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frozenjokes · 2 months

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CuteGuy Would Prefer Greatly If HotGuy Never Ever Had Any Nice Things, But Especially Not His Good Friend And Roommate Cubfan135 (1/3)

I absolutely refuse to go through an add italics to the tumblr versions of my fics but grian is so angry all of the time it was necessary in this case

“So let me get this straight.” Grian, well, CuteGuy stood over HotGuy, the hero’s head pinned under his own boot. It was times like these that Grian considered ditching the boots altogether; wrapping his talons around any hero’s face like this would be an absolute sight, but alas, he wasn’t trying to get painful calluses all over his feet. Grian was sure HotGuy could escape this if he wanted to; he’d just have to roll to knock Grian off, but he stayed still, staring up at Grian with those big, pathetic eyes. “You want my help with your romantic endeavors. You want to pretend fight so you can pretend win, yeah? Impress that special someone?”

Grian knew who it was, of course. Not because HotGuy announced it or because it was on the news, no, but because this certified idiot had set his sights on Cub. Cub! His roommate Cub. What could HotGuy even want from a guy like Cub- just a guy! A human, not even a conventionally attractive human, who hardly knew anything about heroes and villains other than their names! Cub, who worked a shitty job with a shitty manager, who basically did nothing but go on little walks and hang out at home- there was nothing about Cub that stood out, so why in the fuck was HotGuy so- Grian hissed, pressing a little harder on HotGuy’s head, who grunted. HotGuy didn’t get to have Cub. Cub wasn’t- HotGuy didn’t even know him! He didn’t get to take Cub- his Cub- and turn him into some kind of hero worshiper!

“Stop looking at me like that!” Grian’s anger reached its boiling point, though HotGuy didn’t flinch, looking more disappointed than anything.

To his credit, he did look away, pursing his lips, “So I take it you’re not a fan of the idea.” The infuriating amicable lilt to his voice stayed even despite his face being crushed against the pavement, and Grian wanted nothing more than to choke it out of him.

“What gave you that idea?” Grian snarled, and HotGuy shrugged.

“When you’re really pissed off you start drooling, and honestly, it’s quite gross. Are you stressed? Have you considered Xanax? Does wonders for me on bad days.”

“My insurance won’t renew my prescription and my doctor fucking sucks.”

“Ah, I feel you buddy. I mean, I basically live in a hospital, but sometimes I need some more benign stuff and it just feels like the whole system is out to get you! Don’t even get me started on before I got into the hero business, gosh. Well, if it makes you feel any better, you were far from my first choice. I asked The Goat, but he told me that would be a monumental waste of his time, Mumbo told me he wouldn’t be convincing enough and also to stop calling him he’s retired, I haven’t seen Worm Man for years but I’m still looking-“

“How many people did you ask before me?” Grian tried not to be offended, but honestly, he was very offended- HotGuy has the gall to ask favors then admit Grian wasn’t his first choice? Why not? He knew why. But why not???

“Anyone I could find, really. I mean, heroes are easy enough to track down, but a lot of them are busy and also don’t give a fuck, but villains kinda just wander around and cause problems wherever. Though, I figured if I stood here long enough you’d jump me like you did last time. Hey, by the way, if you see Poultry Man, will you tell him I’d like to talk?”

Grian seethed; he had seen HotGuy up on the apartment complex where they had fought last and assumed he was looking for Cub- was Grian really that predictable?

“The last thing Poultry Man would want to do is help you impress some guy you don’t even know- what’s the deal anyway? Don’t answer that, I don’t care.”

“Hey! I know Cub plenty! We had such a nice walk the night you broke my visor and then a lovely lunch date the next day! Well- maybe not a date. I don’t know, I never asked what he thought. I kind of don’t want to know, though. And I wasn’t going to ask Poultry Man to help me do anything, I just wanted to talk to him about all the chickens he released into the poor woman’s home- it’s not important-“

“Poor woman? She’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s not important,” Scar strained, and Grian felt the tiniest bit vindicated, “All I meant to say is that I would feel bad beating the shit out of Poultry Man, even if it was just pretend. He’s just a misguided guy in a chicken costume.

“Misguided?” Grian’s hiss cracked into a higher pitch, “Poultry Man is EVIL. Poultry Man could CRUSH YOU. What makes you think you’re any match against him, huh? Really.”

“I mean, his costume looks a bit bulky, not great for maneuvering. I doubt he can see very well out of the mask, too. I don’t know, maybe he’s like, secretly ripped or something, but I still don’t think he could do much damage.”

“You’ll regret underestimating him when you’re taking your last breaths under his claws.”

“Oh, I hope not! I just wanted to chat about where he got those chickens, but you’re nice for standing up for him! You’re a good friend, CuteGuy.”

“I-“ Grian felt his body short circuit for a moment, everything replaced with the type of fury that can only be released by picking someone up and violently shaking them. HotGuy was perfectly polite about it, enduring Grian’s fit of rage before hanging somewhat limply in his arms, not even using his own legs to stand after Grian was done. HotGuy stared. Grian stared back.

“You’re strong.”

“Fuck you.” Grian dropped HotGuy, who just collapsed, wholly unready to support his own weight. Fine. Good. With a few strong beats of his wings, Grian took off, leaving HotGuy firmly in the dust. Flying was good and the evening breeze was good and if shaking someone annoying wasn’t enough to make them stop being annoying, then it was time to let it go. Something Grian was famously bad at.

When he looked back HotGuy was still just laying there, INFURIATINGLY, just staring at the sky! He wasn’t even looking at Grian, he was just completely zoned out-! What was his damn problem?

Grian’s boots cracked against the cement on either side of HotGuy’s waist, and HotGuy screamed, so genuinely frightened, Grian was pretty sure the noise would color his memory for the rest of his life. “Where are you meeting him?”

“What?” HotGuy squeaked, and the sound was just as beautiful.

“Where do you want me to be for your stunt?”

“I-I was going to meet Cub at the City Park-“

“Are you crazy? Are you trying to get me arrested? You’ll meet here, in the parking lot across the street at 9:00. And I don’t do play fights, but if you shoot me I’ll rip you a new one. And I want $500.”

“That’s- a lot of money-“

“You won’t miss it. You and your piece of shit rich friends spend that kind of change like it’s nothing on designer clothes and cocaine. And I want to see your sorry face when you’re forced to cough it up after I flatten your ass then steal your man.”

“You- why are you so mean to me? Hey- you are not allowed to-“ Grian didn’t let him finish, beating his wings hard enough to batter HotGuy’s face before taking off, definitively this time.

Perfect. This was going to be fun.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitshipping #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #grian #cubfan135 #cubfan #hotguy #cuteguy #poultry man #if it wasn’t obvious grian is both cuteguy and poultry man and many other villain alliases #convex #cubscar #grub

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ghoststyles · 10 months

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Fairway to Heaven Part 8

8K.... 🤠👍

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Harry prides himself on his ability to keep his composure. He has to as a boss, a mentor, a partner. But in this moment, he feels out of his mind. His love, his reason for being some days, wants nothing to do with him while he’s an entire ocean away.

