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m2ok · 2 months

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Golden Salvation Pt.2

pt. 1

cowboy!Ghost x m! reader

A/N: There will be one more part to this just to wrap everything up :)

Your pulse thundered in your ears as the stranger loomed closer, hand gripping lethal iron at his hip. Fight or flight instincts kicked into overdrive - this was no ordinary burglary; you could see it etched in every predatory line of his body.

This man had come for blood, your blood.

Slowly, you raised your hands in a gesture of peace even as your mind raced. One wrong move and you’d be pushing up daisies come morn. These were the dark shadows Simon lived in, the enemies he’d made through his notorious work. And now they were coming for him...through you.

.“Don’t want no trouble, mister,” you said, keeping your tone calm and even like you didn't know why this man was here. As if there could be any other reason for someone to break into a home as dingy as your own. “Just a simple bartender is all – barely got a dollar to my name”

This snake didn't need to know how deep your bond with Simon went, especially since hiding your relationship was the only way you could see to get out of this situation.

The man cackled at your words, rolling his eyes as the smile dropped and he stalked closer to the bed, aiming the gun at you as he cocked it back with a sickening crack.

“ Mhm... as if you weren't all nice and cozied up to him not mere hours ago – ya really think im gonna believe you?” He gave you a mocking grin

“No no im not stupid sweetheart. Im not here to collect any of his debts from you – I care more about the eight men o’ mine your Ghostie killed. Those boys were my family, he didnt think twice about that though when he shot em’ dead where they stood. Figure I should make him feel the same hurt I do, hm?”

“You won’t hurt him none-” You tried to reason “His heart don't belong to me, he won’t spare a second glance past this cabin. Hell, He's probably halfway across the desert by now” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, lies seeping through your lips at the risk of your life. You knew what you meant to Simon, no one else was able to get into his space as you did- at least not if they wanted to walk away with their life.

The man's smirk dropped, new anger burning in his eyes as the grip on his gun tightened, “I saw the way that mongrel looked at you, you’re his boy and that's clearer than any mountain river” he scoffed, finger moving from the side of the gun to rest on the trigger.

You closed your eyes, praying in your head, but not to any god. No, your prayers were aiming for Simon's rescue, praying that he would somehow know you were in trouble and come rescue you from it.

Simon sat astride his horse on a dusty ridge, watching the moon rise silver over the desert wastes. A half-smoked cigarette dangled idly from his lips; he’d been nursing the same thoughts over and over since dusk fell heavy as a shroud across the badlands.

Thoughts of you.

Somewhere deep in his gut, an uneasy feeling roiled. Like an invisible string tugging at his soul, trying to tug him back the way he came. Simon growled low in his throat, frustrated with his own foolish longings. You’d made your stance clear – this life wasn’t for you, not truly. And he had no right to ask you to join him.

And yet...

A crack suddenly split the still night air. So faint and far that any lesser man may have missed it entirely, but not Simon.

In an instant he was vaulting onto his horse’s back, boots pounding twin paths in the dirt as they flew towards the distant lights of your little town. Another shot rang out, louder now, and Simon’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

He knew that sound – deep in his bones he knew something was horribly wrong.

Choking the reins in a near stranglehold, Simon rode as if all the demons of hell were nipping at his horse’s hooves. Towards you. Towards salvation or damnation, he did not know. But by God, no son of a bitch was gonna harm one hair on your head if he could still help it.

Help was coming- you just had to hold on.

The man fired the gun, a sharp sting hitting your side before it blossomed into agonizing pain. You let out a pained cry, one hand instinctively going to land on your wound while the other covered your mouth to muffle your sobs. Your hand was soon coated in dark crimson, entire body shaking with adrenaline as the man cocked the gun once more.

“Was gonna just end you, but I figured I should make this painful the same way he did. Should fill you with so many bullets he won’t be able to recognize you” he hissed, aiming the gun at your other side.

Simon was little more than a blur of dust and primal fury as he crashed through the remains of your splintered front door. For a split second, time seemed to freeze – taking in the scene with a single, piercing gaze.

You,curled onto the bed clutching a bloody wound. And him. That snake. Gun pressed sickeningly against your body as he spewed his venomous threats. With an almost guttural roar, Simon’s Colt leapt into his hand like it was part of his very being. Two blooming shots rang as one; his aim was true as bible scripture.

The intruder pitched backwards, scarlets blossoms exploding from where his eyes once were. He was dead before he hit the floor.

But Simon saw none of it. Already he was at your side, tatty serape ripped and pressed desperately against your weeping injury. Brown eyes wild and scared met your own, and for a moment the steely outlaw facade slipped entirely.

“Darlin’...” he choked, voice thick. “Talk to me, baby. Stay with me now, ya hear?” Working frantically to stem the flood, Simon tangled scarred fingers gently through your hair, anchoring you to this world with his touch alone.

“That’s it…keep breathin’, just keep breathin’” His voice dissolved into ragged prayers mere ghosts could hear. Help was still minutes away - but for now, you had Ghost. And he’d be damned before he let the reaper take you from him.

You were sobbing, your brain mangled with confusion and fear as the adrenaline ran out and the full pain of the bullet lodged in your abdomen had you reeling,

Red painted everything around you, hands, clothes, and sheets underneath you drenched in it.

“Simon-” you rasped, breathing labored as you looked around with wide eyes at the gruesome scene in front of you. It was too much, you could feel your head going light- brain fuzzy and ears ringing as you fought not to close your eyes.

“It hurts” you choked, trying to shove his hand away from where he was pressing down on the wound to stop the torrent of blood flowing out. “Simon I cant-” you said, throat raw from the sobs that came out.

You wanted so badly to stay with him, to be able to wake up tomorrow with him, but you didn’t know if you’d get that with the way you felt your strength leave your body.

“It hurts- it hurts” You were almost begging, for what you didn’t know. You just wanted the pain to go away.

You were terrified- not ready to die yet, and especially not like this, not when you had so much left to do. The thought alone sent a new set of tears streaming down your face, hand shaking- clutching the bleeding wound on top of Simon’s own to try and ebb the pain that burrowed deep in your skin.

Simon felt his world crumbling as your agonized crimes tore through him, sharper than any bullet ever could. Seeing you in such anguish ripped open a fissure in his battered heart, letting the demons of his deepest guilt and self-loathing spill forth in a torrent.

“I know, baby, I know it hurts…” he choked, pressing you close as if trying in vain to absorb your pain into himself. His own broad shoulders shook with ghosts of rage and grief, tears cutting rivulets through the dirt caked on his cheeks.

Goddamn it all, he should’ve been here. Should have followed his instincts and never left your side. Now it may be too late to hope for forgiveness, your blood staining his hands a brand of failure he could never outrun.

“Please, darlin’, please hold on…’ Simon begged, voice breaking as he spoke. His bandana was wrung out and useless now - in desperation he moved to cradle you fully, applying trembling pressure with his bare hands and what remained of his coat.

Distantly he heard the clatter of the approaching horses, but paid them no heed. You were fading, slipping away before his eyes, and all the strength and guns in the world couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t ye leave me now…I can’t do this world without ya…” A broken whisper, barely audible above the thunder in his ears. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, sharing the same ragged breaths, two souls more tangled than any root or vine. Hanging on a blade’s edge against the dark.

You stared up into Simon's eyes, eyebrows cinched in pain and eyes soaked with fear.

“I don’t wanna die, Simon” you whispered, voice shaky as you clung to him - like he alone could save you from this fate.

You could feel your heartbeat slowing, breathing ragged as you gasped for air that just wouldn’t enter your lungs….

Soon enough the doctor burst into the room, medical kit in hand as he came barreling over to you. He very carefully took you out of Simon’s arm with some convincing, to lay you back on the bed before he opened up his kit.

He handed you a flask filled with whiskey “You’re gonna want to drink this - it’ll help ease the pain” He said.

With shaky hands you drank the bottle, a scream ripping from your lungs as the man began to carefully dig into the wound, grabbing hold of the bullet with sterile tweezers before carefully pulling it free.

With practiced care he cleaned the wound, a harsh whimper leaving your lips at the sting of pain before the wound was stitched up and bandaged.

You were shaking, sobbing so hard your throat was raw and your lungs burned - the pain was unbearable and a large part of you wished you could just die to get away from it.

The doctor had you drink another flask, the alcohol numbing the pain receptors in your brain just enough to allow you to fall into a light sleep.

Simon sat vigil at your bedside through what felt like hours, not letting go of your limp hand once. Your cries of pain echoing loud and endlessly in his mind, driving spikes of pure anguish deep into his soul.

He watched in heavy silence as the doctor worked, breath caught tight in his chest, hardly daring to hope. But then - your ragged breaths evened out, color returning sluggishly to waxen cheeks. Alive. You were alive.

It was nearly two hours later when the man was done, wiping his hands on a rag as he stood up on shaky legs.

“He’s stable” The doctor said simply

Choking back sobs of relief, Simon buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of gratitude-laced kisses amongst salty tears. “That’s it, darlin’...you fight. Got too much left to do in this world.” he’d whisper to you, voice so soft only you could hear

“Most important thing now is cleaning that wound twice a day lest it get infected. If it does…” The doctor ordered, his words trialing off though his intentions were clear. He put down a set of bandages and cleaning solution on the nightstand for Simon’s use.

“It’ll take a long time to heal, I reckon” The doctor said “but my work is done here, y’all know where to reach me should he take a turn for the worst” He said, tilting his hat to Simon before he gathered his tools and headed out of the shabby cabin.

Simon took the doctor's words as gospel, nodding along to every word before the man left. He spent the next few hours cleaning up the mess that was now your little home. He dragged the body out back to deal with fully in the morning, cleaned your sheets and changed you into new clothes, boarded up the broken window, and finished by fixing the door that he had come barging through.

His own hands were gentle as churches doing their appointed duty, cleansing and dressing the angry wound each time without fail. Whatever it took to coax your stubborn spirit back to the land of the living.

Days bled into each other without notice. All that mattered to him now was you. And slowly, so slowly - full color seeped back, fever broke its hold. Eyes fluttered open to meet his own once more, full of pain but oh-so-blessedly alive.

“Hey there, sunshine…” Simon whispered hoarsely, like a parched man dying of thirst at an oasis. Finally, finally, he allowed himself the ghost of a weary smile.

You were going to be alright. And by God, he’d spend his last days making sure of it.

You slowly sat up, a soft whine leaving your lips with the movements as you aggravated the still raw wound. “Simon” you mumbled as you held his hand, reaching over to take a swig of the whiskey on the nightstand to ease the searing pain.

You rested your head back against the pillows with a soft sigh. It had been a few days now, and the pain was still a dull yet constant ache in your side.

You took the sight around you in, everything was clean and neat including your bedding and clothes. Even the floor had been mopped, the only reminders of your near death being the hole in your side.

“Simon you did all this?” You asked simply, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Simon huffed a soft, weary laugh at your question, gently squeezing your hand just to make sure you were really here and he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Course I did, darlin’. Weren’t about to let ya recover in filth,” He replied gruffly. Truth be told, tending to your every need had been the other thing keeping his demons at bay these long days and nights.

Keeping busy spared him time to think - and thinking led down paths too bleak to tread. Like how terrifyingly close he’d come to losing you forever.

Holding your gaze with quiet intent, Simon softly brushed calloused knuckles along your cheek “Reckon it’s about time i started pullin’ my weight ‘round here proper. Ain’t no safe place for ya out here alone” A question lingered in the subtle quirk of his brow, the hopeful yet wary gleam in tired eyes. After all that had passed between you both, was there still room for him at your side? A Ghost finally ready to lay his soul to rest, if you’d have him.

You could only hum softly at his words, sleep still filled in your bones. You didn’t answer him, instead you patted the empty side of the bed “Come sleep next to me, Si. You need the sleep” You said, your words a silent confirmation that you still wanted him.

Simon gave a soft grunt of approval, too weary in body and soul to do anything but obey your gentle prompting. Careful not to jostle your healing injury, he stretched his long limbs out beside you with a satisfied sigh.

It felt strange but right, sharing your space in such an intimate way after so long living apart. Like the final piece of a puzzle slipped neatly into place.

Turning his head, Simon watched you watch him through half-lidded eyes, drinking in every beloved feature as if to confirm this wasn’t some whiskey-fueled dream. Reaching out, he lightly touched the graceful curve of your cheek before letting his hand come to rest against the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“Sweetest sound there is,” he murmured, voice sleep-roughed and thick with meaning. A tousled head tucked itself beneath your chin with a contented sigh, tension seeping from tense muscles.

Come what may with the light of dawn, for now all was peaceful. You were alive, you were safe. And against all odds, Simon had finally come home to roost.

You held him close in your arms, gentle fingers carding through thick hair as you let his head rest against your now steady heartbeat. He needed the comfort, you could tell, and you were more than happy to give it to him.

“Rest now, Si. I'm not going anywhere. Can’t get rid of me that easy” You assured, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

It was a funny thing, holding such a toughened man in your arms, keeping him close and coddled despite the almost laughable size difference.

SImon made a low sound of gratitude at your soft reassurance, melting bonelessly into your gentle embrace. Your gentle fingers winding through his hair brought forth a wave of lethargy he’d fought to stave off this long week past. But no more - here in your arms, he was finally allowed to let his guard down.

It still struck him sometimes how two souls so disparate could fit together so seamlessly. But you’d always had a way of easing even his most ragged edges, soothing demons he thought long beyond taming. Lithe as you were in your current state, your strength ran deeper than any show of force ever could - and he found solace there like nowhere else.

“Missed this…” he mumbled, so soft it was barely audible even in the stillness enclosing your little world. One arm curled protectively around your middle, thumb brushing idle patterns against the slowly healing wound beneath the bandages.

A prayer of thanks on parched lips, Simon let weary eyes slide shut. Sleep rose like a gentle tide, carrying him off to oblivion sheltered in the piece of heaven he’d begun to call home. You’d brought him back from the brink of darkness once more, anchor in the storm. And for that, he was eternally grateful.

#cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod x male reader #male reader #fanfic #ghost cod #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x male reader

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hor3nee · 24 days

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twiddled my bean to the Leon imagines. you should write more Leon imagines you do it right. also sub leon is best leon. and puppy leon is best leon. sub, puppy, leon especially i- *spreads folds*

TWIDDLED YO BEAN?!? AJUSHUF?? 😭😭 TY I THINK?? IDFK WHAT TO SAY LMFAOO. Ngl you real asf though, sub Leon IS the best Leon!!

cw: suggestive! nsf/w! pet-play! sub! Leon!

Leon being in a cute collar, a dangly little bell at the front of it, jingling every time he makes the slightest of moves. Blue to match his pretty blue eyes, ugh. He'd be gorgeous, and a fuzzy pair of faux fur puppy ears headband on, hidden by his scruffy hair of matching colour. All the while he's whining and nude by your knees? God, it's cloud 9.

His face would be bright red. Bro's mortified. He knows he looks absurd right now, dolled up like a dog, if he had a tail it'd be flat in embarrassment. Literally cannot believe he's doing this, but Leon's an obedient mutt, and for you, he'd happily lick at your boots if it meant getting you off.

"You gonna be a good boy for me Leon?" Your voice is enough to have any sense of humiliation wash away, 'good boy' those words make all blood burning his cheeks red go south and you've got him shamelessly humping at your leg. Droopy furred ears falling along with his head as he nods at you.

"I'll be good.." He's pleading, like a bitch in heat. Nosing your thigh with heaving breaths, his hands, paws digging into the carpet below. He's toned as fuck, hefty chest thrumming against your shin as his breathing heightens in desperation, and he's humping your shin, the way you want it.

"Promise I'll be good.. Been good, been a good boy." He mewls in soft whines, cause he wants to hear you say it, wants you to affirm him. Precum dripping all over your leg as he ruts. Cause as mortifying and pathetic as he is right now, playing a puppy for your little kink, it's all worth it if you touch him, and call him a good boy in the end.

And how can you say no to him? When he's indulging you in every single depraved way? Wearing that cute collar and floppy-eared headband, nudging and begging you like a well-trained dog. Golden retriever and his collar dangling along with his rocking body.

Tug his leash, pull him up to your height. Give him what he fucking deserves for being so good, wrapping your hand around his cock and relieving the tension he's been building up.

"A-ah! Oh I'm close, I'm close. Gonna- Gonna cum, can't hold it, please, please O-Owner," Owner? Oh he's fr gotten into it, his brain mush with your fingers pumping him and he's at this point completely resigned himself to being your bitch. Splurting into your palm while you continue stroking him through it, murmuring the sweet words over and over into his ears, "Such a good boy, good boy. Cum for your owner, yeah? Good puppy."

110% would be willing to do it again, as long as you let him mount you next time.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #thirsts!#asks!#gender nuetral reader

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bellarkeselection · 9 months

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I had an idea for rip. It’s kinda like the scene from season 1 where jimmy got beaten up by Fred but instead of Jimmy could it be the reader is rips wife and she’s secretly pregnant with their second child and she protects her stomach and then revel to rip she’s pregnant again. You can easily change bits to the story or even add a little bit of smut that’s fine with me .

The Rule Of Fighting…Especially my Wife

Threading my fingers through his black hair Rip broke the kiss pulling himself out of me where we laid under the covers naked. Running a hand over my face I began catching my breath. Moving my other hand over my growing pregnant belly until Rip grasped my hand in his. Rolling onto my side I whispered still not awake even though we woke up in a very pleasing way. “Do you have to go to work today. Can’t we just take a day and lay around the house?”

“You’re daddy wouldn’t like that. Besides I owe him everything for letting me work at the ranch.” He responded leaning forward and kissing me on the head gently getting up from the bed. He shrugs his jeans on and grabbed his black jacket with his hat off the hook.

Holding myself up on my elbow I held the sheet up against my chest even though he had seen me naked already. “Yeah you’re probably right, baby. Hey though where do you think our little Georgie is off too?”

“I ain’t too sure. He’s probably trying to sattle a horse or running around with his grandpa John. I’ll see you later tonight Y/n.” He placed his hat on his head coming over giving me one last kiss going to work.

Getting out of the bed, I ran my hands down my grown belly, looking myself over in the standing mirror we had in the corner of the bedroom. I slide on the pair of jeans that didn't press on my stomach, pairing it with a light orange flannel shirt that was tucked into them. With some light brown boots and a tan cowgirl hat on my head. Heading towards the barn, I grabbed the saddle for my horse about to throw it over until I heard someone make a remark about me entering the room. "Woah, I guess that Wheeler really couldn't let you go, so he just keeps knocking you up."

"I'm sorry do you have a problem with me?" Throwing the saddle over my horse I turned around on my feet with my boots kicking up dust.

