#my comfort mixed doubles pairing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marvelouslizzie · 10 months

Text

You're Stuck with Me - Co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: When you find out your boyfriend's cheating on you with his best friend, you immediately tell Bucky Barnes about the affair and propose revenge sex.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.9K

Warnings: 18+ smut, cheating, revenge fuck, language, oral sex (female receiving), protected and unprotected sex, praise and degradation mix, pet names, teasing, no mention of y/n

A/n: We are getting a little out of our comfort zone with this story. I hope you will enjoy it.

Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's an amazing writer. You should definitely check her Bucky Barnes stories.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, finishing your bottle of sparkling water. "I don't want you to cry and regret it after."

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” You sound so confident that even you are surprised. “It’s just sex.”

"Just sex." He repeats with his eyebrows raised. "You never seemed to me like the type of girl who would go for just sex, doll."

“Maybe you should’ve paid a little more attention. You would’ve realized you might have the wrong kind of impression.”

"Oh, really?" He leans in amused. "Big words."

“They're not. You just aren’t used to talking to me.”

"You're telling me you're not a commitment girl?" He presses the matter, not believing you even a little. You two might not be friends, but he figured out what type of person you are.

“I’m just saying I won’t regret having sex with you. The rest is your assumption.”

His gaze immediately drops to your chest. "You trust my skills that much?"

You roll your eyes. “Do you have to be this arrogant all the time?”

"Do you have to be a brat all the time?" He doesn't wait for your response, though, as he continues. "Oh wait, you can't help it. Totally in your nature."

“So women who don't stroke your ego are brats? Maybe I just don’t care that much about you. Did you consider that?” There’s a hint of anger in your voice but nothing more. He always manages to challenge you and push your buttons. “Maybe you aren’t the only one who didn’t like those double dates. Get off your high horse.” You add without missing a beat. You realized how bored and uninterested he was then. No matter what topic you were bringing up, he wasn’t open. That’s one of the reasons why you believe he thinks he’s better than anyone.

"Fuck." He shakes his head. "You and that mouth of yours. Do you see me going around and calling women brats?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Those dates were absolutely horrible. Your little boy toy is the biggest loser I've ever met."

“You seem like a guy who would do that. You are not? Ops, wrong assumption I guess.” You make a fake I am sorry face. “He’s not my boy toy but I agree, he’s a big loser.”

He smiles when you finish your sentence, so satisfied. "Why do you enjoy pushing me so much? Does it turn you on?"

“How am I pushing you? Do you think this is pushing?” You don’t budge.

"What is it then?"

“I know you don’t like me and I am just giving you back that same energy.” You tell him the truth. That’s what you always do: you give the same energy people give you. If they are kind, you are kinder. If they are assholes, you are a bigger asshole.

Bucky snorts, running a hand through his hair. "Where was this attitude hidden around him?"

You breathe out loudly, not hiding how bored you are. “Are we gonna talk all night or are we gonna do this?”

He smiles in a way you never saw him smile before he leans in even more, invading your space. "It's been that long, huh?"

You make a face. “You can’t tell me sex with her was great. I saw their little sex tapes.” You can’t deny what he’s just said, but you can deflect.

He gives you the most surprised face. "What?"

“You heard me. If it had been a while for me, then it must have been even longer for you.”

"Indeed." His voice doesn't betray any emotion.

“Then stop belittling me. We both have been having bad sex and we both got cheated on. You aren’t better than me.”

"When did I say that, woman?"

“You always act like you are better than everyone.”

"That's just your assumption." He paraphrases you with the biggest smile on his face

“Prove me wrong then.”

And he does, looking at you for a couple of seconds. When you don't move, he finally grabs you by your chin and kisses you. He's not hesitant or testing, he's literally trying to claim your mouth as he wants to deepen the kiss by licking your bottom lip. When you finally give him access, his hand goes to the back of your neck, the contrast between his soft touch and his passionate way of kissing making you moan.

"Your mouth…"

“What about it?” You ask while still looking at his lips.

He kisses you again, like he's starved, his hand pulling your hair a little more. He tastes like some fresh toothpaste and a little chocolate.

"So sweet, yet so bratty."

“Do you have a thing for brats for something?” You pull him by his collar and kiss him again. He might be an asshole, but he knows how to kiss.

"Maybe just for a special brat."

“What does that mean?” You stop and look into his eyes.

He lets go of your hair and lowers his hands to your waist. "Tell me to stop and I will. Tap me anywhere if you can't talk and I'll stop. Get it?"

“Yeah. Same goes for you. Any lines you don’t wanna cross?”

"Just don't call me by someone else's name." He sighs.

“Fine by me. Don’t use any pet names you used for your ex.”

"I wouldn’t dream of it. What else?" He smirks.

“No degrading.”

"So no my little whore?”

“That doesn’t sound like degrading to me but another rule: Don’t say things you don’t mean. I don’t like that heat-of-the-moment bullshit.”

He seems to like your rules. "God, how did you date that asshole for 5 months?"

“I was just giving that so-called nice guy a chance and it got me here. How did you date that bitch for 8 months?”

"Woah. Bitch? Never heard you referring to a woman like this."

“I never liked her.” You shrug. And she cheated on him. So why not?

"Why?"

“I don’t know. I always thought she was full of herself. Always looking down at people.”

"Like me." He stares at you. "I understand."

“Not like that. She always talks badly about people. Most of the time, behind their backs. She always looks for a way to steal the spotlight. I actually wondered what you saw in her.”

"I won't talk about a woman badly, especially my ex, but I guess we just want to give people a chance."

“That woman cheated on you. With someone she called her best friend after you two decided to move in together. Maybe longer. But sure, make me feel bad about calling her a bitch.”

Bucky seems to think about it for a few seconds. You appreciate his non-talking shit about my ex policy, but in this case? Not deserved. They cheated on you for months. They could have chosen to break up, but they didn't want that. They pretended they are just friends, proposed double dates, lied and hid, and made promises. Your relationships weren't working perfectly well, your sex lives seem very shitty and probably there were signs about this affair, but you cannot blame yourself or Bucky for not seeing them. You deserved the truth. You just can't believe you two are actually in this situation. Giving the wrong people a chance… never again for sure.

"You're right. This is such a fucking shitty thing. I mean, at least fucking break up with me. God, we kissed them, fucked them after they were with each other." He makes a disgusted face.

“So we practically fucked each other already, you know?” You make a joke, trying to change the mood a little. It really is fucked up.

"They didn't see us having sex though." He shakes his head. "They managed to make the lamest sex tapes in history."

“Yeah, I am still traumatized by her fake moans.”

"Fake?" He snorts.

“Yeah, I know how sex is with him. No way those moans are real.”

"Maybe they are. Maybe she enjoys it. She likes him so much they decided this fucking shitty sex is worth it." He leans in and kisses you again suddenly and you don't understand if he's angry because he regrets being with her and getting cheated on or he regrets being betrayed because he wants her so much. You know they fought a lot from your soon-to-be ex, but 8 months are something after all.

You kiss him back nonetheless, enjoying the way his lips and tongue feel. You don't remember the last time you've been kissed this good. If you've ever been with someone like this… he's basically eating you with his mouth.

“It won’t take long for her to regret it. Talking from experience,” you say while kissing him back. You wanna know if he wants her back or not. Not that it matters. You are just curious. Maybe he wants to make her jealous.

"What she wants doesn't matter anymore, doll." He strokes your hair when he stops kissing you so you can take a deep breath. "You called me arrogant, right?"

“Yeah?” You answer hesitantly.

"Do arrogant people ever let themselves be humiliated?" He pauses. "I don't want something like this. Someone like this. I have absolutely no desire to keep a person who does this. I am a patient person, I try to work things out, but this? Never in a fucking million years. Nothing about this relationship was right, I suppose. What about you?"

“I don’t care about him anymore.” Your response comes immediately. You were completely done with him the moment you found out about their affair. There’s no turning back. It was like a switch. That’s why you are here with Bucky. “I tried so hard to make it work, thinking relationships are hard and we gotta put some effort to make it work. All bullshit. I’m done with him. I’m done with lowering my standards. Done with 5-minute sex, and ‘you turn me on so much, I can’t help it’ excuses. There’s no going back for me.”

You see his little smirk and can't help but touch his face. He is really one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

"I never liked him, and you know it. That small dick energy is unbearable. I think he'd have a heart attack if he even heard us. Can you imagine?"

“I… actually can.” You can envision how that would hurt him and his insufferable ego. “God, she would hate me so much.” You smile.

"Oh, she would. She's always been jealous of you anyway."

“And he hates that you don’t even have to be nice to make people like you. Now he would have an extra reason.”

"Fuck, doll." You feel his thumb on your neck and you shiver. "I'm gonna sound crazy, but wouldn't make you feel satisfied if indeed they heard us?"

You blink, trying to understand his offer. That actually would actually give you pleasure… knowing that he suffers just like you did. You also notice the pet name he uses. You never heard him use it with his (ex) girlfriend, so he’s keeping his promise. “I’d… really like that.”

"Yeah?" He leaves a kiss on the corner of your mouth. "A voice message?"

“Sounds better than actually calling.” You turn your face a little and kiss him on the lips.

"Look at you, you ignored me for months." He bites your bottom lip lightly.

“It wasn’t like you were friendly.”

Does he even hear you?

He takes you in his arms. "Bedroom?"

“Bedroom.” You wrap your legs around his torso in agreement as he leads the way.

"Left?"

“Yeah, hurry up.”

He opens the door with his elbow, then doesn't bother to close it as he lets you down. His hands find your blouse and you hear the ripping sound before you can raise your arms.

You’re surprised but not bothered. Truth be told, you find that very hot. But you still unclip your bra.

“Fucking hell.” He manages to whisper before he leans in and grabs your breasts, his tongue licking all the way down from your neck to your nipple.

You tug on his T-shirt and try to take it off while he’s busy exploring your body.

"You hid these from me."

“Not specifically from you. Move your hands up so I can take this off.”

"From who then?" He frowns and lets go for a second so you can take it off.

“From everyone, of course.”

"God, I wanna come all over them. So pretty.”

“Maybe you should make a mental list. Come on her tits. Come inside her mouth. Come inside her pussy.”

His eyes glow, and you giggle. "Who said I didn't?"

“You did?” You sound impressed. “Wanna share?”

"Wanna share my come? Sure." His fingers find your zipper and you gasp when he takes your pants off from one try.

“Oh, you are filthier than I thought.” You say to cover your surprise.

"You thought about how filthy I am?"

“You think I didn’t consider how this would be before offering a revenge fuck?”

"When?" He takes ahold of your underwear, and you're unsure if he wants to rip it off or simply take it off.

“I just told you.”

"I thought…" He blushes, realizing he misunderstood. It's an asshole move to assume that while you were with that prick, the thought of him like this has even passed your mind. "Forget it."

“No, no, tell me.” You pull him closer by his belt. “Let’s get rid of these.”

"Did you ever think about me before today?" He helps you take off his pants while finally getting rid of your panties.

“What if I did? Does it make me a terrible person?”

"Terrible." He nods, letting the pieces of your underwear drop on the floor along with his boxers and pants before he steps out of them. "So terrible." He kisses you, his hands on your hips, bringing you closer to his cock. You didn't even have proper time to look at him. "The worst."

“I knew it.” You play along. “What about you?”

"I thought about this mouth a lot."

“Just my mouth?” You nudge him by moving your hips up.

"Thought about fucking you in the bathroom."

“When?” Did he really want to fuck you before? He never looked at you twice or at least that’s what you thought.

"A few weeks ago… we… the office. You were with your little group. They were smoking and you wore that fucking lipstick that just blew my mind away. I didn't intend to. You didn't even notice me." He kisses you again but doesn't deepen it.

Everything he said takes you by surprise. You didn’t think that he ever paid attention to you, let alone notice your lipstick and get turned on by it.

“I noticed you, but I thought you were bored. You had a grumpy look on your face most of the time. I liked your blue shirt, though. It makes your eyes pop.”

He moans. Is it so easy to make him moan? you wonder.

"I'm always grumpy and arrogant, of course."

“You don’t seem that grumpy and arrogant right now.” You gently bite his neck and then soothe the spot with your tongue.

"Fucking hell, woman." You feel him grabbing your ass. "Tell me you have a condom."

“In that drawer.” You point to it casually. “But just so you know, I’m on the pills.”

He nods, contemplating for a little while before helping you get on bed and taking a condom from your nightstand.

You don’t question why he chooses to reach for it, yet you can’t help but wonder how it would be like to feel him without any barrier. Your mouth waters at the sight of his naked body.

Maybe, maybe you should let him fuck your mouth, too. Why not?

He quickly puts the condom on and before he can climb on bed, he looks at you. "What you said earlier about the voice message, do you still stand by it?"

You realize you actually forgot about them or why you are doing this for a second. “Yeah. I want them to suffer.”

"Good." He takes his pants from the floor and finds his phone quickly. You didn't even realize he had it when you undressed him.

“So what are we doing exactly? Recording a small part and sending it?”

"Ihm." He nods. "Want that asshole to hear what your real moans sound like." He finally sits on the bed and you spread your legs further apart.

“Only my moans?” You ask while he positions himself.

"No video," he says immediately, and you giggle. That wasn’t your question, but it’s okay. You wonder if he’s being possessive with you already or it's something else.

“I meant what about your moans.”

He smiles. "Yeah, of course, but I'm not a loud person." He drops the phone close to your shoulder. "You, on the other hand… I bet you're a fucking screamer."

“I guess we'll find out. Is it recording already?”

"No, uhm, can you… The code is 0478."

“Let’s start and then we can record when it gets really loud.” You try to sound normal, but you are surprised he's just told you his passcode.

"You sure? We can trim it. I don't want to interrupt you."

"Don't worry. I'm good at multitasking." You give him a smile. "But if you wanna record the whole thing, so you can get off to it later, just say that." You can’t help but tease him a little.

"No, no, it's alright. I just want you to feel good, okay?" He smiles, his hands making their way to your thighs.

"Oh, I will. Don't worry about that." You pull him closer by wrapping your legs around his body. As he pushes inside, you start to forget what you were talking about before.

"Oh, fuck me." He groans when he sees the shape of your mouth. Such a perfect O. You feel so good and he's not even halfway inside you. "You're so wet."

"I can do that." You cheekily respond. "But we would need to change the position." You ignore his second comment.

He kisses you as if he needs to taste you again to be able to breathe, his tongue quickly finding yours once you open your mouth. Your hand gets into his hair at the same time he properly gets inside you.

You moan at the fullness. You haven't felt this stretched for so long, but it doesn't hurt. It just makes you crave more.

"Such a brat when you only needed a good cock." You know he's intentionally teasing you, so you try to find a good response.

"We'll see how good it is."

"Brat." He repeats again and moves his hands to your breast. His thrusts are not constant as he tries to test what you like.

"Put your mouth on them already." You know he wants to. He has been looking at them since he stepped inside your apartment. And you want him to do it, too. The thought itself makes you moan.

"Are you ordering me?"

"Depends. Yes, if you like that. No, if you don't."

He takes a handful of your breast in his mouth in response, not only your nipple, his thrusts getting slower, but a little deeper at the same time. The sound of his tongue licking on your skin makes you close your eyes.

The way he sucks your nipple makes you think he likes taking orders. What a great turn of events, you think.

He switches to the other one quickly, giving it the same treatment, while keeping the pace.

"Do you like it?"

“Yeah, yeah.” You quickly respond. “I love it.”

"Faster?"

“Yep, faster.” You gently push his head onto your breast again, loving the double stimulation.

He moans excitedly as he resumes licking and playing with your breasts, carefully trying to leave a hickey around your nipple. "These are mine now."

He doesn’t mean that, does he? Must be the heat of the moment, but you agreed on not doing that. So you decide to remind him. “Don’t say things you don’t actually mean, remember?”

"I didn't forget, brat. Did you?"

He bites on your nipple, gently, but you still feel it.

“So you actually mean that?” You really want to know, so you ignore the fact that he called you a brat again.

"Mean what?" He leaves a kiss on your nipple to soothe any possible pain. "That these are mine?"

“Yeah.” You sound impatient. Why is he acting clueless now?

"They are, they belong to me. So does your bratty mouth." He kisses you shortly.

You can’t deny how his words turn you on even more.

"I imagined fucking you in a bathroom that day at the office." He groans. "So terrible of me, right? Imagining you with come dripping out of you, down to your thighs as you go back to work. Months of petty silence solved."

“If I'd known my silence bothered you that much, I would have been even more silent until it drove you crazy enough to do something about it.” You move your hips up to match his rhythm. “I just thought you just preferred not speaking to me because you didn’t like me.”

"I would have screwed everything up and fucked you, you understand?" He looks you in the eye, making it clear he is honest. "I would have become a horrible person, but not even that thought would have made me reconsider."

“Yet you didn’t do anything, did you? You never acted on it. You were just a grumpy man with terrible thoughts.” You just want him to know he’s not a horrible person, yet you can’t help but tease him a little at the same time.

"And you just needed the cock of that grumpy man with terrible thoughts, huh?" His thrusts are so much faster now. You wonder: how the fuck does he expect you to answer?

All you can do is whine and moan because somehow he manages to hit all the right places.

"My little cock whore." He groans. "Mine, okay? Just like I am yours."

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You can’t help but react. You find it so hot you can barely stay still. The way he talks during sex… They would really die if they heard you two. That makes you remember… You were supposed to hit the record button.

"Just Bucky. Or James."

“Where the fuck is your phone, Bucky?” You ask while trying to find it without actually looking.

He's confused for a split second, but then he remembers what you agreed on. "To your right."

You finally find the phone and unlock it quickly before dropping it without any care as soon as it starts to record.

"Oh, doll, you're too wet for me. So good." The sound of your skin slapping and the whimpers are so loud. You can’t contain yourself even if you try.

“Faster, please,” you say without thinking. It feels like you are already close. You don’t care if you have to beg for it.

"So greedy." He cries out when he feels your hands on his ass, pulling him deeper inside you.

“Fuckk. That feels good!” You moan loudly and arch your back.

"Holy shit."

He suddenly stops, making you open your eyes and giving him an accusatory look, but then you notice the phone in his hands. Oh, you forgot about it for a second and you have no idea why.

"Are you sending it?"

"Ihm." He doesn't just lock his phone after he is done. He freaking turns it off, surprising you. “I don’t want any interruptions. Want to fuck you in peace.”

You just pull him into another kiss, more passionate this time. You feel his right hand on your tummy, tickling you a little, before stopping down, above your clit.

“You close?” You ask him to make sure because you surely are.

"I'm trying not to come," he says honestly.

“Oh, you can. I’m close, too. I just need it a little faster.” His hand on your clit already makes you realize it won’t take much for you to fall apart.

He pulls back, taking his cock almost completely out, and the emptiness makes you whine. Then he thrusts with full force, making you moan so loudly that you can’t recognize your own voice.

"Fuck, look at you. And those sounds…" He brings his thumb to your lips. "Come on, be a good girl and show me how your pretty little mouth would take my cock. The one that's inside your pussy right now, ready to come for you."

“Such a filthy mouth.” You say while moaning. “Come with me so I can take that cock inside my mouth and show you what it can do.”

"God, come, baby. Please come." He is begging you at this point. His voice is so desperate and soft.

His neediness, the way he says those words finally pushes you off the edge.

“Oh god.” You try to breathe as the orgasm takes over your body, making you shake. Your mouth opens, letting out the most unfiltered moan you've ever heard from yourself. It is pure pleasure with no thoughts, no worries. Your heart and your head are on fire, begging for more. You want this feeling to last as long as possible.

He comes shortly after you, but you don't realize it until you hear his loud groan vibrating against your chest. His hips and ass cheeks are trembling under your touch as he seems lost in his world for a few seconds. You run your fingers through his hair, waiting for him to come down from his high.

“Oh god, baby." You feel his breath on your wet skin and you sigh. "Can I live here forever?"

“That good?” You can’t help but ask. He can feel your smile without looking at you.

He looks up. "Ihm. What about you?"

“Wanna get your ego stroked?” You ask genuinely. “Promise that you’re not gonna use it against me.”

He kisses your throat. "I don't make such promises, woman."

“Then you won’t get to hear it.” You expose your throat more while talking.

"What if I eat the truth out of you?"

“Eat the truth out of me?”

"Ihm. You know… when you're under sex spell, you become truthful."

