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messyhairedhazeleyeddude · 5 months

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Friends w/ Benefits !!

- with the South Park Boys / x Reader

|| NSFW HC’S & SCENARIOS ||

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Author’s Note ;

Sup, so I decided on making multiple little scenarios and ideas of what I think would happen if you were in a FWB relationship with these dudes. Trust me, it’s going to get spicy and interesting. And if you’re looking for that, you’ve come to the right place. Keep in mind, the characters are all going to be in their college years so they will be 18+. Not trying to have them in elementary. And if you’re near that age, get out of here kid, this is definitely not for you.

Before I make this too long, I’m going to end this here. Enjoy, tread carefully, I’ll add warnings about what’s in there and details so check that out before you dive too far in. Unless you’re a veteran. HAHAHA

P.S, I didn’t add in Cartman because I’m an AVID hater, I’m sorry in advance! But, I did add somebody I adore: Craig! Although, it’s kinda gay, but that’s for the boys or transmascs. Y’know, I gotta provide!

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Point of View : First P.O.V.

Character’s in here : Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick, and Craig Tucker.

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#1 ; Stan Marsh

The song that I thought fit this best :

Sexual Dynamic : Fem!Dom | Masc!Sub

What’s in here : Mentions of throwing-up (obviously), dom fem reader, edging, and drunk oral sex.

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- Phew, this dude will take FOREVER before he comes around to this idea.

- I feel like this would be the case of not trying to move too fast into a relationship because let’s be honest, he’s going to want to end up being with you.

- He’ll have met you during class when assigned a project with you. A bit cliché, but do you think he’d really have the guts to randomly walk up to you?

- You’d end up in conversations with him because of the constant pairing together and this helped the both of you find out you had similar interests. He loved the same genre of music, had the same sense of humor, and made you laugh half of the time because of his stupid jokes.

- Eventually, Stan tried to see you whenever he was free and his friends weren’t tagging behind. A lot of this was during your walk to classes.

- He’d have to race to his right after and sometimes even arrived late because of you.

- Wendy was the first to get suspicious of the behavior because it’s her ex after all and she wasn’t done with her constant off-and-on relationship with him.

- They got into a huge fight about it and that ended up putting the idea in Stan’s head instead. (Poor Wendy. Happens to the best of us.)

- Might’ve caused a complete break-up between them.

- First time he didn’t go goth because of it! (Really, it’s because of you.)

- But, that didn’t mean he didn’t drink.

- And that also didn’t include the fact he was beginning to think of you in that way which in turn made him began to avoid you.

- His races to his classes turned into him racing out of the classes he had with you to the bathroom.

- After a couple of weeks of him doing this, you concluded it had to do something with Wendy, but you thought he was distancing himself to get her back.

- The depression hit hard. Despite you having an attraction towards him, you tried to convince yourself you were okay.

- You WEREN’T.

- Neither was he. He had to choose between telling you about his feelings or being an asshole by ditching you to get himself plastered enough so he could forget about it. Mind you, he thought he was deep in the friendzone. To him, telling you the truth was setting himself up for rejection.

- You were both oblivious to each other’s suffering until the two of you were invited to the same party.

- Because you were having such a hard time dealing with the random drift from Stan, you decided to go and feel your best by getting dressed up.

- Alcohol was another convincing factor. Ironic considering that was the same reason why he was going.

- When you arrived at the party, you navigated around and talked with a couple of friends before asking where the drinks were. That’s where you would stumble upon the drunk raven-haired boy with a vodka bottle that had been chugged by him to the very middle.

┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✧ Start of Scenario ✧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Stan laid back against the wall of the kitchen, taking another swig of the vodka he had, and reaching up to slap a hand against the counter when his eyes locked with yours. He slowly lifted himself up, swaying like he was about to collapse any second. “Oh fuck, why’d you have to be here? I think I’m going to be sick,” he covered his mouth while loudly exclaiming that, turning to the side as if he was retching.

You automatically looked offended, your face scrunching up before you reared a hand back and slapped him across the cheek. HARD. That knocked the sense back into him because his eyes went wide and he quickly went to explaining himself, “Ow! OW! Hey, wait! No- *gag* It’s not because you’re terrible or anything! It’s cause-”

He couldn’t finish as once he looked down at your outfit, he sprawled straight for the sink, and puked his brains out. That’s when it clicked in your head. Stan threw up whenever he liked someone.

You stared at the bottle he held, freaking out in your thoughts about the situation, and going for it anyway. It wasn’t hard to take it out of his hold as he was focused on getting all the sick out of himself.

Taking a huge chug of the vodka, you coughed and sputtered when swallowing, wiping the sides of your mouth before grabbing the back of Stan’s shirt. He was dragged upstairs while you were finishing the rest of what was left, throwing the bottle on the floor afterward.

He slurred out what he was trying to say earlier as you both ascended to the next floor, “I’m not disgusted by you.! I like-” But, once again, he was cut off by another rise of bile up his throat. Right when you passed by the bathroom, he pulled away from you, making you follow with him before he toppled over the side of the tub to let it out.

“Jesus Christ, Stan. What is wrong with you?” You asked, concerned for his well-being at this point. He leaned his head to the side, spitting the rest, and turning on the shower to wash it away. Then he got up with a wobble. For the third time, he continued to try and explain, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just trying to tell you that I don’t get sick because I think you’re nasty. I’ve been trying to tell you that I think you’re-”

His face began to scrunch up and that’s when you stepped in, saying it for him with a yell, “I KNOW! I know, Marsh! I know you like me! I like you just as much, you don’t have to say it, you don’t have to acknowledge anything about this! Just stop and go back to Wendy like you have been!” Backing away, you put your hands up and closed your eyes, worried about the inevitable stream of disgusting stomach acid. But, nothing happened.

Instead, the sound of water met your ears and you opened your eyes to see the boy washing his mouth out. His blue eyes met yours, turning off the faucet, and standing back up to clear his throat, “I’ve been trying to say that for weeks now.” It was like a light switch had flipped in his demeanor and he was all of a sudden fine.

Stan continued, sounding a bit raspy because of how much he threw up, “I haven’t talked to Wendy ever since I had walked you to your house. That was the day I realized I… like you.” He hesitated but he managed to say it, looking surprised himself. You paused. It made sense. Around that time, his avoiding started.

There were no words you could give in the moment. You thought this entire time he had been chasing her while in reality, he was hooked on you. Nothing came out and no idea of what to say came to mind. He had officially broke you.

Moving forward slowly, his gaze flickered down to your lips, giving you the signal before leaning into a kiss due to his compulsive and drunk desires. If you weren’t going to tell him anything, he’d get you to respond in another way. Your lips were turning numb along with the rest of your body as you could feel yourself falling down the rabbit hole of a stupor. A part of you was slightly repulsed by the fact he was kissing you after all that happened, but he mostly tasted like the disgusting vodka rather than puke. Which was surprising to say the least.

It didn’t lead to a make-out as you moved to your knees instead, closing the bathroom door behind you, and hearing him lock it with a shaky voice following after, “Fuck, wait, I don’t want to end up getting sick on you. I’ve barely been able to get past a kiss, let alone a touch there. I don’t know if I could handle this.” He rambled and rambled while you unbuttoned his jeans, feeling his dick progressively getting hard already.

A sharp gasp left him when your fingers brushed passed it through his boxers, causing him to hold his breath while still trying to get through to you, “Seriously, [Y/N], I might throw up again!” You sighed and stood back up after his second warning, placing your hand on his chest to ease him down onto the toilet seat. He sat upright, his eyebrows knitted together as you finally responded, “If you do, aim for the tub or sink. I get horny when drunk and I don’t think I want to stop any time soon, Stanley.”

You went right back to getting on your knees in front of him and wrapped your hand around his shaft to jerk it off through the fabric, seeing a small dot of pre-cum began to form around where his tip was. He could feel the warm nauseating feeling travel up his esophagus, making him panic, and move his head to the side to avoid getting it on her while you traveled to get his underwear off of him. Wendy had never done something like this to him before. As soon as he vomited around her, she was quick to lose her appetite for it.

This was different. He felt himself bare and exposed after you succeeded in getting his lower clothes down to his knees. And this was the point where he was feeling it fill his cheeks, he tried to suppress it as much as he could, swallowing it and enduring it. It was like his body was going through an anxiety attack and all it was doing was constantly sending him in this cycle of emptying his stomach because of simple things he should be allowed to do as a man.

He didn’t have an answer to what was wrong with him, but what he did know was that it pissed him the fuck off. Regaining his strength, his hand reached up to your head and he requested something directly to you for the first time without one slightest hesitation, “Please, just keep encouraging me beautiful… and can you keep calling me by my- uh- full name?”

You gave his flushed pink tip kisses, swiping your tongue slowly across it before obliging to his ask while pumping his dick with one hand, “You’re doing an amazing job, Stanley. I’m so proud of you… Is that what you wanted? Does that make you feel good, my handsome boy?” A sly smirk spread onto her face as she looked up to see his shocked expression, wrapping her entire mouth around him and hollowing her cheeks.

Never in a million years would he think that a girl would hit dead on the spot of what he needed, jolts of pleasure running through his legs and lower stomach at the comments. Butterflies plagued him rather than nausea. And what he had been waiting for was happening, he was relaxing into a blowjob.

His hands went for her hair immediately to lace his fingers in between whatever he could, gripping it gently while the relief showed through his half-lidded eyes and his happy pants. Stan let out a choked moan along with an excited but still cracking voice, “I don’t feel.. it! God, this is.. actually amazing… Please, please don’t stop… Keep going, [Y/N]!”

Bobbing your head up and down patiently, you picked up your pace minute by minute, watching as the boy lost it at the feeling. You were too good to him. Your suction on him was tight and you made sure your cheeks were pressed up against your teeth just enough to create the best possible experience for him.

Stan’s chin tilted up to the ceiling while curses spilled, “Fuck, fuck, why do you… have to feel so good?” You could see veins popping around his neck and his Adam’s apple moving up and down from the noises escaping him. His legs were starting to move inward towards themselves, knees about to touch, and his dick was beginning to throb in your mouth. You knew what this meant right away.

“I’m not going to be able to make it for that long if you feel this amazing, god damn it,” he choked out, his fingers digging into your scalp, but not on purpose. To solve this, you popped your mouth off of him and decided to use the time for his cool down to catch your breath.

He looked at you, confused and flustered, his dick inches away from your face. It was twitching and the pre-cum kept leaking because of how pent up he was. You snickered, “I thought you were going to get sick on me? Am I the first one you haven’t vomited on?”

Staring at you for a moment while catching his breath too, he fixed his messy hair, and shakily replied, “Yeah, technically.” You raised your eyebrows before smiling bashfully like that was a compliment. And maybe it was. But, you shouldn’t get too ahead of yourself.

Returning back to the activity at hand, you littered the sides of him with kisses, turning your focus to the veins wrapping around it which received a lot of feedback from him. “Woah, woah! Straight to it, huh?” His groans were amplified. It was like he got ten times more sensitive because you edged him.

It didn’t take much of you going back to sucking him to cause his orgasm rushing back. He was teetering on the edge, using the counter and anything else that he could grab on to vent by digging his fingernails into them.

Tears brimmed his eyes and he didn’t want to tell you that he was near, but he also didn’t want you to have a risk of choking. So, he confessed again, “I’m going to! I’m going to, you can stop…” He didn’t know why you were teasing him like this. But, for some reason, he enjoyed it too.

This time, you didn’t pull away. You picked up your pace instead. And that made him nearly knock off everything on the counter. He instinctively stood up, grabbing your head, and in the last final minute he had your mouth wrapped around him; he fucked hard into your throat and let out the cum he had been penting up since the last time he got to interact with you.

The groans that left him were loud and breathy, his eyes almost closing from how tired he got because of the amount of alcohol that was in his system. You were swallowing as much as you could to keep yourself from possibly throwing up yourself due to choking.

Eventually, every bit was dumped out of him and he pulled you off to let you breathe. You gasped for air and glared at him. Stan realizing what he did then and apologizing right away, “Oh crap, I didn’t mean to do that! I was trying to be careful, I’m so sorry!”

Proceeding to apologize to you for the rest of the night after that, the two of you had returned to walking each other home, feeling a long in your heart to remain by each other’s sides when you had to return to your separate dorm rooms. One thing was for certain though. You and Stan were going to have a lot of secrets that the title friends could only cover.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✧ End of Scenario ✧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

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#2 ; Kyle Broflovski

The song that I thought fit this best :

Sexual Dynamic : Vanilla-esque.

What's in here : Slow sex, slightly experienced Kyle, and facial ejaculation.

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- Oh no. Here we go. Now, Kyle, he’s a different story when it comes to getting into a friendship like this.

- He’d probably be easier to convince than Stan, but that’s if you were direct and honest with him.

- You’d have to be somewhat close with him enough to get to that conversation so I would say about five months into meeting him through mutual friends at the lunch tables. At some point, both of you would come across each other and have an in-depth conversation.

- He’s a sucker for intellectual people so once you’re bringing up your collections of books and the fact you make regular visits to the library, this guy’s interest shoots through the roof.

- Eventually, you’re the only thing he starts talking about with his friends and they all start to notice him drifting off in daydreams during class.

- This was about a couple of weeks into the friendship.

- The nerd just couldn’t stop eyeballing you. It didn’t help that he really admired your style and the way you dressed as well.

- Stan pulled him to the side one day to have a talk with him about you and he managed to convince the curly redhead to ask you to hangout at his place.

- The idea was that he was going to watch a whole marathon of Harry Potter movies with you considering the two of you were huge fans of the series.

- You were immediately down as soon as he asked. If anything, you were cheering to yourself about it.

- Now, you could put your plan in action.

- The truth was that you had thought of the Broflovski in many ways that would be considered beyond unholy.

- And the fact his parents were going out for the weekend you were coming over too did not help the ideas popping up in your head.

- When it came upon the day you were coming over, you decided to put on your sexiest outfit yet.

- A short tennis skirt, a laced spaghetti-strapped crop top, and a pair of thigh highs was enough to do the trick.

- You arrived at his place a couple of minutes early but just enough to where you didn’t look crazy, secretly wearing nothing underneath on purpose for him.

- He had paid Stan to babysit Ike for him that day too.

- You were not the only one plagued with not-so-innocent thoughts the entire week leading up to it. Kyle had some things planned out in his head as well. Technically, a mutual agreement without saying a word.

- Kyle was fast in opening the door for you and once he saw what you were in, the red on his face was more than visible.

- Obviously, he couldn’t hide the fact he was staring and definitely interested in the sight you were giving him.

- He locked every lock on that door as soon as you got inside.

┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✧ Start of Scenario ✧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You hopped onto his couch the moment the warmth of the house enveloped you, causing you to sigh in content. The freezing temperatures of South Park made it impossible for a girl to get pretty but you weren’t letting that stop you. Your eyes landed back on Kyle who was dressed in a green long sleeve and brown pants.

His outfit was super cute, less risqué than yours, however, that did not matter. He still looked like a snack to you. And you were already willing to lunge for him. But, you kept your distance. For now.

The boy sat next to you and relaxed into the cushions along with, being the one to break the silence by complimenting what you were wearing, “I swear, you choose outfits that fit you too well sometimes.” Benefits of talking to a guy with brains was the way they word things. “You’re not helping my barely growing teenage brain here,” he added on as a joke. A part of you knew that he wasn’t entirely bluffing though.

This was proven when you glanced down at his lap to check if there was a sign and sure enough, a rising tent had appeared.

Kyle, quick to notice things, saw that you had peeked and grabbed for a pillow to sit it over his crotch. Embarrassed that he didn’t think of doing that as soon as his mind went south.

But, you weren’t going to ignore that. You couldn’t. Your eagerness was too much for you and the heat between your legs was screaming for you to get to moving. So, you huffed out, “I don’t think I want to help. I’m here for encouragement…” While scooting yourself to replace the pillow on his lap with your ass instead.

He tensed up, sucking a breath in, and using his hands to grip your hips. You could feel his boner poking your inner thigh, about to brush the spot you wanted it to the most which got you even more excited.

Kyle was just as excited, jabbering on as soon as you pressed down into him, “I was hoping you would say that. I didn’t think I could just be friends with you as much as I wouldn’t like to admit that…” His hips bucked upward into you repeatedly, rocking himself into a position where his hard-on could rub against you perfectly. Your eyes widened and a moan slipped out.

The front of his pants was starting to get wet from grinding up into your bare pussy, causing him to notice, and ask, “Are you wearing anything under that?” You shook your head no while biting your lip, moving one of your hands to grab your breast and the other to lift up your skirt.

He watched what you were doing with an aroused look to his green eyes, staring at your chest often. This gave you the idea to strip off your top and throw it to the floor.

What a good idea it was because it made Kyle leap to tug his pants off. His boxers followed with and out sprang his dick, hitting his chest from how hard it got. The freckled boy panted, a blush everywhere on his body, matching the color of his hair. He was unbelievably attractive like this.

You leaned down next to his ear to whisper while grabbing his shaft, “I’ve been wanting you inside me ever since Sophomore year.” Before pushing it inside of you and lowering yourself all the way down until you were sitting right on his v-line.

He shuddered and gripped onto you tightly, digging his head back into the couch from the pleasure that rushed through him at the warm, wet feeling wrapping around.

“You should’ve said something because I would’ve made that come true,” he said. That was the last thing that was spoken as the two of you got lost in sex. You began to bounce on him and he guided you to grind during the process. Your eyes drifting everywhere, going from dazing off at the wall, to looking at him without a single thought in the world other than how good he was making you feel.

Kyle was in the same state. Admiring you by skimming his hands across your sides and using his fingers to play with your nipples. After riding him for a couple of minutes and starting to sweat from the workout it was giving you, he flipped you to rest back onto the armrest.

He slowly rocked his dick into you, pushing into your walls, and digging for spots that made you gasp. His groans ended up being muffled into your neck as he buried himself in the crook of it, kissing against your skin, and creating hickies once he traveled enough.

During his slow fucking, he drifted his thumb over to your clit and rubbed it at a good pace that matched his thrusts. It had you constricting yourself around him until you were a shaking mess, cumming underneath his figure, and riding out the high with him.

The green-eyed boy pulled out when you finished, jerking himself off at a fast speed, and asking politely, “Can you open your mouth and level with it please?” Without hesitation, you lowered yourself to his dick and let him release all over your face.

You stuck your tongue out, feeling the sticky liquid decorate most of it before you swallowed the bit that landed there, looking up at him with a smile.

