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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 month

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Summary: Joel wants you pregnant. And you want to have Joel's baby. And not even a big council meeting would stop the two of you from getting what you wanted.

Pairing: Raider!Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.9k

Rating: E

Warnings: Raider!Joel who has his own little community, smut (public sex, unprotected sex), massive breeding kink, dirty talk, established relationship (kind of), unspecified age gap (around 15 years prob), massive exhibition kink, someone dies because he looks at reader for too long, so guns and death, mentions of drugs, Joel picks reader up and carries her away but this is fiction so Joel has super powers to carry anyone he likes anywhere because I say so

A/N: three fics, four days. I am going to hibernate into my horny jail now. Boop!

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It was getting dark and he still wasn’t back.

He told you he had the council meeting today, but you were running out of time. Every minute getting you farer away from the window you needed him to hopefully grant him his biggest wish.

Making him a Dad.

According to your calculations your fertile window for the month was closing and you needed him.

Joel and you found each other almost a year after the outbreak. You, alone since you fled your college on outbreak day, stumbling towards the abandoned Ikea store in search of just something to drink or eat, Joel stepping in front of you before you could even reach the door, his hand wrapping around your neck, making you look at him as he questioned what you were doing.

Even years later you felt like he was sent to you from a higher power to safe you.

To feed you.

To own you.

To fuck you.

You became his wife, not even a month after joining his little group, that now was bigger than ever before, people living in all the abandoned department stores around, living under his protection.

You were his only wife, even though he allowed all his men to have as many wives as they pleased.

He was pretty possessive about you, and you over him. Sure, you couldn’t actually do anything against him taking another wife if he wanted to, but he assured you from the beginning that he was a one wife kind of husband.

And he demanded the same in return, not that you had a problem with that.

Joel was known to be a fair but ruthless leader. He had no time for bullshit and he didn’t give second chances.

The power he wielded had become one of your biggest turn ons, fascinated how with a flick of his fingers, his men would dispose of every problem, every person he did not trust.

There weren’t many rules around here.

Listen to everything Joel says.

And don’t look at you the wrong way.

Something that you had to admit was hard when he was fucking you out in the open hallway.

Most of his men knew not to look at you too long, no matter if it was in passing or when Joel was fucking you in front of them.

You would look too, but you weren’t the one who would lose their cock or life for it.

Glancing at the clock you knew your fertile window was closing. He had fucked you twice today already, but you didn’t want to waste more time.

Standing up from the bed you took your clothes including your underwear off, grabbing a wrap dress he had found for you years before, wrapping it around your body. Pulling on some high heels he loved to see you in, looking at yourself in the mirror you gave yourself a small smirk, before you opened the door, waiting for your assigned guard of the day to step away from the door, before you started to walk towards where you knew Joel held his meetings.

„This is becoming a real fucking problem. A problem I pay you for to get rid off. What the fuck is taking so long?“ Joel hissed, his jaw twitching as he sat at the edge of the table, legs wide spread, a glass of whiskey in his right hand.

He had been stuck in this room with twenty of his men and nothing was going according to plan.

It was moment like this he really missed Tess. She’d have this shit done weeks ago.

„More clickers than we planned for. We hope we’ll be done by the end of tomorrow,“ Sam, one of the men who had been with his group the longest assured, and Joel sipped on his drink.

„I want the whole building cleared by the end of the week. Then I want you to extend the outer wall around it. We need more fucking space so we can extend the drug lab. Frank is expecting a new drop by the end of the month in exchange for more ammunition,“ he reminded them.

„I’ll take care of it personally,“ Tommy said, who was sitting to his right, looking at him and Joel gave him a quick nod.

„There are to many fucking assholes trying to get into this settlement. Too many to handle. Might be time to stop for a while,“ one of his other advisors spoke up but Joel wasn’t listening to anything after that, cause he heard the familiar clicking of your heels before the door opened and you walked in.

A vision in purple silk, giving him a big smile as you walked into the room, the men around him staggering to their feet to show you their respect.

„Please, don’t let me interrupt you. In fact, ignore my presence at all,“ you hummed, giving Tommy a quick peck to his cheek before you turned away from the table and straddled Joel’s lap, his hands coming to rest on your thighs.

The conversation behind him opened up again, Tommy taking over while Joel stared at you.

You made quick work of releasing the bow that held your dress together, letting the fabric part, his hungry eyes all over your naked body. One of his hands cupped one of your tits and you smiled at him.

„Whatcha up to baby girl?“ He asked, already hardening in his pants.

„Need you to cum in my wet little pussy again. Need you to fuck it deep inside of me so I can give you your baby,“ you leaned in, nibbling at his earlobe. He groaned as he tilted his head, his eyes closing for a moment as you kissed up his neck, his hands now both under your dress palming your ass roughly.

When his eyes opened he found one of his newer men, Tom, looking at you, his eyes widening for a moment when he saw Joel had caught him, looking away quickly.

„First strike,“ Joel’s voice boomed and you moaned before you kissed him, your hands in his hair, Joel’s eyes on Tom who had had the nerve to look at his wife. At you.

Everyone knew the rules.

They look at you for too long, they die. He had lost a lot of men that way, but he didn’t fucking care.

Your fingers were working on his zipper when the conversation in the room picked up again, one of the other men talking about the greenhouse and what shit they needed in the future.

Boring.

Joel grunted when your fingers wrapped around his cock, helping you pull his pants down a little so you could pull him out of his pants and he leaned down, sucking at you tits.

„You gonna fight our kid for my milk huh,“ you teased and he bit into your nipple, making you moan.

„Gotta get you pregnant first, baby girl,“ he sucked a bruised just above your right tit while you pumped his cock in your fist.

„You gonna make me shoot all my men if you tease me like that one day,“ he grunted, bringing one hand between your legs, three fingers slipping inside of you with ease, a smirk coming to his lips.

„My dirty little whore,“ he whispered against your ear and you gasped, your back arching against him, your dress falling down your shoulders, exposing your naked back to the room.

Not that you cared.

You loved when he fucked you in front of other people.

„Put your little pussy on this cock, baby girl,“ the fingers that had just been inside of you pushing into your mouth as you lifted your ass so you could line his cock up, sinking down on him slowly.

„Fuck baby,“ you moaned and he leaned back in his seat, both of his hands now on your ass as he looked up at you.

„Make yourself cum on this cock and I’ll fuck your ass later,“ he said and you whimpered as you began to ride him. Moving your hips on top of him, your hands on the armrests of his chair for leverage. He slapped your ass, hard, and you cried out.

He watched you satisfied as you fucked yourself on his cock, before his eyes found someone behind you.

„Don’t bother Elijah, his wife is super fucking pregnant. Find me tomorrow morning, and I’ll go,“ Joel said, still clearly listening to the conversation happening in front of him. You clenched around him and he looked at you again.

„You get so fucking wet for me like this. Maybe I should always let you fuck me in my meetings. Would make them a whole of a lot more enjoyable,“ he hummed at you and you smiled.

„You’d loose all your men within a week,“ you grinned, turning your head to look at Tommy.

„Except Tommy,“ you hummed and the man looked at you, giving you a wink.

„Tommy is family. He can look all he wants,“ Joel said and you winked back at Tommy before you focused back on Joel and began to bounce on top of him. The sound of skin slapping against skin and you moans filling the room. Joel played with your tits, pinching your nipple as you clenched around him. He pulled you against his chest, fucking up into you, his mouth against your ear.

„Cum for me and I’ll fuck you on the table. And I’ll let everyone look when I put a fucking baby into your belly,“ he whispered and you moaned loudly as your orgasm washed over you, only realising that he had picked you up and sat you down on the table, when he had pushed your back down against the cold surface and began to drill his cock into you.

„Watch how I fuck my slutty little wife full of my fucking cum,“ he grunted out with every thrust and you stretched your arms over your head, your tits moving with every hard thrust of Joel’s cock into you.

„Joel,“ you moaned, crying out when he slapped your clit.

„Gonna fuck you so full, you’ll be dripping all the way back to our rooms,“ he groaned, his eyes on you.

„Shit baby,“ you whined and he groaned.

„Watch,“ he grunted and you looked down, his cock pumping into you, your cum all over his cock, fucking you so hard the table was moving over the floor.

„Shit,“ he moaned, his thrusts getting sloppier until he twitched and filled you with his cum, pumping it deeply into you.

Still out of breath you gave him a dozy smile that he mirrored, before his eyes darkened, his gun in his hand the next moment, raising it up to shoot someone behind you.

„Inform Tom’s family that he won’t be back,“ he said to no one in particular before he reached for you, helping you sit up. Apparently Tom had in fact not stopped looking at you before Joel gave his permission to look.

He pulled the fabric of your dress back over your shoulders, his softening cock still inside of you, before he picked you up.

„Meeting is dismissed,“ he called over his shoulder, before he carried you back towards your rooms.

Where he fucked you once more to make sure it would finally take.

#my fic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #raider!Joel Miller #tlou #tlou fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

1K notes · View notes

bambikisss · 7 months

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Protection :: C.San

☀Inspiration: Descendants of the Sun

Pairings: military!San x doctor!reader

📙: You were one of the better doctors in your unit, which often brought your praise and admirers. However, when the military requests for more doctors to be flown out to their base, you were the hospital's first pick. While you're helping people, you meet the base's top solider: Choi San, leader of team ATEEZ.

⚠: This is strictly for entertainment purposes, so there will be inaccurate descriptions of both the military and medical terms. Mentions of violence, use of gun and knives in battle.

💕: Unprotected sex (wrap it up always), Buff Choi San, multiple rounds, mutual masturbation, biting, slight pain kink (san), car sex, shower sex, breeding kink (san)

Bambi's notes: Hello loves! Here is the fic! So, a small little fact is that this is basically San brain rot / smut with some plot. I've fallen back into my ending sucking era, but I liked it and I hope you do too.

🎶: Mamacita - Chase Atlantic, Dangerous Woman - Arianna Grande, Outlaw - ATEEZ, Bouncy - ATEEZ

TAGS: @princessniquane @stolasisyourparent @fullmindlady

@pearltinyy @nomnom2001 @ilyilykaeya @pink-hwaberry

@sannie-pudding @brown88 @shahruladhwaloml @atinytinaa

@wooya1224

NOT PROOFREAD | COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED AND ENCOURAGED

"Doctor L/N? There is someone asking for you in room 322. They don't want to see anyone else but you."

Ah, the top of the medical mountain: you got to take care of the top clients because you were one of the best doctors in the hospital.

You nodded before making your way to the elevator, your shoes squeaking softly against the pristine hospital floors. You had been at this hospital for almost three years and you still were amazed by how clean the janitors got the floors.

You sighed as the elevator doors closed in front of you, your back meeting the cold wall as the numbers slowly rose to take you to the 3rd floor. You chose to enjoy the moment of silence before going back into the loud hustle and bustle that was the hospital.

You had spent years trying to get to this point: the hours of studying, all the tests you had to take- all led you to this life you now lived. While you enjoyed helping people and the rise in pay, you also mourned the death of your social life. So many nights you wanted to spend with your friends, but were all spent in the hospital. It didn't help your dating life either, as you refused to date anyone who worked at the hospital with you to avoid any drama when breaking up. It's not like you weren't chased after; many of the male nurses and staff had been very vocal about their crush on you, their words making their rounds to you, but you never acknowledged that. You were here to work, not flirt with the various men that walked around.

You couldn't help but want someone, though. Someone to come home to and hold you when things became too much. But, that would have to wait.

The elevator doors are opening.

~.~

"It is no problem at all, Mr. Quinn. Please make sure to relax and please listen to the nurses" You offered the rich old man a kind smile before closing the door behind you as you entered the empty hallway. Taking care of the rich always felt like a pain- some thought that they knew better just because they had money, while some were more into "faking being sick to see their favorite doctor."

"Ah, Doctor F/N L/N. Just the women I just looking for."

Your head turned to see your boss approaching you with a kind smile on his old face. He placed a gentle hand onto your white coat covered shoulder before walking with you, leading you to his office without another word. You didn't fight back, though, wanting to know why he was looking for you. Maybe you were getting reprimanded due to you turning down another nurse and making him throw a tantrum. Maybe you were getting another raise.

"Please, close the door behind you" You nodded as the old man made his way around the large oak desk before he sat down in his chair. Your hand slowly left the doorknob as he crossed his arms, the air in the office no longer friendly as you sat down in front of him. Before you could even ask him about what was going on, he cut you off with a simple hand raise. "Miss L/N, you spend too much time here for a woman of your age" You blinked at your boss's words, tilting your head as you tried to process it. Taking in your confused stance, your boss clears his throat before leaning forward on his desk to point to a calendar that sat in the corner, one date circled in red ink. It was this coming Monday.

"I have the director of this hospital coming next Monday, and with your past involvement with the director and her son, I don't think you should be here"

Your eyes narrowed at your boss as you crossed your arms over your chest. How dare he take you off the work schedule because of the director's son and his hurt feelings? Just because you rejected him doesn't mean that you two can't be cordial when interacting. Your boss once again holds up his hand to stop you from speaking, leaning back in his chair as he removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose before he spoke. "Y/N, you know how the director gets about you, especially since you made her only son cry when you rejected him. I don't want to risk there being a problem between you and her if she sees you."

"Well, I don't want to not work. I have a reputation to uphold, plus, I don't have anymore pay time off." You watched as your boss, nodded, understanding your words before he sat back up, his back cracking softly as he put back on his glasses. "I understand and I am already looking into things you can do while not being at the hospital. Just...keep your mind open, ok?"

Open minded? You couldn't help but wonder what your boss had planned up his sleeves for you. But, to you, as long as you got work, you were ok with it.

You would be open minded.

~>~

"Is everyone in place for the attack? Everyone needs to be ready when I give my signal"

A static filled response filled San's ear as he held the binoculars to his eyes as he sat perched in the high grass upon a hill. To the average person, this may look creepy, even a bit scary; but to San and his team, this was nothing but child's play.

"San, there seems to be three hostages inside. We need to be careful when we attack" San nodded at HongJoong's words as he laid on his stomach next to San's knee, the older man's brown hair blowing in the cold night wind as his sniper's lenses sat pressed against his eyes. San knew that there would be complications, especially when chasing one of the world's most dangerous criminals. But, in order to keep the rest of the world safe, he knew he had to take risks. San's eyes slightly widened when he noticed the man place down his weapon on a table, giving San a perfect view of the kind of weapon, but that the man was now unarmed. Perfect.

"Mingi, Yunho, and Yeosang, it's time. Make sure that you all stay alert. Once Wooyoung and Jongho shut off those lights, you have my full permission to light the place up. Just get those hostages out first. Then, me and Seonghwa will go after the criminal. Remember: he's dangerous so let us both take care of it, just let him run and go after his goons. Understood?"

San placed his binoculars down as the men agreed before offered HongJoong a nod, letting him know to shoot whenever he saw fit. San's mind was clear as he moved to stand with Seonghwa behind a nearby tree, rolling up his sleeve to see the watch that sat tight on his wrist. Three seconds. Three seconds before they all lit the place up.

Three.

"We are all in positions, San"

Two

"Jongho and I are ready to shut the lights off."

One.

"Now."

The house that sat hidden in the marsh was an old one, but still had new technology wiring, making it easy for both Jongho and Wooyoung to shut it off. As the lights went out inside the house, causing a large shout to be heard, Mingi, Yunho, and Yeosang moved through the murky waters till they reached the door, Mingi's foot kicking the door in before gunfire could be heard. San wasn't worried about the three of them hurting the hostages while going after the goons- all three were skilled in close gunfire and battle. They were the best of the best at their jobs.

Plus, San had other things to worry about.

San placed his black gloved hand onto Seonghwa's shoulder as they moved down the hill, moving around the murky waters to wait behind another nearby tree near the back of the house as shouts and gunfire still blared through the home. Sure enough, the leader soon emerged from the back door, admit on making a escape from the chaos inside.

"Jeremy Phillips?"

The man paused in his tracks as both San and Seonghwa emerged from the tree, their eyes staring darkly at the man. San had to hold back a smirk of his own at Jeremy's shocked face before watching as he pulled out a knife. The blade may not have been long, but it gleamed in the moonlight, still showing that it was dangerous. San wasn't worried though, pulling out his own knife from the pocket of his black combat pants as Seonghwa rushed inside to help the others. He knew that San had it covered and that he wasn't much help, since it would be with a blade.

"You know, I've been chasing you for a long time, Jeremy? You've been avoiding me" San's voice held a slight playful manner in it as he continued to keep his eyes trained on his opponent. San's fist tightened around the handle as Jeremy apologized half-heartedly, stepping forward. San watched each step the man made before he decided that he was close enough.

"So, you're still the leader of ATEEZ, huh? Still the military's golden boy, huh?" San now smirked, nodding at Jeremy's words before saying "Yup. We all can't be bravo members for the enemy."

San's words made Jeremy no longer want to speak, the man's smile fading before he lunged at San's body. While Jeremy was taller than San, he still had his combat training and was confident he could win. San moved back before the blade could meet his body before he kicked Jeremy in the stomach, sending the man flying backwards into the murky water, San's blade soon meeting his thigh. San watched as Jeremy yelled in pain, remembering the words of his commander before they all dispatched to the mission:

"Jeremy Phillips is a dangerous man. You shoot to kill."

San didn't give the man a moment to recover as his hands quickly moved to his other pocket, gripping his gun before firing it.

The night once again returned to it's silence as San returned his gun to his pocket, sighing as a cold breeze moved through the field. He ran a hand through his black hair as Mingi and the others emerged from the house, the hostages all standing close to Seonghwa as they stared at San. If you were to ever ask Mingi what was a scary sight, it would be seeing San right after he's completed a mission: watching his eyes slowly drift back from being dark and cold to full of life.

"San, the helicopter is here. We need to go before his backup gets here"

San nodded as he took one more deep breath, meeting Mingi's worried eyes with a small nod, letting him know that he was alright. Mingi returned the nod before motioning for everyone to follow him as they made their way back up the hill to where the large helicopter sat, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and Jongho already inside. San gave the others a simple nod as he sat across from Wooyoung, clasping his buckles closed before the large aircraft began to rise, taking them from the once tense and bloody confrontation to the quiet night sky.

San's eyes closed as the helicopter returned everyone to the base, escorting the hostages back to their families with a small smile on his lips. He nodded as one of the hostage's wife's thanked him before jumping to hug her husband tightly. San couldn't help but watch as his smile dropped, his heart tightening at the sight. San wasn't a very easily emotional man, but to see such a sight made him yern for something like that. For someone to hug him whenever he returned him from his missions was a small dream of his, and seeing someone else have that too always made his heart ache. "You know, San, people are bound to get upset if you keep staring at them"

San couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Wooyoung's words, his eyes then narrowing at the hand that was soon placed onto his shoulder by the man. He turned to face him, crossing his arms as Wooyoung continued to have a very happy and proud smile on his lips. "If you want something like that, then I could always help you. I'm sure you could find a few women who are intrested in a tough man like you"

San at first didn't reply to Wooyoung, finding his words ridiculous. But, after a moment, his eyebrow soon returned to rest, his face softening as he realized that his friend was right. He glanced back at the happy couple before he took a deep breath in, puffing up his chest before he began to walk down the corridor, Wooyoung's happy steps following him. He took San's silence to know that he was right and that it was time that his friend finally got a girlfriend.

~>~

"What do you mean you don't have a type, San?! Come on!"

San shrugged once more at Wooyoung's whine, crossing his arms before he rested against the picnic table. The base was outside a very popular town in one of the more desolate areas, which meant lots of heat and sand, which made Fridays cleaning days to remove all of the extra sand and more. Wooyoung had brought out his computer to help San set up a dating profile while he cleaned, but they had already gotten to a roadblock.

Sure, San had dated around for a while, but nothing too crazy. He dated anyone he felt a connection to, but that connection all fizzed out really fast. To say San was a bit disappointed in his dating life was an understatement: he had been on around 8 first dates and hadn't gotten on a second date with any of them.

"How am I supposed to help you find a girlfriend if you don't know what kind of women you like?!'' San rolled his eyes at Wooyoung's complaining, about to complain himself about how stupid this whole dating profile thing was when a distant rumble distracted him. San's attention moved from his friend to the sand road that was Infront of him as three dark green jeeps appeared, driving towards the base. "Woah, early mail day?" Wooyoung asked, moving to stand next to San as the others moved to join San all standing at attention just in case it was a threat, the other soliders on the base doing the same.

"The mail people don't come in green Jeeps, though" San mumbled, watching suspiciously as the three Jeeps came to a stop in front of the group. The windows were deeply tinted, only letting everyone see their reflections.

The doors soon opened, showing the commander exiting the truck. The commander was a tall, yet not bulky man. While he wasn't physically bulky, he could still fight someone. "Ah, good morning everyone"

San raised an eyebrow at his commander, wondering why he wasn't explaining the other Jeeps behind him. He was about to ask when he saw all the doors open, various people leaving the Jeep. San eyed them all as they followed the commander, as if he was inspecting them for any dangers. As the last Jeep's doors open, a woman stepped out, making San pause.

"You know, when I was told I was being sent out on a special mission, I didn't think it'd be to somewhere so freaking hot" You sighed, wiping your forehead as your sneakers touched the warm sand and rocks along the road. The sun was already beating down on you and you were beginning to regret not just staying at the hospital. This is what you get for being open minded.

"Oh come on, Y/N, it's not that bad. I mean, look at those hot soldiers" your eyes turned to F/N, who still had a smile on her face as you both began to walk to meet with the rest of the medic group. You did glance over at the soldiers as you passed them, noticing how some of them were acting like they were starved for woman attention, their eyes bugging out of their heads as you passed them. You shook your head, continuing to walk up the road.

You and the other medics paused as the commander turned to face you all, his dainty hand motioning for someone from the large mass of soliders to come over. "Everyone, this is Captain Choi San from our ATEEZ unit. He's the leader of the special unit, so if you have any problems, just go to him."

Your eyes turned to see the man, your eyes then immediately halting at his appearance. He had black hair, dark eyes, and a strong jaw. San was wearing a simple white tank top that gave you a view of his large chest pecks and his arms too. He also wore the base's sweatpants, giving you a view of his strong thighs. He looked like he was handcrafted: someone had taken their time with him.

F/N noticed your eyes not moving from San, a small smirk falling onto her face before she whispered ''Guess you found a reason to like this place, huh?"

"Shh" Your eyes didn't move from San as you waved off your friend's words. You hoped that he couldn't feel how your eyes were probably burning a hole into him as he placed his hands behind his back, his eyes scanning the group of doctors before he finally landed on you. As you both made eye contact, his body tensed once more before he let his eyes move slowly down your frame, staring at the top of your hair and then slowly moving down your body, taking his time to look at every crevice on your face and body. You carefully bit your bottom lip as you tried to not burst into flames at the sight, making San smirk slightly.

Once the commander finished giving you all a briefing of the base and it's operation, you all were then escorted the building you'd be working in. You were to spend two months here, taking care of the various soldiers. It was like you were back in the hospital, but only smaller and with beefy military men all day instead of rich old CEOs. It was a nice change in your opinion.

Your first task was to do checkups with all of the men, which kept you and the other staff busy all day. Finally, as the hot sun went down, you were on to the last solider.

