#honey that man died years ago

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend

tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark

It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.

"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.

"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.

"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"

You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.

"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"

You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.

"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.

"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.

"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.

"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"

"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"

He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.

"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.

But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.

"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."

You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.

"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."

"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Eddie's porn stash is a pretty conventional one. An 'if you've seen one stash you've seen them all' type. It basically only consists of skin mags, some of them kinky but most of them vanilla. Normal stuff.

The oddest thing in it is a two-year-old calendar. You know those sexy firefighter calendars? Usually a charity thing? A hit with the housewife crowd? Yeah. Except this calendar decided to branch out and include a bunch of sexy men from a bunch of sexy professions.

So, in this thing, joining the sexy firefighter is a sexy doctor, a sexy construction worker, a sexy police officer (whose month Eddie tore out and burned because fuck cops but don't ever fuck cops), a sexy librarian, and so on. They're all really good-looking, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic.

It's weird. Paramedics aren't normally part of the traditionally sexy professions. It's messy and sometimes tragic, but lacks the high-paying glamour that doctors and nurses enjoy. Eddie's had his fair share of fantasies, and none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

The guy in the calendar simply is that hot.

There's not even anything risqué about his picture. None of the pictures go beyond "this dude is chiseled and shirtless", because veering even slightly past the softest softcore territory would scare off the little housewives or something.

(Eddie is actually pretty fucking sure it'd increase the sales, but hey, what does he know.)

The point is, there's nothing that obscene about the pic. Just a guy kneeling in the back of an ambulance, first aid equipment scattered between his powerful thighs, shirt open to reveal his sculpted torso…

Dark hair spanning across his pecs, over his abs, vanishing down his tight tight tight pants. Hips canting upward, bringing attention to the size of his bulge beneath the zipper. Broad shoulders, ripped arms and large hands, veins protruding across the back. A pretty yet masculine face, with a strong jaw and a straight nose, full lips, a smattering of moles going down his biteable neck. Voluminous, golden brown hair swooped away from his twinkling eyes.

He's got this look in them, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in the calendar.

The one month everyone will go crazy for.

Eddie has become intimately familiar with that look. No joke, in two years it's made him crack his marbles more than anyone else has done in his quarter-century lifetime. When all else fails, November-paramedic has his back. It's basically his longest relationship to date, which sounds a lot sadder out loud (and it sounded fucking sad inside his head, too).

You might wonder why any of that is relevant now, as he sits on the curb outside of The Behemoth with blood trickling from his temple, his band giving their statements to one cop while another hauls away the snarling douchebag that clipped him. How does it play a part in this god-awful night out, you ask?

Well.

"Sir?"

Eddie startles, too caught up in the thudding inside his head, made worse by the buzzing crowd, to notice the man approaching him. He looks up, his gaze gliding past uniformed legs, muscular forearms, a curved neck and honeyed eyes appraising Eddie, and oh.

Oh God.

Eddie's breath sticks in his chest and his tongue becomes a cognate to sandpaper, because it's the paramedic.

It's the paramedic. From the calendar.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. He collapsed on the sidewalk, and now he's having one last weird sex dream before his brain finishes seeping out and he fucking dies.

November-paramedic crouches in front of him. Eddie continues to gape like he's getting ready to catch the peanuts no one is tossing at him.

"My name is Steve. I'm with the ambulance," November-paramedic says. "What's your name?"

Eddie makes a noise incomprehensible to most Earth cultures before his brain registers the meaning of the question and stutters out the answer.

"I- Uh- E-Eddie. It's, it's Eddie."

November-paramedic – Steve – smiles kindly. Heat prickles across Eddie's cheeks and neck. It's not the same as the cocky, sexy smile he's got in the calendar, but still. He's smiling. At Eddie!

"Hi, Eddie." He nods toward Eddie's temple. "That's an impressive cut you got there. May I take a look at it?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Um, g-go ahead."

As Steve sets down his bag and rummages through it, Eddie scours his face to confirm that it really is the guy from the calendar. To his chagrin, it is. There's no mistaking it. Those eyes, like liquid gold. That jawline, a weapon in its own right. Those moles, applied so skillfully it must've been by an artist's hand. That hair, coming straight out of a commercial for luxury shampoo. It's lying flatter than in the calendar, either lacking product or having sweated it out, but it's still glorious.

Steve, having finished washing his hands, tugs on a pair of disposable gloves. The plastic snaps against his wrist, sending a shiver through Eddie. It centers between his legs. Shit, if he pops a boner now…

"I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" Steve says while pressing a square piece of gauze against the cut. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Eh, Thursday?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"The Behemoth."

Steve nods and, with a lopsided smile, asks, "And are you a patron or did you and your head injury just wander onto the scene?"

Eddie laughs. Loud, merry, and verging on too long. It wasn't even that funny. Steve seems pleased his joke was a success, though. Unless his smile is the uncomfortable kind that one wears when faced with the unhinged. Eddie isn't sure how much blood he's lost.

"No, I, like, my band…" he says, stammering like talking isn't what he does best. Jesus Christ, it's just a hot guy! Eddie has made a fool of himself in front of those plenty of times – no need to get flustered about it. He clears his throat. "We had a gig and, after, at the bar, some guys got into a fight. Got ugly, so we tried to leave, but… alas!" He makes a dramatic sweep of his arm, nearly clocking Steve. Steve expertly ducks away without lessening the pressure on the wound. Eddie soldiers on, not daring to pause lest he lose his steam. Hopefully his burning face is enough of an apology. "Fucker wasn't even aiming for me. He missed his intended target and struck me instead."

"Right. Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Did you drink tonight?"

"Half a beer, at most."

"Do-"

"Eddie!"

Gareth's nasally voice cuts off Steve's question. The next second, he's materialized beside them with a slightly alarmed expression. "Dude, are you…!"

He trails off, eyes growing into dinner plates. There isn't that much blood, is there?

Steve looks Gareth up and down, a crease between his brows. "Is this your friend?"

"My drummer. Gareth."

Eddie half-expects Steve to demand Gareth leaves so he can do his job in peace, but nope. That kind, calm smile is back. He even gives him one of those little upward-nods 'cool guys' like to do.

"What's up, Gareth? I'm Steve; I'm with the ambulance. Just making sure Eddie won't keel over later tonight."

"Uh huh…" Gareth kneels opposite Steve. He's smiling too, but his is shit eating. Eddie frowns in confusion, because what does Gareth have to be happy about? He was freaking out right after Eddie got hit, but now he's staring at Steve like-

Oh.

He's staring at Steve.

No. Noooooooooo! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh why, why has he kept his porn stash in a drawer without a lock all these years?! He can't recollect the reason Gareth opened that particular drawer on that particular day – all Eddie remembers is how Gareth, Jeff, and Marv snickered when he explained the inclusion of the calendar.

That was it, though. They moved on. Sure, there has been the occasional roasting after the fact, but it's not like he hasn't also mocked them for their weird shit. But that's not the point. The point is that Gareth is staring at Steve like he recognizes him.

Gareth's attention flicks toward Eddie. Eddie shakes his head as subtly yet pleadingly as he can. Gareth's grin gobbles down another turd. Eddie makes a valiant effort to explode Gareth's eyeballs with his mind.

"Say…" Gareth turns to Steve. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. Eddie, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah, man," Eddie says, voice trembling. "Hurts like hell."

"I could've sworn I've seen your face before," Gareth says. "Like, I'm 100% sure."

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Steve asks, ignoring Gareth.

"Um, a little dizzy but no nausea?"

"Hmm, okay. Blurred vision or uneven numbness?"

"No."

Steve nods, glancing at his watch. Then, to Eddie’s dismay, he looks at Gareth. "I've never been to this bar before."

"Nono, not here. Somewhere else…"

Steve's lips purse and his brows knit into the most adorable thinking-face Eddie has ever seen. His heart skips a beat, then skips two more as Steve's free hand gently cups Eddie's cheek. The skin catches fire where Steve's gloved fingertips touch it.

"Let me have a look at your pupils…" Steve says, guiding Eddie's face and, holy shit, leaning in close for a better look.

Eddie gulps, half his blood rushing up and the other half down; he squeezes his legs together to prevent the little guy from saying 'hello' to everyone present. His eyes rove over Steve's face. His lips are chapped and the skin on his nose is dry. The nose itself is somewhat crooked. Did he get into a fight between the calendar photoshoot and now, or did they make the nose straighter for the photo? Why would anyone think it necessary to edit a face like this one? Even with its imperfections mere inches away, it's still the handsomest Eddie has seen.

Steve hums. It's a perfectly preserved vinyl. It's a metal festival. It's Eddie's new favorite song.

"Same size but pretty dilated… Keep your eyes open, please." He shines a tiny flashlight into Eddie's eyes before nodding, satisfied. "All right, looks good."

He leans back out of Eddie's space, returning Eddie's ability to breathe, and removes the gauze. His smile tells Eddie that the bleeding has stopped. As great as it is that he won't hemorrhage to death, it also means their encounter is approaching its end.

"You might've seen me at the university campus?" Steve says, fiddling with some plasters; it takes Eddie's horny brain five full seconds to deduce he's talking to Gareth again.

"No-" Gareth freezes, mouth hanging open. His smugness has evaporated. "Actually, I might have? You're a student?"

Steve chuckles as he patches the last of Eddie's cut. "No, but my friends are. None of them own a car, so I end up driving them everywhere. Right, Eddie, I think you're good to recover at home. Unless you feel like you should head to the hospital?"

Great question! Does he? On the one hand: riding in the ambulance with Steve, ensuring a few additional minutes of his lustrous eyes and smooth voice.

On the other hand: hospital bills.

"… no."

"Okay. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I live alone."

"Then maybe Gareth could hang around for the next 48 hours?"

"Sure can," Gareth says without hesitating. Eddie's heart swells with affection for him, despite his (failed! Hah!) plot to mortify Eddie to death.

Steve is already packing his medical bag.

"I want you to rest and avoid stressful situations," he tells Eddie. "No alcohol, no recreational drugs, no driving, and no working until you feel completely recovered. You may take tylenol, but not aspirin or ibuprofen. And if your symptoms worsen or you develop new ones – seek medical attention. Got it?"

The last part is sterner, reminding Eddie of every male authority figure he's strived to disobey during his teenage years. He has no such desire this time.

"Got it."

Steve raises his eyebrows as if to say 'have you really?', and Eddie has to wonder if it's he who seems contrariant and/or stupid enough to ignore the medic or if this is something Steve does with every patient. If it's the former, he mustn't seem that contrariant, because Steve's features soften into trust. He stands, brushing dust off his knees.

"Great. You boys take care now. Have a nice night."

"Yeah, you too, man," Eddie calls after him weakly as he retreats to the blinking ambulance. "Thanks…"

He keeps his gaze on the broad expanse of Steve's back, soaking in the rippling of his muscles as he walks and, oh would you look at that, his ass is as nice as the rest of him. Eddie's been wondering for two years now…

"Dude!"

Eddie jerks toward Gareth. Did he say that out loud? Did he drool? Is his boner showing? But no, Gareth isn't disgusted or disturbed – he's excited.

Shit.

He'll never hear the end of this.

"Don't!" he hisses.

Gareth just laughs, eyes twinkling.

"That was-"

"Don't!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Gareth-"

"You are so red right now!"

"For Jesus fucking Christ's fucking sake-"

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

Dedicated to @rougenancy for always listening to and encouraging my various thoughts, opinions, and ideas (they are constant).

Part 2

AO3

#me combining paramedic!steve with model!steve? it's more likely than you think #no need to tell me i'm a genius – i already know it #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #it's not important but i named the third guy 'marvin' #because i think he looks like one #this is part one out of [undecided] #i'll be winging it in the middle so that'll be fun #my writing #steddie fic: november paramedic

[ladywuvly]

♱ long before (s2!daryl dixon x green!f!reader)

summary|| As fate would have it, a devastating tragedy compelled your father to open up your front gates to a group of families seeking refuge from the new world. Amidst the unexpected turn of events, a certain individual with piercing blue eyes, a colorful vocabulary, and a rugged charm manages to capture your attention. However, as tensions rise and emotions become complicated, you're forced to confess your deepest desires. wc: 6.9k

warnings|| MDNI; 18+ content, semi-public, blood/violence + mentions of, swearing, size kink (if you squint), smut, fingering/handjob (f!m!receiving), unprotected sex (p!v), rough sex, bodily fluids (sp!t/squ!rt), praise, agegap, begging, breeding, cockwarming;

masterlist. socials. rec.

It wasn't every day there were new people at the farm, let alone living people. However, when your older sister's shrilling voice called for your father and the all too familiar smell of fresh blood came wafting through the front door, you knew the peaceful salvation of your childhood home was no longer hidden from the terrors of the new world. 

That had been weeks ago; before families were camped out under the shade of the oak trees in your front yard, before Otis had died, before you had met Rick, or before you had sat and comforted Lori as her son lay dying in the blood-stained sheets of your guest bedroom. 

Long before they'd found any evidence of Carol's little girl being anywhere nearby, and even longer before a certain blue-eyed, foul-mouthed, redneck had caught your attention. 

You'd heard him ride in with the rest of them. Watching him from behind the white, wooden column of the porch. Tanned, dirt and sweat-covered skin, dressed in a sleeveless button-up that exposed the toned muscles of his arms, which flexed as he flicked the kick-stand down and stepped off the motorbike. 

It didn't take long for you to make friends with the rest of the group. Although, no matter how often you tried making peace with the shaggy-haired man, he always seemed to push you further and further away. 

Perhaps he knew what you were trying to do. Like he'd somehow discovered your ploy. How you'd show up at his tent on the outskirts of the camp, dressed in those frilly little sun dresses, presenting him with something or another that always made his heart swell up in contentment. 

No matter how short he was with you, or how many times he told you it was 'nun of y'er business', he still couldn't help but feel unworthy as he watched you frolic your way towards his islet tent.

It wasn't until he had heard you one morning, from the other side of the bathroom door, that was when he knew he was fucked.

Carol had demanded he'd shower, it did no good to have him 'stinking up every place he went' as she had put it. He had scoffed before eventually agreeing a shower might actually do him some good.

A place where he could relax for a short time, stretch out his strained muscles in the lukewarm water as he cleared his head from the millions of thoughts he had since their arrival.

The water was already running and he was praying that whoever it was in there, wasn't using up the rest of the warm water. He was about ready to bang on the door and call out a harsh 'hurry up in there'. That was until he heard the sweet sound of your voice from inside, suddenly rendering him speechless.

"oh daryl..." All high pitched and slurred, in that sweet honey-coated tone filled with urgency and pleasure. He wanted to move, he truly did.

You were just a girl, maybe 8 or 9 years younger than him. You didn't know what you were doing, acting solely on desire and lust, still foolish and ignorant about the real world.

That is what he told himself, as he imagined what you must've looked like in the moment. Hand shoved between the milky plush of your thighs, the same ones he'd caught himself staring at more times than he'd like to admit.

Skin flushed under the warm water and steam of the shower, face displaying a consuming look of pleasure, as your orgasm coaxed little whimpers and whines out of your parted lips. "daryl, daryl, daryl..."

He couldn't stand there any longer after listening to you finish. Rushing through the front door and down the porch steps before hastily grabbing his crossbow and wandering off in hopes of finding anything to distract himself from the blasphemous image of you.

Little did he know that wasn't the first time you had touched yourself to the thought of him.

Earlier that morning you'd woken up from an erotic-filled sleep, slick and sticky, panties clinging to the dripping arousal of your cunt as you rubbed your thighs together hoping to provide enough friction to lazily get yourself off.

You huffed and turned over a few times before giving up. Throwing the covers off and exposing yourself to the nipping cold of your bedroom.

You walked towards the window, hoping that the sight of the barely rising sun, was excuse enough to crawl back under the covers and rest for a few more minutes, before having to get up to start your early morning chores. However, the sight below you caused a chill to run up your spine, as goosebumps littered your skin.

He stood below your window, the picnic bench in front of him occupied by his crossbow, and the remains of his catch for this morning's breakfast.

The way he so effortlessly worked on his kill; cleaning, gutting, and skinning whatever poor little forest critter so foolishly crossed his path.

The sight of his muscular arms, as they flexed and strained, was alluring compared to his gore-full actions, and before you knew what you were doing, your hand snuck under the hem of your short, floral nightie.

Resting a hand against the window-pane as your other slipped into your panties. Your fingers played with the wetness of your arousal, coating them in your slick as you eased them past your slippery lips and into your weeping entrance.

You moaned quietly, pulling them back out to rub circles against your swollen clit and then plunging them back into your aching cunt again. Repeating the action over and over again, as you ogled the man before you.

You imagined what it would feel like to have his hands on you, instead of your own. Bigger and rougher, the callused skin of his palms running along the softness of your waist and hips, as he'd rock you back and forth on the pads of his fingers.

Gripping his forearm for leverage as you quivered against him. The pure strength of his bicep, which you'd grip at to keep yourself from collapsing into a puddle of sweat and cum.

His warm breath fanning against your cheek and neck, as he encouraged you with those sweet little praises. "You like that, huh? You like that, sweetheart?...Come on, sweet girl don't you want to cum?"

Your walls tightened as you became painfully close to the edge. Your legs trembled, knees buckling as you held yourself up against the glass. Your orgasm was bliss, soaking your thighs and hand with your release, as you muffled a cry, biting your bottom lip in order to keep yourself quiet.

Coming back down from your high you quickly stepped away from the window shamefully. Your skin felt hot and sticky, and even after just getting yourself off, you wanted more, you needed more.

You decided a shower would be best, something relaxing and isolate where you could refresh yourself, before having to go about your day.

It had been a few hours and you were now seated by the burning embers from this morning's fire, helping put together whatever you could find to make some sort of breakfast for everyone before they all got to work for the day.

You spotted Daryl as he made his way out of your house and back towards the camp. His hair, a darker shade of brown, as fresh water droplets dripped down the recently cleaned skin of his neck.

God, what you would give for him to let you lick it up with the flick of your tongue.

You imagined what he'd smell like, what he tasted like. His scent, wouldn't be clouded with any fragrance that distracted from his natural musk. His skin, warm and inviting against the drag of your tongue. You could feel yourself getting wet at just the thought of him.

Quickly you grabbed a plate and made your way up across the grass, stopping in front of him as he was headed towards the RV. You watched him freeze, his eyes casted down and away from you, causing you to frown at his refusal to meet your gaze.

"Here, I know it's not much... but you should eat something."

You offered him the small plate, only for him to hum and shake his head. "'m fine." You were concerned at his refusal. He was not a man of many words, but that didn’t mean dismissing you like this altogether. He'd normally just take whatever it was you were offering him, before going back to whatever it was he was doing.

"Look... everyone's eaten and you know nobody's going to be seen harboring back for seconds, given our circumstances." You laughed it off in hopes of lightening the mood. Only when you looked back at him, did you notice the look of anger take over his features.

"No you look... I don't know what ya' think this is, but we're not 'ere ta' make no friends. Our only priority is findin' a way ta' get the hell off this farm, and whether or not I eat this piss-pour excuse of a breakfast, is gonna change that. Ya' hearin' me?"

His words caught you off guard. They were harsh and filled with hurt, and knowing that those around you had most likely turned to look at him, once the sound of his voice had risen, was humiliating.

It was mean and patronizing, and you were embarrassed that he'd thought he could talk to you like that. Like you were just some ignorant girl. Like someone who didn't really know what was actually going on.

It didn't take you very long to flee after that. You had almost scoffed at him before shoving the plate of food into his chest and brushing past his shoulder.

You weren't going to let everyone see just how much his words had gotten to you, so you lifted your head and walked with poise back towards your house.

Only once you'd made it into the solidarity of your kitchen did you let out the breath you were holding. Cursing at yourself for not seeing it sooner, by letting the way he made you feel cloud your judgment of who he really was, who he really thought you were.

In that moment you decided for yourself to just push down this stupid little crush and focus on what was important. Helping get these people back on their feet, so they could get a move on.

You consumed yourself with chores the next few days. Helping Lori with laundry, Carol with any cooking, and even offered Andrea a hand maintaining the few guns your father had let them keep, while helping protect the farm.

She was pleasantly surprised at how much you knew about such weapons, but you quickly reminded her how you'd grown up and where exactly you were raised. This only encouraged her to teasingly call you a 'hick', before asking if you wanted to go shooting with her and Shane the next time they went out. You told her you'd think about it before excusing yourself from the RV.

That night you sat with them beside the dying fire, and it didn't take long before you felt the heat of a lingering gaze on you. However, this one was dark and grim, greedy and predatory. Unlike the light, pastel blue eyes you were so familiar with.

These felt thieving, like they were just waiting watching for the chance to get you alone, secluded and out of the keen sight of others.

You felt it best to turn in for the night. Walking back towards the house you weren't scared, far from it, you knew this farm like the back of your hand and yet you still felt unease.

The snap of a twig behind you caused you to gasp, as you expected a walker to step out in front of you and bite your face clean off. However, the sight of Shane emerging from the shadows was strangely just as frightening. Those temperamental eyes that looked you up and down, caused you to wrap your arms a little tighter around yourself.

"Andrea tells me you're good with a gun. Real good..."

Nodding compliantly, hoping it would satisfy him to cut the conversation short and allow you to escape inside. Except your silence only made him pursue you even more.

"She's giving me more credit than I deserve. My father taught me how to shoot, that's all." You quickly remitted.

Shane wandered closer and you took a quick look back at the house, trying to estimate how many steps you would need to take in order to get back inside if need be.

"What is your deal then, hm?"

"My deal?"

"I just mean, I'm trynna figure you out."

"I guess there's just not much to figure."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I just want to know what makes a pretty young thing, such as yourself swoon so hard over that dirty old red-neck." You're shocked at the accuracy of his accusation.

"I think I'm tired, and it's getting late, and I'd like to go to bed. Goodnight Shane."

"Now just wait a min-Everythin' alright?" Daryl suddenly emerged from behind you and you'd soon grown frustrated.

You hadn't seen nor spoken to him in the last few days yet, here he was showing up to save you like you were some damsel in distress.

Dragging a hand through your hair and letting out an exasperated sigh. You watched as Shane stepped closer to the both of you. "You got impeccable timing, you know that?"

"Hell's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothin' man, just getting to know our hosts a little better, that's all."

"Yeah? Well don't."

Scoffing at both of the men, drawing their attention back to you. "I'm not standing around here to watch a cock-fight. Both of you, just leave me the hell alone." You left them at the bottom of the porch steps.

"Wait a sec... Just stop!... I'm sorry!" You froze, halfway through the door frame.

Slowly, you turned around to find Daryl standing at the bottom of the stairs, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

"What?"

"I was pissed, 'n took it out on ya'. Wasn't right."

"Carol make you come up here."

"Nah, feel bad... didn't mean to hurt ya'."

You were genuinely surprised that he'd come back to apologize all on his own. Looking away from him seemed to be the only way to keep a smile from breaking out on your face. You nodded and hoped it was enough to get him to retreat, but he didn't.

"Hey..."

He called, making you look up at him through your lashes.

"When I say m'sorry, I mean it."

You nodded again quickly. "I believe you."

It was now his turn to nod this time, as he drummed his thumb against the side of his leg. "Only... you owe me another apology."

"Hmm?"

"That breakfast... was not piss-poor… made that with love." You teased, leaning up against the door frame.

He stifled a laugh and kicked at the dirt in front of him. "M'sorry 'bout that too then."

You couldn't help but flash a warm smile at him while you watched him fidget before you. Stepping back onto the porch and descending the steps until you stood face-to-face with him at the bottom.

You gazed into his eyes and despite the slight height you got from the stair, you found yourself still having to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. You couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity, as there was an indescribable emotion hidden within them.

Rather than trying to put it into words, you decided to thank him. Affectionately rising up onto your tiptoes and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Daryl."

Then with a smile, you made your way back up the stairs and towards the front door, as you finally entered the house.

You didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning for hours before you eventually gave up on sleep altogether.

Once the sun began to rise you slipped on your boots and grabbed a sweater, hoping maybe an early morning walk could help you clear your thoughts.

They only really consisted of one thing, Daryl. Even though he apologized, that hadn't been the only time he'd been short with you. Sure, it was the first time he'd actually yelled at you.

You wondered why he had been so mean, what had made him snapping at you so early in the early morning, when you were just trying to be kind to him? What had happened that he was already pissed off about?

Coming up late last night when Shane had been trying to 'get to know you', and as much as he made you uncomfortable, why did Daryl feel the need to interrupt?

Did he secretly despise you that much that he had to ward off people from trying to befriend you? It confused you, how such a seemingly simple man suddenly became so complex.

You hadn't realized how far you had wandered until the sight of the old brick chimney came into view. You knew it was time to turn back when you'd somehow managed to subconsciously walk towards the one thing that was causing you so much troubled.

"What're ya' doin'?"

You gasped at the gruff sound of his voice. Turning around to see Daryl not too far from you. He looked well rested, like he'd just woken up.

"Couldn't sleep. Needed some time to think, figured a walk'd do me some good."

"So ya' wondered all the way out 'ere."

"I guess so."

He looked off from you, not having anything else to say, or maybe just not having the words. "Did I do something? I mean... to bother you or upset you in some way. I get it now that you're not one to make friends, but after you apologized… I just don't know what I did to deserve you making sure everyone stays clear of me."

"Like ya' talk with Shane was so friendly."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

There was a pause as you waited for Daryl to speak.

"I heard ya'..."

Your face scrunched in confusion and Daryl sighed. He'd hoped you'd understood what he was talking about without having to go into much detail about it.

"Sayin' my name..."

Your eyes widened and you flushed bright red in embarrassment.

"I- I'm sorry, I thought the window was closed... I-"

"Window? Nah... in the shower..."

You became even more humiliated, not only by the fact that he had heard you touching yourself to the thought of him, but as you accidentally confessed how you'd done it more than just the once.

"Look y're a real pretty girl 'n all, but it just ain't right... With yer father lettin' us stay 'ere, it wouldn't be right."

"So you're saying if this wasn't the circumstance where we met, you'd take me to bed?"

"That ain't what I'm sayin'."

"Then what are you saying, Daryl?"

"That m'pushing 30 and y're barely 20..."

"21... 'n I'm not a child, Daryl. Not where it counts..."

"Shouldn't be sayin' that."

"Why? Why does it matter? We're both adults. There's not a soul in that house that would even give a damn. The world has ended, there are no laws, no morals to live by anymore. There's only wants and needs, and I don't want to be scared anymore... and I need you..."

You stepped closer to him, eyes never leaving his as you bravely confessed your feelings. "Tell me... Tell me that you don't need me."

You watched his pale blue eyes as he studied your face. It was as if he was almost trying to decide whether or not this was real, whether or not you were real.

"I can't... but I can't give you what you want either..."

"You can-No, I can't"

"What is it you think that I want?"

"Why me, huh?... What is it about me that you need?" He dismissed your question with one of his own.

"I see the way that you are... with Rick... with Carol. You want to protect us, I know that."

He tried to brush you off, turning around to distance himself from you, but you grabbed his arm, stepping ahead of him to stop him from walking away from you. "Don't run from me. I may not know what you were like before this, but I know who you are now. I know why you showed up last night..."

"Ya' don't know nothin' ." He spit out.

"I know you wanted to protect me. I know that's why you warded off Shane, and why you apologized. You might not know why, but I do. It's because you care. You care about me... and us, and this place, and you can pretend all you want like you don't, but you can't fool me, Daryl."

You hadn't let go of him and you reached out to grab his other hand. He flinched and tried to pull back from you, but you didn't let him. Bringing his hand up to cup your cheek as you looked up at him longingly.

"So stay with me... Tell me that you do need me... and don't let anyone take me away from you..." All he did was stare at you, his hand remained relaxed against your cheek.

You were about to drop it in defeat and sulk your way back to the house, but his hand flexed, fingers threading into your hair and pulling you closer to him. You closed your eyes as he rested his forehead against yours. His breath was ragged and you were afraid he was going to pull back and leave you all alone.

He nudged the tip of your nose with his before tilting your head back and finally slotting his lips against your own. Leading closer into him, your grip on his arm tightened and you tugged him closer by the collar of his shirt. His hand still in your hair, pulled you into his needy mouth as his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you firmly pressed up against him.

You put every last bit of your doubt into the kiss, hoping he'd take it all away from you. That he could somehow tell you that you were right without having to pull his lips away from yours.

His hands began to wander, gripping at you wherever he could. Brushing your hair over your shoulders, and pulling at the sleeves of your sweater to run his hands over the exposed skin of your back. Hooking your arm around his neck and kissing him fiercely as he leaned down into you.

