#covered in dust next to god on the side of the road

[whositmcwhatsit]

Save Me

Written for the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

1976 Elvis in a leather coat for my beloved @vintageshanny This one got away from me, there's so much more to come!

@thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, you are the best, funniest, kindest and most awesome people.

The air shimmered and glittered across the tarmac of the highway, promising oases, lights and civilisation, all of which would turn out to be mirages, as Cindy had discovered after walking five miles in the unrelenting searing wind wearing cowboy boots. The lukewarm can of coke she had been nursing the entire way was bone dry now and she had to admit that she was beginning to panic.

It made no sense, this highway was usually jam packed with people heading to and from LA for the  weekend, but there had only been a smattering of traffic heading in either direction, and none of the hoity toity rich folks had apparently felt inclined to stop for a dusty, sweaty woman standing by the side of the road.

No one at home would even realise anything was amiss before Monday when she was supposed to be at work. They’d probably call home to find out why she was missing her shift, and her dad would think she was pulling a sick day and cover for her, not knowing… God, she was going to end up being eaten alive by buzzards. She squinted up at the sky, paranoid that she could see shadows circling overhead.

The cream car slid through the glimmering haze like it was heaven sent, its gold-plated grille and finishes adding to the surreal quality as it sped on, looking like it was going to rush past her in a fog of sand and exhaust fumes like all the others. It was heading in the wrong direction anyway, she told herself. Though there was no wrong direction away from death by overheating and scavengers.

The sound of tyres skidding in grit behind her made her turn and she saw the car had stopped a couple of hundred yards up the road. She paused, surprised, then broke into an anxious jog, almost sliding over in the roadside dust, her boot soles worn to slipperiness.

Coming to the driver’s window, she hesitated as, instead of the usual well to do middle aged couple or family, she came face to face with a car full of men. They were all wearing sunglasses and, frankly, unwelcoming expressions.

“Uh, thank you for stopping,” she mumbled, her tongue dry and oversized in her mouth. “I was starting to get worried.” The moustachioed man at the wheel just stared at her from behind dark brown lenses.

“Where you headed, honey?” asked a soft voice in the backseat. She frowned, shooting a last look at the blank faced driver before side-stepping to the window behind. She blinked rapidly, sure that what she saw was the result of dehydration, heatstroke and probably the remnants of the acid she had ingested at the beginning of road trip yesterday.

“Uh, well, I was heading back to LA,” she managed, nodding her head in the opposite direction, “but right now I’d settle for a ride to the nearest town with a phone.”

“You got car trouble?”

“In a way,” she shrugged, not wanting to go into her pathetic predicament with him, of all people. She didn’t miss the way that the other men in the car were looking at each other, sharing some sort of communication, and it made her question how desperate her situation really was. Maybe she could wait for the next car…

“You know, my guys here think that we should’ve driven right on by you. They said you could be dangerous like one of those Manson chicks. You know what a honeypot is, darlin’?” She could hear someone sniggering inside the car.

“I’m not anyone’s chick,” she retorted, rubbing sand out of her eye. “And definitely not that psycho’s. Look, thanks for stopping, but I’m fine.” She stomped off, heading back to where she had been standing.

Wrapping her hands around herself, she tried to force her heart to stop pounding. She would be fine, someone would come along, a nice family with a dog she could pet. It would all be fine.

She clenched her jaw as she heard a car door click shut and then heavy footsteps crunch towards her.

“Goddamn, it’s hot,” said Elvis Presley as he stopped at her side wearing a knee length leather coat fastened and belted in the California desert. He must’ve caught her look because he hiccupped a laugh and glanced down at himself. “Well, the car has air conditioning… A-a-and not all of us can look as good as you do in little shorts, honey.” She snorted in spite of herself, feeling her shoulders drop slightly.

“Look, I was only teasin’ before,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses and jutting his jaw pensively. “You’re a good girl, I know. I can tell that about you. I have a sense for these things.” She glanced over at the car and the two big, older guys who were leaning against it, arms crossed to show off their shoulder holsters. “And them- Well, they all do and think what I tell ‘em to, so…”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she murmured. “I’m probably better off waiting for a car going the other way anyway.”

“You’ll be waiting a while, sweetheart, Highway Patrol closed the road about twenty miles that way.”

Well, that explained that.

“Oh God,” she groaned, bending forward at the waist and just dropping like a rag doll until her hair poked into the top of her boots. “Why is this happening?! Wait, if the road’s closed, how come you’re here?”

Well, it’s closed for the public,” he answered, like this explained everything. At her questioning look, he pulled a wallet from the pocket of his coat and flashed her a shiny silver badge. “I ain’t the public.” Her eyebrows knitted tighter together and, after a moment, she reached out and pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, this is just really weird. I had to check.” He smiled, but it took him a minute and he was still rubbing his arm like she had stabbed him rather than given him a little pinch. “You are Elvis, right?”

“Last time I checked, but keep your voice down, honey, I’m travelling incognito.” He gave her a wink and she found herself smiling even though she didn’t know why. “Now, look, let’s get in the car before I melt like a goddamn snowman and we can figure out how to get you where you need to go on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“My house in Palm Springs.”

As she was deliberating, another fancy car pulled up alongside the cream Cadillac station wagon and a smaller, lean man with a moustache hurried out of the driver’s seat to them.

“Hey, what’s going on, why are y’all by the side of the road?”

“Just rescuing, er- What’s your name, honey?”

“Cindy.”

“We were just rescuing Cindy here. This here’s my cousin, Billy. He might look like a marble-eyed sonovabitch, but-” The other man, Billy, gave Elvis’ arm a punch, but even Cindy could see that there was barely any force behind it, and certainly nowhere near what Elvis retaliated with. Both men burst into laughter, though Billy’s seemed pained.

“I can’t ride with you,” she tried one last time. “There isn’t any space for me, your car is full.”

“Huh, you’re right. How are we going to solve this problem? Hey, Sonny, Red!” The two big men looked over, straightening. “You guys ride in the Stutz with Ricky and David. Billy and Jo are coming with us.”

“Hey, E,” the dark haired one started in a disgruntled voice. Cindy didn’t miss the way that Elvis’s face snapped towards him and whatever expression he had put an end to the complaint.

“I’ve been defending myself from little girls for over twenty years, man, I’m sure I won’t have any problems here.” Lowering his voice, he finished so that only Cindy and probably Billy could hear, “Don’t exactly think I wanna defend myself anyhow.”

Travel arrangements made, Cindy followed Elvis’s broad back on her way back to the Cadillac. She questioned what she was doing, wondering what he was expecting from her in terms of gratitude. Then she shook her head. This was Elvis Presley, after all, he was probably dripping in beautiful models, he didn’t need to pick up damsels in distress by the side of the road to get lucky. He looked different to how she thought though, heavier for sure, that leather coat seemed uncomfortably tight, pale too, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed. Of course, she was in no position to judge since her skin had acquired a new layer of dirt and dust and her hair was ratty from sleeping in the van the night before.

The car was deliciously cool as promised, and she sighed as she climbed into the soft leather back seat. Elvis managed to summon up a cold bottle of Mountain Valley spring water and his mouth quirked at the corner as she moaned a little gulping it down.

Billy and a dark-haired woman, who was apparently his wife Jo, sat in the front seat, leaving them alone in the back. It was quiet at first. Cindy gripped the glass bottle in her hands, savouring the cool surface against her hot, sweaty skin. She shifted slightly on the seat, hoping that she wasn’t marking it with her grime. It figured that she would finally meet her first famous person looking her absolute worst.

“So, uh, what happened to your car?” Elvis asked, turning a little so that he was inclined towards her. Her eyes fell on the three- three- thick gold chains around his neck that rested in the dark hair on his chest, disappearing beneath the lapels of his leather coat and the light blue tracksuit jacket was wearing underneath. She blinked and looked back up at his face.

“Well, nothing. It’s still at home back in the city,” she replied. “I- uh. See, I was out in the desert with some friends… camping.” She nodded, yes, ‘camping’. “And there was a misunderstanding between me and one of my friends. She thought I was into her boyfriend and she got mad and- They left me behind.”

“But you weren’t?” he asked. She was looking into his eyes, partially hidden by the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, and asking herself why the hell she was laying out the events of her pathetic life to Elvis fucking Presley. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “You weren’t fooling around with your friend’s boyfriend?”

“No,” she demurred. “No, he’s an idiot.” Elvis grinned and nodded, which somehow made her smile right back without thinking about it.

“You’ve had yourself an awfully bad day, haven’t you, Cindy honey. I, myself, have not been having a great day either. Kinda lucky of us to cross paths out here in the middle of nowhere, don’t you think?”

“Why are you having a bad day?” she asked.

“Don’t matter now,” he replied, giving her hand a quick pat. “So, where d’you live in Los Angeles?”

It went on like that, him questioning her and Cindy answering before returning the question back to him. Sometimes he’d answer, but most of the time he would just ask another question. She felt like she was being interviewed for a job she hadn’t applied for.

As the car drew up to a low, white Spanish style house, she was beginning to wonder if she might want the job after all, whatever it was.

Billy opened the car door and Elvis climbed out with a grunt, reaching out a hand to her. It felt like climbing out of a carriage, only she was the regular Cinderella before the fairy godmother had shown up, all covered in dirt and ashes. His fingers curled around hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, and he didn’t release it once she was by his side.

“So, here we are, little honeypot,” he said with an endearing smirk, “come on in.”

Stepping into the house was like walking into a meat locker after the heavy, dry heat of the afternoon. She wanted to pause and bask in it, but Elvis still had hold of her hand and he was not stopping. He gave her the tour, introducing her to the cook, while the other men arrived in the black car and there was a flurry of activity, cases and bags being deposited in the foyer and quickly whisked away.

The whole time, Elvis was walking around, talking about views and telling her a funny story about the time a photographer tried to climb the canyon to get pictures of him in the backyard and he and the guys scared the man so bad that he dropped his camera down a steep incline.

“Bought him another one, of course,” he shrugged with a small smile. “Still, taught him a lesson about being sneaky. Can’t stand sneaky sons of bitches, just come and ask me if you want a picture, don’t- don’t be all underhanded about it.” He stared off out the window at the rocky canyon beyond and she watched and waited, wondering if she was supposed to respond. Finally, he gave his head a little shake and flashed a grin at her, looking at her sideways. And that moment was over.

“So, I’ve been thinking, Cindy honey,” he began, leading her to an upright chair by the window and gesturing for her to sit down. “About you having a bad day and me… And it seems like there’s more to this than meets the eye, I think what we have here is a touch of divine intervention.”

Mouth open, she parsed his words, trying to understand what she was being told. She didn’t.

“Ain’t no way we should have met, you being a little girl pretty much as far from Beverly Hills as you can get and me not going nowhere else, but somehow we did meet. I saved you, and maybe… maybe you can s- you can help me… too.”

“Well, what do you need help with?” she asked. He grinned his famous lopsided smile, reminding her that she was sitting in front of a musical legend, one of the most famous men on the planet, just like he was a regular person.

“Well, for one thing, I don’t like being on my own much and- and my date for the weekend kinda flaked out.” He huffed an awkward, endearing laugh. “You think you might wanna hang around, honey?”

“Well, I have to be at work on Monday,” she said dubiously, feeling a pang at the way he was looking down at her, like she had power.

“I’ll get you to work on Monday,” he replied emphatically. “I can promise you that.”

“But I don’t even have any of my things,” she murmured, thinking out loud. “I left them all in the van and-”

“I’ll get you whatever you need.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anything else? C’mon, while we’re on a roll, throw something else at me, honey.” She laughed, giving his hand a squeeze that he returned.

“Can I use your phone?”

“You got a guy you need to call?” he asked flatly.

“Sorta,” she shrugged. “My father- he’s sick and I don’t like to make him worry about where I am.”

“My daddy’s been sick too,” he murmured, “but he’s getting better.”

There was such determination in his voice that she felt like she had to nod back like she was convinced.

He took her into his bedroom, which she knew must look out over the pool from the layout of the rest of the house, but the curtains were already pulled tightly closed and it felt, if possible, even colder in this room.

“You can make your call in here,” he said, squeezing her shoulder as she perched on the edge of the bed next to the phone. “No one’ll bother you. I’m just gonna make some arrangements, deal with some things. I’ll be back.”

She watched him leave, pulling the door closed behind him, and reflected on the weirdness of everything that had happened in the past few hours. She reached for the phone, but stopped.

As far as her dad knew, she was camping with some girls from work. It had been hard enough to reassure him that she would be okay doing this. If she called him now and said that not only had those girls ditched her in the middle of nowhere, but that she had been picked up by Elvis and whisked away to this house in Palms Springs… Well, he might have the stroke that was going to finish him off, the one they had been warding against for five years.

There was a tap at the door and it opened before she could respond, but it was not Elvis. Jo, the woman married to his cousin, was standing there looking at her like she was a naughty child who had refused to tidy her room.

“What size are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Size. I’m guessing a…” Her eyes flicked up and down with disinterest. “A six?”

“Four on the bottom half,” Cindy returned. “Why-“

“Shoes? What shoe size are you?”

Baffled and feeling a little bit harried, Cindy gave her the information she asked for, wondering if the woman was lending her some clean clothes or if maybe Elvis Presley of the famed pelvis, who reduced women to screaming, creaming morons with just a jiggle of his leg, had a special wardrobe for all his conquests.

“Okay, so you need to shower,” the older woman continued, directing her to a bathroom away from the bedroom. “Everything you need is just in here. Make sure you wash your hair, clean your nails, brush your teeth. Everything. He likes girls to be clean.”

What do you say to that? Cindy wondered, staring blankly as Jo repeated the instructions like it was normal, like this was an every day occurrence. To be fair, it probably was.

“Today is so weird,” Cindy murmured to herself as she stepped into the bathroom, holding the large, white terrycloth robe Jo had shoved at her. There were toiletries in a big basket, all brand new and unopened. Shampoos, conditioners, soaps and lotions. A toothbrush still in its packaging, razor, and hairbrush and combs. It was like visiting a hotel, an expensive one too, not just a roadside motel.

Turning on the shower, she spotted a little pink transistor radio on the vanity and she switched it on. She couldn’t shower in silence, she needed something to drown out her singing other than the noisy spray. Warbling along to whatever the DJ played, she did everything she had been told, scrubbing and rubbing and rinsing over and over until she finally felt like she had exfoliated the desert from her skin and her mind.

Wrapping the oversized robe around herself, she sashayed like it was a fur coat and she was walking past the velvet ropes at Studio 54, hoping to catch Jagger’s eye. She opened the bathroom door and stumbled back with a muffled shriek when she found a man about her age standing outside. He had shaggy dark hair and was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which she appreciated.

“You done?” he asked, eyes sliding up her bare legs like a snail leaving a trail across a rock. “You brush your teeth? Clean your nails?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she returned. “Yes, I brushed, I cleaned, I buffed myself to within an inch of my life! God!”

“All right,” he shot back. “I was just checking, because the Boss likes girls to be-”

“Clean, yes, I’ve got it.” She was starting to wonder whether it was Elvis or Howard Hughes who had picked her up.

The man directed her back to the living room, which was dim and shaded now with the curtains pulled across most of the windows against the late afternoon sun.

“Just wait here for a minute,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Cindy shifted from bare foot to bare foot, looking up at the low, sloping ceiling and the immaculately clean fireplace. Her eyes fell on the coffee table and the thick stack of bills placed neatly there.

She wandered over as if called, eyes bugging when she saw that the pile was topped with a hundred. If they were all hundreds, there had to be five thousand dollars there, easy. She thought about all the hospital bills that kept coming to the house, red overdue stamp looking like blood. Then she thought about her dad finding out that she had stolen money to pay them.

Sighing, she forced her feet away from the coffee table and stalked over to the couch, throwing herself down. Having a conscience could be a curse sometimes.

A little while later, the door opened and the man himself finally appeared. He was wearing a short sleeve light blue leisure suit and his hair looked washed and blow-dried. He didn’t look well, she decided, but she couldn’t decide why that thought had popped into her head.

“You look like you’re being eaten by a cloud,” he observed with a little smile, exhaling sharply as he dropped onto the couch beside her. He nudged his leg against her, but didn’t seem to notice, almost like he couldn’t keep still. “You get everything you need, honey? You speak to your father?”

“Yes, thank you,” she lied.

It was probably a good idea to make him think that people knew where she was, she decided. He leant back, stretching his arm like he had a twinge in his shoulder and then resting it along the back of the couch behind her. She had to work hard not to giggle. It was like being back in middle school.

“Why d’you wear sunglasses indoors?” she asked, wincing at her words as soon as she spoke them. “Sorry, that was rude-" He laughed softly and shook his head; his arm slid forward slightly against her shoulders.

“No, no, it’s fine, honey. I, er, have to wear ‘em because I got sensitive eyes. The light messes with ‘em sometimes, that’s all.”

“It’s not very bright in here,” she observed, glancing around at the lengthening shadows around the room.

“Yeah, well, I- I kinda need ‘em to see as well,” he admitted, ducking his head. “Can’t see as good as I used to.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” His smile widened and she felt his fingers wrap around the top of her arm.

Sitting so close to him felt like sitting with her side to the Sun, he gave off so much warmth and also a sense of power, like he was the centre of the whole galaxy. He was stroking her arm with his fingers, and she could feel the rough end of his rings scraping the folds in her sleeve and she shivered.

He smirked and, despite the fuller face and the beginnings of a double chin, she could see the man who had made her feel tickly in her tummy during the Saturday matinees her dad had taken her to. She was looking into his eyes through the pinkish tinted lenses of his glasses, their faces drawing closer, when there was a tap on the door.

“Goddamn it,” Elvis muttered under his breath, probably louder than he thought he was. “Come in!”

Billy appeared with several bags, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to Elvis’ obvious annoyance.

“Here ya are, got what you asked for,” he said, lifting the bags.

“Well, just leave it by the door,” Elvis snapped back. “And why the hell d’you leave this cash here? You just throwing my money away now, man?”