“You are welcome to try.” There’s no way you are gonna turn down another orgasm like this one.

"Perfect." He leaves another kiss on the valley between your breasts and sighs. "Have to take this off first," he says, taking his cock out with a small hiss before standing up near the bed, watching you. "Where can I throw this away?"

“There’s a trashcan in the bathroom.” You point at it while getting more comfortable on the bed.

"Be right back."

You feel something cold on your back and realize it’s his phone. You put it on the nightstand, thinking about how he turned his phone off in the middle of the sex. You make a mental note to ask him to send you that voice message later, so you can remember how good the sex felt.

He comes back with your small semi-wet towel and watches you carefully. "Look, I meant what I said about eating the truth out of you, but only if you are okay with it. I won't ask again. I could always just leave, you know? No big deal." But you can see in his face it would be a big deal. Maybe he likes your company. The sex is amazing.

“Do you wanna leave, Bucky?” You already know his answer.

"No, I don't."

“Then come here and do whatever you wanna do.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. You watch him drop to his knees and, at the same time, drag you closer to the edge of the bed as quickly as he can. You let out a surprised gasp, but it turns into a whole moan when he lifts your legs on his shoulders and starts licking you from your entrance to your clit.

“Fuck, you weren’t joking.”

He acknowledges your words by playing with his tongue around your clit. You move your hips slowly, up and down, just to create a little more friction. Your greed grows while you watch him eagerly lick every bit of your pussy.

You don't expect to feel his fingers at your entrance all of the sudden as you're focused on his tongue. And you especially don't expect him to curl two of his fingers and get them inside you at once. No warnings.

“Oh fuck, yes!” You find yourself grabbing his hair, just needing something to hold on to.

And he moans, buckling his hips in the air at the slight pain. The pace of his fingers matches his tongue, but it's not enough.

“Add the third finger.” You sound desperately close.

He is surprised, you can sense it, but he quickly does what you say, his tongue eagerly toying with your clit faster than before.

“I’m so close!” You warn.

He stops licking for a little and you try to move your hips to meet his mouth. What the fuck is he doing? No time for edging.

"What were you gonna say, doll? What did you think it would stroke my ego?"

“What?” You raise on your elbows, looking like a mess. “Really?”

"If you want my tongue, you give me an answer."

“You are unbelievable!” You sound so betrayed.

"I warned you not to cry, doll."

You really want to keep that thought to yourself, but the ache between your legs doesn’t care about your pride. “I can’t believe you are doing this right now.”

He gives you a small smile, and you see him leaning in again. You think you won, getting more comfortable, ready to come soon, but he only licks you twice, teasingly, and lets your clit go.

"Do what?"

You whine loudly. The feeling of his tongue lingers on your clit. “You wanna play dirty?” Maybe you can’t win this fight, but it doesn’t mean you can’t win others. “Fine.” You sit up a little, looking into his eyes. “It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Happy now?”

"Delighted. Now was it so hard? You get a reward for being my good and honest girl."

“Yeah, whatever.” You roll your eyes.

"Fucking brat," you hear him whisper right before his tongue finds your clit again, finally licking it in circles properly. He starts to move his fingers, too, and even though they are obviously not even close to the thickness of his cock, they feel incredible.

But you are too annoyed now, at the same time. A part of you just wants to hold back and not give him the pleasure of hearing you come. So he tries harder. You hear him whimpering as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it. And you swallow a moan while your legs are trembling.

"Come on, baby." His fingers move faster, too. "Let it go."

Your whole body starts to shake uncontrollably, but you keep your moans to yourself, pressing your lips together tightly just out of spite. You can see he hates it, but he doesn't stop until you finish coming. And it feels amazing, but you are sure it would have been even better if you had let yourself enjoy it freely.

He sighs into your clit and leaves a kiss there before he stands up. "You're mad."

“No shit, Sherlock.”

"Ah, doll. Nothing can tame that mouth."

“More like actions and consequences. I wasn’t ready to share that, but you forced me to say it for an orgasm, so that’s what you get. An orgasm. Nothing more, nothing less.”

"Forced?" His face shows concern as he sits next to you. "That wasn’t my intention. The last thing I want is to make you feel trapped.” He seems like he’s confused. He looks around and meets your gaze again. “Do you want me to leave?"

“If you wanna leave, just leave, but if that wasn’t really your intention, you can start with apologizing.”

"I am sorry," he immediately says, taking your hands into his. "I was just trying to… be silly I guess."

“You wanted your ego stroked, I get it. We both need it after what happened, but… I don’t know. I just felt exposed.”

"I'm sorry." He kisses your cheek. "I might be a grumpy arrogant son of a bitch, but forcing…"

You start to tear up, hearing him say sorry this quickly. Fucking relationship trauma.

"Oh god, baby, I am sorry, I didn't…" he tries to wipe your tears with his thumbs. "I'm a jackass, but I swear I wasn't trying to force you. I thought it was just a game. My bad."

“No, no. This is on me. Sorry.” You try to take a deep breath. “He just never said sorry no matter how hurt I was. He always had an excuse. This is just… trauma I guess.”

"What a fucking douchebag. I can fuck him up really good, you know?" He suggests. "Just say the words."

“He’s probably already fucked up by the fact that we are fucking.” That thought cheers you up a little.

"His face deserves it, too." Bucky puffs and kisses your wet cheeks. "To be honest, this whole should I leave question comes from my relationship trauma, too. So you’re not alone. She either wanted me to leave or she left every fucking time we disagreed on something. She once threw my shoes out of the window just so I'd go. I don't know why we kept trying…"

“Oh.” You finally understand why he keeps offering to leave. It isn't about you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought you were just trying to get out when things get hard.”

"Don't be sorry. I prefer to talk on the spot, to be honest. Letting everything out is healthier. Don't "

“Or take a break whenever it’s needed. Doesn’t mean you have to leave though.”

"Yeah! Exactly."

You laugh a little. You never realized how similar you two are. Today is changing your perspective completely. “Your apology is accepted by the way, but under one condition.”

"What is that?'

“Tell me something about yourself that you don’t want me to know.”

He thinks for a second. "My breath smells like death in the morning. I can make your plants die if you let me."

You shake your head, amused. “That’s not good enough. Everyone’s breath smells bad in the morning.”

"What do you wanna know then?"

“Something on the same level of having your best orgasm.”

"I think you broke me."

“What?”

"You broke me." He repeats as if that is an explanation.

“In what way?”

He kisses you just as desperately as he did in the kitchen, as if this is the first time he kisses you and he can't ever get enough. "I want you for more than one time, do you understand?"

“Oh. Well… That can be arranged.”

"Yeah?" He drags you by your hips, placing you on top of his thighs.

“I would actually like that.”

He kisses you some more, letting his hands wander all over your body, stopping especially on your neck and breasts.

"You like it rough, don't you? Not complaining about me ripping your clothes off, loving the bites." He pulls your hair, just to prove his point in case you deny. You moan.

“Yeah, apparently you like it rough, too.” You don’t deny. Why would you?

"Of course I do, brat." He then turns you around suddenly. "All fours, please."

“Since you asked so nicely,” You stop for the dramatic effect and say as sarcastically as possible: “Boss.”

"Wanna make me your boss?"

“You are already acting like one.” You stand on all fours, pushing your ass back while lowering your head.

"Fuck! You're such a sight, you know?" Bucky's eyes don't leave your body.

“Am I?”

"I wanna look at you like this all day long."

You look at him amused. “I’m afraid I don’t have that much patience.”

You notice him shaking his head. "Of course."

“It’s rude to make me wait like this, you know?”

"Sorry, just wanted to remember this." Bucky feels a little bad for the thoughts he has. He mentally took a picture of you cause he can't ask this from you, right? You're not a couple, and even if you were, it doesn't mean exchanging or keeping photos like this would be okay.

His hips touch your ass as he positions himself at your entrance. "Any limits that come to your mind? I won't ask again."

“We already decided on the rules. I don’t think there’s anything besides them.”

"I'm not gonna hold back this time." Not completely… he grabs a handful of your hair as he thrusts inside you. "I'm gonna pound the fuck out of you and you're gonna take it like a good little girl, understand?"

“I understand. You won’t stop until I say stop.”

"Jesus Christ." He moans halfway inside you at the feel of your extra wet pussy. He feels out of breath just by standing still. "How…"

“Oh, fuck.” You nearly choke. It feels unbelievably good. This position is doing wonders.

"I didn't think-" he says, but at the same time doesn't move an inch. "Fuck, it feels too good, this pussy is driving me crazy. You are driving me crazy." He grips your hair harder without warning and starts to thrusts properly inside you, making sure to squeeze your left breast with his free. The sounds of your wet skin slapping make him curse under his breath.

“You didn’t think what?” You sound out of breath already.

"I cannot fuck you with condoms again." Technically he can, but he doesn’t want to.

You smile widely. “Why is that?”

"Because I am completely fucked."

“You like it that much?”

"Like it?" He puffs, unamused, and starts to finally pound you the way he imagined a few weeks ago. Maybe even harder.

“Oh, fuck!” Yep, he’s right. You are fucked, too.

"You might need to fix me very often, you know?" He drops his hand from your hair just to properly grab your hips. You can barely keep your position like this, his thrusts are so deep.

“Fix you?”

"Yeah. Fix my cock." Oh, that’s what he means.

“We can fix each other then.”

"Ihm." He doesn't say much after this, too focused on kissing your back and keeping the pace at the same time. He's ready to come any minute.

“Harder, Bucky. Please!” You need to come. Really desperately.

"How much harder?" He thrusts a little harder. "More or like this?"

“As hard as you can.”

He doesn't disagree with you, but you know he's holding back even when he pushes harder. And harder. And harder.

"I'm gonna come," he manages to moan. "Fuck I'm gonna come inside you, gonna make a mess. Tell me you… t-tell me you want my come."

“I want your come, Bucky, please. p Please, come with me!” You are already shaking uncontrollably.

"Fuck." That's all you get from him before he's coming, his fingers digging so hard into your skin that you moan again, dizzy from your orgasm.

He keeps moving, making a mess, indeed. It’s already dripping out, you can feel it.

"I came so much." You hear him say suddenly through fogginess.

You smile, resting your head on the bed still, feeling unable to move.

"Not gonna say anything?"

“I died and went to heaven.” You murmur. The orgasm is still running through your veins, making you twitch here and there.

"I've been in heaven for a while."

You finally turn around and look at him. “It was so fucking good.”

"No words." He slowly gets out of you and you notice how happy he is, not taking his eyes off your pussy. "It's gonna start dripping… all over your thighs and sheets. What a nice mark." He even brings a finger to your entrance and pushes back some come.

“Do you have a breeding kink or something?” You smile while asking.

"A breeding kink?"

“Yeah, do you know what it is?”

"Something to do with my come inside you?" He teases. His confusion seems to fade away.

“Yeah, and getting me pregnant.”

He groans, closing his eyes.

“They do that pushing the come back inside thing most of the time.”

"I guess I have a breeding kink." He smiles, accepting it instantly, and finally closes the gap to kiss you. "You might not get rid of me now."

“I knew it!” You point at him with your finger. “I wasn’t gonna get rid of you anyways.”

"Wanna keep me as your boy toy?"

“You wanna be my boy toy?” Your whole face lights up.

"You look quite excited."

“I never had a boy toy before.”

"No?" He shakes his head. "Time to change that. And as your boy toy, I should always make sure you're having a good time." He surprises you by spreading your legs again.

“No, no, no, no. It’s my turn.”

Bucky shakes his head. "Need to get you clean, and then we can do whatever you want, alright?"

“You are really something else.” You sound amazed.

He smirks. "And you're stuck with me. You're all mine now."

You don't get to say anything anymore as you feel his tongue at your entrance. So you just grab his hair, closing your eyes, your exes long forgotten.

“And you are all mine.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #my stories #you're stuck with me #co written with notafunkiller

3K notes · View notes

aphrogeneias · 6 months

Text

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 — titjob

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x assistant!reader

warnings: porn with feelings. size of reader's breasts are not described.

Giving your boyfriend's hair a trim was not in your job description. In hindsight, dating him was also not in the job description, but same as your improvised hairstylist duties, it happened anyway.

The trailer that served as his dressing room was packed with different options of outfits, laying scattered around the few pieces of furniture, his own personal belongings mixed with them. It was a mess, and you were sitting in the middle of it, straddling Eddie on the couch.

You'd been outside, supervising the venue, when Eddie came — sauntering around with no shirt under his leather jacket — and asked, specifically, for you to trim his bangs. "They're falling all over my eyes, sweetheart," he complained, flashing you those chocolate eyes, doubling in size with his dramatics, "how am I supposed to play like that?"

At first, you thought he just wanted an excuse to get you alone. "Trim his bangs" could be all but a code for "let me bend you over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck you until we're both satisfied". It wouldn't be the first time that happened, and it wouldn't be the last.

When you got there, he was actually telling the truth. You found it strange, given that Eddie himself was the only one to ever style his own hair, not trusting anyone else to do it. You figured he just needed some comfort, to steer away the anxiety that still came with performing for large crowds, and who were you to deny him that?

That was how you found yourself delicately cutting the ends of his hair, and making sure his bangs stayed just above his eyebrows, while Eddie couldn't keep his hands still. It distracted you, the way his rough hands ran over your thighs, exposed by how your skirt rode up, over your hips, drumming his fingers on them, squeezing your waist and running them down again.

He was finally relaxed when you finished. "There," you smoothed his hair with your fingers, giving them a light brush, before giving his forehead a quick kiss, "all done, baby."

As you disposed of the hand towel that sat between your bodies, careful to not let the hair in it fall, and set it on the side table, Eddie hugged your body tight, crushing you to him. You giggled and hugged him back, wrapping your arms around his neck as he scattered kisses all over your exposed cleavage.

"Thank you, angel." He mumbled into your skin. You told him it was no problem, but it felt like he wasn't even listening, too busy with the feeling of your soft skin on his face, nuzzling you like a cat. You let him have it, knowing how much he needs it. It's an unspoken language between you — more often than not, Eddie needed his hands to speak for him, and you were more than happy to listen.

With his head buried in your chest, Eddie was speaking, but it turned incoherent with how muffled it was. "What is it?"

He sighed, lifting his head a little, but still not looking up. "Wanna fuck'em."

For a moment, you fluster, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. It was silly, that wasn't the most scandalous thing Eddie had proposed to you, but it felt intimate.

"You wanna fuck my tits?"

"Please?" He looked almost pathetic, pouting his pink lips at you, his big eyes begging. You didn't know why that was necessary — you couldn't say no to Eddie, you weren't about to start then.

"Yeah, sure." You lift his bangs from his forehead, pulling his hair a little. He followed your movement with his head, closing his eyes at the feeling. "Go ahead, sweet boy."

You share a few, deep kisses, with Eddie's arms still around you. He was already half hard in his jeans under you, the bulge touching the cotton of your panties. As he kissed you, Eddie quickly removed your top and your bra, discarding them somewhere on the floor.

Suddenly, you were flipped over, your back hitting the cushion. Your boyfriend took his time, kissing up and down your chest, lavishing your nipples with his tongue until they hardened under his touch, using his fingers to pull and pinch them, delighting on the sweet noises that left your mouth.

When he was happy with how worked up he got you, he stood up briefly to remove his pants and underwear, having already shed his jacket earlier. You took a moment to admire him — the silver piercing on his left nipple, his pale torso, his dark tattoos, the smattering of hair that ran down his chest and led into his happy trail, his thick cock heavy against his navel. It made your mouth water, but you needed to stick with what you'd promised.

You watched as he stroked himself, and learned down again, pecking your lips. His hand hadn't left his cock, the other supporting his body above you, as he looked into your eyes and asked "Are you ready?"

"Yeah. I'm ready."

A smirk was his only answer. Without much preamble, he licked a fat strip right in the valley of your breasts, and spit, letting his saliva run down the crest. Your breathing was heavy, chest heaving with anticipation, pussy fluttering between your legs, forming a sticky puddle on the fabric of your panties.

He straddled your hips, and your hands went straight to your tits, holding them for him as he slid his cock between them, setting a slow pace at first. Above you, Eddie bit his lips, eyes blown with desire, "That's it, good girl. Play with them for me."

You did as he said, caressing and pulling on your nipples as you kept them in place, and he fucked them with abandon now, hips pistoning in place, moaning his praises to you. "Look at you, so fucking pretty. The prettiest fucking girl and she's all mine. Mine to play with, aren't you? Yeah, you are. My little plaything."

You moved your hips too, desperate for some friction, but to no relief. Instead, you surged forward, pulling yourself up on your elbows, wrapping your mouth around the head of his cock, sucking on the wetness that leaked from it. Eddie almost howled, the muscles on his stomach tensing and clenching as he got closer to his climax.

"M'gonna cum, angel. Gonna cum all over your perfect tits, give you a pretty necklace. You want that, don't you? Want my cum all over you."

Releasing him from your mouth, you looked up at him, searching for his wild eyes. "I want it, baby. Give it all to me. Give me your cum."

It didn't take long until he did, spilling his seed all over your chest and neck. He stopped himself from bending on the waist with the force of it, knuckles white from holding himself with a hand on the back of the couch. You stared in awe, his brown curls a golden halo around his head, his skin flushed red, glowing with sweat.

"Fuck. That was…" He heaved. "Goddamnit, baby."

"Happy now?" You teased.

"Pleased as fucking punch."

Eddie unmounted you for a second, only to lean down again, and give you a proper kiss on the lips, putting all of his appreciation into the way he sucked your tongue into his mouth. He stood up briefly to find some tissues, cleaning you with them, and promptly settling himself on top of you again, his wandering hands finding your body again.

You were writhing under him, finally getting some relief as he let you grind on his thigh, when three harsh knocks were delivered to the trailer's door.

"Eddie, where the fuck are you?" Your boss's voice, Corroded Coffin's tour manager and glorified babysitter, cut through the haze you were in, and you let out a frustrated sigh, throwing your head back as Eddie groaned.

"I can hear you in there, man."

"I'll be right there, boss." Eddie yelled back. You could almost cry, feeling your neglected pussy wet and throbbing, needy for your boyfriend's touch.

"Go, Eddie. It's okay." You whispered, trying not be noticed.

It was his turn to sigh, kissing your forehead once again, before standing up, looking for his clothes. "I'd stay if I didn't run the risk of getting dragged out of here."

"Just promise me you'll make up for it?" You couldn't help the pitiful whine in your voice.

He smirked, eyes darkening as he slid his shirt over his head. "You're gonna regret asking for that when I'm done with you."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #kinktober 2023 #nothing else matters

915 notes · View notes

cheolslz · 3 months

Text

maybe getting mad at your boyfriends over something petty wasn't the best idea.

pairing; 95line x fem!reader

genre; smut (minors dni)

w/c; 2.1k

a/n - based on this request. this is not proofread at all so ignore if any grammatical errors 😔 it's my first full fic so I'll appreciate any and every feedback!

smut warnings under the cut!

warnings; mentions of a creep at a club, poly, established relationship, dom!95line x sub! reader, degradation, petnames (babe, love, princess, cockslut), unprotected sex (don't do this), oral (m. receiving), double penetration, anal, creampie, slight chocking, fluff at the end. lmk if I missed anything!

It's 8pm. You haven't checked your phone all day. you were supposed to be off work 2 hours ago but your boss decided today would be the perfect day to ask you to do their monthly statistics compilation.

As you make your way upstairs the tiredness of the long workday finally kicks in. you sigh when you reach the door, wanting nothing more than to be in the comfort of your own home and your three boyfriends.

Hard days like this were guaranteed with a high profile job but you knew no matter what happens you’d always come home to the loves of your life.

As you open the door, the smell of your apartment fills your heart with a fuzzy warmth. You walk in and close the door behind you and it slowly hits you.

It's quiet.

Now living with 3 other people, there was always some form of noise in the house. Whether it be Jeonghan's tv show marathons, Joshua's guitar or Seungcheol listening to music, there was always some sound to fill the empty feeling in your ear.

A look around you can see that no one was at home. At first you assume Seungcheol was finally able to convince Jeonghan and Joshua to join the gym with him. You open your phone to see if any of them texted you their whereabouts.

[5:27]

Seungcheol : babe when are you off work?

Seungcheol : we were thinking of going to a movie

Seungcheol : i know you said you weren't interested in this genre but we really want to watch it

Seungcheol : text us when ur done?