You opened your mouth for him as his hands traveled down over your waist. He rocked you against him, pressing you into his hips causing you to gasp into his mouth at the feeling of his erection digging into your stomach.

His hands didn't stop, leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake as he continued to caress as much of your skin as he could. He took a step forward and you stumbled for only a moment before he lifted you off of your feet and wrapped your legs around his hips.

He led you both over to his camp, ripping open his partially zipped tent before ducking the both of you inside. You hadn't pulled your mouth from his neck, and when he finally set you on trembling legs you were able to see just how much damage you'd done to the heated skin.

He began stripping you of your sweater as you simultaneously worked on the buttons of his shirt, only you hesitated at the sight of the pronounced tainted skin on his chest. His shirt was pushed off his shoulders, hanging around his elbows allowing his arms minimal movement to clutch at your waist.

Your fingers traced over the scars causing him to flinch, reaching up to pull your hands from his body. He looked at your face, utterly surprised when it wasn't a look of disgust or pity gracing your soft features. Instead, a small smile and a look of admiration.

He let your hands slowly rest back against his heaving chest. Caressing your wrists as you went back to tracing the darkened skin. He closed his eyes when you'd touched a particularly deep one, shivering as fantom pain shot across his shoulder.

You froze and he opened his eyes to see you looking back up at him worriedly. He hummed and leaned closer, nudging his nose against the side of yours before kissing you softly. "S'okay... don't hurt."

You nodded, slowly pushing his shirt the rest of the way off his arms, letting it fall, discarded on the ground behind him. You toed off your boots as he led you back towards his cot. Placing kisses along each new area of your body he exposed to the chilled morning air, as he pulled off your sweater and slip.

It soon joined his shirt and his own boots on the floor as he laid you bare on his sleeping bag, which was accompanied by a few thick blankets and a single pillow.

He pulled back to look at you, kneeling between your parted legs. Your hair, fanned out around your head in a halo as your skin flushed pink. A few marks along your neck and chest, turning a dark purple, a harsh comparison to your delicate complexion. It caused his heart to beat furiously, as his chest filled with pride.

You whined and reached out for him hoping he fall back down against you. Only he took your hands in his and pinned them against the blankets. His fingers laced and gripped tightly onto yours as he dove back into your neck and chest to continue his assault on your sensitive skin.

Your back arched as he sucked and nipped at the tender skin of your throat and your hips rolled against his, chasing that feverish need for pleasure. He pulled away from you again and you almost cried, but at the rustling sound of fabric and the jingle of his belt you whimpered in anticipation.

He was back on you before you could even call out for him. Hands ripping your panties down your legs, caressing the soft skin of your ankle, and placing a kiss to the muscular physique of your calf. "Daryl..."

There it was, that oh so familiar plead of his name, laced with lust and desire.

"Again..." He demanded.

"Daryl?... please, Daryl..."

He crawled between your legs, resting against the pillow with his hands on either side of your head. His lips caught yours as you caressed his sides. Hands traveling over his back, only to find more scars etched into his hardened skin.

You moaned into his mouth, pulling him even tighter against you, grinding your hips into his erection, which strained against the fabric of his boxers.

He growled and kissed your lips deeper, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him to stop. Telling him that he wasn't worthy enough. That he didn't deserve the privilege of touching your flawless skin with his tainted hands, or pressing his roughened lips against your delicate ones.

However, as your hand caught him firmly around the neck, keeping him from pulling away from you, and your hips eagerly bucked against his once again, as a symphony of your pleasure flowed into his mouth, the voice fell silent. Drowned out and muffled by you, and you alone.

Your fingers toyed with the waistband of his underwear, teasing the trail of hair leading down from his navel, before slipping underneath the fabric. His breath hitched as your nimble fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, tugging at him skillfully.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against your temple, his lips parted as his breath quickened. You continued to attentively pump your hand up and down his hardened length. The fingers of your other hand tenderly running through his hair, showering him with affection as your lips brushed against his flushed cheek, leaving a trail of lingering kisses on his heated skin.

"f-fu... Fuck..." He stammered, his hands tightened around the quilts, his arms trembling as he struggled to maintain his advantage above you.

He suddenly pulled your hand off from around him, pinning it back onto the bed. "S'enough... won't last if ya' keep that up."

He groaned, trailing his free hand down between your bodies, as his fingers parted your lips, playing gently with your dripping folds. The sound of his voice in your ear sent shivers down your spine, causing you to gasp in pleasure. You instinctively clung onto him as you tugged lightly on his hair in an attempt to encourage him.

Daryl only hummed into your skin, nuzzling his face into your neck as he continued collecting your arousal on the tips of his callused fingers, spreading your wetness around your swollen, aching clit.

If it were anyone else, you might have felt self-conscious about how wet he'd made you from something as simple as his hands against your skin, or how perfectly his body fit against yours, but with Daryl, all your thoughts melted away. Everything just felt so comfortable, so right.

His fingers circled the rim of your entrance, slipping gently between your lips. You guided him back up to your awaiting mouth from his spot nuzzled in the valley of your breasts, where he'd taken his sweet time kissing and nipping at the swell of them.

His mouth latched onto yours, sucking at your lips and teasing you by grazing his teeth over them softly. You couldn't help but revel in the comfort and pleasure of his touch.

His finger eased smoothly into your slick entrance. Your walls drawing them in with an eager clench as a rush of pleasure washed over you, causing you to moan against him. His fingertip caressed against the certain spot deep inside of you.

You arched your back in ecstasy as he suddenly added another finger. He stretched you even further causing you to let out a pleasureful moan that made him pause and instantly detach from your lips.

Looking at you in disbelief, he couldn’t believe the sight before him, the way your hips began to hump against his hand, aiding to the pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach.

You were absolutely breathtaking in your blissed-out state. His fingers stilled causing you to whine in frustration leaving you craving their pleasurable drag, in and out of your walls.

He sat up, pulling them from your weeping cunt to watch himself as he spread your arousal around your messy clit. You nodded your head profusely. "Don't stop..."

Your chest heaved, rising and falling in anticipation as he slipped his fingers back inside of you. His thighs were tensing beneath yours, trying his hardest not to grind against you, lost in his own pleasure.

That's when you felt him, your knees tightened around his hips as his cock started riding shamelessly against your inner thigh. You reached for his face, getting him to look back up at you as you caressed his jaw. "Please, Daryl... I need you-I need to feel you inside of me."

His fingers pulled back out from your entrance, popping them into his mouth, and licking them clean. Hoping to satisfy his craving of you with just a subtle taste of your sweet cunt.

He gripped at your waist, thumbs massaging circles against your hip-bones as he imagined tasting you straight from the source.

His lips were back on yours in seconds, hands pushing his boxers down franticly, and before you had the chance to catch your breath he'd already lined up at your entrance.

The head of his cock smeared in your slick as he teased you. He could feel your warmth soaking him as he let out a labored sigh, wishing he could just stuff you full.

He began slowly pushing into you and you clamp down on him. Your gasp turned more erratic and you fisted the sheets. Pulling them from your grasp, he reached out gripping your hand once you let out a soft hiss from the stretch of him.

"Relax sweetheart, we'll go slow."

He started carefully, squeezing your hand, he felt a subtle sting as your nails pierced through the skin on the back of his hand. A melody of whines slipped from between your lips, at the feeling of his cock, as it slid perfectly inside of your walls, as he entered himself inch by delicious inch.

He leaned forward, nose brushing against yours. As you both panted against each other, it kept you anchored to reality as he finally bottomed out inside of you with a deep groan.

Then he waited, for an agonizingly long time, before you gave him the go-ahead. Bucking your hips up, begging for more friction. He takes his time fucking into you, long and slow at first. Reaching so deeply with each thrust of his hips, causing you to gasp every time he bottomed out.

You withered and squirmed beneath him, moaning incoherent nonsense as he pinned you to the bed. Crying out as your orgasm built up at an aching speed.

His hips moved faster at the feeling of your walls relaxing around him, fitting his cock like a glove. You moaned and wrapped your legs tighter around his hips, he hooked the hinge of his arm under your knee. Lifting it up higher, so you could feel him reach deeper inside of you.

He let out a grunt against the crook of your neck. He couldn't see the way you took every inch of him, but he could hear it. The sticky squelching of your pliant little cunt being speared open for him, and fuck, he could feel it.

Hot, wet, and tight around him. Grinding your hips in rhythm with his, as noisy wet clicks filled the background noise. Embarrassingly loud, from how slick you'd become as he stuffed you full of him.

Hanging by a thread as you used your free hand to claw at his lower back, leaving angry red lines behind on his skin, as you held onto him desperately. He groaned at the pain and yet he enjoyed it. The feeling of being so close to you.

Your thighs opened wide for him, puffy lips spread and swollen, sensitive, aching clit peeking out from them, dragging against the hair at the base of him.

All of you, covered in a glossy sheen of your own juices, as a ring of arousal collected at the base of his cock, dripping onto his thighs. "Don't stop, m'gonna cum. Daryl, don't stop!"

You could feel the coil inside of you snap, a string of cries escaped your lips as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The high-pitched whine of his name. His lips consumed yours as he thrusted into you riding out your orgasm.

The convulsing clench of your cunt was his downfall. His upper body collapsing on top of you as he moaned out your name, before painting your insides white, your womb becoming nice and full with the weight of his release.

Reaching back down, he cupped his balls, massaging them. Causing himself to cum even harder. He began whimpering against your ear, and his sloppy wet kisses left behind a trail of drool, as he kissed down the side of your neck.

The two of you remained connected for quite some time. Basking in the sex-filled atmosphere of his tent. Your labored breaths and the cooing of the mourning doves, was your lullaby.

The heat radiating from the man caging you on the cot was bliss. Even as your skin was covered in a sheer layer of moisture you didn't want him to move from his place on top of you.

Your breaths began to even out and the gentle kisses he was placing on your shoulders and neck became less frequent. He began to sit up, and you felt his softened member start to slip from inside you causing your hands to tighten on his body, stopping his retreat. He froze at the sudden movement, afraid he'd hurt you somehow.

"Not yet... just- just a few more minutes." You whispered, pulling him back down to lay on your chest. The full wait of him felt safe, comforting. It was like you'd finally found solace after months of living in fear.

His fingers played with your wild hair, lulling you to sleep. Your hands on his back, mindlessly began running over his jagged scars, causing him to shiver at your unfamiliar touch, but he didn't stop you.

As much as Daryl hated what his father had done to him as a child, and the disgust he felt when looking at the lifelong reminder, your gentle hands were a beautiful relief in comparison to his father’s cruel ones.

There were so many things about you that were beautiful, so many things he just wasn’t used to. He wondered if that’s why he must've turned you away so often.

How when you offered things to show your affection towards him; books, food, clothes, blankets, sometimes even just your thoughts and feelings, he'd turn you away.

It was weird for him to experience such kindness from people around him and when a beautiful girl, such as yourself, suddenly came along and did it all, without asking for anything in return, it scared him.

He expected that after a while you’d start asking things of him. Things he'd have a hard time being able to give you. Things like friendship and vulnerability, things that oftentimes led him to get taken advantage of.

And yet as you laid beneath him he found himself wanting to give you such things. Wanting to be the reason you smiled so brightly at him, or laughed so beautifully. He wanted to feel the caress of your hands anywhere and anytime he could have them.

He hadn’t realized what exactly made him so wary of you in the beginning, but he knew now. He knew that you brought to life a part of him that he thought had died, a long time ago, long before the world had even ended.

Long before his brother had convinced him they were weaknesses, and even longer before his father had tried to beat them out of him.

"Would ya' leave with me?" He asked unexpectedly.

"What?"

"If... When we 'ave ta leave. Would ya' come with me?"

His words took you by surprise. You hadn't really ever thought about leaving the farm. Not that there were many places to even run towards, but still, the thought of leaving behind everything you'd ever known scared you.

Yet, you also knew that the farm wouldn't be safe forever. You knew that one day you would have to leave, and whether it was now; with Daryl and his group, or later; with your father and sisters. That was the real question.

"I don't know. I think there's more to it." You said.

"Why's that?"

"I can't leave my family Daryl... but I also know that what we have here won't last forever, no matter how badly I wish it could." You could feel Daryl shift against you, leaning back to look up at you as you spoke.

"I'm worried that if we're out there on our own, my father won't be able to protect us all, no matter how badly he'd try." It hurt for you to admit it, but you weren't fool enough to not realize the truth.

"It would either make us learn how to protect each other or find others to protect us... and to tell you the truth, I don't know how many people are out there, that are worth protecting back..." You felt tears well up behind your eyes, as a hitch caught in your throat.

"Not like you... or Lori and Carl... or Glenn... Carol... I'm afraid that God might've dropped you all on our doorstep and my father is just too blind to see it."

Daryl wanted to laugh at the mention of God. "Ya' think God did all this?"

"I'd like to think he did something. Whether that be bring the dead back walking or sending you here. Either one puts a strain on my fathers pride." You teased.

Daryl sat up and this time you didn't stop him. You winced as you felt him disconnect from you and sighed as his hands ran softly over your hips. "'mazes me ya' still believe in God after everythin'"

"I've got to believe in something." You said smiling up at him. He laughed and shook his head.

As Daryl's eyes fixated on you, it was evident that his mind was lost in thought. He couldn't help but admire your unwavering faith in something as unreliable as God, even at a time like this.

In this apocalyptic world, it wasn't God who would shield you from the undead. It wouldn't be God who'd courageously plunge a knife into their skulls or valiantly fight to protect you from any danger, but rather Daryl.

He would willingly place himself between you and the snapping teeth of a walker or stand as a shield, to the menacing barrel of a gun, if it meant protecting your life.

Even in a world as cruel and tormenting as this one, he was determined to make sure you had a chance to experience just a little bit more time.

"Then believe in me..."

He looked at you, really looked at you this time.

"Don't waste y'er energy believin' in somethin' ya' don't even know will protect ya' or not... Not when m'here..."

© ladywuvly please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

#ladywuvly. m.list #18+ blog #18+ content #daryl smut #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #navi. #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x fem!reader #daryl dixon x reader #twd #daryl x you #daryl x reader #soft!daryl #fandom #hurt/comfort

[moondirti]

cigarettes out the window

A colossal, behemoth of a man, trapped in such a cramped room – he fills the space with brawn and the scent of wet firewood. Fresh rain on camp, sizzling coal that dies with a touch. It trumps the mould that functions as insulation, the dust that gathers on brittle rations – you’re a girl again, roasting honeyed marshmallows.

You run your tongue along your teeth, but all that clings is the bitter taste of smoke.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 9.5k summary: stakeouts and cigarettes warnings: cunnilingus, masturbation, tummy bulge, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, nicotine/smoking addiction, reader has a backstory, mentioned alcoholism and illness, self-loathing, anxiety, canon typical violence, light gore, squirting notes: absolute fucking beast of a fic that took me way longer than precedented. no plot, just vibes - listened to the tv girl song of the same name throughout this.

Tendrils of silver-blue smoke dissipate into sour air – a slow, creeping stench. You’d tried opening a window; it hadn’t been enough. Testosterone and mildew clings to this room like a second skin, crusty stubbornness, impossible to scrape even as the sickly yellow wallpaper peels off thin adhesive.

The stakeout wasn’t supposed to last this long.

Laswell had given you two, three days tops. But the sun drowns behind the horizon line, and a dull navy sky blankets over failed reconnaissance once more. Night seven – your gloves are just as much ash as they are cotton. 

A cigarette lays tucked between your forefinger and thumb. An ashtray, one you’d set, packed, glares up at you. Blown glass infracts a kaleidoscope of harsh fluorescents from the signage outside. Motel – warped on a divets edge. It’s empty.

You blink and draw another deep inhale. Your nose ignites with the acridity, tarnished herbs that rage as chemical warfare – a fog that clings to you.

Tar-coated throat, sticky with disappointment. You’d hoped for a blood red eventide, doused in merigold, full-saturation. You should have known better – Sudbury is stuck in perpetual insipidity. The season is verging on spring, yet pewter tones and lurid lighting are all that bloom. 

You’re beginning to rot alongside it; skin wilting, bruised. You never were a peach, but you think you must have held something – some ripeness, plush, primed to sink into. You feel it shrinking now, draining out to feed some ignoble cause. 

Or, perhaps, the tobacco carved it out of you years ago. 

The thought does little to temper your efforts. The stick has burnt to its end, wrinkled, blackened with dying embers. You should stop – throw your lighter out the window and wake Johnny up. It’s his turn for watch.

Instead, you light another.

The buzz is instantaneous, intoxicating. Clean water poured over a blistering wound, relief for a tender moment before the sting boils over to become unbearable. Cyanide; you rely on poison in sheep’s clothing. 

The door creaks open, rusty hinges a non negligible constant in discretion. You don’t have to peer over your shoulder to know; that manufactured energy, of which you pull from a box, triples, snapping bones to contort into something pulsing – genuine. His walks away from this decaying dollhouse are frequent; we all have our cravings. 

You wish he’d hang around more. 

The dank carpet blunts his heavy footfalls. Even then, you can’t miss his size. A colossal, behemoth of a man trapped in such a cramped room – he fills the space with brawn and the scent of wet firewood. Fresh rain on camp, sizzling coal that dies with a touch. It trumps the mould that functions as insulation, the dust that gathers on brittle rations – you’re a girl again, roasting honeyed marshmallows. 

You run your tongue along your teeth, but all that clings is the bitter taste of smoke. 

“He still asleep?” Simon – Ghost, with the hard-shell mask still fit to his face – asks. You take a puff and force your eye to train on the wet concrete outside. Softened cement, muddy puddles pool in potholes to mirror their miserable surroundings. It’s not hard to believe that the sidewalk could collapse in the weight of his presence. A distinct vacuum, all consuming yet contained. 

You wonder if he wears those layers for varied causes. Forked paths; keep out, stay in. 

In the time it takes for his laden stare to leave your back, you’ve blazed through your piece ten times quicker than the last. Crackling nerves brush across your most vulnerable parts, you’re skinned, but you manage to screw the loose bolts in your confidence. 

“Did nothing all day but act like he took a whole squadron on his own.” 

Your chuckle lacks the humour you wish it held. Bone-dry, forced – it doesn’t tend to be that way with him; with his morbid jokes, shared between gunshots and close fatalities. 

Alrigh’. I’ve got another for you, Scout. Husked in your ear, over the channel only used by the two of you.

Hm? You’re crouched on a rooftop, sniper fixed on a potential target talking to a member of the 141. It was snowing in Holland that day, powdered-ice a blanket for your moored elbows. 

What kind of streets do Ghosts haunt? 

Go on then. Spit it out.

The target had pulled a knife out on your operative. 

A dead end. 

His chuckle warmed you enough to pull the trigger with little shake.

Dead ends, dead ends. 

He provides you with a noncommittal grunt that’s lost amidst rustling fabric. Your spine is stiff, reinforced titanium, ice-cold with frigid winds that pull in from the north. You can’t look back if you tried. 

There’s little to discern from his reflection in the grimey window – where Simon starts, where Ghost ends. Deft shapes move between shadows, dressed in all black. There’s the metallic glint of a zipper, dragging down. The white smear of his mask. His shoulder catches dim light; he’s in his combat shirt, long sleeves, fit to tree-trunk arms. That familiar hum in your core returns, singing its pleas. 

You swallow back the urge to continue the conversation, to extend the joke at Johnny’s expense. Instead, you prop your foot up on your seat to rest your chin on the curve of your knee. A boot remains anchored to the ground, keeping you balanced on the broken stool. One leg shorter than the others; it hadn’t been that way when you’d gotten here, but someone had insisted the wooden piece could hold his weight. 

You slide your gaze to the man in question. He’s spread across the small cot in the corner, an arm thrown over his face. He’s rigged, gun in holster, pinky curled in its direction. In a slow wave state, but a soldier still. 

You take turns resting, you and Soap. He says you snore. 

He’s jus’ taking the piss. 

And how wad ye know that, Lt? Ye're never around.

You hid your smile, then. It was a half truth. Ghost doesn’t rest, not here, but he makes a point to take his eight hour shift when you do. 

Ever-present, as fleeting as twilight. You’ll wake every now and then to find him standing by the window (never on the seat.) In your transitional consciousness, you think his body might be slightly angled to you. But chalky stibnite smears over his eyes, and your quiet nightmares flicker like worn film – you can’t tell whether he’s looking at you; whether he stays to have your back or so he can leave when you wake.

“Anything new?” He’s crept up behind you now. A full-bodied voice, it’s muffled canon fire, sliced with that cockney inflection. Does he know his query is command? 

“Feral cats got into a fight.” You settle on something to lessen the blow of his dissatisfaction – syrup, a flavouring agent. Additives to a sharp-pill mission. “Calico attacked that ginger kitten, over there. Mother was furious.” 

If he notices your frantic dodge, he doesn’t comment on it. 

He huffs instead, and places a white plastic bag on the table next to you. In it, styrofoam cartons stacked atop one another, pressed for space. You reel a string of focus to the street outside, still on the job, then scoot a little towards it. In spite of the lack of logo, the contents are unambiguous. A heady aroma, poignantly familiar; shallots, ginger, garlic, chilli. 

Chinese. Your favourite. Yet–

You’re enraptured by sycamore; heavenly ascension into the woody musk of the overbearing body next to yours. He’s close, still standing, hips at eye level. You credit your sudden heat to his permeating warmth, and not the flush that crawls to your cheeks.

No, certainly not heaven. Purgatory – an intermediate condition. You’re waiting on some higher power to tell you what to do; move closer, hold back.

Dead ends. You itch for a third cigarette; should you offer one? You picture pink lips puckered around white paper, a sight for sore eyes. You’d suck the cancer from between his teeth, perched on one thick thigh. 

Atta’ girl. Nice shot, Scout. Hit that one right on the mark. Kandahar, Afghanistan – the mark being a general’s eye.

You’d bathe in the blood of a thousand more men to rehear the feathered praise. It sits, ingrained in the gummy lining of your skull, there to stay until you’re cleft open to the world. It’ll happen one day. 

Atta’ girl, whispered crackle into your ear.

Your heart lurches, beating on the hollow bars of your ribcage. It takes every bit of willpower to combat the reckless abandon that floods through you at the feeling. 

With trembling hands, you take out the top box and ignore the way your elbow brushes the fabric at his crotch. SZC is scribbled on its cover with dried-out ink. Szechuan chicken. 

You refuse to face him when you ask: “How’d you know?” 

He moves to hand you a bottle of flavoured water, wrapped in a large palm. Clementine.

Right.

Jaunty cheers, claps on the back. You’re squeezed between Gaz and Price on one side of a booth, still equipped in full gear. The aftermath of your first assignment with Al Bravo, minimal damage. Your cheek is cut up, but you hardly feel it in the hazy satisfaction. Dim, golden lights. The tabletop is sticky with spilled booze. 

Outlined eyes linger on the site longer than the pain does. You squirm and tell yourself it’s for lack of wiggle room. 

“--and your plans?” Laswell nods, curving attentions to you. She’d been talking about her wife, about returning to a house someone has kept alive. Watered plants, betta fish too. You search for an answer that’ll hold as much significance and come up empty. Your lone fern is long dead by now.

“Order take out. Chinese probably, something spicy. Sick of the protein bars.” 

“Mobile cooks are rare to find.” She chuckles. “but hey, I’ll drink to that.”

You don’t reciprocate, though; she turns to talk to Price in lieu of your frown. Simon’s still on you; hawk-like, scrutiny framed by the dark fabric of another mask. Bulky arms cross over his chest, his shirt folded to his elbows. You’d been surprised to find tattoos, ink shading the entirety of an exposed forearm, folded to the contours of rippling muscle. Missiles, dog tags, barbed wire.

You hope your droopy lashes are enough to hide the way you study him in turn.

Soap, ears tinged pink, beckons the barmaid. “Round o’ beers for the table, lass.” It pulls you from your stupor. 

You wave at her – “Just a LaCroix for me, thanks.” – and bite your lip through the onslaught of objecting groans. It’s your second one, she knows to get you the orange kind.

Gaz: “How d’you ever let loose?” 

Price: “You deserve as much of a break as the rest of us, Scout.” 

You grimace and shake your head until they temper down to bemused grunts. 

Then –

“You don' drink?” 

It’d been a while since he’d spoken. His voice seeps like molasses onto snow. You think of the backyard maple popsicles from girlhood, your mom on the porch, drunk as she watches, uninterested. 

“No,” You chortle. “Dangerous when I’m loose lipped.”

He’s spread across the ratty couch you’ve never bothered using – diagonal to you – legs parted with both feet on the ground. You look anywhere but the space between his knees. 

“Don’t understand why we’re still here.” Capsaicin blazes up your tongue, vengeful in the fresh bout of air as you speak. Your stomach weighs heavier, cushioned in the swell of your gut, twinging uncomfortably – not for lack of space. Uncertainty; it looms like a mushroom cloud, the devastating fallouts of nuclear strife. You can’t imagine the Lieutenant a perverse man. Yet, to be eating alone like this–

“Chicken?” You offer, tipping your box with the prods of your chopsticks.

He cocks his head to the side, pupils trained on your conciliatory expression.

“More of a sesame guy, myself.” 

Of course. Sesame; honeyed, cloying.

Las Almas – Graves’ betrayal too deep a wound to do anything but smoke as you wait for Soap to find his way back to you. Rendezvous at the church. 

I’d murder for a whiskey. 

You mean scotch? 

I drink bourbon.

You’d giggled into the collar of your coat. Ghost’s tense leg tips towards yours, bumping knees. 

Got a sweet tooth, Lt? Hummed for only him to hear.

Problem, Scout? 

Negative, sir. 

He’d taken your cigarette and extinguished it on a decorative cross, half-moon stare fixed on you as he did. 

Simon’s one for caramelised spice, smooth sugar on the senses. Johnny had been shocked – like a good ol’ boy – but you thought it fit, oddly. This life means constant calamity, precipitous wrecking balls to unsteady foundations you try to rebuild. Bones, flesh – they shatter and rip and leave you with nothing but sand-grain memories that slip like water. 

It’s hard to indulge in something so fragile. Heedless, stupid. 

There are constants assured to never waver; you all have your vices.

“They’re in there. Jus’ a matter of waiting for ‘em to show their hand.” He adds to your initial inquiry. Sighing, you push your food away.

“Can’t we send in an extraction team?” 

His silence is telling. Bottomless pits pin you down, an anvil in influence alone. Your lips thin to a pursed line. 

It makes sense why Laswell won’t act on it – the compound across the street, said to be packed with chemists in cahoots with foreign extremists. If they’re truly a threat to national security, their circumspection is indicative of the havoc they could wreak. A treacherous threat is a quiet one. 

Your pocket droops with evidence to the fact, your shoulders alongside it. 

Bowed posture, loaded brow – exhaustion slowly inches up on you. You hadn’t noticed your arid state, sandpaper eyes, stooping lower with every blink. You foolishly wonder if he did, though; if Simon reads you like you do him. Does he know you trace your palm when you’re tired, marking the creases an old fortune teller read long ago? Your life line is vague, hun, so too is the sun. But would you look at that, oh! Your mother should be so proud – as thick and long as a tree root, that’s your heart line, right there. Sweet girl.

Your mother couldn’t have cared less. 

You roll your neck to loosen knotted kinks and reach for the paperboard container in your hoodie’s side. 

The cigarette doesn’t fit right in your hands this time; a paper-thin thing you draw life from,  too easily collapsible. There are more substantial materials in this world. Rocks, erosive seasalt – a hobby or two. Muscle, timbre, blue-black eyes. A skull that meant death to most, but not to you. 

You hold out on lighting it. Partially for current company. (More so than you’d like to admit.) 

Simon’s arms rest on the back of the couch. He looks sinful like this, tempting. Freshly ripe apple at the centre of Eden; you don’t think he’d lead you to damnation, but his cold study tells you otherwise. 

The hush isn’t awkward, not really. You can continue; you know he’d prefer it. 

But something in him is blinding. Not a sun – red-hot, sweltering – he doesn’t make you sick after too long in his presence. No – more akin to an interrogative light; harsh, illuminating the sweat that beads at your temple. He urges you to spill, spill, spill, until what squeezes your chest releases its iron clutch and you’re panting with the release of a secret you never wanted to keep.  

So–

“Where do you go all day, anyway?” You tease, cheeks rounded with a soft – or what you hope to be soft, and not an unsure grimace – smile. 

