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salaciousdoll · 1 year

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Not A Bad Thing!

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Pairings : Number 1 Mafia Executive! Coyote Starrk x Candy store owner Chubby fem!Reader

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Encapsulation : Love is in the air on a Christmas Eve night

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Warnings : Starrk is a Dilf, Family issues, Lilynette is an actual human, this is an Au, talks of pregnancy, Smut, Fingering, talks of La Espada being a Mafia, talks about emotions, squirting, fucking against the wall, slow fucking, passionate fucking, Cute pet names( butterfly, Angel, etc.), doing a split on the dick, black reader, reader has stretch marks( buttercup made me become better at this), Starrk being slow and passionate with the touches, breeding kink( heavy), creampie mentioned, slight daddy kink, the word daddy is there only two times (so brace yourselves for those who don’t like it), just praise and overall smut, the ending may be rushed but hey I was tired last night, hook up that turns into something else.

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Word Count : 5.2k

18+ Shortcakes Allowed Only

White avalanche was everywhere as Starrk and his daughter were walking to Lola’s favorite candy shop, Saccharlicious. He finally had a day off but was still on guard due to his position in the mafia. La espada was a mafia that was well organized and if you make one wrong move, you’re gone just like that. Now if he made the wrong move today, it’ll cost his and his daughter life so he had to still be cautious even if he’s with his little girl. He hated that he had to do this because his little girl deserves the world and that means a parent who’s not so tense at harmless times like this.

“ Dad, I can’t wait to see Miss y/n, she’s so pretty and she also gives me a lot of free stuff sometimes. I think it’s meant to be a secret.”, Lola says while skipping beside Starrk on the inside of the sidewalk. They are only walking because of the parking space being far from the shop, he could only guess that they were busy right now.

Starrk smiled down at his daughter before opening the shop door for her, “ Yeah, I’ve noticed, baby girl. Remind me to tell her to stop giving you special treatment, don’t need you bouncing off the walls like last time.”

Lola blew a raspberry and sighed, “ Dadddd!, I was not bouncing off the walls because of miss y/n’s candy, it’s because I was too hyper while watching my favorite music group, wouldn’t you be hyper if you happen to see a performance from your favorite singer?”

Starrk almost let out a laugh because that was part of the reason for her hyper tendencies, candy just added on and she’s just denying it, “ Sure, whatever you say Lola.”

Lola was saying something else but he lost focus when he heard the voice he’s been wanting to hear ever since he first came here to this shop. That one visit made him obsessed with you. He loved and hated the feeling because this was new and he didn’t like new things if it didn’t come with a price or deal. That’s just how he grew up, especially being in the assassin field.

He was only confused about this feeling whenever he heard a pinch of your laugh or voice speaking to other customers because he didn’t grow up in love or even having an emotion of likeness. He was trained to suppress any emotion he had and just get the jobs done. That is why he became so desensitized when it came to the feeling and emotion of love or obsession so why now?

He didn't even show this much care or obsession towards his ex-wife, Neo. A woman he was in a relationship with for five years. They had Lola in their first year together and that’s where his disconnection of his love came, not like it was there in the first place. He had a reason to not care or love his wife now. His reason is just her hatred for Lola, her own child. A small child who didn’t know right from wrong, didn’t know small to big, hell not even her own name yet. She hated Lola as soon as she saw the love she got from Starrk and her own parents.

He couldn’t take anymore of her hatred for his kid so he gave her options: “ Either stay with our kid and learn to love her or Die.” He had no patience for her because she always acted yucky towards Lola. She finally told him the reason behind her behavior when he was sleeping with two hands behind his head in their bed, she wasn’t loved as a child and she’ll never experience what Lola experienced neither can she give Lola the experience of being loved by a parent, so after two days she left without a trace and Starrk didn’t care not one bit. At least she didn’t die from his hands, he didn’t care about what happened to her outside of him.

He was just glad that he was now the only parent Lola needed. He wasn’t gonna walk out or back down from being a dad to Lola, it’s the least he could do even if he, himself, wasn’t loved as a child too. One left and the other stayed for Lola. He promised he wasn’t gonna let any woman or man get close to Lola because they could do the same thing Neo did: walk out, so why is he letting you get a chance to ease your way into her heart. Lilynette was the only one, you will be in that category too.

He snapped out of his mind when he heard your voice closer and a little louder than it was before, realizing that he’s at the counter, “ Hello, what can I do for you, Lola-pop? First, how have you been? And how have you been, Mr. Starrk?”

You peered down at Lola as she smiled up at you answering the question so happily, the happiest she’s been since they walked out the house, “ I’m excited, miss Y/n, your taffy grapes are now back on the menu, I could already hear the taste in my ears!!”

You laughed at her excitement, “ Oh, come on, another good pun, you just got them floating around in that cute little head, don’t cha’?” You then watched her nodding her head excitedly prior to you lifting your head to see Starrk's pretty blue-gray eyes already on you, you slowly dragged your eyes up and down his body slowly before meeting his eyes again with a smile on your pretty face, “ And you?”

He cleared his throat before engaging in your question with his usual voice just deeper, “ Peachy, this one is driving me up the wall just to come here and get your famous grapes.” When he said this one, he had his palm on Lola’s head, ruffling her hair with a smirk on his face knowing she’s gonna whine and she did, making you laugh as well at her little whine.

“ So I’m guessing that’s what she wants now. What flavor would you like, Lola? We have Oreo flavor, red velvet, regular taffy grapes, and cotton candy taffy grapes.”, You say while pointing to the menu on the counter. Of course taffy grapes wasn’t the only thing on the menu but that’s one of the three things she likes or has tried at your new candy store. She likes your Hello Kitty Cookies and the fruity cereal KitKat you always have to restock since almost everyone loves them. You always had to make more of your taffy grapes and cookies too, you wanted to make some more candy or desserts since everyone seems to love these.

You could practically see the light reflecting from the little girl's eyes as she scanned over the pretty menu you made, “ Everything looks so pretty and good, but I want my Oreo taffy grapes, they’re so good, wish dad can make it for me..” she grabbed your apron you had on, motioning you to bend down. You did and she whispered the last part in your ear while you kept your eyes on Starrk’s facial expression with a big smile on your face, “ but he’s too lazy to learn the recipe.” You wanted to bust out laughing because you honestly get a kick out of kids respectfully dissing their parents.

An idea popped in your head but you had to ask your next question first, “ Okay, since it’s almost Christmas time, we have an extra size you could get, buy one get one free, do you accept mr. Starrk?” He could almost melt from how you say his name. You're only a few years younger than him yet you’re still keeping up formalities. Such a good girl you are, huh. He could feel himself growing the more you stared at him, so he averted his eyes from you whilst answering your question, “ Yeah sure, doesn’t matter to me.”

Lola almost jumped out of her body when she saw you came back with an extra large cup and a medium cup, you held up the extra large cup, “ This one is the free one, Lola-pop. I know how much you love my taffy grapes and wanted to be grateful for you and your dad for being my consistent customers.” Lola was saying thank you non-stop even while you were adding the Oreo taffy grapes in both cups. You couldn’t do anything but laugh because you could see Starrk trying to calm her down. The seven year old couldn’t hear anything he was saying at all and it was cute.

You came back to the counter with the cups filled with taffy grapes now, “ and would that be all?” Starrk couldn’t even speak because those taffy grapes looked delicious and he was finally willing to learn the recipe but how when he only seen you do this, maybe he could look it up onl-”

“ Yes, miss y/n, that is all. I have no idea what’s going on with dad today. He’s been spacing out a lot ever since we got here.”, Lola says so nonchalantly while eating on the medium cup taffy grapes while trying to hold the extra large one in her arms.

Starrk quickly grabbed the big cup out of her hands before placing the money on the counter in a hurry, saying thanks as Lola skips. You smirked before stopping him from walking to grab his daughter's hand to get out of the store, “ I could teach you if you would like?”

He stopped and slowly turned to see you already writing down something on the piece of paper you had, “ Help with what exactly?” A man of a few words is what you could describe him as and that’s fine with you that’s why you liked him. You smiled at him before waving him over again and giving him the piece of paper in his hand prior to leaning to whisper in his ear, depending on your height he may or may not have to lean down. His eyes widened when he heard what you said. He felt your warm breath on his ear and wanted you to lick his ear lobe so badly after saying what you said because then he would’ve called Lola’s auntie, Lilynette to come and get Lola so he could have some time with you right here and now.

You smiled at his darkened eyes, winking at him just as Lola called his name in a whine since she was tired of standing right there, “ Call me when you want to learn, Mr. Starrk.”

Starrk hurried out the shop and dropped the text to Lilynette that tonight she could get her to open up her Christmas presents over her house and then she’ll come back home on Christmas to open up her Christmas presents at his house. Good, tonight is the perfect night to finally learn.

After some hours, the shop was now getting locked by you when you got the text from an unknown number telling you it’s starrk and asking where you two should meet. You never expected him to actually text you first but here you are. You puffed out the cold air as you unlocked your car door, getting in the hot starter car. You texted back your house and how he got the address already before putting your phone down with the Bluetooth hooked already.

You were smiling nonstop on your way home, going in the house, and even as you finally took a shower after your long day. You finally had him in your grasp just in some minutes.

Right now, You had on a cute little pajama set and had the taffy grape products out and ready for him to learn about. The doorbell rang just as you were putting the grapes in the drainer bowl to get washed properly. You knew it was him so you hurried to answer the door, not wanting to keep him waiting on you.

Starrk was surprised to see you looking so damn good in this pajama set, your hair was supposed to be in a bonnet by now, but you weren't gonna show him that yet. You smiled at him before moving to the side, “ Hello and welcome to my home, Mr. Starrk. You can take your shoes off and put them over there, if you're comfortable with that.”

Starrk took his shoes off and put them where said, working on his coat afterwards when he was interrupted by your voice, “ I’ll get that for you, if you don’t mind, of course.” He gulped before nodding at the home vibe he was already getting. He was so glad that he came here, safely as possible. He couldn’t allow you or risk you getting involved in his field of work. He’ll never forgive himself if something happens to you because of him coming over.

You walked behind him, trailing your fingers over his back bringing them up to his shoulders to slide off the rest of his jacket, putting it on the rack afterwards. Your slow movements were going straight to his cock and he couldn’t help it especially when you walked around him ti stand in front of him. You two sized each other up, walking closer towards each other. Starrk placed his sturdy hands on your love handles/ hips, “ Can I kiss you? I can’t wait any longer, gotta taste you right now.”

Once you nodded your head, he grabbed your neck with one hand and brought your body even closer to him, leaning to capture your plump lips with his. The kiss was slow and sensual, he was going to take his time with you. Your heads moved in opposite directions as you two deepened the kiss, tongue was starting to get more involved in this kiss. His lips were so soft on yours and the way he held your body was so delicate that it kinda made you scared and excited at the same time.

“ Room or living room? Guide the way.”, Starrk says after breaking the kiss, he caressed your face so gently. Hypnotizing, really. You honestly forgot all about the grapes sitting in light vinegar and water in the bowl. However, they do gotta sit for a while, so why not engage in the activity you always wanted to engage in with Starrk.

You smiled before taking his hand guiding him upstairs into your room, locking the door afterwards. As soon as you did that, starrk eyes were on you like a lion catching its prey. He was ready to devour you. His hair was down and he looked so fucking good to you but you had to make sure if this was something smart to do, “ Sta-”

“ Shut up, don’t wanna hear you asking me if I’m sure. When I got in my car and came over here, I was sure. Now the question is, will I be able to resist my urges or succumb to them, what do you think, Angel?”, Starrk says as he takes slow steps towards you. You didn’t back up nor one bit because you wanted to know what urges he had for one and for two you wanted him too much right now. Way too much. Starrk took your lips against his again while you worked on his shirt, you both disconnected when you pulled it over his head only to reconnect like two wolves in heat.

Your kiss was sloppy and the saliva was finding its way to slide down yours and Starrk’s chin’s, neither one of you wanted to stop as he now worked on pulling down your pajamas and you helped him by stepping out of them with a quickness. This could be straight out of a movie from how you two were going at it. His thoughts were roaming and the only word in bold was the word he’s going to do to you. Your hands combed through his silky brown hair as you tongue kissed him with a hidden passion. You both moaned and groaned in between kisses. You both couldn’t help it, it tasted too good and felt too good.

The way his muscles jumped under your touch was enough to drive him mad. He never wanted this to end so because he got you right here and now, he’ll show you his the only one for you. You broke the heated kiss in order to catch a breath whilst looking around him to see the bed realizing you two walked over here while you were making out. You laughed preliminarily, feeling his body walk around you getting behind you, “ You’re gonna’ allow me to do what I want to do to you and your body? Your choice.” His hands were caressing your arms as he spoke with devoutness laced in your ear. His fingers were massaging your arms at this point, it was a relaxing touch and you wanted to stay like this forever. Especially since your body was close to his with your head against his body whether it against his chest or shoulder, depending on your height really.

You nodded because you did not trust your voice right now. He was smirking and you felt it even without seeing it. He rarely does that so when he does, you are either in trouble or just his daughter. You are definitely in trouble for agreeing so dumbly. He had you dumb for him without even being inside of you.

Starrk started to place little kisses on the back of your shoulder as his left hand traced over your rolls to your pudgy stomach rubbing tiny circles into it, making you hide your hands over your face in embarrassment, just a little embarrassed that’s all. His right hand was making its way on your panties rubbing in little circles over your clit. Your body shuddered against his when you felt the little circles against your soaked clit. Oh God! This was really happening is all you both thought. He was taking his time with you and you couldn’t complain not once. When he traveled his right hand in your panties, he traced his index and middle finger down your glossy pussy prior to entering with those same fingers.

Your fat fingers gripped his wrist as little whimpers escaped your pouty, moisturized lips, “ Ah, Starrk, keep going please. Please….please.” He chuckled into the back of your neck, curling up with fingers finding your g-spot so easily. You were surprised because the men you were with haven’t really found the g spot not even 10 minutes later so how was he so fast. The bare minimum really and yet you’re so surprised. Starrk moved his fingers inside of you slowly, lazily but you still loved it as your fingers dug into his arms in fear of you collapsing from the pressure on your pussy right now.

“ Do you like when I dig inside of this fat pussy, hmm? You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to have you like this. The stretch of your pussy tells me that you really don’t even receive this kind of treatment from previous boy toys. It’s a shame really? Feels like a virgin pussy that wrapping around my fingers, not even my dick yet.”, He whispered heavily into your ear making you whine at the fact that he was right. When you got foreplay, the fingering was off and the pussy licking was too hard, shit was aggressive and aggravating.

You gasped when he added a third finger, feeling them speed up afterwards too, “ Ughh! I think I’m gonna cum, m’gonna mmm.” Your legs were shaking as the wet sounds of your pussy were surrounding the room. His words only set off your horniness even more that you lifted up your leg to set it on your bed gaining Starrk more access to your pussy.

“ I could see you right now, falling apart on my dick like a broken toy. My broken toy now. So cum for me, Angel. Give me what I want, hell I’ll make you squirt too, how does that sound? Is it too much for you? Hmm. Nahhh, not for you my little Angel, you’re gonna take everything I have to offer today, so come on. Cum for me, cum for daddy.”, Your legs shook as you screamed so loudly when you came undone on his thick fingers inside of your dripping cunt. His dirty talking was something else but the way he kept curling his fingers while moving faster inside of you did it for you.

Starrk watched your body almost collapse on the floor until he used his left hand to wrap tightly around your arms to hold your shaking body up against his. He pulled down your panties, slightly picking you up l to get them completely off of you. His sadistic ass chuckles were heard in your ears as his fingers were now slipped out of your pussy, now rubbing against your clit in medium pace circles, “ Come on, give me the other thing I want, you could do that right? After this, all you have to remember is to just enjoy yourself, yeah.” His husky voice was enough to send any woman into a frenzy so when he’s close to your ear while rubbing circles against your already puffy clit, what else are you supposed to do other than squirt against the end of your bed. Your moans were music to his ears, “ I can’t, I can’t, mmmmmhh.” He got you now. So obedient. So perfect.

Starrk was gentle enough to wait until you stopped squirming against him ahead of gently turning your body towards him to hike you up against his body. Your body weight meant nothing to this man and this surprised you to the fullest but nevertheless you wanted to know what he wanted to do until you saw him walk to the wall beside your bed.

He placed you against the wall and your legs wrapped tightly around him in hopes of not falling. You didn’t even notice the look he had in his eyes as he stared at you so longingly. You fidgeted under his gaze turning your head, but his hand grabbed your chin, “ Eyes on mine, don’t you dare take them off of mine anytime soon. If you do, prepare. Now, Condom or no condom? Your choice.” He wanted you to say so badly no condom so he could give into his urges and by the look of your eyes, he could already jump in lazy pride, especially when he heard your answer.

Starrk unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling out his hard dick. Your eyes widen at how long he was. Your suspicion was right all along, he was a heavy and long one. Your pussy clenched and unclenched the cold air at the thought of that thing going inside of you. He struggled a little to get himself out of his underwear and pants but he managed even with holding you up. You guess he becomes overpowered with the adrenaline of sex.

You wanted to reach down to help him in some way so you trailed your hands down your naked body and onto your pussy, all while keeping eye contact with him. Your manicured hands opened up your soaked pussy lips inviting him inside and he gladly accepted the offer. As he moved his tip against your pussy, his tongue traced over your stretch marks around your chest. He was showing that he was indeed in love with you and hoped you got the message after all of this because he plans on taking you on a lot of dates, too.

When Starrk finally moved inside, he let out a little whimper at how tight your pussy clung to the tip of his dick. He wasn’t even fully inside and you got him like this. This was dangerous, luckily that’s all he knows. Starrk took one of your tits into his hand as his other hand was holding onto one of your ass cheeks, “ Fucking, fuckk… Angel, your pussy is already clinging to me, loosen up a bit for me.”

You tried to ease up under his eyes, but you couldn’t. He could tell so he kissed you, hoping that can ease you up a little and it worked. You melted into the kiss as he moved more of him inside of your weeping pussy. The stretch was burning the hell out of you, “ Ahhh! It hurts, hurts so good.” Starrk watched your saliva covered lips and wanted to devour you again, but first he had to pay attention to other parts of your body. He was going to cherish all of you without a care in the world.

Starrk’s hips were slowly moving back and forth, making his cock move in and out, slowly. It was like his cock was exploring your insides. You felt like you can feel every vein protruding upon his cock and you loved it meanwhile Starrk was loving how your insides feel around his dick. Your pussy was as soft as your skin right now. Everything about you was so soft and he could stay around you, inside of you all day, everyday. Both of your moans were having a sing off with each other.

Starrk moans at the feeling of your pussy tightening and untightening around him as he had one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue moved around your hard nipple as he had the entire areola in his mouth slobbering over it like it’s a pacifier. The feeling of him inside of you while he devoured other parts of your body was too much, “ Fuck, Daddy please, keep fucking me like this. Feels so, mmmgh, feels so good.” You didn’t know where the urge to call him daddy came from, you could only guess because he referred to himself as that you could call him that. You just made the biggest mistake.

Starrk halted before taking your bruised nipple out of mouth. You thought you did something wrong until you heard his dark chuckle, “ That’s all I’ve been wanting to hear from you, little butterfly. Now I’m gonna cum inside you as many times as I want.” As soon as he said that, his hips snapped against yours as your legs wrapped tightly around him again, ready to take him all. The slaps were heard all around the room and you basked in it. Your head was thrown back as your hands were placed on his back feeling his back muscles attract and detract from him pounding inside of you. Starrk’s hips were moving faster and going in a circular motion, the new found rhythm was driving you insane.

“ Ngh! Yes! Yes, fucking yes. I think M’cummin. Oh! I’m cummin’.”, You moaned loudly into his ear as his head was in between your neck and shoulder breathing more heavily. His breath against your neck was adding onto your pleasure so you had no choice but to cum around his thick cock. Your cunt pulsed and that along with the smell of your body scent and cold anklet against his ass sent him spilling himself inside you with no remorse.

“ Augh! Shit, take that dick baby. Take my cum too!.”, He moaned into your neck before gently biting into it. You whimpered at the feeling of being filled up with his warm cum and the biting on your open neck. He didn’t even care that he came inside of you, so you finally figured it out. He has a heavy breeding kink and you knew right then and there you were in for a ride.

After two more pumps into you, he slowly pulled out and you tried to stand on your own as you unhook your legs from his waist. Your legs were fucking shaking like a leaf, this is how it felt when you first lost your virginity. Starrk, however, wasn’t done filling you up, “ We’re not done, so come on. You could hit a split right?”

You were hesitant to nod your head, yet you did anyway, making him run his hand through his brown hair pushing it out his face, “ Good, now lay down on your stomach and stretch your legs into a split for me, bunny.” You were dragged over to the bed prior, so he now just watches you shakily get on the bed and do what he said, gaining him full access to your pussy and ass on full display for him. You knew this position was gonna hurt because you were chubby and couldn’t hold a split for that long, but don’t worry he could tell which is why he had plenty of other positions in mind.

Starrk crawled in bed with his knees and positioned his still hard cock on the opening of your pussy, “ Hold on a little bit longer for me, Angel. I saw how you were with Lola and couldn’t help but to think what you would look like with a kid of your own, our kid. Been thinking that for a year now. Can’t wait to see you waddling around with your big baby bump. The massages your feet will be getting are gonna be daily since you're gonna be carrying my child. From The disgusting food to the kicks of our baby inside of mommy’s little stomach. I already know you’re gonna be a great mother. The way you take care of Lola was everything I needed to see to make my decision of making you the mother of my child, how about it, Angel.”

Starrk knew you couldn’t speak since he already moved inside of you with every word he spoke. He was now fully inside of you, throwing his head back in bliss at the feeling of you around him again. He could do this over and over and he thinks he’ll always have the same reaction. He yanked your head back to see your reaction and saw your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he guessed there were silent screams coming out of your mouth. From the statement he said, he felt you tighten against him. Letting him know you want the same thing, so he was going to give it to you.

After that, everything was set and stoned. Every position he put you in, he came deep inside of your pussy with no hesitation. You felt so full and stuffed when you both finished with the lotus position. He was in love with you and he finally got you. He just didn’t know you felt the same. You never believed in love at first sight but you do believe in love in multiple sights. You felt so loved on the night of Christmas Eve and couldn’t ask Santa for anything else but that feeling. Of course, you two laughed at the end of the night when you thought about the thing you were supposed to do, which was helping him learn how to make taffy grapes. Well, there’s always next time!

