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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Don't Speak 23

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: You know this man don't quit.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The movie ends but Andy doesn’t wake up. You daintily touch his shoulder again, gripping firmly as you try to shake him awake. Your legs are starting to tingle. You move your feet, trying to wake up your muscles. He’s snoring louder than before.

You squeak out his name. The panic clusters in your chest, your heart starting to race as your ribs ache. You’re trapped! You hate that feeling. The sort of claustrophobia you get on the bus or in most public spaces. Your body is so hot that your skin itches.

“Please, Andy,” you beg as you push on his shoulder, only managing to rock him, “please, wake up.”

You sit back as he doesn’t respond. Not the way you need him to. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t stop snoring. He only nestles into you closer, his hand slipping under your leg.

You let your head drop against the cushion. The credit music plays as you wallow in your predicament. You’ll just have to wait. He’ll get up eventually. The way he’s slumped over can’t be comfortable.

You deflate and drag your hand off his shoulder. You close your eyes, knowing you’re stuck there until he wakes. You can’t sleep like that. So you’ll sit and try not to combust.

The longer the wait, the slower time feels. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then the idle menu of the television. You can’t quite reach the remote so you sit there as the title cards for various new releases fade across the screen.

You’re so so tired but you can’t sleep like that. You put your hand on Andy’s shoulder again, feeling the muscle under your hand, the rise and fall as he takes slow breaths. You keep from trying to rouse him again. You feel too bad to do that. If he’s that tired, you’ll let him sleep.

Your head gets foggy as the screen times out and goes black on its own, the back light still glowing. You hear the wax bubble in the candle as the wick burns itself out and you sink into the cushions further. You let your eyes close again, lingering in your incapacitation but unable to succumb to it.

The hours skew by and you see the night roll into morning through the window. It’s beautiful despite the pounding in your temples. Your body aches and your head thrums. Andy sleeps on, his breath lending a soothing rhythm to the silence.

The sky lightens gradually through the pane, deep navy fading to swathes of violet and rose, finally revealing a bright blue. You feel Andy shift as a groan escapes his lips. He drags his hand out from under your leg and you tense. He rubs his nose before pushing his fingers back through his hair.

“Dove,” his voice creaks dryly, “I’m sorry–” he coughs hoarsely, “I must’ve–” He grips the edge of the cushion and tries to push himself up, only to keel over again. He grunts and reaches back to grasp his lower back, “shit– sorry, I… I think I hurt my back.”

“What?” You murmur with a tinge of panic, “you’re hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he plants his hand flat and snarls as he forces himself up, falling back limp against the couch, “I pulled a muscle… sleeping like that–” he blows out as he tries to sit up, only to cry out, “I… you could’ve woke me up–”

“I… tried,” you utter, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t–”

“Hmm,” he rubs his neck and winces, “yeah, I’m a heavy sleeper…” he lets his hand trail down the front of his shirt, “you… you sat here all night?”

You look at him. You don’t want to make him feel any worse than he already does. You don’t mention that you couldn’t move him and leaving wasn’t a choice. Not as the pain needles between his brows, stitching a line between them.

“Can I… help?” You offer.

You slide forward, your own muscles racked from the tense hours of your confinement. Still, you can move through the slight burning in your thighs and the tightness in your back. You stand carefully, stretching your arms high above you. Andy watches you, his head resting against the couch.

“I don’t know,” he puffs as he puts a hand behind him, “maybe… some ice?”

“Oh, alright,” you step back on your heel, “I can do that.”

You go into the kitchen and open the freezer. You shiver as you lean in, searching for an ice pack or maybe a tray. You find an ice bag and grab it along with a dish cloth and bring it back to Andy. You find him leaning against the armrest, his face contorted in agony.

“Sweetie,” he huffs, “help me.”

You don’t know what to do except what he tells you. You didn’t expect this but you suppose this happens as you get older. You’ve woken up with a crick in your neck and it’s never pleasant.