Both of you had to clean up more than watch movies after that, but that did not matter to you, whatsoever. The only thing that mattered from that point was the next weekend you had to plan with the Broflovski.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✧ End of Scenario ✧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

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#3 ; Kenny McCormick

The song that I thought fit this best :

Sexual Dynamic : Masc!Dom | Fem!Sub

What’s in here : Praise/ degrading kink, lots and lots of positions, public sex, and a creampie.

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- Well, well, well. What most of you’ve been waiting for. The guy that obviously will take no time in making you his fuck buddy!

- It’s pretty obvious that right away he made his intentions clear and he communicated them with no problem.

- And that’s exactly why you were into him.

- Kenny has an eye for girls that like to have a fun time and you happened to be one with a big reputation of rebellion.

- You loved ditching class, hating the kids, the work being too stressful, and all of the above was the reason why.

- And he was often caught back there as well. So, sooner or later, you came across each other on one of your breaks from the shitty school environment and took it together.

- Might have ended up in the mutual agreement of being FWB’s right then and there which lead to you giving the boy his first non-std infected blowjob.

- The thing that had gotten in your way, however, was the fact you had strict parents and this meant you had no way of getting out of the house to meet up with him.

- To make things worse and add the cherry on top, this started around the end of the school year and the both of you ended up having no way to contact each other because of this.

- Those two months for both you and Kenny were perhaps one of the most depressing periods of time in your life.

- After dealing with this, College had started and your parents began to let you have more freedom because you were becoming an adult.

- You were frustrated at the timing, the blonde-haired boy on the back of your mind the entire time they spoke to you about it. And the more you had longed to see him again.

- The first day of College arrived some time later and you had no idea what to expect.

- There was an uneasy feeling. You knew that Kenny wasn’t financially well off and you didn’t know if he was good grade-wise so it left you with the weight of finding out whether or not he was attending.

- Throughout the whole school day, you looked for him, high and low, low and high. Everywhere.

- He wasn’t in any single one of your classes. None of his friends were too. It seemed like all hope was lost and that the inevitable had happened.

- But, before you could end up back in that same pit of sadness, during the walk out of one of your classes to go to another; you passed by the stairs and someone grabbed you.

- Not knowing who it was, you put up a bit of a fight, losing pretty badly considering the person was quite strong, ending up behind the crevice of the stairs anyway.

- When you came face-to-face with the man that dragged you away, you squealed for joy.

- It was, of course, the McCormick.

- Both of you collided into a huge hug and stayed there for a while, cherishing each other’s warmth and smell.

- He’ll always have that faint smell of weed on him, but, it made him hotter in a way.

- It didn’t take long for the hug to turn into an elated talk.

┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✧ Start of Scenario ✧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Where have you been? How has life been treating you, Ken?” You asked while shoving his arm playfully, tilting your head to the side. He smirked at your behavior, finding it cute, before responding casually, “Honestly, it could be better. But, I’ve been doing okay. Now, that I’m getting to see my smokin’ hot babe again though, I think it’s more than great!” His nickname that he gave you made you crack up and blush at the same time.

Laughing along with you, he repeated the question, aiming it toward you this time. Your expression quickly dropped for a minute and when you remembered that he could pick up on that, you tried to play it off, “Oh, yeah! Uh, I’ve been okay too. Just been working my ass off in keeping my room clean so my parents won’t take my phone for the millionth time.”

A sigh left him hearing that and he clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head side to side while leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Still dealing with them? Damn, I’m all for parents making sure their kids are doing what they’re supposed to and actually taking care of em’, but, when you’re practically shoving your nose in their ass, that’s a problem,” he complained.

You agreed, “Tell me about it.” Rolling your eyes, you copied his body language by leaning too. Having dealt with them being this way since twelve, he didn’t even know half of it.

Silence began to fall onto your ears as Kenny opted for staring at you other than continue the conversation, his blue eyes scanning down your body, ultimately going for his perverted tendencies by lingering on your breasts a little too long. You snickered in response to this, “Really? You’re going to stare? You know you have hands, right pretty boy?”

Teasing him was just what you needed to do to make him budge as the McCormick turned to pin you to the wall, leaning down to get to your eye level. He gave you a small, soft kiss on the lips before pulling away to began lifting your shirt up above your head with a retort, “You should watch what you’re saying or else you’re going to end up being humiliated in front of a whole bunch of people, [Y/N].” So, he was saying your name now?

You decided you wanted to see if he would go that far by testing him, snaking your hand up to his waistband before shoving it inside of his pants without any struggle. Starting to rub him through his boxers right away, Kenny let out a grunt and pressed his forehead against yours while his brows furrowed.

Your voice lowered only for him to hear what you were telling him, “Do it. Fuck me so hard that everybody will know who’s screwing me that good.” His breath got shaky at that and you felt his cock throb in your hold.

He started tugging at his pants, bringing them down to his ankles along with his underwear from how eager he was after hearing what you said. A feeling of regret haunted you for a second when you glanced at the size of him, forgetting how huge he was until you got to see it in front of you.

But, that was overshadowed by how horny it also made you. Your own shorts were being thrown to the ground with the rest of the clothes. Eventually, leaving you both naked in front of each other.

Kenny was the quickest into getting in action, massaging your tits with both of his hands while moving his mouth to latch onto your neck. He made a couple of hickies working his way to your collarbone, running his fingers from your nipple to what’s in between your legs to rub your clit in circles for a minute.

Getting bored with this, he switched it up by continuously kissing lower and lower. Still sucking on certain spots to get it to bruise. He was marking you up and you were enjoying every single one. You moaned softly, trying to keep quiet, but loud enough for him to hear. After all, you didn’t want to actually get spotted doing this with him and end up expelled.

When he got to your pussy, his arms slid into the crevices of your thighs before he lifted both of them, spreading them across the wall. Then his mouth put all of the attention onto it.

Kenny licked your folds repeatedly at first to get a taste of your juices, gliding his tongue over your sensitive bud, and swirling it in a pattern to get you to make more noises for him. You were restless, grinding up into his face, and tugging onto his hair the moment he got to flicking side-to-side.

He went at it for a couple, causing you to cover your mouth midway through because of how much your voice was raising. It felt amazing. Like you were floating from how good his technique was.

Covering you with his spit from how messy he ate you out, you jutted your hips up and began to grind on his face. Around his mouth was a mess, spreading to his nose, and cheeks. He looked deep into your eyes the whole time he did it and switched to sucking your clit for the finale.

The blonde-haired boy got you to cum from that alone. Letting you roll on him like he was your new personal chair and smother his head with your thighs until pure bliss was the one thing showing in his expression.

Your juices spilled onto him, some landing where his dick was which worked out for lubrication in the long run. He stood back up, glistening in the sun from all the wetness, telling you with a smooth tone, “Turn around for me and put that ass up, baby.”

With shaky legs from the orgasm you had, you did what he said and bent over, your cheek pressed up on the cold bumpy surface. “Look at that… You’re being such a good little whore for your best friend,” Kenny cooed while grabbing your head and pushing you up against it; positioning himself with your entrance and sliding in easily. The both of you moaned out in satisfaction.

You had been waiting for him to do this to you for so long. And it didn’t hurt as bad as you thought it would. In fact, the big size and girth gave you the feeling of being full.

He sent loud slaps through the wall once he rammed his first set of thrusts into you, being fucked aggressively in doggy style despite you not being far from your peers and a death sentence from your parents.

The wet sounds mixing along with it didn’t help. And you were so sensitive that it made it impossible for you to hold your breath. The whining, yelps, and panting all at a high enough pitch that it was beginning to echo. You were going to get caught if he didn’t finish soon. Both of you would. But, for some reason, that didn’t sound as threatening as it should.

Your sense of danger was dulled from how hard he was railing you. And how turned on you were from it. Like he had molded you into being stupid for the time being.

You raked your nails on the wall and arched your back more, pleading out to him, “Faster, Kenny! Please, hurry up… I don’t want to get in trouble!” He paused as if he wasn’t expecting to hear that, but responded once it registered, “Okay, though you asked for this…”

Quickening his pace, your eyes shut and you used your hand to muffle yourself by biting onto it, crying out from his dick practically reaching into your stomach. He groaned, watching the display for himself to memorize, and slightly impressed at how dirty this hook-up was. You were going to be his favorite, for sure.

His end began to near around the time the bell was about to ring again, people about to fill the halls any second now while you’re being pummeled by the biggest pervert in school. You murmured curses quietly, feeling him grab both of your wrists while chasing his high as fast as he could. Tears left your eyes when Kenny finally reached it.

He didn’t pull out. Instead, he fucked his jizz inside of you and pumped every last drop he could. “Fuck! Fuck, that’s right… Take as much as you fucking can.” His dirty words were like music to your ears and the way his cum filled you to the brim made you hum. Drool dripping down the side of your mouth from how out of it you were.

Although, he was put in a tricky situation considering you could no longer walk and he possibly could’ve got you pregnant, a huge derpy smile stayed on Kenny’s face for the rest of the time he was with you. No one had seen him that happy ever. So, there was a lot of questions you had to answer when the boy ended up confessing that it was because of you. Who knew it was so hard to keep a secret with the McCormick.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✧ End of Scenario ✧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

════════════════════════

#4 ; Craig Tucker

The song that I thought fit this best :

Sexual Dynamic : Masc!Sub | Masc!Dom

What’s in here : Yandere Craig (doing it cause I felt like it), mentions of murder, rough/painful sex, and a cumshot with a creampie.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

- Well fuck, this guy had known you for so long that he could barely remember when he first met you.

- But, that didn’t mean you two were close.

- You were simply friends from afar before ending up complete nobodies to each other around the time college came about.

- Or that’s what you thought.

- Craig had only stopped talking to you, he didn’t completely stop from hanging around you.

- Meaning that he would often drop by the places he knew you were hanging around to sit nearby and watch what you would do.

- This wouldn’t be creepy if it weren’t for the fact that the only place you liked to be inside was your dorm room. So, he was watching you from your window.

- It was easy for him considering the two of you were neighbors and whenever he wasn’t occupied with his love life, he’d be lost in staring at you playing the guitar or even go as far as watching you change.

- At some point, his infatuation with you peaked after coming across a late night masturbation session you were having, forgetting to close the blinds which let him have access to the scene.

- You had no shirt on, your pants barely above your knees, watching something on your computer screen. And his body was quick to react when he looked down.

- He got an idea to bring out his camera and record you, taking the moment to have fun himself.

- After jerking off and cumming around the same time with you, muttering your name in the middle of it, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sit beside and just watch you forever.

- With an entire month of constantly recording you, breaking into your room and taking some of your clothes. Even stealing pencils that you broke out of boredom from the trash to keep in his drawer and watching you get drunk until you hooked up with random woman. Craig spiraled downward into an unhealthy obsession.

- He couldn’t stand it when seeing you flirt with girls despite knowing that you had no knowledge of his existence.

- If you took them home or went home with them, they would end up missing the next day.

- Craig didn’t know why he did it. He just simply felt the motive. Maybe it was because they were girls and he was a boy or maybe because he was in love with you. Honestly, he didn’t want to think on it.

- It got out that some of these woman were disappearing around your area and you ended up finding out it was the ones you hooked up with when the police were at your door.

- You were questioned and put as the number one suspect because you were the last person seen with them. And this confused and scared you badly.

- The police were convinced you were telling the truth by the way you reacted to the interrogation. Answering all of their questions sincerely, even telling them details of that night you had with them but not going too far to where it was weird.

- Also, the devastation on your face was easy to see. So they left you alone.

- However, this haunted you and you became desperate on trying to find out more about what happened to the girls by asking around. As well as waiting for more information from the investigation.

- The black-haired boy had to keep a low profile after and thanked himself for dumping the bodies in the lake further ahead of time.

- He was oddly disappointed in himself because of what he had done. Not because he had taken the lives away from innocent girls, but because he made your life become so hectic and had you go through so much stress.

- After the ordeal was dying down and the cops were coming to a dead end, the cases went cold and Craig went about his daily life of stalking you once again.

- You did not come back from this okay. Actually, it lead you to distancing from people romantically and sexually because you were afraid they would disappear.

- Landing you in therapy to get over the traumatic experience and depression that was swallowing you whole. Making you lose all of your friends and end up alone.

- And who would’ve known that Craig happened to need to go to the same therapist too? After his parents had found him talking to a wall and carving an initial into himself, your initial.

- He was admitted out of self harm. But, really, he was coping with the fact he couldn’t follow you during the search for the kidnapper of your flings.

- This gave him an opportunity to get to know you though as you crossed paths often when waiting in the lobby for appointments.

- One day, he told himself he was going to try and greet you. It should be easy because you both used to know each other, right?

- But this lead to him dodging it as soon as he got near you.

- You could be thirty feet away and Craig was standing there, panicking in his head, his face the exact opposite with barely any emotion present. Contradicting his stoicism, his heartbeat was racing.

- Your eyes had glanced over and ended up locking with his, raising a brow like you were questioning him.

- Then he saw you get up and began to head over to him.

- He became extremely nervous and excited all at the same time, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath to ready himself before you were right in front of him.

- His blue eyes were intense and burrowed themselves into your head as you got to finally talk to the guy you’d been seeing around.

- Might have been an socializing assignment your therapist gave you so you can repair your relationship with people. Fucked up considering he’s the one that ruined it in the first place.

┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✧ Start of Scenario ✧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“I remember you! You’re the guy that lived in my neighborhood! Your name’s Craig, right?” You gave him a chipper smile, taking off your headphones to rest them on your shoulders. Craig had froze and stared at you blankly before rushing to find something to respond with, “Uh, yeah, I happen to be that guy.” It came out more awkward than he had wanted it to but who could blame him? He was talking to the boy he had been immensely infatuated with for months now who was acting extremely casual.

You laughed in victory at the correct guess and placed out a hand for him to shake, telling him why you approached, “That’s great! I had been looking for some more friends actually as I’ve went through something a little while ago and it’s left me a bit lonely. You think you could be my friend?”

He didn’t know how to register what you were saying but he wasn’t upset about it in the slightest. Although, his mind wasn’t concluding this as you two being ‘friends’. Grabbing your hand, he shook it and forgot to not put so much force, ending up yanking you a little too forward.

Your face collided with his chest due to losing your balance, making him catch you, and help you regain it by making you hug him. It didn’t help that you were at his height too because as soon as you pulled back, your nose was almost touching his. His eyes were back to burning themselves into yours, an electric feeling running through you at the moment. ‘Why did he look at me like that?’ you wondered, ‘Like I’m the most interesting thing in the world.’

Craig had to hold himself back from doing anything stupid and last minute, tensing up and slowly getting you to move back to where you were by grabbing both of your shoulders. You blinked rapidly and muttered out an apology, “My bad, I didn’t mean to fall into you and stay there, you just got really pretty eyes man.” That wasn’t a lie, you did think the color was super nice to look at.

But this compliment hit him way harder than it should’ve. And he found himself beginning to blush, blurting out a compliment back before he could think, ��So are yours.”

The both of you were becoming flustered, looking at each other for a minute until you thought of another topic to talk about, trying to save yourself from spawning a crush on the guy. “So, what do you like to do in your spare time?” you went for that. And instead of answering, he asked you another question, “Do you smoke?”

Your eyes went wide as you watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a blunt the size of a finger, staring at it in disbelief. This was the weirdest interaction you’ve had yet. And how did he know that you were okay with that? And smoked weed? Did you smell like it? All these questions ran through your head but at some point, you had to answer him, and free drugs were a hard thing to come by, so you were honest, “Yeah, I do.”

A part of you felt pumped about it while another was a bit weirded out. However, you forgot about it quickly as soon as the blue-eyed man started walking away. You began to follow behind him, keeping up enough to watch his back the entire way, and admiring the trees every second or so when you got bored.

It was quiet. Not a word exchanged between them. That was because Craig was over his head. He was piecing something together in his thoughts, forming a plan, one that wasn’t what you would call sane. But, that was because he simply wasn’t. He couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t been thinking of you in a certain way for a long time. Like he hadn’t killed for you because of it.

As he lead you to a nearby alleyway he went to when he wanted to watch you in private, his back turned and he was facing you again. This place was damp and dark, the smell not the best, but it was away from society. And that was perfect for this.

The ravenette rested against the wall and lifted the blunt in between his fingers to rest right on his lips before reaching into his pocket to pull out a lighter. He lit the end of it, resting the flame on the tip for a couple of seconds as he sucked in a huge cloud that left his mouth the second he blew it out.

Holding it out to you afterward, a trail of smoke drifted from the cherry while you took it in your own two fingers. You took a hit from it just like he did, knowing that this was a really good kind as soon as you tasted how smooth the bud was. Your eyes closed and you held it in for five seconds before letting it out until all the air escaped your lungs so you didn’t die from coughing.

Hissing through your teeth, you ended up still letting out a grunt and cleared your throat to ease the burn in the back of your throat. “Shit, that’s a pretty good strain, what is it?” you asked in the middle of your struggle.

Craig took another drag and doubled it while responding nonchalantly like it was nothing, “It’s called Azul. I grew it.” He glanced down at the blunt to check on its burning status and decided it needed another light.

After getting it bright again, he handed it back to you and let you take a couple more puffs, putting his hands in his pockets. An impressed look crossed your face and what he said piqued your curiosity, you asked like you didn’t believe him, “Really?? You’re a grower? Don’t you go to my school and dorms?” It seemed you were going to get along with this guy way more than you thought you would.

More time passed as the two of you progressively got higher and higher each pass, ending up with you laughing contagiously at a joke he had made about a lady that passed by. You would’ve normally quietly chuckled and try to contain it because of how mean it was as you didn’t want to feel bad. But, the state you were in was more than relaxed.

A small smile appeared on Craig while he watched you lose it, “Dude! That’s so messed up… Come on!” You hit his arm and rested your head on his shoulder from being out of it, mumbling into his sweater. He put out the blunt then because he knew that any more would be way too much. Once you got to lift your head and rest your chin on him, he turned his toward you.

He looked down, so close that you could feel his breath brushing against you, and that made your heart stop. Muttering quietly, his questions took a turn that you didn’t expect, “Have you ever kissed a guy before?” Almost instantly, you could feel your dick starting to rise, causing you to cover it with your hand while responding in an unsure tone, “No…”

When your eyes flickered down to his lips after the mention of it though, he was fast to press them against yours. You didn’t resist but you didn’t return it either. Letting him softly kiss you before he pulled away to conclude, “Now you have. How did it feel?”