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Tagging: @eiflawriting @dejwrites @happygoluckyalexis @mastermindenoshimaalicia @simpingfor-wakasa and anyone else

#coyote starrk smut #coyote starrk #coyote starrk x reader #bleach smut #bleach x reader #bleach fanfiction #bleach x y/n #fanfic smut #chubby reader #x black fem reader #fem reader #anime x black!reader #x black reader #black!reader #anime smut #anime men x reader #bleach la espada #smut #black reader

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shanksbaby · 1 year

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Starrk : I hate when people ask me, 'What did you do today?' Buddy listen, I woke up at noon and then it was five p.m., okay? I don't KNOW!

#bleach headcanons #bleach starrk x reader #coyote starrk x reader #starrk #coyote starrk #bleach starrk #starrk x reader #starrk x shunsui #bleach incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes black clover

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princessphilly · 2 years

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just wanna share sime little thots on Javy but damn does that man look like he gives such good head. He's reserved but when its behing closed doors that mouth can do anything you want ((but you'll have to ask niceky first)) 🥴

Coyote isn’t a boaster like Hangman. Javy doesn’t believe in kissing and telling.

But smile at him and asking him very nicely… you’ll have this Dagger Squadron pilot sit you on his face. But you’ll be done when Coyote decides you’re done and that could be 3 or 4 or 6 orgasms on his tongue. Because Navy Pilots get the job done

#drabbles #smut #top gun smut #coyote x reader #coyote x you #coyote top gun #Coyote top gun maverick #Coyote x plus size reader #Coyote x black reader #coyote x WOC #javy coyote machado #javy machado x reader #javy machado

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griffonsgrove · 4 months

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@virtuouswhitehatorganization

I would love some general dating headcannons for Coyote from Villainous

Yk I find it interesting that you specifically requested Coyote XD. I tried to do a bit of digging around about his character and personality and I haven't really been able to find anything!

I feel like that's maybe because he wasn't really introduced that well in the series, and because he was mostly under Heed's control the entirety of it. I think in any future episodes, if they delve into his character a bit more, then I can def do some head canons for him!!

#black hat organization #villainous #villainos #villainous coyote #coyote #headcanons #x reader #dating headcanons #dating

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florencemtrash · 2 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twelve

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None! Familiar faces return to Velaris and Y/n finally gets a chance to explore the city...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

I’ve been dreaming again. Dreaming of him.

Thanatos. With his milky pale skin the color of bleached bones. Bold brush strokes of black ink mark his clothes and paint his hair and his marble eyes. I should feel unsettled when looking into the face of death. But I don’t. I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to see his true face and I don’t know why. He doesn’t understand it either, and it frustrates him to no end.

He’s almost as curious as I am. Almost.

He came to the cabin again today, carrying that black lit candle between his spindly fingers like he believed in the Mother and was prepared to pray and sing to her like the rest of us. He says he likes to hear me during the service, tiny and informal as it is, but really I think he’s here because it irks me, and because I’m some tapestry he can’t seem to unravel.

He asked me again whether I’d call upon the Mother for him. He says he has a question that needs answering, and once he has his answer, he’ll be able to tell me how we can defeat Koschei. If it’s even possible.

But I don’t believe that male for a second. He’d sooner carve the world to bits and devour the scraps before helping us like the coyote he is.

Rest assured I will never agree to his bargain. It will take more than that to turn Bethsevah Mordeigh.

Although he said something strange that night, when the candles had dripped and left their waxy marks on the altar.

“You were made to ruin me, Beth,” he said, “And I will let you do it a thousand—a million—times over.”

He spoke in a dozen different voices, but I can’t deny I liked how the sounds came together and became his own.

You jerked awake with your hand still cradling the book against your chest.

Bethsevah Mordeigh.

You had a name.

You had a name!

You burst out of your room.

“Az! Az! I’ve got something.” You beat your fist against his bedroom door. “Az!” There was silence.

The kitchen was empty, dirty dishes scrubbing themselves clean in the sink. A glance at the clock above the oven told you you’d slept in a great deal.

You took the steps two at a time, sprinting down the hallway towards the west wing. The training arena took up most of the second floor stocked with enough weapons to outfit a small army. Wood and stone knobs stuck out from the wall at extreme angles as part of the climbing gym. The ceiling dipped up and down like draped fabric. On any other day you would have seen Valkyries with rippling arms and backs making their way up to the green flag pinned directly above the room’s center point, bodies straining against the pull of gravity. But not today.

Two of the three mats spaced across the room were occupied and you heard the beat of Illyrian wings before you even opened the double doors.

Feyre and Nesta stood against the side wall bracketed by racks of steel swords, glistening throwing knives, and an Illyrian bow as long as you were tall.

Feyre licked her lips, greedily tracing Rhysand’s powerful form as he went toe to toe with Azriel. You couldn’t help but stare as well as they leapt around the ring in a blur of wings and shadow. You’d never seen Azriel shirtless but… well… it was a sight you could get used to.

It was a dance — a dangerous, deadly dance — and although the language of violence wasn’t one you were familiar with, you could read the display well enough to know that Azriel would win this round.

Sweat glistened on his skin, slipping down the curves of his back where leathery black wings fused with his shoulder blades. Tattoos wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest, pulsing with a life of their own as Azriel cleanly side stepped one of Rhysand’s kicks. There was the faintest crease in the High Lord’s brow to let you know he was getting tired.

But Azriel was just getting started. And now that he knew you were watching? He wanted to make it worth your while.

Rhys gritted his teeth, launching out with a strike quicker than lightning. Someway, somehow, Azriel was faster. He dipped to the side, Rhys’s knuckle just kissing his cheekbones and came up for a counterstrike, slamming his fist so hard into his brother’s cheek that he staggered back.

That was unnecessary. Rhys snapped his jaw back into place.

Azriel grinned. Fatherhood suits you. But I can’t let you get soft.

There was a roll of violet eyes. Sure. That’s why you’re trying so hard right now.

Rhys snatched Azriel’s leg out of the air, rolling onto the ground in a move that sent the Shadowsinger twisting in a graceful arch that had your breath catching in your throat. He broke free of Rhysand’s hold, leaping onto his feet like gravity didn’t apply.

You met his eyes, heady and dark, and could have sworn he winked. But it may have just been a trick of the light.

You ducked your head, hurrying across the room towards Feyre and Nesta and hoping they wouldn’t comment on the flush creeping up your neck.

“Fey—” you began urgently.

The High Lady held up a hand and you fell silent. There was a sheen to her eyes that let you know she was honing in on Rhysand’s moves with more than just her eyes.

Nesta smirked at you as you blushed. You struggled to keep your gaze from drifting back to the powerful display, even as you caught glimpses of Azriel’s tan body out of the corner of your eye. Rippling, bold, strong.

“Don’t worry about staring,” Nesta said with a wicked glimmer. “The boys admire us. We admire them. It’s an even exchange.”

One mat over Cassian was sparing with a new female you’d never seen before. Illyrian, but there was something wrong with her wings. They were held strong and proud above the ground, but they dragged in places where Cassian had control over every minor movement. If you concentrated closely enough, you could make out the thin, shiny scars that had snipped the tendon closest to the apex of her wings, just by the arch of her claws.

Your stomach dropped with horror.

Her wings had been clipped.

She held her own against the Lord of Bloodshed. Cassian might have had the advantage of experience and his longer limbs, but she moved with a daring determination. She dodged every blow by the narrowest margin, conserving her energy so when she was able to slip close and find her opening, she slammed her elbow up and into his nose with a sickening crack that echoed throughout the room.

You winced, hands flying up to your face at the same time that Cassian’s did.

“FUCK!” He roared.

“Whooo! THAT’S MY WIFE!” A gorgeous, curvy blond hung off one of the ring posts, legs propped up on the tensioned ropes.

There was only one member of their family that had ever been described as sunlight incarnate. That had to be Mor. Which meant the striking female currently giving Cassian hell on the mat was Emerie.

Emerie blushed, stealing a heavy look for long enough for Cassian to snap his nose back into place. He ducked down and swept her legs out from beneath her, wrestling her to the ground in a tangle of leather and wings. But Nesta didn’t let him have the advantage for too long.

Cassian choked on the teasing words he’d prepared for Emerie when Nesta sent him a particularly candid image of herself in a strip of black fabric.

For later tonight. She whispered down the bond.

Damn it Nes.

Emerie smashed her forehead into his already swollen nose, then her knee surged up with enough strength to crack ribs. She braced her foot against his chest and flipped him over her head and onto his back, wrapping her powerful legs around his neck and pinning him to the ground with his arm forced back in his socket. Finally he tapped out.

“Poor Illyrian baby,” Nesta crooned as Emerie pulled Cassian to his feet. Despite the blood that dripped from his nose, he was glowing with pride at Emerie. “Better luck next time.”

Mor grasped Emerie by the front of her training gear and yanked her close for a long kiss that left the Illyrian stumbling back with red lipstick smeared over her lips and a dark blush across her caramel cheeks.

Nesta yelped when Cassian wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“We could try that move tonight. Your legs, my face? But this time I won’t tap out.” Cassian winked and Nesta leveled a sultry glare in his direction, eyes lingering on the sheen of his muscular chest with unabashed heat.

“Get a room,” Mor called out and Emerie threw a towel in his direction. It landed over his shoulder with comical perfection.

“Says the pair that had to disappear to another continent after their wedding ceremony.”

Mor flung an obscene gesture his way and Cassian returned it with equal fervor. “Says the pair that made Azriel run for the hills when he was left to chaperone.”

“Hey! That’s on Rhysand. He never should have left us with a chaperone at all.” Nesta cut in.

“You rang.” Rhysand appeared sweaty and spent behind Mor’s shoulder and slung his arm around her. The bruises on his cheeks were turning darker by the second.

Azriel hovered on the edges of the crowd, glancing at Mor and then at you. He was mildly disappointed that you’d been too busy watching Cass and Emerie to see him win at the end of the fight.

“Gross, get off of me.” Mor shoved her cousin away.

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with laughter. He smiled at you, eyes gleaming with happiness. It had been so long since he’d last seen his cousin.

“Mor.” He gestured to you, “Meet Y/n—” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

“Halwynn.” You offered up your mother’s last name. Even though you technically didn’t have any right to it as a bastard, it’s the name you’d gone by your whole life.

“Meet Y/n Halwynn,” Rhysand finished.

“The resident intellect,” Mor said, caramel-brown eyes shining. “Well thank the Mother, you showed up when you did.” She looped her arm around yours easily and you caught a whiff of the perfume she’d dotted against her collarbones — amber and vanilla. A ruby the size of your thumb hung from a gold chain, following the dramatic dip in the front of her scarlet dress that left little to the imagination. You thought she might just be the most gorgeous female you’d ever seen.

“We’d be absolutely lost without you. I hope the Library is up to your standards, although let’s be honest, it probably isn’t.”

You agreed a little too quickly.

“Bethsevah Mordeigh.” Rhysand turned the name over in his mind, testing its familiarity and coming up empty. “Any takers?”

You all stood around Rhysand’s desk, the book propped open beside bottles of jet-black ink, eagle-feather pens, and neat stacks of parchment paper.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Fair enough.” He looked disappointed, but not surprised. “We’re only separated by a few thousand years, give or take.”

You paced in front of the windowsill, nervously picking at your fingernails until they were under threat of bleeding. Azriel noticed and one of his shadows gently wrapped around your wrists and pulled your hands apart. You looked at him gratefully and stuck your hands in your pockets.

“The oldest text I’ve seen dates back twelve-thousand years,” Feyre offered. “I’ve also asked Gwyn and Clotho to begin searching.”

“What about the Day Court?” Azriel looked at you.

“I can ask Helion to search the archives. But I’ll warn you, records dating back that far are few and far apart. And priestesses back then were less keen on recording the movements of their members. But we might get lucky with some of her descendants if they ever joined the order. Work our way backwards through history.”

Mor shot Rhysand a look. “Why ask me to come back here now? I could have been of better use searching for this information on the Continent.”

“Now is not the time for you to be traversing foreign lands. Not with Koschei at risk of being let loose.”

You shook your head. “And it wouldn’t matter. Bethsevah wouldn’t have been born on the Continent. If she ever went, it would have only been to trap Koschei. Our best bet is to search for information about her down south.”

The others stared at you in confusion. You blinked as if the answer was obvious. “Organized religion surrounding the Mother emerged in Southern Prythian and her priestesses didn’t spread out to Hybern or the Continent until the Insynthian Age.”

“Your point being?” Nesta folded her arms over her chest. When it came to the specifics of Prythian history, she and Feyre were about as useful as a glass rod in a lightning storm.

“The bit about the candles is a very, very old ceremony. People would write their prayers in blood and have a priestess burn them on a candle made with a strand of their hair woven into the wick. If Bethsevah was a priestess performing this ritual, she would have been an early member of the order. Before the Insynthian Age.”

“That would narrow things down significantly.” Rhysand nodded in approval. “I’ll reach out to Lucien, see if he’ll be able to find anything out for us.”

You pulled a sheef of paper out from your pockets and Helion’s pen. You scribbled down a note to him about what you’d discovered and within five minutes the words were racing south to the Day Court.

“How on earth do you know this?” Mor asked incredulously, looking at you with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.

“I’m a Librarian.” She looked unimpressed by that statement. “I had a religious phase.” You smoothed your thumb over your necklace, feeling for your mother’s seal — a flowering heather and fountain pen crossed over in an “x”.

“A religious phase?”

“Yes.”

She clicked her tongue, red lips turning up in a smirk. “You Day Court fae are certainly something.”

You blushed. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” You went to grab the book, but Mor’s hand slapped down first, pinning it to the table and you with a stare.

“Nope. Work is for tomorrow,” Mor declared, eyes glittering with fondness. “Today, I want to see my city with my family.”

You tapped the book through your robes, counting the rhythmic swings against your hip like a metronome. One. Two. One. Two. One-

Cassian leaned down to whisper, “You’re doing great,” before waving to a male with ash-blonde hair standing beside an apple cart.

Pink ladies, honeycrisps, and ambrosias were piled high into luscious clouds. Two gestures and a flick of a coin through the air later and Cassian was shoving a small, flimsy basket in your hand. Roasted apples covered in burnt sugar and drizzled with caramel seeped into the wax paper.

One. Two. One. Two.

It was still too early for most of the Night Court, but the hustle and bustle in the Palace of Bone and Salt was unperturbed. Now was the time for the owners of small shops to haggle for prices without interfering with common business. The apple cart you just left had a new customer already — a wispy female with candy-floss hair lugging a basket on wheels capable of carrying three bushels for the bakery two streets over.

“Would you like some?” You held the food up to Azriel, but he only stumbled over a crack cobblestone street before shaking his head no.

He was being awfully quiet today. Quieter than usual.

Maybe he’s sick? You thought to yourself. He hadn’t eaten lunch either, but maybe that was just because he disliked the sandwiches you’d made. Or maybe it was because of a certain blond-haired female who kept giving him side glances with questions eating at her from the inside out.

“Come on,” you encouraged, nudging his shoulder. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Azriel looked at the apple slice you held out for him like it was a personal torture.

Cassian grinned and slung his arm over your shoulders, peeling you away from Azriel’s side to his relief. The weight was a comfort coming from him and you felt that thrill in your stomach whenever any member of the Inner Circle touched you.

“Azriel won’t starve. I promise, Y/n.”

Nyx thought he might starve. He was a growing boy, and had a stomach to match. He tapped your elbow and you wordlessly passed over the basket to him, but not before snatching a piece for yourself. The sugar crackled, then melted over your tongue, the sharpness from the apple cutting through caramel in a burst of tartness.

“How is Helion doing by the way?” Mor dropped the question casually. “Rhys says you know him well.”

You blinked at her. What did she care about Helion? “I’ve worked on a few projects for him before this one. And he’s doing as well as he can be, I suppose. Things aren’t exactly perfect in the Day Court right now.”

“Ah, Helion,” Mor breathed out, almost wistfully, “He was one of the few good males I ever slept with.”

You choked on your food, sputtering and coughing for long enough that Cassian started to slap your back. You felt your bones shake with each blow.

So… Mor had slept with your father… figures.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you said meekly. You shoved more food in your mouth before anyone could ask any further questions.

Azriel felt that familiar pool of jealousy bubble in his stomach at the mention of Helion. You kept rubbing that necklace of yours, Helion’s seal displayed prominently like he’d personally stamped you as his.

He allowed himself to get close enough to brush against your shoulder and a few of his shadows creeped onto your body, weaving themselves into your hair. You looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re in a good mood today.” Azriel’s hazel eyes were brighter in the morning light, flecks of green poking through the amber. “You’re smiling.”

And what didn’t you have to be smiling about? You were finally exploring Velaris. Mor, Cassian, and Nyx had touched you, albeit through the fabric of your robes, and you hadn’t been overwhelmed. And you’d finally been able to take knowledge from the book.

It had been a pinch of information as potent as saltwater. You had gotten a name, and names held power.

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with quiet delight.

“I’m just happy,” you said. “I think things are getting better, with—” You glanced down at where your arms swung side by side and you reached out a finger, allowing it to gently brush against the scars at the top of his left hand. You curled your fingers around his for the briefest moment before letting go. “And… you know.” You shrugged.

Azriel stopped walking abruptly and everyone turned to stare at him. The Shadowsinger was strung taughter than an Illyrian bow.

Mor raised her brow in open appraisal. There was a flash of something like shock in her eyes and then she was buried in Emerie’s hair, whispering something into the female’s rounded ears that had her dark carved eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

“Az?” Rhys asked cheekily, “Everything alright?”

Cassian chuckled and even Nesta smirked.

Last year he was giving Elain and Gwyn the bedroom eyes, and now he short-circuits because Y/n brushes her hand against his? I don’t believe what I’m seeing, Cass.

Some females like their males a little pathetic and lovesick.

You would know.

Cassian chuckled, looping his arm around her waist and burying his lips in her hair. He twirled the face framing pieces between his fingers like he always did, and Nesta tried not to think about how she’d first started leaving them out after meeting the Lord of Bloodshed. It would seem she had once been a pathetic and lovesick fool herself.

I love it when you tease, Nes.

Maybe she still was. Nesta couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

They do make a good couple. She admitted and Cassian was in agreement.

Feyre was thinking the same thing as you twisted towards him, hand still outstretched like there was a string tying your fingers to his. You couldn’t help but want to drift towards him as surely as gravity makes rain fall to the earth.

Does she know? Mor grasped Rhysand’s arm, eyes wide and staring. Does she know they’re mates?

Not yet.

Mor groaned. Are you fucking kidding me?

I wish I was.

Damn you, Azriel.

Azriel shook his head and forced his body to move forward. The world had stopped when you touched him, and it was only just starting to pick up again.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Nyx munched on his apple slice, staring at you both curiously before following after his mother and father.

“Did you hear something?” You stayed by his side, no longer interested in the aromas fluttering in the air from the bakery, the soup shop with its stone vats bubbling in the back, the smokehouse with its slabs of bacon crackling on grease. “From your shadows?”

“No. Why did you think that?”

“You had a look in your eye, like you weren’t quite there for a second. My mother used to say that I looked like that sometimes when using my powers. Like for a moment I was untethered from the earth and at risk of floating away.”

Azriel saved that piece of information, storing it away in his mind next to the knowledge that you had always wanted a dustbear for a pet because they were such simple, mindless creatures and you never felt overcome in their presence.

“I do feel that way at times.” He waited until your little troupe passed by the spice shops. The particles in the air always made Cassian sneeze. “But not now.”

Everyone dipped into a paisley blue building, the bell ringing with a soft clang to announce their presence.

“Right now I feel… settled.”

You grinned at him brighter than the sun, moon, and stars combined. “Good.”

You followed after the others, and while your back was turned, Mor took her opportunity. She clawed the back of Azriel’s leathers, hauling him down the alleyway before anyone could notice.

Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise when Mor shoved him up against the wall hard enough for a rain of petals to fall over their heads from the second floor balcony. It would have been romantic if it weren’t for the incredulous look in Mor’s eyes and the fact that Azriel was still caught up in your smile and the feeling of your skin against his. Gods he wished you were the one pressing him against this wall. He couldn’t stop thinking about that hug in Rhysand’s office. He wanted to feel the softness of your body against him once more.

“You idiot!” Mor slapped him across the face and it shocked him back to the present. “Why didn’t you tell me you found your mate?” She hissed.

Azriel looked frantically back to the street, half expecting you to be standing there with your inquisitive eyes. It was still a jolt to his system whenever anyone used that word: mate. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. It was such a fragile word, and the others tossed it around so dangerously.

“I didn’t—” Azriel stammered. Mor and Emerie’s arrival this morning had been unexpected for everyone except Rhysand and Feyre. “There wasn’t time.” “So?! You should’ve made time.” Mor stepped away, letting the Shadowsinger back down onto his feet. He had the good sense to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck while Mor tossed her waist length hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed pink, tanned and freckled from her time on the Continent.

Azriel felt that familiar coil of guilt building in his stomach and he tried to remember the apology he’d been preparing for this exact moment when he and Mor would be alone.

He cleared his throat and bowed his head to the ground in a picture of reverent apology. “Mor, about what I said—”

She crashed into him again, arms looping around his neck and squeezing him so tightly he felt his ribs crack. And she was… laughing?

“You have a mate!” She giggled through happy tears, bouncing on her feet. Her heels clicked against the granite tiles. “My best friend finally has a mate!”

She kept repeating it over and over again, like she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

“Mor, please. Keep it down.” They were attracting attention and Azriel wordlessly summoned his shadows to hide them from view.

Mor finally let him go, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry I just—” She squealed.

Azriel let out a long, heavy sigh. This was closer to the reaction he should have had when Mor and Emerie announced their engagement. Instead he’d gone cold and silent.

He should have known Mor preferred females, and maybe he had known all along that Mor could never love him the way he’d once loved her. But he’d done what he always did when it came to love and ran forward with a blindfold on, hoping his aim was true but never bothering to check.

Mor furrowed her brows. “Are you upset by this? Why do you look like that?”

“What?” Azriel hissed like the question physically hurt him. “No. No! I’m not upset, I’m—” He clenched his fists and said in a small voice, “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He took a deep breath and winced, “And I’m thinking that you must have felt similarly when you got together with Emerie, and that I royally fucked up by reacting the way that I did.”

He could picture it clear as day — Mor’s radiant smile slipping off her face, left hand dropping behind her back to hide the glittering ruby, the tears that gathered in her eyes when all Azriel did was remain stiff as stone before dropping off the balcony at her engagement party.

Mor hesitated then tucked her honey-gold waves behind her ears like she did whenever she was uncomfortable. “I should have told you sooner.” Azriel knew she was referring to more than just her relationship with Emerie. “I knew you loved me and I let you believe for so long that there might be a chance I could return those feelings. But I was scared because… because I wanted to know there would always be someone waiting for me if…” She pressed her hands over her stomach. The nails may have disappeared from her body without a trace, but they’d been hammered elsewhere in her soul and she hadn’t managed to take them out just yet. “It was wrong of me to use you like that. To keep you waiting for so long.”