“Out.” Simon responds, a scratch in his words. His chest squares, broadening into a behemoth that should intimidate. That’s why no one talks ta ye, Lt. Soap broached once. Ye’re too big.

All for weeding out pointless chatter, he’d said.

This is pointless. But he’s still here, drawn to bite back at your ludic jabs, tuned in to the miniscule breaths that escape you as you scramble for a response. You think you know him, think he knows you. You lick your lips. “Mmm. That’s news to me.” 

And if you hadn’t been you – if you hadn’t been talked through a bullet to the thigh by his brute reassurance and dry humour alone – you might’ve missed the amusement that laces through his next syllables. “And where do you think I go?” 

The reciprocation licks at the base of your spine. Yearning. 

You suppress a shiver; seven trumpets to the apocalypse. His deep tone calls for devastation, Armageddon. 

You spit the first thing that comes to mind. 

“To shag it up with the girl in apartment eight.” 

And still with the revelation of what you just said. 

Your hands bury into your lap, embarrassment rising like a high tide in the pit of your bowels. If you were Soap, you’d have gotten away with it. Banter; she's aye asking about ya, Simon. Y’should give ‘er a chance. 

But you’re a schoolgirl again; fresh-faced, wide-eyed. Pencil shavings, question erasers – flip it and ask about the boy you like. You’re naive enough to try it until ‘yes’ faces upwards. 

“Afraid she’s not my type.” 

And that’s all he gives you. 

A silly hope bubbles, absent of all logic. You want to push it; to tear at delicate petals, chanting. He loves me, he loves me not. Silly recess games, dancing around each other on the playground: what is your type, Lt? Girls in sheer dresses to welcome you at the door? God forbid – the sergeant? John Mactavish with his stupid little mohawk and sunshine grin? 

Probably far away from women who have their inhibitions compromised – who run on nicotine and not much else. Vacant husk.

But if it were him. If he was the force between your fingers – blood-filled, thickset, shooting into your willing mouth – you’d abandon it all in a heartbeat. Cheek on his shoulder, cunt speared on his knuckles. Pumping, slick. Licking the salt up off his forehead. 

Fuck. 

You tut and flip your cigarette – unlit – to put back in amongst the others. The exposed end, stuffed with grey cinders, sticks out like a sore thumb. 

You’ll come back to it when you’re over this, when your dependency singles down to material things. Thirteen bucks, that’s all a pack costs – your wager on Ghost veers dangerously close to bankruptcy. 

“Go to bed, Scout. I’ll take next watch.” 

You don’t tell him Soap called dibs. They can hash it out between themselves.  You dream of kissing covered lips. Dead ends.

You: Ran out of shampoo. 

read at 3:25 am 

He brings you 2-in-1, head and shoulders. Sandalwood. 

“Didn’ know what you liked.” 

You’re beside yourself – barely contained, beaming ear to ear. Your lungs push for space against the pitter-patter rhythm of your heart. 

“Is this the one you use?” It comes out softer than precedented. Warbled, almost a purr; your chin is mere centimetres away from his chest as you look up at him. They bump when he mutters an affirmative. It’s convenient. 

In your proximity, he fills the entire expanse of your vision. Simon’s massive on his worst days, titanic as he bursts through a sea of soldiers – but here, now, he’s larger than life. Impossible. Enigmatic. Either shadow or brick wall if you reach out, press yourself into him. A crook of the elbow and your hand would be at his groin. 

You can smell it on him. The thin barrier of his balaclava doesn’t prevent it from reaching you; santalol. Mixed into his firewood, earth. He has fresh paint on his eyes. 

It reminds you of scorched newspaper, doused in stimulants and the bite of tobacco. You crave it, even when your last still clouds bitter at the back of your throat. It’s more muscle memory than anything; a nervous tic. To flick a lighter and chase that short headrush. 

He’s enough to hold you over for now, a drug in his own right, but you know – you know the second you turn to the cramped bathroom, door shutting behind you, your knees will buckle. You’ll step over grimy grout and scrub yourself until your skin is irritated, red. 

You hold out for just a moment longer, peering up at your Lieutenant. 

Anxiolytic. 

Then, when you start to outline the rest of him, following the planes of his mask, you force yourself to pull away with an overturning ache. 

You lie and insist you’re not too far gone.

Yet, you touch yourself to the thought of him. 

Holed in the small square shower, your hand clamped over your mouth. The water runs discontinuous, broken by loud hisses and weak pressure. It’s cold at this point, nipping away at heated flesh. Has he left by now? 

No, you hear muffled mumbles right outside. Johnny’s laugh barks loud. 

You’ve long since finished cleaning off, engulfed in a heavy perfume. Sandalwood, masculinity. Ghost. Simon. A projected image lights your closed eyelids; him looming, cornering you into the tiled wall. The showerhead would come to his browbone at full height, but he’d crouch down and kiss you and his hair would drip, droplets beating your cheeks. 

Atta’ girl. 

Husky compliments for only you to hear, cleaving you open on his cock. (Your fingers slip faster over your clit.) Folding you in half, pumping you full, overflowing. (You whimper into your palm.) Biting down on his shoulder, divotting yourself amidst battle-borne scars. 

He’d pinch your guts, you’d feel him in your chest. Tummy bulge, too much, too big. (Your hole quivers around the meagre thrust of your hand.) Spitting in your mouth, filthy, pushed down into a pillow, a wall, the floor. Bruised glutes, pistoning hip. (A bubble in your core nears popping.)

Problem, Scout?

Euphoria builds, a swelling cacophony of string-plucked and pressed pedalboard longing. A colourful sunset bursting into sight. Your legs squeeze; the air tastes like mist and warm sex – you chase the hints of masculinity that drift into the mix. His shampoo, his eyes. A presence more profound than anything else, unmoving and stubborn in the undercurrent of your life. Lodged into a river bank, a buoy when drowning.

A constant assured to never waver – blameless vice. Like sweets, like cigarettes. 

You picture his broad spread – shadowed gaze, hulking thighs. Arms powerful enough to manhandle you into anything and everything, wet clay to his ministrations. It’s not enough – this frantic rutting, hurried masturbation confined to a cubby. You need to feel the extent of him, every bit of skin pressed into yours. To trace those tattoos with washable markers, idle and lazy on a couch, laid up on his lap after a long nap. Domesticity, the type you lacked back home.

A knot clusters at the base of your spine, stuttering in and out of existence. You won’t be able to place it, can’t coax it out. Only him, only him.

Simon.

“Ya almost done, lass?” Soap raps at the door. 

Your heels slide on wet ground. You’re able to pull your hand out from between your thighs in time – smacking against cool walls to stabilise yourself – but not before you let out an emphatic yelp. 

“Bonnie?” He exclaims, louder. 

You gather your breath, blinking. The world tilts.

You’ve been in here too long. 

“Yeah! Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll come out in a bit.” 

Bloody hell.

You halt the spray of water and towel off in a stunned silence – floodgates locked once more. You will yourself to think of anything else – the threat across the street, chemists, terrorists, flavoured water and the saltpetre you shoot off with little thought. Kerosene, bullets lodged in gaping wounds, your mother’s liquor cabinet – closed off, cold heart. 

They always round back to him, duplicitous hands that lead you astray. Off on the wrong path.

Prominent veins that disappear behind painted gloves. Knives strapped to bullet-proof vests. Remembering you liked Chinese, and returning with supplies mere minutes after you’d sent the text. His voice, burrowing deep into marrow, thrumming the very sponge.

Or – maybe he’s everywhere, all at once. 

Dead ends.

When you emerge, your skin is still slightly damp, clinging to the loose clothes you’d thrown on in a fit. Soap leans against the door frame, waiting on you.

“Had us worried for a second.” He smirks. Us – you glance at the other. Simon stands by the window, diligent. “Hope ta God ye didn’ use up all the hot water.” 

You mimic his shit-eating expression. Faux mirth, it doesn’t quite resonate. “The cold is good for your skin, Johnny.”

“A'll take yer word for it, then.” Soap nods, patting your shoulder before slipping past.

You’re left alone with him. 

There’s a persistent twinge, still lodged up velvet walls. It returns with gnawing sincerity at the sight of him. You hold it back, dismissing your internal pleas for a promised release, and tentatively pad over to where he stands.

“Hey,” You whisper. His head tilts the slightest bit, just enough for his spilt-ink irises to latch onto yours. Your gaze flickers down to the jut of his chin. 

“Alright?” 

Three beats before your response. No. Never. Can’t be. 

“‘Course.” The tremble in your legs speaks to the contrary. Nails bite into your palm. You add – “Nothing happened?” – with a vague motion to the street, redirecting your tension to something substantial – a mission with a foreseeable goal. 

“Kitten lost its mother.” He echoes, taking in the way your expression lifts. “Roadkill.” 

“Oh.” Your chest throbs, a faint bang of the doldrums. 

“And,” He appends. “Laswell’s informants say the targets will make a move sometime tomorrow.” 

You ruminate on the knowledge, turning it over in your head. It doesn’t exactly fit, too slippery to be anything to trust. You concede for the time being.

“And when they do?” You ask. 

“We’ll be ready for them.” 

Naturally. You hold onto his tone, that grim determination fizzing through you, charged particles, rallying electricity. And the lightning, that devastating bolt that burns with every bullet, every spotted threat, is a credit to him. Lieutenant, spearhead of your team. 

You find yourself thinking about the after. When sloshing alcohol fills their stomachs in celebration, and the report has been typed, filed into a manilla folder to spoil on some general’s desk – would this memory, too, gather dust? The glimpse of you, doused in his scent, flushed. Takeout, asleep with company – a semblance of true home abandoned between these musty walls. 

It’ll be hard not to miss it. 

You click your tongue, still on the precipice of something. Like hanging off a cliff – you can’t see far enough to gauge whether there’s water to break your fall. Your orgasm is a forgotten prospect by now; you’ve depleted the limited alone time you have for the day.

But–

You search for your cigarettes, that familiar grittiness stuck to the roof of your mouth.

They’re laying on the table, next to Simon’s car keys and gun. 

You take the smallest step forward, wrist spasming. But a large hand wraps around it, completely overtaking you. 

You’re stopped before you can even reach out. He’d been following your eyes. 

“MacTavish’s certainly got bad timing, hasn’ he?” He starts, slowly pulling your hand up to his face. You’re a ragdoll, succumbing to his command. 

What did he mean by that? Bad timing? 

Your gut bottoms out, sinking to unfathomable depths. 

He can’t know. Can he? 

The Sahara Desert. Cracked lips, sunken skin. Your nose burnt, peeling under an unforgiving sun. 

He’d noticed you lagging behind. I’ve got water in my bag. 

I’m good. 

You’re not. Drink. 

And unscrewed the bottle when you proved too weak. 

Ghost is renowned for that brutal efficiency, barked demands in a chaotic field. His strength rings louder than any grenade, released strikers, thrown into your line of vision. As it charges, you picture death and the unfulfilling void your life had been. Mud blows onto your face. Mud, and flaming plastic, and the gore of other victims. A shrill sound only you can hear; danger of going deaf. Danger, danger. A final fatality. No survivors. 

He doesn’t miss a thing. 

He halts when your fingers bump the stretched fabric of his mask. You can feel his breath, hot steam. Skin prickles, and your panties pool with the reminder of his mortality. A ghost, but living nonetheless. 

He draws a deep inhale. 

He knows. 

“Didn’t finish, pet?” 

Shit.

That fucking voice – pestle onto mortar, grinding you down into a candied paste to gorge on. He’s a century old being, emerging from a prison – Tartarus – only to find you, supple and sweet as nectar and completely willing. You blink up at him with lidded eyes, damp eyelashes fanning the crease of your lid. 

“No.” Barely a whisper, all breathlessness. 

His head dips, stooping low to match your height. You can trace the lines that paint seeps into. 

“Turn around. Face the window.” 

Chastised, guilty as a child caught doing something naughty, you swallow the stone in your throat and do as he says.  Somewhere, floating in the deep recesses of your mind, you’re aware you can refuse. He won’t strike up a counter – would pat your hip and send you off to bed.

But your back is to his abdomen now, swapping body-heat and the groans of your internal organs. He’d almost bled out on you once; on a mission in Russia – limping, bread-crumb trail of maroon ichor on untouched snow. Your fear had you heaving into a metal bowl, tucked away in an aeroplane bathroom, refusing to leave until he’d been stabilised next door.

You’d be the traitor that shot him before you pass this up.

A widow’s sky; bedarkened, weeping. Clouds roll over the moon, kraken-cruel, coughing great gouts of water onto the drab buildings in your area. It’s hard to see much beyond the hazy neon sign, scintillating behind fog, and the lone street light. The weather is ideal for enemy attack; they could camouflage in the great pour. 

As it stands, though, all you focus on are the gloves that brush up and down your arms. 

“Keep an eye out. Got it?” 

Wet hair shakes when you nod – so quick to succumb to his every whim. His torso rocks from behind you – a soundless chuckle – and the air shifts as he moves, occupying himself with something, just out of observation.

You’re determined to do right by him. Atta’ girl, rumbled in that inflection of his. Squinting, you leer out on that wretched building, as it has been eight hours a day for the past nine. 

But warm hands start to run up your shirt. Calluses skim, finding the knife-wound scar at your side, pressing into dimpled flesh. He kneads you – tapping into that lush centre, tender as a peach, still there. You’re ripped from your moniker, Scout, and transformed into a blubbering miscreant. 

It takes you a stupidly long time to piece it together. You feel it before you realise; the rough-leather touch, dry enough to scrape gooseflesh. Fingernails, cut short, scratching nerves, wheedling so they shoot liquid desire down to your core.

He’d taken off his gloves. 

Your back arches with renewed vigour, jaw hinging, no barrier between the empty room and your drawn out moan. He’s fucking fire on you, licking up the available expanse of skin until his thumbs brush the plush underswell of your breasts. 

You frantically search for his forearms, scrambling for purchase in his onslaught.  It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last caressed like this. Enough for you to feel brand new, wrapped gift in a prim little bow, eager to be spread, undone. 

A plea balloons in you, knocking teeth, choking. He pinches your pebbled nipples in reprimand, a speechless warning, and you understand, tilting upwards to keep an eye out, lips shut. 

“Look at you, desperate little thing.” He groans, working your tits with Herculean strength. You nearly collapse at the glorious pain it elicits – unwavering focus pointed solely on you, that pragmatic means to an end. You tighten your hold on his wrists, his frame your only support.

“O-Only for… ah–” One hand travels down your navel to coast on the waistband of your sweats. You hiccup, forcing your resilience, staying on task. Keep an eye out

“This what you think about? When you stuff those tiny little fingers up your cunt and tell yourself they’re enough?” 

But you see nothing; nothing but glowing prospects, the sight of what you could be. Rain – inundated, broken to blacking out, sparking power lines, exposed wire. 

You wobble and tail end into a prominent bulge, lower back skimming coarse denim. Simon meets you halfway, lugging you closer, until you fit perfectly against him. Head to chest, back to –

He grinds his pelvis into you, etching himself permanently there. An invisible scar, another brand for your time with the 141 – one marked in black, virile crest onto wool. He’s massive; no one can ever be enough after him – if it was up to you, there won’t be.

“Fuck.” You pique into a whine. “Please… Please, S–” 

“Not here.” He says, slotting his nose above your ear. It’s damnation, this game of tug-of-war, tightroping the line between seething torture and bliss. 

“We can be quick,” 

And he growls, ripping into a feral noise that stuffs your senses as he cups you, finding your soaked distress at its source. “I’ll take my time with you. With this–” He twists a nipple, a sharp sting. “With this–” He pinches the plump fat of your cunt. “Fuckin’ hell, pet. Wicked, is what it is – what you do to me.” 

You bite your tongue and drink the blood that beads, vision blurring with hot tears. It’s the lull after an extinguished tab, the crawling addiction – more, more. 

You need to see him, to look straight ahead at an eclipse as it darkens your world. 

“Yours. I– D-Do whatever… you want,” 

Simon shudders, shaking you along with it, as though you’re one. “I’ll ruin you.”

“M’already there.”   

And then two digits press into your folds, gathering the slick that drips. It must be phantom, with the way the sensation shoots through you, undeterred, stirring that coil of buried pleasure. It must be – supernatural, unreal, startlingly mythological, spoken only through word of mouth for fear of what legends can wreak on paper. 

But it’s fucking real. You’re far too familiar with fleeting dreams, of grinding down on pillows that are too pliable to compare to him. Reading fairy tales to take you someplace else, those books burnt, along with your oak shelves.

This tangibility – the true ripple of muscles under, behind, around you – is nothing of the sort. You feel it in your liver, your throat. Picking the plaque that lines your lungs. 

Simon absolves you of all treason, all guilt. You only exist as you are now, a puddle of divinity.

But as he starts circling your clit, you’re able to discern a slip in the shadows through your bleary lust. 

Along the perimeter of the compound walls, just across the street. 

“H-Hey–” You croak. He tugs you tighter against him, thick finger starting to breach you. Seizing his arm, you bury your lips into his sleeve. “Simon.” 

He slows his efforts, buried quarter way, at the first knuckle. It twitches within you – he can taste the gravitas in your tone. 

“Lt… I think– I think I see something.” 

Destiny switches on its axis, warping back to grim reality. When Ghost instantly withdraws, bolting for his gun, you emerge from the pool of ignorance you’d so willingly dove into. Disappointment, devastation. Undeserving of more than this fleeting touch, non-ordained. Whatever good deed you’d committed to be able to encounter heaven, combated by the kills you’d enacted – hellish girl. 

“SOAP, OUT, NOW.” Ghost bangs at the bathroom door.

He turns to order you – something about spotting him as he goes to confront the threat. 

You’re at a standstill, paralysed – your irises the only things that move as you hunt the cause to his sudden urgency.

Why’s he so worried? 

It was only a shadow. 

Could have been the kitten. Or the Calico that terrorises it. 

A car. Some teenager reckless enough to drive in this downpour. 

You’d ruined your one chance. Your position will be compromised, and when the gunpowder clears, he’ll wake from this purgatory and paint you just as you are. His teammate, relative rookie, nicotine kiss. 

And him, Ghost – Lieutenant. You’ll be stuck searching for Simon in the fissures. 

But your name is not for nothing. 

Scout. You’d earned it in Mexico, on your first mission with him. Spotted a cartel’s corps from a mile away, crouched in the undergrowth, dressed in all green. 

You’re the reason we’re alive, kid. 

It comes to you clear as diamond, purified with static pressure and graphite. Filling in the scratches, glinting – winking – at you. 

A red laser, pointed straight at your chest. 

Sniper. 

“GET DOWN.” That cockney cadence, launched louder than ever before. 

Your Lieutenant doesn’t yell, not at you. 

At Soap. At Gaz. Sometimes even at Price. 

Never at you. 

“SCOUT.”

A careening mass throws you down onto the carpeted floor – a crushing boulder in weight alone. You hardly register the solid arms that wrap around you – the hard-plate chest you’re tucked against – before a clamorous whistle strikes the motel.

The blast bursts near your head, spewing merciless fusillade. The walls cave in, fire rupturing from the screeching bomb. 

Red clouds your vision – blood or ire or your harrowing life, flashing before your eyes.

There’s a ringing in your ears. You think of Simon, of climbing sycamore trees and sleeping on its branches. Eating honey from a pot, disposing of your damned habits – that one upturned stick, to be lit once you’d moved on. Your Papa had told you the tale, skin-wrapped bones, laying on his deathbed. 

Back in the trenches, my friends and I would invert a single cigarette upon buying a new pack. If we lived long enough to smoke it, we were of the lucky few.

You lose consciousness, buried beneath rubble and a hulking body.

Kerosene, arson – gunmetal sulphur pouring into your bedroom in the dead of night. You had owned a collection of vintage dolls, dressed in decorative lace and bonnets, given to you by a distant relative. Their porcelain faces had melted in the heat. 

You’d been counting stars the evening before, perched on a ledge, waiting for one to blink onto the obsidian. There was a meteorite instead, a streak of glimmering marvel on the edges of a tree, dissolving in earth’s atmosphere. You hadn’t made a wish, but you’d left the window open for your Papa to come back. 

It was the only exit out when your door crumbled to ash. 

A vermillion blaze versus a two story drop. You took your chances barefoot when your mother’s liquor cabinet fed the flames, inferno now. Jumping out into the muggy yard, your nightgown snagging splinters. Cushioned by a rosebush she had stopped tending to – dry, with razor-sharp thorns. 

She was too inebriated to rise on her own two feet. Dead, along with the house, once home.

When you come to, you’re in the medbay back on base. 

You suffered a second-degree burn on your shoulder and a head trauma worth eight stitches, and not much else. 

Your brain, switched out for bromine-doused cotton, takes a while to recall the events that led you here. You play a game of catchup before you greet the world, memories stuck behind a blurry pane of overwhelming emotion. You don’t exactly remember so much as you feel; desire, confusion, a terrifying sense of peace while embraced by a force that meant safety. 

No, that’s not quite right. 

Your neck aches. When was the last time you ate? 

You need a cigarette.  

Not embraced. 

Your eyes fly open. 

Simon. 

“Hey, hey.” Gentle hands press your torso, thumbing you back down on the stiff cot. The voice is higher-pitched than his, softer. Laswell. “Easy there, Scout. You’re still hurt.”

The monitor picks up on your alarm, beeping in tandem to the staggering tread of your heart. Your ribcage closes in on itself, paradigm of dread – you can’t stop the nervous tremor in your fingers. 

A white halo frames the Inspector General, highlighting the flyaways on her blonde bun. Her blouse, typically steam-pressed to perfection, gathers in wrinkles instead. 

You’re sure you look worse. Your tongue wilts with lack of hydration.  

“W-What happened,” Thankfully, she picks up on the croak in your tone and hands you a bottle of water. Unflavoured – not clementine. 

She goes about explaining as you drink. Faulty information, distorted by word of mouth. Turned out to be one day off. They’d been intent on transporting their cargo – the unlawful compounds worked on for months – until someone tipped them to your location. One too many sightings, I’m afraid. The boys were reckless with how often they left. 

You digest the events with little more than a nod. Building anticipation constricts your throat; your attempt to address it comes out unsteady,

“And…” The question dies before it's posed, breaking off to clot the air. Your fears; too afraid to speak them into fruition.

But Laswell gives you a small smile, patting your blanketed calf. 

“They’re alright. MacTavish is still out – he got the worst of it I’m afraid. Was as naked as the day he was born when we found him, but he’s stable.” A cold wave of relief urges the humourless chortle to tumble from your lips – an excavation of a grim unease, fossilised deep in your gut. “The Lieutenant was discharged last week.” 

Biting your lip, you duck your head to idly observe the IV taped to your forearm. A new haar of synthetic smoke purges you; for once, a deep inhale of a substance that won’t rot. The knowledge that he’s okay – fully whole, out there, somewhere – lends itself to that tantalising urge, fulfils it better than thirteen bucks every will. 

You follow the tube that pumps you full of drugs and land on your phone, glowing on your nightstand. 

“We were able to salvage a few things. It’s broken, but it works.” 

You blink and hope your appreciation flashes through.

Lemon antiseptic, the metallic tang of stainless steel left out in the open. An intercom, someplace distant, blares static orders to the late night nurses that bustle down the hall.

It’s not until Laswell leaves and you’re alone, restless, entangled in taut sheets, that you check your messages. 

Two unopened. Both under one contact – Lt.

Found him in the wreckage.

sent tuesday

Accompanied by a photo.

A ginger kitten with a scalded nose, curled up in the crook of a tattooed forearm.

You don’t see him for a month afterwards. 

The Captain and Kyle visit after Soap wakes. They crowd into your room, in full arms, and tell you stories about Damascus. 

Kibbeh, they call it. I was just about ready to stuff ten into my pockets. It was just that good.

Don’ tempt me, Garrick. A'v been livin’ off soup an jello for two weeks.

You slump into your single pillow and imagine you’re anywhere but here. 

Bulgur wheat pounded with meat, rolled into a ball – toasted pine nuts and spice. Standing below mosaic arches, cover from the light shower and a fragile, pellucid sky. Backgammon in a cafe. 

Atop a windowsill, legs swinging as you look for your Papa in the night. Still full from your peanut-butter and jelly sandwich dinner, made with grubby little hands, tiptoeing to reach the kitchen counter. Roses, just watered, still thriving.

Coffin nail, death stick. Flipping a cigarette, seated across a man who refuses to let you light it. Szechuan chicken smeared down your throat, a disused motel transformed sanctuary. That titillating crush, culminating to desperate gropes, attuned to what you like. 

As your sutures dissolve, you spend an endless stretch of time hovering over a keypad. Your last sent message – what’d you name him – left with no response. Dead ends.

You ask Laswell to get you a pack of Marlboro red and deplete the twenty before you’re discharged. She brings along a fresh set of clothes; leggings, a hoodie and gloves. They keep you snug when you step out into the winter wind. 

Snow detonates under the crunch of your boots, the world around you imprisoned in a glair-white silence. Nothing sounds, nothing stirs, nothing sings. Your breath is visible, glittering like angel-fire. A buzzing mind – founded in two cigarettes over the past hour – entices you to act beyond reason. You rent a car and drive three hours out. 

It’s 9:02 pm when you text him, curled up on the couch in your safehouse.

You: finally out

[attached: current location] 

And you don’t wait for a response. You place your phone face down and click to a random gossip network. All on D-list celebrities – you forgot to pay your cable bill. 

Actress baby bumps and divorce scandals sing you to sleep.

read at 9:03 pm

Broad shoulders – dusted in powder from the storm outside – occlude your entryway. 

You bat away the exhaustion roiling your senses, breathing through the obnoxious lurch of your stomach. 

Ghost towers over you, ball cap and mask covered, larger than you remember him. 

You’re the one who invited him. And yet–

His actual appearance unnerves you to the point of emphysema. 

It all comes swarming back to you.

The pulsing ardour, renewed vitality pumped into a hollow conch. Wet firewood, camp smouldering as fat droplets, sobbing clouds, splash on a barbecue. That smell that carries in with harsh weather – coal and warmth from an unknown source, snuggling under a quilt with a window swung open because you just can’t get enough. 

Bottomless chasms, anointed scelaras – central heterochromia, flecks of blue and a ring of black painted onto pupils that pin you down. 

Your brow furrows, indents to store the unspoken, bereft of assurance. Your inquiry cracks with a petrifying amount of vulnerability.

“How are you?” 

He takes a step forward. “Your head–” 

“Almost a scar at this point,” You grin, brushing over the wound. 

“And Johnny?” 

“Better than ever.”

“You mean to tell me, you haven’t been in contact with anyone since Sudbury?” 

A candle flickers from its place on your television console – peppermint and the aroma of melted wax. You’d muted the program at one point. Now, all there is to go on is the polychromatic motley of cartoon characters, suffering injuries that progressively grow more animated. 

The scene illuminates Simon’s otherwise shadowed form – pink and blues lighting the skull on his face mask. You’d travelled to your couch, spread across its length with him seated at your feet. His thigh tenses by your ankle. 

“Hm.” Pinky twitching, it brushes your heel. 

“Sent on some other mission, then?” 

“Negative.” He gruffs, the clipped answer popping like kindling logs, and shifts towards you. Cushions sink, unused to his musculature, and LED hues warp along the exposed skin of his forehead. His hood is still up, hat fixed on his head – you can’t see his hair – but ashen eyelashes tell you it's blonde. 

You watch the way his knee jumps, boot tapping the hardwood floor. Since you invited him in, suspense has radiated off everything he does. Like he’s primed, in that instinctual mode that triggers before a fight, panther on its haunches. 

You think you know why. 

“It’s not your fault, Lt.” 

His brow bone sets, hanging over the boundless stare that slides to you. 

Knees bending, you tuck your legs underneath you to move closer. Pandora’s box.

“I left too often. Got spotted too many times.” 

The concession comes in an earth-shattering quietness. 

Simon tends to corners, alleyways too narrow to fit him, eclipse, his subtlety the upper-hand in every battle. Dressed in tenebrosity – a gloaming shade, stibnite eyes – he veers on the precipice of anonymity. He had been, for the longest time. Ghost and that’s all, assurance to a quick kill before he fades from the radar. No safehouse, no name, a quick glimpse at a face. His file, composed of black bar censors.

Who’s he? Newly introduced to the 141, tail of liquor not far behind you. 

That’s your Lieutenant. You’d do well to keep him as just that. 

When you were a kid, you thought twilight was when the world would be plunged into the slag, a stygian crypt. Darling child, you should be in bed. When the moon turns its back on you and you’re left with nothing but the northern star.