It was like the oxygen had left you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around why you liked that so much. And the fact he tasted like raspberries was not helping. Was a guy really going to be the one that gave you the best kiss of your life?

He frowned when you took forever to answer, sighing through his nose, and pulling away with a rejected tone, “Fuck, well, sorry I made you question your sexuality, [Y/N].” Before he could get far, you grabbed his collar and made him go back to where he was but ended up overestimating how far you were tugging him. He stumbled forward and pushed you up against the wall, both of his hands landing on both sides of your head to catch himself while your noses touched.

Craig held a glare with you, confused. He didn’t understand why you weren’t saying anything but also refusing to kiss him back as well. Were you into it? Did you want to? You still couldn’t open your mouth to put it into words, in denial about what was happening. But, you gave him something to let him know that it wasn’t bad by returning the kiss gently.

You were barely brushing up into him like you were shy of the action. And he understood that it was because you hadn’t done it in a while so he savored what he could. You were kissing him. Finally, he had gotten what he wanted. He was the one locking lips with you. Not anybody else.

His hands drifted to your sides, slowly moving to your waist so he could hook his fingers at the bottom of your shirt. Knowing where this was going, a knot formed in your throat and you placed your hands on his chest to push him away. “I don’t know if I can go that far,” you finally said something. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to. It was because you couldn’t stop worrying about his safety. All that you could think about was his name in the news headlines and pictures of his chullo hat covered in blood laying in some bushes.

Your breathing went out of control and he could tell you were about to go into a panic attack, wrapping his arms around you as soon as he saw the signs, remembering them from the times you were in your dorm room crying about the interrogation months ago.

There was that guilty feeling in his chest. It made his heart heavy. He didn’t want you to feel like this. Especially when all this worry was for nothing. So, he decided to mumble out the best reassurance he could think of, “I don’t know what’s going on with you. I have no idea what had happened to that friendship we had for a minute back then too. You’ve been out of the loop for quite a while, [Y/N].” He moved back to stare directly at you with sincerity in his voice, “All I know is that kissing someone has never felt so right and if I could, can I make you feel safe enough to trust me with your body for tonight?”

That was the most convincing someone has ever been. And this high helped you calm yourself while using the breathing techniques your therapist gave. You bit your bottom lip before sighing out in frustration, looking around at where you were, and then exclaiming, “Fine! But, can we please do it somewhere else other than a fucking disgusting alleyway?”

Craig stared at you like you were crazy until his face twisted from holding back laughter, ending up bursting at the seams anyway as it sputtered out of him. “You’re right. This isn’t the place to be screwing a pretty boy like you,” he slyly said as he began to head out of the alleyway. You ran after him, trying to brush off what he said but still feeling the butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Eventually, the two of you made it inside of your dorm room, the Tucker locking the door behind you with a snide remark, “So, are you going to answer my question from earlier? How was kissing a boy for the first time?”

You forgot about that. Your mind flashing back to the memory of the kiss, vividly remember how soft his lips were, and how patient he was in his pace. He was aggressive but soft. A perfect mixture. Snapping out of it, you stammered out, “I hadn’t kissed someone in quite a while… Or well, a girl. And it was always quick-paced like they were in a rush to get to the good parts. But with you… Well, with a boy, it was like you couldn’t get enough. That, I think, made it practically impassable.”

What you said made Craig sit in your computer chair and stare at you in awe, reaching his hand up to pull off his hat, and placing it down on your desk. He reached out his hand for yours now and murmured, “Come over here and sit.” You walked over to him and took it, about to actually prop yourself down onto his lap before he stopped you right as you were. “Wait. I need to fix something,” he said as he went to unbutton your pants.

Taking in a sharp inhale through your nose , his hands wasted no time in tugging them off along with your boxers. “Fuck, you move fast. Hold on, let me prepare myself at least,” you sounded embarrassed and you were because your hard-on was so visible. He chuckled at that, “Okay then. I’ll get myself undressed while you can work on getting those off.”

Your eyes couldn’t help but get a look at Craig starting to take his jacket and shirt off, automatically checking him out, and to your surprise, he was pretty built. He noticed you staring and teased, “If you want to see all of it, get to moving, I want to see you too.” That was a bargain you couldn’t say no to, holding your breath as you gripped around the hem of your boxers.

Then you pulled them off, letting them fall to your ankles, tugging your shirt off afterward to get it out of the way. The only thing left on you was your socks and the same was for him a couple of seconds later.

He eyed you up and down with his blue orbs, reaching for your wrist, and pulling you back into touching your knees with his. Both of his hands placed onto your shoulders and began lowering you down until you were coming face-to-face with his huge dick, watching it twitch with a slightly ajar mouth.

“You’re going to have to get it wet if you want to go any further, pretty boy,” he whispered, grabbing your chin to guide your mouth toward him. You couldn’t believe you were doing this, opening wide before taking the tip and wrapping your lips around it. Craig grunted and put a hand on your head, gripping onto your hair to deal with the pleasure.

The texture was different than you expected to feel on your tongue but it was also satisfying in a way. And it didn’t take long for you to get into swallowing most of his length, easing it into your throat, and tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum the more you sucked.

Grabbing harder onto you, he moved his hips upward and made all of his dick go down into your mouth. This caused you to gag and jolt backward, coughing and making a face at him. “What the fuck, man,” you angrily said and got back up onto your feet.

However, Craig was extremely impatient by this point and he could no longer hold up the soft facade he had with you anymore. He stood up with you and within seconds, you were slammed down into your bed while his hand dug into your neck, tightening around your throat to make you choke more than you had on him.

Noises squeaked out of you while the air was leaving you, his other hand positioning himself to your ass and spitting on it to get you ready. He rubbed it around and made you shudder, having never been touched there which caused it to feel super sensitive.

He made both of your legs wrap around his waist once his tip began to push inside, slowly stretching your hole out as you grabbed his wrist to try and pull his hand off of you. It hurt so bad. His size bigger than most so it made it almost numbing the more he slid into you. Your eyes were struggling to stay open as you were close to passing out from the loss of oxygen.

That’s what made him stop. He removed his hand from your neck and balled up both of them into fists, punching them into the pillow your head was resting on while rearing his hips back. He made his entire dick slide out before forcing it back in, making it feel like he was tearing your ass apart from the roughness. You screamed out, “FUCK! CRAIG! WAIT! WAIT, IT HURTS!”

Slapping a hand to cover your mouth, he continued to ram himself over and over into you, watching you take him with several groans slipping out. He was frantic in his movements and made your bed sound like it was about to give up underneath the strength he put into fucking you.

He made you forget about the anxiety alright. Letting you know why you didn’t have to be afraid of him being taken away but rather be afraid of him altogether. At the same time, you were being fucked into liking it. The sweat, slapping from the colliding of skin, and the shaking of your legs set up the perfect scenery for him. He got to see you fucked out underneath him, because of him, all for him. And that was all he needed.

Leaning into your neck, he finally came to a slow pace and rocked up into your walls, gliding his fingers down your chest to play with your tip and the pre-cum on it. Craig was giving you a break, wrapping his palm around the base of your dick until he was pumping it up and down at the exact pace he was thrusting into you. The combined pleasure was enough to get you to moan out in relief, “Much better… Oh, god, that’s much better…”

Another rare smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he moaned with you, burying all of his length for a moment before pulling back again to quicken his speed. “That’s what happens when you’re being a good fuck toy,” he praised. Jerking you off faster and faster as well.

You buried your head into the pillow and felt him start to kiss around your Adam’s apple, littering them around until his teeth brushed around a spot that made you jump. When he found it, he bit into the sensitive area and that caused everything in you to unravel. Your cum shot out on your chest and landed in between his fingers, spreading across his hand, and some even getting on his lower stomach.

He continued to rail himself in you for another long minute before reaching his end alongside you, the warm fluid escaping him with a loud growl, “[Y/N]! Shit… You’re so.. fucking… perfect.” Once he was finished completely and everything had emptied out into your hole, he slid his dick out. Letting the cum spill out onto your sheets while collapsing next to you to rest. The both of you stared at each other in a daze for the last moments you managed to stay awake and as you were about to pass out, Craig had confessed to you, “I think I love you…”

╚═════════════════════╝

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Sorry for any errors or misspellings! I had tried to rush through this little thing when I saw it was getting too long so progressively, it might’ve got worse. But, this is overall what I’ve been working on for a couple and I hope you enjoyed!

Stick around for some more if you want! I got plenty where that came from. And if you like the other fandoms I’m interested in, you would definitely want to follow. I’ll be releasing a lot of those soon!

474 notes · View notes

agendabymooner · 8 months

Text

keeper ! alex a. x ofc (kpop idol!ofc)

"and she my backup like to say she was my plan b. kinda ironic 'cause with her, i'd start a family."

summary: in which polly jintara berkshire, whose friend was an ex of an f1 driver, juggles her role as a blackpink member and alex albon's girlfriend. OR this is just a series of photos showing how down bad the couple are for one another ❤️

content warning: chatfic + tweets, use of explicit language, a lot of dirty jokes (nothing graphic), alex albon is a blink, references to stormzy songs, fluff

note: the title and quote is referring to my favourite tobi and manny song. anyway enjoy xx (i hope my jokes are funny enough)

masterlist

tagged blackpinkofficial, boamckinnon, thepolsci

liked by nicholaslatifi, jennierubyjane, roses_are_rosie

alex_albon kicking my feet when thepolsci pointed and winked at me tbh 😍😩 have my kids pinned by alex_albon

thepolsci no U HAVE MY KIDS 🥰 liked by alex_albon

landonorris absolutely shameless

georgerussell63 this isn't who we are, alex 🤦‍♂️

user1 bro who did you even go with 😭

alex_albon latifi 😊

user2 WHAT ARE YALL DOING IN A BLACKPINK CONCERT EVEN 😭

user3 alexander albon, driver on sundays and a blink every other day 💖

user4 lad i think it's a spider not a snake?

user5 shhhh don't ruin it for him. he's just being himself <3

user6 i just want him to show up one of these days in an interview and begin bonking the other drivers with his light stick like pLEASE ALEX

williamsracing cool stuff alex, but why didn't you take me there -logan liked by alex_albon

alex_albon big kids only, sorry mate. i'll bring the merch to you tho!

tagged thepolsci, ygentertainment, blackpinkofficial

liked by jennierubyjane, boamckinnon, logansargeant

user1 NO ALEX YOU LOOK COOL NEXT TO HER

user2 we gotta humble him- booooo get back in the car albono

charles_leclerc tell her she's very cool liked by alex_albon

alex_albon she doesn't need reminder 😎

jennierubyjane do we go to you for free marketing?

alex_albon no, you'd have to give me pols for the whole year then i can do free advertising

williamsracing this is not what your pr manager taught you and you know that alex

roses_are_rosie don't worry, your level of coolness heightened a little! liked by alex_albon

alex_albon phew! i thought i brought her down to my level tbh

thepolsci don't say that to yourself, you utter dickhead

alex_albon ily

user3 YES ALEX!!!! STREAM MONEY FOR CLEAR SKIN

alex_albon my real skincare routine is money on loop 🎼

thepolsci when we reach 8 figures you can have my kids liked by alex_albon

alex_albon are we talking combined salary for the next few years bc we can start the process now???

oscarpiastri touch grass

logansargeant this is not who we are alex

tagged thepolsci

liked by pierregasly, lance_stroll, danielricciardo

user1 MAN IS THIRSTY

user2 AND HE'S OWNING HIS THIRSTINESS

user3 now this- this is the standard

user4 are you talking about the picture or the guy who posted it?

user3 yes.

thepolsci screaming crying wailing

thepolsci on my knees frfr 😩😭 liked by alex_albon

alex_albon stay there 😇🏃‍♂️

user5 ALEX ?!!!

user6 MAN IS DOWN BAD

user7 if my gf is a baddie and a keeper i'd be down bad too 😭🤭 don't make fun of my boy like that

tagged alex_albon

liked by logansargeant, roses_are_rosie, jennierubyjane

user1 tbh a trip to paris doesn't hurt 🤔

user2 i want him or i want to be him idk 🧐

user3 ain't no way these two just made stormzy references on their posts

user4 girl serenaded alex with sidemen diss tracks before it's no wonder she posted this with a uk rap song 😭

user5 THAT'S PEAK LMFAO

alex_albon never!!!! liked by thepolsci

thepolsci ily bitch

alex_albon aren't you the sweetest 😩

thepolsci say it back 🥲

alex_albon thx buddy 🤩

thepolsci nvm i h8 you

user6 this is an emotional rollercoaster wtf 😭😭

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writefightandflightclub · 1 month

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Seven (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Phew! Well, the last couple of chapters were a lot, hey? I wonder what will happen next, tee hee! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. You give me life! ILY :-*

Word count: 8.6k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

“Hey,” you croak, as Frankie cracks the door to your room, finding you laying in the glum light. You’re on top of the covers and hugging your pillow to your chest, body curled around the white mass like you’re trying to form a human s’more.

Of course, you can’t sleep. You’re just slumped there, despondent, blinking into the crow black dark. Your tears have subsided, at least. But you feel sapped. Like you barely have any energy to feel anything anymore.

“Hey,” Frankie returns, dipping the mattress as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Benny send you?” You had insisted Benny go and get some shut eye, after comforting you for the better part of half an hour. There were hugs and warm tea and threats to handle Pope if he’d done something to deserve it. He hadn’t, you’d explained. He hadn’t done a damn thing worse than you, at least.

“Negative.”

You hum neutrally and scooch your body up so that you’re sitting with your back to the headboard, knees drawn up around the pillow you still cling to like a security blanket.

“I’m gonna say something, okay?” Frankie says firmly, and you brace, fully expecting to receive some tough love. You note with relief, however, that as the man turns his head towards you, his eyes are nothing but soft. “You and me. We’re going back to your sister’s tomorrow. Get you some space.”

Space from him. That much is implied.

“No, Frankie.” Your throat tightens. All you’ve had is space. For months. The last thing you need is more.

He places a hand on your knee, his tone firm and almost paternal. He’s going to make a damn good father, you think, with a swell of pride. “That’s what we’ll do. It’s not going to be like this anymore. We’re gonna stop taking chunks out of each other.”

All you had wanted to do was to be close again. You’d never meant-

“-Frankie.”

“Just think about it.”

You nod, and Frankie pats your knee. Stifles a yawn. Presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He looks wiped. With a gust of breath he stands, preparing to leave. “G’night, chiquita. Get some rest, alright?”

“Yeah. And Frankie?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

“What for?”

You sweep your hand through the air. “For the drama. Et cetera.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you know…” You cast a sidelong glance towards the black pane of the window. “Is… he coming back?”

The man drags his tongue along his lip. He does that when he’s uncertain. “He’ll be back.”

“How do you know?” You don’t remember the last time you felt or sounded so small.

“Because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment,” Frankie attempts a lopsided smile, his cheek tugging on the corner of his mouth; but it drops when he realises his joke hasn’t landed. “Just… try to get some rest. Okay?”

You nod, and you watch Frankie leave, his face murky but kind through the shadows as he gently tugs your door closed behind him.

When he’s gone, you wait a moment for his footsteps to retreat and then you cross to the window, cracking it open far enough that you can hear the gentle shush of the waves. Far enough that you could hear either the sound of a truck pulling away in the dead of night, or the front door clicking gently closed, perhaps.

You lie back on top of the bed covers, flat on your back, and your limbs stretched out like a starfish. You lie with your eyes open, staring at the ceiling - exhausted, but wide awake.

And, after who knows how long like this, you hear footsteps tramping on to the porch. You hear the front door gently being latched, and the soft pad of someone travelling up the stairs. You hear the footsteps pause outside of your door for a moment and you hold your breath. You imagine an outstretched fist, primed to knock, but you dismiss this as wishful thinking. You’ve done a lot of that lately. Too much.

Then, finally, you hear him shuffle into his room, clicking the door shut behind him.

Only then - when you know he’s back - can you sleep.

And, as you drift off, your thoughts of him merge with the soporific sounds of the waves.

You’d doubt, with how much you’ve ached for him already, that you could hurt anymore, but you know fine well that it’s possible. After all, the waves break over and over, don’t they?

They break, and they break, and they break.

***

The following morning is an awkward affair. Everyone is tetchy, and even after a very necessary lie-in, residual grumpiness abounds.

It figures. A shouting match and a rude awakening will do that.

Still, the day must go on. You get knocked down? You keep moving.

Will, ever an early riser and a true hero, brews up the first pot of coffee. Starts cooking up some breakfast, and, one by one, you and the boys filter downstairs, chasing the scent of sustenance.

“Don’t even,” you say to Tom the moment he opens his mouth, the room falling silent as you waddle sleepily downstairs, gravitating straight towards the caffeine and the relative safety of Will. Frankie, Benny, and Tom are sat around the dining table, and, you note -because of course you do- that Santiago is glaringly absent.

Maybe Frankie advised him not to come downstairs just yet. Perhaps he’s simply sulking. Or sleeping. Or avoiding you. Perhaps, maybe, possibly a million and one things, which you’ll never know the reasoning behind.

It doesn’t even matter now.

You’re done trying to figure him out. Since when did that ever get you anywhere useful?

Instead then, you attempt to refocus. To divert your attention away from your sun, and towards the wider constellation of stars you are proud to call your squad. And, of course, to your plate of breakfast - that deserves attention too.

The one thing you refuse to focus on, for the moment, is the elephant in the room.

Still, you glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“What else is new with you then, Benny boy? Seeing anyone?” You reach for just about the only topic you hadn’t covered with him yesterday evening - when you had been trying ever so valiantly to distract yourself from Santiago and all that he entails.

In response, his baby blues dance with mischief and he grins, raising one arm to pop a bicep in celebration even as he shovels forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth with the other. “I had myself a date the other night.” He probably flexes in his sleep, this man.

“She stay for breakfast, Benjamin?” Frankie interjects, finally managing to be vocal again now that he’s been provided with the sweet hit of his second mug of caffeine.

“‘Catfish. She was breakfast.”

You hear Will groan from over at the stove. “Too much information, Ben.”

Ben, meanwhile, looks entirely unapologetic.

“Whatever happened to being a gentleman, huh? The way your Granny raised you?” Tom enquires with a thin smile. “Thought gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but I was a gentleman, Redfly. Let her finish first ‘n’ everythin’.” Benny offers a shit-eating grin, and you are once again grateful for the distraction as the room descends into fond bickering, the back-and-forth culminating in Will whipping his sibling with a rolled tea towel for continuing to overshare, accidentally catching Tom in the crossfire.

