#there is just a gentleness to his words and his voice and the introspection is so clear at all times

[alexturne]

@BBC Radio 6 Music:

“It looks partly like some sort of 70s Spanish TV drama” @steve_lamacq speaks to the @arcticmonkeys about the visual direction of their new album, The Car 🚗 Listen to the full interview at 6pm tomorrow on @BBCSounds

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #steve lamacq always does incredible interviewz #s #interview #I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS #alex obviously enjoys being interviewed by steve too #like he respects his opinions that much is obvious #and can i just take a moment to appreciate how calm alex seems these days? so gentle and present and ??? idk #there is just a gentleness to his words and his voice and the introspection is so clear at all times #but at the same time he seems so excited to share this new stuff #you can tell he is proud of it in his own quiet little way #the introvertedness of his true being is really being shown off these days #more genuine than ever before id say #there is less facade going on atm and i love that for him #that he feels more comfortable being himself and being transparent about stuff

[nomazee]

bite my tongue, chew on ice

true to your word, you take dan heng out for breakfast after he spends the night taking care of you. it would be nice if you weren't so distracted by the way he looks at you and the stirring in your stomach.

dan heng x gn reader — 1.4k — sequel to this fic, introspection, aggressive pining, sweet and sappy oh my god it's so sappy, reader is trailblazer and this is set somewhere vaguely in canon, just stupid and cute, lots of feelings and thoughts,,,

notes: i love you dan heng hsr,,, i will love you forever and ever dan heng hsr

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You always make good on your promises. That’s the one thing you take pride in. 

The morning after your drunken spree in Belobog, the memories of the night come flooding in, vivid enough to strip you of your remaining dignity (which isn’t much). You bore yourself to Dan Heng, sweaty and vomiting, and he’d seen more of you in one night than you ever planned on revealing to him. 

Embarrassing, yes. But you promised to get him breakfast as payment, and you don’t take breakfast (or promises) lightly. 

With minimal nagging, you manage to pry him out of his room, shutting down his remarks of it’s too early, I don’t need breakfast, are you sure you sobered up, do you need an antacid, do you even have money? in favor of linking your fingers with his and dragging him into the cool morning air of Belobog. 

(His hand doesn’t pull away from yours. You could swear that he squeezes back, the jutting knuckles of his hands digging into yours as he tightens his grip when you stumble just a little bit on the pavement.) 

When the both of you eventually get settled across from each other in a booth, a glass of water for each of you as you browse the menu, you notice the disgruntled expression on Dan Heng’s face. You can’t help but pry. It’s in your nature, whatever parts of it you have an inkling about, and with Dan Heng, your curiosity is always on high alert. 

“What’s wrong? You look like you hate this,” you can’t help the way your anxieties seep into your words. You take a tentative sip of your water (no ice, lukewarm, gross), trying to cover up the sweatiness in your palms as you beg and pray that he won’t just stand up and leave and call this breakfast a mistake. 

“No,” he says, a leading tone in his voice. His eyes trail along the unsteady movements of your hands, as your fingers go to tap against the smooth glass of your cup. “You just… beat me to it. I was supposed to check on you this morning and get you water. I didn't think you would be awake this early. I thought I had time.” 

Your chest tightens and blooms and flourishes with fondness. It’s a feeling so intense that it leaves you dizzy, your gaze goes distant, your fingers stop thrumming against your cup and your other hand tightens into a fist in your lap. It’s an exercise in restraint, to stop yourself from reaching over and grabbing Dan Heng by the shoulders and shaking him around until you never have to feel this affection again. It’s addictive and beautiful and horrible. 

Your lips part, wanting to say something but all of the vowels and consonants play dissonant keys on your tongue. Instead, you settle for a smile, bashful and fond, fond, fond of Dan Heng and that furrow between his brows when he thinks of what to say, the way he’s staring at your hand against your cup. You want to know what he’s thinking, to let your hand slide across the table, hold his forearm and feel the skin and the life underneath, have him do the same to you. The cancer of all worlds sits in your chest, but you hope he finds it to be kind and gentle, you hope he tames it into something good. 

“Dan Heng,” you start, letting that sick sick affection seep into your voice like rainwater into the cracks of pavement, and you can’t get enough of the way his name sounds against your teeth. “You’re so stupid. And sweet,” you tell him, trying not to melt into the floor. “I didn't think you’d still try to take care of me in the morning. I assumed that watching me throw up everywhere kind of, um, turned you away.” 

“You didn't throw up everywhere,” he corrects, because he’s stubborn and always tries to debate you on stupid things, “And it wasn’t that bad. It didn't bother me. It was just you. It… came naturally.”

And he can’t bear to look at you. He rips his eyes away from yours and you can see the way his face warms up, visibly red and blotchy on his cheeks and neck. Naturally. It comes naturally to him. The care, the hotel mouthwash, checking on you and making sure you laid on your side. He says it came naturally.

You feel sick, and in love, and isn’t that all just the same? The smile doesn’t leave your face, and your cheeks hurt and you fight off the urge to hide your face in your hands and run away like a baby. You’ll face your fears, damnit, even if your fears are just the beautiful man in front of you and the feelings blooming on the right side of your chest, just above your heart. 

“This is me taking care of you, then,” you tell him, trying to get across some semblance of warmth in your tone, trying to get him to understand that none of this is a joke to you, it never has been. You feel choked up, words strumming against your vocal chords. Too many to use, never enough time to say anything. A glance to the side confirms that no waiters are coming to take your order, but the laminated menu in your hands became obsolete the moment you sat down and looked Dan Heng right in his pretty eyes. 

“You never eat breakfast,” you continue, “I don’t think I’ve really seen you relax. You should try knitting.” 

His expression only turns more bashful, if possible. His mouth twists into something displeased, but lightheartedly so. “I tried knitting.” 

“No way.” 

He covers his mouth with his hand, the warmth in his face only building as he struggles to meet your eyes. “It was just for a bit, and I was never good at it. After March joined, she kept making me try the same things as her. Knitting, cooking, sewing… she said that she thought it would help me figure myself out.” 

“Oh my god, Dan Heng. She was so right.” 

Dan Heng makes a discontent noise, something like a mindless murmur of annoyed words, but by the way his lips twitch, you can tell he’s a little bit amused. And so are you, because the image of Dan Heng sitting next to March 7th with a tangle of yarn in his lap is a little too hysterical. 

He has this stupid smile on his face now, and you could almost call it lovesick, the way he keeps looking back at you with his hand still covering half his mouth, like he’s ashamed of the way he’s softening. You like him soft, you like him malleable, warm like this with the window next to you streaming pale yellow light onto the table and the crown of his head. A sick, sick, in-love part of you wants to squish him in your hands like a slime ball and toss him around the room and play catch with yourself. You mean this with love, of course. 

“Dan Heng,” his name, again, falls off your tongue, “I’m not actually that hungry. Can we go back to the parlor car? And I’ll— I can cook you something. Whatever you want.” 

He pauses, and you can see him flitting through potential responses. You’re half-expecting him to make some sarcastic quip, like You shouldn’t be anywhere near a kitchen or Any food that comes from your hands will probably be inedible or You have many skills, and cooking is not one of them. Instead, he looks at you, a contemplative look in his eyes. He’s thinking, and that’s always a dangerous thing. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers, finally looking at you, finally holding your gaze with the same warmth spreading through your palms. You want— you need— you’re craving nothing more than your hands on his and his mouth against yours. He’d be an awful kisser, you’re sure, awkward and clumsy, but you’d be just the same. 

“Can I—” you start, cutting yourself off but letting your awful lack of self-control take over. “Can I kiss you? Do you want that?” 

And he’s too lovely, too stupid and funny and his face hasn’t cooled down for a moment and the sides of his neck are still flushed red. “Not here,” he tells you earnestly, and you see his hand twitch just a little bit against his face. “Once we get back, you— you can do that.” 

It’s a promise, and Dan Heng is starting to get good at those.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

taglist: @tragedy-of-commons

(pssst!!! send me a msg or fill out the form in my navi to be added to the taglist!!!)

#dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fanfic #dan heng fluff #dan heng hsr x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr x you #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x you #dan heng x you #dan heng fic #hsr fic #honkai star rail fic #im missing tags let me think (im the biggest tag spammer on earth) #dan heng #honkai star rail #trust that my 1k follower roman colosseum amphitheatre battle will be happening soon

[theelfsongbard]

Counterweight

Pairing: spawn!Astarion x AFAB!reader

Summary: after the epilogue, you and Astarion share a summer’s afternoon together in the meadow. For @oharahive’s breeding kink challenge!

Warnings: epilogue spoilers, breeding kink, mentions of potential future pregnancy

Word Count: 2273

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/760123243354175763/

These past 6 months have been the counterweight to 200 years of misery. Thank you.

He had said those words to you weeks ago, and from then, he had slowly been opening up more and more to you. More frank, more transparent with his feelings than ever before. Today, he is quiet again but you know his mind is anything but, still coming to terms with his grand adventure and the turn of fate that it has brought with it. All at once, he speaks up.

“You bring me the best happiness. You show me the way, where I cannot see and you give me love where I don’t always deserve it. I don’t know how you do it, but I will always be grateful for you.”

The summer breeze blows over the meadow, sifting over the long grass like a wave of verdant green. How lovely it is, to be here, to be loved. Astarion’s thoughts lazily drift as he rests his head in your lap, his eyes shut and sheltered from the sunlight by the wide canopy of an old oak. Slowly he breathes in, bringing cool air into lungs that no longer work. Things have changed drastically in the past 6 months, and now, despite his condition, he found himself flourishing and a free man.

Above him, your gentle humming stops though your hand in his hair continues to massage his scalp with just the right amount of pressure. “And I would give up anything to see you happy for all eternity without hesitation. Has last night’s party been on your mind, love? You’ve been introspective lately.”

“How can I help myself, darling? I can’t help but think about how things could’ve turned out so differently, and yet every iteration I think about, I cannot imagine myself being happier than I am now. You led me here and I… hate to think what life would be like without you being my guiding light. I’d be bitter, resentful, enslaved still by my own will or by Cazador. And I know that I was not always easy to love, but you stayed anyways when it would have been so easy to walk away.”

“You are worthy of love. I have chosen to love you because waking up to your smile every day and seeing you grow into who you are brings me joy. You are my home and my guide. The obstacles we faced together only strengthened our bond.”

Astarion cracks one vermillion eye open, a knowing smirk on his lips, “You like my smile? Why don’t you tell me more?” His voice deepens playfully as he drags you down to press some feather-light kisses on your mouth. This is his way of processing his feelings on complicated topics, as if he is afraid that wallowing in his thoughts any longer will eat him alive even though he has become less self-conscious about openly sharing his thoughts now.

You gasp in feigned scandalousness, “If I feed your ego too much, you might be too full of yourself for tonight’s dinner! I suppose you’ll just have to settle with knowing that you’re just lovely.” The way you giggle into his mouth sets something alight in him and he flips himself over, pinning you down into the grass below him, earning him a squeal of delighted surprise. This time, it’s your turn to lean up and capture his lips with her own, pulling a low rumbling chuckle from deep in his throat that vibrates through his chest and into hers where he presses against you. “Cheeky little thing aren't you?” the sound of his voice combined with the feeling of his arms caging you in makes your heart beat wildly in its ribcage. Nobody plays the game of seduction better than Astarion and the past 6 months together have only given him time to learn exactly what makes you tick.

“If you're worried about me being too full for dinner, I suppose I can always have dinner a little earlier, if you'll permit it. There's always room for dessert afterwards.” his lips graze tantalisingly over the exposed skin of your neck, his nose nuzzling the shell of your ear with care.

The ring of your laugh chimes like a bell on the wind, “Oh, just stop playing coy and come down for a bite then!”

You don’t need to ask twice before you feel his fangs probing for the blood beneath your skin before finally piercing into your neck, you grit your teeth and cling to his arms as he bears down. The feeling of pain never gets any better no matter how many times he feeds from you, but you have gotten used to the icy pricks and the ensuing numbness as he draws the blood from your body into his. It's his chest that warms first, followed by the healthy flush of life that fills his cheeks and… more intimate regions making itself known by the hardening desire pressed into your stomach.

Drunk on the fresh bouquet of your blood, Astarion laps his tongue against the puncture wounds at your neck, capturing the remnants of his dinner as it runs from the site. An appreciative moan pours from his throat, and when he pulls away at last, you can see that his eyes burn with fire and need. Feeding Astarion doesn’t always lead to sex, but the intimacy of the act makes it a very appealing activity for you both and today is one of those days.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about our future as well, what adventures it might hold for us both,” he kisses up your neck, tickling you and leaving you gasping for air as he teases. The only coherent word you can manage to utter is a shaky “yes?”.

“And I had the most interesting chat with Gale at the party.”

You frowned, wondering where on earth he was going with this. There was once a time when he and Gale weren’t on the best of terms with one another, not in the least because he was also competing for your affection when it was clearly already given to Astarion. Although time had mellowed out Astarion’s moodiness and dislike of the wizard, you couldn't help but think that perhaps it was jealousy that had stoked the fire of his appetite today.

“Oh? And what about him?” you squirmed about as his lips found your ear.

“It's nothing about him, but it is about us. You see, he was telling me about a guest lecturer he had at his school, a dhampir.”

Oh. Oh. So that was what was on his mind.

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” The implication hung there, tantalising. The idea of children wasn’t a topic that you had broached with Astarion. In all honesty, you had both had your hands full with other things; adventuring, searching for a cure to vampirism, working to rebuild the Underdark for the many spawn that had been released from Cazador’s manse. But now that he had mentioned it, your mind couldn't help but be filled with images of Astarion lovingly gazing down at a small fragile bundle close to his chest, swathed in cloth. Astarion smiling as he held out a finger clutched by tiny hands. Astarion cooing and stroking its cheek as it drifted into a trance, protected from the cruelty of the world by his love. “Astarion.” A familiar tingle of heat fills you and concentrates itself at your core as the thoughts suffocate the forefront of your mind until nothing else surfaces.

“Think of them reaching for us, seeking the comfort of our loving embrace, filling our home with joy in the mornings.” he breathes in wantonly, inhaling your intoxicating scent. You are fertile, and the tang of your blood on his tongue and the scent of it lets him know that your body is ready at its peak to receive a child if you should choose to do so. “I’m ready for a child, if you are, my love.” he breathes it like a promise against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours waiting for your answer.

“Yes. I am ready.” you respond in kind, kissing him earnestly. “Give me your child.”

Astarion’s ministrations grow as much as his enthusiasm. From where he is hovering above you, he growls with a hint of possessiveness and primal joy. The fact that you were willing was a promise of security, of having you by his side in the years to come with the knowledge that you loved him so much that you would choose to create something that would immortalise your expression of love for each other in flesh and bone and flowing blood.

You were his of your own choosing and he was yours. Would always choose you and stand by your side. The thought drives him mad and admist the attention that he lavishes on your lips, a hand snakes down your body, freeing your tucked shirt and undressing you with uncanny dexterity and speed fueled by his need to have you as his partner and his mate. Immediately. To press you down and fill you to the bursting with his essence until his seed overflowed in your womb and blessed you both with child.

His hand is distracted by the curve of your breasts, kneading them gently as he begins to move down your body to lick and suckle on them. The moans pouring from you only serve to heighten his own arousal and fill him with satisfaction as he plays you with all the expertise of a bard with a well-acquainted instrument. When he finally relieves you of your pants, he lovingly dips a finger along your folds, making you buck your hips up, collecting the slick and rubbing it against your clit, revelling in the way you’re already wet with desire for him causing a shiver to run through your body. “Excited, darling?” he dares to tease out with that high giggle of his. The heat in your cheeks only grows as you huff, “you don’t say. Please, don’t stop now.” you're so desperate for his touch, to feel him inside you.

He chuckles, “Only because you’re so desperate -“. He licks a long stripe up through them, but despite pretending otherwise, the hold you have on him is too great and inhumanly quickly, he scrambles back up, his knee hooking up under yours to open you up and pulling himself free from his trousers as he aligns himself with your entrance, coating himself in you before pushing in until he’s fully sheathed in your warm heat. The unexpected stretch rips a stifled yelp of pleasure from you and Astarion can’t help but moan in kind. “Don’t hide, let me hear you.”

Waiting until you’ve adjusted to him, he lifts your knees up to his shoulders, folding you over so that he can bury himself deeper inside. The new position brings you closer to the edge as he thrusts with increasing vigour, losing himself in the need to fill you up completely, imagining his seed taking and the swell of your belly bearing the evidence of your passion for everyone to see. “I want to see you dripping with my seed, fucked full until there’s no room left for anything else.”

“Then do it!” you just about screamed as he reached between you to rub on your clit. “Give it to me,” you sobbed, “until there’s nothing left to give.” the added pressure sent you tumbling over the edge, and your vision blacked out momentarily as your mind tried to catch up with your body, still spasming and twitching around his cock, milking him of all he had as he met his release with a shuddering roar, driving himself even deeper than he had before as he spent himself inside you. He doesn't move to pull out, keeping himself and his spend inside you do as long as possible and the intention of the action makes you clench slightly around his softening cock drawing a hiss from Astarion. “You want to go again, love?”

Catching your breath, from the exertion you couldn't help but drag him down to lay beside you, holding him close as you rest your head on his arm, nuzzling close to his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. It spells safety and tenderness that you know is only reserved for you. “Not right now, Astarion. I'm exhausted, but maybe we do it again another day,” you say with a laugh, “after all, if it doesn’t work this time, we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

“Well,” he says with a lazy kiss, “I’m very on board with your idea.”

“This is nice. This is really nice,” you whisper to him. “I just want to lay here with you forever.”

His hand snakes over to rest on your waist, the reassuring weight grounding you and the gentle press of his lips to your hair making your heart flutter. “Then let’s stay, for a little while longer at least. Close your eyes, darling.” Without even being able to see it, you can hear the smile on Astarion’s lips as he says it. You can’t help but feel a swell of contentment and pride at these moments of softness where so much was said with so few words.

You don't know how long you lay there in the field with Astarion, holding each other as the sun sank below the horizon but the next time you’re pulled from your trance, it’s the stars that watch over you as you anticipate the hopeful possibility of what might come to fruition.

#astarion smut #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #AFAB reader

[rafesapologist]

the set up — rafe cameron; part sixteen

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst, swearing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, sad rafe

author's note: i hope you guys are enjoying the longer chapters! thank you again for all of the support and love for this series. we aren't quite at the end yet, but when we do get there, i have a bit of a surprise for you guys. love u mwah

A few days later, the day of your discharge from the hospital arrived. John B's van, with JJ behind the wheel, was waiting to take you back to the chateau. As you settled into the passenger seat, you gazed out the window, the passing scenery a backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

JJ broke the silence, attempting to ease the tension that lingered in the air. "Everyone's been asking about you," he said, his voice gentle as he navigated the familiar roads.

You nodded, still lost in your reflections. The events of the past few days replayed in your mind like a haunting reel, each frame carrying the weight of decisions and consequences. JJ, sensing the gravity of the situation, allowed a moment of quiet before trying to initiate a conversation. "How are you feeling now?" he asked, his eyes briefly meeting yours.

Your gaze remained fixed on the passing scenery. "Physically, I'm getting there. Emotionally… it's a lot to process," you admitted, your voice carrying a mixture of exhaustion and introspection.

JJ nodded understandingly, keeping his focus on the road. "You don't have to go through this alone, you know. We're here for you," he reassured, a genuine concern underlying his words.

Appreciating the support, you offered a small smile, grateful for the sense of camaraderie amid the storm that had become your life. As the van continued its journey back to the chateau, you couldn't help but wonder how things would unfold in the aftermath of the chaos.

The van continued its journey back to the chateau, the hum of the engine providing a steady backdrop to the conversation between you and JJ. He kept the small talk going for a while, sharing anecdotes and attempting to lighten the atmosphere. However, as the chateau loomed in the distance, he shifted the conversation back to the weightier matters.

"Listen, I know you've been through a lot, but there's something we need to talk about," JJ said, his tone serious, a hint of concern in his eyes.

You nodded, bracing yourself for whatever news he was about to deliver. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, JJ broached the subject carefully. "The night of the incident, things got even messier. The allegations against John B have escalated, and it's not safe for any of us to stay in town."

Shock registered on your face as you processed the gravity of JJ's words. "What do you mean, not safe?"

JJ explained the severity of the allegations against John B, the danger they all faced by staying in the town, and the urgent need to leave. As he spoke, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach, torn between the physical and emotional toll you were dealing with and the impending need to leave everything behind.

"I know this is a lot to take in, especially considering everything you've been through," JJ added, concern etched on his face. "But we can't risk staying here. It's not just about us anymore."

Uncertainty and fear gripped you, the weight of the situation settling in as you grappled with the realization that leaving town was not just a choice but a necessity for your friends.

You pondered JJ's words, considering the possibility of John B laying low for a while. "Maybe John B just needs to stay under the radar for a bit, let things cool down," you suggested, a flicker of hope in your voice.

But JJ's expression hardened, and he shook his head adamantly. "No, it's not that simple. If John B is caught, they won't just slap him with a fine or a short sentence. They're talking about life in prison, or even worse, death row. We can't take that risk."

The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the fear and urgency in JJ's voice. The reality of the danger they all faced, the consequences that loomed over John B, weighed on you. The conflict within you intensified as you grappled with the turmoil of your recent experiences and the harsh reality of the choices that lay ahead.

JJ's determination reflected in his eyes as he continued driving, navigating the winding roads that led back to the chateau. The uncertainty of the future and the fear of the unknown cast a shadow over the familiar landscape. As the van approached the chateau, a heavy silence settled between you and JJ, both grappling with the weight of the decisions that needed to be made.

Breaking the heavy silence that enveloped the van, you spoke softly, "JJ, I don't think I can go."

JJ's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he glanced at you, concern etched across his features. "Why? You know we can't stay."

Taking a deep breath, you hesitated before confessing, "I love you guys, but I don't have the strength to just get up and leave. Not now."

There was a moment of understanding in JJ's eyes as he processed your words. "Is this about Rafe?" he asked, putting two and two together.

You nodded, the weight of the recent events and the emotional toll evident in your eyes. "Yeah, it is. I just need some time to figure things out."

JJ sighed, sympathetic yet torn between the urgency of the situation and your need for time. "Y/N, I get it, but we're running out of time. I can't force you, but you need to consider what's at stake."

JJ's voice softened as he urged you, "Remember what Rafe did, Y/N. Don't let that slide. He put you in danger, and he needs to face the consequences."

You nodded, acknowledging the truth in JJ's words, but the internal struggle persisted. The love you felt for your friends clashed with the complicated emotions tied to Rafe. The van pulled into the chateau's driveway, and as it came to a stop, the weight of the impending decisions hung in the air.

"Take some time to think, Y/N," JJ said, his eyes holding a mixture of concern and understanding. "But please, don't take too long. Time isn't on our side."

You nodded again, appreciative of JJ's understanding, and the two of you exited the van, the gravity of the situation settling over the chateau like an impending storm. As you stepped into the familiar surroundings, the decision loomed, and you couldn't shake the feeling that whatever path you chose, it would alter the course of your life and the lives of those you cared about.

The atmosphere inside the chateau shifted as you entered, supported by JJ. The warmth of familiarity and the genuine concern of your friends enveloped you. They gathered around, expressing their relief and joy at seeing you back.

"Y/n, you look like you've been through a war," quipped Pope, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, next time, leave the action movie stunts to John B," Kiara teased, a playful smile on her face.

Sarah joined in, "Seriously, though, we were worried sick. You're a tough one to keep down."

Despite the heaviness of recent events, their attempts at humor managed to elicit a small smile from you. JJ gently guided you to the couch, and the banter continued, creating a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos.

"Alright, enough with the jokes. Y/N, how are you really feeling?" John B asked, a genuine concern in his eyes.