Azriel rubbed her shoulders. “I think you gave me more than a few hints that it wouldn’t work out. Chief among them, Cassian.” Mor’s gaze dropped to her feet, but all Azriel did was press a gentle kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I still love you, Mor, and I always will. It’s just a different kind of love now. I’m happy for you and Emerie. Truly.”

“Yeah?” She looked up hopefully.

Azriel nodded. He pulled Mor close, wrapping his wings around her to block out the sounds of bartering happening in the square. They stayed like that for a long while, until the shadows on the wall had dropped another inch.

Mor sniffled and pushed him away. “Ok, enough of this now.” She carefully brushed away at the corner of her eyes, “You’re ruining my makeup.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Mor noted how it seemed to come easier to him now.

The whole day you’d felt that something was amiss, but it wasn’t until a flustered artisan carrying bolts of spider silk fabric crashed into you that you realized what it was.

You stumbled into Azriel’s sturdy arms, feeling the strength and power beneath his leathers as he propped you up against his side.

“So sorry, miss. Please forgive me.” The artisan blubbered. His cat eyes glowed a pale orange as they flickered over you from head to toe, “Can’t see with this.” He lifted the bolt. There was something about his gaze that unsettled you, like he was searching for something. Like he was hungry. Or scared.

“It’s alright.” You adjusted your clothes, tucked the book behind your back so it was pressed up against Azriel’s hip.

That look in his eyes disappeared and he huffed in relief before continuing down the cobblestone streets, too much in a hurry to notice the Shadowsinger glaring at him.

“Are you ok?” He let you find your footing, keeping his hand at the small of your back.

You stared at the male’s retreating form. “He didn’t… he didn’t bow to you. To any of you.” You blinked at Feyre and Rhysand.

She wore no crown, no jewelry except the ring on her finger and the diamonds in her ears, but the male must have known he was in the presence of his High Lady. And there was no mistaking Rhysand and his brothers.

“Like Azriel said when you first arrived here, we take the casual approach.” Feyre said, and as if to make the point, Nyx shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side in a manner so like Rhys that Azriel and Cassian burst out laughing. Rhys looked down fondly and brushed back his hair.

Feyre drifted to your side, watching with amusement as Nyx disappeared into the forest of color that was the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Every inch of fabric was too precious to be wasted, and so the weavers collected the scraps and tied them together, end to end, until they became one long chain. They hung from the entrances of shops, from the arches criss-crossing overhead, and from hand-painted signs. They wrapped around doorways and caught on the shoulders of passerbys, whispering of the time and effort spent crafting them.

Nyx weaved in and out of these strands, chased by Cassian and Azriel as they pretended to be tricked by the little boy’s lithe footsteps. You gasped as he turned invisible, then reappeared four inches to his left, jabbing at Azriel’s side before disappearing again.

“He can wrap light around himself as much as he can weave darkness,” Feyre explained, staying close to your side, “I think he might have gotten some remnant of the Day Court’s power from me. It made him an absolute nightmare for about three years when he couldn’t control it. Can you imagine having a toddler waddling around and wreaking havoc that you can’t even see?”

Nesta let out a sharp breath of laughter. “I think that’s an experience unique to you, Fey.”

You had to agree. You’d never turned invisible as a child, although you had to admit it would have been a very useful power to inherit from your father.

“Gotcha! You little rascal!” Cassian said triumphantly.

You heard Nyx shriek with laughter. Cassian and Azriel both had one arm raised above their heads and with a little shake the boy came back into view, dangling upside down from his ankles.

“Don’t break the boy, Cass.”

“I won’t break him, Rhys. Gotta let him grow old enough to beat all those bastards at Windhaven, don’t I?”

Rhys and Feyre’s smiles slipped ever so slightly.

Nyx was lowered to the ground. He kept his arms out and balanced on his hands for a brief moment before walking over onto his feet with a flourish.

“Gwyn taught me that last week. She’s part river nymph. Very flexible.” He brushed invisible dirt from his shirt and continued on, leading the way towards the Sidra like he owned the place — which in some respects he did.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Just another little chapter with more slowburn antics between Y/n and Azriel! And! Mor and Emerie are here! I am slowly but surely collecting characters like pokemon cards because you know I want to have my favorites in Velaris when shit starts to go down...

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel spymaster

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sprout-fics · 8 months

Text

Coyote Kiss

(Philip Graves x F! Reader)

(Call of Duty Masterlist)

Rating: Explicit, MDNI Wordcount: 3.1k Tags: Brat Tamer Graves, Bratty Reader, Motorcycle Graves, Date night, Banter, Bickering, Love/Hate Relationship, Messy relationships, Jealousy Warnings: None A/N: Hi. Here's more of the man I love to hate and hate to love. Forgive me.

He’s smirking at you.

There’s a low, fluorescent buzz to the diner amidst the distant sounds of the kitchen, the gurgle of the coffee machine behind the counter. You and Graves are tucked in a booth, far from the door, where the neon light of the ‘open’ sign catches against the shiny leather of his motorcycle jacket. There’s tinny music over the speakers, the 80’s you think, not entirely sure. You know if you try and guess Graves will only huff at you, correct you and lament about your poor music knowledge.

Smartass.

You can feel the toes of his boots brush against your ankles, and even though you aren’t looking at him you know he’s just waiting for you to comment on it, nudge him out of your space with mild annoyance. Instead you focus on the various laminated displays of greasy food inside the menu, burying your face so you ignore him. Yet even without looking you know exactly how he looks. Relaxed into his seat, arms crossed, head tilted in keen observation, and that damned smirk plastered across his smug face.

“You haven’t looked at the menu.” You observe, still not looking at him, and you hear Graves shift to attention when you finally acknowledge him.

“Don’t have to.” He replies easily. “I’ve been here long enough to know what I want.”

Or so he’s said. It had taken some cajoling on his part to drag you this far out into the sticks, far away from the Shadow Company base. You’d expected him to commandeer one of the jeeps in the compound, puzzled as to why he told you to dress warm in the middle of the deadly Texas summer heat. Yet then your commander had led you off to a garage, had yanked a tarp back to reveal a pristinely kept motorcycle underneath.

“Ducati.” He announced smugly, leaning on the bike and running an appreciative hand over the sleek black trim. “One of the best on the market.”

“How did you afford this?” You gaped at him, ignoring his bark of laughter at your open, astonished expression.

“It pays to be a government contractor, sweetheart. You ought to know that by now.”

He walked over to a shelf, tossed you a helmet. It looked brand new. You barely caught it, too transfixed on the motorcycle. Graves sauntered back over, tapped two leather-gloved fingers under your chin.

“Close your mouth, babygirl. You’ll catch flies.”

It had been clear from the get-go that Graves had planned this in excruciating detail, going as far as providing you with a spare jacket that even now remains draped across your shoulders, just a bit too large. You’d hopped on the bike behind him, a little hesitant to grab onto him, at least until he’d huffed and wrapped your arms around his waist himself. The warmth of him bled into your front, helmet tucked against his shoulder and thighs clenched to the bike as he’d sped off out of the compound.

You’d gotten some stares from the guards. There will probably be rumors across half the base by the time you both get back.

You don’t know how long you rode into the desert, the sun setting quickly and casting a brilliant orange haze across the horizon. Graves talked little, focused on the road, stopping only when he was required, planting a possessive hand roaming across the meat of your thigh. When you’d playfully smacked at it, he only laughed.

Eventually you had pulled into the diner just as the sunset faded and the flickering, lonely street lights had turned on. When he had ushered you into the diner, the older lady behind the counter had greeted him in cheerful familiarity. “Phil.”

She’s disappeared now, and you think you heard her mutter something to the much younger waitress about a smoke break. Left alone, you stare into the grease-stained menu and try to decipher the various contents in a vain attempt to not entertain Grave’s twinkling eyes.

He nudges you again under the table, boots pressing against your ankles, spreading himself wide and into your space in a way that’s meant to purposefully draw your attention. You know this ploy all too well, know that if you bite and decide to snip at him he’ll only rile you up further with gleeful audacity, until eventually he handles you into a biting kiss you can’t resist. It’s the constant game you both play, caught between a simmering annoyance that erupts in roaming touches and snipping banter even when you’re caught in his arms. You know the inevitable end of it, how you’ll end up in his bed, feel him haul your legs over his shoulders and tease you even then, smiling against your lips when he forces you to surrender in desperate, mewling gasps.

You pretend to hate it, fight him at every turn, rise to his jabs and return them with your own. It only feeds into his rampant desire for you, intoxicated by handling the feral nature of you, taming you with teasing endearments turned into rasping, sweet nothings as he buries himself inside you. You know you’ll go willingly even though you bite at him like something wild, slightly feral, knowing that at the end of this you’ll surrender to his carnal desires only because it feels so good.

You catch the waitress out of the corner of your eye, see her blonde hair cascade in girlish waves out of her ponytail, french-tip nails holding her ticketbook as she sways over to your table. She’s pretty, thin, looks like something out of those 60’s advertisements done in acrylic posters.

“What can I getcha, hon?” She asks, voice a thick Texas drawl as she cocks her hip, staring straight at Graves. Attentive. Suggestive.

It makes your eyes narrow.

Graves looks up like he’s noticed her for the first time, offering a polite smile, different from the one he’s given you.

“Coffee. Black.” He provides, slinging an arm over the back of his seat. “I’ll have the fried catfish sandwich and okra. Fries on the side, biscuits too.”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

Hmm.

You’re ready to order when Graves then points at you. You think he’ll pull a smartass move, declare your affinity for a fresh salad and fruit. Instead he supplies: “This little lady right here will have a burger, medium rare. The works, bacon, egg, all that. Plus onion rings and a coke.”

You open your mouth to protest, but find nothing to object to. In fact, when you frown in a mild pout, your stomach only rumbles in yawning hunger. Graves shoots you a look.

“And no pickles.” He adds, grinning wolfishly. You’re not sure if you want to bite or kiss him.

The waitress scribbles down all of the above in quick shorthand. “Anything else?”

Graves purses his lips, considering. “Chips and queso.” He supplies with a small gesture of his hand. “Thank ya, darlin’.”

The waitress seems to perk up at that, smiling happily before striding off towards the kitchen. You watch her go, trace her back until she vanishes behind the swinging door, and only then do you catch Graves staring at you.

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow at you contemplatively. “Am I not giving you enough attention, babygirl?”

Are you jealous?

You scoff, averting your eyes so he doesn’t see the flash of surprise and bashfulness that flickers across your gaze. “Hardly.” You tell him, and your commander only hums, pressing his boot a little more firmly against your calf.

You shoot him an annoyed look. “Quit it.” You grumble, and just as you expect Graves only grins, eyes twinkling at your bite.

“Can’t help it.” He drawls. “I’m a long legged man.”

You tilt your head at him, a mischievous smile forming on your lips as you consider his words.

“You’re 5’11.” You correct him. “I know plenty of Shadows that have a few inches on you.”

Graves’ eyes flash at that, and you know you’ve gotten under his skin just a bit by the way his gaze turns just a little sharp before melting back into easy confidence.

“I compensate in other ways, darlin’. You know that.”

You thin your lips at that, know that for all intents and purposes, he’s right.

Graves takes in your silence and laughs, pleased.

“Don’t pout.” He tuts at you. “If you need a reminder later, let me know.”

The last time he gave you a ‘reminder’ you’d walked on wobbly legs for two days afterwards, bruises tracing abstract patterns up your chest and throat. And Graves, damnable Graves, had strutted around the compound like a prized rooster crowing at the sun for all the things he knew he had done to you. You’d seethed about it, of course, his egoism, but even then you couldn’t stop the memory of him from poisoning the slow fester of your attraction to him.

His hands on your wrists, your legs over his shoulders. The hickeys he’s sucked into your throat bloom dark against your skin. You toss your head under him, lips parted in desperate little whines as he grinds himself into you with unerring precision. His back is scratched to hell, and he moans at the burn of it, drunk on the hurt and the intoxicating process of watching your wild nature fold to utter, mewling surrender under him.

“Feel good, baby?” He drawls, voice hoarse with his groans as his hips slap against yours. It shakes the bed. “Can’t even talk because you’re so cockdrunk, aren’t ya, little spitfire?”

And you, you had given into him, had surrendered to his endearing, teasing taunts, had folded under him like you belonged there.

Your thighs threaten to close at the memory, and the motion doesn’t go unnoticed by your commander, who’s face lights up in realization.

“Yeah?” He provides, shifting forward eagerly. “Bet you’d like that, babygirl.”

“Piss off.” You snap, even though the temptation of it roils inside you with undeniable interest.

Graves whistles, long and low, puckering his lips and feigning surprise. “I like that bark, sweetheart. You know I do, but…”

Graves leers at you.

“I like it better when you bite.”

You choke.

It’s not unlike him to be this brazen, far from it. Yet his taunting is usually reserved for the more private moments, the ones where he crowds you into the shadows of the armory or behind the barracks, seizes your lips in a domineering kiss until you gasp against him. He leaves you like that after, having barely touched you, smirking with that twinkle in his eyes and sauntering off to leave you exactly as he intended. Dizzy, chest rising, mind fuzzy with want.

Here, however, in this place with a sparse collection of other diners, where the blonde waitress peeks from the porthole of the kitchen door, you feel yourself warm under his intent stare, mouth pressing into a thin, flustered line as you avoid his gaze.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You do, instinctively. That tone, when his voice dips lower, less playful, heavy with intent, always summons your attention. It means listen, eyes up, come here.

You merely glance at him, not entirely turning. Avoiding him still, feeding into this game that you both enjoy so dearly.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” You drawl, and you know if it weren’t for the table between you Graves would close the distance and seize your chin to make you look. You smile at that in a way he can see, watch the way fire flickers across his eyes at the rebellious streak in you. He loves it. Loves the way you refuse to obey. It’s a challenge he’s greedy to accept, a temptation he can’t resist. The act of making you surrender is an addiction in of itself, a warm swimming desire that feeds into his veins. He’s drunk on the act of taming you, can’t resist riling you up only to put you down.

It feeds his ego, you think- his oozing confidence that doesn’t buckle even under artillery fire. Graves knows what he is capable of.

Knows he’s capable of taming you.

Before he can respond to your taunt, the waitress reappears with an entire platter of food. Fries, chips, onion rings, queso, drinks, a burger, okra, and a piece of catfish perfectly fried. The steam wafts up from the linoleum table, and you can’t help your eyes fluttering at the intoxicating smell of perfectly greasy food.

“Anything else, sweetpea?” The waitress asks in a sing-song little voice, still trying to draw Graves' attention. He looks up at her, tilting his head and softening his eyes just for a moment. You think he’ll flirt with her, maybe compliment her bright pink lipstick.

“That’s all.” He provides instead, short in a way that makes you blink as you watch the rejection pass over the waitress’s face. She nods distantly before vanishing, and Graves doesn’t give her a second glance before he’s lifting his sandwich up and tearing into it like a coyote with a piece of raw meat.

You survey the table, the wealth of food you know you won’t finish. It’s decadent to the point of excess, and as Graves sucks the sauce from his fingers messily you blink at the spread.

“Christ, Graves.” You breathe. “There’s enough here to feed the base.”

Graves hums around the next bite of his food.

“I gotta keep my girl fed.” He provides through a full mouth, and when you scold him for manners he only grins at you before nodding to your burger. “I know you’re hungry, eat up.”

You grumble at him but happily oblige, biting into the meat of your burger. Flavor and warmth explodes across your senses, and before you can help it you moan.

Graves barks a laugh, nudges you once again under the table.

“Atta girl.” He provides, and you’re too lost in your food to care about the slight mocking tone of his, eyes scrunching shut and savoring the next bite.

“My little carnivore.” He croons, and you do nudge him with your boot at that, shooting him a glare. His eyes only twinkle with mischief before he returns to his own food.

It takes time for you both to devour the table full of food with its queso laden chips and golden brown onion rings, the fries that leave grease stains on the wax paper. Graves waggles a piece of okra in front of your face, and you finally give into his cajoling before eating it straight from his hand.

When his knuckles graze under your chin, you resist the urge to bite him.

Eventually you slump back in your seat with a heavy, pleased sigh, hands over your full stomach and immensely satisfied at the warmth of the food that curls there. Graves sips at his coffee, and how he manages to drink it black after eating that amount of grease is beyond you.

“Feel good, babygirl?” He asks, perhaps a little too smugly, but you can’t bring yourself to pay him much mind.

“Mm-hmm.” You hum happily, a lazy pleased smile across your face as you look at him.

For a moment, you swear you catch something that veers dangerously close to tenderness.

“How am I supposed to get us both on the bike after all this?” He snarks instead, gesturing to the mess of empty plastic baskets and crumbs you’ve both left.

You shrug, unable to hide a cheeky smile. “I could probably ride back and get a couple of strong shadows to haul you onto a truck.” You suggest, and in a rare moment of surprise Graves chokes on his coffee. You grin victoriously at him when he wipes at his chin before turning to you with his eyes narrowed.

“Brat.”

You shrug. “Guilty.”

Despite the scolding, Graves is smiling, and you can’t help but smile back.

You cringe when the bill is slid onto the table, but Graves doesn’t even blink when he deposits a fat wad of cash before standing and bringing you with him. He keeps a hand at the small of your back as you both exit into the cool night air, and if you didn’t know better you’d swear he was being a gentleman.

Yet then the hand snakes up to your back, and you nearly stumble in surprise as Graves thumps you a few times between the shoulders. You spin to face him, eyes wide in indignation.

“Are you trying to burp me?!” You gasp in mild outrage, and in perfect timing you have to swallow down a bubble of gas in hopes he doesn’t notice.

Graves grins, amused and pleased at the mildly scornful look in your eyes. He merely crowds you backwards until your backside bumps against the motorcycle, his hands catching you by your hips before he hauls himself flush against you.

You’re not ready for the way the blue of his eyes shift under the glow of the streetlamp, the sudden, dizzying desire he has when he locks his gaze on yours.

“You drive me crazy, you know that darlin?” He rasps, voice dragging breathily in his chest. It makes you soften against him in your shock, the sudden rapturous fixation of his voice that almost speaks of devotion.

You swallow, heart thumping uneasily in your chest, caught on the razor’s edge of him, afraid that if you get too close he might bleed you dry.

You almost want him to try.

“You’re already crazy.” You manage instead, flashing him a mischievous smile that only barely meets your eyes.

Graves laughs, and laughs again when you nip at his descending lips, a hand snaking up to cradle your skull and press you closer to him. Your hands seize the leather of his jacket in a desperate anchor, swept away by his sudden urge to devour you.

You’re always hiding in some ways from him, you think, ever distant and out of reach. You feign irritation to quell the thunder of your heartbeat, teetering on the precipice of caution and dangerous desire. If you surrender completely, fall into his jaws, you know he’ll only gobble you up like a wild animal. You fear somehow he’ll chew you until you’ve lost your taste and then leave the remains of your broken heart withering like starved desert flowers. You’re not sure if you can take it.

Yet in this moment, in the laughing kiss he presses against your parted lips, you wonder if perhaps this is meant to be forever.

Taglist:

@alicesfracturedmirror @writeforfandoms

#graves x reader #graves x you #commander graves x reader #philip graves x reader #philip graves x you #reader insert #x reader #my writing #my fic #to add to masterlist #something something Graves is a wild Texas coyote #and I adore and hate him for it #if there's typos here I don't see them I'm not looking #anyways here's wonderwall ig

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Text

Thick Thighs Save Lives - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Summary: Being the only aviator with meat on your bones is tough. It's even more tough when you're stuck showering with two of your teammates.

Contents/Warnings: smut (minors dni), double penetration, fingering (vaginal and anal, f receiving), oral (m receiving), dirty talk, shower sex, protected sex, spit kink, body insecurities, mid/plus!sized reader, self-deprecation, arguing, angst with a fluffy/smutty ending

WC: 5.5K / navi

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

If there’s anything you don’t want to hear during a not-so-friendly game of beach football, it’s ‘shit!’. The exclamation comes from Coyote who’s branched off to your towels on the sand, fingers curled around his watch, “We’re late.”

“How late?” Phoenix is already adjusting her ponytail, as it’s frazzled from the action. She’s squinting in the sun and remedies it by knocking her sunglasses down off of her head and onto her nose. It’s smooth, and she knows it by the soft smirk that curls at her lips.

“We have twenty minutes to get on the road.”

“Shit,” Rooster parrots, dropping the ball where he stands, which is how you know he’s panicked too, “We all need showers. Penny’s gonna kill us if we stink up the restaurant.”

“We can go in teams,” Fanboy decides, already sprinting over to his towel, “We don’t have time for individual ones.”

Before you can get a word in edgewise Coyote and Phoenix are rushing to join him, Bob hot on their trail. The showers are spacious, sure, but you wouldn’t exactly volunteer to share them with anyone.

With a terrible sinking feeling in your stomach you realize that the only three left are you, Rooster, and Hangman. That means the only way you’ll get to Penny and Maverick’s engagement party is if you shower together.

They’re already at their towels, scrubbing sand out of their hair and strapping their watches back on. Hangman’s is a thick, black leather band, and you can see flecks of sand marring the sleek strap from where it laid on the towel. Rooster’s is thinner, brown in color and gold around the rim. His is clean, but he puts it on his sweaty, sandy wrist. It won’t be for long.

Both men are shirtless, too-tight jean shorts squeezing their waists. You make a point not to stare as you trek back to your towel, already picking up on their competitive banter before you’ve even stood beside them.

“-probably use all my shampoo,” Hangman scoffs, clenching his towel tight in his fist, “You always steal my shit, Bradshaw.”

“I think it’s only fair seeing as you steal my gel!” Rooster quips back, gesturing to Hangman’s stiff, shiny hair, untouched even after your game, “Isn’t it fucking weird, Y/L/N? How much he uses?”

Rooster looks back at you for confirmation, someone on his side. But you’re too disheartened to respond, dreading your impending doom. All you offer is a meager, “Yeah.”, that curls a frown under Rooster’s mustache.

“You hurt yourself or something?” Hangman raises an eyebrow, stunned by your lack of teasing, “I think we need to call the doctor, you didn’t just insult me.”

“I’m fine.” You grumble, towel held around your waist despite the presence of your rash guard, “Just tired from football.”

“Well get ready,” Rooster warns you, “Mav’s gonna have to tell us all about how he and Penny met, and I’m really hoping he withholds the details on the little rendezvous that got him in trouble with her dad, but I know he won’t.”

You shudder for a moment, if only to please him, to throw him off your scent. You’re tired, there’s not any other reason you’re in a funk. You’re tired.

You are tired. You’re tired of caring, of constantly thinking about it. You’re tired of wearing a rash guard to the beach instead of a swimsuit, because everyone else is smaller than you. You’re tired of watching people’s eyes, tracking them to make sure that if they ever dip below your chest there’s something in front of your stomach to block it from their view. You’re tired of adjusting your uniform to make it looser, you’re tired of leaning against the bar instead of sitting at it, you’re just tired.