[6:07]

Jeonghan : babeee the movie is at 6:30 you’re supposed to be off work by now where are youuuu

[6:24]

Joshua : hey we’re at the movie okay?

Joshua : we came without you because you said you last week that you weren’t that interested in this

Joshua : we’ll see you in 3 hours <3

Oh. They went to see a movie. Without you.

They’re not wrong, you did say war centric and movies more than 2 hours weren’t your thing but, they could’ve waited right? It's not like it's only going to play at the theatre once. They could’ve easily waited for you and asked?

You're not the type of person to get mad about things like this. Usually you'd brush it off and move on but maybe it's the mixed frustration of work and your boss that you decide to make a phone call

“Hey are you free clubbing tonight?”

So, this was a really bad idea. It's 9pm, you're at a shady club and your friend ditched you to go hook up with someone. When you initially called chan he was constantly reassuring you that he’ll be with you all night because you need it.

His bad jokes and humour for a second did make you feel better but the minute you guys entered the club and he laid his eyes on this girl, it was game over.

You can't blame him, she was pretty as hell. If he wasn't rushing to get alone with her you would’ve asked her where her eyeshadow was from. Now you're alone at the bar, staring at the drink in your hand. Your phone keeps lighting up with notifications but you don't respond.

[8:50]

Seungcheol : babe where are you?

Seungcheol : we left early because the movie was boring you were right

Seungcheol : please respond to us

Seungcheol : i know you're mad at us im sorry

[2 missed calls from Seungcheol]

[1 missed call from Jeonghan]

[3 missed calls from Joshua]

[1 missed call from Seungcheol]

You feel bad. You should respond, you should let them know you’re safe but for this once you feel like proving something to them. What exactly are you proving? Well, you haven't really figured that out yet.

You're staring at your phone when a voice interrupts your thoughts

“Hey, what's someone like you doing here alone?”

You look at your side to see a tall man in all black. He has short bleached hair and a pretty face. You laugh off his comment, not wanting to interact with anyone right now.

“Im mark, i couldn't help but notice how pretty you are” he smiles and extends his hand which you accept with a smile.

A few minutes of talking later, you start getting uncomfortable. Mark keeps trying to get you to leave with him even though you stated you had a boyfriend. He shrugs it off, his hand sliding to your waist and talking to you about how that doesn't matter.

You laugh nervously and excuse yourself to the bathroom, clutching your phone in your hands. You call the first person who shows up and he picks up in half a ring

“y/n? love where are you we’re worried sick”

“Seungcheol…im at levels bar please come pick me up there's someone making me uncomfortable”

You hear some shuffling in the background and Seungcheol reassures you that they're on their way.

About 20 minutes later you get a text from Joshua saying they're outside. You have to convince them not to come into the club, not wanting the situation to escalate or get worse. You successfully sneak out of the club, thanking your luck that Mark was now occupied with some other girl.

As you spot your boyfriends, you see relief wash over them. They bombard you with questions and when you confirm you’re okay, they help you in the car and drive back.

The air in the car is a little tense, no one clearly wants to bring up the topic of why you were at a club alone. Seungcheol had a rule you all followed - if there was something to talk about, you’d do it at home.

Once the car is parked, the four of you silently walk to your door. Jeonghan opens the door and lets all of you in. you take off your shoes and go sit on the couch, preparing yourself for whatever they’d ask you.

“Well? You want us to start?”

“I'm sorry” you say immediately, looking at the floor beneath you. You hear someone walking towards you.

A soft hand trails your face and lifts your chin to look up. Seungcheol has a small smile playing on his lips when he asks “what are you sorry for?”

“For getting mad at you guys and going to the club. I should've just told you i was mad at you” Seungcheol gives you a satisfied grin, his hand still forcing you to look at them standing over you

“We were worried sick, you know? You really almost gave us a heart attack” Joshua sighs looking at you. You give him a sad smile

“I'll make it up to you” you say and Jeonghan laughs loud, his voice echoing through the room

“Trust me you will” he says and walks over to you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he smashes his lips onto yours. He makes you lean back on the couch as he hovers over you, his lips moving in sync with yours as his tongue explores your mouth.

you feel the couch sink beside you and before you can see who it is, Joshua pulls you onto his lap, His firm body pressed on your back. You whimper as you feel his cock straining against his pants on your lower back.

It doesn't take long before they’ve helped you out of your clothes and all four of you are naked. Jeonghan goes to the bedroom to grab a bottle of lube.

You turn your face to kiss Joshua, slowly grinding your ass on his cock as Seungcheol sucks on your neck. His hands fondle your breasts, squeezing the pinching your nipple to hear those oh so sweet sounds you make. your moans muffled by Joshua's mouth.

You moan into Joshua's mouth as you feel Seungcheol trail his kisses down to your breasts and suck on them.

Jeonghan walks back in and tosses the bottle to Joshua. Joshua pours some on his fingers and circles your rim

“Gonna take me properly love?” Joshua whispers in your ear and you nod, unable to form coherent sentences. Joshua slowly aligns his cock with your rim and pushes in. The stretch hurts at first but the pain fuzes into a cloud of pleasure for you.

As Joshua slowly lowers you on him, Seungcheol aligns himself with your cunt. Unlike Joshua, Seungcheol isn't soft in the bedroom.

He knows exactly how to push you far enough for it to feel best, so he waits until you're fully lowered on Joshua's lap and he slams his entire length inside you.

His tip his your cervix perfectly, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“F-fuck.. So..fu-full” you moan out.

You take a moment to regain your breath, back arched on Joshua as groans in your ear.

Jeonghan, clearly feeling a bit left out, tangles his hands in your hair and pulls your face off of Joshua's neck. He slaps his cock against your cheek and lips as he smiles down at you

“Open up” he commands.

As you open your mouth and suck Jeonghan's tip, Seungcheol takes the initiative to move. He slowly drags his cock out and thrusts his full length into you again making you moan on Jeonghan. The movement makes Joshua hit deeper in you.

Both of them start moving inside you. Seungcheol and him have a mismatched pace making you see stars as you suck Jeonghan harder.

Jeonghan holds the back of your neck and thrusts into your mouth, making you take him deeper as tears well in your eyes. He throws his head back and fucks your mouth.

The room is filled with groaning and skin slapping as Jeonghan hits the back of your throat with each move.

“Such a pretty fucking cockslut. You like us filling you up like this huh?” Seungcheol grunts and moves his hips faster. You try to respond but the cloud of lust fills your mind as you feel yourself reaching your edge.

Joshua, the ever observant slides his hand down to your clit and slowly rubs his thumb against it. The sensation makes you moan against Jeonghans cock, the vibrations making him moan your name.

After a few more thrusts you feel his movements stutter as he fucks your face.

“Want me to cum in your mouth princess?” he groans as you slip him out of your mouth to answer

“P-please Jeonghan..ne-need it”

Your pretty face begging for him is all he needs before he cums in your throat with a final thrust, painting it white. He pulls out and watches you swallow with a satisfied grin before collapsing on the couch next to Joshua.

The other 2 are not too far behind to follow, their movements becoming more erratic as they reach their highs. Joshua cums with a loud groan and throws his head back on the couch.

His hands keep moving on your clit as he comes down his high, his breathing heavy and inconsistent.

“Gonna fill you up so well you wont even fucking think about pullling this shit again” Seungcheol curses and his hand wraps around your neck. The slight cut in air with the stimulation on your clit makes you fall off the edge as you cum on Seungcheol’s cock, his orgasm following yours.

Your releases mix together inside you as he rides out his high. You lay back on Joshua as he and Seungcheol slowly pull out. The emptiness and the feeling of their cum spilling out of you makes you whimper. Your thighs sticky with your mixed releases.

You slowly feel yourself coming down from that cloud as Joshua pats your shoulder

“You okay? Did we go too hard on you love?” he asks with slight concern in his voice but you shake your head no. They could never hurt you.

The three of them help you get up and take a shower, laying out clean warm clothes for you and helping you lay on the bed. Jeonghan lays down next to you and pulls you into a warm hug.

“Don't do that again okay? You really had us worried” he whispers in your hair.

“Im sorry, i shouldn't have disappeared over something so small”

you say quietly but the 3 of them hear it, they always do.

Seungcheol presses a kiss to your forehead as Joshua rubs your back.

“We love you, don't forget that okay?”

740 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned.

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream.

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment.

“She’s yours.” His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter.

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want.

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy.

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal.

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb.

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated.

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition.

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot.

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder.

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty.

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express.

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair.

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong?

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack.

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights?

He’d heard some things about teenagers.

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly.

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen.

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there.

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father.

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap.

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours.

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.”

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers.

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all.

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else.

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts.

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.”

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head.

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket.

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?”

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?”

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted.

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way.

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals.

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought.

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard.

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door.

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop.

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise.

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds.

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand.

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!”

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands.

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly.

“Please.” A pin could drop.

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand.

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver.

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do.

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else.

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle.

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do?

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing.

But…he was trying.

“A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?”

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.”

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears.

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle.

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins.

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter.

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly.

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns.

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence.

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?”

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.”

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles.

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly.

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen.

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket.

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around.

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.”

Of course, he’d noticed that, too.

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely.

“What is it?”

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin.

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes

dreamer-after-dark · 8 months

Note

I could see Wally Darling being the kind to sneak into your room/house when you're away and steal your panties/underwear. You figure that maybe the washing machine is eating them at first until a pair you were wearing yesterday disappeared from the top of the pile.

👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁

Side note, I have had my panties stolen before! Anyway, here you go ٭(•﹏•)٭

Part Two

Word count: 1,945

Wally is shameless.

👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜

[Y/N]

It happened again.

[Julie]

What??

[Sally]

Panty thief struck again?

[Julie]

Twice in one week???

[Y/N]

It's not a thief! I refuse to believe it!

[Sally]

How many pairs does that make now? 12?

[Julie]

Close! 15!

[Y/N]

[Sally]

I fail to understand why this can't be the doing of a petty thief?

[Julie]

Y/N!

[Julie]

Y/N are you there?

[Julie]

Where did they go? :/

[Sally]

Alas, my darling Juliet! Tis I alone that remains here

[Wally]

Hello

[Sally]

Hi, Wally.

👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜

Seventeen pairs of your best fitting panties have been lost, lost forever. Never to be found with the same elasticity or fit. You stared out into the empty street where the sun parted between leaves. You were too broke to afford replacing them and so you wandered this world commando when the pants offered enough coverage and comfort. Or even if it didn't you still had no choice should you plan around an inviting evening out.

With a huff you adjusted your basket against your hip, your unfolded clothes flopping a bit. The sunshower surprised you as it pelted against the non opening glass doors of the building's laundromat. After double checking the seats and dryer you headed for the opened door just off to the side. You entered a gray stairwell. Beneath the staircases was a collection of cleaning supplies, a yellow mop bucket, and a locked cabinet.

Your slippers echoed through the stairwell as you jogged up. The door to your floor was propped open with a rock. You used your free hand to open the door fully and slide the rock inside. You pushed it to the side with your foot not wanting anyone to trip over on it like you had. Your phone smacked your face leaving a nasty bruise under your eye. It still hurts to remember.

The door shut behind you with a rusty squeak. Your slippers slid lightly against the tiled floors until you made it to your apartment door. The handle gave way and you were thrilled to find it still open. Music boomed from somewhere within one of the rooms. The smell of weed wafted around mixing with the chilled air feeding in from the windows.

You inhaled deeply, shaking loose your worries. As you walked down your hallway you passed the open bathroom where giggling and hushed whispers could be heard. Julie and Sally were doing their makeup together, facetiming you assumed. Further was the kitchen where you heard the clinking of silverware against wood. The voices from the bathroom quieted.

Wally was stirring a cup of coffee when he spotted your annoyed expression, "Hello, Y/N. Are you alright?"

"Another pair off and vanished," you roll your eyes with a glance at your basket, "It's getting annoying."

"I can see how annoying that could get. Do you think they've all been stolen?"

"No! No. I'm sure it'll sort itself out. Have you got anymore coffee, Wally?"

Wally hands you the mug he was holding, "This one's yours, honeycrisp."

You thanked him as he turned away to prepare his own. His hair cascaded like waves down his back. The vibrant blue shining below the lights. Wally was amazing at coloring his hair. You turn away and head down the hallway where two doors faced each other. You entered the left one silently praying thanks to the great nothingness beyond for leaving it unlocked for you.

You placed your laundry on your bed. You would fold the clothes, but your keys needed to be found. You looked around your slightly cluttered room. The tapestry on your window was tied up letting in the sun. The smell of wet earth rose up as the rain thundered down. By the window was a desk. It was stained with paint and ink. On top was a journal, several colors of paint, and a large bottle of water. A mug with several drying paint brushes propped up within say atop the bookshelf.

Small plushies were scattered among the shelves and on the floor. Your bed was next to the wall by the door. The blanket was a pile on the floor next to the end of the bed. Larger plushies were squished from your tossing and turning. Pillows were crammed between the bed frame and wall. Eyes landing on your newly added laundry basket made you realize cleaning your entire room would help you find your missing keys.

👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜[Wally]

Hi, Sally.

Hi, Julie.

[Sally]

Wally, you wouldn't happen to know about the Boudoir Bandit?

[Wally]

No.

[Julie]

Maybe it's one of the other tenants!

[Sally]

Nefarious tenant!

[Y/N]

It has to be the machine

Can't be anything else

[Sally]

Perish the thought! The Panty Snatcher must be caught and brought to justice!

[Julie]

Perish the thought!

[Wally]

Perish the thought!

[Y/N]

Who could it be?

[Sally]

I see you've come around.

[Julie]

It could be anyone!

Any of us!!

How scary!!!

[Wally]

It could be anyone?

[Sally]

List of suspects:

Sally

Julie

Y/N

Poppy

Wally

Howdy

Barnaby

Home

[Y/N]

Me??

Why me??

[Julie]

It's a crazy world, Y/N!

We cannot rule out anyone!

Not even you

[Sally]

Julie is exactly right, darling Y/N! We simply cannot rule you out!

[Wally]

I would hate to see you go without, neighbor.

[Y/N]

Ok :/

👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜👁💜

You smirked at the messages filling up your screen. Julie's energetic texts became shorter and you could imagine her hot pink nails tapping against the screen of her phone. Sally's text became increasingly verbose in response. Wally was lurking as he always did, chiming in here and there.

The phone slipped into your pocket as music filled the already tidied room. Your keys had been found while sweeping underneath your desk. Along with a few scrunchies and a button, your heavily outfitted keys were dragged out. With such a clunky set up you wondered how you ever lose it to begin with. Work keys, house keys, anime characters, pepper spray, and a stuffed animal. All of it designed to be eye-catching and hard to lose.

You flopped onto your bed opting for rest. Your ultimate goal had been completed and you were horribly drained. Your mind drifted back to the mounting loss of your panty collection. Solid color boxers, high waisted panties, boy shorts, thongs, sick day panties. All of it is gone! Sally was right to call it nefarious, but believing that you were being specifically targeted was a level of fear you wanted to avoid. You turned off your notifications for the next hour and returned to cleaning up.

Soon your room was clean, your clothes put away, and the bathroom was finally open. The glow of the full moon was bright and brilliant tonight. Leaving your desk you grabbed a change of clothes, sans panties, and a towel. You stripped down leaving all of your clothes inside the now empty basket. Stepping out you noticed the room across from you was quiet. There was a note taped to the door reading:

Out for the next three days! Rent is on the table!

Sally and Julie were heading out to New York for a concert. All the more to enjoy a long, luxurious shower. Wally was in the room down the opposite hall. His room was the only one on that side. He had the biggest room in the apartment for all of his art equipment. Aside from his bed you couldn't tell it was his bedroom. The last you had been inside it was filled with disturbing personal works. Each one felt delicate and haunting. Completely unlike his pleasant and sweet demeanor.

The music was still going though not as loud. It was mellow and dragging. You could hear the bubbling of his bong. The sound made your heart race. You quickly stepped into the bathroom. The thick glass ceiling above always excites you. It was such a crummy apartment, but it had its ups with this being one of them.

Julie's stickers covered the thick sides of her movable mirror. Her makeup bag was left open covered in eye shadow dust and glitter. A pack of eyelashes were left open on the top of the bag.

A little smudged message was left on the mirror written in red lipstick, reading:

You're beautiful, starshine!

Julie was a sweetheart. The rain had stopped, leaving a silence in the tall bathroom. With a turn of the faucet cold water rushed out from the shower head. The patter of water against ceramic filled the room. You stepped under the stream shivering as the droplets thudded against your skin.

Stepping out from the shower you dried yourself off and slipped into your change of clothes. You felt rejuvenated! As you stepped out of the bathroom, a voice called for you.

"Hi, Y/N. Would you like a snack?" Wally was standing in the kitchen with reddened eyes.

"What are you having?" You couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"A cut up apple. I couldn't think of anything better," he giggled, "I have a few extra?"

You accept the offered apples, "Thanks. I'm sure I forgot to eat with all the other things I also forgot."

"I'm sorry that's happening, it must be tough. Julie did say you were left without much to wear."

You groaned imagining Julie explaining things in detail as she usually would, "I'd rather not make it into a thing. It's just so weird to even consider what they're saying."

"I have a pack of unopened boxers. They may not fit perfectly, but they should help?" He smiled completely at ease.

"That's.. Ok. I couldn't accept that." As weird as it was to have your underwear stolen, Wally offering you some was even weirder.

"Oh, Ok. I'll hold it until you're ready." Wally walked off into his room leaving you in the kitchen.

You heaved a sigh as you leaned against the counter. The apple slices crunched as you bit into it. Each one refreshing and cold. You rinsed the plate in the sink and switched off the lights. You returned to your room, but stopped just short of the door.

It was cracked open. You were sure the door shut behind you when you stepped out. With a gentle push you opened the door further. When seeing nothing out of place you stepped in and shut the door behind you listening for that click of metal against wood. When you heard it you let go of the doorknob and hung up your towel to dry.

You looked around your room again looking over every little detail. The still tidy room was just as you left it. Plushies put away, paints organized, bed made, and the floor clean. Your eyes glanced over the basket on the floor and your heart skipped. Your head swiveled back as your eyes scanned it once more. Leaning down you picked at the shirt and pants shaking them out. A pair of socks fell from the pant leg, but nothing else. With dread it dawned on you. The panties you had worn not even an hour ago were missing.

👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁

[Y/N]

Wally

[Wally]

Yes?

[Y/N]

Where are they?

[Wally]

Where is what?

[Y/N]

My panties

[Wally]

Stolen, I presume?

[Y/N]

By you

Where are they?

[Wally]

You're welcome to check my room, Y/N

Do you want to come in?

👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁

You heard the music dip low in the furthest room. You heard the door click as the knob turned. Your heart pounded in your chest as you heard him chuckle from deep within his room.

#playfellowxxx #wally darling #wally darling playfellowxxx #yandere wally darling #wally darling x reader #wally darling x y/n #wally darling x you #wally darling x self insert #wally darling x gn reader #x yn #x gender neutral reader #x reader #boudoir bandit #panty snatcher #creepy wally darling #cuddles and conversations #wetdreams #panty snatcher wally darling #panty snatcher au

403 notes · View notes

squichymochi · 2 months

Text

So here is another something I wrote. I’ll probably be writing more now, but updates will be slow because I usually work 50 hours a week. However, as Hazbin is still on my mind 👉🏻👈🏻, here ya go.

Warning: this contains swearing, some cuddles, and nothing too out of the ordinary for the show.

Husk x Reader (Husk is transformed into a tiny kitten)

Word Count: 1.033

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I love writing it. As I mentioned before, English is not my first language. Thank you ❤️

Wiping down the bar in Husk's absence, you found a peculiar solace in the repetitive motion. Across from you, Angel Dust lounged, a Bloody Mary in one hand and his phone in the other.

"You alright there, hun?" you asked, concern threading your voice. Husk usually manned the bar, doubling as a makeshift therapist for the Hotels weary souls.

Angel glanced up, his frown dissolving into a practiced smile. Raising a hand, you stopped him, "No need to pretend, Angel. Is it Val again?"

He deflated, a heavy sigh escaping him. "Yeah, it is," he admitted.

Before you could offer a stronger drink, a loud bang echoed through the hotel entrance, startling both of you. "What?!" you exclaimed, instinctively summoning a pair of knives into your hands. But Charlie's voice soon echoed through the hall, and your tension eased.

