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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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SNAIL & THRUSH (II)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death, thoughts of violence, banter but it’s more just straight up attacks

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

“Can you—” An aggressive sigh sounds out over the air as your fast-walking form continues on; the earth molding to your shoes. “The area isn’t locked down this far out, Ma’am. Can you just get in the bloody car, please?”

Your eyes stare straight ahead, half-lidded, and could probably melt a sheet of metal if they had to.

Not answering, you continue to walk back into town, ignoring Gaz entirely as he attempts to coax you into the large car he’s driving. The window is down, his accented voice hitting your ears and bouncing off the invisible barrier you had put there to block out his prattle about a mile back.

You utterly refuse to enter the vehicle, even if you were already as tired as a marathon runner. The person driving followed you at a snail’s pace at his wit's end.

Stepping on gravel that crunches under your weight, your fists swing clenched beside you in small clipped arches. If volatile had a picture attached to the definition page, it would be you.

Not only had you figured out Samson Row was dead before you could kill him yourself, but now you had to deal with weapon and drug lords who had it out for you and your mother.

Under your breath, quick worded mumbles are missed over the car’s engine, the slow forward motion of tires that stir the dust and leaves you blinking quickly.

You’d both been at this ever since you’d forced your way out of the garage back on Base and had restrained yourself from making a scene because they had refused to give you your laptop back.

“Protection detail,” your lips curl, thinking over Laswell’s clipped sentences. “Like I want your help after all of this. Just open your home, why don’t you?” Sarcastic flails of your hands leave Gaz groaning and rolling his eyes at the childish scene, a hand going to rub over his neck soothingly. The attempt to bring clarity back to himself only barely works. “Just accept that we can’t keep our own operatives on a leash—but here! Just take the one that forced you into the back of a van and put a revolver to your forehead—God!”

“Are you done out there yet?” Kyle calls, single grip over his hat as he glares out the windshield, no longer wanting to look at you as your teeth bare else he’d get to the end of his rope before he even started climbing. “Bit of a walk back to town, y’know. Not exactly how I’d want to spend my morning, copy?” He mutters the last sentence under his breath.

Don’t want to spend any bloody mornings like this.

“If you tell me one more time to get into the car,” you level as you crush a weed in your way, “I’m sprinting off into the field and making you run after me.”

A long scoff and an exasperated shake of his head later, Gaz is growling an acknowledgment; tapping his fingers over the wheel. Did you not understand the severity of the situation? Hell, it was like you didn’t even care! This was his job, and he took it very seriously. There was no room for fuck-ups.

The car continues to waste gas and slug along, even if the Brit wanted to hop out and drag you into it like the stubborn brat you were acting like.

“How many years overseas?” He asks himself as your form stomps farther away before he presses his foot to the gas lightly and hears the gears squeak. He pulls up beside you moments later, lips tight. “Fuckin’ hell mate. Have a go at this.”

“I can hear you, idiot.” Your voice sounds off, face turning slightly his way. The mid-morning sun was warm, but the breeze from the not-so-far-off Lake Michigan was a welcome feeling as it went over heated skin. “Talk quieter so I don't have to.”

Kyle didn’t understand how you could wear that thick jacket, though. It was slightly chilly, sure, but not that bad out. But he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Not when you were acting like you were going to shank him in the kneecap for breathing in your direction.

“Brilliant.” He spreads his digits from where they curl over the steering wheel, shrugging his shoulders to himself mockingly. “Anything else I should know, Ma’am?”

Drive into a tree, you want to snap, but refrain. Even if seeing the Brit’s eyes go small and jaw go tight was a smirk-inducing sight, what you wanted was silence. A silence that you would probably never get now that your house was being invaded without your say.

At least it’s only him, trying to find light in the situation was your father’s specialty–not yours. Your body forces out a tight breath to calm down. Could you imagine what would have happened if Laswell had forced the one with the dead eyes to watch me? Ghost?

Your body shivers tightly. If Price was at the top of your list of people you feared, Ghost was second. You couldn’t stand to feel those blue orbs lock on you in the rear-view mirror when they’d brought you in. You already had enough ghosts living at the mansion, you didn't need another.

A few seconds later, the car beside you comes to a fast halt with a ruckus of crunching gravel. You hope for a moment the car will turn around and disappear into the background.

“...Y’know what, yeah? I’m solid walking.” The clashing of keys being ripped from an ignition makes you blink in horror, head whipping to the side to watch as the car door is shoved open.

Sergeant Kyle’s tall form greets you as your legs stall, shock coating your lungs.

“The hel–” you stop your sharp tongue. Gritted words fall instead. “And what are you doing?”

Gaz’s body goes to the back of the car, popping open the trunk and throwing out bag after bag as your jaw drops. He grasps one of the largest—a duffel bag—and slings it over his back. Two more are taken in one hand as his muscles writhe, though it looked like the apparent weight doesn't bother him much.

The Brit ignores you, striding past as his long fingers go to his right ear.

“Actual this is Bravo 2-6, I’ll be needing a pickup for a vehicle about a mile down-road. Parked near the edge. You copy?” A pause as you watch him continue on, looking back and forth from the still metal to his clenched fist over the straps of his belongings. A small sound escapes your throat. “No,” Gaz huffs a stiff laugh in response to the conversation you can’t hear. Your ear tips burn. “No, there’s not a damn thing wrong with the bastard, believe it or not.”

“Hey!” Calling loudly, you stare at the figure as it gradually gets farther away, feet spread apart and the air smelling of corroding anger saturated in lake water.

“Affirm, Actual. Will do.” Kyle smoothly utters, taking his hand off his earpiece and fixing the black cord that descends from it so it won’t get in the way of his shirt collar.

Not thinking much of your absent footsteps, the Brit’s head tilts. His ball cap blocks out the sun from his eyes yet they still squint at your practically vibrating silhouette.

“You coming then, Love? Long walk.” Your hands snap to your pockets, the one finding the small coin immediately and bringing it into a tight grip. Suddenly, Gaz’s dark Adam’s Apple was the most offensive sight you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Best get to it, then.”

You can no more say you were fighting off a string of curses more than you were struggling against the rampage of your heart. Kyle just turns back around with a small smirk growing at the apparent slackness of your jaw; brown eyes crinkling. His internal scoreboard marks a point under his name.

Staying stationary for a good minute, stance tight and mind running, Laswell's words come back to encompass your consciousness in between the seething hatred you hold as the two of you become more separated. The price on your head—the threats to your mother’s safety as well as yours.

Your thighs tighten.

For better or for worse, you had to stick close to Kyle for the simple fact that he knew more about this than you did. Trained to be a killer and not hesitant to pull the trigger of a gun for the sake of his precious orders. Even now your eyes snap to the open expanse of the military base’s outer fields; the long grass and the dark ruts in the dirt. Blinking, your tense feet slam the ground as you start forward begrudgingly.

Fine. I’m an adult. I can handle it. But…maybe getting in the car would have been better than walking beside him. Your jaw clenches, not willing to admit that small fact to the man ahead of you.

“Do you get tired of being a piece of work?” You call loudly, catching up quickly at your pace as though the man was hanging back purposely, also knowledgeable of the situation.

He couldn’t just abandon his charge.

Kyle glances at your side profile, quirking a dark brow and sloping his chin. Being this close to him made your nose scrunch at the smell of his cologne, the scent not unpleasant but ultimately still attached to him.

“Actually, Ma’am, I take it as a compliment. Means I’m doing my job.” A pause as he fixes the hold on his gear, grunting. Not able to help himself now that the opportunity presents itself. “Do you?”

Keeping a wide berth between you too, your face tilts to the sky, finding the whizzing forms of water birds and growling like a dog choking on a bullet. The hatred in the air was palpable; none too eager for the job ahead.

My protection detail, you send long glances at Kyle thinking over the title again, studying his strong back and the sharp stab of his nose as it twitches to the scent of native switchgrass seeds. Keeping your studious attention far away from his brown orbs, you peel at the sides of your nails inside your pockets. The person I need protection from is already right beside me. How ironic can my life get?

But you can’t really be surprised, after all, you had expected to see him and the others again someday. Just…not like this. In the ground would have been preferable.

As you both walk in a strangling silence, your thoughts go back to your mother; wondering if she would be okay. The woman was far more stubborn than even you—there were few things that pulled her away from her work in helping others.

Taking one hand to itch at the skin under your left eye, you stifle a yawn.

At most, you’d text each other perhaps once a month. Quick updates and brief conversations about the weather like strangers. You couldn't talk about your nightmares or your father even though she’d been informed about the accusations on her deceased husband.

You didn’t know if the CIA agents had told her the specifics about how he died when they delivered a detailed condolence letter and forced signatures of silence. It would destroy her if they did.

Maybe I’ll call her when I get my phone from my nightstand back home.

You narrow your vision. An urge to hear your mom’s soothing voice hit you like an anvil. She couldn’t make this better, but she’d certainly be able to help.

Gaz’s eyes rove and observe the land, his combat boots leaving prints behind him. But his inspections always lead him back to you. His charge. The phantom from his past that had never really been forgotten just pushed to the side in between missions. The girl who seemed to not give a damn that he was the only person able to keep her alive at this point.

The line on Kyle’s forehead deepens.

Part of him was completely fine with keeping his voice in his throat; listening to the chatter of birds and the clink of his bags’ zippers as he carried the great weight of them with no complaint. Another piece, the loose, reliable, part of him that followed procedure was hesitant to try and articulate how dire this was out loud to you because that wasn’t how this usually went.

The target on your back was no joke, even Laswell knew it. But the soldier carries the burden of detail.

Would she take me seriously if I don’t try to tell her, is the question. The Sergeant makes a noise in the back of his throat.

First impressions are a lock and seal as he was sure you were well aware.

His lips part, half a word formed before the skin gradually falls shut again. Kyle takes a glance at you once more, looking at your wound-tight form and the utter mental exhaustion on your face. Despite his reservations about you, a sliver of regret finds his heart.

You hadn’t asked for any of this, and while you weren’t giving him much slack, his dry sarcastic nature hadn’t helped either. The two of you were just good at making the other go insane, no matter how much time you did or didn’t spend together.

Kyle would never admit it, but it slightly impressed him.

“Should be back in town near o-twelve-hundred.” He clears his throat, trying to lose the bleeding of his stoic words. Make them lighter; airier. Attempt to be cordial. “If we keep this pace, of course. Then I can set up and be out of your hair for a bit.”

Your feet had come to a slow drag-legged stop. Gaz blinks, noticing from the corner of his vision, and does the same—his tightness immediately going to confusion. He looks around the area, though spots nothing out of the ordinary.

Hell, what did I say now?

But he sees your distant gaze with a stilling of his facial features, gaze falling to what you were staring quite hard at.

You blink down at the corpse near the side of the road.

Its small body was covered in dirtied feathers; colors of orange, gray, black, and white speaking through despite the obvious decay. A beak so long it took up larger space than the skull.

Belted Kingfisher.

When an animal dies the eyes are always the first to go—maggots and flies, whatnot. Soft and squishy. You don’t know why, but looking down at that small, dead, bird you longed to know what its eyes had looked like. The color, the intelligent sheen of them. Now only a black eye socket gives its voided opinions like a mute judge.

You’d spotted it quite by accident, just looking over the landscape as the Brit tried to speak to you. A breeze ruffles the feathers that are left over the frail being and you find for the first time in a long while your head is completely silent.

Your muscles loosen.

“...Ma’am?”

Violently flinching, the brief contact to your shoulder is snapped back in an instant, Kyle going to splay the offending hand in a sign of no harm. Dark eyebrows tight. Taking down a full breath, you miss the concern in the Sergeant’s expression, the steady look. There’s a moment when the world holds its air; the animals nearby fall wholly still as the wind carries every unsaid word better than you can annunciate it.

Your stomach rolls at the reminder of his touch, even through layers of clothes. Gaz murmurs a question of which you ignore.

Shoving past him, on your way past his tilted face you growl upwards, “Keep your hands off of me, Garrick.”

You increase your walking speed, trying with all of your might to fight the impending explosion of anger and anxiety. It was like your hands wanted to grip him by his neck, shove him down to the floor and let him know what it felt like to hurt the way you do. For a moment glimpse the life draining from his amber optics.

But any sort of physical pain, or even death, could never amount to knowing what you’d gone through. Not to mention you’d probably get your ass handed to you in mere seconds.

Staring after with wide, creased, eyes, the Brit waits for a moment before he looks down at the small bird carcass you were entranced by moments prior.

His head tilts, lungs filling.

“...Poor bugger.” He frowns and observes the way you quickly walk on with emotion on his lips. Gaz sighs and shakes his head, raising a brow back down at the now-soulless body as the telltale signs of a migraine start to pulse. “Recon I’ll be ending up like you in a bit, Mate.”

He catches up easily, even with the weight of his bags and you have to wonder how anyone thought that this was a good idea.

The devil beside you walks so far removed from normal life that it astounds you, and the rest of the trip is stuck in an uncomfortable silence reserved for those who dislike one another.

Town can’t come soon enough, and you’re stopping at Hector’s Café along the way to your Estate.

“It’s best to go straight back,” you thin your lips and slip into the building, the door creaking behind you as Gaz waits at the entrance. “I need to secure the property ASAP.”

“You’ll get to wreck my home all you want in an hour.” Your backpack was on the main counter, and you walked to it slowly; drawing out the Sergeant's annoyance as much as you could. If you can’t hurt him physically at the moment, mentally was just as good a substitute. “I need my backpack.”

“Oh, you mean the one that left a dent in my skull.”

“Yes. I think I’ll end up keeping it as a family heirloom. Frame it maybe.”

“Ah, Lovely. Glad I can be a part of such a defining moment.” Strap in hand and a sarcastic retort on your breath, a great ruckus sound off from the backroom.

Before you can react your jacket sleeve is being pulled sideways, a form shoving itself in between you and the kitchen door. Your eyes widen, feet stumbling to a stop before adrenaline stabs itself into your heart.

“Son of a bitch!” Rushing out, Hector wields a skillet in one hand—raised halfway above his head with a rabid snarl. “You!” He points it at Kyle, who has a small pistol gripped in his hands; bags haphazardly dropped back near the entrance. Your lips pull to a smirk when the Brit’s ready stance lessens. His wide shoulders lower like a dog’s neck fur. “You think I don’t know a government conspiracy when I see it! I lived in Jersey, motherfucker! What have you done with ‘er?”

“Hector,” you peek over Garrick’s shoulder as the Sergeant spares you a look. “Easy with that, man….Aim for the throat, though, would you?”

The skillet lowers, bright eyes landing on you while yours stick to his growing smile and twitching mustache.

“Kid!” Loud laughs echo. “Holy hell, you scared the shit out ‘o me this morning. What was that all about?”

“Misunderstanding, Sir.” Gaz tries to explain, placing the pistol back into the belt of his pants as you clock it before stepping out from his shadow. It looked like an X12 to you.

When did he get that, your eyebrows tighten and store that thought for later. There might be a chance to use that against him if you could get your hands on it.

The Café owner glares at the Sergeant as you fix the backpack strap over your shoulder. “Did I ask you, Son? I’m speakin’ to the lady.”

“An Ex.” You lie smoothly, feeling Kyle’s shocked eyes on you instantly. Itching at the back of your neck, you feign embarrassment. “Cheated on me in high school. When he showed up, well…I did what I’d wanted to do for a while.”

Letting the sentence trail, you were excited for what came next. Genuine giddiness builds in your lungs; fighting a smile as the Brit stutters beside you. Gaz’s eyebrows pull up even higher.

“Cheated…” Hector’s accent becomes more prominent as you twist on a heel and begin heading to the door—only then do you anchor a hand to your mouth to stop the belly-deep laughter. “Oh, you’ve some nerve, showin’ back up, Son. How dare you make her see your face—!”

“Sir, I, bloody hell, I’m not—” Gaz grumbles, shooting heated glances at your disappearing form. “This isn’t….” Stuttering like a rookie. Everything in VIP Protection Training and his copious years in the army was pulling null.

But no one was ever pulling his strings like you and it’s only been a few hours.

“See you, Hec!”

“Hey! Come get this piece of trash out of my building.” Your face turns sideways, and Kyle notices the smirk immediately. His chest goes heavy with a wave of seething anger.

“C’mon then, Kyle. You heard the man, didn’t you?”

If looks could melt people like gold, you would be a puddle of great Midas's curse before your skin hit the air outside, kicking the Sergeant’s bags away with a foot.

Oh…she’s wicked, she is. The steps he takes are firm, a great cloud over his head as he re-situated his cap with taut fingers and grunts aggressively under his breath. Insulting him directly was one thing, but the chips at his character were cruel. Can I even do this? Hmm, Laswell might still be able to pull me out, let me join back up with the boys.

But everyone was counting on him for this and his stubborn side knew that he’d gone through far worse than a few verbal attacks. Physical strength was needed for this job, but many overlook the larger aspect. And if there was a single thing that Kyle Garrick was prideful about, it was his mental fortitude. Rare were the times that rigorous interrogation even put a dent into his psyche.

“Just hold out,” he grumbles, ignoring the Cafe owner’s now-known disgust and picking up his bags. Gaz almost felt regretful for being so swift to place his body in front of a possible threat but scolded himself for thinking that immediately. This was his job. “She’s just scared, yeah? Doesn’t want to be around the bloke who,” he slightly cringes and lets the building’s front door close behind him, seeing your jacket ahead and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Who shoved her in a fucking van and put a gun to her head…Christ, Kate, what were you thinking assigning me to this?”

For the remainder of the small journey, Gaz stayed behind you, calming down as your enjoyment of his torment swiftly ended. Small victories weren't worth it, especially when the Brit says nothing in retaliation. Did your little dig at his character really insult him that much? It wasn’t the worst thing you had thought you could say. Not by a long shot.

Sure it seemed that you could piss him off, even if he never snapped and exploded with anger—he didn’t seem the type beyond back-handed comments—but if he didn’t respond it made no difference.

You…you wanted to hurt him. Make Garrick suffer. You just didn’t know how to do it effectively, or if you could. Now you knew, though, that attacks on his person and morals were the way to go for quick results of muteness.

The iron gate of your home was up ahead, and with a delving of fingers, you produced a key from your back pocket, moving your wallet out of the way to grasp it firmly.