You put the ice bag on his stomach and lift his legs up onto the end of the couch. You put a pillow behind him and help him reposition himself before you put the ice beneath his shoulder. He closes his eyes and groans again.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I never wanted you to see me like this.”

“What?” You stand back, wringing your hands as he folds an arm over his chest. “Does this happen a lot?’

“Once in a while… usually stress…” he admits and tries to turn his head, only to yelp and stop. “Dove, please, I don’t want you to see this.”

Stress? Does he mean you stress him out?

“But… you need help,” you cross your arms, “and I’m the only one here so…”

He frowns. You aren’t sure what to do but you feel awful just letting him suffer, even if he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t need to be. Besides, he saw you at your worst and he didn’t just abandon you. You owe him this.

You reach over him and pull down the throw blanket from the back of the couch. You spread it over him as he opens his eyes. You sense him watch you as you stand straight and chew your lip.

“You… you don’t have to take care of me,” he rasps.

“You need me to,” you shrug and look around, “um… should I… should I make coffee or… something?”

“That would be so nice, honey,” he says softly, “thank you.”

“Yeah,” you back away and turn on your heel, “of course.”

You go into the kitchen and rub your eyes. You’re so tired. You could fall over right there but you can’t. You’re not helpless anymore, but he is. Maybe you need this, to learn how to be the strong one.

🕊️

Andy doesn’t seem to get any better. The ice pack melts and you put it back in the freezer. You’re worried. He’s too big for you to move and you can’t drive.

“Um, Andy,” you enter the living room as he stares dully at the television. The tension hasn’t left his cheek, “should I… call someone? Or an ambulance?”

He laughs but not for long as he grunts and once more braces his back. He shakes his head and tries to roll out the pain. He only grimaces and wriggles as he tries to get comfortable.

“No, it’s fine. It’ll go away, I just need… rest,” he collapses against the pillows, “honey, I got some pills. Up in the medicine cabinet. Muscle relaxers, they can help.”

“Oh, uh, okay?”

“Will you go get them for me?” He asks, resting his hand on his chest, “they’ll be with a white tube with a blue logo. Can you get that too?”

“Sure, I can do that,” you affirm, repeating the statement like a mantra, “I can do it.”

You scurry around the couch and hurry up the stairs. Your worry has chased away your own fatigue and the soreness in your muscles has receded to a tolerable ache. You go to the bathroom and ignore your reflection as you pop open the medicine cabinet.

You turn several bottles and find the muscle relaxers. You pause and look over as a red flash beams in the corner of your eye. The shower speaker flickers. Maybe the battery is low? You don’t think about it as you grab the pill bottle and the tube close to it.

You swing shut the door and leave the bathroom. You catch yourself against the banister as you descend the stairs, nearly tripping as a yawn forces its way from your throat. The bottle rattles as you enter the living room.

“I’ll get you some water,” you say as you put down the handful on the coffee table, "one second.”

You go to the kitchen and fill a glass from the fridge filter. You return and offer Andy the glass and the bottle of pills. He thanks you as you turn to look at the coffee table. The tray is still there with the candy and half-finished bottles of soda.

“I’ll clean this up.”

You lift it and take it with you to the kitchen. You take your time clearing it off. You transfer the candy into containers and baggies, sealing them up and put the chips in a ziploc to keep them from getting stale. You hear Andy moaning and grumbling.

You enter the living room again. He holds the tube, staring at it as he turns it in his hands. His eyes flick up and back down. He teethes his lip, a nervous slant to his mouth.

“Dove, I… can I ask you a favour?” He says, so quietly you can barely hear him.

“Um, yeah, of course,” you step out of the doorway.

“I… I can’t reach,” he raises the tube, “it’s supposed to help but I can’t… can’t put it on myself.”

You blink. Oh. Oh. Does that mean you have to touch him? You can’t help but let your eyes round.

“I understand if you don’t want to, once the pills kick in, they should knock me out long enough to forget the pain,” his shoulders slouch, “yeah, forget it.”