My gaze met the appearance of one of the ranch hands who was named Fred if I remember correctly. "I've got a problem with you getting special attention from the boss."

"Your boss is my father, so.." Crossing my arms over my chest, I snipped in a slight tone.

Fred stepped closer towards me, glaring down at me since he was slightly taller than me. "I ain't talkin about your daddy, Dutton. You're sleeping with Wheeler and get off work early and still getting the same pay as we do. That isn't right in my opinion."

"First off, I get breaks more than you because of my five year old son Georgie and are you blind cause at the moment I'm pregnant again. Two, I'm heading to work now Fred - argh!" I screamed when he stomped up grabbing me by my hair yanking me backwards until I elbow him in the face.

He stumbled backwards holding his nose while I spun around on my feet. "You bitch!"

"You don't want to fight me, Fred." I warned him, getting in a fighting stance with my hands into fists ready to go.

Yet the ranch hand refused my warning and came charging straight for me. He tackled me to the dirt before I could really blink. He was throwing punches at me but I was blocking most until he gave a harsh one to my belly and I released a cry of agony. "God damn!" I cursed curling up in a ball for a second with him getting to his feet.

"You need to remember who is stronger here, Dutton girl." He spat down to me.

Sniffing through some tears i glared at him until I swiped my feet underneath his near mine where he topped to the dust. Forcing myself to my feet I held my stomach with one hand landing a good punch on his nose with the other. Fred came back trying to kick my stomach yet I buried my face close against it so he kneed me in the face. My nose begins bleeding where he quickly grabbed my arm throwing me over his back until we heard my son's sweet voice. "Mommy, why are you wrestling?"

"You're boys gonna see how weak you are - ohhh fuck!" Fred groaned in serious pain onto his knees when I kicked him in between his legs giving me the chance to rush to my son.

Grabbing his shoulders I croaked through tears and some pain myself. "Georgie, go find daddy now. Bring him here." He ran off when Fred started getting up until I charged tackling the man even though it was harder when I was pregnant.

Swinging a few punches at Fred I got some of his blood on my knuckles. He grabbed my wrists twisting them behind my back throwing me down again. "I told you I was stronger than you, bitch!" He growled in my ear where he about kicks me in the stomach again until someone harshly shoved his body against the wooden barn stalls.

Gasping for breath and some relief I sat upright seeing my husband Rip had him by the collar where he threw him against the stall and then did it again but it was down in the dirt raising his voice. "What's the rule about fighting, Fred. You wanna fight somebody, come fight me. I'll fight you all damn day!"

"That girl done started it with her saying that she deserves the same pay as we do but cuts out half the work. I guess you'll believe anything when you married a whore." Fred coughed looking at me when Georgie came over by my side.

Rip yanked the guy by his jacket holding him against the wall where he almost couldn't breathe by the choke hold he had on the ranch hand. "What did you call her!"

"She's knows I'm right that's she had to send in the little guy to get the big guns." Fred taunts until my husband kicked him harshly in the gut and he collapsed into the dirt.

He grabbed Fred up one last time against the wall for good measure croaking his deep tone with the words he declared. "If you ever hit or speak to my wife like that again I'll kill you, Fred! Are you okay, Y/n?" He released him from his grasp coming slowly over to me with his gaze softening.

"I hurt a little bit...here especially. But otherwise I think I'll be fine." I mumbled placing my hand in his with my eyes dropping to my pregnant stomach where he tugged me up to stand where he picked me up bridal style when I almost collapsed onto the dirt not able to stand on my own.

He carried me back to our cabin with Georgie following us and opening the door to the cabin, then our bedroom and finally the bathroom. "Georgie, go grab one of my shirts and the shorts off the foot of the bed for mommy." Rip spoke towards our son who quickly came back with what he asked.

"Is mommy going to be okay, daddy?" He asked with worry in his sweet voice.

Rip sat me down on the toilet lowering himself to his knees since I didn't have gotten my balance back yet. "She will be. I want you to go play with grandpa John while I help mommy okay little man." He nodded leaving us alone in the bathroom letting silence into the room.

He slowly tugged on my shirt shrugging it over and off my body giving him perfect view of my belly. "I'm sorry he did this to you..to our baby. I'll take him to the train station tomorrow morning if that's what you want." He placed his on my bump feeling me slightly pull away when he touched the sorest part of my body from the fight.

"Rip, don't blame yourself for this. Fred has always been a jackass from the day my father hired him. I'll go to the doctor and get the baby checked out." Resting my hands on his shoulders I sent him a half smile knowing he would start blaming himself for me getting injured.

He nodded, helping me remove my pants and slide the shorts up. He ran a hand through my hair once I slipped his shirt on that was like a dress on me. "I love you so much, darling. He will never touch you again I swear it." He softly took me into his arms carrying me into the other room laying me down in the bed.

He climbed in on his side and I snuggled up into his warmth knowing he would leave to deal with the rancher when I went to sleep and rested. "I love you, Rip and so will this second child of ours." Whispering up into his brown eyes I intertwined our hands together closing my eyes letting sleep overtake me.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#rip wheeler #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler x wife reader #rip wheeler imagine #rip wheeler x y/n #cole hauser #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone x reader #yellowstone masterlist #yellowstone one shot #yellowstone fans #yellowstone #requests open #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated #rip wheeler x pregnant reader #rip wheeler x dutton reader #pregnant reader #cowboy fights

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ficmashup · 5 months

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Taken

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: Nothing like a sprinkle of angst on Christmas Eve. ;) I will be doing a part two for this because I can't resist, but can't promise when I'll post it. Soon, I hope! Have a lovely holiday to everyone celebrating. :)

Warnings: SA mentions if you squint, crass language, death, stabbing, beating, shooting, torture, angst, trauma, overall I just decided to stab the characters in the feels. Just a bit. Happy ending though, imo.

Word Count: 4.7k

Masterlist

It’s not expected, but then again, these things never are.

What kills me the most is that Ghost had to be there, had to see it. I’d rather it had been anyone else just so I could spare him the pain of reopening old wounds. We’d been clearing a warehouse and stumbled upon more than we’d expected. We both realize our mistake at different times and I have a split-second decision to make. I’m ahead of Ghost by a dozen or so feet and hidden behind a pile of crates, so I see the group first.

There’s no time to warn Ghost and if he comes forward, he’ll be shot on sight. So I step forward first. I take out those closest to his entry point and my focus on keeping him safe leaves me vulnerable. Ghost moves in just as I’m grabbed from behind and I ram the butt of my gun backward into my captor’s ribs. There’s a grunt, but he doesn’t let go and I drop my gun to hang from my chest in exchange for the long knife on my thigh. I plunge the blade into his thigh and hear a string of curses spat into my ear as their grip only tightens on me.

I fail to realize that during the struggle, they’ve managed to drag me backward towards a side door. My last view as I twist the knife is Ghost’s wide eyes behind the mask before my head is slammed against the wall and all goes dark.

* * *

I wake up tied to a chair. I keep utterly still and take stock of my body. My head is heavy and I feel the tightness of the skin on the right side of my face from where blood has dried. There’s a sharp sting coming from across my collar bone and my right ankle twinges. A sprained ankle and a scrape, I’d guess. Possibly a concussion. Nothing too bad. My wrists and ankles are tied to the arms and legs of a chair and the rope chafes, but the ties are sloppy. Keeping me here like this was unexpected, then. An opportunity that they couldn’t pass up.

I keep my breathing steady and my head bowed with my eyes shut. All I do for a few moments is listen. There’s shuffling and voices, but they’re muffled and seem to be coming from a nearby room. Multiple people, but more than likely less than a dozen. I take a chance and open my eyes, looking up and finding the space dim and empty. It looks like a shack barely held together by the sand and dirt covering the floor.

“Awake.” A voice with a rough accent comes from behind me and my spine stiffens as he moves in front of me. He’s limping slightly and I get a brief moment of satisfaction at knowing this is the man who grabbed me and I clearly dealt some serious damage. With the dried blood on my face and him being able to walk after clear medical assistance, I’d say I’ve been gone a few hours. The fact makes what’s left in my stomach curdle.

The man says a few words that I don’t understand, then one that I do. “…bitch.”

I chuckle softly. “Unoriginal.” His fist darts out and the hit is harder than I expect. It leaves me dizzy as the weak chair rocks with the impact. Stays on all fours, though. The man grunts and spits at my feet before walking to the door, apparently satisfied with his revenge. He opens the door and shouts something down the hall before looking at me with ill intent in his eyes. I shift a bit in my chair, noting that they’ve removed my uniform and boots. I’m only in tight shorts and my tank top. It’s going to be torture then. Fine. I’ve already been through hell and lived through it, fashioned myself teeth from the mouths of my demons I killed, I can take whatever poor imitation these amateurs try.

Three more men come in and one steps in front of the others. “Why you here?” He asks in broken English.

“To kill people like you.” I answer simply, staring unblinkingly at him.

He gives me a smile. “Coincidence. That is why we here as well. To kill people like you.” It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. That’s the base of every conflict in the history of the world. He pulls his handgun and aims it at my forehead while I go completely still. “Tell me more.”

* * *

Hours pass. The torture is easy enough to sit through, nothing unexpected, nothing skilled, nothing I haven’t been trained for. The true killer is waiting with my own thoughts. Like thinking that they aren’t coming for me. Stupid. Utterly stupid. Yet the persistent feeling of being unworthy lingers in my chest. And I know that the longer I’m here, the more nagging those thoughts will be.

They can finally be rid of you, no trouble, no hassle, just a lost soldier, happens all the time.

I gasp as a soldier lands a particularly well-aimed punch to my gut and the chair finally falls over. I feel the arm crack at the impact while the group laughs, but the ropes around my right wrist and ankle are now free. My fingers slowly curl around the splintered piece of wood hidden under my body. One of the men waves his hand and another steps forward and yanks the chair back up. I use the momentum of the sudden movement to plunge the long piece of wood into his throat and get my free leg up under me to keep me from toppling over.

The man’s eyes go wide as he chokes on his own blood and everyone else in the room is frozen with shock. I take advantage of that and take the gun in the man’s thigh holster and manage to shoot two men before they draw their guns and one more before they manage to shoot. I use the body of the man I stabbed as cover, but I can barely hold him up. I grunt under the impact of a bullet hitting his dead weight and feel another bullet graze my shoulder before the door straight across from me bursts open. I take advantage of the distraction and shoot one more while the other gets a bullet between the eyes from the intruder’s gun.

I turn on instinct and level my gun at the intruders, stopping my finger just in time when I see the distinct, pale skull mask. “Fuck.” I lower the gun and let the body drop to the floor as Ghost pushes in, but I don’t miss the way he looks me over.

His hand grabs his radio before anything. “Clear, I’ve got the package.” He slings his gun over his back as he reaches me and I don’t realize that I’m trembling until he guides my hand to his shoulder to keep me upright as he unties my other wrist and ankle. My fingers cling to his tac vest like a lifeline.

“Confirmed. If package is secure, move out.” Price’s voice comes over the radio and my heart squeezes at the sound of his voice. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and my hand still holding the gun twitches before I recognize Soap moving into the doorway to watch our backs.

“Clear, LT.” He reports before looking me over with wide eyes. I must really look like shit then.

“Affirmative.” Ghost responds over the radio with a wave back at Soap to tell him the same. “How bad, G?” He asks gruffly once the flimsy chair falls to the floor behind me and he stands up, keeping his forearms within my reach so I can use him to stand. His fingers graze my arms too, not gripping or grabbing, simply guiding.

My head shakes as I stare at him. “Not bad. Nothing broken.”

He nods in return and pulls out my uniform shirt and pants that he must have collected from the other room. My boots too. “Then let’s go. Can you walk?” I take my clothes gratefully and he keeps to my side while I slide the top on with only a slight wince as the fabric slides over the open wounds covering me. The pants are a little more difficult, but I manage before nodding to Ghost that I’m ready. He wraps an arm around my waist and I lower his hand to my hip as my ribs ache with protest. He corrects his grip and we limp out with Soap leading, gun up.

A few more bodies litter the narrow hall and the room beyond, but the true relief is when we walk outside and I can see the stars. I hadn’t realized how stale the air was in that shack and how the metallic smell of blood had stained my nostrils. I gulp down the cool air before I press my lips together as I hold in a laugh. My shoulders start shaking and Ghost’s pace falters before I shake my head. “It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s just the shock and exhaustion.” Laughter taints every word and I swear Ghost’s eyebrows furrow with concern before we keep moving.

“You get scarier all the time, G.” Soap comments ahead and I can’t hold back a low laugh even as I shake my head at myself.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.” I breathe as the giggles make every word waver.

Ghost’s grip tightens as we carefully scale down the side of the rocky hill. “Not sure what you’re apologizin’ for. You fuckin’ got taken watching my ass and I’d rather have you laughin’ than anything else.”

My head shakes, the laughter fading as I struggle to keep my feet moving while my body starts to shut down. “I’m sorry for thinking you wouldn’t come for me.” Ghost comes to a full stop now as I look between the men and Soap has shock scrawled over his face.

“Course we did, lass. The hell you talkin’ bout?” Soap’s accent gets a little thicker, betraying how deep my words hit.

Ghost starts to move again and I stumble after him even though he’s practically carrying me on his hip. “Keep movin’.” He grumbles and regret lingers in my chest as we fall silent the rest of the way. At the bottom of the rocky path sits a car and my heart beats a little faster at seeing the two figures waiting there for us. Ghost picks me up and carries me the rest of the way before immediately handing me to Price once we’re close enough. He holds me close and tight for far too brief a moment before sitting me on the hood of the car. The moonlight is just bright enough to make out each other’s features and I can’t get enough of his eyes, even with the worry filling them.

“You broken?” He asks quietly and I can hear how the words drag and crackle on the way out of his chest. His hand perches on the side of my neck, his thumb brushing lightly over my pulse point to feel my heart beating.

I give him a weak smile. “Just a bit chipped. Nothing permanent.” I promise and it’s a gift to see a little tension leave his shoulders. “But I’ve lost a lot of blood. I need to be kept conscious as we head back.”

“Still the medic, hm?” He teases dryly but the attempt at humor soothes me more than anything else. “Gaz, let’s go. Fast and steady.” Price pushes the keys into Gaz’s hands as he passes by with a wink, pushing something small that crinkles in my hand. A real smile tugs on my lips. A candy. We pile in the car and it’s a surprise to find myself pressed tight between Ghost and Price with Gaz driving and Soap in the passenger seat. It’s as if everyone traded seats.

“Did…did either of you grab my med kit?” I ask as my head gets a bit dizzy and I pop the hard candy Gaz gave me into my mouth. Soap turns in his seat with a half-grin, holding up my kit. My hands reach for it, but Ghost intercepts and pulls it into his lap.

“What d’ya need?” He asks as he opens it and looks over the contents.

I shift the candy into my cheek. “Bandages. My ankle’s fucked. Need to wrap it at least.” Ghost glances at Price and they instantly come to a nonverbal agreement as John shifts me closer to him while Simon gingerly lifts my foot into his lap. I frown. “I can do it—”

“Let him. That’s an order.” John’s voice in my ear and the command in it has my body stiffening for a moment, then laxing a moment after. My back is pressed against John’s chest with his arm thrown across my middle, his hand heavy on my hip to use it as a steadying point rather than put any pressure on my ribs. He must’ve noticed how Ghost was holding me earlier. Doesn’t miss a thing, my Captain.

Ghost eases my boot off and my hands clench at the pain, but he’s careful and the steady ache of the rest of my body makes it easy enough to sit through. Once my sock is off too, he takes out a small flashlight and I grimace as the light illuminates just how bad my ankle looks. It’s red and swollen from all the activity I forced it through after the sprain. Ghost starts wrapping and I nod when he looks at me to make sure he’s doing it correctly.

When he’s finished and I’m satisfied, I move to pull my foot away, but he keeps a firm hold on it. He gives me a deadpan look. “Keep it elevated.”

I give him a look back that I’m sure is a bit lackluster given my current condition. “It’s supposed to be elevated above my heart, but that’s not happening in the car.”

“Better this than nothing.” Ghost responds without a second of hesitation and his eyes don’t budge from mine. My mouth opens again, then shuts when Price gives my hip a soft squeeze. My lips purse, but I don’t say another word as I relax into John and try to keep my eyes open. I rest my hand on John’s knee and my thumb slides back and forth as I breathe in his scent.

“Give me a list of injuries.” He says and I nod, fighting through the fog of my mind to think clearly.

“Uh, sprained ankle, head wound, possible concussion, multiple lacerations, bruised ribs on my right side, a bullet graze to my left shoulder, and some bumps and bruises.” I go over the list twice in my head before nodding slightly in confirmation. The car is silent for a few beats and I feel a weight settle over all of us. The weight that comes with caring for someone else and hurting when they’re hurt. I swallow, struggling to accept the feeling rather than struggle against it and feel guilty for inflicting it on others. In truth, it’s a choice they all made. I choice I made too, when I let them in.

“Don’t think I ever asked how you are when you’re the one who needs to be treated.” John barely breaks the silence, but the tension lessens when I hum a tired laugh.

“Oh, I’m sweet as sugar, Captain. Naturally.” That gets chuckles from most of the men in the car.

“Liar.” Soap accuses, grinning back at me and I give him a smile in return. Also, I show him my middle finger. He returns the gesture instantly and happiness flits through me at the simple banter.

“You’re not gonna be difficult for me, are you, sugar?” John whispers just low enough for me to hear and I smile, wincing as it stretches a cut on my cheek.

“I like to think I behave better than most of you do when you need care.” I give Ghost a pointed look since he’s the worst of the bunch and he grunts, shaking his head while Soap and Gaz make noises of dissent.

Price shifts and my grip tightens on his knee until he settles again. “I remember being pretty docile last time.”

“After some convincing.” I return, my eyes shutting for just a moment before I feel light flicking at my nose. My eyes open and see Ghost pulling his hand back, head shaking with eyes on mine. I nod once. Got to stay awake. It goes on like this for the rest of the drive. One or all of them keeping up a conversation with me while Ghost taps my nose, pulls my ear, or annoys me in some other way when I start to drift. When we arrive at base, I can barely give one-word answers because I’m so exhausted.

The men rush me into the medical tent and I hate being set on the bed, hate being the one who needs treatment, hate the starchy feel of the sheets, and hate being poked and prodded. There’s a deep frown on my face as I allow the medics to do their job and they give Price the same list of injuries that I gave him earlier. Only after they hear that, and that I’m going to be fine with rest and treatment, Price dismisses the others and they reluctantly go. Although Gaz slips me another hard candy before he goes and gets a smile out of me.