I want them all to suffer. Your mind wanders as you twist the lock, hearing the metal shriek at you in figurative suffering. Blinking, the shadow behind you causes your body to be hyper-aware. A plan forms grimly, and you have to think if you even have the courage to try it.

“Hm,” you huff, shoving open the gate and calling over your shoulder. “Close it behind you!” Tossing back the key.

Kyle catches it, you know, because of the small thump of material meeting a ready palm. A moment later you’re walking through a path of weeds and overgrown bushes, eyes scanning the hedges blandly. You hear the gate close and a moment later, footsteps.

Gaz twirls the key in between his fingers, trying not to say something about the state of the place. But his brown vision roves from one area to another with muted shock.

Didn’t expect this.

Everything was falling into disrepair, even the gargantuan mansion of white and black coloring which normally would have been a grand sight to anyone with sense. Windows were all shut, the lawn looking more like a forest; the concrete underfoot was layered with dirt and insects—grass bleeding into the cracks.

What should have been a multiple-million-dollar home was looking more like an abandoned lot.

Kyle turns his confused stare to the back of your head, looking down at the key in hand.

“Past its prime, I’ll say that.” He speaks to himself, keeping his manners despite the discourse between the two of you.

It was one thing to bark back and forth like animals, but another to involve the place where one lives. But, your family was well off. There was no reason for it to look like this.

“Any staff I should be aware of, then?” he needs to ask as you ascend the front steps to the double doors. “Gardeners,” Garrick glances quickly at the greenery and coughs, “or, butlers, maids…anything like that”

“Everyone quit because of the publicity.” Your voice is unusually distant, and you push aside a raggedy welcome mat to produce another key. This one is smaller and rustier, belonging to the main entrance. “Shocker, people didn’t like being harassed on their way to work by camera crews and news anchors. Didn’t hire after that.”

Kyle’s feet shift, a strange feeling entering his skin as he blinks at you.

You slip through the doorway first and immediately dart to the side table to the direct right—dropping your backpack dismissively with a quick, yet silent, slam. Heart jumping, your adrenaline spikes.

Normally the small table would be reserved for purses and other small belongings, but before Gaz can come into the mansion you grab the slick body of a penknife and shove it into your sleeve with twitching fingers. Eyes snapping to the corners of the large foyer and looking over the gray walls and navy curtains. Creaking hardwood.

“Nice place you got ‘ere,” Kyle tries to lighten the mood, if not for your stubborn sake than for his. Easier to get the job done if at least one person was willing to engage, and he’s willing to attempt it again. The bags in his hand are carefully placed down.

A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards.

“Been in the family forever.” You slowly slip the blade out, trading weight from one hip to another and keeping it hidden. “Not really mine, at the end of the day.”

The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting.

A slight relief at the non-confrontational action lets Gaz force out a chuckle.

“Lots of places like that over in England—you have to wonder how they’re still standing, eh? Solid foundations.” A pause. “Proper interesting pieces of history.”

Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows.

You stop fidgeting, all thoughts for a moment stilling. What had he said?

“You—” Stopping yourself, you turn and tilt your head in his direction, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks around the stairs to the second level and the small seating areas. Your voice echoes like it usually does; like a ghost unwilling to go to rest. Kyle closes the door behind him with one hand, only looking at you directly when it’s fully shut.

“What’s that, Love?”

Your feet rearrange over the rug.

“You’re…interested in that kind of stuff?” Kyle sees your hands clench but thinks nothing of it. His curiosity fills his lungs when he becomes familiar with the deadly expression on your face.

The material of his clothes moves as he shrugs, turning his gaze away when he knows it makes you uncomfortable. Gaz wasn’t ignorant—he knew you didn’t like looking people in the eye. As his orbs find the dusty and dim chandelier hanging dangerously above them, he notices your eyes now settle back on him.

“Not overly, but I can say History was one of my best subjects back in Secondary Education—erm,” his lips pull tight, a tiny pinch of a smirk on his face, “high school as you call it.”

You fiddle with the weapon secretly, unblinking vision stuck to Kyle’s feet. His comment made you think about the assignments you still had to complete for college; the papers to write. After all, if you flunked out of all the courses, you’d never be able to take your father's place at the museum. It was your ultimate goal, at the end of the day. Become like him.

The inability to move made your teeth bite down, but common sense won over. You place your hand into your pocket and slip the penknife inside, your other holds itself out loosely.

I have to be smarter than that. Discreet.

But you really wished you could have slid the blade home.

“Key.” Gaz nods, moving over and dropping it into your awaiting clutch before you rip it away and toss it to the side table.

“Ma’am,” the Sergeant’s face twists, but you’re already stalking past him, going off deeper into the house. Brown eyes follow. “I know you don’t want me here,” his voice bounces at the stark emptiness of the mansion, “but the only reason I’m staying is to keep you safe. I’m not expecting you to—”

“East wing is all yours.” You’re halfway up the stairs and still going, feet silently stomping over the various moth-eaten rugs. But the man cannot see your face as he’s left with a line on his forehead and a blunt frown on his lips. So much for your few seconds of compliance. He’d thought he was getting somewhere.

“I’d rather be closer. Encase there’s—” Again, he’s cut off. There’s going to be a lot of that.

“Keep to it after your little exploration. And don’t try anything, my father installed security cameras.” You didn’t give away that you didn’t know how to operate them, but that was beside the point.

Reaching the top, you head to the west and disappear down a hallway. Kyle hears one last comment bounce.

“I leave at eight every morning!” He’s left alone with only faint light and silent walls.

But, with a shake of his head and the grabbing of bags at his feet, he can’t say he’s surprised.

Looking about, Kyle takes in the lack of personality and blandness all around, forgetting for a moment that this home once belonged to a late museum director. He had expected more character—more expression. Certainly more light.

This place was at a stand-still, like time didn’t begin or end in this house and it simply was.

He sighs, nodding. He’d just have to work with it. “East wing. Brilliant.”

His mind still held doubts about this—had ever since Price had given him the order straight from Kate. How can you protect someone that rightly hates your guts? You had more of a chance of tearing him a new one than he did of getting you to cooperate. And that was saying something, considering he was professionally trained in hand-to-hand.

Again, Gaz had to ask himself if he was capable of doing this job. He thinks back to that mission three years ago, expression pulling tight as he jogged up the stairs and took a swift right.

He regretted what had happened, yes, but at the end of the day, it was just another target who had gotten what he deserved. It was what the Sergeant did—got his hands dirty to clean up messes and keep everyone else safe.

Your father couldn’t have been any more of a good influence than a bad one. Gaz had seen the file on him. The countless dead.

He wasn’t a good man, how couldn’t you see that?

“Mate, that was her fuckin’ father.” Growling, that sliver of civilian common sense slithers back in like a rope around his neck when he goes deeper into the house, past various open doors that show meeting rooms, libraries, offices, and art rooms. No bedrooms yet. “Christ, you’re losing it. Man got his bloody head blown off right in front of ‘er.”

When had he become so desensitized to this?

His brown eyes glared at the floor when he realized he couldn’t remember being horrified by anything he had seen in the last few years.

Death was death—didn’t matter how bloody it was, or how drawn out. At the end, all of it was just red.

But he’d never taken a moment to think about how that would be for someone like you. Unused to violence. There was a grand question that Garrick still didn’t know the answer to. Were you a hostage in that little stunt, or were you just leverage?

The Captain knew the answer—leverage. There was never any intention to actually pull the trigger on you. Kyle would have flatly refused if there had been, as would Soap. Ghost was still an enigma, but part of the Sergeant wanted to believe that he didn’t want that either.

Samson Row.

An overwhelming hatred struck the back of his skull as he entered the first room he saw with a bed in it, setting his bags on the covers and pushing his fingers to his nose bride. Eyebrows pull in.

No use getting like this over a dead man. Stay focused.

His fingers had only just begun to toss off the duffel bag from over his back when he first saw it.

His hands paused, body going as still as a stick when he breathed in tightly.

It was a portrait of your family. Picturesque. Mother on the left father on the right, and you—younger, of course—in the middle. Gaz blinks away to study the rest of the room.

It was incredibly large, with chairs and a couch covered by white cloth to imitate oddly-shaped ghosts and the same navy curtains over a wall of nearly all window panes. And yet no personal belongings other than the picture.

Brown eyes filter back, staring long at the small girl with a wide smile; the mother with a hand on her shoulder, and the father looking down at his daughter with a nearly missed look of adoration. Garrick half expected the image to bed down and kiss you on the forehead.

Looking away with a clenched jaw, he huffs.

Wordlessly, the Sergeant once more grabs his belongings and walks out the door.

—

You shook above the bathroom toilet, your breaths a heaving mess of warring instincts. Take down air or let the swirling of your gut cease—the offers were tempting. You’d been in here for most of the day, knees grinding into the tile with the efficiency of a blunt chisel; clothes ruffled as your jacket lay tossed on the floor back in your dark room.

Throwing your empty stomach up.

Struggling to think over the day, you force yourself back from the white porcelain, shuffling on jerking legs to rest your back on the opposite wall.

“He’s in my house. Oh, Dad, one of them is in your house.” Fingers weave through locks and clench tight, hitched words loud in the silence you’d grown to comply with like an old God. Cryptid horrors that stalk the hallways that you see from the corners of your eyes, ghosts that won't leave. “I couldn't do it, why couldn’t I just try?”

The penknife. It would have been instantaneous.

But you knew deep down you’d never even be able to get close.

Sweating and panting, you can almost hear him walking the halls, studying the layout with invasive digits. A parasite. And you’d just let him in.

The price on your head was scary, sure, but there was already a threat in your very home; learning the rooms like he had any right to be here—like he knew the memories that lived in the walls. Holidays were spent in the main living room, meals made as a family in the kitchen as the butlers watched with happy eyes. The man-made pond in the back behind a wall of green trees because your mother loved to watch the birds.

This house was generations of your very bloodline. Stories along every surface. History.

“He can’t be here.” You gasp, curling inward as you try and suck down larger breaths. Trying to calm yourself down with reassurance. “He’ll leave soon. He has too. He will.”

Just wait until Mom gets back, she’ll make them go away. The thought makes air return to your lungs; shaking come to a drawn-out ceasing point. Blinking, you let your hands fall to your lap, body slouching forward. She’ll make it all go away.

When you find the strength to rise, your feet only stumble slightly, propelling you out of the bathroom towards your bare-bones room. A bed, nightstand, dresser, and couch are the only articles of furniture seen outwardly; a fireplace set into the wall with a rug by it. Curtains drawn closed and smelling of charcoal and old linens.

Peeling back paint, you stare heavily at the nightstand’s drawer, seeing the copper handle and thinking. But you shake your head and dispel the thoughts.

The acidic taste in your mouth made you smack your lips, almost enough to make you want to gag again. But as easily as the high of injected panic came, it went with a low of immeasurable depths. Still, though, your fingers twitched with unruly nerves; anxious at every creak in the wood outside the door.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Exiting your room, your socked feet know where to step so the wood doesn’t talk back at you, one hand rubbing up and down your face to bring the aliveness back. You needed coffee. Something with caffeine or an immensely high sugar content to keep the rest of this at bay.

As you turn a corner, your stomach grumbles, sweatpants bunched at your ankles. Food too, you decided.

Walking through the large, arched, entry to the kitchen, you make your way through in complete blackness. You frown, though aren’t surprised you’d spent most of the day inside your room—past the fabric barrier, the hidden French doors to the patio let in the faint light of a dying sun.

Around seven, if you had to guess. The loss of time to you should have been concerning, but you had in fact grown used to it.

Year number one after your father’s death was…really nothing more than a blank slate. But you didn’t want to remember any of that, truth be told.

Stumbling to the fridge, you grip the handle and pull.

“Bit late for supper.” Yelling, you jerk your hand back and whip to the shadow in the entrance.

The light snaps on with a flick of a finger, and the sheepish smile on Gaz’s face leaves vexation perforating the large room.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Do you mind, Garrick?” Your eyes go to his chest, looking away just as quickly when you spot he’d taken off his outer later and was only in the white t-shirt that hugs his physique. The army pants still remained. “What are you even doing down here? I told you to stay on your side.”

“Not really able to do my job from the corner, yeah?” He walks closer, noticing the layer of dust over the gas stove, and raises a brow; wisely knowing not to comment. “Heard you comin’ down, thought I’d make sure everything was solid.”

“I’m fine.” You take out an old carton of milk, nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the interior. Kyle’s eyes narrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now leave.”

You were too tired for this.

Slamming the milk back into the fridge and closing the door, you plan to make the trip back to your room on an empty stomach. Kyle clears his throat, seeing an opportunity presenting itself.

I have to get her to at least tolerate me.

He’d take every occasion he could get.

“How about I have a go at it?” He speaks quickly as you freeze in the entryway, light from the kitchen spilling out into the hall. “Sandwiches?”

Your gaze stays dead ahead, numbly stuck to the paint of the wall as if it was going to move and entrap you. Lips pulling back you feel your heart skip a beat.

Kyle continues, hopeful.

“Can’t say I'm an expert at it, but I spent a good few weeknights fixin’ my own meals on Base.” You can hear him moving behind you, opening the fridge back up, and grabbing the few items you had that weren't expired. Opening cupboards that your father opened. Grabbing pans that your mother made eggs in. “...Ma’am? That alright?”

Your eye flinches minutely, cheek pulling upward in response. Yet the churning in your stomach was volatile, and if you went another hour without food you’d probably be passing out every time you stood up. What harm was there in taking advantage of the man? A meal was a meal, and you’d only had coffee today anyways.

Saying nothing, you take one step backward and pivot.

Gaz watches in shock, not expecting you to take him up on his offer. By the heat in your eyes, he supposed you wished you didn’t.

I didn’t see her at all after she disappeared into her room—not even when I was doing a sweep. The Sergeant had memorized the entire mansion layout in only two hours, going into every room except the one that had been closed tight. Yours.

It wasn’t hard for him, though it was tedious the fourth run of the place. He’d counted every window and every entrance or exit door and had locked every one that led outside.

But he kept re-walking past that closed door; his feet taking him back even as his mind stayed focused.

Gaz’s hand had been poised to knock at one point during that time period but had only stayed stationary before it fell back down to his side. It was best not to push too hard. Inch before the mile.

In the kitchen, he sees you slip onto the island bar stool, always keeping a side-eye on his hands as they dig through sparse ingredients.

Egg sandwich it is, then.

Your voice rasps out, “I don’t remember ‘cook’ being in the detail description.”

“Well, I sure hope it wasn’t.” Kyle chortles. His brown optics spare you a quick dart, seeing your form tense over the marble countertop as he swishes away dirt from the stove; placing a pan on top. You seem subdued…fingers twitch over the handle before his eagerness to earn your favor slowed. Sickly.

Your skin is sunken, eyes blinking fast and snapping back and forth at every sound his body makes as if he’d pounce on you. Keeping an ever-heavy glare to where his pistol was sitting in the clutch of his belt—visible from over his shirt.

The Brit swallows and looks back.

“My job’s just to make sure you live another day, yeah?” The man’s voice lowers and you look to the coffee bar near the abandoned family table. “I’ll be in the background the entire time.” Leaving the chair, you go to it and speak as the sound of cracking eggshells hits your ear like a caving skull.

“I have rules.”

Garrick nods firmly, but you don’t see it as you open a bag of fresh grounds and grab a mug.

“Copy, Ma’am. It’s your house—I’ll follow what I’m told.” He shifts his arms into a crossed position and leans back against the island as the eggs sizzle. You know he wants to say more, and too tired to care to give a retort or interrupt him, you let Gaz continue. “But I’m not willing to let that interfere with my mission. Any order I’m given’ll override what you tell me if it has to, even if it’s dodgy.”

You watch dark liquid fill the coffee pot in a deluge of blackness like a wave of ink, and with that inkiness, the pit in your stomach gets larger.

You could always poison him. Your eyes blink, hearing the slight beep of the machine in front of you as you grip your mug.

Nightshade.

“Well, then,” Kyle looks for plates and finds a stack in a cupboard near the entrance. “What do I need to know, Ma’am?”

Hemlock.

“I don’t like people messing with my things,” you level, filling your cup to the brim as Gaz takes the pan off the heat; putting out the flame. “Stay out of my room and the room next to it if you insist on walking around.”

Choosing the opposite end of the wide island, you put your cup down and sit. A plate with a piece of bread with the yellow and white sight of scrambled eggs is slid into view. Kyle does what’s best and goes as far away from you as possible to eat his fill as well.

The built man stands.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, “I’ll be taking a look around every day, but I doubt anyone would try and break in.”

The fingers which had picked up a small piece of egg paused with it halfway to your mouth.

Castor Bean.

“Why do you say that?”

“The curtains.” You spare a glance at his nose, watching him take a bite out of the bread and act like the answer was obvious. He swallows and you follow the action with a tight throat. “Erm, no offense, Ma’am,” you raise a brow slowly, “but am I safe to assume you never open them? Least, not all the way?”

“What do you think?” You eat your food and take a long sip of your drink, downing half the mug in one go. You really just wanted him to disappear like a bad dream.

Large quantities of Daffodil.

“Less of a chance of anyone else knowing where your room is—would take too long to figure out. Wasting time like that isn’t how foreign cells operate…quick and easy, y’know?... Any others?” Kyle finishes his plate quickly, moving to place it in the sink; not wanting to dwell on the comment.

You take a few bites of your own, wondering silently how he can eat so quickly, and nod.

“If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, leave me alone.”

The air thickens.

Kyle blanks as you continue eating slowly, taking brief intermissions between bits to sip down more coffee. The tired moments of your sluggish eyes and twitching fingers. You don’t think to explain further, content to hear in those few moments absolutely nothing besides the beating of your own heart.

Rosary Pea. Induces tremors, high heart rate, and burning in the back of the throat. Fatal.

Your mother also liked her plants, though you doubted the fauna in the back garden was still alive. You hadn’t bothered to keep it up after the gardener quit.

“I’m…not following.” Gaz scratches at his chin, face pulled back in confusion, lightly shaking his head. “Screaming?”