But your Papa pointed the truth out on one of your several camping trips, just the two of you in the midst of a congested wood, laying against thick Sycamore trunks. 

Twilight is when the sun rounds just below the horizon. 

That little clarity, paling blue. When you wake up to the reflection of its rays blushing your tent walls, and you’re able to see the outline of your hands. Still dark enough to go back to bed, but a sign you have a new day waiting on you. The tipping point of tranquillity. 

He’s twilight; here, now. Laying down a slice of guilt he stuffs bone-deep.

“And you saved my life.” 

Simon takes a moment, then nods, a minute incline of his head. 

“I’m sorry too, y’know.” You smooth over the hair that feathers his forearm. This one is a blank canvas, completely bare save for the white scars that cross it. “If I hadn’t distracted–”

“No.” His hand is sweltering when it engulfs yours. “Don’ apologise for that.” 

An ignored promise rustles. Not here. I’ll take my time with you.

“Simon…” 

He murmurs your real name in response, the sound pulled deep from within the recesses of his chest, as though it’s been stored there for aeons. A gem in a dragon’s den. It calls to vertigo, a surge of adrenaline, free-falling. Like tilting your body back on a swing, legs kicked to the air – knowing there’s sand to break your tumble but screaming nonetheless. 

“I still–” 

His head dips low to face yours. Nose on nose. A warning rumble as he snarls. 

“I know, pet. Me too.”

Your pulse thumps, centred in on that bundle of nerves at your core. Cornered prey, backed into the arm of your couch. Touching yourself to the thought of this very thing, enclosed in a shower, him right outside – he fills your view. All you see are those eyes that light with lechery. All you feel is his arm, rounding your waist.

“Y-You– haven’t… haven’t seen my bedroom yet.” He shudders, then stiffens, clasping you securely to his man of steel. His mouth tucks to your ear, subsequent whisper a savage vow.

“I think I’ll be able to find it.” 

With one swift heave, he throws you over his shoulder, resolute against your coquettish squeals.

“Don’t you fucking hide from me. Spread your legs, pet, let me see that cunt.” 

An iron wall presses you down onto the duvet, suffocating, completely submerging you in skin-wrapped sinew, meaty arms caging you in on either side. Your panties were the last to go, stubbornly moist and clinging to glossy lips. He had helped you slip them from your ankles. 

“J-Jus’ fuck me… We can do the oth… other stuff– ah-” 

He’s still in his jeans, a staunch contrast against your nude, slot between your trembling legs. Nails graze the edge of his belt buckle. The bulge constrained by denim is enough to tempt you in forgoing the foreplay.

But he slaps your thigh, the blow sharp as the sting that blossoms under impact. Your hips buck, a hiss blowing from between your teeth.

“It won’t fit like this,” Simon grits, hooking those large hands under your knees. He manoeuvres you with little effort, folding you in half to bear your pussy to his wandering eyes. The hoodie slips off when he hangs his head low. 

Honey tresses, dirtied blonde – streaks of brown. Cropped short at the sides but unkempt where he’s able to brush it back under the balaclava. 

Your panting halts for the second you take him in. Eyes flicker up to your open expression, lips parted. You don’t see it, but he smiles – just the slightest bit – under the mask. 

“You’re quivering.” 

“Huh?” 

His thumb swipes over your hole. 

“Oh–” 

He takes advantage of your reverential state and dives, sliding to lay on his front. You’re hardly able to register it when he flips off his mask, before his nose presses to your clit, stifling heat completely engulfing you. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” A groan, muffled by lewd slurps and squelches. Your back arches, and his arms move to support it as you thrust into his eager mouth. 

Simon fucking devours you, absorbed in the endless slick that seeps. Dextrous, mimicking the motion’s you’ve long since memorised in your fantasies. Those nights in Sudbury, where he kept you company as you dreamt of being splayed on that cot, three fingers plunging into your airtights depths. He sucks the moisture, that sticky sweetness that transforms into something else in his presence. From polluted waste, toxic chemicals rung from cigarettes and self-loathing, to nostalgia, nectar – life before it had gone to shit. 

He’s stone while keeping you in place, intractable, offering you no choice but to clutch onto fresh sheets and sob out to nothing. No prayers, no pleas; you’re an incoherent mess in his onslaught, tangent syllables of Si…mon and so g-good. You don’t beg for release or deceleration – nothing you say goes. It’s just him, just that fucking… expert tongue, sinful desire. Fingers buried into flesh, calling sore bruises.

To find purchase in that hair, clinging onto locks that are still somewhat damp. He’d showered before he came, soaped in sandalwood – 2-in-1. It’s convenient. You’ve gained an affection for the fragrance, foraging for it everywhere. Cologne, air-freshener, chapstick. Jotted on your grocery list, shampoo, body wash – timbre tinted, essence of him. You capsize into the masculinity that emanates from those honey curls, pushing him onto you, tongue swatching deeper. Deeper. 

You’d take him raw, too. Post-workout, sweat-coated. Stripping those layers after a mission, laying him down. Lemme take care of you. Musk, unadulterated redolence. The salty tang down his pecs, licking fervent adoration, a four letter word spelt in glistening spit upon a muscled abdomen. Cupping his balls with steadfast devotion, gaping fauces clicking with the ram of his tip, swallowing him deeper. Deeper. 

The digits that had been there – testing waters before the motel was bombed – return, gathering the liquid that pools down the crest of your ass. He brushes the tight ring of muscle, pauses, then carries on in his endeavour to stretch you open on his fingers. 

Nothing could prepare you for the empyrean pleasure that wracks through you when the two are fully situated, up to their ends, quirking back to hit that spongy wall. 

“So fuckin’ tight. Can barely move ‘em, pet.” He groans. Your eyes squeeze shut, neck thrown back, rising into salvation. Paradise. 

No; beyond that. This gratification wasn’t born in strife, no wars were waged in its name – the first crusade, witch hunts. It’s a thread, separate from it all, diverging from literature and alcohol, taking with it nicotiana, an uprooted plant. It’s something new, something the two of you create – Simon, Ghost, embedded into someone who’s waiting a lifetime for him. 

“I– I’m–” Your insides entwine, tingling self-indulgence skipping up your spine, hightailing your head. He’s added a third, scissoring your velvet walls apart, giving into the vacuum and delving with twice the power. “Simon! Ple… Please–”

“Give it to me, c’mon.” Your calves curve over his back, holding him there. Gut, intestines, your heart; they threaten to snap, to succumb to the eternal gravitas of the force between your legs. 

You gush into his wide mouth, flooding him in a heady ambrosia. 

And Simon – leviathan that prospers in the cavernous wet – swallows it all, kneading tempting circles under your knees.

“Atta’ girl.”

“I bought you something.” You mention between hushed moans.

His heavy body wraps around yours, holding you to a bare chest, his hips pistoning lazily into the plummet of your pussy. A swollen cock spears your open, wedged so deep it touches your cervix with flighty pecks. 

Likewise, he presses sloppy kisses on the bend where your neck meets your shoulder. His chin is still soaked with liquid sex. 

“Yeah?” The taunt vibrates through you. You feel it settle in the place you reserve, just for him. 

Delirious, stuffed chock-full of your favourite vice, you giggle. “Mmm. Chocolates.” 

Rough fingertips seek your clit, deliciously abrasive as they rub it in, unyielding. Your fourth orgasm slithers up on you. 

“Chocolate?” 

You turn to meet his lips, clacking teeth. When you speak again, you realise with dizzying lucidity that the taste of tobacco is long gone, replaced by the evidence of intimacy and lingering bourbon. 

“Y-yeah… Sweet tooth.” 

Simon drives himself deeper into you.

“There are sweeter things.”

He’d named the kitten Tommy.

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[rafeandonlyrafe]

m.i.a.

words: 900

warnings: mentions of violence/murder but it is not serious, rafe being kind of controlling but mainly freaking out

“can you get your nose out of your phone country club?” barry asks, as rafe has them pull over yet again on their ride to the other side of the island.

“y/n hasn’t responded yet, i’m fucking worried man, she never takes this long to reply to my text.” rafe knew that you were planning on surfing with a couple of your friends, but you sent him a text saying that you got home three hours ago, and you haven’t responded since. 

“maybe she’s too busy with another dude.” barry says with a laugh, but then catches rafes worried face, “man, i’m messing with you. she’s crazy in love with you, maybe her phone just died.”

“yeah, maybe.” rafe sighs, pushing the phone into his pocket. “lets ride.” he doesn’t mention to barry that your house is on this side of the island and after they finish their business that he’s stopping by.

rafe puts his helmet back on as they take off, sour look on his face as his mind runs through the scenarios of what you might be doing. barry rolls his eyes, knowing the quick job they were supposed to do is now going to be a lot more complicated with rafe being all grumpy.

“i’m gonna kill whoever she is with.” rafe says when they stop at the house they’re supposed to pick up some money from.

“rafe!” barry groans. “focus on the job. this dude is giving us half up front, the other half when we deliver the product. don’t fuck anything up.”

“how can i fuck up him handing over some money?” rafe sets his helmet down on his bike seat. “come on, i just want to hurry up and get it over with, i need to go to y/ns house.”

“alright, man.” barry rolls his eyes, heading towards the house. rafe is silent for the entire handover, brooding in the corner, occasionally pulling out his phone to send you a text.

“i think you scared the crap out of him.” barry says as they leave, getting back on their bikes. “do you want me to come with you to y/ns?” 

“yeah. if someone is there with her you can fucking shoot him.” rafe revs his bike before taking off.

barry sighs, knowing rafe is overreacting, but can’t get out of the cycle of anger thats spiraling in his head. he follows close behind, only a short ride to your house, a cottage right on the water that got passed down to you from your grandma. 

“no other car in the driveway.” rafe observes, parking his bike right behind your jeep. “of course not. i’m telling you man, she’s head over heels for you, she’s not cheating.” barry says, heading to the door right behind rafe. 

rafe takes his keys out of his pocket, opening your front door with the key you gifted to him on your one year anniversary, giving him access to your house whenever he wants.

“living room clear.” barry says.

“we’re not fucking cops.” rafe says, heading right towards your bedroom. he pushes the door open, stopping when he sees you laying on your bed, phone abandoned on your nightstand, eyes closed as you nap.

“aww, my baby.” all of the worries going on in rafes head are completely gone, seeing that you’ve simply fallen asleep, not ignored or cheated on him. 

you move in your sleep, adjusting to lay on your side. rafe moves to the side of your bed, needing to be close to you after all the worry that went through his head.

“hey, honey.” rafe places his hand on your cheek, rubbing it gently.

your eyes flutter open, taking in rafes face. “rafey.” you go to sit up, but rafe stops you. “i- i didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry.” 

“it’s okay, honey.” rafe kisses you gently, “you must have been tired after surfing, huh?”

you go to reply when you realize you’re not alone in the room, startling slightly as your eyes land on barry. “oh!” you press a hand to your chest. “hi barry!”

“hi y/n.” he looks to rafe. “told you, country club. see you tomorrow.” barry walks out of your room, closing the door behind him.

“told you what?” you ask as rafe slips off his shoes, climbing into bed with you.

“oh, it’s nothing.” rafe says, but you can tell from his tone that something is off. “what?” you giggle, slinging your leg over his waist, snuggling in close.

“i just… kinda freaked out when you didn’t answer your phone.” rafe admits, wrapping an arm around your shoulders so you can rest your head against his chest.

“you didn’t think i was cheating on you, did you?” you laugh, but instantly shut your mouth seeing that rafe frowns. “baby!” you sit up slightly. “you really think i would do that to you?”

“no, i don’t.” rafe pulls you back to laying down. “i was just thinking of the worst case scenario.” 

“well, i would never do that to you honey.” you kiss him deeply, but have to pull away to yawn. “i was just sleepy.”

“aww, my sleepy baby.” rafe laughs. “wanna keep napping? i’ll stay here.”

“you sure? you’re all done with barry?” you ask, but pull the blanket over your bodies and close your ask. “yes, and even if i wasn’t, you come first.”

you giggle, “thank you honey… can we spoon?”

#reupload! #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron one shot

[star-suh]

Don't Chew More Than You Can Swallow

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: top johnny, pseudo-incest, underwear kink, musk kink, degradation, praising, breeding, hickeys, blowjob, deepthroat, manhandling, implied size kink, snowballing, age gap (yn is 20 and johnny is 25).

an: this is the other idea from @ldrei

also i was lazy to think about names for the mom and the stepfather so yuh.

—

“ok yn, i want you to put on a smile on that face we're almost near the house” yn's mom said while driving towards their new home.

some years ago yn was part of a loving and happy family until one day his father, an honorable police officer, died during a raid against a gang. yn and his mother were devastated, mourning his death for the next couple of months. but life goes on and we have to let go and move on, right? after like a year yn's mother started dating another police officer, months later they made their relationship official and decided to get married, which brings us to the beginning of the story, yn and his mother would move to their new home, where yn's new father and new brother, a 25 years old guy, live already.

“hello we're home” yn's mom greeted, “hey honey” yn's stepdad appeared and kissed her, “hey yn, how are you?”; “i'm good.. thanks” he replied, “glad to know that” the older man said with a smile on his face.

yn walked towards the kitchen searching for a glass to drink some water, “the cups are up there” someone said, yn turned around and there he was his new stepbrother “the name's johnny” he extended his hand and yn grabbed it to shake it, his hand was way bigger than yn's, “i'm yn.. n-nice to meet you” he laughed nervously, “i say the same, see you later then” johnny said winking at him and waving a goodbye.

a couple of months have passed, everything was going good for everyone except for yn. he was thirsting over johnny 24/7, when he walked around the house with just a short on and no underwear because he can clearly see his bulge swing around everytime he walks, his body is to die for ‘god i wish i could lick those abs right now’ thought yn. it was even more harder for yn to not think about johnny fucking him when he was on the room next to him rearranging some woman's insides, the banging sounds going straight to yn's ears, ‘i wish that was me’ he thought. and that's the only thing yn can do, fantasize about him because well… his stepbrother is straight.

johnny sent yn to search something in his room, he did as he was told but something catches his attention, a pair of underwears resting on a pile of clothes. driven by his impulses, he grabbed one and began to sniff it, his face immediately turning red and a bulge growing in his pants "johnny~" he moaned softly.

he went quickly to his room, locked the door and began to jerk off, wrapping the underwear around his cock sliding it up and down while biting a pillow to suppress the moans.

the weeks passed and yn's desire for johnny only increased. every time johnny brought someone home to fuck, while his parents were away, yn always masturbated listening to their moans.

one day yn was masturbating again with his the underwear until a voice interrupted him, "hey yn!" a shirtless johnny called opening the door with a bang "what the hell were you doing? i've been calling you for a while" he asked with a somewhat angry tone. "sorry johnny, what do you want?" yn questioned, "these last few months you have been the one picking the dirty clothes to take them to the laundry room, have you by any chance seen my underwear? they have been missing” he scratches his head. “i have no idea johnny” yn replied with a nervous laugh. “hmm… it's okay” and just like that, johnny left.

worried that johnny would find out, he grabbed all the dirty clothes and ran down to the laundry room. there he turned on the washing machine and placed the underwear there and just when he was going to press the button to start the washing cycle a big hand stopped him, a low and very deep voice whispered in his ear "i thought you didn't know where my fucking underwear was" the warm breath sending shivers down his spine, “you're such a dirty pervert yn” he laugh was deep and sexy.

“j-johnny i-i” yn didn't know what to do, “you thought you were slick with it but no, did you think i didn't notice how you stared at me every time i walked around the house shirtless, how your eyes went from my abs to my bulge, shit i even could feel how you fucked me with your eyes”. johnny positioned himself behind yn, his huge bulge rubbing against yn's ass, "even every night i fucked someone i could hear your slutty moans on the other side of the wall, how you moaned my name was… so sexy... now i kinda want to hear them again" the taller was leaving small kisses on yn's neck, he then took out his huge cock from his shorts and rubbed it on yn's clothed ass “do you want to taste my cock, yn?", his sexy low voice doing things down there on yn's crotch area.

“j-johnny” yn stuttered “i-i'm sorry” a little moan escaping his mouth. “if you want to apologize you have to take responsibility about this” he slams his thick heavy cock against yn's ass again. “y-yes” yn fell to his knees and started kissing the tip, using one hand to stroke the rest of the shaft while the other was stroking his own.

“you're so nasty yn, look at you sucking at your brother's cock. aren't you such a nasty slut huh?” johnny grabs his head and starts to mouthfuck him, forcing yn to deepthroat him, “come on you can do more than that, it's barely halfway in”, little by little yn swallowed it all, johnny locked his head with his arms. the gagging sounds being like music to his ears. “there you go, you're doing so good for me”.

johnny lifted yn and fold him against the washing machine, rubbing the tip of his cock in the other's hole “want me to destroy you, cockwhore?” he says once again using that sexy low voice that drives yn crazy “p-please~ do it”.

johnny was slamming so hard that the washing machine was moving too, yn's legs were shaking due to how good johnny was fucking him, "how does my little fucktoy feel.. is this what you wanted? my thick, heavy cock opening your ass?"; “yes johnny please wreck me” yn replied withiut thinking, “so desperate”.

johnny lifted yn and carried him from the laundry room to his bedroom but without stopping fucking him. the thrusts were slow but as powerful as the harsh ones because he always manages to brush yn's prostate with the tip of his cock, drawing whimpers out of his mouth that made johnny chuckle, ‘so cute’ he thinks.

they're finally on the bedroom, johnny throw yn towards his bed, attacking his neck with kisses and leaving some bruises here and there. his big, tall body towering over yn's. “i have a deal for you” the taller comments, “if you can take me without cumming you'll be my little fucktoy boyfriend. what do you think?” he keeps on kissing yn's body until he reaches the nipples and suck on them. “hngh i really w-want that” the bottom squirmed.

the fat cock went in and out, going in even harder than the last time, johnny's balls slapping against yn's ass “who's being a good cockwhore?” the top asks, “m-... me” yn struggles to answer due to the harsh thrusts “i'm johnny's g-good cockwhore”.

“but you're only mine right?”.

“yeah i'm only yours…”.

both sealed the deal with a gentle kiss, contrasting with the rough thrusts. “fuck i'm gonna cum” johnny growls, he took advantage of the fact that his cock reached so deep inside yn to make him cum, however he let himself be carried away by the moment and filled yn's ass up with that warm sperm.

yn barely managed to hold off his cumming so johnny now has to fulfill the deal they just made. "it seems like i'm your little fucktoy boyfriend now"; "i think so," johnny adds, “and a cute one”.

“you took me so well pretty boy, i think you deserve a threat” and as he said that he went down and started to suck yn's cock “j-johnny you don't have to~”; “mmm mmm, i want to, prince” the sweet name embarrasing yn so much that he covered his face with his arms, feeling the little chuckle the taller let out. with a few more strokes yn came inside johnny's mouth, “shit that's some good blowjob johnny” yn rode his high while johnny crawls up until he is face to face with yn, with one hand he opens the bottom's mouth and spits the sperm in there, then kisses and plays with it between their mouths.

johnny carries yn to the bathroom where they both take a bath, then get dressed and fall asleep in the bed.

“look at them, aren't they cute” yn's mom said watching them both sleeping while hugging, “yeah i think they're gonna be good brothers” the stepdad adds with a huge smile in his face.

#johnny suh x male reader #johnny seo x male reader #johnny x male reader #johnny suh x male reader smut #johnny seo x male reader smut #seo youngho x male reader #seo youngho x male reader smut #male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #smut #male reader smut #nct x male reader #nct smut #nct 127 x male reader #nct 127 smut #nct u x male reader #nct u smut

[huntingingoodwill]

may the best man win (s.h.)

masterlist

send in requests for my 1.3k sleepover!

requested by: @hauntedheathcliff (thank u!)

mixtape: menswear by the 1975

pairing: best friend to lover! steve harrington x reader

“Where is she?” Steve’s words escaped his lips, tinged with a breathless panic as he burst into the room. His chest heaved in his pressed button-down, brown hair windswept from his frantic run over. 

Robin lifted her hand to her lips, fingers peeking out from the sleeve of her dad’s oversized suit jacket. She chewed anxiously on her thumb nail, nodding toward a bathroom stall from her perch on the sinks, eyebrows knitted together tightly. 

The heels of Steve’s dress shoes, the leather shiny with black polish, clicked quietly across the marble floor of the bathroom as he made his way toward the stall. 

“(Y/N)?” He knocked on the closed stall door, gently. Your name tumbled off his tongue, familiar and sweet. In your distraught state, your whole body buzzing with worry, you felt a tinge of relief at your best friend’s arrival. 

You couldn’t respond, voice weak with exhaustion, but he listened for you as he heard you quietly wretch. He peered down, the skirt of your gown fanning out all around you as you knelt on the floor, layers of white tulle flooding out from beneath the gaps of the stall. 

From behind the door, you could hear the way his voice rumbled, deep in his chest, as he whispered to Robin. She hopped off the sink counter, leaving you two alone. 

Steve sunk to the floor, the tile cold on his legs even through his suit. He knocked, quietly. 

“Honey, you okay? They said you were asking for me.”  

You let out a weak snivel. He frowned, pressing his forehead against the door as his brow furrowed. Years and years of friendship, and seeing you upset still stung. 

“Can you open the door for me, please?” He coaxed. 

You reached a shaky hand up, unlocking the door. 

He pulled it open, sliding into the cramped stall next to you. The skirts of your wedding dress swamped the space, rustling as Steve pressed his back against the wall, looking at you intently. You mirrored him, sitting across from him with your back against the opposite wall. You kept your head down, studying your hands, picking at your nails as they remained folded in your lap. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, the genuine concern in his voice causing your emotions to bubble up again, the overwhelming, sick feeling flooding your senses. 

“I-” You hiccuped, barely able to get the word out before you spun around, pushing yourself up onto your knees as you wretched into the toilet bowl. Steve jumped up, pushing back your hair, the once perfectly styled locks now dishevelled. 

“Let it out.” He cooed, his large, warm hand running up and down the expanse of your spine. 

He got you settled back down on the floor by the toilet again. He pulled out his pocket square, taking his chin in your hands to hold your face toward him. Your breath stuttered as you inhaled shakily, blinking away tears as he used the silky material to, to clean up your running eye makeup, the fabric to ghosting the corner of your lips as he dabbed at your smudged lipstick. 

“I can’t marry him.” You admitted through a gasping breath. “You gotta tell everyone the wedding’s off. I can’t marry Frank.” 

You sunk into his touch as he ran a thumb across your cheek. 

He ignored that exhilarating, sick excitement that ran through his body. He fought back the urge to scream, to rejoice, to beg and plead: Don’t marry Frank. Please, please, please don’t marry Frank. 

He scolded himself. You had begged Frank for ages to let Steve be your best man in place of having a maid of honour. He couldn’t take advantage of you when you needed him the most, telling you not to marry your fiance just because Steve happened to be madly in love with you. 

He couldn’t. He couldn't, even though a little part of him died when he first saw the two of you together, wishing it was his hand you were holding when you and Frank began dating two years ago. Even though hearing the news that Frank had proposed to you crushed all the air out of him. Even though he wished you were marrying him, instead. 

“Of course you can. It’s just cold feet, that’s all. You’ll see, as soon as you get up there-” 

“No.” You interrupted. “I can’t. I can’t marry him.” You sniffed, your voice small but determined. You blinked, before digging the heels of your palms into your reddened eyes, taking in a huge breath to steady yourself. 

“I don’t love him.” You whispered, voice faltering. 

“But… of course you do, honey, you’re just-” 

“No.” You shook your head, swallowing thickly. “I don’t. I know I don’t.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I…” You gulped, eyebrow furrowing. “I realise now that… you know, we were so young, when we started dating- I mean, we’re still, so young and… as awful as it sounds…” Your voice cracked, the words threatening to fall off your tongue. 

“I think I tricked myself into believing I loved him, into thinking it was okay to get into all of this, because I didn’t want to think of the truth.” Your gaze met Steve’s, and at that moment, he wanted to hold you, tell you it would all be fine, kiss you and take you away from all this. 

His fingers flexed at his sides. He tucked them into his pocket. 

“The truth is that I was in love with someone who didn’t love me back.” You murmured. A stray lock of hair fell over Steve’s eyes, and you wanted to reach out and brush it away. You wanted to touch his face. 

Your fingers flexed at your sides. You balled your hand into a fist. 

“Come here.” He whispered, breaking the silence that fell between you.

You turned around, leaning against him. 

Slowly, your breath steadied, falling in time with the rise and fall of his chest against your back. His arm hung loosely around your waist, the other reaching up to stroke the hair away from your face.

“You look so beautiful.” He sighed, and you could hardly believe him, your hair and makeup a mess and wearing your ridiculous wedding gown. “You’ve always been beautiful.” He said it like he meant it, like he believed in it like nothing else. 

“It’s all gonna be okay.” He reassured. “You’re gonna get up there, and realise it was all just nerves. And you’re gonna forget all about that guy who didn’t love you back. Because…” 

You lifted your gaze to meet his. 

“Anyone who wouldn’t love you is a total idiot.” He muttered, the rough tips of his fingers ghosting your hair. 

You sighed, taking a few more breaths to calm yourself.

You wished you could stay this way forever, just you and him. No worries about the wedding, or about what would happen after, if you and Steve would drift away from each other, the rift caused by married life, by the world, growing too big for the two of you to handle. If you could do anything in the world, you’d always be with him. No doubt about it. 

That scared you. 

He helped you to your feet, holding your face in his hands. 

He gave you that million wattage smile. It broke your heart. 

“C’mon, beautiful. Frank’s waiting.” 

Steve stood next to the altar, fidgeting in his suit as he waited for you to appear. 

Finally, the doors blew open at the end of the aisle. The air was knocked out of him, escaping him as soon as he saw you. 

You walked, slowly, down the aisle, and through the veil that hung between the two of you, he swore he could see you looking at him through the translucent lace, lips upturned. 

He felt his mouth lift up, and uncontrollably, he was smiling, like an idiot. 

He wanted to reach out and lift the veil himself. He wanted to see your face again, that smile. He wanted to kiss you. 

Then, you reached the end of the aisle, turning to Frank instead of him. 

Steve shoved aside the feeling of aching misery spreading through his body.  

The ceremony dragged on, every declaration of love and eternity just another blow to him. What use was love and eternity to him, if it wasn’t with you? 

He felt his knuckles clench at his sides, the ridges of his hands growing white. 

Then, you turned to look at him. 

You glanced behind you, and for a second, you smiled at him. It filled his body with light. 

“If anyone present should know of a reason why this couple should not be joined together in matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace.” 

“Me.” Steve blurted out, the words escaping his lips before he even had time to process it. 

The room fell deadly silent. Then, shocked gasps rose from the crowd, murmurs of confusion rippling through the audience of guests. 

You turned to look at Steve, eyebrow furrowed. 

“Me.” Steve repeated, clearing his throat. “I mean-” He screwed his eyes shut. “Um, I do. I mean, I object.” 

“What the hell, man?” Frank hissed. 

Steve looked at him. He never noticed it before, but they almost looked alike. 

“I think I’ll say a couple of words, if you don’t mind.” Steve started off, fumbling awkwardly. 

“I do mind.” Frank shot back quietly, voice shaking with rage, before turning back to the guests. “Save it for the best man’s speech, huh?” He chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to save his crumbling wedding ceremony, raising a few uncomfortable laughs from the guests. 

Steve ignored him. 

“(Y/N), I wanted you to know that I think I spent all this time doing anything and everything to distract myself from the truth.” 

Your eyes sparkled as he echoed your words, a teary laugh leaving your lips. 

“The truth is… I’ve been in love with my best friend for years. Madly, truly in love. It scared me, how much I did. I was scared before, but I’m not anymore. It took me a while,” He chuckled, gesturing to all the guests staring at him, your fiance’s hands gripping yours. “But I’m not afraid anymore. I can speak the truth now. I’m in love with you. I have been, all this time.” He paused, his big brown eyes glimmering. “I love you.” 

You smiled. 

“I love you too, Steve.” 

“Okay. Okay! That’s it! I always knew there was something wrong with you, man, but I didn’t realise you were this fucked up.” Frank yelled, jabbing a finger at Steve. “You wanna go, man? Let’s go!” He cried out, pulling his tux jacket off. His muscles strained against his dress shirt as he put his fists up, charging at Steve. 

He swung at Steve, narrowly avoiding him as he just ducked out of the way.  

Frank tried again, but Steve fought back this time, taking a jab toward him. 