There was a weird note in the exchange that Cindy couldn’t quite figure out, but Billy gathered up the money without argument and left, dropping the bags by the door.

“Families, huh,” she observed as he huffed an exasperated sigh, his round stomach rapidly expanding and deflating. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

“Yeah, so they tell me,” he returned, shooting the door one last look of annoyance, before turning back to her. “You know, I just wanted to say thank you, Cindy honey.”

 “For what?” Grabbing a ride? Taking a shower?

“For staying. It’s real nice of you."

Her mouth twisted into a baffled smile as her brain puzzled over whether she had heard him right. He did know who he was, right? He rubbed her arm over the terrycloth sleeve and twisted towards her. Her eyes dropped to his lips and, though they looked a little dry, they were plump and inviting. Soft too as he pressed them against hers.

It was a chaste, sweet kiss, he didn’t even try slip her any tongue. Cindy never made it to a dance in her sophomore year, but she imagined this was what it would have felt like. She reached up to hang her fingers from his neck, surprised again by how warm his skin was. The hair at the nape of his neck was damp with sweat and his breath wavered as she ran her thumbs curiously through his long sideburns. They felt soft and coarse at the same time and she couldn’t explain how.

“Yeah, I think someone or something has put you in my way for a reason,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her lips as he pulled back. She could feel herself begin to broil under his gaze. He pecked her lips again, pressing his weight against her. “Let’s get you ready, honey.”

Elvis led her around by the hand like she was a cross between a little child and a delicate princess. They went back into the kitchen where he told the cook that he wanted fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, reminding her that the gravy wasn’t thick enough last time. He turned to Cindy, asking what she would like to eat.

“Aren't I having the same as you?” she asked. Asking for two different meals seemed… rude, somehow.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have-” He ducked his head and smiled. “She’ll have the same, just a regular size, okay?”

The woman smiled at Elvis the way that most women smiled at him, indulgently and kind of wistful. It was a strange thing to experience and then to see.

“Okay, lil honeypot, let’s get you dressed and ready for dinner,” he said, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her back to the bedroom.

The bags that Billy had left in the living room had been transported here and Elvis gestured to them. She peered inside, finding a white dress, underwear, and even shoes. She hadn’t worn so much white since her mom passed and her dad had turned everything grey with a misplaced sock when she was ten. She hesitated, wondering if he wanted her to put on a show, to earn them, but after she had waited for several minutes, he lifted a hand to the adjoining bathroom and motioned for her to go.

Wavering on the white, naturally, platformed heels, she tottered back into the bedroom where Elvis was reclined against the pillows reading a book. He glanced up over the top and gave an exaggerated double take.

“Who’s this sweet lil angel who’s showed up in my bedroom?” he asked, dropping the book on the bed and clambering up.

He crossed the room to her a little unsteadily and suddenly threw his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She could barely breathe with how close he was holding her, his arms pinning hers to her sides, his stomach tight against hers, constricting her air. Even his thighs were hard against hers. She didn’t know what to do, so she lifted her arm as much as she was able to stroke the small of his back.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured, when he finally drew back, running his thumb over her lips in concentration. “We’ll get Jo in here to do your make up and you’ll be perfect.”

“I can do my own make-up,” she insisted, not wanting to be a source of irritation for the other woman yet again.

“No, honey, Jo knows how to do it the way I like it,” he replied, biting on his lip before leaning forward and kissing her, lingering on her lips this time, almost as if he wanted to deepen the kiss but lost his nerve. “I want you to look like you’re all mine.”

He ducked his head down bashfully in the way that she was already getting accustomed to, but this time there seemed to be more of a purpose to it. She glanced down too when she felt him fumbling with her wrist and she watched as he fastened a thick, heavy gold ID bracelet around it. On the front, Elvis was spelled out in large diamonds.

“There,” he mumbled, sounding self-satisfied. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”

She didn’t know how to respond to this, not in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. No, she was already feeling an overwhelming need to protect him, this much older, richer, more powerful man.

Jo didn’t really speak to her as she did her make up. Cindy could barely open her eyes with the weight of the eyeliner and mascara they had been coated in. She barely recognised the woman she saw staring back at her in the mirror, especially not when she lifted her arm to peer at the bracelet. Such a weird day.

The table was full of men at dinner, with only Jo and Cindy adding some much-needed female companionship. Elvis and the other men laughed and chatted through the meal, arguing and guffawing over old stories; stories that always seemed to feature Elvis doing something insane, dangerous and/or reckless and somehow getting away with it. He grinned at her at every conclusion, looking pleased with himself and she tried her best to look impressed and amused.

Cindy understood what Elvis had meant when he instructed the cook to make her meal regular-sized. He and the rest of the men devoured prodigious amounts of food and it felt like dinner went on for hours waiting for them to finish.

As soon as she put down her knife and fork, Elvis reached over and clasped her hand with his, maintaining that hold even as he was eating and talking to everyone around her. It was like sitting with a spotlight on you, seen but unseen, valued but ignored.

After dinner, Elvis led her over to the piano. A couple of the guys, one of the large ones with all the guns, and a small one, picked up guitars and perched on a footstool and the sofa around him. He insisted, though there was barely enough room, that she sat next to him on the piano stool. She leant into his side, trying to maintain her balance.

“What d’you wanna hear us sing, Cindy honey?” he asked, like she would be fine with that, like she would casually accept Elvis Presley asking for requests.

“Lawdy Miss Clawdy?” she asked. It was one of two Elvis songs her father had played her religiously on a Saturday afternoon when they needed to jump around and use up some energy.

“Aw, that’s so damn old,” he remarked. “Can’t you think of nothing from this century?” He hiccupped a small laugh, which his guys echoed far louder, but she could sense that she had upset or offended him somehow. Probably by making him feel that only his old songs were the best, she guessed. She had hurt his feelings.

“You should sing what you want to sing,” she said quickly, rubbing his jiggling knee. “Anything you sing will blow me away.”

The smaller guy with the guitar suggested ‘Love is a Many Splendored Thing’, but before he had even finished his sentence, Elvis was pounding the keys of the piano in the very familiar introduction to ‘Lawdy Miss Clawdy’.

Everyone who had ever listened to an Elvis record always felt like he was singing directly to them. That was part of his magic and charm, but Cindy now knew that that feeling was nothing compared to knowing that he was singing directly to you. Her face was throbbing with heat as the blood rushed there. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, clasping them in her lap like she had to hold in her vital organs or she would die. He frowned over the piano as he sang, but every now and again, shot her a look from the side of his eye, his cheekbones round and prominent as he held back a smile.

As the last chords of the piano faded out, he cleared his throat, making fun of how much higher his voice used to be. Cindy clapped, ignoring the eyerolls and looks of derision that some of the men were throwing her. She had never been able to get to a concert. They usually sold out in hours and there was no way she could skip work to queue overnight and all day. So this was probably the closest she was ever going to get to seeing Elvis live, and she was making the most of it.

“Thank you, honey,” he mumbled, angling his face so that he could kiss her cheek. He grabbed her hand that was still clapping and brought it to his lips, giving her fingers a soft peck also.

Forgetting all the eyes, the uncomfortable shoes, the skimpy dress that made her shiver in the air conditioning, and the mask of make-up she was wearing, Cindy ducked forward and kissed him. She almost missed completely, catching only the corner of his mouth, but he rescued her for the second time that day, wrapping his arms around her, hot palms against her back and turning his head, sliding his tongue in to brush against hers. Maybe he was right, they could both save each other.

#elvis presley #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic #1970s elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game

[randomfoggytiger]

Eight Nights of Mulder: Day 5, Endurance & Miracles (Part II)

Mulder includes Scully in his post-Drive thoughts.

*****

“Mulder? We need to follow the ambulance back.” 

He hadn’t heard her walk up, intent on the calming rhythm surrounding him-- so different than the one he'd been locked with for hours. The thought Mr. Crump is waiting struck suddenly, stung; and Mulder peeled away reluctantly from his peaceful corner of the world. 

Scully remained a few feet apart, waiting for her partner to make the next move. Remarkably distanced from the more personal aspects of this case. Remarkably whole, remarkably kind. Miraculously alive.

“On days like this it’s hard to believe in miracles, Scully.” 

For the first time in their partnership, Mulder gloried in being the sole eidetic pontificator because all he could think next was weariness of the flesh and he knew that quote was somewhere in Scully’s bible and he was grateful, so grateful, that he could count on Scully not to quote chapter and verse of her scripture at him, either in agreement or correction. The whispers of his maternal grandmother hovered at the edges, her tongue clucking over the Christian additions to the Jewish religion-- another normal person with a normal life that he’d lost along the way.  

Scully, meanwhile, stayed, silent and watchful. 

He’d forgotten: she distrusted miracles, spent too much time juggling her science and her faith to argue semantics with him or a higher power. He, the unbeliever, espoused belief in yet another metaphysical she chalked up to Christmas magic or pixie dust. She explored her world with the same map and compass that guided her steps in religion, cancer, and death: God and science. Mostly an "either, or" between the two, with some careful hedging thrown in to cover the gaps; and that system-- he guessed-- covered a multitude of Congressional and familial sins. Did nothing to repel unexpected disasters, however: the ones that clung to collars across state lines and threatened to permanently injure with nothing more than bad timing and chance.

The past summer…. He’d never asked her what she’d believed since; but he liked to think that Scully would rationalize that he, her partner, was the common denominator in each scenario. “Believe in a miracle and you’re halfway there” she’d said once; and perhaps that’s all that could be drawn from her on the subject. Willpower and determination were more steady, achievable things than luck and miracles.

Mood askew, Mulder sighed, scrambled for stability, nodded, and followed her back up the road. There was an investigation still to wrap up, Kersh still to face, government lies still to choke down; and, reflecting, he shifted swiftly back into his former gloom.

Scully beat him to the driver's side. They locked eyes tiredly, without challenge; and he saw a flicker of hesitation before she straightened further and softened her tone. 

“Mulder, Crump would have died hours ago if not for your efforts. In a way, your concern and cooperation gave him a longer life.” She paused, and her expression shifted: serious, angry. “And now we give him justice.”  

Any other day Mulder would have glibly ribbed his partner’s bloodthirst for retribution. Today was not one of them: today he let her words seep into his cracks and crevices, followed them into the car and around the parking lot and back up the hill, and hoped they would drive him closer, faster, to normal.

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

(Tagging @today-in-fic~)

#txf #Eight Nights of Mulder #Day 5 #Endurance & Miracles #Part II #S6 #Drive #Mulder #Scully #Kuiper #Teena Mulder #Tena #Mulder's heritage #little bit early~ #Crump #fic #xf fanfic #mine #eightnightsofmulder #eightdaysofmulder #randomfoggytiger's fic

[monomorphilogical]

Interstate lines

I'm doubling bodies down the thinning line

two sides of a faded billboard sign

an angel perched on the shoulder of the I-65

holding my breath like I could live half a life

all my limbs fractured in another man's hit a run

odd angles making it hard to move on

strapped the seat belt severing my blood line

frayed edges like another passed sign

it still feels like a blade pressed against my neck

scratching like that 1984 cassette deck

caught on tape like a shadow in the southern sun

nowhere to go and nowhere to run

my mama said to always keep up my chin

but it's still scars me with all that could've been

like a roadside creature decaying in the southern sun

I've always had that devil riding shotgun

turning up the heat so we won't go up in flames

engine rattling with all my past names

I always survive but I can never leave it behind

backseat pile-up so high the rearview's gone blind

wholly covered in dust and it bites

twenty-four and crying at passing gas station lights

been praying to the radio stations for so long

strike me down at the finish line drawn

save me from flipping coins out the console

who knew chasing this straightaway high takes its toll

passing highway signs like I'm just a roadie

but right now I'm just eroding

all these steering wheel bruises on my knees

squeezing the blood around the cut of my keys

rambling on with all my haggard edges worn down

I'm just another strange face in an unknown town

I've lost myself in the land of the free

but the rearview mirror reflection is still me

how I've come so far without moving up a mile

so fucking angry at myself all the while

always looking out for that white car to pass me by

but there's nothing around here but desert dry

so I missed my exit a couple of states ago

my taillight's still busted and the transmission's slow

metal to blacktop sparks like the fourth of july

if I can't ride just let me fucking die

'cause I’ll keep going on when I burn through the motor

and there won't be a tomorrow if I don't pull over

so I hope God just lets me die today

give me forever riding down heaven's highway

'cause I've seen too many nights gone stone cold

torn backseat leather and no hand to hold

I'm so fucking sick and tired of riding on my own

should've known these roads don't lead home

[previous part & next part]

#have I finally made up my mind? I still don't have the answers sorry #obligatory 'this is not about driving' tag #also obligatory 'I don't really want to die don't worry' #ok I kind of do but that's just my default setting #writeblr #writing #original writing #writers of tumblr #poetry #poem #spilled ink #poems on tumblr #poetry by renae #renae #driving south series

[hearts4golbach]

Zombified. (Larry Johnson x Fem!Reader.)

part 8.

co-written by @cupid-isgone

sal and todd woke us up after their shift was over. we all quickly packed our shit and left. I double checked to make sure the gun was still on my hip, and it was.

outside was gloomy. a light drizzle quickly began to soak my hair. I put my hood on.

"scared of a little rain?" Larry teased, tilting his head back and sticking out his tongue to drink the rain or some shit.

"no, I'd prefer to not get sick on top of everything else."

"nerd." sal coughed, attempting to cover up the fact that *he* called *me* a nerd.

"you're the one talking." I cackled obnoxiously.

I hear Sal huff and start a retort before Todd interrupted. "Guys, stop fighting, please," he sighed, exasperated. "That was a big hoard last night, there's likely stragglers still around."

Sal titled his head in a way that probably meant he was sticking his tongue out at me. I rolled my eyes in response.

I blinked raindrops from my eyelashes as I glanced around, remembering my nightmare. I had to stay vigilant.

we carefully scouted out the area, heading further into the town. later down the road, we saw light flickering. light!

"guys, there's power!" I tried to speed up, twisting my leg in the process. Larry glanced at me. "sorry."

"there's a low probability that there will be energy in the houses, but we shall try." todd adjusted his glasses.

we walked into the closest house, the door was busted down and there were bloody handprints all over. "okay, not going in there." sal turned around on his heel.

"maybe we should split up in two groups? We can see if any of the houses has power or supplies left." Todd suggested.

"I'll go with y/n," Larry said immediately. Sal rolled his eyes, but left with Todd, anyway.

I smirked at him. "Clingy, much?"

"Oh, shut it. If you hate my company that much, I guess I can go and find Sal instead-" Larry's teasing was cut off as I elbowed him in the side.

"No, no, I *guess* I'll tolerate your presence. For now."

Larry rolled his eyes and walked to the next building. it was a beautiful sage green house, in the front was a dried out garden. I could only imagine how beautiful this neighborhood used to be.

"God, this is disgusting." Larry muttered, touching the black goop (aka, zombie vomit) on the steps.

"ew, what the fuck are you doing?!" I screeched.

he wiggled his finger at me before walking into the house. I followed close behind him, limping. the house was completely untouched.

"wait, wait." my heart began to beat faster with excitement. I flipped the light switch to the living room. it flickered before turning on fully. it filled the room with a low buzz.

"fuck yeah!" Larry cheered, opening his arms. I jumped into them, cheering with him. "let's go find sally and todd!"

We made a mental note of where the house was before going off. It hadn't been too long, and the town wasn't huge, so it shouldn't have been too hard to find them.

We quickly scanned through a few more houses, as well, just in case there were extra weapons or food.

Larry opened the door to one of the buildings, glancing inside, before doing a double take. "Hey, check this out!"

He sounded excited. I stepped forward and he went inside. "Careful," I cautioned.

The inside was layered in dust, and a couple shelves had collapsed (likely due to rot) but otherwise, the place looked near untouched. It was  and old record store.

Larry wandered off to the heavy metal session, which wasn't very surprising. I turned the other way and looked for jazz. Jazz had always been my comfort music. I picked up a 'Top Hits!' record and turned towards the listening booth. by now, the door had been broken off. At least the music would spread throughout the store.

I was too late to the party. Larry was already beginning to put his record on.

I rolled my eyes as some rock song I'd never learned the name of came on. Larry was leaning against a wall nearby, already nodding his head to the beat.

"You're gonna attract every zombie within three states if you keep this up." I quickly switched his record for my own.

"What, and jazz won't? It's the same volume."

I tutted mockingly, "Don't you know? Zombies are allergic to jazz."

"Is that so?" Larry straightened up and stepped towards me.

"mhm." I stepped closer to him. Larry wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. I smiled, wrapping my arms around him and swaying to the music. I closed my eyes, savoring the peaceful moment

Our breathing was synced to the music as we gently danced around the small store. We dodged around shelves with light spins and steps. My lips curved into a content smile, the warmth of both the music and Larry's hands enough to keep any negative thoughts at bay.

In that moment, it was just us two. In that little building, it was easy to forget about the choas and destruction outside. We would have to come back to reality soon, but for now this was okay.

I rested my head on his chest, closing my eyes and letting myself enjoy the moment. nothing lasts forever, but I wish it would.

Larry gently rubbed my back as we swayed. he looked down at me with nothing but admiration in his eyes.

"whenever all of this is over, I promise to take you out on a real date. an actual fucking date. we can go to a fancy restaurant, anywhere you want. we could get good food instead of scraps and crackers." Larry whispered, his voice cracking.

"what's wrong?"

he immediately shook his head. "I'm good. just thinking about the future."

I frowned slightly, concerned. "Larry, are-"

But before I could finish my sentence, we heard the door squeak open. Sal was in the doorway, Todd behind him.

"That's kinda gay."

Larry pulled away immediately to argue with his brother without accidentally shoving me with quick and wild gestures. "What does that even mean in this context?? This might be the straightest situation to be in."