“Screaming.” Taking the empty plate, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “In the night. I was quite clear.” A devious smirk whittles itself over your flesh like wood. “You’ve heard my scream before, you’ll recognize it. Sound carries.” Dismissively you toss your free hand. “As I said, it’s an old property.”

Gaz tries his best to not engage, but the words he’d been wanting to tell you slither off his tongue after a moment's thought. He had to make you understand. Strain forms again.

His head shakes with a slight parting to his lips. No matter what, every conversation always led back to an argument. “Do you think this is a joke?”

You’re walking back to your seat with the coffee pot in hand, scooping up your mug with the intention of bringing both back to your room.

You don’t answer right away, causing the man to call your name sternly; seriously.

“I hate you. That’s not a joke.” Your words bounce, not at all hollow like the wound in your heart. Violent and utterly true.

You didn’t want this man around—you didn’t want him in your house, you didn’t want him in your city, you didn’t want him living.

Walking off, the suffocating air trails after you as you disappear into the darkness, avoiding the truth.

But this situation is not a joke. Not at all, but you can never say that out loud. Where would your thin bit of control go? The brief moments of pleasure when you make Kyle’s patience and lax nature devolve into annoyance—even anger.

The words follow after you in a deep, aggravated, sigh.

“Yeah, trust me, Love, I’m well aware.”

Cold was a day in hell before you admitted to this boy you were terrified.

But how many more days could you keep that act up? Three? Five? Ten? How long was this even going to go on?

Your mind was scattered, torn between duty and self-preservation. Killing the Sergeant would lead you down a dark path, one you weren't sure you could take by yourself. But was that justice?

Is that what Dad would want? You have to ask yourself as you make your way back to your room in pitch blackness, guided only by the old walls of a home even more dented and destroyed than you were.

But the worst part was that you didn’t even know the answer anymore. And everybody who could help was limited to a stray cat that didn’t like you and a mother who left you here alone during your darkest moments.

The house was filled with ghosts, but you’d never felt more alone.

TAGS:

@fatunn, @mh073099, @littlegaypng, @untitled69555, @babybooday, @caffeine-anxiety-and-randomfacts, @underrated-youngster, @jupiterredolent, @idocarealot, @karnellius, @latteisaqueen, @petrat97, @jade-jax, @roosterr, @escapefromrealitysm, @renaich, @kysa32, @human-turtle, @aurora-basin, @terumisworld, @violet-phantoms, @xxfeelmylovexx, @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan, @20forty9, @mdjenjen, @marrianena, @angeldaisyy, @alhaizen, @homicidal-slvt, @emerald-valkyrie, @raissadoesthingslmao, @misfne, @hollyhopesworld, @wasteland-babe, @330bpm-whiplash, @anna-banana27, @justherebecausesafarisucks, @sunnynomoar, @doggydale, @thecrispypotatochip, @74478328, @blueoorchid, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dragonfruit1985, @chestnutsandcurls, @vamqyr3, @lavalleon, @nebula67, @urfavsunkissedleo

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janaispunk · 6 months

Text

carve your name into my bedpost

series masterlist • this is part II

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

a/n: I have nothing to say for myself. The murder daddy brain rot is very real, and I was ovulating while writing most of this.

word count: ~5k

summary: Your vacation with Dave is going great. So great that you decide to rile him up, just a little bit. What’s the worst that could happen, right?

warnings: explicit 18+ content, mdni! bits of angst, bits of fluff, dubious morals (Dave is cheating on his wife), age-gap implied, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, rough sex, semi-public touching, sir kink, degradation kink, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control in my head, but it’s not mentioned in the fic), brat taming, dirty talk, Dave is a menace, face & pussy slapping, handcuffs, knife play, spit kink, a hint of somnophilia, idiots in love, let me know if I missed any!

You wake up to the feeling of fingers drawing shapes over your naked stomach, occasionally dipping down between your legs, then travelling back up. Your back is pressed against Dave’s bare chest, your hips flush with his. One of his fingers slides up to your breasts and slowly traces around a nipple, just teasing, never touching the tip, only circling around it.

You give a little whine and hear Dave chuckle into your hair. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he whispers and switches to your other breast, continuing his teasing. You squirm against him, rolling your hips into his and you feel his cock swelling against your backside. “Good morning,” you sigh happily and twist your neck to let your lips brush against Dave’s.

He takes hold of your chin and kisses you deeply as his other hand slips between your legs again, lazily toying with your clit, your moans being swallowed by his mouth. His fingers dip deeper, prodding at your entrance, swirling through the slick that has already gathered there.

“Always so wet for me,” he murmurs and you can feel him smiling against your mouth, “so eager for everything I give you.” He thrusts two fingers into you and you whine, angling your hips to take them deeper. “Been such a good girl for me last night, took me so well.”

You already feel breathless, your sleep-addled brain still trying to catch up with everything that’s happening right now and you clench around his fingers at the praise, causing him to chuckle.

“Gonna give you a little reward.”

He feels sweeter like this, softer than usual, not as demanding. He trails kisses across your neck and you moan more freely, getting lost in the sensations all over your body. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you almost start to protest, but he presses another kiss against your opened mouth and flips you onto your back, seating himself between your legs.

He dives in before you can even fully register what’s happening, licking a long stripe up your pussy and then sucking your clit into his mouth. You cry out, your hands flying to his head and threading your fingers through his messy morning hair.

“Holy fuck Dave, oh my god-“

You barely get the words out, your mind already lost in a haze of pleasure. He hums against your clit, the vibration causing your hips to buck and he places his forearm over your stomach, holding you down as he slips two fingers back inside of you and curls them slightly. Your thighs start quivering and you’re already embarrassingly close to an orgasm. “Please don’t stop, I’m gonna-“ you pant and he groans against you, adding a third finger and pressing down on your lower abdomen.

“Show me how pretty you come for me, wanna taste you doll, come on.”

He sucks on your clit again and your eyes roll back into your head as you pulse around his fingers and soak him, your orgasm washing over you.

You’re still trembling with the aftershocks as he pulls his fingers out of you and presses them against your lips. You open your mouth obediently, almost an instinct at this point, and suck on them, your tongue swirling around and tasting yourself until his fingers are cleaned of your juices.

“Good girl,” he praises before his lips find yours again, licking into your mouth, so you can taste yourself on his tongue as well.

His erection is prodding against your entrance and even though you just came, you feel desperate to have him inside of you. “Please,” you whisper, grinding against him. He doesn’t mock you, doesn’t make you beg, just keeps devouring your mouth as he lines himself up and slides into you in one hard thrust, making your walls flutter around him. You swallow each other’s moans and he starts pounding into you, his hand traveling down to tease your nipples and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in deeper.

It feels like your first orgasm has barely subsided when the tension is already building up again and you’re clenching around him. He starts rubbing your still overstimulated clit and you cry out, another orgasm tearing through your body. Dave groans loudly, sounding almost surprised as his hips come to a stuttering halt and he spills himself inside of you.

“Good morning, indeed,” you giggle as he slides out of you, collapses beside you and pulls you into his warm body. The soft laugh that rumbles up in his chest has butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He holds you pressed against him and you revel in breathing him in, hints of expensive perfume clinging to him, but mostly it’s just his own deliciously masculine scent, more intense after just waking up. You burrow your face in his neck and breathe in deeply, his arms tightening around you.

“You sleep well?” he asks softly and you hum against his skin.

“Got woken up pretty well, too,” you allow yourself to tease and he pinches your side, causing you to giggle again. Your hear his responding chuckle and smile to yourself.

You’re not used to him being in such a good mood, how he’s so much less tense than usual and how the air around him somehow feels lighter. It feels good to experience him like this, it feels… right. Even more butterflies take flight inside of you and you try your best to swallow the feeling down. No matter how good it feels, you can’t allow yourself to get used to this.

While you take a shower, Dave orders breakfast via room service and you decide to eat on the balcony and enjoy the view from there. Sitting in the early morning light with the sound of the waves in your ears and your face turned towards the sun, you can’t stop smiling.

You sip on your coffee and catch Dave staring at you with an expression in his eyes that you can’t place. Almost a little… reverent? His gaze feels heavy on your skin.

“So, what is the plan for today?” you ask, desperate to break the sudden tension, and start nibbling on a croissant that might be one of the best that you’ve ever tasted. Dave shrugs, tearing his eyes from you and looking out at the sea that’s stretching out in front of you.

“I was thinking we could spend the day on the beach, if you want to?” Your face lights up and you nod eagerly - you have been dreaming about swimming in that turquoise water since you first saw it yesterday.

You put on an extremely skimpy white bikini and Dave eyes you hungrily, making a remark about how the color suggests that you’re a lot more innocent than you actually are.

“But we both know that’s not true, now don’t we, doll?” he murmurs into your ear, toying with the straps and causing goosebumps to rise on your neck, as he’s very thoroughly mapping out every inch of your skin with his hands. He’s kneading your breasts until you’re a mess in front of him, already soaking through your bikini bottoms, before he moves on to your legs.

“I could’ve gone a lot harder on you last night. Think you should thank me,” he tells you as his hands massage your ass cheeks, still bruised from his rough touch yesterday, and dip between your legs briefly, causing you to whimper a “Thank you, sir” that makes him laugh.

“Such a needy little thing. So easily distracted.”

When you finally make it down to the beach, you’re instantly mesmerised by the sheer beauty of it all. The sand under your bare feet is pleasantly warm from the sunlight and the waves are louder down here.

There are only a few other hotel guests, already lounging on sun beds and not paying the both of you any mind. Dave leads you to two sun beds somewhere close to the far end and you happily sit down, letting the sun sink into your skin. Your eyes repeatedly flick to Dave, the sight of the golden skin on his bare torso and sheer broadness of him leaving you a little breathless.

You barely manage to sit still for five minutes before you jump up again. “Come swim with me?” you ask hopefully, stretching your hand out towards him. He just looks at you for a moment, his eyes roaming over your body and a small smile playing on his lips. Then he grabs your hand and lets you pull him up and towards the water. You squeal in delight as the waves touch your feet and you turn back to beam at him. That smile is still on his face, but he isn’t paying attention to the waves lapping at his feet or the beautiful scenery around him. His eyes are firmly trained on you.

It draws you in, the intensity of his gaze, and you take a few steps back, towards him, loop your hands around his neck and pull him into a kiss. “Thank you for this,” you whisper again, because you really can’t say it often enough and he shakes his head, still smiling.

“Already told you that you deserve it.”

You still can’t believe that he really thinks that and you could very easily spiral about how it’s all too much and what it all means, but you push those thoughts away, at least for now. You’re in the most beautiful place you’ve ever been to, with the -let’s face it- most attractive man you’ve ever seen, and you should let yourself enjoy it.

You can worry about this later, when you’re both back home, you alone in your small apartment and him in his suburban house with this family. God damn it, you think to yourself and bite your lip. Just be thankful for what it is.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning in closer to you, his thumb gently prying your bottom lip out from beneath your teeth. “Where’d you go there, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, looking around and taking your surroundings back in. It’s so beautiful. He is so beautiful. You want to be happy, so you should be happy. Your lips pull upwards again. “Nowhere,” you smile and turn back around, pulling him into the water with you.

The sea feels amazing, the temperature refreshing but not so cold as to be uncomfortable and the turquoise water is flowing around you in gentle waves. You let go of his hand and dive in, taking a long stroke, diving under the surface and coming back up again, shaking the water out of your eyes. You can’t help the laugh bubbling up inside of you when you turn back around to Dave.

He’s still standing where you left him, watching you, that same look in his eyes that you saw earlier. The tension between you is back, a sort of crackling energy, and you don’t like how it makes you long for him. Not just his body, but everything. Him.

Desperate to break that tension, you paddle back to him, looking for a way to wipe that look from his face. “You gonna get in, or what?” you ask, and when he doesn’t answer fast enough, you splash a healthy amount of water in his direction. It catches him by surprise, drenching his face and hair and he blinks at you incredulously, shaking his head like a dog and droplets of water hit you. You cackle at his expression and for a moment he looks like he’s about to laugh, too. Then he growls and lunges for you.

You squeal, giggling madly as you’re trying to get away in time, but one strong arm wraps around your middle, pressing your back against his chest. “You think you’re being funny, huh?” His voice is low in your ear, tense, but you’re still shaking with laughter.

“K-kinda, yeah,” you manage to get out, wiggling against his grip, and his hold on you tightens.

“You’re on thin ice here, sweetheart.”

You turn your head around as best as you can to look at his face. “Think it’s too warm for ice,” you whisper before you break down again and he snorts, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“That was terrible,” he tells you and you nod happily, turning around in his arms until you’re facing him.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re outside where people can see you, maybe it’s this foreign situation that you’ve found yourself in, or maybe you just want to rile him up. Whatever it is, you’re feeling bold. Your arms loop around his neck and you wrap one leg around his hips, basically hanging off of him in the weightlessness of the water. You grind your hips against him and his cock twitches.

“Are you gonna punish me, sir?” you ask, pouting at him and widening your eyes, feigning innocence, “for splashing water at you and making lame jokes?” You give another roll of your hips. His jaw twitches and his large fingers dig into your waist. You briefly feel like you’ve got the upper hand. You’re well aware that he’s not gonna let that last.

“Little brat,” he mutters against your mouth. One of his hands slides from your waist to your breast, kneading it harshly beneath the water’s surface, pinching at your skin. “Won’t be so mouthy once I’ve got you alone, will you? Gonna fuck the attitude right out of you, until it’s all ‘yes, sir’ and ‘sorry, sir’, how’s that sound, doll?”

He twists your nipple, hard, and you gasp. His rough treatment and the dirty words from his mouth are enough to bring your arousal to a burn inside of you, your thighs clenching around his hips. His eyes glint dangerously and his lips pull into a grin. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You give him your sweetest smile. “I can’t wait. Sir.”

He groans exasperatedly but you can tell that he’s fighting with himself not to smile back. “I know you can’t. Greedy little thing.” He pulls you in for a kiss and you willingly follow his lead, let his tongue invade your mouth until you’re both breathless and clinging to each other.

You look back to the shore. It’s not exactly crowded and it doesn’t look like anyone is paying you much attention, but still. You duck out from under his arms and bring a little bit of distance between the two of you. You’re still feeling too bold for your own good. “Keep it in your pants, York. Don’t wanna get arrested for public indecency.”

Dave shakes his head again, an incredulous expression on his face, but you can tell that he’s amused. “York, huh? That’s how it is?” He catches up to you easily but doesn’t grab you roughly like you had expected him to. Even wanted him to, maybe. His hand finds yours in the water and he gets close enough to press a kiss into your wet hair. “If you’d rather call me Mr. York than Sir, you could’ve just said,” he murmurs and you giggle, but you also can’t help the heat that’s creeping up your cheeks at the thought. The satisfied smirk that gracing his features lets you know that he’s noticed how flustered he’s got you as well.

You stay in the water for a while longer, talking a little but mostly just taking in the scenery around you. The way the sunlight’s reflection glitters on top of the waves, the spotless blue sky, the lush green of the trees lining the mountains around you. You let yourself float on top of the water, closing your eyes and relaxing your limbs, feeling completely weightless. You give a content little sigh, when a splash of water hits you straight in the face.

You gasp, losing your bearings in the sudden surprise and drop under the surface for a second before coming back up, spluttering and coughing up a mouthful of saltwater. You rub the water out of your eyes and narrow them at Dave, who gives you an unimpressed look and arches an eyebrow.

“You dick!” you exclaim and lunge after him, laughter bubbling up in your throat at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. He’s a lot better at escaping than you were, moving through the water quickly, but you can tell that he’s laughing too. When he eventually lets you catch up to him, you cling onto him and let him pull you through the water.

He still looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, the ever-present tension in his body barely noticeable and the expression on his face more open, happier. You pull yourself up and kiss his cheek, just because you can, and he flashes you a warm smile.

It blooms in your chest, filling you with warmth, the knowledge that he’s here with you, because you’re the person that he wanted here with him and that he’s happy. Here. With you. A small voice in your head wants to tell you that this is dangerous, that it has the potential to hurt you later on, but you shove it down. For now, you’re happy too. Here. With him.

Evening rolls around, with another dinner that leaves you completely out of your depth, so you let Dave lead you through it, content with letting him make all the decisions, letting him take care of you.

You continue to let him make all the decisions when you’re back in the suite, which results in your naked form being laid out on the bed. Dave’s standing in front of it, still completely dressed, looking down at you, his eyes flashing darkly. You know that you’ve teased him too much today and that you’re about to pay the price for that. A pleasant shudder runs through you at the thought.

“Arms up. Don’t move,” he commands before turning away from you and rummaging through his suitcase for a few moments before returning to you. He places something on the nightstand with a faint metallic clatter and your gaze flicks towards the sound, but Dave clicks his tongue impatiently.

“Eyes on me, doll.” You obey instantly, watching as he towers over you, catching your wrists in one hand and pulling your arms further towards the headboard. Cold steel closes around your wrists, as he handcuffs you to a bedpost, your arms now permanently trapped above your head.

He adjusts the handcuffs until they’re closed tightly, the metal digging into the skin on your wrists uncomfortably and you bite your lip. It already hurts, but it hurts so so good. Dave’s eyes catch the movement and a smirk curls across his face.

“Yeah, you like that. Been begging for it all day, being a little brat, desperate to be put in your place, ain’t that right?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer quickly, and he lands a harsh slap on your face, your head flying to the side. Pain spreads out from across your cheek and a small moan escapes you.

“Change of pace. You’re calling me Mr. York tonight.” His voice is ice cold as he fists your hair, pulling until your roots are stinging and your neck is straining so that you’re looking up at him again. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, M-Mr. York,” you whisper, your voice already thick with unshed tears, but your pussy is gushing at the new honorific and the controlled coldness that he’s exuding right now. He slaps you again, still holding your head up by your hair.

“You filthy little thing. Mouthing off at me all day and now look at you, being slapped around and liking it. I bet that slutty cunt of yours is already drooling for it, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” you whimper, hastily adding another “Mr. York” when he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Let’s see…” he mutters and slides a hand between your legs, finding you soaking wet from his rough treatment.

“Fucking drenched already, when I’ve barely touched you. Fucking slut.” His hand comes down for a slap straight across your pussy and you cry out at the sharp pain, your hips twitching, chasing the sensation and pulling away from it at the same time.