"I'm here to get checked out." You looked up from your clipboard to see San standing in the entrance of your little section. He was now wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his casual appearance making you smile a bit. While everyone else this whole day came in wearing their uniform, here he was wearing something so casual, separating him from the rest. You waved him in, moving to grab his medical chart as he sat down on the medic bed.

"Ok, so it seems that you're a pretty healthy man, Captain San, so I guess all you need is just a routine vaccination and then you're good to go." You looked up to see San's face, noticing that he tilted his head to the side before he crossed his arms over his chest, his arm muscles doubling in size as he did so. San cleared his throat before he met your eyes, trying to hold back his smile at your slightly confused look. "Doctor F/N, are you willing to perform a physical on me like everyone else? While I am a very healthy man, it wouldn't hurt to get a small checkup."

You nodded softly, placing your clipboard down before you approached San. You had given everyone else a physical, but giving one to San felt different. His eyes were trained on every movement you made, his skin warm as you touched his arm and neck. You tried to not notice it too much, but he was making it so obvious, which made your cheeks heat up a bit.

San let his smirk come through as you touched his chest and his back, nodding as you asked him to breathe in. San liked the way your hands felt on his body, and he couldn't help but crave more from you. "I think it would be easier if my shirt came off. Don't you think so, Doctor F/N?" You paused at San's question, meeting his eyes as you realized how close you and him now were; you now stood in between his legs with one hand on his chest and back, making you hover close to his body. You knew his true intention and for once, you weren't upset about a client making a move on you. Plus, you really wanted to see how he looked without a shirt on.

You nodded before pulling back, letting San take off his shirt before placing it onto the medic bed next to him. San's chest was just as hard as you had thought it was: large pecks, large arms and shoulders, perfect abs, and a his strong V line that went straight into his Calvin Klein boxers and jeans. You had to pry your eyes from San's body as you returned to the physical, the room no longer feeling cold as the connection between you both heated up.

You tried to chat with San while you did the physical, hoping that chatting with him would ease some of the heat between you two, but with his voice and charming remarks, it only added to the connection. You finally finished with his physical and shot, giving him a batman band-aid to make him laugh. You picked up his shirt, handing it back to him as he stood from your med bed, his eyes glimmering as he took it from you. "So, Doctor Y/N, have you seen the snack room yet? I know you told me you're a big fan of Oreos."

"Snack room?" you asked, tilting your head at his words as a smile came onto his face. You were a big fan of Oreos and thought you deserved some since you had to stomach some of the cafeteria food. San smirked, leading you to a small building that was behind the new med building you and the others occupied. It wasn't too big, but it was filled with metal shelves filled with snacks. You made a beeline for the Oreos as San closed the door behind you both, his fingers slickly locking it before he approached you. "So, the way to your heart is with Oreos?" You turned to San as he now stood close at your side, his chest rising and falling at a slight faster pace than earlier. You nodded as he gently took the packet from you, opening the packet with his teeth before he took a cookie out. You watched as he opening the cookie, placing the top one against your bottom lip. "Open."

You nodded, letting San feed you the cookie before your mouth closed around it, chewing as the chocolate flavor filled your mouth. San watched you with now slightly hooded eyes before he held up the rest to your lips, his free hand gently touching your waist. "You know, when I eat Oreos, I eat them all separate like this: I eat the cookie first, lick the icing off, then eat the last cookie."

You then caught on to what he wanted you to do next, slowly licking the icing off the cookie as San watched before accepting the last cookie into your mouth. San hummed as he watched you, whispering a small "good girl." before the hand that was on your waist slowly moved up your body, his body moving with yours to press your back against one of the nearby shelves that were against the wall. He looked down at your lips as he gently touched your neck, his thumb moving to press along the underside of your neck. You looked so hot to him, and he was beginning to feel so dizzy.

"I haven't had an Oreo in a while. Maybe you could let me know how it tastes," San didn't give you a chance to respond as his lips soon met yours. The kiss at first started off slow, like he was testing the waters to see how far you wanted to go. As your hand moved to wrap around the back of his neck, San took it as a sign that you wanted this, so the kiss sped up. San hummed against your lip as your tongue gently moved along his bottom lip, making him grip your thighs before he easily picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He then roughly cleared off a nearby table by moving his arm along the messy table, clearing off all of the many foods before he placed you back down onto the table, the kiss now becoming hot.

San began to move his lips down your neck as you whispered his name, trying to critique him for making a mess, but your mind became mush due to how good his lips and tongue felt along your neck. His hands then slipped under your shirt, pushing up the fabric as his lips then moved up the newly exposed skin. San was so focused on kissing and seeing every part of you, which only added to your arousal. He slowly moved back up to your lips, meeting you in a passionate kiss as his hands moved to remove any remaining clothes on you, haphazardly tossing them in to a pile before your hands did the same to his. San smiled as you began to push down his pants, his hands moving to help you before he pulled back from the kiss.

"You know, we need to do a full on physical," You met San's eyes as he kicked away his pants, his words making you tilt your head. San chuckled at your head tilt, his hands moving slowly along your thighs before he pressed his forehead against yours. San had never been with someone like you and he wanted to savor this moment, yet, he also couldn't help but want to flip you over on the table and just drill his hard cock into you. "Seems like you wanna play doctor, San" You whispered, running your hand through his hair as he slowly pushed down his boxers, his hard cock now slapping against his abs.

San couldn't help but chuckle deeply at your words before he gently cupped your face, making you meet his eyes as he speaks. "That's right, Y/N. Let me play doctor and give you a full inspection with my cock."

You felt your body heat up at his words before San lets go of your face, leaning down to spit on the head of his cock before he moved his hand along his cock, spreading it along his large length before he gripped your thighs, roughly pulling you to the edge of the table. You bit your lip as he moved your legs tightly around his waist, the head of his cock meeting your wet cunt before he slowly pushed in, making you both gasp. San gently tossed his head forward, resting his head on your shoulder as you welcome his cock. "Fuck, baby. You're already so wet, shit." You gripped his biceps as he continued to slowly push in, taking a deep breath at the stretch his cock caused.

"Does anyone know why the snack building door is locked? I wanted a snack, man!"

You and San both tensed and paused at the sound of Yunho outside, complaining about the locked door. You tilted your head back to try and see the door, hoping that he doesn't have some sort of lockpicking skills. San looked up from your shoulder, noticing how your attention was now on on the door and it made him a bit jealous. He saw Yunho every single day, and he can't even give him one moment with you alone? San felt a wave of heat rush over his body before he pressed his hands against your thighs, looking at you as he started to continue pushing into you.

"San- oh my god, fuck" You were about to question him on why he was looking at you like that, but your words left your mind as he resumed filling you with his cock. You tried to mention that Yunho was outside, but San cut you off again with a kiss. He pushed his tongue into the kiss, muffling more of your moans as finally finished filling you. "Yunho does not matter right now. You better not even utter his name right now- right now you should be more worried about taking every inch of my cock like a good girl."

You nodded dazily at San's words, your eyes closing as San slowly pulled out before he began to move his hips. San bit his lip harshly as he moved his hips to meet yours, the slow pace killing him- every time he filled you up, you just felt so good around him that it was physically hurting him to not give it to you harder. His eyes soon moved to your face, watching you as the pleasure moved all over his face before he broke.

San's pace suddenly picked up, snapping his hips into you at a fast pace, the sound of your moans and wetness now echoing around the snack building. He smirked as you dug your nails into his muscles, using him as an anchor as he drilled his cock into you. Just the way you were taking him made him want to cum. He leaned down to kiss your shoulder before he bit it, licking the mark he soon left behind. "Beautiful, now you can look at that tomorrow morning and remember how good it feel with my cock deep in your pussy like this"

"San, please" You whined, pressing a kiss to his lips as you tried to shut him, hoping to stop his dirty words from leaving his lips, but it only made San laugh before he leaned back, making sure your lips can't reach his as he moves faster, making the table move along with you both. "What, baby, don't act like you don't like what I'm saying. I can feel it every single time you tense around my cock" You tossed your head back as San's fingers met your clit, making you clench around his cock. Your nails dug more into his shoulders as you felt your orgsam quickly approaching, making you moan his name louder. San smirked before giving in to kiss you, silencing you so Yunho couldn't hear as you came all over his cock and him filling you up with his cum. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him in the kiss as you both came hard.

You soon pulled back from the kiss as your thighs shook, your eyes now closed as you rested against San's body, his own body shaking and feeling hot as he gently rubbed your body and pressed kisses to your shoulder. However, you both were reminded about the situation you both were in when Yunho could be heard outside saying "Maybe Jongho has the key?"

"Looks like our moment is over" San chuckled, slowly pulling out of you before he picked up a napkin, cleaning you and him up before he helped you get dressed. Once you both were appropriate, he smiled at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sighed at his touch before you heard some crinkling, San's body leaving yours. You opened your eyes as the door to the snack room closed, leaving you alone in the building. You sighed, feeling it was a dream. Was it a sick daydream your mind conjured up about the Captain? You turned to check your reflection in the mirror of the room when you notice a packet of Oreos once more on the table right next to you, a small smiley face drawn on it. You smiled as you realized that San left that for you, instantly picking it up before leaving the building right as Yunho and Jongho made their way over, a small smile on your face.

~>~

"Y/N, do you know where the emergency needles are?"

You shook your head at F/N, watching as she dug through the many bins of medical gear you all had brought from the hospital. You and the others had been here for only a month and you had already ran out of everything. "There's talk about a mission the ATEEZ team are going on soon. We need more of everything before then so that way if something happens, we can help them."

"Let me go talk to the commander and see what I can do" you placed a gentle hand on F/N's shoulder before you went outside, walking to the large dark green tent the commander had. You were a bit nervous as you didn't really talk to the commander, only hearing him yell and scream at various solders, which made you keep your distance. But, you didn't have a choice today.

"Excuse me, Commander Lewis?" You smiled as you entered his tent, watching as he looked up from his paperwork. You waited till the commander offered you a small nod before you continued speaking as the other soilders you had seen talk to him do that. "Sir, me and the other medics are running out of medical supplies and we need to get more."

"I can take her into the city if you'd like," Your eyebrows furrowed as San spoke, making you turn around. San was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and his combat pants, his signature smile painted on his face. Before you could respond, the Commander tossed him the keys to a Jeep, letting you know that your words no longer mattered in the issue. You offered San a kind smile before you exited the tent, San following close behind.

"So, how have you been, Doctor? Still enjoying Oreos?" You turned to gently shove San before getting into the passenger seat of the Jeep, your cheeks heating up at his words. You hadn't been trying to avoid San since the night you and him both shared a while ago: he had been busy preparing for the mission and a whole squad got sick so you had to deal with that. You had seen him around, but you always ended up deciding to not go talk to him. A part of you thought it was a one night stand kind of situation, a different part of you wanted there to be more.

The car ride to the nearby city was quiet, dark shades covering San's eyes as he drove. You would often glance over at him, enjoying how he looked as he drove: one arm on the steering wheel, the other one resting on the side. He looked so cool.

"You didn't answer my question, Y/N" You jumped a bit a San's sudden question, turning to him to ask what he meant. You also silently hoped that he didn't ask anything while you were daydreaming. San smiled softly before he asked "What have you been up to since our night together? I heard a squad got sick and all, but what have you been up to besides that?"

"Oh besides that?" You turned to look back out the window as he drove, thinking back to the past couple of weeks. "Nothing, really. When I'm not working, I'm couped up in my quarters"

San nodded, understanding what you meant as he was the same way. "I heard you're going back home soon, too. Two months went by pretty fast, huh?" You paused as you hear a twinge of disappointment in his voice, making you turn back to look at him. But, before you could respond, San announced that you both had arrived in the city. You nodded, looking out at the many buildings and the beautiful stone road that was ahead.

After you both gather the rest of the supplies you and the other doctors needed, you and San begin the long car ride back to the base. You had favored the idea of looking outside, not wanting to break the silence. However, San had other plans.

"Why are we pulling over?" You turned to San as he pulled over, shutting the car off before he turned to you. He removed his shades from his eyes before he let his eyes roam your body. He hadn't seen you in so long and he knew that if he didn't address the underlying tension between you both, then there was chance he would never see it again when you went back. Your next words were cut off by San's lips meeting yours, his hand moving to cup your cheek. The kiss instantly became heated as you both moved your lips together, both of your eyes closing. The kiss felt just as good as last time, if not better.

San slowly moved his hand down your cheek to the seatbelt, smirking against your lips as he slowly removes it. "I missed you, Y/N"

"I missed you too, San" you whispered against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as he began to lift you from the passenger seat onto his lap. He gently kissed down your neck as his hands slowly pushed up your top before he pushed his hand into your pants, his fingers meeting your wetness, making you mewl. "So wet, baby. And all I've done is just kiss you"

You sighed against his lips as he slowly pushed in a finger, his free hand moving to place one of your hands onto the button of pants, letting you know what he wanted. He placed gentle kisses along your neck and jaw as you struggled to unbutton his pants, the position in the car not giving either one of you very much room. San grunted before he pushed down your shorts, his hands then moving to help you with his pants. Your body was already too hot, your fingers now absently running along your wet cunt the same way San had.

San's eyes darken as he watches you, licking his lips as he pushes down his pants as much as he could, wrapping his hand around his already hard length as he matches your pace. You had never done something like this, but San made you feel bold. San looked at you like he was desperate for you and wanted all of you, his eyes giving you confidence. "Why don't you push a finger into that wet pussy, baby? Let me show you how I want you to touch yourself when we're separated"

You nodded, doing as San said, his lips meeting your neck once more as his hand moved along his length faster. San relished in the way you were moaning into his ear, making his cock twitch in his hand. San pulled back from your neck to see your face as you added another finger, now basically riding your fingers. You looked like the most beautiful thing he had seen and wanted this moment engraved in his mind. He cursed softly before swatting your hand away, helping you move to straddle his cock before he slowly pushed you down onto him. You gasped at the familiar stretch, your walls clamping down on him as he roughly smacked your ass, gripping the flesh immediately afterwards.

"Bounce on me just like you had done on your fingers a few seconds ago" San kept one hand gripping your ass, the other now gripping your hip as he helped you rise him. He licked along your neck before biting down on your sweet spot as you began to ride him, being careful to not hit your head. Once you both had found a comfortable angle, you began to let loose and move faster, making you both moan loudly. San kept his hands on you, moving them all over you continued to ride him. He knew he wouldn't stop till you were a mess; if you weren't a mess the first time, then he would make you continue you till you were a mess all over cock.

So after your first three orgsams on his cock, San could tell you were still thinking too much for his liking.

"San, please calm down, fuck!" You gripped the center console as San thrusted into you from behind you, his hand moving to grip your hair as he fucked you. He went from having you ride him to having you bent over the center console, shirt pushed up with bite marks from him all over your back and shoulders. San chuckled at your words, leaning down to whisper in your ear his hips continued their punishing pace. "Hm, you still know how to speak? Guess we need to keep going till you forget everything other than my name."

You had lost count of how many times he made you cum when you both returned to the base, your legs feeling like jelly as you handed your coworkers the medical equipment. You tried hard to walk normally as you walked back to your quarters, breathing heavily from the hours of intimacy with San.

"Stop worrying about your walk, Y/N. It was fine." You turned to see San now leaning in your room doorway, a smile on his lips as he closed the door an approached you. You crossed your arms as he wrapped his arms around you, placing a kiss to your forehead. You felt your body relax at the feeling, sighing before you pressed your cheek against his chest, letting your body rest against his. San smiled before whispering "here, let me help you shower and then get ready for bed."

You nodded, allowing San to help you get into the shower before he followed. Even though you both were bare under the hot water, it felt calm between you both. You felt your feelings for San begin to bubble in your chest as he helped wash you, humming a random song as he did so. "So, I hear there's a mission for you and the others coming up..." Your words trailed off as he took his time helping you wash your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp carefully. He nodded, looking down at you with a small smile. You looked so relaxed, your eyes closed as he took his time with you. He leaned down to press a small kiss to your lips, enjoying the soft moment with you as his own feelings for you bubbled in his chest. He wanted this feeling to never end: to come home from every mission with you in his arms.

"I don't know when we roll out for the mission, but I will be thinking about you the whole time." San smiled, his hands moving from your hair to cup your cheeks, his thumb moving along your cheeks. He couldn't help but admire you, pressing another kiss to your lips before you laughed softly at the feeling. This was bliss.

"How will I know that you actually mean that, San?" You asked, looking up at him as a small smirk came onto his lips. You then gasped as he picked you up, his arms gripping you tightly as he pressed you against the tile shower wall. He smiled down at your before you felt his cock now pressing back against your entrance. Well, there goes the calm shower.

You now had your hands pressed against the wall, holding you up as San moved from behind, leaning down to kiss your shoulder and stuff his face in your neck. Your moans echoed in the bathroom as you gripped his hair, making him moan loudly at the painful sting. Both of your moans had begun to echo in the room, only adding to the experience. "Fuck, I love you baby. Keep clenching down on me just like that baby, and I'm gonna fill you up and give you my kid."

San completely used your wet pussy, switching between words of praise and being outright filthy, with talks of breeding you and taking you outside to fuck you in front of everyone. San was absolutely gone, his mind fuzzy as he came for the third time that day in your pussy, the feeling making my you cum as well.

Once he cleaned you up again, he carried you back to your bed, laying you down on your sheets before he helped you get ready for bed. You thanked him, allowing him to help you before you both laid down on the bed. He held you as you began to slowly drift off, his lips pressed to your forehead.

When you woke up the next morning, you were alone.

You carefully got ready for the day, still feeling a bit sore from the night's events with San, along with being upset: part of you was upset that he left without telling you, another part was upset that you didn't wake up when he left. You made your way to the cafeteria, knowing that he would be there with the other ATEEZ members as they always ate together. However, when you entered the cafeteria, you noticed that he was nowhere to be seen, nor the other team members. You started walking around the base, looking for any sign of him or the others, sighing when you noticed that he was nowhere. When you arrived at the medic tent, F/N was packing up the various medical equipment, placing it all on the back of one of the Jeeps. With a confused look, you asked her what she was doing.

"We go back home today, remember? There is going to be a new set of medics to treat the ATEEZ team after they come back from their mission." You felt your body run cold at her words, asking if she was serious. There was a chance you weren't going to see San ever again- it was like the universe wanted to punish you. It made you wonder what you did in a past life to have San taken from you like this.

You helped F/N and the others pack silently before you went to pack your own things. You felt your heartstrings being pulled as you moved around your room, memories of last night with San filling your mind. As you finished making your bed, you noticed a glimmer of metal under your pillow, making you tilt your head. As you picked up your pillow, you stopped to see a dog tag with San's name on it, along with a folded note.

Hey, Y/N. You're sleeping so peacefully that I don't want to wake you up, but I have to go. Take my dog tag, so that way I have no choice but to come look for you. Don't forget to grab some Oreos on the way out.

I love you.

Captain San Choi.

~>~

"Doctor Y/N, there is someone requesting you in the lobby."

You sighed before nodding, entering the elevator. You had been so swamped since you had come back, not getting the opportunity to do much of anything. You closed your eyes as the elevator slowly brought you down to the lobby, your fingers playing with San's dog tag that sat in your scrub's' pocket. You hadn't found him yet, but you still had hope that sometime this weekend, you could take time off and do some research on him.

But that would have to wait. The elevator doors are opening.

You opened your eyes as you exited the elevator, making your way to the center desk within the lobby with a small tired smile on your face as you asked the nurse who was here to see you. You secretly hoped it wasn't another patient, wanting nothing more than to deal with the 8 other ones who were already on your roster.

"Doctor Y/N L/N?"

You turned to the voice, not realizing who it was at first. "Yes, that is me-" You stopped as your eyes met the face to the voice, your jaw dropping when you saw him.

San now stood in front of you, a small smile on his lips as he looked at you. Your eyes widened before you approached him with a growing smile. San did the same, his pace matching yours until he was able to wrap his arms around you, picking you up to spin you around. Neither one of you cared about how everyone else was looking at you both, too consumed with each other. You cupped his face before meeting his lips in a soft kiss, both of your smiles coming through the kiss before you both hugged each other tightly.

"How did you find me?" You asked, cupping his face again to ensure that it was really him. "I asked my commander what hospital you reported back to as you forgot something. That something is me." San laughed, holding his hand out to you, holding it out expectantly. You raised an eyebrow before placing his dog tag in his hand, making him shake his head. He then reached to hold your head, slowly intertwining your fingers before he whispered in your ear "you have an office, right? We should talk in there." You smiled at his words, nodding before you haphazardly let the front desk know you were on break. By the tone of his voice you weren't going to be doing much of talking, but, you didn't care. At least you had San back. As you both entered the elevator he moved to immediately stand in front of you, smashing his lips back into yours.

He's all that matters now. The elevator doors are closing.

#~bambi #bambikisss #ateez #ateez au #choi san smut #ateez choi san #choi san #ateez san x reader #san smut #ateez san #ateez smau #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez san smut #san ateez #san smau #ateez smut reactions

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 8 months

Text

Great Balls Of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader 9k words (ik. i did it again. im sorry)

summary: It’s been four months since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw. Today's the day he finally comes back from his mission and you have more than one ace up your sleeve to surprise him with.

a/n: smut ahead. 18+ im serious theres smut theres a lot of smut. okay. as usual i will now list everything you may have to look out for

fancy ass lingerie, oral sex fem!receiving, unprotected sex (dont be like them, just know theyre in a committed relationship theyve had the talk and all), a lot of begging, hair pulling, good girl's because yes, in general again bradley is a talker, otherwise that's it

top gun masterlist

It had been so long. It had been too long.

With the sun beating down hard on the pavement of the parking lot, the sunglasses on your nose doing their hardest to protect your eyes from the worst of the light, the sound of your heels clicking against solid ground as you took a few steps into the shade of the tree next to Bradley's Bronco. You had been waiting for ten minutes now, checking your phone what seemed like every five seconds, too nervous to actually pay attention to it but too nervous to keep calm either.

You had been so scared you would crash into a grandma on the way over here that you had honestly considered taking your own car instead of the Bronco - but Bradley had trusted you with it, had trusted you to keep his lady running, you, even though he never let anyone else as much as touch the steering wheel, and you would be damned if you didn't pick him up in it.

You hadn't seen him in four months. Four months.

You had been by yourself, had been on your own, had been lonely for four fucking months.

But today was the day you would see him again. Today was the day his oh-so-secret mission would finally, truly come to an end, the day that you would finally, truly see him again. Not over some low-quality video call in the middle of the night, with only your kitchen lights on in the background and your mind hazy and tired because he was nine hours ahead of you and seemed to be at the other end of the world - no, today you would finally, finally, finally see him in the flesh.

You'd been anticipating this moment for the past four months.

So this had to be perfect.

This would be perfect.

You had done everything possible to make this the most perfect day of his goddamn life. You had spent the last four months moving things from the old apartment to the new house - those things that you and him hadn't already moved anyway - and the past week, you'd been cleaning, decorating, anticipating.

He had told you so often how much he missed you. How much he wished he had been there for you, to help you pack the things, to help you take them apart and put them back together, to do more than just the paperwork and set up the bed and the couch.