You took a deep breath, grateful for the genuine care of your friends. "Physically, I'm getting there. Emotionally, I'm still figuring things out."

JJ, standing beside you, shot a subtle glance your way, understanding the complexity of your emotions. The Pogues exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the unspoken challenges you faced.

Pope, sensing the shift in the mood, spoke earnestly, "We're here for you, Y/N. Whatever you need."

The mention of preparing to leave cast a temporary shadow over the room. Sensing the unspoken tension, Pope diverted the conversation with a pragmatic question, "So, do you need any help packing, Y/N?"

Your gaze flickered to JJ, seeking a reassuring nod before responding. "Actually," JJ interjected, stepping closer, "she might not be going with us."

The room fell into a momentary silence as the weight of JJ's words hung in the air. Confusion and concern danced in the eyes of your friends. Kiara was the first to break the silence, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and understanding, "What do you mean, not going with us?"

Your gaze remained fixed on the floor, the weight of the unspoken truth heavy in the air. JJ, standing beside you, offered an explanation on your behalf, "She's been through a lot, guys. Maybe she just needs some time to figure things out, you know?"

Kiara chimed in, her voice gentle, "Y/N, we understand if you need time. But you don't have to face this alone. We're family, and family sticks together."

John B, sensing the gravity of the situation, spoke with a hint of concern, "Y/N, you've got to talk to us. What's holding you back?"

You took a deep breath, the weight of the decision pressing on you. "It's complicated, guys. There's something I need to figure out before I can commit to leaving. I hope you understand."

"It's because of Rafe, isn't it?" You hear the familiar voice of Sarah chime in.

Her question hung in the air, a moment of tension settling over the room. JJ's protective instincts kicked in as he stepped forward, a subtle edge to his tone, "Come on, give her some space. This isn't about blaming anyone."

Sarah, sensing the tension, quickly backtracked, "I didn't mean to pry. It's just that, you know, Rafe… everything that happened."

Your gaze shifted from Sarah to JJ, appreciating his defense but also feeling the weight of the unspoken truth. Taking a deep breath, you decided to address it, "It's a part of it, yeah. But not the only thing. I need time to figure things out, to heal."

Sarah's eyes softened with understanding, and a somber expression replaced the previous curiosity. "I get it, Y/N. Relationships are complicated, especially when emotions are high." She sighed, a touch of regret in her voice. "I never wanted you to get hurt in all this. I thought we were doing the right thing by involving Rafe, but I didn't anticipate it turning out like this. I'm sorry."

You offered a small, reassuring smile, "No need to apologize, Sarah. We were all in this together. Sometimes things just don't go as planned."

JJ, standing by your side, chimed in, "Exactly. We've faced worse together. We'll figure this out, too."

Sarah nodded, her expression reflecting gratitude for the understanding. The weight of the situation lingered in the air, but the camaraderie of your friends provided a glimmer of support amidst the uncertainty.

As the realization settled in that your friends would be leaving The Cut, a palpable sadness cast a shadow over your expression. The thought of life without them, even if just for a while, weighed heavily on your heart. The chateau, once bustling with laughter and shared adventures, now seemed on the verge of echoing with the absence of your closest allies.

Kiara noticed the change in your demeanor and gently placed a supportive hand on your shoulder. "Hey, we'll be back before you know it. It's just a temporary thing. We'll find John B and sort this mess out together."

You managed a small, appreciative smile, grateful for their reassurance but unable to shake off the melancholy that had settled in. The impending departure of your friends added another layer of complexity to the already tumultuous events that had unfolded.

Their words were meant to console, and you appreciated the sentiment, but the prospect of navigating the challenges ahead without the familiar faces of your friends left an ache in your heart. The countdown to their departure began, each passing moment marking the impending separation.

"You know what," JJ spoke up, "I'll stay with her."

The revelation that JJ planned to stay behind and support you in the absence of the others took everyone by surprise. The room fell into a brief silence as your friends processed the unexpected twist. Kiara raised an eyebrow, and Pope's eyes widened, exchanging a glance with Sarah. Even JJ seemed to be gauging the reactions around him.

JJ shrugged casually, breaking the silence. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on Y/N, right? Plus, I'm not leaving her alone in The Cut. No way."

Your heart warmed at JJ's unwavering loyalty and the genuine concern etched on his face. Kiara recovered first, a playful grin forming. "Well, aren't you turning into a knight in shining armor, JJ?"

JJ rolled his eyes, attempting to downplay the moment. "Come on, guys, it's not a big deal. Just looking out for a friend."

Pope chuckled, appreciating JJ's gesture. "It's a big deal to us, man. Thanks for doing this."

Sarah nodded in agreement, her earlier concern turning into a small smile. "Yeah, thanks, JJ. It means a lot."

Your friends expressed their gratitude, and the room soon buzzed with a mix of surprise and camaraderie. The initial somber mood lifted as JJ's decision brought a sense of unity back to the group. The impending departure felt a bit more bearable with JJ's assurance that you wouldn't be navigating the challenges alone.

JJ flashed you a grin, silently communicating that he had your back. The bond between you and your friends, despite the uncertainties ahead, remained unbroken. Once things had been establish, the rest of your friends went off to continue their packing, leaving you and JJ alone in the living room.

As you shifted on the couch, attempting to find a more comfortable position, a subtle grimace crossed your face. The pain from your side wound pulsed with each movement, a sharp reminder of the recent events. Every wince painted a story of discomfort and lingering ache, etching the toll that the night had taken on your body.

JJ, seated beside you, couldn't help but notice your struggle. His expression tightened with empathy as he observed your subtle winces. Despite your attempts to downplay the pain, he could read it in the lines on your face, the way your brows furrowed momentarily, and the way you took cautious breaths to manage the discomfort.

"You sure you're okay?" JJ asked, his voice softening with concern.

You nodded, managing a faint smile. "Just a bit sore. It'll pass."

But with each wince, it was evident that the pain wasn't something easily dismissed. JJ, ever attuned to your well-being, couldn't help but wish there was more he could do.

JJ's brow furrowed with genuine concern. "You took a hit back there. Shouldn't push yourself too hard, alright?"

You nodded appreciatively, feeling grateful for JJ's attentiveness. He shifted slightly, making room for you to lean against him if you wished. "Need anything? Painkillers, water, or maybe just someone to sit here with you?"

You considered his offer, realizing that JJ's presence provided a sense of comfort. "Just stay with me for a bit," you replied, leaning into his side. JJ wrapped his arm around you, offering silent support as you both settled into a moment of shared quietude amidst the chaos that surrounded your group.

The room buzzed with the lively chatter of your friends preparing for their departure, but in that small pocket of the chateau, JJ's presence became a stabilizing force. He remained by your side, a silent guardian, offering solace in the midst of uncertainty. The weight of recent events lingered, but with JJ beside you, there was a glimmer of reassurance that you weren't facing it alone.

JJ's gaze remained fixed on you, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling in his eyes. The anger simmered beneath the surface as he contemplated the injustice of what you had endured at Rafe's hands. Frustration, disbelief, and a protective fury welled up within him, directed not only at Rafe but also at the situation that led you to consider giving him a chance to explain.

In those moments of silence, JJ wrestled with the thought of how you deserved so much better. The torment you experienced was evident, both physically and emotionally, and it fueled JJ's determination to shield you from any further harm. He found it difficult to comprehend why you were granting Rafe an opportunity to speak, given the pain he had caused.

Yet, JJ respected your autonomy and understood that decisions, especially those involving matters of the heart, weren't always straightforward. His frustration with the situation was tempered by a deep concern for your well-being. As he continued to watch over you, a silent promise formed in his mind – to be there for you, regardless of the choices you made and the challenges you faced.

JJ cleared his throat, a gentle interruption to the heavy silence in the living room. His hand rested on your thigh, a tender gesture that conveyed both concern and a desire to comfort. In the hushed tones of a whispered confession, he opened up about the tumult of emotions swirling within him.

"I worry about you, you know?" he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. "Seeing you like this, it kills me. I hate it. I just… I want to protect you, make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again."

His voice, filled with a raw sincerity, resonated in the room. The weight of his words lingered, hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. In that moment, JJ wasn't just expressing concern; he was revealing a profound connection that bound him to your well-being, a commitment to be the shield against the storms that threatened to unravel the fragile peace you sought.

Your hand met JJ's, a comforting union that spoke volumes without the need for words. The acknowledgment of his worry and protective instinct was met with your understanding and gratitude. Your fingers traced a gentle pattern on the back of his hand, a silent reassurance that his support meant the world to you.

"I appreciate you, JJ," you whispered, your eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words could only partially capture. "Having someone like you around, someone who cares so much… it means more than I can express right now."

In that shared moment of understanding, a subtle warmth permeated the room, a connection that surpassed the complexities of the recent turmoil. JJ's concern was met with your appreciation, forming an unspoken pact that strengthened the bond between you. The weight of the past began to ease, replaced by the solace found in the presence of someone genuinely caring—a friend, a protector, and perhaps something more.

JJ's words hung in the air, soft and sincere. His eyes bore into yours, revealing a vulnerability that echoed the sentiment behind his confession. "I really do love you," he said, the weight of those words settling in the room.

In the moment of silent exchange, a myriad of emotions danced in the air between you and JJ. His gaze, unwavering and filled with sincerity, sought a response from you. As you locked eyes with him, the weight of his words and the depth of his feelings settled into your heart.

Your own emotions were a complex tapestry—woven with the threads of pain, uncertainty, and the lingering affection you had for Rafe. Yet, here was JJ, offering you a different kind of solace, a love untainted by the shadows of betrayal.

In the quiet intensity of that gaze, unspoken words echoed. The room held a fragile balance, teetering on the edge of what had been and what could be. It was a pivotal moment, one that would shape the path forward.

Finally, after a beat that felt like an eternity, you spoke, your voice a whisper amidst the charged atmosphere. "JJ, I…" The rest of your words lingered, hanging in the air, as you grappled with the complexities of your heart.

In that charged moment, the world outside the chateau melted away as you pressed your lips against JJ's. The kiss was a fusion of shared pain, unspoken emotions, and the comfort that only the closeness of someone you cared about could bring. It carried the weight of unspoken words, telling a story of understanding and shared vulnerability.

JJ responded, his hand gently cupping your cheek as the kiss deepened, a silent exchange of feelings and a promise for the support that lay ahead. His hand held the small of your back as he picked you up, careful not to let his lips detach from yours. You wrapped your legs around him, and he carried you gently to his room, the weight of his commitment to your well-being now manifesting in the way he held you, the way he guided you towards the bed.

He placed you down onto the white comforter, his eyes still locked onto yours, speaking volumes with a silent intensity. Your heart raced faster with each passing moment, the connection between you two cemented in the shared understanding of healing, acceptance, and vulnerability.

As JJ hovered above you, his eyes still locked onto yours, you felt a wave of uneasy emotions wash over you. This newfound connection with JJ was exhilarating, but also frightening. In the back of your mind, you knew that there were consequences to every action, and your kiss with JJ would have far-reaching implications.

JJ could sense your hesitancy, and he pulled away from the kiss, sitting up on the bed with a solemn expression. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice laced with concern. "I shouldn't have done that, especially not right now."

You sat up next to him, taking his hand in yours. "No, JJ," you reassured him, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. "You didn't do anything wrong. I want this too."

In that moment, something shifted between the two of you. You sensed that JJ had been holding back, and now he seemed freer to express the depth of his affection. You gazed into his eyes, and even in the muted light of the room, you saw the brightness of his gaze.

JJ leaned in, capturing your lips in another tender kiss. This time, the kiss was slow and gentle, conveying the tenderness that he felt towards you. His hand trailed down your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You felt a shiver go down your spine, desire stirring within you.

The kiss deepened, and you found yourself losing yourself to the moment. JJ's hands were everywhere, exploring and caressing, as the heat between you two continued to grow. You felt his hand trail down your bare skin, his fingers eager to explore the contours of your body.

JJ's touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you. He tasted of longing as he kissed you again, his hand trailing down your curves. You gasped at the sensation of his fingers on your skin, as his hand found its way under the waistband of your pants.

As JJ kissed his way down your collarbone, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. While he kissed way down your collarbone, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. JJ's touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you. He tasted of longing as he kissed you again, his hand trailing down your curves. You gasped at the sensation of his fingers on your skin, as his hand found its way under the waistband of your pants.

The intensity of the moment was both thrilling and terrifying. You felt vulnerable and exposed, but JJ's gentle touch was comforting and reassuring. His hand caressed your skin with a tenderness that makes you feel cherished and safe.

Suddenly, JJ pulled away from the kiss and met your gaze. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly, seeking your affirmation. You nod, your eyes locking onto his.

JJ's fingers continued to explore the contours of your body, each touch sending a wave of pleasure through you. You reached out to pull him closer, craving the intimacy of his touch.

He leaned into you, kissing you with a fiery passion that melted your heart. You moaned softly as you felt the weight of his body on top of yours, every sensation heightened by the intensity of the moment. JJ's fingers traced back up your body, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt yourself losing control to the frenzy of desire that was building inside you. You reached out to remove JJ's shirt, wanting to feel the heat of his skin against yours.

As JJ's shirt fell away, he pulled you in closer still, deepening the kiss with a passion you'd never felt before. The heat of his body pressed against yours, lowering any remaining defenses you had.

As the kiss broke, JJ guided you onto your back, hovering over you with intensity that made your heart race. You felt his fingers slide past the waistband of your pants, and in that moment, there was no room for fear or uncertainty. JJ knew exactly how to touch you, his fingers finding every sensitive spot and igniting a fire inside you. Your hands clenched around his shoulders, holding him closer as desire consumed you.

JJ's fingers created a symphony on your skin, resonating with the raw emotions within you. Every touch, every caress, every stroke was a step towards transcending the pain that had long haunted you. The intensity of the moment seemed to heighten with each passing moment.

You found yourself letting go, embracing the pleasure and sensations that JJ was offering you with each passing touch. He felt like a lifeline, a way to escape the pain and the uncertainty that had been consuming you.

As the heat between you two continued to grow, JJ's touch became more urgent and his kisses grew more intense. You could feel both of your heartbeats pulsing in unison, a physical manifestation of the emotional bond that you shared.

JJ continued to explore your body with his hands, his mouth, and his kisses. Slowly, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of your pants, pulling them down your legs until they fell to the floor. Then, he kissed his way down your stomach, trailing wet kisses across your skin.

You arched your back as he kissed the inside of your thighs, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. You could feel the heat building between your legs as your desire intensified. Finally, he leaned forward, parting your legs and dipping his head between them. The sensation of his tongue against your skin made you gasp, as waves of pure ecstasy washed over you.

JJ's tongue continued to work its magic between your legs, moving in a rhythm that drove you wild. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as you rode the waves of pleasure that JJ was creating within you.

As the intensity of the pleasure reached a dizzying peak, JJ lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence. He leaned forward and kissed you deeply, sharing the taste of your desire with you. You could feel his own desire rising, and in the heat of the moment, you both knew that you wanted more.

JJ moved up and over you, his body pressing against yours with a hunger that matched your own. He kissed you hard on the lips, leaving you wanting more. You could taste yourself on his lips and it drove you wild. In a move that caught you off guard, JJ flipped you over so that you were on top. He sat back, his eyes locked onto yours, with a hungry expression etched on his face. You could feel your heart racing as he pulled you close, his hands trailing down the curves of your body, every touch igniting a new flame of desire.

With a trembling hand, you reached down and unbuttoned JJ's pants. His eyes locked onto yours, smoldering with desire. You helped guide his pants off, leaving him wearing only his boxer briefs, tented with the obvious bulge of his arousal.

Climbing back onto his lap, you straddled him, running your hands over his muscular chest. You could feel the heat of his body beneath yours as his hands roamed your back. Without hesitation, you guided JJ's hardening member inside of you. Both of you moaned at the sensation of finally joining together. You rolled your hips, relishing the feeling of JJ filling you completely.

Moans filled the room as you rode JJ, feeling each thrust of his body against yours. He gripped your hips with a firm grip, guiding you to grind against him with a passionate urgency. The heat between you two only seemed to grow, the air thick with the scent of lust and desire. Every movement only intensified the pleasure pulsing between you, a symphony of desire that seemed to soar higher and higher.

JJ's hands were firmly clasping your hips, as he started bucking up into you. You threw your head back, letting out a low moan, craving more of the primal pleasure that was consuming you.

"I've been wanting to fuck you for so long, baby," JJ whispered in your ear, as he continued to drive his hardness up into you. You couldn't help but gasp in response, your eyes locking onto his with intense desire. You rode him with increasing fervor, so close to tumbling over the edge of bliss. JJ's hands found their way to your breasts, fondling them, and teasing your nipples to the point of pain.

Suddenly, JJ flipped you over onto your stomach, grabbing your hip and pulling you back into him with a force that took your breath away. You felt his hard length slide between your slick folds, every movement punctuated by the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts.

You gripped the sheets tightly as JJ continued to drive into you with increasing passion, his hands roaming over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The sounds of your moans, mingling with his grunts, filled the air, heightening the intensity of the moment. JJ was relentless, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that left you gasping for air.

As your body writhed beneath JJ's touch, you could feel the pounding of your heart echo through your ears. You wanted nothing more than to be lost in the moment, to feel everything that was happening to you. JJ was still slamming into you with a frenzied intensity, and you were relishing every single moment of it. You longed to be consumed by the carnal pleasure that was coursing through your veins.

"Fuck Jay, harder." You begged, your voice trembling with desire. JJ smirked before he gripped your hips tighter and increased the pace of his thrusts. His dick was hitting all the right spots inside you, sending waves of pleasure reverberating throughout your entire being.

JJ is relentless in his thrusts, seemingly driving you both to the brink of ecstasy. With every slam of his cock into you, you can feel the pressure building inside you, an insistent tug of desire that is threatening to consume you. His hands are everywhere, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples, his lips trailing hot kisses down your back. He's talking to you, too, his voice a low, gravelly growl that only serves to turn you on even more.

"That's it, baby," he says, slapping your ass so hard that it leaves a handprint. "Take me Show me how much you want me." You're helpless to resist as he continues to fuck into you harder.

JJ's cock was now hitting you at an incomprehensible speed, the pleasure overwhelming and making your mind go blank. You felt a shuddering climax building within you as each thrust drove you closer to the edge. With a guttural cry, JJ slammed into you one last time, triggering an explosion of ecstasy that sent you spiraling out of control. Stars burst behind your closed eyelids as your body undulated wildly, lost in the throes of pure carnal pleasure.

JJ lay beside you, his chest heaving with exertion. You withdrew from him, feeling a sudden wave of fatigue washing over you. As you lay there, you could hear the sound of your combined panting reverberating off the walls, punctuated by the creaking of the bed beneath you.

After a few minutes of catching your breath, JJ stirred, reaching out an arm to pull you close. You nestled against him, feeling his warmth against your skin.

"I can't believe how good that felt," JJ murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. You nodded, feeling a sudden sense of elation.

JJ pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. You snuggled into his chest, feeling content and fulfilled. The silence was broken only by the sound of your breathing.

After a few more moments, JJ spoke up, his voice a low, rumbling growl. "So," he said, "what happens now?" You looked up at him, feeling a sudden sense of nervousness.

JJ's breath mingled with yours as you lay there, tangled in the aftermath of an unexpected and passionate moment. The weight of what just happened pressed upon you, and a quiet, contemplative atmosphere settled between you and JJ.

His question hung in the air, a beacon of uncertainty in the dimly lit room. Your eyes met his, searching for answers in the depths of each other's gaze. It was a moment where time seemed to pause, allowing you to reflect on the choices made in the heat of the night.

"I don't know," you confessed, the honesty lacing your words. "I didn't expect any of this to happen."

JJ's arms around you tightened slightly, providing both comfort and a subtle acknowledgment of the complexity of the situation. As you lay there, your mind wrestled with conflicting emotions—regret, desire, and the realization that the dynamics between you and JJ had shifted in a way that was impossible to ignore.

The room remained shrouded in a contemplative silence, leaving the next steps uncertain, much like the shadows playing on the walls around you.

JJ's eyes, once filled with the remnants of passion, shifted to concern as he noticed the change in your demeanor. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking at you intently, and gently asked, "What's wrong?"

You hesitated, the weight of the moment settling in your chest. A mix of emotions played across your face as you tried to find the right words. "I… I just didn't expect this, JJ," you admitted, your voice a whisper in the quiet room.

He reached out, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your cheek. "Is it us? Did I do something wrong?" JJ's concern deepened, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

"No, JJ," you reassured him, offering a faint smile. "It's not about you. It's just… everything. The situation, my feelings, and…" You trailed off, struggling to articulate the swirling thoughts in your mind.

JJ remained silent, giving you the space to share what you needed. The air in the room hung heavy with unspoken words, a tangible tension that needed to be addressed.

You took a deep breath, breaking the silence with a heavy sigh. "We can't tell anyone about this," you repeated, your voice carrying the weight of your own internal conflict. The atmosphere in the room grew tense as you met JJ's gaze, your eyes revealing the turmoil within.

JJ's expression shifted to a mix of understanding and a hint of disappointment as he processed your words. He nodded in agreement, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Yeah, you're right," he replied, his voice carrying a weight of secrecy.

The room fell into an uneasy silence as the weight of the unspoken agreement settled in. The aftermath of your shared moment left a complicated air between you and JJ. The reality of the situation was now tangible, and the gravity of the choice to keep it hidden from others weighed heavily on both of you.

You placed a comforting hand on JJ's arm, attempting to ease the tension. "JJ, I care about you a lot," you began, your words carefully chosen. "But I also don't want to hurt you. If we let this go any further, it could complicate our friendship, and I can't risk losing you in my life." You could sense the conflict in JJ's eyes, a mixture of understanding and reluctance. It was a delicate situation, and both of you were navigating uncharted territory.

JJ nodded in response to your words, a forced smile on his face. "Yeah, I get it. We're good, Y/N," he said, but the disappointment in his eyes betrayed the facade of casual acceptance. You could sense the complexity of emotions, the unspoken acknowledgment that things had shifted, even if momentarily.

In that moment, a torrent of emotions swirled within you, a storm of guilt and nostalgia colliding in your heart. The memory of Rafe's vulnerable confession and the subsequent turmoil flashed vividly, intertwining with the present situation. A sense of déjà vu crept over you, echoing the past where your honesty inadvertently left a trail of emotional chaos.

The guilt pressed heavily on your chest, each heartbeat reverberating with a silent apology to those you never meant to hurt. You grappled with the complexity of emotions, torn between the desire to be truthful and the realization that your honesty had inadvertently become a source of pain for those who cared about you.

"We should get going," you spoke up, breaking the silence. "I want to say goodbye before everyone goes."

JJ, his eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and concern, nodded. "Sure thing, Y/N. Take your time, we're in no rush."

As he assisted you into the living room, you felt the weight of his gaze on you, a silent reassurance that he was there for you still. The room filled with the sounds of footsteps and hurried movements, but in that moment, it was the quiet understanding between you and JJ that spoke the loudest.

"Hey Y/N!" Sarah greeted, partially out of breath as she carried her bag into the living room. "Where'd you guys go? We were looking for you so we could see you before we left."

You coughed in discomfort at the awkwardness of the situation. "Oh, I just had to change my gauze, and JJ was helping me." The quick explanation hung in the air, and you could sense the unspoken questions in Sarah's eyes.

Fortunately, Sarah's curiosity was easily dismissed. "Oh, okay. Well, we're about to head out. Are you sure you don't want to come with us? JJ might not be the best caretaker," she joked, her playful tone echoing in the room. JJ rolled his eyes at the comment, a smirk playing on his lips as he exchanged a teasing glance with Sarah.

"I'm sure," you giggled at Sarah's comment, "I think I'd miss it here too much if I left." JJ's gaze lingered on you, a complex array of emotions playing across his features as you continued your conversation with Sarah.