"I am soooooo sorry!" Charlie's voice was a mix of panic and remorse. You and Angel rushed to the front, finding Charlie in tears, while Vaggie was clutching something in her arms.

"What in the heavens happened?" you asked, approaching with concern. Peering closer, you were stunned to see a kitten with fur patterns strikingly similar to Husk's. At the sound of your voice, the kitten looked up, meowing softly.

You froze, a mix of shock, amusement, and rising panic washing over you. Angel, unable to contain himself, chuckled, "Is this our dear grumbly Husk looking all cute?"

The kitten hissed, swiping at Angel's fingers, clearly unamused. In your mind, you could almost hear Husk's voice, *Piss off, you asshole*.

"What happened, Charlie?" you asked, a deep weariness in your voice as you massaged your temples. Charlie ran up to you clasping your hands into hers. She started explaining, sobs still tumbling out of her. They tried to solve a bigger problem and ended up within a turf war gone wrong and a dust bomb that hit Husk. As she spoke, Vaggie cradled the tiny kitten version of Husk, concern etched on her face.

"We'll find a solution, I promise," Charlie declared, determination in her voice, despite her tear-stained eyes.

Later this evening Husk, in his kitten form, had taken up residence atop the bar, his tail flicking irritably. "I really hope we find a way to change you back soon," you sighed, leaning against the counter. "I miss your hugs, you big grump." He responded with a hiss, but sauntered over to nuzzle against your face. As you stroked his soft fur, his eyes fluttered closed contentedly.

"Ugh, what a shitty day!" Angel Dust collapsed onto a stool in front of you, his face etched with exhaustion. "Hard day at work?" you asked, continuing to pet Husk.

"You could say that," Angel Dust replied, tears brimming in his eyes. "I just wish I didn't have to do this shit or do all of them…I don’t know.", he laughed hysterically. Husk, sensing his friend's distress, moved to comfort him, purring as he leaned against Angel's face.

Angel picked up the kitten, placing him on his lap. A smile found its way to your lips – even in this unusual form, Husk was there for his friends.

As days passed, you awoke one morning to find Husk, still in kitten form, growling atop the bar counter. Alastor's voice filled the air with static. "Look at you, now my pet for real," he taunted, reaching out to pet him. But Husk growled and swiped at Alastor's hand, drawing blood.

"Take care whose hand you're biting, dear friend," Alastor warned, his voice tinged with static-laden threat and his demonic form slowly appearing.

"Alastor," you interjected sharply. In an instant, his demeanor shifted back to his usual smiling self. "Oh dear, could you prepare my usual?" he requested, his smile never wavering.

"Of course," you replied, shooting Husk a stern look. Husk hopped off the counter, still growling under his breath and sauntering to his usual spot on the sofa.

That evening, as you all engaged in group activities with Vaggie as Charlie was still trying to desperately find an antidote (mind you it’s been over a week). Husk stubbornly remained on the table. Vaggie tried to shoo him away, but his 'I don’t give a shit' glare won out, and everyone left him be.

During Sir Pentious's dramatic storytelling, Husk probably was fed up with the snakes story and began pushing a glass off the table. "NO," Vaggie's voice was filled with murderous intent, but the glass went flying regardless.

Sighing heavily and apologising profusely for your grumpy boyfriend you scooped Husk into your lap, petting him until he began to purr and nestle into you. "I like petting you, you know," you teased. He responded with a playful nip at your hand.

Suddenly, with a snap of Alastor's fingers, Husk was back to his usual self, sitting awkwardly in your lap staring into your eyes. "You could have changed me back this whole time?!" Husk turned his head to look at the radio demon and bristled, ready to explode. You hugged him tighter, trying to calm him down, which wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

Alastor's reply, "Oh, where would be the fun in that?" only fueled Husk's anger further.

"Babe," you whispered, and Husk finally realized he was still in your lap, his cheeks turning slightly red. "I'm just so happy to have you back," you murmured, hugging him while trying to calm all of them the fuck down.

Your moment was interrupted by a loud bang. Charlie burst in, triumphantly holding a vial. "I got it!" she exclaimed. Upon seeing Husk back in his original form, she let out a bewildered, "What the fuck!?"

As the evening wound down, Husk whispered in your ear, "I hope you'll still want to pet me later in our room, babe," his purr sending a blush across your face and heat straight to your core.

"Kinky," Angel teased, wiggling his fingers. You buried your face in Husk's fur, overwhelmed but relieved. You could feel your boyfriend’s low chuckle and his arms wrapping tightly around your form. Despite the chaos, you were grateful to have Husk back, knowing it was only the beginning of solving the hotel's larger problems.

Thanks for reading ☺️

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #husk x reader #husk x you #husk x y/n #drabble #oneshot #hazbin fanfic #husk fluff

197 notes · View notes

spidey-x-male-reader · 7 months

Note

How about Jason Todd x male reader who's a werewolf? And who's transfortation during the full moon is incredibly painful, to the point that he's writhing on the floor, howling and whining like a wild animal?

Just Jason comforting his boyfriend as he shifts, not leaving his side until it's over, holding him as he cries, letting him know that he's okay, brushing his fur with his hands and just being so gentle, like reader was made of glass.

Pairing: Jason Todd x male werewolf reader

Summary: It's full moon and Jason is there to comfort you

A/N: Who knew that I was even able to write something?? Big surprise for all of us, huh?

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

MASTERLIST

The full moon hung high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over Gotham City. As if Gotham wasn’t scary enough already, Jason knew that tonight there would be another danger. At least you told him so. He still refused to ever see you as any kind of danger for anyone.

Jason sat on the couch in one of his safe houses, watching you pace up and down.

“(y/n). It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m just…I should have stayed alone. Like usual. I…what if I hurt you? If something happened to you–”

He stood up, carefully putting his arms around you. “Trust me. You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” The look in his eyes showed nothing but pure determination.

You started feeling a deep tug inside your body, like something was ripping you apart from the inside. You doubled over, your knees almost giving out under you. “It’s…it’s starting.”

“It’s okay, love. I’m right here.” Jason spoke in a calm tone even though you saw the worried expression on his face. You quickly realized that he wasn’t worried about you hurting him though, he was worried about you being in pain.

Jason's heart ached as he saw the one he loved in so much pain, howling and whining like a wild animal. He knew how much the transformation hurt, and he couldn't bear to see his boyfriend in such pain.

When your knees gave out under you and you could do nothing else than roll yourself together on the floor, trying to get through the pain, he immediately moved to sit down next to you, not thinking about his own safety for a moment.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Jason whispered soothingly as he knelt beside his boyfriend. He gently stroked your hair, trying to provide some comfort amidst the pain. "I'm here with you. You're not alone."

Your body continued to contort and change, but Jason refused to leave your side. He held onto your trembling form, offering words of reassurance and love. "You're strong, and you can get through this. I'm right here, babe."

You were used to people leaving at this point. Or running. Sometimes it was because they became terrified. Sometimes they were just disgusted because of the way your transformation took place and your body contorted.

But Jason stayed. He didn’t move away. Not for a second.

Tears streamed down your face as the transformation continued. It always felt so endless long, no matter how many times it happened.

Jason wiped the tears away with tender care. He knew that the pain was unbearable, but he was determined to be there for you every step of the way.

As the transformation finally completed, you were lying on the floor, panting heavily. Your body was now covered in fur, and your golden eyes looked up at Jason with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. There was something angry and animalistic in there too but Jason didn’t even flinch. He just continued to stroke your fur, his touch gentle and loving.

"It's over now," Jason murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your furry forehead. "You did great, my love. I'm so proud of you."

You nuzzled a bit closer to Jason, finding comfort in his embrace. You pressed into his side as he put an arm around you, putting some of his weight on you. Neither of you were scared of the other even if you probably should be.

It was the first time in years of these transformations that you actually felt safe while you were transformed. You felt calm. You had no urge to kill Jason. You just wanted to have him close.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, as the full moon cast its glow outside. In that moment, all that mattered was the love and support you found in each other.

“Has anyone ever told you that your fur is really soft?” Jason whispered, softly moving his fingers through your fur, careful not to pull.

Jason looked at you like you were something beautiful to appreciate.

“I could get used to this…” he mumbled while leaning a bit on you, using you like a pillow.

Yeah…you could get used to this too.

384 notes · View notes

whitedarkmoonflower · 4 months

Note

GIRL! You should write a Sihtric ffc that takes place when they are trying to get Bebbanburg back and they take him and Finan and chain them. While they are chained, Sihtric notices a girl also being chained in a corner (the oc) and after the battle he rescues her…the rest up to you. If you do pls tag me 🤭😳

Here you goo girly! Copy and pasted <3

Bebbanburg

Authors note: It's my last fic this year. I hope you'll enjoy. I found it not so easy to write, but here it is. A big thank you to @the-irish-girl for helping me with the ideas and writing prompts. I appreciate it a lot!

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Warnings: a lot of Angst and a bit of Fluff. That's it .

Word Count: 4,8 K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius@hb8301@zillahvathek@alexagirlie@gemini-mama @verenahx@mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf@willowbrookesblog

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

Constantin's voice pierces the inner yard, “He's no man of mine,” he declares, putting a very fast end to their venture.

'Your Scottish accent sucks,' Sihtric grumbles, his teeth clenched, as his hands are forcibly bound behind his back. Like Finan before him, he's quickly disarmed. They are surrounded by too many warriors, the resistance is futile. Surrender appears to be their only reasonable choice for now. At least this might buy Uhtred more time and divert the guards' and Wihtgar's attention from him.

"At least I gave it a shot," Finan shrugs with his shoulders as they are hauled away.

The air in the dungeon is musty and stale, the smell of mould and mildew mixing with filth and rot. It’s not under the ground, the cliff of Bebbanburg has made it far too difficult to dig deep. It stands as a separate building at the fortress's far end, with double wooden walls built on top of a stone base likely still left by the Romans. Its exposure to the sea winds and dampness is evident. There are no windows, its sparse lighting comes from flickering torches that cast long, ominous shadows across the walls and the metal bars of the cells.

“Torture them for answers,” Lord Wihtgar orders, his frame obstructing the entrance. The threatening tone in his voice suggests that he's more interested in retribution than actual information. He’s been fooled and humiliated before the Scottish king and wants revenge, eager to make them suffer. He approaches Finan, intent on delivering the first strike, as the astir voice of his commander distracts him.

“My lord, soldiers approach from the south.”

“How many?”

“Many.”

“Lock them up and then head to the ramparts,” Wihtgar commands and storms out of the dungeon. The guards roughly shove Finan and Sihtric into separate cells. The heavy metal doors slam shut with a resounding clang, the sound of keys turning in the locks echoing in the room as the guards depart, leaving behind a haunting silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the torches.

"It could’ve been worse," Finan remarks with a half-hearted chuckle, making himself as comfortable as possible on a pile of straw in the corner of his cell. He glances over at Sihtric, in the cell across from him, worried about how he's handling things. Finan is well aware of his fearless friend's sole vulnerability.

Sihtric clutches the metal bars of his cell, his knuckles turning white under the pressure. He takes deep, deliberate breaths in an effort to remain calm, but his anxiety is palpable. The walls seem to inch closer, the pervasive darkness reaching towards him like insidious fingers. Each breath he draws feels oppressively heavy, as if pressing down on him, dragging him towards the ground. Sihtric shuts his eyes tightly, trying to take another deep breath, fully aware that it’s his own mind playing tricks on him, yet unable to shake the feeling.

When he finally forces his eyes open again, the cell is pitch black; the torches have burned out. The space feels even more confined than before. He finds himself sitting on the hard floor, his arms wrapped around his knees, back pressed against the wall. The distant sound of water dripping is the only thing that pierces the silence. Time has become a blur—hours, days, weeks? He can't tell.

Touching his swollen lip, Sihtric winces at the pain but is relieved to find his teeth intact. He curls up tighter, shutting his eyes, longing for sleep to claim him, but it remains elusive.

The cold in the cell is piercing, cutting through his thin clothing and his stomach is growling with hunger. Sihtric shivers, his teeth chattering from the chill. His gaze falls to his legs, barely covered by a worn rug, down to his bare, skinny feet. They're blistered and dirty, stained with streaks of blood. His blood.

He can still feel them—the blows from his father’s fists, the sharp sting of the dog whip in Kjartan's hands as he lashes out, his face flushed with anger, infuriated by Sihtric’s silence as he doesn’t cry out. He never does; he never gives Kjartan that satisfaction.

He can still hear them—his mother's desperate, pleading cries as she kneels before Kjartan, begging for mercy for her son, willing to do anything to end the brutal beating.

A vicious blow sends Sihtric sprawling to the ground; he instinctively curls into a ball, protecting his head and face, bracing for the rest of the assault. He doesn't make a sound, and Kjartan, losing interest, tosses the whip aside and refills his mug with ale. Strong arms grip him like iron claws, hoisting him up and tossing him over a shoulder. Sihtric catches a glimpse of his mother weeping on the floor, managing a small smile for her before he's taken to the small, damp cell in Dunholm's basement. Again. It’s not the first time and not the last.

No, no, no—it's not real, it can't be, Sihtric reminds himself, taking a deep, steadying breath. He's not the small, scared slave boy anymore. He's a warrior, a grown man who has endured more battles than the years of his life. He has risen above everything his father, Kjartan, sought to deny him. Kjartan is gone. This is Bebbanburg, and his friends are counting on him. He can't let the ghosts of his past haunt him, not from beyond the grave. He can’t let his father win this battle.

Yet, here he is, seemingly back in that same cold, dark cell in Dunholm, wiping away tears with the frayed fabric of his sleeves. This hidden place being the only spot where he lets them flow freely.

"Hey, hey, Sihtric, listen to me," Finan's urgent voice pierces through the haze, jolting Sihtric back to the present. His eyes fly open. He finds himself still upright, clutching the iron bars, his head leaning against them, breaths coming fast and heavy. A sheen of cold sweat coats his forehead, and his entire body quivers. If not for his tight grip on the bars, his legs would have surely given way by now.

"There's something in your cell. Sihtric, are you hearing me? Check out the corner behind you. Something's moving," Finan's voice, though somewhat muffled, carries a distinct note of urgency that spurs Sihtric to slowly turn his head. In the far end of his cell, he catches sight of a peculiar, quivering shape. It isn't merely moving; it's shaking, accompanied by faint, muffled noises.

Forcing himself to release the iron bars, Sihtric turns for a better view. The torchlight is too dim to make out details, so he cautiously takes a few steps closer. His muscles tense, ready to react to any threat.

He halts, concentrating on the sounds emanating from the shape. It quickly becomes apparent that what's under the tattered blanket is a living, scared creature, its quiet, stifled sobs reaching his ears. With careful movements, Sihtric edges closer, extends his hand, and slowly pulls back the ragged blanket, unveiling the source of the quiet sobbing.

—---------------------------------------------

You're abruptly roused from sleep by the sound of voices. Straining your ears, you recognize the voice as Wihtgar's. It's been a while since the Lord of Bebbanburg visited the dungeons, not since your arrival. You quickly rise and hurry to the iron bars of your cell, moving as swiftly as the clanking chains around your ankles permit. The metal chafes against the bruises left by the shackles, but you barely notice the pain. Desperation to speak to him, to plead for your freedom, urges you forward. You've done nothing wrong; you've been falsely accused, and you need him to know that.

The voices grow louder, and you catch sight of two men being dragged in. They're strangers to you. Probably intruders. Pirates? Or even worse, Danes? Hastily, you retreat into the shadows of your cell, curling up on the small pile of straw that serves as your bed. Your fingers grip the ragged blanket given to you by a guard – a young lad with a pale face and kind eyes who'd seen you shivering, your teeth chattering in the cold night.

You watch as the men are hauled to the cells. The sound of keys turning in locks and the snapping shut of iron-barred doors send a shiver down your spine as you realise that one of the men has been locked in the same cell as you.

"Oh God, help me," you whisper under your breath, noticing the pagan pendant hanging from the neck of the stranger in your cell. Your fears are confirmed: you're locked in a cell with a Dane, the kind of ruthless, heartless warrior you've heard countless stories about. You are frozen, too afraid to move, aware that the slightest sound of your shackles might reveal your hiding place. You hold your breath and pull the blanket over your head, silently praying for the guards to return quickly, before that wild beast in the shape of a man discovers you, before he lays his hands on you.

Blinded by the blanket, you're cut off from seeing what's happening in the cell, but your fear is too great to risk a glance. The silence is broken only by the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional shuffle from the other cell where the second man is locked up. You feel your legs begin to tingle, going numb from the tension and your cramped position. An involuntary shuffle causes the chains to clink softly, the sound reverberating through you like a fanfare.

"Oh no, please God, no," you silently plead, but it's too late. They've heard you. You bury your head between your knees, wrapping your arms around it, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You curse your trembling limbs as footsteps draw nearer. The stillness around you is palpable. Time seems to stretch on endlessly, each shallow breath feeling like an eternity. You wonder, anxiously, what he is waiting for. Your lungs spasm, your ability to breathe constricted, and a mix of whimpers and sobs escapes your lips as your shoulders shake uncontrollably.

The blanket is suddenly whisked away and a sharp yelp escapes your lips as you recoil. Your arms instinctively rise, shielding your head in a protective gesture.

Sihtric's eyes quickly take in the figure before him, immediately recognizing you as a girl. The hands covering your face are small and delicate, unlike those of a man or boy. He notices the shackles binding your ankles and his expression turns to one of surprise and rising anger, wondering who could be so cruel as to confine and possibly torture a woman.

"Hey, you don't have to be afraid of me," Sihtric says softly, carefully moving closer. "I won't hurt you," he reassures, tentatively reaching out his hand, as if to gently touch your shoulder.

From the corner of your eye, you see his hand approaching. In a reflexive movement, you spring to your feet, driven by fear, and scramble further into the corner, trying to press yourself into the rough wooden wall. For a brief moment, your eyes lock with those of the man beside you.

His presence is intimidating: tall, strong, with broad shoulders and chest, muscular arms visible under his sleeveless armour. His hair, braided on top, falls in wild curls to his shoulders. Even in the dim torchlight, you can see scars marking his forehead and cheek, and an unusual tattoo on his neck. Panic surges within you, and you wrap your arms around yourself protectively, covering as much of your exposed skin above the neckline of your dress as possible. Your trembling legs can no longer support your weight, and you sink back to the ground.

Sihtric observes you, his fingers raking through his hair. There's something about your tightly curled, trembling form, your wide, red, and swollen eyes filled with fear and disdain, that resonates with him. That feeling of being trapped and terrified, it’s all too known to him, it’s still there, it still lingers in his bones. He finds himself unable to look away. Cautiously, Sihtric crouches down, maintaining his distance, not wanting to frighten you further by moving too close. His gaze softens as he watches you, remaining still and quiet.

"I am Sihtric," he introduces himself gently, a softness in his voice. "I understand you're scared. But I promise, as long as we're in this cell, you're safe from me."

You are surprised by the softness of his voice and by the fact that he speaks your tongue, but it does little to calm you. He is what he is – a heathen, a savage and you are completely at his mercy, as the fleeting hope that the guards might return soon fades. It’s only now that the meaning of the words you overheard has sunken in - the fortress is under attack, and you've been abandoned to a fate that seems increasingly grim, forgotten by a world that seems to have no place for you.

With each movement deliberate and cautious, Sihtric settles himself on the floor near the wall. He leans back, drawing his knees to his chest, and places his hands on his knees visibly, a non-threatening gesture meant to reassure you.

He sits there for a while, quietly watching the shadows cast by the flickering torchlight. From the opposite cell, the sound of Finan's soft snoring indicates that he's making the most of this unexpected respite. Sihtric wants to convey to you that he is no threat. Understanding that words alone cannot convince you, he chooses to show it through his actions. So he just sits there patiently, giving you the space and time you need to realise that he means no harm.

You steal covert glances at the formidable Dane seated beside you. There's something compelling about him that repeatedly draws your gaze back to the stranger. He has remained still for some time, silent and not even looking your way. The air of strength and assurance he exudes is captivating, and his mere presence beside you has an unexpectedly soothing effect. Gradually, you feel the tension in your muscles easing and your sobs slowly subsiding.

Sihtric senses this subtle change in you, indicating that you're no longer overwhelmed by panic. He turns his head just enough to see you and clears his throat gently.