"whatever, take a joke." sal rolled his eyes, brushing me off before walking over to turn off the music. "sorry, but we don't have time for romantic shit, right now. we're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse and it's almost sun down. you guys can smooch back at the camp."

I rolled my eyes. "whatever, sally face. we found a house, with power and food." I grinned excitedly.

"and blankets!" Larry squeeled like a little girl.

"then let's go!" todd said, walking back out the door.

I quickly packed up the record and took it with us.

I gripped onto Larry's arm tight for support as we walked through the messy streets back to the house we found.

It was getting dark and, while we were still generally lighthearted, there was a sense of unease that came with the night. There were no zombies *yet*, but that could change at any second. We make sure to walk quickly.

We got to the house in one piece and Larry and I smirked as Sal and Todd appreciated our find.

"let's find the safest room to sleep in. Remember, no windows. We can decide night watch shifts later."

Larry rolled his eyes almost fondly, exasperated by Sal's bossiness. He nudged my arm and spoke to me quietly. "Let's go, we should get first dibs on where we sleep."

I grinned and followed him. The future, for the first time in months, looked bright, and I couldn't wait to see how everything turned out.

#fanfiction #ash campbell #fanfic #larry johnson #sal fisher #sally face #zombie apocolypse au #zombified #zombie apocalypse #zombies #zombie

[clonesupport]

Liars Aren't So Easily Forgiven

vicar max x f!reader

word count: +3.9k

warnings: 18+, NSFW, p in v sex, unprotected sex, hate fucking/angry sex(but it's also technically makeup sex👀), choking, biting/marking, drinking/alcohol use, max gets slapped in the face, some dom max(a shocking turn of events for me lol), creampie, pre-established relationship(but y'all been on a little break), porn without plot, smut under the cut

a/n: so....hate fucking makeup sex in that fallbrook apartment after some time post going to see chaney and getting mad at max for lying and putting the relationship on hold for some time cuz you were upset?👀��👀hehehehehe i think yes, god i finally finished one of my too many drafts TwT

You were fed up, enough has inconvenienced you on this Law forsaken moon and now the man you trusted the most had revealed his ugly lie. Even though it's been over a week now that Max had used you, he lied to you, betrayed your trust just to get what he wanted, you were still more than angry. Every time you passed him in the halls of the Unreliable, the tension would seethe from your being like toxic vapour. Every time you'd talk about mission plans, the moment Max would try to add an opinion to the mix your glare looked like it could choke him out with a single glance. You often passively aggressively dismissed him, asking someone else to come along with you instead of him.

Max didn't like being side lined, as a matter of fact he hated it, it was a reminder that he fucked up. He'd apologized, begged for his captain's forgiveness though you seemed to have simply brushed it off, clearly not forgiving him quite yet. He felt the guilt of his actions every day when he'd see you, in the way you ignored him. Along with guilt was a tinge of anger, something he was trying to bury beneath the sorrow of doing you wrong. He knew he had no right to be angry with you though you had every right to be upset at him. He simply didn't like to be dismissed the way he was being dismissed, brushed off like dust the way you brushed him off. Annoyance lingered beneath his cover, an irritancy gnawing away at him like acid on skin.

He did however miss when you'd spend time with him, he missed talking and joking with you, he missed you. During one evening while everyone was having the night off for some well needed rest, Max followed you into town. He wanted try and make amends, shove aside his peeved arrogance for once and try to at least come to an understanding of sorts. He didn't want to stay in this limbo of being ignored, especially not by you.

You walk down the main road of Fallbrook, stopping by the general store before heading back to your rented room with a full case of algae lager. Having a rough day on top of a rough week and troubles with your lover isn't quite the way you wanted to spend your night off. It seems the only thing you can think of doing to release the stress is to drink it away, even though it would only work temporarily if at all. But with everything going on, you needed a break.

You sat on the edge of the bed, placing the case of lagers next to you on the floor before grabbing one and popping it open. Taking a few big swigs, you sigh as if you finally have a moment to catch a break alone as you down the rest of your bottle. You weren’t going easy on yourself tonight, "Well, drink to forget." you meekly toast to yourself before placing the empty bottle back into its case and grabbing another. Just as you down another sip of lager you hear a knock on the door. "For fucks sake," you curse tiredly, you get up from the bed and reach the front door, "who the hell could-" The door slides open to reveal a particularly weary vicar.

"Max…" You sighed, you didn't want to get upset at him, if anything you didn't have the energy for it tonight. It's been a while since you last said his name let alone interacted with him. Turning away from him you go back to sit on the bed, leaving the door open. "What do you want?" Your question sounded more punctual than questioning, as if impatient to hear him answer and leave. You look back at him with that familiar glare as you take another swig of lager. Max watches you hesitantly before taking a careful step into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

"I…I wanted to see if you were ok." The words came out of his mouth before he could think, as if all the things he practiced to say to you had just been wiped from memory. He hears you sigh once more answering him with a curt 'I’m fine.' before taking another sip. ‘Well she hasn't kicked me out yet so that's progress.' Max thought, he took another few steps closer before you shot him a warning look, pausing him in his steps. "I wanted to apologize."

"You've already apologized." You cut him short. You weren't interested in another pleading apology from him, that's not what you wanted. Quite frankly you didn't know what you wanted from him, but a simple 'talk it out like buddies' wasn't something you were going to be able to do with him any time soon. You were 1.5 drinks in and were already starting to feel a little warmth tingle your cheeks from the alcohol.

"Look, Max, if you're here to have a heart to heart it's not gonna happen ‘cuz, well.." you raise the bottle in your hand for him to see. You see him shift his weight, he sends you a quick purse of his lips as a smile of understanding.

"I see." He stands there for a second, you could almost see the cogs in his head turning in thought. As if deciding, Max exhales a quick and quiet breath before coming to sit next to you on the other side of the beer case. You raise a brow in response waiting for his next move, but he doesn't say anything, instead he reaches for a bottle. He swiftly opens the cap, sinking back the bottle and downing half of its contents in a few seconds. That definitely caught you off guard, though you weren't going to complain, you'd much rather this than pouring your hearts out to each other while half tipsy.

"Never knew you drank beer." You mutter quietly to him before taking another swig. Max follows, sipping before speaking.

"Never really did." He said lowly, like he's cautious with every word he utters around you. You noticed how tense he was, though more nervous than angry, but mostly he seemed calm. You look back to your bottle in hand and grimace. You envied that calmness, how could he be so neutral in a time like this, when you've been making him feel like a piece of shit, ignoring him for days. How could that man still want to talk to you, hold his composure so well around you after you've given him the cold shoulder for a week. Why weren't you affecting him? Why couldn't you make him mad back just a smidge of what you felt?

"Fuck you." It slipped out before you could catch it, your words barely louder than a mumble but loud enough for him to hear. Max's nerves bubbled beneath his skin, he was trying to stay civil yet here you are spitting curses at him.

"Excuse me?" The vicar sounded taken aback, a tinge of annoyance in his question as if you've gravely offended him. As if he was daring you to repeat yourself, giving you a chance to apologize. You sigh once more, sitting yourself upright before repeating yourself louder this time.

"Fuck you." You stared straight at the wall. Max felt the subtle flames of anger within himself sputter to life upon your reassurance that he in fact did hear correctly. He watched as you continue to not acknowledge him while you waited for his reply, as if hoping he'd get upset, and boy was it working.

"Are you that fed up with yourself that you can't forgive me?" Max could begin to feel his anger rise, more and more with every second. Words were coming out of his mouth out of impulse, insults and defence flying out of him automatically. "I make one mistake and you think that gives you the right to be this fucking ignorant with me? Ignoring me like I'm not even there? You think that makes me feel better about what I did?"

"You think after a stunt like that you can just apologize and beg like a wounded dog back to me like it was nothing??" You finally look at him, your eyes were hard, your voice raised as you saw red at his ridiculous accusations. "You think I'm ignorant? What made you think you were a considerate person when you decided to use me, your girlfriend, to get what you wanted?!" You stood from your spot on the bed, stepping before Max as your voice became firmer. You took another gulp the last bit of lager before placing the empty bottle on a nearby table, "Next you're going to tell me you never even liked me in the first place." Your voice came out calmer this time, more disappointed in some false hope you might've had.

"Are you serious? You doubt me that much?" He sounded baffled. He couldn't believe you have managed to lose your trust in him completely, doubting everything the two of you might have had and everything that he was. Now it was his turn to sound more aggravated as his brows knitted together in frustration. "By the Architect you're delusional, what would make you think I'd be so cruel as to lead you on like that." Max stood, placing his bottle on the floor next to his feet before taking a step towards you, waving his arms in exasperation. "The first opportunity you get and you go and cast me out like a fucking pest." He hisses through gritted teeth, eyes piercing daggers towards you merely a foot away.

"Fuck you." You spit, hearing Max huff.

"You've said." He looked too smug, and you hated it.

Anger burned in your chest, his patronizing was the last thing you needed right now. That was the last straw, you raise your hand and before you could stop yourself, your hand comes flying across Max's face with a loud smack. Max takes a second to register what just happened before looking back at you with both a face full of shock and fury. Something in his eyes shimmered, dark and tempered, calculating what he was going to do next as the two of you stared each other down. 'He was always attractive when he was angry.' Your intrusive thoughts poked through for a split second. Law, you shouldn't even be thinking such things at the moment. Mentally scolding yourself, you fought every other thought trying to follow in the previous' footsteps.

You were frustrated, and without thinking you instantly close the distance between the two of you, grabbing Max by the jaw and pulling him into a brutal kiss. Your lips crushed against his, your combined anger seeping into the exchange. Max's hands comes up to grip your hips so tight your flesh stung beneath his finger nails as they dug into your skin though your shirt. He responded to the kiss just as fiercely as you initiated, forcing you closer by his hold and leaning into you as if to counter your previous first swing. The kiss itself felt like a fight, it was rough, messy, harsh. Nothing like any kiss the two of you have shared before.

You began to push him back, taking small steps as you continued to grip and pull at his shirt collar and hair. Knocking over the bottle Max had placed on the floor as his heels hit the back of the bed. You push him down to sit on the edge of the mattress as you strip yourself of your shirt and Max follows. The both of you throw your shirts elsewhere on the floor while Max's hands come to your waist, smoothing up your sides while squeezing tightly. A groan escapes him as he leans forward to connect his lips your abdomen. His eyes close while his hands make quick rid of your pants. You help kick off your pants in a hurry, placing your hands on his shoulders for balance.

Max is quick to loop his hands behind your thighs, standing while lifting you around his waist. He positions you properly in his arms, grunting with his movements as he walks towards the nearest table. He drops you on the counter roughly, clearing the surfaces contents with a single swipe of his arm. You start working on his belt, undoing his pants to pull out his already hard cock. "You fucking love this don't you," you smirk up at him, slowly stroking him in your hand, "the furious adrenaline pumping in your veins." His eyes glare down at you. Your other hand reaches up to grip the back of his neck harshly, pulling him down to you, "Admit it, you love getting pissed off at me." You antagonize him, smirking against his scowl.

"Fuck you." Max spat back at you.

"You're about to."

Max's hands push you down against the table then pulls you by the hips so your clothed cunt was in line with his erection. "Fucking smart ass." He grunted before grabbing his cock in his hands, sliding your underwear to the side. "Seems I'm not the only one." it was his turn to play smug, resting his hand on your pelvis as his thumb swipes over your slick folds. Your cunt was soaking, anticipating his touch with its silk. You squirmed beneath his touch, you were too fired up to be patient for his teasing and quite frankly so was he.

You were about to sit up, demand him to fuck you before you're forced back down by his hand to your throat. It wasn't a harsh grip but it was firm enough to move you whichever way he pleased which is exactly what he did. His hand moved down and splayed across your collar. He aligned his tip with your dripping cunt, using his thumb to guide himself into you, pushing in impatiently. The sting of his intrusion made you yelp out a moan, his head already stretching your hole deliciously. It's only been barely over a week without fucking him and it already felt like he was fucking you for the first time all over again. Only this time it was much rougher.

Max slid in quickly, stretching you almost unbearably before he bottomed out inside you. You barely had a moment to breathe before he started bucking into you, hitting your sweet spot much too easily. Choking on your breath, you let out a hoarse moan, reaching for his arm that still held you down. He rutted into you relentlessly, groaning through gritted teeth all the while keeping eye contact with you. The table banged against the wall with every hard thrust pumped into you. Your breasts bounced with each shock wave of force, your hands gripping his forearm as he eased more pressure against your chest.

Max could feel himself slowly lose every ounce of control much too quickly. It's been far too long since the last time he fucked you, he could barely see straight with the first few strokes. He could only feel the urge to fuck you harder and faster, to race as fast as he could to his release, to make you cum watch you writhe in pleasure. His head dropped down, his hair falling forward with it, his own pleasure coursing like magma through his veins. His pace was ruthless, his muscles easily tiring but never ceasing its movements as he listened to the squelches of your tight cunt wrapped around him. Your pussy swallowing his length with so much need as if you've truly been depriving yourself of any release in days out of anger for him. Your moans were even more sonorous than he remembered, Law has he missed the feeling of you, the sight of you, the sound.

His cock plowed into you, your voice stuttering with every thrust deep into your needy cunt. Your juices making it exceptionally easy for him to slide in and out, dragging along your insides just right to send your senses tingling. He was angled just right, perfectly hitting your pleasure points with every stroke, his head prodding your cervix harder and faster by the second. "Fuck, I've missed this." His voice is ragged while he focuses on your cunt. His hand travels from your collar down to your side to join his other, gripping you with a bruising clutch. He used your hips as leverage to fuck you harder, your whole body bouncing in time with his rhythm.

Max leans down, latching his mouth onto your shoulder, sucking your supple skin til it’s red and purple. His lips trail across your skin, growling with every nip and bite. Your breasts bounce against his chest which is now pressed against yours, his pubic bone grinding perfectly into your clit with his thrusts. Your hands reach around to grab at his back, raking your nails down his shoulder blades, feeling his muscles flex beneath your touch. His teeth grazed along your skin, his hot breath fanning across your chest.

You cup his cheeks, pulling him up to face you as your lips find his. His lips sloppily move against yours, his groans swallowed by your mouth as you drag his bottom lip between your teeth. You press yourself up against him, pushing yourself up on your elbows while you ease him up along with you. Max gets your message, standing back up as his pace falters a split second, watching as you sit yourself up. Grabbing him by the nape of the neck you pull him back to you, his chest pressing right back to yours while he adjusts himself. His thrusts angle upwards, moving closer to you while you devour his kisses with your own.

Your bodies were hot and sweaty, hearts pumping erratically, breaths melding with one another's. The edge of the table continuing to etch a dent in the wall as Max chased his release inside your cunt. You could feel your orgasm building, edging your nerves every few thrusts as your muscles tensed, anticipating its euphoria anxiously. Your free hand slides up his chest, nails dragging through his chest hair before clasping your fingers around his neck gently. "Make me cum." You commanded him firmly as you pull away from his kiss, your eyes meeting his in a fiery exchange. Your fingers tightening gradually as he follows your demand, his head falling forward.

"Yes." His voice strains a moment as he becomes drunk on the lack of blood pumping to his head. His hand weakly comes around to rub circles on your clit, sending pleasurable waves coursing through your body. His fingers are lazy as you continue to squeeze his jugulars, watching as his eyes cloud over, his brows furrow, his pace stutter. A moan shudders through him with one particularly hard thrust, his breath becomes fainter as he drowns in his pleasure before you release his neck. Max inhales, the blood rushing back through his head as he drops his forehead down to your shoulder. His hand and hips persist to please you, his cock throbbing inside your cunt as you squeeze around him.

His moans are becoming loud, matching the volume of yours as his fingers messily fiddle with your clit, edging you closer and closer to your climax. Your nerves are running wild, your pulse beating out of your chest while your body presses against Max's with every bouncing thrust. Biting onto the junction of his neck and shoulder, you stifle your moans into muffled whines, biting hard enough to bruise his skin. Max groans at your bite, the sting coursing down his body only to mix with the pleasure from your cunt was too much for him. You could feel him teeter on the edge of bliss. Your hand snakes up his body, fisting into his hair and pulling his head back hard as you latch your lips to his neck, grazing your teeth along his skin.

Your ministrations was enough to push him over, his hips faltering in its rhythm before his orgasm erupts into him. His knees quiver, hands clenching onto you harder as a guttural moan rakes through his lungs. Wave after wave, he pumps every ounce of his release into you with shallow, harsh thrusts. His fingers stalling in their movements on your clit for a split second before he resumed, faster than before to chase your release. His cock pressed into your cervix with every rough push, your hand releasing his hair as you began to see white, your own orgasm quickly creeping up on you.

You threw your head back as you felt yourself shatter. A weeks worth of frustration unloading in a split second sends your back arching. You arched your hips into Max, his fingers continuing to rub quick circles into your nerves, causing bliss to rapture your entire body in what felt like much longer than a few seconds. Your cunt squeezed the lights out of Max's cock, making him shudder a whimper as your own scream filled the air. He stilled his hips, buried deep inside you as he watched you slowly come down from your high. Your arms went back to support yourself as your body falls limp beneath him. Every pent up nerve in your body now untangled, every knot undone.

You hadn't noticed you closed your eyes until you felt Max rest soft kisses along your shoulder. Opening them, you refocus your vision on your surroundings, grounding yourself before you attempted to sit upright. Your body was weak, your limbs shaking as you tried to move. Max's hand found itself smoothing along the small of your back, helping you ease into him as you rested your cheek to his chest. All your energy had been drained, too sensitive and fragile to move, too tired to say anything. You listen to Max's heart, pumping proudly in his chest as it regulated slowly in time with yours. His arms stayed around you, waiting for your word. You shift, whimpering as you realize he hasn't pulled out yet as your sensitivity shocks your core. Max notices, suddenly aware of your overstimulation.