It caught him in the jaw. Frank fell to the floor. 

You looked at Steve as your fiance lay at your feet, breathing hard as you felt a warmth spread across your cheeks.  

You stepped right over Frank, taking Steve’s hand and running out of the building. 

“Sorry.” Steve mouthed at his plus-one, the girl glaring at him as the two of you ran down the aisle, hand in hand, leaving your fiance passed out at the altar. You tossed your bouquet at her, watching as she caught it, sullen. 

Your dress swished behind you as the outraged noises from the guests rose around you, but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of you and Steve screaming with laughter. 

Hand in hand, you ran, not caring where you were going, as long as you were together. 

The two of you made it out onto the street, passer-by glancing at the runaway bride, making her daring escape with the best man, awash in sunlight and glowing with happiness.  

Steve raised his arm, trying to hail a taxi. You yanked him back. 

“I don’t have enough money for a cab! Do you?”   

He reached into his pants pocket, producing his wallet. Practically empty. He rummaged around in his pockets, finding nothing but a bit of loose change. 

“For a moment there, I forgot I was broke.” He sighed. 

You laughed, glancing around before dragging him toward the bus stop, waving at the driver of the bus idling in front of it, black smoke rising from its tailpipe as the dingy, rusty old bus shuddered. 

You walked on, the two of you a vision in the drab old bus, your magnificent dress swirling around you as you walked toward the backseat, Steve using what little money he had to pay for your fare before settling down next to you. 

He smiled at you. The sun was setting, a golden light settling down over Hawkins. It streamed in through the windows, settling you two alight. A glow bursted from the two of you. His eyes, warm and brown in the sunlight, shone, his tan skin luminous.  

“I can’t stop smiling.” He whispered. 

“Then don’t.” You responded, lacing your fingers with his. 

He leaned in to kiss you, his plush lips grazing yours, and you smiled into it uncontrollably, melting into his touch. You felt a warmness spread through your chest. 

“Our wedding is gonna be so much better than this one.” You smiled. 

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve stranger things #harrington #stranger things 4 #st4 #steve harrington fic #steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #best friend!steve #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagines #stranger things headcanons #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #robin buckley #eddie munson

[justyouraverage-simp]

call me dad// tony stark

pairing: dad!tony stark x daughter!reader

warnings: mentions of injury, death of a parent, mentions of abortion, time jumps, shitty ending

summary: when tony first met his daughter she wanted nothing to do with him but when she thought she lost him she realises just how much he means to her

REQUEST

Being the child of a single parent is hard. But losing that parent is even harder. But what is even harder is finding out that the person you now have to live with is the one person who couldn’t have cared less about you in the past 15 years of your life. 

This is what happened to Y/N after her mother died. It was hard for her losing her mother but it was even harder when her case worker told her she would be living with her father over her grandparents as they believed they were not suitable to raise a child due to their age and health. Y/N had never met her father, she only knew about him because her mother would tell her stories of how they met and how everything was before his parents died, she would also use him as an example to her daughter on how to not be treated by a man, to show her daughter you can be successful and raise a child. 

//

Tony was stood in the living room at Stark Tower looking at the folder he had been given by Coulson when his phone rang.

“Hello”

“Hi, is this Mr Stark?”

“It is? Can I ask who’s calling”

“Of course, my name is Tia. I’m calling from Child Protective Services, it’s regarding your daughter”

“Umm, I think you have the wrong number. I don’t have a daughter” Hearing the word daughter caught Tony off guard, he doesn’t have a daughter there is no way he could. 

“Well do you know a Miss Stephanie Taylor?” That name. He hadn’t heard that name in over 15 years, of course he thought about her on occasion but not since Pepper. 

“Umm yes, why is she relevant”

“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this Mr Stark but she passed away a few days ago and she has a daughter”

Tony was shocked to hear she had passed, but why was CPS telling him this. To say he was confused was an understatement. 

“I’m sorry but why are you telling me this I haven’t spoken to Stephanie for over 15 years”

“That’s the thing, she has a 15 year old daughter”

As soon as Tony heard those words he almost fell over, immediately he knew why they were telling him this but none of it made sense how the hell does he have a child…

//

“It’s only me honey” Tony called entering Stephanie’s flat that he had a key too. 

As Tony walked through the flat he was confused, normally as soon as he walks through the door he is being jumped on by his girlfriend but this time there was no sign of her. 

“Honey, where are you”

“I’m in the bathroom” He heard a small voice call out breaking slightly.

As he walked through to the bathroom the sound of sniffles and whimpers became slightly louder.

“Hey, what’s going on? What’s got my girl so upset” Tony said sitting next to Stephanie on the floor, causing her to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Tony, I’m pregnant” Stephanie said to him looking up at him slightly

“Oh, is that what’s got you all worked up, it’s going to be okay I promise”

“But I don’t think I want to keep it, we are too young, you’ve just lost your parents and we just aren’t ready”

“Breathe baby, it’s your body so you do whatever you need to do okay and I’ll be with you no matter what you choose” Tony said pressing a kiss against Stephanie’s forehead.

2 weeks later…

It had been 2 weeks since Stephanie had found out she was pregnant although she hadn’t decided what she was going to do about it. It’s such a big decision for the two of them. There was a part of Stephanie that wanted to keep the baby, she had always wanted a baby but just not right now, well it wasn’t planned to be right now. 

Stephanie walked into the party Tony had decided to throw for no reason but because he wanted a party which was very normal for him. Stephanie was wearing a deep red silk dress with a low back and a v-neck, and as she entered the room she was immediately looking for Tony. She needed to talk to him about their situation and it had to happen now she needed to get it off her chest. 

She turned the corner and saw Tony talking to a blonde women and before Stephanie could say anything he kissed the blonde. Stephanie felt sick, he was cheating.

She quickly left the party and rushed to the bedroom and packed her stuff up. She ripped a piece of paper out of a notebook she found a wrote this note on it:

Tony, 

I saw it all. I hope she makes you really happy, more than I could obviously. I’m leaving, I’m not going to sit back and watch as you convince her you love her more than anything in the world when I know for a fact you can’t love more than one person. Not really. That one person for you is you! 

Goodbye forever, 

Stephanie

//

Tony thought back to the moment he found the letter. He knew he screwed up badly but he also knew Stephanie and he knew she was stubborn and independent and there was no amount of words that could convince her to come back to him so he saved his breath and let her leave without a single word. 

He thought she had the abortion, she seemed so certain about it. If he had known about her he would have made more of an effort, actually been in Y/N’s life but instead she grew up without a dad and honestly it made her closer to her mum and grandparents because they stuck around but it also left her with some internal problems, it was hard for Y/N to trust people in case they would change so quickly just like her dad did and the thought of being alone scared her more than anything.

Tony agreed to take Y/N after the situation was explained by your case worker, it was either go with him or end up in the system and neither him or Pepper wanted that. She had agreed to help Tony raise Y/N and he wanted to be better, he felt lots of guilt already for not being around although he had known about Y/N for approximately 10 minutes but that was long enough. He had always said if he ever became a dad he would be more involved than his own father was but instead he was nowhere to be seen in Y/N’s life, it was almost as if she didn’t have a father at all. 

//

6 months later…

It had been an adjustment for Y/N to have a dad but to have that dad be Tony Stark was a completely different experience. Granted he was trying to be there for Y/N but with the current situation with Loki he wasn’t overly present, leaving Y/N in the trusted hands of Pepper and Happy. 

Both Y/N and Pepper were on the jet on the way to DC when they saw on the news that there was an attack on New York and of course Tony was there. The tension in the jet was felt by everyone, something pulled at Y/N’s chest although she wasn’t sure why as she had no major feelings towards her father he was just her responsible adult, he wasn’t her father, her dad, nothing. Just another man, she hadn’t even called him dad yet. 

She felt her phone vibrate in her lap which pulled her attention away from the TV, when she saw Tony’s name lighting up her screen. 

“Hello” Y/N said, confused as he was supposedly fighting Loki and his army. 

“Hey kid, look I need you to listen to me okay. I don’t know how much time I have left” Tony said.

“Yeah, um okay” Y/N said walking to the end of the jet away from the noise and other people.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you, I always promised myself I would be better than my dad but I ended up being just like him if not worse. If I could go back and try and find your mum before it was too late I would in a heartbeat. I wish I could have been there for all your firsts. These past 6 months have been amazing, you are going to do amazing things I just know it. I love yo…” Tony said as the line began to crack, eventually losing all signal. 

“Tony, Tony…” 

// 

3 hours later…

No one knew what actually happened that day, whether Tony survived the fall or not; they just awaited the teams return at Shield Headquarters. Both Y/N and Pepper were sat waiting in one of the empty offices when a car pulled up outside, without even seeing who pulled up the flashing of cameras from the paparazzi stationed outside the building told the two of them the Avengers were back. 

Both Y/N and Pepper rushed down to the foyer to see if he was there but they couldn’t see him. How had she gone from having a mum, then no mum to having a dad then having no one all in the space of a few hours. A few tears began to fall slowly down her cheek until she heard his voice. 

“Did you miss me?” 

Y/N rushed into Tony’s arms without even a second thought. There was slight confusion on Tony’s face, what had happened for Y/N to go from wanting nothing to do with him to now hugging him and crying in his arms. 

“I love you dad” Y/N said quietly

Tony was gobsmacked. He never once expected to hear those words come out of her mouth but he loved it nonetheless. 

“God, I love you too kid” Tony said holding his daughter close for the first time feeling content for the first time in years.

#kayleigh's requests #tony stark x daughter!reader #ironman #tony stark fluff #tony stark x reader #tony stark x stark!reader #the avengers #tony stark x oc #tony stark x y/n #teen!reader #tony stark x teen!reader

[charlottecutepie]

☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton)

Summary: He was a likeable middle-aged man who had wonderful children, his dream job and a beautiful wife. He never blamed himself for his own actions, or to be more exact, he never thought about their consequences.

author note: Ive been thinking for a very long time whether I should publish this fic here. this is my fav fic I wrote for fnaf, I especially like the way I portrayed William here. so please, if any of you would like to see this story here, can you leave a comment? It’ll help me to understand. I’m just unsure if I should post this fic here :’’)

tags: darkfic, unhealthy relationship, angst, smut with plot, p in v, dubcon, oral sex, rough and gentle sex, daddy kink, blood play, knife play, fear play, hurt/comfort, violence, gore/murders, child abuse, follows fnaf lore, moral and physical abuse, virginity kink, anxiety disorder, age gap, daddy issues, unreliable narrator, hallucinations, hidden pairing, William is sick, psychopathy, unhealthy narcissism

Chapter 2.

Chapter 1. Thoughts

Chilly spring night. Light wind and rain. It's so fresh outside that the opposite effect appears: you feel as if you are suffocating from excess air. Outside is your favourite smell of wet grass after the rain. Light smile appears on your lips, and you carelessly go out on the porch of your house, looking at the beautiful view in front of you.

At such moments, everything around seems to be a part of you, you feel some kind of connection with nature and this world. Peace, tranquility, two things what you lack in life.

Today was a bad day. Maybe tomorrow will be better? Tomorrow will be the same. And when will it be better? Does this hell have an end?

Your head is filled with bad thoughts. It feels like every day is getting a little worse than the previous one. You never understood why you deserved such treatment from your father. It was as if he was doing everything so that you wouldn't feel like his daughter. He never even called you that. Something bad happened in your family every day, mom and dad always argued, and you always ran into your room in a state of panic, anxiety. What if father does something to her? That's what happened a few years ago. When you called your aunt in tears, begging her to come, because your father broke your mom's leg and beat her to a concussion. You could have been next if your aunt hadn't arrived on time. That evening, the picture of father changed dramatically in your little child's head.

“Father” means something cold, something cruel. The one who can punch, beat, shout, scream. Abuse.

You live with this thought to this day, but the only thing that has changed is that now there is no father anymore. He died a month ago, which was a shock to your whole little family. You hardly remember what happened exactly on the day of his death, but you clearly memorised your mother who cried all night because she knew well that the only one who could work to feed the family was her husband.

And now, because of this husband she cannot find a well-paid job, because he took care to provide her with a serious disability. And you're too young to work, first you must finish school and university.

Your skin was covered with goosebumps, you went back into the house. Passing by mom's room, you made sure that she was asleep and went to your own one.

Tomorrow is another day.

…

June 22.

“Y/n, breakfast is ready.” you heard mom's voice from the kitchen. Telling her you'd be coming soon, you headed to the bathroom to comb your hair and wash your face.

On the dining table you saw a plate with your favorite breakfast. Pancakes with honey, it couldn't not make you happy. You smiled and sat down opposite your mom. Woman was in a joyful mood.

“Good morning, dear, how did you sleep?” she asked gently, examining your face expression. That's how your conversation started, about everything and nothing at once. She told something about her plans for today, for a week, about her friends, about how one of them gave birth again. You just enjoyed her monologue, sometimes nodding and shaking your head. It was nice for you to see a sparkle in mom's eyes, it was something strange and unique for you, but warming soul. “I absolutely forgot that soon is your birthday!”

“Oh, really? If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have remembered…” you answered in confusion, fidgeting in your chair and twitching your leg. For some reason, the mention of your birthday made you uncomfortable. Probably because it will be your first birthday without your father. After all, when he was alive, you never really celebrated it. The maximum that was — sweets that your mother gave you in secret from him. You wonder what will happen this time?

“How are we going to celebrate?” Mom asked, smile on her face.

You looked at the floor, nervously fiddling with your shorts. You scratched your head, trying to think of something, but no idea came to mind. Your thoughts are empty again.

“It's your 18th birthday… We need to celebrate it well somehow.” for a second she paused, before looking at you with cheerful face. “Oh… Mr. Afton!”

Your eyes widened in surprise, because after the funeral, your family stopped communicating with Afton family.

“Mom, what are you up to?” you frowned. To be honest, you always got shivers running down your spine from his name, because your last meeting was at that cemetery, on the day of your father's funeral. Memories have entered your mind, forcing you to remember your last dialogue with Mr. Afton.

After the burial itself happened, you ran away from the crowd away. Your heart was racing like crazy, trying to jump out of your chest. You sat down on a wet bench, covering your face in hysterics. Tears streamed down your cheeks, dripping onto a puddle under the bench.

“Young lady,” a low-pitched male voice called you out of hysteria. “Everything is okay? You've been sitting here for hour.”

You opened your eyes and raised your head. Next to you was standing was a tall, middle-aged man with dark brown hair, dressed in black trousers and a jacket. He leaned towards you, holding an umbrella over your head. His face seemed painfully familiar, but because of the hysteria, you couldn't remember who it was.

“Oh god, Y/n? I didn't recognize you, little one. Why are you sitting here all alone?” he smiled broadly as he sat down next to you on the bench, still holding the umbrella for you. “Your mom is looking for you, she's so worried. Her beloved girl is lost.”

You recognised this man. It was none other than William Afton. One of your father's friends, he often came to visit you, and your family also visited him. You were embarrassed by ignoring his questions because you didn't know what to respond. He's been staring at your face the whole time.

“Come on, princess, I see how cold you are.” with these words, he took off his jacket, putting it on your shoulders. “I understand how hard it is for you, honey.”

You haven't received so many nicknames from any men for all your 17 years of life. Never, not once. His voice at some point began to seem more comfortable and soothing. Because of all the surging emotions, you burst into tears again in front of him, no longer hiding your face. William, not wasting a minute, threw umbrella and took you in his arms, so that your face was hidden in his chest. His cold hands stroked your hair, soothing you, calming you. It may have looked strange from out of context, but you really needed support in such hard moment.

“Don't cry, Y/n. You'll be fine, little one.” he talked and talked endlessly, but because of your own tears and sobs, you ignored everything, only burying your nose in his chest more.

“He's the owner of a pizzeria! Do you want to celebrate there? I'm sure he'll give us a discount in honor of such an event.” her smile never disappeared for a second. You were already beginning to doubt at how real her emotions were.

“Are you sure? We don't have much money anyway…”

“Never mind, I want you to finally have the best birthday, dear.” she winked and got up from the table, putting the plates and mugs in the sink.

Your lips curled at the thought of having to see William again.

#william afton smut #fnaf x reader #william afton x reader #steve raglan x reader #fnaf william afton #michael afton x reader #william afton imagines #fnaf x y/n

[topguncortez]

Truth Hurts || Whumptober Day 1 - J. Seresin

whumtpober masterlist || whumptober taglist form

synopsis: You never imagined sharing your deepest darkest secrets in front of two monsters and your best friend. Loosely based on the book “Still Beating” by Jennifer Hartmann.

@ailesswhumptober whump prompt: drugging @ailesswhumptober

word count: 4.5k

warnings: kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, mentions of miscarriage, murder, character death, truth serum, drugging, forced proximity.

You liked to think that when you were to die, it would happen quickly. 

A car accident, a gunshot wound, a failed ejection, ingesting too many sleeping pills. 

You wanted it fast. You didn’t want to suffer. You didn’t want your death to be one that would be talked about twenty years from now and people’s eyes would automatically fill with tears when it was spoken about. You didn’t want to meet the same fate as your husband, Bradley, had met nearly a year ago. 

It’s funny how things don’t seem to work in your favor. 

Six days. Six long, excruciating days of pain, starvation, and abuse. That’s how long you had been locked in this dungeon of horrors, alongside your best friend, Jake. You always thought that these sorts of things only happen in the movies. You didn’t think that you would be dumb enough to fall for a woman on the side of the road who claimed her baby was choking. You didn’t think that you would be dumb enough to make Jake stop the car so you could run out and go help her. You also didn’t think Jake was dumb enough to get out of the car and try to rescue you from the man dressed head to toe in black who held your passive body. 

But, here you were. Chained like animals in some psycho couple’s basement, waiting for them to come down and do whatever horrible things they had on the dockette for the day. 

“They’re probably sending out a search party,” Jake said, from across the room in his own cage. Whoever had taken you had done this before. They had a whole set-up down here with chains and cages that resembled jail cells. You looked over at Jake, giving him the same glare you had been giving him every day since day one. He, somehow, was hanging onto his optimism, while yours had left almost instantly. 

That’s how Jake has always been. He’s always been this bright light in your life, and you should appreciate it. You really wish that you could appreciate it, but something had died inside you a year ago when you had buried Bradley. You weren’t the same happy-go-lucky girl who grew up with an amazing family and got to do the coolest job in the world alongside her husband and her childhood best friend. Instead, you were just the shell of the person you once were. 

“I-I know they are. I know they would have the best-” 

“Jake,” You sighed, closing your eyes. He knew better than to continue on. He had never been on the receiving end of your anger before being trapped down here. You could be volatile, and spit venom when you needed to. You had already apologized profusely for the words that you had said to Jake after what was now probably the worst day of your life, but Jake forgave you. 

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, the only sound being the steady tapping of dripping water from the leaky faucet in the corner of the basement. You had never been so envious of concrete before. 

“Do you miss him?” Jake asked quietly. You turned your head over to him, raising your eyebrows in a silent way to tell him to elaborate, “Bradley.” 

Your eyes went from Jake’s forrest green ones, down to your dirty feet. 

Of course, you missed Bradley. 

You missed everything about him. 

You missed his laugh. His horrible dad jokes. His honey-brown eyes. His loud, off-key singing. His sunkissed, warm skin. His awful dancing. His soft and sweet kisses. Hell, you even missed yelling at him about leaving the toilet seat up. 

But most of all, you missed his strong, comforting hugs that could make a grown man cry. Bradley Bradshaw had always felt like home to you, and you missed your home. 

“Every single day,” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke. 

Every single day, you wished that you could turn back the clock. That you could’ve been the one who was at home that night. The detective told you that it was a “home invasion gone wrong”. A horrible case of wrong place, wrong time. But you always believed that there was more to it. That the detective with the large belly and graying hair just wanted to move on to a bigger, worse case than this. You had pushed and pushed them to look at the case just a little bit more. 

“Sweetheart, no one would want to kill one of America’s finest. The case is closed. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

But he wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. You found his body in the kitchen of your shared home. Those words bounced around in your head on the darkest nights, as you sat on the ground in the room that was supposed to be a nursery. Bradley had been so excited about starting a family with you. The way his eyes lit up every single time he’d see a baby on the street or would look at baby clothes at Target. All you had wanted was to be able to give him the child he longed for. 

“I was going to tell him,” You said, leaning your head back against the cold cement wall. Jake looked up at you. Your face was dirty, and the grime of being without a shower for nearly a week starting to show. Your eyes, the ones Jake used to think resembled the earth, were dark. Your hair was limp and greasy around your shoulders, “I was going to tell him that I. . . That I was pregnant, that night.” 

Jake sucked in a breath and looked down at the ground. He had been with you, cramped in a small bathroom at the post exchange on base as you took the pregnancy test. You had been so happy, he swore he had never seen a brighter smile on your face before. Jake held you tightly as you cried tears of joy, and immediately called your mom to tell her. 

Jake had also been by your side, picking you up off the ground as blood ran down your thighs, just a mere days after Bradley’s death. He never wanted to hear the sounds of pure anguish again. The sound of your wails as you stood in the kitchen, haunted Jake at night. The sight of all the blood made him sick, and the scent of copper was forever engrained into his mind. 

“He would’ve been so excited,” Jake said, looking up at you. 

“I imagine it was a girl. He was always meant to be a girl dad.” 

Bradley had a small pocketbook that he would keep with him, jotting down names that would come to him throughout the day that he liked. They ranged from names of famous rockstars to biblical names. 

‘What do you mean Jebbidiah isn’t a good name?’ 

‘Jeb Bush. . .’ 

‘You got a point.” 

You chuckled at the memory, shaking your head lightly. You and Bradley had narrowed his list of nearly a hundred names down to at least two, one for a boy and one for a girl. 

“Lennon,” You smiled, “Lennon Dhani Bradshaw. Dhani, spelled like how George named his son. You know how much I love-” 

“The Beatles, I know,” Jake nodded. 

You gave him a quick glance and then went back to your little glimpse of happiness, “My favorite song was-” 

“Here Comes the Sun and In My Life, I know,” Jake said again. 

The silence stretched back over the two of you. You used to mind the silence between you and Jake. Before, it was that comforting silence that signified the strong bond between the two of you. You used to be able to sit in the same room, on opposite ends of the couch, reading books or scrolling through your phones, neither one feeling the need to fill the air with conversation. 

Now, you feared the silence. 

You let out a sigh, before going to speak, “Jake, I-”

The sound of the large door at the top of the stairs cut you off. The sick feeling of dread filled your body, as thudding footsteps made their way down the crikey wooden stairs. Your body started to tremble as your kidnappers came down for their daily routine. 

Bonnie and Earl, are two odd, sick ducks that somehow, some way met each other and fell in love. Bonnie had gone on and on the first night, while Earl acted out his vile assaults on you, about their “love” story. Apparently, it was love at first sight, and the two got married within a month of knowing each other. They also kidnapped their first couple within that same month. 

“Rise and shine!” Bonnie’s chipper voice sounded out like nails on a chalkboard. Your throat felt tight as Earl’s eyes locked directly on you. Bonnie walked over to you, grabbing your chin with her cold, dainty hand, “Are you ready, Bunny?” 

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked in her cold blue irises. After the first night, you had hoped to maybe reach out to Bonnie, to break through to her and get her to let you go. What sane woman would be okay with the monstrosities her husband acted out on women? Apparently, Bonnie. 

“Too bad,” Bonnie chuckled, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you up to stand. Earl replaced Bonnie by standing in front of you, his hand already down his pants, jerking himself off. At this point in time, the routine was basically burned into the back of your eyelids. 

Earl takes Bonnie’s spot. Bonnie undoes Jake’s cuffs. Bonnie sits Jake down in a chair across from you and Earl. Jake hurls insults and threats at the two of them. Earl commits his heinous crimes. Earl and Bonnie leave the two of you alone in complete silence. 

You were starting to wonder if it would ever end. 

— — — 

“You know hanging is the worst way to go?” Jake said, cutting through the silence. 

It was day twenty-one, and you had officially lost hope of ever making it out alive. Bonnie and Earl had been feeding you less and less, only a sandwich every two days instead of every day. You made sure that when you brushed your teeth, you took extra gulps of water, savoring the taste of it down your throat. 

“You don’t die instantly,” Jake continued, “You struggle, your lungs aching for air, you know what’s going on until the moment your neck snaps.” 

You looked over at him, seeing the dull look in his eyes as he stared off into space. You knew Jake started to come to terms with your current state. It made your heart ache to hear and see the optimism slip from his body. You weren’t sure when it happened, probably after day fourteen. 

Day Fourteen. 

The second worst day of your life. 

First, was losing Bradley.

Second, was watching as your friend stood defenseless and was forced to commit an act he’d rather take a bullet for. 

You had hardly ever seen Jake cry, but as he stood in front of you, emptying himself in you, he had broken down, whispering apologies into your dirty skin. His light green eyes had grown dark and dull as he was dragged away from you, leaving you cold and broken. Jake had refused to even look at you, turning his body to face away. You had told him several times throughout the night that you weren’t upset or mad, that you understood what he had to do. 

“I’m not mad at you. I understand it, I do. You did it to survive, Jake. I forgive you.”

You thought for sure that you were going to lose Jake after that. He didn’t speak for a whole day. After twenty-four hours in silence, the only sound was the occasional creak of the floorboards and the drips from the leaky pipe. You thought for sure that you would wake up and see Jake’s lifeless body on the floor. But instead, you woke up to his gentle, soft voice, singing. 

‘In My Life… I Love You More…’ 

“I’d say being stabbed to death is worse,” You said softly, “Yes, hanging is awful, but it only lasts a matter of seconds. Being stabbed? Can last for hours. Painful, agonizing hours, where you lie alone in your own blood, and can’t do anything but wait for someone to either find you or for the reaper to take you.” 

Jake felt a sudden rush of nausea run through his body at your words. His body felt hot as he looked over at you, sitting on the ground, absent-mindedly moving your foot back and forth over a crack in the cement. You always used to be the one who got sick at even the thought of blood. Now, to hear you talk so frankly about death, made goosebumps arise on Jake’s skin. 

“You think he struggled?” Jake whispered. 

“He fought back,” You sniffled, “The detective said he defense wounds on his arms. He always said he’d find a way to come home to me.” 

Jake could remember sitting in the stale, white-walled room with you as the detective handed you the manila folder that held the official autopsy report. Why you wanted to read it and see the photos of Bradley’s mutilated body, was beyond Jake. It was bad enough that he had to see the blood trail and stained red hands. But you stared at the pictures for hours. The pictures of the man you loved and the house that was now an active crime scene. 

The morning faded into day, as the shadows of the sun coming through the basement windows began to move. On day three, Jake taught you how to estimate the time by the position of the shadows on the cement wall. He guessed that the house faced towards the west, and every night as the sun began to set, your hair would have a certain warm glow to it. The two of you were playing your usual game of twenty-one questions, trying to pass the time until the inevitable happened. 

You were trying not to think of whatever horror could unfold today. It seemed that on every seventh day, something worse seemed to happen. Day Seven was the first day you were assaulted. Day fourteen was the day Jake was forced to hurt you. And now, you were waiting to see what day twenty-one had in store. 

Every time the sound of the basement door would open, a cold shiver would go down your spine, and you pulled your knees up to protect yourself. It was a futile chance at hopefully keeping Earl and Bonnie away from you, but it never worked. There seemed to be some charged energy between the two of them as Bonnie happily skipped down the stairs and stood outside of your cell as if you were an animal at the zoo. 

“Today is gonna be great!” She cheered, a sick smile on her face, “I want the girl first, baby. I know she’s got secrets to confess.” 

“Anything for you, honey bunny,” Earl cooed at his wife and placed a kiss on her lips. He then turned, digging the keys to your cell out of his pocket, “You must be waiting for today, bunny,” Earl said to you, a sickening smirk on his face. He undid your cuffs like he always did, and led you over to the open space between yours and Jake’s cages. Instead of chaining you up to the post in the middle like he usually would, he sat you down in a chair. He chained your cuffs behind the back of your chair and chained down your ankles. 

Earl took a step back, admiring you like you were some type of animal he had just hunted down. You felt bile rising in your throat as he stepped towards you, his disgusting scent invading your senses. He smelled of sweat and blood, and his hands were dirty as he grabbed your chin in his hand, “You’re so beautiful, you know that, bunny?” 

You clenched your jaw tightly, keeping your eyes down at the floor, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, “I bet that’s why that boy of yours loved you so much.” 

You snapped your head up, “What?” 