“Hey,” Hangman’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, admittedly less grating and irritating than it normally is “You sure you’re okay?”

You blink and they’re staring at you, brows furrowed and limbs frozen in place. You wish that the waves lapping gently at the sand would crash onto shore and swallow you whole, sweep you up in a tidal wave of salt water and seaweed so that you wouldn’t have to answer.

“I’m fine,” You grit, slipping your feet into your shoes and rushing to stand outside the showers, “C’mon, we’ll be late.”

You had hoped that they’d get too busy bickering with each other to ever find you. But here they come, not five minutes later, just as Phoenix steps out of the steamy bathroom. A towel is wrapped around her torso and Hangman exaggerates his ogling of her, only turning your stomach further.

“Perfect timing,” He drawls, and she rolls her eyes.

Bob steps out next, taking one look at her face and stepping in front of her, “Your turn, Bagman. Try not to use all the gel.”

“See?” Rooster nudges you, his elbow against your arm as Bob and Phoenix walk away, “I told you! It’s absurd, he slathers it on like cement.”

“He’s gotta,” Coyote drawls, reaching over to knock on Jake’s head, “Otherwise his head’d sound as empty as it is.”

The two engage in a good-natured shoving match, but it’s one that nearly sends Coyote’s towel cascading to the ground, and you keep your eyes firmly on the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner that you’d brought. You read over the ingredients, as if sodium laureth sulfate and glycol distearate will keep your mind off of your humiliation.

“You said you’re fine,” Bradley murmurs from beside you, “But if it’s something you just don’t wanna say around Hangman, he’s not listening.”

Part of you is less embarrassed to be honest and exposed to Rooster than Hangman. But he’s still a man, an incredibly fit one at that, and you’re not sure you’d ever want to reveal it to either of them.

“I’m just nervous,” You tell him the only part of the truth you’re willing to admit. I’ve never... showered with a- a boy before. A man.”

You cringe at your misstep, but if Bradley’s amused by it, he doesn’t show it. Instead he hums, sympathetically so, “We’ll turn around, honey. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“You’ll turn around,” You mutter, “I think it’ll just egg Jake on further.”

“What’s this I hear about eggin’ me on?” A familiar southern twang makes you tense as the man it’s coming from appears by your side, bumping his hip into yours, “You ready for our steam session, sweets?”

“Leave her alone, Hangman,” Rooster groans, feet slapping against the tiles as he goes to adjust the water. He shoves at Hangman’s back as he passes, and you stifle a giggle as the man nearly falls over.

“Hey, she’s the one that chose to shower with us,” Jake insists, and Bradley’s scoff is enough for you not to fight back, “And I would, too, if I were you, darlin’. Do you know how many ladies are lined up to see how hung Hangman is?”

You force a gag, “The only lady I see here is myself, and I’d rather smear wet sand in my eyes.”

“That’s what I’m gonna do to you if you don’t turn around and shut up,” Bradley speaks through the roar of the shower water, steam already rising from its fall, “Just drop your pants and wash your ass, so Y/L/N can shower to herself.”

“Well, well, well,” Jake smirks, towel cinched around his waist in only one hand as he stalks for the showers, “Looks like one of the ladies lined up is Bradshaw himself. Wanna see it, Rooster? Here it is.”

Jake drops his towel ceremoniously, and Bradley’s face morphs into a grimace as he turns away hastily.

“My fucking eyes,” He laments, and you pause in gathering your toilettries to laugh, while also trying very hard not to stare at Jake, “Oh my god, Y/N, you won’t have to worry about me seeing you. I’m going to pour shampoo into my eyes until I go blind.”

Jake realizes you’re taking a little too long getting ready, cocking a hip as he leans his head back to stare down his nose at you, “So what, you gonna ditch dinner, Y/L/N? Whatcha waitin’ for?”

“She’s waiting for you to stop being a perv and turn around,” Bradley comes to your rescue once again, and thankfully, Jake seems to realize it’s a real issue, pivoting until he’s facing the shower wall.

“I think she just wants a nice view of our asses,” Jake theorizes, standing with his clear on display, “Which is better, Y/N? Mine or Chicken’s?”

“Chicken,” Rooster grumbles under his breath, and if you were brave enough to actually declare a winner, you’d give it to him just for that. But, Hangman’s form is rather impressive, all tight curves and tan skin and-

And you shouldn’t be looking. You clear your throat awkwardly, peeling off your rash guard as Jake sponges his side down. There’s sand running thick down the drain and you hope it doesn’t back up, something you’d feel terrible for Penny to have to clean up.

“Uh,” Bradley stills in his place, “Shit, I think I left my shampoo over there. Y/N, could you…?”

“I got it,” You hum, reaching over for the blue bottle and tucking it in his carefully, blindly outstretched hand, “Thanks for, um- here.”

“Yep,” He nods, smearing a dot of the substance on his palm and lathering it through his hair.

“Oh no,” Jake mimics Bradley’s previous predicament, dropping the bottle in his hand so that it rests between his legs, “Y/N, could you-”

“Ass,” You drawl, reaching forwards to butt your palm against his back. He stumbles forward with a laugh, catching himself on the railing. He bends down to reach for it and you’re nervous he’ll peek at your body from between his legs, but he stays respectful, something you know he is at his core even if he pretends differently.

You find yourself relaxing against the tiled floor of the shower, feet firmly planted instead of poised to run. As much as you know neither of the men in front of you would make any rude comments about your body or your weight, there’s still the nauseating fear that they might think differently of you having seen you completely unobscured. So you’re thankful for the privacy, that lasts… well, until it doesn’t.

The snap of your conditioner cap catches the skin of your pointed finger in its jaws and a gasp clutches tight at your lungs.

“Son of a bitch!” You cry, waves of pain flowing through your finger and out towards the rest of them. On cue each man turns, eyes wide and fear-stricken, without thinking.

You know they didn’t do it on purpose. You know they instinctively thought you were hurt, and wanted to help. You know they didn’t mean to look at you. But the withering feeling in your guts knows no logic, only fear.

They’re looking, it hisses, They’re looking at everything. The way your stomach pudges into a roll at the base. The way your breasts sag. The way your thighs stretch, marks littering their stems, and present no gap.

“You’re bleeding.” Bradley observes, eyes trained faithfully on your finger, “I’ll get a bandaid.”

He rushes for the cabinets outside the shower, dripping water over the floor. Jake stands, staring, but you’re too humiliated to glance at his face and notice the soft pinky blush on his cheeks that’s spreading to his ears.

“Here,” Bradley speaks from behind you, though he molds himself to your side when you’re still frozen in fear. He brushes a towel over your cut, the turquoise material staining red. He then undoes the waxy paper wrapping from the bandaid, sticking it tight to your skin.

“It’ll get wet,” He reminds you, “But it’ll stop soap from stinging it.”

You don’t even thank him. At your prolonged silence he glances up at Hangman, intent on giving him a concerned glance, but he sees the man’s eyes rove over your form and snaps.

“Dude,” Bradley utters gruffly, “Don’t be a perv. Come on, turn around.”

When Jake stays just as still as you, he reaches for him, shoving hard, “I said turn around!:

“Please, Jake,” You whimper, tears brimming in your eyes, “Turn around.”

“You’re crying.” Jake snaps out of his trance to frown up at you, and Bradley keeps pushing, an insistent thorn in his side, “Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re-!” You gush, lip wobbling, “You’re looking at me, and- and judging me, and-”

“Judging you,” He scoffs, eyes nearly bugging out of his head, “Best body I’ve ever seen. Case closed. Court dismissed.”

“Shut up,” You seethe, tears finally dripping down your cheeks, “Just shut up! You think this is fucking funny? You don’t think there’s a reason I didn’t want to shower with you?”

“You’re private, I get that.” He scoffs. “But if you think I’m judgin’ any part’a that, then you’re stupid, too.”

“Not the compliment you think it is,” Bradley mutters, hands still prying at Jake’s shoulder, “She told you to turn around, just do it.”

“No,” Jake doubles down, pushing Bradley away and stalking towards you, “I wanna know why you think so goddamn low of me. You really think I’d rope a woman into a shower and then pick apart what she looks like? You think that low of me?”

“It’s not about you,” You gush, hands at your sides in frustration, “It's about me! And my fucking body, okay? I’m not calling you a dick for judging me, I’m calling myself-”

“What?” Jake’s head tilts to the side, eyes glinting dangerously, “What are you calling yourself?”

“....Gross.” You finish lamely, the fire in your chest extinguishing with the poof of a sigh that escapes your lips.

He’s grabbing your hand without thinking about it, gentle but firm. You stare at him, anxiety-riddled.

“Listen here, girly. I’ve let you get away with sayin’ a lotta things about yourself. Dumbass I agree with, especially considering these circumstances. I’ve heard clumsy and stubborn, those I don’t have an issue with either. But don’t look me in my fuckin’ face and tell me you’re gross, ‘cause it’s an insult to me and my tastes.”

He squeezes your hand once before releasing it, and it feels more now like a heartfelt gesture than a threatening one. You’re breathing heavy, lungs cut short from the adrenaline of the moment, Even though Bradley isn’t pushing him anymore, standing on the sidelines waiting, watching, Hangman turns around without another word. He scrubs aggressively through his scalp and you’re almost surprised nothing bleeds, your mouth hung slightly open and your tongue leaden over your teeth.

“I’m not your type.” You finally manage to mutter, voice taut.

“Yes you are,” Jake scoffs, “How would you know?”

“I saw you eyeing up Phoenix earlier.” You roll your eyes, and if Bradley hadn’t turned around again you’d have flashed him an exasperated look.

“So? A man can like several shapes,” Jake boasts, voice losing venom, “Plus I ogle Phoenix just to piss her off.”

“It works.” Bradley cuts in, and you snort.

“Point is,” Jake drawls, and you’re sure if Bradley was in his line of sight he’d have been the victim of a very withering stare, “Don’t discredit yourself. You’ve got sexy ass thighs, woman.”

“Jesus, Jake,” Bradley sighs, “Can you just hurry up, already? I’m sure there’s nothing more Y/L/N wants than to get rid of you.”

“Oh, shut up, lapdog,” Jake deadpans, “You can’t tell me you don’t agree.”

Bradley’s silent for a moment, and your gut churns.

“Whether I do or don’t is irrelevant,” He chooses his words carefully, “Let’s just leave Y/N alone.”

“He totally does,” Jake snickers, “Hear that, Y/L/N? It’s his blush.”

“Like you weren’t blushing!” Bradley scoffs, “I looked up at you and thought you’d been temporarily replaced with a baboon’s ass.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Jake drawls, “That’s what I think every time I see you, porn stache. Then I remember it’s just your natural charm.”

The crisis has been averted enough for you to let out a shaky laugh at their insults, and the sound catches both men’s attention.

“Listen, Y/L/N,” Jake starts, voice much kinder and softer now, “The point of this isn’t me telling Bradshaw he’s got the face of an ass. The point is to get it through your thick fuckin’ skull; you’re pretty damn sexy, y’hear?”

You snort at his callous nature, “No one’s ever told me anything like that before.”

“Yeah?’ He pauses,towel in hand that he nimbly swings over his shoulder, “Well, pardon me for lookin’, and even more for touchin’, but everyone else is fuckin’ insane.”

Before you can process his words he reaches down to palm at your thigh, a hefty squeeze that sends your flesh spilling against his palm. You stiffen, even though he stays politely away from your ass, encroaching only on territory he could also grab while you’re clothed. The feeling of his touch, no matter how chaste, elicits a noise from your throat that you wish you could pass off for a scream.

It’s not.

It’s a moan.

He stops where he’d begun pulling away, eyes sharpening slightly. You don’t dare look at Bradley, but if you did, you’d see his cock twitch.

“Did I hurt you?” Jake asks, voice low.

All you can do is shake your head, teeth digging into your lower lip helplessly.

“Did you like it?” He tries again, but this time he doesn’t accept body language as an answer/ Still hunched, he ignores your nodding and reaches up with his free hand to tug your bottom lip out from under your teeth.

“I asked you a question,” Jake croons, voice smooth and soft, “Did you like it?”

All you can whimper is a meager ‘Yes’.

Do you want me to do it again?”

“Yes.” Stronger, this time.

His hand plants itself firmly back over your thigh, thumb stretching towards the curve of your ass this time. It’s a little more suggestive, and a lot more alluring.

“Jesus,” Jake groans, kneading the soft flesh of your doughy thigh between his fingers, “Bradshaw, c’mere for a second.”

He hesitates, “Do you want me there, Y/N?”

“Yes,” You nod once more, legs stiffening and thigh tensing against Jake’s palm, “I- I do.”

“You take front,” Jake instructs, falling into place behind you with his hands now greedily prying at your ass, “And I’ll take back.”

The smile that Bradley offers you when he steps in front of you is nothing short of dreamy. It’s enough to make you blush, and he lets out a soft, breathy laugh at how forward Hangman is being while he stands giddily in front of you.

“If you say hi,” Jake drawls, hooking his chin over your shoulder and reaching around your front to grip at the seams of your inner thighs while glaring at Bradley suspiciously, “I’m going to slap you.”

“I wasn’t going to say hi,” Bradley scoffs, and you can tell by his blush that he totally was.

“Jesus, enough yammering,” Jake scoffs, turning his head to press his dewy lips into your neck, “We’re gonna be late for dinner.”

You worry, for a moment, that he’ll let go. That he’ll walk away, get dressed for the restaurant, and pretend nothing ever happened. But that’s not what he does, of course. Instead, you feel the hard press of his cock against your ass.

“I’ll be gentle,” Jake croons, feeling you tense as his hands smooth over the dip of your ass, “We’ll go slow, okay?”

“Real slow,” Bradley murmurs, and it catches your attention, reeling it back to him. You realize he’s standing much closer to you now than he had been before, lips nearly brushing yours.

The second your lips meet his in a kiss, Hangman smooths his hand between the globes of your ass. You squirm at the sensitive feeling, foreign as his fingertip brushes against your hole. But he doesn’t let up, and neither does Bradley.

Rooster’s tongue slides against your bottom lip, warm and wet. At the same time Hangman’s hands squeeze your ass, pulling apart each side and smoothing down the skin between. It sends a shiver up your spine that escapes in a puff of air between your lips, one that Bradley eagerly swallows.

Bradley’s hands grab your cheeks, thumbs brushing near your eyes and yanking you closer. You can feel Jake’s fingers carefully prodding and pressing at the tight ring of your asshole, a hitch in your breath causing you to bite down on Bradley’s lip.

“Fuck,” He hisses, coming away with a red lip and a guttural groan, “Jake, just- let up. Me first, she’s obviously sensitive.”

“She’s just tight,” Jake murmurs, lips pressing to the expanse of your shoulder, “Nothin’ I can’t fix.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to fix it,” Bradley grumbles, tearing a condom open with his teeth that he’d snagged from his wallet, “‘Cause I’m going in first, and you- shit!”

His fingers, slippery from the water and probably excess soap, drop the condom. The way that you’re arched into Hangman’s touch means that your thighs are squeezed together and bent slightly, and there’s no better way to catch a condom than between your thighs.

The foil wrapper sticks between your legs, making it easy for Bradley to pluck it out and toss the wrapper aside. Penny will find it tomorrow, because you’re sure as hell not gonna remember to get it.

“Well, whaddya know,” Jake drawls, grinning against the skin of your neck so hard you can feel it, “What they say is true. Thick thighs save lives.”

You face-plant into the water-dropped skin of Bradley’s neck, ignoring the way Hangman snickers.

“Actually, I think they just stopped a life from being conceived,” Bradley reasons, only a few sloppy strokes of his cock needed to easily slip the condom on, “But that probably saved my life, ‘cause if I got you pregnant in Penny’s bathroom, she’d slit my throat.”

The tip of Bradley’s hardened dick presses to your inner thigh, skin seldom touched and sensitive. You lean into it, but Hangman’s fingers follow, gently stroking over the rim of your ass. It’s starting to feel less foreign and more pleasurable, a twinge of something sweet licking at the underside of your belly like a rogue flame.

Bradley gently presses two fingers against your slit, ever-considerate in making sure you’re sufficiently prepped, but his eyes widen at how much slick he’s greeted with just past your folds.

“Holy shit,” He breathes, nose nudging yours as his lips brush with your own, “You’re wet.”

“Duh,” Hangman scoffs, and one of his hands abandons your ass to slip between your folds, collecting slick on their tips and dragging it back to your ass, “I’ve been touchin’ up on her for a while now.”

“Pardon me for thinking that’d work like an umbrella on a rainy day,” Bradley bitches, but you cut him off with a kiss before he can spout any other mildly insulting metaphors for how bad he thinks Hangman is in bed. You’ll vouch if you have to, he knows what he’s doing.

With each slow circle that his fingers trace around your rim, you bend back into him. Until you can feel his cock pressed stiff to your backside,just as Bradley presses his tip flush with your clit.

“Oh-,” You gasp, clit sending a shockwave of electric lust reverberating throughout your body, “Bradley, I- Inside, please, now!”

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” He croons, speaking in a velvety soft hum against your lips, “Don’t worry.”

He holds to his promise, sliding his dick down from where it’s pressed to your clit and easing it between your folds. You heave a blissful sigh at the feeling of being full, and it makes you rock backwards into Hangman’s fingers.

One breaches your hole, slipping inside with an agonizingly pleasurable burn. The stretch feels heavenly, especially because your cunt is already stretched to accommodate Bradley’s cock that slowly bottoms out inside of you.

“Good,” Jake praises, kissing beneath your ear, “I knew you could do it.”

Rooster lets out a groan at the feeling of your involuntary clench around him, eyes screwed shut. His forehead is braced against yours and you take the liberty of engaging him in another kiss, letting the pleasure of Jake’s fingers at your hole compel you to lick into Bradley’s mouth.

Being pleasured from both sides is too overwhelming. You feel yourself already rising to a climax, pressed on by both Bradley’s thick cock grating against your insides and Jake’s fingers.

You smooth your tongue over Bradley’s, gripping his shoulder when he increases his pace to be steadily fast. He’s not speeding through anything, but he’s not slow either, and it makes your insides burn.

The feeling of his cock ramming over and over and over against that spongy spot deep within you is too much, especially when Hangman slides a single, thick finger into your ass. You can’t help it, your orgasm hits you like a freight train (or perhaps a fighter jet), and you clench sporadically around Bradley’s thick, hard cock.

You whine relentlessly into his mouth, fingers clawing and prying at his damp skin as your knees go weak. You’re surprised you stay standing at all, but you funnel all of your orgasmic vigor into the kiss that Bradley eagerly licks out of you, and clutching his shoulders is enough.

Coming down from your high is jarring, especially when you realize that the steady pressure against your clit had been Bradley’s thumb the entire time. The pleasurable sensation is starting to sour with the unpleasant sting of overstimulation, and you tear his hand away eagerly, “Too much.”

“Sorry,” Bradley grunts into the kiss, the bristles of his mustache grating at your lip.

Bradley pulls out of you, still hard and red-tipped.

Jake takes one look down, his free hand sliding up your back while his other stays firm at your ass, “Those were pretty sounds. Look’t what they did to Bradshaw. See that, honey?”

You nod, breathless as you stare at Bradley’s impressive length.

“I think you should return the favor,” Jake muses, putting pressure against your back so that you bend in half, “Suck him off, darlin’.”

You land at eye-level with Bradley’s covered cock, and you can’t get the condom off fast enough. You drag your tongue along the underside of Bradley’s hard dick, taking the heated length into your hands and squeezing fondly at his balls. He swears low and gruff under his breath, watching your tongue snake against his slit.

Your lips curl around the head of Bradley’s cock, and the way that Jake adds a second finger to your ass makes you suck hard. You feel Bradley’s cock twitch on your tongue, and you scrape your teeth feather-light along him as you take more of him into your mouth.

He tries to keep himself still, tries not to face-fuck you, but he’s hopeless. His hips jolt forwards and you gag at the feeling of his dick hitting the back of your throat. It makes him groan, fists clenched at his side.

You bob and suckle along every inch of Bradley’s dick, licking up the vein that runs along the side and hollowing your cheeks while Jake fingers you open. When there are suddenly no fingers in your ass anymore at all, you whimper, taking Bradley’s cockhead into your fist while you try craning your neck to look back at Hangman.

“Keep going,” Jake directs you, nodding his head towards your fist, “He’s not done, and neither am I.”

You slip the hand that’s curled around Rooster’s dick and slide it up his length, rubbing gently at the base while you kitten lick the head. He pants and groans, bucking into your fist and subsequently your throat. The feeling of Jake’s dick pressed tight to your stretched hole makes you jolt forwards, and you face-fuck yourself on Bradley’s dick.

“Jesus,” He hisses, “You’re- you’re good at this, baby. C’mon, a- a little more, now.”

You let out a scream muffled by Bradley’s cock as Jake slides himself into your ass, dick grating delightfully tight against your rim. Once he bottoms out he sets a merciless pace, giving you no time to adjust before you’re being hammered into like he’s a feral animal.

“See that, Bradshaw?” Jake boasts, sending a hefty slap to your ass, “Told you she could do it. Perfect ass.”

“I see,” Bradley pants, hands tangled in your hair while you bob on his cock, “I- I’m gonna cum, honey.”

There’s barely any warning before the sight of Jake’s cock ramming into your ass gets to be too much for Bradley, but you don’t need it. You’re perfectly content to welcome his warm seed down your throat, letting it paint the inside of your mouth as you tongue him dry.

You don’t realize you’re using Bradley’s cock as a pacifier until he pushes at your forehead, hissing in oversensitivity, “Okay, okay! It’s too much,” He soothes you by sticking two of his slick-stained, thick fingers between your lips instead, “Here, honey. There y’go.”

Drool gathers at the seam of your lips and Bradley smears it away from your mouth, gathering it on his palm and licking it away. He groans at the taste, his own seed permeating your saliva, “Messy girl.”

Jake isn’t satisfied with his lack of action. Apparently, jackhammering into your ass isn’t quite enough for the guy, and he fists a hand in your hair to yank you upright with a grunt.

Bradley’s fingers slip from your lips with a pop and you cry out as Hangman manhandles you, pleasurable pain flooding your senses from the hair-pulling that start waves of a second orgasm swelling below your belly.

“Open,” Jake commands, keeping your neck bent backwards so that his face hovers over yours. You open your mouth without hesitation, and he spits inside.

Warm saliva, cooling quickly the more you stick your tongue out, pools by your throat. You eagerly swallow without being told,drool now seeping backwards down your face and towards your eyes. Jake licks it off with a broad, wet swipe of his tongue, and smears it against your lips.