He tosses the tube back on the table, letting out a high-pitched noise. You feel a twinge in your chest. You don’t like seeing people in pain. You remember when Amber broke her wrist and cried every night.. That was so long ago but you can still hear her whimpers.

“I can do it,” you wisp as you come forward and take the tube.

Your hands shake as Andy watches you. His gaze weighs heavy as you feel every move you make is scrutinized. You raise your head and look at him.

“Help me sit up,” he reaches to you with one arm.

You near and bend, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders and neck. You use all your might to pull him up, feeling him quake with the effort. He sits up and you slowly retreat. You focus on popping open the cap.

“My shirt…” he croaks.

You peek up at him and make a face. Oh. Oh, that makes sense.

You put the cream on the armrest and step forward. He leans in as you do and you help him roll up the bottom of his sweatshirt. You angle the fabric over his head as he struggles to get his arms higher than that. As you guide the shirt down his arms, you realise he has nothing underneath. You don’t know why you thought he might have an undershirt.

“Ugh, thank you so much,” he whines, tweaking your pity once more.

“It’s fine,” you murmur.

You glance at him and sway, unsure of how to do this. You realise you have to get behind him as he leans away from the pillows. You sit on the edge of the cushion as you retrieve the tube and squirt out some of the cream into your palm.

You stop and stare at his back. His shoulders are broad and straight, muscles bound beneath his skin, moles speckled here and there. You hover your hand, unsure what to do next.

“Just under my left shoulder, up along the blade,” he directs, pausing as you stare dumbly, “please, honey, it hurts.”

You make yourself touch him. You press your hand to his back and push it along the line of his shoulder blade. He groans and bends forward. You retract your hand.

“Sorry! Did it hurt?”

“No, no, keep going,” he insists sharply, “please.”

“But… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s gonna hurt but it’ll make me feel better,” he says, “please, sweetie, don’t you want me to feel better?”

You nod even though he can’t see it. You touch him again, his warmth adding to that of the cream as you spread it over his skin. Your breath catches as you hear something, a hum, a purr. You can feel the rumble in his as work at rubbing the lotion until it absorbs.

“That’s good, honey,” he says, “so good.”

You put the cap on the tube and stand. You look at your hand, the smell of the cream is strong enough to make your eyes water. Andy falls back, not bothering to put his shirt back on.

“I’ll wash this off,” you show your palm.

He doesn’t answer as he closes his eyes. You leave him and wash off the lotion, drying your hand thoroughly, though the scent of the cream clings. Back in the living room, you find Andy as you left him.

You don’t know if you should do anything else. You peer over at the broad archway that leads into the hallway. He needs sleep, right?

“Thank you, honey,” he startles you, “for looking after me.”

“Er, your welcome,” you say, “I… should I…”

“Will you sit with me?” He plants his elbow and grunts as he strains to move himself onto his side, patting the space before him, “please.”

“Oh, uh…” you hesitate.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he says, “please, dove.”

Another pluck deep in your chest. It’s your fault. You let him sleep all night like that. You weren’t strong enough, not loud enough. Once more your fear kept you from doing the right thing.

“Sure,” you shuffle forward and turn, awkwardly lowering yourself in front of his stomach.

He drops his arm to drape in front of you, resting in your lap as he nestles into the cushions. His other hand brushes your side and stays there. He squeezes you against him, pulling you snug.

You stare at the television, watching as a man works on refinishing a counter with laminate. You can do nothing else as you sit frozen in his embrace. Encased in ice despite the blaze of heat rising from him.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #library au #don't speak #defending jacob

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mutant-distraction · 1 month

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📸 Andy Rouse

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sweetd3lights · 1 year

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#creek #moss #nature #landscape

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sitting-on-me-bum · 8 days

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Eurasian brown bear (Ursus arctos arctos) drinking at forest pool, Finland. October.

Photographer: Andy Rouse

#andy rouse #photographer #eurasian brown bear #bear #ursus arctos arctos #animal #wildlife #mammal #forest pool #finland #nature

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frenchcurious · 9 months

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Tony Dron et Andy Rouse - Porsche 924 Carrera GTs - 12éme des 24 Heures du Mans 1980. - source Porsche Museum.