“Those dirty-minded individuals asked the questions, man,” Benny defends, jabbing his finger around in a circle at the rest of you in accusation. “They always wanna know what action I’m getting. Hell, no-one ever asks me what I’m readin’.”

You snicker.

You glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Of course not. We’re trying to live vicariously through you, man,” Tom interjects. “We don’t want to vicariously read things.”

“Especially not the pretentious shit you read, Benjamin,” Frankie digs, before collecting up the plates and conveying them over to the sink. And, given a natural lull in the conversation, Benny takes the opportunity to grab your attention.

“You still up for training later, hon? I’m tabled for a beastly session this afternoon.”

It briefly crosses your mind to wonder where Benny gets his abundance of energy. You, on the other hand, can’t even be bothered to trace that train of thought through to completion. “Yeah. Maybe, Ben. I, uh, need to drive into town this morning though.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with a mouthful of streaky bacon, swivelling his cap to sit backwards on his head as though that will help him pay better attention to you.

You glance once more -only briefly, of course- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Mmm-hmm. Need to grab something from the pharmacy.” You blink, attempting to look as innocent as possible, but your face burns with a flare of heat, and you can’t help but scratch your nose self-consciously.

You feel as though they all know the purpose of your trip - somehow - even though that’s impossible. And, you pray that even if they do, that they will at least have the courtesy to let it slide.

Unfortunately though, you suddenly remember that Tom exists, and that therefore, you’re likely not getting away with it that easy.

“You and Pope all out of condoms or something?” he guffaws around the lip of his coffee mug as he takes a deep swig.

“Tom,” Frankie warns, subtly shaking his head as he comes to retake his seat by you.

Oddly though, Tom’s comment barely even manages to irk you. You pat your defender on the arm. “Frankie. I’m fine.”

He surveys you regardless, to be sure, and you are grateful for it. Frankie knows fine well that Tom has a talent for rubbing you up the wrong way. The two of you have never quite seen eye to eye.

“See, she can handle herself just fine,” Tom reminds him pointedly. He never did like the way the rest of the boys fussed so damn hard over you. His tone has the veneer of light-heartedness. “You can take a joke, right?”

Your lips twitch around some halfway cruel retort, but, turns out, you truly have no ire left today. You’re all out - and besides, you’re not looking to burn any more bridges than you have already on this trip.

“Listen,” you begin sincerely, cradling your mug of coffee between your palms. Deciding to nip this in the bud before it spirals. “Are we good, Tom? I was a little bit hot-tempered yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Once again, you glance towards the mouth of the stairs. Your gaze lingers a fraction longer this time, until it ticks back to Tom.

He looks at you levelly for a moment over the rim of his mug, before his brown eyes begin to shine with a dull, metered-out warmth. Nothing like the warmth of your sun, of course, but shining on your more brightly than Tom had deigned to in a long while, at least. “Sure we are. So long as you don’t wake me up in the middle of the night again. I need my beauty sleep.”

You hold your palms up in rare surrender. “You got it.”

“What was all that about, anyway?” Tom needles, shuffling forward in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Beside you, you can sense Frankie and Benny ready to knock him back should he dare to overstep. You wonder suddenly if you’re too harsh on the guy. If you need to loosen off, be a little kinder.

You wrap both hands more tightly around your coffee now, letting the warmth bleed through into your interlaced fingertips and the steam rise under your chin. “The usual,” you dismiss, not wanting to go into specifics. That would involve replaying it all. Would call for a digging out of the shrapnel lodged in your chest - an activity far too involved to undertake alongside a lazy breakfast. “Sometimes a storm is what it takes to clear the air, right?”

“And?” Tom cranes forwards a little more. You clock Frankie’s nostrils flaring subtly in annoyance. “Is the air clear now?”

You know what Tom’s asking. Was anything resolved? Are you two done?

Is all this over?

Apparently curious, all three of the men direct their gaze toward you, keenly awaiting your answer. You even reach for one -an answer- but you come up lacking, and your uncertainty carves a notch into your brow. Makes your mouth go dry. Your gaze flicks to the mouth of the stairs, and this time, you can’t look away from it. “I…”

Thankfully, unfortunately, you are saved and damned all at once as Santiago finally appears. Emerging from the spot you’ve been glancing intermittently at all through breakfast.

All the faces in the kitchen turn abruptly towards him as his careless footfalls sound out, and suddenly his eager skip down the stairs entirely loses steam. His pace slows, dragging to a dead halt by the time he has reached the base of the stairs.

Your eyes go as wide as they can, through no fault of your own, and despite being the focus of the whole group’s attention, Santiago stares straight ahead at you. Of course he does. Only you, as though there is no-one else in the room to acknowledge.

“Morning,” he addresses, solely to you, his expression impassive, yes - but certainly not harsh. Not angry.

“Morning,“ you respond, as brightly as possible, your eyes still wide and unblinking, and it is a little unnerving as every other head in the room swivels simultaneously around to face you. Oh good. Because you’d worried this might be awkward. You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “Will has bacon,” you offer stiffly, your whole body so full of tension it feels brittle; like it could snap.

As if the product of some hive mind, the heads swivel in unison back towards Santiago. He doesn’t drop his gaze from you, however. Doesn’t even blink - just looks between your left eye and right repeatedly. “Fabulous. Thanks.”

Sure. Okay. This is totally normal. Except… you don’t think you’ve ever heard Santiago describe something as “fabulous” in his life. But why not start now, hey? This is fine.

You watch him turn. Walk towards Will and the stove top, and when his gaze finally drops from yours it is like the taut line which was drawn across the room finally snaps, blissfully allowing some of the tension to sag with it.

“Good timing, Garcia. Here.” Will doesn’t miss a beat, transferring the spatula into Santiago’s hand and shuffling him seamlessly into his position before he can clock what’s happening. “I’m officially passing the torch of Breakfast Duty into your capable hands.“

“Uh. Sure,” Santiago obliges, obediently beginning to move the sizzling strips around the pan as Benny stands, already crowding him to jostle for seconds. Will slaps the waffled tea towel across Santiago’s shoulder for good measure too, and you die a little inside at how goddamn domestic he looks. Especially since he’s still wearing his fluffy sheepskin slippers. Rocking his bedhead of gently tousled, greying curls.

It makes you yearn.

“Want a ride into town, soldier?” Will calls to you across the space, jutting his chin up at you and snapping you from your stupor. Immediately, you scrape your chair back, the gentle throb of nerves making you eager to animate. Eager to jump on any excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Yes! Please!”

You scoop up your plate and cutlery, and you attempt to take Frankie’s to the sink too. That is, until he protectively winds his arm around it like a bear defending its cub and begins actively batting your hand away. You guess he wants second helpings too.

You sidle over to the stove then, where Santiago is dedicating himself to his latest occupation with vigour, Benny equally invested in hovering with his empty plate - and not above begging for scraps.

“Where to in town?” Santiago asks in a hushed voice, his thick eyebrow arcing. You dismiss your plate into the dish bowl to soak, and he pauses his spatula duties momentarily to await your response.

“Pharmacy.” You look at him pointedly.

His face crumples with something resembling apology. Or - perhaps more likely - regret. “Okay.”

Your eyes lock for a moment, and he looks so different to you this morning than he had in the dead of the night. It is more than the gentle morning sun giving a soft glow to his features, the dusting of late summer freckles on his nose popping in the light. It is more than the wholesome appearance of him cooking up breakfast. More than the hush in his tone, and the way his chin dips down, making his eyes look big and round and gentle as he looks at you from beneath his long sweep of lashes.

You suspect that he is purposefully making himself soft. Blunting his harsh edges so deliberately and so entirely that you fear he will sluice to the floor like the insides of a cracked egg. “You, uh… You need anything? Need me to…?”

Santiago. Honey. You’ve done quite enough already.

“No,” you say, but the word doesn’t audibly make it out the first time around. You clear your throat. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

Your gaze dips to the dried, rogue fleck of toothpaste right on the corner of his mouth. You can’t explain why, but this tiny, human detail makes your chest ache. “Talk later?”

He forces his sober expression to twist into a halfway smile. His eyes grow big and earnest, that cup of coffee gaze gently warming you. “Okay.”

Don’t, you inwardly plead with him. Don’t give me hope. Don’t break me again, Santiago.

A niggle plays at your brow. It’s odd, really. You remember the words and venom spat from each of your mouths yesterday. Of course you do. But you can no longer feel the all-consuming ire that came along with them. That part -that feeling- is absent. Every scrap of anger consumed. It seems as alien to you as the raging storm must feel to the clear morning which follows.

And so, you can’t help it. Really can’t help it. You dip forwards to kiss Santiago, softly. Right on the point of his beautifully high cheekbone, giving his tea-towel adorned shoulder a light squeeze.

You leave, then, to the sight of that subtle crimson flush darkening his cheeks, your gesture evidently both confounding and flustering him.

You leave too, to the sound of Benny yelling “Look alive, Pope! Don’t burn my goddamn bacon!”. The spatula has gone limp in his hand as Santiago’s gaze trails after you, and the tension is once again pulled taut like a string across the room. You imagine a festival of blush red balloons tied all along it, rising and dancing like your hope.

You leave, with an answer to Tom’s question.

You and Santiago? Is it over?

No. It’s not done.

But you are done with being angry.

You’re done breaking, and no longer will you throw yourself against those rocks.

***

The time away from the house was useful, and the scenes of the open coast slipping by smoothed your roughened edges out like a tossed, worn pebble. The salt-saturated air humming through your wound-down window had you drinking in deep, energising lungfuls. Then, there was Will’s steady, reassuring drawl, and all the feelings of security that came along with it.

Steady, dependendable, straightforward Will. You always knew where you stood with him.

At least, that’s who he had always been to you. Not the volatile, ticking time bomb you’d heard he’d become since he’d gotten out. Since he’d almost choked a man out in the tinned produce aisle.

It was good to have time to talk with him. You were endlessly glad to hear the ways Will was moving forward. You were glad -first and foremost- for him, of course; but you couldn’t deny it bolstered your own hope too. To know that there was a route out? A path onward - even when some things attempted to drag you back? It felt good.

Speaking of things which dragged you to them, you were also grateful that Will didn’t press you (too much) on Santiago-shaped matters. In fairness, at this point the whole squad is probably sick to death of the topic. Regardless though, it was refreshing to talk about other things. About Will’s new life. His bizarro public speaking gig. His worry for Benny, as an unfailingly attentive and loyal big bro. His insistence that the “kid” is not living up to his full potential.

Benny’s doing fine, you had assured him. Benny’s… buoyant.

So, in sum, it was safe to say that despite everything, by the time you had arrived back to the house you’d felt decompressed. It made you wonder if - maybe - last night’s storm really had succeeded in clearing the air. Of course, that depended on Santiago too, and where he was at today. Whether he had any more drama brewing, up in that pretty head of his.

From his vibe this morning though? You had gotten the sense that he was oh so tired too.

It didn’t change anything of course. The fighting. The fucking. Not really. Not any of it. The anger, once given its release valve, had simply moved through you like weather. It had turned out, it was all mostly bluster. Ephemeral. Shifting. And it couldn’t touch the truth of things, could it? The permanence and depth of your love for him? Not really.

It did change something in you though, that unforgiving storm. If nothing else, it had made you acutely aware of how powerless you are. Your weather cannot move the mountains, and Santiago is as stubborn and immoveable as a wall of rock.

You’d believed, at one time, that perhaps you could succeed in shifting him. Encouraging him. Convincing him.

But now you know for sure.

The only way he’s running into your arms is of his own accord. In his own good time.

When he’s ready.

If he ever is, of course; ready. And on that topic, you’re less and less sure that he ever will be. That Santiago will ever be ready to be loved by you.

It’s sad in one way to realise that. But in another way, it’s freeing. To give up. To stop trying to shape things into what you’d hoped they could be, and to simply let things be whatever they are. To make peace with the truth of things. And peace? It may sound counterintuitive, but as a soldier, peace is all you’d ever really wanted.

Perhaps that’s why you feel calm as you pace down the track back to the house. Why there’s a spring in your step as you fix up a sandwich for yourself and Will, heading out across the dunes to where the boys laze by that frilled edge of ocean. Perhaps you feel calm because you really have exhausted all of your options.

Because there’s truly nothing else you can do.

Because it’s out of your control.

Because you cannot move mountains.

And so, when you join the group and Santiago flashes you a tentative and oh so pure smile? You return it easily this time.

You can’t change yourself and how you feel. You’ve tried that. You certainly can’t change him. You’ve tried that too.

And… why would you want to, anyway, huh? To change him? In so many ways, you think, as you watch his rich, scratchy laugh bob in his throat, and see those delicious crinkles radiate from around his eyes, he’s perfect exactly as he is.

After all, he’s your best friend.

And, for the remainder of the afternoon, you simply want to focus on that.

For today, you reckon you’ll simply have to try to see him in pieces. In fragments.

You don’t want to admit to yourself that’s the only way you can make it through, but when you do realise, it strikes you. If you too find it hard to reconcile who he’s always been to you with all that he could be, then maybe you and he never were so different after all.

He certainly could never grasp all of you at once, could he?

***

The rest of the day passes pleasantly - much to everyone’s relief, you suspect. After the card games wrap up, there is plenty more entertainment to be had. There is time whiled away goofing around with a football and a frisbee. There’s a grill session on the dunes and chilled beers and music. When the heat becomes too sticky, too intense, there are sea swims and splashing around in the waves and everyone trying to dunk Benny. There’s solitary time too. Time for sunbathing and reading and podcasting and naps; and, in between, there is the cyclical eruption and waning of amiable chatter - whenever someone sparks up with a talking point.

In sum, you all opt to just be with each other. No particular agenda in mind, and it feels good. Really good.

You’ve missed them all. Hell, even Tom, though you’d never tell him that to his face.

The stretch of beach you’ve claimed is stunning too. The sands are golden and fine-grained and the water is perfectly temperate; but, it’s a hidden gem, the patch not attracting a fraction of the stifling crowds you’d find along the main drag. Throughout the day, other people come and go, of course. There’s the family with the adorable little kids, for example. The little boy, in particular, who had seemed to take a real liking to Benny - and who’d even roped him into helping build sandcastles. You’d watched, fondly, as each of your squad’s faces had split with wholesome, eye-swallowing grins at the adorableness of it all. There was the lone woman who spent 45 minutes giving you evil eyes - apparently, you’d deducted, for daring to be surrounded by five attractive men. You’d even suspected she might march over and punch you at one point, judging from the hate seething in her eyes when Will had asked you to slather-up his milky-white back with his trusty factor 50.

Mostly though, it had stayed pretty quiet, and you and the boys had more or less had the beach all to yourselves.

Various members of the group would filter off every now and again, of course. To replenish supplies, grab a new book, or buy an ice cream from the truck which pulled up. But, there had always been a core contingent remaining, even as the intensity of the day’s heat had begun to burn off, replaced with a softer, gentler, and more oranged glow.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t realise it, until it had already happened.

That by now, you and Santiago were alone.

You look up from your book and all of a sudden, you are the only one left lounging on the blankets. You look out to the water, and Santiago is the only figure to be found there too, currently floating on his back, bobbing over each gentle, orange-frilled wave which laps up to the shore.

Christ. When did it get so late?

Santiago must realise the predicament at a similar moment to you, you think, as by the time you have finished swivelling your head to scan the sands for signs of anyone else -finding no-one but a distant dog walker- he has already begun to wade out of the water.

It is something you have watched him do so many times today, but now that it is just the two of you, this time it hits just a little different. This time, you notice him. Really notice him. Can’t help it. You watch him rise out of the water in the golden glow of the descending sun, and shake the rivulets of water from his darkened, wetted curls. See his tan chest emerge first, the colour in his shoulders a deeper, richer brown already from a day soaking up the sun. That silver chain of his swinging and glinting in between his smooth, shapely pecs. And, you note the soft cushion of his tummy swelling over the waistband of his swim shorts, the garment sodden and clinging tightly to his ample hips and thighs. Even slipping down just a little as he wades from out of the water, revealing a hint of his happy trail as he beelines directly towards where you lay.

Your stomach twists with a deep, hot yearning, and you are grateful that you have at least a moment to compose yourself before he arrives, sea-shined and dripping, at your now deserted camp. You have the wherewithal, at least, to throw him a towel as he reaches you, trying not to stare (too much) as he begins to dry himself off.

“Thanks,” he offers, with a lazy flash of teeth, and you unconsciously rearrange yourself, very suddenly aware - now that you’re alone - that you are stripped right down to your flimsy bikini.

You see a swallow sink down Santi’s corded throat as his eyes skim down the length of you, but he is quick to obscure it. He’s still playing nice. Softening himself, you think.

With a laugh as roughly hewn as driftwood, he flicks some water at you after scrunching his hand through his sodden curls, spraying cold flecks across the bare expanse of your belly, causing you to tense and squeal. His shoulders shake with gentle mirth, and, once he’s towelled off and wrung out his shorts a little, he spreads his towel out next to you, parking his ample ass down.

“Didn’t feel like a swim? The water’s nice.”

“Nah.”

His head swivels about, eyes traversing the length of the beach. He scoops a hand around his stubble, and you hear it rasp like sand. “Where the shit did everybody go?”

You shrug with one shoulder. “Beats me. I was far too engrossed in my trashy novel to notice.” You dog-ear the page of said book and put it to one-side before leaning back, supporting your torso on bent elbows, legs still elongated before you and crossed neatly at the ankle. The position pushes your breasts out, and you swear Santiago tries valiantly to look just about anywhere else - more or less succeeding too.

“Then… I think we’re alone now.”

A mischievous smile catches the corners of your mouth. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.”

You turn your head towards him, to see if he’s picked up on your song-lyric-inspired choice of words, but the solemnity of his expression catches you off-guard. His brows are drawn down, the sockets of his eyes all shadowed despite the golden hour glow still pouring over the horizon, lighting the stark contours of him.

In unison, the two of you shift position, coming to sit cross-legged. Side-by-side, looking out over the ocean. It seems easier that way, you think. Not to face each other directly as you each say whatever it is you need to say.

You know that it’s come time to say it. That it’s overdue.