Price stays. Even after the medics pull me aside and push me into a sterile bath to clean all my cuts after I practically showered in that man’s blood, I return smelling like chemicals and find Price waiting. I give him a look and the corner of his mouth lifts, but I can’t bring myself to verbally scold him. His presence settles me as it always has and that’s something I’m especially grateful for while I’m here.

There are a few places where I need stitches and I sit through it silently, Price and I just looking each other over. Seeing that we’re both alive and safe. The medics wrap my ankle again and lay me down in bed with it elevated while I try to keep my grumbling to a minimum. I’m exhausted, but this place, this position, keeps me on edge. But it’s getting harder to resist.

“Just sleep.” John says with a hint of humor in his voice as he sits in the chair next to me.

I heave a breath, nodding. “I’m not fighting it. Just hard to do in a place like this.” He moves a touch closer and breathing comes a little easier as his fingers slot with mine, the tips of his fingers sliding over the length of mine. He understands more than most why I’m having trouble.

“You’re not going to be alone here. Not for a second.” He promises with nothing but sincerity in those lovely blue eyes. My lips press together.

“I can’t ask you for that.”

“You’re not. I’m giving it to you.” He returns instantly and I can’t help but melt. Can’t argue with that. “Sleep.” His other hand raises to slide over my head, his fingers twisting a few locks of hair between them. My eyes flutter closed at the feeling and I don’t mean to fall asleep, but his gentle touch lulls me into peace in seconds.

* * *

I wake up feeling a slight weight settling on top of me and I’m on alert in a split second, my eyes flashing open and my hands darting out to grab what I can. The person freezes and I end up staring into dark eyes with their wrist in one hand and the collar of their shirt in the other. “Just me, G.” The voice takes a few moments to sink in, but I relax a second later with a grimace as the sudden movement tweaked my ribs.

“Ghost.” I breathe and slowly release him while he lets go of my wrist that he grabbed to keep me from choking him. “Gotta stop meeting like this.” I tease and he hums as he sits in the chair next to me, moving it as close to the bed as he can. I settle back down and note that the slight weight was another one of his jackets laid over my chest. A little smile pulls on my lips at the sight.

“Think I’d have learned by now. Especially since you still have my other jacket.” He flicks his chin towards the one covering me and I smirk while my heartbeat slowly calms. He’s only wearing the cloth that covers his face tonight and there’s no black smudged around his eyes. It’s as close to being Simon as he allows himself to be on base.

“I always meant to return it.” I say honestly, thinking fondly of his jacket hanging in my closet back home. “Think I like it too much now. I’ll get you another one.” That earns me a rare chuckle as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Sounds good.” He agrees and there’s that little glint in his eye that tells me he has something to say. He’s either waiting until he’s ready to say it, or he’s still mulling over the words in his mouth. “Took me a solid ten minutes to get Price out of here.” I smile, imagining the soft argument followed by Ghost shoving Price out of the infirmary.

“Thanks for relieving him.”

He shakes his head. “Not a problem.”

“And you wanted to talk to me.” I help him along a bit with amusement in my voice as his fingers knit together and his gaze steadies on mine.

“I did.” He confirms and now I wait, letting him decide when he’s ready to talk. My hands slide over the jacket he laid over me, grateful for the lack of chemical smell emanating from it. It just smells like him. Like bitter tea leaves and a small citrus tang that usually taints his clothes. Probably his detergent. “I don’t forgive you.” He starts and my attention immediately shifts to him and his dark eyes trained on mine. “I don’t accept your apology for thinking we wouldn’t come for you because that’s bullshit and I won’t forgive you until you never fucking believe that again.”

My eyes widen when I hear the heat in his tone. It’s not that odd to hear Ghost get riled up, especially around Soap, but I’ve never had him take that tone with me. Not seriously. “I know it was stupid.”

“Damn right.” He grumbles and I give him a pointed look for rubbing it in. “Say it. Tell me you know we’ll always come for you.” His gaze is unyielding and I know he means it.

“I know the team will always come for me.” Even to my ears, the words sound hesitant. Ghost’s eyes narrow.

“You say that every day ’til it feels as natural as your fucking name. And I’ll ask you to say it every once and a while. ‘Til it’s a reflex.” I sigh, but his tone is insistent. After a moment, I relent with a nod and he pins me in place with his eyes before nodding back and relaxing again in his chair. “You don’t get to save my ass, then think we’re not coming after you. Never believe that, G.”

“I get it, Ghost. I’ll do it.” Because it’s important to him and because he’s clearly trying to do something good for me, even if it’s something I hesitate to do. “And when I can stand without falling over, I’ll give you a hug for being such a pain in my ass.” The mask twitches and his eyes crinkle so I know he’s smiling.

“We’ll see if you can catch me to do it.” He returns and I smirk, knowing he’ll let me. “Now, go on and pass out. Price’ll have my hide if I keep you up.”

“Mmhmm.” I smile and let my exhaustion catch up with me, falling asleep a little easier with his scent in my nose rather than the chemicals that cleaned my body.

The next time I wake, Soap has taken Ghost’s place and morning light is seeping into the tent. “Morning, lass.” He greets and I give him a bleary grunt in return. “Cheery in the morning.” He quips and I’m about to tell him what he can do with his cheer before he points to a tray beside me. “That’s for you, if you’re up for it. Will ye let me help you up without bitin’ me?” Soap gets up and I nod, grabbing onto his arms as they slide under mine to pull me up into a sitting position.

A long breath leaves me as pain echoes through my body with every movement, but Johnny is gentle and makes sure to stack pillows behind me before moving back. He pushes a glass of water into my hand along with some pills. “Nurses said to give those to ya.”

I raise a brow and take the pills despite how my face hurts. I bet I really look like shit. “They trusted you with a task? I’m shocked.”

He smirks. “At least your spirits are still high.” Soap reaches over and pulls the tray closer to hover over my lap. “Eat up. Took everything in me not to steal your applesauce.” I hum amusedly, picking up the small container first and happily digging into the sweet treat. Soap flicks my ear. “Cruel lass. Careful, I might rethink my offer.”

I pause and raise a brow. “Offer?”

Mischief glints in his eyes and I take a deep breath to prepare myself. “You’re coming to Scotland with me.” He says with a smug grin. “The group we took out last night were the last few we were after, so we’re on leave starting the day after tomorrow. Since you’ve got no one waitin’ for ya at home, I’m takin’ ya with me to see my family. So I can keep an eye on ya.” He winks at me while I blink a few times to make sure I heard him right.

“That’s…that’s not necessary, Soap. I can take care of myself.” I frown as I think of myself laying on his couch surrounded by his family, just taking up space. “I couldn’t possibly impose on you and your family.” Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone’s family. Parents…I haven’t been around parents in at least a fucking decade.

“Too bad.” Soap answers instantly, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve already told my Ma and she’s excited to meet ya. If you resist, I’ll carry you there slung over my shoulder.” I pout, setting my food down on the tray as I try to think of a way out of this. “Come on, lass, it’ll be fun. You only have to stay off your foot for a little while and I’ll be there to entertain you in the meantime.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I look at him and if anyone can pull off a puppy dog look, it’s Johnny. After a few moments I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temple. “You’re sure your family doesn’t mind—”

“They’re fucking thrilled, G. Come on, just say you’ll come without a fight.” He leans forward and nudges my leg gently.

A smile tugs on my lips and I’ll admit the thought of seeing Johnny at home is a tempting one. “Yeah, okay, I’ll come.” His face brightens immediately and his big grin makes accepting worth it.

“You won’t regret it. One minute in Scotland and you’ll never want to leave.” He assures me and I nod along, listening with a fond smile as he tells me about his sisters, his mother’s cooking, and his father’s terrible jokes. To my own surprise, I find myself actually…looking forward to it.

Taglist (hello, lovelies, hope you enjoy. Lmk if anyone wants to be tagged):

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13 @emsstuff1 @missmidnight-writes @thereeallink @younggirlgenius @1wh4re1nova @ghostslillady

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kieranxvalentine · 5 months

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Trouble. [Yandere! Player! OC x Reader]

༻♡༺✎ You knew he was trouble, but he wanted you. ༻♡༺✎ Yandere! Player! Oc x Reader ༻♡༺✎ 17+ (Kidnapping alluded to at the end, blackmailing) ༻♡༺✎ 0.7k words ༻♡༺✎ Authors note: Please request fics guys! Also I may be opening a kofi where more longer fics about these characters will be posted! (This has not been proofread!)

“Oh my god he’s finally back!!”

“Look at how cute he is~!”

Franklin rolled his eyes in irritation as he walked through the school, he was just coming back after a vacation with parents, and now that he was back. He was looking for a particular person.

His Princess.

Franklin had dark green hair with unnatural purple contacts that he wore and simply refused to take out (especially after his princess had complimented him on them).

He had soft tan skin, his right eye was bandaged, covering a scar he’d gotten when he was younger. Freckled cheeks with dimples that showed when he smirked or smiled that always made the girls swoon.

He wore a white/blue collared shirt with dark blue pants and blac heels boots {That he truly didn’t need! He was 6’1, he just liked being taller}

He ignored most of his fangirls, pushing past them as he made his way to the (h/c) girl who made his world.

Those innocent (e/c) eyes looking up at him whenever he talked. The way your skin glows in the morning light when he would watch you walk to school. The way how you would try to avoid eye contact, making him have to move just so he could look at your pretty face fully.

Franklin Whetsone, or Frankie as everyone else called him was a player, He was a player. He was known around the academy as a heart breaker. Girls around the academy wanted so desperately to be with him, and he would humor them for a bit before moving on to the next.

He was known to date multiple girls at once, having them over to the apartment that he had. Girls would constantly fight over him. Saying that he belonged to them!

Oh how stupid they were..

Normally, Franklin wouldn’t allow himself to be tied to one girl for too long. He hopped around from girl to girl not allowing himself to become attached to the girl he is in pursuit of.

That was…

Until you decided to come along.

You were the girl he just couldn't get. You would reject him each time he would come up to you. You were that forbidden fruit that he wanted so badly to get a taste of. It would cause Franklin to stay up late at night, dreaming of the day that he would finally have you in his arms. Not one of those other annoying bitches.

Franklin was obsessed with you in a way. Girls usually would fall for his charms and he would simply talk them into his bed. But You? You would always reject his advances with the same phrases with that sweet voice of yours.

“S-sorry, I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship..”

Or “A-aren’t you seeing someone?..”

WHY COULDN’T YOU SEE HE WANTED YOU!? All those other girls he was with didn’t mean a damn thing to him, they were just to pass the time until you would finally give in.

But he was tired of waiting.

Franklin approached you with a smirk on his face, just like he would always do. Leaning down to face you, just inches away from those plump lips he loved so damn much.

“Babycakes~ Just who I was hoping to see~! I surely missed you,” He says noticing the blush on your face and how desperately you tried to avoid eyecontact. Oh no no, he loved eyecontact, he craved it…especially with you. He forced your chin so you could face him, and have no choice but to lock those pretty (e/c) jewels with his.

“Let’s move to the rooftop. I have something i need to discuss with you. And ONLY you.”

You didn’t even fight him. You allowed him to guide you up to the roof. He smirks as he brings you upstairs. When he got you upstairs, he wrapped his arms around your body and hugged you tightly.

“My princess…my baby…you don’t know how much i’ve missed you.”

“You-”

“Shh. Shut up right now. I want you to listen how my heart beats for you…”

He doesn’t care how uncomfortable it makes you. He holds you against him, little do you know he already had plans made.

He’s going to ask you to be his. And if you would refuse?

He would threaten your education, after all, his grandfather is the dean, and has gotten rid of a few problems for him previously. He chuckles internally at the thought.

You were stuck with him~! He wasn’t ever going to let you go. Franklin doesn’t care how many girls he’s flirted with in the past that try to throw themselves at him. He would ignore them all because he finally has his baby in his arms~!

“Hmm? Maybe you should just quit school all together! I’ll take care of you? You would like that right? You always complain about how school is so cruel to you baby…”

“Don’t worry…your frankie is gonna take care of you..”

©kieranxvaletine 2023 <3 Hope you all enjoyed!

#oc x reader #writing community #original character x reader #original character #writing #writing tag #fanfiction #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #male yandere

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cacoetheswriting · 28 days

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pearl: august 1986 [drabble]

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: approx. 900 summary: finally you embark on the adventure of a lifetime with your best friend turned boyfriend, eddie.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, adult language - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

a/n: wanted to wrap this series up completely with a final little drabble. thank you to everyone that’s been reading and showing support, it really means more than you can imagine! ily <3

“And here’s a whole bag filled with crackers, salted peanuts, and Oreos, “ Robin explains the last of the random stuff she’s packed for you and slides her arm around your waist. She tilts her head and you meet her gaze. “Still can’t believe you’re leaving me behind, you bitch. Just promise you’ll call every single day.”

“Every day,” you repeat and squeeze her gently, “As long as I’m near a pay phone, that is.”

Robin proceeds to pinch your arm, a squeal escaping your mouth as a result.

“Then you better make damn sure you find yourself near a pay phone or I’m following you out there and dragging your ass home.”

You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I promise… mom.”

“Bitch,” she exhales.

“I’ll miss you too, Buckley.”

Her hold on you lasts only a few minutes more. After letting out a soft sigh, Robin walks back inside the house and you’re trying to remain strong, not let your emotions show because you know the second you’d let the tears fall, you’d reconsider leaving her behind.

After you made the decision to leave Hawkins with Eddie, embark on this adventure together, you both told your mom and Wayne first. They were quick to agree that it’s a great idea. Not only that, they decided to join — at least for a portion of the trip.

The plan was for them to keep you company until New Orleans. There, after some sightseeing, mom and Wayne would take a flight to San Diego. Luckily, you still had some relatives from your dad’s side of the family living in the area; family who after seeing on the news of what happened to most of Hawkins was very quick to offer help. So while mom and Wayne got settled in California, you and Eddie would finish your trip, eventually meeting them there.

Goodbye Hawkins, hello San Diego.

It was a good plan. Everyone agreed there was nothing left for you or Eddie here, but as the date of your move approached, you couldn’t help feeling sad. Robin was staying here, as was Steve. They were going to remain in Hawkins with Dustin, Eleven, and their group friends. Wistful, the thought of moving onto better things while they remained.

Eddie finds you staring blankly at the boot of the car. You hear him sneak up behind you, but you don’t turn around. His arms manoeuvres under yours and wraps around your waist, holding you in place while gently placing his chin atop your left shoulder.

“It’s all so bittersweet,” you say quietly, not looking at him.

“But it’s also for the best,” Eddie’s tone is encouraging, “With Wayne and your mom also coming, and this plan for a new chapter in San Diego, aside from our friends, Hawkins is overshadowed with bad memories.”

As you turn on your heel to face him, Eddie’s arms wrap around your waist.

“This dingy old town gave me you. I’ll be eternally grateful for that.”

“Me too,” he pecks your lips before pressing his forehead to yours, “But you also almost lost me here, forever, and shit it might be selfish to say, I don’t want that happening again. This place is cursed. We’ll be happy in California.”

He’s right. You know he’s right.

Though it still doesn’t make it any easier because goodbyes suck. You knew that all too well. They’re hard, filled with sorrow and sometimes even regret. And as the group gathers outside for the last goodbye, you can’t hold in the tears anymore.

They first break when you hug Eleven. Then her friends, whom you’ve gotten to know in the worst of times, especially Dustin who holds onto you a little longer than everyone else, muttering: “Take care of him, please”.

The seal breaks completely when Robin approaches with a sullen look on her face. She wraps her arms around you tentatively and you return the embrace instantly. You’ve always felt safe around her and by the way she sniffles into me, you know the feeling is mutual.

“What’s crazy about all this is that you finally kissed Munson,” Robin jokes after a few moments of silence. “Thought you’d never grow the balls.”

You roll your eyes at her comment then pull away slowly, although not fully letting go. Instead you hold her by her forearms. “I’ll miss you, Buckley.”

“Just be safe, okay? And if he hurts you in any way, you call straight away. I will gladly kick his ass.” Robin says, loud enough for Eddie to hear, then walks towards him to also give him a hug.

Your last goodbye is with Steve. His hold on you is strong and the tears that stream down your face as a result are salty. He’s crying too, you can hear him trying to catch his breath. He’d been there for you in the worst of times and because of that, you’re forever bonded. Although the hug doesn’t feel like a complete goodbye. You’re certain you’ll see him again and when you eventually break apart, he promises to visit as soon as you get settled in San Diego.

The whole group stands hand-in-hand, watching you and Eddie get settled in the car — mom and Wayne are already waiting in the backseat. The metalhead looks at you while buckling his seatbelt. There’s a smile on his face and despite your tears, you can’t help but return the expression.

No more sorrow, is all you think as you look at the boy in front of you.

And as if he knows what you’re thinking, Eddie leans across from the driver's seat and captures your lips in a gentle kiss before muttering, “Here’s to our next adventure, my pearl.”

pearl masterlist

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys , @kurdtbean

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #bestfriend!eddie munson x reader #pearl (eddies version)

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v-ternus · 7 months

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*that* SwissDew video

So ughhhhhhhh, yall saw that right?!?!? Anyways. It made me start thinking. And then my brain did some thinking with @iamthecomet And our combined thinking has now left me with 1.5k words of nasty.

Under the cut for your reading pleasure :)

The stage lights barely have a chance to dim before Swiss is herding Dew backstage, hand on his back, planted firmly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dew snarls as he’s accidentally shoved into the shoulder of an unsuspecting techie. Swiss swings his head back to mumble a half-assed apology, only to keep moving forward. He doesnt dignify the question with a response beyond plastering a shit-eating grin across his face.

The rest of the walk back to the dressing room goes by quickly and Dew is practically thrown in right as he turns the doorknob. He tries to find his balance but his boots catch on a part of the scrunched up carpet and it sends him to the floor. He falls hard, dropping all of his weight onto his knees. He’s sure they’ll be black and blue by the end of the night.

Swiss closes the door behind them and postures himself right in front of Dew.

“Infront of everyone?” Dew grits through his question, jaw clenched at the disaster that Swiss could’ve caused.

Swiss brings a hand up to cradle Dew’s face and coos as he thumbs across his heated cheeks. “Dont pretend like you didnt like it bug.” Dew has no rebuttal. Because of course he liked it—

He liked the way Swiss’ hand splayed over his hip and waist in an attempt to hold him steady while his other hand gripped his cock. He liked when Swiss dug his fangs into his tense flesh.

He especially liked the way the fans cheered as he was gropped in front of them all.

He’s been hard since then, struggling to play his parts with each second that passed by. He almost missed his cues because he couldnt walk without his guitar rubbing against him.