The living room buzzed with a blend of laughter and chatter as Pope, John B, Kiara, and Sarah gathered for a final farewell. The air felt charged with both excitement and a tinge of sadness, knowing that the Pogues were about to embark on an uncertain journey.

As John B announced their departure, the group dynamic shifted into a moment of shared affection. Pope, with his trademark warmth, initiated a group hug, pulling everyone into a tight embrace. Arms encircled each other, creating a human knot of camaraderie. Laughter echoed in the room as they exchanged heartfelt words, a mix of promises to stay connected, jokes, and expressions of genuine appreciation.

"You better take care of yourself, Y/N!" John B grinned, playfully ruffling your hair.

Kiara chimed in, "And if JJ doesn't feed you properly, you know where to find us."

Sarah added a touch of humor, "Don't let him make you watch too many surfing documentaries. It's a trap!"

Despite the light-hearted banter, the genuine bonds between friends shone through. The group lingered in the hug for a moment longer, relishing the comfort of each other's presence. As they broke apart, the room held a bittersweet air, a mix of anticipation for the adventures ahead and the poignant realization of leaving loved ones behind.

With smiles and waves, the Pogues gathered their bags and headed towards the van, ready to face the unknown. The door closed behind them, leaving you and JJ in the quiet aftermath, the echoes of their departure lingering in the air.

As the last Pogue left the chateau, you turned to JJ with a sigh. "I can't believe they're gone," you said quietly, a touch of sadness evident in your voice. Your gaze met JJ's, conveying a sense of longing for the camaraderie that had just departed.

JJ met your eyes, mirroring the somber mood. "Yeah," he sighed in agreement, understanding the void your friends had left behind. "It's gonna be weird without them around. But hey, at least you've got me as your personal caretaker now," he added with a faint attempt at humor, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

You managed a small smile, appreciating JJ's effort. "I guess I lucked out in that department," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of gratitude.

JJ couldn't help but smile back, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "You know I've got your back, Y/N. Anything you need, just let me know."

The quiet exchange held a subtle reassurance, a silent understanding that in the absence of your friends, you and JJ had each other. The room, once vibrant with the presence of the Pogues, now echoed with a different kind of intimacy as you and JJ navigated the uncharted territory ahead.

-

Rafe's room felt like a confined space closing in on him. The subtle ticking of the clock echoed in the silence as he paced restlessly, his mind a chaotic swirl of regret and guilt. Every now and then, he'd glance at his phone, contemplating whether to call you or not.

The weight of his actions bore heavily on him, the consequences of his impulsive behavior sinking in. He knew he had hurt you deeply, and the uncertainty of your feelings left him on edge. The internal battle waged on, torn between the desire to reach out and the fear of making things worse.

Restlessly, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, frustration evident in his every movement. The room, once a refuge, now felt like a prison, amplifying the consequences of his rash decisions. Rafe stood at a crossroads, uncertain of whether he could salvage what was left of the connection he had with you.

The absence of your presence in his daily routine gnawed at Rafe. Each passing moment without the comfort of your smile or the soothing scent of your presence intensified the ache within him. It felt as though a vital part of his existence was missing, leaving a void that nothing else could fill.

The thought of not waking up to the familiarity of you by his side amplified the sense of loss. Rafe longed for the ordinary moments, the shared laughter, the mundane conversations that now seemed like precious fragments of a distant past. The weight of waiting and uncertainty pressed heavily on him, making the passing time almost unbearable.

In the quiet solitude of his room, he found himself yearning for the reassurance of your presence, realizing that the consequences of his impulsive actions extended far beyond a single night. The reality of his impatience settled in, a constant reminder that he had jeopardized something meaningful.

The intensity of emotions boiling within Rafe reached a breaking point, and in a fit of frustration, he unleashed his pent-up feelings on the unsuspecting wall. A resounding impact echoed through the room as his clenched fist collided with the unyielding surface.

The pain that surged through his hand mirrored the ache in his heart. Each throb served as a harsh reminder of the self-inflicted wounds he had caused, both physically and emotionally. The raw, primal yell that escaped his lips was a release of the overwhelming turmoil, a desperate attempt to externalize the agony he felt living without you.

Unable to endure the prolonged separation any longer, Rafe's impatience conquered his resolve. The minutes dragged on, each one intensifying the void he felt without you. Frustration took hold as he paced around his room, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, a testament to the mounting tension.

Finally succumbing to the longing that gnawed at him, Rafe abandoned his inner battle. Determination flickered in his eyes as he reached for his phone, fingers swiftly navigating through the contacts until he found your name. Without a second thought, he pressed the call button, a mix of hope and anxiety coursing through him as he yearned to hear your voice once more.

The soft chime of your phone disrupted the quiet of the room. You glanced at the caller ID, noting Rafe's name, and hesitated for a brief moment before answering. "Hello?" you greeted, your voice carrying a mix of uncertainty and curiosity.

Rafe, on the other end, felt a surge of relief as he heard your voice. "Hey," he responded, the weight of the recent events evident in his tone.

"I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing alright," Rafe said, a half-hearted truth apparent in his words, as if there was something more he wanted to convey.

You detected the underlying tension in Rafe's voice, and for a moment, silence hung between the two of you. "I'm… I'm hanging in there," you replied honestly, your own emotions complicating your words.

Rafe sighed on the other end, the sound heavy with regret. "I know I messed up, y/n. I can't apologize enough for what I did. It's just… I hate the thought of not being able to talk to you, to know how you're doing."

Your heart wavered at the sincerity in his words, a conflicted mix of emotions bubbling within you.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting shadows on the walls. You cast a weary glance at JJ, asleep on the couch beside you, a subtle reminder of the comfort you found in his presence. The weight of your words hung heavy in the quiet space.

"I'm still trying to process everything," you continued, your voice carrying the weariness of recent events. "I need time, Rafe."

There was a brief pause before Rafe responded, "I understand. I just… I miss you."

The ache in his voice echoed the void you felt in your own heart, and for a moment, you wished things were simpler.

"I miss you too, Rafe."

The words lingered in the air, a shared sentiment cutting through the distance. The ache in both your voices held a mixture of longing and regret, the complexities of emotions woven into the quiet admission.

"Take care of yourself, Y/N," Rafe whispered, the sincerity in his voice leaving a bittersweet imprint on the connection.

The call ended, leaving you alone in the muted room, contemplating the intricate web of emotions that bound you to Rafe and the challenges that lay ahead.

taglist: @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87, @augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @ilovesteveharrngton, @ijustwanttoreadlols,@wickedlovely121, @fals3-g0d

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[kiwisbell]

Larks and Katydids [dave york]

There's something sweet about you that keeps him coming back to this little diner. You do not know the dark corners of the world he lives in. But you will.

my masterlist!

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: dom/sub dynamic, age gap (20s/40s), blood, violence, murder, soft!dave, dom!dave, stalker!dave, but in a cute way, it's for your own good, obsession, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (wrapping before tapping etc.), brief orgasm denial, submissive reader, dave is a bamf, protective!dave, possessive!dave, dave is nice but only to you, shirley jackson references, fingering, creampie, daddy kink, sweet girl being a dave york staple, kidnapping, implied innocence kink

word count: ~ 14.7k

a/n: y'know what.. now that i'm looking back it.. this fic kinda gives red light and now i'm wondering if i might need some serious introspection for writing shit like this. anyway ☠️ some of you know may already be aware that my earlier fics were inspired by hozier songs. this one was somewhat of an ode to nfwmb, but that may just be because i listened to it non-stop while writing. anyway, if you haven't already read this one-shot, please enjoy!! xoxo

LARKS AND KATYDIDS

His eyes keep drifting toward the sweet, pretty thing behind the counter. 

Dave has instincts. Good ones. For one, he knows that the idiot sitting across from him is not the type of client he wants to make a deal with. Senator Isaiah Berkeley may have the means and motive to kill his cheating wife, but Dave’s instincts prickle up the back of his neck. Berkeley is flighty, nervous, visibly sweating at the brow. He’ll be a liability. Some men are not built for the jagged edges of this life. The man still wears his wedding ring, for fuck’s sake. He’d regret hiring Dave the second he found his wife’s body after a fall down the stairs.

Dave never doubts his instincts. Now, they sink their claws into his eyes until he cannot help but flick them toward your pretty face. Jesus, you’re pretty. This diner is a hole in the wall, a red-and-white and black-checkered-floor retro nightmare that smells vaguely of syrup, and he’s surprised the staff aren’t wearing fucking rollerskates to deliver the food. But the coffee is good, and the food is real, and there’s not another soul here. Except for you.

He likes the simple black shirt and skirt you wear, and he likes the way you roll up your apron to make it fit the curves of your body. He likes the shape of your mouth, the gentle touch to your eyes, the way you beamed at him when they entered the diner. Best seat in the house, you said when you sat them in the corner. Dave tasted honey when he tried your name out loud and took his order: two coffees, black. You smiled, like you could have guessed, and said, Be right up. You don’t carry a notepad. It makes him like you more: you’re clever. You remember things. 

You’re standing behind the counter and reading a book, your chin in your palm, and he’s fascinated by the speed of your eyes across the pages. He understands why you’re so quick when a gruff male voice erupts from the kitchen, calling a name that must be yours. “Get back to work,” he snaps. 

You scramble to hold your place in the book and scurry around the counter to check up on your only two customers. As if you hadn’t been so good, so attentive. You’re good. He knows it. You should be treated like it. Dave’s fingers twitch, like he can swipe at the faint frown that furrows your brow. Fuck, you’re adorable, even flustered, especially flustered. 

“How you folks doing?” you ask, that sweet smile a poison that festers in his blood. “Sure I can’t get you anything else?”

“No,” says Berkeley shortly, not meeting your eye. Could he be any more conspicuous?

Dave, rubbing his fingertips over his bottom lip, doesn’t want to leave it at that. “What are you reading?” he asks.

You blink as if you’ve never heard the question before, but you don’t ask him to repeat himself. He likes that, too. “Oh,” you say, and it sounds like a trembling sigh of excitement. Dave feels himself swell up a little with pride. “It’s called We Have Always Lived in the Castle.”

He hums. “Jackson.”

He likes being the one who dropped that sparkle into your eyes. “You like her?”

“I know her,” he says. Across from him, Berkeley’s fingers are white-knuckling the handle of his coffee mug. He’s staring into the dregs like he expects them to tell him his fortune. “Don’t have a lot of time for reading nowadays. Do you like it?”

You nod eagerly, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining the way you lean toward him slightly, as if frantic to answer his question. “I’m reading it for a literature course I’m taking. I think she’s one of my favourites now. But I really shouldn’t have my nose in a book at work.”

Oh. You’re young. You’re young, still in college, and you’re goddamn smart. The interest stirring in his pants mirrors that in his head. 

“Our secret,” says Dave. “I’ll have more coffee, please, honey.”

He certainly does not imagine the way you bite your lip to suppress your grin and hurry off for the coffee pot, a little mouse. You like to please. He doesn’t need more coffee; he and Berkeley are almost done, whether he knows it or not. 

“I can’t take your contract, Senator,” says Dave, still watching your perky ass as you walk away. “You’ll have to find somebody else.”

Berkeley’s mouth opens in preparation for what Dave presumes will be a flurry of feeble threats and reassurances that I can pay you well, but Dave slips out of the booth and walks away—not before slapping down a couple bills that will cover the cost of their coffees. 

He should go back into town, sleep, and get Kovac to reach out to some more potential clients. But he wants to linger for a bit, hang around, see why his instincts are pushing him toward you, you pretty young thing with a smile that dims all other light. You’re on your way back to their table, holding the coffee pot, and nearly bump into him in your rush. “Oh!”

Dave steadies you with a firm grip around your elbow and doesn’t let go. Your skin is soft, prickled with goosebumps. 

You bow your head in instant submission, instant apology, and he tilts his head to the side. He makes you nervous. “Could’ve hurt yourself,” he says softly. 

“I’m sorry. Guess I was excited.” Your eyes flicker up toward him, and he forces them to stay there when he lifts your chin with his finger. 

“Exceptional customer service,” says Dave. Your laugh is breathless. “I was just leaving. Don’t worry about that second cup, sweetheart.” He drops his hand only to dig out a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and place it in your palm. “Wrong Jackson, I know.”

Your eyes widen at it. “This is way more than your coffee.”

Dave lifts his brow. “You want me to put it in your pocket myself?”

You slowly pocket the bill. “Thank you,” you tell him. It’s strong and clear, and he likes the way it sounds coming from your mouth. 

“I was in college once,” he says good-naturedly. “In ancient times. I know the costs.”

Your laugh, your real laugh, is the chimes of dawn. You’re so bright. You’re the sun slowly painting the sky orange as it rises. “I’ll be done in a few months.”

“Yeah?” Dave frowns. “What’ll you do after?”

You shrug one shoulder. Your other arm is still burdened with holding up the coffee pot. “Hopefully, get as far away from here as I can.”

“Your parents suffocating you?” He’s good at digging, at unearthing treasures with only words; he shouldn’t have to be, in this line of work, but he likes to know things. Likes the control that comes with being prepared for anything, everything. 

“They’re dead,” you tell him. It’s plain, colourless, and Dave’s curiosity deepens. “I live with my uncle.”

There it is. 

Everybody has a trigger. People are like guns. They are predictable, but if you handle them wrong, they’ll jam. He catches the way your eyes shutter at the mention of your uncle, the way your shoulders round slightly, even though that brilliant smile is still on your face. Dave doesn’t like it. 

“Does he treat you good?”

Your slow blink is trancelike. “He’s family,” you say simply, and Dave knows that’s the answer you give every time the man doesn’t treat you so good. 

He grinds his teeth a little bit, an old habit from his smoking days. “Well, I hope you get the hell out of dodge,” he says. 

“Please come again,” you say. “God knows I’ll still be here.”

Oh, he’ll come again. In fact, he decides, he may not even leave.

~

Dave follows you home. 

It’s a short drive once you pull your beat-up Cooper off the highway and enter a little courtyard surrounded by dilapidated apartments. He knows the area. And he knows it’s not safe. Dave turns off his headlights and idles in the hazard zone, watching as you exit your car and rush to the front door with your purse clutched to your chest. He shakes his head, clicks his tongue to himself. Scared little bird, too pretty to live in a place like this.

He waits a little longer. Eventually, he sees you—he knows it’s you, even five storeys up, from the length of your hair and the way it moves—shuck the curtains open. It’s a small window of orange glowing light in the darkness, but he can see you. A man—your uncle—approaches the window, too, lifting the pane and blowing a cloud of smoke outside. Dave rolls down his window and strains his ear. It’s useless; he can’t hear a thing. And yet, he waits. 

He doesn’t know what he waits for. Maybe he’s expecting him to hit you, to lash out, to do something. Something that would let Dave scratch the itch in his knuckles. Instead, he’s only waiting, until your uncle tosses his cigarette out the window and latches it shut. He is evicted from your world for tonight. But he will not go quietly.

It begins with a phone call. Ari. Need you to track someone down for me. 

Your uncle’s name is Jason. He doesn’t share your last name, having been a half-brother to your father, but it’s him. Felony charges: breaking and entering, assault, possession. Run-of-the-mill, except it isn’t, because the fucker lives with you. As far as Dave has been able to dig up, you’ve never reported a word against him, but it seems you like to stay away most of the time, anyway.

Oh, yes. Dave has been digging into you, too.

Senior in college, majoring in Environmental Science at Northeastern. Long-standing and passionate affair with nature. Event Coordinator for SAF (Students for a Future), where you’ve organised speaker panels with renowned climatologists and planted trees in Franklin Park. You write for the association’s newsletter. 

All of it makes Dave frown, rubbing at his brow, hunched over his desk under the light of a single lamp. You’re so good. You’re clever and optimistic and ambitious, and you deserve a hell of a lot better than living in that shithole and working such a lacklustre job. He looks at the picture that accompanies your file, pulled from your social media, and adjusts the hard length in his pants. You’re photographed in the sunlight, smiling bright, your hair loose and gently blown about in the breeze, wearing a skimpy little sundress. Dave hisses and squeezes himself at the base of his stiffening cock. Jesus, get it together, he scolds himself. It’s a fucking photograph. 

Oh, but he’s thinking about you. He’s remembering the tenderness of you, the kind heart, the way you belong nowhere near him. Your soul is snow-white. He will bloody it. 

You've had boyfriends. Of course you have. A young woman who looks like you doesn't go her whole life without boys clumsily tossing themselves at your feet. It doesn't mean Dave refrains from investigating them, too. Two of them were from high school, short-term, and went to different colleges to live different lives. The third—Jack—lasted a year and a half, and you met him in a first-year sciences course. Both of you were from different towns, fish out of water, and gravitated to one another because you had no other friends. None of your friends were surprised when you and Jack began dating, but they were surprised to discover he'd been cheating on you for the last two months of your relationship. 

Jack said you got busy and couldn't fulfil his needs. According to Dave’s thorough research, the girl he crawled to was his roommate's girlfriend. Dave grinds his teeth as he examines the kid’s picture. He's a fucking kid. He's clean-cut, a trust fund baby, never planted a tree in Franklin Park despite your attempts to convince him. He's never gotten his hands dirty the way Dave has. He's never bloodied them. 

Another sip of whiskey, and his cock won’t rest. Dave grunts, unzipping his pants and whipping his belt off, pulling himself out. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes fixed on your smiling face as he spits into his hand and begins to stroke himself. “Fuck.”

His head tips back against the headrest of his office chair. You’re kneeling in front of him, your sweet doe’s eyes awaiting his instruction. He takes you through it, step-by-step, because he’s a bad man, but he’d be good to you. Your perfect lips wrap around his head, your tongue lapping up the precum that beads out, greedy but obedient. You take him deeper, choking around his length and his girth, your mascara smearing as he cups your face and encourages you to take me, you can take me, sweet girl. You do—of course you do—making a low, satisfied hum around his cock when you manage to take him down your throat, happily swallowing around him as he begins to pump his cum inside you. That’s it. That’s it, baby. 

Dave’s hips jerk as he comes, and splatters his cum across his stomach and his hand. Some of it, though, lands on the picture of you, which he does not remember picking up, clenching in his fist.

Is there a circle of hell darker than the one he’s already destined for?

Dave returns to the diner the next week, and your grin when you see him soaks through his bones. You nearly bruise your hips in your rush to get around the counter to greet him. 

“I loved it,” you tell him right away, “the Jackson book. I think I’m gonna write my paper on it.”

He likes that you want to tell him about your life. He likes that you trust him with the small details. He doesn't want you to trust another man like that. It's a dangerous world and being so trusting will burn you. He can't let that happen. Little bird, with your glass bones so breakable. 

He unwinds his arm from behind his back and offers his gift to you. Your eyes glimmer when you see it, then slide slowly up to meet his. “You brought me a book,” you gasp, “and I don’t even know your name yet.”

“It’s Dave,” he tells you, placing the book into your hand. “I looked her up. Thought you might be interested in more.”

“Dark Tales,” you read, beaming up at him with the same smile from the picture he’d jerked his cock over. Fucking Christ. He’s going to hell. You step closer to him and, tentatively, as if he might lash out at you, lift up onto your toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Dave.”

He tries to quell the arousal that’s pumping blood double-time to his cock. He really tries. But he cannot quell the memory of your lips on his skin. Why should he deny himself the heavenly indulgence of your attention? 

“I expect a book report,” he says, all stern brows and unwavering eye contact. 

You hug the book to your chest and he wants to shove you to your knees, bend you over the counter, bury his face in your needy pussy. You say his name, and it’s a whispering shockwave that trembles all the way down his spine. “After such a thoughtful gift… I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Yes. Yes, he knows.

Dave knows what you need. He is what you need. 

You need a man who will treat you right. You need someone to handle you properly, assuredly. You need a man who will hold you like you’re precious, shimmering granules of a crushed diamond. You want to be told what to do. You want to be dominated, protected, fucked. You want to be wrecked, and you want it to put you back together. 

You need a man who will treat you right for the first time in your life. 

Dave continues to come into the diner once a week. He steals you away for conversation whenever you aren’t attending to your other customers, and he gets a tick in his jaw whenever you’re whisked away. Your very existence evicts reason from his head. He wants to give you all the money you could ever want just to get you away from those wandering eyes and too-close hands. He wants to come in every single night you work just so he can keep an eye out: your silent, deadly protector. He wants to slash all the tires that aren’t his so nobody can come here and invade his private time with you. He knows he cannot do any of this because it’s something close to clinically insane. 

Instead, he only talks to you. And really fucking enjoys it. 

“And then Kate broke up with Garrett, even though she still loves him, but once she realised it, she realised Emily was totally in love with Garrett, so by the time Kate went back to beg him to take her back, he was already in bed with Emily, and now none of them are talking. And I’m down three club members.”

You speed through all of this while pouring his coffee, and Dave tries to wrap his head around the plot. “So… what did Emily do wrong?”

You click your tongue. “You would fail a test on girl code, Mr. York. We don’t go after one another’s boyfriends, crushes, or exes. We definitely don’t fuck them.”

Dave vaguely shakes his head. “They didn’t teach me that in school, sweet girl.”

“Good thing you’ve got me, then,” you say, and Dave never gets tired of the way your cheeks flush at the nickname. “What did you study?”

“Never went to college. Joined up when I was eighteen.”

“Oh.” You’re flustered right away, opening your mouth to stumble over the words, “Thank you for—”

Dave silences you with a mere flick of his eyes upward. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the shit I did.”

The quiet lingers heavy and stifling, but it’s you who breaks it. “So,” you try, clearing your throat, “what did you do after?”

“Apparently, I thought serving my country was the only way to go. I was C.I.A.” He notes the way you blink in astonishment, and he feels compelled to make you learn that he isn’t good. “Now, I own a security company.”

“Does that mean you protect people’s homes from break-ins, or people hire you to professionally break in?”

The twist of your lips is wicked and shoots right to his cock. Dave leans over the counter. “Wanna take a guess?”

“Sorry, Mr. York. Anyone that secretive about their job description is up to something shifty.” Your eyes still tease him. “And I don’t want to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Bills to pay.”

“You know I’d keep you safe, sweet girl.”

You’re cleaning the counter with a rag and he’s sipping his coffee, but both of you are smiling behind your respective tasks. “I know,” you say, your eyes briefly meeting.

Every so often, he follows you to school. It’s nice: friendly, modern with natural touches, good to look at among the fall leaves that crunch underfoot. And there you are, walking down the steps, wearing a Northeastern sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and sneakers, your hair loose. You're laughing at something your friend said; in fact, you seem to be surrounded by friends. Dave slips his sunglasses further down his nose as he leans back against the Lincoln. His popular butterfly, so happy and brilliant. 

He doesn't know how your eyes find him so quickly, but they meet across the courtyard. And a game begins. 

You stop in your tracks. Your friend puts a hand on your shoulder (“Are you okay?” he imagines she asks), and you nod, making up some excuse. Dave folds his arms over his chest and watches you continue your walk down the path, departing with all but one of your friends with friendly waves good-bye. 

He knows your class schedule, which means he knows you have to walk right by his parking spot to get to the building. You make it to the end of the path and your friend finally spots Dave. Oh my God, he sees her whisper. The rest is unintelligible, but he's smug as a motherfucker when you bite down on your lip to hide the grin that's tugging on your pretty mouth. And then your hand twitches, and something falls to the ground behind you. 

Dave smirks. Clever thing. He rushes to pick up the key ring while you and your friend keep walking. “Excuse me, miss,” he calls out. 

You turn around, all coy and demure, and he wants to drag you inside his car and sit you right on his cock to straighten out your behaviour. “You dropped your keys,” says Dave, lifting them up with a jingle. 

You feign a gasp. “Oh, thank you, sir.” You make sure to brush your fingers along his knuckles as you pluck the key ring from his hand. “You're a hero.”