But he couldn't. And now you were bubbling with nervous excitement, with the joy of sharing all of it with him, to show him the desk you'd put up in the bedroom, the pillows you'd bought for the couch, the paintings you'd hung up on the walls, the kitchen table you'd replaced, the kitchen tiles you'd painted. To show him how much better this new home was than the old apartment had been (even though you'd been very happy there for the past four years as well).

And Bradley would love it. You were sure of that.

You just wanted him to see it so desperately.

You looked up as another car approached - it wasn't Bradley, you knew that, Bradley would come out of that door opposite you, not out of a car, but... There was still some tiny little sliver of hope, the same way there had been every single goddamn time someone had rung your doorbell. It had only ever been the postman or your food.

The car stopped next to you. You watched the engine being turned off and the driver get out because, well, what else was there to do except nervously shift your weight from one leg onto the other and go insane?

So you watched the stranger hop out of their car, nodded politely at them and then refocused your attention on the tips of your sandals. At least you weren't the only one waiting here anymore.

You got out your phone again, checked the time (it'd been a minute and a half since you'd last looked at it) and let out a sigh.

It wasn't that Bradley was late. There wasn't really a "late" anyway, he'd only been able to give you a vague time he'd arrive on, but still. You'd been buzzing with nervous energy for over a week.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, wiped your sweaty palms off on the sundress you'd put on - the tiny yellow sundress that Bradley had picked out for you on your birthday last year. The tiny yellow sundress that hid the sinful white lingerie under it just perfectly. The sinful white lingerie that you had bought for this very moment.

Bradley would go feral for it, you knew that. He loved white. You thought it was because it looked innocent, chaste. Like something untainted, something waiting to be ruined. Not that you minded. One day, he had promised himself, he would admit to you that it was because it looked like something you would wear on your wedding night.

But either way, you had gone shopping for the perfect set of lingerie and you were more than happy with your final choice.

Bradley could unwrap you like a present. You were desperately hoping he would unwrap you like a present.

You had spent the last four months not doing anything other than hoping. Imagining. Remembering.

So you weren't surprised that you felt like you'd soaked through those pretty (and expensive) panties already.

Your breath hitched. You shifted your weight again.

Bradley would carry you in his big, strong arms over the doorstep, would push you against the wall, would take everything he wanted from you and give everything you needed - he'd pull your dress right off and, at the sight of your lingerie, would fuck you raw.

You had to bite down on your lip to keep you grounded. Four months away had been a long, long time. Four months in which you'd only had yourself, your fingers, your vibrator to keep you company - four months in which you'd only heard Bradley's moans spill over the phone, had only heard him call you honey and good girl through a low-quality mic, had only seen him on pictures he'd left you, on a tiny screen at best.

You were depraved. And pretty sure you'd fall apart at the first touch.

You were so immersed in your thoughts, in that lovely imagery you had created in your head, that you almost missed the door opening. Finally. Finally. You straightened up at once.

It wasn't Bradley who stepped out first - it was one of his colleagues, you guessed, with blonde hair and much shorter - but it was Bradley who stepped out second. You'd know him from miles away.

He strode out of the door and into the sunlight, all familiar brown curls and broad shoulders and Ray-Bans on his nose and an Hawaiian shirt on and his bag lazily slung over his shoulder and that moustache - by god you'd have killed him if he'd shaved that off!

He turned his head and looked at you and a grin broke out on your lips, so wide, so incredibly wide that it felt like it'd split your face in half and before you could think, before you could form any coherent thought you were already moving, your legs with a mind of their own. You were sprinting towards him. Sprinting all through the parking lot, your heels click-clicking on the pavement, and Bradley grinned, grinned and let his bag fall to the ground carelessly, opened his arms instead. Wide, so wide. He was so tall. So broad. So inviting as you ran at him, as you jumped at him, as you wrapped your arms and your legs around him at the same time, as he caught you effortlessly, as your lips landed on his.

As you crashed into him, completely, and he didn't even stagger an inch back.

You had missed four months of this.

And now his lips were on yours. Your legs around his waist. Your arms crossed behind his neck. His breath against your mouth. His lips parted. His tongue against yours.

You were desperate. And you could feel just how desperate he was, too.

You could feel all the passion, all the fiery, red passion, all the force and firmness put into this kiss as his tongue ran along yours, as your breaths met and mingled, as his hands dug into your thighs to keep you upright, to keep you snug to him.

You pulled back incredibly reluctantly. You didn't want to let go of him. You never wanted to let go of him ever again. You wanted to have him, all of him, right here, right now, and then for eternity. But you couldn't, you couldn't because this was the middle of the parking lot, and also because you at least wanted to say hello first.

So you blinked open your eyes and took him in and allowed yourself to grin as broad and as wide as you needed to right now.

"You're back", you whispered, just because that realisation still had to sink in. "You're really back."

Bradley nuzzled your nose with his and let out a hum - god, how you'd missed him. The feel of him, the sound of him.

"Yeah, I'm here, honey", he muttered, that smile of his dripping down onto his voice. "I'm here and I won't leave any time soon."

You couldn't help but lean in again, couldn't help but capture his lips again because how else, how on earth would you let him feel all the joy you were experiencing right now? You didn't even know if you could actually feel all of it. You definitely wouldn't be able to put it into words. So you dug your teeth into his bottom lip and sighed into him and pulled him closer, closer and closer, even further into you.

"I missed you", you breathed against his mouth. "I love you and I missed you, Bradley."

He chuckled, kissed you again, drew back just enough to still touch you somehow, to still have his lips on your skin somehow and be able to talk at the same time.

"I love you so much, honey", he muttered. "And I missed you so much."

And then his lips were on yours again, his fingers digging even harder into your thighs, his breath and his tongue and his moustache scratching against your skin and you moaned, because there was no more anything you could possibly have done, because you couldn't help yourself, because you couldn't stop yourself, because you didn't want to either. You wanted to let him know just how goddamn fucking much you'd missed him.

Bradley had to bite back a laugh, pulled back and looked at you through his sunglasses.

"Sounds like we should get home, honey", he said, his eyebrows raised and his smile deepening with every word. "Been waiting for that for four months."

You let out another soft moan, pushed yourself even closer to him, dug one hand into the back of his hair and scratched the other down his shoulders, down his shirt. You wanted to feel him. All of him. God, the ride home would take ten minutes. Ten minutes. How were you supposed to survive that?

"Please", you whispered onto his lips, and you didn't think you had ever meant it as much as you did now.

Bradley groaned and kissed you again, quickly, heatedly, his tongue running along your bottom lip and then pulling back again. This wasn't enough. This wasn't enough.

He set you down on the pavement again softly, your legs a bit wobbly, unsteady, and trailed one hand from your thigh to your back - anything to keep touching you as he bent down to pick up his bag again. You smiled up at him, smoothed down the front of your dress and beamed as his eyes traveled down your body.

When they snapped back up to catch your gaze, the grin on his face had turned into a much more intense expression.

"You look gorgeous, honey", he muttered, tugging you further into his side, letting his eyes drop down to your chest again. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from jumping at him right this second. He should not have been allowed to just look at you if you couldn't have him touch you too. "Did you pick out new nail polish just for this dress?"

Your grin broadened. Of course he'd notice. Bradley Bradshaw was the only man in the whole universe who would notice. And he was yours.

"Yes, I did", you smiled, looking up at him as he walked with you back to the car. He hummed softly.

"It works great together", he said. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous and he was here and he had noticed your nail polish. He was perfect. And you wanted him to fuck your brains out. "Reminds me of your burgundy silk dress."

You had to bite down on your lip again - god, you hadn't done that nearly as often when he'd been away! - to keep yourself grounded and to keep your grin in check before it could truly split your face in half.

Your burgundy silk dress was the one you'd worn to Penny and Mav's wedding two years ago that you had spent three weeks hunting down matching lipstick and matching nail polish for. Bradley had worn that lipstick on the base of his cock for most of the night.

"You're incredible, do you know that?", you asked, your voice a bit breathy. Bradley stopped in front of the Bronco, turned to you and pulled you close again. You brought your hands up to his chest.

"I've been told", he muttered, tilted his head down to look at you and then leaned down even further to brush a kiss to your nose. "Open up the Bronco so I can put my bag in the trunk?"

You let your eyes flutter close for just a tiny little moment (he was close, so close and you would literally die if he didn't start touching you any time soon) and breathed in as Bradley chuckled. You'd put the key in your pocket and were scrambling to get it out now, taking one, two seconds too long before you heard the familiar click of the car unlocking.

"Thanks, pretty girl", Bradley mumbled, letting go of you to pull open the trunk and you had to push down a sigh of disappointment, even as anticipation rose up in your stomach. You hadn't heard him call you pretty girl in months.

When he turned back around to you, you were still frozen in spot, still smiling dumbly at him, still waiting for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you. He smiled back and you knew that he knew just what you were thinking. But you couldn't even begin to care. You wanted to get him home as quickly as possible.

"You need to stop looking at me like that, honey", he said, his voice an octave deeper and you just so managed not to let another dumb, pathetic moan slip. He closed the trunk and took a step back to you. "You know I can't help myself when you look at me like that."

At that, you did let the moan tumble from your lips after all.

He'd been away for four months. And he was looking at you with his eyes all dark and his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling heavily. How on earth were you supposed to be normal about this? You were falling apart already and he hadn't even got you home. Four months had been a long, long time.

His hands were on your waist then, forcing you against the side of the bronco, the door handle digging into your back, the metal warmed up by the sun and your arms crossing behind his neck as his body crowded yours, one leg between yours and no more space to touch, to feel, to see anything that wasn't him - he turned his head to check if the other car had driven away and then his lips were on yours, his knee pressing against your centre.

"Bradley", you moaned into his mouth, before his tongue brushed yours and rendered you speechless. You rocked against his knee, bare skin against your thighs and you wanted to sob, you really actually wanted to sob, because this was the most contact you'd gotten in four fucking months.

Bradley pulled back an inch.

"You're soaked", he groaned against your lips, his breath on your skin, his hands on your waist and you thrust your head back against the car, against the window, squeezed your eyes shut, kept on rocking against his knee.

"I know", you whined. "Been soaked for months."

Bradley let out another groan and pulled back, pulled away from you and you whimpered, blinking your eyes open again because you'd been so close to finally getting what you wanted and now he was taking that right away from you again. You looked up at him and the only reason you didn't straight up voice your disappointment was that he looked just as debauched as you felt - running his hands through his hair, running them over his face, his curls all messed up and a considerable bulge already visible in his jeans.

"Get in the car", he rasped, taking another step back from you as though he had to physically put distance between the two of you so he wouldn't give in and take you right in this parking lot. Not that you would've minded. That other car was long gone. But that he had to restrain himself so much, that he looked so positively exhausted, that his voice was so hard and so rough and so raw, that he had already, so easily begun giving you orders drove you crazy. Orders that you knew you had to follow because this was him, this was Bradley, and if he wanted something from you.... he'd get it. You'd give it to him no matter what. You'd give him everything.

So you pushed yourself off the car with a hard breath and trailed around to the passenger side, keeping your eyes on the ground even as you heard Bradley shuffle and open the driver's door because you knew that if you looked at him, no matter how much you wanted to follow his commands, there was a high chance you wouldn't be able to help yourself.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The seat felt hot and your skin sticked to it immediately and you would have cared in any other situation, but not in this one. Not when Bradley put his hand to your thigh, to your bare skin, to just below the hem of your dress. You could have cried.

He was here, finally, and he was touching you, finally, but he wasn't touching you enough, not nearly enough. This would be a long ten minutes. You pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, turned your head and rested it against the head rest, smiling at the image before you - Bradley in the driver's seat of his Bronco, the steering wheel in one hand, the sun on his face, his curls longer than when you'd last seen them. Had he got more tan? Was that possible?

God, how you'd missed this man.

And he was here now, here, next to you, with one hand on your thigh and a grin playing on his lips and you couldn't help but smile. Big and broad and all-consuming because he was here again, this man that you called yours, he was right here next to you after four months. You loved him. You'd missed him so incredibly much.

His hand moved a little higher up on your thigh, his thumbs brushing, stroking over exposed skin, raising up your dress the slightest bit. Your breath hitched.

"Bradley-", you sighed, jaw clenching as you melted, melted at every little touch because you didn't have to only remember it anymore. You could just push up into him, watch him, breathe in his familiar scent, run your fingers along his arm. This was no more imagining, no more picturing, this was real, this was happening.

"God, I missed you saying my name like that", he groaned, tightening his grip on your thigh and you bit down on your lip, wrapped your fingers around his biceps, his wrist, forced yourself to keep your eyes open so you could keep watching him. You wouldn't miss out on a single second of watching him.

"Bradley", you repeated softly. "I'll say your name as often as you want me to."

His fingers dug even harder into your thigh as he let out some strangled sounding moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me", he muttered - how often you'd thought the same about him! "I'm lucky if I can hold out these ten minutes."

You watched him quietly for a second. You could sense the heat radiating off of him, could see his clenched jaw, could feel his deathgrip on your thigh, could hardly ignore the blazing arousal in your own veins. But if he'd wanted to fuck you in the back of his Bronco, he would've. (As picky as he was about who drove his car, he'd never had a single problem railing you into oblivion in the backseat.) There was a reason he was holding out. You could only guess that he wanted to do this properly - with time and room and no risk of getting caught by the authorities. Should you have minded? Should you have begged him to take you as quickly as possible? You were sure he would have, if you'd pleaded prettily enough. But you were quite alright with time and room and no risk of getting caught. At least for right now. The both of you would manage a ten minute ride, right? You had managed four months. Ten minutes were nothing in comparison.

"Okay", you said, trailed your fingers down to his and intertwined your hands. "I'll help. I'll tell you something. Distract you."

"You can try, honey", he chuckled, sneaked a quick sideways glance at you. "Tell me about the house."

You lit up at that. You had been dying to tell him about the house. So you pushed your arousal deep, deep down (which was easier said than done) and smiled up at him.

"I don't even know where to start", you said honestly, giving yourself a second to think about it. You had ten minutes, after all. And you had to fill them all if you wanted both of you to survive this drive.

So you told him about everything.

The short version, of course.

He'd heard some of it over the phone already, but he hadn't been able to call often and you'd spent most of your time crying and telling him how much you loved and missed him when he had answered, so...

The ten minutes went by more easily this way. You went on and on and on and on about the house, his fingers between yours, your eyes locked on his, with the occasional comment about how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to help. It had been unfortunate, of course, but at the same time it had given you something to put all your time and effort into, which had greatly helped you through his deployment. Plus, there had always been help when you had needed it - Penny and Amelia and Mav, Phoenix and Bob and Jake. The rest of the squad had been scattered, called off to their own missions, but those six you had been able to count on whenever.

Bradley's hand on your thigh was still highly distracting. He moved it up and down a few times, and each time your breath hitched, each time you stumbled over your own words, each time he grinned again.

At one point, his fingertips brushed so close to your underwear that you pushed his hand forcefully back down to your knee. He had been the one so worried he wouldn't manage a ten minute ride and now he was the one teasing you.

Not that you really minded.

But you truly felt like going insane.

Then, finally! you caught sight of your driveway. Bradley was out of the car the second he'd parked it, pulling his hand from your thigh and the key out of the ignition and you had barely unbuckled yourself when he was already opening your door, taking your hand and tugging you out, sending you stumbling into him, into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours as he pushed the door close, pushed you up against it again, pushed the hem of your dress up to grasp at your bare thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck, forced him even closer.

"Bradley", you gasped softly. You hadn't moaned his name like that in four months, you'd do it so often today he would get tired of it. Even though you knew that he wouldn't, of course - he would never get tired of you whispering his name into his mouth, into the nothingness of an empty room, into his ear, into the pillows.

He didn't pull back from you, even as he took a slow, careful step away - making sure you'd catch on, making sure you'd follow, making sure to keep you safely, steadily against him. Not that you'd have done anything else. You trusted him with your life, you would trust him to keep you upright. So you did just what he wanted, followed, stumbled with him, eyes closed, lips on his, fingers brushing along his shoulders.

He did pull back then - just an inch or two, to turn you around, to look over your shoulder once, to tear his hand from your thigh and wrap his arms around you instead. And then his lips were back on yours again and his tongue running along yours. He pushed and you followed his wordless command, your legs working quicker than your mind, stumbling, tripping backwards, backwards, backwards and you barely cared, barely even acknowledged the ground beneath your feet because you were wrapped up in his arms, because you were tugging at his curls, because he was here, kissing you, finally.

You weren't needy.

You were desperate. You were depraved, frantic, starved. He was the air you needed to breathe and you hadn't taken a single breath in the past four months.

So you weren't pretending in the way you pulled him close, closer, closer, or in the frenzied way you kissed him, or in the desperate way you sighed, groaned, moaned against him, into him. You needed him. You needed more of him. All of him. You needed to get inside so you could have him.

You bumped into the door then, just short of digging the doorknob into your spine - Bradley pushed you right up against it and you gasped into his mouth, into the kiss. He crowded you against the door much like he'd crowded you against the Bronco, pulling his arms from around you to grasp your waist instead, to press your hips up to the door as well, and used one hand to fumble for the keyhole. He did so blindly, with his eyes still closed, his lips still on yours, with one of your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, your heels digging into his shorts.

Needless to say, he needed quite some time to turn the key.

You didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

You were making out with Bradley Bradshaw right on the doorstep of the house you shared with him, in the bright afternoon sunlight and truly, you couldn't have minded less. You didn't give two fucks about any of your neighbours or any passerbys spotting you - should they, by god! Bradley had come home from deployment after four months, you would make out with him on your doorstep for as long as you wanted to. You wouldn't ever stop making out with him ever again.

Not when he was here again, in your arms, with your fingers tugging at his hair, brushing along his neck, stroking along the collar of his shirt, sweeping along his shoulders. Not with your leg around his hips. Not with your lips on his. Not with anticipation, with arousal in every fibre of your body, of your soul. You were going mad with it. You were getting drunk on it.

You were euphoric when Bradley finally opened the gods damned front door.

He kept you safe and steady even as the support at your back broke away, as you almost crashed onto the floor of your own hallway. He walked you back into the pleasant cold and for once, for the first and probably the only time, you were the one to break away. You gave yourself a second to catch your breath. Then you pushed off of him completely. You took a step away, pulled the key from the door, pushed it close and when you turned back around, Bradley had set his sunglasses down on the little table you had put next to the coat rack a few weeks ago.

And you looked him in the eyes for the first time in four months.

He motioned at the table.

"Looks great, honey", he said, his voice a little too rough to sound quite normal. "Nice touch."

You shook your head softly.

"I couldn't care less about the table right now", you muttered, and with that, you were on him again. Actually, truly, fully on him again. You pushed yourself right up onto him, into him, pried his shirt off his shoulders, off his arms, let it drop down to the ground and then reached for his jaw to drag him further down, to deepen the kiss even if you knew that was impossible. So you bit down on his lip and allowed him to finally push your dress up over your hips, over your chest, over your head - you had to let go of him for a moment then, had to pull away from him so he could drop your dress on the floor and before you could even come close to reaching out for him again, he was taking a step back.

You could feel his eyes raking down your body. You could feel him taking in the white lingerie on your skin - the strings of the thong high up on your hips, intricate lace around your waist, the small bow right in the centre of it, the bra cups almost transparent, the floral white pattern covering up your nipples, the other few, small bows sown onto the straps.

You sucked in a breath at the look on his face. You hadn't seen that look in far too long.

"God, honey", Bradley groaned, reached for your waist, brushed his thumbs along the lace, ran his fingertips along the lingerie. You bit down on your lip as he pulled you, slowly, carefully, into him - gave you enough time to rest your hands on his chest, your palms against his tank top. "You look sinful. Did you buy that just for me?"

You nodded, swallowed.

"Just for you", you admitted. "Wanted to surprise you."

Bradley tugged you another inch closer, so close that your chest bumped into his, your breasts pressing against him. He let out a hum, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage.

"You did that, pretty girl", he muttered, his fingers digging into your sides. "You're incredible."

Then his lips were on yours again and you were melting, becoming putty in his hands, turning to goo in his arms. Your breaths met, lips parted. You couldn't quite believe you were finally touching him again.

He walked you back to the bedroom, narrowly avoiding the doorway, his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your bum. You reached for the hem of his shirt, forced him to stop right on the threshold so you could get rid of it - get rid of that one layer of fabric still in the way. You drew back for a second to pull it over his head, to drop it to the floor, to let your eyes travel all over his bare torso.

God, how you'd missed this man and his broad shoulders and his washboard abs. How you'd missed his touch and the sound of his voice.

"Bradley", you gasped softly, your fingertips trailing over his naked skin, down to his shorts. "I need you."

He let out a groan.

"I've waited four months for you to say that again", he muttered. You could hardly take another breath before he was on you again - lips on yours and hands on your hips and your back hit the bed a moment later, the cushy mattress, the fluffy pillows softening your fall.

You raised yourself up onto your elbows so you could watch him as he stood in front of your bed, the sunlight dripping down him like drops of water hitting the floorboards, his torso bare, his curls messed up, looking down at you with a heaving chest, his fingers on his belt, unhooking it, opening the button on his jeans, pulling down his zipper - you swallowed hard as you watched him drop his shorts on the floor, step out of his shoes.

A whine rolled off your tongue.

"Bradley, hurry up", you whimpered, your fingers cramping in the sheets, your legs pressing together all of their own accord, trying to get some kind of friction as he undressed himself in slow motion while you just lay there, your panties long soaked through and your fingers itching to trail down your own body.

Bradley chuckled.

"Don't worry, honey", he muttered, kneeling down on the ground to drop kisses to your calves before pulling off your sandals. "I'll make sure you forget about the past four months, alright?"

Your breath hitched as your heels hit the ground.

"Please", you begged softly. "I've missed you so much."

He wrapped his hands around your hips, pulled you to the edge of the bed - his breath ghosting over your underwear, over that tiny white piece of lingerie you had bought for him, for him to take you apart in. His fingers dug into your skin, spread out wide, to touch as much of you as he possibly could. He pressed a kiss right to that wet spot on your thong.

You let out a moan. God, how had you survived four months without him? You were barely surviving fifteen minutes of not having him fuck you.

Bradley grinned, raised his head to meet your eyes and seriously, you were close. Too close. He hadn't touched you yet, not really. You'd die today, you were sure, die and go to heaven.

"You look almost too good to undress, honey", he muttered, brushing his thumbs below that lace around your waist, not making a move to pull it down your legs.

"Bradley, please", you whined, your hands brushing over your own chest, running over your bra cups, tracing the flowers, desperately holding back from just ripping everything off yourself, pushing him onto his knees and riding him into oblivion. "Don't tease. I need you."

He groaned into the skin of your thigh.

"Anything you want, honey", he muttered - and then your thong was gone and he was burying his tongue inside you, dipping, tracing, licking, circling your clit, breathing you in, devouring you. Taking and giving everything. It had been four months since he'd had you like this and he wanted everything, every inch of you he could get. He wanted to taste you, every last drop of you, wanted to eat you out until you couldn't think anymore, until you had truly, fully forgotten all the time he had been away, all the time you had been forced to be on your own, alone.

You thrashed, moaned above him - your fingers clenching around your bra, brushing over your nipples. You were close. Close after the entirety of three seconds, close to tears, close to coming.