Dew is pulled out of his head when Swiss drops himself down to his knees, loosely interlacing his legs with Dew’s. His free hands falls to the front of Dew’s uniform and palms at his crotch. Dew looks down and the sight makes him whine. Swiss’ hand covers up so much of his lap. Its as if they both thought the same, cause Dew swears he heard Swiss laugh.

“Stop teasing bitch,” he tries to sound unamused, aggressive even. But he fails. His voice wavers as Swiss squeezes his throbbing cock particularly harder.

“But its fun to watch you like this,” Swiss says as he kneads at Dew. They both know he could be meaner, mean enough to leave Dew achingly hard and alone, but thats not what Swiss wants right now.

He palms at Dew for a mere moment longer before he finally starts unlacing his pants. He works the garments down just enough for Dew’s cock to spring up towards his vest, the ruddy tip spreading his slick across the delicate velvet.

Swiss drags a finger along the short length, tracing along the vein that runs on the underside, stopping at the spot right under the head. He makes Dew hiss when he presses against down and watches as a bead of pre wells up at the tip.

“You’re an asshole.” Swiss chuckles again, loving the way Dew squirms and protests under his touch. “I know.”

He gives Dew no time to adjust— he just sends things from zero to a hundred. The teasing and feather light touches turn into a warm hand completely wrapping around his cock and slowly stroking from root to tip. The pleasure is a relief, and he makes sure to share his enjoyment. Breathy moans freely fall from his lips and they sound like music to Swiss' ears.

“You sound so pretty Dew.” Swiss sounds like he means every word.

“Fuck you.”

Swiss tightens his grip before tutting his disappointment. His eyes cast over Dew with a stern, cold look on his face. “That’s a bit rude isnt it?” Dew tries to ignore the game Swiss is playing at.

“But I think I'm feeling really generous right now princess,”

“Dont call me that.” Anything but that, Dew thinks.

Swiss brings his free hand up to thumb at the base of one of Dew’s horns. Its nice, nice enough that a low purr rumbles through him. But whatever softness he was basking in goes up in flames as Swiss uses said horn to wrench his head back. His neck bends at an unnatural angle and he feels exposed.

“Shh baby, Daddy knows what’s best, doesnt he?” Swiss’ voice drips thick, laced with poison that floods Dew’s bloodstream.

Swiss leans forward to rest his forehead against Dew’s.

A sinister smile creeps over Swiss’ face as he moves his grip to wrap around Dew’s dick and balls. Much to Dew's displeasure, he squeezes. Really squeezes. And hell it fucking hurts. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of Dew's eyes. He winces and tries to pull himself backwards, away from the pain. But all it does is tug against his already tender groin.

“Here’s how this is going to work baby,” Dew breathes through the pain and focuses on the deep voice weaving into his hazy mind. He listens to the sounds of sin and depravity and it reminds him of all of their other nights spent like this– Swiss just taking him apart, putting him through the thick of it until he has proper streaks of tears working down his chiseled features.

“You get to cum whenever you’re ready,” Dew’s breath hitches, sensing a trap. There’s gotta be a catch to this. Dew manages to make eye contact and he’s surprised by what stares back at him. The golden eyes trained on him have suddenly gone soft, donning a warmer, less threatening gaze. Had it been any other night, it would be endearing, but tonight, its nothing better than a threat.

“You just gotta fuck this cute little clit into my fist, how’s that sound Princess?”

There it is.

Dew nods mindlessly. Says anything and agrees to it all, just to get the crushing grip away from his jewels.

“Yeah… whatever. Fuck, just let go.” Having finally gotten his answer, Swiss’ hand withdraws and returns with a kinder touch. This time, the hand moves to cup Dew’s balls. He rolls them gently, tugs at them just enough to make Dew groan before backing off again.

“Are you ready princess?” There’s that fucking word again. Swiss doesn't wait for a response, he just sits up, and holds his fist right over Dew’s achingly red dick. Dew takes what's offered and rocks his hips up. The sound he lets out is embarrassing at best— a high, feminine moan that shoots from Swiss’ ears, straight down to his cock. He's now pressed up tight against the seam in his underwear.

Dew keeps rocking, chasing his release so that this can all just be over. The filthy wet noises he's making between them fill the otherwise hushed room.

He can't stop himself from listening to Swiss whisper how pretty he gets like this, or how he cant wait to get back to the hotel so he can dress him up in that lingerie set Aether had bought.

Swiss feels Dew's cock kick at the mere mention of Aether, he files that away for a later date.

“You want me to breed you nice and good after this Dewy? I’ll fill you with my kits, you’d be so full.”

“Shut up,” Dew groans. “Shut up and just let me finish.” His eyes screw up tight and he tries to think of anything else besides Swiss’ words, but it's a futile attempt. The words flash across his mind and echo in his ears.

Swiss can feel how close he is, he can feel each twitch of Dew’s cock when his thrusts press him into Swiss’ hand just right. Dew starts to lose his pace, thrusts quickly becoming uncoordinated ad his breathing becomes more and more ragged.

Swiss watches his quickly pitiful moves and decides to help him out. He starts to jerk him off, doing his best to match the pace of his hips so that his fist bottoms out at the top of his thrusts.

“Are you close my love?” Swiss presses his lips against the side of his mate's face, breathes in his scent, warm and burnt, and presses a kiss to his temple. He hears a pleased hum and knows that this is his chance.

"Whenever you're ready Dewy." Dew tries to speak. He tries to find the words-- any words-- that could describe this moment. But his brain just wont seem to work. All he can do is pant and feel each decadent, wet glide of Swiss' hand over the swollen head of his cock.

"Close. -m close,"

“Go ahead and squirt all over daddy’s hand,” Swiss surprises even himself with how he was able to say the words.

Something inside Dew unravels. He surges forward, digs his claws into Swiss’ sides as he cums. They watch as milky ropes of his spend stripe over Swiss' hand.

Swiss works him through his orgasm, lightly stroking until his cock is drained of all he has to give. He only stops when Dew twitches from overstimulation.

Some of his cum drips down to the floor and Swiss groans in disappointment. There's always next time.

The multi ghoul leans forward and crashes his lips into Dew's. The kiss is lazy and there's no sense of urgency to go along with it. They just kneel in the middle of the room, and lap at whatever parts they can reach.

Swiss pulls back and catches an eyeful of Dew’s puffy red lips and the blissed out look across his face.

“You were so good for me princess.”

Dew feels his cock make a feeble attempt at filling out again– princess.

#nameless ghouls #the band ghost #swiss #dew #swissdew #swiss x dew #dewdrop ghoul #ghost band #fire ghoul #multi ghoul #swisstopher #ghost fic #ghost band fanfic #vee writes #dewdrop ghost #swiss x dewdrop #swiss ghoul #swiss ghost #ghouls

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frvnkcastles · 1 year

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BRING ME HOME ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: Frank comes home after a long night and finds you in bed with a Punisher shirt on.

Warnings: Nothing really, some mentions of insomnia but mostly just fluff!!

Word count: 1.5k

Author’s note: Ya girl sleeps with a Punisher shirt and that’s literally how this came to be.

Frank was exhausted. Not that it was anything new — it was his default setting almost, yet he always kept going. All the way back to your shared front door, his eyes nearly as heavy as his boots while fumbled with the keys to let himself in. He appreciated your safety measures, but at times like these when the moon was already shining bright on the foggy sky and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed, getting through the lock could be a bitch. He never complained though, because every time, he wound up right there in the warmth of your apartment with a satisfied sigh slipping into the darkness and his vest unstrapping from his shoulders.

He followed the same routines every time — taking off his boots early on to avoid dragging in mud, freeing himself of his leather jacket and Kevlar before quietly wandering to the bedroom doorway; not yet stepping in, but making sure you were there. Most of the time, you were unable to sleep in the big bed that tended to feel so empty without him, but for once, you were dozed off, the sight further motivating him to get a move on. Before allowing himself the victory of crawling in next to you, he always meticulously took care of any blood, bruises, gashes, bullet wounds or otherwise painful soon-to-be scars he had earned over the night while you were none the wiser. At least, not until the next day when you'd take it all in and catch up on however much he wanted to share.

On those nights where sleep was a stranger, you sat with him. Helped the best you could, but between your shaky hands and his own, you were better suited as the emotional support. It had been like that especially early on in the relationship — you were sick with worry and sleep avoided you like the plague, leaving you no choice but to linger around the apartment like you didn’t belong there until Frank's keys jingled in the lock again. It wasn’t that you ever really stopped worrying, but somewhere along the way, you just accepted there was nothing you could do about it.

Frank insisted on you sleeping, too, although he couldn’t deny some of your fondest memories had been created sitting in the kitchen with him stitching himself up and you wiping blood off his face, or helping him get out of his mangled shirt in the bathroom. It was far from romantic, but it was how your relationship had been built and neither of you would have changed it for anything else.

Tonight was surprising in the sense that you were already huddled up in the blankets and pillows, and the lack of injuries Frank had come with was a welcome change of pace. That meant, as soon as he had shed his clothes and washed his hands from all the unholiness they had come across before allowing them to touch your skin, he could make his way to his side of the bed.

Acknowledging that always made his heart leap. His side of the bed.

The mattress dipped under his tall frame but it wasn’t until his hand smoothed over your waist and his lips came in touch with your shoulder that you stirred awake. It had hardly been his intention to disrupt your sleep, but when you rolled over to him with half-open eyes and a soft hum, he couldn’t help but smile down at you.

”You okay?” you muttered groggily, barely awake but enough in your right mind to ensure your darling’s well-being. Okay was a flexible concept for him nowadays, but with you in his arms, it was hard not to feel like it, at least.

”Am now”, he whispered, husky voice sending a shiver down your spine, hot breath almost lulling you back to sleep as he leaned down to kiss your temple. His arm tightened around your waist and you could feel his muscles against you as you tilted your head into him, cuddling as close as you could get.

It was that movement that allowed Frank to catch sight of your shirt, his drowsy eyes fluttering wide open when a familiar skull stared back at him. It wasn’t his shirt, it was too snug on you to be, but there it was. The symbol that the public had come to associate with him — the symbol he had left by the front door before coming home to you, and for a moment, he simply stared in disbelief, unsure what to feel.

But, eventually, a hint of amusement sank in. ”What’re you wearin’?” he questioned lowly, the corner of his mouth twitching as he brushed a hand across the soft material of the T-shirt. His words earned a weak snort from you, even as your eyes stayed closed, though you couldn’t stop your mouth from jumping at the question.

”If you want to initiate something right now, you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that to get me on board”, you retorted matter-of-factly, sarcasm still quite intact despite the ungodly hours.

Chuckling, Frank dropped his head against yours for a second. ”Temptin’ as that is... it was a real question”, he corrected, fingertips trailing down your stomach to where the printed skull rested. You weren’t sure if the heat creeping up to your cheeks was caused by the gentle but intimate touches awakening you more by the second, or the shirt you had almost forgotten about.

Well, that wasn’t true. It had become your substitute for Frank when he was away, a reminder of him, but it had slipped your mind that he was yet to see it.

”Oh”, you breathed out, a shy smile touching your lips as you continued to rest against his chest. ”I saw it at one of those stands on the street. A whole bunch of merchandise and I... thought it would keep me company while you’re out there. Kind of like you’re still with me even when you’re physically not”, you rambled, making Frank’s heart swell in his chest as he listened to your tired explanation attentively. ”Is that okay?” you added quietly, unsure if the skull was something he wanted you to actively carry with you.

He thought about it for a second, too. It wasn’t like it was a particularly happy, adorable sign to stamp on one’s chest. There had been countless men whose last view of the world had been that very image. And yet, when he considered your words, he wound up smiling again.

”Yeah”, he confirmed and resumed his mindless caressing of your skin. ”Yeah. I’preciate you thinkin’ of me. But you got the real thing now, sweetheart”, he continued before letting his lips collide with your forehead, caring and gentle, unlike he had been for the past several hours. With you, he got to turn all that off and you were both beyond glad for it.

Nevertheless, you knew The Punisher was who he was. There was no dating Frank Castle without accepting that side of him, and so, you finally opened your eyes once more only to find him looking right back at you. You didn’t even flinch under his piercing stare, but rather, broke into a soft smile and reached for his cheek with your hand, letting your thumb sweep across the skin before you sighed.

”You never get any thanks for what you do. But there are so many lives you’ve saved. So many nightmares you’ve ended, even if it meant taking on more of your own”, you began, not really sure where you were going, but the urge to praise him was far too great for you to resist. ”It may not be the typical way, but you help people. And I’m grateful for you. I don’t know what this city or I would do without you.” It was true, too. He was painted as a criminal, and while that was undoubtedly true, he was far from evil — and as far as you were concerned, you were going to appreciate him on behalf of all those people he had brought peace and safety to.

He spent so much time trying to rid the world of all sorts of criminals, and he always got chalked down to one of them. To you, there was nothing more curious than reading up on the news about what The Punisher had done the previous night only to peek into your bedroom and find this scary, big man snoring against your pillow.

”Thank you”, he rasped against your ear, genuine and sincere gratitude in his own voice. Not only for what you had said just now, but all of it, and even in your half-asleep state, you figured as much.

With a heavy sigh, Frank collapsed onto his back, and you followed right behind until you were curled up against his chest. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders and the duvet was pulled all the way up to your ears, enclosing the two of you in a warm, lulling comfort.

You certainly made him feel appreciated. And moments like these, the same routine every night... 100% worth the whole day’s wait.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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the-iceni-bitch · 4 months

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𝕴 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉'𝖛𝖊 𝕶𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖎𝖙 𝖂𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉𝖓'𝖙 𝖇𝖊 𝖄𝖔𝖚

𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝙺𝚎𝚖𝚙

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎.

𝚂𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕'𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝚇𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜.

Relationship: Steve Kemp x female!reader

Words: ~900

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex), mention of injuries, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: that’s three in 24 hours, I am spoiling you bitches.

You rolled over in your sleep and let out a soft sigh, your arm reaching out towards the empty side of the bed while your eyes slowly dragged open.

Steve was late. You had tried to wait up for him but you were exhausted. It was hard not to be worried about him, you were always worried about him. No matter how many times he assured you that there was nothing that could keep him from coming home to you, you would never feel relaxed or relieved until he was sharing your bed.

The front door barely creaked when it opened but you still heard it, sitting up and bed and letting the covers pool around your waist while you waited for him to come to you. His footsteps were heavy on the stairs, and every thud of his boots made your body ache for him all the more. It had been too long, you needed him, you missed the sight of his face. Or, whichever face he would be wearing at the moment.

When he paused at the door to your room you just rolled your eyes, leaning back against the headboard and calling out to him.

“I’m already awake, Steve,” You beamed at him when he sighed and opened the door, the smile only faltering a little when you saw the blood and bruises on his skin. “Why are you so late? What happened?”

“Do you really want to know?” He let himself relax when you just shook your head, starting to remove his clothes slowly even as his eyes drank in your naked body. “Something bad kept me, so I did something bad to make it back to you, that’s enough. How do you always know it’s me?”

You shrugged as he continued to undress, your eyes never leaving his face. Today he looked especially handsome, with a chiseled jawline and a dimpled chin, thick, dark wavy hair you wanted to bury your fingers in and blue gray eyes that made you shiver. But he was still Steve, your Steve.

“I just do,” you pushed the covers back once he was naked, gasping when he immediately crawled on top of you and pushed your legs apart. “You’re mine, I’d know you no matter what.”

“I still think one of these days you’re going to end up welcoming some bad man into your house just because you think it’s me.” He licked his fingers and reached between your thighs, biting his lip when he found you already wet and ready for him.

“Well there’s no one as bad as you, Steve,” you arched your back when he pushed two fingers inside you and curled them against the roof of your cunt. “Besides, you’re the only one with a key.”

He chuckled at that, nipping along the curve of your collarbone and pulling his fingers out of your slowly before kissing you on the lips. Steve kept his mouth molded to yours as he pushed his cock inside you, swallowing your moan and gripping your thighs tightly as he sank into you until his hips met yours. There was a pause once he was fully sheathed inside the slick heat of your pussy, while you shared the same breath and he let you adjust to his intrusion. It was always like the first time with him, maybe that was why you found him so intoxicating.

You didn’t have long to dwell on that thought though when he started to move. His body rolled against yours and you gasped, reaching up to wind your fingers through his thick hair and sucking on his bottom lip while he fucked you in long, deep strokes. Steve moved his hands from your thighs to your waist to your neck, holding you almost delicately even as his hips started to slam into you. The only constant he had in this world was you, and being inside you was the only time he ever felt like he was home.

His lips never left yours while he fucked you. Whether he was kissing you deeply or murmuring soft praises into your mouth he made sure you were sharing the same breath. He smiled and nudged your nose with his when you came for the first time, his tongue flicking along the seam of your lips while your pussy clenched so hard around him you almost pushed him out. You kept clutching at his shoulders to keep him close, though, your eyes bright and wild before they rolled back in your head as he hit you deep.

There was no way to know how much time had passed before he finally came inside you. You were laying on your stomach and panting heavily, covered in sweat and trembling as you moaned at the sensation of his thick spend filling your fluttering cunt. When he collapsed on top of you and groaned you just smiled, winding your fingers through those of his unfamiliar hands and letting yourself drift off to the sound of his breathing. You always slept best when he was inside you, no matter his form. He was your home just as you were his, and no matter what he was, he would always be yours.

#natalie writes #monstrous mayhem #kinktober 2023 #steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x you #steve kemp x y/n #female!reader #steve kemp smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part twelve

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

joel finally gets his head out of his ass, with a little push from tess.

a/n: we have BIG CONVERSATIONS IN THIS HOUSE FAM. i want to reiterate: i love the canon joel x tess. i live for it. but the drama/angst/emotion it has allowed me to create but backpedaling them SLIGHTLY? delish. enjoy babes, please scream at me about the ending 😇

word count: 5.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, drinking, lots of emotions, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries, mentions of death, joel is both an asshole and an Emotional Man, tess and liv are true bffs and god bless last night’s episode for solidifying some of my plans 🤍

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works✨

“You need to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, Joel, you—”

“Don’t tell me what I need to fuckin’ do, Tess. Leave it be.”

“Joel—”

“Please.”

You’ve been staying at Deanna’s. Two weeks now, since your stint in lockup, since Angie had beat the literal shit out of you. The couch isn’t comfy, and your ribs are still sore, but it’s fine.

The kids are happy to have you around. Emily especially, once she got past the bruises on your face. You weren’t expecting Henry’s reaction; when you woke up in Deanna’s apartment the next morning, he was sitting vigil beside you, tears on his face, bottom lip jutting out. You told him you fell down the stairs, trying to get a laugh out of him, and he’d just hugged you, buried his face in your chest.

