d stop walking mid-sentence, grabbing your hand and spinning you toward him just to kiss you right there on the sidewalk, ignoring the looks, the whispers.

You remembered one time especially, at a bonfire with half of Figure Eight and more Pogues than usual.

You were standing by the fire, chatting with some of your friends, when you caught Rafe’s eye across the crowd. He was leaning against his truck, drink in hand, but his gaze was locked on you. You knew that look. Knew it like the back of your hand.

And sure enough, moments later, you felt a firm grip on your waist, his chest pressed against your back.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your ear. “C’mere.”

Before you could respond, he spun you around and crashed his lips to yours, not even bothering to hide the low groan that rumbled from his throat as he kissed you. Hard. Deep. Slow. Like he had all the time in the world and wanted to spend it tasting you. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you dizzy.

You heard someone catcall, some guy jeering, “Damn, Cameron, save some for later!” but Rafe didn’t even blink.

When he finally let you breathe, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded, lips inches from yours. “Had to,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Couldn’t look at you across the fire like that and not have you.”

You were breathless, heart pounding, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re insane.”

“For you? Always.”

[wtfdudesblog]

Bad Reviews Pt 1

[ MASTERLIST ]

[wtfdudesblog]

Please add me to the taglist very much appreciated

LOVE ME NOT — TWO

Rafe Cameron x Childhood!Bestfriend!Reader Social Media AU

Summary: Since sandbox days, it has always been you and Rafe. The only person who can put up with his selfish bastard ways, you became one of the boys. However as the two of you grew older, you started to realize you don’t see him as another one of the guys. Harboring a crush on someone is universally awful, but having a crush on your best friend is worse. Especially when he doesn’t reciprocate. Deciding to save your friendship, you settled on time apart, spending your summer in the Bahamas. When you return, you are a whole different person—jewelry, makeup, and chic clothes—you became an ugly duckling story turned right. But time apart have given you insight, and you aren’t sure if you still love Rafe.  While he realizes he's loved you this whole time.

Content: social media au, unrequited love trope, inspired/based on Love Me Not by Ravyn Lenae

Rafe anxiously taps his against the wheel as pulls up across the street from your house. He can't even tell if you're there or not, but your parents' cars are gone.

He huffs as he puts his truck in park and pulls out his phone. Every single text still unanswered.

He recalls the apologetic look you gave him as Kiara pulled you away from him, and it further makes him wonder why you haven't reached out yet. If you were having regrets then what was keeping you from him, from explaining what the hell that was last night.

Just as he goes to open his car door, the familiar sound of your cackles coming from across the street stops him in his tracks.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches you.

Just like last night, you're dripped out in your newfound wardrobe; a tight corset-looking top with a jean mini skirt and some kind of heel that matches the top. He's never seen you wear this many gold bangles before but they look good against your skin-tone.

He almost steps a foot out of the truck, until he sees that you're not alone.

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