"Please, don't be afraid," Sihtric speaks in a soft, hushed tone. "I mean you no harm," he reassures once again.

Slowly, you lift your head, and your eyes unintentionally lock with his. The warm sincerity you see in them starkly contrasts with his intimidating appearance, and you reluctantly acknowledge that if he had intended to harm you, he wouldn't have waited this long. You break your gaze, only to let out a sharp shriek as you spot a rat sniffing near your feet. Startled by your cry, the rat quickly scurries away, disappearing through a small gap between the wall and the floor.

A smile slowly forms on Sihtric’s lips as he shifts his position slightly and stretches out his legs, his arms resting comfortably in his lap. He begins to speak, his voice calm and even. He tells about his childhood friend, a small, clever rat he had named Loki, after the trickster god.

"Loki was smart and fast. He'd come and go as he pleased, squeezing through the tiniest cracks in the walls. Each day, I'd save a bit of my sparse meal to share with him."

You find yourself captivated by his melodic voice, tinged with a slight accent. It almost feels as if he's speaking to himself, and only the occasional discreet glance in your direction reveals his awareness of your presence. As you listen, your breathing steadies, as you are drawn into Sihtric's story, finding solace in the sound of his voice. He recounts how Loki always found him, even in that dirty hole beneath his father’s fortress, and when he pauses, the last words hanging in the air, you unexpectedly find yourself asking, "What happened to him?" surprised to hear your own voice break the silence.

Sihtric's smile dims. "I don't know. When I finally left my father's place, I couldn’t take him with me. But I like to think that Loki kept having his little adventures in those dungeons, maybe even making friends with someone else who needed it. Like that little fellow you probably scared half to death just now."

You don't know whether Sihtric's story is real or invented, yet it stirs something within you that you believed was long extinguished. Is it gratitude? For a fleeting moment, the tale allows you to escape your grim reality, to forget the shackles chafing and bloodying your ankles, the hunger gnawing at your stomach, and even the bleak prospect of having no future.

"So tell me, why are you here?" Sihtric inquires, turning his gaze towards you.

You pause, your eyes lowering to your hands clasped in your lap. For reasons you can't quite explain, you feel a sense of safety in his presence.

"I'm accused of being a witch," you say quietly, your voice carrying a tremor of fear. "I'm waiting for my trial."

"They say I have unnatural powers, that I can summon spirits and cast curses," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "But it's not true. I've never harmed anyone. I just... I know herbs and remedies. People in the village would come to me when they were sick."

"People fear what they do not understand," you hear the Dane saying. "And in their fear, they can be cruel."

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. "I'm scared," you admit. "I know what happens to those accused of witchcraft. I've seen... I've seen the pyres."

Sihtric extends his hand slowly, offering a gesture of comfort. You're hesitant at first, but then, driven by an unexpected impulse, you place your hand in his. His grip is warm and reassuring, and you allow yourself to be drawn into a soothing embrace. It's been so long since you were held with such tenderness that you can't even recall the last time. Sihtric gently strokes your dishevelled hair, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat just beneath your ear.

Your moment of solace is abruptly interrupted by a surge of voices and the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. Four guards burst into the dungeon, heading straight for the cells. The doors swing open, and Sihtric, along with Finan, are abruptly pulled to their feet and dragged out. Amidst the chaos, Sihtric exchanges a quick, knowing glance with Finan and swiftly reaches into Finan's boot, retrieving a small, concealed sharp object.

With rapid precision, Sihtric attacks the guards. The ensuing scuffle is fierce but brief. Within moments, the guards are dead on the dungeon floor, and you stifle a scream, covering your mouth with both hands in shock.

Sihtric casts a quick, conflicted glance back at you in the cell, torn between the need to escape and the desire to help you.

"Please, don't leave me here," you plead, rushing to the iron bars of your cell.

"Sihtric, we don't have time. She's chained and we don't have the tools to free her," Finan urges, grasping Sihtric's arm. But Sihtric resolutely shakes off his grasp and re-enters the cell.

"Lady, I will return for you. I promise," he whispers, his large hands gently resting on your upper arms.

"Please," you plead, your voice quivering as your fingers cling to his armour. "No, no, no, don't do this to me, please, no..." Your voice cracks, fading into a hoarse whisper, your eyes desperately seeking his.

"I will come back," Sihtric assures you again. His gaze doesn't waver as he cups your face in his hands, looking directly into your eyes. "I will."

He gently frees himself from your grip and turns to leave. Your world seems to crumble around you, despair engulfing you. You grasp the iron bars for support, but they provide little comfort, and you slowly sink to your knees, a desperate cry breaking out as you watch both men swiftly leaving the room, leaving you alone once more.

—---------------------------------------------------

The battle is over, the chaos engulfing the field before the fortress just moments before replaced by a haunting stillness. The ground is littered with fallen warriors, shattered weapons and broken shields, covered with dust and blood. Catching his breath, Sihtric lets his eyes wander around. He spots Finan nearby, bent over and breathing heavily, hands resting on his knees. Sihtric gives him a nod before continuing his search, but there's no sign of Uhtred.

"He's inside the fortress," Finan says, pointing towards Bebbanburg as he straightens up.

Sihtric turns, and a sharp scent of burning hits his nose. Bebbanburg is ablaze. The flames have taken hold of the fortress's roof, and a thick plume of smoke billows into the sky.

"Mighty Godfather, no," Sihtric mutters under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching for Thor's hammer pendant on his chest. He hears Finan swearing and calling out to him, but he doesn't pause to listen. Driven by urgency, he breaks into a desperate sprint towards the fortress, pushing through the fatigue that weighs heavily on his muscles.

—-----------------------------------

The first warning is the smell. A sharp, acrid odour of burning reeds gradually fills the dungeon, accompanied by a thin veil of smoke.

"Is anybody there? Help!" you shout, tugging at your chains with increasing nervousness. But the only response is silence, a deep, unsettling quiet. Your heart races, pounding a frenetic rhythm of fear in your chest. You pull against the chains again, as if you hadn’t done it already hundreds of times since your first days here, even though you know it's futile. Still, driven by desperation, you persist. As smoke from the burning fortress above seeps into the cell, your efforts grow more frantic. You keep yanking at the iron shackles, the metal chafing against your ankles, turning raw and aching skin into bleeding wounds. But you don't stop. You can't.

Breathing becomes increasingly difficult as the air thickens with smoke, stinging your eyes and scratching at your throat. Your mind races, frantically replaying every moment you've spent within these walls, desperately searching for some overlooked detail, some key to escape that you might have missed. But there is nothing. The cell walls appear to be closing in, the shadows deepening and becoming more threatening as the flames above intensify.

Your hands, now raw and bleeding from your futile struggles, tremble as you keep tugging weakly at the chains, tears streaming down your cheeks, not just from the smoke but from the crushing helplessness. You are alone, there is nobody in this cursed world that cares for you, that will miss you and remember you.

Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes, as you have heard it told so many times. It settles around you like a heavy cloak, woven with threads of regret, unfulfilled dreams, and the bitter sting of injustice.

"Hey, Loki!" you find yourself smiling at the small rat near your feet. "Will you tell Sihtric that I waited for him? Tell him I believed him. Tell him I have no hard feelings. I just hope he's safe," you say, your voice breaking as you reach out to gently touch the little creature, but it is gone.

Suddenly, you hear the metallic clang of the cell door flying open. Strong arms wrap around your shoulders, pressing you close to a broad chest. "I'm here. You don't need Loki to deliver your messages. I promised I would return, and here I am," you hear Sihtric's familiar, soft voice whispering in your ear.

"You came back? For me?" you whisper, your voice trembling with sobs, barely able to believe what you're seeing. Overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, you lean into the sturdy embrace of the very man whom you had feared so profoundly.

The sound of Sihtric's axe pounding against the stone foundation of the fastening is deafening. Despite his efforts, the Roman-built wall is solid and unyielding. He shifts his focus to cutting through the chains, but his axe has dulled from striking stone. With one final, forceful swing, the axe shaft snaps, leaving Sihtric holding a broken handle, the blade clattering to the ground. Undeterred, he grasps the chains with his bare hands, pulling at them with all his might.

"It's no use," you say, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Please, listen to me," your voice grows louder, trying to break through to Sihtric, who seems oblivious to your words.

"Stop it!" you finally cry out, grasping his hands in yours. Sihtric's eyes meet yours, his face a canvas of pain and despair, his fingers still tightly gripping the chain.

"There's no more time. You need to go. You have to save yourself," you implore, cupping his face in your hands, ensuring he can't look away. "Do you understand? Leave! Save yourself!" your voice rises almost to a yell.

A heavy silence falls between the two of you, your eyes locked. Then you hear the dull sound of the chain hitting the ground as Sihtric finally releases it, his arms dropping limply to his sides.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs, his forehead resting gently against yours. "I… I've failed you."

"No, you haven't. You kept your promise. You came back," you reply, your fingers gently caressing Sihtric's thick, curly hair. You wonder if the warmth and ragged breathing you feel against your skin are from him or from the encroaching fire above.

You lift your face towards Sihtric, the tears on your cheeks mixing with the dirt and soot. Gently, almost hesitantly, you press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, filled with a sense of urgency. Sihtric shudders as he responds in kind, his lips crushing against yours so eagerly, so desperately. His arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you closer, and you feel his fingers trembling as they caress your back.

There's a raw honesty in this moment, the rest of the world – the smoke, the distant sounds of the burning fortress – all fade into the background. For those few seconds, it's just the two of you, sharing a moment of solace in a reality that seems increasingly bleak.

With a strength you didn't know you had, you manage to pull back, breaking the kiss.

"You have to leave, Sihtric! You can't stay here with me," you plead, panic and despair evident in your voice.

Sihtric looks down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and sorrow. "I can't. I can’t leave you like this. Not alone, not chained," he says firmly.

Before you can protest further, he gently scoops you into his strong arms and lowers both of you to the ground. Your backs rest against the wall of the cell, his arms encircling you protectively.

"Please, Sihtric, you have to go! Save yourself!" you cry, your hands weakly beating against his chest, your pleas muffled against the fabric of his armour.

But Sihtric only tightens his hold, pulling you closer into his embrace. "I won't leave you," he murmurs, his voice resolute yet tinged with sadness. "We're in this together now."

Your struggles gradually subside as the realisation sinks in that he won't be swayed and you cease your futile attempts to show him away. Nestling against his strong body you let your tears flow freely.

“I don’t want this, Sihtric. It’s madness. Why are you doing this?” you mutter through your sobs, but Sihtric’s grip around you gets only tighter.

—--------------------------------------------

As your energy fades and your consciousness begins to slip away, the distant sounds of the dungeon seem to grow louder and more urgent. In your dwindling awareness, you hear the hurried footsteps of multiple people and the muffled clamour of loud voices.

Amidst this chaos, a distinctive sound cuts through the haze - the pounding of a hammer, resonating through the dungeon.

Suddenly, you feel multiple arms reaching for you, lifting you from Sihtric's embrace. You're too weak to resist or understand fully what's happening, but you sense movement as you're carried away from the cell.

You're vaguely aware of being brought into the open air. The cool, fresh breeze on your face contrasts sharply with the stifling, smoky air of the dungeon.

As consciousness slips from your grasp, the last thing you become aware of is the sensation of being laid down gently, with a flurry of urgent voices surrounding you. The chaos around you becomes distant, fading into a blur. Yet, amidst this disorientation, there's a distinct, grounding sensation - a hand clasping yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

In that brief, fleeting moment, you recognize the touch. It's Sihtric. Despite the confusion and the murmur of voices around you, his presence is unmistakable. The strength and warmth of his grip offer a sense of safety and comfort, a silent promise that you're not alone.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #arnas fedaravicius #arnas fedaravičius #sihtric fic

177 notes · View notes

rustboxstarr · 4 months

Text

🖤 The babysitter doesn't leave for another hour 🖤

Summary: You and Eddie aren't ready to go home just yet

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader

Warnings: smut, slight handjob, fingering, P in V, semi public sex (car sex).

Wordcount: 1.7 k

A/N: This is so bad, ya'll I'm so sorry, I'm just trying so hard rn to get out of my writers block because I miss yall!!! I just can't fricking write 😭

Anyway, love yas!

Check out my other works!

“You have no idea how much I missed this” the smile you bore was adorable droopy as you stared up at your husband, eyes swimming with adoration as you hung around his arm. “Just sad it's over” he rolled his eyes softly, a small tug gracing his lips. For once you had finally managed to find a sitter and indulge in dinner and a movie all cozied up with Eddie, but the night had to come to an end at some point right?

Eddie's steps were slow as he led you out of the double doors to the car, taking care to stretch the time however he could. He didn't want this night to end, sure you both loved your kids but some time with just each other was a quality of life that was dearly missed.

You sigh in a strange mix of contentment and deflation as you sit down in the passenger seat. “Good movie though” your head rolls on your shoulders to find Eddie settling in beside you, “It was wasn’t it?” Your eyes gaze out towards the dark parking lot. Neither of you were really ready to head home and as a result you found the both of you just sat next to each other staring out the window, neither of you making a move to start the car and make your way back to the house.

“To be honest…” you whisper before finding the sharp jawline that you always loved to press your lips to, “I don’t even know what it was about” you snort as he finds your slack figure next to him. “Me neither” the chuckle that sounds about the car has your chest heating up.

“Yeah, got a bit… intense” you giggle, “To say the least” his laugh has your body fluttering as he speaks. His lips find yours as you both laugh at the fresh memory of what could only be explained as a PG 13 grope session. His nose nuzzles against yours as your eyes travel down to his watch when he runs a strong hand up and down your thigh. “You know.. the babysitter isn’t leaving for another hour” anything above a whisper wasn’t needed, he could practically hear your heartbeat in the silence of the night.

You mimic his movements as he leans back in his seat, “What do you wanna’ do?” He smiles, placing his hands on the steering wheel ready to take you wherever you want to go.

You scan the parking lot, it’s practically empty, save for a few cars on the other end. A wicked grin spreads across your face before you push yourself up on the seat and try to smoothly swing your leg over the centre console. Callused hands find your hips as you get situated in his lap, “Why don’t we take advantage of a whole kid free hour with no one to disturb? Make up for some lost time?” Your fingers dance along his neck, playing with the loose strand of curls that hangs free from his bun.

“I like how you’re thinking” his lips find yours is a soft but feverish kiss, hands squeezing your hips tight as if you were about to slip away from him. “But how about we take this to the back?” He whispers against your lips. You bite your lip in a smile and nod, eagerly clambering off of him as you open the door.

He grins wildly as he follows suit, opening the back door and with a small bow gestures you in “after you mi’lady” you giggle as you sit down and scootch your way over to the other side. You try to be patient as he scans the parking lot for any bypassers but when he’s finally made himself comfortable in the middle you all but pounce on him. Thigh swinging over his lap, attacking his lips with sloppy kisses while his hands wrap around you.

Your black satin bodycon dress has already ridden up your thighs but Eddie needs more, lips still attached to yours he forces the fabric over your ass and lets it bunch up around your waist as he grabs two hefty handfuls of your ass, pressing you down against his throbbing cock, encouraging you to roll your hips against him.

“Oh fuck” you whine softly as his zipper catches your clit which only has him forcing you down harder. It’s all a delicious mix of hot breaths and tongues as the stars shine bright in the night sky behind you.

You can’t take it anymore, the sensation of his thick cock pressing so deliciously against your heat has fiery tingles prickling around your thighs. In a hazy haste you manage to find his belt buckle below you and with a second of your fingers grazing his stomach Eddie's hands are there instantly to assist you. You kneel back to watch as he’s revealed to you. Precum dribbling from his painfully hard cock but before he gets a chance to release himself of some of the ache your hand wraps around him. Delicate hand pumping him slowly as your lips reattach.

His tongue feels like heaven against your own, he’s desperately grabbing at anything he can get his hands on before he finds what he’s looking for and sinks his fingers into the meat of your ass.

You gasp as you feel a hand move between the backs of your thighs to feel thick fingers running down your folds over your dark cotton panties.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you’re distracted from your task of giving both Eddies lips and his cock attention. He's quick to move your panties to the side and slip a finger inside your dripping cunt. Having no trouble getting a second in as you're practically gushing for him.

All you can focus on is the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you before you find his eyes and find him eagerly watching every twitch of your face. Your own hand starts up again and you revel in the sight of his own eyes rolling to the back of his head.

As if trying to one up you, his hand moves faster, you smirk down at him silently competing with him as you too begin pumping his cock faster.

“Shit, shit” he pants “okey okey, I’m gonna cum if we don’t stop soon” he slowly opens his eyes to find your lips tugging down and accompanying doe eyes “Isn’t that the point?” The pout is instantly replaced with a wicked smirk.

“Not just yet” he grins and pulls his fingers away from you, replacing his hand on the globe of your ass and harshly pulling you towards him. Your hand is being pushed away before you know it and you gasp loudly when you feel his tip running through your folds.

He has lined himself up with you and is pushing you down before you can even utter a word, all you can do is let out an obnoxiously loud moan as his cock stretches you open. You hear him swear loudly in the distance as you sink down.

God you should have date night more often because this was unbelievable. Eddie's thick head almost probing at your cervix, his shaft gliding so easily against your wet walls, his fingers digging into your flesh, bound to leave marks.

You were too desperate to really soak up the feeling of his thick cock pressing at your walls, instantly kneeling back up again to feel him slowly slide back into you again. A loud moan that had Eddie throbbing spilled from your lips as he watched you set a slow pace of forcing yourself up and down his cock.

But he knew that if you continued like this there was no way he wouldn't be shooting his load up into you within a matter of seconds. If even possible his fingers sunk further into your skin as he nudged you to go slightly faster. You took his hint and sped your hips up slowly, each loud groan rumbling from his chest spurring you on as you felt your wetness begin to pool at the base of his cock.

“Shit babe” Eddie huffed as you began bouncing in his lap, short, loud moans filling his ears, each getting more high pitched the faster you went until you finally found the quick pace that had your thighs burning and the leather creaking with every move. You were most definitely shaking the car right now, not making your action discreet whatsoever but you couldn't care not when his cock felt so delicious inside you.

“Fuck, yeah thats it, ride me baby. Shit, look so sexy bouncing on my dick” he groaned as his hands helped guide your movements, listening to every moan you gifted him with. “Fucking love bouncing on your dick baby” you whined as your head fell back, eyes rolled to the back of your head, solely focused on chasing your own release.

It was a scrumptious mix of loud moans, groans, incoherent babble from your fucked out husband, sloppy kisses and hands grabbing at anything and everything. You suddenly felt that familiar knot in your stomach tightening, “Shit Eddie” you breathed “Eddie I’m about to cum!” Your movements only increased in speed as his words fell on deaf ears until finally the knot snapped and you felt your cunt gush around him.

It was all a blur as your ears rang and your vision went completely white but finally you managed to regain your consciousness. Your hands found his shoulders to steady yourself as you let Eddie guide you up and down, abusing your overstimulated pussy until you felt yourself being forced down all the way, his forehead finding purchase between your tits. The head of his cock buried deep within you as a loud groan vibrated against your chest while hot spurts of cum painted your walls.

You slumped against him and it felt like forever as you tried to catch your breath again.

“Shit” he chuckled, planting a kiss to your lips. “We should probably get home” you whispered, “Yeah, we probably should” he sighed.

“I don’t wanna’ leave just yet. Can’t we just stay like this for a little?” he whispered against your lips, “Yeah” you smiled.

229 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

Text

Every Day After

Requested Here!

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!shy!SWAT!reader

Summary: You are Deacon's best friend, and when you're poisoned and nearly killed, his protective tendencies make an appearance as he stays by your side to help you heal.

Warnings: angst to fluff, depictions of benzene poisoning, references to drug use and distribution, mention of character death, poisoning scene loosely based on 1x19 "Source"

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Being shy and being a member of 20-David don’t always mix well. Some days, you can talk with them without any problems; other days, they push you a touch too far, and you’re more comfortable being quiet. But no matter what kind of day it is, your team is your family, and they have your back.

One member of the team, however, you consider to be your best friend. David “Deacon” Kay is one of the best friends you have ever had, and when he jumps in to defend you and protect you, it’s easy for the rest of your team to see why you’re so attached to him.

“Where’s Deac?” Hondo asks as he enters the locker room.

“Not here yet,” you answer after closing your locker.

“You mean you didn’t carpool? Deacon was okay letting you out of his sight for that long?”