You try to keep things normal, whatever the fuck that means anymore. You take on extra jobs, trying to earn more ration cards for the three living in your apartment. Tess shadows you, follows you around every day, and you tell her your secrets, point out your routes, the soldiers you have dirt on, the ones you know not to fuck with.

“She’s the one that beat you?” she asks one day, jutting her chin towards Angie. You’re standing in the warehouse that serves as the food bank, waiting in line. You’ve had a heartbeat in the bruise on your cheek since you woke up, and standing ten feet from the woman who gave it to you isn’t exactly helping.

You disguise your nod as a stretch, wincing at the pull on your ribs. Deanna was sure you hadn’t broken any, but you sure as hell were bruised. They didn’t look as bad as your cheek, but the pain was deeper, and seemed intent to linger longer. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Tess sneers in her direction, and you have to stifle your laugh. “Fucking bitch.”

You like Tess. You really like her. She’s a hard ass, but rightfully so, given the history. She hasn’t given you much more of her past, and you’re definitely not about to offer up any of yours, but the friendship between you is quick. You’ve skirted the Joel subject so far, despite the fact that they’re literally sleeping in your bed. Most of your conversations have been about the QZ, the inner workings, your smuggling. You have a job coming up, and Tess has already said she’s coming with you.

“I doubt Joel will be thrilled about that.”

“Joel can fucking shove it.”

She hasn’t been shy about her displeasure towards him, but it hasn’t done much to change things between you. You went down to grab some clothes a few days back, and he’d been the only one inside. Tess was out exploring, and Tommy had gone with her.

He didn’t say a goddamned word.

You’d managed to hold back the tears until you were back in the hallway, but you sobbed so hard you thought you actually were going to crack a rib. And on the other side of the door, you heard the radio flick on, assumedly to drown out your noise.

You nearly put your boot through the wall.

You move up a few places in line, and reach into your pocket, pulling out the ration cards you’ve collected. It’s worked out okay; you had some stashed to begin with and you were able to pull a few jobs after you got back on your feet. But Tess is adamant they’ll pay you back, despite your protests.

“First job I take,” she says to you, jutting her chin towards the stack in your hand, “you get half.”

You shake your head. “I told you, it’s fine.“

“It’s not,” she replies, her tone determined. “It’s the least we can do, after what you did for us. Hell, I should give you back double for putting up with the bullshit Joel’s been throwing at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she repeats, and grabs your arm, turning you towards her slightly. “I’m not fucking okay with this. I need you to get that. He needs to talk to you. You need to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, Tess,” you say, toying with a corner of a ration card. “I have to respect that.”

“And he should give you the same courtesy,” she says as you move up again. “You need to talk this out. He can’t keep putting up brick fucking walls; you deserve more respect than that. You put your ass on the line for us, and got the shit kicked out of you. History or not, he owes you. I’ll lock you two in the same room if I have to.”

“Hah,” you scoff, lifting your brows. “I’m sure he’d love that.”

She goes quiet as you reach the front of the line, handing over the cards. The woman working the table slides a crate of food across to you a second later, along with two jugs of water that Tess reaches for. It’s not until you’re back outside that she speaks again.

“I want us to be friends,” she says, and the tone in her voice makes you pause, stopping in your tracks. “I like you, Liv; you’re strong as hell. Brave. Best damn smuggler I’ve ever seen. I just…I need you to understand, me and Joel, it’s nothing close to what I had with Nate, or what he had with you. I know that. I get that. We laid out ground rules from square one. It’s a…” She trails off, searching for the right word.

“A comfort,” you provide.

She nods. “Yes. And I…if I had a second chance with Nate? If I walked down this street tomorrow and saw him walking through that fucking gate, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to—” She stops, clamps her hand over her mouth and you almost jump when you see the tears in her eyes.

“Tess.” She blinks hard, waving a hand at you, and in an instant, the badass demeanour has returned, if not doubly so. You continue, “If he’s a comfort to you, I can’t be the person that takes that away. He’s not mine to take. Especially not if he doesn’t want me back. It’s okay. You can’t force his hand in this.”

She eyes you, chewing at her thumbnail before, “Maybe I can.”

You shake your head, hefting the crate of food higher on your hip. “Let’s take this back.”

The doorknob jiggles, and Joel’s head snaps up. He’s sat on your couch, some book about woodworking in his hands, a mostly abandoned glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. Tommy’s at the kitchen table, bent over a map, trying to figure out the path they’d taken, all the way back to Austin. “I’m just curious,” he’d said when Joel had asked, his voice almost clipped. Joel hadn’t pushed any further.

The door swings open, revealing you and Tess, a crate of food on your hip, Tess carrying jugs of water. Joel gets to his feet, wanders towards the kitchen, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Tommy gets up immediately, takes one of the jugs from Tess. She starts putting stuff away, and you step closer to the table, digging in the pocket of your coat. “Exciting news,” you say, pulling out a key ring with three keys on it, dropping it onto the table. “Moving day.”

“We’re not going far, are we?” Tess asks over her shoulder.

“No,” you reply, pushing a hand through your hair before shucking off your coat. “One floor up, few units down. Besides, you know where to find me.” Joel catches you glance his way, but it’s short-lived, you turning away a moment later to help Tess put the rest of the food away. “I saw they have a posting for a handyman in the building, one for the apartment across the street too,” you say, putting away a box of instant mashed potatoes. “Unit maintenance and stuff like that, thought you boys might be good for it.”

Tommy nods, enthusiastic. “Sounds good to me.” He glances at Joel over his shoulder. “Gotta get started paying you back what we owe you, Liv.”

You wave a hand, and Joel sees Tess give you a pointed look. “Listen, all of you. We’re square, okay? I mean it. I’m just…I’m glad you’re all here. Safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

Joel can’t hold his tongue. “That soldier beat you half to death.”

“Oh, you noticed?” you throw back, and the guilt simmers in his gut. “We’re square,” you repeat, leaning against the kitchen counter, hip cocked, arms crossed over your chest. A mirror of Joel’s stance. “But there’s something I wanted to bring up to the three of you. Tess and I have already talked it over, and I’ve done okay for myself given the circumstance, but I could use you, all three of you.” Your eyes flick from Tommy to Joel and back again, so quick he nearly misses it. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie, but I’ve got dirt on half the soldiers in this QZ. And I know exactly what to give them to keep their mouths shut.”

“You already know I’m in,” Tess says, bumping her hip into yours. There’s a tiny grin on your face, the bruising along your cheek pinching slightly. “There are still connections from Baltimore we can use. Between the four of us, we could be living like kings, for a change.”

You nod. “Either way, it’s an offer. I trust you all enough that you’ll keep it secret, but if you want in, my door’s always open.” You pause. “But I do want my keys back.”

“I’m game,” Tommy says, leaning back in his chair. “You tell me where and when, Liv, and I’m there.”

“Same,” Tess agrees, “but we’re still paying you back.”

Joel can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you out of your damn minds? Both of you?” He stares at Tommy when his brother turns to face him, glances at Tess when she steps forward and plants her hands on the kitchen table. “We just got safe again, and already you want to put that in jeopardy?”

Tess scoffs, and the sound makes Joel blood boil. There’s too much happening. The guilt never leaves, but seeing you, hearing your voice, it makes it that much worse, and Tess looking at him like he’s a fucking idiot doesn’t help matters.

“We pulled a lot of bad shit to stay alive out there, Joel,” she says, her tone stern. “Baltimore was no different. I highly doubt a bit of smuggling is going to fuck with our reputations.”

“Your records are clean,” you offer, your voice placating. It makes the hair on the back of Joel’s neck stand on end. “When Cowan brought you through, he wiped them. Tommy’s is already clean, otherwise they wouldn’t have let him through to start with.” You lift your hands. “It’s just an offer, Joel.”

How have you managed to make his own name feel like a punch to the gut?

“I’ll show you to the apartment,” you say, grabbing the keys off the table, putting a hand on Tess’s shoulder. “You guys can talk it out. There’s no pressure. I’ve got a job in a few days, and—”

“I already told you, I’m going with you,” Tess says, and Joel’s brows raise.

“Tess—”

“Shut up, Joel.” She turns towards the door. “Let’s go.”

You swallow, hard enough that Joel can see your throat bob from where he’s standing. Tess grabs her jacket, gestures at Tommy to do the same, and his brother gets to his feet. You hold open the door, and Joel follows Tess and Tommy out. He tries to catch your eye as he walks past you, but your gaze drops to the floor.

Their unit is one floor up, three down from yours. You unlock the door before handing the keys to Tess, let it swing inwards. It looks about the same as yours, save for the floral wallpaper. It’s a bit bigger, an actual separate bedroom, another bed tucked in one corner, a room divider that’s seen better days blocking it off. He’s surprised, almost, that there’s furniture, even blankets on the beds, and follows his brother inside. Tess wanders, and you hang in the doorway, leaned against the jamb.

“I found some stuff at the donation warehouse,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “People will leave all kinds of shit down there, stuff they don’t need. The mattresses aren’t great, but I cleaned them best I could, and there’s some clothes too.” Joel turns to look at you, and your eyes move away from his again. “And, if you’re game for smuggling, when knows what else we might find.”

Tommy walks back over to where you’re stood, slings an arm around your neck, pulling you against him. “You’re an angel, Liv. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, leaning your head against Tommy’s chest, and Joel ignores the zip of…is that jealousy surging through his gut? Fuck.

But it turns into guilt just as quick, makes something mean bubble out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You shouldn’t have done this.” He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but from the corner of his eye, sees you balk, flinching slightly.

“Joel,” Tess chides, walking over to the door, pulling you out of Tommy’s grip and into a hug. “We owe you, I mean it.”

Joel watches, as you hug Tess. Your eyes flutter shut, your hands hooked around her shoulders, your brow pinched slightly. God, how many times had this thought crossed his mind? How many times had he wondered if the two of you would get along?

How many times had he dreamt of merely seeing you again?

Yet here he is, fucking it up harder than anyone ever could have imagined.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “Tess, I’ll see you tomorrow?” She nods. “And Tommy, you can ask Sergeant McCoy about the handyman gig. He’s a decent guy.”

Then your eyes turn to Joel. He meets them, looks back at you, feels the guilt so thickly he’s convinced it’s replacing his blood. He thinks he hears you say his name, but then your wrench your eyes from his, disappearing from the doorway. His feet move of their own accord, propelling him towards the door, but he stops short, hands swinging at his sides.

Tommy claps him on the shoulder. “Brother, I love you, but you’re a fucking idiot.” He turns to Tess. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

Tess just nods, and the door shuts a moment later. It’s just the two of them, and Joel can already tells he’s about to be on the receiving end of Tess’s anger.

“Sit, Miller.” She points to the kitchen table. It’s not much different than yours, though there are no maps spread across the surface. “You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Tess, don’t—”

“No, shut the fuck up,” she cuts him off, her hand flexing in the air. “You’re gonna sit there and you’re gonna listen, you understand? Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Joel swallows hard. “Fine.”

“You need to go after Liv,” she says, the words blunt, laying her hand flat on the table. “You can’t keep pushing her away and treating her the way that you are. You can’t keep doing this to her.”

“I have to,” he replies, the words quick, half-hearted. An excuse.

“No, you don’t,” Tess throws back, just as quick.

“You—”

“We’re done,” she says, cutting him off again. “You and I. It was just stress relief, right from the beginning. I know that, you know that. Nate was gone and you were there and I…” She shakes her head, lifts her hand to her mouth and bites her knuckle before continuing. “If I had a second chance like this, a second shot, goddamn, I would have dropped you so fast your head would’ve spun.” She actually laughs. Her eyes are big and wet, but no tears fall. “She loves you, Joel, and you love her. I knew it from the second you saw her at the gas station. It’s not—”

“Tess—”

“Listen to me, Joel. If I turned a corner tomorrow and saw Nate right there in front of me, there’s not a force on this whole fucking planet that could keep me from him. So why are you doing this to her? To yourself?”

He goes quiet, for a long moment. Stares down at the table top, digs his nail into the grain of the wood. “You said it yourself, Tess. We did a lot of bad shit out there to stay alive. I’m not…” He shakes his head. “I’m not who she remembers, who she loved before.”

Tess reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezes his fingers tightly. “Joel, the fucking world ended. I didn’t know her before, but I highly doubt that the Liv I know now was the same before the outbreak. We do what we have to, to survive. She put her life on the line for us, without batting a fucking eye. The least you can do is talk to her.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. What do I have to say to get it though your thick fucking skull, Miller? Second chances like this don’t just happen. If I had one, I sure as hell wouldn’t squander it the way you’re so hellbent on doing. So don’t.”

“Tess—”

“Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Slowly, Joel gets to his feet, and Tess follows suit. He’s not quite sure what to do next, but then she grabs the front of his jacket, hauls him against her, throws her arms around his neck. He hugs her back, mouth pressed to the curve of her shoulder.

“And I don’t wanna hear any more shit about not joining forces with Liv,” Tess says softly. “We’d be fucking fools not to.” She claps him on the shoulder, pulling away. “I’ll see you around, Joel.”

“Bye, Tess.”

The doorknob is cold when he reaches for it, and Tess doesn’t say another word as he steps out into the hall, pulls the door shut. His feet seem to carry him down the hall on their own. He heads down the stairs, faintly hears Tommy’s voice calling after him as he heads down towards the lobby.

“Joel, where you going?”

It’s still a few hours until curfew, the sky still light, though dark clouds are gathering over the city. The moment he’s out the main door, he’s sprinting, running as fast as his legs will carry him. He’s pushing past people on the street, boots scuffing on the pavement, mumbling apologies when he almost crashes into someone.

He just keeps going, arms pumping once he’s through the crowds of people trying to get home. He has no idea where he’s going, but he just keeps going, on and on and on until he finds himself standing in the same alleyway you’d lead him and Tess through, when you’d smuggled them inside.

What the fuck is he doing?

The rain starts slow, a few drips pelting his shoulders, the back of his neck. He tips his head back, stares up at the ominous dark clouds, hears the rumble of thunder in the distance. Joel lets his eyes slip closed, hands loose at his sides.

In a flash, it’s a downpour. He’s soaked in a matter of seconds, rainwater seeping through his hair, wetting his scalp. It runs down his cheeks, sneaks beneath the collar of his flannel, gathers in the hollow of his throat.

She loves you, Joel, and you love her.

Tess is right. He knows she’s right. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, he always knew in the back of his mind that if he found you again, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away from you. Everything he’s been doing, everything he’s said since you mentioned Sarah, it’s been…survival. Fear, that if he lets himself have you again, he’ll just lose you, like he lost her. That someone or something will take you from him.

Tommy told me. About Sarah. Joel, I’m so sorry, I just—

It hurts. The memory makes panic and fear surge through him, every single time. Makes his heart beat faster, his hands clench into fists, sweat at his hairline. But you don’t know that. How could you? He hasn’t told you, hasn’t let you in, hasn’t done anything but try and stay as far away from you as possible.

He can’t keep doing this. He knows that. When he closes his eyes, he still sees those tears on your face, at the gas station. The bat in your hand, the bravery in your eyes. You weren’t the same person he’d fallen in love with back in Austin. But you’ve survived just as hard as he has, and you lived. You’re alive.

I’ll find you, baby.

He swore to you.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Joel says the words aloud, towards the sky, to the dark clouds still pouring down on him. “Fuck.”

He turns on his heel and sprints back up the alley. The rain isn’t letting it up, pelting his face, soaking his hair further. He pushes his way back through the crowds, takes the same random path he’d just run in reverse, back to the building.

Back to you.

He takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring the way his knees are shouting in protest. He’s out of breath by the time he skids to a stop in front of your door, bangs his fist on the wood. “Liv!”

“It’s open,” he hears you call from the other side, and twists the handle, pushes the door open. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing at your forehead, a bottle of whiskey not far from reach. Your gaze lifts slowly, but then your entire expression changes when you see him standing there in the doorway. “Joel? What’re you do—”

“I wanna talk to you,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. His heart is hammering in his chest. He steps through the doorway, shuts it behind him. “Please.”

“Why are you wet?” you ask, your eyes narrowing, but then you shake your head, waving your hands. “Doesn’t matter. What…you wanna talk?”

“I do.”

“About what?”

He heaves a breath. “You. Me. Tess, she—”

You lift a hand, your expression turning defeated, and reach for the whiskey. “It’s fine, Joel. I get it. It’s not like I expected you to wait around for me or anything like that, but just for the record, it’s not reason enough to avoid me like the fucking plague.” You take a swig from the bottle, tearing your eyes from his.

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly, and takes a step towards the table. You lower the bottle, slide your gaze back to his. “About all of it, Liv. Please. I just wanna talk you.”

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, shakes the water from his fingers. You don’t say anything when he shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it on the hook near the door, settles into the seat across from you. He points towards the whiskey, and you slide it across the table to him. The liquor burns on the way down, but the warmth that follows helps with the chill from the rain.

You lean back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, staring him down. “You wanna talk, Miller,” you say, and part of him wonders how much you’ve had to drink already. “Then talk.”

He takes another long swig of the whiskey. The noise the bottle makes as he puts it back down seems to echo through the apartment. “I’ve been an asshole,” he says, his gaze dropping to his lap, “since the gas station. I’ve been trying my goddamn best to push you away, and I just…” He lifts his head, lets one hand rest on the table, an olive branch between you. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“Liv, I just…I did some terrible shit out there, to stay alive. I’m not the same. But I know you aren’t either.”

“We all do terrible shit to stay alive, Joel.” You huff a little laugh. “It’s just the way of the world now.” You drag a hand over your face. “Besides, you are the only thing I have left,” you say, and Joel’s heart jumps into his throat, “from before.” You blink hard, and he can see the tears gathering along your lashes. Everything in him wants to vault the table separating you and just hold you. “I was gonna leave Boston. Before they put up the wall, when all that was standing in my way was a fucking chain link fence. I was gonna leave. Then Cowan calls the Austin QZ, asks about my family, and there’s no record of my sister, no record of you, but my parents…”

You trail off, shaking your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You wipe at your cheeks, and lay your hand on the table, inches from his. Joel’s fingers twitch.

“What happened?”

“FEDRA levelled Austin, when it was overrun. My parents were in a shelter, when they dropped the bombs, and no one survived.”

Joel balks. He remembers, that night, the outbreak. He remembers Tommy’s truck barrelling down the road, down the main drag where the hardware store was. He remembers flames pouring out of the storefront, shattered glass and the way the awning had caught fire. He remembers praying to whoever the fuck was even bothering to listen anymore that your family was okay.

“So you stayed.”