Dave lifts his brows in acknowledgement, looking at you over his sunglasses. “I've heard those are good,” he says, eyes flicking down toward Dark Tales, bookmarked near the end and tucked under your arm. Behind you, your friend has her thumbnail in her mouth, enraptured in the conversation that's unfolding. 

He’ll have to rectify your lip-biting habit. “I got it as a present,” you tell him, your fingers tracing the title on the cover. You know exactly what you're doing, and the thrill of knowing you're attracted to him thrills Dave. 

“Very thoughtful,” he muses. “I’m sorry to keep you. You must have somewhere to be.”

“Thank you again.” You look up at him through your lashes and Dave feels his nostrils flare. Your friend tugs on your elbow and he can hear the vague whisper as you both retreat from him: … so hot. 

It's been a few months since he met you. He finds himself following you home and sleeping in his car outside your apartment more than in his own home. It irks him that he can't look inside and see that you're okay, knowing with absolute confidence that he hasn't hurt you. 

The night something goes wrong, you sense it long before he does. 

The diner is occupied by two other customers, one in the corner and the other by the door. Not unusual for this time. Dave approaches the counter and prepares to tease you about your incidental meeting yesterday. 

But you just smile politely at him and ask, “What can I get for you tonight?”

Dave frowns. “Sweet girl—”

“Coffee?” You pick up the pot and Dave starts at the way your hand trembles so badly the coffee spills over the rim of the cup. He wants to touch you, reach out and wrap his firm hand around your wrist, steady your nerves. Why are you so frightened? “I’m sorry,” you say shakily, scrambling for the rag under the counter. 

Dave’s instincts are never wrong. Something, or someone, has put you out of sorts. His blood reaches a simmer at the thought. His job is to protect you. He's supposed to keep you safe and happy. But your eyes are stricken with fear and your posture is stiff. The rag in your hand won't stop shaking. 

It’s the way your apron sits askew, like you've been anxiously twisting it, or it's the way you smile like he's a stranger and hand him something small, “a little something extra,” on the house. 

He unfurls his palm and finds a note. 

The man in the corner has a gun, it says. 

You don’t once stop smiling.

He doesn't recognise the man. He wears a leather jacket and jeans; there's a scar on his cheek and over the bridge of his nose, which is bent from one too many breaks; and he's looking right at Dave with a crooked smile on his face. He lifts a hand and waves. There's a tattoo on his wrist: the sigil of the Lukov Brotherhood. Dave dips his chin in greeting. Cordial. A farce. They both know it.

Dave takes a sip from his cup. “Spill coffee on me,” he says behind the rim, obscuring his mouth from the view of the man in the corner. 

You go to top up his drink and overshoot, staining the front of his white dress shirt. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you squeak. 

Dave feigns a mild-mannered annoyance. “Where's your bathroom?” he asks, shucking off his jacket. 

You gesture for him to follow you and usher him into the tiny, one-stall bathroom. You slump against the door and put your hands over your face. A shudder racks your whole body. 

Dave can't have this. He crowds you, taking your wrists and prying them from your face. “Sweetheart.” He brushes a knuckle over your cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

You swallow thickly. “No. No, he just walked in and asked for a table, but he pointed the gun at me and said he was waiting for the right person. Said I wouldn't get hurt if I didn't get in the way.” Your eyes meet his, frantic. “Oh, God, did I just get in the way?”

Dave pulls you into his chest and lets you rest your cheek on his heart. Your breathing evens out as you listen to it beat, strong and steady. “He's a hired killer. He’s probably here for me.”

“No.” You shake your head, shoving away from him. “No, he can't… He can't do that. Why would he—?”

“I lied to you, sweet girl.” Dave cups the back of your head and bunches your hair in his fist. He needs to make you understand. “The first night we met, a senator was asking me to kill his wife for him.”

“You…” For a moment, you trail off, lingering on the silence. He can't tell whether you want to flee or bury yourself in his chest again. To his shock, a small burst of laughter escapes you, and you slap your hand over your mouth to stay quiet. “I knew you didn't just break into houses. Someone with a car like yours, all those nice suits… God, I’m stupid.”

You're trembling a little from the shock, but Dave needs to take care of the problem and get you out safely. “I need you to work with me,” he tells you. “You listening to me?”

You nod vigorously. “I’m listening, Dave.”

“Good. Good girl.” He squeezes your hip. “You need to get out through the back. I’m going to give you my keys; get in my car and lock the doors. Not your car. Mine.” 

“What about you? Dave, what if he hurts you?”

It fills him with a certain courage to know how deeply you care for him. “He's a lackey, sweetheart. Joined a so-called brotherhood just to scratch an itch.” Dave leans in and kisses your forehead. “He's not gonna get me.”

He's certainly not going to get you. 

Dave reaches past you to open the door, but you grab his wrist. “Wait.”

He barely opens his mouth before you're standing on your toes and pressing your lips to his. It's a frantic, hurried kiss, but it's enough. It's enough for Dave. He's going to win because he needs to take you home with him. 

When you pull away, he pins you with a stern look. “My car, sweet girl. No detours.”

He opens the door and lets you flee, and then Dave is rolling up his sleeves, rolling his head around his neck. 

The other customer has left, meaning Dave and the Lukov lackey are alone. “Mr. York,” he greets, toasting his cup of coffee with a grin. He's fucking cocky, thinks Dave, lifting the drink you poured for him. “She's very pretty.”

Yeah, he's going to make this hurt. 

“Let's get this over with,” says Dave, approaching the man’s table and sitting across from him in the booth. “Who sent you? Why did they send you? And how many more are coming?”

“You don't even wanna know my name?” He pouts. “Ouch.”

Dave lifts a brow. “Answer my questions. If you're good, I’ll let you die quickly.”

The man leans back in the booth, acting like he doesn't know enough about Dave York’s reputation to give him the respect he's owed. New to the game. “Well, my name is Jonah, and since I’ve got a gun pointed at your precious bits under this table, I’ll skip the questions. If that's okay.”

He could have killed Dave the second he walked through the door tonight, but he wants to tell a good story, move up the ranks. It’s childish. Dave kicks out his leg and jolts Jonah’s arm aside just as the man’s instincts kick in and the shot goes off. It rings in Dave’s ears and the sound of the weapon clattering onto the floor, safety still off, echoes in the little diner, but he’s diving across the table and grabbing Jonah by the collar. He jerks the killer’s head forward so it cracks against the porcelain saucer next to his mug. Dave picks up the cup and tosses the contents directly into Jonah’s face. The man howls, the blood from the new gash in his forehead mingling with steaming coffee, but Dave is already kicking the gun toward himself under the table and weighing it in his own hand. 

Dave slides out of the booth and drags Jonah with him, tossing him into a heap on the floor. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” says Dave, aiming the gun between his eyes. “But I guess I will, since you’re clearly new to this. Answer my questions, kid.”

“I’m not answering shi—”

Dave lowers the gun and blows off the man’s left kneecap. The resounding yowl can be heard for miles, no doubt. He frantically grasps for the gory heap of flesh, bone, and blood that soaks through his jeans, seething through his teeth and spattering saliva down his chin. It’s almost pitiful. 

“FUCK!” he screams. “It was fucking Berkeley! Isaiah fucking Berkeley hired me. FUCK!”

Dave isn’t surprised. “Better. That’s one down.”

Jonah lifts his hand as if pleading for mercy, his breaths tedious and his face waxy. “Please, please, I—”

Dave fires a shot straight through his begging hand. The bones shatter and the muscles tear, and the blood is a river down the would-be killer’s wrist. He’s a screaming, growling, cursing heap on the blood-soaked floor. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! Fucking cunt, fucking son of a bitch, you knew too fucking much, man! He wanted to fucking shut you up, and he wanted me to kill your fucking bitch once I was done with you! FUCK!” Jonah cradles his useless hand to his chest and his face rapidly greying, going ashen with terror and agony and blood loss. “And if I couldn’t do it, he said he’d sent the rest of the fucking Brotherhood to take you both down. Fucking… please, let me fucking go, it fucking hurts.”

Berkeley wants him dead. Not surprising. He took a risk approaching Dave to fulfil his contract; he knew he would get the job done, but only if he said yes. And because he didn’t, Berkeley’s got his reputation on the line if Dave decides to blab about the plot to have his wife killed.

He wanted me to kill your fucking bitch once I was done with you.

How interesting. How very fucking curious. 

The third shot tears through the soft flesh of Jonah’s stomach, and he doesn’t even scream this time. He crumples to the floor and stares at the ceiling, every tremulous breath a labour to suck in. 

“You won’t live,” says Dave, cool and detached. “You’ve lost too much blood. Do you want me to kill you, kid, or do you want to lie there in pain a bit longer?”

Jonah shakes his head vaguely. His face is white. His saliva is brilliantly red. “Kill… me. Just fucking kill me.”

Dave ejects the remaining three bullets from the clip and kneels next to the man’s body. He places one bullet in the hole where his knee once was, another in the hole where his limp hand once was, and he digs the final one into the weeping wound in his stomach. “I hope, in your next life,” he whispers to Jonah, “you aren’t as stupid.”

He leaves without firing another shot, but he suspects the life has fled the man’s body by the time the bell above the door chimes to signal Dave’s exit. 

You’re sitting in the car, your hands folded neatly in your lap. They seemed to have stopped trembling. “Dave,” you whisper as he slides into the driver's seat. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It isn’t mine.” He presses the ignition and reverses out of his spot. He allows himself to look at you, and your eyes are already glued to him. “I’m going to take you to my home, sweet girl. Are you okay with that?”

You nod, and his eyes dip to watch the way your throat hollows when you swallow. “Yes,” you say breathlessly. “You killed him. I saw it.”

His eyes capture yours again. They’re two beacons in the dark, glowing neon red under the light of the diner lights. “Does that scare you?”

It should. And he isn’t surprised to see you tilt your head forward in another nod. “But—” Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and Dave has to look away to avoid veering off the road once he merges onto the highway. “But I don’t want to leave you.” It leaves you all in one breath, like your clothes are suffocating you, the closeness of your two bodies in the car, the stifling darkness.

“Why don’t you want to leave me, sweetheart?” It’s a test, and your eyes glimmer with confirmation that yes, you know it is. 

Your hand finds his, your fingers threading through his and resting on the console between you and him. “Because you keep me safe.”

He lifts your joined hands and kisses your soft, unmarred knuckles. It goes unspoken: I always will.

~

“Wow. I didn’t know assassins paid so well. Maybe I should take it up as a side gig.”

He’s absolved himself of the blood on his hands and changed into a new shirt, but he still smells faintly of iron and sweat from the scuffle. Dave watches you spin in a circle on the spot, staring up at the crystal chandelier in his foyer, your eyes dancing like they’re full of stars. “Sweet girl. You told me you refused to step on ants when you were little.”

“Insects and people are different.”

Dave steps up behind you and circles an arm around your waist, his fingers splaying over your rib cage and tugging you back against his chest. “You’re right,” he says into your ear. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes find the phantom bloodstain on your apron in the shape of a perfect handprint, nor the way you shiver. “People would point their guns at you and splatter your pretty brains all over the wall. People would hurt you. That man…” Dave’s lips press against the curve of your neck. You smell so sweet: rich like coffee and a bit salty with sweat. “He would have slit your pretty throat. You see how I couldn’t let that happen, right, baby?”

Your head lolls a bit, resting against Dave’s shoulder. “I know,” you say, clear as sunshine in a stream. 

“I need you to tell me something, my beautiful girl.” Dave uses his hand on your abdomen to turn you in his grasp. You stare unflinchingly into his eyes. “Has your uncle ever hurt you? Has he ever given you any reason to make you believe he would?”

You blink at the change in subject. “He’s never lifted a finger against me,” you tell him. “But he’s… I don’t know, Dave. It started after my parents died. He comes home late some nights, high on something. He’s despondent most days, but he’s never hurt me. He just…”

“Isn’t there.” You nod your head, and Dave is somewhat glad he doesn’t have a reason to take the life of your only remaining relative. “Would you like me to look into it?”

Your lips twist in a tiny smirk. “Like how you’ve looked into me?”

His clever girl. “You like to play,” he murmurs, twisting a lock of your hair around his finger. “That trick with dropping your keys.”

You tilt your head to the side, brows curving up in that oh-so delicious way, and he wants to shove you onto your knees, right here in his fucking foyer. “I’m not tricky,” you say innocently.

“Reading too many books,” he grunts, his breath hot against your jaw when he leans in close and brings his lips next to your ear. 

“Well, when you keep buying me books…” You gasp when he takes your lobe between his teeth.

He huffs into your skin and sucks at the spot beneath your ear. You taste… Fuck, you taste so soft, tangy with sweat, sweet as the syrup you pour. His brain is hazy with how desperately he needs you. 

“Dave,” you gasp, your fingers greedily grasping a handful of his hair to keep him close. “I need… please, I need—”

He cuts you off with a teasing slap to your ass. Your yelp is music to his ears. You just clutch onto him, trying to pull him closer. 

“You don't know what you need, sweet girl. I know what you need. I say what you need,” he says softly, cupping your chin in his palm. “Understand?”

You're honey in his palm, dripping through his fingers, warm. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s right.” Dave cradles the back of your head and watches you melt into the touch, your body like a doll’s in his hands and your pupils eclipsing your irises. His cock is a hard and heavy weight in his pants, twitching at the beast that awakens at the use of your nickname. “You need Daddy to fuck you,” he coos. 

He's thrilled and achingly hard, knowing he was right about you, knowing you want him to take the reins away from you and give you what you need. Your eyes are syrupy. “Yeah, I do,” you sigh, pressing your body up against him. 

He takes your hand and leads you up the staircase. Your footsteps are eager as you scurry after him to his bedroom. There's a large mirror next to his king-sized bed, neatly made with neutral greys and crisp white bedsheets. “You need a plant or two,” you point out, but he's pressing his body up against yours and your words diminish to a soft moan. 

“I’ll let you decorate, sweet girl,” he says, gripping your hips and letting you feel the hard line of his cock against your belly. You grind into him, rasping his name. 

Dave chuckles, and you whimper at the way the vibrations rumble through your spine. “So needy.” The stubble on his jaw scratches lightly against your cheek as he continues to kiss his way down your neck, taking his fill of you. “Such a busy girl. Always working, always studying. You must be so tense, under all these clothes…” He nudges his nose against your cheek and reaches around you to tug at the bow that holds your apron in place. “Let me take them off. Hmm?”

“Please,” you whine, letting him manhandle you in front of the mirror and turn you so you’re forced to watch yourself. Dave ducks his head and puts his mouth back on you, drawn to your soft skin and the soft sounds of pleasure he can pull from you. He unties your blood-stained apron in one tug and lifts it over your head, his deft fingers shifting to the zipper that holds up your dress. When he finally finds more of your skin beneath that black fabric, a little impatient in the way he shucks it off your shoulders, Dave eagerly kisses your shoulders, the back of your neck, licking and sucking every new dip and plane he can reach. You tilt your head to give him more access, wherever he wants, moaning his name and begging, begging, “Please, Daddy.”

“Watch yourself,” he says softly, licking up the side of your neck, “in the mirror. I want you to watch yourself. Can you do that for me?”

Your eyes are lidded and your head is being mostly supported by his shoulder, but you keep your eyes on your reflection as he begins to lower himself behind you, taking the dress with him. He’s pressing kisses to each knob of your spine as he exposes you to the cool air, your nipples perking up and your skin erupting with goosebumps. He handles you reverently, on his knees behind you by the time your dress pools around your ankles, his hands reaching up and squeezing your ass. You jump slightly on the spot, and his laugh is rough—like dragging a wet cloth over gravel. “So beautiful,” he says, and it echoes in the cold room. You feel (and watch) two of his fingers slide through your legs until he finds your slit, wet and glistening. He hums, apparently satisfied. “Who did this to you, sweet girl? Who made you so wet and needy?”

You whisper his name, but it’s not good enough for him. Dave bites into the flesh of your left cheek and lands a smack to it at the same time. “You!” you squeal, grateful for the way he holds you, steadies you, before you can fall. You’re so wet it begins to drip down your thighs. “You, Daddy. It’s you.”

“That’s right.” Dave rises to his feet and lifts his two fingers, soaked in your arousal, to your lips. Once you open your mouth, he fixes them against your tongue, forcing your jaw to remain open as you swirl your tongue around his digits. Tasting yourself. His eyes are so dark they’re black in the dim light, and you want to be so good. You want to please him. He’s strong, capable, so gentle with you, and yet you feel yourself cleaving in two under his lightest touch. You’re splitting, wrecked, soft and pliable as velvet in his hands, and this is what you need. You let your mind fade, sinking into the sweet honey of skin and sex and oblivion. 

The man with his body pressed up against yours is a wraith, dealing in death and dark corners and the cool grooves of a bullet—its ever-certain path through the air. He is wrath itself. His hands have squeezed out life and carried it home with him. His hands now caress your body, and you can almost call it worship. 

You twist your heart from your body and place it gingerly in his palm. He will keep it safe. It thrums like a live current through your chest to his. He wraps his murderous fingers around your throat and squeezes gently, forcing your chin to tilt upward. “I want you to get on your knees,” he says, breathing it into your skin as he kisses along your jaw, making the filthy act of it sound so loving, “and I want you to suck my cock.”

Your core is tight with the arousal that soaks your cunt, and you reach behind you to squeeze his length over his pants. Fuck, he’s big. He’s long and thick and you’re dizzy at thought of him splitting you open on it, fucking your throat. “I want to make you feel good, Dave. Please.”

Dave backs away from you and sits on the regal grey velvet upholstery of the chair in the corner. You turn toward him and begin to follow, bared before him, but he leans one elbow on the armrest, still-wet fingers tracing his mouth, the outline of his cock mouthwatering. 

“Don't walk,” he says. “Crawl to me.”

The thrill of the command, clear and uncompromising, sends you to your hands and knees. It should be humiliating, bruising your knees on the hardwood while dripping down your thighs, but the way he’s devouring you with the yawning black of his pupils, thirsty, makes you add a sway to your hips, a prowl to your crawl. When you reach him, you nuzzle your cheek against his thigh, and he tips your chin up with his finger. “My beautiful girl. Take me out. Go on, baby.”

You slide down the zipper of his dress pants and pull his heavy, thick cock from his briefs. It’s weeping precum, twitching in your grasp, and you can’t help but flatten your tongue against the vein on the underside of his shaft. He hisses, “Fuck,” and it’s delicious. He smells like the iron of blood and something wholly him, all man, and your lips meet the tip of his cock in a reverent kiss. He’s being patient, generous in his time with you because he’s finally fucking here: he’s with you, and you’re safe, and you’ve got your lips wrapped gently around the head of his cock. He will not ask you to rush. He will only coax you gently through giving him the pleasure he’s only let himself imagine taking from you.

You let a trail of spit fall from your mouth onto his cock, and it jumps under your teasing touches, the way you lap at him like a kitten at a bowl of milk. You’re so greedy, like he knew you’d be, but he’s so fucking close by the time you tuck your teeth under your lips and slide his cock into your mouth, deep and hot and tight, the girth of him prodding the soft walls of your throat. If you keep this up, he won’t last long enough to do all the things he wants to do with your body.

“Jesus,” groans Dave. His head tips back and his eyes find the ceiling, but that’s not fair, because your eyes are fixed on his. He keeps watching you, the fucking picture of all his fantasies, your pretty eyes wide and smudged with your mascara, your body bare for him. Tears carve paths down your cheeks as you bob your head on his cock, taking him deeper each time, choking and crying. 

Dave’s hand finds the crown of your head and rests there. “Fuck, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re good. You suck cock a lot? Hmm?” His fingers curl in your hair, and you moan around him. “Mine’s the only one you really want, though, isn’t it?” he coos. “Mine’s the only cock you need. You’re my good little slut, sweet girl, on your knees for me.”

Your throat chokes him when you swallow him down, his leaking tip prodding the back of your throat, so fucking eager to please, so good for him even though you’re leaking onto the floor. You love being treated like a slut for him. You love being the one who gets to make his chest heave, his breaths laboured with the effort not to come down your throat. Dave wants to paint your tongue and your face with his cum, but Jesus, he needs to be inside your tight little cunt, and he knows it’s what you need, too. He slips out of your throat, even as you chase his cock with your tongue, and holds you back by the hand that still rests on your head. 

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, and the little whine that pitches up in your used throat makes him drag you up onto his lap and drag his hand between your bodies, his fingers slapping lightly against your clit. You moan, rolling your hips against him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

Dave mocks your pout, yanking your head back so you’ll look him in the eyes. You look positively wrecked, makeup smeared and eyes unfocused with lust. Your cunt leaves a wet patch on his pants. “Poor thing,” he says softly, teasing his fingers through your folds. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“I do,” you say, your throat raspy. “I want to come so badly. Please let me come.”

“Mmm.” Dave acts like he’s pondering it, circling your clit slowly—too slowly—as his mouth explores your throat before he finally makes it back to your lips. He kisses you tenderly, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting himself in your mouth. He slides two fingers inside your soaked cunt and drinks down your gasp. “That what you wanted?” he breathes into your mouth. “My fingers?”

“Any—nnnngh!” you moan, rocking against his palm as his fingers curl up against a spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble. “Anything you’ll give me, Daddy. Oh, fuck, please, make me come.”

“Such a good girl,” he hums, letting you ride his fingers, licking up the sweat that beads down your neck. “Such a needy whore for me, baby. I want to hear my name when you come.”

“Mmmm, Dave,” you mewl, body keen and wanting against him, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his dress shirt, grinding into his hand as you near your high. Another smack, this time to the side of your thigh, another soothing touch to the welt forming there, and you’re sobbing his name, coming in a sudden trill of lightning down your spine, freezing you on his hand as your eyes roll back in your head. 

He likes the way you slump against him, your face once again finding solace in his neck, nipping and sucking at him as you quiver in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He likes you so supple and malleable in his hands as he stands and wraps your legs around his hips, only to deposit you on his bed. “Spread your legs,” he orders. “I want to see the mess you’ve made of yourself.”

His words send new shocks of arousal to your core, and you ease your thighs open for him. You’re fucking soaking. Soaking and ready for him. Too bad he isn’t through with you. Dave briefly tucks his aching cock into his pants and crawls onto the bed, yanking your thighs up around his shoulders and flattening his tongue against your slit. 

Still sensitive from your orgasm, you cry out, pushing gently at his head. “Can’t… Dave…”

“Said you wanted to come, sweet girl.” His hand presses down on your belly as his tongue flicks your clit, and your eyes roll back. “Didn’t say how many times. Be good and let me taste you.”

You can only whimper as he begins to lap up your slick and lavish his attention on your clit, keeping your body flush to the sheets even as you writhe and moan. He's fucking good at this, paying the right amount of attention to your clit and knowing when to pull back when it's overwhelming. He keeps his eyes on you as he eats you out, devouring you the way he likes and making you take it. “Fuck, fuck,” you croak, white sparks snapping behind your eyes. “Daddy, I’m gonna—ah, I’m gonna—!”

He keeps his tongue firm against your clit, wiggling slightly as you soak him, coming hard and fast and without mercy. Dave smacks your thigh again, and you can't tell if he wants to send another surge of pleasure through you or if he just needs to take out the frustration of having not come yet. 

Dave pulls his cock out of his pants again, so hard it looks painful, and manhandles you until you're on your stomach. He slips a pillow under your hips and kneads your ass like he's getting out stress. You moan like a whore when you feel the tip of his cock tapping at your entrance, back arching. Dave covers your body with his and nips your earlobe. “You gonna be good, honey? Gonna let me fuck you the way you need?”

You're so desperate and dazed with lust that you reach back to grasp his cock, take him inside you—

Dave grabs your wrist and, for good measure, your other one too, pinning them at the small of your back. “That… wasn't good,” he says coolly, biting down on your shoulder. “I say what you need.”

You nod your head in absolute submission, your cheek pressed into the mattress. “I’m your good girl,” you tell him. “I’ll be good for you.”