The kiss is messy, upside-down and drooly, but it’s hot. Jake’s tongue licks against yours and his teeth nip at your bottom lip, a real spider-man style porno.

Your spine aches from being bent like a curly-q, but the ecstasy bleeding into your core is enough to push it to the back of your mind. You reach down to finger your clit, a whimper bleeding into Jake’s mouth at the action.

“Gonna cum, honey?” Jake drawls, “Sweet pussy’a yours gonna clench around nothin’?”

His southern drawl is stronger when he’s fucking, you note. It’s attractive.

“Not nothing,” Bradley volunteers, sticking his spit-soaked fingers up into your gaping cunt, “Cum, baby.”

You’re very good at following orders.

Your second orgasm hurts, in the best way. It tears you apart from the inside out, cunt clenching tight at Bradley’s fingers as he curls them inside of you. Jake bites hard at your lip as you ride out your second orgasm, and his dick twitches inside of you once, twice, three times before he’s letting himself go in tandem.

He fills you with warm cum, the substance gushing out of your gaped hole and oozing out around his own cock.

“Jesus fuck,” He snaps, the words an unintelligible grunt against your lips, “So tight, and so sexy.”

Bradley’s free hand braces itself on your stomach, and the touch doesn’t make you recoil like it normally would. It’s lewd, but being splattered with their cum really makes you believe that they’re not going to judge your body.

Instead you lean into the touch, letting Bradley embrace you as you come down from your high a moaning pile of mush.

“Slow,” You warn Jake, who’s never heard the word a day in his life. He follows directions, though, easing his dick out of you and making sure it doesn’t burn.

“We need another shower,” Bradley pants after a moment of fucked-out silence.

You nod, brain foggy, “Yeah. We- we can’t show up to the restaurant smelling like sex. They’ll know.”

As it turns out, you don’t need to smell like sex for everyone to know you’ve just had it. You show up forty-five minutes late, sweaty-faced and rosy-lipped, all slightly out of breath. Your dress is rumpled, and Bradley’s tie is haphazardly secured.

“Oh,” Phoenix grimaces, nose scrunching in disgust, “Gross, guys.”

“In my bathroom?” Penny looks aghast, “You better not have clogged the shower drain.”

“Easy,” Maverick throws a hand out over her own, “We’ve done it in there one too many times to judge.”

“Gross!” Payback rears away from the older pilot sitting next to him, “Everybody needs to stop getting laid, but if you do, don’t tell me about it!”

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yandere-daydreams · 11 months

Text

Title: Saved And Fucked By The Moth Man.

Pairing: Mothman x F. Reader (Cryptozoology).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Death/Gore, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Inhuman Anatomy, Generalized Monster-Fucking, Car Crashes, Reader's Pretty Questionable In This One, and Blood.

Based On The Results of This Poll.

You thought it could’ve been a bird, at first.

A raven, or a crow – you weren’t entirely sure. Something big and black that flew so quickly, you hadn’t been able to make out anything more specific than a dark blur and the vague impression of feathers before it was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the forest before you could realize that you'd reflexively swerved to avoid it, before you could do anything to stop yourself from crashing into the base of an oak so tall and so opposing, it wouldn’t so much as shake under the force of the collision. By the time you stumbled out of your wrecked car, the windshield shattered and the engine utterly decimated, whatever threw you off-course had been gone, and you’d been left alone on a country backroad in the middle of nowhere - bruised, sore, and miles away from the nearest city. Really, the only way your night could get worse was if—

Thunder cracked somewhere in the distance, quaking through the otherwise silent forest. You glanced up, searching for the sky through the dense canopy of overlapping branches and finding it overcast. It’d rain, pretty soon, and you’d be left lost, injured, and drenched.

Well, at least now, it really couldn’t get any worse.

You fished your phone out of your pocket and pressed your back against the most in-tact side of your car, checking if you had reception for the millionth time. Of course, you didn’t, and of course, your battery was in the single digits – too low to justify using your flashlight and risking leaving yourself alone in the dark with a dead phone and no way to call for help if you did, somehow, manage to make it to the border of civilization.

You considered crawling into what was left of the backseat of your car, turning off your phone, and hoping someone else drove down this godforsaken road in the morning, but before you could let exhaustion dampen your better judgement, you heard something in the woods rustle, the sounds of displaced leaves and cracking twigs standing out against the stillness of the woods. Somewhat hesitantly, you turned towards the disturbance, half-expecting to see wolves or coyote or, as unlikely as it was, the same over-sized bird that’d gotten you into this, but instead, much to your relief, you found a group of three men – hunters, judging by the riffles slung over their backs, the dirt caked into their shoes. None of them were wearing visibility gear, and you couldn't say it seemed like a great idea to go skulking through the forest in the middle of the night, but you were already out of your comfort zone. You couldn’t be sure what people walking around in the woods at night were supposed to look like, and at that point, you didn’t really care.

You grinned, moving to call out to them, but the oldest of the group was already addressing you, already stepping out of the forest and onto the road. “What do you think you’re doing out here, darlin’?”

Your expression faltered, but you kept your spirits up. It was fine. This was fine. You could deal with a little backwoods chauvinism until you got to a mechanic. “Got into an accident,” you said, nodding towards where your car where it bent around the oak’s trunk. “No service, either. I guess I wouldn’t be able to bother one of you kind people to call a tow truck, would I?”

There was a long, silent pause. The two younger men exchanged a glance. Again, the oldest spoke to you. “This is private property, y’know. Not a lot of folks come through this patch of woods.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I… I’m just in town for the convention.” One of the younger men slid his rifle off of his shoulder, taking it in both hands. The other followed in-suit. “It’s a beautiful area. If I had to get stranded, I’m glad it was here.”

“So, no relatives nearby? Nobody who’d notice if you didn’t get home in the mornin’?”

You pressed yourself against the dented metal, your smile now strained. “You know what?” You asked, forcing out an airy chuckle. “I think I’ll just walk for it. How far could the next town be, right?”

He held up a hand, signaling to the rest of his group. You heard something click, caught boots scraping against rough pavement, and watched a broad grin form across the older man’s features. “Looks like there’s gonna be a hunt tonight after all, boys.”

Your first reflex was, somewhat counterintuitively, to laugh. The sound was jarring, too loud and too stilted, cutting your lips and catching in your throat like pieces of broken glass.

Your second, triggered when one of the younger men moved to step toward you, was to run for your life.

Without thought, without hesitation, you broke into a dead-sprint. There was a holler behind you, a round of hollow clicks and earth-shaking thuds, and then, they were chasing you.

You couldn’t be sure how far you made it. It felt like you ran for seconds, or days, or years. It felt like you traveled miles, or feet, or just a few steps. Everything looked like the same repetitive blur of trees taller than your eyes could follow and roots that jutted from the earth like pikes. Their footsteps remained constant, never growing closer or farther away, always lingering somewhere just behind you, always just barely breathing down your neck. Fuck this. Fuck your car. Fuck this entire goddamn town and their stupid convention. If you made it out of this alive, you’d spend the rest of your life as far from this state as you could get. Coming here had been a stupid idea to begin with, a spontaneous trip planned at the last minute and based on a half-baked desire to see something that probably didn’t even exist. You just thought you might’ve been able to see—

Your foot caught on a half-buried stone, and you were sent crashing into the earth, your shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. You were left on the ground, cursing under your breath and holding your aching arm as you scrambled to get back on your feet, to keep moving before your would-be murderers caught up with you. You weren’t fast enough, though – you couldn’t be, not when they’d always been on your heels, not when you’d already given them an opportunity to put their quarry out of its misery. You’d barely started to push yourself up when they emerged from the tangle of trees, guns cocked and hunting knives drawn. You shrunk into yourself, threw your arms over your face in a last-ditch effort to protect yourself, despite knowing that a bullet would tear through your skin like paper, despite being able to picture your body lying lifeless on the forest floor, bleeding out in the dirt like a wild animal. The last thing you saw was the oldest man, raising his riffle and aiming towards your chest before you shut your eyes.

You heard a shot, sudden and deafening, but the impact never came.

You felt something whip past you. There was a scream, wordless and torn and cut short with a ragged screech and a wet, visceral sound – like flesh being carved open, like teeth tearing into raw meat. It was all you could do to curl into yourself, sinking into your self-made shelter as the forest descended into the sounds of carnage, only falling silent when there was nothing left to cut down. Even then, it took you long, agonizing seconds to open your eyes, to take in the gore splattered across the grass and dirt, the guns that’d been bent and twisted into shapes they weren’t meant to hold. A disembodied leg laid to your side, the torso it’d been ripped from impaled on a branch nearly twenty feet off of the ground. Clumps of torn muscle and split entrails shined reddish-silver in the limited moonlight, but you could only focus on the gore for so long.

Only a few yards away, a man stood in front of you. Only, it wasn’t a man, not really, not when you looked beyond its – his? hers? theirs? – vaguely humanoid form. Its long legs and lanky arms were coated in a thin layer of grey, shaggy fur that grew shorter and finer over its defined chest. You could make out curved talons extending from its massive hands, a pair of ringed antennae curled back along its scalp, a pair of tattered wings folded against its back. Its head might’ve been the strangest part of its anatomy; low and stooped, too round to resemble anything human and too featureless inspire anything but an uncanny sense that you weren’t supposed to be here. From a distance, the only thing you could really make out was its eyes. They were gigantic, nearly spherical – orbs of pure crimson that seemed to glow in the dim light.

Before you could stop yourself, your attention drifted downward, to the space between its legs. It took you an embarrassingly long moment to recognize what you were looking at – the shaft absent of all veins or definition beyond a perfect spiral ridge that coiled from the base to the flushed, lilac-shaded head. The tip was tapered, ending in a sharp slant and budding with something white and thick. The entire thing looked almost painfully erect, inflating it to a size that, even when compared to the rest of its massive body, sparked a raw, preservationist kind of terror inside of you. Fear took root in the pit of your stomach, sprouting up and into the hollow of your chest, making it difficult to breathe, to resist the urge to curl back into yourself and never come out.

Second to only your fear, just as pervasive and twice as instinctual, was your arousal.

It would’ve been impossible to read its nonexistent expression, but as it shifted its weight, turning to face you, you could’ve sworn the creature was looking at you with as much interest as you held for it. Its scarlet eyes were wide and unfaltering, its gaze only growing more intense as it took a step in your direction, then another, approaching you in slow, tense increments. Despite its stiffness, it didn’t seem awkward or nervous, let alone afraid of you. If anything, it seemed like it was trying not to scare you, even if you couldn’t say there was much weight behind the gesture when you were sitting among the viscera of its last three victims. Still, you held your ground, not daring to so much as blink until it was standing in front of you.

From a distance, it’d been inhumanly tall. Now that it was close enough to touch, it seemed downright monstrous.

With jerky, unpracticed movements, it reached down, towards you. You waited for a beat, then another, and when it failed to pull away or bury its talons in your chest, you hesitantly placed your hand in its palm, a knot forming in the back of your throat as its claws folded and everything up to your wrist was completely encompassed. With a sharp tug, it pulled you to your feet and held steady you when your legs, still shaking, proved too weak to hold your weight. You let out a fleeting, nervous laugh, and in response, it chittered – the sound high-pitched and tittering. It was cute, in the way seeing a lion play with a ball of yarn would’ve been cute. You were still eminently aware that the creature in front of you could end your life, but still.

“Hey,” you managed, eventually, unable to think of anything else to say. You didn’t even know if it could understand you, but you weren’t sure what else to do. “Did you… did you save me?”

Another round of chittering, a slight glimmer in its otherwise blank stare. You smiled. “Thank you, I— I’m not from around here, and I didn’t know I’d have to look out for people like that.” You bowed your head, attempting to let your eyes fall to the ground, but rather, your eyes found its cock again, pressed against its abdomen and leaking. The adrenaline that’d coursed through your veins a few minutes ago was already starting to fade, making room for something else, something closer to an anxious sort of zeal. Something that made you want to do something less than advisable.

Slowly, doing what little you could to stop your hands from shaking, you reached out, your fingertips barely brushing against its soft cheek. It nuzzled into your touch, earning a small smile, a trickle of a laugh. “Poor thing,” you mumbled, almost comforted by the fact that it couldn’t respond, couldn’t mock your poor-excuse for a seductively saccharine tone. “Do you need help with that?”

You saw its talon’s twitch, its wings flutter almost imperceptibly against its back. You weren’t aware that you were moving, not until your back was pressed against the rough bark of the nearest oak, until you felt the clawed hand that it’d wrapped around your waist drop to your hip, then your thigh. The tips of its curved talons scraped against your skin as it ran its claws from your waist to your knee, cutting through the delicate fabric of your shorts and panties and discarding the material without a second thought. The open air was cold against your exposed skin, but something quickly replaced it – a gentle, oppressive warmth that seemed to sap the chill from your skin. Your legs were thrown over its shoulders, held in place by its massive hands as it buried its face between your thighs. You barely had time to straighten your back, to brace yourself before—

Oh.

It was more tongue-like than you’d expected.

Not to say that it was a tongue – you weren’t really sure what you should call it. Long, split at the tip, just rough enough to earn a breathy gasp, a new wave of heat rushing from your core to your head, obscuring your few remaining rational thoughts with a shimmering haze. Its tongue (tendril? proboscis?) ran over the length of your exposed slit, leaving a trail of thick, viscous saliva dripping down the inside of your thighs before jerking its head upward and finding your clit, the tip of its tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as soon as it recognized the airy sounds now falling steadily from your lips for the unabashed moans they were. It was almost experimental, the way it bent and curled its tongue, clearly working towards a quickly approaching goal but constantly looking for a way to get there that much faster, to make your legs twitch that much harder, to force the coil writhing violently in the pit of your stomach wind up that much tighter.

It was all you could do to arch your back against the oak’s trunk and clench your eyes shut, your hands falling to the softened ridge between its curved antennae. Only half-consciously, your attention dominated by the feeling of its coarse tongue swirling over your clit, you raked your fingers through its cropped fur, doing what you could to show the creature your appreciation, your gratitude. You tried to be gentle, but the curling tips of its tongue slipped into your tight entrance and the world burnt white, your body jerking forward and your nails biting into its scalp. There was a deep, guttural sound from somewhere deep in its chest, and its hands rose to your hips, claws scrapping lightly against your skin as its tongue fucked into you. It was thin, but long and so flexible – twisting and coiling against the sensitive walls of your cunt, never repeating the same blissful pattern of thrusts and thrashes more than once. You found yourself grinding into its mouth, seeking out whatever friction you could with the clumsy movements of your hips. The pressure, the weight, the sensation – it was more than you could handle. You could already feel it, a certain tightness in your chest, a tension in your core that—

Without warning, without satisfaction, it pulled away from you, leaving you empty and quickly coming down from a high that you never quite reached. You let out a long whine, more desperate than disappointed, and as if to apologize, the creature nuzzled against the inside of your thigh, chirping softly. Thankfully, your reprieve was a short one. With its hands still on your hips, your body still held aloft by its inhuman strength, you were dragged away from the oak and into its chest as it stood to its full height. Your chest was slotted against the creature’s, the pointed head of its cock pressed flush to your dripping cunt. Its wings fanned out, its hips rolling against yours, and a sharp, aching moan was drawn from your lips as it thrust into you, finally filling you to the brim.

For a long moment, it was all you could do to bury your face in its chest and try to put together a coherent thought. Only half of its length was inside of you, and yet, you could practically feel it pressing into your core, rubbing against the walls of your cunt, the cork-screw ridge that ran from the tip to the base threatening to split you open. It didn’t, though, and even if it had, you couldn’t be sure you would’ve cared. Before the creature could even begin to move, to fuck into you from below, you were grinding against it, mindlessly and desperately trying to chase that fullness, that peak. It didn’t take long for the creature to answer your fervor. There was a raised notch just above the base of its cock, a notch that caught on your clit as it beat into you with heavy, rough strokes. A talon was dragged down the back of your top, tearing the fabric away and allowing its tongue to lave over your chest. All of its gentleness, all of its restraint was thrown aside as its claws dug into your hips, cutting through skin and tinting your pleasure with an intensity that wouldn’t have been possible without a drop of pain.

A scream, wild and euphoric, was torn from your throat, and you wrapped your legs around its waist, dragging your own nails over its back as you fought to keep some part of yourself grounded. Even that was an effort made in vain. You heard its wings shift, felt the air rush against your skin, and suddenly, you were breaking through the canopy – speared on the creature’s cock mid-air, being fucked against the backdrop of the dark, velveteen sky. The shock, the adrenaline, the thrill was enough to leave you clenching around the creature’s cock, your vision burning white as you came undone. You might’ve been able to come down, to melt back into its thrusts and its affection, if something hadn’t clicked in its chest, if its wings hadn’t started to move a little faster, if something hadn’t happened and the creature hadn’t started to emit a sort of reverberating droll – the sort throbbing vibration that only seemed to make the friction against your clit, the feeling of it stretching you open more perfect. You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed in that hazy, half-conscious state – limp and moaning in the arms of a monster, always either spilling over your high or riding out the aftershocks. It only came to a climax – a real climax – when the creature stiffened against you, its cock twitching violently inside of your cunt. It pulled you as close as it possibly could and, with one last wave of pulsing reverberation, released something thick inside of you – viscous and warm and translucent. Like sap. Like nectar.

Light-headed and blissed-out, you buried your face in its chest as it began to descend, the sound of your giddy laughter muffled by its fur. This time, when it pulled away from you with an apologetic chirp, you didn’t complain, only pressing one more lingering kiss into the curve of its shoulder and letting it draw back. Your legs were too weak to hold your weight, so you braced yourself against the nearest oak as the creature disappeared into the dark of the forest, returning a few moments later with a bundle of bloody fabric in its arms. A shirt – a little torn but mostly in one piece, taken from one of the hunters’ corpses, clearly meant to replace your own ruined clothes. You smiled as you slipped it over your head. It was a size too big, and it was sure to raise a few questions, but it would do until you could find help. Whatever ‘help’ meant, at that point.

When you were finished, the creature took you up again; wrapping an arm around your waist and catching you under your knees, pulling you against its broad chest. This time, as it soared over the forest, you were able to admire view, the star-lit sky and sprawling woodland before it landed where the forest had started to thin and give way to the outskirts of a small town. Slowly, carefully, it lowered you to the ground, keeping you upright when your unsteady balance wavered. You laughed and, for longer than a moment, you held its unblinking gaze, Eventually, your hands fell into its claws, your smile turning bitter-sweet and sentimental. “Will I ever see you again?”

There was a slight chittering, a gentle squeeze to your hand. You felt its tongue against your cheek and let your eyes fall shut. By the time you could bring yourself to open them again, Mothman – because it was Mothman, you could only deny it for so long – was gone, barely a silhouette in the distance. You heard the crack of thunder, and watched it fly away as the sky broke open and rain spilled out.

The next day, you would learn that a bridge about twenty miles outside of the city the creature left you in had collapsed the night before, killing hundreds.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #yandere monster #monster x reader #monster fucking #yandere mothman #mothman x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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It's Me, I'm The April fool

Funny Story Universe

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Mitchell!Reader, Platonic!Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader

TW:mentions of pregnancy, brief mention of breeding kink I think thats it

Summary: Bradley really needs to learn to mind his own business.

Word Count:2.1k

"Well, fuck."

You and Jake stare down at the two pink lines in disbelief, thoughts coming and going at warp speed. Jake is borderline buzzing with happiness and excitement but waits to see your reaction before showing it.

He looks at the side of your face, trying to get a read on what you're feeling. Truth be told, you aren't sure. There's a mixture of glee and excitement, you know that much. You love Jake more than anything, and the idea of having a mini Seresin running around causes your heart to swell with love.

Overpowering all of that though, at the very forefront of your mind flashing in giant neon letters, is fear. Not fear of becoming a mother or of Jake running for the hills never to be seen again, but fear of your dad.

He specifically told you to be careful, yet here you are, staring parenthood in the face. It almost makes you laugh because you know exactly when you got pregnant. It happened the same night Mav found out and nearly had a heart attack just at the prospect of you dating Jake.

In your defense, you usually were careful. It's not your fault that your dad didn't learn his lesson about tempting you and Jake. It also doesn't help that Jake fucking Seresin has one massive breeding kink. You weren't exactly complaining at the time.

"Talk to me, baby. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You're broken from your trance and turn to face your boyfriend.

"Dad is going to kill us."

Jake has the nerve to laugh, and you smack his arm with a scowl.

"It's not funny, Seresin!"

He manages to get his laughter under control, stifling tiny giggles as he tries to put on a serious face.

"He's not going to kill you. You're his only child and carrying his only grandchild. Me, on the other hand? Let's hope the only thing he finds worse than a grandchild out of wedlock is a bastard grandchild."

Jake can see you trying not to laugh at his antics, and his stomach flips when he manages to get a smile out of you.

"There's my pretty girl. We'll figure out Mav later, okay?"

You scoff and roll your eyes, settling back on the counter with your arms crossed.

"Yeah, because that worked out so well last time."

He pokes your sides and you almost hate how he manages to cheer you up even in the tensest situations. Almost.

"Well, now we know. I'll make sure to climb to a higher surface so he can't reach me." His face is completely deadpan, and you snort.

"You're fucking ridiculous."

Two weeks later, you've both fallen in love with the little bean, and you've had to physically drag Jake out of the baby section in every store you've set foot in.

You're just leaving the doctor's office, a small black and white sonogram tucked into Jake's back pocket. You're twelve weeks along, and Jake is riding a high only comparable to racing through the skies.

The two of you chat in the car on the way to the Hard Deck; you're supposed to meet the team for drinks. You are still figuring out how to get around that, seeing as no one knows about your little surprise.

"Do you think they'll have my eyes?" Jake asks, and love explodes in your chest.

"I hope so. Honestly, I think they'll be a carbon copy of you."

The thought makes his head swim, and he's consumed by images of a little blonde-haired boy or girl running around with his self-assured attitude. He knows they're going to be a handful, between his arrogance and your ability to charm anyone that looks your way. He can't wait.

You stroll into the bar, immediately sitting by the pool tables to watch a heated game between Rooster and Coyote. The next couple of hours is spent laughing and making bets on who will win.

It's not until Rooster orders a round of shots that you start to panic, and Jake can see the way your pupils widen as you try to think of an excuse. The tequila is set down in front of you, and you just stare at it.

Jake slams his back, and when he's sure no one is looking, he takes yours too. You give him a grateful smile and pray that this isn't a night of heavy drinking. If Jake is doing double, he's going to end up getting his stomach pumped.

Unbeknownst to you, Bradley does see the interaction and frowns but decides not to say anything. Maybe you're just not feeling well. He doesn't give it much more thought.

But then, when everyone is leaving and he's walking with you to Jake's truck, something happens. Jake drops something, and when he bends down to pick it up, he sees a little white square sticking out of his pocket.