Besides, it’s undeniably beautiful, looking out across the view like this. Enjoying the lapping waves and the undulating, orange zest water stretched out below that burning sky. Now cooling, post-dip, Santiago reaches over for his trusty tartan blanket. Silently, he first tucks it around his shoulders, then he passes it around yours. It’s a stretch for the square of fabric, and so you huddle a little closer to one another, finding it is even more warming as your bodies press together. The wetness of his thigh, from those water-logged, sand-coated trunks contacts you too, but you make no effort to move away, instead resting your folded thigh just on top of his.

You can smell the ocean on him. Salt and sunshine and sunscreen. He smells like summer.

You look out across the landscape with renewed concentration as you wait for him to speak, not ready to face whatever expression his features may offer. You look outward with vigour while you wait for him to look inward, and you worry that his words - when they come - will surely be more ugly than the sight before you. Will be bitter and not sweet.

You even brace for it.

You’re so used to the storm.

Still, when he eventually speaks, you are surprised. Surprised that he is calm and steady. That his voice is like slow, warm sand pooling into your cupped hands. That his words are both bitter and sweet. “Hey. C’mere.” You link your arm into him. Lean your head onto his shoulder as his tone grows wistful. “Do you… Do you remember that night in Philadelphia?”

You smile immediately. There had been only one such night in Philadelphia.

It had been your birthday. You and Santiago had been catching a connecting flight, heading back from a deployment and en route to meet the boys off-base to celebrate. However, all the planes had been grounded due to some technical hitch with the tower. You’d been bummed that your plans had been ruined; but Santiago had come through. Had gifted you one of the best nights of your life. A very silly, drunken night, if you recall.

You cringe, hazy, smooth-edged memories flooding back. You clap a hand to your face with residual embarrassment. “Christ. The karaoke.”

Santiago chuckles warmly, and you feel his laugh reverberate through you. “It wasn’t karaoke! You hijacked the goddamn wedding band.”

Your hand clamps in dismay over your mouth now, and you lift your head from his shoulder to face him. “Oh my god. You’re right.”

Your laughs mingle together in the tight space between you, becoming indistinguishable, like the tide and the shore. “I still can’t believe you blagged our way into a wedding reception.”

“I can’t believe it took us so long to get rumbled,” his hand settles over yours, where your arm is still hooked into his.

You beam at him. “Thank God I’m stealthy.”

He pumps his eyebrows, entirely incredulous. “You? Yeah right.”

“I’m sure I must’ve helped, Pope.”

“No, cariño, no. You were not helping.” He scratches at his layer of scruff. “Shit. What was it… What did you tell the kid on the desk your name was, again?”

You try to recall, and when you remember you snort in a full-blown laugh. Your ensuing, chaotic giggle planes tears of joy out of the corners of your eyes. “Mariana Trench!”

“You’re fucking despicable. You know that?” Santiago laughs along with you, and God. It feels good. Really good. It feels effortless, your mirth sharing space like this instead of your anger. Your laughs mingle then dissipate, withdrawing gently like the retreat of a wave.

You lean your head back on to his shoulder, but your giggle fit is evidently not wholly through - not just yet. Your shoulders begin to shake up against him - gently at first, and then with a rising chuckle. “Whiskey in the jar-o,” you sing under your breath, wistfully recalling your drunken duet of choice. “Fuck, Santi. That was a good night.”

He rests his head on top of yours, the weight of it a comfort. “Yeah. Yeah it was,” he agrees. “Jesus, I’m telling you though. They were lucky we showed up. Before we livened things up? The dance floor was as dead as a battlefield after one of Redfly’s sweeps.”

You hum at the fond memory, a soft smile arcing over your face. He has you curious though. “What made you think of that night?” Why this memory, out of everything?

He stiffens noticeably up against you. Sits more upright. Presses his palms together. “That was, uh. That was the night that I-”

“-Vomited into a soup tureen?” You interject with a snort, as another random memory flashes back to you.

“No. Nope,” Santi counters decisively. “That was Cat’s Oma’s 80th.”

You giggle chaotically again. “Oh yeah. Shit.” You miss that lady. She was a sweetie.

“Hey. Listen,” Santiago begins with far more gravity. Enough gravity that you shift, turning your body as he draws your gaze to him. You had been waiting for this moment to arrive; but, now that it’s here, you wish you could cling on to the sweet things for a few moments longer. Still, you settle opposite him now, the two of you still cross-legged but positioned face to face. He adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tugging on each corner. With a watery smile, you slide your palms on to his wrecked, perfect knees and give him a gentle squeeze there, seemingly pushing his croaked words out with the gesture too. “I want to say that I’m sorry.”

You have nothing for a moment. No words, at least. Nothing but the motion of your hands smoothing back and forth over his knees. Nothing but the pained expression as your eyes swim with an ocean of feeling, deep enough to rival the vast body of water before you.

You note that his eyes are wet too as he settles his own hands over yours, gathering them up into his grasp. He stares down intently at your hands, his brow notching with a deep frown. He drags in a slow breath and releases it. “This got so fucked up, and… that’s not it at all.” He looks back to you then, his umber eyes shining with remorse. Deep regret welling in his resonant tone. “That’s not how I want to show up for you.”

Your tongue, too, reaches for an apology as readily as your hands had reached out for him. “Fuck, Santiago. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry too.” You had never meant to hurt him. You had never wanted that.

He drops his gaze to your neat pairing of hands. Gingerly begins to smooth the rough, sea-pruned pads of his thumbs over your knuckles, your skin humming dully where he touches. “I mean it. I’m sorry for everything.” The tendons in his jaw clench, muscles slipping over bone. He drags your cupped hand into his lap, drawing an absent-minded spiral in your palm with the pad of his thumb. The sensation makes a pleasant tingle bed down beneath your skin. “I swear. I never meant for my bullshit to affect you. Christ - that was the whole fucking point. Thought the least I could do, after everything, was protect you from that.”

At his earnest words, your chest tightens, and you abruptly halt the dance of his fingers by clasping his hands, gathering them between your own palms like a prayer. Your voice cracks in half like a broken promise. “Santiago. For Christ’s sake. You think I need protecting?” The implication in his words cleaves your heart in two. “From you?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. Sniffs. The muscle in his cheek tugs up, and you feel his hands go clammy in your grasp.

He frees himself from your grip for a moment, before continuing to skim his fingers up and down your forearm arm in a gentle, tender dance. The lightness of his touch contrasts starkly with the heaviness settling into his brow, his wet, puppy dog eyes swimming beneath. “I dunno. I was always a better fucking soldier than I was a friend.” He swallows, his voice so soft you can barely hear him. “Than I was… anything else you might’ve needed me to be.”

“No. That’s not true,” you respond adamantly, your head shaking vigorously from side to side. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“Except when it counted.”

“No!” you emphasise, the thrust of your words carrying your whole body forward. You shift position, transferring on to folded knees, crouching before him in the sand. Reaching, to slip your palms up to each side of his face, and you hold him like a prayer now. “No, Santiago. Especially when it counted. Believe me.”

He tries to turn away from you - you see it. He tries to begin his retreat, like usual, but this time, you capture his roughened cheek with one palm and you hold his gaze with yours. You speak firmly, willing him to understand. “Santiago Garcia. Idiota. You’re my hero.”

He scoffs lightly. His face twitches with scepticism. With doubt. With this self-deprecation he always carries, usually so well concealed by his confidence and easy charm. And yet, as you caress his stubble-flecked cheek with your palm, he sinks gratefully into your touch. Leans against it, his eyes fanning closed and his long lashes splaying down towards his cheeks.

“God,” he breathes softly in Spanish, barely audible. “No-one has called me that in a long time." He lives in a world of aliases and nicknames, and you see the weight of his grief twist his face at hearing his name fall from your mouth.

“I mean it. Do you hear me?” you plead, snagging his eyes to yours as they drift open. “You have made my life more beautiful in a thousand ways. You’re not -and you never were- something I need protecting from.” You regard Santiago, and his pretty eyes glisten, wet with a well of scarcely contained emotion -starlight in his lashes. “I love you, Santiago. Whatever has happened. Whatever happens. I love you. Not when you’re this ‘perfect’ version of yourself you finally deem worthy of love.” You search his eyes “That’s bullshit. I love you. I love you now.”

Santiago slowly, gradually musters a nod, and you smooth your hands over him. Over his shoulders. the nape of his neck. His chest. Trying to plaster over the evident cracks as his emotion crashes like a wave against rocks. He scoops a hand around his stubble, his lower lip now downturned. Trembling with feeling. Fat, liquid tears shining in his eyes, threatening to overspill. “I love you too.”

What a terrible, sad thing, you think. That you love each other. That there’s such bounty and abundance, but that at the same time… it is never quite enough.

Maybe one day, it will be; enough.

For now though, it is still something which causes you pain. And, you can see -more clearly than ever now- that it hurts him too.

His eyes dance over everything but you. His face twists. Contorts and tightens as he wrestles with it, but he cannot hold back the tide a moment longer. Full, wet tears spill down Santiago’s cheeks, and he makes some attempt to fumble them away, until they grow too numerous. You reach for him instead, and for a moment he tries to gently bat your hand away. “Hey,” you scold, protest, smooth. “Santiago.” His eyes drop, and his gaze fixes intently on a spot in the sand as you gingerly scoop his tears away with your crooked forefinger. The finger you then trace lovingly along the length of his jaw. The finger you trace along his eyebrow. The point of his cheekbone. Every place the waning golden light paints him. Your eyes dance over him. Every contour. Every sharp angle and every hollow. Every soft, silver curl. And he stays perfectly still. Unmoving, as though he is afraid your touch will withdraw like a tide at any moment.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and it is at once bitter and sweet. “It hurts. It… hurts to be without you.”

For a stretched moment, you do not believe he will respond, the only sign of movement from him a lone tear sluicing down his sculpted cheek. But, eventually, his words come. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I need to find a way it doesn’t hurt you to be with me.” You shake your head, a protest dying on your lips as Santiago drags your hands to him. “I know you won’t buy this. You don’t have to. But I do want out. I swear it’s just this one last job with Lorea. And then I can… Then maybe we can…”

He trails off, his words waning. Breaking on the rocks.

He never could articulate a future with you, could he? Never could seem to dream that up.

You could be angry about that, you suppose, but you truly have no more anger left to give. You could be sad instead but, turns out, you’re out of that feeling too. All you have left to offer in this moment, in fact, is a small, resigned smile.

“It’s okay,” you smooth, and what’s more, you mean it. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Your fingers play over the leather and beads of his bracelets. Over the tendons in his wrist. The light hairs on his forearms.

You’re done with all of that now. Done trying to push him towards a future you’re not even sure he wants with you. Not sure he ever wanted. It’s funny almost, as you sit here, letting the future go. You sit here with him, so much history humming between you it’s like standing amidst ruins. Like you are two statues, memories and stories carved into your bodies. Sometimes, it feels like the past is all you have. But, you are thankful when the sinking, orange segment of sun draws you to it, reminding you there is one more thing you have. Something between the past and future.

You have the here and now.

You reach for it.

It’s all you’ve got. Might be all you ever have with him.

You twist your body, turning outward again, away from him. You fold your knees up to your chin and you loop your arms around them, fixing your eyes straight ahead on the undulating ocean.

“That’s one thing I always loved about you, you know,” you push out. “How you always live smack bang in the moment. I’m constantly wishing it all the fuck away, aren’t I? Always thinking fifty steps ahead.”

Santiago follows your lead, swivelling to face the sunset too. His body becomes all right angles as he plants his elbows on the points of his spread knees, his butt and the soles of his feet flat to the floor, his hands loosely laced together in the space between his legs. “You should. You should think about that stuff. You deserve all that. Everything you talked about last night.”

His words cause a tight lump to rise in your throat.

Do you?

Does he really believe that?

Because, if so, then why in the hell don’t you deserve him? Why can’t he be the one to give it to you?

You offer a theory.

“Does it bore you, or something? The thought of a future like that?” The question emerges tattered, torn on hooks in your throat which try to hold it back; but it’s something you’ve wondered for too long to suppress it any longer. You’ve wondered without ever wanting to push that thought too far - too afraid of the answer.

“Yeah,” he says levelly, not a hint of doubt in his voice, and you hold your breath. “With anyone else, yeah. But not with you.” You are relieved but that fades ever so quickly, your face crumpling into something halfway petulant.

“Then… why?”

Why is he still running?

Why is he running from the life you could offer him if it’s something he wants too?

You hear Santiago tug in and release a deep sigh. Out of the corner of your eye you see him lace his fingers together, soothing his thumb over his own hand like he’s retracing your comfort. “Because… I’m not brave like you.” His voice tips up at the end. Like a question. He reserves all of his doubt for himself, then? It’s not you he refuses to believe in?

“You’re ridiculous. You’re the bravest man I know.”

“Heh. Yeah,” he lifts a hand to self-consciously scratch at the bristle of hairs at the nape of his neck. You hug your knees more tightly to your chest. “Running into bullets. Eliminating threats, sure. But… running into safe hands? I’m a fucking coward.”

You hum, a neutral, bland sound which expresses neither agreement nor disagreement. Which takes you nowhere.

There’s nowhere left to go.

Perhaps the road ends here.

Dead end after dead end.

Only resignation.

“Maybe we were on the same path, once upon a time, huh?” You throw the statement out with little conviction. You’re giving up on the idea that your words or your actions can make the slightest bit of difference to what could be. For now, you simply wish to make sense of what is. “Maybe - I dunno. Maybe I just ran too far ahead. Racing towards this dream of the future, before you were ready to go there. Maybe I just created too much distance.”

Santiago hums now too. A tight, pensive sound. “Huh. Is that what you think happened?”

You rub your palms over your own face. Dig the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. You have as much energy as a spent wave. “Uch. I don’t know.” Wordlessly, tentatively, Santiago reaches, retucking the soft tartan blanket around your shoulders. You manage to smile softly at him, surprised that it does not feel at all forced. “Maybe we just forget all that now. Maybe we just… I dunno. Live in the moment?”

Santiago’s palm draws slow circles on your upper back. You shuffle a little closer to him. “Okay. Then what do you want?” he enquires. “Right now? In this moment?”

His arm weighs over your shoulder, huddling you closer. “Oh. I don’t know. What does it even matter?”

“We leave here tomorrow. So tell me. What do you want right now?”

You could imagine that you are tired of wanting. That all you want is a moment free of wanting anything at all. But that’s not true, is it? You want the very same thing you’ve craved for so long. You want him. Finally though, something in you has shifted. You find yourself able to envisage a future which is far more immediate. Something you can grasp now instead of distantly yearning for.

The words feel hard and tight in your chest, but by the time they reach your lips, they feel so very soft and loose. Easy to sound out. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. All this time I missed you so much.” Unconsciously, Santiago holds you just a little more tightly. “I just…”

“What?” he whispers.

“I want us to fall asleep together. I want to hold you. I just want us to have one moment like that, Santi. Peaceful, you know? After everything, don’t we at least deserve that?” You tug in a breath to launch your next words, your throat closing protectively around them. Making them sound small. “And… And maybe…”

“What? What else?”

“Can’t we just fuck and feel happy about it? Can’t we have just one fucking moment together that doesn’t feel like an ending?”

You wait, your raw-wound words laid out in a line on the sand. You brace. You brace for them to be washed away. To have the salt poured in.

“Okay.”

Your eyes snap to his in surprise, and you find his soft, ardent gaze dancing over your features. “Okay?”

Santiago’s fingers lace with yours, and he tugs you to standing. “Come with me. Come on.”

He gathers up the remaining supplies, slinging the filled beach bag over one shoulder. Then, he folds his other arm around your middle. Tucks you into him. You let him lead you to the house, and it’s nice. It’s nice that for once, you’re not begging him to follow.

You let him lead you up the dunes, back to the house, and up the stairs.

You leave the golden, sinking sun behind you, but with Santiago’s warm, molten gaze shining on you, you still feel the sun on your face.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #santiago pope garcia #ride or die series

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hangmanssunnies · 2 years

Text

Ask Me Anything, I'll Give You Everything

Summary: Every morning, you wake up and wonder if today will be the day? The day the love of your life breaks up with you. The only probable solution you can come up with is to force the issue. It seems like a simple plan; after all, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw has never made it a secret that he doesn't like brats.

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Word count: 10k (phew, I'm sorry.)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Bradley is a consent king, BDSM dynamics, P in V, Aftercare, talking about feelings, Healthy Relationships, Communication, Daddy Kink but only a tiny bit, gratuitous use of pet names

Authors Note: No use of Y/N. Will I ever be able to write normal smut? Absolutely not. I have been working on this for weeks. I love Bradbrad so much y'all. I hope you enjoy this! My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them. Also, can we please talk about Miles’ hands in this gif ( am losing my mind)?

When you started dating Bradley Bradshaw, you knew he would be gone a lot. He had made that clear early on, so you could never claim it was a surprise. Bradley was also very aware of the realities of what his absences were like for you. It was because of that, that when he was home, he lived by a simple practice; he had to make sure that your relationship was perfect. He had (wanted) to make everything so amazing you would be able to get through whatever next stint you had to go without him present.

You were perfectly independent when he was gone. However, when you got to be with him and were together, it was like you could finally relax. You could mention something in passing, and Bradley would ensure it gets done. Even better, more often than not, you didn't have to mention anything. Bradley took the initiative; he would just do things you needed without you saying anything, anticipating your needs.

It was the little things with him. He broke open the crab shells and pulled out the meat for you when the legs were delivered to the table. Your favorite snack would start to run low, and it would be replaced the next time you checked. You couldn't remember the last time you went to Ulta; the bathroom's necessities, lotion, soaps, and moisturizer were always stocked. Bradley would bring home surprise flowers and make you dinner for no reason other than he wanted to. Love letters would show up in your mailbox or under your pillow. None of it was something you had to ask for.

Bradley was romantic, funny, heartfelt, and genuine, indeed the best man you had ever met. However, something felt different in the last few weeks since he had been home. Bradley still went through all the motions, but you felt something off. It sometimes felt like he was just going through a routine, like there weren't the right emotions behind the actions anymore.

Even with sex, something didn't feel quite right. While Bradley still made sure that you would always find satisfactory endings, he didn't hold you as long. The way he touched you just didn't feel the same or right. It worked under your skin and into the box of insecurities you kept in your chest. It was an insecurity that ran itself rampant.

You were not a brat. You simply didn't label yourself that way when it came to your relationship. However, that was mostly because you had never needed to be a brat in your relationship before. You did what you were told, you were a good girl, and it was natural. It was easy because Bradley had always taken care of you. Rooster liked to take care of you. And you not wanting to brat was always fine and dandy because Bradley didn't like brats. That being said, you hadn't been feeling very taken care of lately.