Dave slides his cock through your wetness and notches it inside your entrance. Your moan is breathy and desperate, your cunt clenching around him, trying to suck him in deeper. He wrenches you open slowly, big thick cock splitting you in two, hot and slick and the thick haze of want. “Take me, baby,” he urges, halfway inside you and pushing deeper. “You can take me.”

“I can, I can.” You're nodding, wiggling your hips to take him inside you to the base, wanting all of him filling you, claiming you. Nobody’s ever come close to the way Dave is making you feel, and he knows it. He fucking basks in it like warm sunshine. 

“Look at you,” he grunts, hips meeting the flesh of your ass as he finally sinks in all the way. “So beautiful. All mine.” A short thrust knocks his tip against your cervix, and you cry out with the pain and the pleasure. 

“You're so big, Daddy,” you gasp, short of breath despite doing nothing but lie here.

“Yeah?” He pulls out halfway and thrusts back inside, groaning at the same time you do. “You like my big cock? You like me deep, right in your belly?” His hand slips beneath you and settles at your lower abdomen as he establishes a punishing rhythm. 

You can't breathe. You can't speak. You can't exist like this, ruined and scattered into tiny pieces, your mind floating somewhere above you in the aether. It's glorious and it's agonising and you can't even remember how words taste. 

Dave fucks you. He really fucks you, grinding deep and fast and using your body the way he wants to. You clench around him in your desperate quest to come again, the pleasure all-encompassing, liquid. He drips praise over your body like honey, encouraging your body deeper into that place of blissful nothing. Here, you relinquish control. Here, you feel. He gives you exactly what you need. 

His fingers find your clit and you scream his name. He fucks you like an animal as he lowers his body over your again, biting then tonguing the marks on your shoulder, grunting into your ear. “Dave,” you moan weakly. 

He bites again, like a punishment, his hips angling his cock deeper, somehow, sliding up against your front wall. “Spoiled,” he mutters into your skin. “Spoiled girl, you’ll want my cock all the time now, won't you?” You choke on your groan, and your core tightens as his fingers work your clit. “Who owns this little cunt? Hmm?”

“You,” comes your wrecked moan. “It's yours, Daddy. Oh, fuck, please… Daddy, please, I’m yours… I’m gonna—gonna come!” 

And you do. Christ, you clamp down on his cock, your hips bucking uselessly under him and your eyes squeezing shut as you keep him tucked so deeply inside you with your tightness, milking his cock. It works: Dave pushes your name out of his mouth in a hot breath against your shoulder, hot cum spurting into your needy cunt. You take it the way you take his cock: zealous and whining, his sweet, spoiled thing, your body sucking him in and taking every drop. 

“Dave,” you whisper, tears still streaming down your face. “‘M sorry, I got mascara on your bedsheets.”

Dave chuckles, lifting himself off you even as his body protests, seeking your warmth. “You got a lot of things on my bedsheets, sweet girl. It's okay. Take my hand.”

You turn yourself over and stand with his help, thighs quivering. “Oh,” you gasp, “wow. That was good.”

He presses his lips to your cheek. “Adorable,” he laughs. “Need to clean you up. Get your pretty ass in the shower.”

Your giggle is a little wobbly, a little drunk, but your drunken, beaming face is a reward to him. “Yes, sir.”

Dave smacks your ass as he follows you into the bathroom, watching you steady yourself on the glass doors as you step inside. “I've got class tomorrow,” you grumble. “Gonna have to teach myself how to walk again.”

“I don't know,” muses Dave, purposefully sliding his body up against yours as he reaches into the shower and sends the water streaming down over your head, “I like you like this.”

“Of course you do.” You flip your hair back and get it wet under the water while Dave strips out of his clothes. He steps inside with you and gently swipes a washcloth between your thighs, watching you shudder as he cleans the cum and slick from your thighs. 

You hold onto his forearm and stare, eyes lidded and ringed with smudged makeup, at his strong, scarred body. “You've been through a war zone,” you mutter. 

“A few of them.” Dave wrings out the washcloth and uses the water streaming down your face to wipe away your ruined mascara. You trace a scar on his pec, an old knife wound he barely remembers getting, and your eyes are so full of reverence for his past, his life, that it winds him a little. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” you whisper. 

Dave shakes his head, squirting shampoo onto his palm and lathering it in your hair. He finds he likes this: the quiet mundanity of it, the ease of being close to you, the thrill of being the one who takes care of you. “I’m not the kind of man who walks away from something he wants,” he tells you. 

Your voice is hushed, vulnerable in the wake of all he's done to you. “And you wanted me?”

Dave presses his lips to your forehead. “I still do.”

“They won't stop, will they.” Your fingers finish the job of washing your hair as Dave mirrors your actions, cleansing himself of the blood and grime of the day. “They'll keep trying to… kill you.”

“They will.” There isn't a point in being false. You can take the truth. You deserve it. “That idiot senator wants me dead. He’ll keep sending people after me until he's sure I won't blab to anyone else.”

“Anyone else?” Your throat dips as you swallow down steam and water and the scent of linen. “So he knows… about you and me.”

“He knows that you matter,” says Dave, “and—”

“And that's why he wants me dead, too.”

You're smart. He's known it since the first day. But his vision is a red mist at the thought of some fucking coward putting a target on your back just for knowing him. “He's not going to hurt you,” says Dave, a bit more forcefully than he intended, telling you and himself and the whole world. He softens his voice, smooths it over like icing on cake, kissing you on the mouth for good measure. “He wants me dead because he knows I can fuck his life over in a couple hours. You… you’re…”

You lift your brows knowingly. “Leverage?”

“Good leverage,” he says, his hand resting at the nape of your neck. “If he wants to get to me, you're the best way.”

“I don't like that, Dave.” He wants to eradicate every memory of your frown from his head. “Doesn't it scare you—being hunted like an animal?”

“You know what scares me?” He pulls your body close, your tits pressed up against his chest. His thigh nudges both of yours open. “Someone… some fucking politician… wants to take you away from me. My beautiful, smart girl.” Dave catches the gasp that leaves you when his thigh brushes your sensitive clit and swallows it down with his mouth on yours. “They want to use you. Point their guns at you, the way people do.”

“And insects never do,” you mumble, rolling your hips and sighing at the white-hot pleasure that erupts each time your clit drags along his naked thigh. 

The shower walls are thick with condensation and the closeness of your bodies is immeasurable. Dave crowds you until your back smacks wetly against the cold tile wall, and the hunger in his eyes only makes you feel wanted. His cock is stiffening against your hip, his desire cloying and clotting in your brain. 

“Daddy…”

It’s soft and pitched high, and it gets lost in the relentless pattering of the hot water against his back, the walls, the floor. Dave grabs your thigh and hauls it over his hip, sliding his cock through your folds with no warning, no abandon. You think you say his name again, but he's pushing into you in one hard thrust, cleaving you in two and baring his teeth against your jaw. And nothing matters but this. 

~

You aren't in the diner next week. You aren't at school the next day. Your contact in his phone—something new you both decided to share with one another—yields no new messages. When he calls you, it goes straight to voicemail. He wants to be reasonable. You're sick. Your phone isn't working. No—your phone is brand-new; you just bought it yourself. You were perfectly healthy when you saw him two nights ago, when he made you sit in his lap on his desk chair and fucked you until you were muffling your screams in his neck. He wants to be reasonable, but there's no reason you should be missing. 

So, that night, Dave breaks into your apartment. 

Your car isn't in your parking space: the first alarm bell. The second: your door is unlocked. The place has been left in a haste, the latch bolt sliding harmlessly against the plate as Dave gives the door a shove. It opens without the turn of a knob. He curses when he sees your purse hanging on the hook just inside. 

Dave lifts his flashlight and makes a quick sweep of the room. It’s so small —there’s barely a kitchenette and a single couch, which sits in front of a box-shaped television. He kicks aside a cushion that’s fallen to the floor and investigates the bathroom—he’s horrified to see mould and mildew so blatantly mocking you on the walls—and finds nothing in the bedroom. There’s only one bedroom. Dave opens a drawer and finds men’s boxer briefs, socks, jeans. Nothing of your warm, bright touch linger in this bedroom. What the fuck? 

You sleep on the couch every single night.

Underneath the socks in your uncle Jason’s top drawer, Dave hears a faint rattle. He picks up an amber bottle with a white cap. Blood pressure medication, supposedly. He tosses these aside and searches for more. He needs more. He needs to keep this methodical, or he will explode with anger. 

Dave slides his hand beneath the mattress. A couple more bottles, indicating his forgotten problems are perhaps not quite behind him, and a number of late-notice bills. It’s nothing. It’s fucking useless, useless… 

He wasn’t fast enough. He should never have trusted this man to stay with you. You should be living with Dave. You’ll decorate his home with plants and bright colours and your shampoo will be next to his. His home will smell of you, not just the faint tang of blood that he can’t seem to expel. 

“Fuck!” Dave yanks out Jason’s top drawer and tosses it across the room, somewhat vindicated when it smashes into splinters against the wall. It draws his eye toward the desk in the corner. The little black shape underneath it, tucked underneath the carpet. 

It’s a cell phone. Dave picks it up and finds one message blinking up at him. The battery is almost dead. 

Coordinates. 

Dave fumbles to pull out his own phone and take a picture of the screen. Then, he pockets both devices and leaves. He’s lingered too long already.

~

The coordinates take him next to the Charles River, a shipping dock whose workers seem to have left in a haste. He’s surrounded by large wooden shipping crates, rain-soaked and creaking in the lashing mist that lifts out of the river in the rainstorm that’s begun. Tarps flutter around the crates, not quite pinned down. If you’re crying out for help, there’s little chance to distinguish your voice from the rain and the general din of the city. 

It’s nearing midnight, and Dave’s cell phone begins to buzz in his back pocket. Your face lights up the screen, bright and smiling and posing extravagantly (he took it in the diner, when the two of you were alone, about to exchange phone numbers; “You’ll need a glamour shot,” you said, and Dave was happy to oblige). 

He puts the phone to his ear. “Tell me which crate you’ve put her in, and I’ll make it quick for all of you.”

“I promised I wouldn’t harm her,” says a male voice he doesn’t recognise. Another Brotherhood lackey, he guesses. “She’s being very good for us, Mr. York. Very obedient. Did you break her in for us?”

Dave will not take this bait. “Put her on the phone.”

There’s a faint rustling, and his vision goes blood-red at the sound of your little yelp of pain. “Dave,” comes your trembling voice. “Dave, I’m sorry.”

Dave begins to splash along the rain-slick pavement. Oil runoff stains the water and colours it like a prism. He has a cap on his head and the hood of his jacket is secure atop it. “Shh. None of that, beautiful girl. Are you hurt?” 

“N—no, just… No.” It isn’t a satisfying answer for him, but you’re panicking. “Jason… It was Jason. He took me.”

“Why did he take you, baby?” Dave pushes open a shipping crate and finds nobody inside. 

Your whimper indicates the man is holding you somehow, likely by the hair. “He… please… He told me he would get the money he needed.”

“Your boss offered to pay him, then?” says Dave, directing his attention briefly to her captor as he moves further east along the waterfront. He’s straining his ear for any indication of nearby voices. “In exchange for his niece?”

“More like in exchange for you. I guess he knew she’s the only way you’d come.” The man seems ecstatic with the power of holding onto such a special piece of leverage. “You’ll behave, won’t you, Dave? I know she will.”

“Dave, west! TURN WEST—”

The sound of a hand striking your cheek makes Dave jerk away from the phone and kick his foot through a nearby crate, his heart thundering with the rage that clogs his chest all the way up to his throat. The crate’s door swings open, empty. “If your girl doesn’t shut up, York, I’m going to stuff her mouth with my dick.”

His ears are ringing, the rain spitting and the wind rattling his brain around his head. This man truly believes he’ll get away with taking Dave York’s woman. It’s almost laughable. 

And it’s too late for him. Dave’s already heard your scream from a crate further down the waterfront. 

So the man on the phone can see him. Dave looks up to find a security camera fixed to the scaffolding above him, winking a red eye at him through the mist and rain. He waves, as if to an old friend. “You get off on watching me, huh?” 

“Fun to see you flail around,” says the man, “like a chicken with his head cut off.”

Dave can’t help but grin. “Keep watching.” He stops in his tracks and raises his gun to eye-level. “Sweetheart? You still there?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m here.”

“Duck,” he commands, and the shot rings out through the rain.

A little hole perforates the wooden crate, and Dave can hear your scream through the phone. He drops his shoulder to force open the door and finds his victim writhing on the floor. The shot struck him in the shoulder, but Dave puts another between his eyes. It’s merciful and too quick for what he’s done to you, but you’re what matters. And here you are, tied by your wrists and ankles to a chair, your hair matted with rainwater and an angry welt on your cheek. You cry out in relief when you see Dave kneel in front of you and cup your face in his palms. “Oh, sweet girl,” he says. “So smart. You did good, baby.”

You don’t cradle your chafed wrists to your chest or shrink away from him when you’re free, the way you should. Your arms wind up around his neck and you nearly knock him over in your rush to embrace him. “Easy,” he mumbles, burying his face in your hair, breathing in your scent mixed with the saltwater mist. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I knew you’d find me.”

He chuckles. “Your uncle didn’t make it easy for me.”

“That man…” You pull away and gesture toward the dead man on the floor. “He was the one who called Jason. Said he’d be cleared of his charges and given a huge lump of cash if he brought me to him.”

He helps you to your feet. You’re shivering like a leaf in your little dress and apron. Dave almost rips his jacket in his haste to secure it around your shoulders. “There’s going to be more,” he says. “A man as paranoid as Berkeley didn’t just send one asshole to kill me. I need you to run, sweet girl. Do you understand me? Run to the car, near the park, and stay away from the streetlights.”

You dip your chin in a nod, but a flick of your eyes over his shoulder has him stiffening. “Dave, get—!”

He’s pulling you to the ground and covering your body with his before the shot fires. When it does, it cuts clean through two walls of the crate, but another follows in its stead. Dave rolls off you, flipping onto his back, and fires at the man just visible behind the door of the crate. The first strikes his leg, which doubles him over. His brain matter falls in chunks to the wet pavement before his body crumples. Dave stands up as you crawl across the floor and dig around your captor’s dead body, producing his gun. “You know how to shoot that thing, baby?”

“Of course not!” you squeak. “Feel a bit better holding it, though.”

He flicks the safety on. “Good. Stay behind me.”

You’re dutiful in the way you follow him outside, the gun useless in your hands but Dave’s gun pointed and ready in his. The crates make it difficult, but his ears are fine-tuned to the noises of footsteps. He hears them from his left and his right simultaneously, firing one shot at the glimpse of a boot and another at a shoulder. The leftward man collapses, clutching his foot, and Dave puts a bullet in his head. The one to his right makes an almost-impressive shot from around the corner that takes out the bulb of a streetlight behind them. But his skull shatters from the impact of Dave’s flashlight striking him in the head, and he collapses. 

You’re stunned by the ease with which he kills. He's meticulous and he's accurate. The muscles in his face are set, determined, a soldier moving before your eyes. He never wavers. He never flinched nor grimaces. You wonder if he would even hear you if you uttered his name. His mission clouds his eyes and wraps cloth around his ears. It's a murderer you watch at work now, a professional one, a wraith whose eyes glimmer like oil slick in the darkness. The gun clutched clumsily in your untrained hands trembles. 

How can such a man handle you so lovingly?

He ushers you inside his car once you wind your way back through the maze of crates, but a shout of your name makes you spin around and lift the gun you have no idea how to handle. It's a cold, dead weight, trapped between your fingers. 

“Jason,” you warn, “don't come any closer.”

“Kiddo, just let me explain.” Jason lifts his hands, indicating he's unarmed. He's standing by your car, wet hair plaster to his forehead, eyes sunken and cheeks gaunt. Behind you, Dave places a hand on your lower back. He isn't lifting his own weapon. He's letting you decide. 

“You can't explain this to me,” you say through your chattering teeth. “You put me there. You traded me for money. I’ve paid everything, I’ve put up with you being high all the time, and I’ve let you sleep in my bed. Because you were family.”

“I wanted to repay you. I wanted to get a fresh start.” He stumbles forward in his haste to reach out to you, and Dave steps in front of you slightly. 

Jason scowls. “And you. Are you fucking her? You know my niece is still in college? You know you're old enough to be her father? You're fucking sick.”

Dave’s nostrils flare. “I saved her fucking life. I'm the one keeping her safe while you run around with your mouth glued to a joint. How many times has she bailed you out, huh?”

Jason lurches forward, deliberately this time, aiming a fist at Dave’s face. Dave grabs his arm before it can wind back and twists it around his back. “Stay fucking still,” he sneers into his ear. Something inside you coils tight like a poised serpent, the very depths of you inexplicably wound for need of something you cannot yet name.

You stare into your uncle’s face. “You’re the sick one. I hope you get your money, because you're leaving. Dave, can we please drop him at the police station?”

~

You can't sit still. 

Dave’s ordered you to sit on the edge of his bed while he cleans up from his massacre by the river. He hasn't let you leave his sight since last night, which means you've missed two days of school and nobody knows where you are. Your phone shattered when he murdered your captor, but Dave lent you a replacement from his desk. Apparently, he owns twelve cell phones. 

“Which one of these do you use to buy drugs?” you asked. 

“Guess you’ll find out.” Dave smirked at you and handed you a brand-new model. “If they ask for York, say I’m dead.”

You told your friends that you'd come down with a deathly case of the flu and they bought it, dutifully sending their notes to you in bulk through your group chat. Since you shut off the phone and placed it next to you on the mattress, you haven't been able to stop from squirming, your thighs rubbing together as the itch you've been fighting for hours clambers down the knobs of your spine. 

“Dave?”

He emerges from the ensuite, still drying his hands on a bath towel, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his face freshly shaven. You know and he knows that he’s been purposefully torturing you, and now all you can do is straighten up, not-so subtly pushing out your breasts toward him. A soft whine leaves your lips at the sight of him standing above you, so strong and deadly. 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and you wonder if he’s angry with you. You feel his knuckle brush under your chin until it’s directing your gaze, forcing you to look up at him. “Sweet girl,” he says, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “You’re all trouble. Know that?”

You bite your lip, your desire a pounding, beastly thing, clawing up your throat. “I think you should remind me.”

Dave chuckles, his hand leaving your face only to trail downward, finding the top button of his shirt, which is draped over your own body. “Wearing my clothes,” he says, circling the button with his finger until it pops out. His eyes are black, thrilled by the sight of your collarbones, flexing in and out thanks to your fluttering breaths. “Sitting so still and pretty for me…” He clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed in you. “Would you stay sitting here all night if I asked you to?”

“You know I would, Dave,” comes your shuddering sigh. 

“You’d be safe that way,” he muses. Another button comes undone, and the soft skin between your breasts tempts him closer until he’s standing between your thighs. His fingers trace your hard nipples, visible through his dress shirt. “Such a dangerous girl, going missing on me. Do you know how much you scared me?” You go to dip your head in apology, but he grasps a chunk of your hair and pulls it back. “I asked you a question, baby. Answer it.”

“I never meant to scare you,” you tell him, still seeking his touch as you push your tits against his fingers. “I was so scared… thought he would try to…”

Dave shushes you. “I know, sweetheart, I know. Do you know what I would have done to him if he did?”

You shake your head. “Tell me.”

His hand leaves your hair and winds around your throat, his thumb and index finger pressing at your pulse. “I would have cut off his dick. I would have made him watch me do it. I would take off each. Fucking. Finger.” Dave’s other hand, done fondling your tits, ghosts along your arm until it finds your hand, which he lifts to the hard outline of his bulge. “I’d make sure you never remember him touching you.” The hand on your throat squeezes, and your core floods with arousal, another whine slipping out. Dave tips his chin toward you. “You trust me to keep you safe from men like him. Don't you?”

Frantically, you breathe out a yes, your brows curving up in the middle in the delicious way he loves so much. He enjoys the delicate curve of your body against him as it seeks his. Your tits are smushed against his abdomen, your face so close your chin nearly brushes his sternum. You're warm and so soft. Dave is nearly doubled over with the affection you show him and the affection he craves to show you. But he knows what you need—to be shown that you're safe in his arms. 

You gently squeeze his length over his pants and Dave hisses, prying your wrist away and pressing your hand to your own breast. “If you’re going to tease,” he says, “tease yourself. Go on, sweet girl. Touch your pretty tits.”

You roll your head back on your shoulders as you squeeze your tits over the fabric of his shirt, pinching your nipples and puffing out soft moans of his name. Dave’s cock twitches in his pants, and he pulls it out swiftly, hard and heavy against his stomach, jerking himself slowly while he watches you. 

“So beautiful. Does it feel good?” Your eyes are fixed on his hand working his cock, another needy moan slipping past your lips. “Would you rather be the one touching me, baby? Is that what you need?”

Your tongue darts out to lick up his slit when he squeezes the base of his cock, and Dave grunts, hips lurching forward, momentarily losing control. You eagerly take the tip between your lips, but he pulls away and slaps his cock on your tongue. “Such a bad girl, not listening. Lie back.”

Your eyes are black holes, and Dave presses his palm on your sternum to guide you onto your back when you can’t seem to think through your haze of lust. He drops to his knees and shucks your panties off your legs so roughly they tear, dangling off your ankle. It only fans the flames licking at your core, and he can see the glistening wetness of your cunt, begging to be touched. “If I ask you a question,” says Dave, blowing on your cunt and making your stomach clench, making your moan pitch high, “I expect you to answer me. I know you want me, sweet girl, but you should learn to listen to me. Hmm?”

He yanks your thigh over his shoulder and parts your folds with two fingers. “I’m… oh, I’m sorry, Daddy. Please… please let me feel you. I want to feel you. I’ll be good. I’ll be—fuck!”

You squeal when he licks up your tempting slit, groaning at the taste of your sweet tang, mingled with the scent of body wash and linen and something ineffably you. “And if I want to taste you,” he says, pressing sloppy kisses to your cunt, gripping your thighs so tightly his fingers will leave bruises, “I expect you to lie down and spread your legs for me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you gasp at the white-hot pleasure from his warm tongue lavishing attention through your folds. “Yes, Daddy, anything you want, anytime. I’ll do anything—ohhh, fuck, Daddy, please…”

A hand presses firmly against your belly to keep you grounded as he tastes his fill of you the way he wants. This is your punishment, you realise: being at his mercy, spread out like a meal for him, disregarding your pleasure and just feasting on you at his own pace. Always at his own pace. You want to curl your fingers in his hair and keep his face in your pussy, but the idea that he’s between your legs because he wants to just taste you is so delectable that you lift your arms above your head, wrists together, and refrain from urging him anywhere. He’s in charge. He wants to remind you. As if you need reminding.

Dave notices. He sees the curve of your back, your tits straining out of his shirt, your body stretched out for him like a lounging cat. He pulls away from your cunt and bites down on the flesh of your inner thigh. You yelp, the muscles in your legs flexing around his head. “You like this,” he hums, flattening his tongue against your clit. You moan long and low. “Yeah, you do. My good little slut, letting me do what I want with your body.”

“Mmmmoh!” He nips your clit and it makes you tremble, your orgasm clawing at you despite his negligence. “I’m your slut, I’m just a whore for you, your good little whore. Feels so good.”

He and his cock love your babbling. It twitches against his stomach as he laps at you, a cat at his bowl of milk, drinking you down on his tongue. Your moans grow closer together, more frequent, and he knows you’re about to come. So he pulls away from your soaking pussy. 

Your hips chase him until your mind catches up, realising he hasn’t given you your orgasm. It isn’t surprising, but it still makes you pout. “Oh, my poor girl,” says Dave, mocking your expression, crawling up onto the bed and over your body, taking your lower lip between his teeth. You try to kiss him, desperate to be touched, but he pulls away again. “You wanted to come, didn’t you?”

“Only…” You swallow thickly, the desire evident in your eyes. “Only if you want me to.”