He doesn't think twice as he plucks it out and looks at it, always too nosy for his own good.

You freeze when you see it in his hands, and Bradley's face is as white as a ghost. His eyes rake over the image for a solid minute as you and Jake watch, waiting for the impending explosion.

"What the fuck am I looking at?" Bradley whispers, and you gulp.

He peers down at you and takes in the way you're wringing your hands and shifting back and forth.

"Y/N, what the fuck am I looking at?"

His voice is almost too calm, and you think you broke him for a second. Jake glances between the two of you but remains silent. He's almost certain that if he dares to utter a single word right now, Bradley will be on him, and unlike Mav, he could do severe damage.

"Surprise?"

Bradley looks like he's about to faint and vaguely registers bile rising in his throat.

"No, nope. This is a prank, right? I know you're not dumb enough to get pregnant when Mav expressly told you not to. Maybe Hangman, but not my baby sister."

You chew on your lip, and Bradley has to fully walk away for a second before rounding back and halting in front of you.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you get off on pissing off Mav or something? You're going to be a single mom!"

He's practically yelling at this point, and you shush him harshly before yanking him closer to the truck, away from prying ears.

"No, I'm not, Bradley. Jake isn't going anywhere."

He gives you a bewildered look and throws his hands up in the air, doing a complete spin to try and process the new information.

"Maybe not by choice, but Mav is going to kill him! I don't mean get angry and yell. I mean full military service, casket in the ground kill him. He just told you three months ago not to get her pregnant out of wedlock."

He's facing Jake now, and you have to credit the blonde pilot for never wavering in the face of adversity.

"Well, I actually have a solution to that problem." He shrugs.

You and Bradley both look at him expectantly. If he has any ideas, you have yet to hear them.

"We could just elope."

Bradley barks out a disbelieving laugh, but you don't find the matter funny at all. Marry Jake? Usually, the thought of marrying a man you've been with for less than a year would send you sprinting in the opposite direction, but this isn't any man.

It's Jake, the man that makes you laugh when you're crying and always eats your mushrooms because you can't stand the texture. The man who was so over the moon at becoming a father that once he knew you were okay, fell to his knees and hasn't stopped talking to your non-existent belly since.

You're already attached to him for life, and the thought has crossed your mind. You don't hate it.

"Jake, don't marry me just because I got knocked up." You sigh, and he shakes his head.

"No, I've been thinking about this since that first night. Just seemed too crazy. It makes perfect sense, though, and Y/N Seresin has a nice ring to it.

You smile brightly at the sentiment and slowly nod your head.

"Okay, let's do it. Let's elope."

Bradley lets out a sound akin to a wounded animal, and you're suddenly reminded that he's there.

"This is the worst idea I've ever heard. Mav will think you're doing it out of obligation and try to stop it. You can't be serious."

You ponder for a few seconds, and Bradley can almost read your thoughts. He doesn't like the look on your face, the one you get right before you drag him into one of your harebrained schemes.

"So we won't tell him until after."

You say it as if it's the most simple thing in the world, and Bradley's knees almost give out. This is the worst deja vu he's ever had; how the fuck does he keep getting wrapped up in this shit?

"No, absolutely not. Last time you said that I aged ten years in six months. You're pregnant. You can't just hide this for months. How far along are you?"

You release an agitated sigh and lean up against Jake's hood.

"Twelve weeks."

Bradley's eyes widen, and you would almost feel bad if it didn't look so funny.

"Twelve wee- what did you get pregnant the night he told you not to?"

You know it's a rhetorical question but answer anyway.

"Yeah, actually. It's kind of funny when you think about it."

Bradley actually sits on the gravel this time, staring ahead into the abyss.

"It's actually not funny, and I wish I could think about literally anything else. Why am I always the one that has to keep a secret? I hate keeping secrets."

He's whining, and you stifle a laugh.

"Because you're always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. You do this to yourself."

He shoots you a mean glare, and you nudge him with your knee.

"Cheer up. This means you get to be the witness."

His head snaps to look up at you, and his mouth falls open.

"Objection!"

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you choke on a laugh.

"You can't scream objection in a private conversation, Roos."

He leaps to his feet, and you adjust the angle of your head to stare up at him.

"Well, I just did. It's one thing to ask me to hide something like this. But you want me to witness your elopement and not tell anyone?"

Jake finally steps in and subtly nudges Bradley back a few inches; he's gotten a little too close for his liking.

"Well, you're the only one who knows. Besides, it should be someone important to us. We'll have the big wedding after all this is said and done."

Bradley stares him down for a second and ponders the idea.

"You think I'm important?"

Jake scoffs and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him.

"That's what you took away from that?"

Bradley nods, and Jake closes his eyes, already regretting his next words.

"If I say yes, then will you do it?"

You look on with amusement and give Bradley your best puppy dog eyes.

"Guess you'll have to find out."

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head back to look at the sky.

"Fine. Yes, you are important to both of us, and we would love it if you were the one to be there."

The words are almost like acid on his tongue, and he'll never forgive the grinning pilot for making him say it.

"Okay, I'll do it. But you have to tell Mav soon!" He points his finger at you, and you recoil.

"Don't point that thing at me, Bradshaw."

He lowers his hand, and you clap, giddy at the impending nuptials.

"Okay, we'll put it together and let you know. Right now, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. This kid is sucking the life out of me."

Bradley snorts and tilts his head to the side.

"Yeah, I would imagine a Seresin will do that to you." He mutters, and you kick him in his knee.

"Ow!" He yelps, reaching down to grab the area while hopping on the opposite leg.

"Watch it. They're half Mitchell too, you know."

Bradley scowls when Jake coughs to cover a laugh, and you turn to hop in the truck. Jake opens the door before giving his friend a nod and driving you home. This should be very interesting.

#jake seresin #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #top gun imagine #hangman top gun #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

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simpforrooster · 10 months

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do you want me to lie, sir? pt.2

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F!Reader/F!MitchellReader

summary: jake has been busy with mav's stupid trainings. trainings disguised to keep him from you. t/w: implied smut 18+ please, soft!jake, soft!mav

Maverick has been keeping Hangman busy since the night he caught you coming out of his room.

Of course, Hangman thought the two of you were in the clear once you batted your big ol' eyes at your father.

Mav's got such a soft spot for you. His only child, only daughter.

"25 more, Lieutenant," Hondo tells him. Hangman internally rolls his eyes. Mav punished him to 75 push ups because it looked like he was going to leave his wingman.

Coyote and Hangman are leaning back against the bar waiting for their beers that evening.

"So, how are you and y/n?" He asks.

Hangman rolls his eyes, outwardly this time, since there is no one to tack on more pushups for the disrespect.

"Haven't seen her since that night," he tells Coyote.

Coyote's mouth pulls up in the corner, thinking about the chaos of the night. He was sad to have missed it. He hurriedly corrects his smile at Hangman's glare.

Penny sets the beers onto the counter and winks at Hangman. Of course Penny is in the know. Mav has probably been whining to her about it.

As Hangman turns back toward the pool tables, you make your entrance.

This hasn't been easy on you, either. You miss cuddling into those big arms. You miss his small kisses on your temple. The ones he gives without much thought. The simpleness of the intimacy makes your stomach jump.

Tonight, you dressed to kill. You can see it in the way Jake's eyes trail down your body from where he leans next to Coyote. You don't miss the gulp that goes down his throat either.

The black body con dress is working.

It isn't lost on you that your father is behind all the time Jake is spending away from you. You expected more from your cocky fighter pilot, though. Figured he be defying Maverick the first second he could.

But he hasn't. He's been respectful of it? Totally out of character.

Which is why you have to fight dirty.

You don't approach him, content to just watch him from the opposite side of the bar. His hand not holding his beer curls into and out of a fist, a la Pride and Prejudice style.

You allow your right eye to fall into a wink and then gesture toward the door. Not the front one. The one in the back. The one only you know about thanks to Penny. Jake answers your wink with a sensual smirk and murmurs something to Coyote before meeting you in the back.

Jake sandwiches you between him and the door. His strong body towers over you, heating you up all over. You reach behind you and turn the doorknob, both of you falling into the storage room.

Surrounded by bottles of liquor, Jake places his lips against yours and everything feels right in the world. Jake's hands rest on your hips, his thumbs digging in to pull you closer. You hook your arms around his neck and he follows by lifting you around his waist. He walks the two of you back against the door.

"Your father has been the absolute cock block," Jake tells you.

"Never say that sentence again," you giggle into his chest.

You never discussed your dating life with your father. You'd hope you'd just charm your way through it. Your father is still hellbent on assuming Jake is going to fuck something up.

"I know how guys like Hangman are!" he shouted once you followed him into the house. "Hell, I was Hangman!"

You crossed your arms. "So Penny doesn't need to be with you, then?"

Mav got that look on his face, the same one he gets when Cyclone calls him out on his bullshit.

The two of you didn't get farther than that, and your dad has kept Jake busy with pointless training exercises.

Jake pulls you back to the present by taking your lips in-between his teeth, gaining an unsolicited moan from you.

"Come back to the present with me, please," he says low against your ear. Your body reacts with goosebumps and a deep longing for the man pressing you against this door. "How good can it be inside that brain of yours when I am right here?"

"Oh shut up," you whisper against his mouth before deepening your kiss. You elicit a surprised groan from him as you grind against his erection. Allowing your hands to fall from his neck, you begin to fiddle with the button on his pants.

To hell with your fairytale first time with Jake.

Jake stops you. One hand on yours, the other keeping you around his waist.

"Baby, stop," he says quietly. That voice cutting through the noise in your brain. "You don't want to do it like this."

"But I want you," you tell him, feeling slightly rejected.

Jake leans forward, placing a soft kiss against your temple, calming you.

"Do you not want me anymore?" you manage to ask. Your voice small, hating that you let the question even leave your mouth.

Jake's finger comes under your chin, craning your face to look at him. "Believe me, stopping you from grabbing my cock is the hardest thing I have ever done." He kisses your temple again. That small reassurance fills you up. "But I know how important this is for you. I can't have sex with you in the middle of your stepmom's liquor stock."

You have to admit, seeing this soft side of Jake just makes you want him even more. If you'd been any other girl, he wouldn't have hesitated. But he did with you.

Because he loves you. Your brought back to that night. When he said it and you knew it was time. Time to take your relationship to the next level. It also hits you that you never got a chance to say it back to him.

"I love you, Jake," you whisper, laying your forehead into his chest. Jake chuckles into your hair.

"Take me home, Jake," you say. He sets you down and takes your hand in his. Carefully, he pulls the door open, and as he takes a step back out into the bar, he shoves you back in. Blocking you with his body, you can't see what's going on.

"Lieutenant," your father's voice says.

"Captain," Jake answers back, just as stoic.

"You hiding my baby girl?"

Jake squares up just a bit. "Do you want me to lie, sir?"

"I think that would be best."

"Nope."

Not being able to take this same song and dance, you poke around Jake.

"Maverick, you have to chill out." Your dad is taken back at the use of his callsign. He much prefers Dad or Pops.

You don't back down. "I am a grown woman. You cannot hate the people I date unless there is a legit reason I should be worried." You cock an eyebrow, silently asking Well, is there?

Jake stands behind you, letting you take control. Not wanting to dig himself into a hole. Mav can appreciate that. His little girl is strong enough on her own, and Jake knows this.

Maverick looks over your shoulder at Jake. "Hangman, if you hurt her, I swear--"

Jake cuts him off. "You don't have to worry about that." His hand encircles your waist from behind, pulling you into him. "I'm in love with her, sir."

This declaration softens your fathers eyes. It almost looks like he's going to cry?

Nah, Mav wouldn't cry over something like this.

Or would he?

You clear your throat. "We, uh, were just going to head out. Going to the, uh, house. You and Penny seem plenty busy here."

"To go watch watch movies I hope," he says, eyes sad and scared.

"Do you want me to lie, Pop?"

"That would be best, daughter."

"Sure, movies."

You grab Jake's hand and step around your father before he can say anything. Over your shoulder, you see him shaking his head before heading into the stock room for whatever Penny sent him after.

a/n: so sorry for my unplanned hiatus. i had to administer state testing to my fifths, and then school let out a week early and we had to cram all our end of the year fun into a few weeks. i also started my masters degree. tbh, i have been feeling a little uninspired. hopefully i will be back to posting regularly!

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman top gun #hangman fic #hangman x oc #hangman imagine #hangman x reader

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archivallyfound09 · 10 months

Text

The Vice Admiral's Niece

Summary: At a yearly Navy dinner, Vice Admiral Simpson decides to bring his niece to get her out of the house after a breakup. She isn't thrilled until a certain aviator catches her eye all night.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader (female, she/her pronouns, no y/n) Warnings: The usual. Everything is Mature, I'll mark explicit. Drinking, swearing, sexual innuendos. Mention of a breakup and of parent death-nothing graphic. ----------

"I don't know how you do these things," her voice was strained as she came down the tall flight of stairs. Her dress was a bit too tight for her comfort zone, the dark emerald satin starting to feel more like a noose wrapped effortlessly around her body. Her hair was done in a new way and a bobby pin was doing it's damnedest to continually poke into her brain.

"Honey, I don't have time for the whining, just get down here," Cyclone rolled his eyes as his recently shined black shoe tapped impatiently on the cream colored marble floor.

"Sorry, Uncle Beau- I mean, Command- I mean-" her stuttering was complimented by her stumbling down the stairs in the great hall. A sheepish grin took over her features as the Vice Admiral reached out to catch her after missing the final step.

"Listen, Billie," he sighed as she straightened her dress, her ears pricking a bit redder at the nickname ("Kill Bill" was a movie she had demanded to watch as a kid, not understanding the content of the movie and when her uncle finally let her watch it, she was haunted by nightmares for weeks. Unfortunately, the nickname was too cute not to stick).

"- I just need you to smile, enjoy the food, maybe dance, and then we'll get you out of here." He sighed as he saw her head drop again. He had agreed to take his niece to the annual Navy function after his wife had insisted upon it- the poor thing had just been dumped and, having lost both her parents previously, she had practically been living at her aunt and uncle's.

"Billie- look at me," her eyes slowly looked up at her uncle.

"I know I know, just don't trip," she took in a deep breath and forced a smile. She linked her arm through his and they walked into the grand ballroom, her heartbeat matching each click of her heels as they were announced in.

-------

Hangman almost spat out his drink when he saw the Vice Admiral walk into the room.

"Holy shit- look at the piece on Cyclone!"

The entire dagger team whipped their heads to look towards the ballroom's doors, trying to catch sight of what Hangman had seen. Fanboy thought it was a joke until he saw the woman with the placated smile bowing her head towards some of the other commanders nearby.

"Jesus! Who knew Cyclone had it in him? I can't-"

"She's not with him," Phoenix interrupted, "His wife's been on base recently," every male in the party looked at her befuddled, "You morons, we all saw her! He introduced her to Maverick before training like two weeks ago!"

Fanboy and Coyote looked at each other and shrugged, Bob pretended to agree and then shook his head, and Hangman downed the last of his drink. Phoenix was about to chastise the group again when she noticed that she had gotten no response or commentary from Rooster.

"Bradshaw," the sandy brown hair barely tilted towards her at the mention of his name, "for the love of god, do NOT try anything with the Vice Admiral's daughter." Rooster was still frozen, his eyes locked on the woman who had walked in. He couldn't help but memorize every detail of her: the way her dress flowed behind her with every step, the folds of the dress around her left hip, the way her hand kept perfectly still on the admiral's forearm.

"Yo, Rooster, friendly wager?" Hangman's voice cut through his thoughts, forcing him to, for the first time since she had entered, turn away. He shook his head and went to challenge his fellow pilot, but suddenly felt the hair stand on the back of his neck. He slowly turned around. half expecting the Vice Admiral himself to be breathing down on him.

As Bradley's eyes scanned the room (and while he ignored Hangman's taunts and preemptive bragging), his eyes finally locked on the culprit. It was her. Seated in the middle on a long banquet table, her soft eyes stared at him intently, as if she wanted him to know that he was the object of her attentions.

Almost as quickly as he caught and held her gaze, the Vice Admiral next to her tapped her wrist, forcing her to turn and shake hands with Warlock as he took his seat. It was after some short remarks that the dinner then began.

Bradley was quick to notice that the woman seated on the stage in the front was keenly observing him as he continued to mindlessly eat the food in front of him. He was grateful to have chosen a seat to the side of the round table so he could catch her eye every time she glanced at him. He loved watching the way she would pause with her fork pointed down and then fein interested in the conversation happening around us.

When the Vice Admiral took to the podium and started droning on and on about, well, honestly, Bradley had no idea about what. He just kept his gaze on the beauty at the table. She was no longer hiding that she was looking right at him and he was sure he was going to get caught, eat least by someone at his table.

He glanced around and realized no one was paying him any mind (well, except for Hangman who waggled an eyebrow at him as a taunt, focing Rooster to roll his eyes). With his conscious clear, he took in a shaky breath, caught her eye again and gave her his best "Rooster" grin. He could've sworn he saw her giggle and glance down quickly to grab her napkin to stop the laugh as Warlock looked over at her curiously.

A few moments later, Rooster was convinced he had crossed a line. His eyes continued to plead with her to look back up at him, even just one more time. He settled to studying the way that the dress draped around her shoulders and the delicate golden chain that lay right above her collarbones.

He had finally made his mind up- he needed to meet her. Cyclone be damned. His career be damned. His life be damned. He needed thirty seconds with this woman. To do what, he wasn't exactly sure.

It was at this moment that Rooster realized he had checked out a bit too long. Everyone else at the table was standing. Payback had kicked his chair leg hard, automatically causing Rooster to stand. He started catching the compliments from the Vice Admiral:

"...our Naval Aviation Warfighting Development Center has continued to not only grow the finest aviators in the Navy, but continues to utilize and deploy alumni of the Navy Fighter Weapons School to help complete missions that are, well, impossible, frankly."

She knew the joke was a cheap one, but, when you're Vice Admiral, you get a laugh out of every joke you give at the annual dinner. Her aunt had warned her of her uncles terrible sense of humor and inability to read any joy in the room. She giggled to herself.

She wasn't quite sure why, but her eyes kept wandering over to the pilot (she assumed) with the moustache and the brown hair (or was it sandy? the lighting was horrific in the ballroom). He had caught her eye as soon as she walked in, but in a way that every other eye who glanced at her had not.

His gaze was kind. Inquisitive, but kind. She had grown up around naval pilots most of her life after her dad and then her uncle's chose professions. She knew how most were, especially those of the Top Gun variety. When she saw him stand as a graduate, she felt her stomach drop- this guy was bad news.

And yet, she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face as he stumbled to stand and immediately looked to lock eyes with her.

Bradley continued to hold her gaze and gave her a crooked smile as his fingers mindlessly played with the hem of his dress blues. He had forgotten that he was in this ridiculous penguin suit. Thank god, he thought, as Warlock motioned for the task force at his table to sit down. He caught Maverick's eye as he sat and shrugged, but Pete Mitchell knew better: he had seen that look in a Bradshaw's eye before. It was the night that Goose had met Carole.

"And, before this party really gets going," Cyclone gave a hollow laugh which was reciprocated just as lifelessly, "I do want to thank all the support systems that are behind each and every one of you. Your families, your parents, your siblings, your children. I'm honored today to have my niece with me this evening." He paused and some tittering comments were whispered at tables.

"My wife Kelly said that I should clear up any confusion about my date tonight, lest any of you think this is my style."

The sternness of his comment mixed with the ridiculous clarification actually caused uproarious laughter that was quickly snatched up by the DJ as the music started. Cyclone sat down and gave a small smile to his niece, patting her arm.

"Aunt Kelly wrote that for you, yeah?"

He took a swig of his whiskey, "Damn right she did. Everyone in this room thought I was a dirty old man til I said something."

She laughed and hugged her uncle, thrilled that he was finally starting to lighten up a bit.

"C'mere Billie, let me introduce you to some members of Bate's team. He's got some characters you might remember...."

She stood gingerly and took her uncle's arm, smiling at Rear Admiral Bates as he started to walk her towards the table she had been staring at all night.

"Knew someone?" Her brain was in overdrive- who had she met before that her Uncle knew that would be at Top Gun who-

"Billie. My God! the last time I saw you-"

Cyclone cut him off "The last time you saw her she was 10 and I threw you out of my office."

Maverick wasn't capable of having a sheepish look to his face, but he tried his hardest. Billie smiled at the pilot and hugged him, though she wasn't entirely sure that it had been her in her uncle's office when the altercation has occurred. But, she wasn't one to make things awkward.

"So nice to see you again," she gave him a short bow and desperately tried to see through Bates as he was standing directly in front of the chair that had kept her interest.

"Maverick is working on a new team as a strike force. His group of graduates is right here," Bates stepped out of the way and she stared at the table. Well, she stared directly at one member of the table. She forced her eyes to leave as the names and callsigns were relayed to her, but there was only one she cared about.

"uhm, I'm Br-Bradley Bradshaw. I go by R-Rooster." His voice was more than she could've imagined. It was sweet and gruff and had a rasp to it that made the sweat prick on her skin. It was then that she realized that they were waiting on an introduction. Her uncle had already started for her.

"-but we usually refer to her as Billie or Ms. Simpson," the emphasis was put on the second of the two names and everyone caught the implication. She felt her cheeks go hot but she took a deep breath and forced herself to tear her eyes away from Bradley Rooster Bradshaw long enough to say hello.

"What you all do is incredible. Thank you for your service and your sacrifice." The table nodded in appreciation and then quickly scampered away once the Rear Admiral dismissed them.

"Alright kiddo, time for me to go and smoke a cigar outside while you enjoy yourself in here. And remember, anything that happens tonight..."

"...We don't tell Aunt Kelly, I remember." She smiled as her uncle headed towards the doors with some admiral whom she could never remember his name. She quickly walked to the bar and ordered her usual: gin and tonic. After a large gulp, she felt her nerves start to settle. What she hadn't noticed was the figure standing next to her looking at her expectantly.

"Hey there, sweetheart, I've never seen a Vice Admiral's niece before...." The Texan drawl was painfully thick and Billie turned quickly to see her culprit. The blond who had also been staring at her during their introductions tipped his fake cowboy hat and sidled up closer to her.

"What you mean," she retorted, "is you've never slept with a Vice Admiral's niece."

The man stepped back, a hand over his heart. "You wound me, m'lady. I made no such suggestion," he took two steps closer, she could feel his breath hot on her neck and ear as he brushed back part of her hair, "I've been with a few Vice Admiral's daughters, but I want to see where a niece stands in that lineup."

As he (Hangman? something dumb, she thought) continued to try and defend himself, she caught him from across the room. Bradley had locked onto her like a missle and he was pissed. She raised an eyebrow at him and then, while keeping eye contact, patted Hangman's arm and then his cheek in the most chastising way she could manage before she stepped away, heading to a nearby balcony, leaving two men stunned in her wake.