While he’s over the moon about meeting Oliver and mending burned bridges with Camille, he’s ready to fly home. He has two more weeks in France. Time he can spend changing Briar’s mind.

He reaches for his phone to reply to Camille.

Everything is alright now. I’ll be at the pitch shortly.

Ok. See you soon.

Harry inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth in hopes of putting on his brave face. Parents have to do this all the time, he thinks. He didn’t think he’d need it, but he packed his Xanax anyway. With shaky hands, he pulls the container of pills from his toiletries, not even taking a swig of water to wash it down.

Barely able to look in the mirror, he lifts his head painfully to find his eyes puffy and swollen, and his chest red from the panic rash that formed. His mind is reeling from Briar’s sudden flip on him and his heart hasn’t stopped hammering in his chest.

Walking over to the dresser, he stumbles on the edge of his suitcase. He angrily shoves it with his foot before pulling a pair of jeans and a light sweater from the drawer. He dumps his rings out of their cinched pouch onto a towel on the table, staring at each of them before putting on his usual suspects. The ruby ring he and Briar picked out together on a whim sends a shiver down his spine.

They’d just eaten lunch, and were wandering aimlessly down the street of a nearby town when Briar spotted a pawn and thrift shop. The smell of mothballs and incense overwhelmed their senses, but Briar pulled them further in, slowly analyzing the unique pieces. She hovered over a jewelry case when she pointed to the square ruby stone and metal band.

“You need one,” she reached for his left hand, lifting up his pointer finger. “For this one. It’s empty.”

“Y’think?” He smiled at her, staring at her lips.

“Yeah,” she poked her tongue in her cheek while lifting his hand to rest on the hollow of her neck. “‘d feel good right here.”

Harry’s jaw locked before rolling his eyes, “Not now, Birdie.”

The sound of the street below breaks Harry from his train of thought. He’d better go if he wants to make it to Oliver’s game on time. He calls his Uber, but not before sending Briar a text.

🦊: Please don’t do this, love. Get some sleep and call me when you wake up. I’ll talk all night if we have to. I love you.

Not expecting an answer, he shoves his phone in his pocket. He doesn’t smoke cigarettes, but his nervous system is shutting down on him. He wants to pop into the shop and buy some, but the gruff driver arrives minutes later, waving Harry in the car.

He lays his head against the window and shuts his eyes. The panic is slowly starting to leave his body as the pill works its magic. He watches happy couples stroll the city of love as he’s the most miserable he’s ever felt. Even more so than when Camille left him.

Harry knows she’s probably stewing with emotions, but he stops himself from blowing up her phone.

Briar is on her bathroom floor staring up at the ceiling after heaving into the toilet for an hour. It’s not food poisoning. She’s not drunk. She’s worried she’s made the worse decision of her life.

Her heart is shattered, her brain is screaming at her, and her gut feels right. Her gut is rarely wrong; but her heart is begging it to be.

It’s now close to 3AM, and there’s a slim chance of Briar getting any sleep. Part of her wants to call Harry, but she knows he promised to go to Oliver’s game. He’s probably suffering enough.

Briar knows she’s being unfair. If years of therapy taught her anything, she’s overly self-aware. Her phone buzzes, so she looks down to find Harry’s text. Her bottom lip immediately starts to quiver, trying to hold back tears.

Even though she hurt him, he’s still level-headed and sweet to her. He probably thinks she’s having one of her moments of intense feelings and needs time to calm down. It’s the scorpio moon in her; brash, intense and passionate. Gus is hovering over her as the sweat dripping from her forehead subsides. She’s grateful for his company. He seems to always sense when she’s down and is there to lick her salty tears from her cheeks.

Grabbing her phone that skidded across the floor, she dials Caroline's number. It rings and rings, so she hangs up and tries again a few moments later.

“Briar? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Caroline’s strained, sleepy voice rings through the phone.

When Briar doesn’t respond right away, Caroline knows what happened.

“Babe,” she says softly. “Did you do something?”

“Caro,” Briar says, a mix of a sob and a whine. “I talked to him on the phone and I blew up at him. I’ve fucked everything up.”

“Okay, okay. Breathe. What happened?”

“I,” Briar starts. “I told him this isn’t working. That I don’t see where I fit in all of this. He has a kid, Caro. He has to figure out how to be a dad before I can figure out how to be a step-mom. A wife,” she wails. “But I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut until he gets back.”

“I-yeah,” Caroline exhales. “But we’re well past that, so, let’s make a plan. Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no, it’s too late. I’ll come to you.”

“Okay, be careful. I’ll see you soon.”

Briar hangs up the phone and immediately calls for an Uber. She opts to stay in her pajamas, slipping on her Ugg boots and throwing one of Harry’s hats on. It’s his hat from when he went to the Master’s tournament. He was walking on air that entire week, documenting his trip and calling her from the iconic pay-phones on the course since no cell phones are allowed.

A tear sneaks out of the corner of her eye, and she doesn’t bother wiping it. By some grace of god, she secures a driver. She watches the headlights appear through the fog, and hops into the white SUV.

“For Harry?” the driver asks.

Her ride is on his account again.

She nods before slamming her head on the rest behind her, grateful the driver doesn’t seem talkative. She looks down on her phone, fully expecting another text from Harry.

🦊: Baby, where are you going?? Please call me. It’s so late.

1 missed call from 🦊

1 missed FaceTime from 🦊

🦊: We don’t have to even talk or figure anything out, I just need to know what you’re doing. It’s so late and I’m worried.

1 missed call from 🦊

Her phone is burning in her hand from Harry blowing it up. Now she feels guilty from taking his time away from Oliver. Switching apps, she zooms into the map to find her ETA. 8 minutes.

🦊: Please. Just tell me if you’re safe.

🐥: I’m going to Caroline’s.

🦊: Okay. I love you. So much. Don’t give up on me.

🦊: Please.

Briar shoves the phone into the waistband of her pajama pants. Spotting the familiar entrance to Caroline’s neighborhood, she unlocks her seatbelt so she can bolt as soon as the car stops.

He slowly pulls up to the driveway, so Briar flies out of the car, mumbling thank you to the driver.

Caroline is standing at her garage door, awaiting her arrival. Her face is sad as she gnaws on her lower lip. Briar collapses into her arms when they finally meet. Caroline pets at her hair, waiting until she calms down before speaking again.

“C’mon, let’s get inside.”

Harry is ghostly pale sitting on the sideline of his son’s football game. The squeals and laughter from the children should be giving him that warm and fuzzy feeling, but he can’t help but feel like he’s going to vomit. He’s been discretely texting and calling Briar while trying to watch the kids play.

Camille senses his energy and quietly leans into him.

“What’s going on?”

Harry is startled, not expecting her to ask that.

“Um, I, uh,” he sputters. “My girlfriend. Just a rough patch is all.”