Dave laughs cruelly and rains more slaps down on you, your cries getting louder with each time and your eyes brimming with tears, but you’re also pretty sure that you’re dripping on the sheets by now. He finally stops and cups your aching center with his large hand. You can feel your hot and swollen flesh pulsing underneath his touch.

“What do you say?” he demands coldly.

“T-thank you, Mr. York,” you manage to stutter out weakly.

“And…?” he prods.

You’re not entirely sure what he wants to hear and shrink under his hard gaze as you whisper, “I-I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For- for being a brat earlier and disrespecting you, I- please, I’m sorry.” Tears are running down your cheeks now as you let yourself fall deeper into the submission, enjoying the sweet bliss of giving up all control, pleasing Dave being the only active thought in your head.

“I know you are, sweetheart,” he coos in mock-sympathy, his eyes still cold and piercing through you. “Just needed to be taught a lesson, huh?” Another slap hits your folds, hurting even more than the previous ones. You nod, your chin wobbling. Your pussy feels like it’s on fire, from the pain but also from the raw need for him that’s coursing through your veins.

“It’s alright,” he nods back at you, “you’re gonna be the most obedient little slut when I’m through with you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response but leans towards the nightstand again, grabbing hold of another object and returning to his place above you. The silvery blade of a knife is shining in the dull light of the room, right in front of your face, where Dave is holding it up for you to see.

You gasp softly and your eyes widen - the both of you had discussed this before, you’d known that it was an option. Sometime. You hadn’t expected sometime to occur on this trip. A fearful, but also excited nervousness is settling in your stomach. You can tell that Dave is eyeing you closely, monitoring your reaction. When he seems pleased with the expression on your face, he moves the knife closer.

“Give it a kiss, slut. And look at me while you’re doing it.”

You obey, lifting your head up as much as you can and softly pressing a kiss to the blade, trying your hardest to avoid sudden movements. Your gaze is trained on his face, just like he told you to.

“Good girl,” he mutters, his eyes burning with dark desire in them. He moves the knife across your body, the cold sensation leaving goosebumps in its wake, until he reaches your wet folds.

“Spread your legs. Wider. Hold still, sweetheart.” His eyes flash up to you. “Wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

You do as you’re told, your body freezing, forcing yourself not to tremble. You feel cold steel touching the swollen and hot flesh between your legs, moving over your center slowly, and you almost jump, but grind your teeth and stay still. The thought of a sharp blade stroking against your most sensitive area has your mind reeling.

Dave’s icy voice sounds from between your legs. “Look at you. Nowhere to go, completely at my mercy. How’s that feel, huh?”

A strangled sob breaks free from your throat and you can see Dave pause, his eyes flying up to your face and the blade’s steely hardness disappearing from your skin.

“Color, sweetheart,” he commands, his tone still firm but much gentler than moments ago. You harshly suck in a breath. You’re scared, yes, but you can also feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, the danger and the complete lack of control turning you on beyond belief. You trust Dave, more than you have ever trusted any man, not to hurt you. Not against your will, at least.

“G-green, sir,” you force out between trembling lips. You remember too late that you’re not supposed to be calling him ‘sir’ right now, but he doesn’t mention it.

“Are you sure?” he inquires carefully, “it’s fine, you know I won’t be mad, if-“, but you shake your head resolutely.

“I’m sure, I promise. It’s scary, but I- I like it,” you admit, your face turning hot at the admission.

A wolfish grin stretches across his face, making it hard to believe that he was concerned about you being afraid mere seconds ago. “Shit. You’re even more depraved than I thought,” he mutters, moving the blade back to your center, causing you to freeze again. “Bet you’d let me do anything to you, so fucking desperate for it, ain’t that right?” You whine your agreement and he chuckles.

He moves over you, the knife ghosting across your skin, circling around your nipples and causing you to shudder, until he holds it up in front of your face again. The metal is shining with your juices and he tuts at you.

“Messy little slut, your needy pussy just can’t help herself, can she?” He studies your face, contemplating for a moment, before his eyes turn even darker. “Open up,” he orders, and you obey without a conscious thought. “Tongue out.”

You think you know where this is going and suppress a shudder as you slowly stretch your tongue out of your mouth. “Good girl,” Dave coos and pats your cheek condescendingly, “let’s clean up your mess, yeah?”

A whimper rises up in your throat as he, very carefully, wipes the blade on your tongue. You’re stock still, feeling your wetness transferring from the knife to your tongue. Your pussy is clenching wildly around nothing. When Dave is satisfied, he withdraws his hand and places the knife back on the nightstand.

Having received no other command, you’re still waiting with your mouth open when he’s back in front of you. He chuckles. “Well, if you’re asking for it.” His spit lands on your tongue and a moan climbs up in your throat. Dave watches for several seconds as you’re looking up at him, obediently waiting, before he tells you to swallow.

He stands up from the bed and finally starts to undress. You’re watching eagerly, your hands twitching to touch him, causing the handcuffs to bite into your wrists, which already feel raw.

You think that you might go insane if he doesn’t fuck you right now. Dave has lifted your arousal to new heights tonight, all while barely touching you, and now you’re hungrily drinking the sight of him in.

Your eyes are almost glued to his cock when he returns to you and he laughs, grabbing your chin roughly and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “What do you want, sweetheart?” he asks, almost gently, if it weren’t for the cold edge in his voice.

“W-want you to fuck me, please,” you whisper, your voice almost breaking. He’s so close, you can feel his cock against your core.

Dave clicks his tongue. “I think you can ask prettier than that. Beg me, like the cock-hungry little slut that we both know you are.” He slides his length through your slick folds, nudging at your clit, and your hips buck helplessly at the sensation. Fresh tears of desperation spring into your eyes.

“Please, I-“ he prods at your entrance teasingly and you interrupt yourself with a gasp, “I need it so bad, need you to fill me up. Please, Mr. York, I’ll do anything, just please.”

Another slap hits your cheek, causing you to sob out a moan. “You’ll do anything regardless, because I tell you to, you dumb slut. But, since you asked so nicely-“

He sheathes himself in your heat in one harsh thrust, sliding all the way in and splitting you open. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, immediately starting to pound into you in deep thrusts, punching the air out of your lungs repeatedly. You’re crying, gasping his name as he grabs hold of your hair, using it to hold your body steady as his thrusts grow deeper, nudging at your cervix.

You’re twitching under him, pain and pleasure swirling around and mixing in your body until it’s all just one overwhelming sensation. “Please, I’m gonna, I-“ You can barely talk, but Dave nods, reaching down between your bodies and rubbing a finger over your clit in quick circles.

“Look at me when you come, been such a good girl, fuck-“ He’s panting too, his pupils blown wide.

When your orgasm hits you, it’s like a dam breaks, all the tension inside of you exploding into tiny particles. Your whole body seizes up, trembling and spasming as you grow impossibly tight around him, basically holding him as your walls clench wildly around him and he stills, spilling his cum deep inside of you. You’re crying out his name, your vision swimming as you try to keep your eyes on him. Waves of pleasure keep washing over you until you finally come down, a shuddering mess, tears still streaming down your face.

Dave cups your face between his hands, kissing you wildly, before he reaches up and quickly undoes the handcuffs, gathering your wrists in his hands and gently bringing your arms down to your sides.

“Are you alright?” he asks between kisses, his voice low and raspy against your lips. You nod, giving him an exhausted smile.

“…Yeah. ‘m great,” you mumble, barely able to string two sentences together. “It was- was fun,” you add, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, staring down at you, before he kisses your forehead.

“My perfect girl.”

Dividers by @/saradika <3

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, it would really make me incredibly happy 🫶🏻

Series masterlist

#janas fics #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york #dave york fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories #the equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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choke-me-joey · 1 year

Text

Matching Tattoos Part II

Read Part I here

Eddie Munson x reader

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smutty smutty smut smut, just porn with a little bit of plot, oral (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex (kinda), creampie, these two are adorable as fuck, less tattoos more fuckin', fluffy throughout, idiots in love, (will format later cos on a phone it's a pain in the ass)

It had been a week since the tattoo incident. And the blowjob incident. And the whole "You get to keep me" thing.

And both you and Eddie were on Cloud 9.

It was impossible to miss, not only because you were all over each other, but even when you were across the room from each other, you couldn't stop sneaking glances and smiles.

"God, you're both gross." Robin groans, rolling her eyes as you lean over the counter of the video store to smile at Eddie as he browses the horror section waiting for you to finish your shift the following Friday night. Steve yanks you back by the waist of your jeans.

"Agreed. Can you stop making googly eyes at your boyfriend for 5 minutes, Y/N? The rom com section needs reorganising." He grumbles, sitting down and stuffing a Twizzler in his mouth.

"And you can't do it because...?" You snip, folding your arms over your chest and looking him up and down.

He gestures to himself as if to say "duh!" and you kick his chair.

"Oh come on Steve, it's her big night tonight, let the girl relax a little." smirks Robin and you glance at her, wide eyed, making short choppy motions over your neck in an attempt get her to shut the fuck up.

"Seriously?! Jeez, I thought you and Munson were already banging, didn't know you were waiting. What's the special occasion?" Steve asks through a mouthful of candy. Robin scoffs and shoves him.

"It's a Friday night and Eddie's uncle is working a double tonight meaning we can be uninterrupted." You shrug. "Not all of us bang on the first date, Steve."

"No, some of us just suck di-"

"What's up Harrington, Buckley?" Eddie grins, meandering over to the counter with a few tapes in his hands. He grins at you, placing the tapes down onto the counter. "Hey, babe."

"Babe?!" Robin and Steve audibly gag as you and Eddie share a simple, sweet kiss. Without breaking the kiss, you flip your friends off.

"So gross." complains Steve as you and Eddie break apart, grinning like fools. "Do you have to rub your new perfect relationship in the faces of the painfully single?"

"What's the matter, Harrington? Jealous that the freak of Hawkins has a smokin' hot babe and you don't?" Eddie teases. "Don't worry, big boy, we'll hook you up with someone."

"Fuck off." Steve grumbles. He looks at you. "You know your shift doesn't end for another 3 hours, and the rom com section still needs reorganising."

"Ugh fine, let me check Eddie out first." You huff, turning to your stupidly handsome boyfriend.

"Didn't you do that enough whilst I was perusing, babe?" He smirks.

"Not enough if you ask me." You deliberately run your eyes over him slowly, biting your lip.

"Fuck, I can't wait for tonight." Eddie groans to you quietly, reaching for your hand and squeezing it.

"Me neither." You whisper, squeezing back. You shuffle through the tapes. "Did you pick out some decent movies we won't be watching?"

"Only the best babe, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw, A Nightmare on Elm Street and The Thing. Classics that I know you've seen so you won't be too mad about missing parts."

"You're the best." You grin, pecking his lips again before proceeding to check him out. In the professional sense.

And a little bit more in the non-professional sense.

"Thanks, sweetheart. I'll pick you up at 7, okay?"

"Sounds perfect, stud."

7pm rolls around and you can't clock out quick enough, barely garbling out a goodbye to Steve and Robin.

"Use protection!" Robin calls, and you flip her off before you're out the door and diving into Eddie's van.

Your boyfriend chuckles at your eagerness as he leans over the console to kiss you.

"There's my pretty baby, how was the rest of your shift?"

"Excruciating, agony, torture."

"Sounds like a good time." Eddie grins, pulling out of the strip mall parking lot and beginning the 10 minute drive to his trailer. His hand leaves the gearstick and finds your thigh, resting on it. "I missed you, sweetheart."

"I missed you too," you smile, squeezing his hand. "Get up to anything good whilst I was gone?"

"You'll see," Eddie smirks, linking his fingers through yours and bringing your hair to his lips and kissing it.

When you pull up to the trailer, Eddie insists on opening your door for you, helping you out of the van and even holding the trailer door open with a little bow and a "m'lady". You laugh, curtseying and replying "kind sir" before stepping into the trailer.

You stop in your tracks. The trailer is the cleanest you'd ever seen it in all the years of knowing Eddie and his uncle. There isn't an ash tray, beer bottle or empty coffee cup to be seen. On the counter there's a small bunch of flowers in a mason jar full of water - you noted that they looked extremely similar to the wildflowers you'd been admiring on yours and Eddie's 'special smoking walk' you'd taken last weekend. And instead of the usual 'Munson' scent that hits you, you get a waft of...crisp apple?

"Eddie did you...did you light a candle? Did you buy a candle??"

"I may have." Eddie leans against the cabinets with his arms folded across his chest, smiling. "Had to make an effort for you, princess."

"You absolutely did not, but I'm appreciative nonetheless. Does the cleanliness extend to your bedroom, or...?"

"Already wanting to take this to the bedroom, huh?" He smirks, letting you drag him by the hand down the small hallway. You open his bedroom door, gasping at the sight in front of you. Eddie stands behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder as you take it all in.

Eddie's room was SPOTLESS. Every single piece of clothing was picked up off the floor and in the laundry hamper, the tops of his dressers and bedside table were immaculate, the bedsheets were...Holy shit, they were new. And he actually had two pillows laid out instead of one deformed lump in the middle of his bed. And an actual comforter.

"Holy shit." You breathe out a laugh of disbelief, and Eddie chuckles into your shoulder, peppering kisses over it and up your neck to your cheek. "You have been busy."

"Wanted to make tonight special." Eddie mumbles against your skin, making you hum softly.

"You didn't need to, babe. I'd fuck you in the back of your van parked up on the side of the road. I don't care where we are as long as we're together."

Eddie's eyes widen. "We are going to have to explore that at a later time. For now though..." he spins you around in his arms and walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit his bed, causing you to fall down. He kicks the door shut behind him and presses play on his tape deck, Home Sweet Home by Motley Crüe starting up.

You sit on the bed giggling as Eddie begins to serenade you along with Vince Neil.

"...take me to your heart, feel me in your bones, just one more night, and I'm coming off this long and winding road" Eddie croons, slowly walking over to you and standing in front of you. "I'm on my way, I'm on my way, home sweet home, tonight- woah!"

You interrupt him by pulling him by his belt loops closer to you, he loses his balance and falls on top of you, both of you laughing like idiots. Eddie pushes himself up onto his arms, smiling down at you.

"What?" You smile, feeling a blush creep over your cheeks. He reaches and brushes some hair away from your face.

"Nothing, you're just...really fucking beautiful." He says softly. You pout at how cute he is, reaching up to kiss his lips.

"So are you." You reply, and he scoffs playfully. "Eddie?"

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me."

He does, kissing you slowly and deep. You moan as his tongue finds its way into your mouth, revelling in the taste of him. The kisses get deeper, wetter, nastier and your bodies start to grind against one another as you paw at each other.

"What-what about the movies?" Eddie pants into your mouth as you tug at the hem of his shirt, trying to get it off.

"Fuck the movies, seen 'em before anyway." You tug harder at this shirt. "Off."

"Yes ma'am." Eddie chuckles, sitting up and stripping off his shirt. Yours quickly follows, as well as both of your jeans, leaving you in your underwear. You bite your lip at the sight of Eddie's cock straining against his plaid boxers. You both scooch further up the bed, Eddie lying you down on the new, plump pillows, before laying his body against yours once more, his mouth finding yours again.

You rock your hips experimentally against his, the thin material of your underwear and his not doing much to dull the sensation. Eddie moans loudly into your mouth. Your pussy clenches at the sound, his moans were something you'd missed since last weekend, but had definitely replayed in your head when you'd fucked yourself with your fingers throughout the week.

"Easy, princess, you keep doing that and I'm gonna need a breather." Eddie mumbles, trailing his lips over your jaw and neck, sucking gently on your collarbone. "Besides..." he pings your bra strap. "I'm dyin' to get this off you."

You laugh, unclasping your bra and allowing your breasts to spill free.

Eddie curses, his eyes going straight to your tits. He cups them in his hands, thumbs ghosting over your nipples.

"Hello, ladies." He mumbles and your laugh is quickly replaced by a gasp as Eddie leans down and licks over your nipple, wrapping his lips around it and sucking. You whine, the flicks of his tongue sending spikes of arousal straight to your cunt. "Fuck, your tits are perfect." Eddie breathes against your skin, leaving a damp trail across your chest as he moves to the other one, rolling your neglected nipple between his fingers. He gives you a little pinch, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Eddie, please!" You whimper, desperately trying to grind your clothed pussy against his cock, needing any sort of friction to ease the ache between your legs.

"Ah, ah, ah, baby, calm down. I'll take care of you, okay? Just enjoying myself right now. And I know you are too, can feel you soaking through those pretty little panties already." You make another pathetic whining noise. "I didn't peg you for a whiner, baby, it's pretty hot how desperate you are for me right now. Makes a change from all that sass you normally give me."

"Eddie, I swear to God-"

Eddie cups your pussy over your underwear, making you promptly shut up. He smirks, teasing you by gently running his fingers over your covered slit.

"Oh, baby, these panties are definitely ruined now. Guess I'll just have to keep them. You're soaked...is this all for me?"

"All for you, Eds," you gasp as he ghosts over your swollen clit. Your hips buck. "Please, Eddie, hurts."

"Aw, it hurts? Well, I can't have my baby in pain, now can I? Especially not after she did such a good job of taking care of me last weekend." Eddie practically rips off your underwear, his eyes travelling over your fully naked body for the first time. "Holy shit, baby...you're blowing my mind with how sexy you are. Hiding this body from me...should be a federal crime." He kisses you again, soft and sweet, then moves downward, pecking at your neck, shoulders, collarbones, inbetween your breasts and down onto your stomach. He chuckles as he kisses around your still healing tattoo. "Nice ink, toots."

"Thanks, some DnD nerd gave it to m-E!" Your sarky response quickly turns into a high pitched moan as Eddie nips your inner thigh.

"Some DnD nerd, huh? Would it be the same DnD nerd who's currently looking at the prettiest fucking pussy he's ever seen? Look at her baby, she's fucking drooling for me. Wonder if she tastes as sweet as she looks?"

Your hands ball into fists, twisting the comforter in your grip as Eddie licks a fat strip from your hole to your clit, leaving a trail of spit as he goes. You look down at the same second as he looks up at you, his eyes practically black with lust. The sight of him between your legs, your juices on his mouth is almost enough to send you over the edge as it is. Eddie grins at you again. "Even sweeter than she looks, baby."