It wasn't that you needed, or really wanted, Bradley to be perfect, but you did want to be taken care of. You had become so worked up about it that you were sensitive to every little thing Bradley did, analyzing it in your head. You had halfway convinced yourself that Bradley was staying with you out of obligation and that he was just waiting for the right time to break it off with you.

Tonight you are at the bar with some of your friends. Bradley wraps an arm around your waist. It was a natural movement, something he has done hundreds of times. However, you slowly shift until his hand falls off your waistline. He didn't notice at first until a song or two passed. Then there is that weight again. You clench your teeth, trying to not let any frustration show on your face.

You firmly grip Bradley's wrist, feeling his arm muscles flex tighter under your fingers. The touch makes him angle his head down to look at you.

"Baby?" He poses it as a soft question, but it just irks you more. How dare he call you any pet names right now? His fingers dug just the slightest bit into your skin.

"Don't touch me," you mutter angrily, pulling harder on Bradley's hand. His face is so full of hurt and confusion enough that you almost feel bad for your actions. His arm immediately moves away, and he even went as far as taking a step away from you.

You could tell he was reeling. Your eyes watch as he makes an excuse to the group, none the wiser of the moment that just passed between you. He goes to the bar and waits next to it. Your eyes drift to him occasionally. You catch him taking a tequila shot, something somewhat out of character for him. He liked to stick to old fashions and beers. And his eyes still haven't strayed from you.

Even as he made his way back to y'all's group from the bar. Bradley's sunglasses once again covering his eyes, like it was the middle of the day on the beach, even though it was the middle of the night in a bar. You feel the weight of his gaze, though, constantly straying to you.

Two hours later, everyone makes their way out of the bar, calling their various Uber's and rides home.

Neither of you had drunk much tonight, and after his shot, the only thing you saw Brad drink was water while you sipped a seltzer. You find the Bronco's keys in your purse and start to make your way towards the driver's side. However, Bradley beats you there, leaning against the door. Brad opens his palm, facing up, looking at you expectantly.

"Keys?"

"I'll drive home," you tell him, closing your hands tighter around the keys.

"No, I'm going to be driving home," He says, not moving in the slightest, still waiting for his keys.

You clench your jaw in annoyance and narrow your eyes. "I didn't do any shots tonight. So, I will drive home."

"I did one shot, had two beers, not even IPAs, and then only drank water. You had several hard seltzers and no water or food. We both know I have a higher tolerance for alcohol, baby," He explains to you. He isn't condescending about it either, just stating it all like facts. One of his eyebrows raised high at your attitude.

"I'm driving," you say again, a harder edge in your voice.

Bradley stands up to his full height until he is glaring down at you, "I will be driving home, or we are taking an Uber. Your pick, princess."

You are so tempted to pull out your phone and order an Uber for the both of you. However, after staring into Bradley's eyes and seeing their absolute clarity, you relent, dropping the key in his waiting palm.

You start walking to the car's passenger side, and Bradley shadows you there. He never touches you, but you can feel his warmth radiating off of him, inches from yourself. He opens the door for you and holds out a hand, offering to help you into the Bronco.

You ignore his offered hand, pulling yourself up into the seat by yourself. Not even looking at Bradley as he pulls your seat belt and hands it to you to buckle up. He didn't move from his spot until he heard the click of the belt. He waits for the kiss you usually press to his lips or cheek after getting in the car. He must have noticed that it wasn't coming because he was closing the door a few moments later and making his way back to the driver's side.

You watch Bradley walk in front of the hood of the car. He pulls his hand through that sandy brown hair so it is all askew. You don't shift your gaze from looking forward when he rounds the edge of the hood. You are tempted to look, though, when he takes an abnormally long time before he opens the door and slides into the driver's seat.

The silence in the cab is reverberating between you. Bradley reaches to adjust the volume on the radio at the exact moment you do. Your hands almost brush, but he quickly jerks his hand back before it touches yours. It seems he is taking your words to heart about not touching you.

"Are you feeling okay, princess?" His deep voice asks you.

And there is the obvious answer, that you are not okay. That everything in you is screaming a little bit. How you feel like Bradley is days away from leaving you, not just to fly his planes. That he doesn't love you anymore, that you are too much work to take care of, that he will ask you to leave.

And it must be taxing. It must be a lot of work for someone like him to have to take care of you, with all of his own problems. Shouldn't you step up and take better care of him so that he doesn't ask you to go? Take care of him by driving home from the bar or not bothering him with your problems when you are burning for some of his attention. But you feel like you are on thin ice already. Telling him you aren't okay is too high of a risk when it could just push him further away from you.

"I'm fine."

His fingers drum against the steering wheel at your response. You take a moment to study his side profile. Bradley is visibly agitated. He has a look of concentration on his face like a complex problem is laid out before him.

"Since when do you lie to me?" Bradley asks you.

"I'm not lying to you! I'm fine."

"Okay, then hold my hand." He pronounces the words slowly and clearly, before presenting his right hand. His thick, calloused fingers are spread slightly, waiting.

"No." You snap your eyes away from him and his hand, back to the road in front of you.

"Hold my hand," Bradley repeats, his voice dropping even lower. It's a tone you know; this isn't a request but a demand.

"You can't make me," You stubbornly say back to him.

Bradley audibly gasps. You haven't ever dared challenge him like that before.

"You aren't being a very good girl right now, princess."

"Maybe I'm not. Maybe you don't deserve a good girl right now." The words fall out of your mouth before you know what you're saying.

"I don't like brats, baby,"

"Oh, good to know you don't like me," you say, heart clenching in your chest. It was a sort of a setup, but right now, it seemed like an undeniable reality that Bradley didn't like you anymore.

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth like that," Bradley's voice has a thinly veiled fury that you have never heard before. It causes gooseflesh to erupt along your skin.

"That is what you said!" Part of you stinging. What you really wanted from him right now was reassurances. Instead, you feel the only option is to keep pushing the point.

"So you are being a brat on purpose." He muses. The anger is a little less present in his voice but still there.

"Why?" He asks you when you don't say anything. You cross your arms over your chest and chew on your lip, bouncing your leg.

"I asked you a question." He reminds you. Then he rephrases the question for you. "Why are you being a bad girl, princess?"

"You don't deserve a good girl," you remind him as if there is an important distinction.

"I see," he says slowly. "And why don't I deserve a good girl?"

The words you want to say die on your tongue about how he hasn't been taking care of you. That you feel like maybe you aren't enough for him. That if you were enough, he would take care of you like he used to. It's some fragile emotion in you, one you don't entirely know how to voice.

The why plagues you. You suddenly realize that Bradley does deserve a good girl. You just can't be that person. This isn't even a him problem. It's a you problem that you are trying to make him fix. It isn't his responsibility to fix, though.

"You do deserve a good girl Bradley. That someone just isn't me," you finally say.

"What the fuck does that mean?" The anger is back again.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

"Well, it's not. So, how about you spell it out for me?"

If you try to explain anything to him right now, you will burst into tears, so you bite your tongue instead. Silently begging for the drive and this conversation to end. You are only a few blocks away from your home.

You hear Bradley take a deep, measured breath and your eyes snap to him again. Even in the dark of the cab, you can see the light flush up his neck and face that he gets when he is angry, making his scars stand out more prominently.

You are unbuckling your seat belt before Rooster fully parks the car in the driveway.

"Do not get out of this car until we finish this conversation," Bradley warns you in that same low voice.

You are not listening, though, and isn't that the whole point of being a brat? The door is popped open seconds after his warning. You make a mad dash towards the front door.

You hear the Bronco's door slamming and Bradley growling out your name behind you.

You have only just passed the entryway threshold when he catches up with you. His frame seems extra tall and intimidating when he looms over you like this.

"So you don't want to have a conversation, and you don't want to listen. Is that right, princess?"

He still respects your wish to not be touched, but his hands are on either side of your head. He has you caged against the entry hallway. Nowhere is his body brushing yours, but the heat radiating off him almost feels like he is. The smell of his cologne wafts around you. You are so surrounded by him that it's hard for you to remember that he asked another question. Finally, you shake your head slowly.

"If you keep acting like a brat and don't use your words, I'm going to treat you like a brat." Bradley is telling you this as a warning. His words light something in you, though, and you push roughly against his chest, trying to get him away from you.

"I'm not in the mood, Bradley." You growl out. You duck under one of his arms, needing space to think and breath.

"You don't get to not be in the mood," Bradley growls back. That has you rounding back at him, fury filling you.

"I don't get to say no?" You ask. Your voice is equally as upset as his. He seems to calm down a bit at your words. You watch him take a deep breath, following the motions of his inhale and a heavy audible sigh on the exhale.

"Of course, you can. I am not a fan of how you are twisting my words tonight. I meant it as. You don't get to say no to talking to me." His eyes don't stray from yours, and you see the concern in their depths.

"I deserve to know why you are not fine, and you are acting like a brat."

There was the phrasing again, deserve. It rubbed you all the wrong ways, and you set your stance, bringing yourself up to your full height, glaring into Bradley's eyes.

"If you don't want me, and can't handle me as a brat, maybe you just aren't cut out to be my Dom, Brad."

What was that TikTok sound that was popular for a while? Something about how people who can raise a single eyebrow are automatically brat tamers. The moment you saw the eyebrow raise Bradley is giving you. You knew you were fucked.

"You have two choices: go to our room and lock the door, and I will see you in the morning. Or you better be naked and on our bed by the time I make my way to our room, princess. If I find you any other way, you will be in more trouble than you already are."

He grabs the purse that dropped to the ground without you even noticing. Then Bradley hangs it on the proper hook before he digs in his pocket, pulling out his keys and wallet. He glances at you and once again raises that eyebrow.

"You want to go to bed willingly before I make you." You are speed walking through the house to the master bedroom moments later.

You strip mostly naked before perching on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Only leaving on your panties.

Bradley takes his sweet time getting to you. You hear him walking throughout the house: in the laundry room, swapping loads of laundry, and briefly in the kitchen, the fridge opening and closing.

When he finally gets to the bedroom, he doesn’t even acknowledge you at first. You lift your eyes, watching him set a tumbler of water on your side of the bed. Then making his way to his side and putting down his own water bottle he liked to take to bed.

You quickly lower your eyes when you see him glance towards where you are sitting. Bradley is standing in front of you a second later.

“Are you going to let me touch you now, baby?” He asks you playfully, teasingly.

You think about it for a moment, and you are surprised that he is patiently waiting for your answer. Finally, you nod slowly. Bradley’s hand lifts your chin, so you look up at him. His touch is surprisingly gentle and light.

“Use your words. I have heard this mouth throw around all kinds of things tonight. I think you can manage a yes or no.” He squeezes your chin in between his fingers, then just slightly.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you can touch me.”

His hand slips lower and wraps around your throat. It’s a loose hold but serves as an anchor point. Your breath catches when he gives your throat the tiniest squeeze. More a twitch of his hand than anything else.

With his hand directing you, he pushes you back until you are arching and angled to still hold eye contact. He holds you there for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face, then lower to take in your whole body.

He lets go of your neck, and without his steady hand, you find yourself falling back on the bed. Brad doesn’t make any move after that. He just stares down at you, taking you in.

“What am I going to do with you, princess?” He finally asks you in that rough voice.

“I think you need a reminder of why you should be a good girl for me. And why you don’t want to be a brat.” His fingers ghosted over your thighs in a slow motion. Then, when they reach your hip, they drag back down to your knees again.

“But,” he continues on, dragging out the word. “You are just so damn pretty almost makes me want to forgive you.” When his hands reach your hips for the second time, he grips them and flips you over.

You gasp in surprise at the action with your face and belly pressed into the bed. You try to lift yourself further up, but one of Bradley’s hands is pressing down on your back.

“Brats get punished, baby. Is that what you want from me? To punish you?” He asks you. You slowly shake your head no into the mattress but don’t say anything otherwise.

Bradley tsks at you, and in the same breath, the hand that wasn’t holding you down smacks your ass. It isn’t the hardest Bradley has ever spanked you, but it was hard for the first one. It makes your skin instantly sting, and your whole body jolts forward.

You flex your legs that are still hanging off the side of the bed, trying to find purchase on the ground.

One of the many beautiful things about Bradley Bradshaw was that he could manhandle you any which way as if you were no more than a rag doll. It is something you never really had the experience of with any partner before him. Bradley repositions you so you are sprawled in his lap over his thighs.

He is still fully dressed from the bar. Your knees are pressed into the ground, and your ass is on display.

He gently rubs where he has already smacked you. You stare down at the ground in front of you, examining the grain in the hardwood floor. Bradley’s hand comes down and smacks your ass again. You groan in response.

“How are you doing, baby?” He asks you, rubbing soothing circles again. His hand feels cool against the skin that is already inflamed.

You continue refusing to answer him though, preferring to take whatever punishment he will give you in silence. Bradley’s hand comes down hard a moment later, the slap it makes against your skin echoing in the room.

“Not talking to me is not an option. I thought we already established that,” Rooster growls out.

You receive retribution with another spank when you keep your mouth closed tight. You can’t help but let out the barest of whimpers after that one.

“What was that, baby?” He asks you, his tone soft again.

“How many?” You whisper. You half expect another spank at the action and tense your body waiting for the impact. Instead, Bradly stays steady, rubbing your cheeks. His other hand comes forward to push your hair behind your ear, so he has a better view of your face.

“How many do you think you deserve, princess?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him.

He hums, looking down the bridge of his nose at you while deliberating.

“How many have you had already?” he asks.

Hesitantly, you raise your hand and show him four fingers. You immediately receive another spank. This time lower on your cheek cresting the back top of your thighs. It is significantly softer than the other ones you have received tonight.

“This is your last warning, baby. I won’t ask you to use your words again.”

You take a few shallow breaths, trying to even out your body that is going haywire.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Bradley nods his head, approving your words.

“How many are you at, baby?”

“Five,” you supply, still unable to get out more than a whisper.

“And how many do you think you deserve? How many does my little brat need to learn her place?”

“I don’t know.”

Bradley sighs at your response like he has some great burden.

“That’s not up to bratty princesses to decide, is it?”

“No, Sir,” you whimper back.

“No,” he agrees. “That’s for me to decide. I get to decide because I’m in charge.” He punctuates the sentence with a spank.

“I am your Dom, Princess.” Spank.

“If you want to be a brat or a baby, then I am your Daddy,” He gives you another spank, so hard this time that you jolt forward, sighing an odd mix between a whimper and hiss.

“But any way you want to look at it, any way you behave. You are mine.” Spank.

“Do you understand?” Bradley asks you slowly. His hand that is pressed into the center of your back drifts down lower, tracing soothing circles.

“Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” he whispers and spanks you again.

You do whimper this time, loudly. You let one of your hands grip the edge of the Hawaiian shirt Rooster is still is wearing, working it in-between your fingers.

“How many was that?”

“Ten,” you tell him shakily.

“Five more.” He says then.

“Five?” You gasp, clutching the fabric in your hands tighter. You turn to look at him, abandoning the floor in front of you.

“Yes, because I told you to be naked. And you still have these lacy little panties on. Don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I forgot them.”

“No, you are smarter than to forget something like that. Aren’t you, baby?” He coos the question to you. “You were choosing to be bratty.”

Rooster's eyes are more black than any other color with how wide his pupils are blown. That flush of anger, more lust than anything now, staining his skin. His eyes meet yours, and his tongue darts to wet his lips, dragging a little on his mustache. You break eye contact with him and stare at the floor again, ready to accept the punishment.

“I want you to count them.” He tells you

Smack, your ass stings again, but it’s mainly from the flesh already being abused. “Eleven.”

Smack. It is intentional, you know; these blows are significantly less painful than the previous ones.

“Twelve,” you choke out.

Thirteen and fourteen come in rapid succession. You almost aren’t able to get the numbers out in-between.

“Only one more princess, you are taking it so well. Can you do one more?” He asks you.

“Yes,” you confirm.

When Bradley smacks your ass for the final time, you gasp and clench your thighs together.

He leaves you there for a moment to calm down, but it’s not long until he pulls you back up and stares at your face, searching.

“You took that like a very good girl,” he praises you.

He leans forward, ready to ghost his lips over yours. However, you are still too raw and in your head. So, you turn your face just enough to the side that Bradley’s lips catch the edge of your mouth instead.

He pulls back from you and narrows his eyes. You only blink back, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. He leans in to kiss you again, and you once again turn away. A rumble of displeasure falls from his chest at your actions.

“You still haven’t learned your lesson, baby?” Bradley questions you.

Bradley pushes you down onto your knees, then. He starts to shrug off his Hawaiian over shirt, but you risk raising from your knees to stop him.

You lean into his space and ghost your lips over the edge of one of his ears. Even with you standing and him sitting on the edge of the bed, he feels so tall. Your hands trace over his arms and down his chest slightly to catch the shirt’s open edge and push it back off his shoulders.

Maybe there were ways you could take care of Bradley, too, at least in the bedroom.

You drag your hands down his chest to start lifting his wife beater, and you briefly let your nails run along his abs and shoulders. As soon as it pulls free, you throw it away from the bed, vaguely in the direction of the laundry hamper.

Bradley is watching you with wide eyes, his mouth just slightly ajar. You graze your lower lip with your teeth, feasting on the sight of him shirtless.

“So handsome,” you utter. You are rewarded for the compliment with the small pleased smile that splits his face.

It inspires you to lean forward, kissing the scar on his chin, then the ones on his neck. Lower you nibble in random places and trace the lines of his chest with your tongue.

“Do not tease me,” he growls at you.

So, you shift back on your heels for him. Then audibly whining as your still raw skin makes contact with your calves. You bounce forward, so you are more upright, the weight more on your knees than on your ass and calves.

Bradley unbuckles his pants, and you help pull them down his legs. Your hands get lost along the way again, tracing his muscular thighs. You circle his knee caps slowly before shoving the jeans and boxers out of the way. Tracing back up his calves to pull off the graphic socks with little roosters and planes on them, a gift from his last birthday.

And there is Bradley’s hard cock; he is the perfect size. You simply admire him for a moment as he situates himself on the edge of the bed again.

“Maybe your mouth will want to do more talking once I fuck it.” Bradley muses out loud. He is cupping your jaw, lifting your eyes to look at him instead of his cock.

His thick thumb presses to your lips, and you open your mouth for it. Sucking on it, your tongue tracing the pad of the digit.

Bradley groans and withdraws his thumb. You don’t let it go easily, though, sucking harder as he tries to retreat and just barely grazing it with your teeth. He cups the side of your head to steady you then.