Camille nods, her jaw shifting a little, “I thought so. Been together long?”

“Mm, since May, I guess. Met her at Wynnewood, actually,” he says quietly, picking at his nails.

She looks at him quizzically, “Still going there? I thought for sure you’d swear it off forever.”

Harry laughs ironically, “Some of us have to deal with issues instead of running away from them.”

Her eyebrows raise at the jab, but she nods her head.

“If you need to leave and take care of it, you can come over for dinner later. Theo is making lamb,” she offers.

Harry nods appreciatively, standing up. He gets Oliver’s attention as he runs to the group for a drink of water. He waves at him, an enthusiastic smile overtaking his face.

“Bye, Oliver. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

“D’accord, Papa!”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat, a lump quickly forming. He looks back at Camille, a small smile donning her face that matches his, before turning to leave the pitch.

He jogs toward the metro. Looking down at his phone to pull up the map, he sees another Uber charge to his card. Puzzled, he does the math to determine the time in America.

It’s well past 3AM and Briar is going somewhere? His stomach drops, so he sends her a series of texts, tries calling and FaceTiming. Running a hand through his hair, he decides to whistle for a Taxi instead.

The driver gets him to his hotel in record time, so he throws 20 euro through the plexiglass. He ascends up the 4 flights of stairs, his asthma raging every step he takes. Being an entire ocean away, he’s not even sure what he can do right now beside continue to call her.

He sits down on the bed, his knee anxiously bouncing as he waits for her to pick up. Not expecting her to answer, he’s shocked when he hears a strained voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Briar, baby, what’s going on?”

“I came to,” she hiccups. “I’m at Caroline’s.”

Harry frowns, unsure what this means. He’s not going to have this conversation with Caroline present.

“Okay. D-do you want to talk? I just want to understand what’s going on, lovie.”

“It’s late here,” she replies. She shuffles into Caroline’s bathroom. Her foot is asleep from where they sat on the floor trying to reel in Briar’s thoughts and emotions.

“I know, but, baby, I can’t let you hang up this phone. Please tell daddy what’s going on.”

“Fucking stop, Harry!” she starts to cry again.

Harry couldn’t be more confused.

“What do you mean?” he says softly, his heart sinking.

“This is too much. You need to learn how to be a dad, Harry. Separate from me. I can’t be a part of this when there’s so much to figure out,” she sniffles quietly.

“Briar, our day to day isn’t going to change,” he reasons. “I haven’t talked to Camille yet, but I can most likely take frequent trips and even have Oliver stay with us in the U.S for a little at a time.”

“Harry. You need to put your son first.”

His jaw drops, having no idea what she’s talking about. What the fuck is he doing in Paris if he’s not putting his son first?

“I love you so much. But, I had the parent who didn’t put their kids first. And it sucked. It still hurts me to this day,” Briar chokes out. “I’m stepping away so you can be the best dad to Oliver. So he doesn’t have a memory of his dad choosing some woman who was sort of there in his life.”

Harry feels like he’s been sucker punched. He pictured Harry, Briar, Oliver and Gus spending summers together; the dog chasing the boy around the yard, and Harry and Briar cuddled by the fire watching.

He still hasn’t answered. He knows what she means; who wants to take on raising someone’s child at 24? Her family issues continue to rear their heads in different areas of her life.

“Bri—,” Harry starts, but fails. “I hear you, sweetheart. But, I don’t know how to convince you that this is a mistake. Thought we were forever? Are you not my forever?”

Briar clenches her jaw and shakes her head violently. Her head will go right through the dry wall if this continues.

“I want to be. I want to be so fucking bad,” she heaves. “But I can’t right now.”

Tears start flowing down his face. He places his right hand over his heart to make sure he’s still alive. He’d marry her the minute he touches the tarmac if it meant that she’d stay on the phone with him right now.

“Please,” he’s desperate now. “Briar, please. We’ll grow through this together. Do you trust me?”

She’s silent. She does trust him; it’s herself she doesn't trust. She had to be the glue for her brothers. She can’t be the glue in Harry and Oliver’s relationship.

“Take the time and focus on him, Harry.”

“Can I see you? When I’m back?”

“No,” she says sadly. “I’m gonna pick up my stuff at the house.”

“And that’s it?” he replies, almost angrily.

“Yes, that's it. What’s meant to happen will happen.”

Fuck fate! Harry puts his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth.

“I’m hanging up now, Harry,” she says softly.

“Briar—,” Harry says as the line disconnects. He grips the phone so tightly he could almost snap it.

Harry places his elbows on his knees to regulate his breathing. Labored, depleted pants are escaping his chest, so he shuffles his Spotify to relax. The app immediately plays Secret Language by the Shivers, a song Briar and Harry have spent countless nights dancing to while making dinner, or making out to by the fire pit. Bile bubbles to the top of his throat as it plays.

Until we meet again.

Under some street light in some foreign town.

And then you'll take my hand,

And look at me as if to say, "Are you still down?"

Briar depletes her body of all water and oxygen by the time she’s done crying. Caroline gave up on getting any sleep, so she put on John Tucker Must Die to lighten the mood.

Her eyes are bloodshot, cheeks sticky and stained with tears, jaw aching from the constant pressure. Caroline didn’t hear any of Briar and Harry’s conversation, but she pieced the situation together between Briar’s wails and hiccups.

Caroline sees both sides; a young girl so hopelessly in love, but held back by her deep-rooted family issues; not ready to raise a child. And a guy who was dealt an unfair hand and is trying to pick up the pieces. She feels for them, she really does.

It’s admirable, Briar’s approach. Removing herself from the equation allows for Harry to focus on being a father for the first time, having missed out on the first seven years of Oliver’s life.

The girls agree on giving Harry time and space to be a dad. Briar can focus on grad school and even date around if she wants. To witness two people who are good to one another and protect each others’ peace be driven apart by circumstances beyond their own makes her heart hurt.

Caroline pulls Briar in for a hug, gently petting her hair until they both finally fall asleep.

The hours drag on the more Harry stares at the blank wall in his hotel room. The sun has come and gone, and he feels like a hollow shell of a person. He’s due at Camille and Theo’s for dinner in just under an hour, but he can’t bring himself to move. His eyes are sore from crying and his stomach is still in knots.

He drudges to the bathroom to strip and jump in the shower. The scorching water runs down his back as he extends his neck to stare at the ceiling. He takes a series of deep breaths, the duration increasing of each one. It’s not until he’s gasping for air that he shuts the water off.

Tying a towel around his waist, Harry grabs his phone to make a rash decision. He dials the number, walking over to the window.

“Hey, boss!” Madison says happily. “What are you doing calling me on your leave of absence?”

“Gotta keep you on your toes. Niall been treating you well?”

The two exchange pleasantries for a few minutes, until Harry changes the subject.

“Listen, ah,” Harry starts. “Can you do me a favor? Two, actually. One, can you change my flight home and send me to Manchester next week instead? Might pop home for a minute. I’ll leave Paris a few days early.”