You collapse back onto the pillows as Eddie dives face first into your pussy, tongue flicking and licking at your clit as he eats you like a man starved. He moans into you as you cry out his name, one of your hands reaching for his hair.

Without moving his mouth from your clit, he flicks his eyes up to you, holding up two of his fingers to your mouth. You open your mouth, sucking on his fingers as if they were his dick, hollowing out your cheeks and getting them as wet as possible (not that you needed any more lubrication, Eddie just had a thing for any part of him in your mouth). Once he's satisfied that you have them as wet as possible, he removes them from your mouth and wastes no time pushing them inside your aching cunt.

Your back arches upwards as you gasp out his name, his thick fingers filling you and his skilled tongue on your sensitive bundle of nerves making your eyes roll back in your skull. When he crooks his fingers up and strokes over that spongy spot on your walls, your thighs clamp around his head and he smirks against you, knowing he's definitely found the right spot.

"Eddie, fuck, don't stop, gunna make me cum," you whine. He sucks on your clit, his eyes on you and he strokes and strokes - "Oh my god, Eddie! Yes, baby, I'm cumming!"

A string of expletives leaves your lips, along with his name in a shriek as you cream on his face, your thighs shaking. He doesn't relent, finger fucking you through your orgasm and when you try to pull away when things become too sensitive, his other free hand pins your hips down to the bed. You're moaning uncontrollably, almost weeping with pleasure, the stimulation too much. "Eddie, I cant-"

His head suddenly pulls away from you and your hips try to chase his mouth. "You want me to fuck you?"

"W-what?" You ask, breathless and still a bit dumb from how hard your previous orgasm had hit you. "Y-yes, I want you to fuck me-"

"Then give me another." Eddie spanks your clit, making you squeal. "I know you've got one in there for me princess, cum again for me and I'll fuck you, okay?"

"Okay, okay," you sob, nodding. You almost choke as Eddie attaches his lips back to your clit and his fingers start fucking you again. The rate at which your orgasm builds up again is alarming; it's different. "Eddie, wait, wait, wait-"

He does anything but wait, in fact he pushes his fingers against your spot harder, and moves his tongue quicker. You feel it hit you, a white hot wave of pleasure and you definitely feel something shoot out of you. Eddie groans loudly, the lewd squelching noises filling the room as your body shakes.

You squirted. You fucking squirted. Something you'd only ever seen on those nasty pornos that Harrington lent Eddie from time to time. Something you didn't think you could actually do. And Eddie made you do it.

Eddie slows his movements down, removing his fingers from your twitching cunt and sucking them clean. His chin and neck are drenched with you and it's the sexiest thing you've ever seen.

"Still with me, angel?" He asks softly, pulling himself up over you again. You notice the wet patch on the front of his boxers has doubled in size since he went down on you.

"Where the fuck did you learn that?!" You manage to gasp out and Eddie chuckles.

"Natural talent baby. And Harrington's pornos he sneaks home from the video store. Not just for jerking off to, ya know, there's some educational shit in there too."

"Ugh, forget I asked." You mumble in disgust. Eddie laughs, but soon stops when you palm the front of his boxers, squeezing his cock. "I want this now, please, you promised."

"I did, didn't I baby?" Eddie reaches over into his bedside drawer for the box of rubbers he had in there. You slap his hand away and he looks at you in confusion.

"No condom, wanna feel you, Eds."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that to me." Eddie groans. "You're on the pill, right?"

"No, Eddie, I'm willing to risk pregnancy to satisfy a breeding kink." You quip, rolling your eyes.

"You're lucky I love you so damn much, baby. Wouldn't let just anyone talk back to me like you do." Eddie mock huffs, shutting his drawer. You freeze. He then realises what he's said, and screws his eyes shut, dropping his head down. "Shit."

"You...love me?" You whisper, unable to stop the stupid grin spreading across your face. Eddie buries his face into your neck, groaning in embarrassment. "Eddie." You place your hands either side of his flushed face and make him look at you. "I love you too."

He opens his eyes and looks at you, his face softening.

"You do?"

"So damn much." You echo his words from seconds earlier. He grins, kissing you hard. You both manage to peel off his boxers and he grinds his cock against your wet pussy lips, teasingly dipping the head into your hole and pulling out. "Eddieee..."

"Say it again." He whispers against your lips, taking a hold of himself and lining his cock up with your hole.

"I love you." You whisper. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He replies, pushing his cock into you slowly. The stretch makes you shiver; he's definitely thicker and longer than anyone you'd ever been with. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're so...so fucking tight."

"Mm, Eddie, s'big," you mewl beneath him, nails biting into his shoulder blades.

"I know angel, but you're taking me so well. God, you look perfect right now."

You kiss him in response, moaning against him as he eventually bottoms out, his thick mushroom head already prodding your cervix. He starts to move slowly, pulling away from your mouth to look deep into your eyes. "So fucking beautiful."

"You too."

Eddie starts to move quicker, never taking his eyes from yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper and the new angle making you cry out his name. This only spurs him on, his cock delving deeper and deeper into your pussy, the bed beginning to rock back and forth with his movements. Your moans fill the small room, along with Eddie's grunts and whispered praises to you.

"S'fucking good, baby, your pussy is fucking heaven, my beautiful baby, I love you, I love you."

"Eddie, I'm gonna cum again," you breathe out; his pelvis dragging over your clit had started building up another mind blowing orgasm.

"Yeah? Do it baby, wanna feel you cum for me, right on my cock, yeah?" Eddie's short of breath now, you can tell he's holding off his own orgasm just to feel yours first. "Oh shit, sweetheart, please, you're so fucking tight, gonna make me cum-"

"Cum with me, Eddie, fill me up-"

"Christ, I'm gonna cum, fuck, fuck-"

Eddie pushes his cock in to the hilt just as the coil in your belly snaps and you cum around him, both of you groaning out each other's names. His cock twitching inside you and the feel of his hot load filling you makes you sob in pleasure. He finds your mouth with his own, staying inside you for as long as he can, neither one of you wanting to break the connection just yet.

Eventually, his cock slips from you and you both let out mournful sighs. He rolls off of you, onto his back next to you.

"Holy shit." He pants, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. "Holy fucking shit. Baby...that was-"

"The best sex you've ever had?" You grin, a teasing lilt to your voice. "Me too."

"Shit, yeah, you've ruined me for other women now." Eddie grins as you both roll on to your sides, looking at each other. You giggle, your fingers ghosting over the nearly healed tattoo on his hip.

"Baby, I've left my mark on you, no way other women are having you now."

He mimics you, gently touching the bat inked onto your skin.

"Guess matching tattoos were a good idea then."

Taglist for those who wanted a part 2:

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crazychaoticizzy · 6 months

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Good Grief Part II

Erwin Smith X Reader

Sometimes, the things that seem good for us cause us the most grief, and that is why we should always think through our decisions.

WARNINGS: canonverse, angst, insecurity, death, smut, breeding, creampie, fingering, pregnancy, gaslighting, MINORS DNI

Word Count: 10.5k

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<< previous part

It was after you opened the front door, cheeks wet and eyes bloodshot, that Erwin realized this isn’t the life he was meant for.

You cleared your throat, wiping your cheeks as you leaned against the doorframe. You held the door against you, treating Erwin like a stranger that had come to your house.

Marie was with Benjamin in the living room, sitting on the floor and softly tickling his stomach. She had managed to visit after you wrote to her, which was more than Erwin had done for his own son.

“Hi, my love.” You had to force it out, and God that hurt so bad because even after everything you still loved him. You still missed the touch of his hand and the feel of his skin against yours and the sound of his voice.

Erwin opens his mouth to speak, apologize, beg for forgiveness, something, but his words fall flat and he’s left looking like an idiot in front of his own house. You stand in awkward silence, your fingers tapping against the door.

Your head turns at the sound of crying, and you see Marie pick Benjamin up, softly cooing at him. She stands, rocking the baby and quietly shushing him.

“Is that . . .” Erwin doesn’t get to finish his sentence because you’ve already left the doorway, reaching out for Benjamin and cradling him in your arms.

Erwin takes a slow step into his house, not knowing what to do with himself. Marie stands to the side, lost in thought and biting her nails. She turns her head when she hears Erwin’s footsteps, and her nose crinkles at the sight of him.

She looks away before Erwin can think anything of it.

You sit in a chair, quietly talking in an attempt to calm Benjamin. You softly stroke his cheek with your thumb and hold him close to you, thinking about why he might be upset before his cries slowly come to a stop.

He just wanted your attention.

That seems to be a common thread in this small family.

You glance over at Erwin as you hold your son against your chest, not knowing how to feel as he watches you. Benjamin tugs on your hair, and you turn your head to get it out of his hand before he puts it in his mouth.

Erwin comes up behind you, quietly and cautiously. He puts a hand on your shoulder, and you might be mad at him—so incredibly pissed at the audacity of your husband—but God you would be lying if you said his touch didn’t still make you swoon.

You try your best to ignore Erwin’s touch, anything to show that his actions have consequences and he can’t expect you to just forgive him so easily. Except no matter how hard you try you can’t help but lean into his burning touch. Because it had been so long since you had this skin to skin contact, and it felt so good.

You glance up at Marie, discreetly telling her with your eyes that she should leave for a bit. You wordlessly bicker, but finally she rolls her eyes and leaves, announcing her plans to go to the market.

Erwin waits until the front door closes before he sits in the chair beside yours. His arm rests against the table, his hand closed in a fist as he rubs the pads of his forefinger and thumb together.

He watched you interact with his son. He takes note of the small smile you give when he laughs, tired eyes crinkling at the corners. You reach for a handmade doll on the table, showing it to Benjamin before he takes it from your grasp and begins gnawing at its head. You lay him on the table, fingers gently running across his stomach to draw giggles from him.

“What’s his name?” Erwin asks, which was such a stupid thing to do because you turn your attention away from Benjamin and look at Erwin with a faded smile. He can see it in your eyes, every time you lose just a little bit of faith in him. Even when he can��t physically see you, he always closes his eyes to see your look of defeat every time he writes a letter telling you he won’t be coming home for longer than expected.

“I told you in the letters.” Letters that Erwin doesn’t read. Every time he gets a new one he smiles and sets it on his bed as a reminder to read it later. But he never does, because some pathetic excuse makes itself present.

He realizes now that he really should read your letters.

“Right.” He nods, running his hand over the lower half of his face in an attempt to look like he’s thinking.

Your eyes move away from him, going back to your baby’s wandering gaze as he looks up at the ceiling.

“It’s Benjamin,” you softly say. “I hope you like it.”

Erwin stares at your face. He thinks the soft smile that paints itself on your lips is beautiful, but it’s not directed at him. That breaks his heart just a little bit because barely even a year ago the brightest smile he had ever seen came from you when you got married.

And now, he isn’t even part of the reason your smile seems so radiant and proud.

Benjamin yawns, his eyes drooping as he continues gnawing on the head of his doll. You glance out the window as the sound of a church bell fills the air, counting how many times it rings before the last sounds dissipate from the air.

You stand, carefully picking Benjamin up as you push in your chair. “It’s about time for him to nap,” you simply said, glancing up at Erwin. “Do you want to . . ?”

You leave the question floating in the air, unfinished. You aren’t even sure if you should have asked, but you’re glad that you did when Erwin hesitantly nods.

Your lips slightly curl, not enough for Erwin to notice, but enough for you to think you might still be in love with him.

You hold Benjamin close to you, resting his head against your chest and lightly tapping his bottom to the beat of your heart. You learned rather quickly that made him go out like a light whenever he was tired, and soon enough you were taking careful steps to your bedroom where his crib waited.

Erwin followed, quietly marveling at the way you gingerly lay Benjamin in the crib, your touch lingering on his face as you smooth down his eyebrow before pulling away.

Hardly even four months old and your son already has eyebrows that resemble his father’s.

You feel Erwin’s eyes boring into you, and you turn your head. He stands hesitantly in the doorway, tapping his fingers against the frame. You beckon him to come closer, and he does. He takes silent steps across the wooden floor and stands beside you, looking down at his sleeping son for the first time.

A pang goes through his heart, because God how could he ever let you deal with this on your own. Sure, Anastasia and Marie had come to help, but that should have been him. It should have been his hand you squeezed instead of Anastasia’s as you gave birth, and it should have been him that you spent your days with instead of alone or with Marie.

But no. So far the only thing he had provided for you was tears, and he realizes then that he must have been the reason you were crying when you opened the door for him.

You allow your gaze to rest on him as he gazes down at your baby. Your eyes trail along his silhouette, following the outline of his nose and lips. He’s still tall and handsome as ever, and you hope that’s something about him that will never change.

“Why did you knock?” you whisper. Erwin tears his gaze away from Benjamin. Standing this close to him, you can see the specks of brown that circle his pupils in both eyes.

Erwin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure that I was welcome.”

It’s silent after he says that. You take his hand, running your thumb across his knuckles. “This is your house, too. You’re always welcome. No matter what.”

Erwin squeezes your hand and that’s when you notice the roughness of his fingertips. You notice his jaw is clenched when he isn’t speaking and the way he runs a hand through his neat hair in visible distress.

He lets out a shaky exhale. “I’m so sorry. I promised I would be there.”

“You should have been. But you’re here now.” It’s silent for a moment, and you decide you should probably step out of the room before you accidentally wake Benjamin.

You close the door behind you, leaving it open a bit to let air travel through the room but also to hear if Benjamin wakes up.

“Please try to make an effort,” you say once the two of you had started walking down the hall. “I know that being a scout is demanding and obviously you have more important things to worry about, but you have a son now. You need to be in his life at least a little bit.”

You resumed your former seat at the table, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair as Erwin sat beside you. “If Anastasia can manage to visit me every now and then I’m sure you can, too.”

Erwin nods, and a silent agreement is made. You two sit in silence before you stand up and grab a bunch of fabric and needles, beginning to work on them at the table. He watches you work, takes note of the way you hardly even wince when you accidentally stab yourself, and he wonders how he could ever leave you again.

—

When Erwin holds Benjamin for the first time, he thinks that maybe he was never meant to be a dad.

Because Benjamin starts squirming and crying and pushing his father away, and Erwin is scared he’ll drop him before you take him in your arms.

“He’s like that with everyone. He just- He needs to get used to you,” you say, choosing your last words carefully. Except it didn’t really matter what you said, because he could still feel his heart crack.

He watches you rub Benjamin’s arm, muttering nonsense to him as you smile. You stand so close to Erwin that he can feel the heat of your skin through his clothes, and he can’t help but tentatively put a hand around your waist to pull you even closer.

And, by some miracle from god, you let him. As foolish as it might be, you lean into his touch and give him a soft smile, turning your body so Benjamin is closer to his father.

You might be frustrated with your husband, but that doesn’t mean your child should be unfamiliar with his own flesh and blood.

You softly take Erwin’s hand, lifting it so it enters Benjamin’s field of vision. He takes it, squeezing Erwin’s pointer finger in his small hand.

“That’s your daddy,” you say, and you think that Erwin must think you’re crazy for talking to someone that can’t even understand you yet. You laugh when Benjamin puts Erwin’s finger in his mouth, gnawing at it like he does with everything else.

Erwin’s heart swells, because Benjamin looks up and leans back, his head falling on Erwin’s chest. Erwin swears he’s never felt anything like he did when he looked down, seeing Benjamin’s big eyes looking up at him.

“Daddy’s been gone for a while, but he’ll be here more often,” you say, smiling. “He’ll have to leave a lot, but he’ll always be back, I promise. And you’ll love him.” You pause, leaning forward to leave a soft kiss on Benjamin’s forehead. “Just like I do.”

Because you do. Anything he does will end up being forgiven because you love him that much.

Marie came back hours later It was right before the sun had started to set, and you and Erwin were sitting close together on the couch. Erwin was smiling down at Benjamin, and you were staring at Erwin. You had a small smile on your face, and Marie remembers thinking that you forgave him too easily.

Later that night, when Benjamin had been put to bed and it was about time you go to sleep as well, you’re hesitant to change in front of Erwin. There are stretch marks on your stomach and breasts that you wish you didn’t have, and you don’t want your husband to see you as any less because of them.

So you change facing away from him, but once your blouse is off he slips his hands around your waist and kisses the top of your head. He presses his face into your hair, taking a deep breath.

“I am so sorry,” he whispers. “So, so sorry that I ever left you alone. I promised I would put you first, and I didn’t.”

You froze, because you hadn’t expected him to be so close. You hold your blouse to your chest, hoping the action is subtle enough to hide yourself.

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” Erwin continues. He slowly turns you around, making you tilt your head up to make eye contact with him. He takes your hands in his, bringing them to his lips and softly kissing your knuckles. “I’ll be better this time. I swear it.”

“You said that last time.”

“I know. But I mean it this time. I’ll take the breaks I’m given and spend time with you and Benjamin.”

You sigh, slipping your hands out of his. Your head hurts, and you lift a hand to press against your forehead in an attempt to relieve the pain.

But Erwin’s fingers ghost over your waist and you know you fucked up because now he saw the stretch marks and there’s no covering or hiding them and God he’s not going to think you’re pretty anymore and-

“What are these?” he asks, his eyes traveling up to meet yours. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to clear your thoughts as you toss your blouse in a pile of dirty clothes. “No. It’s, uhm, it’s from being pregnant. They’re just stretch marks, it’s nothing.”

Sometimes Erwin knows exactly what you’re thinking. Sometimes he’ll be able to pinpoint exactly how you’re feeling and why, and you can never figure out why he doesn’t use that ability all the time.

This was one of those times, because he leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple and said, “You’re gorgeous, darling.”

And that just made you feel like you could rule the world.

—

Erwin held up on his promise. He came home when he was supposed to and stayed for as long as possible before leaving again. You had started to become the perfect family you wanted to be, finally having the husband you had married and the unexpected life you had come to love.

You had watched your son grow together, a few years passing before he was already looking up to his father. Benjamin decided at a young age that he was going to join the military, hoping to join the same branch as Erwin and to one day serve under him.

There were times, of course, that Erwin brought his work home and worked tirelessly at the dining table. He would wave you off when you talked to him while he was working, but he always made sure to pay attention when Benjamin wanted to show or tell him something.