Dave grins, his fingers sliding down to your clit and slapping it lightly. “So good for me,” he says, ducking his head again and slanting his mouth over yours. You sigh into him. “I can do whatever I want with this pussy. Tell me.”

“You can do whatever you want with my pussy,” you say between inhaling lungfuls of air as he relentlessly devours your mouth. “I’m yours, it’s yours.”

You look so beautiful spread out beneath him, steadfast in putting your trust in him even as he tore an orgasm away from you, that Dave can’t bear to withhold any longer. He guides his cock to your entrance and slides inside you without warning. You gasp, your eyes unwavering from his. 

It’s intimate like this, and he’s surprised by how much it chokes him. You’re looking at one another as he establishes a deep, grinding rhythm inside you, your legs wrapping around his waist and his mouth connecting with yours in long, sloppy kisses that leave you both breathless. Dave holds you reverently, the way a follower carries offerings to the altar, his hand around your waist and bowing your back to deepen the angle. His other hand, balanced with his elbow, cradles your head as he keeps his mouth close to yours and refuses to let you look away. 

He knows you’re getting close, and he is, too. He takes the opportunity to explore your body, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and sliding his hand up your ribs, tracing them with fascination for the way you breathe. He feels your rapid pulse under his fingers, circles your nipples with his rough fingers, and basks in the curves of your perfect, smooth body beneath him. You’re perfect. You’re everything he’s been waiting for, his sweet, clever girl. 

“You’re mine,” he says, whisper-quiet, his hips sliding against yours, deliciously slow and rubbing up on your clit in just the right way. He won’t deny you this time. 

“I’m yours,” you say, your nose nudging against his. He grins. Happy.

You come just before he does, your entire body tightening and quivering, your cunt squeezing him, ironclad around his cock. Your brows lift in pleasure and your eyes droop, your lips parting just enough for a small gasp to escape. He huffs into your hair when he comes, spilling his hot cum deep into you and bucking his hips flush to keep it snug inside. 

His body is a canopy over yours, and he finds he doesn’t want to move. You smooth his hair back, your touch so gentle and calming to his erratic heartbeat that he lets out a chest-deep sound that sounds like a purr. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper to him, and there’s so much more awe in your voice than he deserves. 

He lifts his chin to capture your mouth. His heart is swelling up into his throat. “Stay with me,” he says. 

It’s not an order and it isn’t jagged-edged. It’s him asking, pleading. It’s him opening his palm and offering a key to you. It’s soft as the brush of sunlight over your skin in the earliest hours. “I’ll stay with you,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his. “You need some touches of colour in this place.”

Dave chuckles, rolling you over until you’re lying on top of him. You’re all the colour he gives a fuck about.

~

There’s a skip in your step as you walk to his car and slide inside. Dave traps your jaw between his thumb and forefinger and pulls you toward him for a kiss before you can even tug on your seat belt. “Hi, baby.” He grins into your mouth. “How was class?”

“You know, it’s funny,” you muse, checking your reflection in the visor. “Everyone was talking about it. Apparently, Senator Berkeley was found in his home with a gunshot wound to his head. They said it was suicide.”

Dave makes a noncommittal noise. “Shame. He must’ve been caught up in something he couldn’t deal with.”

You shrug, getting situated as Dave pulls out of the parking lot. “I started reading the book you got me.”

He places his hand, palm-up, on the centre console, and you take the invitation to thread your fingers through his. “You like it?” he asks. 

You lift your joined hands to your cheek and rest it there. “I’ll tell you about it on the way home.”

THE END.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #dave york #dave york smut #equalizer 2 #dave york x f!reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york fic #suburban murder daddy

[akazzzaa]

FINAL FORM

Final form! Kokushibo x Fem! reader

Summary- You fight Kokushibo in his final form. things change in the middle off battle.

Genre- SMUT// Fluff

Warnings- monster fucking// breeding kink// size kink// maybe cnc? if you squint// sex// creampie// fem oral receive

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a glow over the desolate landscape. You kept moving through the dense forest, the air grew thick with tension. Unseen eyes watched from the shadows. The silence broke by a haunting melody that echoed through the trees, a melancholy tune that seemed to herald the arrival of something sinister.

Following the haunting sound, you stumbled upon a clearing bathed in moonlight. At the centre stood Kokushibo, his figure imposing and otherworldly. The demon's black hair cascaded down his back like a waterfall, and his six eyes glowed with an unearthly light. Clad in an elegant nagagi kimono , Kokushibo held a flute to his lips, the haunting melody emanating from its delicate notes.

Kokushibo ceased playing his flute, turning his gaze toward the intruder. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of gold, locked onto you with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Without a word, Kokushibo unsheathed his blade, a weapon that seemed to dance with the moonlight.

"You are the one who seeks a battle," Kokushibo spoke, his voice like silk and steel intertwined. "A mere mortal. Do you truly believe you can beat me?"

You tightened you grip on your own blade, a testament to your unwavering determination. The battle that followed was a symphony of clashing steel and power, a dance between a demon of ancient lineage and a demon slayer fuelled by purpose.

The moon hung high in the sky now, You now faced the ultimate challenge, confronting Kokushibo in his final and most formidable form.

The battlefield was painted in both of your blood, and the air was thick with the scent of death. His demonic aura radiated with an overwhelming intensity as he embraced the full extent of his powers.

As Kokushibo ascended to his ultimate form, his eyes glowed with an eerie light, reflecting the depths of his bloodlust. His demonic blades piercing out of his body.

On the other side of the battlefield stood the lone demon slayer, Y/N, determined and unyielding. A fierce determination burned in your eyes.

The two of you locked eyes, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Kokushibo's final form exuded a sense of absolute power, and yet, as he gazed upon you, a strange emotion flickered in his demonic eyes—almost a glimmer of recognition.

Without a word, Kokushibo surged forward, his breathing style slashing through the air with deadly precision. You could only dodge and parry. Each strike reverberated with the echoes of your swords echoing the struggle between the both of you.

As the battle raged on, Kokushibo's energy began to envelop you. You fought to resist the suffocating darkness, but it threatened to consume you. However, amidst the chaos, something unexpected happened. Kokushibo paused. His demonic eyes softened, and a strange sense of serenity washed over him. In that moment, he saw not just an adversary, but a reflection of the humanity he had lost. You where battered and bruised, representing the resilience of the human spirit.

Unexpectedly, Kokushibo lowered his blade, and a peculiar calm settled over the battlefield. The once-ruthless demon seemed to embrace a moment of introspection. You cautiously, lowered your weapon, sensing a shift in the tides.

"Human..." he began, his deep voice carrying a subtle gentleness. "I have fought countless battles, faced formidable foes, but in you... I find a fascination beyond comprehension." You where initially taken aback by Kokushibo's unexpected words, observed the sincerity in his eyes. The demon continued, "I have witnessed the strength in your spirit, and it has ignited a flame within me—a flame that I did not know existed. I wish to understand this feeling, to explore the depths of it with you by my side."

As Kokushibo spoke, the battlefield seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a surreal moment. You where caught between astonishment and curiosity, hesitating before responding. "Upper moon one, you are a demon, and I am a demon slayer. Our paths are destined to be at odds."

Kokushibo nodded, acknowledging the truth in your words. "Indeed, our fates may be intertwined in conflict, but does that mean we cannot explore the intricacies of this connection? I am willing to walk a different path, to understand the emotions that have awakened within me."

You didn't know what to say next, So he took the silence as a notion for him to keep going. '' My name is Kokushibo. What's your name?''

''Y/N''

''Y/N? Let me have you. End this fight and prove yourself to me''

The sudden shift in the air was hard to ignore, You limp over to him, covered in blood, his long tongue licks your face and his 'tentacles' wrap around your limbs, spreading your legs open.

''You wont need this.'' Your clothes was ripped to shreds with his sword, leaving you fully exposed to him. Kokushibo stood back a bit, admiring you, the moonlight made your skin glow, your pussy fully exposed with his tentacles holding you in place. Kokushibo kneels, a tentacle reach overs to your clit to play as his mouth comes nearer to your pussy. The teeth where very scary and you instincty tried to close your legs.

''I wont hurt you...'' He mumbles before sticking his tongue in your hole. You couldn't help but moan and move around trying to get more stimulation. The tentacle that was abusing your clit had spikes emerging from it. The danger off it all made you even more wet. A demon is fucking you. The sharp tentacles emerging from his body, his sharp teeth that could bite your head off, horns coming out of his head, his entire form being twice the size of yours. Your mind was going hazy and your climax was close. Kokushibo notices this and keeps the same rhythm but faster, the tentacle rubbing your clit and his tongue reaching all the way into your spot. 'f-ffuck stop i-im gonna-''

''cum'' He finished the sentenced and commanded you at the same time, your body tensed up and spasmed as you came all on his face and tongue, he kept licking your sex and the area around making you whimper from being overstimulated.

Kokushibo rises to his feet and positioned his dick to your entrance, '' You are ready for me... prove to me you can take it...'' His dick enters you and you squirm from the stretch, no human could have a dick like this, you could feel everything. ''Koku- please-more, I need it all''

''Say my name again''

''Koku- Kokushibo!'' He laughed deeply in your ear and thrusted all the way in, you felt like you was having an outer body experience. The tentacles was still holding you up in the air as he thrusted deeply in you. ''You are doing so well, I didn't think you could take me like this'' He keeps his head buried between your neck, feeling the drum of your pulse calling out to him,'' Let me bite you, mark you, taste what belongs to me'' You nod, dumb from his cock. He bites into you teeth and mandibles. The pain was unbearable but the pleasure made it feel good somehow. Kokushibo emerges from your neck and forces you to look at him. Your blood covered his mouth area.

He pulls your face to his and kisses you. At first you didn't know how to kiss him with the lack of lips, but you decided to lick your blood of his teeth and suck on his tongue. ''Demons cant get humans pregnant but we can still cum, will you let me cum in you?'' You nearly laugh at him for saying such gentle things even if what he was doing wasn't very polite. ''cum in me'' Kokushibo groans, if he was human, he'd put so many babies in you.

Kokushibo cums in you, the cum was warm surprisingly being that his whole body was cold. He pulls out but still keeps your legs open watching him spill out of you.

You pant and heave, your hand leaned back exposing the dried bloodied mess on your neck and he smirks at the view. He slowly leans you to the ground and covers you with his kimono.

''You did well, I trust you are okay?'' ''Y-yes im okay,'' you smile up to him, his form was back to normal nut he was shirtless and only then you realised he gave you his clothes to keep you covered.

''The sun is rising so I must leave, Here, Take this...''

A flute, the same flute he was playing earlier.

''If you are ever in danger or if you ever need me for... anything. Use this, I'll be with you straight away..'' He bows down and kisses your cheek, leaving you for now.

A/N: I honestly don't know how to write sex its so awkward... kinda cringe reading it back but I cant change it much more than I have already lol. I hope this was okay

#demon slayer #kny #kny x reader #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo

[lonepantheress]

opposites attract

genre: fluff (angst if u squint) + established relationship

pairing: han jisung x reader

wc: 864

a/n: i'm a slave to school, so i haven't posted as much as i'd like :( </3 trying my best to do that and get to some requests (which I'm so grateful for <3)

In the beginning, nothing could have prepared you for the reactions that people had the most often when they heard who your boyfriend was. You liked the quiet, you were quiet, and you liked the time you spent the most when it was quiet time. Maybe that’s why when you told people you were dating Han Jisung, you were usually met with, “Wow? Really? I wouldn’t have expected that.”

It could be from the way that he would walk into a room and his presence was immediately known, or the way that if he laughed, everyone around him would laugh too. People would often use you two to justify their “opposites-attract” theory.

But, you both knew it wasn’t true.

As different as your outward expressions were, you know that you complimented each other’s personalities perfectly. And it wasn’t just in the way that Jisung would bring excitement and energy into your life, while you grounded and brought him a sense of calmness. It was in something farther below that surface. Something you’d only come to realize when you were really deep in contemplation. 

It was the way that he would make you feel like you were the most important person in the room. When you laughed, he did too. When you smiled, he did too. When you cried, he did too. 

It was the way that when you two were together, you would feel his fingers slightly hesitate before he held your hand. You would feel his lips freeze before he went to kiss you. 

When you sat down and vented to him about any little thing that bothered you on yourself, he’d cut you off and say, “I think you’re pretty.” 

And even though you’d laugh at him and roll your eyes a little bit, he wouldn’t laugh back because he wanted you to know he really meant the words he said. He wanted you to see what he saw, the things you couldn’t always see in yourself. 

It was the way that he would really listen to you. He would really listen because he wanted to remember everything about your voice. How it sounded when you would raise it and scream. How it would sound when you would only let out the quietest whispers and your most hidden thoughts. 

It was the gentle nudges he would give you to step out of your comfort zone because he loved seeing you be the center of attention as much as you liked seeing him in that position. Just enough to present a challenge that would make you grow, but never too much that would make you just break. 

Because he made sure that he gave you the room to be your most authentic self, no matter how loud or quiet that self may be. The way that he’d always look at you with so much love and adoration, never asking for anything in return.

It was the way that you showed him you felt the exact same way.

The way you provided a space where he could just be. Without the need to perform or entertain, where he could just let his guard down and exist. Where he could sit in silence with you for hours, not needing to say anything to understand one another. Or where you could laugh at each other’s jokes so hard your cheeks hurt and tears are spilling down your face.

It was the way that you didn’t need him to be perfect, and you constantly reassure him that you accepted all of his quirks and flaws. How those were the things that made you love him the most. The way you didn’t mind when he wouldn’t text you back. The way you’d say, “I think it’s cute when you snore.” 

The way you’d pester him to try something new, and when he’d be stubborn you’d bat your eyelashes and he’d give in every time. How you didn’t mind when he would talk a bit too loudly, or when he would cut you off in the middle of a sentence.

It was the way that he could talk to you about nothing. How you could give him introspective thoughts on something totally trivial. And then he’d throw the prompts at you on purpose because he loved to sit and listen to anything you had to say.

How despite your differences in temperament, you always took the time to find things you could enjoy together. How you could sit in your room and listen through entire albums, binge-watch shows and movies, finding new ones together.

It was the way that, even at your quietest, you would jump to his defense in a heartbeat. Even at your quietest, you’d scream to tell him you love him. Even at your quietest, you’d never stay quiet when it came to him.

So when people gave you looks of surprise or made comments about how different you two were, you’d smile and shrug it off because you knew you weren’t so different at all. You knew that what you two had was deeper than surface-level differences. You complement each other in ways no one else was able to, and that was what mattered most.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids #stray kids fic #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #han x reader #han fluff #han jisung #han jisung x reader

[bbobpul]

lost, but not in you — jjh

PAIRING. jaehyun x reader SUMMARY. taking a drive around anaheim with jaehyun, and reader reminisce about the hardest part of their relationship GENRE. fluff, angst W/C. 1.5k NOTE. i love niki and jaehyun so much that i had to write a story inspired by her song and make it about him. also #1to7YearsWith127 (/° 0°)/→ my other works

jaehyun embodies the epitome of patience and love, serving as a living testament to compassion and understanding. he is not merely a companion, but rather my unwavering guide—a beacon of light that pierces through the darkest moments—and my ultimate confidant on speed dial.

i consider myself incredibly fortunate to have jaehyun by my side as i navigate the ups and downs of life. amidst the whirlwind of my extracurricular commitments, he selflessly takes on the burden of completing my other works, freeing me from overwhelming pressures. during times of sorrow, he refrains from hastily wiping away my tears, understanding the importance of letting me embrace my vulnerability without feeling the need to immediately regain composure, he willingly immerses himself in the joy of simple moments, meticulously stringing up christmas lights alongside me, and ensuring i stay hydrated by buying water after every physical education class when we were younger.

every seemingly mundane act he performs holds profound meaning—a testament to his unwavering devotion. jaehyun's constant presence throughout my journey of growth and discovery has transformed him into an inseparable part of my life, a constant reminder of the incredible person he is.

"hey, is everything alright?" he asks, a concerned look on his face. "you've been pretty quiet lately."

"just lost in my thoughts," i reply, my voice tinged with a hint of introspection.

"what's been on your mind?" he probes, genuine curiosity shining through.

"just a bunch of things, you know?" i answer, my tone suggesting a mix of contemplation and uncertainty.

"you sure you're alright?" he persists, his caring nature evident. "how about we go for a drive? just cruising around anaheim."

there's jaehyun, always somehow attuned to the inner workings of my mind, sensing my emotions without me even saying a word. he knows me better than anyone else, and that's what makes him so special.

i smile faintly at his concern, appreciating his ability to sense when something's bothering me. taking a drive with him around anaheim sounds like a comforting idea, a chance to clear my mind and perhaps find solace in his company.

"yeah, a drive sounds nice," i reply, my voice reflecting a mix of gratitude and longing. "let's go."

jaehyun's touch is gentle yet firm as he takes hold of my wrist, encouraging me to rise from my seat. we make our way up to the parking lot, where the bustling atmosphere threatens to engulf us. there, he holds me with such tenderness, as if afraid that i would slip away amidst the sea of people. his grip provides a comforting anchor, a silent reassurance that i am not alone in navigating the overwhelming world around us.

as we cruise along the road, jaehyun's animated voice fills the air, carrying his excitement for a future event that is still months away.

he enthusiastically discusses his plans of getting a real tree for this year's christmas—a small yet significant detail that warms my heart.

it is in these seemingly ordinary moments that i find solace, realizing that he not only cherishes our present connection but also envisions a future together. his words paint a picture of shared joy and anticipation, and it brings genuine happiness to my soul, knowing that he sees me as an integral part of his life.

"i mean, we could always stick with the old one," i suggest, a hint of hesitation in my voice.

jaehyun turns to me, a playful glint in his eyes. "but babe, we've had that tree for two whole years now. i think it's about time we switch things up and embrace a little change," he replies, his tone filled with gentle persuasion.

"yeah, you're right," i concede, acknowledging the practicality of considering our options with ample time. "we still have a lot of time to think about it."

jaehyun's response, however, carries a deeper sentiment. his words resonate with unwavering conviction, emphasizing his desire to make each passing winter season truly memorable. "whether it's months away or tomorrow, i want this year to be special," he declares, his voice brimming with a sense of unwavering commitment.

"i've loved you through three winters now, honey, and i want to spend all of my winters with you." his assurance flows effortlessly, as if he instinctively knows what my heart needs, even when i haven't explicitly voiced my concerns. his love for me radiates through his words, reassuring me that our connection is steadfast and enduring.

love endures. it's true, our journey hasn't always been smooth sailing. we've faced our fair share of challenges and obstacles along the way, but it's through those trials that our bond has grown stronger.

we've weathered storms, navigated through rough patches, and faced difficult moments that tested our commitment. yet, through it all, we've found the strength to endure, to hold on to the love we share. each hurdle has become an opportunity for growth and learning, as we've discovered the depths of our resilience and the power of our connection.

flashback, 4 years ago

ah, the stubbornness of our youth. i can relate. we've had our fair share of pushing people away and then desperately pulling them back into our lives, trapped in a toxic and exhausting cycle. life hasn't been particularly kind to me lately, but somehow, amidst the chaos, jaehyun remains steadfast by my side.

i often find myself wondering how he possesses such immense patience and endurance to withstand my unpredictable moods and behaviors. it's as if he possesses this innate ability to untangle the tangled threads in my mind with ease and tenderness.

"because i love you," he utters those words, calmly and unwaveringly, even when i snap at him. this period of my life has been anything but easy, yet he has remained a constant presence, a pillar of support.

it's not the first time he has spoken those words to me, offering his unwavering love and understanding. in response to his gentle declaration, all i can muster is a heartfelt apology.

"i'm sorry, jaehyun," i say, my voice laced with sincerity.

and like countless times before, his answer echoes with unwavering consistency, "i know."

the words he speaks are filled with immense consideration and love, as he delicately asks, "do you need space, baby? i understand that you're feeling lost right now."

overwhelmed by emotions, i can't find the words to respond. but he continues, his voice a gentle whisper, "i know you're tired, and truth be told, i am too. i don't want to pressure you into defining our relationship with labels. none of that matters to me. what truly matters is you. i just want you to know that if there ever comes a time when you can't promise me tomorrow, i will. and if there ever comes a time when you feel unable to promise me anything at all, i will still be here. i will patiently wait until you feel worthy of love, until you feel capable of loving. i will search for you in every corner of this world, but only when you're ready to be found. i will strive to give you everything, to make you feel cherished. so, please, my love."

his heartfeltwords wash over me, leaving me in awe of his unwavering devotion and understanding.

it's undeniable that i struggle with feeling incapable of loving and unworthy of his affection. it's a persistent sentiment that lingers within me, no matter how much time i've spent growing up with him, nearly my entire life intertwined with his. despite our shared history, i can't shake the sensation that i'll never truly grasp the familiarity of this path we're on.

"just be honest with me, y/n," he pleads, his voice filled with a mix of hope and vulnerability.

"i'm so sorry, jaehyun," i whisper, a hint of sadness tingling my words. "baby, i would give anything to stop time and wholeheartedly commit to you. i want to share all of my tomorrows with you. i am lost, but not in you, not because of you. i don't need space, jaehyun. in fact, i want you right here, by my side. i want you here, just here, with me."

in that moment, i bare my soul, expressing my deepest desires and vulnerabilities. despite my own internal struggles, i recognize the immense value and significance of having him by my side. his presence brings comfort and stability in a world that often seems overwhelming. i long for him to understand that, although i may be grappling with my own sense of direction, his love is a guiding light, a source of strength that anchors me in the present.

——— ♡

those moments of hardship have shaped us, teaching us valuable lessons about patience, understanding, and forgiveness. we have learned to communicate better, to support each other, and to find solace in knowing that we are in this together.

our journey hasn't always been easy, but it's precisely because of those challenges that our love stands firm today. we know the depth of our commitment, and we appreciate the beauty of the endurance we've built together. it's a testament to our shared strength and the unwavering love that binds us, transcending any obstacles that may come our way.

#jeong jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fluff #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fluff #jaehyun angst #yo0nzino #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x y/n #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun au #nct x reader #nct angst #nct fluff #nct imagines #Spotify

[astrialuvs]

"Overthinker"

➻ SYNOPSIS : Akaashi's quiet crush on you quietly blossomed in the bustling labyrinth of their shared school life. Akaashi's analytical mind found solace in your calming presence amid the complexities of academic pursuits and volleyball commitments. This led to unraveling emotions that formed an unspoken connection between you two, laying the groundwork for a potentially meaningful bond.

➻ PAIRING : akaashi keiji x reader

➻ GENRE : fluff, highschool crush ('coz idk what to do with my last year in shs)

➻ CONTENT WARNING : acts of service (manifesting to receive one this 2024 🤞), brainrot akaashi

➻ WORD COUNT : 795 words

a/n: happy new year!! at my lowest point (5 hours of sleep) | one akaashi keiji add to cart pls | not proofread

In the labyrinth of their shared school, where the ebb and flow of students created a bustling backdrop, you and Akaashi's paths had crossed since your first year. You were classmates who recognized each other with polite smiles and casual conversations. Yet, beneath the surface, Akaashi's heart harbored a secret—a small crush that had quietly taken root and blossomed over time.

Akaashi, the volleyball player with ocean-deep eyes, was frequently lost in thought. His tendency to overthink was well known to those close to him. But there was one constant in the midst of his thoughts: you, the student part-time librarian, whose presence calmed his mind.

Something calming. Something intriguing that he can't stop thinking of you. Not in a bad way, of course.

As he balanced his academics and volleyball club, he realized that he was caught in a conflicting situation. You, with your quiet grace and genuine kindness, had volunteered to help Akaashi locate a specific book in the library's card catalog. Your extracurricular activity was in itself a reflection of your nurturing nature, a quality that hadn't escaped Akaashi's notice. As you stood before the catalog, his fingers flipping through the cards with a deliberate rhythm, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and anticipation.