At this point, his heart is racing.

“Second. Can you head over to my place and change the codes for all of my exterior doors? Today? Like, as soon as possible. You can make the front door my mum’s birthday.”

“Uh, sure. Should I ask why?”

“Uhm,” he stumbles. “‘D rather not get into it.”

“Okay. Anything else you need?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Mads. I appreciate all of your help organizing everything.”

“Anytime. Talk to you soon.”

The call ends, and Harry feels like a piece of shit. Did he really just send his assistant to keep Briar’s belongings hostage at his house? Yeah.

He needs to buy himself time and hold on to contact with her. Is it manipulative? Yes. Does he give a shit right now? No. He’s an ocean away and his entire future is slipping from his grasp.

After Ubering home at 8AM, Briar tends to Gus and takes another run to clear her head. She runs to the same coffee shop from the week before.

“Hey, Briar,” Spencer smiles, approaching the counter to take her order. “You done that take home mid-term?”

She pops her AirPod out of her ear before shaking her head, “No, I’ve been so busy I haven’t even looked at it yet.”

“Ah, well, if you need any help, let me know. I’d be happy to review it with you,” he winks.

A nervous shiver shoots up her spine, “Uhm, yeah, thanks. I-I’ll let you know, for sure. Can I have an iced green tea? With a little sweetener and a lemon?”

“You got it,” He smiles again, turning on his heels to make the drink. He hands it to her a few minutes later before going to help another customer. This time, he took her money. She waves before popping her AirPod in and resuming her walk.

She decides to bite the bullet and go to Harry’s for her stuff before she loses the courage. The water from her shower is scorching hot, but she prays it’ll wash away the ramifications from the night before. Her neck aches from throwing a tantrum throughout Caroline’s room.

Briar scurries out the door in her favorite sweats and her hair tied in a knot on her head.

Pulling up to his house brings another round of tears to her eyes, so she lightly throws her head against the back of her seat. A deep breath escapes her nostrils, and she’s immediately reminded of Harry. She misses when he’d make her do box breathing; inhale for four seconds, hold for four, exhale for four and hold for four. She gasps for air before her eyes are met with an unfamiliar car in the driveway.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she jumps out of her Jeep before approaching the front door. Waking up the key pad, she punches in the code.

1206 - June 12th - His childhood cat, Dusty’s, birthday. She rolls her eyes. The month comes first in America, dingus.

Without acknowledging the red light that flashes twice, her body slams into the door. Confused, she jiggles the handle. Nothing. Entering the passcode again, she’s met with another flashing red light.

Backing away from the door, she looks back at the unfamiliar car. Does he suddenly have a house sitter since she opted to stay at her apartment instead of here?

Shaking it off, Briar walks to the side door that leads to a mudroom. This time, the code is 2307 - July 23rd - The day he moved to America.

Again, she’s met with the angry red light.

“What the fuck?”

As a last-ditch effort, she tries the back porch door. Again, she enters the code.

0102 - February 1st - Harry’s birthday.

The door is locked. That motherfucker!

She pounds at the door, screaming, “Hey! Open the door!”

A familiar face pops in view through the glass with a concerned look on her face. Madison.

“Briar? Hey!”

“Uh, hey, Madison. What’re you doing here?”

“Harry asked me to do a few favors for him. He asked me to change his locks for some reason. Did he not text you the new codes?”

Anger boils in Briar’s chest. Her puzzled look makes Madison speak up again.

“I’m guessing no. I can write them down for you,” she smiles, reaching into her purse for her notepad and pen.

“No, he didn’t. We broke up, actually, so,” Briar says quietly.

Madison gasps, her face contorting into a look of pity.

“Briar! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. That’s such a shame,” she lends a soft touch on Briar’s shoulder. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be gentle with him.”

Briar nods, inhaling heavily through her splayed nostrils.

“Here, I’ll let you in now. Is your stuff inside? Is that what you came to get?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Briar bites her lip, looking down.

Madison punches the new code in and invites her inside. She lets Briar go ahead, before saying goodbye and shutting the door.

Briar stands in the entryway staring at the eerily still house. It doesn’t sound the same without Harry puttering about, playing music or loudly watching the Packers.

She laughs at her thought before remembering how angry she is at him. Pulling out her phone, she furiously dials his number.

It rings several times before it’s picked up. The person on the other end is silent.

“You’re a real fucking prick, you know that?” Briar seethes into the phone. “Don’t even give it 2 hours before you’re changing your fucking locks and keeping me from getting my shit?”

Harry winces, pulling his phone away from his ear. Camille and Theo can hear the tone of Briar’s voice through the speaker, causing them to look at Harry questioningly. Harry just finished reading a story to Oliver and tucking him in.

When he imagined being a dad when he was younger, bed time was a big part of his day dreams. Some of his fondest memories are times he was cuddled up to his mom and sister, listening to them read Shel Silverstein poems to him as he drifted to sleep.

He excuses himself from where Camille and Theo are sitting on their sofa.

“Briar, listen —,” Harry tries, ducking through the window door to their balcony. They all enjoyed a nice dinner, starting to talk about a co-parenting plan moving forward.

“No, I won’t fucking listen! Madison was just here and told me you made her change the locks. Do you know how much of a fucking idiot I just looked like?”

“I didn’t think you’d go over right away. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you,” He lies. He knew she would.

“So, you’re just going to manipulate me into staying in touch with you? What’s next? Are you going to abduct Gus from his doggie daycare?”

He has to hold himself back from smirking. Now she’s just putting ideas in his head.

“Birdie, I’m not evil,” He reasons. “I just wanted to up my security while I’m gone.”

“You are SO fucking full of shit. You knew I’d go MIA and you’re trying to Stockholm syndrome me.”

“That’s not how that wo—,” he replies but is interrupted from her frustrated groan and scream.

“FUCK YOU, H. Don’t fucking contact me again,” Briar spits at him. “Ever.”

“Birdie, please, let’s just talk!” Harry yells before she hangs up on him again.

Her vision is blurred by the fat tears forming in her eyes, fingers shaking as her thumb hovers over the block button on Harry’s contact. She closes her eyes as she presses the button, her stomach dropping to her feet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants sadly as she sits in his hallway, her head in her hands.

Harry’s face scrunches up as he leans against the railing of the balcony. He watches the happy people on the street below pass by, his heart thumping out of his chest.

He ducks through the window again to find Camille in the kitchen, flipping through a magazine. Her eyes meet his, waiting for him to speak.

Harry runs a hand through his hair before finally saying, “I changed my flight. Have some things to take care of,” he says solemnly.

“D’accord. Let’s get a plan in place before you go, then.”

He nods before joining her at the table.

Harry and Camille discuss a loose plan. Oliver will live with Camille and Theo, and visit Harry twice a year for a month. Harry will visit Oliver for a few weeks at a time throughout the year. She feels comfortable with Harry’s ability to take care of him, but for their first trip, she’d like to be close by.