You nod, fingers tapping on the table. “I stayed. I got lucky, really. Dean got me good, before I…” You trail off, rubbing at your shoulder. “They were killing anyone who was injured, shooting them point blank in the streets. I just ran, and nearly a week later, when the soldiers stopped me at the fence, I was still me, and Cowan made sure no one saw my injuries, had Deanna treat me. Left a nasty fucking scar.” You squeeze your shoulder, pulling your eyes from Joel’s. “I never stopped wanting to go looking for you, Joel. Not once. I just—”

He shakes his head, flexes his fingers on the tabletop. “It doesn’t matter, Liv. You did what you had to, to stay alive. We all did.” He swallows hard. “When did it happen? With Dean.”

You grab the bottle, turning fully to face him, your other hand still planted inches from his. “Outbreak day. It’s funny, actually, I had just been on the phone, with you, you remember?”

Joel lets himself smile, the conversation rising to the surface of his mind. “We wished each other happy birthday.”

“We did,” you agree, and take a swig. “I just got home, and Dean was…he was just standing there, in the bedroom, staring out the window. He didn’t notice me, not at first.” You shake your head, letting go of the bottle, rubbing your fingers across your forehead. “I shouldn’t have done it, looking back, but I didn’t know, and I…I called his name. He turned, and he looked at me with that…that dead look they have, you know? And then…then he started running at me, and I knew something was wrong. I kept the bat right by the bedroom door, and when he came at me, I just…swung. Until he stopped.”

You grab the bottle again, and Joel flexes his pinky wide, until it grazes yours. Your eyes drop to the table. “You protected yourself, baby.”

It’s like everything in the apartment shifts, as the endearment rolls off his tongue. He doesn’t mean to say it so soon, but everything in him is aching to comfort you, the feeling tenfold after being stuffed down for so long. Why did he put you through this? Why did he put himself through this?

Your eyes are watery when they lift to his again. “I never should have left Austin, Joel,” you say, and slide your hand across the table, settling it on top of his, your palms pressed together. “I never should have left you.”

“I’m here now,” he says, letting his fingers curl around your wrist. His heart races when you do the same. “It doesn’t matter. None of it.”

Your thumb slides across his pulse, and your eyes flutter shut for a moment before they meet his again. There’s fire in your eyes, one he hasn’t seen in a long, long time. “What are we doing here, Joel?”

His brow pinches. “What d’you mean?”

“This is the ultimate second chance,” you say, and he can’t help his chuckle, “and we are royally fucking it up.” He keeps laughing, and you dig your nails into his skin, making him yelp. “It’s not funny, Joel!”

“I know, I know,” he says, his tone going apologetic. “It’s just…you and Tess get on well, don’t you?”

You scoff a little laugh, nodding. “She’s a badass.”

He juts his chin towards you. “So are you.”

“I get it,” you say, pulling your eyes away. Your hand stays where it is. “The two of you, it makes sense. I…I was with Cowan.” You make a face. “Am with Cowan? I don’t know. It’s just…comfort, I guess, but now, it…”

Joel can’t help but bristle slightly. “He’s helped you all these years?”

You nod slowly. “Hasn’t ratted me out, got me out of some pretty deep shit once or twice. But he’s not…” You nail him to the spot with your stare, leaning forward slightly, sliding your hand up his arm until it’s wrapped around his forearm, resting in the crook of his elbow. “He doesn’t come close, Joel. Dean, Cowan, they’re just…” You shake your head. “They’re nothing, compared to you. I could never love anyone else the way I loved you.” You pause, chew your lip. “Love you.”

“Liv—”

“But I won’t get between you and Tess, I promise. I like her, and you and me, it doesn’t—”

“Tess broke things off,” he says, and your eyes go wide. “She was right. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing, pushing you away, thinking it was easier that way. I don’t want to stay away from you anymore. I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

“You just said you and Cowan—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. None of it matters.”

Joel’s brain stalls, for a moment, seeing the flare in your eyes. He gets up slowly. Your hands move to your lap as he rounds the table, pulls you to your feet. There’s only inches between you, the air turning thick with tension. “Say it again,” he says, his voice hushed, almost a whisper.

You close the distance, stepping into his arms. His hands slip beneath the hem of your sweater, resting on your jean-clad hips, and Joel inhales deeply when your palms slide up his biceps, rest on his shoulders, one hand slipping up the back of his hair, wet curls twisted between your knuckles.

“Don’t stay away from me,” you murmur, tugging lightly at his hair, until his face is angled with yours. He can smell the whiskey on your breath, see the remains of the bruise on your cheek. He can feel your heartbeat, wild against his own, your chest against his. “Be with me, Joel, please.”

Your voice cracks on the please, and that’s what gets him. The tension snaps, and he can’t hold back anymore.

There’s no hesitancy in it. It feels like he’s kissing you for the very first time all over again — feels like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. The press of your mouth is hot and wet, a tiny mewl falling from your lips to his as you hold him to you, your fingers tightening in his hair. He kisses your bottom lip, then the top, sinking his teeth into your flesh, pulling more tiny noises from you. God, he’s fucking missed you, so goddamned much.

You chase him when he pulls away, grabbing his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth, giving you a hungrier kiss the second time round. He pushes you backwards, your boots tangling with his and suddenly you’re a heap of limbs on the ground. You actually laugh and Joel kisses the sound right out of your mouth, licking his tongue along the seam of your lips.

The motion makes you whimper, adjusting yourself beneath him until your thighs are spread either side of his hips, your boots planted on the ground. Everything in him feels white-hot, and he can’t stop kissing you, making up for lost time, pouring his apologies into his kisses, memorizing the way you feel and taste now.

“Joel,” you gasp out when he slides his hand along your jaw, tilts your head back on the wood floor, noses his way down your throat.

“Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your skin, inhaling you deeply, kissing at your pulse.

“Take me to bed.”

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

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Hiii can you write anything where like the reader is Aemond’s older sister, she’s kinda a bitch to him (in the way older sisters always are, not like vile just rude and sometimes mean but like in a “only I can make fun of him” way), but they’re betrothed and it’s their wedding night and she’s nervous

Lmfao I love Aemond and characterizing his persona of I Am The Toughest Targ Ever But I Am Socially Awkward. Thanks for the request, hope you enjoy xoxo

Get a load of this guy!

Rating: Explicit at the end. Other than that SFW

Tags: Teasing, Incest, Frottage, pnv!sex, Aemond’s religious issues, Aemond’s social issues, targaryen!Sister, background sibling stuff aka Aegon is still an idiot, she’s mean but loves him

You poked him in the shoulder in court. More of a jab really. Aemond’s sulky purple eyes glared at you. He mouthed, “What?” You smirked and leaned down, as he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and whispered, “Bow a bit harder to father and you might lick his boots next time.”

Aegon dissolved into a fit of snickers, hiding his smile behind a ringed hand. Helaena held hands with mother, staring off into the distance. Aemond grimaced and hissed, “Very funny. At least I show some decency.” He held his pointed chin up high, but you could see the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

You grinned and shoved him, earning a sharp look from mother.

You sat with your father and Lord Strong, watching Aemond twirl his sword around. You had to admit he had…grown into a handsome young man. He was your betrothed. At some point it might’ve been Jacaerys, but that ended long ago with the loss of your brother’s eye. Seeing your nephew gawk at the much more skilled, handsome, and elegant Aemond made you not question the betrothal one bit.

“Nephews? Have you come to train,” he called with that dead serious look he always held.

The boys looked apt to soil their breeches. You would too, especially if you were little Luke. They stared in shock. You smirked and leaned over the stone, shouting, “Better run lads! Aemond here is of the touchy sort!” That got a smile on their face but a sword pointed up at you.

Your brother frowned deeply, brow furrowed. He sourly replied, “You’re a very becoming jester sister!” You shrugged and laughed, Viserys’ own laughing dissolving into a haggard cough. Aemond snapped back around to get settled by Ser Criston. He was so easy to rile up, regardless of how Aemond tried to act calm and collected.

Still, he was doing better than drunkard Aegon. Drunkard Aegon was entertaining in his own ways, but no fit for a king. Everyone knew that. You hoped Rhaenyra could take the throne and that was that. Emphasis on hoped.

Your mother had informed you that the wedding was to be rushed forward. She claimed both you and your brother were past age to procreate, since Hel and Aegon had already pushed out three. You raised a brow, wondering if Alicent considered she was 19 when she had Aegon. Aemond was eighteen and you twenty. Plenty of time.

“No more questions my child,” Alicent said.

You nodded, flexing your fingers to stare at your nails. It was something to focus on. Viserys’ ill health was the real reason. You opened your mouth to speak, earning a smack to the hand.

Still you uttered.

“Aemond know?”

“Yes.”

Fuck.

Aegon was plastered. Again. But that was perfect for you to get any information on your soon-to-be forever twerp’s sexual history. He lazed on a bench in Maegor’s Holdfast, stinking of the streets and sex. You wrinkled your nose and kicked him in the thigh.

He spluttered and hazy violet eyes stared up at you. Aegon sleepily slurred, “Whahyowan?” Rolling your eyes you sat down and tucked your legs to the side. You probably smelt of dragon, hopefully the dullard wouldn’t puke. Petting back his wild locks you said, “You took Aemond to a brothel, yes?”

His pouty lips curled into a tipsy grin, manic laugh bubbling out into the high ceiling. Aegon mused, “Yea! Like a’lil maid’n!” You moved your gloved hand in jerks to get him to keep talking. Aegon sat up a little and hummed, “Ya’ scared Aem’s gonna be impotent?” He shrugged, “Refused ta’ go back w’me but he can get the job done, dear sis!”

You flatly stared while the prince giggled and slapped his knee in hysteria.

“Ha-ha very funny Aegon. Good news he’ll be able to get it up,” you poked him, “Unlike someone I know!” Aegon gaped for a moment before laughing harder, clutching his stomach. You couldn’t help but join in with him, he had always kept you laughing.

A couple days before the wedding you approached Aemond in the library. He was pouring over scrolls per usual, one eye intense and rapidly moving across the words. He stiffened and sat up, primly addressing you, “Princess.”

You hopped onto the wooden table, placing your hand over his readings. Aemond huffed, crossing his arms and pursing fine lips. In an exasperated tone he asked, “Will you drop the terrorizing older sibling act when we are to be wed?” You almost laughed in his face before registering the tone of uncertainty, the dead honesty in his eye.

Slowly, softly, and quite nervously you placed your hand over his much bigger one. Aemond inhaled sharply, tilting his blonde head away. You sighed, “You know I mean nothing by teasing you right? It’s just fun to see the golden child get flustered.”

Aemond narrowed his one eye, lovely hair swaying as he snapped his head up, but didn’t move his hand away. He stated, “Golden child. Hm.” His jaw ticked as the second son thought over your words. You leaned in with a secretive smile, whispering, “Well obviously Aegon’s not fit and Hel is taking care of his kids, playing with bugs.”

Aemond scoffed at your dismissal of Helaena. He filled in, cocking his head, “What does that make you then? The troublesome elder sister who should’ve had offspring by now?” You smacked his shoulder lightly in dismay.

“Easy now Aemond,” you teased. His lips quirked slightly, that cute blush from embarrassment rearing it’s head. He stared at you quietly, cheeks pinkened. You raised a brow, nervously joking, “What? Why are you looking like that?”

The chair scraped back with a jolt, you yelped and jumped in surprise. Aemond’s big hands covered your shoulders as hard lips pressed to your own. He softened slightly, you moving your lips against his own. Your hand came up to tilt his head so his nose would stop mashing against yours. Little fool.

The kiss grew heated, Aemond’s hands squeezing softly. He tentatively lapped against your tongue, you gasping in excitement. The pair of you lazily moved together, pressing closer and closer. Your brother made a soft sigh, twirling his tongue against your own. You spread your legs to let him closer. He grunted and gripped harder, growing desperate. When you reached down to palm his hard length Aemond pulled back with a sharp gasp, readjusting himself.

You gasped in shock, biting out, “The hells Aem? Something wrong with you?”

He heaved, composing himself back to that cold demeanor. Aemond declared snootily, “We must wait until our wedding. As the gods intended.” A purple eye flicked down while he continued, “I think it’s best if you go for now.”

You were annoyed now. The bastard got you riled up and your cunt wet. What did it matter if the wedding was days away? You snapped, “Others take you! Do you always have to be so damn proper? Imp.”

Indignantly hopping down the table you couldn’t help but feel scorned, tugging your stays into place. Aemond stood stiff as a board, like his obviously interested cock in his trousers. He avoided your angry glare. You scoffed and stomped off. Atleast you knew he was hung.

You were properly wed now. Also very clothed with your nuisance of a brother pacing around— clothed too. He had forbidden the usual bawdy act of the bedding ceremony. Aegon had loudly complained the entire time, damn pervert. Nerves shook your body. Aemond muttered to himself, “Okay. Duty. I will fulfill my duty.”

You began to take off your beautiful dress, a bit dejected at his utilitarian approach to this. You had hoped the passion he had in the kiss earlier this week would come back.

Once your second stocking was off Aemond stopped pacing and gawked at you. He deadpanned, “What are you doing?” You spat, “Undressing myself so you can ‘fulfill your duty’ husband!” He looked upset, lips pursing in distaste. Aemond said almost imperceptibly, “Wait.”

You stopped and raised a brow. He came closer, now much larger frame crowding your own. He murmured, “That’s my job to undress my wife.” Your gaze softened, a hand reaching blindly for Aemond’s calloused one. You squeezed his hand gently.

As if struck by a force Aemond lifted and pushed you onto the bed. He yanked off his boots frantically, calling, “One second, okay? Stay still.” You couldn’t help but laugh, some of the nerves dissipating at the rigid brother hopping around stripping like a madman. Your laugh stopped as his hardened body was revealed to your eyes.

Fuck. He was handsome. That cock was terrifying to think about fitting inside of you. He stilled and asked, “I know I’m all scarred-,” you interrupted and hissed, “Take off the damn patch and undress me like you promised.”

He did so and busied himself ridding your dress and underclothes with steady hands. You complimented, “I love the sapphire, dolt.” He smacked your bare ass, yanking off your chemise. You moaned at the sharp pain, cunt beginning to ache.

Aemond flipped you over and crawled onto the bed, his sureness melting away. Like your own as the gravity of the situation hit you. Man and wife, naked as the day they were born, about to consummate their union. You shook with anxiety, panting under his strong body.

Aemond blinked slowly before saying, “It’s just your ‘imp’ of a brother, relax.” You closed the gap between your faces, closing into his lips like before. Aemond settled between your thighs, hard cock slotting against your bare cunt. Both of you gasped into the kiss, hands running wild across pale bodies. You deepened the kiss, licking inside Aemond’s warm mouth.

He responded with a low noise and a rut against your slick entrance. The tip of his cock drug against your bundle of nerves, drawing a surprised whine out of you. Aemond seemed to smile against your mouth, doing it again, even grabbing your hips to get a better angle.

You wrapped your thighs around his slim waist, moaning softly. Everything felt so nice. You nipped Aemond’s lip and begged, “Aem, Aem, ah- kiss my neck?” He hummed and lowered his mouth down your jaw and to the sensitive thin skin of your throat.

You threw your head back and let out a long whine, rutting back against him roughly. Your belly was tightening like it did when you pleasured yourself late, late at night. Aemond groaned quietly, sucking a mark onto your collarbone, one of his hands curiously groping your breast.

Your clit was growing more sensitive from the friction, gasping out, “Fuck! Aemond you better not stop!” He laughed breathily, “I won’t dear sister.” He snapped his hips a couple more times before you cried out and locked your thighs tight around him. Your cunt pulsed and wetted further along his cock.

Aemond groaned, “Gods, fucking hells. I need to fuck you.”

You nodded in a heated daze, begging, “Yes, yes, fuck me brother.”

He reached down to ease himself in, breathing going stuttered and harsh. You whined at the pinch, clinging to his wide shoulders, grabbing onto long blonde hair. He slid in until fully seated as best as he could in your tight pussy, desperately panting and kissing.

“Oh my,” was all he could utter.

The pair of you kissed until Aemond began to stroke into your now relaxed body. The pain had subsided, your slick easing the way. He gritted out against you, “Not- fuck- going to last my lady.” You babbled, “Don’t care, go wild you idiot.” He growled and wetly slapped harder into you, balls hitting your ass. You smiled— still so easy to piss off that one.

Aemond roughly fucked you, focusing all his energy like in the training yard. You yanked at his silky strands, moaning with abandon, crying his name with delight.

“That’s it! Fuck! Yes brother!”

Aem slapped your ass again, biting your lip until it bled. He groaned, “Yeah? Good?” You nodded with an echo, “Yes, s’good!” Aemond’s eye seemed to roll up as he fucked deeper, face falling to the sweaty crook of your neck. He grabbed so hard at your waist it would bruise later, snapping his hips with feral grunts.

You praised him along, the twitching of his cock growing more frequent. Aemond panted, “Close.” Squeezing around his length, you kissed at the tender scar around the bad eye. Your younger brother slammed into you a final time, filling you with his hot seed. The blonde rasped your name in a low timbre, mumbling nonsense as he shook.

He relaxed and slumped onto you, petting your hair in a haze. You’d never seen your brother so worn out, pliant. He sucked in breath, palms soothing the skin where he was practically tearing at your waist. You sighed at the feeling of completeness. It was done, and quite fantastic at that.

You couldn’t help but pinch Aemond’s sharp cheek and tease, “If only you fucked as well as you interact with others.” His annoyed grumble lit up your heart. So, so easy.

#asks answered #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd fic #aemond targaryen x reader #targaryen!reader

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ladykailitha · 1 year

Text

Star Child Part 2

Everyone loved the first part so much I thought I’d throw up the second one today as a treat.

This part is a little heavy, Steve talks about what happened to the Kings and it’s not pretty, so a warning for content.

Part 1

Eddie managed to shower and change and get down to the bar with barely a minute to spare. His hair is a little damp but there was no getting around that not if he wanted to be on time.

He had changed into more comfortable jeans, and put on a long-sleeved mesh crop top, and a denim vest over that. He pulled on a pair of combat boots to finish off the look.

He fussed with his hair as he scanned the crowd. And then he spotted him. Steve Harrington. Dressed in tight leather pants and a plain white t-shirt and matching sneaks.

Eddie’s brain nearly blue screened again. Fuck. It looked good on him.

He muscled his way through the crowd to stand in front of Steve.

“Hey!” Steve greeted warmly. “You made it!”

He turned and ordered them a couple of bottles of beer.

Eddie shrugged. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Steve matched his shrug with one of his own. “After how hard you guys rocked tonight, I don’t think I would have been able to do anything but crash. Especially since you guys did practically two sets tonight.”