“He’s my friend, not my probation officer,” you reply softly.

Hondo smiles at your comment before explaining, “I just mean you’re usually together. Don’t see you separated much these days. Is there a reason for that?”

“Not whatever you’re thinking,” you answer, your voice weaker than it was a moment ago. “He’s my friend.”

“Who’s your friend?” Deacon asks, using the other door to come in.

“You,” Hondo answers, winking at you. He chuckles when you turn your chin away from him and steps toward the door as he calls, “We’re rolling in twenty to serve a warrant, so do your thing.”

“You alright?” Deacon asks, placing his backpack in his locker.

You nod, reaching down to tie your laces and take a moment to breathe. Your job is stressful, so finding quiet moments whenever you can helps you be a better S.W.A.T. officer.

“Here,” Deacon says, gently knocking your hand out of the way as he ties your laces.

Standing up straight, you watch Deacon double knot your laces and ensure your safety before tapping the side of your boot. He stands and meets your eyes.

“You good?” he asks, looking into your eyes as he rolls his shoulders.

“I am. Are you?”

“Always,” Deacon answers with a smile. “When you’re around, at least.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, gesturing toward your boots.

“That was adorable,” Street says.

You look over quickly, surprised to see him standing in the doorway. His smile grows when you lock eyes with him; you immediately drop your eyes to avoid his pleased look.

“A little Cinderella-esque, but cute. We just got a tip that our guy’s gonna try to run, so we’re rolling now. Unless you two need a minute?”

“We’re good,” you reply, while Deacon says, “Let’s do it.”

Deacon spreads his hand across your upper back, sweeping his thumb over the base of your neck in a comforting motion. You know he has your back, and the rest of your team is there for you, too, but physically feeling Deacon at your side makes you feel prepared to take on anything.

Climbing into Black Betty, you sit in your usual seat beside Deacon and listen to Hondo explain the warrant and the layout of the house you’re breaching.

“This guy will be armed, but we don’t know what else he may have goin’ on in there, so stay liquid,” Hondo concludes.

Deacon nods once as Black Betty stops. You follow Deacon to the west side of the house, waiting for Hondo’s signal to shoot a flashbang through a window before using the new opening to enter the residence. Deacon moves in first, clearing the room before you cover the hallway so you can move deeper into the house.

Tapping Deacon’s shoulder, you let him know you’ve got his back before he enters a bedroom.

“Closet only,” Deacon alerts, stepping back into the hallway before you.

Something hits the floor in the closet, but before you can turn back to check, the door slings open, and someone steps out. The suspect appears to be male, but you can’t tell much about his physical composure as he slams you into the wall behind you. You raise your arms to his neck, attempting to push him off of you. He grunts as he pushes harder, raising you so your feet are off the floor. Deacon moves in your peripheral, but you use the suspect’s momentum to kick him in the torso, falling onto him as he tips back.

“You’re under arrest,” you pant, flipping him onto his stomach and removing handcuffs from your belt.

“Get down!” Deacon yells.

You don’t hesitate to obey his demand, dropping to the floor beside the suspect as someone opens fire.

“30-David, we’re taking fire in the west hallway,” Deacon radios.

Looking over, you don’t see Deacon and assume he has taken cover in one of the bedrooms.

“One suspect in custody, one armed but not visible. Likely barricaded in the back room at the northwest corner,” Deacon continues.

You feel a hand on your ankle but immediately recognize the touch. Twisting, you confirm your suspicion when you see Deacon gesture for you to stay quiet. He raises to his knees in a doorway, and you move your weapon to your back just before he pulls you into the bedroom.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he closes the door.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies, matching your volume. “Nobody else even got in, we’re trapped in here.”

“We need our cuffed guy. At the least, maybe we can trade him to get out.”

“I’ll get him, but if he makes noise, I’m pushing him back out.”

You nod and help Deacon pull the man you just fought with into the room. He pants as the door closes but doesn’t fight against you or Deacon.

“Yo, this dude is crazy,” he says, though you suspect he’s talking to himself. “I’m just try’na buy some dope fo’ ma cousins and he tell me to get in the attic and get the 5-0 off his trail.”

You furrow your eyebrows as you listen. The story may not make sense to everyone, but being a cop in Los Angeles quickly teaches you just what people are willing to do to score drugs.

“Did he offer to trade you drugs for getting the police away from him?” you ask.

“Sure did. ‘N’ then he dipped.”

“That’s not him in the back room, the one that was shooting at my partner?”

“Nah, that the guy who stay here. He bad, too, though. Ain’t nobody on this street mess with him.”

“Hondo,” Deacon radios.

“Are there more people coming?” you ask quickly.

“Is you a cop?” the man asks sarcastically.

You turn toward Deacon, and he nods to answer your unasked question about getting out of here. He will get you out of this, and you trust him, but you don’t want to imagine what he’d do to save you. He may be protective of you, but you care about him too and don’t want him to risk his safety, or worse, his life, to keep you out of harm’s way.

“Deac,” you whisper.

He looks at you, and you point to a loose piece of flooring beside the wall.

“This house may have a crawl space,” you explain, moving toward the corner.

You begin pulling pieces of the floor up quietly, smiling when you reach a spot without a subfloor. Deacon sees the opening above the small crawl space and drags your apprehended suspect toward it.

“I’m going to uncuff you,” Deacon says. “But there are dozens of officers waiting out there, so if you try to run you will fail and rack up more charges than you’re already facing.”

“Man, just get me outta this psycho’s house!” the man responds.

Deacon lets him go out first, not trusting him to be behind you. Helping you into the hole, Deacon waits until you’re moving toward the access panel on the south wall to slide into the opening. He pulls a few pieces of flooring back into place, hoping that if the “psycho” owner of the house manages to get in the room faster than expected, he won’t realize how you escaped.

When Deacon stands after army crawling the entire length of the house, you immediately hug him. His arms wrap around you without hesitation, glad to see you safe and out of the house. When a shot sounds from the other side of the house, Deacon wraps an arm around the back of your head and rushes across the yard, ushering you to Black Betty.

“Thanks for keeping me informed,” Hondo chides when he sees you.

“Radios don’t work when they get crushed,” Deacon argues, pointing to your destroyed radio. “You can thank this guy for that.”

“Man, my name’s Randy. Please take me to jail and don’ let these fools fin’ me,” your radio destroyer and previous enemy interjects.

“New warrant just came through,” Luca alerts. “We can hit his stash house, try to draw him out.”

“Fantastic,” you grumble.

Deacon pats your back, a reminder that you’re not alone, and the team now has an idea of what you’re up against. While Luca drives to the stash house, you take a mental note of your new injuries. For the most part, you feel fine, but you know there will be bumps and bruises tomorrow, and you’ll feel them when the adrenaline wears off.

“You need to get everything checked when we’re done. He hit you hard,” Deacon says quietly, ensuring no one else can hear.

Nodding, you agree to whatever he says. Deacon saved your life and though you don’t think you need a doctor, you’ll do anything he wants right now.

“We’ve got intel that this place is empty but stick together anyway. The call was right before we left, so it could be full now,” Hondo alerts. “We’re not here for the drugs, narcotics’ll deal with all that later, we’re just trying to catch a rat.”

“By becoming the cheese,” Street complains.

“We’ll be fine, playboy,” Luca promises.

“As long as you stick to the plan and listen,” Hondo amends. “Let’s get to it.”

You lead Deacon inside this time, using a small lock bypassing device. As you clear the first floor, you don’t see any sign of anyone using the building, and there isn’t as much as residue from drug use.

“Looks like he moved,” Deacon muses.

“Maybe our tipster made more than one call,” you agree.

“We don’t know that,” Deacon reminds you. “Stay vigilant.”

You nod, letting Deacon take the lead as you climb the stairs.

“This level looks just as empty,” Deacon says into his comm. “Second floor appears to be a code 4.”

“Something ain’t right,” Hondo replies.

“Deacon,” you call.

You don’t attempt to conceal your worry, and he turns quickly.

“Don’t move,” you add. “This place is rigged.”

“Rigged how?” he inquires.

“Hondo, you need to get everyone out,” you radio. “Watch the floor and don’t step on anything that isn’t flooring.”

“Copy that,” Hondo responds before commanding the team to exit cautiously.

“Why?” Deacon asks.

“You too,” you demand. “You need to go but be careful.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it harshly as you look down. There’s a small button under your boot, and you’ve already depressed it. The moment you move off of it, something will happen. It doesn’t appear to be a landmine or any other kind of explosive, but that makes you more concerned because you don't know what it is.

“Deacon, please,” you beg, your voice a whisper as you look at him. “Just give me a minute to try to figure this out.”

“No,” he answers. “I’m going to take a few steps back, and you decide what you want to do, or we can wait for a bomb squad.”

“It’s not a bomb.”

“Then do what do you need to do. I trust you.”

You want him to leave but don’t want to be alone if this is the end. You tap the wall beside you and quickly realize that whatever this detonator is connected to is probably directly to your side, hidden between the studs.

“Can you- can you back up, like a lot?” you request. “I want to try something, but if I’m wrong, you can’t be this close.”

Deacon nods, taking about ten steps backward. He stops, his complete focus on you as he keeps a hand on his gun. Whatever happens, he’s prepared to rush toward you. Feeling helpless is something Deacon hasn’t felt in a very long time. He realizes you wouldn’t be in this position if he had done a better job protecting you and tries to find a way to take your place. He steps forward, but you raise a hand to stop him before speaking.

“I’m going to move backward, really fast,” you explain. “Last chance to leave, Deac.”

“Wait-“

You move your foot up, stepping back, your movements fast but not fast enough. Something sprays from the wall beside you and into your face. As you gasp for air, Deacon runs toward you, pulling you over his shoulders as he watches the floor. Rushing through the stash house, Deacon radios for Hondo to get an ambulance.

Bursting through the door, Deacon lowers you to the concrete and watches you. Your breaths are short gasps, and a bright red rash spreads across your chest and face. Deacon pulls your Kevlar vest over your head and tugs your shirt down, giving you more room to breathe and removing any pressure from your chest.

“What’d she get hit with?” Hondo asks, kneeling beside your head.

“I don’t know!” Deacon answers, not meaning to take out his fear on Hondo but failing to hide it. “Whatever it was came from the wall and she immediately started having trouble breathing.”

“This isn’t good,” Hondo adds. “Her airways are closing; we only have a few minutes to figure out what this is and counteract it.”

“We don’t have time for an ambulance,” Luca says. “Get in, Betty and I will get you there.”

Deacon nods and pulls you into his arms again before laying you on the floor of Black Betty and pulling your head into his lap.

“St. Stephen’s is the closest hospital,” Luca tells Street. “I need you to call ahead and give them as much information as you can. They’ll need to be ready.”

“I’m on it,” Street replies, moving into the backseat beside you and Deacon. He talks quickly and quietly to the doctors on the other end of the line, but when your gasps turn to strangled wheezes, he yells, “Just be ready!”

Luca pulls into the emergency room ambulance entrance a moment later, rushing to the back to open the doors. Several nurses take you from Deacon, put you on a gurney, and run into the hospital. Deacon runs behind them, leaving the rest of the team outside.

“How long has it been?” Hondo asks. “She only had eight minutes, tops.”

“Six since they came out,” Street answers, looking up from his watch. “If it’s too late, Deacon…”

“Will never forgive himself,” Luca finishes. “And we won’t either.”

Hondo’s phone chimes, and he looks at it before shaking his head, his jaw clenched as he makes a half-sigh, half-laugh sound. “Our guy just turned himself in. And Deac’s buddy Randy lied to them about who was in the house. They knew where we were the whole time.”

“We have to leave her?” Street asks.

“For a bit. We’ll get updates and come back later,” Luca answers. “She’ll be fine.”

As Street, Luca, and Hondo leave to return to HQ and question Randy and the original suspect, Simon, you’re surrounded by nurses and doctors. As you near the eight-minute mark, the doctors decide to run down a list of possible treatments.

“Symptoms align with benzene poisoning by inhalation,” someone comments.

“Intentional overdose?” a young woman in bright pink scrubs asks.

“Get her out of here!” a doctor snaps, glancing toward Deacon with an apologetic look.

“That explains the skin irritation, irregular heartbeats, and lung irritation may be the cause of the shortness of breath,” the first person continues. “That would have been an incredibly high, concentrated dose.”

“Whatever she got hit with was thick enough that I could see it standing five yards away,” Deacon offers.

“I’m calling it,” the chief doctor says, “benzene poisoning by inhalation. Get her on oxygen, clean her eyes and skin, and get these clothes off. We need to remove the outside traces and get her breathing regulated before we move on.”

The nurses jump to action, and Deacon steps back as you’re wheeled into a room. The doctor who sent the Barbie lookalike away opens the door to your room a few minutes later, gesturing for Deacon to step inside.

“Her breathing is regular, heart rate has returned to a stable, though slightly elevated, number, and we’re running some tests right now to check for long-term damage,” he explains.

Deacon keeps his eyes on you as he listens to the doctor, letting the steady rise and fall of your chest prove that you are okay, that you are alive. No thanks to Deacon. Immediately upon hearing that you may have long-term damage, Deacon lets himself remember that it is his fault you are in this hospital bed, on oxygen, and possibly in danger of losing your career. He should have been more careful, he thinks, done more to protect you.

“Sergeant, I’m unsure if it’s my place to say this, but you saved her life, so don’t allow yourself to think otherwise. I’ll be back in a bit to check in on her, but if you need anything, press that call button.”

“Thanks, doctor,” Deacon replies, his eyes still on you.

Deacon takes a seat in the chair beside your bed, forcefully tearing his eyes away from you to text Hondo and Luca that you’re stable but unconscious. They reply quickly, saying they’ll be back soon and asking for more updates as Deacon gets them. He hopes he won’t have to tell them about any permanent damage.

“Deac?” you mumble, your voice quiet and distorted by the oxygen mask covering your face.

“Hey,” he answers, dropping his phone into his lap as he leans toward you. “Let me tell someone you’re up.”

“Deac, wait,” you request. When he sits back down, you say, “Thank you. You saved my life.”

“I should’ve noticed that it was a trap,” Deacon argues.

“The doctors said it was benzene. That doesn’t kill you unless you have prolonged exposure or inhale an incredibly large dose. I would’ve died if you hadn’t been with me.”

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me at once,” Deacon replies, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I- I’m really dizzy, Deac.”

“I’ll get the doctor,” Deacon replies, pushing the call button before he walks to the door and stops a nurse.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Grayson,” the doctor says as he enters your room, looking at your chart on a tablet. “You seem to be one lucky officer.”

“I’ve got a good team,” you answer, looking at Deacon’s hands rather than any of the faces in the room.

“Well, I understand you’re feeling dizzy and have a bit of a headache, so I’ll make this quick. Those symptoms should go away, but it may take up to a few weeks to see improvement there. Other common symptoms of benzene overdose include nausea, and the breathing difficulties you experienced was caused by lung irritation which may cause shortness of breath. Weakness is the only other symptom I’d expect to see. Since your exposure was so concentrated and delivered so quickly, I don’t think you’ll experience any of the more intense effects, but I’d like to keep you for observation for, let’s say 36 hours just to be sure we found everything.”

“Will I get completely better? Where I can go back to work at S.W.A.T.?” you whisper, even though you are terrified to learn the answer.

“Oh, I have no doubt you will be back in uniform within a month. Again, there’s only a few symptoms that may last, and at the most they should pass within a month.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor nods and hands Deacon a piece of paper before he leaves. Deacon returns to his spot beside you and looks at the paper before passing it to you.

“When you’re up for it, you’ve got some bed-bound exercises you can do to stay in fighting shape,” Deacon explains.

“Where are Hondo, Street, and Luca?” you inquire.

“They got our guy, so they went to interview him and Randy.”

“Randy lied, didn’t he?”

Deacon nods, and his jaw clenches as he realizes that Randy probably knew about the benzene trap and may have even been the one to set it up, yet let you go, knowing you were headed for a death trap.

“What happens when I get discharged?” you ask, looking at the blanket as you keep your head down.

“They’ll probably want you to take it easy for a few days, be around someone in case something happens, and then you can ease back into fieldwork. With your record and how much Hicks and Hondo trust you, you probably won’t have to wait long after you get medical clearance,” Deacon explains, smiling as he thinks about you getting back to work as soon as you can.

“I don’t have anyone,” you whisper.

Deacon doesn’t catch it, leaning closer to look at your list of exercises. When it’s time to go home, they may not let you because you live alone and don’t have any family nearby. You grow sad at the idea of going to a rehab facility or staying in the hospital longer just because you don’t have any family nearby to take care of you. Suddenly, your head begins pounding, and the room seems to spin. You raise your hands to your head, putting pressure on your eye sockets to ease the pain. Deacon’s hand jumps to your back, pressing against the top of your spine as you ride it out.

“I don’t like that,” you murmur, moving a hand to your stomach as it churns. “It’s going to be a long few weeks.”

“We’re going to make Randy and Simon pay for it, though,” Deacon whispers. “And we’re all here for you.”

You nod, and when Deacon leaves to answer a call from Hondo, your nausea worsens.

“Tell me they’re talking,” Deacon answers.

“Oh, they’re talking, just not giving us enough to put it on either one of ‘em,” Hondo answers. “I need you to do me a favor though.”

“Anything.”

“You and Randy had some kind of connection, however brief it was. We’re thinking if you come in and tell him she didn’t make it, he’ll give something up.”

Deacon looks back into your room, but you’re turned away, curled into the fetal position, and, unknown to Deacon, fighting to keep your bearings as the dizziness causes nausea and worsens your headache.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Deacon replies.

“Sergeant, I’ve got her test results here,” Doctor Grayson says as he walks down the hall. “Everything looks good in the long-term, so we’re just going to have to wait out the side effects. I’m going to discuss continued care with her now, would you like to join?”

“I’ve got to get down to the station, but if you’ve got a-“

“Complete list of recommendations and necessary actions,” Doctor Grayson finishes, passing Deacon a paper. “Along with a few more low impact exercises, since she is clearly ready to get back to work.”

“Thank you, doc. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Doctor Grayson watches Deacon leave before knocking and entering your room.

“Sergeant Kay had to return to the station for a moment, but I have good news for you,” he begins.

You sit up against your pillows, giving him your full attention. Your mind wants to think about Deacon, curious about what he’s doing.

“I could use some good news,” you reply.

“Your test results look good, and I see no indications of long-term damage or complications. So, once these initial symptoms pass, you should be as good as before. What symptoms are you experiencing now?”

“Headache, dizziness, and nausea. Every once in a while it feels like my chest gets tight, but the dizziness is the worst.”

Doctor Grayson nods, pressing a button on his tablet. “I think you’re going to be ready for discharge tomorrow evening, as I said originally, I’d just like to observe you a bit longer and make sure nothing changes. You will need to have whoever you will be staying with complete the discharge paperwork; having someone nearby will be crucial to your recovery and ensuring those symptoms don’t get out of hand.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I don’t have any family nearby and there’s no one I can ask to take me in for who knows how long while I recover,” you explain softly.

“We’ll discuss this further in the morning, but my team and I will make sure you have somewhere safe and comfortable to stay, I promise that. I’ll be back once more before the end of my shift, but you know where the call button is.”

While you try to fall asleep, hoping it will help you heal faster and move on from the intense dizziness and nausea, Deacon is lying to criminals and hoping it will help you heal by getting some answers.

“Randy, remember my partner? The woman you helped me get out of the house this morning after you tried to kill her?” Deacon asks.

“Yeah, nice lady, but she can kick,” Randy replies.

“She died fifteen minutes ago. From an involuntary benzene poisoning. You know what that means, Randy? That someone poisoned her, murdered her, and is going to prison for a very long time.”

“Ooh,” Hondo adds, tilting his head in disbelief. “Cop killers never do well in prison, but when it’s one of our own? A S.W.A.T. officer? You’re dealing with a whole ‘nother set of problems in this room alone.”

“Benzene ain’t kill people after the first time,” Randy argues.

Deacon slaps the table as he leans over it. “You put enough benzene in that wall to kill me, Hondo here, and yourself, and you’re the only routine drug user in here.”

“Man, she really dead?”

“She is,” Hondo answers. “And now we have to tell her family, even though we’re grieving too.”

“I only did that ‘cause Simon told me to. He said it wouldn’t hurt nobody, just confuse ‘em or some’in. I ain’t mean’a kill nobody, specially not no cop!”