Harry is relieved. They hug, and a hopeful feeling washes over him. For his last day, they make plans for Harry to take Oliver to the museums for the day before they say their goodbyes.

He leaves their apartment, his hands in his pockets. His heart hurts for many different reasons; searing pain over Briar, but swelling with love and adoration for Oliver. On the metro home, he spends time putting important school dates for Oliver in his calendar. He’s even started to block time off in his work calendar to be able to check in with him several times a week.

Shuffling back to his hotel, he stops by a pharmacy to grab a pack of cigarettes. Just one, he thinks. For the culture. He leans against the entrance of his hotel, lighting the stick with a match. He winces at the heat on his finger tips, waving his fingers in the air.

He inhales, letting the smoke swirl around his lungs, the heat burning his throat slightly. Coughing, a few more tears escape his eyes. He won’t last long with his asthma, but he feels the dopamine hit his brain.

He flicks the butt to the ground before heading inside. The doorman looks at him sympathetically before pressing his floor on the elevator. He pulls out his wallet to open the door with his key card.

The room is messy how he’d left it — clothes thrown about and the pillows indented from his fits of anger. He even spots the open bottle of tequila from the few swigs he took before Oliver’s game. Father of the year.

Before giving up and going to bed, he sends one text to Briar.

🦊: I’ll be here when you’re ready. It’ll always be you.

The message delivers in a green bubble.

It’s been 24 hours since Briar blocked Harry. She calls in reinforcements to help her gather her stuff. 3 of her 4 brothers arrived to Harry’s — begrudgingly, but willing to help her carry things. She frantically searched the house for their more damning items; plugs, whips, chains, ropes, gags, what have you, and hid them deep in Harry’s closet.

Her adrenaline from not sleeping and getting completely drained emotionally is taking over, so she’s suddenly energized to get this done. They grab Gus’s items and a few workout supplies she leaves in his gym. Suddenly, the space becomes more sterile and boring as her items are removed.

She buys them all pizza as a peace offering, so they spend one final evening at Harry’s. The boys avoid the elephant in the room, and opt to listen to Callum’s crazy stories from his friend’s bachelor party.

When they leave, they each hug her for a little longer. She’s grateful for their company since she’ll probably fall apart before bed again.

She stares at the house before sadly pulling away, not daring to look behind her in the mirror.

All the while, watchful eyes couldn’t stop watching this unfold through the security cameras.

He doesn’t know why he watched. If it weren’t for the annoying ping sound, he’d forget he can even view his security cameras from his phone.

Harry’s eyes were glued to the screen as he watched his girl stand on his driveway, staring sadly at his house. His number is blocked — he’s sure of it. So, he opts to be the eye in the sky instead of finding a way to contact her in some obscure way, like messaging her through her cable provider. That’s too toxic, even for him.

He had an amazing day with Oliver at the museums and going all over Paris to do his favorite things. It’s fun to tour a city in the eyes of a child. Then, they had a teary goodbye as he boarded the plane to England.

“Au revoir, Papa. Je t’aime,” Oliver sniffles.

“I love you too, buddy. I had so much fun with you,” Harry rubs his back. He kisses Oliver on the forehead before reaching to hug Camille.

“Thank you, Harry. This is a good thing,” she smiles at him. “Good luck with everything. We’ll talk soon about travel plans.”

Harry nods, waving one more time at Oliver. He walks to the gate, quickly losing sight of his boy. Now, he’s sat watching a live stream of his girl packing her shit and leaving. She even brought in her brothers to get out of there quicker.

He angrily shoves his phone in his pocket before covering his eyes with his arm. The airport is buzzing around him, and he’s just thankful this flight home is quick. He’s excited to see his family; it’s been about a year and a half since he was in England, due to travel restrictions from the pandemic.

Unable to be alone with his thoughts, he pulls his phone back out to open his photo app. He flips through photos of himself and Oliver, Oliver and Pierre the cat, and even one of Camille and him that Oliver took. He smiles at each of them, feeling the happiness radiate off his boy’s dimpled smile.

As he scrolls, he moves further back in time. Pictures of Gus, Harry and Briar cuddled in bed, her bare body in various positions start popping up. He lowers his brightness so TSA isn’t called on him. His heart lurches at his chest when he finds a photo of their pinkies intertwined.

He snaps his eyes shut as tears blur his eyes again, so he jumps when he hears his flight number called. He’s flying coach, since it’s only an hour long flight. He stands once group 4 is called.

A woman with a small baby is ahead of him, so he offers to lift her suitcase into the overhead compartment of their row. She smiles at him gratefully as she situates into her seat.

Harry is nestled in his window seat when he shoots his mum a quick text that he’s boarded. He’s done it for every flight he’s ever gotten on.

He bunches up his DAMN. hoodie and rests it between his head and the window. His over-ear headphones are on, but he’s not listening to any music. All his liked songs on Spotify are from Briar controlling the music in the car. He’d risk playing a song they both love and end up bawling his eyes out.

The plane starts to taxi, so Harry finally presses shuffle. It’s that goddamn song again

It’s a one chance in a lifetime, sort of thing.

It’s the kind of love sent from above.

Harry takes a deep breath before frantically pausing the song and shoving everything in his bag. The woman from earlier spots his minor outburst, so she gives him a concerned, tight-lipped look. He looks away, slightly embarrassed.

They still have 30 minutes left on the flight, so Harry pulls out his moleskin notebook. He hasn’t journaled since he got kicked out of graduated from therapy. He’s scared to flip to previous pages; unsure what he’ll find.

Next thing he knows, the words are pouring onto the paper.

He’s not going to give it to her, or anything. He’s just trying to channel all of his anger and heartbreak in one direction so he doesn’t lose his mind. A small chuckle escapes Harry when he realizes this is now the second time he’s running home after heartbreak, the last one happening almost 9 years ago.

It probably makes him seem soft, but he can’t bring himself to care. He wants to be surrounded by people he loves, and maybe even a little doted on. His mom and step-dad are nearing 70, so he really should be the one caring for them.

He’s excited to see his niece and tell her all about her new cousin. She begs for a sibling all the time, so maybe this will fill the gap for her.

He doodles on the page, making sure to initial the bottom. He mindlessly draws a bluebird and a jar of honey. Just a few minutes later, the cabin lights flash, signaling their descent into Manchester. His sister and niece are picking him up, so he’s sure to have a laugh the minute he sees them.

When Harry exits the plane, he stretches his long limbs, loosening his joints and hips. He’s exhausted both physically and emotionally, so he can’t wait to pass out in the guest room.

From the top of the escalator he spots Gemma and Hattie, along with a sign he can’t quite make out. As he gets closer, he sees what the sign his beaming niece is holding.

Welcome home, Uncle Harry!

His heart bursts in his chest, so he starts to step down on the escalator to get to them faster.

“Uncle Harry!”

“Hattie!” he yells as he lifts her in the air. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too!”

“Hey, stranger,” Gemma says, pulling him in for a hug.