"I'm gonna pull out ok?" He assured you, making sure you knew before it happened so you wouldn't be too overwhelmed. You answer with a nod against his chest as your hands come to rest on his back, bracing for his movement. Max pulls out slowly making you whine once more followed by one final gasped mewl as his head pops out of your spent hole. "Sorry." He mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hair, his thumbs brushing your skin soothingly. "You ready?" He asked, his hands come to loop under you thighs. You weren't sure what he was going to do but you were much too tired to inquire as you nodded once more.

He lifts you in his arms, turning to move to the bed. Your legs wrap around his waist lazily as your arms hold him tight. He kneels on the bed, placing you down gently before joining you. The moment your head hit your pillow, you could already feel sleep cloud your mind, your eyes drooping closed as you felt Max pull you back in his arms. You smile, chuckling weekly, making Max look at you. "Maybe I should get mad at you more often." You slur drowsily, making Max chuckle in response.

#babe wake up a new max fic just dropped #vicar max x reader #vicar max smut #vicar max x captain #vicar maximillian desoto x reader #vicar max #tow #the outer worlds

[chaotic-tired-bastard]

Rex Marksley x Male Reader

CW for mentions of homophobia, crying, and mentions of alcohol

You sighed, snuggling your face into your pillow. Rex was curled up right behind you, his face buried in your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist. It was the first time in a while you two had a moment of peace and privacy, and you were determined to make the best of it. You had been on the road, doing whatever you had been doing for about a month or so. This was the first time in a while you two had actually been in a bed, and it was heaven to both of your backs.

The bed you were cuddled up in was some rickety, old hotel bed, the moth-eaten sheets rolled up and bundled on the floor and the lumpy pillows smushed underneath your head and Rex’s shoulder. The blanket covering you two was one you had bought somewhere, a thick, brown-dyed woollen blanket with a few dark stains from spilled coffee. Rex’s hat was hanging from one of the bedposts, his gauntlet and glove perched on the aforementioned sheets. Your shoes were by the door, Rex’s boots right next to your own.

You turned around, manoeuvring yourself so that you and Rex were face-to-face. Rex slowly opened his eyes, looking at you for a second to let his sleepy brain catch up to what was happening. “Lookin’ at somethin’, Doll?” Rex mumbled, smiling lazily as he moved his arms up to wrap around your chest and bring you closer.

“Only you,” You hummed, shifting yet again before settling back into his arms, burying your face in the collar of his shirt and inhaling deeply, blowing it all out in a contented sigh.

Rex smiled, putting his chin on your head as he held you close to him, your legs intertwined with his and your arms wrapped around each other. You could hear his soft, even breaths, how his heart beat in its even, rhythmic pattern beneath your hand. You could smell the dust and sweat he had yet to wash off from the past few days on the road; there was no doubt you smelled the same, or worse. Despite everything, this was the best you had felt in a while.

Actually, you had only ever felt this good with Rex. Life before that was cautious, tiptoeing around conversation and desperately hiding your not-so-accepted attractions. It was full of nights of manic freedom and then weeks of sitting up at night, waiting for someone to barge into your cheap hotel room with less-than good intentions to your well-being.

You’d have to pray to whatever god was listening that the man you were flirting with swung the same way, and that he wouldn’t snitch. You’d have to hope that the side glances the priest of whatever town you were in was just because you were either new in town or didn’t show up for the Sunday service. You’d have to double-check that nobody could tell your attractions went the way nobody wanted them to go.

But, with Rex, that didn’t happen. You two were free- going wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted, however you wanted. You relished every day, waking up in his arms or beside him or, on the occasional day he woke up before you, waking up to him making a cup or two of coffee. You loved how he made you so relaxed, even if you were running from bandits or something. You loved his crooked smile, the adorable face he made when concentrating, and his constant dedication to make the impossible possible.

Rex just made you feel like life was worth living, and you couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel like that. Rex made you feel alive.

“Y/N? Is something wrong?” Rex asked, removing his head from yours and looking at you, worry shining in his eyes.

“Hmm? No, I’m great,” You mumbled, smushing your face into his chest.

“You sure? It’s just, you started crying, and I was wondering if there was anything I could help with,” He said, cupping your cheek and brushing away something wet.

“‘M not crying,” You mumbled, sniffling.

“Oh? Then it must be gin, not tears, coming out of your eyes then” Rex said.

You wiped your cheek, rubbing at the wet skin. You really were crying. There was a wet spot on Rex’s shirt from your tears and you felt a tiny bolt of guilt go through you at the sight. “Do you want to talk about it?” Rex asked softly.

At the question, you almost started sobbing. To be held like this, by someone who you truly loved- years ago it would have been unthinkable. Then, being held in such a way would have been impossible- just a daydream. Some offhand pining for intimacy you would never be able to experience- something that would remain forever out of reach.

Now, here you were, cuddling with the best man you had ever met. One of the only men you’d be proud to call your and be proud he could call you his. The only man who could’ve captured your heart so entirely and completely and made you feel so much like a new person and yourself. “I-I… I just… I love you. So, so much…” You said, your voice trailing off and breaking as you began to cry again.

Rex pulled you close, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. “And I love you. Nobody I know or don’t could even come close to you. You… just knowing you makes my heart skip a beat. Calling you mine is a dream come true,” He murmured, pressing kisses all over your face.

You let out a shaky sob, your hand gripping his shirt and pulling him close. He held you as you cried, pressing kisses to your temple and whispering soothing, sweet nothings into your ear. You weren’t crying because you were sad, though. You were crying because, for one of the first times in your life, you were truly and wholly happy. You were happy, and you didn’t want to give that up.

#Hey I needed this #Don't ask #Rex Marksley #Rex Marksley x Reader #Reader #Rex Marksley x Male Reader #Male Reader #Angst #hurt/comfort #Lotsa Comfort #Steam Powered Giraffe #SPG #Projection? Pfffftttt noooooo definitely not

[sillywolffoxwrites]

14th of Flamerule, 1368 - Day 72, Hour 18

On the way down south, we crossed paths with a group of Kobold, including Ferrum's old friend, Hess!

We camped together and exchanged stories and trinkets. Hess was traveling with an inventor named Smartscale, and the various merchants, scavengers etc. that made her little outfit work. She was traveling down to the gnoll outpost to meet with Imoen - she must be part of the fence network! And her team wasn't all (though mostly) kobold either! There was a couple tieflings, a goblin, and some humans.

After Aurelia and the rest went to bed, Yuze and I lingred by the campfire with Hess, another Kobold named Scratch, and a human named Kaelis. We talked about the reviving iron trade, the warmth of the summer. We drank and got cozy. Ferrum and I leaned into each other, warmed by the triple combo of the fire, the alcohol and our happiness of being on the road together again.

Hess and I got on as well as Ferrum had hoped. As the night wore on and the moon rose, I found Hess creeping closer to us and shifting in his seat every so often.

Then, with a small yip, he hopped up on to my lap, nervously avoiding my gaze and starting up more conversation

"You elf?" "Half, yes." "You must have strong magic." I laughed "People ask you to zap things things a lot"

Kaelis and Scratch eyed us, and then made excuses, one by one, leaving the fire. Hess slid further into my lap, his eyes locked with mine, as his cute bottom came to rest on my crotch, his own erection beginning to pitch his skirt.

We took Hess back to our tent, and began to disrobe immediately. Ferrum took off Hess's skirt and went down on the Kobold, gleaming yellow-red softscales sliding in and out of his mouth. I sat back touching myself as my husband moaned and sucked. Next Hess laid back, and Ferrum began to eat his hole, using his beard to stimulate Hess's soft parts Yipping, panting, twitching, Hess arched his back, and stretched his arms over his head, lean muscles stretching under his scales. Ferrum held Hess by his back and pushed his tongue as far as it could get into him, while they stroked their members.

Ferrum has always had a great ass. Two green cheeks, full and dusted with coarse hair. i wanted to eat too. His cheeks blocked my vision while I teased the inside of him, making me need to come up for air every so often before I went back in again. Before long I was fucking Ferrum and he was fucking the Kobold. Ferrum had shifted to his back, I was fucking him from my knees, his ankles over my shoulders. Hess, gods bless the brave creature, slid his narrow body up and down Ferrum's girth. For such a small creature, he took it well. Ferrum came first, his cum running down the sides of his member, and out from Hess. Hess extended his prehensile tongue, and licked Ferrum clean, as he twitched and moaned. "My turn" Hess hissed with pleasure, slowly pulling himself off the rod he had impaled himself with. Ferrum scooted backward and out from Under Hess, rolling over onto his stomach and panting. Hess approached me, looking up at my face, he standing and I kneeling, my manhood still wet and pulsing. He grasped it with his hand, and worked me, moving in closer, snaking his tongue into my mouth. Kobolds may not have lips, but they have tongues!

Retracting his tongue from my mouth, he slid it down to my crotch and covered me in thick saliva, before sitting down. He was tight, incredibly tight, despite the previous fucking. His hole puckered just slightly around my shaft, so I knew he had been tighter. I chuckled to myself, he'd bounce back. I focused now on slow, shallow strokes, giving Hess a break, and delaying my own climax. Hess laid against my chest, huffing and moaning. I wasn't going to last for much longer, Ferrum had gotten hard again, and was jerking off while watching us. The feeling built up from the base of my manhood, swelled and rocketed towards the tip and - Ferrum tipped me back, slide into me, and rammed himself straight into the inner wall of me.

"FERRuM!" Hess yipped as he was filled with semen once again, the pressure making his eyes roll back in ecstasy, and he burst himself.

His hot cum sprayed on my chest, and we all crumpled into a sticky mess on the bedroll.

In the morning Jaheira made a comment about us building strong alliances - all I could do was laugh - Yuze

#Baldur's Gate #BG1 #RP #Yuze #Chapter 6 #Sexy

[twistednuns]

June 2023

Getting a tiny singing bowl and Sister Chang Kong's book. I met her in person and talked to her. Then she signed the book for me! Such a rockstar.

Vegan coconut ice-cream.

The final presentations of all the families. And the band of a few Brothers and Sisters performing Thich Nhat Hanh's Little Star poem. The surprising rap part.

A good talk with an Argentinian woman from Plum Village at Bordeaux airport. Listening to inspiring podcasts.

Spending Saturday morning at the flea market. Talking to some of the vendors. Buying diamante facial stickers and a leather top for the Burn. Choosing from an entire box of books about Buddhism.

Oh, and my recent dad shirt finds: UV light mushrooms / pure silk abstract pattern.

A nostalgic evening with Sash. I rode the e-bike downtown, we had Mexican food at Cantina and watched Roter Himmel at Kinoptikum. Later, we biked to the train station together. We used to do this all the time when we both still lived in LA.

A gorgeous Sunday, roadtripping with Manu and his parents. Two firsts this summer: swimming in the lake and visiting an ice-cream parlour. Singing along to D.I.S.C.O in the car.

An afternoon with Becky, starting out at Gärtnerplatz. Pistachio ice-cream and Vietnamese lunch. Fantastic conversation, as always.

A language tandem session with Carolina. Interpreting a poem together. Kevin made spinach salad with feta and blueberries. Then we played an extension of Catan.

Preparing for the Burn with Frank. Getting water pistols, hippie pants at Indigo, going grocery shopping together.

Munich Micro Burn. I'm so grateful for this experience and it seems like I've found another community I wanna be part of. I'm really vibing with their principles, for example radical self-expression and immediacy. I met a Golden God (Ben), a Welfare Fairy (Chris), my personal Kundalini Supervisor (Davide) and someone who reminded me of Moss from The IT Crowd (Neill - I adore his beautiful energy, his accent and word choice, his creative style). I unexpectedly reunited with someone from my past (Benni) and adopted a human kitty. I was naked a lot, covered in glitter and body art. I shared my cherry lollipop and asked for more (kisses and Celia's cinnamon water) We built a coral reef and walked through the Kodama forest. I was fascinated by Sari and Nils' acro yoga performance. Reality felt like a computer game with lots of side quests and returning characters.

Ben wearing exactly the right colours. Golden yellow, forest green, rusty red. His lilac windbreaker with an 80s jazz pattern. His humour, manner of speech, intelligence. The feline gestures, letting me adopt him. Kissing him was an otherworldly feeling, I can hardly put it in words. The Shooting Star Encounter, as my therapist put it.

Fine dining, surprising conversation topics and the first (and probably last) spaghetti ice-cream of the season with Lena and Sash in Freising.

A cute e-mail from Stephen with some of his vegan baking recipes from Green Tara café.

On the flight from Munich to Paris, I sat next to a physicist who was on his way to Peru as well. He was travelling with colleagues, they were about to go on a road trip through the Andes to perform some tests on lake water. He told me about his Arctic expedition, polar bear scares, snorkelling with sperm whales. I love encounters with adventurers. And I firmly believe that I'll keep attracting interesting people who are actually meant for me as long as I keep radiating this positive energy. Same goes for opportunities, life events. I've been so happy and at ease lately!

The way the Djinn's fingers were dusted in gold in the movie Three Thousand Years of Longing.

Arriving in Cusco. Seeing the glittering lights in the valley. The stars. Friendly people everywhere. Music, celebrations for the Winter Solstice. They put a baby llama into my arms and I couldn't say no. So fluffy. I'm in love with these animals, especially the soft alpacas!

Waking up to THAT view after a night of fun dreams. Cozy. (But the following day I had a dream about all my teeth falling out and, again, that my mum isn't really dead.) A fried egg on toast. Fresh orange juice. Sunshine over the valley and strange flute covers of pop songs in my ear. Crawling back to bed after an icy shower.

People reaching out to me after my post about the last six months.

Talking to Matthias. It feels like we'd known each other forever. I'd love to meet him soon!

My encounter with Edward, an artist who had some of his stone sculptures on display at Museo Inka. I bought two of his quartz pyramids and we talked for at least half an hour (in Spanish I might add, I'm so proud of myself). He told me so much about the local customs and beliefs, for example the Cosmovisión Andina and the significance of the puma, serpent and condor in their culture. And of course we talked about Cusco's rainbow flag.

Sending long distance hugs and good vibes to a crying Sonja (Frank had just told her that her lover has a girlfriend). The llama photo might have helped as well - in any case I got positive feedback.

A big colibri right outside my window. Shaggy llamas crossing my path. Someone blasting Footloose from his studio.

An evening at Cusco Planetarium. I took an Uber up the hill and arrived in the middle of nowhere. A good spot to get murdered... But I followed the path anyway and ran into one of the stargazers. He told me that you need a reservation to enter the observatory BUT there was a group in there right now and I could join them so he ushered me in. There was a short talk about the history of Peruvian culture and astronomy, a display of the northern and southern hemispheres with their respective constellations in the dome (I learned that my mum's favourite star cluster, the Pleiades/Seven Sisters, are part of my birth constellation Taurus and that in South America Orion's belt is called Tres Marias) and then we went outside and marvelled at Mars, Venus, Omega Centauri and the so-called jewel box, a cluster of stars near the Southern Cross, through telescopes. I even got free stickers and a ride back downtown.

Creating a mood light by placing a water bottle on my headlamp.

The most magical morning: I woke up early and decided to take a taxi up to the Pisac archeological park. What I didn't expect: I was the first visitor of the day and had the place to myself for at least 20 minutes! The view was breathtaking. I saw a colibri (buena suerte!), some kind of deer and a bunch of alpacas. I felt light and free with minimal luggage, wearing my new hiking pants. Just sitting on a rock spur, drinking cool water, the sun in my face, not a soul in sight. Enjoying the stillness, imagining what the valley must have looked like a few hundred years ago. My affirmation of the day couldn't have been more spot-on: I'm on the right path. I met someone who showed me the holes in the rock face in front of us which used to be graves! The Incas actually mummified their bodies. I walked down all the way back to the town. I passed a beautiful bush with white blossoms that smelled like honey (and attracted a lot of bees). There was a red and blue bird with spread wings, elegantly gliding through the mountain air. Ancient ruins, purple flowers, crossing a little river. I enjoyed myself tremendously.

At the end of the trail, a vendor gifted my a little bisexual (pink and blue) alpaca pendant and I tried to attract two orange cats by meowing at them but as soon as they realised I was just a boring old human they lost interest and turned around. And then I had a private breakfast party at Kula Café: blue lemonade, coffee, fried egg on avocado toast and their Ocean Bowl. Train's Drops of Jupiter playing in the background (I love the lyrics and coincidentally Jupiter is in Taurus right now!). And I got a message from Dory after dreaming about her the night before. Which happens a lot lately - perhaps I've unlocked psychic powers?!

Attending my first Family Constellations session.

Little treasures: a Peruvian bucket bag. Quartz pyramids. A fluffy jacket and a green hoodie from By Illari. A serpentine obelisk, a tiny golden llama and a serpent.

Drawing (Gaia) oracle cards for myself at a café. And Ari's Osho Zen Tarot cards before and after the breathwork session. Spot-on as always.

Speaking of Arija. We arrived in Guatemala at pretty much the same time - and in Pisac as well. So I reached out (and she happened to read my message even though it'd landed in her spam folder) and visited her for another one of her amazing Shamanic Breathwork sessions. It ended up being a private one because nobody else showed up. I had a very physical experience - my solar plexus was so tense and tingly, my hands and neck were super tight and cramped. Align with your magic came up during one of the breath retentions. Beautiful.

I took a chance and followed an invitation to a stranger's goodbye party. The rapid-fire Spanish in the backyard was overwhelming very quickly so I ended up hanging out with Paul and his cat Qory in his room. The cat had been neutered that day and was still high on ketamine so we looked after him. I felt really lucky lying around in bed with a gorgeous man and a gorgeous cat. We talked a lot. About his experience in the jungle, healing his addiction, growing up in Lima with a bipolar mum, his marriage to a German woman, plant medicine, emotional intelligence and contagion... A special connection, hungry kisses.

All the feline love I've been receiving. I went to Urubamba to try out Somatic Experiencing for the first time and Carola had two beautiful orange cats. One of them was super playful and trusting. There was a tabby kitten with piercing eyes in the supermarket. And Qory is one of the cutest, softest and most vocal cats I've met in a long time. Honorable mention: all the (street) dogs who appreciate my pets and scratchies. / And really all the animals around here. The cows, the goats, alpakas. I even saw a big green parrot on a roof!