It didn't take long for Bradley to find the woman he had been hunting for. Honestly, he would've run after her after Hangman had pulled his stunt, but he wanted to here the dejected pilot's recounting of the story. Hangman downplayed it, but it was clear he was not used to being turned down by any one, especially one that came with such a high rank in the family.

"It's for the best, Bagman," Phoenix teased and reasoned, "You mess with her, the VA is gonna be up your ass and in all your business. There is no way this works out well, right, Fanboy?"

"Why'd you pick on me?! I didn't do anything and I had no idea that her brother was a Green Beret!" The group broke into peals of laughter as they headed for the bar. It was only Bob who noticed that one member of their party had quickly slipped away and was heading in the direction of a certain off-limits Vice Admiral's niece.

--------

Bradley stood in front of her completely frozen. She was facing out towards the balcony and had surely heard him come out, but he couldn't seem to find any words to explain what had happened that evening. Bradley realized he had no idea what love at first sight was or, honestly, what finding love meant, but he knew when he looked at her, his world stopped.

"I don't bite, Bradshaw," her voice was lilting and startled the pilot. "I'm glad you found me out here," she paused and Bradley thought he would fall over as he waited on her every last word, "though honestly, I'm not really sure what happened in there." He was grateful for her honesty and was relieved that she was just as confused as he was. Before he realized it he had stepped next to her at the balcony, completely oblivious to the view. She smiled at him and then dropped her eyes to his uniform.

"These things must be awful to dry clean," he hedged, eyes looked back up at him through her lashes. Bradley let out a honest-to-god laugh and she couldn't help the bubbling feeling she felt in her chest or the blush that tinged her cheeks. She noted every freckle, every scar, every wrinkle on his face. The way his lips were just the slightest bit crooked and the way his eyes glistened when he laughed.

"They are the absolute worst, but I can't imagine that emerald silk is much easier," he gestured to her gown and she felt the blush grow.

"I'll let you in on a secret- I stole this from my aunt, so I have no idea on the care and washing instructions."

Bradley chuckled and stepped infinitesimally closer to her, his calloused hands barely touching the fabric ruched ust below her hip. "I can't see Mrs. Vice Admiral wearing this, so thank god for you." He smiled at her and it was difficult to decipher between the dig at her aunt and the charmingness he was oozing. She decided it was clearly nerves and laughed with him.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Thank you, Rooster, was it?"

"Ma'am, you may call me whatever you'd like, I'll always respond." The earnestness of his response caught her off guard, but made her melt just a bit more. She nodded curtly, dropping her gaze to her shoes, trying to hide the giggle and blush combination that was happening. Bradley smiled, meaning every word and pleased with the effect that it had on the woman in front of him. He took in as deep of a breath as his blues allowed him and held out his hand.

"While you think of a new nickname for me, may I have this dance, ma'am?" Before she realized it, her eyes shot up and looked at him concerned. If her uncle saw her dancing with someone, especially with someone who was in the Top Gun program and had been working with Maverick- she liked Bradley too much to let her uncle eat him alive.

Bradley was quick to note her hesitation, "Out here, I mean. The music is loud enough, we don't need to let you back into that room to wander into the immoral clutches of some godawful Navy pilot, right?" She smiled in relief and nodded, quickly taking Bradley's hand and swaying immediately to the music. His hand was placed on her lower back and she sighed, taking in the smell of him.

Bradley wanted to jump out of his skin. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened but he was damn glad that Payback and Harvard had dragged him to the dinner tonight. He made a mental note to gift them some nice whisky the next time he was out.

With every step, he took in another one of her features. Her smooth skin, her hair and they way it fluttered in the light breeze, her smell, the way her hand fit in his- he was completely enraptured.

"Bradley?" He let out a small 'mhmm?' his eyes still closed as he swayed with her. "I have to get back. I know my uncle is going to be looking for me and-"

"and you don't want a sacrificial death on your hands. I completely understand." Bradley looked down at her and pressed a hesitant kiss to her forehead. She blushed, but reached her arms around his neck pulling her lips flush against his. He was shocked but immediately melded into her, the touch electric to both parties.

The kiss was over as soon as it had started and she started to pull away, the slightest flush to her cheeks when Bradley grabbed her arm. "Your number. I have to see you again," she smiled and spotted a pen and paper on a nearby tray with a waiters book just inside the doorway of the balcony. She stepped out quickly and ripped out one of the pages and quickly scribbled down her name and number. He kissed the paper as she handed it to him and then leaned in again, kissing her quickly as the two exited the small balcony.

"There you are!" Her uncle's booming voice was off to her right as she waltzed back into the ballroom. "I'd like you to meet Rear Admiral Cain, he's one that worked with your dad way back." She smiled politely and all but jogged to be over by her uncle. It was almost imperceptible, but just the tiniest bit of her lipstick was smudged. Maverick happened to be in the next conversation over and looked at the Admiral's niece and then towards Rooster, all but laughing out loud when he noticed the smear of lipstick on his adopted nephews lips.

As the Vice Admiral started to make his exit, niece in tow, he turned to her.

"Thank you for coming tonight. I think your Aunt Kelly had a bit of a plan for both of us here," he smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. She laughed and nodded- she was there to relax her Uncle a bit and he was there to get her out amongst people again. As she opened her mouth to agree, it shut quickly-there was suddenly some commotion as they reached the doors.

"What the hell are they doing?" Her uncle groaned and then she saw it- the team she had met earlier (save for a sourpussed Texan) was cheering and a few had even lifted Rooster up on their shoulders as the pilot waved a piece of paper around. She turned bright red as Bradley caught her eye and waved the paper around. "Idiot must have gotten lucky on a bet..." she giggled and nodded with her uncle's assessment of the situation. She sent one last glance over her shoulder and it caused even more whooping and hollering from the group. Though he pretended not to notice it, Vice Admiral Beau Simpson could not have been more pleased.

"C'mon Billie, let's get you back home, it's movie night. Maybe some Kill Bill?"

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

#top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster x you #tgm

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gigabyte-flare · 10 months

Text

There's No Escape (Part 7) [FINALE]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: The door is open, is it worth risking walking through to your freedom?

Pairing: yandere!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Word Count: 3.2k

If any of the warnings below trigger you, please kindly pass on this fic

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life; if you feel this way, please go touch grass. You are solely responsible for your own content consumption

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL YEET YOU INTO THE GODDAMN SUN. Thank you!

Warnings (may not apply to all parts): Sex, gaslighting, swearing, stalking, acts of violence, blood, dubcon, kidnapping, pet names (baby, doll, angel, sweetheart, etc.), PTSD triggers, unprotected sex, forced breeding, daddy kink, manipulation, oral (m and f receiving), choking, overstimulation, knife play, gunplay, masterbation, drugging, tokophobia, Stockholm syndrome if you squint. Long story short, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. More warnings could be added in the future.

This part does make mention of miscarriages, which I know can be triggering for people. If this is something that triggers you, please read with caution or pass on this part.

Tags: @lipglossanon, @ghostkennedy, @explorevenus, @nexysworld, @ilookatlater, @shroomietrip, @dollrxst, @lomaeuwu, @aliet, @luniaxifics, @miwsolovely, @tosuckmyweenis, @admirxation, @susanmukami, @andieperrie18

[Author's Notes are at the end!]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It has to be a trap, there’s no way he would have left the door unlatched like that, right?

You must have stared at the door for at least an hour, waiting for Leon to walk back through and praise you for being his ‘good girl,’ but he never did. You mull over your options.

If it is a trap, the worst that will happen is he puts you in the timeout room, you know he won’t rough you up too horribly because he wouldn’t risk you miscarrying, right? If it wasn’t a trap, if he actually did accidently leave that door unlatched, this was your perfect opportunity to finally escape, especially now that you have a good idea of where you are.

You decide it’s worth risking, so you start to get a plan in your head. You go into the bedroom closet and find an old looking backpack and start packing supplies: a few bottles of water, some granola bars, bug spray and band aids. You find your sneakers and pick out a loose t-shirt and a pair of your jeans and put them on; you need to be as comfortable as you possibly could, you have no clue how long you’ll be hiking for. You realize it wouldn’t be a bad idea to find something to defend yourself with, not just from Leon if he happens to catch you but from the wildlife: black bears, coyotes and god knows what else.

You approach the front door, opening it hesitantly and poking your head out. You look around, trying to see if you see any sign of Leon out here, waiting for you. To your surprise, he’s nowhere to be found. Feeling confident that he’s definitely not here, you step out and follow the trail to the shed, hoping that you could find something in there to defend yourself with. Upon getting to the shed, you found the door was locked. You step back, giving the door a few fierce kicks before it breaks off its hinges, slamming to the floor, dispelling a cloud of dust as it lands.

You step in and immediately start looking around, eventually stumbling upon a collection of guns that Leon has displayed on a wall. You grab a smaller handgun along with a box of 9mm ammunition. You put the ammo in your backpack and you tuck the gun into your waistband after making sure the safety was on. As you start to walk out, you spot a red canister. You walk over to it, picking it up and realizing it was full of gasoline. That gave you an idea.

Taking the canister with you, you go back into the house and stomp into the timeout room. You open the cap to the canister and start pouring the gas all over the bed until it's empty. You go into the kitchen and start opening drawers until you find a pack of matches which, thankfully, had one match left. You go back into the timeout room, staring down at the single match in the palm of your hand, tears forming in your eyes.

When you light the match, you can burn away this nightmare.

You light the match, holding it in front of you for a moment before tossing it onto the bed. The force of the fire bursting to life knocks you off your feet, but you quickly regain your composure and run out the front door. Once outside, you stop and turn around. It doesn’t take long for the fire to spread to other parts of the house. Taking a huge sigh of relief, you turn back around, looking up at the sky to find the sun. You discern which direction you think South is in and begin walking. You have a long journey ahead of you to freedom.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The meeting with President Graham lasted for far too long, in Leon’s opinion. He sat at the oval shaped table, chair leaned back and his arms crossed, looking unamused. It was him, a handful of other agents tasked with combating bioterrorism, the President and the newly appointed Secretary of Defense; he recalls that the dark haired man, an agent like him, sitting across from him is named Patrick.

Leon half listens as the Secretary of Defense goes on about the investigation of former Defense Secretary Wilson; the government was still trying to track him down but so far, all efforts to find the man were unsuccessful. Leon thought back to that incident a year ago and Jason’s words:

“I will show everyone what fear is. Then, then it will spread.”

Leon suddenly can see your face, the fear in your eyes as you look at him. Leon’s heart ached for you; as soon as this meeting was over, he was going straight home to you, to show you how much he loved you. After about another half hour, the President dismisses everyone. Leon couldn’t get out of his chair fast enough, however, Patrick soon stops him in the hallway.

“Hey! How’s it going at that house you got? How’s your girlfriend doing?” Patrick asks, his voice full of excitement; he is always starstruck by Leon.

“It’s good, she’s good,” Leon says flatly as he pulls out his phone to check it.

A series of notifications, from about two hours ago, made his heart sink: Motion Detected: Front Door. Motion Detected: Shed Door.

Fire Detected.

Leon’s eyes widen, he opens up an app on his phone to check the camera feeds, but he finds that all the cameras are offline except for the shed.

“I hate to cut this short, Pat, but there’s an emergency at my house. I have to go. Tell the President I’m sorry and give him my regards.”

Leon bolts out of the building, running to his Jeep and climbing inside. He peels out of the parking lot, his heart racing as he pushes his Jeep as hard and as fast as it could go. He gets back to the house in record time, only to find it engulfed in flames; it is a complete loss. He parks his Jeep, standing in front of his burning home and collapsing to his knees. He lets out the most agonizing cry out, tears threatening to pour down the sides of his face as he slams his fists into the ground. It’s not the house he’s upset about, no. That can be replaced. What destroyed him was that you were gone, again.

He takes deep, trembling breaths before he stands back up, he sees something out of the corner of his eye that gives him hope: footprints. They tracked about South-Southwest, deep into the forest. He walks back over to his Jeep, grabbing some supplies out of it and begins following the trail.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The night was the worst. You couldn’t sleep. Every snap of a tree branch startled you awake, thinking that Leon had finally found you. You didn’t dare start a fire or anything in fear it would draw his attention to you. You imagine he’s back home by now and found the house burned down and is now looking for you. Just as the sun starts to break through the trees, you immediately set out, trying to stay on a Southern track as best as you possibly could.

You keep your eyes on your feet, nimbly navigating the rocks and tree roots that jutted out of the ground. You thankfully were an experienced hiker; this came naturally to you. At the same time, you kept your ears open, being attentive to every sound you heard in the forest. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you see the sun hanging high in the sky, beating down on you. You stop under a large pine tree to take a break, leaning against it as you take off your backpack, taking a granola bar out to have a quick bite to eat.

That’s when you hear a sound that chills you straight to your core; your name being called. The voice echoes through the forest. There’s no mistaking it; it is Leon. You’re shocked that he managed to track you down that quickly. Are you really surprised though? He’s a government agent; he’s used to this kind of work. With each call, you can hear his voice get closer and closer, so you run. You sling your backpack back over your shoulders, running as fast as your legs can take you.

Suddenly, you stop in your tracks, sliding until your feet stop at the edge of a large ravine. You look down, wide eyed, at the raging river in the gully below. You look around, spotting a tree that lay across the ravine. It’s risky, but it’s your only way across. You approach the tree, stepping up onto it and carefully balancing yourself across. You try not to look down, but you happen to glance down, the drop making you dizzy. You almost lose your balance, but you quickly correct yourself and manage to get yourself across. You step off the fallen tree, letting out a heavy sigh when you hear your name called again, this time, from directly across the ravine.

You spin around and to your horror, you see Leon on the other side, approaching the fallen tree to cross to get to you. You pull out the pistol from your waistband, turning off the safety and pointing the gun at him.

“Don’t come any closer!”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“It won’t end,” Leon hears Jason’s words once again echo in his mind as he watches you pull the gun on him, your eyes wide in terror, “you are here. You are a witness to this fear. And now you will help it spread.”

Leon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he steps onto the fallen tree to cross the ravine.

So much for that…

“Sweetheart,” Leon opens his eyes and starts taking a few steps forward onto the fallen tree, “listen, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I said… don’t come any closer!” you shout, tears welling up in your eyes as your finger hovers over the trigger.

“Baby, please!” Leon pleads, continuing to advance across the tree, “I promise I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad about the house, ok? I’ll buy us a new one. We can go back to Boston or D.C. or anywhere you want! Just you and me… and our baby…”

“I’m not going anywhere with you…”

“Babe,” a wicked smile starts to cross his lips as he continues to step forward, now in the middle of the makeshift bridge, “that’s where you’re wrong. You have my baby growing inside you, you’re tied to me forever…”

“SHUT UP!” You scream, pulling the trigger.

Leon watches as the bullet strikes just in front of his feet, splintering the wood from the old, rotten tree. He carefully continues to step forward. He watches you pull the trigger again, this time a sharp pain going through his right shoulder as the bullet finds its mark. He growls, reaching over with his left hand, gripping his shoulder; it quickly is covered in his own blood.

“You’re going to stop where you are, turn around and go back to where you came from. We are done.” you say, still pointing the gun at him.

“No we’re not,” Leon says, continuing to approach, “I am not losing you… I am not losing my baby.”

You fire at him again, the bullet once again going into the tree. Leon looks down, letting out a low chuckle as he looks back up at you, taking another step forward. However, with this next step, he hears the tree start to give under his weight. He attempts to leap forward, but the tree gives way before he’s able to and the last thing he remembers is your face staring down at him as he falls into the ravine.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You watch as the tree snaps and Leon falls into the ravine; into the white rapids of the river below. You stare down at the river, dumbfounded, your eyes searching the rapids for him, but you don’t see him. You fall to your knees and break down crying. You probably just killed Leon. The horror of having potentially murdered Leon gives way to a huge wave of relief, the nightmare was truly over. You must have stayed there for over an hour, staring into the river, waiting for Leon to surface.

But he never did.

The sun starts to set, so you decide to set back off, heading south once more. Once it gets dark, you find a safe spot to set up camp, feeling safe enough to set up a fire to keep yourself warm. You stare into the fire, your body trembling from your ordeal. You still can’t believe you probably killed Leon, you can’t believe that your nightmare is over. That you’re free.

Several days go by; while you were sometimes startled by random sounds in the forest, your trek through the forest was uneventful. It had downpoured at one point, completely soaking you, your clothes and your shoes. You had run out of granola bars and water and you quickly were becoming dehydrated. One night, you settle down to get some sleep; however, you could hear sounds that immediately caught your attention.

Laughter. The laughter of several people

You immediately get up, grabbing your backpack to head towards the sound. After a few minutes of walking, you see a campfire and break into a sprint, bolting into a small clearing where you find a small group of people gathered around the fire. You stand there for a moment, looking at all of them. You must have been a sorry sight, your clothes dirty and wet, your hair greasy, soaked, matted and stuck to your face. You feel tears well up in your eyes as a wave of relief wash over you.

You finally speak, your voice barely a whisper, “please… help me…”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The following days went by in a blur, the group, which you found out was a group of college students, helped you out of Baxter State Park and immediately contacted Fish and Game, who in turn contacted the police after you recounted what had happened to you. You were rushed to the hospital, where you were put on an IV for your dehydration. They were able to confirm that you were, in fact, pregnant, much to your dismay, but you weren’t going to worry about that right now.

Police had come in to interview you as you stayed in the hospital to recover from your ordeal, you told them as much as you possibly could about what happened to you, however, not once do you mention Leon’s name.

Why are you protecting him? you ask yourself, he’s dead, it doesn’t matter now.

But deep down you knew if you told them that an elite government agent had done this to you, they wouldn’t have believed you. One day, you overhear a couple cops talking outside of your hospital room, saying how they didn’t find a body in the ravine that you pointed out on a map of Baxter State Park. You try not to let fear overtake you; you could have been mistaken where the ravine was. You saw him fall, there was no way he survived that fall.

A couple days later, you were released from the hospital and were greeted by your parents, who were so happy to see you. They drive you back to D.C., and you pass out, sleeping the majority of the way there. The following days go by peacefully, as you acclimate back to a semi normal life. You then start to talk to your parents about what you’re going to do with the child growing inside you, it’s starting to sound like adoption was the best option. However, your own body made that decision for you.

You wake up one morning to severe abdominal pain; you cry out, grasping your lower stomach as you sit up and toss the blankets off you. What you see is horrifying. Your bed and your pajama bottoms are soaked in your blood; you scream a blood curdling scream. Your mom comes rushing in to see what’s going on and immediately calls 911 upon seeing the blood. You’re rushed to the hospital, where you’re told you have miscarried. As you lay in the hospital bed, you can’t help but feel relieved. The last thing you would ever want was to bring a child into this world who was conceived under such horrible circumstances.

The doctors suspect it was due to the sheer amount of stress you had been under and the dehydration. You don’t doubt it. You can’t help but think about how horrified Leon would have been if he were here. Thankfully for you, he wasn’t. Once you are released from the hospital, you start the agonizing journey to heal yourself and to find yourself again after what you had gone through.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Three years later, Northern California…

You and your new found girlfriends drive down Route 1 in one of the girls’ convertible. You all joke and laugh as the wind flows through your hair; you couldn’t be happier. Your ordeal seemed so far away, especially since you decided to move West, as far away from the East coast as you could possibly go. You needed a fresh start. Neither of these girls knew what you had gone through. Someday, you would tell them, but not today. Today was for happiness and friendship. The girls’ names are Jill and ironically, Rebecca. You had met them at a bar one night and they welcomed you into their friendship with open arms.

Jill is driving and she pulls over in a scenic stop area so that you all could watch the sunset over the Pacific ocean. You all get out of the car and lean up against it, facing the ocean. You all talk amongst yourselves, paying no mind to the motorcycle that had pulled into the scenic stop along with you. After a few minutes, Jill stops, looking over at the motorcycle that’s parked over on the other side of the scenic stop.

She elbows you, “look at that handsome stud.”

You lean forward and crane your neck to see who Jill is talking about and your heart sinks. It’s a tall, blonde haired man leaning against a black, Ducati motorcycle. He wore a black leather jacket with white, horizontal stripes on the sleeves, black jeans and black boots.

He looks just like Leon.

You take deep breaths to calm yourself down and close your eyes, hugging yourself.

It’s not Leon, Leon’s dead, you watched him die. You’re safe.

You open your eyes to see the man staring right at you, you can tell he has brilliant blue eyes, just like Leon’s. He winks at you before climbing onto his motorcycle and starting the engine. Much to your relief, he drives off, getting back on Route 1. You let out a sigh, leaning back up against the car to stare back out into the Pacific ocean.

“He was quite the looker, wasn’t he?” Jill asks, elbowing you again and smirking at you.

Your eyes remain fixed on the ocean, your face blank and emotionless.

“Yeah… I guess he was…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: This series has been quite the journey for me. Not only did it kick start my return to Tumblr, it connected me with some truly wonderful people in the Leon Kennedy/Resident Evil fandom. I've made beautiful friends because of this series and I am so incredibly grateful. If this series was a movie, I always imagined The Summit by Spiritbox to be the "ending credits" song.

Thank you to everyone who has joined me on this journey, I appreciate every single one of you who have supported my work on here. Love you all!

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy smut #gigabyte writes #there's no escape

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roseghoul26 · 2 months

Text

Part 1

Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

"'Do you love me?' You asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Arthur nodded, gazing at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

'Then say it. I promise you, nothing bad is gonna come from it.'"

Synopsis: A retelling of the mission "Blessed are the Peacemakers", where instead of Arthur getting kiddnapped, it's you.

Tags: fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut, smut, torture, mentions of sexual assault, no actual SA, dutch is father figure, so is hosea, arthur morgan deserves everything, fem reader, afab!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, not beta read

part 1 ❉ part 2 ❉ part 3 ❉ part 4

“C’mon, we’re heading out. And make sure you bring that rifle.”

Arthur’s voice caused you to look up from polishing said rifle, the freshly cleaned barrel glinting in the afternoon sun. Before you stood the cowboy, one hand resting casually on his gun belt, the other rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his.

Narrowing your eyebrows, you stood, strapping the gun across your back. “You’re worried,” you stated, and you watched his movement halt. “Why?”

“Dutch says… well how’d you know that? I ain’t even said anything yet.”

“You don’t need to say anything, cowboy. But that’s beside the point. Dutch says…?” You gestured for him to continue.

You swore you heard him mutter something about you being a damn witch before he turned around, leading you to where the horses were hitched at the front of your camp. The new camp, Clemens Point, was starting to grow on you, even with all the bugs and coyotes around. The access to water was nice, and it was close enough to cities to not be a burden to go to, but far enough away from big populaces to live an outlaw lifestyle. As the two of you walked, Arthur began explaining the new plan that Dutch had roped you two into.