#tony dron #andy rouse #porsche #24 heures du mans

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Title: Wax and Wane

Pairing: Werewolf!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: You were drawn to Andrew Barber like a moth to flame, and now that everything you were is burned away, you cling to him in the ashes.

Word Count: 1,269

Warnings: Darkfic, Dubcon, Horror Au, Werewolves, Smut, Borderline Monsterfucking (lol), Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Breeding, Dead Dove: Do not eat, MINORS DNI!

A/N: my second entry for my Friday the 13th challenge! so as some of you all may recall, the “A.B” initials on the charm bracelet in Talking to the Moon implied the existence of other women, and maybe other pack members…😈 mind the warnings my loves! enjoy! divider by @firefly-graphics

The sound of the bell rouses you, forcing you to sit up groggily as you blink at the dark room. The heavily draped window is dark too, and when you look blearily for the digital clock on the bedside table, it confirms your suspicion.

The bright numbers read 3:17, and for a moment you consider turning back over and going back to sleep, but the little bell next to your bed sounds again insistently.

I hate that fucking bell. It’s an antiquated remnant of the house’s past, from a time when your lavish bedroom was once part of the servant’s quarters, the bell a means to summon you. Now, however, it serves a somewhat different purpose.

Is it really different? He calls, I come.

Andy’s side of the bed is cold, you note as you roll out from underneath the covers. You peek through the curtains out at the moon, a dark sliver eaten out of the bright circle. It won’t last, though—it’s due to be full tomorrow, maybe the day after, so Andy’s side of the bed will remain cold until then.

You hate that you miss him, a little. He is a good conversationalist after all, your man—your monster.

Andy is supposed to be with the pack—you know this from past experience. It’s strange he’s waited so long to leave, and you know that now he must have certainly missed his chance. You make your way down the long hall, the only sound the whisper of your long robe against the cool tile. He isn’t downstairs, not when you exit the grand staircase and into the dark living room. The house is intimidating in the dark, but you’ve done this enough times now that you could probably do it with your eyes shut if you wanted to. You go through the kitchen, pausing briefly before the cellar door.

When you open it, Andy is waiting for you on the other side. It’s easy to see the change is almost upon him. His bare chest is heaving, shiny with sweat. His eyes are fever bright, nostrils flaring from the scent of you. When he licks his lips, your pulse quickens, and you wonder if he can hear it, if he knows.

I should have seen it coming.

You should have—but Andy had blinded you. Love blinded you. You had not noticed your friends dropping from your life like irate flies as you found yourself too busy with Andy Barber to see them, your family held at arms length by their disapproval of your wealthy, mysterious new beau. People falling like dominoes until you were alone—

And alone, you were weak.

When the man had become a monster, you had clung on instead of running. And now, you think as you lightly finger the raised scar on your chest, it’s too late. The long scratch marks that if you measured, would be exactly Andy’s finger-widths apart.

There’s something under my skin, too.

You allow him to pull you to his chest as he inhales deeply, pressing his face into your hair. The smell of him does something to you, too, igniting a warm tingle deep in the apex of your thighs. The distinctly male musk, tinged with something animal, primal. His fingers tangle in your curls for a moment before he lets go, his hands wandering appreciatively down your sides and over the curve of your hips.

“I thought I was going to have to come get you,” he says, his voice low. There is amusement there, too. “You have good timing.”

Most people don’t pay close attention, so generally, even when Andy is out and about this close to the change, no one notices the tells. Not like you. His nails are longer, sharper and stronger. His canines longer, thicker—it makes him lisp, just a little. And his eyes…

The darkest, stormiest blue.

Andy slides a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up. You sigh into his mouth as his lips meet yours, his teeth pulling at the plump flesh until it swells. Hungrily he swallows the resulting whimper, and when his tongue sweeps into your mouth he tastes like gin—he’s been drinking. Andy’s hands slide up your sides, displacing the robe as he pushes it from your shoulders.