His thoughts, on the other hand, had a habit of tying themselves up in unexpected knots. His thoughts wandered to the upcoming Nationals, a tournament that held enormous significance for the volleyball team, amid the quiet rustle of paper and the scent of old books. His thoughts shifted unexpectedly as he mentally navigated the complexities of strategy, his mouth moving before he could fully process what he was saying.

"The Nationals are approaching," he began, his voice quiet and introspective. He didn't mean to say his thoughts aloud. It just came naturally to him when you were around.

You came to a halt in your shelf-flipping and looked up to him, your gaze gentle as you noticed Akaashi's contemplative expression. You are well aware of his tendencies for analyzing everything, an aspect of his personality that piqued your interest. You made a humming sound.

"Yeah," you said, your tone accepting. "It must be a lot to prepare for."

Akaashi nodded, his fingers still resting on a card as he met your gaze. "It is. Every decision we make, every strategy we choose… it all matters."

Your presence next to him was soothing; your presence was a steady anchor in the midst of his thoughts. Your eyes were warm and soothing to his overworked mind. You hummed.

Akaashi nodded, his fingers still resting on a card as he met your gaze. "It is. Every decision we make, every strategy we choose… it all matters."

Your presence next to him was soothing; your presence was a steady anchor in the midst of his thoughts. Your eyes were warm and soothing to his overworked mind.

"But sometimes," Akaashi continued, his words flowing with an unintentional vulnerability, "amidst all the preparation and thinking, I find myself wondering about other things."

Your interest was piqued, and your gaze was fixed as you listened.

"Like what?" you asked quietly. You tilt your head to the side, displaying your perplexity. You studied his expression, trying to figure out what words to say to calm his overthinking tendencies.

"Wait," you said to him, noticing his unkempt hair. You can't help but fix it. His hair is always in a mess. You think it would lessen his pressure and lighten his mood. You reached for his blue locks and combed them in a neat way. You stopped midway, completely forgetting to ask for his permission. But alas, you're done fixing his hair.

This quickened Akaashi's heartbeat, his overthinking mind realizing the precipice he stood on. He inhaled deeply, his gaze never leaving yours.

"L-like how the future might look… beyond the Nationals. And… well, other thoughts."

Your lips curled into a smile, understanding the dawning in your eyes. You knew, as if you could read the thoughts that danced in the corners of his mind.

You read in between his lines. Your assumptions were confirmed. He liked you. And you did; you just don't know how to break his moment. But maybe when you two walk home after school.

Akaashi's confession hung in the air, his heart racing in time with the beat of the music. And as he met your gaze, he found solace in the quiet exchange—a bond formed by shared glances, unsaid emotions, and the unknown territory of your hearts.

Akaashi had confessed more than he had intended in a single moment. But, as he stood beside you, your paths intertwined in the silence of the library, he realized that it was sometimes the unexpected confessions that held the most meaning.

#haikyuu #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #hq #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq x y/n #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #haikyu x reader

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 17: An Evening At The Hard Deck

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Before leaving, you informed Penny's bartender, Jimmy, about your plan to head down to the beach to await Jake's arrival. With that settled, you began your leisurely stroll along the water's edge, savoring the pleasant warmth of the sun and the stunning scenic view. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing softly against the shore, combined with the gentle caress of the sea breeze, created a serene atmosphere, allowing you to fully immerse yourself in the tranquil beauty of the moment.

As you walked, your thoughts naturally drifted towards the possibility of making a life here while Jake was deployed. However, this place was undeniably urban, a far cry from the rural settings where your professional skills as a large animal veterinarian would be in demand. The absence of cows, horses, and other large animals in the cityscape made you question how useful or fulfilled you could be in such an environment. With a sigh, you found yourself weighing the pros and cons of establishing roots in Wisconsin, Texas, or California. Each location offered its own unique set of challenges and opportunities, not just for your career but also for your personal life and your relationship with Jake. The decision loomed large, a complex puzzle of geographical and emotional factors to consider.

Pausing in your tracks, you found yourself gazing out at the expansive ocean stretching endlessly before you. As the wind picked up, a stray piece of hair brushed across your face. Instinctively, you reached up, tucking the rogue strand behind your ear, allowing you an unobstructed view of the horizon. The vastness of the sea, with its rolling waves and the soothing sound they produced, offered a moment of reflection and calm. It was a stark reminder of the wide-open possibilities that lay ahead, both daunting and liberating in equal measure.

As you stood there lost in thought, a male voice suddenly broke the tranquility. "Excuse me, Ma'am. You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, just as arms wrapped around you from behind, bringing an immediate and unexpected closeness. His head positioned itself next to yours, a gesture that was meant to be reassuring but was startling given the surprise. This intimate encounter was a stark contrast to the solitude and introspection of just moments before, shifting the atmosphere completely.

Your initial surprise softened into a smile as you recognized the familiarity of the moment. "Hi, flyboy," you greeted warmly, the affection in your voice unmistakable.

"Hi, darlin'," Jake replied, his voice carrying a blend of affection and relief. Following his greeting, he gently kissed your cheek and then, with a careful motion, turned you around to face him, ensuring that you were now looking directly into each other's eyes. "The squad wants to meet you. They still can't believe I'm married."

Jake's actions and words brought a moment of intimacy amidst the vastness of the beach and the roar of the ocean. His statement about the squad's disbelief at his marital status added a layer of communal intrigue to your personal narrative.

Observing him now in his Navy khaki uniform added a tangible reminder of the life and responsibilities he carried beyond the personal realm you both shared. "That seems to be the story around here," you responded, your voice carrying a hint of amusement mixed with a touch of resignation. It was a nuanced acknowledgment of the unusual circumstances surrounding your relationship—private moments and decisions that had unfolded away from the eyes of the world, now beginning to emerge into the broader context of Jake's life and community.

"Hey. The Navy knew, and that was all that mattered," Jake responded, his tone light yet underscored with sincerity. As he slipped his arms around your waist, a gesture of closeness and comfort, you instinctively placed your arms behind his neck, drawing yourselves closer together.

The kiss you shared was a beautiful amalgamation of passion, gentleness, and sweetness. It was a moment that seemed to pause time itself, allowing the two of you to exist in a world of your own. As the kiss ended and you slightly pulled apart, your foreheads remained touching, a silent exchange of understanding and affection passing between you.

"I guess," you responded softly, the words carrying more than just agreement—a recognition of the complexities and compromises your unique situation demanded.

Eventually, you both stepped back from this intimate embrace, yet the connection remained unbroken as you joined hands. Together, you began walking towards The Hard Deck, your steps in harmony, symbolizing the unity and partnership you shared.

"So, let me get this straight. You've been married to him," Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace said, pointing an incredulous finger towards Jake. "For four years, and we had no idea about it?" Her tone was a mix of surprise and disbelief, echoing the sentiment that seemed to be shared among the group gathered at The Hard Deck. The revelation of your long-standing marriage to Jake, something so significant yet unknown to his closest colleagues, added an air of astonishment to the conversation.

"Yup," you confirmed with a simple affirmation, taking a sip of your water to punctuate the statement.

Phoenix shrugged, a slight smile playing on her lips. "I guess that makes sense on why he was such an ass a lot of the time."

Your laughter followed her comment, a light-hearted acknowledgment of her attempt to make sense of Jake's past behavior.

Phoenix leaned in closer, her curiosity evident in her expression. "How do you deal with him when he gets so cocky?" she asked in a slight whisper, acknowledging the occasional challenge of managing Jake's confidence.

You reciprocated the whisper, sharing your secret with a knowing smile. "Honestly, I just roll my eyes."

Phoenix nodded in understanding, her own expression reflecting a mixture of amusement and agreement. "I can see that," she remarked, acknowledging the simplicity of your approach to handling Jake's occasional bouts of overconfidence. This exchange underscored the bonds of camaraderie and shared experiences within the group, offering a glimpse into the dynamics of navigating relationships amidst the challenges of military life.

"What are you two whispering about over there?" Jake asked from the pool table, his tone playfully curious. He couldn't help but feel a sense of happiness seeing how well you were integrating with his squad. His question, light-hearted and tinged with amusement, reflected his contentment in witnessing the budding friendship and understanding developing between you and his closest companions. It was clear that your connection with the group, particularly with Phoenix, added a new layer of familial warmth to the bonds that tied them all together.

"Phoenix was just asking for pointers on how to deal with you when your head goes too far up your ass," you retorted playfully, your words light but pointed, causing a ripple of amusement to spread through the group.

A chorus of "ooo's" echoed around you, the playful burn directed at your husband eliciting reactions ranging from surprise to delight among his squad mates.

"Damn, Hangman. For not knowing about her for four years, she knows you pretty damn well," Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia chimed in, his comment drawing a round of laughter and nods of agreement from the others. His statement underscored the ironic humor of the situation—despite the squad's long history with Jake, it was clear you had an insightful and profound understanding of him, one that resonated with his friends and highlighted the depth of your connection.

Jake gave you a teasing glance. "She's the expert here," he said with a smirk. Leaning across the pool table, he lined up and executed his shot.

After his turn, you approached the table, only for him to encircle you with his arm, drawing you in for a swift kiss. "Grab me another beer, would you, darlin'?" he asked.

"Sure," you answered, circling back around the pool table.

"Headed to the ladies' room?" Phoenix inquired.

"No, just off to get a beer," you responded.

Phoenix jumped down from her seat. "I'll come with you."

As you both made your way to the bar, Penny caught your eye. "Let me guess, another beer for Hangman?" she said with a knowing look.

"That's right," you confirmed.

Then, turning her attention to Phoenix, she asked, "How about you, Phoenix? Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, I'll have one too," Phoenix replied.

"Add it to my tab, Penny. Actually," you said, reaching back to retrieve your phone from your pocket and placing it on the bar, "I'm covering the next round."

Penny flashed a smile, walked over, and rang the bell. A wave of cheers and grateful shouts of 'Thank you' echoed throughout the bar.

The unique rules of The Hard Deck brought a smile to your face, though you found them entirely reasonable: 'Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or place your cell phone on my bar, and you're buying a round.' It seemed only fair to treat these pilots to a drink.

Shortly after, Penny returned with your and Phoenix's drinks in hand. "Here you go."

"Thanks, Penny," you both echoed, grateful for her quick service. With your drinks in hand, you made your way back to the group gathered around the pool table.

You passed Jake his beer, and he gave you a quizzical look. "Darlin', did you just buy the whole bar a round?"

"I did," you confirmed with a smile.

He shrugged, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Okay, then."

After delivering Jake his beer, you returned to where Phoenix was seated and began engaging in conversation with her, picking up where you left off or perhaps diving into a new topic of discussion.

Coyote approached Jake right after he completed his pool shot and gave him a nudge. "So, have you mentioned anything to Y/N about Sierra?"

Jake glanced at him before positioning himself for another shot over the pool table. "There's nothing to mention," he replied, focusing on his game as he executed the shot.

"You'd better hope that's true, because look who just walked in." Coyote tilted his beer in the direction of the bar's entrance, indicating someone's arrival.

Jake followed Coyote's gesture, turning his gaze towards the bar's entrance to see who had just walked in.

"Shit," Phoenix muttered, her attention fixed towards the bar.

"What?" you inquired, turning your gaze in the same direction.

There, a tall woman with bronzed skin, her curly hair cascading in a blend of blonde, brown, and red streaks, was making her presence known. Dressed in a blue jean skirt, a white tank top, and sandals, she seemed to navigate the bar with a purpose, her trajectory unmistakably aimed at Jake.

"Did Jake ever mention Sierra to you?" Phoenix asked, turning her gaze back to you, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

Meeting her question with a puzzled look, you remained silent.

Taking your silence as an answer, Phoenix said, "I'm going to take that as a no."

"So, who is she?"

"Some girl who was after Jake, wanting more than he was willing to give. He kept turning her down, but she wouldn't let up, fabricating stories about them being an item," Phoenix explained, shedding light on the situation.

"Oh, really?" You responded, your curiosity piqued. Taking a sip of your water, you turned your attention to the unfolding scene as the woman made her way towards your husband. With a hint of anticipation, you leaned back in your chair. "This should be interesting," you mused, ready to observe how the situation would unfold.

Jake straightened up after completing his shot at the pool table, turning to face Sierra as she approached and halted beside him.

"Hiya, Hangman," she greeted, punctuating her words with a pop of her gum.

"Sierra," he acknowledged with a nod, maintaining his composure. Without further engagement, he maneuvered around her to line up his next shot. Unperturbed, Sierra mirrored his movements, continuing to follow him around the table.

As Jake leaned over to take his next shot, Sierra's gaze zeroed in on the wedding ring adorning his finger.

"You're married?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief, as she snapped her gum.

Completing his shot, Jake straightened up and faced her. "Yes. I've been married for four years," he affirmed, his voice steady.

Sierra, undeterred, reached out to place her hand on Jake's chest, her demeanor shifting to a feigned sweetness. "Is this just to get back at me?" she inquired, looking up at him.

From his peripheral vision, Jake noticed you rising from your chair, alert to the unfolding interaction.

"Y/N. She's not worth it," Phoenix cautioned as she saw you stand, sensing the tension.

"I got this," you assured her confidently, dismissing the concern with a calm resolve. With that, you began making your way towards Jake and Sierra, prepared to handle the situation.

Jake swiftly took Sierra's hand and gently but firmly pushed it away from his chest. "Sierra, I've always been clear with you. I'm not interested in you. I never have been, and I never will be," he stated decisively, making his stance unmistakably clear.

Sierra laughed. "Jake stop. You know that's not true."

Jake's expression hardened, his patience evidently wearing thin. "No, Sierra, it's very true. You need to respect my feelings and my marriage," he responded, his voice firm yet composed, aiming to put an end to any misunderstandings once and for all.

Sierra scoffed, disbelief painting her features. "Your marriage. You've never mentioned it before," she challenged, skepticism lacing her tone. As she went to raise her hand, likely aiming to touch Jake once more in a familiar gesture, he was quicker. Jake reached out, his movements decisive, and firmly stopped her advance.

"Stop, Sierra," Jake said, his voice stern and commanding. The firmness in his tone left no room for misunderstanding. He set a clear boundary, signaling an end to any perceived intimacy or advances from her part.

Your approach didn't go unnoticed, and as you reached their side, Jake gave you a look that mixed relief with a touch of annoyance at the situation. Turning to face Sierra, your presence added weight to Jake's words.

"Can I help you?" You interjected, stepping into the conversation with a poised demeanor.

Sierra sized you up with a quick glance, her expression one of skepticism. "And who might you be?" she asked, her tone edged with curiosity and defiance.

With calm assurance, you responded, "I would be his wife," establishing your relationship to Jake and your presence in the situation.

Sierra's eyebrows shot up, surprise etching her features for a moment before she managed to mask it with a sly smile. "Oh, the wife," she said, dragging out the words as if tasting them for the first time. Sierra turned her attention back to Jake, her demeanor now tinged with accusation. "You really planned this all out?" she queried, her voice carrying a mix of disbelief and indignation, implying a sense of betrayal.

Jake met Sierra's incredulous gaze with a level one of his own. "I didn't plan anything, Sierra, just like I never gave you any indication that I was interested in you," he clarified firmly, hoping to dispel any misconceptions she harbored about their past interactions.

Sierra, still clinging to her disbelief, let out a another scoff, her eyes darting between you and Jake. "Well, this is quite the surprise. Never thought I'd see the day," she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with sarcasm and a hint of bitterness.

"It's not about a day. We've been married for four years now," you chimed in, reinforcing Jake's commitment to you and emphasizing the duration and seriousness of your relationship to Sierra, hoping to underscore the finality of the situation.

"Oh, really? Then why wasn't I ever aware of you?" Sierra challenged, skepticism coloring her tone, seeking to find a crack in your assertion.

Unfazed, you took a step closer, meeting her gaze with unwavering confidence. "That's on a need-to-know basis, and you, quite frankly, don't need to know," you replied, asserting your position while subtly indicating that her involvement in your and Jake's life was neither required nor desired.

Sierra, finally showing signs of relenting, turned her attention back to Jake with one last attempt to salvage her pride. "So, I wasn't spunky enough for you, is that it?" She then shifted her gaze to you, a mix of defiance and resignation in her eyes. "You can have him. I've seen better," she declared, attempting to mask her defeat with indifference. With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the confrontation behind.

Jake's face lit up with a smile of pride as he watched Sierra leave. "Darlin', that was great!" he exclaimed, clearly impressed by how you handled the situation.

You, however, kept a stone-faced expression, not ready to share in his relief just yet. "Outside, now," you commanded, making it clear there was still a matter to be addressed between the two of you. Without waiting for a response, you turned and headed towards the door leading to the back patio, leaving no room for argument. Jake, sensing the seriousness in your tone, quickly followed behind you.

Outside, the cool air contrasted with the tension between you as you leaned against the railing, waiting for Jake to reach you.

"Darlin', let me explain," he began, earnestness in his voice.

You turned to face him, the frustration evident. "You could've warned me, Jake."

He sighed, a hint of regret in his expression. "I hadn't seen her in months, thought she had moved on."

"That's not the point, Jake. I've been open with you about my past."

"I know, I know," he rushed to assure you, "but I didn't do anything with her. I never kissed her or anything."

"So, it's back to me again?" Your voice carried a mix of disbelief and hurt, feeling as if the focus was wrongly being shifted onto your actions or past rather than addressing the current issue directly.

"Y/N, I didn't say that," Jake quickly clarified, trying to steer the conversation away from any misinterpretation.

"You didn't have to," you said, the disappointment in your voice clear as you began walking towards the door, distancing yourself from the conversation and the tension.

"Where are you going?" Jake's voice carried a note of concern, unsure of your intentions in the moment.

Pausing, you turned to face him, the complexity of your feelings reflected in your eyes. "I'd say home, but it's not, so I guess back to your place," you replied. The distinction you made between 'home' and 'his place' underscored the unsettled feelings and the need for some resolution or comfort in the wake of the evening's events.

As you reentered the bar, making your way back to where Phoenix was seated, her concern was immediately evident.

"You okay?" she inquired, her eyes searching yours for the truth.

"I'm good. I'm leaving," you managed to say, trying to maintain your composure amidst the swirling emotions.

Without hesitation, Phoenix reached for her phone. "What's your number?" she asked, understanding the importance of staying connected.

After you provided your number, you watched her fingers move quickly over the screen, sending a text to ensure you had a way to reach out.

"If you need anything…" she began, her offer hanging in the air, a testament to her willingness to support you.

Feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket as her text came through, you reached out to give Phoenix a hug, grateful for her immediate show of solidarity and friendship.

"Thanks," you said, pulling away from the embrace. With a heavy heart but a sense of resolve, you made your way to the bar to settle your tab. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake reenter from outside. Without another word, you left, stepping into the night, leaving behind the bar, the confrontation, and the unresolved feelings, at least for now.

Tags: @buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @callsign-barbell @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #glen powell #hangman top gun #hangman #top gun maverick hangman #hangman fanfic #top gun fanfic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #hangman fanfiction

[biblio-smia]

scrapes and bruises — two

masterlist | requests are open!

pairing: spiderman!ethan landry x gender neutral reader

[one.] [two.] [three.] [four.] [five.]

"no—" ethan protested, jumping up and back from you, guilty eyes looking anywhere but you, the premise of his promise forcing new, nervous words out of his mouth.

"how.... how'd you know?" ethan asked desperately, arms crossed over his chest as his shoulders slumped; he wasn't able to keep the one secret that mattered.

you could've said something mysterious or introspective. you could've said that you picked up on little habits or shifts in ethan's voice, even behind a suit and a voice changer.

"your closet door's open."

ethan cursed as he finally noticed, feet moving quickly to reach the door of his small closet. his hand was on the doorknob and then you were there, hand on his, gentle look in your eyes and his grasp slipped.

"let me see," you said softly. you opened the closet wider, bending down to examine the suit thrown down in a hurry. there was spots of blood if you looked closely and a slice in the suit that needed repair on the left thigh.

you wondered what needed tending to underneath ethan's long sleeves and pants.

your vision blurred as you picked up the mask, the one you'd been speaking to earlier that night.

"ethan..." you turned to face him, voice shakier than you'd expected it to be.

ethan could not gauge your feelings, tears falling with a emotion he hadn't seen you express towards him before.

it wasn't anger, which ethan would've preferred. anger eased with time — but the worry written so clearly on your face would only get worse. and that, ethan could not fix.

and ethan's heightened senses told him to drop to his knees and hold you tight. and the care you felt towards ethan was too strong to admire the man he was.

"you don't have to do it," you said quickly.

"what?"

"you don't have to save everyone."

ethan pulled away, just to see your face. your eyes wouldn't meet his but your grip on him was tight.

"but i do," he said softly, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek, guiding your gaze to focus on him. "if i don't, no one else will. if i have the chance to save someone and i don't, that's on me."

ethan's voice was strong with conviction. you desperately wished he wasn't so good. but ethan landry was who he was and there was nothing you could do to help it.

you could've refused. you could've severed ties with ethan and let him live the albeit heroic, dangerous life he lived while you lived yours.

but then you looked into ethan's warm, brown eyes filled with desperation and you could almost hear his heart pound, watching as the thought crossed his mind, too.

but... who would take care of him if you didn't?

and so you rose with ethan, arms still wound around each other. your hands settled on ethan's shoulders before trailing down slowly.

hesitantly, they pulled at the hem of ethan's pajama shirt, a faded one that told you of a math competition he'd probably won.

"take your shirt off," you said softly.

ethan's expression was mystified but he complied, carefully rolling off his shirt with a light groan.

the yellow lights defined the toned muscles of ethan's chest, freckles and moles littering his skin in constellation-like patterns. his abdomen was tainted with spots of reds, purples and yellows, untreated bruises highlighted by ethan's pale skin.

your fingers hovered then retreated, walking back to ethan's bed to pick up the less-effective ice pack. carefully, you placed it against the freshest bruise ethan sported.

ethan winced, but he didn't stop you, muscles on his arm flexing with strain. your eyes flickered from ethan's wounds to his face, his eyes never leaving yours. you cleared your throat.

"you're supposed to ice them as soon as you get them. helps with the swelling." you motioned to ethan's cheek.

ethan hummed thoughtfully.

"these... aren't going to stop," ethan began. "as long as i'm spider-man... it'll be this all the time, or... worse." ethan finished softly, voice alluding to the worst.

you swallowed thickly. you knew the implications as you moved the ice pack to ethan's face again. he didn't like it, evident by the groan and shutting of his eye, but you would do what you could.

"i know." you muttered and you could see the hope spread in ethan's eyes. "i know." you said, more confidently this time. it didn't accurately reflect all your weakness or worries and as you leaned in to kiss ethan, properly, his lips on yours gave you the reassurance you needed. he was here, and he was yours.

you could get used to it, eventually.

you had to.

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #scream x reader #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #spiderman!ethan landry #v writes #v + ethan

[bupia]

yo regarding the headcanons, could you maybe perhaps do headcanons for the Papas where reader is just very energetic, expressive and smiley :D I talk a lot, and also with my hands so I thought this could be a cute idea! no pressure tho <3

I think this is absolutely the cutest idea ever!

Thank you for your request, I hope you like it.

Primo

Primo, possesses a striking and commanding presence. Dressed in his regal attire, with a flowing dark robe, ornate mitre, and skull-painted face, would give the idea that he is very authoritative and hard to get-along;

However, Primo is actually gentle and lovely. This figure was just hidden beneath his imposing exterior;

He is known for his profound empathy and kindness by some few people inside of the Ministry, especially you;

Primo's true essence is that of a compassionate and loving soul. His ability to balance his imposing stage presence with genuine kindness makes him a beloved figure;

He always payed attention to your behavior when you were walking around with the other siblings, your energy was certainly contagious even when you weren't talking directly to him;

In private moments, Primo would ask you to keep talking, filling the room with your energy. It would make him feel young, you would bring him the energy he thought he had lost;

His voice, usually deep and powerful on stage, transforms into a soothing and comforting tone whenever he talks to you;

And don't think you would be the only one talking in the room, Primo would always have something to add or tell you, especially if he knew that whatever he had to say to you, would make you happy. He knows exactly what to say to see your eyes shining with excitement.