“Hey Gem,” Harry kisses her cheek. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem. Why the last minute need to come home?”

“We’ll talk about it,” he diverts her attention as he hands Hattie his small bag for her to carry.

“Nooo! It’s too heavy,” Hattie whines.

“Where’re your muscles?” He laughs grabbing the bag back.

The three of them head to the car listening to Hattie spew every moment leading up to getting him at the airport.

Harry sits up front, resting his eyes. Gemma hasn’t said much, but she’s dying to know why Harry is home. They drive back to the house, Hattie humming some song by Jojo Siwa, whom Harry has no clue who that is to begin with.

Gemma drops Harry off at their mum’s before heading back to their own house. He promises to see them the next day at breakfast. He blows a kiss to Hattie before unloading his bags from the trunk.

His mum comes to the door as soon as she heard the trunk close. She waves to Gemma and Hattie before meeting him on the path.

“Hi, mum.”

“Hi, baby. So happy to see you,” she gushes as she pulls him in for a long hug. “I just put some tea on, if you want to go put your bags away.”

“Okay,” he says softly. He already feels like he could fall apart.

His room has been transformed into many things over the years; a yoga room, a pottery studio, and even a sauna. But, now it’s back to being a spare bedroom. He opens the wardrobe to find items from his past. Football trophies, drawings from school, and a dozen stuffed animals. His chest constricts as he looks at a small stuffed dog that Briar would probably love.

He shakes the thought and closes the door. Not bothering to unpack, he heads back out to the sitting room. His mum smiles at him, patting the seat beside her. Harry says nothing as he fixes his tea; one sugar and a dash of cream.

He clears his throat, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

Anne flashes him a tight lipped smile, “I’ll never turn down a visit with my youngest pup. It’s been far too long, anyway.”

Harry nods, taking a small sip, only to sputter from the searing temperature of the tea.

“Just, um, going through a rough patch,” he grips the back of his neck and scratches the nape. “Was seeing a girl, and she encouraged me to make amends with Camille.”

Anne’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “So, does that mean you’ve met…”

“Yep. Yeah, I did. He’s great, mum. And Camille seems to really have changed. She and Theo are married with another baby.”

Anne has a visceral reaction to this, but says nothing.

“The girl —Briar— is 24, and, obviously, I think getting involved in something like this is daunting. But, I really thought she was the one,” he coughs. “Is the one.”

She leans in closer and rests her chin on her palm, “So, what’s going on then? Did she get cold feet?”

“I think so. Called the other day and everything just blew up. She wants me to take time to learn how to be a good father to Oliver.”

She hums, stirring her tea around.

“I get it. She’s a bit young to possibly become a step-mum. But, it’s not like he’d live with you full-time.”

“That’s what I said, but she’s not having it. Pretty sure I’m blocked on everything.”

Harry omits telling his mother about keeping Briar’s belongings hostage in order to buy himself time.

“It’s a tough situation, baby. I see both sides. Maybe just take this time apart and get into a good routine with Oliver and Camille, and then go from there.”

Harry rubs his eyes, tears threatening to fall at any minute. He can’t help but feel like it’s just not in the cards to be happy. Any sliver of happiness has been fleeting, raising his anxiety levels as the years go on.

“I’m just so tired of being unhappy,” a small sob escapes him. He’s trying to breathe to stop it from happening, but he just erupts into harder, shakier tears.

Anne pulls him in for a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He feels stupid. He’s reminded of the times he cried this hard; when his cat, Dusty, died, or when he was caught smoking weed for the first time, and, of course, the weeks after Camille left.

He remains like that for almost a half hour; Anne’s grip never loosening. Once his breathing slows and the shivering stops, he moves to rest his forehead on his folded arms on the table.

“You can stay here as long as you need to, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Bear,” Patrick’s cheery voice rings over the phone.

Briar is laid up in her bed, curtains drawn, not a peek of sunlight coming through. It’s been 6 days since she blocked Harry. It’s like one of her limbs is missing.

That’s the thing about routine; when it’s disrupted, it can be impossible to go back to normal. She’s been operating on autopilot, and is due for a breakdown soon.

“Hi,” Briar squeaks.

“It’s been a while. Haven’t heard from you or seen you at Wynnewood. Why are you hiding?”

Briar scowls to herself. He knows her too well.

She coughs in order to buy herself some time, or an excuse. “Just been feeling burnt out lately. Busy with school. Everything’s fine, Uncle Patrick.”

He hums, but she can tell he isn’t buying it. After years of going head to head with him, he knows how to play offense.

“We’re having some people over on Saturday. All the boys will be there, too. Bring Harry if he’s around.”

Briar inhales sharply at the sound of his name.

“Mhm, okay. I’ll let you know,” she mumbles. Seconds later, her eyes shoot open. “Wait. Aren’t they all out visiting mom?”

“They got back on Monday. You haven’t talked to any of them?”

Guilt bubbles to the surface. “No, I just helped Cormac book his flight. But, that was a few weeks ago.”

“Bri,” Patrick replies pointedly. “What’s going on?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, her voice cracking a little, “Nothing. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Honey, I know you’re not telling me the truth. What is it? Is it your mom?”

Briar can barely breathe. “Yes, I’m still upset about her leaving,” she lies.

“You gotta tell me about that stuff, Briar. We’re all here to help you. Have you told Harry the whole story?”

“Yeah,” she sniffles. “He knows what he needs to know.”

“Okay. Please don’t bottle things up. It’s not good for you.”

Suddenly, Briar is 15 again, drinking for the first time and sneaking out to meet boys. Her aunt and uncle almost sent her away, but instead opted for more intense therapy, which helped.

“I know. Thank you. I love you,” she says quietly.

“Love you too, Bear. See you Saturday. Harry owes me a six pack from our bet the last time we played.”

She chokes out a fake chuckle and hangs up, throwing her phone across the room to her “everything chair” that gets covered in clothes and junk every week.

Even though it’s nearing 8 PM on a Wednesday, she’s feeling reckless. She immediately grabs her phone again, and begins typing. Her heart is beating faster than it has in weeks.

B: Hey, Spencer. It’s Briar. Want to meet up and review the take-home exam?

Harry is staying in Manchester for a few weeks. His leave of absence is over, so he had Madison ship him his laptop and order new monitors. He’s staying at Gemma’s in their guest house. It’s a little more secluded, and he can get some work done in peace.

He’s gotten into a good routine over the past few weeks; His mornings are spent working out, playing with Hattie, and visiting his old stomping grounds before returning home to work east coast hours.

Niall is starting to get suspicious. As far as he knew, Harry’s time with Oliver went well. Harry is oddly cold in their meetings, and can barely meet Niall’s eye in their weekly one on one meetings. He hasn’t mentioned Briar’s name once.

Harry is surprisingly in good spirits. His mum, his sister, his niece and his old mates have been taking his mind off things. This time around, heartbreak is effecting him in a completely different way.

Maybe because he knows it’s not over. He just has to play his hand right. He’s trying to avoid groveling, or smothering her.