Deacon nods at Hondo before they walk out of the interview room, and Randy is left to wonder why they seemed so happy after learning that he set the trap that killed you. Across town at St. Stephen’s, you do feel like you’re dying just because you’re refusing to take more than anti-inflammatory pain relievers, unwilling to use anything stronger after years as a cop.

“Sergeant Kay will be back soon,” your nurse says. “He called and asked about you a few minutes ago. You must be very close.”

“We are. My team is the only family I have, but they’re also my best friends.”

“I didn’t mean your team. How are you feeling? Is the dizziness any better or worse?”

“It’s about the same,” you answer, forgetting her first point.

“Well, that’s good, at least it’s not worsening. We weren’t expecting a miraculous recovery this quickly, but Doctor Grayson wants us to give you as much time to sleep as we can, so you won’t have many, if any, middle of the night pokes and prods from us.”

“That sounds nice,” you answer with a small smile.

“I’ll leave you to rest until your friend gets back.”

You fall asleep before Deacon returns, and when he sees you resting, he texts Hondo an update and makes himself comfortable for a night at your side. There is a folder with Deacon's name on it on the small countertop in the corner of the room. Deacon opens it and finds a list of rehabilitation centers and a note that you can’t go home alone tomorrow before he decides to do something while you sleep. Deacon has been restless since the moment you alerted him to the traps set in the storehouse, but he finally has something to do that will help you.

“Excuse me,” he says, approaching the nurses’ station with a kind smile. “I’m Deacon Kay, I came in with-“

“My favorite patient,” the nurse finishes. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

“Doctor Grayson left this list of rehab clinics for me, but I’d like to take her home with me tomorrow. I don’t feel right sending her somewhere when I’ve got plenty of room.”

“And I have no doubt you will attend to her no matter what. If you fill out the discharge forms, she’s free to go with you when the doctor signs off. Doctor Grayson comes in at four, so he’ll be the one signing off.”

Deacon accepts the clipboard holding the discharge paperwork and takes it back to your room to complete it. The nurses watch him with smiles, able to tell that he’s more than a friend and protective as more than a teammate, even if he’s unwilling to admit it.

You whimper in your sleep, pressing your face into the cushion to relieve your headache. Deacon moves a hand onto your bed, only pulling it away from your side to flip to the next page of paperwork.

“When did you get back?” you ask into the pillow with your eyes closed.

“Not long ago. How are you feeling?” Deacon replies, smiling when you take his hand.

“The headache is getting worse.”

Deacon brushes his thumb over his knuckles as you curl tighter around the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Deacon whispers.

“It’s not your fault, Deac. You saved my life,” you reply.

“Shouldn’t have endangered it.”

“Deacon-“

You get dizzy before you can say anything else, gently squeezing Deacon’s hand as you clamp your eyes shut. Deacon stands, laying his other hand on your shoulder as you wait for the dizziness to pass. You know now to expect the nausea that follows, but each time it happens, the nausea is less intense.

“Do you think it’ll really take weeks to feel better?”

“No,” Deacon answers. “You’re strong – and stubborn – so you’ll fight to get back in fighting shape.”

“It hurts.”

Deacon frowns but doesn’t apologize again, though he’s blaming himself for everything. Maybe having a soft spot for you, as the team so lovingly puts it, made him blind to certain dangers of working together. He trusts you and would do anything to protect you from the risks of being a S.W.A.T. officer; now, he wonders if being distracted by you made him stop thinking about what he could do for you.

“You should go home,” you say. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right here when you wake up, or if you want to stay awake.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Deacon doesn’t add that despite how much he wants to, he needs to stay by your side and do what he couldn’t do earlier today: protect you and be there for you through all this pain and recovery.

When you wake again, the sun is up, and Deacon is no longer in your room. You can hear him talking, though, and when the door opens, he steps inside with Doctor Grayson.

“Good morning,” Doctor Grayson greets. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

Shrugging, you don’t want to bring up how sad you are to go spend the next few weeks alone in a rehab facility, which is arguably no better than a hospital.

“You did well last night, so I’m comfortable sending you home now, given that your discharge situation has changed.”

“It has?” you ask, looking at Deacon rather than the doctor.

“I’m taking you to my house,” Deacon explains. “Not for you, for Hondo. He needs hourly updates and none of the rehab places do that.”

You duck your chin, hiding from Deacon’s teasing as you smile. Part of you wants to insist Deacon doesn’t have to do this, but the other part desperately wants it.

“Are you sure?” you whisper.

“Positive.”

Deacon sets a backpack on your bed, gently taps your leg, and walks out to complete the discharge. You open the bag and smile when you see some of your clothes and a blanket. Standing carefully, you change into the clothes and wait at the edge of the bed for Deacon to return.

“Let’s go,” Deacon murmurs as he takes your hands.

Pulling your backpack over his shoulder, Deacon keeps a hand in yours as he walks beside your wheelchair. When you reach the hospital entrance, Deacon’s car is waiting, and he helps you into the passenger seat before setting your bag in the back and getting inside.

You close your eyes, your stomach churning and your head spinning as the car moves. Deacon offers a hand over the console, and you hold it as he drives through Los Angeles and to his house. Releasing a shaky breath as he parks, you squeeze his hand in thanks.

“It’s going to be a long few weeks for you,” you mumble.

“You’re wrong, but we’re not worrying about me. Our top priority is you and getting you healthy again. That means that you need to talk to me, even if you don’t want to, okay?”

You nod, and Deacon smiles as he argues, “That’s not talking.”

He gives you a break from his teasing and helps you inside before carrying a few bags in from the car. You recognize them and realize he must have gone to your place last night to get everything you’ll need over the next few weeks.

“Deac, why’d you go back to the station yesterday?” you ask, reclining on his guest bed while he unpacks your bags.

He points to the water bottle beside the bed, waiting until you start drinking to say, “Hondo had an idea to flip Randy, and it worked. He gave up his boss, and they found enough evidence to charge both of them with a long list of felony charges.”

“What was his plan?” Deacon doesn’t answer, so you ask, “You told him I died?”

“Yeah,” Deacon says softly.

You nod before you move to the edge of the bed. Deacon rushes to your side as you stand and wobble slightly. As he grips your arms, you lean your head against his shoulder, taking deep breaths as your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

“Do you still get nauseous after this happens?” Deacon whispers, rubbing his hands over your shoulders.

“No,” you reply. “That passed after the first few hours. Now I just have a headache that won’t go away and get really dizzy. It’s random, so I don’t know when to expect it.”

Deacon nods and makes a mental note to keep a very close eye on you, especially when you’re up and moving around. Deacon's heart breaks as he watches you be affected by something he should have never let happen. Watching you be poisoned, being helpless in the hospital, and feeling like he can’t do enough to help you is weighing on Deacon, but he can’t worry about himself when you’re struggling because of him.

“Stop,” you demand, so softly that Deacon barely hears it.

“Stop what?” he asks.

“You’re blaming yourself. I could tell from the moment you turned around in that house. There’s nothing you could have done, Deacon, to keep this from happening, but you saved my life. So, please stop blaming yourself and thinking about what you could’ve done differently.”

Deacon thinks about everything you said, and his mind lingers on how your shyness was nowhere to be seen as you asked him to stop blaming himself. You read him with no effort, and the realization makes him smile.

“I’ll try. But only if you promise to talk to me, really talk to me, and let me know what’s going on,” Deacon offers.

“Deal. Right now, the floor is kind of spinning, but I need to walk around because everything is stiff.”

“I got you,” Deacon murmurs, letting you hold onto him as you walk around his house. You know he means it in more than the obvious way; he’s always had you and always will.

“Why’d you stay?” you ask. “In the hospital, I mean. And then you brought me here. If you did it just because you blame yourself-“

“Not at all. I was blaming myself, you’re right about that, but I did this because I care about you. That soft spot that the guys tease me about… that’s you. So, when I get overbearing and protective and everything else you’re going to see over the next few weeks, just know that it’s because I care about you.”

“I’m your soft spot? Because we’re friends?”

Deacon smiles, letting you lead him toward the patio door. “Something like that.”

Your breathing catches, and you stop to take a few shaky breaths before returning to your normal breathing patterns. Deacon rubs his hand up and down your spine as he waits, hovering nervously beside you.

“The headache is a little better,” you tell him. “Either walking around or your touch is curing me.”

“Why not both?”

You smile before looking away from Deacon. He walks you back to the bedroom and digs through one of your bags before handing you a piece of paper. While you look at the exercises depicted on the therapy list, you lean back against the pillows, tired and experiencing the worst headache of your life.

“Don’t rush anything,” Deacon says. “You’re already getting better, but don’t risk that trying to heal on your schedule.”

“What does ‘something like that’ mean?” you murmur. “About why we’re friends and I’m your soft spot.”

“It means that you’re my soft spot because we’re friends for now.”

“You don’t want to be friends forever?”

Deacon chuckles and sits on the edge of the bed as he answers, “Not really. I’ve always wanted more.”

You sit up quickly and wince in pain. You don’t hesitate before asking, “You do?”

“Are you okay?” You shrug, and Deacon answers, “Yeah. You’re my friend, but, c’mon, you couldn’t tell?”

“I thought you were just being nice, protecting me because we’re teammates.”

“That’s part of it. But even if you left S.W.A.T. today, I’d still be right here.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d think that’s why you’re so upset,” you muse. “But you’re just a great man.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

You shake your head and look away from Deacon.

“Could we- could we try to be more? After I’m back in fighting shape?”

Deacon smiles, leaning closer to you as he promises, “Yes. Just tell me when.”

You lean back, huffing when your headache worsens suddenly.

“I thought the Hondo-induced headaches were bad, but this makes them seem easy.”

“I’m telling Hondo you said that.”

“No, you aren’t. You know I’m shy and injured.”

“You haven’t been acting very shy.”

“Because I’m disoriented and have a crush on you,” you mumble as you drift to sleep.

“I’ll be right here when you wake,” Deacon whispers.

“And every day after?”

“And every day after,” he promises, smiling as you fall into a restful sleep.

Deacon has no doubt you’ll be back to yourself in a few days, meaning his advances will make you shy, but, for now, he’s happy waiting on you hand and foot, doing everything he can to help and keep you comfortable.

#hanna writes✯#david deacon kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #requests #fem!reader #swat cbs #shy!reader

132 notes · View notes

captainofthetidesbreath · 1 year

Text

Colin's build isn't as flashy as some of the others in the party, but he does have one that is interesting to me in terms of mechanical character. Just to take stock what he's working with first:

16 (+3) Constitution, highest in the party. Mathematically, i.e. on paper since we don't know actual hit points at this time, he easily paces with Delissandro on hit points.

16 (+3) Strength and 17 (+3) Dexterity, second highest in the party. His longsword uses Strength, and his dagger uses Dexterity (because it's higher).

15 (+2) Intelligence, second highest in the party as Karna, Raphaniel, and Amangeaux all tie for first with 16 (+3).

AC 17, second highest in the party. Very respectable AC for this level.

Rogue 2. Because rogue is listed first on his card, I presume he is a base rogue; this is notable because it grants him four starting skills (as opposed to two plus one from a rogue multiclass) and proficiency in Dexterity saves. He has Expertise in Insight, as he made a check that was natural 4 but 11 total. Rogue 2 also means Cunning Action.

Fighter 3. Fighting Style (which could be interesting depending on what his choice is), Second Wind, and one use of Action Surge.

Battle Master. He knows three maneuvers.

Feat: Mobile. Brings his speed up to 40 feet, and difficult terrain does not reduce it while he is dashing. Combined with Cunning Action, he can run 120 feet with a double dash: greater than the next fastest Amangeaux (30 base, 90 at double dash) and twice the speed of the rest the party at their greatest full dash (assuming no items modifying speed are in the mix). Mobile also allows him to neutralize attacks of opportunity: someone he makes a melee attack against, hit or miss, they cannot make an attack of opportunity against him for the rest of the turn.

Colin has a very physical stats forward build, in that Colin's best stats are all physical and all are at least +3, moreso than even Delissandro who has a higher Charisma than Constitution and Dexterity. (You can check all the stat cards from the first episode here.) The combination of Cunning Action and Mobile makes him incredibly difficult to pin down or corner and moves very fast with an ability to close on a target. A respectable AC and proficiency in Dexterity saves also makes him pretty dodgy at this level, and a good Constitution makes him hardy; he is a tank.

I find his build very interesting because it tells a story of someone who is very comfortable on the battlefield and is used to combat scenarios. It corroborates what he tells Delissandro ("Any other battle advice or anything you want from me, 'cause that's kinda my gear.") and is in line with him planning combat strategies when anxious or uncomfortable. An individual player can always take or leave the flavor of a subclass, but the narrative of the Battle Master leans heavily on someone who has been trained in military arts or has learned very well through experience in the field.

Base rogue with the Mobile feat very much tells a story. His respectable Intelligence paired with Battle Master does too. Altogether, his mechanics communicate to me that he is well suited to his job as a sellsword, and he is one of skill and experience.

A lot of this can also be augmented by class choices, particularly Maneuver Choices. I won't speculate too much on choices because there's so many good ones, but Evasive Footwork, Ambush, Bait and Switch, Disarming Attack, Riposte, Quick Toss would add to this sense of someone who is difficult to pin down, moves easily through combat, and has a good grasp of the rhythm of battle.

Colin's entire set of mechanics together give me personally a sense of someone who is very much a survivor and of someone who knows how to move through combat, both in the intellectual skill to calculate and the physical skill to execute.

#sorry his mechanics are just very very interesting #watch me have to rewrite this in like an hour bc the second episode drops in twenty minutes #Colin Provolone #The Ravening War #Dimension 20 #d20 things #trw meta #trw things

611 notes · View notes

marajaak · 6 months

Text

Only one bed

(Zoro x reader)

Title : Only one bed

Pairing : Zoro x female reader

Warnings : Smut, unprotected sex (please don’t do that), rough sex, choking, fingering, English isn’t my first language so please be kind

Genre : smut

Summary : During their journey to Water 7, (Y/N) finds comfort in Zoro's arms...

Tears ran down (Y/N)'s cheeks. Usopp and Luffy had just fought for the Going Merry. The sniper had lost and decided to leave the crew.

- It's his choice, Nami told her, stroking her back. It's sad, but he knew what he was doing.

- I think I'm going to go and rest a little to forget all that, declared the young woman, sniffing.

- All right. See you later, said the redhead, handing her a tissue.

(Y/N) grabbed it and wiped her tears.

The navigator leaned towards her with a wicked smile.

- That will be 50 berries, she whispered in his ear.

- What ?! For a paper tissue ?

- Yes.

(Y/N) sighed and handed her the money. Then, she entered the hotel they had taken in Water 7, and made her way to her room, cluttered with all their belongings that they had unloaded from the ship. The shutters were closed and the light was dim, so she could barely see. She undressed, jumped into the double bed and buried herself under the sheets.

Suddenly she realized there was someone else under the covers. She let out a cry.

- Hey, what's got you screaming like that? a male voice exclaimed. I was taking a nap!

(Y/N) recognized Zoro. But what was he doing there, shirtless, sleeping in her bed?

- Do you know you're in my room right now? she asked him.

- What are you saying ? It's mine !

The young woman pointed to her suitcases and other belongings piled in a corner. The swordsman sighed.

- I think I got lost again. But hey, since I'm here, I might as well stay. It's a double bed after all.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and buried herself under the sheets with her back turned. It was still incredible that the young man got lost so easily! And now... he was half naked in his bed. And she was only wearing a nightie. And... she couldn't hide the fact that she'd had feelings for him for a long time.

She lay there sleepless for a long time, all sadness forgotten. It was then that she heard the swordsman moaning in his sleep. He turned around, his chest now pressed against her back. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in the dark as she felt a bulge in his pants.

- Oh, Y/N...

She jumped. Did he just say her name? Was he dreaming of her? And still... could this be a wet dream?

She turned around and observed the sleeping face of the handsome young man. Her gaze was quickly drawn to his lips.

Suddenly, Zoro opened his eyes sharply.

- What are you doing ?!

He stood up and held his head in his hands.

- Do you have a Devil Fruit that you never told us about? You have bewitched me ! Why do I spend all my time thinking about you?

(Y/N) leaned towards him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

- I just think it means you have feelings for me, she whispered.

- Oh ? And you too ?

- Well..., she said, blushing.

She turned her head away, but Zoro grabbed her chin and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back and wrapped her arms around his neck. The swordsman's skin was burning. They separated, out of breath.

But he came back, kissing her neck, her throat, her collarbone, pinning her under his body. She let herself go, won over. Then, he returned to her lips, and this time, they mixed their tongues in an intoxicating dance. The bulge in the swordsman's pants continued to grow, and (Y/N) felt her panties becoming damp.

- If we continue, I won't be able to stop, the young man warned her.

- Too bad, continue..., breathed (T/P).

Zoro untied his bandana from his arm and blindfolded his friend with the piece of fabric.

- I want you to feel only pleasant sensations, he said, taking off her t-shirt.

(Y/N) lifted her back off the bed to help her remove the garment better. Slowly, he took one nipple into his mouth, licking and kissing it, while playing with the other with his calloused fingers. Then he caressed her stomach and sides, and moved down until he reached her crotch. He lifted the young woman's skirt and tore off her panties. He plunged two fingers into her intimacy. His thumb stroked her clit. (Y/N) saw nothing, but felt everything. Her body was teeming with sensations, tingling, heat.

- Already soaked, noted the swordsman. It makes my job easier.

Zoro unbuttoned his pants then took off his boxers. He lay on top of her, careful not to crush her, and slowly thrust into her, grunting. (Y/N) let out a long moan. The young man was very big, and his huge member stretched every part of her vagina, touching all the sensitive spots.

Abruptly, he began to move back and forth. (Y/N) raised her hands to trace the outline of Zoro's face, to imagine him better, but he grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. With his other hand, he grabbed her throat, stealing her breath.

- Ah, Zoro..., she panted.

His dominant side excited her even more. His thrusts were violent, but so enjoyable. The smell of sex hung in the air and the sound of their mixed fluids echoed in the room.

-Zo...Zoro...

He let go of her neck.

- That's it, shout my name... Let everyone hear you and know that you are mine...

-Zoro!

His pace became even faster, his grip tighter, his thrusts more brutal.

-ZORO!

And on this name, she came. Zoro continued his brutal pace, then pulled out and came on her stomach. As (Y/N) caught his breath, he wiped her with her panties.

- We should do that again sometimes, he said.

- Whenever you want, she replied with a smile.

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #op fanfic #op #one piece #op smut #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x reader smut #zoro x reader #zoro smut #zoro x female reader #one piece zoro x reader

152 notes · View notes

jesterwriting · 6 months

Note

Hello hello Jester!! 🌝💕 I hope you’ve had a lovely day 💕 your works are truly a delight thankcyou so much for sharing!!

Would you perhaps be interested in writing some Crocodile being confessed to by a shy reader? 💕 Thank you for considering either way!

pairing: crocodile x gn!reader

contents: shy!reader, some sexual tension, undertones of crocodile’s not so secret corruption kink, confessions, crocodile calls you ‘mouse’

word count: 1.7k words

note: hi hi omg welcome back to my inbox!! i hope youre having a wonderful day too <33 i am always more than happy to do a crocodile request. that man lives rent free in my mind :3 i hope you enjoy this friend!

playlist: lolita - lana del rey

It was hard to breathe when Crocodile was around.

Not for any sensible reason, mind you. He was an intimidating man. When his shadow fell over the casino, there was a certain tension that was pulled taut. Adoring fans flocked to him, but those who knew better averted their eyes. It wasn’t his steely gaze or his broad shoulders that made your heart pound in your chest when he glanced in your direction, nor was it the prosthetic hook that he rested on his knee while he gambled.

The truth was you were hopelessly in love with him, the kind that made your knees weak and your palms sweat profusely. It had been three months to the day since you met Crocodile, and you had harbored feelings for him ever since.

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Casino’s were not your usual haunt — not even close, usually you would find yourself taking up space in the library until it closed — but you needed to step out of your comfort zone. Truthfully, what was considered ‘out of your comfort zone’ was most everything. You were anxious and painfully shy. The world was not built for someone who was unable to stutter out a simple greeting without a sheen of sweat glistening on their forehead. Still, you were determined to have a good night. Alone. With no buffer between you and the sea of people that threatened to drown you. The idea definitely didn’t terrify you right down to your marrow.