“Smell like honeysuckle,” the words are murmured low against your throat. You squeak when his fingers sink appreciatively into the soft skin of your ass underneath the hem of your nightie. He inhales again, teeth tugging at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “And rain.” Thick fingers wiggle between your thighs, and you widen your stance without being asked, and Andy hums with pleasure at finding you damp already.

“Missed you.”

Your breath catches as he circles your clit, before sliding down to tease at your entrance. When he pulls back, you try to stifle the whine that grows in your throat, but you don’t kill it completely.

“Get on the desk.”

This room serves as Andy’s unofficial second office. Where, if you looked, you might find pieces of evidence that were conveniently “lost” during trial—things that might make their way into Andy’s pocket if he had a particularly stubborn problem.

Nothing that would be of use to you now.

His eyes rest on you with almost physical weight, you can feel them boring into you as you lean up onto your toes, bending across the dark wood. You peek over your shoulder, and you sink your teeth into your lip to keep from gasping. When the change is close, you know Andy is… bold. Aggressive, even—-and tonight is no different. He openly palms his cock through his open pants, staring lustfully at the glistening folds between your spread thighs. He grins at you, and your cheeks burn but you don’t look away.

“I told you, runt,” he says, the points of his sharp teeth hanging over his lip. “I missed you.” Andy is on you in two easy strides, resting a hand on your hip as he rubs the head of his cock against your pussy. This time, you can’t help the shuddering moan that leaks through your clenched teeth. He bends over you until he can rest his lips on the back of your neck, and they curve against your skin. “I see you missed me too, didn’t you?”

“I did,” you admit, your cunt sucking desperately at the tip of his cock.

“Mmm, good girl, so honest.” The pleased hum that vibrates in his chest fills you with a shameful sense of pride. You are a pretty bird in a pretty cage for as long as he’ll have you—but you can’t bring yourself to hate him. You moan as he begins to push forward, his hand heavy on your hip.

“I know I’m supposed to be with the pack,” Andy grits out as he begins to stretch you open. You stare with lidded, unseeing eyes at the bookshelves in front of you, his words echoing in your ears. There’s a sort of doubling when he speaks again, two voices in one mouth. There is Andy’s voice, the one you know, and then something dark. Animal.

“But you feel so good like this.”

You know the beast is crawling just underneath Andy’s skin, staring out at you through his eyes. Your only saving grace is the fact that they want the same thing—

“I know you like it too, pup,” Andy’s teeth scrape hungrily against your neck as he splits you open inch by delicious inch. “You always did have a thing for monsters.”

end

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 3 months

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Gator Tillman x Fem! Reader

Badge Bunny AU - This can be read as a stand alone. Read more of their series here.

Summary: Gator gets hurt which leads to confessions from the both of you.

18+ Only Minors DNI!

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun." Established relationship. Roy Tillman (Roy being the ass that he is). Gator gets hurt - no details just the aftermath. Angst. Fluff. Brief smut (not explicit).

Word Count: 2.7K

Gator had left that morning in a rush, skipping breakfast altogether to go help Roy with something. The kind of something that he stayed tight lipped about that always made you feel uneasy.

Up before dawn, rousing you to make sure he could kiss you properly before starting his day and he was out the door.

You'd wish you'd said it then. It's been on the tip of your tongue for weeks now.

That thrumming in your chest with every beat of your heart. That ache that comes along when you know you care about someone. When you love someone. When you finally admit it to yourself.

You'd gotten to work without so much as a “miss you sweet thing” or “tacos tonight” text. It wasn't unusual for him to go a while without hearing from him but today just felt off.

The moment he'd told you he had to be out early; you knew it was trouble.

“Helping dad tomorrow. We've got to clean up a mess.”

You'd started voicing your concerns about Roy more often since he'd finished completely moving in and was no longer under his dad's thumb 24/7.

He started to see things your way, little by little. You were proud of the man he was becoming, no longer seeking his daddy's approval all the time. He was trying to be a better man for himself and for you.