You lean forward, kitty licking the tip of his dick. Lapping it a few times, you are tempted to continue on the teasing path. As you start to consider it, though, Bradley’s hand is heavy on the back of your head, pressing you forward the tiniest bit. It reminds you that this was supposed to be a punishment.

You open your mouth more, taking him into your mouth.

Bradley groans and you wrap one hand tight around his ankle, grounding yourself. Your other hand settles on his thigh. He lets you start at your own pace, slowly sliding more of him into your mouth. You build a rhythm, relaxing your throat. When he reaches the back of your throat, you start to pull back, but Bradley lightly bucks his hips forward as you do.

You can’t help but gag slightly since you aren’t prepared for it. You instinctually try and draw back and are stopped. Bradley’s hand threads into your hair, giving it a tug. That makes a moan vibrate in your throat. Your moan reverberates right through him, ringing up his spine until it’s echoed out of his own mouth.

He holds you there in place, mouth full, not moving and not letting you move either. So you wait, anticipation sitting in your stomach. He is heavy and hot in your mouth as you wait.

You lift your eyes to meet his. Bradley’s eyes are molten, and his jaw is set. When your gazes meet, and he raises that same eyebrow again. As he smirks down at you, he shifts his hips in a small movement. The thrusts get longer until he is fucking into your mouth.

He keeps up until he has a steady rhythm. Your jaw starts to ache slightly, and not for the first time, you curse Bradley’s stamina and sex drive. Of course, there were many explanations for it: being a pilot, his diet, being a sex god, genetics, how often he fucks you, just because he was Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. Whatever the explanation, it doesn’t matter as he abuses your mouth.

You finally start to see signs that tell you he is close. The way his thighs start to quiver a little more than normal. How he is just a little too far gone to have consistency in how hard he is pulling your hair; almost slack for one thrust, and then your roots are stinging a thrust or two later.

You trace the hand you have on his thigh, gliding it over his fine leg hair until you’re cupping his balls.

“Fuck,” he hisses into the air, and you flash your eyes upward again to try and glance at his face. His eyes are squeezed closed, and a bead of sweat is sliding down his neck.

You gently start to massage his balls and squeeze your hand still wrapped around his ankle tightly. Dirty praise falls from his mouth.

“My little bratty slut.” He tells you, hitting the back of your throat and drawing back again.

“Are you going to be good? Can you take it all?” Bradley asks you, his voice low and ragged, broken up slightly by panting.

You moan in your throat and squeeze his ankle tight in a way of telling him yes. When he next hits the back of your throat, he pushes further, drawing you down to the base of his dick. Then, moaning loudly, he cums down your throat. You swallow it down in gulps, well acquainted with the taste.

“So good, princess.” He tells you, pulling out of your mouth. You open and close your jaw a few times before resting your head on Bradley’s thigh. His fingers pull through your hair, working through the knots he finds and massaging your scalp.

“So good,” you repeat back to him, turning your head enough to mouth a soft kiss against his leg and close your eyes for a minute.

“How are you doing, princess?” He asks, checking in with you. You hum contently at first while you decide.

“I’m wet.” You decide to tell him.

“Show me how wet, princess,” He responds. His hands grip your arms, helping pull you up into the bed, and getting you situated in the middle.

You reach out and adjust the pillows to your liking before leaning back against them. Bradley opens your legs and traces his thumb across the seam of your panties. You roll your hips forward into his thumb when he starts tracing your clit. Then he pulls them off you, exposing your pussy to him.

He brings your panties up to his nose, inhaling deeply, before throwing them over his shoulder. The sight makes you moan and clench around nothing. Bradley leans forward, and you finally allow him to kiss you.

His lips move slowly against yours. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting himself there. You wrap one of your legs against Bradley’s hip, trying to urge him close to you. However, he reaches to the side of the bed and starts rummaging.

You break the kiss to see what he is reaching for. When his hand emerges with a vibrator. He pressed it in between your thighs. You jerk, The toy feeling cold against your heated skin.

He leaves it there while drawing you into another kiss. Bradley’s teeth sink into your lower lip, making you inhale through your nose sharply. He clicks the power button, and the vibrator comes alive on the lowest setting.

The room fills with the sound of muffled buzzing, kissing, and the breaths you manage to steal. While you sloppily make out, Bradley doesn’t move or adjust the vibrator once.

Giving you a hard kiss Bradley pulls away, trailing kisses down your neck. He sucks hard on your collarbone, biting it to solidify the hickey. His mustache only tickles a little bit going down your chest, where he latches onto one of your nipples.

He moves the vibrator so that it is pressed against your clit. You sigh at the stimulation and grip the sheets on either side of you in each hand. Next, Bradley moves to your other nipple, nibbling at it.

He eventually pulls away from you, leaning back, turning up the vibrator to a higher setting, and working it against you. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” Bradley says, eyes trained on the motion of the toy.

"Please, Brad," you beg him, grinding your hips into the toy.

"Brad?" He pulls the toy away from you, and you groan at the loss.

"Sir," you correct yourself. Bradley rewards you by allowing the vibrator to touch you again but doesn't put any pressure on it. Heat is burning at your core, and you feel raw want for him seeping out of yourself. You toss your head back in frustration with him.

"Sir, please," you beg again, but don't get results this time.

"Sir," you pant out when Bradley's hand holds your hips still, forcing you to just endure his teasing.

"I need you, Daddy," You say next, and that does inspire something in him. He smirks and squeezes your hips.

"Pretty words, princess. Tell Daddy what you need."

And fuck, what didn't you need from Bradley Bradshaw? You need everything from him. You need his cock inside you. You need his body sweaty and sticky against yours. You need to have bruises in the shape of his mouth and fingers tomorrow. You need him to fuck your brains out. You need him to hold you and love you. You need him to make you his.

You whine, not sure how to put it into words. Bradley always knew what you wanted and needed from him, so now that he wanted you to say it, you weren't sure what to actually ask for.

"Fuck me," you tell him. Bradley pushes the vibrator into you then, and you clench around the intrusion. He slowly starts pumping it into you, but it isn't enough.

"Like this?" He sweetly asks you.

The vibrations from the toy radiate through your cunt, making you cry out. Bradley makes sure to angle it just right, and when your moans get a little too much, he starts to pull it out of you. Then repeating the maddening process over again. Finally, you dig your nails into the forearm holding the vibrator.

"No, please. You know what I need." You tell him, sticking out your lip and meeting his eyes with your own, giving him a pleading look.

"That's right," he nods to your words. "I do know what you need, baby. You need me to pound the brat out of your pussy too," he declares.

He pulls the toy out of you, turning it off and setting it to the side. He lines you up with his cock. Bradley pushes into you slowly, then not stopping the motion until you are stretched around him, groins pressing flush together.

He splays his hand wide across on your lower belly, pressing down, which makes you clench around him. You drop a knee to the side and wrap the other leg around his waist. Bradley uses the additional room you provide him to push himself deeper into you.

"You are so tight," he moans. He angles his thumb so that it presses against your clit. Bradley swirls it in a slow circle while pulling his cock out of you at almost the same pace. You feel like you might lose your mind at this rate.

"You fill me up so good," you groan out.

"You like it when I touch you, baby?" He asks you.

"Yes," you pant out in quick response. You hope it will get him to touch you more. Bradley doesn't disappoint. He starts to mouth at your skin and speeds up his rhythm.

"Don't forget it," Bradley tells you, following the statement with a hard bite.

He fucks you harder until you are both dripping with sweat. Your hips are canting up, meeting his every thrust. You feel the muscles in your legs and abdomen quivering right on the edge, waiting to come.

Then, the blunt edge of his nail catches your clit where he is rubbing you. The gentle scrape is enough to send you creeping over the edge and coming. You spasm around Bradley, gasping, a moan catching and breaking in the back of your throat.

He keeps fucking you but slows down to short deep thrusts until you are less blissed out. You focus your gaze on him, admiring the concentration set in his features. The heavy weight of his body pressing into yours.

You smash your mouth against Bradley's. You thread a hand into his short curls pulling him as close to you as you can. His thumb retreats from touching your clit, but he is still balls deep in you.

The kissing starts to get dirtier. His tongue teasing yours, dominating your mouth. You are still sensitive from your orgasm and actually, pull your hips back from his so he isn't pressed so deeply in you. Bradley follows your lead and pulls even further out, so just the head of his dick is inside you.

When your mouths separate for breath, you pant into his mouth, only centimeters apart. You flick your tongue out, licking your bottom lip and letting it graze against the texture of his mustache and plush upper lip. Moans spill from his throat, making you feel a little proud of what you have accomplished.

You feel the burn inside you growing again, already so much closer after the last orgasm. Bradley's cock remains shallow, thrusting into you at a leisurely pace like he is in no hurry to do anything else.

"I thought you were going to fuck me with your fat cock, Sir," you whine to him. His rhythm stutters, and he comes to a grinding halt in you. Bradley's eyes snap open. He is clearly shocked to hear your little taunt.

He pulls out of you entirely, making you whimper at the loss. He flips you on your belly again, pulling your hips up to meet his. He slides back into you in a long hard stroke. Bradley presses you firmly into the bed, the side of your face smashing into the pillows.

"Take it then," Bradley says, not relenting for even a moment to speak the words. At this angle, the head of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. It punches the breath out of you each time.

Your legs are shaking, and you rut against him. You are desperate with the build up of your second orgasm, but it feels too far out of reach. You whine and resist the hold of his hand, pinning you down. That prompts him to push you harder into the mattress.

"Just like that, princess," He moans loudly for you, his pace faltering just slightly, letting you know he is close. You are close too. You feel like you are on fire. Your skin feels like it's attached to you too tight.

"Need more, need you," you beg him. Bradley listens. He doesn't go faster, but he thrusts into you harder. Each snap of his hips brings you closer to ecstasy. Wrapping his hand around your throat, he pulls you back against his chest.

Bradley is the only thing you can process now. How his chest feels with its quick rise and falls against your back. How his large hand grips your throat, a steady, reassuring hold. How hot his breath is against your ear in short puffs and grunts. The way his hips grind into yours with a slight twist every time he bottoms out. How his other hand grips your waist hard, fingertips pressed into you, making indented flesh, like you might slip away from him.

"How's that, princess?" He asks.

"So good, you're so good." You chant for him as much as you can with your oxygen restricted. Desperate for something to grip, you dig your nails into the side of his thigh.

Bradley groans, lowering his head where he bites into your shoulder. The tinge of pain and how he snaps his hips is all it takes. You are falling over the edge again. The tension wound tight in your core, flooding out of you and into your body.

Bradley spills into you a few thrusts later. Your body still shaking and your walls still occasionally fluttering around him in you. He rolls his hips into you a few more times and relaxes the tight hold he had on your hips and neck. He is praising you and pressing soft open mouth kisses anywhere he can reach.

He gently pulls out of you. It's an immediately empty feeling that your body wasn't prepared for after spending so much time stuffed full of him. You collapse forward into the mattress again with jelly legs. You are exhausted.

Bradley gives you water that he brought earlier. He presses yet another gentle kiss to your forehead before getting up from the bed. You hear him mutter something, but your brain is too fried to process it.

The moment Bradley is out of the room, though, you start to panic. The emotions rise from deep in your chest and feel like they are going to strangle you, making it hard to breathe.

You take a few shaky breaths before all of it bubbles to a boil, and tears stream down your face. Then, it only takes a few more breaths before they become full on sobs wracking your whole body.

You wrap your arms around yourself and hiccup, trying desperately to stop the tears and the emotions flooding your system, but nothing seems to be working.

You had only been crying a minute or two before Bradley was back in the doorway. Seeing the state you are in, he rushes over to your side, tossing the pajamas, towels, and sheets he had stacked in his arms to the side.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks you. His voice is steady and slow, still raw from moaning your name. Bradley does so well in situations like this; he always keeps a level head. A source of steadiness and care. You briefly start to consider if that's one of the reasons he is such a fantastic pilot.

Bradley repeats the question to you, and you flinch. Not a small flinch but a whole body flinch, expecting another spank to be delivered. It doesn't come; there is only Bradley, slowly rubbing your arms in an up and down motion trying to soothe you. He is making small shushing noises.

You shift closer to him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and cling to him tight. You were almost in a fetal position with your legs pressed close to your chest. Bradley was quick on the uptake. He shifts, so he is leaning back against y'all's headboard.

His arms wrap around your naked body, holding you close to his chest.

"Tighter, please," you finally managed to request. Your fingers dig just a little bit into the skin of his neck. Bradley instantly flexes his arms, squeezing you a little tighter and a little closer to him.

"Take your breaths with me, baby." You hear him mutter, but you can't do it. The sobs wracking your body are still too much.

At least this time, you don't flinch waiting for punishment when you can't follow directions. Bradley starts to rock you back and forth, still making soothing noises, reminding you to breathe or following his own deep breaths.

"I can't," you finally manage to gasp out between sobs. One of Bradley's arms unwraps from you to cradle your head, his thumb tracing smooth lines over your jaw and occasionally sweeping down your neck.

"I got you, princess," he says, and you know it's true.

You adjust your grip on him so that your arms wrap around his narrow waist, and you press your face almost harshly into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You just breathe him in then, finally feeling some of the panic that had a vice grip on your throat release. The heavy feeling in your chest eases, allowing you to take deeper breaths.

After too much effort, you can finally match his breathing. The moment you start to praise fills your ears from the deep rumble in his chest.

"That's it, baby. You are so good for me." You process what he is saying, and the tears streaming down your face subside until they are only occasional, not constant.

"Bradley," you whisper, mouthing the words into his neck more than anything else.

"Yes, baby? What do you need?"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course," his answer is instantaneous, without doubt, or hesitancy.

"Am I not good to you?" You ask him, closing your eyes and pressing your face into his neck again, unwilling to see any kind of reaction he might have to your words.

"You are good to me, princess," he reassures you, but you feel the muscles in his arms tense where he is holding you.

"Is this because I called you a brat?" He asks.

"I didn't mean to be a brat." You defend yourself slightly. You release one of the arms holding him to you desperately and instead bring it closer so that you can trace the scars littering his neck and chest within reach for you.

"I know you didn't mean to be a brat."

"I know you don't like brats."

"I don't," he agrees. "But I love you, so it's okay."

More tears leak out of your eyes hearing him say that, and you have to suck in another ragged deep breath so you don't sob again.

"If you love me, and I'm good to you. Then why don't you like taking care of me anymore?" You finally manage to push out. The motive behind all your actions and your insecurities is laid out in-between you.

The words sit there in the tiny space you've left between you. They taste like when you forget to brush your teeth after going out drinking, sitting sour heavy in your mouth. You cringe at how they almost sound like an accusation against Bradley, against the most amazing man you have ever met. You instantly want to take them back, wishing you had kept them inside, put them into the lock box, and left them there.

It's Bradley's breath that catches this time. You hear it as much as you feel it under you. His muscles freeze under and around you. You wait. Wait for his exhale. Wait for his muscles to relax, for him to unwind, and reassurances and excuses to follow.

You are waiting too long. Bradley is completely frozen. You resist his hold on you, only willing and able to move away far enough from his grasp to scan his face. He is looking forward towards the far wall of your room. His eyes dart back and forth rapidly like he is reading a document.

"Bradley?" His name inspires a reaction, which is somewhat of a comfort. He sucks in a few rapid breaths. His gaze flashes down to meet yours, and you are briefly consumed by the depths of it before he looks away back to the far wall.

Bradley slowly relaxes, except for his arms around you. He crushes you close to his chest, not tighter than when you started crying, but nearly.

"I haven't been taking care of you?" He finally asks you. It's a detached, distant tone of voice that you don't recognize from Bradley.

You can't say anything now. You already regret the words and don't want to dig into them further. If you could rewind and go back to just a few minutes ago before you said them, you would. Bradley waits; he doesn't push you for an answer and doesn't punish you for not giving him one this time. He doesn't let go of you either.

You decide to lie to him and shove your raw feelings into a box. You prepare to tell him how, of course, you've felt taken care of. You didn't know what you were even saying. They were just more bratty words, but he beats you to the punch.

"You're right. I don't deserve a good girl like you."

"You do. You are amazing, Bradley."

"Please don't lie to me, princess." He gruffly tells you. Your heart clenches hard in your chest.

"It's not a lie." You stroke the side of his neck, trying to provide comfort. "You are the best man I've ever met."

He scoffs hearing that. "Not if I haven't been taking care of you. Then I hardly even deserve to be called a man at all."

"I'm a grown woman. I don't need a man to take care of me. My hormones are probably just out of wack. That's where all this came from. Can we chalk it up to that and leave it?"

"I know you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You have to do it every time I leave. But you shouldn't have to when I am here. Plus, I'm not just any man."

"Please, Bradley. I promise it doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters! How you feel will always matter to me."

You sigh into his neck. The emotions in you pull so tight you know that if this conversation continues, you will likely break into tears again.

"What do you need to hear for this to be better?"

"I need what I always need. I need honesty and the truth."

"You won't let me take it back, will you?"

"No. I need you to tell me how you feel."

"I feel like you don't enjoy taking care of me anymore." You start, repeating what you already had said. You wait for him to say something, but he stays quietly listening, so you continue.

"I feel like you are days away from breaking up with me. Sometimes, I feel like you would rather be anywhere but dealing with me. I feel like I'm a chore. I feel like I won't be your girlfriend by the time you next ship off. It feels like you are just waiting for the right moment, doing what you must until it's the right time or convenient to end it."

You pause to take a deep breath. Waiting for him to say something now.

"Fuck," Bradley sighs the word. It is under his breath, and you hear it only because you are cuddled so close to him. "That couldn't be further from the truth for me, baby. But you are right about something. I have no intention for you to be my girlfriend by the time I have to go again. I'm hoping you will be much more than that."

You have never felt your heart plummet and then rise again within such a short span of time. You are consumed with the need to see his face. You struggle against Bradley's arms holding you, wiggling until he lets you go. You climb out of his embrace and lie down on your side, motioning for him to do the same. Bradley lowers himself down on the bed until he is lying parallel to you.

You pull him closer until various parts of you are still brushing, but you can stare at his face now. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and stare into his eyes like they hold the answers to the universe. You briefly consider that maybe they do.

"I need examples," Bradley utters as his arm slings across your waist.

"It's stupid, Bradley. My own made up insecurities over tiny things that aren't real."