"Bradley", you choked out, tearing your hands off yourself, burying them in his hair instead - tugging him off, tugging him away from you. You took a deep breath as he let go of you, as he loosened his grip on you, looked up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"I need you to fuck me", you whimpered, already too sensitive, too tense. "I need you inside me."

You hadn't had him in four months.

Four months had been enough goddamn foreplay. As much as you loved when he ate you out, you needed him, you needed his cock, you needed to feel him inside you, you needed him to take you apart and make up for all the time lost.

Bradley nodded, nodded because he knew, he understood - he saw the frantic look in your eyes, had felt the desperate drag of your hands at his clothes, his arms, his shoulders, his hair. He'd give anything to you. Everything. He would do whatever you wanted of him.

Maybe in another situation he'd have made you beg more, would have teased you more, would have edged you a few times. Maybe in another situation. But not in this one. Not after four months of being away from you, not when you were so beautifully, so desperately spread out beneath him, looking up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, your lip pulled between your teeth, your gorgeous white lingerie still concealing too much of your skin.

As he'd said, you were almost too gorgeous to undress. But just almost.

So he rose up from the ground, pulled you up with him, pulled you in, his fingers brushing along your sides, your spine, your bra clasp. He let it fall open. You worked fast, worked your bra down your arms and off your hands and drew back from him to fling it against the wall and lay down on the bed, lay down all pretty and waiting.

You needed him to fuck you. Now.

He let out a groan, closed his eyes. The look on his face had you pressing your legs together again. Wetness was coating the inside of your thighs now. It glistened on his moustache. And you were sure you could have tasted it on his tongue too.

He was making you go insane.

"How do you want me, pretty girl?", he asked, pressing his knees into the side of the mattress. "Tell me how and I'll do whatever you want."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your nerves were bubbling up. Four months. You'd waited four months for this one question.

"Behind", you whined. "Need you from behind."

Bradley had known, of course, because that was what you always said when he stood at the front of your bed and asked you this question. His hands were on your waist, grasping, grabbing, turning you over before you had fully finished speaking, your cheek pressed against the pillows, your breath coming short and shorter, adrenaline pumping through every single one of your veins. You felt hot and sticky and needy and nervous.

Nervous because Bradley stilled.

Nervous because he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nervous, even though you had been here a million times before, in his bed and in yours, bent over desks and bars and couches, with the heat of him behind you, arousal flowing through your body like oxygen, anticipation clouding your mind.

"Shit, honey", Bradley breathed.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

How you'd have loved to see his expression. But you had known you wouldn't. You had prepared yourself to be satisfied with the sound of his voice, with the feel of him so close to you.

"Shit", Bradley repeated. He took another deep breath in. "You got a tattoo?"

A tattoo.

Your tattoo.

You nodded into the pillow, scraped your cheek against the fabric, so eager, so quick to agree. Four months you had waited for this. Four months since you had begun planning this - the very day after he'd left, in a conversation with none other than Phoenix. Four long, lonely months.

Bradley ran his thumb along the soft expanse of your skin. Along that strip of skin right above your hips, just where they met your back - right above your ass, right where he could see so very perfectly.

He was gentle. Almost not touching you at all. As though he was afraid he could somehow, even after all this time, hurt you, as though he was afraid he could wipe it away.

"It's healed", you whined, breathlessly, trying your hardest not to squirm, not to push back further into him even though you felt like you were going insane. You'd known he'd take his sweet time staring at that inked expanse of skin. But you hadn't known you would be so goddamn desperate for him to fuck you into delirium while he did so. "It's fully healed."

Bradley was quiet, silent behind you. His thumb stilled, stayed still. You sunk your teeth into your lip.

You would truly go mad here. For more than one reason now.

Bradley was always loud. Always moving, always doing something. He was forward and honest and loud and it was a miracle, really, when he wasn't. When he was calm and quiet and still. It didn't always mean something good.

It surely didn't always mean something bad, either.

But it didn't always mean something good.

And you hadn't been nervous. You hadn't been nervous about showing him, because you knew he loved you and he'd love this - this show of him, this show for him. Just for him. But you had still been fidgety. You had still been excited, flustered.... nervous, after all. In a good way. Now, good was turning to less good because he was quiet, for once, quiet and you didn't know what to do, what to say. You had expected him to go feral, had expected him to fuck you raw, to go absolutely ballistic. You had imagined, pictured, visualised it, four months long. Every night that you hadn't been remembering him, you had been imagining this - this moment right here, where he read the words inked forever into your skin, and every time, again and again, your fingers hadn't been enough, your vibrator hadn't been enough, nothing had been enough. Not in comparison to him, to his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

And every time, again and again, when nothing had been enough to replace him, you thought to yourself just how right it had been to have lain on that leather table bed in that tattoo parlour four months ago. Just how right it was to have him marked on your skin like that. Forever.

Great Balls Of Fire.

"Bradley, please", you whimpered, your fingers closing around whatever piece of fabric you could manage to grab at - the covers, the sheets, the pillows. "Say something. Please"

Bradley let out a long breath.

"Great Balls Of Fire?", he asked quietly, his fingers brushing over your skin again. Some kind of reassurance, at least.

"Thought you'd like it", you mumbled into the pillow, stumbling, tripping over your words a bit, still breathless around the edges. You couldn't be expected to talk now. Not when he was so close to giving you what you needed.

"Like it?" His hands wrapped around your waist, his left thumb still stroking over those unfamiliar familiar letters on your skin - Great Balls Of Fire, in his handwriting, taken from one of his sheets of music, from his piano. His song. His father's song.

Your song.

"Honey", Bradley rasped, pulling you an inch back to him and you let a whine fall from your lips. You were soaked, you were dripping, you were desperate and still so very unsatisfied. "Do I like it? I love it. I love you. God, you got a tattoo. You're incredible. You're-"

He stumbled over his own words, trailed off, left his sentence hanging unfinished in mid air. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss right on top of your tattoo. Right on top of those letters, on top of that song, on top of your song. On top of the very reason you had met, six years ago in a stuffed navy bar.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me", he muttered, dropping another kiss onto your skin.

You whimpered again.

"You've been so good to me, honey, haven't you?", he went on, as though he wasn't hearing those little whines, those little moans rolling off your tongue. He was. You knew that. "You waited so prettily for me to come back, didn't you? You were so eager for me to be home again, so eager for me to be with you again that you even got a tattoo?"

You nodded along, nodded and nodded and kept on nodding because yes, yes and yes - yes to everything, yes to him.

"You got a tattoo just for me, honey. You can't even see it. Probably had to twist and turn in the mirror every day to take care of it, didn't you? And all just for me."

You nodded again - never really stopped nodding, not with his fingers brushing along your back, over your skin, with his voice so deep and rough and real.

"Just for you", you whined.

Bradley chuckled.

"Just for me", he repeated, his voice deeper than before - if that was even possible - his fingers stroking along your sides, roaming over your back, your spine. "Such a good girl."

A shiver went through your entire body at that - through your legs, your arms, your shoulders, through every single one of your fingers and toes. He knew just what he did to you when he said that.

He knew.

"Bradley", you moaned, unashamed now, the nerves in your veins long subsided, replaced once more by that all-consuming heat that you could never get enough of.

"Yeah, honey?", he asked. You could hear the grin on his lips. "What do you want?"

You let out a sort of sob that sounded pathetic even to your own ears. It wasn't that you minded begging. Because you didn't. You really didn't. But you had already done so, had already begged him miserably, had told him so prettily how you wanted him to fuck you. And he was starting all over again.

"Just once more, honey", Bradley whispered, dropping kisses to your spine, climbing higher and higher. "Tell me once more and you'll get whatever you want."

"Fuck me", you cried out, burying your face in the pillow, not letting even half a second pass by. Bradley always made good on his promises. And you needed him more than anything right now. "Please fuck me."

He was on you within a heartbeat.

One hand around your waist, pulling you into him, as the other one guided himself into you. He pushed into you in one smooth movement, pushed his hips right to yours, stretched you out like he hadn't in four goddamn months.

You were clenching around him, moaning his name, tears brimming in your eyes at the feeling of him again, finally. He was grunting, groaning behind you, his hands clasping around your waist as he settled deep inside you and let out a breath.

You hadn't felt so stretched out in so long. You hadn't felt him in so long. You needed more. You needed to feel more of him.

"Bradley", you whimpered. "Move."

His fingers dug even firmer into your sides. You bit down on your lip. He felt so good, so heavenly with his hands on your skin and his cock deep inside you, but you needed him to move, you needed him to move now, you needed him to fuck you and make you fall apart for him.

"Need a second, honey", he grunted, running his thumbs along your skin - along your new tattoo, just for this, just for him. "God, pretty girl, you're so tight. Missed you so much."

You whimpered underneath him, whimpered as you forced yourself to keep still for him, even as your thighs burned with the need to move, the need for more, the need to finally come undone around him. You knew you were close already. You could feel it, had been feeling it, dancing around the edges of your perception, melting in your blood, scorching in your stomach.

"Missed you too, Bradley", you moaned into the pillow, breathless and desperate for him. "Want to be good for you. So good."

"God, honey, you are", he groaned. "So good. Perfect."

And then he was moving, finally, and you let out a sobbed kind of prayer, your eyes falling shut, your fingers digging into the sheets as he thrust in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm - enjoying the feeling of you around him, letting you enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

Just that you couldn't enjoy this.

You couldn't enjoy this because you were wound so tightly, wound so goddamn tightly that tears were pricking in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks and drop onto the covers. You needed him to make you fall apart, to make you come, you needed more. Just a little more.

You were teetering on the edge and he had you spiralling with how slowly he was fucking you. You needed him to send you over that edge, not build it higher and higher and higher up.

"Bradley", you whined, stumbling clumsily over his name as he ran a hand up your back. "More."

"Dunno if I can-" He broke off, his breath hitching, his fingers resting on your neck, brushing through your hair. "Fuck, honey, dunno if I can do more without coming."

You bit down on your lip at that, let out a moan so absolutely filthy that you were sure you would have been embarrassed of it if you'd had any more capacity to think - to think of anything other than him, anything other than how this god, who could fuck you for hours on end without tiring once, with so much stamina he could have you sobbing, coming for him four, five times on his cock alone, how this god was so desperate for you after four months that he was worried he'd come if he went any faster.

You were almost pushed over the edge just by that alone.

"I don't care", you cried, because you really didn't. "I don't need long, I need you. I'm so close."

Bradley grunted, his fingers brushing even higher up on your scalp.

"You're gonna be the death of me, honey", he muttered, just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up onto your knees - into him, into his arms, your back flush to his chest. You dropped your head against his shoulder with a moan, let your eyes fall shut again.

He thrust up into you with vigor then, with more urgency, with less fear of coming undone, less fear of cutting this short. His hands smoothed over your sides, over your chest, holding you up against him, brushing along your breasts, along your stomach.

And all you could think was yes, this, this was it. This was what you had been imagining, what you had been picturing in a cold, lonesome bed every night, what you had been so desperate for.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, trailed up again, caught on your clit, drew a circle against that little bundle of nerves and you fell forward, doubled over, only held up by him, by his arms around you as you came undone, as you clenched around him.

Four months.

Four months and a tattoo.

And he hadn't even had you there for two minutes, had barely touched you, and now you were falling apart for him, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, legs burning, fingers cramping. You'd waited four months for this.

You could feel him spilling inside you, noticed it somewhere dancing around the edges of your perception as you gasped for breath, tears stinging your cheeks and your nails digging into your own thighs.

This.

Him.

Bradley's finger had stilled on your clit. You blinked your eyes open, refocused on your green wallpaper, on the pictures, the old vintage polaroids of you and him right above the bed until you could see them all clearly again, until you could see them and realise what they were, until you could manage to tilt your head back and rest it, once more, against Bradley's shoulder. Until you had come back to reality again.

"I missed you so much, honey", he muttered into your ear, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss onto your exposed neck. "Missed this so much."

"Missed you so much too", you mumbled, reached for his hands. He pulled his finger from your clit, let you intertwine your hands with his, rested them carefully on your stomach. "Love you, Bradley."

He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips warm, oh so warm on your skin, soft and warm and you needed him to kiss you now, to press his lips to yours.

"I love you too, honey", he whispered, halfway to brushing another kiss onto your skin when you turned your head, met his lips with your own, cut him off by surprise.

This was a weird angle, you had to strain your neck to even slot your lips together somewhat well and you were sloppy with it, too, your chest still heaving and your mind returning to clarity just now, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not when he'd just made you come, when he was holding you in his arms, when he was finally here, right behind you again, as though the last four months hadn't happened at all.

When you pulled back, you were feeling more normal again - as normal as you possibly could feel, with him behind you, with him inside you still.

"You got a tattoo", Bradley breathed, a grin dancing around the corners of his lips. You chuckled.

"Just for you", you nodded, brushing your fingertips up his arms, up to his elbows.

Bradley kissed you again, all parted lips and breathing into each other. You felt almost melancholic when he drew back. But he was smiling - and when he smiled, you had to smile too.

"I'm never letting you go again", he said, loosened his grip on you to trail his hands slowly, softly down your body, giving you enough time to steady yourself without him holding you up anymore. "And I'm not letting you leave this bed until the sun comes up, alright, pretty girl?"

You had to bite down on your lip to keep from grinning, anticipation already bubbling in your veins again. You knew he could make good on that promise. And that he probably would.

"Yes, please, Bradley", you muttered, already bending down again, splaying out your hands to catch yourself on the mattress as you showed him your tattoo again, just for him to see, just for him to touch. Just for him. "Whatever you want. As long as you want. I love you."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #top gun #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #x reader

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marvellous1917 · 8 months

Text

Icarus Falling Far.

(Part 3)

Pairing: mob!bucky x tattoo artist!female!reader

Summary: it’s the day after giving the dangerous mobster his first tattoo, and he hasn’t contacted you yet. What a dick.

Warnings: cursing, crime, mentions of guns, stalking/harassment (brief), think that’s it.

Word count: 3.6k ish

A/N: i had no plan to make this story into a mini-series, so if this seems a little unplanned… it is. Anyway, hope you like it my loves 😘

(This is not beta’s so any mistakes are my own)

Part 2 ⬇️:

———————

Bold is readers thoughts

Italics is Bucky's thoughts

This starts in Bucky’s POV.

———————

His home office was always the place he went to feel at peace. Ironic really, considering the dealings done within the room. The walls had seen him order his men to assassinate his rivals, to eliminate anybody that got in their way. The desk had felt the tip of the pen write extortionate contracts, sent silently to some of the cities most powerful people, the non-explicit threat sent with photos of their family’s, to reminds them what they were risking if they refused to comply. The window that felt the full strength of his prosthetic too many times to count. The hole in the floor after one of his employees managed to literally shoot himself in the foot. {guess who}

But his peace was teetering on a cliffs edge. His hands were woven into his hair, pulling to try and alleviate the headache forming. Elbows resting on his desk as his eyes stayed staring at one specific groove in the wood.

A knock at the door broke his trance and he sighed. It was a rule in the Compound that if the boss was in his office and the door was closed, you do not interrupt or enter unless there was an emergency. Only one man was brave enough to completely disregard Bucky’s rule, which had led to some… interesting situations when Bucky had girls in there with him.

“Come in,” he called, knowing the longer he waited to respond, the louder and more incessant the knocking would become.

The door opened and there was Bucky’s very own personal dumbass: Steve Rogers. The man had been a part of Bucky’s life since as long as he could remember, if-fact some of his earliest memories were with Steve; young boys playing cops and robbers together, attempting to protect Steve when he picked a fight he had no business being in- which had led to Bucky getting his ass beat as well, and scheming together about how to make sure that Simon Justin never played baseball again after pulling his sisters hair on the playground.

“Fuck me Buck, I’m not sure if today could have been anymore fucked,” Steve stated as he collapsed on to the couch, flinging his legs over one arm and resting his head in the other.

Today was a stressful fucking day.

It was the day that Bucky was making all necessary moves. Why all the problems had to pop up now, he wasn’t sure. And the kicker to this awful day? He had no time to talk to you, the girl he could not get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. You’d managed to flood his mind, memories of the kiss you shared playing over and over again.

“Did you close the door?” Bucky asked, not moving an inch.

“Yeah.”

“Good because I do not need anyone else talking to me right now,” Bucky said, his voice low and quiet, an air of danger ever-present in his tone.

“C’mon Buck, y’know you love them,” Steve responds with a dopey little smirk on his face, and he tilts his head to make eye contact with the man he calls his brother.

I hate that fuckin smile.

He softly hums his agreement and returns to inspecting the groove on his desk.

“We just gotta talk it out, figure out what the fuck is going on, then plan our next moves accordingly,” Steve says, swinging his legs back to the floor, hands clasped together, his arms leaning on his knees.

“Yeah thanks man, I didn’t think about figuring everything out, maybe I’ll give that a go now” Bucky retorts with weak sarcasm, mind too busy, replaying the events of the day.

“I can leave you alone to get lost in your head, or we can figure this shit out together. It’s your call jerk.” Steve says, tilting his head down to catch Bucky’s eye.

“Alright.”

“Stop pulling your hair jackass.” He adds.

I hate it when you do that.

Bucky drops his hands to the desk and says, “Ok let’s start this debrief with Walker.”

“Nat’s got his ass tied up in the basement for ya, he’s ready when you are.”

“Anybody looking for him?”

“One frustratingly loyal friend, but he has no idea that Johnny-boy is with us. The rest of his little fan club have no idea he’s even missing.”

“Ok, one problem down. Rumlow?” It’s the question he doesn’t want the answer to. He’d much rather spend his time thinking about you. His history with Brock Rumlow was bloody and painful, for both of them. There was only one person from his past that Bucky hadn’t dealt with, and here he was, coming back to ruin the name Bucky had made for himself.

Rumlow knew things about Bucky’s past that made him a a high security threat, but after he failed to blow himself up in an attempt to kill Bucky, he had disappeared. Bucky thought it was finally over, but the asshole popped back up about a year ago, with more power than before, making himself seemingly untouchable by Bucky’s hand.

“Currently moving like he has been, not causing too much trouble for us, though his crew are getting closer and closer to our dealings at the port.” Steve said, a slight look of digits on his face.

“Put extra hands down there for the next couple weeks, see if we can’t scare them off a little.”

“Yes boss. I’ll let them know after this.”

“The commissioner’s dealt with?” Buck asks, remembering the deviation the man had decided to make.

“Yep, send him that gift basket. He called Sam this morning and agreed to our terms.”

“Good. How’s Barton?” He asks, moving into what they class as ‘personal business’.

“Pissed, man. He wants blood for what happened, we all do.” Steve answers, the memory of seeing Clint covered in blood and bruised made his blood simmer.

“We sure it wasn’t Rumlows’ lot, or fuck even Walker?

“Walkers’ fanclub do not have the brain cells, the power, or the information to organise an attack like that, and Parker tracked Rumlow and his men, all are accounted for and have alibis. This is someone new.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Isn’t two power hungry assholes enough.

“We haven’t found anything? No security cameras, no cell tower pings?” Bucky asks, leaning back in his chair, resting his head on the back.

“Actually, I sent Scott there this morning to check out if there was anything left there and he found something.” Steve responds, some apprehension creeping into his voice.

That got Bucky’s attention. His head snapped back up and locked eyes with Steve who now stood in-front of his desk, pacing back and forth slightly.

“Care to share with the class Rogers?” His voice was hard now, his extreme dislike of not knowing all the information shining through.

Steve exhales sharply, biting his tongue to not retort and piss Bucky off more.

“He found a package tucked behind a dumpster addressed to ‘Bucky Barnes’ that had a memory stick-“

“Like a USB?” Bucky interrupted.

“- Yeah a USB-“ he gets cut off again.

“Then just say USB, calling it a ‘memory stick’ makes you sound 100 years old.”

“-oh dear god, you gonna let me finish?” Steve responds.

Bucky waved his hand at him, a sign for him to continue.

“Scott found a package addressed to you with a USB inside, we gave it to Stark ‘cos Parker was busy tracking down Rumlows crew, and he checked it out and told us it was completely normal, no virus or anything bad in it.”

“Was there anything on it?” Bucky asks, his brow furrowed.

“It..uh..has two pictures on it.” Steve said lowly.

“…of?”

“It’s probably better if I just show you.” Steve said, his tone of voice made Bucky a little nervous.

Steve took out his phone, tapped a couple of time before turning it around to give to Bucky. As soon as the latter had ahold of the phone, Steve took a full step back, which caused Bucky to raise his eyebrows in question.

“Just look.” He says in response to Bucky’s unasked question.

He looked down at the screen and almost immediately removed his left hand as to not break the phone.

Fuck. Shit.

The first picture was of the night he met you. It was taken through the window for you apartment, and clearly showed both you and Bucky, stood side by side, looking through your flash book.

“What the fuck is this?” He pushes out through gritted teeth.

“I assuming that’s the tattoo artist you told me about, the one you got a thing for?” Steve says.

The one I’m obsessed with.

When Bucky gives him a sharp nod, Steve just drops his head, suddenly fascinated with his shoes.

“Shit.” He says under his breath.

“What?” Bucky’s voice was louder now.

“Look at the next picture.” Steve says while avoiding eye contact.

Bucky looks down, his finger swiping to the next picture before he can think about it.

No. No no fuck. Not her.

The next photo was taken from inside the apartment. Inside your bedroom. It’s of you. Asleep. Completely unaware of the danger stood at the foot of your bed.

Bucky couldn’t look away, he was frozen staring at the picture. Your shorts and oversized tee had both ridden up slightly, showing how truly vulnerable you are. The clock on your table showed the time as 3:54 and showed the date.

“…this was taken this morning.”

“..yeah.”

fuck.

———————

Fuck Bucky Barnes.

The bastard hadn’t contacted you since the shop.

Bitch ass told me to keep my phone on so I wouldn’t miss his message, kept me glued to my phone like a weirdo waiting for him to call… and he didn’t. Dick.

Despite the annoyance at the very very attractive mobster, you couldn’t help wonder how he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking about you too.

You’re overthinking about Bucky was interrupted by a knock at your door.

“One sec!” You shout to whoever’s there, getting up and walking to the door. The second you undo the lock, the door is being pushed into your face with a chorus of greetings.

“Come in I guess,” you say to the three who just walked in.

“Well thanks darlin, you got food?” Billy responds, already making his way to the fridge.

“Don’t fucking eat my pizza Bill, I swear I’ll kill you,” you answer, giving both Frank and Curtis a hug, letting the door close behind them.

He laughs off your threat as the others take a seat on your couch.

“Not that I don’t love you guys, but why the fuck are you here?” You ask, moving back to the arm chair in the corner and taking a seat, your phone pinging in the back ground.

“What, we can’t pop in on you whenever we want?” Frank says, leaning back in the arm of the couch, moving to put his feet in the coffee table.

“Frankie if you put your feet on my table, I’m gonna beat you with a spoon.” You call at him.

He freezes and slowly lowers his feet back to the floor.

“We just wanted to come see how you were…Frank told us about Barnes.” Curtis says, cutting into the conversation and completely dampening the mood.

God-fucking-dammit Frank.

Oh fuck do I tell them that he’s not an issue and I actually quite like him.