Secondo

Secondo is known for his stern and authoritative demeanor. He has a regal and solemn presence;

He enjoys the silence. Not that he doesn't talk, but he prefers to not be bothered at all;

He works in silence, he eats in silence, he walks in silence and even his replies are silently;

The most part of his day, only some few words would be heard and most part of them would be just a grunt or short Italian sentences;

When you started your new life in the Ministry, poor Secondo, he had a hard time;

You would see him walking on the corridors and follow him asking things about the Ministry and other things you'd want to know;

He'd likely observe your energetic behavior with a raised eyebrow, not entirely sure how to handle your exuberance;

But, at every question, he would respond with a calm, measured tone and occasionally interject to steer the conversation toward another topic;

And then, one day, he found himself listening attentively to your lively conversation;

As you two continued to interact, he gradually warms up to your enthusiasm;

Initially, he would try to maintain a composed demeanor, but a subtle, appreciative smile would eventually break through;

Occasionally gesture with his own hands, trying to match your energy;

He'd nod along to your animated conversation, occasionally chuckling at your infectious enthusiasm, and that was the first time you heard his laugh;

And for the first time in years, Secondo would stop being a fan of the silence.

Terzo

Terzo, known for his suave and charming demeanor, would appreciate your energetic behavior;

He is a true charmer, exuding a magnetic allure that draws people into his orbit;

He is a Papa with a striking contrast between his onstage flamboyance and his offstage complexity;

His elaborate outfits, makeup, and passionate vocals all contribute to his captivating stage persona. His deep, expressive eyes, have a way of making anyone feel special when he gazes at them;

However, he was already described in the past as a deeply introspective and often lonely figure;

When confronted with someone who is energetic, talkative, always smiling, Terzo would respond with curiosity and caution;

Deep down, he may also feel a sense of longing for the genuine connection and warmth that you exudes;

Your expressive nature may remind him of the joy and vibrancy he often yearns for in his life;

He'd appreciate your energy and might even encourage you to share more stories and anecdotes;

He finds your enthusiasm absolutely endearing and contagious. He'd be delighted by your expressiveness and smile in response;

But also, this would be the opportunity to engage in witty and flirtatious banter;

Terzo would relish in your chatter, listening intently to every word, and responding with compliments and charming remarks;

With a debonair smile, he'd occasionally join in on your hand gestures, using grand gestures and theatrical expressions to complement your energy;

For Terzo, your expressiveness is charming and he would share witty remarks to keep the conversation light and enjoyable;

Your interaction would be a captivating blend of wit, energy, and underlying emotional depth.

Copia

Copia stands out not only for his ecclesiastical vestments but also for his playful and approachable demeanor;

He might respond with a subtle smile or a knowing glance, occasionally interjecting with cryptic comments;

However, Copia has a mischievous streak, often sharing puns, dad jokes, and silly one-liners with a twinkle in his eye.

When he encounters someone who is just like him, Copia couldn't be happier;

His voice carries an infectious enthusiasm just like yours;

Copia, would likely adapt to the situation and mirror your energy;

He'd wear a warm smile and would reciprocate with animated gestures and an endless stream of playful chatter, sometimes even incorporating puns and jokes into the conversation;

Copia finds you boundless energy and expressiveness utterly endearing;

He would feel an instant connection with you, finding your energy contagious and your expressive nature utterly charming;

He might even encourage you to share more stories and anecdotes to keep the conversation lively;

Copia would likely share his own stories encouraging laughter and light-heartedness between your interaction;

Your interaction would be filled with laughter, warmth, and a shared love for all things dorky and fun.

#ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost the band #papa emeritus iv #copia #papa emeritus iii #terzo #papa emeritus ii #secondo #papa emeritus i #primo #ghost band headcanons #copia headcanons #terzo headcanons #secondo headcanons #primo headcanons #papa emeritus headcanon #papa emeritus #papa copia #papa terzo #papa secondo #papa primo

[wheresarizona]

Morning

summary: Waking up in Joel Miller’s arms.

rating: T (Soft!Joel Miller, established relationship, morning cuddles, kissing, mentions of the post-apocalyptic world, mentions of sex, honestly this is just sweet fluff with introspection)

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader

word count: About 500

a/n: A fic for my follower celebration for an anon who requested Joel Miller and “I don't want you to go yet; let me hold you for a minute longer,” which absolutely obliterated me. Let’s give this man some softness! First time writing him, so please be gentle. Unbeta'd!

Masterlist

You awoke in a warm embrace, arms wrapped around your torso, your head on a bare chest, hearing the rhythmic thud of a heartbeat under your ear, feeling the rise and fall of even breaths. It was cozy, nestled under blankets, with soft morning light filtering through the windows.

In this sleepy cocoon, nothing else mattered—the world was perfect, there were no worries, everything was fine, it was just you and Joel waking up together like any other couple, in the house you called home. Your mind wandered to how you wanted to stay in bed with him, how you knew when he woke he’d kiss you first thing, how that kiss could turn into more kisses, and how the kisses could turn into soft, languid morning sex, where the two of you got lost in each other and fell apart together.

The shrill ringing of the alarm cut through your fantasy, a rumbling groan emitting from the man you were lying on, his arms tightening around you for a second, before a hand was coming up to softly tilt your chin so he could press his lips against yours in a gentle kiss, then that hand was moving towards the bedside table to shut the clock off, the arm returning to wrap back around you to hold you against him.

“Good Mornin’, baby,” he mumbled in a deep, raspy tone, kissing the top of your head.

“Morning,” you replied, voice rough with sleep. “It’s a crime that we have to get out of this bed.”

He chuckled.

You started to move to get up, but he pulled you closer to him.

“Not yet, baby,” he rasped. “I don't want you to go yet—let me hold you for a minute longer.”

You felt yourself melt, knowing he just wanted to linger in this softness and warmth, in the two of you being together.

You wondered if he imagined the perfect morning in that perfect world. You thought he might from the way he let out a content sigh.

You didn’t live in that perfect world, though.

Instead of lazy mornings, it was patrolling the outskirts of Jackson and keeping the town safe.

It was keeping each other and the townspeople alive.

It was surviving.

This wasn’t a world that allowed softness because being soft got you killed.

But at this moment, in the arms of the man you loved, you would bask in it.

“Make it five more,” you said. “Tommy can wait five minutes.”

Joel huffed out an amused breath, hand moving to tilt your head up so he could look at you, his face illuminated in the soft glow from the light streaming through the curtains, a lazy smile on his lips, hair sleep tousled, and tired eyes.

“Let's round up to twenty,” he said and leaned in to kiss you tenderly.

“You’re going to hold me for twenty minutes?” You murmured against his lips.

“I’m gonna do more than just hold you.”

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #Wheresarizona writes #wheresarizonas follower celebration

[flowercrowngods]

60 <3

60: ‘You’d be a great dad’

in which Eddie has some insecurities about where exactly he fits in with this dream Steve has of a great big family, and Steve opens up about his dreams of their future | 1.5k

Eddie’s been unusually quiet all day and now he’s chewing on his lip, eyes trained on the book he’s reading even though he hasn’t turned the page in over five minutes. A quiet, thoughtful Eddie is nothing new, nothing concerning in itself. They all have their introspective days that aren’t necessarily bad, but not good either. Days that are hardly bearable with the heaviness they can bring.

Steve is worried that it’s one such day for Eddie. Usually when he has those, he’ll just drape himself over Steve and enjoy his company, his warmth, his touch in silence until he’s ready to resurface.

But Eddie hasn’t really looked at Steve all day either, and Steve is really starting to worry. He tries not to spiral and it’s surprisingly easy around Eddie because he trusts him, he knows Eddie would let him know if he misstepped, if he said or did something that upset him. Maybe it’s that trust that makes Steve sit down on the floor, facing Eddie.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Eddie blinks back into reality and looks at him with wide, confused eyes, a frown between them that Steve wants to smooth away with gentle touch. He keeps his hands to himself, though.

“Huh?”

“You’re…” Steve gestures vaguely before dropping his hands in his lap again. “Gone. Care to let me follow?”

Eddie smiles the smallest, tiniest of smiles. The secret one that’s reserved only for Steve and for the little things and moments that find their way back into his life, bringing with them memories of good times. Sometimes Eddie will smile at a song he hasn’t heard in ages the same way he does when Steve says ‘I love you’.

Steve has dubbed it Eddie’s I am safe and life is good-smile and it’s quickly become his favourite. Seeing it right now settles something inside him and he dares to reach for Eddie’s hands now, his heart going a little crazy at the touch.

“It’s just,” Eddie starts after a while and pauses then, swallows, looking anywhere but at Steve. He lets him search for the words the same way Eddie always waits for Steve to find his own. It’s what they do. It’s why they work so well together.

“It’s stupid, maybe. But it could also be really fucking not, and worrying might be appropriate, so I thought why not worry, right? It’s… Nancy told me something.”

It’s Steve’s turn to frown now. What would Nancy have to tell Eddie that makes him worry like that?

“Nancy told you something that makes you—“

“I don’t think she meant to,” Eddie cuts in. “I don’t even know if she meant to tell me in the first place.”

“Tell you what?”

Eddie sighs and meets his eyes, and he looks so vulnerable, so worried, so small that Steve can hardly bear it. “You want a great big family. Five kids, maybe six. A good life, a happy little family — or a big-ass family, actually. And, and that’s great, Stevie, you deserve that! All of that and more, I would fight the whole world if it refused to give you that. But…”

Another sigh, a shaky one this time, and Steve still doesn’t understand why Eddie is worried. Still he holds his hands, still he waits until Eddie can breathe right again.

“But what?” he prompts after a while when Eddie doesn’t continue, his voice nothing but a whisper as if he’s afraid of spooking his boyfriend. Maybe he is.

“I just… You’re, like, the love of my life or some shit and I want to give you that, I want you to have that family. But like. I wonder… I wonder, where do I fit in? Do you, like, see me there with you? Do y—“

“Yes,” Steve says, his tone leaving no room for interpretation or doubt.

“You see me there? With you?” Eddie sounds so incredulous as he asks, but underneath that there’s still that vulnerability, the fear that Steve doesn’t.

He nods and begins to play with Eddie’s fingers, tracing the rings, the knuckles, the finger tips just so he won’t have to look at him.

“Every step of the way, Eds. I just… I never told you because I know you need to break free first, free of Hawkins and, like, maybe free of me for a while there, or maybe forever. And I wouldn’t be mad. I won’t be. Okay? Don’t let me suffocate you or anything. You deserve your freedom just like you say I deserve my family.”

He swallows the lump in his throat because he doesn’t want Eddie to leave him but he would never stop him. Plus, Steve has never told anyone but Nancy what he wants from life — and telling your buddy is different than telling the person you’re sharing your bed and your heart with. Telling your someone makes it more real. More prone to cracks in the surface, and Steve is tired of cracking.

Still, he perseveres because this is Eddie.

“I see you there, determined to build something we could easily buy, but you’re dead set on building this crib yourself. I stand by with the band aids you’ll inevitably need, leaning against the door frame of the room we only half painted because we ran out of paint and then got distracted.”

He smiles, Eddie chuckles, and the words keep coming.

“I see you there after a long day, because maybe I’m a teacher, maybe a social worker, maybe just… I don’t know. But you’re there and it’s not so bad anymore. I see you being the fun dad, the one who lets me barbecue while you’re off playing with the kids and turning into everyone’s favourite. I see you having every kid be scared of you until point two seconds after you first open your mouth. They’re giggling and you don’t know what to do with it but your eyes shine so, so bright and you’re happy. You’ll turn around to look at me, swarmed by half a dozen kids, and later at night, half asleep and happy, you’ll say, Let’s get another one.”

Steve is smiling, he’s smiling so hard and still his voice is shaking, still his cheeks are wet, and yet he can’t stop.

“Everyone loves you because how could they not? You’re in a band and you’re pretty damn good, and the kids will miss you when you’re touring the whole world, but you’ll send so many letters and post cards and gifts. You’ll almost go into debt just spoiling the kids even when you’re not around for a few months or so. And their friends will be so jealous and when you find out, you’ll be even more dramatic about everything.”

He laughs wetly and clings to Eddie’s hands now like they’re a life line saving him from the icy cold waters of reality and cracks in the surface of hopes and dreams. Eddie, wondrously, is clinging right back.

“I’ll be the boring, strict one telling them to do their homework and study and shit, while you’re there, mister favourite parent, mister Three Times Senior Year Is the Charm, telling them to take life at their own pace. And we’ll get into fights about it maybe once or twice, but even that’s okay because in the end they’re all fine, they all go their ways, and you’ll still be there. You’ll be there when they don’t need their dad anymore, and you’ll be there because they want you to be. Because you want to be. Because there will be so, so much love in this family.”

Steve looks up now, his heart wide open, his cheeks wet, his hands shaking in Eddie’s hold. Eddie doesn’t look much better, and Steve feels like he’s already said too much but he needs to say this one thing, to make Eddie understand, make him believe.

“But no matter if any of that happens, or how it happens or with whom… I know you don’t really believe me, but Eddie Munson, I think you’d make a great dad.”

A sniff, followed by a beat of silence. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Steve rasps. “I really fucking do.”

Eddie pulls him forward then and wraps him in a bone-crushing hug. Steve kisses the side of his neck, his cheek, his temple, but Eddie doesn’t pull back far enough for a proper kiss. This is fine, though, this is perfect, and Steve hugs him right back.

“Hey, Stevie?” Eddie whispers after a while, his face still hidden in the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Yeah?”

“I… I think I can see that, too.”

And now it’s Steve’s turn to bury his face in Eddie’s neck because if the world sees the happy tears on his cheek, it might be tempted to ruin this moment somehow.

“I love you,” he whispers into Eddie’s shirt. “I love you so much.”

“Even though I’ll be the favourite parent?”

The laugh that bursts from Steve is wet and happy, and Eddie holds him all the way through it. Every step of the way, Steve thinks. Maybe this is the first.

thank you for the prompt, beloved! it got a teensy bit out of hand whoops?

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #eddie munson #dio words #prompt fill #dio don’t write 400 words of exposition challenge!!! i failed 😔 ah well #another 2am dio story #they’re my best anyway let’s not kid ourselves

[spurious]

Your McShep fics are giving me life. I'm CRAVING McShep content recently - its so hard to discover a love for old fandoms that are now less active! Please send me all the great other McShep fics you stumble across, I've burned my way through your whole library

Oh my goodness!!!! This ask plus the one from a few weeks ago are really telling me I need to get back to doing fic rec posts regularly!!!!!

First of all thank you so much for your kind words about my fic 💖💖💖💖 honestly for me SGA fandom feels soooo active, even though I know it was an actual juggernaut back in the day lmao. BUT that means that there’s a MASSIVE backlog of stuff to read!!!! Just insane amounts of staggeringly good fics!!!!

And second of all you can check all my previous rec posts here: the tag is sometimes ficlets I’ve reblogged but also lots of links and lists in there!!

ANYWAY. Let me see if I can rustle up some new recs for you my friend! I have a couple of unposted recs in my notes so we’ll pop those in first:

Five People Who Know by hestia_lacey | ~4k, rated E

Five people who know exactly how John Sheppard feels about Rodney McKay.

Only read this if you’re prepared to have your heart stomped on, but ahhhhhhhh. The first part, with Jeannie, is definitely my favorite.

Wishes on a Wheel by waterfalliam | ~3.2k, rated T

The sun is gentle, faintly wrong against his skin. The wind whispers against his arms and neck that he’s alive and that counts for something, he’s never wholly alone, he still has himself—but it’s nothing like the sea breeze that feels like home.

Absolutely beautifully sad introspective Epiphany!John piece, dealing with his depression and feelings of abandonment, with a sweet ending 💖

Solitary by @esteefee | ~5k, rated M

Four days in solitary gives a guy time to think. Unless he's an idiot.

Aggggh the John voice in this is immaculate (as is to be expected from esteefee ofc). Sardonically funny with a soft and chewy emotional core that just...takes a little time and a little chipping away at to get to. But, you know, worth it.

Followed by two faves from this year’s sga secret santa, both of them variations on the theme of John and Rodney making up:

In the Dark of the Night by @hero-in-waiting | ~5.8k, rated M

The problem with arguments is that they never happen at a good time. Which is a to be expected given their nature. And the problem with trying to make up is, at least in the Pegasus galaxy, they come at an even worst time. Especially when John and Rodney get stuck off world, running from some locals who took a dislike to them immediately and five days after an argument that, in John's opinion, had started over nothing.

But at least they were together?

Love the concept of this one, love them being forced into life or death situations before being able to talk about their feelings, looooove the misunderstanding on Rodney’s part 🥰🥹

When I Think of All the Worries That People Seem to Find by @audioletter | ~2.3k, rated G

After ten years of being together, John acts like John and Rodney acts like Rodney.

Absolutely cried reading this I love it so much. The depth of knowledge that they have for each other after so long is so apparent in the best, most beautiful way.

Aaaand let’s round it out with a nice long one:

Inukshuk by murron | ~80k, rated M

A mission-gone-south isolates Rodney and John from the rest of the team. Forced to search for an Ancient outpost, they struggle to keep each other alive until the time their kidnappers prepare to sacrifice the one and purify the other.

This is absolutely a mcshep fic but I almost found that taking a backseat for me in my enjoyment of the way that the plot unfolds, the way that it’s written? Absolutely spellbinding work, I struggled to put it down.

#fic rec #mcshep

[zgvlt]

i blow out the candles in front of my wish leona kingscholar x reader

summary: your birthday greeting stuns him

author's note: the shortest fic i have ever written, but i still put my heart (and love for leona) into this. it's still his birthday in some timezone out there so i dare say i'm not late. happy birthday to the best man <3

tags: gender-neutral reader, sfw, fluff, some introspection, very light angst, established relationship, 1.3k+ words, not beta read

[repost attempt #1 since it's not appearing in the tags]

“Thank you for being born.”

Leona is twenty-one the first time he hears those words. It’s softly murmured in his ear, almost as if you had not wanted anyone to hear, as if the words were reserved for him and him alone, as if anything louder would signal everyone awake and disturb his room’s sanctity. Perhaps that was your intention—the need to be quiet not forgotten in your determination to be the one who greets him first and foremost.

Even your entrance into his room is near silent, and any quieter would have rendered your sudden appearance an apparition. You waltz in with the heels of your feet raised, walk with the tips of your toes, like you fear waking him. It is a reasonable fear to have—after all, it is said that to wake a sleeping lion would be to get your head bitten off—but all the same it is a fear that would not come to fruition, for on the bed laid no sleeping lion.

It is said that people never sleep well the night of their birthdays. He has always been the prime example.

Leona, as of late, is a creature haunted by the sin of sloth, a state not only of the mind but through the manifestation of slumber; yet tonight he lies, the irony of his idleness being that which keeps him awake. At times, his indolence extended to his thoughts—even to think was a tiring affair, one encouraging melancholia to creep up and consume him—and although Leona knows to shatter them to dust, there are times when he… invites them in.

No, not quite invite—Leona was not the type to welcome something so pitiful into his life. Rather, it would be more accurate to say he allowed them to fester, not quite to invade but to share his space. 

Him and his thoughts. They always reunite the same night, every year. They converse amongst themselves and Leona listens, passive and uninterested. Bored, even, with how repetitive and predictable they have gotten—and yet despite it all he listens, and it is because he is busy listening to them that he very nearly fails to hear you, you and your insistence to be quiet.

However, the quiet does not stop him from being startled; while you might have thought you had woken him, as evidenced by the flurry of uncomposed and yet mindfully gentle apologies spewing from your mouth, the truth would tell that it was your unusual greeting that jolted him upright, has him stunned at the admission. 

A surprise he anticipated, a surprise he’d been given.

“Oi… herbivore, repeat that again.”

You take the time to look at your phone, frowning at how time’s already passed a minute from midnight, and though the light comes flashing quick the action is just slow enough to recognize the photo you’ve set as your lock screen.

“I don’t know if it has the same effect twice,” you sigh like you’re voicing a complaint, but Leona knows you’ll say it once more, carrying the same feelings as the first time. 

“Thank you for being born, Leona.”

You say it like a secret, though your feelings hardly are.

“Well?”

“Well,” he begins, and speaks only to let you know your efforts have not been wasted, “the effect is the same the second time.”

The statement is just as ridiculous as the first time, he had planned to say, yet when he tried to voice it out his lips closed shut, as if his body knew it would be a bad idea, as though it knew it would not be the truth. Ridiculous would not be the right word, although he did want to laugh hearing it the first time. If he had to describe it…

Leona closes his eyes, but this time you know he has no plans on sleeping. Instead, you allow him to steep in the silence, as if to let him analyze each and every word you utter, from weight to worth.

Is the day of his birth worth being celebrated? His family—that overly kind brother of his, his pesky sister-in-law, his nephew who cannot get enough of his attention—he gets why they would want to celebrate, although he thinks they’re always going off the rails with their presents, but to an outsider? 

Even then, Leona at least understands why he is celebrated anyway, both from a national perspective and from that of the Savanaclaw dorm members. Worth differs from want, but there is nothing wrong with wanting to celebrate someone with a degree of importance. A celebration is something even he can appreciate—thoughtful presents and fine intentions, all for him—but it is something everyone can benefit from. To have a happy birthday is an excuse to fool around, not just for him but for all who come.

Like how it is different to be of worth and to want, it is different to be happy and to be thankful. Happiness is a result, an infectious one, and gratitude… it is to recognize, acknowledge, and appreciate—in this case, to go through all three stages with him.

You spoke as if you were beholden to his parents for having given life to someone like him, as if you were grateful to life itself for putting the both of you on the same plane of existence.

With his eyes still closed he reaches for your hand, and it takes not even a few seconds for him to grab onto it—no need to search when it is you who finishes the motion, realizing what he was looking for was you.

“I’m still here.”

He knows—he would have sensed it if you left, though he did not think you would.

You know not to leave his side, instead choosing to sit at the edge of the mattress—perhaps for permission to join him, or more likely because you knew once he dragged you down with him that was it for you. The students of Savanaclaw will come to wake him in the morning to take him to his own party, only to see someone else had taken residence beside him the eve of.

“Herbivore.” Leona does not always call you that, a nickname that had never been reserved exclusively for you, has always been more for fleeting instances of teasing, of spite, but tonight he says it to distance himself, to mask not his affections, but the extent of it. 

His eyes remain closed, too, for he knows you would see how such a simple greeting had made him feel. You would take one look and see how he had built a cave in his heart, hollowed it in your shape, so when you laid down upon it your figure would be encompassed by his valves and his veins.

“Tch. Sometimes, I…” 

Wish I had met you sooner.

Wish I could understand what goes on in that beautiful mind of yours.

Wish everyone saw me like you see me.

Wish I saw me like you see me.

“...wish I understood what exactly you think of me.”

He can feel your breath nearing him again. Leona dislikes the warmth, the unpleasant reminiscence of restrictiveness, but he welcomes that which emanates from you. He welcomes it so that he very nearly opens his eyes, only choosing to keep it shut when you whisper once more.

“Then, for the next three hundred and sixty-four days, I’ll have to make you understand,” you promise, before moving your mouth to press your lips against his cheek, “and on the three hundred and sixty-fifth, you will believe it as much as me.”

He understands how it’s not just a promise, but an oath made before him, where he is the recipient and the witness.

“You really do have guts, making such bold promises like that.”

He finally opens his eyes and thinks he may already be starting to believe it.

my other leona fic

masterlist

#leona kingscholar x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland x reader #nathya twst writing #pls work tags i want to go to sleep hjsjsjsd