He handed Eddie a bottle and took the other one for himself.

Eddie smiled. “Nah, we’re good. We often party afterwards.”

“To each their own, man,” Steve shaking his head and then took a sip of his beer.

Eddie laughed. “I think it would ruin people’s image of you if you went out partying after shows. Your main appeal is your hometown, boy next door, have your daughter home by nine kind of guy.”

Steve half shrugged. “Some days it chafes.”

“Is that why you chose to do a metal version of an alt rock song featuring the daughter of the king of pop?” Eddie asked with a wink.

Steve laughed. “Something like that.”

Eddie bit his lip for a moment. “Have you thought about branching out? Becoming more like Timberlake than Styles?”

“Moving outside the genre that catapulted me to stardom you mean?” Steve asked.

“Why not? People have been successful at it before,” Eddie reminded him. “Because, dude, if pop music chafes, stop doing it.”

“Maybe after this last album,” Steve said. “I’m under contract for one more and then maybe I’ll color outside the lines.”

Eddie nodded. Contracts were a bitch. “So you talk with the Kings anymore?” he asked to fill the silence that had stretched between them after that conversation stopper.

Steve barked out a bitter laugh. “Billy died from an overdose about a year after we broke up. Tommy is in jail for beating his wife, Carol right before the Grammy’s last year. And Jonathan is dating my ex, and my agent tells me that there are wedding bells on the horizon. So no. I don’t speak to them anymore.”

“Holy shit!” Eddie said. “What the hell happened?”

“We were underage when we became famous,” Steve murmured. “So our parents took control of everything the first couple of years and pushed us too hard. Jonathan was the only one to survive because his mom made sure his dad couldn’t touch shit and shielded him from the worst the business had to offer.”

“You including yourself in the parents are shit pile?” Eddie asked.

“My parents were the worst because they looked respectable,” Steve said, “But both of them are among the worst people to walk this planet.”

“There’s a story there,” Eddie said, bumping into Steve shoulder, “come on. Spill.”

Steve looked around him and then leaned in so only Eddie could hear. “They tried to have me committed when I didn’t want to do what they wanted.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Seriously, the fuck?”

Steve nodded. “Nearly succeeded, too. If it wasn’t for my best friend intervening and becoming my manager. Robin saved my life.” He sighed heavily and looked down at his beer.

“You know what you need right now?” Eddie asked with a big grin.

“What’s that?” Steve cocked his head to the side.

“To let loose on the dance floor!”

Eddie grabbed his hand and led him out to the middle of floor and began dancing.

Steve laughed and then joined in. Letting his worries slide away with the beat of the music.

Eddie kept going back to the bar for liquid courage to ask this beautiful boy if he would come back to his hotel room with him. But after the fourth shot and third beer, Eddie was too tipsy for anything even to close to sex, much less standing upright.

As Steve found out as he tried to get the front man back to his hotel room. Eddie was all over Steve, giggling and shoving his hair in his mouth.

Steve shook his head, a fond smile on his face. He managed to get them to his room without either of them falling down.

“You’re very pretty,” Eddie giggled.

Steve laughed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You, on the other hand, is absolutely gorgeous.”

Eddie blushed deeply.

“Where is your hotel key, dude?” Steve asked.

“Pocket!” Eddie pressed his lips together and batted his eyelashes at him.

“Which one?” Steve asked.

Eddie just leaned forward for a kiss and Steve dodged, patting down the pockets in the vest with no luck, finding only the man’s car keys.

He reached around to feel up Eddie’s back pockets, looking for the wallet and trying very hard not to linger.

Eddie only made the temptation that much harder when he canted his hips into Steve’s, seeking friction.

Steve had to close his eyes and take deep breath. His hands slid to the front of Eddie’s pants and found the wallet in the right pocket, his cell phone in his left.

“Why don’t you have your wallet in your back pocket like a normal person?” Steve asked, chuckling.

“Thiefy heads trying to steal it, so usually on a chain, but going to unknown bar went for front pocket instead.”

Steve smiled at him. “Duly noted.” He opened the wallet, fishing out the key card and opened the door. He half carried the very drunk Eddie to the bed and flopped him face first into the covers.

Steve put his hands on his hips and looked around at the suite. It had it’s own sitting room and a door that led to a large bathroom complete with a Jacuzzi style bathtub. “Damn, Robin is slacking, if this the is kind of room your manager can get for you.”

Eddie rolled over on his back and looked up at Steve with a grin. “And I don’t hafta share!”

“You are a menace, Munson,” Steve murmured. He began unlacing the boots and pulled them off. “Come on, get under the covers, you dork.”

Eddie leaned up and crooked his finger at Steve. Steve leaned forward.

“Not dork, nerd!” he whispered and giggled. But before Steve could straighten up, Eddie grabbed him and pulled him on the bed.

Steve laughed.

Eddie kissed him, but Steve managed to get away.

“Why...” Eddie huffed, pouting.

Steve booped his nose. “Because I have it on very good authority that you won’t remember this in the morning and I want you to remember.”

Eddie grumbled as Steve pulled the blankets over him.

Steve put Eddie’s boots by the door and put the keys, phone, and wallet on the small table next to the sofa.

Eddie mumbled something and Steve went over to the bed to make out what he was saying.

“Who’s authority? Who says I won’t remember. I could, you don’t know.”

Steve brushed Eddie’s hair out his face and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Mine.”

Steve slipped out the door to a snoring Eddie.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Tag List: @bejeweledbaby @avacrebs @eboyawstenn @moonshadows-13 @goodolefashionedloverboi @linkydinky06 @ohlook-afrog @livelaughlexa @spectrum-spectre @cutepumpkin4 @whatthemeepever

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #rockstar au #song fic #ladykailtiha writes

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k-marzolf · 5 months

Text

Seeds

Canon typical violence, blood, threats, intimidation, past with sexual abuse (both reader and Billy), kissing, dark themes, fem!reader

Rabbit Heart Masterlist.

1,022 words.

“How’d Russo get a sweet piece of ass like you?” asked a balding, short man, leering at you as he approached you in the hallway.

You stopped in your tracks, you’d been on your way to see Billy in his office.

Men made you nervous, and you flinched when he touched your arm. “I want a taste,” he smirked, as your hand jerked and you slapped him. Hard.

His head snapped to the side, and he looked angry, a red handprint on his face. “Bitch,” he spat hand tightening on your arm making you claw at his face with your other hand, as Billy’s office door opened.

You were shaking, and Billy noticed, as his eyes lazily turned to Morty. Like a cat ready to pounce on his prey. “Morty,” he greeted, casually. “What’re you doin’ here? And take your goddamn hands off her.” He asked, hands in his jeans pockets, moving over to you.

“Rawlins wants—“ Morty said, letting go of you, but was cut off immediately.

Billy bared his teeth, “I don’t give a fuck what Rawlins wants. He’s a dog looking for scraps at his master’s table, and you’re just a rat with the courage of a rabbit.” Billy said roughly.

And something about the casual way he handled Morty, had you pressing your thighs together. You’d never seen him working or in action.

“Fuck you, Russo. Maybe I’ll visit your girl tonight—“ Morty didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Billy unsheathed his hidden blade, and struck him in the shoulder, faster than a snake strike, making Morty scream as Billy pushed through bone, unsympathetic, a warning. “You touch my girl, and I go for your eye next. Match your master, huh?” Billy asked, getting his face, blade dripping with blood as he carved a mark under Morty’s eyes, making him grit his teeth.

He pulled back, pulling out a cloth and wiping his blade, “You can tell Rawlins I ain’t interested in what he has to say.”

Morty looked hatefully at Billy, blood dripping down his face, spitting at him, before pushing past, holding his bleeding shoulder, and leaving the country house.

You felt sick from Morty’s touch, he had reminded you of your uncle, rat like and pushy. How he’d watch you in your bedroom while you slept in the chair in the corner, or go through your undergarment drawer, and steal some of your underwear. He’d blackmailed you with that one. “I’ll say, look at what my niece gave me.” He had taunted, making your heart drop. Or the way he’d touch your arm softly, fingers moving along like a spider crawling along your skin.

Billy followed you down the hall, his combat boots squeaking a little bit, as you made your way into the kitchen. It was huge, but sunny looking. Beige colored walls, with light colored wood cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. There was a sliding glass door that led outside, bringing in the sun making it seem warm inside, even the winter.

You wanted something to eat. You’d always eaten when things got tough, especially carbs. You craved those often. It was why your father always said you were fat, that no man was going to want you if you didn’t cut back a little.

Billy didn’t seem to give a fuck about your extra weight, he often pulled you into his lap while he read over paperwork, or his men gave reports. Anvil was a cover for his criminal operations, and you hated when he had to go to the city and make an appearance.

Billy watched you grab some pomegranate seeds, and asked; “Did he touch you, bunny?” His voice was low, seething at the thought, but he didn’t touch you yet, knowing you might be triggered. He understood, the word pretty still made him uncomfortable after all these years. He still gets a pit in his stomach like a stone.

You’re never the same after someone violates you, and takes away your autonomy.

“Just my arm. I slapped him.” You said, biting into the seeds, sighing at how good they tasted.

Billy grinned, “That’s my girl.” He said, kissing your forehead, and you leaned into his touch.

You replayed Billy stabbing Morty, his casual way he handled him, like a cat toying with a mouse, and pressed your thighs together. “You were kind of sexy, the way you handled Morty.” You said, juice dripping down your chin.

You moved to wipe it away, but Billy caught your hand, and leaned in, his mouth lapping up the juices, making you whine softly.

You and Billy had never consummated anything, despite the teasing, and the fooling around. He didn’t want to push you knowing you’d been sexually abused. And he was surprised he was uninterested in other women, despite never having taken you to bed.

He enjoyed the companionship, the soft press of your body to him at night with your fingers in his hair, the sweet things you’d do for him, or reading together with your feet in his lap, and the conversations late at night.

He pulled back, “Sexy, huh?” He asked, lips turning up. You were so goddamn cute.

You bit into another seed, and god it was taking everything in Billy not to have you against the counter, to hear the sweet sounds he knew you’d make just for him.

“Tryin’ to tempt me?” He asked in a low voice, caging you in against the counter, you let the juice drip down, and he caught it with his tongue again, kissing your mouth this time.

You clutched his green sweater, returning his kiss, leaning on your tippy toes to taste the whiskey in his mouth. He gave you soft kisses that left you breathless, and hard kisses too, that had you aching for him, his fingers tangled in your hair, pressed against you. You could feel every inch of him.

You both spent the rest of the afternoon sharing pomegranate seeds, and kissing, both content to let it go no further.

But you realized with an ache between your thighs you were ready to trust Billy with yourself.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader

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blubushie · 1 year

Note

i love your bullet/casing post so much i jumped up and down and squealed upon reading through it do you have any more cool gun facts that people often get wrong

So I wrote a long spiel and accidentally closed my tab so now I'm pissed. Let's do this over lmao

FOR ANIMATORS/AUTHORS/ARTISTS

While the sound of a pump-action shotgun being cycled is really cool and very intimidating, YOU'RE WASTING YOUR AMMO WHEN YOU DO IT. Every time you pump a shotgun, you're ejecting a spent shell. If there's no spent shells, you're ejecting perfectly good ammo.

You rack a slide. You rack a pump-action shotgun. YOU DON'T RACK A BOLT ON A BOLT-ACTION RIFLE. You CYCLE a bolt. If I see one more person say they're racking the bolt of a bolt-action I'm gonna shove my boot so far up their--

Recoil is a bitch. You can always tell who has never fired a firearm in their life because of how they write/animate recoil. Do you know what makes fully automatic weapons dangerous to the user? The bloody recoil. It's hard to control. Your aim will move up, and especially in fully-automatic handguns or SMGs like Tommy guns which are smaller weapons, there's not much gun to brace against your body to steady it. That means it's harder to control. That makes it dangerous and puts you at risk.

THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A SILENCER. They're called suppressors, and they don't make the gun silent. They only bring the volume down by a few decibels so (usually) you won't have to wear ear protection when firing. This is especially useful in combat scenarios like what military and police experience when you're firing in an enclosed space like a building where sound reverberates, or just firing in an indoor firing range. If you have a larger calibre firearm, bring your suppressor because the bloke in the booth next to you will thank you for it.

Handguns usually aren't very accurate, and perfecting your accuracy with them takes a LOT of time that most people don't have to put in. I guarantee you that unless your character is a notoriously skilled marksman and has trained extensively with handguns, they're not shooting that guy in the forehead on the first try.

THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS BULLETPROOF, ONLY BULLET-RESISTANT. Even the USA's ACH (Advanced Combat Helmet) is NOT DESIGNED to stop bullets. You know what kills people most in war, more than bullets? Shockwaves from blasts. That's what helmets are designed to protect against: shockwaves from explosions (which causes brain trauma) and shrapnel. The ACH can protect against handgun-calibre rounds, but don't rely on it to protect you against rifle-calibre rounds. Bullets will penetrate basically everything and half the time what characters use as shields (couches, tables, furniture, metal plates) are things bullets will penetrate with ease. VESTS WILL NOT PROTECT AGAINST HIGH-CALIBRE ROUNDS. Hell, vests often don't even protect against handgun-calibre rounds. The reasons one of the rules of firearm safety is identifying your target is because bullets will penetrate people and strike whatever is behind them. Sometimes that's another person. Also, bullet-resistant vests don't protect against knives.

People don't shrug off bullet wounds unless it's something like a graze, and even then you have burning to the skin. Rounds are fucking hot when they're fired---both as a result of air friction while travelling through the air, and as a result of being propelled from the barrel by hot gunpowder.

YOU CAN MOST DEFINITELY DIE FROM A BULLET TO THE SHOULDER. In your shoulder is an artery---worst case scenario, if it hits above your collar bone it ruptures the subclavian artery. Second worst case scenario, if it hits where your arm meets your shoulder it ruptures the axillary artery. You're going to lose an extensive amount of blood, probably go into shock, and the wound will be singed from the heat of the bullet. The impact alone can break bones without even touching them. When I hunt deer and I get a neck shot (not what I aim for, but mistakes happen) I don't usually hit the vertebrae. The vertebrae is severed simply by the shockwave of the impact.

Guns don't click when they're empty. That click you hear is the firing pin moving forward to strike the primer of the cartridge. In handguns, the slide will move backwards and lock when the magazine is empty. It will not click. The only firearms that "click" when empty are double-action revolvers, as pulling the trigger of a double-action will pull the hammer back. A complete pull makes the hammer strike the back of the firing pin, which then strikes nothing because there isn't a round in the chamber of the cylinder. Unless you're pulling the hammer of a handgun back yourself and pulling the trigger, you will not hear a click. It just won't fire. This is why you keep track of how much ammo you're using, folks.

Most modern firearms don't have a muzzle flash. It's something you see more in things like a muskets. Handguns, military-style rifles, and machine guns don't usually have muzzle flashes, and military and police specifically use low-flash gunpowder so that their position isn't given away by the muzzle flash. For firearms that do have muzzle flashes (for example, some bolt-action rifles) that's what a flash suppressor is for!

MODERN FIREARMS WILL NOT FIRE WHEN THEY'RE DROPPED. Firearm manufacturers go through EXTENSIVE testing to ensure that this doesn't happen because it's a safety risk. In Ye Olde Days (1800s) companies would go bankrupt for putting firearms on the market that are susceptible to accidental discharges. Nowadays, THEY GET SHUT DOWN. The only firearms that CAN fire when dropped are VERY OLD revolvers without a safety mechanism that modern revolvers have, and even then that's only if they fall at the perfect angle directly onto the hammer. Just to be safe, that's why you keep your revolvers half-cocked! (There's some exceptions to this rule with older firearms but it's a general rule of thumb.)

SNIPERS WORK IN TWO-MAN TEAMS. If you're shooting over a thousand yards, most snipers will have a spotter who does his calculating for him. ALL MILITARY SNIPERS WORK IN TWO-MAN TEAMS REGARDLESS OF RANGE. I can do my own spotting up to 1100yd, but anything beyond that requires the assistance of a spotter. There's a lot of maths that goes into sniping. Wind direction, wind speed (what we call windage), bullet drop, trajectory of the Earth, and the Coriolis effect when shooting due north or due south. If you're in the northern hemisphere, the bullet will shift right. If you're in the southern hemisphere, the bullet will shift left. I have no idea how it works at the equator.

When fired at night (and ESPECIALLY in snow) rifles don't make a "BANG" sound. They crack. Sound carries differently at night, which changes the distinctive "bang" of a rifle to a cracking sound, like what you'd hear when ice is breaking on a lake. The best example of this DONE RIGHT is when Sniper fires his rifle in the SFM Art of Justice. You can hear that sound at 3:05.

If I think of any more later I'll add some.

As always, if you have any questions feel free to send me an ask!

#blu whos #bushman #firearms #art tips #writing tips #blu pew

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naeverse · 7 months

Text

Extra Credit PT: 2

🏫staring. Professor O’Hara x Sassy fem!reader

🎒 preview: “Do you agree, Y/N? Will you help me help you?"

🖋️Summary: Miguel O'Hara, a renowned, attractive genetics professor, known for his strict stance against extra credit. As a senior, you struggle to keep up with coursework and Mr. O'Hara's opposition to extra credit makes it difficult for you to pass. However, a chance encounter with you changes everything, as Mr. O'Hara becomes more open to helping you - but you must help him in return.

📕tw/cw. unprotected sex, harsh language, hate sex, rough, hand job, blow job, dirty talk, oral sex, spanking, accidental simulation, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Miguel, mutual orgasm, etc…

📘pet names: (hers) little puta or puta (Little bitch, bitch), Chica (Girl), Muñeca (Doll),

✏️ rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

📖Word count: 4k words

🍎 Credit to Artist in header: Narutoss.ramen

After the last student left his classroom, it appeared as though Mr. O'Hara had been triggered…

His gaze swiftly landed on you, seated with your legs crossed in a chair, engrossed in your phone. He tried his utmost to maintain his focus on the current task at hand.

"Y/N?" Mr. O'Hara called out once more. You met his gaze as he signaled you over with a subtle beckon of two fingers. Scanning the empty classroom, you gracefully slipped out of your desk. Your black boots echoed with every step as you approached the strong, tanned instructor.

Mr. O'Hara gulped, almost releasing in his pants at the very sight of you approaching him. He shifted his attention to his monitor, moving his mouse aimlessly and clicking on random links, trying to mask his inner turmoil. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he battled with a mixture of emotions—frustration, desire, and longing.

It pained him to be consumed by such feelings, especially when directed at someone like you. Someone he found so irritating, difficult, and an absolute nuisance.

He despised how aroused he was by you. He literally felt like he could cum on the spot without you even touching him.