Sure, he might not have been the husband you were originally hoping for, but he was the best father you could have asked him to be and you were grateful for that. He was patient and kind and understanding, and when Benjamin brought up his dreams to Erwin one night at dinner, Erwin looked up from his papers. He stared at Benjamin for a moment before he cracked a smile.

He had stacked his papers, putting them to the side and directing all his attention to Benjamin. You had smiled, but some sinking feeling in your heart made you hesitant to agree when Erwin said he’d teach Benjamin how to become a Scout. But you didn’t want to be that person. You wanted your son to know that you would always support him, no matter how old he was.

But maybe wanting to join the Scout Regiment at the young age of five wasn’t the brightest idea.

“He’ll be fine, darling. It’s probably just a phase he’ll grow out of in a couple weeks, if even that long.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and leaning against him as he massaged your shoulders. You’d been stressing over this so much you hadn’t even allowed yourself time to change into more comfortable clothes. “But he’s five. I’m scared that if we feed into this he won’t grow out of it and then it’ll all spiral into this big thing.”

Erwin softly laughs, kissing the back of your head. “You just said he’s five. Plenty of five-year-olds go through a million phases of what they want to be when they grow up.”

“Most parents shrug it off, though. You’re actually going to be involved in trying to help him achieve this goal.”

Erwin’s hands travel down your arms, grabbing your hand and spinning you around. He softly kisses your lips. “I won’t teach him anything actually useful. It’ll be more like playful roughhousing.”

You let out a breath. Something was telling you this was a bad idea, but you weren’t sure if it was a genuine gut feeling or just the anxiety of a mother. But you do give in, because you trust your husband to keep your son safe and keep him in line.

“Alright.” Erwin kisses you again, slow and carefully like he used to. You hum when you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and you softly gasp when he lifts you up effortlessly.

You say his name, but it barely comes out as a breath. He sits on the bed, placing you in his lap so you straddle him. Your skirt had bunched up around your hips, and you softly gasped when you felt that he was hard.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he began kissing your neck, starting at the empty space behind your ear and slowly moving down to the hollow of your throat. His hands traced along your torso, slowly undoing the laces holding your dress together.

The room heats up as you begin peeling each other’s clothes off. Your breaths are hot as you exchange steamy kisses, quietly moaning against each other.

“What about Benjamin?” you ask, now lying bare beneath him. You undo the last button on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and tossing it to the side. You smile as he kisses you, running your hands across his shoulders and along the hard planes of his chest.

“He was rather adamant about sleeping on his own tonight,” Erwin says against your collarbone. “I think we can do something before he realizes he can’t do it.”

You softly laugh, humming as he kisses your lips again. He moves your hands so they’re above your head, holding them down by your wrists as his other ghosts along your side. The touch makes you shudder in anticipation, every single nerve ending in your body catching fire and giving you goosebumps.

You gasp when you feel his middle finger slide up your slit, teasing you by dragging it along painfully slow. Erwin was always so attentive, always such a fast learner that stored information for later use.

You’re thankful for that, because the way his thumb draws circles on your clit as he pushes a finger inside makes you hope you’ll actually have an orgasm this time.

Your breath hitches as he slowly thrusts his finger inside, bent and gliding along your walls. You press your lips together, muffling a moan when you feel his ring finger poke at your entrance before entering as well. You can feel the wedding band on his finger, the coldness of it a stark contrast to everything else. It makes you keen his name just a bit too loud, and Erwin stops all movement to listen.

After a moment where nothing happens, he shushes you. “We can’t have Benjamin walking in, can we?”

You shake your head, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His fingers curl inside you again and he chuckles at the soft gasp that leaves your lips.

"We have to be quiet, my love,” he whispers against your lips. “I don’t want you making any loud sounds.”

You let out a breath as he removes his fingers, and you watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth and drags his tongue across his fingers. You feel hot under his piercing gaze, feeling so needy and weak. He cracks a smile as you squirm under him, hoping to alleviate some of the tension you’re feeling.

He lets go of your wrist to straighten himself out. You watch as he unbuckles his belt, slipping it out of the loops and his hand. The buckle clangs against the floor, making both you and Erwin freeze and listen.

“What happened to being quiet?” you tease, a smile playing on your lips.

The tips of his ears turn red as he unbuttons his pants and takes them off. He lets them fall on the floor with the rest of your discarded clothes before he’s on top of you again, pressing his lips to yours in a slow sensual kiss that leaves you lightheaded.

“What do you want, darling?” he mumbles between kisses. His hands had gone back between your legs, the tips of his fingers giving slow strokes to your pussy that made it hard to focus.

“I-I want you inside me,” you say, softly gasping when he removes his fingers and pokes his tip at your entrance. “Please.”

“How could I say no to my pretty wife?” he muses, pushing in just the tip. That alone was enough to have you softly moaning, and Erwin kisses you again to muffle your noises.

He continued to gradually push in, stopping when his hips were flush against yours to let you adjust. When you finally nod, practically begging him to move he slowly pulls back before pushing inside again.

It makes you shudder, your hair standing on end as he slowly thrusts into you. You long for more—you want him to fill you completely and make you feel the same way you did your first night together.

And maybe, you want the product again.

“Erwin, I want another baby.” It barely comes out as a whisper, but your words make your husband’s thrusts falter.

“You want another one?” His breath is hot against your neck as you nod, your fingers entwining with his. He plants openmouthed kisses against you, and the way he suddenly hits against that one spot inside leaves you breathless.

You moan just a bit too loud, biting down on your lip to silence yourself. Erwin lets out an amused breath, but he finds himself holding back a groan as he comes closer and closer to the edge.

“I’ll give you that baby if you’re quiet,” he says. It barely registers because this just feels so different than the first time and you aren’t sure how to string together a proper sentence. You simply nod, closing your eyes as the bedframe silently creaks with every movement.

“The bed,” you softly remind, your breath catching.

“I know, I know. We’re almost there, love. Almost . . .”

He groans against you, and you would remind him that you needed to stay quiet if your head weren’t in the clouds.

He comes first, his warm cum filling you so much it starts to drip out. He keeps going, though, determined to get his wife to finish around his cock no matter how long it takes.

And it doesn’t take long, because Erwin brings his hand down to where you’re connected and starts rubbing slow, languid circles on your clit.

You gasp, going silent as you clench around him. Erwin slows his thrusts, riding out your high with you until you’re nothing more than a puddle beneath him. Your chest rises and falls with every breath your take, your nipples brushing against his as you gather yourselves.

“Think we can go again?” he quietly jokes, making you chuckle.

Erwin slips out of you, pushing himself off the bed and grabbing you a comfortable nightdress to change into while he grabs a towel to clean you up and a glass of water.

You don’t move for a moment after he leaves, a soft smile on your face as you replay the scene in your head, thinking that maybe you can be the loving family you wanted.

—

You listen to Benjamin’s story intently, laughing when he tells you about his new friend Alexander and something he did. He hasn’t been able to stop talking about him, his eyes wide and excited whenever he so much as mentions Alexander.

The day is warm, the bright sun beating down on everyone outside. You keep the front door open to let fresh air pass through your house, so you notice when Erwin walks in. He takes slow, heavy steps, closing the door behind him and sitting at the dining table.

Benjamin immediately jumps up next to him, greeting Erwin with a smile and sparkling eyes. Erwin smiles back, ruffling Benjamin’s hair. You can tell the smile is forced, though. He doesn’t want to be bothered and you don’t want him to be more overwhelmed than he is, so you step closer and softly place your hand on Benjamin’s back.

“Why don’t you go out, sweetheart?” you say kindly. “ Try and make new friends, yeah?”

Benjamin nods, seemingly excited by the idea and already on his way to the door. He leaves it open behind him, knocking it into the wall with a quick “Sorry!” before he runs off. You shake your head and roll your eyes, deciding to leave it open while you begin brewing tea for Erwin.

He’s silent, his gaze fixated on the hole in the table. You turn to glance at him as you boil the water, the silence so unbearable you have to talk.

“Benjamin made a new friend.” The kettle whistles, so you pour its contents into a tea cup and put a tea bag in it, waiting for it to steep. “It’s the neighbor’s kid—Alexander I think his name is? He introduced me yesterday before he ran off with him. He seems nice, I’m glad Benjamin finally found-”

“Anastasia’s dead.”

You pause, the words you were saying dying on your tongue as you processed Erwin’s words. Your hands fell to the counter, trying to find something to ground yourself.

“What?” Your voice was quiet, small, barely anything more than a squeak.

“She- A titan got her while we were out and-” Erwin paused, clearing his throat. If he said anything else after that you weren’t listening, your mind clouding with images of Anastasia trying her best to escape the titan’s hold. You imagined her kicking and screaming and-

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you choked out a sob. You bent over the counter, gripping your hair from the roots and pulling. Your breath escaped you, and you found it increasingly difficult to gather yourself.

You crumpled to the floor, leaning against the counter. Your tears were so hot, practically burning your cheeks as they fell. Your clothes suddenly felt too tight and you were suffocating. You gave yourself a headache with how hard you pulled on your hair, trying to give yourself something else to cry about but only adding more pain.

So hot and uncomfortable and your heart hurts and you just want everything to stop. Stop stop stop.

You’re not sure how long you were there, just you and Erwin in the dining room mourning. It wasn’t until you heard Benjamin giggling outside the door with his friend that you gathered yourself. You choked on deep breaths as you stood, facing the wall and wiping your eyes.

You slowly exhaled just as Benjamin walked through the door. He spoke loudly with Alexander, speaking nonsense you couldn’t understand until you took another deep breath and listened.

“No, I’m going to join the Scouts and become the best Scout like Dad and then everyone will love me!” Benjamin threw his hands up, causing Alexander to throw his hands up as well. They both cheered loudly as you closed your eyes, trying to stop the flow of more tears.

Something in the air shifted. Your eyes met Erwin’s and a silent agreement was made.

No child of yours was joining the military. You didn’t care how much they hated you, you would not risk the loss of anyone you love.

—

Anastasia’s death is what led to the second rut of your marriage, and something told you this one would be harder to get out of.

Erwin was hardly ever home, and even when he was he was working. He had made the spare room into an office, spending every hour he could looking over maps and writing in journals and doing god knows what.

You couldn’t get his attention. No matter what you did you never got more than a half-assed, “I’m busy,” or “Tell me later.”

You cried and cried and cried, and it got to the point where you weren’t sure if you were mourning the loss of your friend or because you were so painfully lonely.

You and Benjamin slept in the same bed, and every night you held him close in hopes of feeling just a little less lonely. He would stay there even when Erwin was home and the three of you shared a bed.

It was only a downward spiral, a cycle of tears and pain. You had confirmed you were pregnant again once you started showing, and your anxiety steadily grew as the months came and went. You weren’t sure if Erwin would be there when this baby was born, so you did everything in your power to make sure you, at least, would be ready.

You might not have been entirely on your own, but Benjamin was five. You don’t think a five-year-old is the best way to cope.

You would talk to Marie, but at some point she had gone off and eloped with Nile, practically leaving you in the dust. You had no idea where she was or what she was doing.

And God, you would rather be eaten by a titan a hundred times over before you ever even considered contacting your parents. You had barely thought about them since you ran off in the middle of the night. Besides, they likely didn’t even consider you their daughter anymore.

So you were stuck with nowhere to put your grief and no one to talk to. You kept it bottled up until Benjamin was out with his friends. That was when you would break down, screaming and crying in your bedroom.

You’re genuinely surprised when Erwin comes back, strolling into the house in the middle of the night without a care in the world. Benjamin was staying the night with Alexander, which left you completely alone in a cold house.

You only realized it was Erwin when the first place he went was his office. You heard him sigh, dropping papers on his desk. He stayed in there for what seemed like hours before you finally got the gall to walk in. He did nothing more than look over his shoulder, hardly even acknowledging your presence before he continued his work.

You purse your lips, biting your tongue to stop whatever pathetic sound you might have let out.

“Nice to see you,” you say. You try to put venom in it, you try so desperately to convey how hurt you are to him with those four words. But it comes out quiet, voice cracking halfway through.

“I’m busy.” As always. His response to everything you say.

“No you’re not. It’s the middle of the night, Erwin.” You see his hand stop, the grip he held on his pen slightly tightening. “What could you possibly have to do that keeps you so busy at all hours of the day?”

“I just have work, okay, Y/n? You wouldn’t understand.”

Your heart drops. Your eyes slightly widen at the sharpness of his tone. You had heard him use that tone with others before, but you never thought he’d use it with you. And he’d called you by your name.

Your eyes burn, making you wonder if you’ve always been this irrationally sensitive. You move your gaze to the ceiling as you clenched a fist, taking a deep breath.

You’re so done. So done. And you don’t know if it’s because you’re pregnant but you just hurt so bad. Your heart has been broken a million times over and you’re so tired of constantly tearing up and crying but you can’t stop.

You swallow, hoping that’ll ground you and make your voice steady. “You have ten minutes to come to bed or I’m leaving.”

You know you won’t. Erwin knows you won’t. Everyone knows the threat is empty, but you make it anyway. You turn around and walk back to the bedroom, fighting the urge to hit the wall and scream.

You allow yourself exactly four minutes to sob and pull your hair and pace the floor and do whatever you want before pulling yourself together. After those four minutes, you sit straight on the edge of the bed with your eyes closed. You take slow, calculated breaths in, doing the same when you exhale.

You know you just told the biggest, most obvious lie in the world, so it genuinely shocks you when Erwin comes into the bedroom exactly ten minutes after you had told him.

Your eyes follow him as he moves, and you watch as he slips out of his military uniform and into more comfortable clothes. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, and the two of you just stay there, back to back and unmoving. You rub your hands together and sigh, hoping that breaks the uncomfortable silence of the room.

It doesn’t. There is not a single sound in the world.

“If it’s a girl I want to name her Anastasia,” you suddenly say. You hear his sharp intake of breath and feel the bed shift as he leans forward. It’s another moment of silence, and you’re just about to give up and lay down before Erwin talks.

“I like it. We’ll call her Anya.”

You nod. The unbearable silence returns. It seems like forever until you decide to lay down, Erwin following your lead.

Neither of you move closer to the other. You stay on your respective sides of the bed, facing away from each other as sleep overtakes you.

Your bed has never felt colder.

—

He stays longer that time, though most of the two weeks are spent in his office. Benjamin coops himself up with him, always silently playing or drawing on the floor beside his father’s desk.

It gives you no chance to let your emotions out. It feels like you’ve been pregnant forever when in reality it’s only been five months. Benjamin’s birthday comes before you even know what day it is, and you’re forced to quickly string together cornbread with frosting and a present for him.

Benjamin’s sixth birthday was the first one Erwin missed—not counting the day he was born.

You were seething, and later that night when your son had gone to bed you have an argument.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that? Our son fucking adores you. He wants to be just like you when he grows up, but I don’t even think he knows who you are.”

“Of course he knows who I am. He knows enough to be able to look up to me.”

“That is the most bullshit thing I’ve ever heard. He knows the idea of you. He knows the mask you put on in front of him the one day a month you’re home. He’s too young to understand that what you do isn’t okay.”

“The Survey Corps is low on soldiers. It’s not my fault they constantly need people working.”

“Then at least take a break when you’re home. Your work doesn’t always need to come home with you! You need to spend time with your son-”

“You don’t even know what goes on in the Survey Corps so how can you say-”

“You literally only look at maps! That’s all you fucking do, how is that-”

“The formation we have in place now for expeditions is shit, I’m trying to-”

“Do that on your own goddamn time! Do that while you’re away, Erwin. I will not let Benjamin grow up without a father because you are too fucking dense to realize-”

Something breaks, and you immediately pause what you were saying and turn your head.

Benjamin stands there, looking down at the glass he broke with wide eyes. You immediately calm down, taking a deep breath as Benjamin looks up.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to.” You walk over to him, quietly shushing him and petting his hair away from his face.

“It’s okay, my love. Accidents happen.” You softly smile, your expression and voice a sharp contrast to what it was just a moment ago. You kiss the top of his head. “Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt?”

He shakes his head, slightly leaning into you. “Mommy, why were you and Daddy yelling at each other?”

You exhale a breath through your nose. You hoped that argument would have been quietly dealt with. “Sometimes Mommy and Daddy just need to yell to feel better. Everyone does.” You leave another kiss on his head, letting go of him to start picking up the broken glass.

“I’ve got that,” Erwin said. He took two steps before kneeling down, carefully collecting the shards in his hand. You watch as Benjamin steps around the glass, kissing Erwin on the cheek.

“You and Mommy shouldn’t fight because it’s bad.” You watch Erwin’s lips curve up, and he turns his head. He pulls Benjamin closer with the hand not holding glass, kissing the side of his head.

“We won’t fight anymore.”

You smile as they continue talking, carefully standing up. You stretch, taking Benjamin by the hand and walking with him to your bedroom. You tuck him into bed, laying beside him and entwining your hands with his.

“Mommy, I’m sorry about breaking the glass,” he says.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you push his hair out of his face. “Why? It was an accident, so it’s alright.”

“But I did it on purpose.”

You prop yourself up on your arm, looking down at Benjamin. He plays with a fraying string on his pajamas, avoiding eye contact. “Why’d you break it on purpose?”

“You and Daddy were getting loud and saying mean words. And I don’t wanna see you guys yelling.”

Your face softens as you lay back down, wrapping an arm around Benjamin and pulling him close. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Sometimes we just get mad at each other.”

Benjamin nods, cuddling into your side. “Were you angry because of me?”

Your face falls, and you quickly try to reassure your son. “No, no, no, darling. Of course not. We weren’t mad because of you. We will never be mad because of you, okay?”

You kiss his head as he nods again. He wraps his arms around you, hiding his face in your chest. “Okay.”

You run your hand through his hair, smoothing down the brown locks until you hear his breathing even out. You let out a sigh as you listen to his breaths, looking up when you hear Erwin’s soft footsteps. You watch him run a hand through his hair and look away when he turns to face you.

He lays down, letting out a heavy breath as he stares at the ceiling.

“He thinks we were mad because of him,” you softly say, whispering so you don’t wake your sleeping son.

Erwin turns his head, his thick eyebrows pulled together. “Did you tell him it wasn’t because of him?”