“Yeah are you ok sweetheart?” Billy asks and he collapses on the couch in the middle of the other boys.

“I’m fine guys, I swear, like I told Frank he’s actually not bad,” you answer, shifting uncomfortable lay in your seat due to the indecision of how much to tell them, “He was nice, polite and kind of…charming, I guess-”

“Is that why you kissed him?” Frank interrupts.

Shit, how does he know?

“-what?”

“You kissed him. Or rather he kissed you but you seemed to enjoy it.” Billy says with an annoying smirk on his face.

“How do you know that?” You ask, shock still written all over your face.

“..the security cameras, kid. You forget about those?”

Ahh fuck.

“Ahh fuck,” you say out loud.

“What the hell are you doing making out with a mobster, Y/N?” Curtis responds, looking at you with those eyes of his that show he’s not judging, just trying to understand.

“I..uh..I wasn’t-really-thinking.” You put you hands on your head, even though Curtis wasn’t judging you, the other two definitely were.

“Obviously you weren’t, he’s a goddam mobster Y/N-” Billy starts, anger in his voice, but you cut him off.

“I know that Bill, ok, I do,” you say, shifting to place your feet on the floor, “but he’s not the animal you think he is, he’s kind and considerate and he makes me feel…” happy. you cut off before the last word, wanting to keep that realisation to yourself for a little longer.

“Plus you bastards can’t be judging me for meeting the guy twice, only yourselves and the devil knows what fucked shit you three have been up to.” You almost shout.

“The fuck does that mean?” Frank answers.

“C’mon Frank I’m not stupid, you three have some shady shit in your pasts. I mean you were goddam military for fucks sake, and don’t think I don’t see the fake payments on the books at the shop-“

“Stop Y/N.” Billy cuts you off. “Stop it now.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving yours.

You were about to respond to his demand, when a knock sounded at the door.

“Told you to keep you phone on.” A dark voice calls through the door.

Oh shit. No no no not now please not now.

“Who the fuck is that?” Frank asks, suddenly sitting up straight, eyes pinned on the door. Both Billy and Curtis stand, facing the door as if waiting for it to bust off it’s hinges.

“Please all of you, shut the fuck up and don’t do anything dumb,” you answer, moving towards the door.

“Is that him?” Curtis asks.

“Didn’t I just say shut the fuck up,” you retort a little snappier, opening the door slightly.

He cut his hair, it’s looks good on him.

Bucky lowers his arm from his thwarted attempt at a second knock and says, “Is your phone broken or are you ignoring me?” The smirk on his face made your heart beat a little faster.

“Neither, I just missed your text because I have some friends over right now,” you say.

“Is that why you’re not opening the door properly? I can barley see you,” he says with a grin.

“…kinda? Ok wait..” you exit your apartment, pulling the door closed fully behind you, “long story short, they know about the k.. uh about what happened at the shop, and they know who you are and they are not happy about it.”

His eyes darken and his smirk grows wider at the almost mention of the kiss. He shifts until he’s leaning his shoulder on the wall by your door.

“Oh yeah? Doesn’t really matter what they think though, does it doll? Both you and I know how much you enjoyed it.” He says, mouth forming a cheeky grin.

Oh my god.

“Me? You’re the one who started it Bucky, seemed you enjoyed it more,” you respond, having no idea where the confidence came from.

He hums at your statement and says “Well I can admit that I did enjoy our kiss sweetheart, but I may need a little reminder of how it went, it’s been a long day you see.”

“Bucky-” you’re cut of by him stepping closer until your chests are barley touching, the new position making you tilt your head back to see him better.

“What darlin? You ok with this?” He asks slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking into your eyes for any sign of discomfort.

Why does he have to be so sweet.

You nod in answer to his question and he smiles. Not the terrifying grin or the cheeky smirk, but a genuine smile - one that makes him even more beautiful. Bucky raises his right arm, dragging his thumb over your lips and cupping your cheek while you stare up at him, his other hand sneaks around your back, pulling you flush to him.

“You have no idea what to do to me, do ya?” He mumbles, probably not intending for you to respond as he’s closing the gap between you. The kiss is harsh and a little messy, shocking you slightly with his apparent desperation, hands holding you tightly. He takes advantage of your shock, tracing your lips with his tongue and pushing past to deepen the kiss.

His hand drops from you face to your waist, gripping so tightly, you’re sure he’ll have left a bruise. That thought got you’re heart pumping faster, the idea that an imprint of his hands, his fingers would be left on your skin. It felt right. Bucky pushes you until your back hits the wall, hips fitting against yours almost perfectly, one leg sneaking between yours as you let a light whimper escape.

You break the kiss to get some air, leaning your forehead against his, both of you catching your breath.

“Bucky, I mis-”, you didn’t get to finish the sentence before your door opens and you’re suddenly faced with three pissed off ex-marines.

-(Bucky’s P.O.V)

Bucky immediately steps back, releasing you, and straightens his posture. He looks at the men, quietly analysing them. He can tell that they either are or were military, and definitely care immensely about you, probably to the point of beating the crap out of anyone that hurt you.

The one in the middle is a frightening creature , he thinks, but the wedding band means he has something to loose, he should be less quick to anger, in theory.

The one on the right with the short buzz cut and the tense muscles reminds him of Clint, he’s ready to fight at the drop of a hat, and by the look on his face, I’m gonna be his next target.

The man on the left intrigued Bucky the most. His face is blank, showing nothing. He’s favouring one of his legs, and the other shows a bulky piece of metal at the bottom. Wonder if that’s an old military injury.

“Guys, what are you doing?” You ask, apprehension in your voice. Bucky wonders if you’re scared for them or for him.

“Oh we are gonna head out, let you have some time to really think about what we talked about.” The man in the middle says, putting emphasis on the word really.

“Frank please-”

“No it’s ok sweetheart,” Bucky bristles at the pet name the Clint wannabe says, “we’ll see you later.”

“Billy-”

“Shit, I left my phone on your table, could you get it for me?” The other says to you, cutting off your words, smiling at you to calm the stressed look on your face.

“Of course Cutis, one sec,” you respond, Turing to Bucky at the end of your sentence with a look at says please don’t make this worse.

You pass by the men and let the door fall closed behind you.

The silence is tense as the men all stare at each-other.

“So…how’s your man doing? Y’know the one that got jumped,” Billy says, smirking at Bucky.

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks as his muscles tense.

“…Y/N told us, obviously,” Billy says.

The pause was intentional, she didn’t tell them that.

“He’s fine, thanks.” Bucky responds shortly, all to aware of the lie he was just told.

The door opens just before Billy can respond, all four men going silent again.

“Here it is Curtis, guess I’ll see you guys later then,” you say, before hugging each man.

The three shoulder past Bucky as if he was just a man on the street, no care in the world that he could have them killed for that disrespect. But he lets this one slide, for her, as they’re her friends.

“Did you tell them about Clint?” He knows it was a lie but he needs to make sure his cynical brain isn’t marking it up.

“No? Why?” You answer, unaware of the turmoil occurring in Bucky’s head.

Then how the fuck do they know.

“Give me one minute doll, I forgot something at the car,” he says, “go on inside I’ll be back soon.”

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, walking back into the apartment.

He watches the door and as soon as it closes he is moving back down the stairs, hoping to catch and ask the men how they knew about Clint. Bucky normally has an reasonable explanation for everything, but this time he was stumped. He catches them outside the front door to the building, the three of them stood leaning against their car, watching the door, waiting for him to come out.

“How do you know?” He repeats his question from before, voice lower and more dangerous now.

“Y’know…that bastard has a solid right hook.” Billy says. The sentence sends red hot anger through Bucky’s blood.

It was them. But that means…

“Did you get our package?” The big one in the middle asks, Frank, she called him.

Fuck. The anger that has been burning in his veins since the second he saw those photos of you pours out of him and he immediately pulls a gun on Frank.

“Hey now that’s not smart, is it?” Curtis asks in a placating tone.

“Don’t forget about our girl up there. What’s she gonna think if you shoot me for no reason?” Frank says, unflinching staring down the barrel of Bucky’s gun.

Fuck. Fuck. These bastard are the ones threatening everything, they jumped Clint and are using you to get to him. They’re your friends and you? You have absolutely no idea.

————

Yo this took so long to do!! Hope you like my lil twisty turn at the end there 😈.

Lemme know what u think 😘

Tagged :

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @1-800-bxrnes @fandomsfallnomore @bushtail @ghostofwinter @missdarlingsb @amiets2 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp

#bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky #mob!bucky fic #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x tattoo artist!reader #ace chats #tattoo artist!reader #mob!bucky barnes x reader

1K notes · View notes

rosepascal · 3 months

Note

💌 Hi, here's my request for the Pedro Pascal character Valentines.

I'd pick Joel and my prompt would be “You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.” I'd love it to be angsty but with some fluff in the end. I don't mind at all if you feel inspired and include some smut though.

Thank you <3

ugh yes i love angst to fluff sm

a/n: Happy Valentines Day everyone!! I didn't include smut but I really like the way this turned out. Thank you for participating and I hope you like it <33

summary: Joel miller asks you to dinner but when the time comes he doesn't show.

warnings: angst to fluff, Joel is stupid but he makes up for it, stood up for dinner, swearing.

You really didn’t understand Joel. You’ve tried. You’ve really tried. He was scary when he arrived in Jackson. He rarely smiled, barely talked to anyone, and kept to himself in his house.

The only times you ever really saw him was when he was being forced out of the house by Tommy or Ellie. Safe to say you never expected to befriend him.

Let alone even speak to him.

But then you got moved to his patrol when someone was out sick. You showed up bright and early and nervous as hell. One thing you did know about Joel is he was one hell of a shot. Rumor had it he took out a whole clan of raiders without even blinking.

As expected he was a silent leader and had no tolerance for bullshit. But he wasn’t an asshole. He held a certain level of respect for everyone on the patrol unless they did something stupid.

It didn't hurt he was handsome as hell too. You might have focused a little too much on the way his hands gripped his rifle.

You didn't interact much with him until he watched you blow the head right off a clicker with excellent skill and for the first time you acknowledged you with a nod. Those turned into acknowledgment around town. A smaller conversation here or there. You even ate dinner with him and Ellie once. Sure Ellie was the one to drag you over but he didn't complain.

When the person you were covering for came back to patrol you came to accept that you wouldn't see him much anymore. Until you saw your name next to his on the patrol sheet. He picked you as his partner. At first you were shocked. He almost never picked anyone else but Tommy.

With every patrol you got him to open up a little more. He built this strong walls over the last 20 years. He barricaded his heart, his feelings. Everything to protect himself from feeling pain again. But slowly you chipped away at it.

You weren't the only one either.

Ellie did most of the work if you’re being honest. She was the one to prove to him that his heart still worked. That he wasn’t as broken as he thought he was. You just came in to give that final push.

“So, Valentines day.” You say casually. Usually such a trivial holiday doesn't matter after the outbreak but the towns been putting up decorations, maybe to bring back some normalcy.

"What about it?" Joel asks seemingly uninterested.

"Hm, guess you weren't the romantic type Miller." You tease. He raises an eyebrow at you, before he would never humor you but this time he smiles.

"I'll have you know I was very romantic. Planned dates and shit all the time." You would've liked to see that. He was probably quite handsome. You say that like he isn't handsome how.

"I don't believe you." Joel rolls his eyes playfully.

"Yeah? I'll prove it." You scoff and shake your head. You slowly approach the town as the conversation dwindles. As you hang up your guns and sign the patrol book Joel waits for you by the door.

"Let's go to dinner tonight. I can show you just how romantic I am then." Your eyes nearly burst out of your skull. Joel Miller asking you on a date?? Are you dreaming?

"I-uh, Okay, show me what you got." He tilts his head down and heads off without another word.

You could barely contain your excitement as you hurried home. You didn't have the fancy clothes you used to have anymore but you had a few things that were saved for special occasions. Time couldn't move fast enough as you waited for dinner time to come.

To think Joel Miller would ever ask you on a date seemed too good to be true, and as you're sitting in the mess hall waiting for him to show up, it might be true. You didn't want to seem too eager so you came a little late than typical dinner time.

You sit and wait. Every time the doors opened your head perked up, waiting for his face to appear. But as people started to leave and the sky grew darker your hope diminished.

At first you're sad, how could you think that he was really interested. Then the sadness turned to anger, embarrassment. He asked you. He got your hopes up and then stomped on them. Was it a joke?

Either way you were pissed off. Storming out of the cafeteria you march to his house, banging on his door.

"Joel!" You yell. The door swings open and instead of Joel you see Ellie.

"Where's Joel?" You ask as calmly as you can. You're mad at him, not Ellie.

"Isn't he with you? He left like, three hours ago."

"What?" You ask almost not believing her. "He never showed up. I sat there for hours." Ellie's face turns to anger.

"That fucking dick. If I see him I'll shoot him for you." She offers. The anger dissipates slowly, replaced by sadness again.

"Thanks for the offer but don't shoot anyone." She shrugs, "Alright but I will if you want." You laugh a little and shake your head.

"Goodnight Ellie," She shuts the door and you're left alone.

Trudging back to your house you let the sadness take over. Fuck Valentines day and fuck Joel. As you approach your house you see a figure sitting on the steps of your house. Speak of the devil. Walking up to him you cross your arms and glare.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Joel stands up, an apologetic look on his face. "You left me sitting there like an idiot." Joel sighs and wrings his hands together.

"M'sorry, really I didn't mean to ditch you."

"But you did. So if you excuse me I'm going inside and drinking the wine I saved." You try and push past him but he grabs your waist gently.

"Please, just hear me out darlin'" he pleads. Reluctantly you uncross your arms and let him speak.

"I'm sorry for not showin' up. I was ready. Even tried putting product in my hair and picked you a flower." He admits, cheesy yes but he wanted to show you he was a romance kind of guy.

"Then I got there and I saw you and I just...I got scared." Joel continues. "You looked so perfect. I haven't done this in a long time and the moment I saw you there it felt too real."

He's out of his depth. He knows it too. Who the hell was he to try and put himself out there again. Especially with someone as perfect as you.

"Being with you, I haven't felt like this in a long time." He takes a step closer to you, cupping your face as he it in under the moonlight.

"You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe and it's terrifying." You gasp softly. His eyes shine with determination to prove he's stopped running. His hand feels so soft against your skin.

"Joel..I've been in love with you ever since that first patrol." You confess, hoping it would help ease the tension.

"I hope it ain't too late but," He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a slightly crushed rose.

"Will you be my Valentine?" You take the flower and spin it between your fingers. It's beautiful, grown right from the flowers outside of his house.

"I would love to be your Valentine." Leaning in you kiss his cheek softly.

Joel looks surprised for a moment before he softly grabs your chin and kisses you. Your whole body relaxes as his lips meld with yours. Damn he's good at this. When you part you frown slightly, already missing his lips.

"I really am sorry for ruining dinner," Joel apologizes again.

"The day isn't over yet and I still got that bottle of wine." You draw out the last word, silently suggesting he stays for a drink and maybe more. Joel smirks and places a hand on your back, rubbing his thumb gently. He leans close and whispers in your ear.

"Lead the way darlin'"

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #send a valentine #joel miller angst

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chvoswxtch · 4 months

Note

what are your husband!frank headcanons because I love that grumpy man? 🤍

oh my darling sweet nonnie

I think about husband!frankie a lot and I have so many thots about this lets get into it

being married to frank castle

i've said this before and i'll say it again: frank is a hopeless romantic and no one can change my mind

he is a SUCKER for his spouse like literally would do anything they wanted

you wanna paint the kitchen barbie pink? sure baby, let me pick up some some paint

your bookshelf is full? hang on honey, i'll build you another

you had a bad day? where does your boss live *cocks gun*

frank is obsessed with his spouse like literally thinks they hung the moon and all the stars in the goddamn sky

I feel like after losing maria and the kids, when he gets another chance to be a husband, he's all in

he helps cook dinner, or even tells you he'll handle it for the night so that you can relax

he'll run you a nice hot bubble bath and light some candles if you had a stressful day

anything you pick up in the store and put back, he secretly sneaks into the cart

he listens to you vent, bc frank is a very good listener, and offers advice when he can

he surprises you with lunch dates, sends flowers to your job just to let you know he was thinking about you, calls you even if he's only going to be 5 minutes late coming home

he's very protective of you when you're out in public and doesn't let you out of his sight or let anyone get too close for comfort

frank doesn't talk a whole lot, but when he speaks, it's from the heart

he doesn't do grand outrageous gestures to show you he loves you but it is obvious in all the little things he does bc I genuinely believe his love language is acts of service and physical touch

he's SO proud to be your husband like anytime you introduce him to anyone or mention "my husband this" or "my husband that" he's got the biggest grin on his face

to say he would die for you is such a huge understatement, francis david castiglione would wage war on god herself for you

bottom line is husband!frank is a huge sap and even if he acts grumpy that you want to paint the kitchen pink or your car broke down bc you forgot to tell him you needed your oil changed (it happens to the best of us) he is so madly in love with you that you could do no wrong in his eyes

#frank castle #frank castle request #frank castle headcanon #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher request #the punisher headcannon

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Text

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Get Her Back 4/4 (Word count 7.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The knife still juts from the table.

She touches it often, fondles the handle like it's her lover.

Days pass, and König escapes her stare with raised shoulders and poorly disguised hurt in his eyes. She feels his eyes on her every single time she's not looking.

He breaks into her room every night, but she never wakes up to his presence. The only thing that tells her the man's been there are the fresh flowers on her table next to the knife.

He brings her flowers every morning, just like he promised, and she keeps the blade there to remind him that he's still in her heart. It's like a silent conversation, and it stabs her stomach full of pain.

On the fourth day, he returns her panties. They're covered in dried cum, and at first, it makes her feel disgusted. Then her heart flutters, a warm feeling settles deep inside her stomach when she imagines him jerking himself off to her underwear amidst his knives, with despair and longing coating the air.

For anyone else, it might be a chilling thing to wake up to: to open eyes to the sight of a brutal tactical knife, freshly picked forget-me-nots and some cum-stained lace. But for her, it's a loving attempt to remind her who she belongs to. It's also a sign that the man is trying to let her go and finally obey her wishes to be left alone.

And she doesn't want to be left alone.

He promised she would never be alone.

On the fifth day, there's no flowers, there's nothing. She starts her day with a horrible, awful bawl. Then she puts on a black dress. It makes her look odd, like she's in mourning, but it also gives her… power, somehow. Even if it's another cute kind of cotton babydoll dress, it makes her look more austere.

“König, wait.”

She chases him down this time: runs to his retreating form that stops the instant she calls his name. He’s tense when she walks the last steps to him and hugs him from behind. The familiar scent of tea tree and gasoline and sweat and guns bring a visceral memory of madness to her mind. It’s an ambrosia of crude virility, and she's missed him, God, that she's missed him.

It's also safety. Because no matter what anyone says, he is the only one who knows her, sees her, sees right into her core, her very soul.

He slowly places a hand on hers, the arms that embrace his narrow, treelike middle.

"Engel…"

The voice comes out tight and strained. He caresses her hand with hesitation and swallows.

"I'm confused.. I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come with me," she whispers in his back. He has no gear on, and she can feel his abs through the black shirt, the way his shoulder blades flare against her cheek with shallow breaths. "If you want…?"

"Ganz sicher."

She takes him by the hand and guides him to her room. People look at them with pity and dread, and she feels like they’re in high school where people were divided into groups of popular and unpopular.

She knows where she and König would’ve belonged. Where they belonged now…

And she just doesn't care anymore.

When the door to her room shuts behind him, she feels a little tug near her heart. She had nearly forgotten how big König looks inside her little room, the space she has tried to turn into a cozy home even though she doesn't view the base as her home like the soldiers do. It's just a place for her to reside in when she's working.

But he does not fit into a normal society like she does. The base must be the closest thing to a home for him. Not every elite soldier is a lunatic perhaps, but König certainly couldn't find any other job in the modern world that would cater to his needs without sending him behind bars.

But he was supposed to kill only in the field. Only somewhere far, far away.

Why did you do it?

Why…?!

That's what she meant to ask when they're behind closed doors, but something quite different comes out instead.

"Did you miss me…?"

She stands before him, holding her hands in front of her, looking probably quite silly clad in black.

"I've been in hell ever since I left, Engel."

Christ have mercy…

Normal men just didn't talk like that.

"Will you forgive me?" He looks her up and down, but the calm, proud posture, the way he holds his chin high behind that dark shroud tells her he's not used to begging. She has a feeling that this question is asked only because Soap suggested it would be a good idea to apologize for making her so upset.

"It's not me you should be–" She sighs. "Look… That man had a wife. König, I think he had a kid and everything."

His eyes are covered in a veil of disinterest only she can pierce. There's actually so much going on behind that odd, distanced stare. But what’s horrifying is that he clearly doesn’t agree with her on this matter.

"I kill people every week," he declares. "Just not in the break room."

His logic leaves her wordless for a moment. The officer was not an enemy, he was not part of some foreign military, his only crime was that he was in a hurry…

She has barely even opened her mouth to speak before he finally defends himself.

"How do you know his wife is not secretly happy with the news?"

The question is like a bucket of ice dipped in her head. She had prepared herself for almost anything but this. König only tilts his head and narrows his stare.

"Would you want to be wife to that kind of man?"

Her mouth opens on its own; her jaw would fall to the floor if it could do such a thing. His worldview unfolds before her in full, and it should disgust her: but all she feels is an odd thrill in her stomach from realizing this man is not only possessive; he's also fiercely traditional.

"He just spilled some coffee on me," she whispers in soft, tender horror. "He just happened to have a bad day."

"How many times a week did he have a bad day?"

The defense is solid, even if it's preposterous. The man was rude and disrespectful, yes. To everyone, every day, probably continued the abuse at home, too. But he didn't deserve to be killed for it. Still, König doesn't seem to find any fault in his way of thinking.

"I can tell when people are evil," he crosses his arms over his chest as a final note.

Evil…

Evil.

She's left blinking, then she finds her tongue again.

"You can't just… deal punishment like that," she huffs.

"Why not?"

Jesus Christ…

His arms are still over his chest, and he looks… so big, so powerful, like an omnipotent being.

Probably thinks he is.

"Will you go to jail?" She changes the subject because arguing with this kind of man seems futile. Downright hopeless.

"No," he says with perpetual calm. "Would you want to see me in jail?"

"...No."

He finally unravels his arms and takes a few steps toward her. That swaying lounge is intoxicating and seductive, even when he doesn't mean it as such. It's just the way he walks, but it makes her woozy.

"Engel. You are too… kind for this world."

More odd arguments are laid out before her, more confusion and love and pain. He raises a hand to touch her arm and make his point clear. The weight of him is heavy and adult, his military clothing is in blaring contrast to her tiny, childish dress.

"You don't understand it now, but perhaps someday you will."

The man looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her. She's a child in his eyes, but something in this lunacy tells her she's dealing with a child, too: a boy who no one ever loved.

"My little angel. Always wearing pretty dresses," he says more softly now.

"I'm not an angel."

"Yes you are," he rules without effort. "And you look good in everything. But you shouldn't wear black."

"Why not…?"

"Because you belong with flowers."