Earl roared with laughter as he let go of your face and took a step back, “That’s what got your attention! Whew, and I was here thinking you were an idiot.” He wiped a tear from his face, stepping back to you and running a finger down your face, “That boy, what was his name? Bradley, was it? Handsome young man, so sad what you did to him.” 

“You know nothing,” You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. 

“Everyone will know all, very, very soon, bunny. . . hold still.” 

“Wha-Fuck!” You cursed as you felt the pinch of a needle being injected into your neck. Your heart began to race as you looked in terror at Earl and now Bonnie who stood in front of you, “What did you do? What was that!?” 

Bonnie giggled and held up a vial in her hand, “Truth Serum. Made it myself!” Earl put his arm proudly around Bonnie, her face resembling a kid who just had sugar for the first time. 

“Is that going to kill her?” Jake yelled at Bonnie, who simply shrugged, “Hey! Y/N, look at me!” Jake rattled the chainlink that had been keeping you apart, “What the fuck did you do?!” 

It felt like you were being suffocated as you looked over at Jake. Your head began to swim, and your limbs felt like you could hardly hold yourself up anymore. Your body began to feel warm and tingly as a thin layer of sweat started to cover your body. The only thoughts in your head were that this was it. This was the moment in which you were going to die. In this dirty, dingy basement with your kidnappers watching and your best friend trying to fight his way towards you. 

Then, everything seemed to change. Every muscle started to contract, making you shiver violently. Every fiber of your being felt like it had been lit on fire, and a small scream left your body at the pain. You were scared your heart was going to explode from the sheer force of it beating in your chest. 

“It hurts!” You cried, pulling on your cuffs, “Help! It hurts!” 

“It’s working,” Bonnie clapped her hands in excitement, “Ask the question!” 

Earl chuckled, holding his wife against his front, “Not yet, sweets. We gotta start off slow. First question, bunny, have you fucked anyone else since your husband?” 

The words felt like hot lava trying to escape you, but you fought against them, pushing them down in your body, “No.” 

Earl’s eyes narrowed at you, “It’ll feel better if you let the serum do its thing. Keep fighting, and it’ll kill you.” 

“I’d rather die,” You grit your teeth, your nails digging into your palms. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I can make that happen,” Earl said, “Now answer the question, have you fucked anyone else since your husband?” 

You shook your head, scared that if you were to open your mouth, the truth would come spilling out. You never knew that the words “truth hurts” could be real until you found yourself in utter agony trying to hide the truth. Bonnie had her jaw clenched tightly as she watched you fight off her experiment. You wondered how many other people had been in your position. How many other people tried to fight and ended up dead? Or worse, ended up dead before they even got the chance to fight. 

“I love him,” You choked out, “I would never hurt him.” 

Jake shook his head, a scoff falling from his lips. Earl looked over his shoulder at him, a smirk forming on his lips, “You know something.” Jake instantly went quiet, not daring to look at you, but his body language was enough of a giveaway. You looked up at Jake, tears in your eyes as you begged him not to say anything. But Bonnie always prided herself on being a problem-solver, and a gasp fell from her lips. She waltzed her way over to Earl and whispered in his ear.

Earl stood up tall as he looked at you with a menacing smile on his face, “You cheated on him, didn’t you,”  You groaned in agony, tears streaming down your face as you tried to fight off the effects of the serum. Earl huffed as he pulled the gun out of the waistband of his pants, and pointed it at Jake’s head, “Answer the question you fucking bitch! Or, I’ll blow his brains all over the wall!” 

“Y/N. . .” Jake called out softly as you let out a scream. 

“I cheated on him!” You admitted. The feeling of sweet relief filled your body, as the words came tumbling out, “It was a mistake! A total and complete, stupid mistake!” You cried, tears and snot running down your face as you looked at Jake, “I-I. . . it was stupid! And I told him, I know we promised no one would know, but I couldn’t lie to him. I felt awful. It was killing me!”

“And he forgave you?” Bonnie asked, letting out a guffaw, “What an idiot!” 

“He loved me!” You snapped, pulling on your chains, “He forgave me, and it made us stronger.” 

“So you don’t love, puppy over there?” Earl asked, turning to glance at Jake like he was fresh meat. 

You clenched your jaw, feeling the painful truth rising up in your chest, but you fought it. Your nails dug into your palms as you shook your head, and you willed your voice to stay calm as you spoke. 

“I don’t love him.” 

Earl chuckled, walking up to you, and undoing your chains. You fell into a heap in his arms as he helped walk you back to your cell. You felt utter disgust as he ran his hand over your filthy hair, whispering how good you did in your ear, but your eyes never left Jake. His jaw was clenched tightly as Bonnie grabbed him and pulled him over to the same chair you were just chained up to. His green eyes bore into yours as Bonnie injected the same truth serum into his neck. 

The serum felt hot as it made its way through Jake’s body, making his nerves tingle. It was a dull ache that he felt and did his best to remain upright on his own two feet. He wondered to himself if you wouldn’t have fought so hard to hide the truth it wouldn’t have caused you so much pain. He could feel his heartbeat start to rise in his chest, and sweat pool on his brow. Taking a deep breath, Jake looked over to Earl and Bonnie; 

“Do your worst,” He sneered. 

Bonnie shrieked in excitement, “Finally!” 

Earl shushed her with a grin on his face, “Since the bitch won’t tell the truth, I guess the puppy will. . . You fucked her, didn’t you?” 

“Several times,” Jake’s face was stoic as he answered truthfully. The guilt in your body seemed to weigh you down like cement stones. You hated what you did to Bradley, and the lies that you kept from him, but you couldn’t help your attraction to Jake, “And she loved every moment of it. Even begged me for more.” 

“Whew! So she is a slut after all!” Earl looked over at you with that disgusting hunger in his eyes you’ve seen before, “I knew it. So tell me puppy. . . did you feel bad about it? What was it that she said? Oh, did you think it was a mistake?” 

Jake clenched his jaw and looked over at you, “Never.” 

“And why’s that?” Bonnie asked. 

“Cause he was screwing someone else,” Jake admitted. 

You gasped, holding your hand to your mouth, “That’s not true.” Bradley would never hurt you the way that you hurt him. He loved you too much to do that and it killed you to know how much you had hurt him. 

“It is! I saw him, Y/N!” Jake yelled, “I saw him with that girl at the bar. Do you remember the one he told you was some annoying junior pilot with a crush? He was screwing her,” Jake spat. You shook your head, eyes wide, refusing to believe the words that Jake had just spoken. 

“That’s a lie. He would nev-” 

“It’s the truth, Y/N. They were doing it everywhere. At work, at the Hard Deck. . . at the house. Remember when he went to Virginia for a week? He went home with her to meet her family.” 

“No!” You screamed, “He wouldn’t do that to me!” 

“So what did you do?” Bonnie asked. Jake’s eyes bore into yours as he took deep breaths. Bonnie looked between the two of you, before yelling, “Say it!” 

“I killed him,” Jake whispered. 

“What? What was that?” She instigated, leaning into Jake and holding her hand to her ear. 

“I killed him.” 

“Louder! I can’t hear-” 

“I killed him!” Jake yelled, his eyes never leaving yours, “I. . . I just wanted to scare him, to let him know that I knew what he was doing, and to get him to either come clean to you or stop. I-I don’t know what happened. But he. . . he started fighting back and I just. . . I lost control.” 

“It felt great didn’t it?” Bonnie asked, walking over to Jake, putting her hands on his shoulders, and running them down his chest, “You felt that release. That sweet, sweet release,” You wanted to kill her as she placed kisses up and down Jake’s neck. He couldn’t help but flutter his eyes closed at the gentle feel on his skin, “You let out all that pent-up need that someone was depriving you of. It felt like the best orgasm ever, didn’t it?” 

Jake looked away from you, guilt swimming in his eyes. You let out an anguishing cry as you collapsed to the ground, sobs racking your body as you dry-heaved. All Jake could do was sit in the chair and watch you. Earl walked over to you and picked up your body as if you weighed nothing. You thrashed in his arms as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at Jake. 

“You’d do it again, wouldn’t you?” Earl asked. Jake was silent as he looked down at the ground. “Answer me!” Jake looked at him, still keeping his mouth quiet. But you knew. By the look on his face, you knew what he was fighting. 

“Answer him, Jake,” You said quietly, “You’d kill Bradley again, wouldn’t you?” 

Jake couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he looked at you, “I would kill anyone who hurt you, sweetheart.”

taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @seitmai @cassiemitchell @topgun-imagines @xoxabs88xox @sarahsmi13s @els-marvelvsp @ohtobeleah

#top gun #top gun imagine #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun AU #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick AU #Jake seresin #Jake seresin fan fic #Jake seresin fan fiction #Jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #Jake seresin x y/n #Jake seresin AU #Jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #hangman #hangman fan fic #hangman imagine #hangman AU #hangman fan fiction #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #ai less whumptober #g's whumptober

[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 19

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, mentions of major character death, physical violence, sports violence, mentions of blood, angst, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: We’re almost to the end, y’all 😭

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Your head feels heavy like it’s filled with cotton. You didn’t expect to cry this much and yet it’s all you’ve managed to do for the last forty-eight hours. When your mom died you hadn’t cried. Instead, you’d been numb, locking the world out and hiding away behind vacant eyes as you struggled to come to terms with your new reality. Now you’re not sure how you’re not cried out yet. You’re tangled in the sheets of the bed in one of Mickey and Bob’s spare bedrooms. Mickey doesn’t leave your side very often except when the doorbell rings every few hours when Bradley tries to talk to you again. He’s been consistent in his attempts to see you, but with the three occupants of the house standing between the two of you, he’d been unsuccessful thus far. Mickey’s downstairs with him right now from the sound of Mickey’s raised voice. Mickey had transformed into a version of himself you haven’t seen often in your ten years of friendship. He’s cold and fiercely protective, a rock for you to lean on while full of self-loathing for his inability to protect you from the hurt you’re feeling.

He blames himself. You’ve assured him that it’s not his fault but he refuses to see sense. In his mind, if he’d just intervened sooner you’d never have wasted your time falling for Bradley and a part of your heart is bitter with resentment. Because you don’t regret it. Not yet at least. You don’t regret the time you spent being loved by Bradley Bradshaw. He healed parts of you that had been infected with grief for years and for that, you’ll always be thankful. More than that, he taught you what romantic love could really be like, and while you’re certain he’s raised your standards a completely unrealistic amount you don’t have it in you to dwell on it quite yet. Instead, you play the scene from two nights ago over and over in your head.

You try to figure out where it went wrong. The face-off had started out normally, the setup was like muscle memory for these players and then Bradley had lunged for the center across from Jake. When his fist connected with the other man’s face, his teammates had cried out in protest before a defenseman to his left dove for Bradley. He never made contact as Jake intercepted him with an uppercut to the jaw. The ice devolved into chaos then, all twelve players on the ice, goalies included, joined the fray and a full-scale brawl erupted. The refs’ whistles pierced your ears as you watched in horror as your boyfriend ferociously beat into the Bruin’s center who wasn’t even bothering to fight back. If you didn’t know better you’d think you saw him laughing in response. Halfway through, Bradley dragged him up by the collar and you recognized the name on his jersey.

Elias Whitmore was a drunken mistake. You’d partied a little too hard that night with the Icemen and you’d run into him at the club where you’d spent the night drinking and dancing. You hadn’t recognized him in your drunken state and when it was over and you’d realized who he was you’d felt disgusted for falling into bed with the notorious womanizer. That was a few years ago and you hadn’t followed Whitmore’s career enough to know he’d be on the ice tonight. You’d be surprised if he even remembered you, his dating history was even more impressive than Javy’s and that’s saying something.

The voices from downstairs get louder and your heart clenches in worry. Bradley wouldn’t get violent with Mickey, would he? Fear grips you, propelling you out of the bed and to the door, ear pressed against the wood in a desperate attempt to assess the severity of the situation without venturing past the threshold you haven’t crossed since you showed up at the house a day and a half ago after Dare sent you home. You hear a muffled shout and then heavy footfalls on the stairs and your breath catches, and then you stumble back from the door just in time for it to fly open. You blink stupidly as a man barrels through the door but it’s not Bradley. Javy’s face is a twist of quiet rage as he inspects you, chest rising and falling heavily as equally hurried footsteps echo his arrival, and then Mickey’s behind him, face twisted into cold disapproval as something hotter flickers behind his brown eyes.

“Hey sweetheart, how’re you holding up?” Javy’s voice is soft and gentle, a stark contrast to his expression. You don’t get the chance to respond to his question before Mickey interrupts.

“I’m gonna give you five minutes to get the fuck out of my house.” Your eyes widen at the firmness in his tone, turning to try and placate your best friend.

“Mickey, what’s going on? This is Javy we’re talking about? Why don’t you want him here?” Mickey doesn’t answer, wrapping a protective arm around you instead, pulling you against his chest. You go without question but feel unease in your stomach. Javy crosses his arms across his chest, glaring at Mickey.

“She deserves to know what’s going on, Mickey, you know that as much as I do.” Your brow furrows in confusion even as fear makes your stomach clench.

“Mickey what’s he talking-“ Mickey cuts you off even as he pulls you closer.

“She knows what’s going on. She made a decision, why can’t you respect it?” Javy snorts derisively.

“I’m not asking her to change her mind, I’m asking you to tell her what really happened out there so it’s an informed decision that she’s making.”

“Wait what happened?” You ask, increasingly irritated as your two friends talk about you like you’re not even there.

“Stay out of this, Machado, I’m not going to ask you again.”

“She’s my friend too,” Javy says, jaw hardening. “And treating her like a child just because you’re jealous that you’re not her first priority anymore is just plain childish.”

“Hey!” You snap and then both men are looking at you as you twist out of Mickey’s arms, stepping away so you can face both of them. “Which one of you is going to tell me what’s going on and stop treating me like I’m not here?” You set your hands on your hips, irritation dripping from your stance.

Javy nods at Mickey. “You need to hear it from him or it’s just going to cause issues between the two of you.” You nod firmly, turning to Mickey and defensively crossing your arms across your chest.

“Mickey, what's going on and why aren’t you telling me?” He has the sense to look guilty, the harshness in his brown eyes softening as he shakes his head slightly. He’s quiet for a long moment but when it becomes clear that you’re willing to wait as long as it takes he breathes out a heavy sigh before finally speaking up.

“Bradley didn’t start that fight for no reason,” Mickey says and you feel your breath catch in your throat. Javy places a comforting hand on your back, a steadying presence. “A Boston defenseman made a comment about you that wasn’t very appropriate,” he frowns deeply, fist clenching in anger at the memory. “Then the center chirped back, and said something else and that’s when Bradley lost it.” The room is silent for a long moment as you process this new information. “I don’t blame him either,” Mickey speaks up again. “None of us do. If he hadn’t started that fight, someone else would have. We all heard what they said.” When he speaks again, it’s quieter and you hear the bitter regret in his tone. “He was just the first one with the balls to stand up for you.” His fist clenches tighter and you understand then.

“Mickey,” you reach out for him but he steps back, out of your reach.

“That asshole was spewing all kinds of bullshit and I just stood there. After all these years, I just stood there and took it. Bradshaw came to his senses before I did and he hasn’t even known you for six months.” Your heart aches and you step up to Mickey, cupping his face in your hands.

“Mickey, Elias Whitmore was a drunken mistake that never should have happened, and I’m glad you hesitated. I wish you all had because he’s not worth it. Not worth sabotaging your career over and especially not over some offhand comments, even if they were about me.”

“You are, though,” Mickey says, voice cracking as his eyes fill with tears mirroring your own. “You’re worth fighting for. You always have been and you always will be. I’ve always known that, and everyone else knows now. I know I haven’t been Bradshaw’s biggest supporter but when he tackled that asshole, I understood. I knew he was capable of taking care of you and loving you the way you deserve.” You stroke his cheek gently even as your heart clenches. “I know I haven’t been fair to him, especially these last few days. Javy’s right in a way, it’s hard to watch him take up space in your life like that. In a way, I think maybe I have been jealous, no matter how stupid it sounds.” He chuckles before the worry is back on his face. “I don’t mean to ruin things between the two of you. I just,” he hesitates. “I feel like I just got you back when we moved to San Diego and I think I just expected things to go back to the way they used to be, but they won’t. And they shouldn’t. We’re six years older, we’ve changed and that’s not a bad thing. You deserve the whole world and you’ve got a guy that’s willing to give it to you. I don’t think he deserves you, because quite frankly, I don’t think anyone does, not even me, but you deserve him. He makes you so happy and he’s helped you heal in ways that I could never have.”

“Oh Mickey,” you whisper as tears cut down your cheeks. “Bradley’s important to me, and I love him, but I’m never going to stop loving you or needing you. You’ve been my best friend for almost a decade, I’m not going to abandon that just because I have a boyfriend,” your voice takes on a teasing lilt and he lets out a warm chuckle before pulling you into his arms.

“I love you, Zam.” He whispers and you whisper it back even as your heat is beating at its cage, desperate for Bradley. You need to clear things up with him. When Mickey breaks the hug, he sighs and tilts his head towards the door. “Go on, you have somewhere to be,” he says with a soft smile and you lean up to kiss his cheek before turning to Javy.

“Thank you, Javy.” He waves you off.

“Go get your man, sweetheart.” You smile through your tears at the familiar words and then you’re tearing down the stairs, grabbing your keys from the side table by the door, and taking off for your car.

***

When you pull up to the doors of Bradley’s apartment building, you hesitate as the attendant drives your car off to the garage. Tony gives you a warm smile that you return as you set off across the lobby, bouncing on your toes as you wait for the elevator to arrive. The ride up to Bradley’s floor seems to take forever but once the doors slide open you hesitate again. You’d been cold when you’d seen him last. You’d refused to hear him out that night at the stadium and you’d studiously ignored him in Ice’s office. Would he still want you? You don’t let yourself entertain an answer, crossing the hall quickly before you can lose your nerve. You take a sharp breath as you reach a hand up to ring the buzzer. You have keys but it doesn’t feel right to let yourself in when you locked him out. You wait as the buzzer rings, trying to stifle your nerves.

The door swings open and the breath is stolen from your lungs at the sight of Bradley. He looks like a wreck. The bags under his eyes tell you he hasn’t slept, his unruly curls sticking up every which way from running his hands through them. His brown eyes widen in surprise at the sight of you. “Honey?” His voice is rough and you don’t expect the next words out of his mouth. “Where are your shoes?” You glance down at that. You’re wearing an oversized Star Wars shirt that Mickey bought you back in college that you sleep in when you’re at his house, over a pair of sleep shorts. Your bare toes wink up at you, the glossy pink polish on them shining in the hallway lights.

“Oh,” you say, surprised by the discovery. “I guess I forgot them.” You look back up at Bradley and he shakes his head, opening the door wider.

“Come here, Honey.” You go willingly and Bradley takes your hand in his tentatively and you pad across the floors through his bedroom to the bathroom. Bradley guides you to sit on the edge of the tub as he starts running the water. He sits beside you, leaning down to grasp your ankle gently and guiding it under the water, washing your feet with a tenderness that doesn’t match the harsh way you’ve treated him over the past few days. He doesn’t push you to speak but you do anyway.

“Mickey told me what happened at the game, what you did. Or more why you did it. I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain yourself.” You keep your eyes trained on Bradley’s hands where he’s washing your feet. “And while I’m not happy that you did it, or that any of the guys got involved because that scum bag isn’t worth it-“

“But you are,” Bradley cuts you off and you look up to meet his honey eyes where they’re watching you. “You’ll always be worth it.” Your eyes pass over his face. It’s untouched despite the fact that he beat the absolute shit out of Elias Whitmore. You squirm under the intensity of his stare and words but manage to whisper your thanks. “You don’t have to thank me, Honey. I love you, that’s part of the package.” You smile then, softly gazing at him through your lashes.

“I love you too, Bear.” You watch him relax slightly and he brings your wet ankle to his lips, placing a delicate kiss to the damp skin. Your stomach chooses that moment to growl and you scowl down at it even as you laugh and Bradley gently guides your legs back over the side of the tub. He asks you to wait and crosses the bathroom to the linen closet retrieving a small towel and kneeling at your feet to dry them and suddenly you want to cry all over again. The idea of this man that you’ve pushed away over and over, still so eager to lay aside his pride and kneel before you in an act of service so extraneous and humble breaks your heart. You’re moving before you can stop yourself, joining him on the bath mat, memory foam sinking under your knees as you wrap your arms around this man who inexplicably loves you with his whole heart. His arms come around you to return the hug and your body relaxes instinctively, knowing it’s safe in his arms.

***

You swing your legs absently as you watch Bradley stir the pasta. He’s once again treating you to his mom’s recipe, but something tells you he’s craving the comfort more than wanting to feed you something he knows you love. Guilt gnaws at your chest as you twist your fingers in the fabric of your t-shirt. Sure you’d forgiven Bradley but a large part of you feels like you don’t deserve his instant acceptance and wholehearted affection. The silence that usually feels so comforting feels like it’s clawing its way down your throat and choking you. You don’t realize that Bradley’s turned back around until his fingers gently ease yours away from where you’re stretching the hem of your shirt and you let your eyes linger on his larger hands where they hold yours gently. Once again he doesn’t push you to speak but you feel the pressure on your lungs. When your tears splatter on your joined hands, Bradley removes a hand to tip your chin up so he can see your face and you crumple under the unjudging, concerned stare.

“Honey,” his voice is heartbreakingly gentle as you cry; he shifts his hand on your chin to cup your cheek and you lean into the warmth of his palm as the tears stream down your cheeks. You’re so tired of crying. “Talk to me, Honey. What’s going on?” He urges softly and the words fall out.

“I’m so sorry Bradley,” you sob and you watch his eyes widen in surprise.

“Sorry for what, Honey? You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he assures you as he leans in, gently kissing your tears away and it only makes you sob harder.

“For leaving you,” you sputter out between sobs. “For leaving you again, when I promised I wasn’t going to run anymore, and I did it anyway. I shut you out.” You watch the heartbreak in his eyes as he cups your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him as you blubber. His expression is hard and a familiar fire dances in his eyes, sending a chill down your spine.

“Don’t you dare apologize for that, Honey. I told you when we started this that I wanted you to set boundaries and that I’d respect them. I promised you no more fighting and I broke my word. That’s on me. You had every right to enforce that boundary and I’m so damn proud of you for sticking up for yourself, do you hear me?” You nod weakly as your tears taper off slowly. I’m sorry I broke my word, and I’m sorry it hurt you. I can’t promise it won’t happen again because I’m human, and sometimes I let my temper get the best of me but I’ll do my damndest to ensure it doesn’t. I love you and I never want to see you hurt, least of all because of me.” He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re the best good I’ve ever gotten, and as much as I don’t act like it, you’re the only thing that matters to me. You’re my family,” he smiles softly at that, running his thumb over your cheek absently. “There’s nothing I cherish more or treasure greater.”

You reach up to cup his cheek as well, his beard scratching against your palm as you stroke the skin. “You’re my family too,” you whisper, leaning in to ghost your lips over his, “and I’m so damn tired of running away from my family.”

“So stay,” Bradley whispers against your lips, lashes fluttering, fingers trembling on your cheeks ever so slightly like he’s afraid you won’t. You nod, just barely, brushing your nose against his as you speak your promise into that comfortable quiet between the two of you where you’re breathing in each other’s air as you consume each other’s space.

“I’ll stay.” Your lashes flutter shut at the weight of the words even as the tiniest kernels of doubt still tug at your heart. Your heart beats harder than the tug, though, beating with love for Bradley that will always be stronger than the doubt.

***

The next day at work, you’re all seated in a large space used for team lunches when everyone’s schedules occasionally overlap. You’re starving. Taking two days off of work to mope so close to the new year means you’re severely behind on your work. Breakfast in Bradley’s kitchen this morning feels a lifetime away. Cyclone had offered to order lunch today and you’ve heard whispers that it’s from the burger place around the corner. You enter the room, beelining for the seat next to Bradley that’s currently open. Your stomach lets out an unruly growl as you take your seat and Bradley gives you a concerned look that tells you he wants nothing more than to whisk you home to his kitchen. “It’s been a long morning, I’m just looking forward to this lunch.” You assure him and he’s temporarily placated. Cyclone comes in then, arms laden with bags that are indeed from the burger place. He starts handing things out and your stomach drops as your lunch is placed in front of you. Despair strikes your heart as your stomach cramps painfully as you regard your reflection in the clear plastic of the salad bowl. You look up from your pathetic excuse for lunch to see that everyone else seems to have burgers, multiple for the boys, including the other women on staff. Anger licks at your empty stomach, irritation furrowing your brow. Ever since Thanksgiving, while things have been slightly strained between you and Beau, he’s continued to dote on you. Fancy dinners, casual lunches, and various outings fill up whatever of your free time isn’t spent glued to Bradley’s side. You’ve never once ordered a salad and quite frankly you’re offended by the way he’s soloed you out. It’s like despite the fact that you’ve spent extensive time together, he’s made no effort to get to know you and you clench your fist as you fight off the anger that’s threatening to take over due to your hunger. You’re about to give Beau a piece of your mind then and there when a burger slides into your peripheral and you turn to see Bradley’s tight smile. He’s as unhappy about this as you are but the burger is his way of offering you solidarity while also taking care of you in the way he always does. You take the burger, returning his tense smile, devouring it before polishing it off with the salad that Cyclone hasn’t even noticed you snub, deep in conversation with Dare. Across the table, you meet Dragon’s eyes and she’s got a look of painful understanding on her face. You know what you need to do.

***

After lunch, once everyone’s returned to their respective parts of the arena, you ride the elevator up to Cyclone’s office. You cross the hallway to his office door, knocking in quick, sharp raps, entering when he calls for you to enter. He looks up from whatever he’s currently working on when you enter, surprise on his face.

“Zam, what a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?” You almost snort at the complete juxtaposition of his current sweet demeanor with the rude one he used to treat you to before he found out who your mother was.

“Beau, we need to talk.” You say tersely, a polite smile on your face and he motions for you to sit.

“Of course, Zam, what’s bothering you?”

“This needs to stop.” You say as firmly as you can hoping the desk between the two of you hides the way your hands are shaking. “I don’t know what you expect to gain from this pseudo-relationship that you’ve been attempting to form with me but I’m no longer comfortable with the turn that it’s taken.” Cyclone looks surprised.

“Zam, what on earth caused this change?” You do your best to keep your bubbling frustration in check.

“There hasn’t been a change, per se.” You say, careful to phrase this properly. Cyclone’s your boss after all and you don’t want to say anything that could jeopardize your career. “I haven’t been comfortable since the beginning but the longer it’s gone on, the less comfortable I’ve become. I should have clarified this from the beginning but I’m unsure as to what you’re trying to gain from this relationship. I’m your employee and while you were friends with my mother, she’s dead and I’m not her.” Cyclone takes a cheap breath and you almost feel bad for what you’re about to say but you plunge on. “I don’t know if you think I’m secretly your daughter but I want to tell you point-blank, I’m not. I have a father, both biologically and emotionally. I don’t know if you’re trying to treat me like your daughter but I’m not. I already have a father who loves me and fills that place in my life, I don’t need another one.” You feel your fingernails digging into your palms as you muster up the courage to speak your mind. You owe it to Dragon after all she’s done for you.

“You have a daughter too. If you want to be a father, she’s there waiting for you, and from what I know, she’s pretty great.” You sigh, heart heavy as you regard Cyclone even as he tenses up. “I don’t want this to affect our professional relationship, because I love this job, and I’m good at it,” you emphasize. Your mother had drilled into you the importance of knowing your worth, especially in the workplace. Cyclone nods slowly, considering your words even as you see the strain of his temper threatening to rear its ugly head. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder how your mother ever fell in love with him, but then you remember Bradley before you fell in love with him. Even the other day, the fire you’d seen in his eyes had sent ice through your veins against your better judgment.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention Zam, I’ll take it into consideration. I appreciate you entertaining my company for the last few months.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding at Cyclone’s even tone. You stand to excuse yourself back to the mountain of work that you have waiting for you back in your office. Beau doesn’t try to stop you but speaks up as you’re about to exit his office. “Your mother would be very proud of the woman you’ve become.” Your stomach twists at the words and when you look back at him, for a moment you catch a glimpse of the dark-haired prince from your mother’s stories, the man she fell in love with and you wonder to yourself if there’s another lifetime where he grew up into something else.

You can’t stop the words falling from your lips. “She loved you, but she moved on. She’d want you to do the same.” His eyes widen in surprise but you don’t give him a chance to ask you anything before you’re disappearing down the hallway.