"It's not stupid. I want to know. We can only put these insecurities to rest if we acknowledge them. And, so, I can make sure I'm not hurting you. I would never intentionally hurt you," Bradley says with conviction.

You sigh and trace the scar on his chin for a long moment trying to think of examples. "Last week, you didn't kiss me when you got home from the store. And sometimes you talk about our house like, it's just a temporary place, not our home."

"Baby, this is just a temporary place. I could get restationed any day."

"It's not about the actual house Bradley. It's about me. I know you'll get restationed at some point, or we will finally buy our own place. But when you talk about it like that, I sometimes feel like I'm not your home." The final sentence comes out in a broken whisper.

Bradley's hand that is on your hip digs into the flesh hard. It makes you whine a little bit, more from the surprise of the grip than anything else.

"You are the only thing I have to come home to. I don't care if we live here, in the back of the Bronco, or in a cardboard box. It wouldn't matter to me. You are my home, baby. I ain't got no one else." He searches your eyes like he is looking for something when he says those words. But, he must eventually find it because the edge of his lip quirks up he relaxes his hand again.

"I'll work on that," he promises you. "And I'll try not to forget any more kisses. If I do, I want you to stop me, no matter what's going on, and ask me if I forgot something. If you ever want kisses, baby, I am always more than happy to oblige."

You take him up on the offer right then and there, leaning forward and sealing your lips against his. It's a slow and tender kiss. The kind that you only have when someone knows you entirely. When Bradley pulls away, he leaves his forehead pressed against yours.

"What are some other things?" He whispers the question.

"You let me go to my last doctor's appointment alone," you say, trying to scrounge your mind for more random examples.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would want me to be at your gynecologist appointment."

"You just didn't even offer. It's not like anyone in the world is more acquainted with my vagina than you and me." You laugh even saying the words, the heavy feeling in your chest finally subsiding. Bradley joins you, letting out a few chuckles. You hadn't actually wanted him to come to the appointment, but it was more about the point of him wanting to go.

"I'll be at the next one," he promises you.

"I don't actually want you to go," you start to tell him, but he cuts you off.

"No takes backs, princess. If I am here, I will be at the appointment. Your birth control and uterine health are very important to me." You laugh at him shaking your head at his silliness.

"What else?" Bradley asks you again.

"I don't have anything else I can think of right now," you tell him honestly.

"And when you think of some. What are you going to do?"

"I'll let you know," you say, but it's not in a convincing tone.

"Thank you. That's all I ever want, is for you to talk to me. I can't help or fix things if I don't know what's wrong."

"You are just so perfect. The thought of bothering you to ask for more... it feels selfish."

"It's not selfish," he reassures you kindly. "I would do anything for you. I want to do everything for you."

"I love you, Bradley," you tell him, kissing and pulling him close to your body. He kisses you back, his devotion for you bleeding into every movement of his mouth and how his hand starts to caress your side.

You try to hold him to you when he pulls away this time. But he just tsks his tongue at you, giving you a goofy smile.

"I need to change the sheets. You need to pee. And we should probably shower."

He moves to lift you up in his arms, but you squirm, pouting until he drops you back on the bed.

"Princess, I thought we were done with being bratty." He groans out, but there is no real bite in his words, especially not with how he is smiling at you.

"I think I might like being bratty sometimes." You tease him, spreading your sore body out for him like an invite.

He scoops you into his arms again, ignoring your wiggles, walking towards the bathroom. "That's okay, princess. I like spanking you to teach you a lesson."

You hide your grin in his neck until he sets you down gently on the bathroom counter. Bradley starts the shower so it can warm up. Then he heads back to the bedroom to change the sheets, but not before giving you a pointed look.

He is already back in your bedroom when you call after him, your voice still feeling a little horse. "Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

"Yes, Ma'am?" He calls back.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He literally sprints back into the bathroom, which makes you giggle. Rooster comes to a little sliding stop on one of the floor mats in front of you. One of his large hands cups the back of your head and the other holds your cheek. You part your mouth in anticipation, but he kisses your forehead first. Then each one of your eyes and nose.

"My love," he sighs the words, giving you a wide grin before finally kissing your mouth.

The phrase bounces around your head a few times before making its way into your chest and settling warmly there, starting to blossom. You were his, and he was yours. Sometimes things can just be simple like that.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster smut #Bradley bradshaw x you #Rooster x you #My work #Bradley Bradshaw x reader

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topsyturvy-turtely · 6 months

Text

Human Urges

ALL chapters uploaded to Ao3!!!

Summary: John hated it. He utterly and truly hated it. He despised himself for it. It was going on his nerves. In fact it annoyed the fucking SHIT out of him. That stupid, always present, torturing urge to be kissed!

Gift for: @helloliriels because you deserve it.

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Words: 5,861; Chapters: 4/4; Rating: Teen and Up

Additional Tags (Selection): Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Crack Fic, Bisexual John, Gay Sherlock, First Kiss, First Time, Year of the Crack Fic 2022, No Smut, Kissing, Hugging, Cuddling, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pining, Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Shy John Watson, Bold John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, John Watson is Bad at Communicating, Friends to Lovers, idiots to lovers, DO NOT COPY TO ANOTHER SITE OR APP, Sherlock Holmes is a Mess, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Light Angst, Demisexual Sherlock Holmes, there is more kissing, like so much more kissing get yourself under control babes, John Watson is Perfect, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, I love these absolute morons, POV Third Person Omniscient

(phew that's a lot of tags)

~~~

Summary of Chapter 4:

Sherlock had wanted this to happen between them. But that was his problem, wasn’t it? That he had wanted it. Because not only his body and brain wanted it. But his heart too. And John… he didn’t want this. Not with his heart. He just had 'human urges'.

~~~

you can read chapter one on tumblr, too! :))

A/N: i personally really like this chapter. i hope you do too. i'm sorry it took me forever to update this story 🙄 tags under the cut!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful

#turtely writes #johnlock fic #human urges #happy about reblogs! 😊#bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #johnlock #johnlock fanfiction #johnlock fanfic #new fanfic #ao3 #sherlock/john #john/sherlock

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frost-queen · 2 years

Text

Wrong side of paradise (Reader x Steve Harrington)

Requested by: @utterly-in-like, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco @idkwhatmyusernam, @subjecta13-thefangirl

Summary: R & Steve have been friends since childhood. R has fallen in love with him but her love is unrequeted since Steve still has a thing for Nancy. When R get’s affected by headaches, she knows what that means but keeps it a secret. Until she is pulled in too deep and need help to come back. (Keeping it a secret, unrequited love) I altered the time-line a bit to my own choice! <Read part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 >

“I…I need a moment.” – you said getting up. Nancy quirked her eyebrow up. You moved passed Dustin getting outside of the trailer. – “Just stay close!” – Robin shouted before you slammed the door shut. You hurried outside, creating a large distance between the trailer and you. Swallowing you tried to stop your tears from ever appearing. You walked in a straight line across the trailer park into the woods. Leaves crunched underneath your shoes. You gasped loud, gripping onto a wooden park bench in the woods. These weren’t just headaches. It was Vecna luring you into his death trap.

The dreadful pounding in your head, you had for a week now. You screamed loud knowing what it meant. You were sentenced to die. Fists trembling at the intensity of your voice scraping. You straightened yourself pacing around. The more you thought about it, the more it upset you. You screamed again, grabbing the bin by the picnic bench. Picking it up, you threw it away. Litter scattering the ground. You lost control. Stomping wildly on the ground, jumping hysterical at your emotions that needed to be outed. Running your hands rough through your hair. Screaming, crying, cursing in all ways. Punching your fists in the air at the breakdown you were having.

After a while broke you down on the bench, exhausted. All of your energy outed in your rage. Catching your breath you leaned back. Face up to the sky. Closing your eyes you took a moment to calm yourself down. You couldn’t return in this state. You wiped your cheek dry at the sound of twigs snapping. You jumped up, seeing a startled Robin. – “Sorry didn’t mean to scare you.” – she said holding her hands up. You lowered your gaze, relieved it was her. – “You… you okay Y/n?” – she asked dropping her hands. You sat down again with a deep exhale. Robin walked around the bench to join you. She let her elbows rest against the table behind her, leaning back. – “It’s all a bit crazy, isn’t it?” – she started.

“I mean last year with that whole mindflayer thing in the mall. Phew that was mental. Russians! Who knew they were involved in it. Now we’ve got Vecna haunting our memories for whatever purpose.” – She rambled on with a shiver. – “Can you imagine Vecna tormenting your conscious, slithering his way in to show you all sort of traumatic shit and when he finally has you, he bends you like a straw. Eyes gouged out…” – you shuddered at the thought, thinking about it. – “Robin!” – you called out, wanting her to stop. She abruptly stopped, looking at you. – “Oh sorry. I ramble on when I get nervous. My mother always says it to me that I can’t seem to stop talking and I barely even notice it…” – she paused smiling. – “I am rambling again… I’m…I’m just going to shut my mouth.”

You chuckled seeing her press her lips together with a lot of effort. Robin smiled seeing you cheered up. She leaned forwards staring into the woods. – “I don’t think we’ve actually had a full on conversation without Steve present.” – she said swaying her feet back and forth. – “No…” – you answered with a faint smile. – “It’s quite nice…” – Robin spoke looking over at you. – “It is.” – you replied. Robin got up, offering you, her hand. – “Ready to be amongst the lions again?” – you nodded, letting her pull you up. The two of you entered seeing a few heads turn in your direction. – “Found her!” – Robin exclaimed pointing at you.

You moved to the background letting the other’s take charge as usual. You were surprised to see Steve slide closer to you. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. – “You good?” – he questioned. – “Yes… it was just a lot of information at once.” – you lied with a smile. Steve turned his head to you, laying his hand on your head. – “Good…” – he mumbled out, lifting his hand up to pat you on the head. A few times slow. It made your heart flutter. Steve and you had been friends since childhood. As thick as thieves, just lately you started to feel more for him.

You wanted to be more than just friends. Steve looked away as you caught him staring at Nancy. It made your smile drop, knowing very well. You moved your head away so he would stop patting your head mindlessly. - “Shall we listen in?” – you suggested, gesturing to the others. You left without hearing his response. – “Sure…” – Steve said, his voice fading out when you left his side. He swallowed locking eyes with Robin before he sat down. Robin shrugged her shoulders.

Your flashlight illuminated the ground. Dustin and Steve walked across behind you into another room. You entered a room in the old, abandoned Creel house. The room was covered in cobwebs, white sheets over the dining table. You lost your balance for a second, falling against the doorframe as you felt it. The headaches. Somehow it intensified in the old house. You pressed your fingers against your forehead to put pressure on it. – “Y/n you, okay?” – Robin’s voice startled you as her hand touched your shoulder. – “Yeah… yeah…” – you told her wiping your hand down your face. – “I’m…I’m just tired.” – it was half a truth.

You were indeed exhausted from keeping Vecna at bay and helping out your friends at the same time. Robin gave your shoulder a little squeeze. – “I can tell.” – she flashed her light up in your face with a soft chuckle. It made you close your eyes to block the light out. – “Sorry.” – she immediately spoke, lowering her light. – “That was a dick move.” – she continued feeling a bit guilty at pointing out your tired face. – “That’s alright Robin.” – you breathed out blinking slowly to keep the headache at bay. – “I do look like shit.” – you commented with a laugh. Robin gasped loud. – “You look gorgeous, you queen!” – she answered letting herself fall against you.

You pushed her away playfully, laughing loud. Robin and you busted out in laughter. Steve entered the dining room with furrowed brows. – “Really?” – he said pointing his flashlight at the both of you. Robin and you stopped laughing, swallowing nervously. – “Sorry Steve.” – Robin joked out, pressing her lips together afterwards. You tried your very best to hold in that snort that would get the laughing train going again. – “Can any of you please focus!” – He flashed his light up in your faces, making you move your hand up to block it. – “Roger that!” – Robin saluted with a sneer. You snorted loud, unbale to hold it in. Steve rolled his eyes, turning around.

You licked your lips watching him leave. Pining for him, couldn’t you stop yourself from yearning. You knew your love was unrequited, for who would not fall in love with Nancy Wheeler. She was everything. Your very own Nancy Drew with a badass attitude. Still it hurt to see him still fall in love with her. Robin nudged you with her elbow. – “Come on.” – She motioned with her head for you to follow. You slowly turned around, going after her. The two of you maneuvered from the dining room to the kitchen. You moved your arm up to your nose to block out the smell. Robin almost gaged. – “Ghastly.” – she commented, pinching her nose shut. – “Smells like Steve’s dirty socks.” – she joked sounding funny.

You laughed loud, inhaling a bit of the stank. It made you cough, waving your hand in front of you. Robin slapped you on the back with a loud chuckle. The two of you left the kitchen for what it was, heading through a door that lead to a smaller room in the back. There was nothing special in the room. Just some old baskets and dirty cloths that had caught dust for ages. In the back was a door, ivy woven around it, having found a way through creaks of the brick wall. – “So…” – Robin started trying her way at the door. – “What is up with you and Steve?” – she gritted her teeth as the door wouldn’t budge. – “What do you mean?” – you answered, letting your flashlight shine around. Robin stepped back with a loud huff. She stuck her flashlight out to you.

You took it, holding it for her. – “You know…” – she started, rolling her sleeve up. You gulped at the flirtatious wink that she threw at you. – “It’s nothing like that!” – you called out loud as Robin was rolling her other sleeve up. – “Come on Y/n. I’m not blind. I saw the way you looked at him earlier. You were practically drooling.” – Robin answered having another go at the door. – “I was not!” – you hissed at her. – “So… you are to tell me you feel nothing more for good old Steve?” – she grunted pushing at the door. – “I don’t!” – you responded loudly. Robin puffed some hair out of her face, groaning as she pushed against the door once more. – “Liar.” – Robin breathed out, using her weight against the door.

You groaned loud, joining in. You pushed your hands firmly against the door. It didn’t budge as you spun around. With your back against it, pushed you firmly. – “It’s nothing.” – you forced out between a clenched jaw. – “It is Y/n! If you like Steve, you should tell him!” – Robin breathed out, shoving her shoulder against the framework. – “What is the point to it!” – you answered frustrated. – “He’ll never notice me.” – you pushed your back hard against the door feeling it budge a bit.

“because” – you continued stomping hardly with your body against the wooden door. – “I’m not Nancy!” – you yelled out as the door budged. Robin caught you just in time before you were send down with it. Panting loud, shared you a concerned look. A cold breeze chilled up as the newly made gap caught your attention. Robin hummed curiously out loud walking through. You followed her into the yard. You gave her flashlight back stepping into the damp grass. Your light fell on a wooden swing, hauntingly rocking. It made you shudder. Robin and you parted a bit, each taking a side of the yard to investigate.

You felt the goosebumps rise in your neck, leaving a chill down your spine. The wind ruffled through the leaves, sending them dancing your way. You slowly turned around letting your eyes go up. Your eyes widened at the attic’s window. There you saw him. Vecna. Staring soullessly down to you. The striking of a clock made you jump out of your skin. The world felt like turning topsy turvey. Upside down with an eerie atmosphere. The wind sounded like a banshee’s scream. It made you cover your ears up, losing contact with the window. Catching your breath, looked you up once more.

The attic window empty. No sign of him. You started to look around frantically, hearing the clock chime thrice. Behind you in a hollow tree was the clock. You screamed it out, backing away from it. Gasping loud, you bumped against someone. Turning your head slightly to the left, saw you boney fingers crawl up your shoulder. You screamed your lungs out, slapping the hand away from you. Spinning around, saw you him stand there. Vecna. Henry Creel. – “Come now Y/n.” – he spoke holding his hand out to you. You shook your head, taking a run for it.

Meanwhile shone Robin’s flashlight on you. – “Did you hear me Y/n?” – she spoke moving over to you. Her flashlight dropped onto the grass as her eyes widened. – “Y/n!” – she called out, grabbing your shoulders to shake them back and forth. – “What… you… why didn’t you tell me!” – she panicked, shaking you roughly. You weren’t hearing her, trapped in Vecna’s curse. – “Damn it Y/n! Why didn’t you tell me!” – Robin fought back the upcoming tears. She breathed shallow, looking around for any help. Everyone was still in the house, unaware of the troubles in the backyard.

She knew the clock was ticking so heading inside for help would have no positive outcome. She knew she’d be too late to save you. – “Okay, okay, okay.” – she reassured herself tapping her head. – “Think… think Robin… what song did she like…” – Robin snapped her finger trying to get the song off the tip of her tongue. – “Think Robin!” – she cursed, slapping herself. – “Wow, okay I needed that.” – she said to herself as it was a wake-up call. Your song suddenly popped in her head as she called it out.

It took her but 1.0 seconds to start singing your favorite song. With her finger mimicked she the beat to assist her. She kept singing, shaking your shoulders for you to hear it. Her eyes widened when your feet lifted off the ground. – “No, no-no-no” – she stuttered out, shaking her head as you soared higher. – “Y/n!” – Robin screamed as you floated mid-air. Robin started jumping around singing as loud as she could. Screaming the words out as her arms flapped around. She kept singing while praying for you to hear her. The last thing she wanted was to see her friend bend like a straw.

Robin jumped swaying her arms in an attempt to catch you. She couldn’t reach it clearly, but that didn’t stop her from trying. She stopped jumping, moving her hands to her hair, still singing as she felt it was all in vain. Then all of the sudden woke you up, your body dropping to the ground. – “Y/n!” – Robin called out, catching you. She fell to the ground with you, pulling you close to her. – “Shit…” – she breathed out, sitting behind you. You gasped for air, trembling as you pulled her arm over you. – “I…I…Goddamn it Y/n. I thought I was about to lose you to him.” – Robin expressed angered.

She wrapped her arms tighter around you as you were shivering. – “Jeez Y/n. Don’t scare me like that.” – she said, letting her chin rest on top of your head. – “Sorry…” – you said, teeth clattering from fright. – “Don’t… don’t tell Steve…” – you added. – “What? Steve should definitely know about this!” – Robin answered as you removed yourself from her chest to face her. – “No! No one can know!” – you insisted. – “But Y/n…”

“I said no one! Robin please…”

“Y/n this is important…”

“Please… I don’t want them to know… or worry… I’ll manage.”

Robin shook her head slightly disagreeing. – “Y/n…” – you held your hand up to silence her. – “Robin please… I’ll tell them when it is the right time. Not now… not to Steve.” – you begged, taking her hand. Robin sighed deep, lowering her gaze. – “I promise.” – you threw your arms around her, hoping you could keep it a secret a little longer.

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