Her heart aches, her eyes prick with burning tears. He's self-aware, that's for sure. He knows what he has done to her, what he is doing to her. And he wishes to spare her from him.

"I thought you liked black," she peeps, her mind and will and defense breaking.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand brushes down her cheek, then cups her chin softly. That same hand must be ironclad when it grips his enemies and brings them to his blade.

"I like this dress," she tries to quarrel, voice shaking.

"And I know a knife that would go perfectly with it."

His eyes are warm. There's even a passing sadness in them. She's relatively sure that he's not talking about butterfly knives any longer – she's almost certain that König hasn't gifted his weapons to any other human being on this earth.

“How about we take off that pretty little dress now, hmm?”

The time for the compulsory explanations is over in his mind, and it’s time for sex. He knows that his exile has ended, that whatever liminal space they walked in for a few days wasn’t enough to rid herself of him. There’s no turning back anymore, and he looks at her with amused hunger when she obeys his suggestion which is, in truth, a command.

Her fingers do not shake anymore as she undresses for him, but a shiver goes through her guts: that stare is a look from beyond. He’s a madman, and falling more in love with her every day, even if the only way he knows how to love is by stabbing people with his cock or his knife.

“Lie down,” he gives her more orders when she stands before him with nothing on.

It’s futile, completely futile to pretend that she doesn’t want this. It’s almost like an act, the way she slowly and demurely obeys his command. In reality, she wants nothing more than to be devoured by him.

He takes his clothes off while she waits for him on the bed like an injured bird. He rips, then throws his gloves off like they have done something naughty, all the while his gaze is fixed on her. She has missed the sight of that faint hair on his abs, missed that broad chest, missed how his muscles bunch even when he gets out of a shirt that weighs practically nothing in his hands.

The long, veined cock flies out from his pants with a demanding bounce that makes her swallow. They form an odd pair on the floor: her little dress and his huge woodland camos. His eyes are surrounded in black paint under the eternal mask, but otherwise, he's the palest man she has ever seen.

Her breasts rise and fall with aroused breaths as he settles himself beside her, naked and blazing. His cock is pure fire when it gets trapped between them, and he's already drooling hot precum on her thigh.

He's gentle, kind of. Slides a hand over her shivering stomach, palms one breast, then takes a nipple between his fingertips and gives her a pinch.

“Did you miss me too?”

The hood makes him look like a hangman, and he’s infuriatingly patient now. She expected him to rail her like a sex toy right after the door was closed.

"Yes."

He releases her, and the callous descends with a gentle, deliberate caress to her waist.

"Then you're the first who ever did."

She just might be the first woman he's gentle with, too, and she cannot help but think if it's because of what she said just before he killed that poor man. If the last piece of the puzzle locked in place when he realized how much she admired him. If her confession also made him stake his claim in the loudest possible way, announcing everyone that he's her protector.

It's not her fault that the man's dead, but she should be ashamed: she's wet already when the murderer's fingers delve further down to meet her folds. He disappears somewhere in her wetness, and her thighs rise and drift apart to give him full access.

And it's always like this: she spreads legs for him with a helpless, longing stare, he takes in what belongs to him with dark, pleased hunger.

He finds her clit in no time, drags his thumb over it, and she gasps. Her breaths come quick now, her nipples are shot to the sky and her back is already arching when he delves down and slides one finger inside. It's long and lean, and her cunt grips him like they have been apart for four weeks instead of four days.

He sighs under the mask, just from her greedy response. She wants to touch him too, but doesn't dare to move when he's looking at her like that. He starts to finger her gently, first with one, then two digits while attending to the tight nub on top. And he's good with a knife, quick with his hands, so what did she expect?

But she’s also sad and mad. Because he definitely knows what he’s doing. And it makes her think…

"Have you had a lot of women..?"

Her question is a mouse's whisper. His fingers halt inside her; they spread her with delicious torture.

"A few," he says. "Back in Austria."

He buries his face in her neck and nuzzles his way to her ear. The bag of darkness is soft and hot, but nothing compared to his heated whisper.

"But they were nothing like you."

He punctuates the declaration by curling the fingers inside her. She bites her lip to stifle a filthy, needy moan. He even grinds his hips against her: that cock is like a heated spear against her soft thigh, and more cum oozes out to trickle down her leg.

"How many men have had you, Engel?"

He doesn't ask: how many men has she had. She may not be his plaything, but she is his possession. In his mind, she belongs to him and only him, no matter who has come before. But the murderous passion with which he waits for her answer makes her flustered, and she bolts her mouth tight in an indication that she will not disclose this information.

"Gut. Don't tell. I would kill them all."

Oh.

Oh…

"Would you like that…?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Yes you would."

“I don’t–I don't want you to–”

“Shh.”

He’s working those fingers smooth and quick, and she’s already leaking on his hand, probably on the bed, too… The room is filled with sighs and whimpers and sobs as he fucks her with slick, wet sounds. She's close the edge in mere minutes, but he won’t let her finish.

Instead, he pulls out just when she's about to tighten around him.

"Why-why did you stop?"

"Angel... Take me in your mouth," he rasps, breathless too despite trying to disguise it. She briefly wonders if this is some sort of a punishment. That perhaps she’s ordered to give him a blowjob just when she’s about to come – after all, she has dared to keep him waiting for days.

But that’s not the case, it seems, as she moves with heavy limbs to fulfill his wish.

"Nein… Other way around. I want to taste you."

The perverse suggestion in the break room turns into a reality as she realizes what he wants to do. Her heart is pounding when she crawls on top of him to meet that leaking cock. How exactly is that thing even going to fit inside her mouth?

A sudden shyness takes her as her thighs are forced into a wide-legged spread from straddling the broadest man on earth. She's exposed to the cold air only for a second before his breath hits her. The shortest shadow of a stubble on that usually clean-shaven chin meets her soaked cunt with hunger.

“Ah… Take it– in your mouth,” he moans orders to her folds, and her cunt clenches immediately, just from hearing that accent and that voice.

She moves to give him a shy lick, sweeps a tongue over that tip to clean him from all that precum. He goes tense under her and breathes heavily when she wraps her hand around him, wraps her mouth around the weeping slit.

He tastes of salt and sin, and the minute she tries to take more of him in, he groans with a dry throat. It's a hot, broken breath that travels straight inside her. It’s too much – the position is far too stimulating, it’s over the top wicked.

And then he starts to lick her. It messes up the blowjob that has barely even started. She knows his hood must be almost completely off, otherwise he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Take a bit more, Engel," he urges between the long slathers that already sound lewd. There's simply no way to take it fully in, he’s far too long for that. The last thing she wants to do is gag on him. But she does a good enough job, tries to concentrate on breathing through her nose as she goes as deep as she can.

"That's…more like it…"

It’s a relieved notion somewhere behind her before he continues with the agonizingly slow licks. Fat and flat-tongued, the work of a famished man. For someone who's so clumsy with social interaction, he’s infuriatingly good at giving pleasure to women. The tip of his tongue grazes her clit, and causes a muffled moan – her mouth is full of him but she just cannot help herself.

And arms of steel close around her middle the minute she whimpers on his cock. They pull her closer to his face – he wants to hear her make noise, then, and her will to compete arises. She wants to make him moan too. She ups the pace, flattens her tongue on him every time she retreats…

"Where did you learn to–nnh…"

She nearly laughs at his surprise, at their silly little competition. He's shocked, probably jealous too, of her past and the imagined cavalcade of men who may or may not have been inside her mouth before him. She swirls a tongue around the tip every now and then, wraps her lips tight around him, and goes even deeper.

"Verdammte Scheiße.. I'm not going to last long…"

Strong thighs around her power up, and he has stopped licking her altogether: he's just panting in her pussy and holding on to her hips while waiting for the upcoming wave.

"You know what to do, ja?" He pants that question like she doesn't know he's about to shoot a load on her tongue soon.

"Don't make a mess," he shares advice with a sly tone to his voice. "Unless you want to clean after…"

He gives a short laugh as if the joke is funny. As if that's a clever thing to say to a cleaning lady. It makes her grip him harder, and he's close, so close: he's not even moving anymore, everything's just completely rigid under her body and inside her mouth.

"I'm fucking–cumming…"

He spills with a long groan, moans against her cunt, cries inside her with pain. The seed is hot and heavy, it shoots right down her throat even in this position. She does the best she can to not make that mess, but it's hard work when a giant cock pulses in her mouth.

"You're perfect, angel," he sighs behind her, tries to feed more of himself inside her mouth by rolling his hips.

The praise makes her pump and suck him even more, get every last drop out, and a tremble goes through her lover. She has to take support from the bed until the earthquakes recede. His cock is a clean mess after, and she's a mess too: overworked, and shy, and victorious.

They're both left panting: she tries to catch some breath there between his thighs after everything, but she's not allowed to rest and recover. The grip around her middle pulls her back, and a breathless man trying to lick her like it's the end of the world is not only far too much, it's unbearable. She's already overly sensitive and needy from the four days of barren grief.

"It's too much…" She tries to tell him, but he won't listen. If anything, it only spurs him on.

"König, I can't," she wails softly while resting her head on his thigh.

"Yes you can."

A feverish tongue dips inside her as deep as it goes. It forces her legs apart, she spreads herself all over his face completely unwillingly. There's no mercy for her as he flicks a tongue over her clit, plunges a tongue inside her as deep as it goes, returns to the nub again – does it again and again and again like it's some secret code meant to break her.

"You like that, huh?" His rough voice is muffled by her cunt, he sounds both parched and wet.

"Hm? Talk to me," he demands an answer although it should be obvious that she's losing her mind from his treatment.

"Yes," she mewls while being spread so crudely wide for him. "I… I love it…"

"Hah. You sound like a little cat," he laughs, pleased, then gets to it again. She's so close now that she can feel the growing waves. Her thighs are not just shaking, they're trembling.

"So pretty and so wet," he comments between the licking and dipping, voice covered with smoke from all the lust. And he's hard again, too: right next to her face, and she could cry actual tears – what if he plans on fucking her too after this? It's too much, she can't even take this, she can't…

But she does.

Her back starts to arch just before the orgasm. She's not weeping yet, but every noise she makes sounds like she's crying her heart out.

"Slow down, slow–down, please…"

She's a one-woman choir of tight pleas. She tries to muffle them by burying her face somewhere in his thighs and musk. The tongue dips in and out like he's a machine and not a man, and the first wave hits unexpectedly, like a searing, white-hot blade.

"A–ah!"

The climax swallows her, she starts grinding against that face without meaning to. He only laughs and buries his nose and tongue deeper into her slickness. The arms around her hold her like iron bars, his breaths hit her along with his tongue like she's strapped to a torture device.

Her cunt is sloppy, and throbbing, and he is a torturer, licks her even when she's lying on top of him in ruin: a devastated, trembling heap of a woman who's lost everything.

"Stop–König, you need to stop…"

Her weak whispers do nothing. His tongue sweeps her from front to back until she's crying on top of him. Frail fingers try to claw his thighs but grasp nothingness.

When he finally relents, he does it with another laugh. Then he gives her a last lick: a total bully, snorts a chuckle when a tremble goes through her entire body from just that single, fat sweep.

"Mmm. That was good. Right?"

"M–mh…"

There are tears in her eyes, but not one comes out. Her pussy throbs and winks with the aftershocks, and his hand moves up and down her back like she's that little cat.

"You're mean," she sobs. Complains.

"Heh… you didn't like it?"

"I did," she sniffs, and his hand moves to caress her thigh.

"I know you did. I know you. Everything about you."

He sounds merciful at last, pats her leg softly.

"Come here. I'll take care of you."

When she turns and crawls back to him, his mask is fully in place. He receives her with open arms and speaks more softly than ever.

"I have to take care of you after. Isn't that so?"

"Yes…"

She holds onto him, because he's the only thing that's solid in her world at this point. His aftercare is the most tender thing she has ever known: her hair is being caressed gently, the tension in her neck and back is soothed with long, loving strokes. He buries his mask in her hair and inhales her after-sex scent like it's a whole offering of incense.

"Angel. You feel like… like it's my birthday."

His statement brings another round of tears to her eyes. Instinct tells her that birthdays might've been the only happy days of the year for this man.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He sounds worried when she's so quiet and timid again. Her heart settles slowly into a warm pool of love, she presses herself against him with fervor, and he squeezes her in turn like she's the most perfect birthday present ever.

"No."

I really needed that.

I need you…

"I will never let you go again," he promises. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I don't– I don't want you to go."

"Little one. I'm so glad I found you."

He takes her palm and uses it to brush away the hood from his lips. The violent edge is always taken away after sex, and the devouring is gentle, the passion is blunt. His kiss is soft; sweet.

"König…" She's raw and bare in his arms, her adoration reflects back to her from his blues. "Why did you pick me?"

"You're the one who picked me, Engel. I just answered your call."

He takes in the effect this truth has on her, then takes her breath away with another kiss. A small giggle erupts in the lazy afternoon as he threatens to crush her with a bear hug. Her hand steals its way further under the mask: she meets smooth skin and a collection of even smoother bumps.

"Why can't I see your face..?"

"It's not a pretty sight," he sighs. "Father liked to cut me when I was little."

The laziness leaves her body that very instant. The man is detached, distant: as if he's sharing something trivial, the city he grew up in or his favorite subject in school.

She doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror, but what he says next sends even more ice down her spine.

"Now I cut those who are evil."

Everything starts to make perfect sense.

Why he was bullied at school, why people fear him. Why disrespectful, cruel men deserve to be knifed and why women and wives are angels. Why he wears a mask.

It's not sound reasoning, but it is a strategy, perhaps. Survival… A defense mechanism.

And offense is the best defense…

She had been right: this man is incurable, only in ways she could never have guessed.

Afterwards, he shows her his knives.

His room is full of them: combat knives, throwing knives, bowie knives, daggers, bayonets, balisongs, two machetes, a kukri, knives she doesn't even have a name for… There's swords and sticks and a riot shield. There's only one bed, nothing more, not even a nightstand.

And the room is also full of guns.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, handguns; there's scopes, tripods, gloves, gas masks, a ghillie suit, pouches, plate carrier vests, magazines, grenades, even a launcher.

The room is filled with violence.

And she didn't know what she expected.

Some "Hot Gun Babes" wall calendar and a few pocket knives? That he would play by the rules and keep weapons and gear where they were stored instead of in his fucking room?

He gives her his third gift that pairs well with her black dress, or any dress, for that matter. Another knife, but not the kind he kills people with, nor the flimsy kind used for entertainment purposes.

She receives an automatic switchblade, simple but pretty. The double-edged blade looks almost feminine, the way it curves into a sharp, dainty tip. The handle is made of sturdy, polished wood; it's incredibly beautiful and so dark it's nearly black. The knife is only a threat when it's flicked open: all in all a piece that isn’t what it seems.

"Hier. Good little blade. Would take it wherever I go."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Engel."

She kisses him after his gift. She kisses the white scar on his jaw, lifts the mask a bit more, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't stop her, not even when she finds more keloid cuts and kisses them too.

And he's… simply a man.

There's a human under all that darkness.

It's not a pretty sight, perhaps, but for those scars, she couldn't love him more.

"You're not afraid of me," he sounds surprised when she takes in the violence done to his face with tenderness in her gaze.

"No."

He's speechless. The barricade covering his eyes is permanently broken, and she can see him, all of him.

She falls to her knees and opens his pants, gives the man another round of love. He looks at her with pain and pleasure; a pale, adoring god. Strokes her hair gently while she gets drunk on him like a succubus, wants him to spill that white on her face and all over her pretty black dress.

"Cum on my face, König."

She looks at him with angel eyes while saliva and drool make a rope from her mouth to his throbbing cock. But there is nothing left of the celestial, nothing more than a sweet, fallen angel, and a safe space just for her and him.

"Please…?"

Ruin me.

He hesitates a few seconds, then grabs his cock in an iron fist like it's heavy artillery.

"Whatever my angel wants, she shall have."

. . . . . .

He brings her flowers every morning and fucks her every night.

Sometimes he catches her when she's outside in the sun, reading a book or watching the clouds. He carries her off to the woods and takes her against a tree like they're the first man and woman on the earth after tasting the forbidden apple. They share a few hushed laughs and more than a few desperate kisses under the hood, then he brings her back to earth, straightens her dress like a gentleman before leaving to have a date with death.

He takes her out to eat sometimes, takes her to the shooting range. Calls her his little Wildkatze when she takes a liking to one of his shotguns. He takes her hand when they stroll through the grass and sings an old love song from his homeland. He has a beautiful voice, especially when he forgets he's in company. Or perhaps she's just special like that…

They share a secret language in the base. Whenever he sees her, he draws his knife and throws it in the air ("I miss you") or twirls it around ("The things I will do to you tonight…"). Sometimes, he just places a hand on the handle of the cruel blade. That stands for 'You're mine'.

It's the closest thing to I love you before either of them have spoken the actual words. Or then it's the closest thing to I love you he's capable of.

She gives him a small smile in return, puts a hand in her pocket and fondles the gift she carries everywhere she goes. He knows it's a nod to his secret messages. It stands for 'You're my everything'.

She keeps the switchblade with her even when she's wearing a dress after work. Red this time, the color of passion.

She wants to surprise him: König always comes to her before nightfall, but this time, she wants to go and visit him. She wants him to take her in the middle of black steel and acrid gunpowder while she's dressed in blood.

"Be a darling and fix me a cup of coffee, will you?"

She's stopped by Phillip Graves of all people. Another man who has never paid her any attention. Apparently, red cloth is the same thing for evil men as it is for the enraged animals in bullfighting shows.

She does stop, but she doesn't obey his wishes. She just stares him down like he's filth: another thing she thought she could never do.

I'm not your coffee girl.

"C'mon honey. I've had a bad day." The man only seems to feed off from her silent scorn: like it's some dark game they're playing now. "You could make it so much better."

For fuck's sake…

Here is a man who disrespects everything about her: her position as a cleaner, her value as a woman, her rank as a shy being who is too kind for this world. She's simply a doll who doesn't know how to kill, who doesn't know how to say no. This man however, won't take no for an answer.

"I'm not here to serve coffee," she says with pure ice.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And I'm off duty, too."

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

"You seem like an interesting woman."

He seems pleased with the fact that for some reason, she's still here, that he has her attention. Thinks he's winning her over with some yucky flirting.

"And wearing a red dress like that…" He tsks, as if it's a crime for a woman to wear red. "Red can drive a man crazy, darling."

She understands why she has been invisible to everyone except König up until this point.

Because deep down, she knows if she would carry herself in full, show herself to the world as the woman she truly is, she would instantly attract love, and power, and hunger, and lust.

"I'm going to go now, sir."

"Tell you what. You serve me that coffee and I'll let you go."

She catches sadism in that stare. And to think she had always found Graves to be somewhat… arrogant, perhaps, but not cruel. The man obviously has a Napoleon complex, but he was not supposed to be sadistic.

How wrong she has been.

She knows she could just get out of the situation by filling that mug the bastard can't fill himself because of some stupid need to have a powerplay moment with an innocent little girl who happens to wear red.

But she doesn't want to. König would have ripped this guy's head off by now.

"I'm off duty," she repeats.

Fuck these men who are always looking for a plaything.

Graves rises from the chair. She's both cold and sweaty by the time he has taken a step, two, three.

But men are a bit stupid sometimes.

They think dresses don't have pockets.

When he takes the fourth and last step, with joy-tinged cruelty in his eyes, she flicks the knife out and open, and simply stabs him in the supposed direction of the organ called heart.

It feels thrilling, pure power: to sink that knife there and catch a man – a soldier of all people – unawares.

So this is what it feels like…

The hurt in his stare doesn't necessarily come from pain, but from the realization that he has made a huge miscalculation.

He looks down at the small knife that will be the end of him, then at her, the woman he thought was just a simple, shy cleaner he could bully into submission.

"You fucking–bitch," he gasps. Weakly.

By the time she pulls the knife out and stabs him again, she's somewhere far away. It hits him in the stomach, and he still doesn't do anything about it, and that's the moment she finds pity, and mercy, and horror.

She turns and stumbles, then runs from the room, unsure if the thump on the floor behind her is real or imagined.

"You fucking whore…!"

The shout is real enough though, and she runs, runs, with a sharp little knife in her hand for what seems like an eternity. That flight is a prolonged medieval torture moment that ends in front of König's door.

Her titan is as calm as ever when he opens the door, and tilts his head when he sees she's breathing fast.

"I think I killed Phillip Graves," she informs with eyes wide.

He blinks, then immediately looks at her hand, the knife, the blood. She goes to him, lifts a hand to his shirt in a desperate attempt to find support. There's not even that much blood. She thought killing would be much messier.

König said it would be messy.

"I… He…"

Her hands won't even shake. All her senses are blown wide and sharp, she sees everything, hears everything, but her hands won't shake.

Is she a psychopath?

"I killed Phillip Graves," she repeats, looks at his chest, clutches at the knife, clutches at his shirt.

The door behind her closes, and König takes hold of her shoulders with warm, warm hands.

"Well done, Engel," he says with such joy, such unbound pride that it snaps her back into reality.

Her jaw starts to tremble, her teeth clatter, she raises her eyes to him…

"He… He wanted coffee, and to talk, and he liked my dress, and–"

"Did he touch you?"

He asks it like it's far more important than what she has just done. She has to shuffle through her memory, but she finds no recalling of Graves laying a single finger on her.

"No."

He was about to. Right?

He was. He threatened me–

"Don't shed tears for him," König says as he looks down at her with mesmerized awe and infatuation. "I can promise you he doesn't deserve them."

Then he hugs her, squeezes her and just holds her, and she's still holding on to the murder weapon.

What will everyone say? What will my friends say?

"My little angel is good with a knife," the titan laughs proudly somewhere high above her.

People have killed each other since the dawn of time.

These things happen.

I'm not the first murderer on this planet.

"My poor little… He was a bad man, Engel. I promise you that."

It's not a big deal. He was a killer too.

He could've died in the field…

"I'm going to jail," she whispers on his shirt. She wants to let go of the knife, but fears it might hurt him or her when it falls.

And she remembers she's not dealing with normal people.

"They will kill me for this," she says with distant realization.

"No they won't," he strokes her hair like she's the best pet he has ever had. "I will take the blame. It was my knife, ja?"

She pushes herself away to look at him, then nods slowly. Her jaw just won't stop trembling.

"Good girl," he pulls her against him again, so fondly that it forces out a whimper.

"Mh."

"Come here," he coos while already holding her so impossibly close. He's surprisingly good at this: at comforting her. Or then it simply feels uncommonly good to have someone sturdy to hang on to while her life and identity are falling apart.

"I'm not sure if he's dead," she whispers when the embrace lingers on. König breaks the hug immediately.

"You didn't confirm the kill?"

She must look like a shy cleaner again, because his resolve is stone cold and solid.

"Engel, I will go and finish it. Where is he?"

She tells, because he would find out anyway. He would start a manhunt and cause even more ruckus.

But when his hand reaches the doorknob, when he's already about to go and finish her crime on top of taking the full blame for it, he turns.

"Do I have your permission?"

Her jaw slowly stops trembling, and a soft sweetness spreads through her heart. The elite soldier, the mass murderer, asks for her permission.

She is more than just special…

"Yes," she whispers, and he gives her a curt nod before storming out the door.