I joined Ari's breathwork class as SolSeed on Friday morning and went to other planes of existence. I had to massage my surgery scar a lot because it started hurting. Afterwards my energy had changed and people smiled at me on the street, said hello. My intention had been to be more open and break down the barriers around me. After the session, I drew the Past Lives card. AGAIN. I drew the card before my first session with Ari in October and again on Wednesday. Powerful message for that night's initiation to plant medicine.

More spooky coincidences: I was sitting in Kula Café, researching the meaning of the card (it's the Moon in other decks), then Beck's Blue Moon started playing and Ari herself walked in. Wow. Then I broke my sunglasses - a very literal translation of removing protective measures but I'll take it. Ari actually observed that something's changed about me. That I'm more open and present than when we met in Guatemala.

The remnants of my silver glitter nail polish look like star constellations.

Two long phone calls with Do after a long period of silence. Getting my hopes up that we can repair our friendship. She said I looked alive, spirited, radiant. "Full of life". Which is actually how I feel. (However, I can't really see it - looking into the mirror I see an old face with puffy cheeks and saggy skin. What does it take to make me see my own radiance?)

Petting a doggie at the cafe. Crispy cauliflower. A little abuelita sleeping on my shoulder in the colectivo.

Turning a bad day around. I felt SO grumpy. Bad energies, on edge... I couldn't even stand myself. When my date didn't show up and said he'd be an hour late I ditched him and got a really nice massage instead. Then I found a fantastic vegan restaurant right across the street from my hotel with incredibly friendly staff and delicious food. I've never had such a colourful veggie pizza before - it was like a party on my plate. And their playlist was amazing as well - could've been my own!

Really looking into Paul's eyes for the first time. Noticing that his irises are multicoloured (they are speckled in blue, grey green and brown!) and not the same on both sides. His chaotic energy after accidentally getting a little high on LSD. Leading him through the streets, helping him find the right stores. I'm smitten.

Hiking the Inca Trail with a lovely group. I'm really proud of myself for completing the trek even though it was super hard for me. The views were definitely worth it and so was challenging myself. It's beautiful to see that I can do hard things. I was so anxious before that day but it's another reminder to stay in the present moment to relieve your suffering. Side note: my muscles weren't even sore the next day! Maybe I'm fitter than I thought?

Befriending Bridget on the train back to Ollantaytambo. We talked about our passion for teen drama TV shows, woodworking and found out that we're both an enthusiastic Enneagram type 7. We ended up getting dinner at Vida Vegan together and upon saying our goodbyes I shared my first kiss with a trans woman. My life takes so many unexpected turns these days! We actually spent the following two days together in Cusco - it felt like we'd known each other forever!

Choosing a table by the window not knowing there'd be a kitty sleeping on the bench! The softest boi.

Spending three bucks on a Coachella glitter palette.

Lying down with two warm tamales from Doña Josefina's little street food stall. Yum. The soft consistency and steaminess make them so delicious.

I actually got an Akashic Records reading in Cusco. It was a little different than expected but interesting nevertheless.

#june #2023 #june 2023 #personal #present perfect #things i love

[turnyourgays]

The Usher Foundation 1: Route 66

Hey, this is a fanfiction centered on the Magnus Institute's American counterpart, the Usher Foundation. It takes place in another universe - neither the one we know and love from the Magnus Archives series nor [spoilers] where they sent the fears, but a third one, that also has the fears. I know that feels confusing but I've got my canonical reason for that planned out, so if this first installment does well then you'll get plenty of that intricate lore.

[Smartphone recorder chimes]

[ARCHIVIST clears his throat]

If you're a researcher doing a paper on spookies, congratulations, you've found the very first Usher Foundation audio statement. I'm Donovan Ellis...[sigh]...'Chief Experience Organizer' of the Usher Foundation, Washington D.C. The boss just did a pretty substantial reorganization of the place - "..needs a hip coat of paint!" he told us, which includes me dusting off the statements and putting them on the cloud. In audio form; for reasons he danced around until I gave up. On the subject...

Statement of Nicholas Sill, regarding the highway between Amarillo and Albuquerque. Originally given November 17th, 2009. Audio recorded July 4th, 2022. Statement begins.

--

I learned to drive at 16, and I haven't stopped since. I'm from New York - upstate, not the city - and every year when the weather gets nippy I hop in the car and drive south down to Savannah, Georgia, then west (and north) all the way to San Francisco, stopping in my favorite cities and landmarks along the way. People think I'm insane to go all that way every year, but I never felt more free than on the road.

Until this year's trip. It was going great at first. I had a great kebab in Atlanta, saw some live music in Nashville, and after hanging out with a girl in Amarillo I was feeling on top of the world as I slid back onto the highway. The first odd thing came just before that, though. I was at an intersection, and a man dressed in a noticeably badly fitting suit was on the side of the road next to a stall that read 'DIRT OF GOD $1 / jar'. I thrive on weird social interactions, personally. Gives me stories to tell when I get home. So I rolled down my window and caught his attention, asking him what 'dirt of god' was. He shuffled awkwardly over to my car; he had very stiff legs. He was bald on the top of his head, but the hair growing on the sides was shoulder-length. He was very, very sunburned. He offered his hand, and I shook it with a smile. Up close, I noticed that his suit wasn't just too large, it was sagging. All his pockets were bulging, filled to the brim with something. He told me: 'God blessed that dirt much as he blessed this whole country'. He said it so earnestly. It felt folksy and quaint. Cozy. So I bought a jar and went on my way. I was excited for a good souvenir, but I regretted it barely a half hour later. It stunk. Like hell. I cracked the windows to help it waft out, but it barely made a dent in the, just, thickness of it. It was the smell of dirt after rain without the nostalgia. Without the fresh plants to accompany it. Just the desert. I opened my window, all the way this time, and chucked the jar.

It wasn't long before the haze started. At first, I assumed a gust of wind had blown up some dust. And then I thought a dust storm must be forming. But that wasn't it. It was a dust devil, a little tornado of sand and dirt, following alongside my car even as I accelerated faster and faster. But it span slow. Very slow, grains of it tickling the paint off my car. It then expanded gradually, not just twisting beside but twisting around. It covered my windshield, so I couldn't keep driving. I pulled over and lay down in my backseat, waiting for it to pass.

But I couldn't rest. What had once been a gentle spinning became a terrifying whirlwind. It whipped against the windows, against the roof and doors, clanging unbelievably loud. Worse, it started to blow through the air conditioner, bringing with it the smell. It wasn't just harassing me from the outside, it was choking me from the inside. The car groaned as it became gorged with dry dust, and even through my shallow breathing I realized that the car was now actively sinking. The sunlight could barely be seen through the windshield, and I watched in horror as the brown darkness rose from the bottom all the way to the top, eating the little remaining light as my car buckled and dented inwards. The windows shattered, and dirt flooded my car, my gasp of shock becoming my last clear breath for a long, long while. I crawled wildly through the ground. Every time I thought I'd gotten through a window I felt another piece of the interior, somehow turning myself around back into my flooded car over and over again, still sinking.

I barely remember what happened next. I was in a stupor of...starvation. And there was no air. But the next thing I knew I was being pulled from the ground and back into the open air. The guy who saved me called himself 'Watchman Kohr', and he gave me a ride to the airport. I meant to fly back to New York, but I decided to come here. I'm not ready for my yearly vacation to be over, even if I can't even think about getting into a car without hyperventilating. I think I'll catch a train back to New York.

--

Statement ends. The enigmatic 'Watchmen' make an appearance here, the completely un-researchable organization due to their shared name with a popular graphic novel. What we know is that they operate all over North America in apparently equal frequency, and that several people who've encountered them - Mr. Sill excluded - note their eyes as their most well-defined feature.

I'll be honest, I would be tempted to file Mr. Sill's experience under 'sudden psychotic break paired with odd weather', but the presence of a Watchman gives it more weight. I had Yvonne and Logan follow up on Mr. Sill, who - according to his Facebook - seems to have moved to New York City, and hasn't left since he got there in early 2010.

Recording ends.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #tma fic

[godsquad]

conceptualizing an au where adam didnt get raptured in 15x18

#the scene at the lake goes pretty similarly but michael doesnt betray the winchesters #chuck was going to kill him either way but. now hes REALLY going to kill him for siding with sam and dean #so he raises his hand to do it and michael STOPS him. #falls to his knees in the dirt and says please father please dont do it please have mercy ill do anything #sam dean and jack of course think michael is begging for his own life. CHUCK however understands immediately and is like #:) dont worry. i wont hurt him #proceeds to PULL michael out of adam’s body and tears his grace to shreds #sam dean and jack are watching. horrified. but all the cameras are trained on adam #everything else happens. jack takes chucks powers. him and sam and dean offer adam a lift home and he says no #they ask are you sure? and he says yes #and then. and then and then and then. adam #covered in dust next to god on the side of the road #alone for the first time in over a millennia #pulls a switchblade from his back pocket. walks over to chuck. stands above him #dramatically backlit by the afternoon sun. #he grips the knife as hard as he can and pulls his fist back #cut to black #queue

[rafescoke]

All I Ask ; Rafe Cameron (Part 2)

masterlist

#Part 2

#Part 1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself in the arms of her best friend’s brother after finding her boyfriend cheating on her

Warnings: Swearing, cheating, hella angst, JJ being an extreme asshole

A/N: you guys are truly amazing. thank you so much for the countless amount of love & support for my last works, i love you! 

p.s, my request box is always open! go ahead and drop any ideas bae

“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re okay?”

(Y/N) emitted a laugh, her eyes focusing on the road, but her mind was somewhere else. She cleared her throat, “Um, I don’t think so.”

“Want to talk about it?” he said, and she noticed the grogginess behind his voice. She felt bad now, knowing that she had woken him up, but she was desperate for someone.

She couldn’t go to the pogues; her only friends, not when they knew. They knew all along about Kie and JJ but they didn’t try to talk to her. She thought about Pope, how he had looked so nervous around her since a month ago and how she had thought of it as nothing more than anxiety for his new upcoming scholarship application.

(Y/N) groaned, tightening her fingers around the steering wheel. Why had she been so naive? Why couldn’t she realize the signs sooner?

“Are you okay?” Rafe asked, suddenly jolting up from his bed when he realized how quiet she has gotten. Ever since they got close 4 years ago, there was never a long silence between them as (Y/N) always has a random topic to discuss about. He would tell her that he doesn’t care, but he truly likes the new information she’ll give him.

Like how the word ‘who’ is the oldest English word in the world. 

“Like, the owl?” he asked, scrunching his face. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, licking the slowly melting ice cream, and Rafe had a sudden thought of stealing her snack.

“No. God, you’re stupid. It’s who.”

“Yeah, the owl,” he grunted, thinking hard. (Y/N) looked at him with her bored eyes again, and Rafe took a quick glance at the dripping ice cream.

“No, Rafe, that’s woo. I’m talking about who.”

“You should write it.”

Rafe watched as she used her pointer to write the word ‘who’ on the table using her ice cream. Rafe laughed, finally understanding the joke, and he smiled wider when she returned a grin.

“No,” her voice croaked, and she could feel her tears slowly rolling down her red cheeks. God, she felt stupid. Why would she cry over stupid stuff like this? She had told Rafe before that she couldn’t understand why Bella Swan was too sad over Edward’s flight, saying how Bella had Jacob all along to help her get over him. Rafe rolled his eyes at this statement, muttering something along the words of ‘this is a movie’, ‘Edward is hotter’, and ‘Jacob look like that cashier guy at the hardware store’.

But she understood everything clearly now because she too, felt like staying in her room for the rest of her life. 

“What happened? Do you need me to pick you up?” Rafe asked again, finally standing up from his bed and walking towards his bedside table to retrieve his car keys. He rubbed his eyes, still so tired, but he wanted to make sure she was safe.

“It’s alright, Rafe, you don’t have to pick me up, it’s just, um-” she took a deep breath, “Can I come over?”

Rafe stopped in his tracks, not sure if he had heard her right. He waited for a few seconds, “Huh?”

“Can I come over?” (Y/N) bit her lips, making a turn towards the road heading to Figure 8 from the Cut. The road was deserted, and she looked at the dashboard to check on the time.

2.43 a.m.

“Yeah, sure, um, when are you coming? I just have to wait for you, so you know the new passcode of the backdoor.”

“You guys changed it already?” she asked, and she was surprised to find a smile creeping onto her face. “When was the last time I came over? 2 months ago?”

“9,” Rafe muttered, “But it’s okay. I’ll wait for you, okay?”

“Okay,” she released a breath, “Thank you, Rafe.”

“Yeah,” was all he said before ending the line.

Maybe she did missed him. 

When she arrived before the white building of the Camerons’ household, she could see a figure sitting on the front porch, bending over something that (Y/N) assumed to be a phone.

Rafe was mindlessly playing Candy Crush, just starting on his third level when he heard a car door being shut. He jumped to his feet, ready to greet the girl, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the state of her.

She was still in her party clothes, her (H/C) hair in a messy ponytail and her makeup all smudged. He tried to think of a joke, wanting to lighten up the mood, but his deed was interrupted when she finally had him in a tight hug.

“Whoa,” Rafe exclaimed, putting his arms around her waist. He let her stayed in that position for a few more seconds, liking the warmth, and finally parted after he cleared his throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“I, um-” she sighed, not looking into his eyes. “I got cheated on.”

Rafe was glued to his spot as he watched her wiped her tears with her sleeve, looking down to her glittery blue slippers. He couldn’t remember the amount of times he had prayed for his (Y/N) and JJ to call it off, but he didn’t hope for any kind of cheating to occur.

“I’m so sorry,” Rafe said, pulling her into a hug again. He rested his chin against the top of her head, letting the scent of strawberry wafted into his nostrils. (Y/N) cried against his chest, her face all scrunched up, and when she pulled away for the second time, she noticed the tear stains on his shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she rushed, trying to remove the stain using her fingers even though she knew it was impossible. She was too tired to think logically; she felt like laying in bed and watching Love Island until the day she dies.

“You’re still stupid, even when you’re all fucked up,” Rafe sighed, but he watched her from the corners of his eyes in case his words had struck her, but she looked like she understood the joke. She smiled weakly, pulling on the hem of her dress that had rode up down.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling her by her wrist as he guided her through the backdoor to his room. He showed her the new passcode proudly, mouthing how it was his birthday date this time, and (Y/N) had emitted a small laugh.

Screw maybe, she did missed him.

“And still a mess,” she sighed, plopping onto Rafe’s blue bedsheet as she took a look around the room. The painting of a random boat in the middle of an ocean was still askewed, and his trash can were piling up. She made a face, pointing at the cause of disturbance.

“You have to clean that.”

“Sorry I couldn’t let you stay in our five stars suite, ma’am,” he said, finding an old t-shirt in his cupboard. “You know, since you barged in this hotel at this time, all there’s left is the 3 stars suite.”

“You’re calling this a 3 stars suite?” she laughed, tilting her head to one side. “Rafe, this room can’t even be rated.”

“Whatever,” he pulled out a yellow t-shirt, putting it aside before looking for a new pair of boxers. “Is your room still pink with that weird strawberry pound cake smell?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, crossing her legs. She was glad there were no crumbs on the bed, or else she would rather sleep in her car. “And that smell’s great. My sensory organs are blocked by all the dust you’re collecting in here.”

Rafe grinned, liking how she was back to her old self, and handed her the pair of boxers and the yellow t-shirt. (Y/N) muttered a quick thanks, her feet lightly padding against the carpeted floor towards his bathroom. She closed the door, leaning against the sink, watching her reflection in the mirror.

She did look miserable, and her eyes were all red and puffy. She always hate how puffy her eyes would get after a nice session of crying, having to endure the pain of soothing it down again. 

She shook her head, not wanting to spend anymore time thinking about JJ or Kie or the pogues who had betrayed her, and tried to reach for the zip of her dress. After a few good tries she sighed, relaxing her cramped arms. The familiar yet uneasy pain coursed through her veins, and without wanting to abuse herself anymore, she turned the doorknob.

“Rafe? Can you help me?”

“Huh? Yeah,” he came to the door, closing his eyes before he halted right in front of the object. “Are you naked?”

“No, can’t seem to be, too. Can you help me unzip?”

Rafe opened his eyes, feeling his heartbeat quickening, and with trembling hands, slowly unzipped her dress and stopping directly at the curve of her bottoms, silently admiring the view. 

He cleared his throat, shaking his head at the childish behaviour he just found himself in. “Yeah, done.”

“Thanks, Rafe,” she smiled, and turned to close the door again. Rafe listened to her breathing in the bathroom for a few more seconds, knowing how hard she was trying to ignore the aching feeling eating off of her. He wished he could take her pain away an make it his, knowing that at least he’ll have an excuse to snort more coke to ‘forget the pain’. 

When she got out of the bathroom, Rafe had to stop himself from drooling over her in his shirt and boxers. She always look good, but she had never looked better in nothing but his yellow shirt and his boxers. 

Rafe closed the light, remembering how she hates sleeping with any form of light either it’s tiny or big, and settled himself on the sofa. He wanted to give her space, not wanting to rush anything, knowing how tired she must felt from all the things she had to endure today.

“Rafe, we’re not 10. You can sleep on the same bed as I am,” she sighed, turning to face the other side. Rafe stood up, thanking the gods above, and settled for his new room.

“We never sleep in the same bed before,” he said, pulling the covers to shield himself from the cold. (Y/N) snorted at this statement, still not looking at him or even turning to face him.

The closest thing they have done to sleep right next to each other was in the car during a road trip, and when they woke up, they were both throwing disgusted faces and pretending to vomit.

“Stop it, you guys look stupid,” Sarah groaned, giving them a quick look over her shoulder. Rafe pulled his middle finger from under the blanket he was sharing with (Y/N), causing her to snort and struggling to hide her laugh.