You entered the casino and were immediately swamped by a cacophony of activity. Cheers mingled with cries of despair, and fancy looking drinks were clinked together in promise. Hoards of people swarmed towards the center where the slot machines were. The lights cast the room in a yellow haze, and if you strained your ears, you could hear the lightbulbs buzz. You felt dizzy. As if in autopilot, your feet made their way to the far wall, away from the crowd. It had barely been three seconds and you were already regretting showing up.

“You look lost,” A voice rumbled next to you, slightly condescending. When you glanced over, you had to do a double take. Next to you, stood the imposing form of Sir Crocodile, Warlord of the Sea. You wished now more than ever that you had stayed home with your cats.

You parted your lips, mouth drier than the desert you lived in. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t maintain eye contact, your pupils darting from Crocodile’s face to his chest to his hook then back to his face. You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeves, swallowing hard over the lump in your throat.

“S-Sorta,” You finally choked out.

Crocodile hummed. “What’s a little mouse like you doing here?”

You watched the cherry of his cigar glow red before a cloud of smoke billowed from his lips. Unable to think of anything else to say, you went with the first words you could think of, mixed together with an awkward chuckle. “Oh. You know.”

“No, I don’t think I do.”

Crocodile sounded unamused. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, drinking up every inch of you from your head to your shoes. You wished you didn’t wear long sleeves. For some reason, you felt like there was magna running through your veins. The room was far too hot for you to stand.

You laughed, gaze focused solely on your shoes. “Well, I just wanted to get out of the house.”

“So you come to a casino?”

“I guess so.”

Cold metal touched the bottom of your chin. Your eyelashes fluttered and your throat bobbed as Crocodile’s hook tilted your head up to face him. When your eyes met his, a split second glimmer of amusement caught your attention. Gently, he tapped your right cheek with his hook. The unspoken order was obeyed readily. You moved your head to one side and then the next as Crocodile inspected you, following the prosthetic slowly as your heart hammered in your chest.

What the hell was happening?

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You squeaked. “Okay.”

The sharp point of his hook pressed into the flesh of your cheek. With a gasp, your eyes darted to meet his, earning you a smirk as a reward. “Good.”

Butterflies fluttered against the lining of your stomach. If there was one thing you wanted to hear for the rest of your life, it was Crocodile’s praise. Whatever you did in the future, as long as Sir Crocodile said you were ‘good’ again, you’d consider your life a success.

Your lips twitched into a small smile, head full of warm, fuzzy static. “Thank you.”

A shrill scream jolted your mind out of whatever sludge it found itself in. A hoard of people had begun to gather, all of them clamoring for Crocodile’s attention. You felt very small all of a sudden, but that could also be because the man next to you was over eight feet tall. Crocodile’s expression hardened into annoyance.

“Come back here next week, mouse. Same time. Don’t be late,” He said before dissipating into sand, gone as if he was never there to begin with.

You stood, dumbfounded among the disappointed group of people, all looking for the man you were talking to only seconds before. That entire interaction had to be a dream. It couldn’t have been real.

It wasn’t until someone bumped into you, knocking you to the ground, did the pain shock you to reality.

You were personally invited to spend time with the Sir Crocodile. The ghost of his hook against your face made goosebumps rise on your skin and your breath stutter in your chest. On shaky legs, you carried yourself home. It wasn’t until the following morning, your blush still present, that you were certain that you met the man of your dreams. And you’d be damned before you let him slip from your fingers.

Just like that, your boring life turned into a certified soap opera. Every week, you would meet Crocodile at the back end of the casino to chat — that was a strong word, you mostly stammered, though you did manage to make him laugh with a wry comment or two every so often. No matter how awkward you were with him, everytime you arrived, Crocodile was waiting for you. Maybe you were imagining things, but you had even seen his lips twitch when your eyes met the last few times, as if he was searching for you in the crowd. The idea wormed its way into your chest, threatening to bloom into a hoard of butterflies.

Tonight, you decided you would tell him how you felt. There was no way you would be able to articulate yourself properly in Crocodile’s presence. You knew that from experience. That was why, instead, you had written him a letter, detailing exactly how you felt about him. When you met him in your designated corner, away from prying eyes, you would give it to him. Whether he reciprocated didn’t matter. Three months ago, you decided to take a leap and step out of your comfort zone. It was the best decision of your life.

It was time for another leap of faith.

Trotting into the casino, you made a beeline for your usual meeting place. As always, Crocodile was waiting for you, his large frame bathed in shadows while he stared into the crowd. He liked to watch people, always with a snide comment or two about someone who he decided was not worth his time. You only hoped after tonight, you wouldn’t be on the receiving end of his sharp tongue. The idea made you tremble, though you weren’t sure if it was from fear or something else.

“Crocodile,” You smiled, meeting his eyes as he preferred despite the fact that you wanted nothing more than to focus your gaze on the floor.

Crocodile nodded in greeting. “You’re late, mouse.”

He was teasing, you felt proud that you were able to identify that now. Crocodile was not an easy man to read, but you were a quick learner.

“Sorry, I was writing something I wanted to give to you.” You reached into your breast pocket and pulled out the letter. It felt childish now that it was in your hands. There was no going back though as Crocodile plucked it from your fingers. His eyes scanned the envelope, lips twitching again when they landed on the small heart you had doodled on the back.

However, instead of reading it, Crocodile handed it back to you. “Whatever you have to say, I want to hear it.”

“W-What?” You stammered, holding your letter to your chest. “Do you not want it?”

“Do you have something stuck in your ears? That wasn’t what I said.” Crocodile leaned close, the scent of his cigar heavy on his breath as it blew across your face. “I want to hear you say it.”

Oh.

“I think I-” You wet your lips and tried not to think about Crocodile’s stare burning a hole into the top of your head.

He hummed, amused. “Yes?”

“I’m in- Well, just a little bit, but, I do think. Well,” Your heart was in your throat as you wiped your damp palms onto your thighs. The room seemed to grow smaller with each passing second. “I’m in love with you.”

It slipped out easier than you expected it to. You blinked a few times, still processing the words that had left your lips. A full body flush heated you from head to toe, and you ducked your head to stare at your shoes. Crocodile’s hook brushed your chin. Your gaze shot up to meet his, softer than you had ever seen it, though his gray eyes were still like granite.

“There. Was that so hard?”

You swallowed. “And how do you feel? About that, I mean?”

“I ‘feel’ like you are going to join me up in my room tonight to share a glass of whiskey.”

All you could do was nod dumbly in response. “Okay.”

#one piece x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x yn #crocodile x yn #sir crocodile x you #crocodile x you #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #.jesterwrites #buggyandthebartoclub

280 notes · View notes

jtstoryweaver · 7 months

Text

Child or Double, Part 2

(Part 1 of this story is here.)

You pull the old children's clothes out of your dryer and hold them up critically. They'll be a bit big for the girl, but they'll do well enough for now.

"Little sister, are you around?" you ask the empty hallway.

There's a shuffle behind you, and you turn to see two young girls behind you, hand in hand. The one on the left is warier, while the one on the right is flickering gently—here one second, faded the next. You offer the clothes to the child on the left.

"Could you please take these to your sister? If she wants to come out of her room, I'll be making breakfast in a minute. If not, you can take her breakfast up to her."

Little eyes squint at you, and the girl on the left takes the clothes silently. The pair vanish, clothes and all.

As promised, you head downstairs and start clattering around with plates and pans. Pancakes, you think; even if the terrified child in Alan's old bedroom doesn't want any, the rest of your children will happily clean them up. They don't <em>need</em> to eat, but some of them enjoy it anyway.

There's a shuffling noise on the landing above, and light footsteps pad hesitantly down the stairs. You make sure to pretend you haven't noticed, moving to the far side of the kitchen before looking towards the door.

Two wide brown eyes peek back at you from around the door frame, and you smile. "Hello," you offer.

"'lo," she whispers.

"What would you like to eat?"

Her gaze darts towards the heaped platter of fresh pancakes. "You made pancakes."

You nod, setting the plate on the kitchen table and taking the milk out of the fridge. "I did, but you don't have to eat them if you don't want to. My kids are very happy about finishing off any leftovers."

Tiny white teeth dent her lower lip. "Cereal?"

"You can absolutely have cereal," you agree, opening the cupboard so that she can see the selection. "What kind?"

She points at the rice pops, and you pour them into a bowl and add milk.

A little more of her is visible now, and her bright red top tells you that she's wearing the clean clothes you sent. There's a pang in your heart, pain mixed with pleasure at seeing Alan's clothes on another child. "Are you comfortable eating at the table, or would you prefer to take them back to your room?"

Her eyes widen even more. "What if I get milk on the carpet?"

You smile, putting her cereal on the table and then backing off. "I promise you, that carpet's been through worse than a little spilled milk. I can always scrub it later."

Her lips press together in determination and she marches out into the kitchen. You half expect her to grab the bowl and spoon and scurry back to her room, but she pulls herself up onto the chair and digs in.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. So brave, this little one.

A moment later, part of the reason for her courage walks through the kitchen door. It's the girl's Doubler, still hand in hand with the child who used to look like Alan. "Is there room for us?" the girl's Doubler asks.

"Always, sweetheart," you tell her. The girl scrambles up next to her sister, the still-flickering child perforce taking the next seat along. You're almost certain that the additional child is Duncan, the Doubler who haunts your attic.

You're proved right a moment later when Duncan looks up at you. "M-mom? Is it okay if I look like this?"

"Of course it's okay," you reassure the most nervous of your children. "You can look like whatever you want. Did you want a new name?"

"N-no." Wonder of wonders, Duncan smiles tremulously at you. "I like being Duncan. I just like being a girl too."

"I'm proud of you, my daughter," you assure her.

Not being particularly demonstrative, Duncan looks away shyly. But the little smile is still on her lips, and she stops phasing in and out of reality.

The girl, who's about halfway through her cereal, pauses to stare at you. "What's your name?" she asks.

"Elaine," you say, leaving it open as to whether the girl tells you her name in return.

She nods. "I'm Diana."

From across the kitchen, you nod in acknowledgement. "I'm pleased to meet you, Diana."

Duncan nudges the Doubler sister. "Do you have a name?"

"No," she says, her lips turning down in a pout.

"Sara!" Diana declares. "I always wanted a sister called Sara."

The newly named Sara lights up. "I like it!"

Milk splashes on the table when Diana drops her spoon to hug her newly named sister, but you're not worried. Like the carpet in Diana's room, the table's seen much worse than a little spilled milk.

(Okay, breakfast went on longer than I expected and I have more story to tell, so keep an eye out for Part 3!)

#my writing #child or double #trans child #urban fantasy #original fiction

199 notes · View notes

runnning-outof-time · 1 year

Text

What Do You Regret? | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @cillmequick

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy and (Y/N) talk about some regrets in life over a drink and a quiet moment at the Garrison. When (Y/N) suddenly brings up the topic of 'them’, she gets a pretty interesting response.

Warnings: language, smoking, drinking

Word Count: 2252

A/N: well I surprised myself with this one by writing it in one day after not writing for a few days…I hope it makes sense. The prompt I was given by the lovely Alex is italicized in the story. I have to say that I had a bunch of fun writing it. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"I figured you'd be here," (Y/N) said as she walked through the main doors of the Garrison. She immediately found Tommy, sitting at one of the tables in the middle of the empty room.

"Is someone looking for me?" Tommy asked, his eyebrows raised as he held his glass in his hand. It looked to be that he was about to take a drink from it, but stopped to talk instead.

"No," (Y/N) shook her head as she sat in the chair across from him, "I was just wondering where you'd gone off to...and took a lucky guess that you were here," she explained then.

"Someone's always been looking for me these past few weeks," he mumbled, still stuck on his previous train of thought as he finally took a drink from his glass.

"Well fear not...I was only wondering if you were ok..." she trailed off as she grabbed the bottle that he'd been drinking from and and the other empty glass on the table so that she could pour a drink for herself, "...if you were safe..." she continued, raising her eyebrows slightly as she looked over at him; bringing her glass up to her lips so that she could take a sip. "You had a second glass here...you weren't expecting someone, were you?" she decided to ask him.

"No. It's a habit," he brushed her off, shaking his head slightly as he set his glass down, exchanging it for the cigarette that had been smoldering in the ashtray. "What did you want, love?" he asked her after he exhaled a line of smoke.

"Nothing," (Y/N) answered simply, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

"Nothing?" Tommy checked, his eyebrows raised. There was always something.

"Nothing at all," she doubled down on her answer, smiling over at him.

Tommy hummed in response, nodding his head as he took another drink from his glass. He kept his eyes on her, not saying anything as silence fell in the room.

"What, is it so unusual for me to wonder where the person I've been seeing is?" (Y/N) then bursted out with a question, unable to take the silence mixed with his gaze on her.

"I didn't say anything," he said to her, holding his hands up as he bit back a grin.

"Your eyes were saying it," she told him, trying, and failing, to keep a glare on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. He chuckled at her statement, shaking his head slightly as he took another drag from his cigarette before stamping it out in the ashtray.

Silence fell between them again. It was comfortable this time, and it made (Y/N) tip her head back to rest against the chair, allowing her to stare up at the ornate ceiling.

They sat like this for a few minutes until she spoke again, "what do you regret?" she asked as she lifted her head from the chair to look at him once more.

"What?" he asked, not because he hadn't heard her question, but rather because it had come out of nowhere.

"Do you regret anything you've done in the past?" she rephrased it for him, "like I regret the one time that I snuck out of my house at night to go and meet a boy that promised he'd meet me in the park, but when I got to the park I found him already with another girl. My parents found out about me not being in bed and when they asked, I told them that our elderly neighbor, Eloise, had needed me to help her with some stupid task," she then recounted a time that she regretted.

"Which part of it do you regret more?" Tommy was curious now.

"The boy...the lie didn't hurt anyone, and it was the only one that I'd ever told them. That boy though...it was hard going to school for a handful of days after it happened," she frowned at the memory before her eyes found his again, "so is there anything that you regret?" she then turned the question onto him.

There was a pause in the conversation as Tommy pursed his lips, making it look like he was thinking of any possible stories to share. "No," he said finally, the grin spreading across his lips being an almost dead giveaway that he wasn't being honest.

Seeing it made (Y/N)'s eyes widen, "Tommy!" she exclaimed as she sat forward in her chair, "you are lying right now!" she accused him, pointing to him then as she continued, "it's clear on your face!"

Caught in the act, he held his hands up in surrender, glancing over at her to see that she'd been trying to hold back her giggles. "Of course there's stuff that I regret," he said to her once their laughter had died down.

"Like what?" Now it was her turn to be curious, and she leant forward to prop her chin up on her hand as she waited for him to, hopefully, tell a story.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, thinking of where to start as he busied himself with pulling another cigarette out of its tin. "I regret telling off my teacher," he started.

"You told off your teacher?" (Y/N) made him stop as she asked in shock, her eyes wide in surprise. She was a good student all throughout her schooling years, so it shocked her that anyone would do such a thing.

"Yeah," Tommy nodded before continuing, "she'd looked over my work and told me that it wasn't good enough; that I needed to add more substance to it, and I told her that maybe if she'd of been a 'better fucking teacher' that I would have been able to write more. She wrote me up and told me to go to the headmaster's office, and I ripped that up as well and told her to go to hell, so she kicked me out of the class."

"Tommy!" she exclaimed much like she had earlier, "that's terrible! What year were you in?"

"It was in primary school," he admitted.

"That's even worse!" she exclaimed, her jaw going slack as surprise overcame her. She couldn't stop the smile from forming on her lips and the giggles from bubbling up though. It was hard not to as she pictured a young Tommy doing this to the poor woman who had been tasked to teach him.

"I know..." he agreed with her, trying to hold back his smile as well, "that's why I regret it," he paused for a moment, placing the unlit cigarette he'd been holding between his lips before he made a motion with his hands. He grabbed his lighter and flicked it to life so that he could light the cigarette before continuing, "she'd only been trying to get something more out of me. I told her she was a shit teacher and then disregarded her authority when she was disciplining me. I fucking deserved all of it," he ended his statement by shaking his head as he laughed softly at the memory. He glanced over at (Y/N) then as he took a drag from his cigarette, seeing that she pursing her lips together tightly. "What?" he asked her, his eyebrows raised.

"Nothing," she brushed him off with a slight shake of her head.

"Nothing?" he asked, much like he did when she'd first come into the tavern.

"Nothing at all," she repeated the exact phrase she'd said to him earlier, the callback to it making him smirk as he shook his head softly. Silence fell between them for a moment then before (Y/N) decided to continue the conversation. "Is there anything else?" she asked him, looping them back around to their initial topic.

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette as he contemplated how to answer her. Of course there were things that he regretted doing...he just wasn't sure if he wanted to elaborate on them to her. "I've done a lot of shit over these past years...some things maybe I should have handled differently..."

"Like me?" (Y/N) asked a little too eagerly before he was able to finish his statement.

"What?" he asked her, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Like your relationship with me...like how you're going to go back to your estate once everything blows over with the vendetta here and I'm just going to be left here in Small Heath," she elaborated on her previous statement, her composure now more solemn in nature compared to what it was moments ago.

"(Y/N)..." was all Tommy was able to get out before she cut him off again.

"I'm sorry, I...I don't know why I just said any of that," she said, her words coming out in a frantically mumbled mess as she averted her eyes from his.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the blood from rushing to her face as she began feeling sheepish for even steering the conversation in that direction. She'd finally got him smiling; surely for the first time since he'd been back in Small Heath, where he's been stuck while he and his family fought out the vendetta between the Changrettas.

They found each other by happenstance - the details didn't matter - and they'd entered into a sort of a situationship rather quickly. Despite the nature of how they began seeing each other, (Y/N) felt closer to Tommy than she was anyone else, and Tommy had found that he could confide in (Y/N). For him, she was someone that he could see and talk to that was removed from the fighting going on all around him. And (Y/N) liked that he let his walls down around her.

But now things had gone to shit....all because she'd decided to ask an unneeded question. She couldn't even look at him because she was worried about what he'd say.

Tommy noticed this rather quickly. "Hey, look at me love," he said to her, his words prompting her to do as she was told. He held their gaze and took a deep breath, a serious expression forming on his face as he got ready to speak. "Nothing about any moment I've ever spent with you will ever be a regret, do you understand that?" He looked at her with raised eyebrows as he paused. (Y/N) was only able to nod her head, but it was enough of a response for Tommy to keep talking, "spending time with you has made being back here worth it. It's helped me so fucking much; having someone to confide in like I do with you. And I'm never going to regret it, so don't ever think that I will, eh?"

(Y/N) nodded again as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I...I just thought that since being back here has brought on all of this other stuff, you'd hate every part of it," she told him her worries, her voice sounding much smaller now than it did before.

"You've thought wrong then, love...very wrong," he continued to dispel her thoughts. He glanced down at the glass that he'd been spinning with his fingers for a moment then, pursing his lips as he thought of how to say what he wanted to. "If anything, you should be regretting the time you've been spending with me," he finally said after a few moments passed, looking back at her once he was done speaking.

(Y/N)'s eyebrows furrowed together as she heard his statement, "now why would I do that?" she asked him, "I've enjoyed every second I've spent with you," she then concluded, speaking definitively now.

The left side of Tommy's lips quirked upwards in a smirk as he heard what she had to say. He brought his cigarette up and took one last drag from it before stamping it out in the ashtray. He then nodded his head at (Y/N) before mumbling "c'mere." She heard him loud and clear, and a smile formed on her face as she stood from her chair and moved over to where he was sitting. He waited until she was sitting comfortably on his lap before he spoke again, "y'know, maybe there is something I regret about you and I..." he trailed off, looking into her eyes as she sat inches away from him.

A slight expression of surprise formed on her face as she processed his words, and she searched his eyes for a moment before asking, "what?" She waited on bated breath for his answer, worried that this was where the other shoe was going to drop, and he was actually going to say that he did regret the two of them ever getting together. But then logic came back and she wondered why he'd admit this when they were sitting so close that they were able to feel each other's breath.

Tommy looked at her for a moment before answering, "I regret not meeting you sooner."

(Y/N)'s worries were quelled instantly with those six words, and she let out a shaky laugh before she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face close enough so that the tips of their noses were touching. "I think that's something I regret too," she admitted to him, a grin forming on her face before she closed the space between them and matched her lips with his.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

482 notes · View notes