And he's not living in the 21st century.

Instead, he walks in the world of gladiators, rages in a blood-drunk arena, lives in a time where killing was the norm. He solves problems with physical force: it's just that simple. There is no complex society, there are no rules other than the rules of the heart and the loins.

Anyone who disrespects her will get the blade, anyone who might take her away from him will make him do whatever is in his power to prevent it.

And he has the ultimate power: the power of violence.

He comes back surprisingly clean: only a tiny speckle of blood on his camos and some vivid-colored grime on his hands.

"Done."

She nods with solemn silence. She's done, too. Done with everything, because everything's gone. No matter how high the sun is, she will walk in darkness from now on.

"I believe you Engel. He swore he didn't touch you."

And God.

She might be special, but a dying enemy's, a man's word is more worth to him than hers. As if she would try to protect Graves from his wrath by lying.

And Graves wasn't even dead…

But he is now. Probably tortured too to get the truth out about not soiling her with his paws.

"Did anyone see you..?"

"No. But they will know it was me."

It's another gift to her. Another murder. And her purity, intact, in exchange for a compliment, a testimony of his character during a lazy coffee break. For a few kisses on his scars of abuse. For letting him fuck her like a beast.

Her gifts are burning tears, soft flesh and tight little cries…

His gifts are cold, black steel, hot, white cum and a stream of crimson blood.

"Thank you…"

"I would do anything for you." He bows his head, a little nod to inform her that he is hers to command. "Anything you want, just ask."

She's at home in hell, filled with guns and knives and a fallen god. She knows he will take her again tonight, just like he has done every night in the past weeks. In every position imaginable, grunting, howling, panting, laughing how sweet she is, asking if she likes what he is doing to her. She has always whispered yes through tears of hot joy.

Sometimes, they come together and their gazes lock, and it feels like drifting into a starless space with him. He strokes her hair and coats her with whispers of love before they fall asleep. They always curl up together in the cover of womblike darkness, with soft little smiles on their faces, safe from all evil.

"Can you keep me safe…?"

It's a sad little question, but she doesn't feel weak. She knows he is lost in her too: especially when she's wearing a dress the color of blood, especially when she looks at him like he's her God.

"Please keep me safe."

He comes to her carefully, answers her summons. She's pulled into a familiar embrace, and she doesn't even think about Graves anymore: she thinks about whether König will take her on the bed that smells of acid sweat or on the wall next to the gun rack.

"Always, Engel. I promise."

She holds the most powerful weapon in her tiny little hand. A dark, fallen titan who has risen from the depths of the earth to pledge himself to her, body and soul, while her innocent little dresses flutter in the wind and make everyone believe she's a victim. But she doesn't feel sorry.

Because it's just like he said.

They belong together, she and him.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig smut #könig fanfiction #könig #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #konig x reader #könig mw2 #call of duty #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #just friends #just friends fic

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mcflymemes · 1 year

Text

DRAMATIC & PROTECTIVE RELATIONSHIP PROMPTS * for the ones who want to keep you safe from harm

get behind me.

go inside and lock the door and don't come out until i say so.

are you all right? where are you hurt?

over my dead body.

i promised them i'd keep you safe.

i sleep better when you're next to me.

are you serious? i'm not letting you risk your life.

don't go. it's safer here.

i should have been here. this is my fault.

here. take this gun. don't pull the trigger unless it's absolutely necessary.

they told me to watch you.

i won't let anyone lay a hand on you.

stay close to me.

i'm not worth saving. please.

can you stay? just for a little while? it would help.

it's too dangerous out there.

i thought i'd lost you.

can you hear me? hello? where are you?

they're all afraid of me.

they told me you'd be trouble. clearly that was an understatement.

one of us has to make it out of here.

is that a bruise?

get back. get back right now.

did they touch you?

i already lost you once. i'm not going to lose you again.

a few more steps. we're nearly there. i've got you.

where does it hurt? let me see.

oh my god, you're covered in blood.

i love you, but you have to go.

climb on my back. i'll carry you.

i wish you'd stay.

i slept here all night. i couldn't leave you.

stay with me. i can keep you safe.

no. i've made my decision. you're staying here.

holy shit. are you okay? what the hell happened?

we have to get inside right now.

quick! hide! in here!

if they know you're with me, they'll leave you alone.

if they attack again, we'll be ready.

this never should have happened.

i want you to run, okay? run and don't look back.

you're all right. you're safe. it's over.

i'll feel better once you're out of this.

i don't have nightmares when you're here.

where have you been? i've been calling you all night.

your phone went straight to voicemail. what's going on?

i don't want anything to happen to you.

i can't stand the thought of losing you.

i won't let them touch you.

when we met, i promised myself i'd keep you safe.

where'd they go? i'll give them a piece of my mind.

here. squeeze my hand if it hurts.

i'll lay beside you.

no. it's non-negotiable. you're staying here.

i don't want you to die, okay?

listen to me! i know what i'm doing!

i can't lose you again!

do you hear me? i love you! i've always loved you.

i've got you. i'm right here.

can i stay? i'll take the couch.

tell them you're with me.

you can make it. i believe in you.

are you kidding me? who decided this?

here, i'll pick you up.

get back in the car. i'll handle this.

if anyone can do it, it's you.

let me carry you to safety.

i don't do well when you're away.

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months

Note

I liked your gally headcannon <3

could i request some headcannons for a reader he meets after the glade like they work for Lawrence and stuff? Thank uu

meeting gally in the last city would include

masterlist

ahhh thank you so much! ofc, i love making relationship headcanons <3 reader is a little softie. i'm sorry!! i love writing soft readers too much. suggestive themes.

before relationship

you two first met in an altercation with lawrence's men upon entering the last city's outskirts. he had suggested taking you back to lawrence to join his cause.

it took a while for him to talk to you. he didn't want to leave a bad impression, especially given his track record.

plus, he thought you were really pretty which to him, was intimidating.

he was surprised by how kindly you treated him and how warm the smiles you gave were. such pure-heartedness was a rarity in this world.

you started spending a lot of time together. he would train you in combat; you'd take watch together, and even sometimes talk on the roof at night.

people would definitely notice the connection.

the other men would blatantly tease him about liking you in front of you.

his attraction to you would reach its peak whenever you used a gun. something about a gun and girl really got him going.

there would be moments where you two flirted and then became all flustered when you realised what you were doing.

he would start distancing himself.

he'd never feel worthy of having you in his life. his past would always haunt him.

one night, he caved and told you everything he had done.

you kissed him for the first time and told him he was the strongest person you had ever met.

that was when he knew he had fallen in love with you.

during relationship

pet names would include baby, angel, beautiful, and short-stuff.

his sense of humour used to be self-deprecating, but your constant reassurance and loving words changed that.

now he'd do anything, say anything, to make you laugh or smile. he loved your smile. your laugh even more so.

he would be extremely protective over you. your gentle nature would make you more vulnerable, something he felt he needed to protect.

especially during missions and supply runs.

"don't leave my side, alright?"

"please be careful."

"i don't want you in any danger. i cant lose you too."

you'd always protect each other in combat, even though he's like, way taller than you.

sometimes he needed a little protection though, given the fact that he only had one good lung which affected his fighting capabilities.

sometimes you would sit on his lap during car rides with his arms wrapped around you as your seatbelt.

he wouldn't care about anyone watching. he liked having everyone know you chose him of all people.

he'd tease you about your height all the time. expect a joke at least once a day.

would love hugging you from behind, just enveloping your body with his.

kisses would be so tender. he'd bend down and cup your jaw so delicately while pulling you in by the waist.

forehead kisses, temple kisses, basically just kisses all around. not much in public though, that was something he liked keeping private.

when the relationship progressed, he'd still hold out on you. but gentle wasn't all that you were.

"touch me, gally".

and he would. he would brush his fingers along your jaw, up and down your arms, and hold the side of your neck as he kissed you.

"no," you'd whispered. "gally... be rough with me"

at first, he would be hesitant. but once he saw your insistence, he'd pick you up and plant you on a table, allowing his old rougher self to take over as he kissed you, touched you, and well...

that would be how you first sleep together.

he could lift you up like you weigh absolutely nothing. you're basically like a rag-doll to him. in an innocent way. most of the time ;)

his hands are so big that they completely cover the sides of your head.

you would wear his hoodies and sweatshirts to bed. he'd love how big they were on you.

people would hold parties in the ruins of old buildings. there'd be music, bonfires, and alcohol.

gally wouldn't be able to help himself. you'd just look so beautiful in the firelight, he'd bring you somewhere secluded and take you against a wall.

these were the only times he was harsh with you and you loved it—the contrast between having someone who was lovingly gentle and sinfully rough was exhilarating.

when thomas and the others came to the last city, they were genuinely shocked by how he managed to score you.

thomas especially.

"you know about the things he's done, right?"

you instantly come to his defence.

"i know. i also know that people can change. he's not the same person you knew. he's brave and strong and the most caring man i've ever met."

gally's a bit of a snoop, so of course he 'accidentally' eavesdropped on your conversation.

"did you really mean all that? what you said to thomas."

"of course i did. i love you, you big idiot."

"i love you too... little idiot."

damn this was kinda long. my bad.

#wife of all dilfs ✍️#gally tmr #gally x reader #gally maze runner #tmr gally #gally #gally x you #gally x y/n #will poulter #will poulter x reader #the maze runner #the scorch trials #the death cure #tmr newt #newt maze runner #tmr thomas #thomas the maze runner

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vivwritesfics · 7 months

Text

No Need To Ask - CS 55

Chapter Two - Late Night Rendezvous

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

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Masterlist

Y/N could barely remember her brothers friend, Carlos. She had been young when there wasn't tension with the Sainz family. Y/N remembered playing on the lawn when the Sainz family showed up. Carlos and Lando hit it off right away, becoming best friends.

But then things became tense. Y/N wasn't sure why, but things became tense between her family and the Sainz's. Lando knew, Y/N was sure of it.

Y/N still remembered the last time the Sainz were over for something business related. There had been a lot of shouting from inside of the house before they came out to their car, followed by Y/N's father.

"You fucking dare, Sainz!" He shouted.

Lando and Carlos were stood behind Norris, watching the scene unfolded.

Sainz muttered something in Spanish. "You have done this to yourself, Norris!" Sainz shouted. "Meet my demands and I will reopen our trading routes!"

Suddenly, Norris had pulled out his gun. "You're jeopardising things for several families. Do you really want to risk that?"

Fury was written on Sainz's face as he stared at Norris. "Put that gun away while you have my son behind you."

Norris didn't move.

Suddenly Sainz had his own gun out, pointing it at Y/N. Letting out a cry, Lando rushed over and picked up his sister, shielding her body with his own.

That was the last time Y/N had seen anything close to criminal work. She remembered the fear she felt, remembered crying into Lando's shoulder.

The day before Lando had set up the meeting with Carlos, Y/N felt that same level of fear. The only difference was now she was too old to cry into her brothers shoulder and he was too terrifying.

She didn't sleep well that night, laying awake and staring at her ceiling. She wanted to text her brother, to see if he was still up and wanted to keep her company. But Y/N knew exactly where Lando was. He was at the club, checking on the business before getting shitfaced.

That was how Lando dealt with his feelings. He'd call up Max, his best friend, and get too drunk to stand.

Tomorrow Y/N would begin the journey of fulfilling her mothers last wishes.

When she was a girl, she always dreamed that her mother and her father would be there. With her mother gone, she had to hope that she'd still have to dad to walk her down the Isle.

But now Y/N didn't even have that. She still had Lando, though. She still had her brother there on her wedding day.

Unable to sleep, Y/N got up from her bed, She walked through the halls of her home, walking down to the kitchen. The house had so many winding hallways and stairs; it was easy for anyone unfamiliar to get lost. But Y/N knew these hallways like the back of her hand. She could still remember a teenaged Lando holding her hand as he took her down to the kitchen for glass of milk when she couldn't sleep.

Y/N felt like that vulnerable, scared girl she once was. But she couldn't be scared little girl anymore. This was her duty.

When Y/N got down to the kitchen, the lights were on and somebody was sitting at the kitchen table. "Oh," Y/N said, startled slightly. "Can I help you?" She asked, staring at the man.

He was gorgeous, lovely, big hair, gorgeous tanned skin and the deepest brown eyes. "May I help you?" Asked Y/N as she stared at the man.

"I'm just waiting here for Lando," he answered in a thick, Spanish accent.

Y/N walked past him to get to the Fridge. "Do you work for Mr Sainz and his family?" She asked.

Carlos had a choice here, he realised. As soon as she walked into the room, Carlos knew exactly who she was. As soon as Lando had arranged the meeting, he took his time to study her. It was strange, the few memories he had of her flooding back.

Now Carlos looked at her, he couldn't take his eyes away. He knew this moment was coming, ever since the Norris family had first suggested it to his mother and father. He couldn't believe this moment had finally come.

"Yes," he answered. "Yes, I work for Mr Sainz," he said as she grabbed the milk jug from the fridge. "Are you with the Norris family?"

Y/N took a moment to nod her head. If she said she wasn't with the Norris family, how could she ever explain behind here? But she didn't elaborate beyond that. For her entire life she had been well, protected. People had asked before if she was a part of the Norris family, and her usual response was to shake her head no and quickly leave the premises.

The man nodded.

Carlos was having an internal fight with himself. Did he reveal what he knew, or did he continue to sit and wait for Lando? If she did tell her who he was, how would she respond?

As Y/N poured the milk into the glass, the front door open. She looked towards the hall as her brother came in and locked the door behind him. "Lan?" She called, only to receive a grunt in response.

Lando stumbled his way towards the kitchen. His hair was a mess, his tie loose and he stank of booze. "Hey," he said as he leaned against the kitchen door frame. "Carlos. You're not meant to be here."

It wasn't just the stink of booze. It was the stink of booze and sex. Lando reeked of it, making Y/N recoil away from him. He'd been at the club, something their father had let him buy on his eighteenth birthday.

With dim lighting, red velvet sofas and mirrors everywhere, Lando's strip club was every bit as sleazy as anybody expected. Most of the girls there Lando had gotten from the streets, giving them a better life than the one they were living.

Of course, with a boss as handsome as he, it was hard to resist sleeping with him. Lando had turned his back office into a romp room. He had condoms in every drawer and a booze cabinet. He had paperwork spread all over the floor, from where he'd pushed it off of his desk for a quick fuck.

Lando hiccupped and swayed as he made his way to the kitchen counter. He grabbed a hold of Y/N's shoulder and tried his best to push her behind him. "Stay away from my-" he hiccupped "-sister."

"Lando," said Y/N as she walked her brother over to the table. She sat him down and rushed to fetch him a glass of water.

"Get the fuck out of my kitchen," slurred Ladno as he stared across the table to Carlos.

Y/N let out a sigh as she put the water in front of her brother. "Lando, be nice," she mumbled and took a seat beside her brother.

"No, he's right," said the man in front of her. "I should not have come early. I apologise."

He went to stand, but Lando shook his head. "You stay. We're having words," he said and cracked his knuckles. "Y/N, go to bed," he commanded.

Leaving her glass of milk where it was, Y/N was quick to leave the room. She stopped down the hallway, took a moment to listen, but then the kitchen door slammed shut.

Who was he to make Lando so mad, she wondered as she made her way back up the stairs and to her bedroom.

Carlos stared at Lando across the table. "Why the fuck are you here?" Lando spat at him. He made a gesture with his arms as he spoke, one big enough to knock over his glass of water. "Why the fuck are you here with my sister?"

"You're drunk, Lando."

Lando knew he was drunk, but he didn't give a single shit. "You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow."

"My father had another business to attend to," Carlos answered quickly.

"Well, why did you come here?"

Carlos stared at him for a moment. This wasn't the Lando he once knew. "We were friends once upon a time," he answered. "Do you remember that, Lando? Do you remember when we were children?"

"Yes Carlos. I remember being a kid. I remember our fathers pointing guns at each other."

Carlos shook his head. "No, I'm talking about when we were boys and we'd spend all day playing together. We'd chase each other around the garden while our fathers did business."

"What's your point?"

"What happened to you, Lando?"

"I grew up."

Taglist (open): @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x reader smut #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x you #cs55 #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine #no need to ask

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whore-era · 1 year

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affinity - part 1

ellie williams x fem!reader

themes: angst, pining, best friends, unrequited love

summary: after being in love with your best friend for years, one drunken night changes everything.

a/n: this was torture to write. apologies in advanced.

word count: 3,689

1/3

“god, i’d give up my left leg to eat right now. i’m starving.” you groan out, the rumbling in your stomach erupting on cue.

ellie lets out a laugh, “you finished your sandwich already?” she packs her backpack with perishable canned foods, flinging it over her shoulder.

“hey, i didn’t have breakfast before i left this morning,” you defend, your eyes scanning the empty shelves of the abandoned food mart. not much, as usual. “the sandwich was tempting me.”

your best friend shakes her head, “what do i always tell you? ya gotta eat, you stubborn girl. we’re out here— running and fighting for our lives—6 to 8 hours everyday.”

“sorry, mother, won’t do it again,” you stick your tongue out to her, earning a glare from the green-eyed girl.

“c’mon, let’s get outta here and call it a day.” she says opening the front door, waiting for you. you nod and tuck the gun in the waistband of your jeans, walking towards the entrance. your untied shoelaces cause you to trip over your own feet, and you prepare yourself to face-pan on the floor, looking like a complete fool. but the moment never comes, as you feel strong arms catch you mid-fall.

you look up, making eye contact with those jade-green orbs you fell in love with all those years ago. she looks back at you, searching your face for any sign of injury. clearing your throat, you get back on your feet, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“sorry. you know me, such a clutz,” you sputter out nervously, laughing to ease the tension as you both walk toward the two horses. “nah, no worries. but i do think you purposely leave your shoes untied just so i can catch you.”

“you wish, williams.” you retort, a false sense of confidence in your tone. hoisting yourself up on your horse, sunshine, you tug on the leads to begin the journey back to town.

ellie appears next to you, shimmer strolling alongside sunshine, looking breathtaking in the setting sun of wyoming. your heart flutters, and for a brief second, you think you’re having a heart attack. you would think after being best friends with ellie williams for five years that you would get used to seeing her face everyday, but that wasn’t the case for you at all.

it began slow, when you noticed the way your heart would pick up when she smiled at you or when you found yourself thinking of dumb puns just so you could hear her laugh. but you knew it was over for you when you found it hard to breathe after she accidentally kissed you after having one too many beers that she sacked from joel when you were both 15. it led you right to this moment, with a 5-year long crush and unrequited feelings for your oblivious best friend.

i mean, who could blame you? ellie williams was to die for. she was strong, brave, outgoing, charming, witty, protective, intelligent, and — well, it’d take you forever to list off everything amazing about her. there was about a handful of girls in town that feel the same way you do about ellie, and you were just lucky to bear witness to the numerous flings that ellie had with them, sarcasm included. fortunately for you, they never usually ended up in anything serious, as ellie was never really interested in being anything more than ‘special friends’, if you could catch her drift.

as for you, you never really attempted to look for anything with anyone else. anyone who showed any interest in you, which was not many people, faced rejection. it was sad enough to admit, but you were okay just being ellie’s best friend, even if it meant seeing her with other girls.

“i’m serious,” ellie chuckles, “you’re always eating shit and falling over, dude.” she shakes her head, “how did maria even approve you for patrol?”

“hey! i’ll have you know that she’s very impressed with my artillery skills,” you retort, earning an eye roll from your best friend.

“whatever, man, whatever helps you sleep at night,” she laughs, “speaking of maria, heard she’s having that party tonight?”

you hum in agreeance, admiring the setting sun glowing lavender and magenta on the white snow. “you gonna go?”

“hmm, maybe. dina and i were thinking about making an appearance— to gossip and drink, that typ’a stuff,” you respond, looking over at the auburn-haired girl. ellie was silent for a moment, seeming deep in thought.

“i think i’m gonna go with cat.”

your heart fell to your stomach. cat was ellie’s latest fling. they’ve been talking and messing around for almost a month, and by now, ellie would’ve quit whatever situation she had going on with her, but she didn’t.

“oh. really?”

“yeah. i like being around her, she’s cool and funny and gorgeous and she listens to cool music and— and i think you’d really like her, you both would get along.” ellie dotes, eyes all sparkly. yeah, i’d highly doubt we’d get along, but i’d certainly try for you though, els. you blink back tears, wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeve, pretending to brush dirt off your face.

this was the only thing you despised about being her best friend. she confided in you for everything, especially about the girls she was with. your heart cracked a bit everytime, which always ended up with you laying in bed at four in the morning, crying because of the girl you loved, but couldn’t have.

you stayed silent, too silent. your brain worked quickly to think of something to say before ellie suspected anything out of the ordinary.

“i bet.” you murmured, relieved by the sight of the gates appearing in the far distance. you wanted nothing more than to run back home and scream into your pillow. god, this whole one-sided crush thing was pathetic.

“i just— she’s different, you know? we talk for hours and hours and it’s never weird or anything, dude.” ellie rambles, and for once in your life, you wanted her to shut up, but you couldn’t bear to say that to her. “i think i’m gonna ask her to be my girlfriend — tonight, at the party.”

air caught up in your trachea, absolutely stunned by her statement.

“what happened to her ‘just being a fling?’” you cleared your throat, trying to hide the tears building up. you wanted nothing more than for a hole to open up in the ground so it can swallow you up in a black darkness — along with sunshine, so you had a companion.

“man, fuck that,” she scoffs, “cat is just..something else.”

you feel tears about to spill from your eyes, “well, congratulations, els. i am so happy for you.”

the worst thing about this whole thing was you were truly happy for her — well you tried your hardest to be. being a good friend meant supporting and being happy for the people you love, no matter what your feelings were.

you knew you were about to burst into tears, so you made a break for it, clicking your tongue and signaling sunshine to sprint towards the gates. you could hear ellie yelling behind you, but you didn’t care, you just wanted to be alone.

the guards opened the gates, allowing you in as sunshine began to slow down to a steady gallop, ellie following shortly behind. with a swiftness, you got off of sunshine and handed her lead to one of the stable boys, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ before quickly stalking off towards your home. your thoughts of wanting to be buried under the thick covers to cry for hours were interrupted as a firm hand grabbed your arm.

“hey!” ellie snapped, looking annoyed as you turned around, “what the fuck was that? you ditched me back there.”

you chewed on your bottom lip, trying to conjure up a dumb excuse. “sorry, i- uh- really needed to use the bathroom,” your hand rubbed your stomach, “don’t think the sandwich is sitting well.”

ellie narrows her eyes, and for a second you think she doesn’t believe you, but that disappears once her nose scrunches up and she laughs, “ewww,” she cringes, “go on then.”

you give a weak smile and turn around to continue your trek. maybe you could’ve handled that better. you did leave her alone, even if it was for second, but ellie would’ve never done that to you. letting out a groan, you rub your forehead, “ugh, i’m so stupid.” you whisper to yourself.

feeling guilty, you stop and turn to apologize to ellie for running off, but your heart breaks into two at what you see — ellie pressing cat up against the stables, her lips busy against hers, and you wished you never turned around at all.

“dinaaaaaaaaaaa, i need another one pleaseee,” you drag out your words, slamming the glass against the table. the brunette sighed, taking your glass away from you.