It was another couple of hours with nothing. You'd sent a few texts his way with no reply. Getting worried, you finally called him on break only for it to go straight to voicemail.

You chewed your nail, debating on reaching out to the one person who would know what was going on. But as if my dumb luck, two deputies walked in for lunch, halting your finger from making that call.

You stomped over to them with a purpose.il

Andy noticed you first, giving you a puzzled look.

“Y/N? Figured you'd be up at the hospital.”

It felt like your entire world came crashing down with those words.

“What happened?” It's all you could think to ask.

“Uh, I don't know all the details, just know he's pretty banged up. Did… did no one call you?”

You didn't answer, going straight to the back telling Henry you couldn't stay.

Your fists were clenched so tight around the steering wheel, your knuckles were white. The hospital was only about 15 minutes away, but you couldn't get there fast enough.

You were a nervous wreck walking through the entrance only expecting the worst, heading straight for reception.

“I need to see Gator Tillman.” You spoke as calmly as your voice would allow.

“You family, hon? Only family allowed back there with him right now.”

“I….I'm his girlfriend.” You should have just lied but you figured everyone in this damn town knew Gator. He wasn't married.

“Sorry hon. You'll have to wait out here for now.” She gave you a pitying look.

“Yeah, okay.” You sighed and found the nearest seat.

You'd tried to talk to reception again about 20 minutes later, but they weren't going to budge. Wouldn't even tell you if he was okay.

Each second was agonizing. Your knee was bouncing, and each time the door shot open your head followed to see if it was who you were looking for.

At this rate, the skin around your nails that you were picking would all be bleeding.

Sitting in your own agony, you almost missed the voice behind you.

“No, goddamnit, tell him to go out there now.”

Roy.

You stood up immediately, walking over to catch up with his large strides.

“Roy!” You'd half shouted, as he turned stunned but his face somewhat softened when he saw you.

“Is he okay? Please just tell me he's okay. These assholes won't let me back there since I'm not family. Won't even tell me what's going on.” It all rushed out with one breath.

“Whoa, whoa.” He clasped a hand on your shoulder. You wanted to jerk away from him but stood still.

“He's going to be fine y/n. Broken wrist and bruised ego. But otherwise, he's fine.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“How?” Your eyes welled, from anger. Looking straight at the reason why but you held your tongue.

“He let someone get the drop on him. Let his guard down, but you shouldn't worry about all that. Why don't you go home and wait on him? He should be released in another hour or so. I can get one of the Deputies to drive you.” He smiled, as if trying to be reassuring but it just turned your stomach.

“I'm fine here. I'm not leaving until I see him.” You finally took a step back, as his hand fell from you.

“Suit yourself. Boys, let's go.” He and the rest of his goons skirted past you.

“You aren't staying?!”

He stopped; his jaw tensed before turning to fully face you.

“Duty calls. He’s a grown man. He doesn't need me here. Or you for that matter. He doesn't need some woman making him soft or distracting him.”

He leveled his gaze, stepping closer to you. As much as you didn't want to, you felt small.

“You are just a distraction, aren't you? Clouding his judgment.”

The insinuation that this was somehow your fault was laughable, but his words sat like a stone in the pit of your stomach.

You were rattled, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he had affected you.

You steeled your gaze, giving him no trace of emotion.

“I think we both know what's always clouding his judgment. What's always in the back of his mind and it's not me.”

His eyes flickered with surprise just for a moment, but you caught it.

“You have a good day y/n. We'll see you real soon.” He tipped his hat and turned to join his crew.

You watched him take his leave. Standing there alone, finally saying fuck it.

You'd seen the general direction he'd come from. Keeping an eye on the front desk, you walked over to the double doors leading to the private emergency rooms.

Luck was on your side, as someone was being wheeled out, you slipped past.

One by one, you peeked your head into doors and through closed curtains. Muttering apologies along the way.