“Pearson said he met some O’Driscolls, who claim Colm is willing to ‘negotiate peace’ with Dutch.” Arthur sounded as convinced as you felt.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I swear to you. Don’t know what’s gonna come from it, but it’s a start.”

“You really believe Colm’ll just stop fighting Dutch?”

“Not really. But Micah got Dutch convinced he would, and crazier things have happened…” For the second time, you watched him rub the back of his neck.

“You think it’s a trap, don’t you?”

“I’d be a fool not to.”

By this time you had reached your horses, yours a large black and white war horse, his a brown Appaloosa.You went to go pick up your saddle which lay across the hitching post, but when your hands made contact with the leather, Arthur playfully swatted your hands away, picking the saddle up himself, heaving it up and over the horse with a light grunt. He had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, allowing you to fully appreciate his muscular forearms as he lifted with ease.

“Hey-” you began, before getting silenced with a look from the cowboy.

After quickly securing the saddle, he held out his hand expectantly, slightly tipping himself downward in a mock bow. A cheeky smirk adorned his face. “Your ride is ready, princess.”

“I ain’t no princess,” you scoffed, but you still took his hand gingerly, unable to stop a faint smile from growing on your own face, and you stepped into one of the stirrups, using Arthur's hand to help bring your body fully over the saddle.

His hand still held yours as he responded. “No you ain’t,” his gaze, which was playful, turned into something fonder and gentler, a look you’ve seen him give you time and time again. “You’re something better.”

Leaning down until you were almost at eye level with him, you swore you felt him squeeze your hand ever so tighter, and you spoke low, slightly husky. “And what would that be, Arthur Morgan?”

His eyes widened, and you watched his eyes flick up and down your face, trying to determine if your flirtatious tone was a joke or not. A few seconds passed before he opened his mouth to respond. “You’re-”

“C’mon lovebirds! Hurry up!” Micah’s shouting broke whatever trance the two of you had been in, and you felt Arthur quickly drop your hand like it was scalding, stepping back to create an appropriate amount of space between the two of you. A light dusting of pink covered both of your faces, his blue eyes looking everywhere but you, and a quick scan of the camp told you that Micah wasn’t the only one watching the two of you: Javier and Charles shared a look, the hunter laughing gently as the other shook his head; Tilly and Mary-Beth were furiously whispering to each other, glancing over at the two of you every other second.

Clearing your throat, you straightened back up, urging your horse forward as Arthur mounted his, catching up to Micah and Dutch who sat waiting at the entrance to camp. A few seconds later you heard Arthur approach, settling at your right side. “Ready?” Dutch asked, turning and leaving once receiving nods from you and the others. Following suit with Dutch and Micah in the lead, you settled in for the ride.

Glancing over to the cowboy to your right, you watched him chat with Dutch, not paying attention to the conversation as you took in the man who has plagued every thought in your brain for the last two years. It was no secret you were head-over-heels for Arthur; you had been for at least the past two years. The two of you had been friends for at least four years at this point, becoming close when you joined the gang after a partially-successful pickpocket attempt against Dutch (you had managed to snag his gold pocket watch, but were subsequently caught a few minutes later once he realized). Despite that, he had offered you a place with the gang. You accepted, partially because you needed money, a place to sleep, and could possibly make friends, but you also joined because you finally had a place to put your niche talents to use.

Arthur and you became close quickly, and you worked together well, meaning you were often sent out together for jobs. It was a platonic relationship, but the two of you always danced the line of platonic and romantic, flirty remarks being tossed around wildly. It wasn’t until the last year or two where you felt yourself start to actually fall in love with the cowboy, and the flirting wasn’t helping. It was the age old tale of falling for your best friend, and feeling too afraid to say anything in case it wasn’t reciprocated, possibly ruining said friendship.

It wasn’t hard to fall for him. For all the hard front he puts up, he has a kind heart, going out of his way to help folks (he usually preferred when a reward was offered, but would do things begrudgingly if none was presented). He was loyal, staying by Dutch’s side through thick and thin, and had humor drier than a desert. And he wasn’t bad on the eyes either, a thinker body built from years of labor, skin tanned and scars from years in the wild and sun. Eyes bluer than the ocean, you found yourself always drowning in their depths.

You hadn’t realized you had been staring at him until you heard him say your name, slightly loud, as if he had been trying to get your attention for a bit. He laughed, “I asked, ‘he treating you well?’”

When you gave him a confused look, he pointed downwards to your horse, which Arthur had bought for you a few weeks ago after your previous horse was shot by some Lemoyne Raiders. “He is,” you stroked his mane affectionately, earning you a content huff from the beast. “Thank you again, Arthur.”

“It’s nothing, really. You named him yet?”

“I have. You ever read Charles Dickens?”

“Ain’t much of a reader,” he responded.

“His name is Tiny Tim, from A Cristmas Carol. My mom would read it every year ‘round Christmas time.”

“Tiny Tim? There ain’t nothing tiny ‘bout that beast!”

“That’s what’s funny!” You laughed, and Arthur just shook his head, trying and failing to hide his own laughter.

“Yer cute,” he said, nonchalantly, like he had no idea he was actually saying it. You just stared at him, caught off guard by his seemingly very genuine statement. Now it was his turn to be confused, and he cocked his head to side, glancing at you quizzically.

Dutch’s voice had snapped your gazes back forward, meeting his eyes as he turned to talk. “You know, I’ve been fighting Colm for so long now… I can barely remember a time when it was different.”

The man to your right finally looked away from you, his expression harding as he responded. “And you’re still fighting him now, make no mistake of that.”

“Here he goes…” Micah began. “Doubting Thomas… is there any plan you ain’t sour on?”

“Maybe you’re right. I’m just nervous. Let’s not waste any more lives needlessly.”

“I ain’t costing lives here… I’m saving them. What did you say, we had Pinkertons coming after us?”

“Because of Blackwater,” you chimed in.

Micah continued, “And Leviticus Cornwall and his private army! Then… who knows when this local hillbilly thing will come to a head, hm? Can we really afford to be fighting on all these fronts, and O’Driscoll?”

The group was silent for a moment, all chewing on the words spoken by the blonde man.

“There is wisdom in that,” Dutch finally said.

“For once,” you muttered, thinking you were unheard until you heard a chuckle from your right.

“Oh, I hope so, gentlemen, but… like I said, I’m nervous.”

“Yeah, me too,” you added. “Feels too good to be true.”

Now it was Micah’s turn to shift around his saddle to face you. “Look, you ain’t even going to be the one in danger… we’ll get on over there… find a nice perch for you to settle your pretty self into… you got that rifle, don’t you?”

Choosing to ignore that one particular comment of his, you tapped the strap across the shoulder that held your rolling block rifle, one of your most prized possessions. “Never leave without it,” you said, failing to notice the way that Arthur glared daggers into Micah, who continued talking.

“Then me, Dutch, and Arthur walk right into the lion’s den, with you to cover us.”

“Just stay calm, unless I give you a reason not to,” you said, a growing tension building inside you.

Dutch gave you a reassuring smile.“Oh, we’ll be fine. We’ve got you.”

“I will do my best.”

“Oh, my dear, with you watching over me, I would walk into hell itself.”

“As would I,” Micah added.

You weren’t doubtful of your abilities as a sharpshooter, but the praise coming from the man you respected, and Micah, helped bolster your confidence, and you felt yourself sitting up straighter as you rode. “You don’t need me to tell you how great you are,” Arthur said, pausing a moment before continuing. “But I’m gonna anyway. I would go anywhere if I knew you was watching over me.”

“Now y’all are putting too much pressure on me,” you joked, trying to clear the comforting ache in your chest from Arthur’s words. “Gonna give me performance anxiety.”

“Arthur knows a thing or two ‘bout that!”

“Micah, I swear-” he growled, and you and Dutch shared glances before breaking into laughter, the tension building up with the upcoming meeting dissipating momentarily.

The next few minutes of riding were in comfortable silence, before Micah halted suddenly as you reached the base of the hills, the rest of you skidding to a halt behind him. “Hey, up there, men on the ridge.”

Glancing up, you indeed saw four men atop the ridge, all four on horses, looking down on your group. You watched Dutch place a hand on his gun, already ready for things to go wrong. “O’Driscolls, from the look of them.”

“I don’t like having eyes on us.” Arthur grumbled.

“We’re close,” Micah pointed to you. “You’ll be the eyes soon enough.”

Nodding, you swung your rifle around so it sat in your hands. “Let’s go.”

The group started back up again, riding around and up the hill. That previously dissipated tension was back, and you saw the way that Arthur’s jaw clenched as he rode. “Maybe he’s right, Dutch. Maybe I have pushed too hard. Got us into situations that… could have been safer. I just… I see all these mouths we got to feed, and I… I dream too big. Caring too much, that’s my problem.”

“The hell you on about, Micah?” You asked, Arthur nodding in agreement. The men in front both ignored you.

“Caring too much?” Dutch scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”

After giving you a look that screamed confusion, Arthur exclaimed “This is horse shit. From both of you!”

“It might be! Micah might be full of shit. Colm O’Driscoll might be full of shit. The promise of this great nation, men create equal, liberty and justice for all… that might be nonsense too. But it’s worth trying for. It’s worth believing in. Can’t you see that, friend?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try. All I ask is you try.”

Finally reaching your destination, you all halted again, and you watched Micah turn around so he was face-to-face with you. “Alright, princess,” he looked directly at Arthur, jesting at the earlier interaction he interrupted, before looking back to you. “You’re gonna peel off up ahead. We’ll be meeting down on the plane. Find a spot just above us where you can keep an eye on things.”

“Alright, alright.” You responded, getting ready to leave before Arthur stopped you.

“However this shakes out, let’s aim to meet back at the fork in the road afterwards.”

“Got it. Behave yourselves, boys.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you heard Dutch respond before him and Micah took off toward the plane. Again, you turned to leave, but you heard your name leave Arthur’s mouth.

Glancing at him, you gave him an easy smile, before chuckling lightly. “Better get going cowboy. They’re gonna start without you.”

Your laugh died in your throat as you saw a rather serious Arthur before you, an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Be careful.” He inhaled shakily. “Please.”

“I- I will,” your answer sounded more like a question. “But it’s not me you should be worried about. I’m not going into the ‘lion’s den’, as Micah put it. I’ll be fine.”

“Just promise me if things go wrong, you’ll get the hell out of here.”

“You know I can’t promise that. But for you, I’ll certainly try.”

Knowing that was the best he was going to get from you, he just shook his head, and began to make his way toward the others. “I’ll see ya later, princess.”

Turning so he couldn’t see your flustered state, you waved him away, laughing as you heard Micah shout hurry up, loverboy. Reaching the top of the hill, you dismounted, hitching your horse to a nearby dead tree, and as crouched at the edge, you watched through the scope of your rifle as the men waited for the O’Driscolls to arrive.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You should’ve known something was wrong when you only saw three men on the plane.

It wasn’t the fact that one of these men was Colm himself, nor was it the fact that each of these men were armed and dangerous, ready to fire at a single wrong move from Dutch. With you watching from above, and Micah and Arthur both backing Dutch from behind, you had no doubt which side would win in a shootout.

No, it was the fact that you remembered there being four O’Driscolls waiting atop the hill as you all approached.

At the time, as you crouched on your perch, keeping eye on the “negotiation” happening between the two gangs, you hadn’t been worried, figuring they had a person on watch as well. You should’ve looked a little harder, could’ve scanned the nearby hills and see that the fourth O’Driscoll was nowhere to be found. Maybe if you’d have done this, you wouldn’t be hung upside down in Colm’s basement, a nasty gunshot wound in your left shoulder.

The footsteps had approached quickly, and the butt of the rifle was even quicker, striking you across the face with a sickening crack. Everything went black, and you barely remember waking up strung across the back of a horse for a few moments before falling back into unconsciousness.

You remember waking up again, and you were able to escape for a moment before one O’Driscoll was able to get you with a rope, causing you to eat shit, your head slamming against the forest floor. They had laughed to each other, before one of them held their gun up to your shoulder, an agonizing blast and a flash of white light the last thing you saw before darkness took over again.

Now here you were, strung upside down, the blood currently rushing to your brain making it pound harder. Everything hurts, the small puddle of blood beneath you indicative of the state of your body. You’d lost track of how long you’d been here; everything became a blur after the first day.

Colm had yet to make an appearance, his men being the ones to torture you. It was the same few men each time. They alternated from keeping you upside down to having you tied down to a chair, to having you hanging by chains that pulled at your shoulder, aggravating your wounds even further. But they never asked many questions, instead finding their answers in their knives and pokers that they carved into your flesh.

Day after day you searched for means of escape, coming up fruitless each time; his men were surprisingly well trained, making sure to not leave anything in range of you that could be used as a tool or weapon.

However, they wanted you alive, for whatever reason. Crude first aid had been applied to your wounds, preventing infection and disease from killing you off, but the one at your shoulder continued to be the worse. Occasionally they would give you water and stale food, messily hand fed by one of the men. Despite that, every time you heard the cellar door open, you waited with bated breath for the final blow, but it never came.

The cellar they kept you in was small, musty, and lit by a single candle on a table to your right, just out of reach from where you hung. A few scraps of cloth lay on the table, covered in crimson, and a single chair sat tucked in the corner, also covered in blood.

Trying to find any sort of comfort, you tried sitting up a bit, your abs screaming out as you managed to lift yourself up a few inches, and some of the blood returned to the rest of your body. Dizzy, you shut your eyes, letting yourself flop back down, the chains creaking above you.

The chains were so loud that you almost failed to hear the squeak of the cellar doors opening, heavy footsteps coming closer and closer to you. Opening one of your eyes, you saw an unfamiliar silhouette approaching, until you heard him speak your name. “It’s good to see ya.” He said, stepping fully into the cellar, the candlelight allowing you to see him fully.

“Hello, Colm,” your voice was hoarse from screaming, and you watched the greasy man step closer, a plate of food in one hand, some kind of utensil in the other. Finally opening both eyes, you watched him place his things down on the table, the clatter of the plate barely audible over your own heartbeat. You must’ve blacked out for a moment, because before you knew it a bolt of pain tore through your body and you cried out, Colm stepping back from you after pressing his hand hard into your shoulder.

He sneered down at you, grimy yellow teeth flashing. “How’s the wound?”

Gritting your teeth, you stared down the leader of the O’Driscolls with as much venom as you could muster, willing back the tears of pain. “Can’t feel it.”

“Whatever makes ya feel better,” he stalked over to his food, turning his back to you as he ate. “ Now, tell me…” he spoke through mouthfuls of food, “fine gun like you… why you still running around with old Dutch? Could come ride with me and make real money.”

“You know it ain’t about the money, Colm.”

“That’s right… it’s Dutch’s famous charisma.” In a blur of movement, his food forgotten, he kicked you square in the chest, knocking the wind out of you. Your body swung from the chains, which groaned and creaked at the movement. All you could let out was a soft wheeze, your vision going double. “You killed a whole punch of my boys… at Six Point Cabin.”

So why haven’t you killed me yet? You smirked, at least the best you could, your teeth stained red, lip splitting. “One of your own took us there. Bastards had it comin’.”

The click of a gun and the feeling of cold metal against your head made your wish you kept your mouth shut. The final blow was coming at the hands of Colm. Trying to swallow, your throat too dry to do so, you put on a brave face, even though internally you were terrified. There was so much you had left to do, so much left to tell. This wasn’t where your story ended, right?

Closing your eyes, you tried to take deep breaths, fighting down the panic bubbling inside. Do not show him you’re afraid, you thought. Don’t give him the satisfaction of you being afraid in your last moments.

And you waited.

And waited.

You waited until you felt the barrel of the gun slowly pull away, and your eyes shot open, confused. “Yer lucky I need you alive,” Colm snarled, striking you across the face before returning his pistol to its holster, running a hand over his face while circling your body like a vulture. “Law want’s ya alive. All of ya.”

“Best of luck with that, sayin’ you only got one of us.”

“For now.”

“You planning on raiding us?” Colm didn’t respond. “You can tell me. Not leaving here soon anyway.”

“Nah,” Colm began. “Ain’t gotta go to that much trouble to round you up. We lure an angry Arthur in to rescue ya… Dutch and the others following… and grab all of ya and hand ya in… then disappear.”

“So you only met with them to grab me?”

“Of course…” Colm chuckled. “He’s gonna be so mad. He gonna come raging over here… and a whole lot of ya… and the law’ll be waiting for him.” Sighing, he crouched down before you, his rancid breath overwhelming your senses. “Oh, I missed you.”

The first strike went to your gut.

The second went to your bad shoulder.

The third and final strike landed at your nose, blood spraying from the impact.

Groaning, you felt the warm liquid streaming from your nose, joining the puddle beneath you with a soft drip, drip, drip. Colm stood up, grabbing his plate with a huff, shaking out one of hands, his knuckles slightly busted from the strikes. He didn’t say anything as he left, stomping up the stairs loudly, the door slamming shut behind him.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, a newfound sense of urgency to escape coming over you, needing to stop Colm’s plan from coming to fruition. Glancing around, you looked again for something to help you escape. Unlike all the other times, however, something caught your eye on the table; whatever utensil Colm had brought down sat there, glinting gently in the light. Luckily for you, it seemed like Colm wasn’t as well trained as his men.

Slowly, you began to rock yourself back and forth, trying to build up enough momentum to reach it. Holding back noises of pain, you rocked, getting closer and closer with every swing, your fingers straining and you reached, and stretched, until finally it was in your grasp. You nearly cried with relief, and after glancing at the utensil in your hand, which was a two-pronged fork, you ceased your swinging, eventually coming to a full stop.

Hands shaking, using whatever scrap of strength you had left in your hands, you bent on of the prongs forward, creating a lockpick like instrument. Now it was time for the hard part, which was trying to reach the padlock that held the shackles around your feet, connecting you to the chains.

Every muscle in your body was begging you to stop, shaking as you slowly started to sit up, your core working overtime to get you up. All you had to do was just reach and disengage the lock. It took a few tries until you were finally able to get it in, and then-

Click.

You didn’t have any tie to brace yourself before you made contact with the floor, going face first into your own blood pool. Rolling on to your back, you let the world stop spinning before sitting up, glancing worriedly at the cellar door to see if anyone heard your commotion.

After no one barged in after a few moments, you began to stand up, your knees giving out as soon as you were upright. Stumbling, you practically fell into the table, nearly knocking over the candle in the process. Your arms were outstretched in front of you, bracing yourself against the table, and you saw a few droplets of blood from your nose hit the wood. Grimacing, you snatched a bloodied cloth from nearby, tearing a small amount off to block off the blood flow.

It was at this point that you really started feeling the gunshot wound in your shoulder. After a quick assessment, you realized it was still an open wound, but it was a clean shot, meaning you wouldn’t have to dig the bullet out of you. Eying both the metal fork in your hand and the candle on the table, you mentally steeled yourself for what you were about to do.

Dragging the chair up next to you and sitting, you heated up the metal instrument until it almost glowed, then before you could lose your nerve, you pressed it to the wound.

It wasn’t the pain that hit you first; it was the smell, which would forever be engraved in your mind. But after you clocked the smell, the pain hit you like a tidal wave. You couldn’t tell if you were screaming or not, but you continued to hold the device, waiting until you couldn’t see blood spurt out at every beat of your heart.

Groaning, you slumped your head on the table, feeling exhausted after putting yourself through that, but you had only a few seconds to recover before you heard the door open again. Turns out your cries were very much audible.

Pressing yourself against the wall, you heard someone begin to come down the stairs. “Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute,” you heard the stranger say. You recognized the voice; it was one of the torturers.

The man stood at the base of the stairs, dumbfounded, as he took in the empty shackles before him. “What the hell-” That was all he was able to get out before you pounced, the tool finding a home in his throat, and he crumpled to the floor, a small gurgling leaving him before he stilled. The man, unfortunately, was only armed with a knife, which you grabbed, holding it out defensively in front of you as you climbed the stairs. You had to move; it wouldn’t be long until his friends started looking for him.

You had almost reached the exit before two shadows approaching halted your movement, and you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Two men approached, neither of which you recognized. They were chatting as they patrolled, not really paying attention to their surroundings as they patrolled. A few tense minutes later, the figures retreated, and you dashed out as quickly as you could.

Taking in a breath of fresh air, you took in your surroundings: the two guards were to your left, their backs to you; a small shack was in front of you, and you saw some guns lying out; to your right you saw a horse hitching post, and you thanked the unseen forces of the universe that your horse was here; surrounding you were multiple houses, all you presumed were filled with O’Driscolls.

First, you needed a weapon. Then, you were getting the hell out of here.

Moving as quietly and quickly as you could, you kept low, keeping an eye out for any other O’Driscolls. Entering the small wood shack, you grabbed the first gun you saw, and you almost left before you saw a very familiar engraved barrel out the corner of your eye. There, sitting in a wooden crate were your weapons, including your prized rifle.

Swinging it over your shoulder, and securing your gun belt across your waist, you were actually starting to feel hopeful about your chances of survival. Keeping your stolen knife and your pistol out, you poked your head out the door, looking for any guards before taking off toward your horse, still trying to keep hidden.

Once you were close to the horses, you made your presence known, not wanting to spook them. Approaching your mount, you muttered softly, rubbing his neck affectionately. Immediately his eyes flew open, and he began rearing until he realized it was just you.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you, boy.”

Something told you he felt the same.

“Let’s go home.”

You were partially up your horse when you heard a commotion behind you. Whipping your head around, you saw a few O’Driscolls emerge from the various houses, guns out and pointed at you, shouting at you and each other. You had just managed to get on before the shots started going off, bullets whizzing past you as Tiny Tim took off like a bat out of hell, hooves barely hitting the ground as you soared across the plane.

You could barely make out anything around you, everything a blur as the wind whipped across your battered body, relishing the feel of fresh air before hearing footsteps behind you. Glancing behind, you saw four O’Driscolls in pursuit, firing wildly in an attempt to stop you.

Aiming behind you, you took a deep breath in, stilling yourself to the best of your ability, taking in each of your targets before squeezing the trigger.

In rapid succession, each man took a bullet to the chest, either stopping them or causing them to go flying off their horse. Within moments your pursuers were gone, leaving only you standing. After hearing no more shouting or hoofbeats, you figured it was safe to holster your weapon. Tiny Tim had slowed down some, a quick trot instead of a full out gallop.

The adrenaline from the last ten minutes was beginning to fade, your drooping eyes evident of your waning energy. Leaving forward, you leaned forward as best you could in your saddle, your arms wrapping loosely around your horses next for some security.

“C’mon TT, get us home.” You whispered, before your eyes closed at their own volition, your thoughts only of Arthur as you slept.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan rdr2

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