“i don’t think you should be having another one.” dina suggests, and while the sober version of you would’ve agreed, the intoxicated version of you protested.

“no! i need it, deens,” you whine out, “please. m’going through heartbreak right now.” you pout, and point to your boob, totally missing the place where your heart should be. dina rolls her eyes, eventually giving in and pouring you your fourth glass of whiskey.

your eyes light up, taking the glass and lifting it up, “cheeeeeers!!” you hurrah, before downing the glass in one gulp and slamming it down again.

dina sighs, glancing at jesse, who was almost..startled? he was mostly shocked at how many glasses of whiskey you were able to run through your system in a span of an hour and a half.

two hours before you arrived to maria’s party, after getting ready, you made a plan. a terrible, horrible plan, but it was a plan that you thought would be best — for everybody.

after spending most of the afternoon after patrol feeling sorry for yourself and crying for three hours, you wiped your tears and decided enough was enough, you had to get over these stupid feelings you had for ellie. you didn’t want to sabotage her new relationship with cat, so you thought it’d be a good idea to distance yourself from her instead.

it was unbearable for you to be around her already, without having the temptation to kiss her everytime you looked at her.

but seeing her with a girlfriend? you’d rather throw yourselves to a horde of runners for them to snack on like a delicious jumbo pack of beef jerky.

after creating your little plan, you dressed in your best and did your hair, and decided to add a little cherry on top of your plan by forgetting any and all feelings about ellie williams by getting absolutely shit-faced with hard liquor — your new bff.

two hours later, here you were, begging dina for a fifth glass. “pleeeeeeaaasseee, i’ll- i’ll- i’ll do your laundry for a month!” you bargained.

“as tempting as that sounds, no! you’re gonna puke your guts out in the morning— you’ll be thanking me for not giving you another drink,” she says, twisting the cap on the glass bottle, earning a pout from you.

“dina, i’ll do anything! i just- i just- wanna forget all about ellie,” you sigh, looking across the bar at cat, who’s sitting alone, possibly waiting for ellie to arrive. tears prick the corner of your eyes, and you look away, putting your face in your hands, “this hurts so bad.”

not even liquor can make you forget about ellie williams and how her name was permanently etched onto your heart for infinity.

dina scootches her chair next to you, pulling you into a side hug, and you weep into her shirt. she glances at jesse, and all they could feel for you was sympathy, knowing well how strongly you felt about ellie. it was clear to everyone, but ellie, how much you loved her. everyone advised you to tell just ‘tell her how you felt’ and you never listened to them, always saying it’d make your friendship too complicated.

but a part of you right now felt like you should’ve listened, feeling dejected by the thought of missing the only opportunity you had to be with her.

“i’m gonna go see if i can get maria to make her something to eat,” dina says standing up to step away towards the bar, “make sure she doesn’t have any more drinks.”

jesse’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s now left to babysit you.

dina leans on the barside tables, “maria!”

the older lady turns around as she pours a drink and sets it on the table for one of the customers to take, “hey, dina,” she greets, throwing a towel over her shoulder, “what can i get ‘ya?”

“just a water and a little something to eat,” dina orders.

“sure thing. we could whip up a quick sandwich or we also have peanuts or chips in the back, take your pick.”

the brunette thinks for a second, “uhh, just give me whatever’s convenient. it’s not for me anyways, it’s for her,” dina nods towards you, her eyes widening as she sees you chugging the brown liquor from the glass bottle, with jesse attempting to pry the bottle from your hands. maria laughs and shakes her head.

“what’s her deal tonight?”

“uh, heartbreak,” dina mutters, rubbing the back of her neck, “ellie told her she was gonna ask cat to be her girlfriend tonight when they were out during patrol.”

the older woman sighs, looking down and grabbing the towel from her shoulder to wipe the sticky table. “they both have to fess up already, or else they’re both gonna lose each other.”

dina’s brows furrow, “what do you mean?”

“yeah, sure, everyone knows she loves ellie. anyone can see it,” maria pauses, “but if you focus hard enough on those two, you can see that ellie is just as head over heels for her, if not more. hell, i don’t even think she’s realized it herself.” maria bends down and opens a small fridge, taking out a wrapped sandwich.

“you think so?”

“i know so.” maria puts a cup of ice water on the table alongside the wrapped sandwich, before taking the next customers order.

with the glass of water and sandwich in hand, dina returns back to the table, greeted by the sight of you and jesse fighting over the liquor bottle.

“i will put my fist up your butt if you don’t give me that back!” you shout as jesse’s grip doesn’t budge from the shiny bottle.

“you’ve had enough, you little monster!” jesse yells as he gives another hard yank to the bottle, breaking it from your grip. dina lets out a laugh, before she sits down next to you, pulling you down with her so you can take a seat, but you trip over and nearly miss the chair entirely.

“whoops,” you giggle, completely plastered.

steadying yourself and sitting on the hardwood chair, dina holds the glass of water up towards your lips, “drink up.”

you take a sip of water, and cower at the bland taste, “heeeyy, this isn’t whiskeeee,” you whine.

“you need it, so you don’t wake up all sick and stuff,” dina says, attempting to persuade you to drink more water and sway you away from any ideas of sipping on alcohol again.

“no, i don- i don’t need that,” you garble, “what i do need is- is- is ellie.”

at the mention of ellie’s name again, you break out into tears. this was the night that jesse and dina realized you were an extremely, emotional drunk.

“okay, that’s it,” jesse says standing up, “we’re taking you home.”

you gasp, “no! i promise no more drinks!” you attempt to hold onto the table, but to no avail, jesse easily gets you on your feet and holds you steady on your left side.

“c’mon, dina, take her other side.” dina goes to your right and puts her arm around your waist, making sure you have no chances of slipping out of her grip.

“pleeeeaaassseee, don’ let them take me away!!” you shout to the bystanders as jesse and dina drag you away from the event and towards the doors of the bar, gaining some stares and laughs from the other partygoers.

as the cold, winter night air hits you in the face, the three of you are greeted by the person you wanted so badly to forget about tonight.

“uh, hey, guys,” the green-eyed girl greets, “leaving already?”

jesse and dina look at each other nervously, with you still in their hold. “yup, someone partied too hard.” jesse says, laughing a little bit too awkwardly.

ellie takes you in, glancing at your inebriated state; eyes all hazy and glossed over, letting out little giggles here and there, and can barely stand on their own two feet.

“so, if you don’t mind, we’ll be taking her home,” dina clears her throat, “jesse get her keys.” jesse quickly lets go of you, sending you stumbling over to the side, bringing dina along with you.

ellie rushes over to your side and snakes her arm around your waist, holding you close to her body. butterflies erupted in your stomach once again. even in your extremely drunken condition, your body knew how to respond when ellie was around.

jesse pats your pockets, and doesn’t feel anything, “nothing, she doesn’t have her keys.”

“hehe, i think i forgot them. dunno where they are,” you giggle, feeling all warm and drowsy all of a sudden, and your head leans over to the side, coincidentally on ellie’s shoulder.

“shit. how the fuck do we get her home and in bed then?” dina sighs out.

“i’ll take her back to mine and let her sleep over.” ellie decides without a second thought, taking your arm and putting it over her shoulder.

dina’s hesitant, “you sure? you just got here.”

“of course. don’t want her getting hurt or ending up god knows where,” ellie lets out a laugh, “just do me a favor and tell cat i’ll make it up to her tomorrow.”

the pair both nod and head back in the bar, whereas you were too busy looking at ellie’s face and how all her features looked perfect in the soft glow of the lights shining through the windows from the bar.

“you have greeeen eyes,” you comment, your eyes in total awe as ellie guides you back to her shed.

“yup, i do,” ellie laughs, amused by your drunk comments.

“my best friend has greeeen eyes,” you slurred out, “you kin’a look like her.”

“yeah?”

“mmmhhhmmm, her- her name is ellie and she’s the best,” you smile at the thought of ellie, completely unbeknownst that she was the one holding onto you, “i-i love her.”

“i’m sure ellie loves you too,” ellie assures. you shake your head.

“nuh uh, she doesn’t,” you counter, “ellie loves me. i love love ellie.”

the girl laughs, “what? love love? what does that mean?”

“i’m in looooove with ellie, dumb dumb.”

ellie stops in her tracks, causing you to retract and fall back, sending her on top of you. ellie was astounded, barely registering the fact that you’re both on the snow.

“what?” maybe ellie heard incorrectly. you were drunk and babbling nonsense, but she still had to make sure.

“i,” you point to yourself, “am in love with ellie williams.” you manage to let out clearly, wincing from the melted snow seeping into your clothes. ellie gets up on her feet and pulls you up, brushing the snow off your clothes and hair.

“you’re just- you’re just drunk.” ellie tries to find some explanation to all of this, and that was the most rational one she could think of. she secures her arm onto you again, continuing the short walk to her place.

“nope, nope, nope,” you shake your head, “i have been in loveee with ellie for— one, two, three, four, five— five years!” you count your fingers. “but, she doesn’t love me back.”

you begin to cry again, nestling your face into her chest. still unaware you were with ellie, the very person you were crying over, “she told me she was gonna- she was gonna-” you pause to wipe your tears, “she was gonna ask cat to be her girlfriend.”

ellie’s heart tore at the sight of one of the most important people in her life crying, and it was all because of her. she didn’t know what to think, she wanted to believe that you were saying all this stuff because you were drunk, but a part of her doesn’t believe it — a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts.

rumaging in her pockets, she took her key out as you both neared her shed. her arm still secured around your waist, ellie unlocked her door and hauled you over her bed, pulling the blankets back, and sitting you down on the sheets.

ellie’s mind was running a mile a minute, thinking about your confession minutes prior, but she was still intent on taking care of you. she bent down to untie your shoes and tie your hair out of your face, ensuring you’d be more comfortable sleeping this way.

pouring some extra water she had in a cup, she brings it towards your lips, “open.” you obey her command and part your lips, taking small sips of water, your eyes having difficulty staying open as you began to feel sleepy.

ellie placed the cup on the nightstand and she gently laid you back in her bed, pulling a blanket over you. before she knew it, you were out like a light, gentle snores coming from your mouth.

ellie let out a heavy sigh and sat down on her couch, unable to shake the events that took place tonight — any ides of making cat her girlfriend fading further and further away from her mind.

affinity - part 2 here

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams tlou #the last of us #the last of us ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie x reader angst #ellie x fem!reader

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acewritesfics · 4 months

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I Protect Those I Love | Tommy Shelby

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No

Fic Type: Imagine.

Warnings: Mention of readers father being a scumbag, mentions of assault. Protective Tommy. Short and sweet.

Word Count: 917

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

Y/N's wiping down the bar of The Garrison when the doors slam open and shut, causing her to jump and reach for the gun she keeps hidden under the bar. It is past closing time, so she isn't expecting anyone. She's about to pull the gun out when she sees the intruder, which is none other than Thomas Shelby.

"Damn you, Tommy. You almost gave me a fucking heart attack," she scolds the Peaky Blinder and her lover. Her attitude toward him changes when she takes in his appearance. A bruise is already forming around the cut on his cheek. Her whole body is filled with worry for the handsome, blue-eyed man. "What happened?"

"A man came looking for you at the betting shop," Tommy informs her. "He said he was your father."

Her body freezes as she feels the blood drain from her face, her skin going a shade or two lighter as she thinks about the man who has caused her nothing but pain. She told Tommy all about him when their relationship became more than just a friendship. She'd hoped he wouldn't be able to find her, assuming that Small Heath would be the last place he'd think to look if he bothered at all.

"Tommy, I..." she hesitates. "I didn't know he would come looking for me."

"I know," he assures her, moving closer to the bar.

On instinct, she grabs a glass, fills it with Tommy's usual order, an Irish whiskey, and slides it in front of him as he takes a seat across from her. She goes to pull her hand back when Tommy takes it in his larger hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. "I promised I wouldn't let him hurt you anymore, and I'll do anything to keep that promise."

"What did you do, Tommy?" She asks, her stomach churning at the thought of the length he'd go to for her protection.

She picks up a clean cloth and an opened bottle of alcohol and moves around from behind the bar. Tommy shifts on the stool he's sitting on, so he's facing her as she dampens the cloth with some alcohol. She stands between his legs, taking his chin between her fingers to tilt his head and hold it steady. He barely flinches as she dabs the cloth against the cut in his cheek, wiping the blood away along with anything that could cause infection.

"Your father got himself into some trouble, and you were the price he had to pay to get out of it." His tone is tense and angry, his eyes filled with rage at her father.

She stops dabbing at his cut as she takes in the furious look on his face. She's never seen Tommy so angry before, and she's never felt so scared about what he's done. She knows her father is a scumbag. It's one of the many things she and Tommy bonded over—their good-for-nothing fathers. But she never thought he would go so low as to use her as a bargaining chip for his debt. It makes her feel sick, especially with where her mind is going.

"Was he going to trade me for his debt?" She asks.

Tommy nods. "Like I said, I won't let anything happen to you. I took care of the men to whom he owed his debts too."

"And my father?" She asks, knowing exactly what he meant by "taking care of those men."

"He's fine," Tommy sighs, picking up his glass of whisky and downing it all at once. "I told him he owes me, and for payment he has to leave you alone and never return to Birmingham."

"I don't know what to say," she says, unsure of what to think of the situation. She despises her father's lifestyle and dirty scheming ways, but he's her father, and she hopes that one day he will change his ways. But a part of her knows that he never will, and there are some things he's done that are unforgivable. She reminds herself of those times, and any sympathy she has for the old drunk vanishes.

"I love you," he admits, cupping her cheek with his less injured hand. It was the first time he spoke those words out loud. He'd been thinking about saying them for weeks, but when he tried, they never came out. "And I protect those that I love."

Her eyes soften as she looks lovingly at the man who's become her home. "You're a good man, Thomas Shelby."

"But I do a lot of bad things," he whispers just loud enough for her to hear him. For the first time since the war, he's felt ashamed of himself. He knows Y/N deserves more than him. She doesn't deserve everything he pulls her into. But he's a selfish and greedy man. He takes what he wants, and he wants her. He needs her.

"Everyone does bad things, Tommy, even the godliest people do." She reminds him. "It doesn't mean you're a bad person, not if you have the right intentions."

Without saying another word, Tommy brings her in close, placing a soft kiss on her lips as her arms make their way around his shoulders.

She breaks the kiss, keeping their faces close. The scents of whiskey, cigarettes, and mint mix together.

"And I love you too," she whispers against his lips, pressing her own against his as she kisses him passionately, showing just how much, she loves him.

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#acewritesfics repost #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine

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motherofagony · 7 months

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A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

#my writing #ahfe #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #a heart for eating #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us smut #motherofagony

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emilyprentissluvr · 2 months

Text

Matilda (Emily Prentiss x Reader)

"You can start a family who will always show you love"

Summary: In which Emily Prentiss comes home to her wife and daughter after a week-long case.

Warnings: None

EMILY LET out a sigh of relief as she walked into her house and dropped her to-go bag. After a week-long case, all she wanted to do was curl up in bed with her wife. She made quick work of putting away her gun and credentials, trying to be quiet so she didn't wake anyone up.

She was in the kitchen filling up a glass of water when she heard soft footsteps walk into the kitchen.

"Mama!" Charlotte said as she ran over and wrapped her arms around Emily's leg. Emily smiled as she put the glass down and bent over to pick up the three-year-old.

"Hi sweet girl," Emily said as she kissed her daughter on the head, the smell of her shampoo already calming her senses. She smiled as she saw Charlotte's pink onesie, ever since the two of you bought it for her, she refused to wear anything else to bed.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Emily asked as she tickled the little girl's stomach. Charlotte giggled as she threw her small hands around her mother's neck.

"I'm thirsty." She said as she looked up at the raven-haired woman.

"Well, let's get you some water, and then you can go back to bed." Emily smiled as she opened another cabinet to grab a small plastic cup.

"I want apple juice." Charlotte pouted as she looked up at her mother.

She knows she shouldn't, but she could never say no to the perfected pout of her daughter. Emily knows it's because that pout is one hundred percent inherited from you.

"Don't tell Mommy, okay? It'll be our secret." Emily says as she holds out her pinky.

"Our secret!" Charlotte giggles as she wraps her pinky around Emily's. Emily adjusts the little girl to sit on her hip as she grabs the apple juice from the fridge and pours it into the light pink cup.

After Charlotte was done Emily left the cup on the sink to clean tomorrow.

She carried Charlotte upstairs and wasn't surprised when the toddler was starting to fall asleep in her arms. She smiled as she tucked her daughter into bed and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to her bedroom.

As soon as she walked in she saw your sleeping frame curled up against her pillow. She smiled as she immediately walked over to you and gently brushed some hair out of your face, not wanting to wake you but needing to feel the warmth of your skin. You unconsciously nuzzled your face into her hand. "I love you," She whispered, knowing that you were still asleep, but if she had learned anything from you, it was that she could never say those three words too many times.

She quickly changed out of her work clothes and into shorts and a sweatshirt before heading to the bathroom. When she came out a couple of minutes later she saw Charlotte curled up next to you with her small arm protectively on top of your five-month pregnant belly.

Emily's heart melted at the sight.

She never thought that this would be her life.

She never thought that love like this could come so easily.

That being loved was so easy.

"You're back." You murmured as you slowly sat up, carefully placing Charlotte's head onto the pillows without waking her up.

"I am." Emily smiled as she quickly got into bed and pulled you in for a soft kiss. Your lips tasted like home and Emily never wanted to leave.

"I missed you." You mumbled sleepily against her lips.

"I miss you too," Emily said as she rested her forehead against yours. "How's the little one?" She asked as she placed her hand softly onto your stomach.

"Good. She was hungry for a new combination this week though." You yawned and Emily raised her eyebrows. "Oh, she was?"

"Mhm. She insisted I eat tuna and peanut butter every day."

Emily wrinkled her nose at the thought, "Gross."

You just shrugged as you leaned your head against Emily's shoulder, "How was the case?" You asked quietly, knowing that Charlotte could sleep through anything but not wanting to take any chances.

"Let's just say I'm very happy to be back with my girls," Emily murmured as she rested her cheek on the top of your head. You knew this meant she didn't want to talk about it yet, so you didn't push. You remembered what it was like returning from a case, the heaviness in your heart making you want to do nothing but curl up with the people you love.

You still worked at the BAU, but after having Charlotte you decided you didn't want to be in the field anymore so you mostly worked on cold cases and consults over the phone.

"I love you." You said as you fought to keep your eyes open. You wanted to spend time with your wife after not seeing her for a week but your exhaustion was getting the better of you.

"I love you more." She smiled as she kissed the top of your head. "Why don't we go to sleep? We can talk more in the morning." Emily murmured and then immediately heard your soft snores from her shoulder.

Emily held back a laugh as she gently laid the both of you down on the bed. Your ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime had surely been passed to Charlotte.

Emily buried her face into your neck as she lazily put her arms over your stomach. She never slept well without you, so as soon as she inhaled the scent of your body wash her eyes drifted closed.

●・○・●・○・●

Emily's eyes fluttered open to the feeling of small hands on her face.

"Mama." Charlotte's soft voice whispered.

"Mhm," Emily said sleepily as she rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up. The little girl immediately crawled into the brunette's lap and looked up at her excitedly. "Pancakes!"

Emily chuckled as she brushed wild hair off her daughter's forehead. "You want pancakes?"

"Yeah!"

Emily happily agreed, knowing that the two of them could surprise you with breakfast in bed since you were still fast asleep.

By the time they got downstairs, Charlotte was already chasing Sergio around the kitchen. The black cat had taken a long time to warm up to the little girl, but now he was at least tolerant of her antics.

Emily put on soft music as she got out all of the ingredients. She easily whipped together the batter in minutes and then went to find Charlotte so she could put in the chocolate chips.

"Char! It's chocolate chip time!" Emily called out as she walked into the living room.

As soon as she saw the two of them she couldn't help but laugh. "Very pretty, Serg," Emily said as she looked at the pink crown Charlotte had put on his head.

"He needs a dress!" Charlotte said excitedly as she bolted from the living to the playroom and came back with a pink, doll dress less than thirty seconds later.

"Why don't we play dress up after breakfast, okay?" Emily said as she scooped the little girl up, giving Sergio time to knock the tiara off with his paw and scamper upstairs.

"Okay," The toddler sighed dramatically, another thing that Emily claims is all you.

By the time they get into the kitchen, Charlotte has already forgotten about the dress and is squirming in Emily's arm to reach the chocolate chips.

"Remember, not too much," Emily says as she hands the bag to the little girl.

"Not too much," Charlotte repeats before dumping almost half the bag in.

"Well, it's a good thing you and your mommy love chocolate chips." Emily chuckled as she took the bag from her. Before she could put it away Charlotte stopped her, "Do the trick mama!" Charlotte says excitedly as she claps her hands.

The trick was just Emily seeing how many chocolate chips she could throw into her mouth but Charlotte was insistent that she do it every time they make pancakes.

"Okay, let's see if we can break the record, Char!" Emily smiled as she placed the toddler in her high chair next to the counter.

"Yeah!" She cheered. Emily's current record was 27 consecutive chocolate chips thrown into her mouth. It would have been more if they hadn't run out of them last time.

"Alright," Emily said as she grabbed one out of the bag and then tossed the chip high and easily caught it in her mouth.

"One!" The mother and daughter counted at the same time. The game went on for another three minutes, Charlotte had stopped counting at 20 but right when Emily threw the 27th one into the air, Sergio scurried passed Emily's leg causing her to fall backward and land right on her ass, missing the chocolate chip.

"Ow," Emily grumbled as shot a glare at the cat who looked smug as he ran away. The brunette could have sworn that was the cat's payback for letting her daughter dress him up.

"Mama hurt?" Charlotte asked as she looked down at Emily with sad eyes.

"I'm okay, sweet girl." Emily smiled as she ignored the crack in her knees as she stood up. "We'll beat our record next time, yeah?" She said as she gave her daughter a high five. "Yeah!" Charlotte giggled.

Thirty minutes later, all the pancakes were done and Emily had cut up some fruit and made you tea. She put everything on a tray as she and Charlotte walked up the stairs to surprise you.

"You want to wake up Mommy?" Emily asked and Charlotte nodded excitedly.

"Surprise!" Charlotte said as she ran through the room and jumped onto the bed, shaking your shoulders with her small hands.

"Mmm, good morning Char," You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes.

"We made breakfast!" She said excitedly as she pulled on your arm for you to sit up.

"Oh, you did?" You said as you looked over and saw your wife holding a tray with a big smile.

"Mama let me put in the chocolate chips!" Charlotte said as Emily gently placed the food onto the bed and then crawled next to you.

"Wow, they look good, Char! You and your mama are the best!" You said as you gave her a quick kiss on the head before turning to your wife.

"Thank you." You smiled, giving her a quick kiss on the lips before carefully pulling the tray onto your lap.

"Always," Emily said as she placed her chin on your shoulder. She watched lovingly as Charlotte burrowed into your side, stealing fruit from the tray as you cut the pancakes.

The three of you spent the rest of the morning in bed rewatching Charlotte's favorite movie for probably the fifteenth time. But neither you nor Emily would have had it any other way.

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x female reader #momily #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss is a girl mom

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