So, like a lion laying low in the grass, he’ll wait her out.

Talking to Spencer is easy. Effortless. Not that talking to Harry wasn’t, but it’s different. He understands her meme references, they make connections about the games they played as kids and the tv shows they watched.

He’s extremely kind, and doesn’t give her any sort of ick right off the bat. Their study session started out as a tutoring session, which soon turned to Briar finessing his answers from him. Not that she couldn’t do it on her own; she’s just seeking attention.

She’s well aware of what she’s doing. It’s been just over a month since she and Harry broke up. Well, since she ended it. It’s infuriating that he hasn’t tried to contact her. Was he even in love with her in the first place?

Spencer and Briar meet up regularly, and he’s even started to get day passes to Wynnewood so he can see her. Briar is back to work like normal, not answering any prying questions from Cam or any of the friends she’s come to make there. They look at her with raised eyebrows, but don’t dare to say anything.

Spencer and Briar have kissed, which sent her into a tizzy when she got home the night it happened. Spencer messaged her the next night to ask her out to dinner at a nice Italian place he loves. He called an Uber for her, so the destination was unknown, until she pulls up to a familiar place. La Campagna. Harry’s favorite restaurant.

Panic seeps through every pore in her body. Not wanting to alarm the driver, she takes a deep breath before forcing her body to move.

Her hands are shaking, but she pulls open the door to reveal the quaint interior. There are only a few seatings each night, so the whole place is intimate. She spots Spencer in the back corner, so she softly smiles at the hostess before walking over.

He stands to pull out her chair, and compliments her dress. Upon sitting, Briar downs the glass of water at her seat. Spencer is startled, but doesn’t comment on it. They start to chit chat, debrief from their day and discuss their assignments for the week. It’s nice conversation, but it doesn’t light each of her nerve endings on fire like it does with Harry.

After a while and a lot more wine than she planned on drinking, she excused herself to the bathroom. Scurrying past the tables, she finds the small single bathroom in the back hallway. She’s about to push open the door when she spots a picture hanging on the wall.

A picture of Harry. And the chef, Massimo, who Harry befriended years ago. This photo is clearly not recent; his face a little softer, and his hips holding onto the puppy fat. He looks to be about 25.

His suit is striking; bright pink with only a white tank top underneath. The two are smiling brightly, Massimo leaning over his shoulder. Despite how many times she’s been here, she’s never once noticed this picture.

Her panic comes back as she forces her way through the door. She can hardly flip the lock and turn on the light before a sob escapes her. She bends her knees, folding her body in on itself. Covering her face with her hands, she tries not to smudge her eye make up.

Briar is not a discreet crier by any means. Her eyes get puffy, she bites her lip until it bleeds, and a rash forms on her chest when she’s in any kind of distress. It’ll be clear as day when she returns to the table.

Hesitantly, she rises to stand in front of the sink. She takes a stack of paper towels, dampening them so she can cool her body temperature. A sigh of relief washes over her when the cold water touches her skin.

Why did it have to be this fucking restaurant?! Balling up her fists, she gives herself a pep talk in the mirror, and takes several deep breaths to regulate her breathing. Using the same towels, she cleans up her under eye area, bringing her make up back to decent shape.

Briar unlocks the door, and confidently strides out of the bathroom, completely ignoring the photo on the wall. Spencer smiles when she comes into view.

“Hope you don’t mind, I ordered us another appetizer,” he smiles.

“Perfect,” Briar flips her hair over her shoulder, smiling at him softly. “Want to come back to mine after we finish here?”

________________________________________________________

@daphnesutton @pandeebearstyles @anxiouswaterss @gem1712 @stylesfever @awesomenavy @crazygirlinthisworld @butdaddyilovehim-hs @luxiorchive @alchemxx @narry-heart

DON'T KILL ME PLZZZZZ HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL WRITING TWO IDIOTS IN LOVE .

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles imagine #Harry styles smut #dom!harry #daddy!harry #agegapfic #Harry Styles golf #golfrry #one direction imagine #daddy!h #fth h #fairway to heaven #harry styles x oc

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negans-lucille-tblr · 8 months

Text

Look What You Made Me Do | Step Dad!Negan | Dark Oneshot

Summary: Negan’s there to welcome home his step-daughter after her first date, but he doesn’t like what she chose to wear, and decides to show her what the consequences of dressing like a slut might be.

Rating: 18+ (Dark smut)

Pairing(s): Step Dad!Negan x Step Daughter!Rachel

WARNINGS: non con, forced sex, step-incest, dirty talking, p in v, daddy kink, forced blowjob, slapping, victim blaming, forced loss of virginity, mentions of blood, crying during sex, pain

WC: ± 2K A/Ns: This was commissioned by the lovely @ruewritesstuff, and it almost made me feral. So enjoy <3

Negan Masterlist || Want your own commission? Find out more here!

Negan’s fingers bounce on the arm of the couch as he watches the time, the second hand on the clock ticking around, the minute hand drawing closer and closer to the twelve. The house is practically silent, not that he’d hear his wife from where he’s sitting, anyway. Their house is fairly large, and there are about four doors closed between them right now. He’d encouraged her to go to bed after her fifth yawn sitting beside him, and he knew it would be a matter of minutes before she was knocked out on the Xanax she needs to take to help her sleep. He’d insisted he could wait up until her daughter returned home from her date, but now he’s growing impatient.

He hadn’t been there, still stuck in work when whatever college boy showed up to take his eighteen year old step-daughter on a date. What business has some college boy got with her, anyway? Negan’s fairly sure she’s a virgin, and she’s not had a boyfriend that he’s been aware of in the two years he’s been in her life. But then Negan scoffs to himself. Of course a college boy would be interested in a naive, virgin senior. Even Negan finds himself interested. But that’s different, because he’s older and wiser, and he can protect her from all the boys that wanna fuck her and leave her heart broken. The thought of someone taking her innocence away and not even having the common decency to call her back makes his skin crawl. Though, if Negan’s truly honest with himself, maybe that’s just the jealousy talking. What he wouldn’t give to be the one to take her innocence, and he’ll be fucked off if some frat boy beats him to it.

He hasn’t gotten his dick wet in months. His wife hasn’t shown an interest since she half assed giving him a handjob on his birthday, and the longer he goes only thinking about sinking his cock into someone as tight and warm as his little girl, the more desperate he is for relief. He would go out and find some random slut to fuck, but he wants to save himself for her, just like she’s been saving herself for him; she just doesn’t know it yet.

Negan’s attention is once again drawn to the clock, and he notices that it’s eleven PM on the dot, and as if on cue, he hears the rumble of a car engine and rises to his feet to see a guy opening his passenger door, and Rachel climbing out of it. She looks good in the mini skirt and shirt she decided to wear, her red hair tied up as Negan imagines wrapping it around his fist as she chokes on his cock, and he grunts when the guy takes her hand and walks her up the garden path to the front door. Negan stalks to the door and opens it just before they can kiss, and he’s secretly elated with his timing, and far less impressed with theirs.