You nod. Benjamin stays sound asleep in your arms as a moment of silence passes.

“The formation we had on the expedition Anastasia died in wasn’t working.” You glance up, moving your gaze from your sleeping son to your husband’s side profile. “It was vulnerable, and it put certain people in really bad spots. Anastasia ended up in one of those places, and . . .” He trails off, making a vague motion with his hand. “I’m trying to come up with something else to use because it’s always the same spots that get targeted. I’m hoping that with a different formation and way of communicating everyone will be safer.”

You softly hum. You almost hate yourself in the silence that follows because his reasons are so valid.

But then you remember the pain—the heartbreak and longing to just be with him—and decide you can’t just wave it off with that simple explanation because you’ve spent too many tears on this.

You don’t respond, letting the heavy silence of the room speak for you.

The bed shifts, squeaking as Erwin readjusts and wraps his arm around both you and Benjamin. You can feel the hard planes of his torso against your arm, warm and inviting.

This, you think, is the closest this family will ever be.

—

When you woke up that next morning, Erwin had already left.

You were fine with that. Whatever. It was less silent arguments you had to worry about. You could go back to bottling your emotions until you were alone.

He came back every so often over the course of the next four months. He would come back for two or three days before leaving for weeks again and repeat that in a never ending cycle you were beginning to grow tired of.

You weren’t sure if he had planned it or if it was just dumb luck, but he was there on December 29 when your second child was born—a precious baby girl with big blue eyes.

You named her Anastasia just like you said you would. You had no hope that she would keep Erwin home this time, but it’s a breath of fresh air when you wake up early from her crying and Erwin is there, coddling his child and coaxing her back to sleep.

What surprised you even more was that he stayed for four weeks after that, not even leaving before he had breakfast with his family and kissed each of your heads. His lips pressed against your temple the longest, leaving a lingering kiss that you could feel even hours after he had gone.

That kiss sent you for a ride because he had kissed you. He’d given you attention, something you had longed that he give you for months and he finally had!

You kept a giddy smile on your face all day, but then you remembered that he was gone once again and probably would be for months.

More tears streamed down your cheeks daily, and Jesus Christ you just wanted to stop hurting. Erwin never sent any letters or warning and that often left you wondering if he had died on an expedition. Every time that thought crossed your mind you were sent into a spiral, and you weren’t sure if it was even the thought of losing the man you loved that made you so sad.

You didn’t know if it was that or the fact that you would truly be lost without him—because you wouldn’t know who to be if he wasn’t alive. You had spent so much time crying over him that you didn’t even know what else you were capable of. So much energy had been wasted mourning who even knows what and nothing had come out of it.

One week in February—one so cold everyone slept huddled together with a fire burning at all times—you dug up the old letters Erwin had written you.

It was early in the morning. Benjamin and Anya were still sleeping, so you moved quietly and made as little noise as you could. You took the box out from under your bed and sat by the fire, reading every word in the light it provided.

You don’t know how many times you read each one, but the more you read them the less they seemed like extravagant letters pieced together carefully to make you fall in love. They lost their luster and everything that made them surreal. Now they were just pretty words without any real meaning behind them.

Tears burn in your eyes because he promised so many things. He’d promised a happy family and to wholly belong to you only to give you nothing. He’d manipulated his words to make you fall for him and god you were so stupid for doing that.

Did he ever really like you? Maybe he had just given you attention and you misinterpreted it for love.

Whatever the answer might be, there was nothing you could do now. Your main source of income was the check you received because of your husband, and your original plan of starting some sort of business had gone down the drain once Benjamin had become older.

Even if you did want to leave, nothing good would come of it. You had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. And where would that put your kids?

You read over the letters once more. Your lips pressed together and it just makes you so mad because why would he do this? How could he just leave you on your own like this? Sure, he provided for the family but how could he ever spend more time with sheets of paper than his wife?

The first letter Erwin wrote gets slightly crumpled from how tight you grip it. You look back down at it, you gaze flickering to the fire before you do something you can’t undo.

You tear the paper up, every single word memorized, and toss it into the fire.

And God it felt good. A nice little ‘fuck you’ Erwin would never know about. But you knew about it, and just that much made you feel like you could do anything.

So you took another letter and tore it, slowly feeding the pieces to the fire. And you kept doing that, over and over, the feeling of self-satisfaction bringing a smile to your face.

“Mom? What are you burning?”

You turn your head. Benjamin was propped up on his arm, squinting in your direction as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Nothing, my love,” you said, tearing the final letter and tossing it in the fire. “Just old mail. Nothing important.”

You stood up, wiping your hands against your nightgown. you made your way to the kitchen, looking through the cupboards for whatever you could find to make breakfast.

Benjamin’s eyes followed you, eventually returning to the fire in front of him. He looked at the burning pieces of paper, wondering what they really were before he stood up, going to get dressed.

As you served plates for both you and Benjamin, you looked up at the cackling fire. And as you thought about the way you felt when you opened that first letter, you regretted what you had done just a little bit.

But you were tired of hurting. You were tired of crying all the time, and you were tired of wasting energy on something that won’t happen.

You promise yourself right then that you’re done wasting tears on Erwin. You’re done exhausting yourself just to get a tiny amount of attention from him.

And you do so good. You raise your kids well and any tears you shed aren’t sad or because of your husband. You get back into touch with Marie and find out she’s had a daughter and is pregnant again. You force yourself to seem fine around Erwin and you become so good at acting okay that you begin believing it yourself.

Until four years later, when Benjamin is 11 and comes home one day announcing that he leaves for the training corps in a week.

—

You were livid. More than you’ve ever been.

Benjamin had enlisted with the help of Erwin, managing to keep the entire thing secret from you until one of the last possible moments.

This was supposed to be a phase he grew out of—a quick thing he was hyper fixated on for a few days before he moved onto the next thing and never thought about it again.

You thought he’d gotten over it when he was five because you hadn’t heard a single thing about it over the years. He was always clinging to Erwin when he was home, but you just assumed it was because he wanted his father’s attention. You never would have imagined that they filled the paperwork out together, preparing your son for the military without so much as asking your opinion.

Erwin wasn’t home for three days after your son had announced it, and during those three days your anger only grew and you felt so tired of feeling this way.

"You can't just do this without talking to me! He's my son and-"

"He's my son, too, Y/n. You aren't the only one that needs to know what he's doing with his life."

"But I should still know! This is still something that-"

"Mom, you've known that this is something I've been wanting to do."

"You haven't said anything about joining the military since you were four, Benjamin. And then suddenly you just walk in announcing that you’re leaving-"

“He’s allowed to be his own person.”

“Obviously, but it’d be nice if-”

“You never would have heard me out or let me anyway-”

“Will you two shut up and let me talk?” you snap. They both immediately stop talking, Benjamin’s mouth slightly dropped in shock. You wait a second, making sure neither of them had anything else to say before you turned to Benjamin and continued speaking. “Go watch your sister outside.”

“But-”

“I said”—your tone hardens, voice raising—“go watch your sister. I’ll talk to you in a minute.”

Benjamin huffs, rolling his eyes before leaving the room and muttering something under his breath. You would have gotten onto him for it if you weren’t so focused on the man in front of you.

“Erwin, you can’t do this shit without telling me,” you say firmly. You pin him with your gaze, sitting at the dining table with him. “He’s my son and I think I deserve to know when he volunteers himself to go on a fucking suicide mission.”

“He won’t die out there, Y/n. He’ll get the proper training and learn the proper precautions to deal with everything.”

“Every soldier gets trained and learns how to deal with titans, but how many are still alive?”

You furrow your eyebrows in mock confusion. Erwin gets stunned into silence, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he thinks of a retort.

“Anastasia was properly trained and she still died. Benjamin is going to die out there and you think it’s okay to fill out the paperwork with him without even telling me? In what world is that okay?”

“This is something Benjamin’s wanted for years. He never brought it up to you after Anastasia died because he didn’t think you’d like it.”

“Of course I wouldn’t have! But you know what I still would have done? I would have sat down, and had a talk with him to see if this was something he actually wanted to do and I would have supported him anyways because I love him.”

“Then why can’t you show that same support now, Y/n? You say you would have heard him out but you’re so pissed after finding out he enlisted.”

“Because I didn’t know about it!” Your voice cracks, and suddenly your eyes are burning and your composure breaks and now you’re crying. “You never tell me shit, Erwin. I never get so much as a letter from you to know that you’re okay and I’m left wondering for months when your commander is going to come knocking on my door to tell me you’re dead. And the worst part is I’m only relieved to see you before I start hating you again because you never take any of us into consideration. Benjamin and Anya do so much just to get you to notice them and you barely even give them a pat on the back. But when Benjamin wants to risk his life just to please you? Why is that what makes you start paying attention to him?”

You hadn’t even realized half of what you were saying. You thought you had taught yourself to be fine when Erwin never sent a sign saying he was alive. You thought you learned how to stay in the middle ground—not in love with him like you were before but not constantly detesting him.

Then again, if you were in the middle ground then surely it wouldn’t hurt this bad, right?

The room is silent, the only sound being your heavy pants as you struggle to catch your breath and composure. You look away from Erwin because God this is embarrassing. Even more since he’s just looking at you, his expression unreadable to you as you turn your head and wipe your cheeks.

You sniff, taking a deep breath. You close your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stop the flow of tears. Finally, after you taste the faint tang of iron in your mouth, you open your eyes and face Erwin again.

He’s always been so handsome. With his high cheekbones and full lips and bushy eyebrows and gorgeous eyes. He had only grown into his features as the years passed, and you always found yourself wondering how he never looked worn out.

It always made you swoon, how handsome he was. Pretty privilege must exist because looking back there is no valid reason you forgave him for everything he did.

“I swear to God, Erwin, if anything happens to him-”

“Y/n, I promise. Nothing is going to happen. We all look out for each other. He will be fine.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as you nodded. You brought a hand up to your face, massaging your temple as you close your eyes. You’re so tired, and you don’t want to deal with this so you just nod.

“Alright. It’s fine. Just . . . Tell me things like this, okay?”

You hate how small your voice sounded, how easily you surrendered, but you wanted nothing more than just a day to rest. You’re so done and tired of everything that happens.

Erwin nods, but you know somewhere deep down that he likely won’t hold up on that promise. You’re scared that by agreeing to this you’ll start mourning someone that hasn’t even died, but you agree anyway.

And maybe, just maybe, you should have put more effort into that argument.

—

Benjamin stood, right fist over his heart with his left behind his back. He stared forward as the instructor gave his welcoming speech, a faint smile on his face.

He was finally here—finally he would be given the chance to impress his dad. He would rise through the ranks and graduate top of his class just like Erwin did. Nothing would stop him. In three years he would check the little box that officially made him a Scout.

That is what he hoped. But after a couple weeks of the same intense training and going to bed on the thin mattress drained beyond belief made him think maybe he didn’t want that.

But he was already here. He had something to prove to his dad and maybe, just maybe, Erwin would pay more attention to him.

So he tried his best. Benjamin spent any spare time he had running laps to build his endurance. Occasionally, he would spar with one of the other cadets. Nine times out of ten he lost, but the very few times he triumphed gave him this burst of motivation that made him feel like this was his destiny.

It seems like the three years he spent in the training corps came and went, and when the time to take the final assessment rolled around he felt unprepared.

He had fumbled—so bad he just barely hooked onto the tree he was aiming for with his ODM gear and nearly fell to the ground. The cut he made on every mock titan was too shallow, and each one felt like a cut to his own heart because he just knew he would not graduate top of his class. Not even close.

Results took months to get back to the cadets, which Benjamin didn’t understand because don’t his superiors grade it as he tests? Surely there’s a better way to decide rankings.

But it didn't matter. He was back home, watching his nine-year-old sister play with her friends Jean and Marco as the anxiety slowly ate away at him. He was always biting his nails, staring off into space until you lightly slapped his hand away from his lips and told him not to.

Those months where he waited for his results were the cruelest he had ever experienced. He had no clue what to do with himself, going on long walks until he was called back. And even then they didn’t give the results right away.

It was starting to get dark outside, a cold nip coming in the air. Benjamin walked into the dimly lit dining hall, his posture uncharacteristically bad.

“Oi, Smith.”

Benjamin turned, immediately straightening and searching for whoever had called his name. His gaze landed on an unusually short man with dark hair sitting alone at a table. Benjamin took slow steps and they met in the middle of the hallway.

“You’re Erwin Smith’s son, right?”

Benjamin thought the way he had to look down at the older man was a bit ridiculous. He wasn’t sure how seriously he could take this.

But he keeps a straight face and responds with the proper authority, curtly nodding and saying, “Yes, sir.”

He waits as the man in front of him takes him in, physically moving his head to look Benjamin up and down. “Erwin’s requesting your presence.”

So he sent . . . a cadet? Shouldn’t this guy already be an active member in the military?

Benjamin gives another curt nod. “Where is he?”

“In his office. He asked me to escort you.”

Benjamin nods, following the shorter man when he turns and begins walking in the opposite direction. Their steps are the only sounds that echo in the hallway, creating an uncomfortable silence around them.

“Who are you, again? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you,” Benjamin says, trying to create a running conversation that breaks the silence.

“Levi.”

He kept his response short and curt, and the way he’d said his name made it seem like he intended to end the conversation there.

The name rung a bell in Benjamin’s head, but he couldn’t quite place where he might know it from. It’s another minute of silence as Benjamin rolls the name around in his head before he finally recognizes the name.

“Wait, are you the guy that tried to kill my dad?”

Levi is silent for a moment, acting as if he hadn’t heard the question and instead redirecting the conversation. “How close are you with him?”

“Me and my dad? I mean, I guess we’re pretty close. We talk and stuff.” Benjamin shrugged, slightly relaxing his posture. “We don’t spend a lot of time together since he’s busy a lot of the time, but based on when we do, yeah, I’d say we’re pretty close.”

Levi doesn’t speak as he takes in the information. Truthfully, he hadn’t even known his superior had a child until just today. Erwin and his son must not have been as close as Benjamin believed if that was the case.

But that did make Levi curious about Erwin’s wife.

“What about your parents? They close?”

Benjamin nods. “Yeah. My mom writes Dad letters all the time.”

“You mean the ones he keeps in a box?”

Benjamin almost falters, his heart practically skipping a beat at Levi’s words.

That reaction alone tells Levi everything he needs to know, and the two of them continue walking in silence.

Levi left once they reached the door to Erwin’s office. Benjamin stood in front of it, unmoving as he thought about what Levi had said. Did Erwin really leave your letters in a box?

He finally opens the door. He’s not sure what it is, but immediately his gaze lands on a box set on the bookshelf behind Erwin, a scribble written across it spelling out what Benjamin hopes isn’t your name.

Benjamin sits in the chair across from Erwin’s desk, waiting for him to finish signing paperwork. He puts his pen down, crossing his arms against his desk and leaning forward.

Benjamin isn’t even sure what all his father had called him to talk about. He can only nod along and force all his focus on not letting his eyes drift to the box of unopened letters.

What he’d gathered after he leaves Erwin’s office and looks down at the paper in his hands is that his final test results weren’t what he was hoping for. There was no option to join the Military Police, so he definitely wasn’t in the top ten. And after a self evaluation joining the Scout Regiment seemed out of reach, too . . .

Later that night, when Benjamin is the only one awake in the cadets quarters, he reads over the paper in the dim moonlight. He bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks, picking up a pencil and tapping the tip against his lip.

His pencil hovers over the box, ready to put an X in the one labeled Scouts, but something makes him hesitate. He isn’t the best with ODM gear. His physical prowess definitely isn’t as good as he’d like it to be, and his agility and dexterity could get him killed with how slow he is.He decides he values his life more than his father’s approval, and that is why he moves his pencil down and checks the box labeled Garrison.

Part two y'all, hope you enjoyed <3

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ivyppoison · 4 months

Text

pairings. jason todd ⠀𝒙⠀ civilian!fem!reader

warnings. derogatory language. religious references ( i have an obsession ). mention of death.

note. this is my first ‘cigarettes after sex’.( album specifically ) inspired fic !! i used a few lyrics & honestly it hasn’t worked better. i love my mind. i haven’t written in so long & i wrote most of this whilst i had a bad stomachache in the car so i don’t really know if it’s good. in addition to this, i thought it would make sense for the reader to be the wayne’s gardeners daughter or something, meaning she’s known the family for years ♡♡ ── yours sincerely, maxine

words.

#. dc masterlist. | main masterlist.

THE NIGHT, FULL of silence and tranquillity, had been more than simply your acquaintance for the past few weeks. A close confidante you could say.

Every story that laced your tongue withered into the breeze of the winter’s night sky, ── an endearing poem full of confessions, and it seemed the newborn moon took pleasure in it.

One thing that remained a secret, however, was the missing puzzle of your heart, who was roaming about in another city not too far away from where you are.

If you could, you would beg the gods above to retract your choice on whether you wanted your love to be immortal, or immoral, which presumably, you chose the latter. He had warned you, over and over and over again not to fall in love with him, but whether it was his expressions which were adorned with a smirk or the touch of his hands gracing your body; somewhere between the lines of your sick love story, you fell in love.

You looked over at your phone, expecting for the screen to light up, but it didn’t. When it did, it wasn’t what you wished for.

“Call him,” your mind kept on repeating, almost driving you into a state of paralysis.

After a moment of hesitation, your hand reached out for it, pulling back for a moment as you came into contact with the cold device. As you held it close to your body, you found your contacts list & under your emergency contacts, there was his name.

‘Jay-bird’, a nickname that you had been teasing him with ever since you met him. It was entirely fitting, especially as he used to be Robin. The name still stood, albeit he was the Red Hood now. You were the only one he trusted to use the name without the intention of bringing up his past. He only trusted you, as he knew you’d never mention the time before his death.

He was Lazarus, and you were Martha, and he placed the trust of his life into your hands, because he knew you truly loved him.

“Call him,” you whispered to yourself, letting out a breath you’d unconsciously been holding in before clicking on his name.

A few seconds had passed, and your call went straight to voicemail.

Were you so idiotic and foolish to think he’d ever want to talk about you? After that night, after that night were you unintentionally broke each other’s hearts?

You had better be joking.

II.