Finally, your eyes spotted familiar boots, ankles crossed at the end of a bed. You sighed but the hammering in your chest didn't stop.

You slowly crept into the room; steps silent as you drew closer to him.

He was sitting back against the pillows, eyes closed with his right arm still against his side. They hadn't set a cast yet.

You silently watched him, his chest with a steady rise and fall, tangible proof he was here.

“Gator?” Your voice was so small you didn't recognize it.

His eyes shot open, immediately finding your glossy ones.

“Bunny? Baby, hey.” He smiled sweetly, studying your face.

You hadn't moved, as if you were scared to actually see him. He had a bruise forming under his right eye, his top lip had a gash in it and you knew his wrist was broken. You could only imagine what else lay beneath his clothes.

‘C’mere.” He reached out to you with his good hand.

You almost lunged at him. Throwing your arms around his neck, careful not to jostle him too much. Pulling his head to your chest, as he wound his arm around your waist, fingers clutched tight with a bruising grip.

He's okay. He's okay. He's okay.

You finally released a breath you'd been holding.

“You scared me, you jackass.” You sniffed, causing him to look up, as your eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.

“Are … are you crying?” He couldn't stop the smile from creeping across his lips, tucking his head back against you.

“No, shut up.” You wiped a stray tear away with the back of your hand.

He wanted to give you shit. Tease you until you were boiling over but he liked this side of you. It was rare to see you soft. Especially soft for him, so he held you a few more minutes letting you run your fingers through his hair.

“Let me see your eye,” you finally spoke.

He raised up, as you placed your palm to his cheek, running your thumb just under his eye and over the ugly purple splotches marring his handsome face.

You turned your attention to his lip, examining it, careful not to touch the angry, reddened wound as your thumb traced along the curve of his bottom lip.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“S’fine Bunny. I'm fine. Fucker got the jump on me s’all.” He shrugged as if he wasn't sitting here in a hospital room.

“Fine? You're in the fucking hospital. This isn't fine, Gator. If you hadn't been doing Roy's dirty work, you wouldn't be here.” His nonchalant attitude pissed you off. “And where the hell is your phone?”

“Smashed. I told dad to call you.” His brows knit in confusion.

“Of course, well he didn't. I had to hear it from fucking Andy when he came in for lunch.”

“Oh, he must've gotten busy or somethin’.” Mumbling toward the end.

“Right,” you scoff. “How silly of me to forget how busy Sheriff Roy is to not even give his own son's girlfriend a call when he's in the goddamn hospital. I mean I know he hates me but Jesus Christ.”

“Bunny, just stop. He doesn't hate you. Just lower your fuckin’ voice before they kick you out of here.” He kept his tone level, trying to calm you down when he noticed the nurse passing by gave you both a sideways glance.

You took a deep breath. You knew he was right. It wasn't the place for a full-blown melt down.

“Fine but this conversation is far from over.” Pushing your finger at his chest.

He scooted over on the small bed, making room for you as he tucked you into his side, kissing the top of your head.

“It's ok Bun. It'll heal. Not the first time I've been broken probably won't be the last.”

“Yeah, I know.” As long as he was stuck under any of Roy's influence things would never truly change.

They finally got his cast set and quickly got him discharged so you could take him home.

You stopped for a new phone on the way. Then another stop at the gas station so he could buy a new vape. Somewhere along the way his was lost.

You were both unusually quiet on the drive. Your mind was still running over a million different scenarios on how today could have gone.

He huffed that vape almost nonstop. You knew something was bothering him, so you didn't say anything about the lingering scents wafting in the car like you normally would.

“Want me to cook tonight?” Finally breaking the silence, as he snorted.

“Are you tryin’ to finish me off?” He chuckled.

You reached over, hitting his chest with the back of your hand playfully.

It got quiet again as you drew closer to home. He held your hand, thumb rubbing soothingly against yours as he looked out the window absentmindedly.

Once you finally got him settled into the house, he showered, while you threw a frozen pizza in the oven. About as close to a home cooked meal that you could provide.