“You’re late,” he grunts out, and Rachel blushes, clearing her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

“It’s my fault, sir, I didn’t realize the time, we were star gazing.”

Negan’s nose crinkles at the very idea of Rachel and this boy laying on some shitty picnic blanket looking up at some fucking stars like they’re in some rom com, bet the pervert even tried to get his hand up her skirt. Maybe he even succeeded, and just the thought has Negan slamming the door in the boy’s face the second Rachel crosses the threshold.

“I’m not even five minutes late,” Rachel argues, narrowing her blue eyes at him.

“I don’t fucking care, late is late,” he growls, noticing her lipstick is far more faded than it probably should be, and he wonders if she wore it off by kissing that low-life, or maybe even worse; sucking his cock. “What the fuck are you even wearing? You look like a whore.”

Rachel looks down her body and tugs on the hem of her skirt, only blushing more violently, and she swallows thickly.

“Mom said I look nice,” she mumbles, looking around as if to seek out her mother.

“Well your Mom doesn’t fucking care if you get fucking raped in the back of some college boy’s shitty Sedan then, does she?”

“Callum wasn’t like that,” Rachel insists, stubbornly. “He didn’t even kiss me.”

“Yeah fucking right,” Negan scoffs. “Look at the fuckin’ state of you,” he growls, reaching out to smear her lipstick some more. “Bet you sucked his cock the whole fucking ride home.”

“What?” Rachel blinks, shaking her head as horror washes over her face at the very accusation. “No, nothing like that happened, I’m still a virgin.”

“Mhm,” Negan nods, pretending to believe her, the idea that she might not be only making him angrier. “Of course you fucking are. You think you can fuckin’ lie to me?”

“I’m not lying, Negan, I swear,” she whimpers, tears filling her eyes. “This was only our first date… my first date,” she explains.

“Well if you didn’t fuck him you were still fuckin’ asking for it,” Negan accuses. “Weren’t you?” He prompts, making her shake her head. “Of course you were, look at you,” he goads, reaching forward, playing with the slightly open neckline of her shirt. “Your tits are fucking hanging out, and your skirt is so fucking short, I can nearly see your panties, if you’re even wearing any.”

He can’t help himself from lifting her skirt to find out for sure, and sure enough he can see simple white cotton panties, and she whimpers, pressing her thighs together. Instantly, his cock begins to harden, and he resists the very real urge to tear the cotton from her body and bend her over the couch, fucking into her so hard she’ll feel him for days. Maybe he should do that, maybe then she’ll think twice about letting some random boy take her out.

“Do you even fucking know what you’re doing?” he asks. “Do you fucking know all those thoughts you put into men’s heads when you dress like this?” Rachel weakly shakes her head, and Negan’s cock only throbs harder. He reaches for her hand and instantly presses it against his crotch. “This. This is what you fucking do to us. Do you think I want to be this fucking hard for my own step-daughter?” Rachel’s tears now stream down her cheeks as she shakes her head and her hand trembles beneath his. “No, of course I fucking don’t, but you don’t fucking care about that, do you? You just want to wear your slutty little clothes, and it’s gonna get you into real fucking trouble one day, sweetheart. Maybe I should teach you a lesson. On your fucking knees.”

Rachel is now crying aloud as she slowly lowers herself to her knees, and Negan wastes no time freeing his aching cock from his jeans, reaching down to once again take her hand and force her to wrap it around his cock. He works her hand up and down his shaft to show her what to do, but quickly realizes she won’t do it unaided, so he keeps his hand wrapped around hers.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry,” she begins to sob, and Negan grunts at the feeling of her skin on his, and the sound of ‘Daddy’ on her lips like that’s going to save her. But the name only turns him on more.

“You fuckin’ will be,” he promises, “Open that mouth.” She whines, squeezing her eyes shut, and Negan instantly reaches forward and tugs her hair hard, slapping her across the face, making her cry out in pain. “I said open that fucking mouth.”

With a shaky jaw, Rachel complies, and he wastes no time pushing his cock into her mouth, fucking into the back of her throat, making her gag and splutter around him, spit already indignantly dribbling down her chin and front as it mixes with her tears.

“Look what you made me do,” he snarls, gasping for breath with each punch at the back of her throat. Fuck, this feels better than he could’ve imagined. “This is all your fault and you fuckin’ know it.”

Rachel continues to cry, but the sound of it only seems to stir Negan on more, his cock throbbing between her lips, and when he pulls back completely she gasps and splutters for air, dry heaving.

“Time to find out if you were fucking lying,” Negan tells her, yanking her to her feet by her arm, shoving her over to the couch as she stumbles. He spins her around and forces her to bend over the arm of the couch, throwing her skirt over her ass, seeing that the white cotton panties are actually a thong, and her round, bare ass is right there for him.

“Rachel,” he tuts, disappointment dripping off of his tongue. “Who the fuck do you think you are wearing panties like this, hm? You think you’re a big fucking girl, don’t you?”

Rachel doesn’t reply, she just continues to cry, and Negan eagerly pulls the material to one side, exposing her pink, unused pussy, all tight and closed up, yet to be ruined or spoiled by anyone. He’s going to be the first, and if he gets his way, the last, too.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks, looking at the back of her head for any sign of a reply. She doesn’t reply, which gives him his answer. “Have you fucked yourself with toys before? I bet a fucking whore like you has toys.” She shakes her head ‘no’ this time. “Fingers?” Another shake of her head tells Negan everything he needs to know. “Poor baby girl, you have no fucking idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Negan spits on his fingers and roughly pushes them between her folds, forcing them inside her as she screams, and he rushes to cover her mouth with his free hand. Not that her mother will hear her through all those walls and Xanax. Such a shame. He forcibly fucks into her cunt with his fingers, scissoring them in a bid to open her up just enough to take his cock, but he’s doubtful he’s going to fit without a lot of force. He’s still willing to try, though. He spits onto his cock, once again spitting on his fingers too, spreading the wet around her slightly opened hole.

“No, no no no,” Rachel starts to panic, reaching back to push him away, but Negan’s strong enough to have her trapped there, and even when she tries to stand back up, he only has to push down on her back to get her to double over once again. “Please don’t, please, I’m a virgin, Daddy, please,” she begs.

“Imagine this was Callum, hm?” he reminds her, teasing the tip of his cock against her tight opening, wondering if he’s going to manage to get inside. He pushes forward, making her scream once again, his hand once more silencing her. “It could’ve been. Could’ve fucking raped you on his backseat. Dropped you home with his cum dripping down your fucking legs and never called you again. You would’ve been just some dumb fucking whore he got to fuck,” he snarls, getting inch by inch inside her slowly. Blood smears over his length and he smirks at the sight, happy to have taken his little girl’s virginity. “You’re fuckin’ lucky it’s me, sweetheart,” he tells her. “You’re fucking lucky it’s someone who loves you.”

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