. . .

“So yeah, that’s how you hit it.”

“You’re bluffing,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, taking over the club and watching the small hole in the distance, squinting her eyes. She took a step back, licked her teeth, and gave Topper the club back.

“See? I told you I’m right!” he exclaimed happily, clasping his hands together. He returned to the game, focusing on his goal, and hit the golf ball.

“That’s fine, I guess,” (Y/N) announced when he came back to the resting area, “For beginners.”

Rafe snorted, downing his mineral water before handing Topper the same bottle. Topper grunted at him, muttering how it’s unhygienic, but he took a full swing of it anyways, being so thirsty after sitting under the sun for hours long.

“We’re glad you’re back with us, (Y/N),” Topper smiled, removing his cap and fanning himself with the clothing. He opened his mouth to say something, but when he looked at Rafe’s expression, he quickly shut his mouth.

He wanted to ask her if she ever missed their old clique when she was with the pogues, but Rafe knew better. It had been 3 weeks since the incidence, and she had been doing so well in coping with the situation. They had been inseparable ever since, always attached to the hips everywhere they go; he couldn’t let one tiny mistake slip that can cause her another breakdown.

“Hey,” Kelce jogged to them, smiling apologetically at Rafe and Topper before placing a quick kiss on (Y/N) ‘s cheeks. (Y/N) smiled, knowing how sweet and gentle Kelce is, almost glad he still does the same thing to her even after they had not been hanging out for a year.

“You’re not dressed for the occasion,” Topper rolled his eyes, “And late. We’re already packing up, man.”

“I know, but I’m wondering if you guys would like to listen to Cage The Elephant this evening by the beach,” he explained, still heaving from his previous activity. He had drove straight from his home to the country club after getting 4 tickets to the show, excited to show his friends what he had gotten for her.

(Y/N) snorted, throwing her arms into the air. “Fuck off, Kelce. There’s no way they’re coming down to Obx.”

Kelce sighed, taking out his phone before showing her the proof in his photos. (Y/N) grinned, trying to contain herself, and looked at Rafe who seemed to be smiling as well.

“Thanks, Kelce,” she laughed, pulling him into a hug. They made her happy, and all the negative thoughts she had about them during her brief friendship with the pogues suddenly evaporating into the air. She squealed, jumping wildly, and she swore she has never felt this happy before.

Just them four. Like the old times.

Four hours later, (Y/N) took a step back when they arrived at the beach, the memory of what happened three weeks ago suddenly rewinding in her head. Rafe noticed how quiet she had been, and pulled her aside while Topper and Kelce went to check on the stage.

“Are you okay?”

(Y/N) bit her lips, nodding. She ran her fingers over the penguin charm Rafe had gotten her a week prior, saying how it resembles him when he sees her. (Y/N) rolled her eyes at him during that surprising moment, touched yet confused at the story behind the penguin charm.

“Okay. Do you need a drink?” he asked again, staring into her eyes. She shook her head, wetting her lips and putting on her usual smile. Rafe grinned at her, muttering how she’s doing so good, all while guiding her towards their two other friends.

“(Y/N)?”

(Y/N) turned to look at the source, not thinking much. She almost fell to the ground when she saw the person responsible, but Rafe still had his arms around her. He turned to check on her again, but followed her gaze when he noticed she was staring at the opposite direction.

“What the fuck?” Rafe yelled, pushing JJ’s chest with so much anger that he toppled over to John B. Sarah yelped, pulling Kie to her side, watching as her brother walked towards them furiously. 

“Chill, man, I just want to talk to her,” he said, taking a deep breath. He noticed the crowd starting to notice them, and his eyes landed on a certain girl who was held up by Topper and Kelce, both asking if she was okay.

“Fuck off, pogue,” Rafe said, his eyes stern as he stared over JJ and his group of friends. “You have nothing to say to her.”

As he turned to return to his friends, his chest heaving from the near-fight he almost encounter with JJ, he bended to (Y/N)’s height to check on her state. Her eyes were glassy, her face red.

“So you’re fucking them all now like a whore?” JJ shouted, loud enough for everyone else around them to gasp, and some already had their phones out. (Y/N) was shocked at this statement, frozen on her feet, not knowing what on earth would make JJ say that to her.

He was never mean to her, even when they had a fight. He yelled at her sometimes, sure, but she had been the one yelling first. He never called her anything of that sort, not even during sex, where she had given him her full consent.

“You’re crazy,” she muttered, her lips trembling. “Go to hell.”

“No, no, because it has always been easy for you, right? You broke up with me, got on with Rafe, leave your own friends and come back to the country clubs?” he laughed, and she flinched at his words. If JJ had meant the pogues as her friends, then he was totally wrong.

“Fuck off, pogue,” Topper stepped out, and before he could finish his sentence, JJ landed a full punch on his face, causing him to fall onto the ground with a thud.

(Y/N) screamed, getting to his side as Rafe returned JJ’s gesture. Topper laid on the ground with his nose starting to bleed, causing (Y/N) to panic while she rummaged through Rafe’s backpack he had left on the ground for clean tissues.

Topper groaned, keep wanting to get up, but (Y/N) held him in place, not letting her friend go and hurt himself more just for her. She cried while she tried to wipe the blood, hearing the fight behind her.

“Fuck you! You stupid pogue! You should be in jail like your dad!”

Something cracked in JJ as he yelled something back in pure anger. He punched, kicked, slapped and hit Rafe who was already on the ground, spitting blood.

“JJ! That’s enough,” Pope pulled him back, trying to contain the wild animal as he thrashed to escape. He yelled more curses at Rafe while Pope tried his best to pull him away, obviously not done with hitting the boy laying on the ground.

(Y/N) cried, running towards Rafe’s side, cupping his face and looking into his swollen eyes. She groaned when Rafe’s laugh filled the air, not believing how he was still joking in a state like this.

“I’m okay,” he said, his breath ragged. “Don’t cry. I’m okay.”

Rafe stood up slowly and looked at the direction of the still thrasing JJ, hearing his muffled shouts with his arms around (Y/N) ‘s waist. He held her close as she sobbed into his shoulder, still trembling.

“Let’s go home?” he asked, and (Y/N) didn’t need to be told twice to follow him into his car. As disappointed as she was that she didn’t get the chance to see her favourite band, she wanted to take care of Rafe, who had been there since the day she found out about Kie and JJ.

The clock struck 12 in the morning and the grandfather clock in the living room chimed as Rafe groaned, feeling a certain girl with trembling hands and tired eyes gently wiping a cotton pad across his cut. 

“Fuck! I said slowly,” he grunted, closing his eyes to decrease the pain. (Y/N) bit her lips, trying to concentrate all the while trying to contain her laugh. He hissed again when she dabbed on his cut, this time with his fingers gripping tightly around her wrist.

“I said slowly.”

“I’m doing it slow, asshole,” she smiled, and felt him softened when she finally threw the last cotton pad. She pulled the covers to his chin, fixing the front part of hair before going to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she came back, she found him still awake with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

“I really need you to sleep,” she sighed, “To heal your pretty face.”

Rafe grinned and though (Y/N) tried her hardest not to smile back, she couldn’t deny the warm feeling settling in the pits of her stomach. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

There was no use denying it anymore.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, getting into the space beside him. “Even when you are all fucked up.”

(Y/N) could sense his smile even when she didn’t look at him, knowing how soft he usually end up being when she compliments him. She turned to look at him.

“Are you serious about not wanting a girlfriend?”

Rafe turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised. His insides exclaimed happily, liking the way his words had struck her. He meant what he said, but that statement didn’t apply to (Y/N). 

“Why?”

“Just asking,” she shrugged, and made a move to touch his cut. He hissed, feeling a sharp pain soaring in him, but she looked so peaceful trying to figure out his wound.

“You can kiss them to make them feel better,” he grinned, and watched as she groaned, trying to hide her face against the pillow. Rafe laughed, and turned the lamp beside him off, knowing that he shouldn’t push it and leave her be.

Just as he was about to drift into a peaceful sleep, he felt her soft lips against his, to which it was quick and gentle before she pulled away, giggling.

“4 years.”

“Huh?” (Y/N) questioned, still smiling from the kiss she just initiated a few seconds ago. She couldn’t contain herself; he looked so peaceful, so sweet, and so handsome. She didn’t know why she hadn’t kissed him sooner.

“I waited for that since 4 years ago.”

“Now you’re just pushing it, Rafe.”

Rafe grinned against the darkness, and felt his heart soaring. “Can we kiss again?”

“Tomorrow,” she stated, and Rafe laughed.

Tomorrrow. The next day. Next week. 

He didn’t care - as long as he will finally have her by his side. 

-

add yourself to the taglist!

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smuts #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x read #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagines #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagines #outerbanks #outer banks #outerbanks imagines #outerbanks x reader

[lukielu56]

Pet~

Bad guy sanses x female reader

Type-smut

Warnings- Non-con and kidnapping

Requested by @yandere-dark-cupid

Authors note, sorry for this taking so long.

————

It all happened so fast. One second your tending to an injured skeleton and the next your being pounded into a bed by the same skeleton who had tendrils and a never leaving smile making you feel insurmountable amounts of unwanted pleasure.

You had closed your eyes hoping for a bit of relief and to not see the skeleton as memories flashed infinitely in your mind.

———

You had just walked out of your house ready to go to work when you heard a loud thud in the grass. And curiously you went to where the sound came from seeing a tar covered skeleton with tendrils looking injured.

Without thinking you had brought the injured skeleton inside quickly placing it onto your bed before grabbing some bandages wrapping them around the injured areas of its body. You soon left the room and plopped onto the couch tried.

After a good hour and a half you heard a groan come from your room so you got up to check seeing the skeleton grasping at his head in pain. Before you could explain or say anything a tendril wrapped around you as it’s deep voice boomed with anger.

“Who are you!? Where am I!?”

The tendril around you began to tighten its grip on you as you choked out words barely able to make a sentence.

“I found you injured on the- *cough* side of the road so I took you inside and patched you up the best I could!”

The tendril dropped you to the floor as you took in multiple deep breaths of air. Steps neared you as his voice spoke again.

“Thanks I guess.”

And he walked out of the room as you finally got your breath back you stood up and spoke a bit more clearly.

“What’s your name?”

The skeleton groaned again before turning around saying with annoyance.

“Nightmare, my name is nightmare.”

“Cool! My names y/n!”

He was taken aback by your sudden excitement only to shrug it off.

You let the skeleton stay for as long as he needed to recover for and during that time frame you and nightmare got to know each other pretty well.

But for some reason on the day he left a feeling of dread washed over you as soon as the door closed behind him. So you tried to ignore that feeling but it only grew stronger until one day when he showed up again forcing a tendril around your throat making you choke before passing out in his arms.

As soon as you woke up you heard many different voices all talking with the same subject in mind…

You.

“They look so peaceful when they sleep.”

“Can I eat them?”

And so forth and when you did open your eyes they fell silent before one with no eyes but had black lines down his cheekbones walked up and pulled you close to his chest as the others came up as well.

They all took turns holding you as they stated their names. The one that held you first was killer, then horror, then dust, and finally cross.

You sat in cross’s lap for a few minutes before strings wrapped around you pulling you towards another skeleton with the word “error” going around them.

“Hm, so I guess what they were saying was true.”

A glitchy voice said and off you went into a massive room where nightmare sat on the bed presumably awaiting your arrival.

As soon as you saw those eyes of his you began to shake as events played again and again through your mind as you were hoisted into his arms.

“So you finally woke up huh? God, your just as beautiful as ever doll~”

The unknown skeleton walked out of the room closing the door behind him making you cry mentally as your only way to escape had disappeared while nightmare began to talk once more.

“I can’t believe I found such a beautiful human like you. Your gonna look so good when your begging for more~”

He said darkly as he bit down on your neck making you squeal and squirm in pain as one of his tendrils wrapped around you throwing you onto the bed as other tendrils pinned you to it.

You tried to struggle but the grip the tendrils had was too much making you exhausted before he had done anything.

The tendrils tore your clothes apart leaving you bare as he walked closer and crawled onto the bed before hungrily capturing your lips.

He shoved his tongue in making you gag as he fought with your own tongue quickly winning allowing him to explore every crevice of your mouth.

You and him parted lips for air as a dazed look was across your face before a deep chuckle broke you out of your daze before you felt small bites being laced along your body before he latched onto one your boobs making you gasp in surprise before you sucking on them making soft moans spill from your lips.

After awhile he let go of your boob with drool leaving his mouth before you felt something shove itself inside your ass and as you were screaming in a mix of pain and pleasure his member slapped against you dripping of fluid before Aligning it with your entrance.

A few moments later he slammed into you as his head shot up while a loud moan left your lips as a groan left his. He didn’t wait for you to adjust to both the tendril or his member as he pounded into you as you moaned and screamed in pleasure and soon you felt his member throb as he thrusts became even more rough.

“God~ you feel so good y/n~ I want you to say my name! Say it! Tell the whole universe who owns you!”

“Y-you! I belong to you,”

“No! I want you to say my name!”

“N-nightmare!”

You screamed as a fiery feeling enveloped you as he slammed inside you one last time twitching as that fiery feeling expanded throughout your body.

Once the two of died down from your highs you were already asleep as nightmare cuddled with you before eventually falling asleep on top of you.

#yandere sans #yandere #sans #nightmare sans #killer sans #dust sans #cross sans #horror sans #error sans

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor. 

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language. 

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here 

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here 

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it. 

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar. 

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp. 

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough. 

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined. 

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull. 

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes. 

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet… 

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall. 

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air. 

The street in front of you was a warzone. 

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe. 

Safe… 

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way. 

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part. 

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention. 

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit. 

The villain. 

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears. 

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” 

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.” 

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer. 

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way. 

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop? 

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts. 

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar? 

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below. 

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you. 

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood. 

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements. 

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks. 

You had thought that very brave. 

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire. 

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk. 

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows. 

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention. 

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene. 

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm. 

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor. 

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions. 

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view. 

Oh, fuck. That was a person. 

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it. 

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch. 

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg. 

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be… 

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human. 

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye. 

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening. 

He was bleeding. 

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes. 

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on. 

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse. 

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut. 

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it. 

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body. 

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it. 

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath. 

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.” 

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye. 

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment. 

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—” 

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood. 

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain? 

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped. 

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question. 

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.” 

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you. 

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear. 

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion. 

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance. 

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.” 

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat. 

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?” 

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack. 

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood. 

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap. 

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital. 

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five. 

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision. 

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned. 

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest. 

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint. 

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts. 

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum. 

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero? 

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms. 

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion. 

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk. 

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero. 

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp. 

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you. 

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you. 

But was it worth it? 

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie. 

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet. 

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first. 

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure. 

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it. 

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion… 

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again. 

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you. 

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor. 

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in. 

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees. 

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone. 

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window. 

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?” 

“I—” 

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder. 

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?” 

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?!  You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment. 

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first. 

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch. 

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own. 

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown. 

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?” 

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right. 

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?” 

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed. 

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again. 

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?” 

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name. 

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.” 

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing. 

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch. 

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall. 

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?” 

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.” 

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips. 

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing. 

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment. 

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported. 

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability. 

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t. 

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you. 

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this? 

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight. 

“Your hands are all fucked up.” 

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself. 

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty? 

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.” 

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit. 

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.” 

Well, maybe not that carefully. 

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.” 

“Let me see.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me? 

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.” 

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that. 

And none of his current ones would, either. 

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion. 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder. 

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted. 

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.” 

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you. 

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric. 

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden. 

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you. 

“Hello?” 

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch. 

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his. 

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?” 

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all. 

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.” 

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head. 

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows. 

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation? 

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero. 

Was he confessing your secret already? 

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view. 

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and— 

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.” 

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them. 

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood. 

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.” 

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window. 

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street. 

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth. 

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago. 

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.” 

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.” 

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero. 

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall. 

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone. 

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete. 

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you. 

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.” 

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?” 

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum. 

“Okay, hold on.” 

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone. 

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out. 

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people. 

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too. 

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little. 

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief. 

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful. 

But your stomach was still in knots. 

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers. 

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying? 

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped. 

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.” 

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum. 

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears. 

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.” 

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you. 

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life. 

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed. 

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole. 

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.” 

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior. 

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory. 

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.” 

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.” 

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over. 

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.” 

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?” 

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.” 

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop? 

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?” 

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand. 

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.” 

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say. 

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.” 

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel. 

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them. 

“I-Is that all?” 

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?” 

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?” 

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?” 

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?” 

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything? 

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance. 

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.” 

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.” 

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.” 

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished. 

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm 

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.” 

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone. 

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found. 

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit: 

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret. 

But I’m going to have to face him again.

#sorry this update took a hot sec #blame my full time job and depression lmao #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #bakugo katsuki x you #deaf!bakugou #bakugo/reader #bakugo/you #katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo/you #mha #my writings #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #fanfic

[fly-flower-fanfics]

I liked the previous one i requested so much I wanted to come to you for my new request. May i request a Spencer Reid x Male/ftm reader (your choice) where the MC has previously long hair and one day he walks to work with a buzz cut? The rest is up to you. And thank you just for reading the ask

Absolutely! I love this honestly. I’ll try and do it justice for you. 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 I’m also sorry it took so long. Things have been hectic lately... I know it’s not a super long fic, but I hope that it’s still worth the wait!