You both ate in silence at the small table within the kitchen. You watched him scarf the food down with eagerness, wondering if he'd bothered to grab a bite all day.

He finally looked up and sighed, placing the slice he'd been munching back on his plate giving you his full attention.

“Bunny, you're kind of freakin’ me out. Quit staring at me. Why’re you so quiet, huh?”

Never one short on words, yet you were rendered speechless to the simple fact that you didn't know how to tell him how scared you had been at the thought of losing him.

“Gator, baby… when I found out you were in the hospital, my mind went blank. I was so worried I would never see you again.” The sting behind your eyes made itself known.

“Baby, look at me, I'm fi…”

“I swear to God if I hear you say you're fine one more time I'm going to break your other arm. You are not fine. This is not fine.” You laid your hand on his cast.

“It's…” He started again, but you quickly cut back in.

“No, let me finish.” His mouth slipped closed, as he nodded. “If you keep doing this stupid grunt work for Roy, I'm scared that you're going to end up in prison, or God forbid dead. How do you not see that?”

“Bunny, you worry too much.” He shook his head dismissively. “I got this.”

“From where I'm sitting it doesn’t look like you've got shit, Gator. Jesus!” You stood quickly, the chair almost toppling over from the sudden movement.

He was caught off guard but stood to meet you, catching your wrist before you got too far from him.

“Goddamn Bunny, just calm down. What the fuck am I supposed to do? He's my dad.”

“I don't know? Run away, get out of this town. Out of this state! I don't care where, as long we're together. I just need you!” Your eyes began to well, a moment of vulnerability you never let anyone see.

You allowed him to pull you into his chest, as you wound your arms around his waist. He was hurt, yet here he was consoling you.

He pulled you close. His cast pressed into your back, catching the fabric of your shirt slightly. A glaring reminder of the one person standing in-between you.

You push your cheek tight to his chest, breathing him in. The woodsy spice of his body wash still clinging to him, filling your senses.

“Gator, I can't lose you. I…” You took the moment to lift your chin so you could look directly into his eyes. Those hazel eyes flecked with greens and golds, currently half lidded. He looked as tired as you felt.

Your chest felt tight, it's as if the words were carving their way through you. You had to get them out before they ate you alive.

“I love you.”

It came out loud in the quiet space, as it hung in the air between you. Eight letters, three syllables. Words that could change your entire relationship.

A look flickered across his face, before his gaze further softened.

His reply came pressing his lips to yours. Taking his time, slowly working against yours. Languid movements as if you had all the time in the world and maybe right now you did.

He hisses slightly when you kiss him back, pressure hitting his split lip.

You pulled back, “fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Pressing his forehead to meet yours. “Say it again, please.”

“I love you, Gator Tillman.”

He slides the tip of his nose against the slope of yours, “I love you, too.” Mumbling across your lips as they meet once more.

You couldn't help the smile that lifted the corners of your mouth, as you pulled back to look at him. His look of pure adoration mirroring yours.

You weren't sure where you'd go from here, but you didn't want to worry about that now. You were in the arms of the man you loved, both safe and sound.

You laid bare before him that night; hearts flayed open with nothing else to hide.

Your lips trailing across his skin. Promising to kiss it better. Every cut, every bruise and every broken bone.

Hips rolling into his, soft and lazy. Sweat slicked chests sliding against each other. Pressed so tightly together you didn't know where you ended, and he began.

Arms slung around his neck, endless “I love yous” shared between breathless kisses. His blunt fingertips digging into the fat of your hips as you rode him.

Drawing out the pleasure induced haze for as long as possible. Moans and desperate pleas. Closer, harder, deeper until you were both satiated.

Falling asleep with the weight of his arm draped across your waist as soft kisses were placed across your shoulders with promises of tomorrow and forever.

In the quiet moments before dawn, you watched him sleep. Chest rhythmically rising and falling with each breath. Fingers lazily tracing patterns into his bare skin.

Hoping against hope that when the sun rose, he could fulfill those promises whispered to you in the dark.

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