Mr. O'Hara's black leather oxford that adorned his foot tapped nervously against the floor. He kept his attention fixed on his monitor, avoiding eye contact with you.

Like before, you hopped up onto Mr. O'Hara's desk, your skirt riding up your thighs. You swung your legs whilst looking at Mr. O'Hara from over your shoulder.

"So, what did you want to discuss about my grades, Mr. O?" you inquired, looking at the well-built man whose white polo shirt clung to his form.

Mr. O'Hara let out a trembling breath as he observed you perched on his desk, your legs on full display. He adjusted his black glasses on his nose, his demeanor nervous as he tried to concentrate on your eager expression.

He moistened his lips with a hint of uncertainty. This was his last chance to back out. To be professional and ignore his throbbing arousal that was slowly growing in his pants. But Mr. O'Hara couldn't help but notice your eager eyes, the way they looked at him in curiosity and interest of what your discussion will uphold. The look on you was doing something to him, and he loved and hated the feeling.

Once again, the question presented itself to him.

To continue…

Or back out.

He clenched his jaw, his amber eyes flickering red with arousal as they trailed over your every being.

Your captivating eyes, flawless lips, graceful neck, alluring breasts, immaculate stomach, luscious thighs, and those seductive boots that were pushing him to the brink of insanity.

And in that very moment, he made a firm decision –

He wasn’t backing out…

"I was reflecting on our previous discussion…” Mr. O'Hara began, clicking the trigger of his ballpoint pen once, twice, thrice before finally meeting your gaze. "I've been contemplating offering you some…"

"Extra credit."

Your legs, which had been swinging in the air, came to an abrupt halt, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Had you misheard him?

Mr. O'Hara had always been staunchly against extra credit, refusing it for anyone. He believed that if students hadn't put in the effort the first time, they didn't deserve a second chance. It was what he was known for on campus and what earned him the reputation of being a strict and demanding professor, so you were taken aback by his words.

"I…I thought you didn't allow extra credit," you stammered, your gaze locked intently on Mr. O'Hara. You half-expected someone to leap out and reveal this was a prank, as you struggled to believe what you had just heard.

Mr. O'Hara knew that he was venturing into morally questionable territory, but his desperation and need for a release compelled him to proceed. He looked up at you, attempting to maintain a serious expression, even though he was close to the most critical part of his plan and becoming increasingly nervous.

Clearing his throat, he began, "Well, I don't usually… but this is your last year on campus, correct?"

You nodded in response, and he couldn’t help the small smirk that formed on his lips. "Your senior year is crucial, Y/N. It's the year where you're giving your all to earn as many credits as possible to graduate and move on to the next stage of your adult life," he said, busying himself with organizing a few test packets he had been grading, his gaze seemingly more focused on the stack of papers than on you.

You hummed in agreement, hanging onto his every word. Mr. O'Hara then set the stack aside to meet your eyes directly. "We both know you've been facing some…challenges in my class," he added, his voice taking on a husky tone. "I understand and sympathize with your situation, which is why I'd like to offer you some extra credit to boost your grade."

With each word, Mr. O'Hara's heart pounded loudly in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was doing, what he was saying…

But he felt compelled to continue.

You averted your gaze from Mr. O'Hara to in front of you, taking a moment to let his words sink in. Afterward, you slowly nodded and turned back to look at him over your shoulder.

"Okay, so what's the extra credit?" you asked with a hint of amusement. "If it's a packet of genetics questions, I'm sorry, but it won't be much of a help." You chuckled and waited patiently for Mr. O'Hara's response.

He licked his lips, a wave of heat creeping up his tanned neck. Shaking his head at your guess, his eyes briefly wandered down to your smooth and silky thighs before locking onto your gaze once more.

"It's not a packet…

But something else…"

Mr. O'Hara paused after his words. He hesitated, feeling a sense of unease, especially as you crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating your bust. This sight caused his arousal to intensify significantly, and he had to bite his lip harshly to regain control.

"It's something that involves just you and me."

Your reaction was a mix of shock and confusion.

If the extra credit didn't entail an assignment, project, or a packet and required both you and Mr. O'Hara's presence, you were left entirely bewildered as to what it could involve.

You stared at Mr. O'Hara in confusion, your eyebrows furrowing.

"So, it's something that involves just you and me?" you inquired. "You want me to bring you coffee and lunch every day? If it comes to that, I'm more than willing to do it if it helps my grade." You chuckled lightly.

Mr. O'Hara couldn't help but laugh at your comment before clearing his throat. He was trying to find a way to explain without sounding peculiar or scaring you off.

"No, not quite like that," he clarified. "It's something a bit more… personal."

Your puzzled expression deepened, and you remained oblivious to his true intentions. Mr. O'Hara found your naivety somewhat endearing.

"It involves me giving you some extra attention," he said in a playful tone, hoping you'd catch on, but it seemed you were still in the dark.

You turned to Mr. O'Hara fully, your eyebrows knitted together, and your eyes scanning his facial features with a sense of urgency.

'He can't be thinking that… right?'

Your gaze roamed over his tanned face, his amber, almost crimson narrowed eyes behind his black spectacles. You couldn't help but notice the sharp curve of his jawline and his lips, which curled into a taunting smile.

His muscular, well-built body with broad shoulders and a frame so large it strained against his white polo shirt wasn't overlooked in your intense gaze.

While you couldn't deny Mr. O'Hara's physical appeal, you also couldn't overlook his status as an obnoxious individual. There was no way you'd willingly give in to him…

Unless…

No, it couldn't be what he was suggesting. You and Mr. O'Hara shared a mutual hate for each other. You were convinced he couldn't possibly be alluding to anything sexual…

Right…?

"Extra attention?" you repeated, your voice tinged with perplexity. "Professor, I'm not following. What are you talking about?"

Your gaze was locked on Mr. O’Hara, eager for him to provide further clarification, as at that moment, extra credit seemed to suggest either something of a sexual nature involving Mr. O'Hara or an entirely different proposal. Regardless…

You found yourself in a state of confusion.

Your arms were folded over your chest, your legs crossed, and your flannel skirt had unintentionally ridden up your thighs once more.

Mr. O'Hara couldn't help but chuckle once more, amused by your apparent confusion. He found it rather entertaining to witness someone who was typically so sharp-tongued and rude struggle to grasp the situation.

He had a feeling that you understood his meaning quite well but needed a little nudge in the right direction. Mr. O'Hara cleared his throat once again and looked up at you with narrowed eyes.

"You know exactly what I mean, Y/N…"

His gaze, however, began to drift down your body once more before returning to your eyes. A newfound boldness washed over him, and he decided not to hold back any longer.

He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs to reveal the prominent bulge in his black dress pants. With a toothy grin, he beckoned you over with a nod of his head.

"Why don't you come over here, and I'll show you exactly what I mean?"

He grinned at you, never breaking eye contact. Slowly, a smirk began to spread across your lips, and you realized that you were indeed correct about Mr. O'Hara's intentions.

"You horny bastard," you playfully remarked, accompanied by a chuckle. "You want me to provide you with some sexual attention, is that it?"

Mr. O'Hara's heart raced as he grappled with mixed emotions, unsure of how you were interpreting the situation. He couldn't predict your thoughts—

Did you find his proposition disgusting or perhaps believe it was all a joke?

Regret was beginning to seep in as he ventured into unfamiliar territory. The uncertainty gnawed at him, making his stomach churn with suspense and anticipation.

His anxiety transformed him into a stoic figure. His face grew rigid, his voice cold and stern. "Yes," he replied, meeting your playful gaze with serious, unwavering eyes.

"And would you assist me with my problem, Y/N? In exchange for help with your grades?"

His tone was firm and unyielding, but his nervousness remained palpable. You sat on his desk, grinning back at him, still somewhat in disbelief at his audacious request. However, the fact that you had this older, muscular man practically begging for your attention was, oddly, an ego boost.

Your eyes roamed his body, and a smirk graced your lips. You let your gaze linger on his thick, muscular thighs and the prominent bulge in his black slacks before locking onto his stern amber-red eyes behind his black spectacles.

While you didn't mind helping Mr. O'Hara if it meant improving your grades, what genuinely intrigued you was how long he had been harboring this desire. Your curiosity got the best of you.

"So, how long have you been dealing with this issue, Mr. O'Hara?" you asked, sitting back on your hands, your smirk taunting. His jaw clenched at your teasing. He disliked your games and just wanted a straightforward answer regarding your willingness to assist.

He growled, his scowl deepening. "That's none of your business," he retorted. "Do you agree to my terms or not?" You chuckled, savoring the satisfaction of getting under Mr. O'Hara's skin.

It was a peculiar delight to see how easy it was to provoke his reactions.

With your eyes trailing along his body once more, you asked, "How much is this extra credit worth? I need specifics before I get my hands dirty." Your expression was completely serious despite the playful banter.

A smirk gradually spread across Mr. O'Hara's lips; it appeared you were on board with his plan, and he intended to sweeten the deal even further.

"If you complete this “task” for me, I'll raise your 58, which you scored on my test last week, to an 80…

How does that sound, Y/N?"

Your smile broadened, and you were becoming more intrigued by this deal.

"And how much would that raise my grade to? I want to pass your course with a C, Mr. O."

Mr. O'Hara hummed in thought, considering your request. The semester was already halfway through, and with your previous performance, you were likely to receive more low grades.

He glanced up at you, his gaze fixating on your enticing thighs. His pants grew even tighter as he bit his lip.

"How about we extend our little agreement?" he proposed, causing you to smirk.

You couldn't help but wonder just how much Mr. O'Hara had been lusting after you. He seemed rather eager to proceed with his sexual intentions, even extending the time. But regardless of your curiosity, you were more interested in the new terms he proposed, so you nodded, allowing him to continue.

"I know how much you despise my work and my class, Y/N. So how about I guarantee you a passing grade for my class if you meet me here after classes for 15 minutes every other day until the semester is over?"

"So, for the next eight weeks?" you clarified, tapping your nail against his desk.

Mr. O'Hara's breath hitched, and he nodded, responding, "That'll cover the rest of this semester, Y/N."

You swung your legs, mulling over the agreement.

'This offer is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Genetics class is kicking my ass, and this could be the only way to improve my grade… for the rest of the semester too!'

You thought, your eyes meeting Mr. O'Hara's, his stern gaze solely fixed on you. He inquired, "Do you agree, Y/N?

Will you help me help you?"

A smirk gradually spread across your lips, and you nodded. How could you possibly deny him?

The deal was just too good.

"Of course, Mr. O. Who could say no to a great deal like that," you chuckled, hopping off his desk.

Mr. O'Hara was rather surprised by how readily you embraced his bold proposal. His excitement knew no bounds, and he felt no need to conceal his desires any longer. He chuckled, pushing his black spectacles up his nose, and said, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Y/N. Shall we begin?'"

You giggled, biting your lip. "Let's…" Mr. O'Hara's smirk broadened as he gestured for you to come closer. "I want you on your knees." He slid back in his computer chair, making room for you before him.

You smirked at his eagerness, confidently walking over to stand in front of him. Mr. O'Hara's eyes roamed over your entire being, taking you in.

He bit his lip, his pants tightening even more, causing a muffled groan to escape his mouth as he became increasingly turned on. You kneeled before him, looking up to meet his gaze with a teasing smile.

"You are rather naughty, Mr. O'Hara," you teased once more. "Be honest with me, it's just you and me here in this room." You giggled, biting your lip while continuing to gaze up at the large instructor. "How long have you been wanting me, hmm?" You snickered, bringing a scowl to Mr. O'Hara's lips.

He despised your teasing. He had never felt this way about anyone, especially not a student like you, and the way you kept bringing it up was pissing him off.

He roughly started to unbuckle his leather belt, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. The flaps of his black slacks opened, revealing his dark gray boxers underneath. “Stop talking,” he spat, pulling his pants down until they formed a black puddle around his feet. You snickered, tilting your head. “Why? Sensitive topic?"

Mr. O’Hara growled, leaning in closer to your face, his anger radiating from his body due to his close proximity. His amber, almost crimson eyes, covered by his black spectacles, scanned your facial features as his lips turned up into a scowl.

“I didn't give you this extra credit to hear you and your fucking mouth.”

He said with a harsh tone, his voice filled with anger and spite, despite his hidden desires for you.

You looked back at him, completely unfazed, a small laugh escaping your lips. "I know…You want me to please you. To help you…

Release…"

Your tone was seductive, and your eyes roamed over Mr. O'Hara's body. “Isn’t that right, Mr. O?” you purred.

Your seductive tone and suggestive words had a profound effect on Mr. O'Hara. His length under his boxers twitched, and he let out a groan of frustration at how restrictive his briefs were. His gaze remained cold, and his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed locked in place.

He snarled, his eyes reddening behind his frames as he studied your features. "Stop pissing me off and get to work."

He growled, leaning back in his computer chair. "Use that mouth of yours and make it useful for once."

His words caused your nose to scrunch up, and you let out a growl. You shot a piercing glare at Mr. O'Hara, whose gaze remained locked onto you. His fingernail tapped impatiently on the armrest of his chair, his usual scowl etched on his lips.

It infuriated you the way he carried himself with such arrogance, as if he were high and mighty. Yet, here he was, practically begging you for assistance with his sexual desires.

You were determined to shatter that arrogant facade.

To show him who truly held the control in this situation, because it certainly wasn't him.

You smirked up at him, a wicked glint in your eye. "Fine…" You rose up on your knees, moving closer to the center of Mr. O'Hara's thick, muscular thighs.

Even though Mr. O'Hara was staring down at you with his usual unreadable and grim expression, it was evident that your presence had a profound effect on him.

His clothed desire was painfully palpable under his dark gray boxers, straining horribly against the fabric of his pants and showcasing his unmistakable longing for you.

Mr. O'Hara bit his lip, struggling to hold back the low groan that was brewing in his chest as he watched you loop your fingers into the band of his boxers. Assisting you in undressing him, he lifted his hips slightly off the chair, allowing you to pull his briefs down.

You lowered his bottoms just enough to set his hardened and aching member free. His tanned length hastily springing out from its confines.

Mr. O'Hara licked his lips, the mere sight of you on your knees before him only made him want to shove his cock down your throat even more.

You despised Mr. O'Hara, that was a fact, but you couldn't help but regard his cock with a hint of surprise and amazement.

His member was positioned so close to your face that you didn't need to make any effort to get a taste of it. It was fully erect, substantial, and impressively large. You estimated it to be well above average, possibly reaching around 10 inches in length. A prominent vein ran along the underside of his tanned member, leading to a tinted reddish-brown tip that glistened with pre-cum.

You had to give Mr. O'Hara props…

He surprised you…

You had heard numerous times from the secret Mr. O'Hara fandoms at your college that the professor was rumored to be well-endowed. However, you dismissed these claims as mere rumors, assuming they were just fantasies for the infatuated admirers of the strict genetics professor to indulge in at night.

But it turned out that the squealing fans might have been onto something after all, because Mr. O'Hara, was indeed,

Packing…

…

"Are you going to suck it or just gawk at it the whole time?"

You jumped, your eyes snapping up to meet Mr. O'Hara, who held a smug grin on his face.

Mr. O'Hara had been observing you for a while, noticing your eyes as they traveled up and down his length repeatedly. Your mouth was slightly agape, and your eyes were wide with surprise. He couldn't help but feel his ego grow at the sight.

To witness a girl like you, known for your bitchiness, unimpressed demeanor and incessant chatter, not only rendered speechless but genuinely captivated by the sight of his cock, filled him with an overwhelming sense of pride that was beyond comprehension.

You scowled, rolling your eyes at Mr. O'Hara's comment. You gazed up at him from between his legs, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Gawk? I bet you'll like that, huh?" You chuckled, causing Mr. O'Hara to grin.

"Y/N, no need to lie. You like what you see, don't you, chica?" he remarked, his cocky demeanor shining through his words.

Mr. O'Hara was just pissing you the fuck off. He truly believed that he had you salivating over his dick.

"You wish," you snarled, glaring daggers at him from your position on the floor. Mr. O'Hara shook his head, laughing. "Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, Y/N," Mr. O'Hara mocked, leaning in close, his prideful face meeting your infuriated one. He smiled, his annoyingly perfect white, sharp canines peeking out from under his lips.

"You can drop the little bitchy, stubborn act."

He smirked, looking at your kneeled form up and down before meeting your narrowed eyes.

"We both know you are just eager to get a taste…

Just dying for my cock to fill your little mouth up, hmm, chica?"

Your gaze traveled down to his impressively large member and then back up to his taunting eyes. Your fists clenched at your sides, and your teeth ground together harshly.

You'd had enough!

You couldn't believe he'd say something so crude and arrogant.

Your face flushed in anger, your jaw clenching.

"I'm not the one who's so damn aroused they had to bait their student into pleasing them,"

You spat, full of rage, your chest heaving up and down.

"What? Your hand isn't doing the job anymore? Getting tired of using the same hand you use to grade papers to jerk off?"

You laughed, looking him up and down as you shook your head.

"And you sit here, all high and mighty, but how long have you been eyeing me, Professor? Wanting to have your way with me? Wanting to fuck me until your heart's content, hmm?"

You asked with a snicker, your eyes finally taking in Mr. O'Hara's reaction to your outburst, and what you saw made your smirk only broaden. The way Mr. O'Hara's smug grin slowly began to change and distort, turning into red fury, made you feel so satisfied.

His gaze was icy, staring intently down at you; his sharp canines completely revealed, grinding down onto his bottom teeth. He was practically seething.

"What the fuck did you just say to me!?"

Mr. O'Hara stared down at you, his blood boiling.

The nerve of you…

The audacity to say something like that to him.

He was already on the verge of snapping…

His self-control wavering when he came up with the idea to get you to stay after class for you to please him.

His self-control cracking when he actually went through with his plan.

Every cocky, snarky, and sassy remark that you uttered afterward was chipping away at the last bit of self-control he had…

And now…

After those fucking comments you just made…

Self-control was out the damn window…

His breathing was heavy, his nostrils flared, and his grip on the armrests of his chair lethal.

He glared down at the young woman in her early 20s who knelt before him. He didn't see her as a student anymore.

Someone he taught,

Someone he had to be cautious with,

gentle with,

fragile with…

Hell no…

He was blinded by rage and lust. Two horrific combinations…

And he only had one thought in his head…

That he was going to dominate and destroy this mouthy bitch and put her in her place…

A/N: Looks like you might be in for it in Part 3... 😬

Thanks for all the love that you guys have showed for my first post. It really surprised me, so thanks so much everyone!! 💙😊❤️

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman atsv #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel smut #miguel #miguel ohara fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x fem!reader #miguel x you

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