Buzz Off

Spencer Reid x Trans Male Reader

Warnings: Slight transphobia mentioned

~~~~~~~~~

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. Today was the day I was actually doing it. I was actually getting a hair cut. Not that it was a big deal to anyone else, but it was to me, making today a big day.

I had been out as trans for almost fifteen years now, coming out when I was sixteen years old. The team didn’t really know I was trans as I had gotten top surgery and started testosterone by then.

The only ones who knew I was trans was Spencer and Hotch. Spencer knew because I wanted to be honest about my past with him. Hotch knew because I’d had to explain some slight complications in my old information.

However, regardless of all that, I never got rid of my long, almost waist length hair.

I was always holding onto a little piece of my past. My parents had been very transphobic toward me, never allowing me to cut my hair or buy masculine clothing. I had to do everything all by myself once I had moved out. Yet I kept my long hair in an attempt to please my parents even after I changed.

It didn’t work, and they dropped all contact with me. Today, I had finally gotten up the courage to cut my hair as I had always wanted to: a buzz cut. Nothing too dramatic, but dramatic enough to match my personality. And it was long overdue for a change.

I opened my eyes, smiling a bit to myself as I got out of the car and locked it. I hadn’t yet gotten a call from Hotch saying I needed to come in, so I hoped I’d have enough time to get this hair cut.

Once I sat in the chair and the coat-like covering was draped over me, I couldn’t stop smiling. I explained to the hair dresser, Debi, exactly what I wanted, and she was obviously excited for me. That made me feel all the more excited for it myself. I had been going to her for years and for years she had been trying to get me to loosen up and cut my hair.

We had been high school friends, so she knew all about my transition and why I never had cut my hair. But now, she was super excited, hyping me up the whole time.

I kept my eyes closed most of the time, not wanting to spoil the surprise. I was hoping, praying, that it would look good on me. It was hard to focus on the doubts when Debi kept saying how handsome I looked and how Spencer was absolutely going to melt when he saw me.

Spencer and I had been dating for about a year now. He knew of my being trans and how my parents treated me. He never met them, and granted, he didn’t want to. However, he fully supported me not cutting my hair, even though he wasn’t a huge fan of why I wasn’t.

“You’re all set, hun!” Debi exclaimed, putting her razor down. She stood in front of me as I opened up my eyes. “Are you ready?!”

I nodded eagerly, and she stepped aside, allowing me to look in the large mirror in front of me. My jaw dropped as I saw my reflection.

It was perfect.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I reached up to touch the shaved spots. The short hair looked absolutely perfect on me, and I’d be lying if my self esteem didn’t skyrocket because of it.

“Thank you so much, Debi. I love it. I should’ve listened to you sooner.”

She gave me a pointed look, but couldn’t stop herself from smiling as well. “Did I not tell you so?”

At that moment, my phone went off. I checked it, seeing as it was for work. “You did, Debi. But duty calls. Let me pay you so I can get outta here.”

Within three minutes, I was back on the road. I was smiling the whole time I drove. Part of me felt a little guilty for being so giddy since there had been a murder, but I eased my conscience by reminding myself I was giddy over my own personal experiences and the team seeing me, not the murder itself. I only wanted to see the team’s reactions.

I walked into the bullpen, my eyes darting around wildly as I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone. Suddenly, I felt very, very shy, and I was overly aware of the cool air on the back of my neck. Has it always been this cold in here?

“Oh. My. Goodness.” Garcia was the first to notice me. She rushed up to me, a bright smile on her face. “Oh! Look at you!”

Her excited exclamations tugged over JJ and Emily’s attention. Both of them smiled at me.

“Hey, lookin’ good, Y/N,” JJ said. “Suits you.”

“I like it. Different than what I’m used to seeing you with, but it looks really good on you,” Emily said, nodding in approval.

“Thanks, guys,” I replied with a light blush dusting my cheeks.

Derek was the next to come in and notice me. “Hey, hey, hey! Look at you! Gettin’ all snazzy with a new hairdo. New you; I’m digging it.”

I laughed and nudged him with my shoulder as he reached out to fluff what was left of my hair. “Thanks, Derek.”

Hotch came in, took a glance at me, and gave me a small smile and nod. “Ready for work?” It wasn’t much of a reaction, but after working with Hotch for this long, I knew that was his approval. He was proud of me.

All of us got up to go to the conference room when a soft gasp took my attentions way from Hotch and the others.

Spencer was standing behind me, his lips parted in a slight shock. It then turned into a large smile as he walked up to me and took my hands in his.

“You did it,” he mumbled softly, bringing a hand up to my cheek.

“Yeah,” I breathed out softly. “It was time. Long overdue, if I’m being honest.”

He ran his hand up the side of my face, rubbing it over my head. His smile widened, if that was even possible. “God, you look so good.”

My cheeks darkened with a blush. “Yeah. I think I’ll miss the man bun, though. Maybe at a later date, I’ll get it back. But for now? For me? Yeah... I do look good.”

Spencer pulled me into a tight hug, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. So proud,” he whispered.

Tears pricked my eyes. It was so satisfying and freeing to let that last but of past me go. To let it disappear forever. To finally be me. I clutched his shirt tightly, reveling in his soft praises.

“Thank you, Spence.”

A throat cleared, and the two of us separated, seeing Hotch standing outside the door of the conference room. He gestured to the file in his hand with his eyes.

“I am very glad you guys had this moment together. It’s a good move for you, too, Y/N. But evil does not wait for a haircut. Please, both of you, join us.”

My entire face heated, and I nodded quickly. “O-of course. Sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave me a small smile before disappearing back into the room.

I took Spencer’s hand. “I guess we better get in there; he is right.”

Spencer gave my hand a small squeeze and pressed another kiss onto my forehead. “He is. Maybe we can celebrate later tonight after the case.”

I laughed a little bit as we walked to the room. “Don’t have so much hope for the ease of this case. You should know better, Spence! You of all people.”

He let out a light laugh. “Perhaps. I’m just really happy for you.”

I took a seat beside him around the table as Penelope began to show the pictures and explained what we knew about the case.

I was happy for me, too.

#x male reader #gay #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x trans male #x trans male reader #x trans reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x male reader

[siempre-bucky]

I.I.G.Y.M.H.W.Y.T.I.A.M.M.T.H.M.I.T.W?

COWBOY!BUCKY X READER

♡if I gave you my hand would you take it and make me the happiest man in the world?

Summary: Nat and Wanda take the reader post break up to The Stark Ranch, a beautiful little place in the lush green countryside. God she hated it, she didn't want to be here only wanted him back. With one dip of a black cowboy hat and a deep-voiced greeting, the readers brooding would have to wait.

Part 1 of 3

Warnings: light mentions of past abuse,

WC: 3.8k

A/N: there was a tiktok and it was just cowboy Sebastian Stan and this fucking song!! Here's a thing I can't stop thinking about! I edited this the best I could.

In the long, rich history of bad ideas, this had to be the worst idea anyone has ever had. Here she was, squished in between her best friends in the back of an Uber. An old country song from the 60s played on the radio as the two redheads gushed about the small town they were driving through. The most popular restaurant back in Brooklyn probably had more people inside it than this little country town.

"Are you done brooding?" Wanda complains, her Sokovian accent purely intensified the distaste in her tone.

"All I want is John, back," Y/N mutters bitterly, her jaw clenched, sinking lower into the seat. Both women roll their eyes at her comment.

"You haven't stopped mentioning Walker since we got off the plane. It's been 2 months Y/N," Natasha reminds her, checking her watch that was peaking from her black leather jacket. "Don't forget this is why we're here! A getaway is just what you need."

Has it already been 2 months? It only felt like 2 weeks since he left. His last words still sent a chill down her spine "Did you really expect me not to cheat, Y/N? It's New York, get used to it, babe." Y/N shakes her head, trying to get that man's callous words out of her head. She felt like she was already at the acceptance of the grieving process. She clearly wasn't there.

Natasha suddenly gasps, the Stark Ranch coming into view with its black iron gates, its name the biggest thing on it. Y/N looks in Nat's direction, the 4 story red and yellow inn sat in the middle of a long dirt road and was nuzzled in with the saturated green grass and big trees. Y/N thought it was pretty but she would never admit that to her friends.

"Ladies you have a good time out here! I reckon you'll find our little town quite charmin'!" The older man tells them happily as his car comes to a stop in front of the inn. The girls give him their thanks and get out to take a look at the place.

Nat's hand shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up the place, a confident smile on her face since she picked out this place in the middle of nowhere. Wanda stood in the middle with her hands in her pockets and a relaxed smile. As for Y/N? she might as well have a dark cloud hanging over her. It smelled like grass and horses, her black ankle boots were covered in dust, and worst of all...Natasha blocked John's number. "Relaxation awaits girls!" Nat cheers as she leads her small pack into the front doors of the inn.

The inside was just a cute as the outside, country-style couches placed in the center with a mahogany coffee table littered in doilies. Guests laughed and chatted behind the french doors in the restaurant beside them. "Welcome to Stark Inn!" The front desk lady greets them, her strawberry blonde hair tied in a bun and a glossy smile on her features.

"You go check-in, I'm staying here," Y/N sighs, plopping down onto one of the floral couches, taking out her phone from her back pocket. Nat and Wanda rolled their eyes, pushing their luggage next to their friend before walking over to check-in.

She checked her phone 5 times, 5 different bell-sounding notifications from 5 different apps. Nothing from her former love, of course, not because he's blocked. The next bell sound didn't come from her phone but the front doors of the inn. The ding was followed by two men laughing loudly, one clapping the other on the back. The Y/H/C girl looks up at the source of the ruckus.

One was blonde, wearing a thin blue flannel shirt and dark jeans. He was cute, had a nice ass, and blue eyes a lady could swim in. The other man was a different story, however. A blush crept up her cheeks as she looked at him. His shoulder-length hair was tied up in a low bun, face nearly hidden by his black velvet cowboy hat. Fuck that man looked good in red flannel.

The said man looked down at her. Oh shit, she'd been caught staring at the two cowboys. Before she could look away the one in red smirked at her and dipped his hat "ma'am," he speaks in greeting, his voice was low and raspy, sending butterflies to her stomach and other regions.

"H-hi," Y/n says shyly, like a schoolgirl whose crush finally talked to her. The man turned away and walked away to walk towards the front desk, mud left behind from their boots which they were quickly scolded for.

"Well while you boys are makin' a mess 'round my inn you can take help these girls up to their room," Pepper, the co-owner huffs "307... the nice one." Pepper waves them off, turning to grab the keys to the room.

Natasha eyed the blonde man up and down, resting her back on the front desk, propping her elbows up behind her. "Hi there cowboy," she speaks to him flirtatiously, her pink lips form a smirk. The man ducks his head and laughs.

"Hi there. I'm Steve."

"Natasha."

Y/N rolled her eyes at the flirting, rising from the couch she went to grab the handle of her bag but was met with cold metal. Her eyes flew up to see the man in the back cowboy hat already grabbed a hold of it "I'm assumin' this is yours?" he chuckled with that honey-like voice. Y/N nods and crossed her arms over her chest, her hand still feeling the chill of his hand.

She followed behind them, taking the red-carpeted stairs. She was behind them enough to stare at the broadness of his shoulders, a small smile appeared on her lips thinking about what it would be like to run her hands down his back. No, she quickly erased the image out of her mind. That thought returned as they climbed the second set of stairs, her Y/E/C traveled down his back and landed on his backside as he climbed. A red rag hung out of his back pocket.

The man turned around as they reached the top, catching her stare at him "I'm Bucky," he tells her, breaking her out of her trance. Bucky was 2 for 2 catching her stare at him. The red in her cheeks matched the vibrant red of the rag her eyes were once fixated on.

"Y/N," she responds simply, her voice quiet.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss." His words made her skin tingle, small bumps rising to the surface of her clothed skin. Her green jacket covering all the evidence.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bucky," she ponders over his name for a minute "did your parents name you that?"

Bucky laughed, oh God his laugh was precious "No, uh- my name is actually James. Bucky is just a nickname, I like it better," he explains. Y/N moved from the back to his side as they walked up the final set of stairs.

"Both names are nice," Y/n chuckles, "they suit you." They both looked at each other and instantly smiled, she even unfolded her arms and let them linger at her side. She forgot what it was like to be comfortable after all this time. Walking on eggshells for a man who could set off at any moment was what she grew accustomed to. This was nice, even she had to admit that.

The two girls in front couldn't help but give each other a knowing look, Steve even joined in. "He hasn't dated in years," he whispers to Natasha as they approached the room.

"A shell of a man cheated and dumped her," Wanda tells them in a hushed voice.

They reached the white door with a golden plate '307' written in script numbers. "This is the best room at the inn!" Steve starts to gush, placing the bags on the ground.

"Clear view of the stables, horses walking around all the time," Bucky chimes in, his elbow nudging Y/N the arm. he looked up at him with raised eyebrows but he wasn't looking at her this time. Did he do that on purpose? No. Probably not.

"Well... we'll let you ladies get settled in. Don't hesitate to reach out of you need anything." Steve dipped his hat and started to walk away, clapping his friend on the shoulder, turning him to walk in the same direction.

"See you around, Y/N," Bucky told her before walking away. Her eyes lingered on the tall man as he walked away and even he turned around to catch another glance at her. 3 for 3.

"Did someone catch feelings already?" Natasha laughed as he unlocked the room. Y/N eyebrows furrowed in anger, walking in after her friends, roughly brushing past the sassy redhead.

"All I want is John back. I don't know what the hell that was out there," she defended herself, snarling as she sat in the chair by the large windows, her legs hanging off the ledge.

The women hung their heads and began to unpack "You can have the other bedroom," was all Wanda said before the conversation ended. Y/N felt the guilt rise in her heart. She didn't mean to be so blunt and rude to them, in the back of her mind she knew they knew they were trying. She was trying too.

Time had passed and clothes were hung and folded away in their drawers. Nat sat on her laptop looking for places to eat in town while Wanda checked in with her husband and kids back home. Y/N hadn't left the chair since they arrived. Checking her phone for someone who couldn't talk to her.

"Look at this cute little place in town! It's home cooking they call it. We should go," Nat tells the girl happily.

"I'll call the Uber after I talk to Tommy," Wanda joins in.

"I-I don't want to go," Y/N says, her voice softer than before. She turns his attention to the sables below her, a black horse being led by the man in the black hat. "Bucky," she whispers to herself. She watches him, his lips were moving, obviously talking to the beautiful animal. A smile dared to appear on her face while she watched him, she saw her reflection and she sucked in her lips. Her attention went back to her friends.

"We're not going to let you coop yourself up in this room all night, Y/N." Natasha squints her eyes in judgment, closing her computer with a loud thud.

"And I don't want to make this trip miserable for you guys. I just need to be by myself for a while."

"That's what we're afraid of. It took 2 weeks to get you out of your apartment."

"I'm doing better now!" she shouts, realizing what she did she gulped and sat straight up in the chair, placing her feet on the floor "I'm sorry, Nat. Please just go, have fun and I promise we'll do that spa ay like you wanted tomorrow."

"Fine, but give me your phone," Wanda interjected, holding out her hand while her other one placed her phone in her back pocket. Y/N scrunched her nose and shook her head. Wanda's eyebrows lowered, her hand still stretched out as she walked towards her. She cocked her head, striking fear into the Y/H/C. She hated when Wanda did that.

"How are you going to reach me if something bad happens?"

With the phone now in Wanda's hand, Nat said "We'll call the front desk."

The girls had left, telling Y/N to make her time alone useful. She wanted to sit and wallow in her never-ending sadness. She remembered a time like this at a New York lawyers convention when John left her in the room for hours while he partied downstairs. No, no, she didn't want it to be like this even if it was her choice now.

The stables. She walked over to the window and saw the red building empty from what it looked like. Maybe she could get a glimpse of the horse she saw. Bucky didn't even cross her mind then or was that the reason she wanted to go so badly. No, it had to have been the horse she saw. Keep telling yourself that.

Y/N stayed back a bit longer, giving Nat and Wanda enough time to leave the property. They would never let this go after the stable comment Bucky made. She stepped outside, the sun starting to set and a small chilled breeze brushes past her. Lurking around to make sure no one was there she slowly walked into the stable, the horses not paying her any attention.

There she was, the beautiful black mare standing her her stall, her face poking out of the window. Y/N walked over and let the horse sniff the palm of her hand "You're so pretty, my darling," Y/N beams, rubbing her nose. The horse nickered, making the woman laugh "You like compliments don't you."

"She craves attention!" A voice called out from the other side of the barn. Y/N whipped her head to the side, her heart thumping against her chest. Bucky started making his way over, two silver buckets in his strong arms. The sweat on his face didn't go unnoticed by her, she swallowed hard and took a step back from the horse.

"I-I didn't see a stay-out sign, I'm sorry if I'm not all-" her rambling was cut off by his soft chuckle and the clang of the buckets now on the ground.

" I don't mind, doll. Clementine loves the company." I was hoping you'd show up, he kept that to himself of course. "While you're here, do you want to help me brush her? She gets sad if I don't do it before I leave."

Y/N smiles softly and nods at him, her hands folded in her lap. Bucky eagerly opened the stall and allowed her to enter first. He ran around to empty the feed buckets and placing the buckets on the shelf. He pants as he hands her a brush, his awkward smile earning a thank you.

Bucky stood on one side while she stood on the other, brushing the shiny coat of Celmentines's body. The silence was a comfort and the soft brushing noises were music to their ears. She enjoyed the silence and stolen glances at each other. His steel-blue eyes fixated on his favorite horse, she'd never seen someone look that loving towards someone else.

He breaks the silence "So what brings you guys all the way out to our neck of the woods?"

Was she supposed to be honest? Because 'I'm desperately trying to get over a man who ripped my heart out' doesn't scream approachable. She bit her lip and looked at him from the other side of the horse, their searching eyes meeting.

"Fella did me wrong so my friends decided a getaway was the best medicine," she explained, a watered-down version of what the real devastating truth was.

Bucky nods as he listens to her, slowly making his way to her side, brushing Clementine's hip as a cover. He didn't push it any further, now wasn't the time and he remembered her somber appearance when he first met her in the lobby "Where ya from?" He asks instead

"Brooklyn." His ears perk up, he hadn't thought about that city in so long.

"Brooklyn?" he hums, "how's the city these days?"

"Busy," she responds, looking over at him trying not to act surprised that he moved closer. "You've been?"

"Once or twice." 7 years. He frowned and bit the inside of his cheek. Y/N hums and starts to brush the side of her neck. Clementine whinnies, making the woman jump back. "I-It's ok," Bucky tells her kindly, holding out his hand, "she likes that, let me show you." He takes off his hat and tosses it on top of the hay pile behind them.