When you get back downstairs, you find Dragon waiting in your office. She gives you a tired smile when you sit down at your desk, before pushing a cookie across to you. You return the smile, taking the offering. Neither of you speaks as you eat the cookie silently. “I talked to him.” You say, breaking the silence finally. “For both of your sakes, I hope he does the right thing.” She snorts, and you watch pain flicker through her eyes as she stares off into space even as her lips twist into a cynical smirk.

“I appreciate it Zam, but if he was going to change, it would have happened by now.” You see it then, the exhaustion in the tight set of her shoulders. Atlas with the world on her back.

“Just because he won’t doesn’t mean you’re alone,” you say softly and she turns to look at you, surprise dancing in her expression. You shrug. “This team is a family, albeit a messy one, but we’re here for you when you need it. Bob too,” you add and you watch her cheeks heat as she averts her gaze. As confident as she appears with her relationship with the shy goalie outside of these walls, she’s still young and confused and you’re fondly reminded of yourself when you were her age.

She doesn’t answer, just giving you a terse nod and you slide the other half of the cookie back across the table before you turn to continue your work. You know you’re not getting more out of her right now but you extend the shoulder for her to lean on. Your family is growing every day, and now that you’ve opened that door, you’re eager to shepherd any stragglers into it.

A/N: Just one chapter to go and I’m getting emotional… I’m really going to miss these two

#you catch more bees with honey // sdd #ycmbwh // sdd #san diego dogfighters au #san diego dogfighters #san diego dogfighters hockey au #top gun maverick hockey au #tgm hockey au #Bradley Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #Bradley Bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #top gun Maverick #TGM #top gun #no use of y/n

[murderhusbands4life]

Hannibal Lecter X Autistic Child Reader

first request!

request: Can u do like austitic child reader with Hannibal 

summary: Hannibal latest patient is a child filled with trauma over their elder brothers death and Hannibal cares for them like his own.

Third person pov...

Mrs L/N and her 7 year old arrive outside Dr Hannibal Lecter's office, Y/Ns new physiatrist. A little over a month ago Y/Ns elder brother died, the 7 year old witnessed it since then the child had been filled with terror and hadn't slept well since.

Said child was grumpily standing next to their Mum staring down at their shoes swaying back and forth. "Do I have too" they pout, this makes Y/Ns mum sigh, she kneels and holds her Childs shoulder making the kid flinch not liking touch.

"Sorry honey, but you know what the school says you have to stick with the same therapist for at least a week before going back to school" explains the kids Mum, the child sighs. "Okayy, lets do it" they say making the women smile at them.

The building itself was beautiful with a sense of historical back ground, it was tall and didn't look like a physiatrists office, nervously Y/N follows their mother inside the building, Mrs L/N had heard from her close friend Jack Crawford about an amazing physiatrist and decided to make an appointment for her child.

Soon they came to a door which was Dr Lecter's office, Mrs L/N knocks on the door, looking down at her nervous child of course the child was nervous, Y/N doesn't like change and this is a huge change for them, then the door opens and man stands there.

He was tall around 6tf, he had ash grey hair, brown eyes, he had sharp cheekbones and an obviously fake smile on his face, to Y/N he looked about 40 maybe mid 40s. he was wearing a dark red pinstripe suit and dark brown shoes.

He looks at the mother and child in front of him wondering who they were. "hello, you must be Dr Lecter, Im Y/M/N L/N and this is Y/N we have an appointment" says the H/C woman, Hannibal eyes widened a fraction before returning to normal. "ah yes my apologies, I had forgotten please come in" he says and stands to the right holding the door open.

He had a slight accent, possibly eastern European, Y/N wracks their brain trying to place it but couldn't think, they shall have to ask the man later.

But Y/Ns mum shakes her head at the invitation. "I'm already late for work, I'll leave Y/N with you" she says before turning her back and kneeling next to her child, Hannibal watches as the child's eyes wonder not looking at their mother.

"Y/N love, I'll be back to pick you up later okay, my shift at the clinic will finish at 5 okay see you then, be good and respectful to Dr Lecter now" she says to the child kissing their forehead and walking away throwing a wave goodbye behind her.

The hallway was filled with silence as the Dr and Child stand. "Please come in Y/N" he says to the silent child. Y/N nervously enters the pristine office, the child gasps at how large the room was, bright E/C eyes marvel at its beauty.

Dr Lecter lips turn up at the emotionless child gasping at his office, he then walks over to the child and begins taking their coat, this makes the child look at him before smiling in thanks. "Thank you, sir," Hannibal hears a mumble.

"of course, now if you would please take a seat we will begin" he says motioning to one of the chairs he uses for his patents, though it had been a while since he had such a young one in his office.

"now then we shall begin, I am Hannibal Lecter and I will be your physiatrist" he says smiling at the small child sitting in the overly large chair, said child was still looking around the room drinking in all the details and books.

"Im Y/N L/N, sir im 7 years old" comes a tiny voice, Hannibal smiles slightly, they were getting somewhere at least he got their name. "hello Y/N do you know why you are here?" he asks the child, Y/N stopped looking around and instead looked at their shoes.

"because I don't sleep and Mummy's worried about me" comes the quiet voice, Hannibal was barely able to hear. He crosses his legs and continues to write in his notebook, brown eyes look over the child sitting opposite him, their movements skittish like a scared bunny.

"And why is that Y/N?" he asks gently coaxing the child to speak more, minutes pass before the child speaks. "Because brother died and I still dream off him though not nice dreams, I miss him" whispers the child tears gathering in the corner of their big E/C eyes.

Already seeing this happening Hannibal hands, the 7 tear old some tissues he keeps on his desk, tiny hand grab the white tissue and wipes their tears and blows their nose. "t-thank y-you s-sir" comes a tearful voice.

Hannibal smiles gently at the child reassuring them. "of course, child" he says as their session moves on.

Over Y/Ns next few appointments with Hannibal they began to get more comfortable with him and always enjoyed coming to his office, once he noticed how their eyes wondered toward his many books on the second level, the expression of surprise will forever make him happy as he told the child they could read his collection.

Said child bounds over to the many books and carefully grabs a couple, he had learnt that Y/N was autistic and had a love for books they loved reading anything, the two become ever closer their sessions became something less formal.

Hannibal had never felt this close to a child before, but he enjoyed their sessions together and was delighted to be able to help such a sweet innocent child go through their trauma.

The end!

Hope you liked this first oneshot for this new book. Sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes in this.

Requests are open!

Word count: 1065

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x child reader #x autistic reader #x child reader #death of brother #oneshot #fluff #hannibal x child reader

[angelwhisp3rs]

༺♥༻ royals

Pairing: re4r!leon x fem!reader

Summary: A regency era tale of two enemies lovers brought by a legend of the royal bluebell flower.

Tags: fluff; smut; p in v; fingering; leon is an asshole but just a bit.

This is the third part of my valentines advent! Check it out for the next couple of days for more stories!

Notes: I ALMOST DIED BUT IM FINE, feeling fresh after sh**ting and v**iting for two days!!! ALSO THIS WAS BASED ON A C.AI BOT AND I LOVE HIM

Those balls were all too pretentious, way too classy, and filled with people who pretended to like one another but, in reality, they were just hateful. It didn’t help that the event was being held in her enemy's territory: the Kennedy family.

The family was very prestigious and quite well known all around the realm, but they had a long-lasting feud with Ihelia, her family's kingdom - something about riches and lands centuries ago, but no one is quite sure. For now, they still didn’t see eye to eye for another reason: they were just way too snobbish.

God, especially the oldest, Leon. In a rare occurrence, the man was blonde with blue eyes - while some had one characteristic, this little asshole had both. To make matters worse, he was built like a freaking hero, his sparring abilities being renowned in all the kingdom. So yeah, the man was way too handsome and way too competent. To say he was egotistical was an understatement.

Her parents always told her she had to fulfill her duties as a princess to be wed, attending parties and mingling with the royals. Oh gods, how much did she hate it.

She was almost beginning to give up on keeping appearances as a nice old lady, the former queen of the Luterra kingdom - the one ruled by the Kennedys now. She was always known for her kindness, also being the one responsible for the truce period of Luterra and Ihelia. Doing a proper courtesy, she smiled at the queen mother. 

“Your majesty. It's a pleasure to attend such a beautiful event” Oh, how fake she was

“Oh honey, no need to keep up appearances. I always thought my son was way too obnoxious with his parties” she laughed, offering a welcoming pat on her shoulders.

The princess smiled relieved, looking at the former queen with the utmost respect. Gosh, what a wise woman. “I thought the lions were quite artistic. '' The princess jokes, as the queen mother laughs in agreement.

“So, you entered the age of finding suitors. Someone charmed you yet?”

“Not yet, your majesty. My father is busy telling me I should focus on the strategic side of relationships, while my mother just wants me to focus on a wealthy man”

“Oh dear, what about love?”

“Don’t think it is in the cards for me” the princess smiled apologetically.

“Of course it is. It's for everyone! Have you ever heard of the tale of the royal bluebell flower?”

The princess shook her head, curious about the queen's words.

“It’s a known tale in Luterra. Once in a lifetime, if destiny smiles upon you, you will be able to find a royal bluebell flower in the castle. Once you find it, the flower will guide you to your one true love if you still haven’t found it.”

“That sounds magical, your highness. Maybe I should roam around the gardens then” she joked.

For some reason, the queen gave the girl a knowing smile. The woman was wise beyond her years after all. “Don’t worry. Luterra lands are quite magical. They will lead you anywhere you are”

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.���'

Roaming the party his dad threw, Leon almost seethed as he watched his beloved grandmother talk to one of the lowlifes in Ihelia. He never understood her high morals of talking to the people who tried to steal their money and land. They weren’t to be trusted - they tried to steal once, which could guarantee they wouldn’t do it again.

He approached them, gearing himself with a knowing smirk, looking dashing in his red and gold ornamental suit.  

“Didn’t know our parties could be accessed by anyone. I think I’ll talk to dad to reinforce security next time”

The princess rolled her eyes, while the queen just snickered. She quickly excused herself, giving Leon a warning look to “behave”. As the young royals were alone, his nice facade dropped - he didn’t want to appear like a complete jackass in front of his beloved grandma, after all. 

“Genuely, why are you even here?”

“I was invited, idiot. If I could, I wouldn't have come here even if I was threatened”

“I forgot how my dad invited even the most needed ones. Such a charitable man”

“If he was charitable he wouldn’t have brought to Earth a menace like yourself”

Before he could answer, the orchestra began playing a more romantic and slow song. Finding it as another opportunity to tease her, he asked for her hand, knowing that she would look distasteful if she ever wanted to refuse his hand.

“My lady. Do you accept this dance?”

If possible, that was the pivotal moment that she almost killed the bachelor. Forcing a smile to not drop her etiquette, she nodded and held his hand, letting him guide her to the dance floor. 

By destiny's irony, they fit like perfect puzzles, his big and calloused hand wrapping against her delicate gloved one. Their bodies moved in synchrony, and the dance wasn’t as awkward as it was between other bachelors.

“I’m surprised you know how to dance at all, it looks like even in poverty lands they appreciate culture”

“Your grandma is so sweet, how are you even related to her?”

“Grandma is too kind, she always respects those in need. She doesn’t see the scumm your family is” he said in a cruel smirk.

She maintained the appearance, giving him a forced smile. “It amazes how you call yourself smart and yet still hold a grudge - that isn't yours - after centuries.”

“Ha, is that the best you could say to me?”

“Honestly, no. The way you act is so beneath me that I don't think it is worth it to spend so much energy on you”.

As I'd on cue, the orchestra stopped the song, and she did another courtesy and left the dance floor.

However, she failed to watch Leon pale, but for reasons she would be none the wiser for a long time.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

“Honey, the ball in Luterra must've been quite exciting”

“Ah, not much. Why do you say that?” The princess asks her father curiously.

“Because the oldest of the Kennedys just asked for your hand in marriage”

“HE WHAT?”

It was quite comical how her voice resonated in the castle, looking confused. 

“I know you might not like it, but it is a perfect marriage for you. It would solve the rift between the kingdoms and it would secure both households in influence”

The princess looked angrily at her dad, as he told the most absurd thing she ever heard, with even worse reasons.

“Do any of my feelings matter at all?”

“They do, but we have to be strategic. I'm sorry, honey, but I already accepted it”.

She lost her grounding, looking desolated at her father's words. It didn't matter what she felt or what she said, at the end of the day, she was a pawn to serve her father's wishes.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

The change into his castle was even more terrifying. But what she could never count was the complete change in Leon's behavior. Although he still wasn't overly friendly, he was much kinder - he was the one who started that lunacy after all.

They still slept in separate rooms until the wedding happened, but he made an effort to spend at least a part of the day with her. Whenever she asked him for his reasons for wanting to marry her, he always gave her the same answer.

“Please ask me after our wedding”

After some weeks of curiosity, the ceremony happened, and it was perfect. To everyone watching, it was a wedding to be remembered for years. Hell, even she felt like a true princess.

She warmed up to Luterra, especially the castle and its staff. Her assigned maid was absolutely lovely, and she honestly considered the woman a friend. 

Still, she vehemently ignored her family in the ceremony. If they traded her like a pawn, they can play that game by themselves, she doesn't want to be a part of it.

By the end of the night, Leon and she were finally sharing a room. She looked nervous, sitting up in bed with him. He was the first one to break the ice.

“You looked beautiful today. You always do, but you shined even more today”

“Thank you. And thank you for being at my side the entire day. I'm glad I didn't feel alone”

“I would never. I will always choose you”

Some moments passed, and she bit the bullet.

“Leon… why me?” 

He was a coveted bachelor, every woman would want him. Why his enemy?

He smiled, and looked down at the sheets, as if he was embarrassed.

“Your hair ornament at the day of the ball”

“What? Just because?” I asked giggling.

“No. It was a royal bluebell. That's when I knew”

She looked at him surprised. Just the tale his grandmother told her at the party. That's why she looked so cunning, she must've realized the flower she had on her hair.

“But Leon, anyone could've worn something with the flower-”

“No. I didn't want to attend the event, but I heard a staff member talking about destiny's surprises. I was already late to the event, and you were the first woman I saw.”

“Jeez, you take these things seriously. You honestly think I'm your soulmate”

“Wholeheartedly. And if you don't, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you”

She was taken aback by his words. So moved, she pressed a kiss to his lips, surprising both at the spontaneity. Leon didn't waste any time and got over her - it was their honeymoon, after all.

In a mess of limbs and eagerness, both were naked as they explored each other's bodies, breathless and excited. Leon maintained eye contact and lifted her thighs to his waist, offering his fingers to her and letting her mouth soak them. Then, they moved down to her clit, circling and rubbing it slowly, drinking in the soft gasps of pleasure.

“So soft, baby… gonna make this pretty pussy love me just as much as you do”

As she was wet enough, one finger gently entered her needy hole, finding her g spot and rubbing it slowly, her entrance clenching around him.

His movements were slow but deliberate, and soon his pretty princess fell apart on his fingers. No time to waste, his other hand lifted her other thigh to his hips, giving easy access to her.

His hand pinched and circled her nipples, kissing her deeply as his tip began to slide in, causing both to moan in unity.

“Fuck, Leon… too much”

“You can take it, you are my good girl”

She clenched at the praise, making him smirk. He kept praising her, till she was ready to take cock. 

“My baby, gonna take care of you forever”

“Doing so good, just taking me so deep”

“Pussy made to be fucked by me

As he felt her more comfortable and turned on, he moved his hips at a consistent pace, the angled head of his cock hitting her spot just nicely. 

She scratched his arms and back, guaranteeing he henot be able to be shirtless in front of people for quite a while, but he didn't mind. He would take every mark she gave in, that's how much he loved her.

He moaned as his cock was swallowed by her gummy walls, her wetness granting a white creamy circle at the base of his manhood.

He positioned himself again, throwing her legs over his arms and bending her in half, letting him hit it deeper, making his wife tear up - in pleasure, of course.

“God, if you keep clenching I won't be able to hold back, baby”

“Please, please, just want you to cum. Please fill me up, husband”

Jesus, how could he resist? He was only a man after all. As his hips pistoned in her, he felt her contracting her walls and cumming all around him, triggering his orgasm.

She whined as she felt filled up, her body shaky as her orgasm just threw her on cloud 9. She smiled as he kissed her face as he came down too, appreciating and worshiping the body of his soulmate.

“Isn't that enough proof that you are my destiny?”

“Hmm, don't know that… maybe you should try again” She said smirking.

Leon didn't oppose her. After all, he had all eternity to prove his love.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #re4 #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #re4 remake #re4r #re4make #re4 leon #leon scott kennedy #resident evil leon #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon smut #leon resident evil #leon x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #resident evil x you

[misstycloud]

New beginning:

Yandere husband x wife reader x platonic son.

————————-

Moving to a new city can be a difficult experience. A new house, a new school, new friends and unfamiliar surroundings. Especially hard can it be if you're forced to bring undesired company. That was the case for Andrew. The new house was built very recently, with a modern interior and tall windows and a supplemental garden filled with beautiful vegetation. Many would say he was lucky to live in such a house, but he much preferred his old home. He only felt dread when the car rolled up in the driveway, sealing his fate. Andrew sensed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his mother send him a gentle smile.

"We're here, come on let's check out the place."

The boy thanked the heavens for his mother, she was the only one with the ability to cheer him up. What would he do without her? He beamed and stepped out of the vehicle. (Y/n) grabbed her sons' hand and pulled him along to admire the flowerbeds planted in front of the house. There were a considerable amount of carnations, dahlias and marigolds. It reminded the boy about all those times when he and his small family went out to the park, all those years ago. When his father was still alive. He really missed those times, times when his sweet mother wasn't with that asshole. When that thing didn't exist. Before his spiteful mood strayed too far, a familiar voice interrupted them. For Andrew it was like hearing nails on a chalkboard.

"Hey, you coming?" A young man in his early thirties came out of the house. In his arms slept a baby.

"Yes we'll be there shortly. Just have to carry these boxes inside first."

"Want me to help?" Her husband asked and slightly tilted his head to the side.

"No, I'll be fine."

(Y/n) proceeded to unload the boxes from the trunk, and placed them on the ground. Andrew wanted to help her but struggled with the weight of the boxes. He tried renewing his grip, but it did not prevent the cardboard from slipping. The young boy was already annoyed, which didn't alleviate when the person he hated most only added fuel to the fire.

"Need help with that, kid?" His step-father stopped right by his side and glanced down at him. Andrew frowned and spat fiercely at him.

"Why would I need help from the likes of you?"

"Andrew! Apologise to Evan right now." His mother scolded him.

"Nah it’s fine, honey."

"But-"

"Let's just start unpack these boxes and have dinner after. Sounds good?" (Y/n) reluctantly nodded and went into the house.

Evan turned back to face Andrew. It might have been the lighting, but Andrew could have sworn there was malice behind those blue eyes.

Andrews' new room was spacious with a balcony, giving a pleasant view on the garden. Despite it being the bigger than his former room, it did not coach him into liking his current home any more.

Why did they have to move? He liked his old home, old school where all his friends were. Now he's forced to start over and with them still here. Andrew would have been fine with it if it was just him and his mom, alas it seems like you can't have everything.  

He laid down on the floor, staring up in the ceiling. He thought about when his father died. He remembers hating hearing his mom cry herself to sleep every night.

Many came to the funeral, all his aunts, uncles, cousins along with family friends. They all cried except him.

He was in shock they say. He wasn't sure himself, all he knew was that he felt numb. Like it wasn't real, but it was. Afterward it was just him and his mom. They went about their lives as normal, although they were much closer than before-if possible.

He's a certified mamas boy, all right.

He couldn't imagine a life without her. Andrew felt so happy when she played with him, cuddled with him, read to him before putting him to sleep every night. Now however, they don't get to do those things as much.

It's that Evan and their new baby. It's always crying. Always hungry.

Always there. Always demanding attention.

How he detested that thing. Because of it his mother never got time for him.

They used to play all the time but now her full concentration was constantly on the baby. Sometimes, he is even tasked with keeping watch on him. It things like 'can you keep an eye on your brother a second, so I can bring in the groceries?'- or - 'Why don't you try holding your little brother for a bit?'.

All of his relatives fawn over his younger half-brother.

Treating him like a miracle. When voicing his complains, the only responses he get is that he should stop acting so childish and that he'll eventually come to adore Eli. His aunt once said to him.

'Better not say these thing to your mommy, or she will get really sad. No mother want her children to hate each other.'

Fearing to hurt his mom, he never told her of his resentment. Andrew blinked and sat up inspecting all the boxes. Some stacked on top of each other, building a tower.

'I better get to work or I'll be done next year.'

A few weeks after they first arrive, the family had settled in nicely. Most had been unpacked but there were some moving boxes sitting somewhere.

The neighbours greeted them the second day in town. They came over with a new baked blueberry pie. Awfully friendly people one might say.

Their former neighbours didn't as much look at them, let alone bring them pastry's. Apparently they were swedes.

In the evenings the sun shone inside the house and brought a lovely golden hue. You could just relax in the glow, close your eyes and drift off. Something Andrew decided to do a lot. He especially needed it after an annoying day in school. The boy always told his mother the academy had great teachers and his classmates were so friendly. He would make so many friends in the future! But the truth was that the school had 'okay' teachers, and only some of his classmates were friendly. Not many wanted to give him time of the day actually, being the new word kid and all. Andrew had friends in his former school but they were few in between.

'Not everyone could keep up with him', he liked to imagine. For he was indeed the smartest boy in his grade and since it made his mother very happy, he did everything to keep the title.

During the afternoons, the sun shine inside covering the entire house in a golden hue. Lazing around in the living room just reading or thinking deeply was wonderful then. Mixed with the afternoon glow, it gave the feeling of peace and calmness. It was one of the finest hours spent his new home.

In the course of one of such afternoons, (Y/n) was currently working away on her laptop. Andrew entered and smiled when  spotting his dear mother. In his hands resided a orange ball waiting to be tossed around.

"Hey, mom?"

(Y/n) turned her gaze up to see her oldest son staring expectantly at her. She hummed lovingly in response.

"Yes, honey? What is it?"

"Can you play with me, I've been bored all day?" He pleaded.

"I'm a bit busy right now though..."

the woman hated turning down her child. Especially since he knew very well when to bring out the 'puppy eyes'. She glanced around the room and as she watched her youngest play in the carpet, she got an idea. (Y/n) suggested that he play with Eli to cure his boredom.

"Why don't you play with Eli? Im sure he would love to be with his brother."

On cue, the small child peered up at them. He made happy gurgling noises when he noticed his big brother. After all, he didn't see much of Andrew at home. He was always busy doing homework or playing by himself. Being reminded of the baby, Andrew felt himself withdrawal with repulsion. No way was he going to play with him. Evan had already been enough of a bother, but then suddenly had his mother fallen pregnant and next thing he knew, that thing had plopped out. He recalls when his mother told him the news. She was ecstatic and so was Evan. After their wedding they had already planned to move-one of the reasons being work- and now they had another reason to start fresh.

Somewhere new, somewhere where no one knew them, somewhere with no memories of the past.

Despite wanting nothing more than (Y/n) to be happy, he couldn't find any joy himself in the news. He would have a sibling now? He wouldn't be the only child? He would have someone to play with now, he guessed. But it wasn't really that important since he was more of a studious kid. Andrew's thoughts ran wild, there was one thought that stood out however.

Now he would be forced to share his mom.

Andrew didn't want that! What is she liked the new baby better than him? That wouldn't do. The boy was horribly afraid you'd prefer your baby over him and you'd just toss him aside. Throwing out his stuff and maybe make him live with his grandparents. It was a nightmare he had many times afterwards. The fear of abandonment gnawed at him like a rat.

(Y/n) watched as the light in her son's eyes vanished into nothingness. He obviously wasn't satisfied with her reply. On one hand she really would like to play with Andrew, but on the other hand she also really needed to finish her work. Panicked she tried to come up with another solution and as her knight in shining armour, Evan came to her rescue.

He must have listened to their conversation and decided to step up.

"Hey kid, wanna play with me instead? ”

Andrew deliberately scrutinised Evan with a cold look. He then proceeded to firmly shake his head and say

"No, not you."

"Andrew, don't say that. Evan is a part of this family." His mother's voice sounded. But her son only turned to look her in the eyes with a somewhat sad and anxious expression, which followed by him rushing outside.

"Andrew wait!"

But he was already too far out of reach to hears his mothers pleas. (Y/n) sighed defeatedly and pitched the bridge of her nose. Evan attempted to comfort his wife by saying he'll talk to Andrew and that they'll both come to a mutual understanding about respect, before running out the back door after Andrew.

The mother didn't have a clue to what she did for thing to end up like this. Sure, she had a feeling Andrew wasn't the biggest fan of Evan but she kinda hoped that would disappear over time. Maybe she was a bad mom for dating someone her child didn't have the most loving opinion of, but did she not deserve some happiness as well?

When Andrew's father died, she was heartbroken. Who wouldn't be when the love of your life and father of your child suddenly passes away? When she finally decided to get out there and start dating again, she noticed her dates would abruptly draw back. Like they would meet up and then her date just didn't appear interested anymore, even though they seemed to click.

Maybe the bearings of already having a child just wasn't appealing? Because when she introcued Andrew to them, was around the same time when they messaged they'd like to stop pursuing the relationship. She could understand how they felt though. So she didn't blame them for anything. She was just sad that's all. Sad that she might never find that happiness again. Until she met him.

Evan was the only one who decided to stay. Despite her son's snarky comments and glares from the opposite side of the table. (Y/n) felt forever grateful for all the things he did for her. For loving her so dearly. For never forgetting a special day, like birthdays and anniversaries. For making her so incredibly happy while going down on one knee. As well as giving her a second beautiful son who she'd love with all her heart.

Speaking of, that little bundle of joy stretched his arms out trying to reach for his mother. (Y/n) chuckled and went to pick him up and held him fondly while smothering his forehead with kisses.

"You're my little angel, Eli."

Under a tree sat a young boy sulking by himself. He was upset, very upset. His mother chose someone else over him. Okay, he knew it wasn't really like that but it still felt like it. She had chosen a scum over him. Her own son! He didn't deserve the love his mom gave. Not when the one who actually deserved it was Andrew.

He had been successful in preventing a relationship every time his mother had met someone. Every time! But not Evan. He didn't let Andrew scare him in the slightest. Not his death glares. Not his degrading comments. Not even the mean pranks. In fact, Evan didn't as much as flinch when he found a dead rat in his shoe, nor when he found out the eggs Andrew so happily made him were way outdated. Nothing ever seemed to phase him. That wasn't the only thing about him.

Evan was also...weird. Very weird.

Before they moved the their new home, Andrew would sometimes hear strange noise outside at night. It was when Evan slept over at their house. He basically lived there, even though he had his own apartment. So when the boy woke up during those nights and listened to where the sound came from, he took a look outside.

There in the garden had he spotted a tall silhouette. Andrew had quickly backed away from the window when the shadow had looked up towards his window. He was lucky he tought, because it appeared that the figure did not see him. The boy had then continued to observe the shadow. It seemed like it was digging. But why was a stranger digging in his backyard in the middle of the night? Imagine his surprise when he saw the moon's shine lit up a portion of the strangers face. It was only for a second, and he didn't know the person well at all. But there was no mistake. The 'stranger' in his backyard was none other than Evan. You also can't forget the strange sounds coming from the basement. Evan was the only one who went down there, he allegedly used it as his study. His mother wouldn't know anything since she didn't have a reason to go down there and if she needed something Evan would be the first to volunteer.

Lost in thought he almost didn't notice that said person was currently approaching him. Andrew scowled at his step-father and averted his sights to the grass beneath him. A pair of black shoes soon replaced his vision.

"Hey, Andrew." Evan began.

"......."

"I know that we might not get along well but can you at least try? For you mom?" The man asked in a hopeful tone but received no answer. He prepared to repeat himself again, but was surprised at the high pitched voice that suddenly murmured something imperceptible.

"I can't hear you, what did you say?"

Evan leaned in closer with the intention of catching the boy's muffled words.

"Fuck you.." Andrew glared at him.

The man's eyes widened. He wouldn't have guessed this is what the boy was trying to say. Nasty criticism was nothing new from Andrew. But never had he sworn at him. Only things like; where he came from and what he ate to his fashion choice. Evan's expression converted into a perilous smile.

"That's not nice little Andy." He said.

"Don't call me that!" The lad swung his scrawny arm at the older man, but it was easily caught in a tight grip. Andrew froze as he stared into two malicious orbs.