His flesh arm placed at on her midback, bringing her closer to the horse. His metal arm covers her hand to guide the brush down Clementine's neck. The sound of her own heart was deafening, he was so close she could pick up everything. The smell of hay and horses mixed in wish musk and was the cedar? It was manly...just like him. The stands of loose hair stuck to his forehead, small grey hairs mixed into his stubble.

Her eyes shifted away from his face onto the sight in front of her, his hand over hers, the gold and black metal shining in the overhead light. She wondered if he could feel her. "Your arm?" she questions barely audibly.

"It was a military accident...I fell," he responded, she couldn't tell if there was sorrow in his voice or he was just accustomed to explaining it all the time.

"It's nice! I hope I didn't offend you," she tried to pull away from the situation she created but his flesh arm held her still. He looks down at her and smiles.

"You didn't. It was a long time ago."

His reassurance got her to relax. They eased into small talk about their lives, she learned that he was born here and always helped the Starks on the ranch when they opened it, leading into a job when he got out of school. He was kind and funny, made her heart constantly skip beats when he said something nice. It made her forget John Walker for a while.

The sun went down, the auto light of the stables turned on. Bucky knew he should've clocked out by now, but this was far better. She was sad, he knew that, but when she relaxed she was surprisingly funny with her quick wit, soft smiles, and her newfound love for his favorite girl Clementine.

"Have you ridden before?" he asks as they finish, taking her brush back.

"No," Y/N laughs as she recalls her childhood, "I saw a boy fall off one at summer camp and I swore I'd never do it. I admire from afar."

Bucky joins in on the laugh while he grabs his hat and dusts off the loose straws of hay on his hat. Y/N bits her lip and pats Clemintine one last time before the pair walked towards the door "Watch your step," he warns, holding his metal hand out for her to take. She looks at him for a moment, feeling like her feet were cement. Her eyes flash from his hand to the softness in his eyes.

"Fucking hell Y/N let's go!" John's hand outreached for her, it was shaking, matching his anger. "I'll fucking leave you here. You know, fuck it. Walk home." That hand turned into a fist... she didn't like that fist.

Hesitantly she takes it, her nervous fingers wrapping around his palm as he guided her over the edge of the stall and onto the main ground of the stable. "Thanks for letting me brush her, it was nice," she smiled, still holding his hand. She wasn't the only one who didn't let go.

"Any time, doll. How long are ya here for?"

"5 days," she responds. Not enough time, he frowned and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Well you can come down any time you'd like, Clem would like the company." I would too.

Y/N finally realized she was holding his hand, her eyes went wide and pulled away suddenly, her nervous chuckle ringing in his ears "I-I should go... thank you again Bucky."

She scurries off towards the inn, their hands still tingling. He'd never been this happy to still have nerves in his arm "God bless Wakanda tech," he praised under his breath, clenching and unclenching the hand.

"Y/N! Wait a minute," he shouts stopping her mid way. She turns and see's him standing there in the overhead light of the stable, like he was waiting for her to get there safely.

"Yeah?" she questions, matching the volume of his voice.

"While you're here you should try Happy's Diner! Best coffee in town!"

"I thought this place did?"

"Don't let Pepper convince you!"

Y/N giggles and nods "I will. Goodnight Buck."

"Goodnight, Y/N!" He watches her leave, making sure she was safely inside, she turned to catch one last glance at him making the brunette smile at her and waving her off.

It would be another hour before Natasha and Wanda returned to the room, finding their friend in the same position in the chair by the window. This time her shoes were dustier than before, black hairs visible on her cream-colored shirt. She stared at the cowboy painting on the wall in front of her like her life depended on it "What did you do all day, Y/N?" Wanda asks, tossing Y/N's phone on the bed.

She expected her to run and grab it, feverishly checking the messages John couldn't send. That reaction never came, she didn't flinch when the phone landed on the bed with a soft thud. Her mind was still a blur, Bucky was kind, he held his hand out for her and got her to the other side of the stall...he waited for her.

"This," Y/N remarks, coming out of her thoughts pointing to the chair she was occupying. The spy in the leather jacket didn't buy it, looking at the differences in her clothing and demeanor.

"Sounds like a bore," Nat sighs, deciding to let it go for a moment.

"How was the restaurant?" Y/N yawns, getting up and walking past them. The two redheads sniffed the air as she passed, it smelled like Y/N had been sleeping in a barn. Well, that was almost true.

"What the hell is that smell?" Wanda grimaced, her nose scrunching at the foul smell. Y/N stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, she wasn't about to tell them about her time in the stable with Bucky. She brought her shirt up to her nose, fuck, it was her.

"Must be the atmosphere," she laughed it off, "I'm going to bed!" She rushes off before the accusations came and she knew they would come.

The door to the adjoining room slams shut and the girls give each other a knowing look "Twenty bucks says she smuggled Walker in here," Wanda bets.

"Nah, it was the guy with Steve. She blushed way too much to have done nothing about it."

"Fair."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #cowboy!bucky #cowboy!bucky x reader #sebastian stan imagine #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky au

[tommyspeakycap]

Painted Roses

jordan henderson x reader

word count - 2k I think

jordan takes you back to the place it all began as you expand your life together.

second part to Rose Garden

4 years to the date.

The country house with the long gravel road that lead up to the huge red brick cottage. The owner passed away over a year ago and their family, to Jordan’s utter shock, weren’t interested in maintaining the beautiful home as the wedding venue it had existed as in the past. The second he heard it was up for sale, he placed an offer and had the keys in the space of two weeks.

“Jordan where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He promises, giving your hand a gentle squeeze where it sat on top of your knee. The blindfold is making you sweat more than you already were. “I can’t see anything.” You note pointedly with a roll of your eyes behind the blindfold. Jordan chuckles heartily with what you can imagine in your mind is his signature smile, all white teeth and crinkled eyes. “You’ll love it,” he says through that smile, “I promise.” His hand pats your knee again as a silence falls between you.

Gravel crunches beneath the wheels of his fancy black Mercedes as the smell of cut grass and fresh flowers enters your nose and makes you grin subconsciously in a way you barely even notice. Jordan catches sight of that out the corner of his eye and his heart grows with joy in his chest. The slow, careful turn of his car, paired with the sound of his hands sliding along the leather of the wheel alert you to his parking. He does so with ease and you hear the keys jangling as he shuts off the engine.

“Wait here,” he instructs, climbing out his side with the door thrown shut behind him. He’s round at your side of the car before you have a chance to think up a cheeky retort. He’s gentle as he always is when he helps you out of the car carefully, wrapping one arm around your waist so you don’t fall. Admittedly, it doesn’t work very well because the ground beneath is so incredibly uneven, so when he gets to that first smooth grey cement step, he opts to simply scoop you up into his arms with ease.

“Okay,” he begins, placing you down as you feel the smooth material covering your eyes loosening and slipping from your face. His hands replace it for only a moment as he presses a kiss to the side of your head from behind you. “Open.”

You do as told and tears spring in place of his hands to blur your vision.

It’s beautiful.

It was that Victorian style country home that once acted as a wedding venue, redecorated to a minimum. “Wanted it to look nice for you, but so that you can give it your touch. You know better than me.” He admits sheepishly with a pink tint to his cheeks. You beam at him tearily, hands clasped together in sheer joy. “God Jordan, you shouldn’t have!” You exclaim, tears bleeding over your lash line. You knew how expensive these types of homes were, never mind ones so big with such history to them. It hadn’t even made much of a dent for Jordan really. He had more money than either of you could ever have spent and he likes to remind you of that to ensure you know full and well his gentle spoiling of you is not a hardship for him. He actively loves to do it.

“Take it as an anniversary present.” He shrugs, trying to fight at the smile that was tugging his lips. The warmth of your hug and the tears seeping through his white shirt was all a welcome to him no matter how hot it was outside. He could not wait to come home to this house, be welcomed home by you and hopefully some littler mixtures of you and him with your eyes and smile. “Makes my present look a little rubbish now,” you jest, making him chuckle heartily.

The house needed a fair bit of work. New flooring, new carpets, your furniture from home would do just fine but you reckon Jordan will be all for new stuff for a new home. A few new coats of paint and nice clear out, but all in it was still absolutely gorgeous.

“There is one room I really wanted to show you though, if that’s okay?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained down on the floor. You furrow your brows, but nod your head. “I gotta grab something from the car first though?” You hum, detangling your hand from his, “And pee.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy. “Again? You went right before we left?” He queries. You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Since when do you question a woman’s toilet habits at that point in the month, Henderson?” You poke with a blush and a light giggle. He chuckles with you and holds up his hands in defeat, but the second your out of eye and earshot his shoulders fall and a sigh bursts out his lips. He wouldn’t let it show to you right now his disappointment. You hadn’t been trying long, but it was enough for him to be in the longing stage. Longing to see your swollen belly, longing to feel those tiny kicks against his hands and then hold his brand new baby for the first time, spend all those nights wide awake wishing for nothing but sleep while he cradled them through to the morning. You said it would happen when it happened, but it still ached with every negative test. Hearing you say you were on your period hurt a little more than he had anticipated, but he’s still heart set on showing what he had done with the short time he was able to keep this new home a secret.

You return with your handbag and take his hand. He is instinctive in those soft movements of his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s something he always does to sooth both you and him.

“So this is the master bedroom and I know it’s not quite good yet but I thought-“

“Jordan it’s beautiful,” you cut him off, your hand drifting out of his as you step in slowly. Being cautious of dust sheets and some tools, you walk into the massive room. You’d never been in a bedroom that big and it had blown you away. The huge bed, still with plastic attacked and tags on the mattress. The en-suite bathroom is marble worktops, one of those huge bathtubs and a walk in shower updated to a beautiful mixture of modernity and it’s antique homage. Tears are found again. The window gives a perfect view out the back of the house, rolling fields worth of garden space, loosely fenced in for acres into the distance. There’s a pond on the land a little to the left, not far at all that leads off towards the beginning of the hidden Rose Garden where you met Jordan 4 years ago today. All of that owned and shared by just you and the man you love. “Bloody hell, it’s so magnificent Jordan. I literally have no words.”

He beams shyly almost, “That’s how I feel about you.” He mumbles softly, almost too quiet for you to hear, like he didn’t want you to. “What’s through here?” You call behind you as he trails after you on anxious legs. You carry on through the very short pathway attached to the master bedroom that had some extra storage space. “Well uh..I haven’t finished that so maybe we should just an-“

“Oh my god.”

Jordan rubs nervously at the back of his throat as he enters into the connecting room behind you. His eyes take you in immediately, studying your features carefully. Your hands are clasped over your mouth with slow tears sliding down over your rosy cheeks. Your eyes are afire with love and happiness. “I know it’s weird but-“

“It’s perfect, Jordan.” You throw your arms around his neck, his arms finding you immediately as he buries his head into your shoulder.

It’s the only room with a new carpet yet. It’s soft beneath your shoes, a plush cream colour to match a white wall. The window on the back wall gives the same fantastic view you have in the master room. There’s a white crib pushed against the wall furthest from you with a mobile of twinkling toys dangling above and a baby changing table a little away from the top end of the crib stocked full of pampers and baby cream. In the right corner of the room just by the window is a white wooden rocking chair next to a little book shelf with baby books that had a couple plush teddies and a photo of you and Jordan 4 years ago sitting atop it. The other side corner is decked out with two beanbag seats, a soft baby mat and a bundle of all sorts of soft toys.

“Left that wall blank ‘cause I remember that day you told me you’d always wanted to paint it like the sky.” He recounts, pointing his finger at the wall that the crib was situated next to, making your head whip towards him. He had such a fantastic memory even for the little things you said, just like that. You barely even remember it, spoken under the stars as you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. It gives you no doubt about having kids with him, the thought of him remembering your babies favourite little treats or ineffective toddler secrets makes your heart soar with pride and joy. “Look closer at that.” He turns you round so your facing that wall again, the one with the little cosy corner.

Painted on the wall intricately above it is that rose arbor your stood underneath when he first laid his eyes on you. Where he first had that dance with you, where he told you he wanted to see you again. Where you snuck into when it was late, dark and only lit by those same fairly lights so he could tell you he loved you for the first time all those years ago. The roses are painted in perfect colour, careful and precise in the way they hung around you for that first ever dance you shared together. It’s so beautiful and so lifelike you that get lost in it, reliving the moment your world came together. Every time you sit there, it’ll be like sitting under real thing when you can’t take the baby out there.

“Well this makes my present a little more fitting, then.” You sniffle, letting Jordan swipe the tears gently off your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs in a slow, loving motion. “What do you mean?” He asks, “I told you not to get me anything.” He crossed his arms over his chest as you rifle through your bag. “Okay okay, here. Open this.”

You hand over a small gift bag, one stuffed with tissue paper he has to tear through as you sit your bag down and wait, watching him with wide and watery eyes. He pulls out first the tiny little wad of fabric and places the gift bag on top of the white wooden dresser, carefully unravelling the rolled up clothes. “That’s bloody adorable.” He breathes out, trying to keep the tears he has inside his eyes to no avail. You wrap your arm around his back, rubbing his tight shoulders softly. “Look at the back.” You encourage, his eyes meet yours then look back to the tiny clothes.

HENDERSON

8

With a little picture taped carefully to the bottom that he peels off with shaky, tentative fingers. “No way!” He booms, jumping back from you in shock. He looks down at the picture, up at you, back down at the picture, then up at you again with tears slipping over his cheeks. “But you said-“

“It was a surprise!” You squeal back as he swoops forward and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around in glee. “So no food poising? And no period?” He giggled out like a schoolgirl in shock. You shake your head. “Morning sickness and just a diversion. We’re having a baby!”

“We’re having a baby!” He repeats, louder. His words bounce of the walls that can barely contain the happiness inside of them. Threatening to burst at the seams as it fills beyond belief. This room, though incomplete, is perfect. Because you are in it together. Here, together in each other’s arms sharing in joy just like you’ve both shared in pain, hurt, love, happiness, nerves and everything else along the way. Head on, together.

“And this,” Jordan holds up the little football strip with his name printed across the back, his england appointed number proudly underneath, “This is perfect. You,” he pauses, leaning forward to capture your lips in his, “Are perfect.” His hands wander down to your stomach, placed gently over where his pea sized baby currently exists, growing and feeding on the love he intends to drown them in just like he does to you, “Both of you…perfect.”

It is perfect, really. Your love is. Even when it isn’t, it is. When he’s gone too long and you can’t see him because of a pandemic; the effort is made, emotions are shared. He tells you he misses you and his ego is never too big for its space in your relationship. When the world is against him or when fate turns against you both, it’s in each other’s arms that you find solace even if space is needed first. There’s an understanding of the love you have. It’s special. The kind that only a lucky few seem to find these days, a one people can look at and spot from a mile away. It’s beautiful, it’s own space taking entity that makes you both target to significant teasing from friends and family alike. It’s perfect.

Even when you fight over what blue is better to represent the sky just because your pregnant and too hormonal to admit he’d found the right colour before you did. Even when he coats you in paint that ends in an all out paint war, thankful you both removed all the furniture before painting. Even when you sob as your body changes, with pregnant emotions skewing your mind and making you question whether he’ll ever be attracted to you again, he’ll remind you that he’s never been more attracted to you than now. Housing his child, taking the aches, the pains and the changes like a true champ while he can do nothing but rub your feet and buy you ridiculous quantities of Solero ice creams. He’ll remind you in more ways that one just how perfect you are to him. Love by it’s very nature is as messy as that paint fight. It’s up and down and all over the place all the time. But the kind of love that you and Jordan have is a special that doesn’t waver, doesn’t dull or dim or change through time.

If anything, each day he loves you more. Even if he was convinced it wasn’t possible. But then it just was. Seeing you red in the face with sweat dripping over your forehead and tears leaking from your squeezed shut eyes as your screams echo through the room. All he could do was coax and coach, trying to tell you how proud of you he was. Even when you screamed that you despised him, he laughed and told you to squeeze his hand a little harder. It hurt, but that was nothing compared to the pain that you were enduring from multiple areas of your body as that baby ripped through you to make her grand entrance to the world, kicking and screaming just like the fighter her mother was. He thought his heart might burst with the amount of love he has, surely that’s as good as it gets?

No. No, it gets better still.

Everyday it’s better. Better when he gets to watch that woman that he loves so much sing to his tiny baby daughter, rocking in that chair under the painted rose arbor as she feeds from you. The most beautiful, natural thing in the world and he is enthralled by it. Watching you giggle at her she coos up at you. Placing her down in the crib beneath the gentle jingling of the cloud themed mobile next to the pale, sky blue coloured wall, blossoms falling, trickling down through clouds from a painted blossom tree on the wall and rose petals in variations of pink and red along the bottom of the crib. Roses and rose petals just like the ones that surrounded you on the day you danced with each other in under the trees of the garden that summer night. Roses like the ones you stood under to profess your love for one another. Roses, like the ones he took a knee beside, beneath and with one in his hand to give to you as he asked for your hand. Roses like you would stand beneath with one pinned to the breast of his suit to say the vows that would tie you in law to one another and to give you his name. Roses like the ones painted on the far wall, still fresh when you shared the news of that baby girl’s existence. Roses that were such an important symbol of the love you shared, pure and beautiful, sometimes painful but always worth the fight. Those roses painted on that crib with space for just one word carved into the wood.

Rose.

Your own beautiful little Rose.

#jordan henderson #jordan henderson imagines #jordan henderson imagine #jordan henderson x reader #england national team imagine #england national team #footie fics #footballer fics #football fics