"I will call you whatever I want because I'm the adult here. Listen; I don't like you and I know you don't like me either, but you will do as I say. Because if you don't- well we already have a replacement for you." The man smirked while he watched as Andrew's face distort.

"I also don't want (Y/n) to be unhappy. She wants this new life to go well and your little antics keeps making her sad, and I doubt you want to cause your mother pain. So you will stop your pathetic tantrums and be a good boy from now on, okay?"

Evan released his grip on Andrew's arm and stood up. He began waking back towards the house, but not before turning around and saying.

"Be nice to your daddy from now on."

Andrew caressed his sore arm and winced. He could already feel a bruise forming. Guess he would have to borrow some makeup from mom's bag to cover it up. Looking through the window he could clearly see his mother and step-father conversing happily; like the previous three minutes didn't happen.

Just like he said.

Weird

God how he hated that little brat! If he could just get rid of him, then everything would be alright. It would be absolutely perfect with only the three of them as a family.

Evan Carter was no ordinary man. He can't even begin to count how many immoral acts he's committed. Assault, robbery, blackmail, murder.

But that was not all. He realised from a young age that he was different. Many times did he witness the emotions of people around him, the good ones and the negative ones. But not a single emotion could he relate to.

When he tripped and fell as a young boy, he simply stood up again, shedding no tears.

When his middle school soccer team won his towns annual sports tournament, Evan did not understand the length of his teammates joy.

Don't get him wrong he can feel things, although his feeling weren't as prominent or strong like others. Further, when he was in high school and all the other kids started to focus on finding partners, the boy could care less about it. It continued that way even when he wasn’t a young boy anymore and time had carried him into the life of adulthood.

Until he met her.

(Y/n) was his light. They’d met three years ago at a party hosted by a mutual friend. She had been so beautiful that night. With her rosy cheeks and enchanting eyes. She had him trapped the moment they shook hands. Evan wanted to punch himself for thinking he could make it alone in this world. Before her, the domestic lifestyle appeared pointless; Now it was all he wished for.

The day they of their wedding was the best day of his life. Everything went splendidly and the decision to move to a new city had just been finalised. Seeing his wife pregnant with his child made him so happy. Evan loved his wife and son so, so, so much!

Their new life would be amazing if it wasn't for one time detail. His wife's son from her previous relationship.

How awful that brat was.

Always insulting him and being rude, even though he hadn't done anything to deserve it. It was quite obvious he was trying to scare him away. But Evan was not like those other shallow men Andrew had succeeded in frightening. No, he was there to stay.

Evan knew his temper would soon hit breaking point. Still, he didn't desire to kill the boy. Not yet at least. He saw how much (Y/n) loved him and knew how heartbroken she would be if he died. She was unknowingly the only reason he was still alive.

But perhaps in the future, who knows? A small accident may occur.

—————————

#yandere #yandere husband #platonic son #yandere son #move #new home #baby #marriage #threat #family #new marrige #new husband #stepfather #sons #yandere oc #oc #my oc #Evan carter #andrew #x reader #yandere x reader #female reader #wife reader #male yandere #male oc #toxic #obsessed

[peterhollandkait]

You Are My Heaven On Earth - Joel Miller

Pairing: No outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joel have been dating for over a year, but you never knew he could sing until Sarah revealed his little secret to you during a movie night.

Warnings: Sub!Joel, Oral sex (fem receiving), slight cockblocking, Joel singing is his own warning, soft!Joel

WC: 2173

A/N: It's finally here! This is my first time posting smut, so please be kind. Shoutout to @tightjeansjavi and @chaotic-mystery for helping me when I started to PANIC. Y'all are my saviors.

Link to the song Joel sings here.

You’d met Joel about a year ago, having just moved a few blocks away from his house in the same neighborhood. When a neighbor suggested Joel’s company to fix the fence on your property, you were pleasantly surprised to find that Mr. Miller was an extremely attractive man your age and not an older gentleman with decades worth of relationships in your vicinity. 

Joel and his younger brother Tommy replaced your fence easily and in a timely fashion, even sealing the wood when you asked about weather protection. 

You spent the week watching the brothers work and when Tommy wasn’t there, learning more about Joel. You learned he was a single dad to a daughter named Sarah, who was ten and his entire world. He’d been a contractor since before graduating high school and started his own company just a few years ago after his brother returned from the military. 

He also learned about you, how you worked at the museum in town as a curator after graduating from graduate school a few years previous. How one of your great grandparents had died and left you a chunk of change big enough to put a deposit on a house. 

You made him lunch every day, paired with either countless glasses of water or lemonade. It started as a kindness, something to show him appreciation for his work. But by the third day, you were itching to see his sweat soaked face and thick arms enter your house, sit at your table and eat the food you’d prepared for him. 

By the end of the week, you weren’t willing to let Joel walk out of your life until you needed another job done. As soon as you had handed Joel the check for his work and watched him place it in his pocket, you took the pen you were holding and boldly grabbed his hand, scribbling your house number over his knuckles.

Joel called you as soon as he’d gotten home that evening. 

So here you were, a year later, snuggling with Sarah on their couch watching the newest Barbie movie while you waited for Joel to come home for the night. When he still hadn’t arrived at her bed time, you went through the motions with her and tucked her in before returning to the couch. 

The evening’s Jeopardy episode was rerunning when Joel entered the house about an hour later, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He was happy to see it was only you on the couch, though he felt horrible for leaving you with Sarah duty, again. It was an unfortunate habit over the last few weeks, a particular job causing him anguish and keeping him late. 

You looked at him brightly from where you sat, your smile wide as you greeted him. “Hi, honey. Come sit.” You patted the couch next to you, luring him in. 

He abided, sighing again as he settled into the cushions. Immediately, you crawled your way into his lap, hands rubbing up and down his arms and shoulders soothingly. 

“Hi, sweet pea,” he whispered, eyes falling closed from the bliss of your touch. God, he loved you.

“Sarah told me a secret today,” you whispered back, hands still moving. 

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Your smirk was evident in your voice as you said, “She told me how you can play guitar and, I couldn’t believe it, sing. What have you been hiding from me, cowboy?”

Joel’s chuckle rattled in his chest, his eyes opening to see your mischievous grin. “She said that? She must have gotten me confused with another dad.”

“Hm, I don’t think so. There’s only one Joel Miller that lives in this house.” You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips gently. “What do I have to do to get a pretty boy like you to sing for me?” 

Joel’s cock twitched as you uttered the words, making you smirk. “Tell you what, pretty boy,” you paused, emphasizing on the last two words. You watched his Adam’s apple bob with his hard swallow, eyes watching you carefully. “Sing a few songs for me and I’ll let you have your way with me. How does that sound?”

Joel nodded, albeit a bit frantically. He’d take you right here on this couch if it meant you’d keep calling him your pretty boy. 

“Guitar is in the bedroom, s-sweet pea,” he stuttered, hands gravitating to your hips as you ground against him. 

“Okay, honey.” You grabbed his hands as you stood, leading him up the stairs to his bedroom. You’d changed into one of his flannels after Sarah had gone to bed, the fabric almost reaching your knees as you walked. 

You hadn’t planned on teasing Joel to death, truly. But when he walked in after a long day with exhaustion exuding from his body, you figured he could use a little fun before the weekend began in earnest. 

When you reached the bed, you settled yourself in the middle, legs open and on display while Joel pulled the guitar case from under his bed. 

Joel was nervous as he clicked open the case, pulling the acoustic guitar from its resting place. He hadn’t sung for anyone in a long time, anyone except Sarah of course.

His hands shook as he moved himself onto the bed next to you, guitar settled on his lap. He tested a few strums, taking his time to tune the instrument before he began. 

Your voice caught in your throat at the sound of Joel’s sweet melody filled the room. His voice was soft, yet gritty as he crooned the lyrics of Garth Brooks’ “If Tomorrow Never Comes.”

If I never wake in the morning

Would she ever doubt the way I feel

About her in my heart

If tomorrow never comes

Will she know how much I loved her

Did I try in every way to show her every day

That she's my only one

Tears welled as you listened, love pouring from Joel’s soul as he went through the chorus and second verse. You laid your hand on his thigh closest to yours, watching him with soft eyes. 

Though his voice is rough from lack of use, the song was beautiful and full of his love for you. He had glanced at you several times during the song, but it was your expression at the end of the song that gave him purpose. 

He’d barely put the guitar aside before his hands were on you, lips chasing yours. You met him with equal force, bounding into his lap. His hands roamed your bare skin under the flannel you wore, finding purchase on your thighs as they straddled his hips. 

“That,” you moaned as his lips explored the skin down your neck and chest. “Was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

With your hands tangled in his brown curls, Joel explored lower, leaving marks along your collarbones and a particularly harsh bruise on your left breast. You gasped as his teeth sunk into your sensitive skin, the feeling soothed moments later with his gentle kisses to the area. 

Carefully Joel flipped you onto your back, undoing the buttons on the flannel as he moved down your body, head hovering just above the place you wanted him most. 

“Please,” you breathed out, hand tugging at his hair. “P-please Joel, right there.” 

Joel placed a kiss to your inner thigh, smirking into your skin as he tugged your underwear down your hips and tossed them behind him. 

“Are you going to be good for me, darling?” 

“S-so good…I’ll be so good.” Joel nudged your clit with his nose as you spoke, your hips bucking up in response. 

You felt his fingers first, sliding between your folds to collect the wetness there. He used his free hand to hold your thighs apart as his tongue found your clit, tracing skilled circles around the bundle of nerves. 

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered, back arching from his touch. 

Joel made a muffled sound of approval, continuing to devour your clit while two of his fingers inched into your entrance. You mewled at the feeling of his hands slowly spreading you open, his fingers curling just right to hit your most sensitive spot.

Joel ate you out like a man starved, his fingers finding an equal rhythm to match his pace against your cunt. You tugged on his hair in response, heavy moans escaping from your mouth. 

He pulled his mouth away from you slightly, hand continuing his movement as he said, “shh, darling. We don’t want to wake Sarah now. Be good for me and stay quiet sweet pea.”  

His fingers curled in that moment, your frantic nodding the only response you could give him as he continued his assault on you. 

With his mouth back on your clit, fingers continually reaching the spot that made you see stars, you were close. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you choked, your free hand grabbing the sheets for purchase. “Joel I’m gonna,” you groaned as he hummed against your skin, somehow moving faster than he had before.

Joel coaxed your orgasm out of you at a deliberate pace, your wetness covering his chin and beard as you came undone underneath him.

 He loved watching you come, the way your back arched and heels dug into the mattress. How you closed your eyes, groaning in pleasure as you called out his name. He loved knowing that he was the only one who could bring you to this state, panting and writhing from his touch. 

He carried you through your orgasm, mouth sucking at your clit until you couldn’t take it anymore, a hand gently shoving him away from over sensitivity. He slowly pulled his fingers from within you, raising them to his mouth and sucking your wetness from them, eyes watching you watch him. 

When he was finished, he trailed kisses back up your body, leaving a tender one on the bruising spot he’d left on the side of your breast before he reached your mouth again. 

You kissed him lazily, tasting yourself on him as you explored his mouth with your tongue. Joel moaned in return, a hand finding purchase on your hip.

 You tugged on his shirt, raising it over his head and tossing it aside before you began to work on his jeans when you heard a gentle knock on the door. “Daddy?”

You paused your movements, watching Joel as he sat back on his heels. “Just a sec, baby girl.” 

You squeezed his hand as he moved off of the bed, using the flannel still hanging on your body to wipe your wetness from his chin before he walked to the door. 

You sat up also, taking the few steps to Joel’s closet to find some more respectful clothing to put on for Sarah to see. 

Joel opened the door gently, peering down at his young daughter in the darkness of the hallway. “What’s wrong, baby girl? We didn’t wake you, did we?”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I-I had a nightmare, daddy.”

“Oh darling,” Joel fell to his knees in front of Sarah, pulling her into his chest. “It’s alright, you’re safe now. 

You heard her sniffle before she mumbled, “Can m-mommy come lay in bed with me for a while?”

You stilled, your heart warming at her words. She’d never called you mom before and you’d never expected it in a million years. 

Joel felt your hands on his shoulders as he stuttered, “mommy?” 

Sarah nodded, looking up at you expectantly. “You’re going to be my mommy now, right? I…I overheard you and uncle Tommy talking about it the other day daddy.” Her eyes drifted down to Joel’s and back up again, a pout forming on her mouth. “Can you come lay with me and tell me one of those stories? I really like it when you tell me stories before bed.”

“Of course, honey. Why don’t you go get settled and I’ll be right there, okay?” 

Sarah nodded, giving her dad one last hug before she made her way back down the hallway and into her room. 

You leaned down on Joel’s shoulders then, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Mommy, huh?” 

“I, uh…” Joel was glad you couldn’t see his face, red creeping up his neck and into his cheeks and ears. He hadn’t bought a ring yet, had barely started thinking about it when Tommy mentioned the idea a few weeks previous. How Sarah heard the conversation, he had no idea. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered against his skin. “Your secret is safe with me. Why don’t I go and get Sarah back to sleep and then you and I can continue what we started in the shower, hm?”

“Sure, darling, whatever you say.” He could feel your smile on his neck, your lips brushing against his ear. 

“I love you, pretty boy.”

“And I love you, sweet pea.”

#Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #sub!joel #no outbreak joel #the last of us #the last of us fic

[mamayan]

Don’t Cry: Part 1

Yandere! Giyu Tomioka x Fem! Reader

He’s just so pretty I couldn’t help myself…

Don’t Cry: Part 2 (NSFW)

The water Hashira just wants you to love him. The means don’t need to justify the end.

TW: Implied Kidnapping•Isolating•Terrorizing•Minor Injuries•Yandere Themes•Implied Death

You knew your chances were slim. The fact that it was the middle of winter, that your shoes weren’t meant for outdoor use, and your weakened physical state all held you back.

You knew it was highly unlikely you’d escape, but when the chance arose, you took it.

Who knew you’d actually make it so far? Already you’d passed the first village, no where near home but far enough from his home that you felt like you could breathe. Staying discreet and on the low, you’d found an old temple to settle down in for the night. Only an old monk running it, who kindly gave you a room, bedding, and food. If not for his generosity, you might’ve failed. Worse, you might’ve died out there. The wind having picked up, rattling the only temple walls struggling to keep the cold sharp air out. You’d been in your futon for several hours, sleep eluding you in the most painful of ways. Paranoia likely to haunt you for time to come, if you truly do manage to escape his grasp.

You didn’t want to demoralize yourself. You truly did still hold a flame of hope inside that you could do it. Completely rid yourself of the demon slayer Giyuu Tomioka, a Hashira. Though, despite what little effort he put into explaining what it is he was and did, you’d already highly doubted his mental sanity. You’d certainly met a priest as a child that claimed to see spirits and could cast away demons plaguing your village. Giyuu seemed nothing like that quack, only able to cast out dust bunnies at the most. Giyuu’s dark blue gaze, like the depths of the ocean, seemed so honest. It was difficult not to believe him, but you supposed that was what made him so dangerous. It’s what made you vulnerable to him, letting your guard down because someone so upright like Giyuu couldn’t be evil, right?

Looks could be deceiving. Like a fool, you fell into a honey trap, his silent yet steady demeanor so captivating.

You’d found him nearly a year ago, same time of year, bloodied and left in the snow. He wasn’t dying, still alive and able to speak albeit quietly and in clipped words. You couldn’t help it, taking him to your home and helping him heal. Couldn’t help being dragged into the sad soft eyes when he spoke about his sister and friend. It was too late for you by the time you realized something wasn’t quite right with him mentally. His silent protective nature turned a bit violent, once breaking the hand of a man who drunkenly stumbled into you on your way home from the market one evening. He claimed the man had bad intentions, but no crime had been committed yet, so why cripple a man? A farmer no less who needed that hand to feed his family. Giyu had been icy when you’d questioned his reasoning, he’d become closed off when you’d try to figure out what exactly was going on with him. Why he’d disappear for nearly a month at a time and reappear again as if he never left your home.

You never got an answer, just awoke one morning in a new house you’d never been to, isolated in a forest you didn’t know, with only Giyuu.

Giyuu, who never answered your questions with anything in-depth, surface skimming explanations that made little to no sense. “I’m protecting you, like I should’ve done for them.” You thought he’d have nefarious thoughts, taking a young unmarried woman away from her home like an abducted bride usually resulted in something. Except he let the anxiety fester, never once did he lay a hand on your or become violent. His only indication of impatience or irritation for any disobedient actions was silence and isolation. You didn’t like the isolation, didn’t like when he’d leave without a word for so long and you’d be trapped in that forest with nothing and no way out without him. He knew it riddled you with panic and depression. It’s not your fault you took the chance to run when he’d taken you out of the forest to pick herbs, he’d gone out of eye sight, and you took off towards the village in the horizon.

So why now, after all this had happened, did you feel strange? Still anxious as if he’s right around the corner? Or are you anxious because he isn’t around the corner? His lack of presence bringing back fear of being left to die alone in that maze of a forest with no one. You tried to close your eyes and focus on your breathing, hoping it lessened the misplaced guilt you felt for leaving. He doesn’t deserve any pity. He’s a mentally ill man with far too much strength and intelligence and should be arrested-

An ear piercing scream has you jolting upright, adrenaline pouring into your veins as you hear what you pray isn’t the breaking of bones and tearing of flesh. Bile rises in your throat but thankfully your body doesn’t betray you and moves to quickly throw on your outter robe loosely and sandals to cover your feet as you bolt out of the room and head straight to the exit. You’d think about the old priest later, but you were certainly in no position to play hero. You need to get out and away from whatever animal broke in. You turn the corner, the temple entrance closed but not locked thankfully as you sprint for the double wooden doors.

Except you don’t make it. The back of your left ankle becoming oddly itchy before your legs give out and you collapsed. Confusion wracked you, as you turned to look behind you only to see a lot of blood. So much, flowing from the back of your ankle, and it takes your brain a moment to realize you’d been sliced by something. “What…” you can only mumble before noise breaks your thought and someone- something stumbled out into the communal area of the temple. You couldn’t even scream if you wanted to, the monster hideous and deformed, humanoid but grotesque in it’s similarities too. It had four arms, sharp and elongated, with knife like claws for fingers. Teeth razor sharp and an unhinged jaw covered in blood- and oh no, the clothing of the priest? Tears were already spilling down your cheeks, unable to form words let alone breathe because this demon was eyeing you with hunger. All four eyes.

Would your last thoughts be an admission that Giyuu isn’t crazy…? Would you be alive then, if you’d just stayed by his side…?

It lunges, and you don’t have the heart to watch the beast kill you, so you close your eyes and turn away. Awaiting the impact that will likely crush and kill you painfully. The demon screeches, and then wails as a new sound has your heart nearly stopping.

“First form, water surface slash.” You look, unable to really fathom what was happening, as Giyuu cut through the beast, throwing it off your trajectory. Water moves with his blade, seemingly out of no where, as it cuts through the demon, making it wail and cry out viciously.

“A Hashira?! Here?! No! No! No! No! Why are you here?!” It’s screeching voice like knives on granite, irritating your senses as you scrambled away from the fight to the far corner of the temple. You were unable to walk with the injury to your foot.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the fight, unfathomable as it all was to you.

The demon regrew it’s damaged body, lashing out at Giyuu and causing a new wave of panic to overtake you but Giyuu moved seamlessly. His stoic expression still in place despite the monster screeching and lunging for him, destroying portions of the temple in it’s rampage. Giyuu moved like he was dancing, elegantly dodging and swinging as if in accompaniment to a song you couldn’t hear.

“Damn you! Damn! Damn! Damn! I’ll kill you!” The demon screams, except it doesn’t leap for Giyuu again, this time it turns it’s attention to you. You don’t even realize you’ve cried out until after Giyuu springs into action, and just as the beast is about to grab you…

Giyuu beheads it. Blood splattering across your chest and abdomen from the demon, as it’s head goes rolling away. It begins evaporating, body and head, ashes rising up and dissipating as if it was never there in the first place.

It’s quiet. Save for your trembling little gasps and whines escaping as you try to calm yourself down.

It doesn’t work.

Your panic too high, and with it, your blood loss greater.

Despite your seemingly endless tears, you can make out Giyuu’s twisted expression of concern and it breaks your heart as you sob. “G-Giyuu!” His name different on your lips than any other time you’ve said it. More whiny and needy than you’d ever care to admit, but you were terrified and dizzy. You were seeking the only comfort available.

Despite his steely expression as he gazed down at you, bleeding out before him, he crouched down and moved to check your injury.

“I need to stop the bleeding…” he’s talking more to himself than you. Moving quickly, you barely registered him tearing the end of your kimono, using the fabric to wrap and halt the bleeding of your severed Achilles tendon. The pain thankfully wasn’t registering, but once Giyuu was close enough, you were quick to latch on to him desperately. He halted and stilled, hand still applying pressure to stop the bleeding, but frozen otherwise as you wrapped your arms around his neck and cried his name again.

“Giyuu… Giyuu… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” your voice faltering as you whimper in pain as he begins working on your injury again. He’s silent as you plea and whine in his arms, even as he picks you up. “I was wrong… wrong… hurts… Giyuu…” it’s only muffled words against his haori, trying to melt into the very man you’d run away from. It was your only form of comfort, the itching in your ankle becoming a burning hot pain that was consuming a majority of your thoughts not still occupied by the creature from hell you’d encountered tonight.

The demon that would’ve killed and eaten you if not for Giyuu Tomioka.

He’s gentle, carrying you, and allowing a few strangers dressed all in black to treat your wound. They’re careful, quiet and respectful towards Giyuu, calling him Tomioka-sama and showing only the highest regards to. His hold isn’t suffocating, he’s not berating, only softly petting your hair occasionally to comfort any sniffles you release.

Then you’re being carried back. Not back to his home like you figured, no you’re traveling along a path to a city you’ve never been to and entering through a side entrance to an enormous mansion.

“G-Giyuu…?” You’d fallen asleep on and off during the journey, not once did the man holding you waver or show any signs of fatigue despite walking the entire way with you in his arms.

“Hn” he’s curt, expressionless as normal, but as his eyes look down to meet yours, they seem softer somehow. Warmer than the usual icy depths you feared previously. You can only clutch closer to him, anxious of the new environment despite the pretty scenery you passed going towards a building illuminated by lanterns.

“Where are we going…?” You’re unsure how to answer, how to even interact with the man you’ve shown nothing but hostility to. It left you awkward and fumbling over your own thoughts regarding him.

“Hospital.” Oh, you’re surprised by how normal his response is.

“Are you… hurt?”

“No. You are.” You’re most certainly aware of being hurt, the pain killers you’d been given hardly any help.

You remain silent as he takes you inside, a few small girls moving about on light feet carrying this or that. He continues past them, ignoring how they pause to bow and murmur his name respectfully. They do curiously look at you, fascination and an adorable hint of gossip forming in the depths of their eyes. You can only bury your face in his neck out of embarrassment, his minty and fresh pine scent soothing to your frayed and exhausted nerves. He’s warm too, you’d never really noticed, but he seemed to run hot despite how cool he seemed to be.

Regardless, you enter a room, with a regular bed pushed in the corner and medical equipment stored on shelves.

Giyuu places you down on the bed, finally moving away from you to look down at your sorry pathetic form. At least, that’s how you feel you must look.

His eyes are still soft though, and it only makes tears spill down your cheeks again as you feel a sense of utter dread he’s going to leave you here alone, and regret for doubting and running away when he had been honest about his intentions. To keep you safe. In his own strange way, he was repaying you for saving him likely. He knew those monsters existed, and wanted to keep you away from them. He disappeared so long because he was hunting them.

“Don’t cry…” he looks at a loss, unsure and clumsy as his rough calloused fingers move to wipe away the seemingly endless stream of tears.

“How can…” sniff “…I not? I was so horrible to you and you still saved me… I’m so sorry…” you’re choking over your own distress.

“Giyuu…” you can hardly make his figure out through your tears blurring your vision, his efforts to wipe your tears and keep them dry futile. He looks truly confused and worried.

“Yes?” He sounds unsure of himself.

“Thank you.” His eyes widen, shocked by your gratitude, but the warm smile that graces his features is enough to have your heart skip a beat. He’s always been handsome, but he seemed so untouchable and reserved before.

You didn’t notice another person enter, but Giyuu didn’t acknowledge them in favor of comforting you.

“Oh my… making a patient cry is terrible you know?” You startle, clutching onto Giyuu instinctively as you look up and at a lovely woman standing in the doorway. Her smile kind, eyes gentle, and beautiful features striking.

“Good evening, I’m sorry for startling you. My name is Shinobu Kocho.” The woman just stands there, gentle smile in place, but she gave off a somewhat odd feeling inside you. It only had you trying to pull Giyuu closer. Most noticeably on the woman was a katana, like Giyuu carried, and you wondered if this woman was also a demon slayer.

She must be.

“Tomioka-san, is this your wife?” Her question was strange, her gaze unwavering and not blinking as she stared a hole through Giyuu. He remained impassive and unresponsive, but his eyes did move to meet your own. You didn’t know what to say, the way she asked was as if you couldn’t be here if you weren’t. Did you need to lie? You felt felt more awkward as the time passed, neither Giyuu nor Shinobu made any indication that the silence would be broken.

“U-um… I, I am?” You noticed Giyuu’s form stiffen, and you briefly felt concerned you’d said the wrong thing. But the fatigue of the day and night was wearing heavy on you, you just wanted to rest safely. You wrapped your arms around Giyuu’s form, trapping the man who could easily escape but chose to settle as you wearily peaked at Shinobu behind Giyuu.

“Oh, I see! How lovely Tomioka-san, you’ve gotten yourself an adorable wife!” Her charismatic voice and smile weirded you out, both seeming highly disingenuous as she claps her hands together sharply.

“Mm” only a grunt is Shinobu’s reply from Giyuu, but the woman doesn’t seem offended.

“Well, I’ll leave you to rest then, Tomioka-san” it takes you a moment to realize she’s speaking to you. You can only give a weak reply, waving a little as the woman leaves. You slump in Giyuu’s arms, who is thankfully quick to catch you and hold you up against him as he sits beside you on the bed now. You’re limp and pliant in his hold, surprised deep inside how natural it feels. You hated him not even a day prior, wanted nothing to do with him, resented him.

What exactly changed so quickly?

Or did you not hate him? Just didn’t understand him? Or how to communicate. This was the most he’d ever touched you, but you realize it had all been initiated by you personally.

“Do you want to bathe? Or sleep?” His question broke your inner monologue, as you glance up at him. His expression melted back into a soft smile for you, and it had you fighting a smile of your own back. You pondered his question, admitting you were indeed exhausted but also disgusted by the blood of that monster and your own still covering you.

Licking your dry chapped lips, you answered.

“I’d like to bathe first…”

With that answer, you were back in his arms as he stood up with you, carried swiftly out of the room and several corridors down.

You let him lead, as he took you to what appeared to be an indoor bath house located inside the mansion. You took note of the direction he took.

“Tomioka-sama, let us help?” Two sweet little girls that looked awfully familiar from earlier stood before you two now. Their sweet and innocent expressions melting you internally. Giyuu’s embrace tightened momentarily, alerting you to look up at him. Though he didn’t speak, his silence was enough to let you know he wanted your answer.

“O-okay, that’d be lovely. Thank you girls.” You were replied to with little giggles, as Giyuu took you into the initial bathing area and sat you on a changing bench.

“I can’t go any further…” he seemed reluctant to leave you, making that ball of guilt swell up again in the pit of your stomach, choking you.

“I’ll be quick? Will you wait?” It sounded desperate, even to you, but the way he smiled made you think it was the right question.

“Mm” his nod of affirmation comforting, as he stepped out and the girls began helping you undress carefully despite your wounded foot.

“Tomioka-sama smiled! Did you see? Did you see?” Their excited and hushed whispers adorable as you let the girls help you limp over to the buckets of water. They scrubbed and massaged you, helped you into the hot bath with your injured ankle left out, and gave you a few moments of privacy. You felt sick and relieved all at once, dots connected and questions answered but you wondered if the price for them was worth it. If you hadn’t escaped, would that… would that old priest still be alive? Or would more people have died if Giyuu hadn’t looked for you?

…had he looked for you?

#demon slayer #water Hashira #x reader #fem reader #18+ #yandere giyuu #kny giyuu #KNY #Giyuu Tomioka #Fem! Reader x Giyuu Tomioka #Giyuu smut #kny Giyuu smut #yandere Giyuu Tomioka #sub! Giyuu Tomioka