Sometimes, you could recall that exact moment: duffle bags in a small pile on the floor, his armour sprawled out onto the carpet of your living room, and the cautious footsteps Jason took so he didn’t wake you up. Yet, the empty and cold bed told you otherwise.

Wrapping yourself in the thin blanket which was draped over the bed, you made your way into the room, leaning on the doorframe.

“Jason ──,” you whispered, tilting your head in a curious manner.

This caused Jason’s head to tilt up towards the sound of your voice before he stood up in a defensive manner.

“Where are you going?” You asked as your voice trailed off. You knew exactly where he was going; the act of him being desperate to cover it up or even keeping it secret from you told you where he was going.

“I would have told you, I just ── I couldn’t,” he replied, running his fingers through his hair, staring back at you with those cold but gentle grey eyes.

Every night, after he’d go out on patrol, he’d lay down on your lap, perhaps with a cigarette in his hands as he looked up into your eyes. Now, here you were.

You didn’t know whether he was anxious or angry. You’d never seen him anxious before.

“You couldn’t tell me you were leaving?” You asked, walking up to him slowly. “So, you were planning to leave without saying anything?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he answered, his voice now stern and assertive.

He was your fucking boyfriend, yet he couldn’t tell you he was leaving for weeks?

He was pathetic.

You were pathetic.

“Because you were afraid I’d get hurt,” you replied, tilting your head as you mimicked what he always said to you.

“Can’t you, for once in your life, live without me?” He inquired, his voice started to sound more agitated.

“I already have Jason, and I don’t want to do it again. You can leave, but fucking tell me,” you retorted, sadness now lacing your voice.

He was taken aback, he knew what you were talking about. When he died, and left you alone.

“It wasn’t my fault you didn’t have anyone else,” he said, running his hands through his hair again. “You just follow me around like a helpless child. You’re scared that I may leave and never come back? Well, that’s life. Clearly you haven’t lived it enough to realise that.”

“You were a helpless child, Jason,” you said, pointing your finger at him, “I’m too tired for this shit, honestly. Just leave, I don’t care. Don’t fucking come back,” you added, holding the blanket closer to your body.

“Fuck you,” you then whispered under your breath, making your way back into the bedroom. Your bedroom.

Your eyes felt dry from your petty tears, it was enough. Everything you could possibly relate to your relationship was petty. Petty conversations, petty insults, petty sex. He felt bad for you, and you, him. Yet, in between that, you fell in love with each other.

All you wanted was to hold him and cry into his chest till you fell asleep. To kiss him in the comfort of your room.

He was gone.

III.

You were tired.

This false sense of hope you still had was killing you.

No calls, no messages, no voicemails, no signal, no letter; nothing existed or happened with the possibility that Jason was still alive.

Another night had passed, and you questioned how you were still strong in this belief that he was okay.

Even if he was, he wasn’t coming back.

This was your first incorrect assumption.

As you clambered out of the sheets, a figure on the balcony caught your eye.

You were a mere civilian who managed to be associated with the vigilantes of Gotham City, so this wasn’t a surprise.

Approaching the figure with a slight hesitation, you pulled back the lace curtains and opened the door, your eyes setting on the man in front of you.

“You came back,” you whispered, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands in an attempt to warm them up.

“Of course I did,” Jason responded.

His hair was unkempt, adorning that white streak of strands you loved so much. His hands gripped his bag, his knuckles red with blood. His eyes looked down at you with pure adoration, a bruise forming around his left one.

Jason was back.

Your Jason was back.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jay,” you apologised, walking up towards him. “I should have never said any of that.”

“And I shouldn’t underestimate you,” he replied, placing his hand on the back of his neck.

You smiled at him softly before taking his hands into yours, using your thumbs to gently stroke them.

“Stay with me, Jay,” you asked, gazing up at him. “I don’t want you to leave ──”.

Jason smiled back at you, before pressing his lips to yours in perfect unison.

It was going to be okay.

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chaoticallywriting · 1 year

Text

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Two

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader

Warnings: mentions of assault, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of violence and death.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Previously || Next

The next morning was a different type of nightmare. Anxiety riddled your bones as you peeled away from him, climbing out of bed at the first ray of light with a wince. Your hands were shaking as you redid the bindings of your dress and smooth down your skirts and hair before making a break for it.

At this early hour, the only ones awake were guards and very few servants. You only hoped that your diligence was enough,spending weeks after that night praying to any god that may hear you for forgiveness… and maybe a little luck.

The godswood became a place that you spent most of your time, occasionally even bringing your little brothers with you. In those days you tried to teach them of the old Valyrian gods and the ways of your ancestors, but it was obvious that the septons teaching them had already begun to plague their minds with that of the seven.

You felt like a foreigner in those moments. You had no one who cared about your ancestors, not anymore. The ways of your people were being wiped out, leaving you to wonder what Aegon the conqueror thought of it all.

You had heard that Aemond would read extensively about old Valryia, but you scarcely saw him. He had arrived a few days after Aegon’s assault, smelling of her and trying his best to ignore your presence. When you had desperately tried to bed him once more, he left the room, claiming he was tired.

It left you feeling panicked, you had even tried to ply him with wine, but he seemed to understand your motives and had yelled at you before flying back to Harrenhal a day earlier than what was intended. You had cried that day, sitting on the floor of your bedchamber, for you knew you were doomed.

You couldn’t trust anyone in the castle. They got rid of your supporters and confidants the second your grandfather had died, leaving no one to ask for moon tea. Your nerves frayed every moon that passed, your bleed refusing to come.It was a quick assumption, but you were always on time and have never missed a bleeding since your first blossom at the age of twelve. Aegon had succeeded and you were doomed. Soon the handmaidens would notice and probably let Alicent know.

You weren’t a fool to think she didn’t have spies in the castle, only an idiot wouldn’t, and she was a very smart woman. She played the game successfully and almost everything had gone her way. Most of her family still lived, unlike yours, and the kingdom would remain in her bloodline.

You had one handmaiden you did trust, Lila. She was always gentle with you in the mornings and was the only one to try to talk to you when readying you for the day. She had even tried to encourage you with Aemond whenever he’d stay in the red keep, reminding you of your beauty and position. You know it’s thanks to her that you always have the freshest honey cakes and why there was always candied lemons in your room. Lila made it all a little bearable, and you came to consider her as a friend.

It was why you had sat her down one-day while the rest readied a bath for you, your voice that of a whisper, “I need you to do something for me, but you must promise not to tell a soul.” Her eyes widened at that, you hardly asked for anything these days, and never once have you been so serious when doing so. “I need a vial of blood, it does not matter which kind or from where, but I need it by tonight, and I will need one every night for the next five days.”

You usually only bled for that long, something she must have picked up on because her eyes glanced down at your stomach. Lila was a smart woman, that much you knew. Part of that scared you, but you hoped you could trust her, she was the only one you could count on to do this.

You gently grabbed her hands, holding them in your own and desperately looking into her eyes. You could hear the other handmaidens finishing up and knew there was not much time left.

“Please.”

Lila nods, her face grim as she pulls her hands away from yours and stands. “I believe your bath is ready, your grace.”

The water is warm and smells of citrus and sage, a smell you’ve always liked. You spend far too long in the water, head leaning against the metal rim and staring off into space. You’ve felt so tired lately, and you know it must be because of the babe in your belly.

By the time your handmaidens successfully get you out of the water, you find your skin pruny and hair tangled. They made quick work of both, and you find yourself in one of the few gowns you can tolerate, a square collared forest green dress that shows off your shoulders and collarbones.

After the assault, you had dressed yourself until the bruise on your neck faded. Only wearing high collared dresses Alicent had made for you. Now with all the evidence gone, you let the girls primp you as they would every day, fixing a wrinkle here or there and dabbing a light pink cream onto your cheeks.

After your surrender, Alicent had a new wardrobe made for you, one filled with modest dresses in varying shades of green. Your favorites out of the collection were the few that reminded you of before. They showed some of your skin and made you feel like you could breathe, you only assumed Helaena had to be thanks to that, for you knew Alicent hated those dresses.

You used to love the shade of green. You often admired your Uncles and Aunt’s clothes as a child, and often found yourself dreamily looking at the deep green leaves on a tree. There was beauty in such a natural color, but not anymore. Now green plagues your nightmares, reminding you of the decimation of your family. The beheading of your mother and your imprisonment. For what was all this if not a jewel speckled prison?

It was almost funny that they had to dress you in green. It was as if they feared if you looked like a true Targaryen once more, a rebellion would rise up. How scared they were - fearing more unrest if you wore a red dress.

Up until today, you’ve avoided Aegon at all costs. It was relatively easy since you only left your chambers to go to the godswoods with your brothers. Such a holy place had no room for the debauchery that Aegon liked to commit to, so you never had to worry about him there.

But today you had to tell him of your pregnancy. Perhaps since it was only midday he would be somewhat sober, or would just be waking up. Maybe he’ll have a clear enough head to realize the predicament he’s put you in. The walk to his room was quick, he’ll just be waking up, so there won’t need to be any worry about him being elsewhere.

A guard announces your presence to Aegon before you enter and closes the door behind you, trapping you with him once more. You have little time today, no doubt Alicents spies have already spotted you entering her son's rooms.

Aegon’s room is a mess, as usual. Clothes are strewn about from the day before and there’s an empty pitcher on the floor that you kick as you walk over to his bed where he lazed. He blinks up at you when you stop by his side of the bed and smirks.

“Well, hello, come back for more?” When he reaches for your hand, you take a hasty step back, memories of that night playing in your head. All the nights that followed that fateful event have been plagued with thoughts of him. Despite your struggle, you find your dreams filled with lust as they replay that night over and over again. You don’t understand yourself anymore.

“I’m pregnant,” you deadpan. You wring your hands out as he sits up. Aegon smilies a mischievous smile as he looks you up and down, eyes stopping at your stomach. “I-I tried to get him to lay with me or at least get drunk enough to make him think we did, but… He wouldn’t let me.”

The room is silent as you begin to panic, your resolve crumbling. He doesn’t seem to get how detrimental this all is for you as he reaches for you once more, grabbing your hands and pulling you to the edge of his bed.

“He could have my head, o-or punish my brothers. Everyone will know this babe isn’t his and that I am…” you squeeze your eyes shut, beginning to shake as you feel yourself get more worked up. “I am a whore now.”

“I’m glad he didn’t touch you, I meant what I said that night.” His hands come up to cup your cheeks, pulling your face down to his, you try to pull away, but he just tightens his grip. “You are mine now, I wouldn’t want him touching what is mi-”

Alicent storms into the room, interrupting whatever he was saying. Within seconds, you finally pull yourself away, using his surprise to your advantage. Even with you several steps away from him, the scene before Alicent could still be compromising. You only hope she sees you as the victim in any assumptions she might make.

She stops as she takes you both in, you think you notice a brief flash of relief pass through her features, but it's quickly masked with annoyance. She walks over to the bed that Aegon has now sat up in and sighs.

“Aemond is back, and he’s not happy,” she starts, eyeing you before continuing. “He found out about the delays.”

Delays? You furrow your brows and try to seem interested in your hands while listening, hoping that if you remain quiet, they’ll somehow both forget you're here.

“Well, maybe he should have thought of the consequences of avoiding his duties-” He glanced at you before getting out of bed, his sheet wrapped around his waist. “I’d like to point out that not even I did that.”

Ahh, so whatever it is about you. She rubs her face before letting out a deep sigh. “Then we must sit him down and talk to him. Put on clothes and meet me in my apartments. I’ll have Sir Cole fetch him for me…” she glances at you, and then him. “Y/n, come along.”

You follow after Alicent, casting a glance to Aegon as you both leave. He began to slide his sheet off at the sight of your eyes, beginning to smirk as the door slams shut. You can tell your cheeks are flushed and find yourself shaking your head to make your hair hide your face.

Thankfully, she stays a step or two ahead of you the whole time, muttering to herself about the nonsense she must deal with. Upon entering her apartments, you find yourself hesitantly taking a seat on one of the benches, hands clenched together on your lap. Your heart is pounding so much that you fear that she can hear it as she takes a seat across from you.

“I’m surprised to have found you in my son's chambers.” You bite the inside of your cheek as you glance up at the queen mother, trying to find some type of lie that she might believe. But she’s smart, you know this, and you find it hard to come up with the right words.

“I was…” You take a shuddering breath, “I was asking the king to consider an annulment, but he seemed against it.”

Alicent’s eyes widen, but before she can say anything Aemond enters with Sir Cole trailing behind him. He looks between the two of you, taking in her shocked expression and yours of guilt. He probably thinks you’ve caused her grief, which isn’t far from the truth, but whatever this meeting is about cannot be because of you.

You remember first seeing him all grown up when you came to hear about the petitions for Driftmark. Your mind consisted of girlish thoughts regarding his handsome features and drifted into what ifs. The night of the family dinner, you even found yourself sneaking glances at him now and then. All he did was scowl in your direction anytime you two shared a glance.

“Mother?” He walks up to her bench as she stands and looks her over. “I was on my way to see grandsire, Sir Cole said you had something important to say?”

She touches his cheek, letting out a deep sigh before nodding. “Yes, why don’t you have a seat? Aegon should be here shortly, and then we can discuss the news.”

She gestures to the spot beside you, which Aemond begrudgingly takes. It’s a rather long couch and yet once he sits down the distance between you two seems to lengthen. Each of you is seated on either side, with enough space for one or two people to sit between you. A picture-perfect couple, if you say so yourself.

The uncomfortable silence that follows thankfully doesn’t last long because the king finally arrives with a goblet in hand and clothes on his body. You find a piece of yourself sad about the latter and mentally scold your dirty mind for such an indecent thought. All of you rise and get formalities out of the way, your eyes never meeting his for fear that somehow it would give away your thoughts.

Aegon looks between you and Aemond and smirks at the space between one another before sitting down on the same bench as his mother. He slowly takes a sip from his goblet and raises his glass to Aemond.

“Such a lovely couple, don’t you agree, mother?”

Alicent looks up at the tapestries behind you before sighing. “Not now Aegon.” She directs her attention to Aemond, sometimes glancing at you and occasionally picks at her fingers, she’s tense and maybe even a little scared. “We have been delaying Alys’s Ladyship and also the legitimization of her bastard.”

Aemonds jaw clenches, his hand tightly gripping the armrest while he stares at his mother. The love and care that were once in his eyes are now muddled with unbridled rage.

“Why?” His voice is low, but there is no mistaking the anger laced within such a small word. “Harrenhal is currently a mess, for she technically holds no authority. You are allowing such a thing to happen for wha-”

“Maybe because you won’t stop fucking her?” Aegon smirks as Aemond scowls at his brother and goes to stand up. You try to grab his wrist to keep him seated, but he shakes your hand off. Your cheeks flame with embarrassment, and anger flashes in Aegon’s eyes at the sight. “You can’t even let your own wife touch you, and yet you expect us to give your mistress Harrenhal?”

“I did not ask to marry this traitorous bitch! Alys was with child when you forced this fate on me, we could have easily cut her head off or fed her to Vhaga-”

“Enough!” Alicent stands, pacing around the room with a hand on her forehead. “She is your wife, and you will not talk about her in such vile-” -she turns to him sharply, finger jutting out in warning, “ways!”

There are tears in your eyes. You hadn’t noticed them till they had fallen, leading you to hastily wipe them away. Mentally cursing yourself for such weakness, you weren’t the strongest of Rhaenyra’s children, but you had been the kindest. The nicest and most optimistic, according to her.. It’s what made you too weak for war, Daemon would say.

“We will only give her Harrenhal if she marries Sir Garth Hightower. We will also legitimize her bastard. If not, we will give Harrenhal to Sir Reece Rivers who is next in line after Alys. If she accepts these terms, then you will have to stay here and no longer visit Harrenhal, and become a good husband to y/n.”

He’s speechless, hand clenching and unclenching the armrest as his mind wandered, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched.

“She is the realm's delight, Aemond! All love her, and all they have heard are things that anger them. Before the war, she was paraded between regions to bring peace and… the north remembers. The letters from Cregan Stark never cease! We cannot go on like this, or they will rise against us again.”

Cregan asks about you? No one told you about his letters. Your heart soars at the thought of him trying to look after you. There was a brief moment in the war when you were betrothed and had even found a friendship with him while courting. But the war ended before the wedding came, and now you're here, married to someone who is still very clearly your enemy.

“Then give her to Cregan,” he stands and gestures to you. “She's still a maiden from my understanding. Give her to him so Alys may marry me,”

Aegon smirks into his goblet at his brother’s words, finishing it off before setting it on the table and looking between Alicent and Aemond.

“If we give her to him, he will rise up to put her on the throne, whether she wants it or not. If we kill her, all will riot, even the small folk.”

“She is not my duty, my honor does not lie with her,” he whispers to his mother, who frowns and walks up to cup his cheeks. “My duty lies with my son, you can’t keep him from me.”

You frown, hand lightly rubbing your stomach at the mention of children. You don’t know if you could take being separated from your future children. Likewise, you fear you may become one of those overbearing hens who breathes down their necks, but you’ve lost too much already.

Unbeknownst to you, Aegon catches the movement and smiles softly. He wishes he could openly tell them all of your pregnancy and how it was his, but knows he can’t. He might not mind chaos, but he knows you don’t. He’s tried with Maelor, but the poor boy is scared of him. and anyone who isn’t his nurse maid and Jaehera has hardly said a word since the assassination. Opting to stay in silence like her mother.

He tried with Helaena after everything, maybe he’ll tell you that, so you know not to feel bad. You seem like you’d be the type to feel bad about something like this.

“The world knowing he is yours will only bring him harm. He has no dragon, and he is not in the keep to watch over. Having him far away from you is for the best for you angered so many people in the war.” She places her forehead against his own, taking a deep breath in and out, which he seems to follow. “Think of Jahaerys.”

The mood shifts from tense and hostile to somber at the mention of the poor boy. You abruptly stand at his name and face the window. Feeling sick at the mere thought. You’ll never forgive Daemon for such an inconceivable act, nor will you forget him using Lucerys’s death as the reason. He seemed proud when the letter came in confirming the young prince's death, and all had fallen silent in horror as he told the war council the news.

Lucerys would have never condoned such a thing. He had a good heart, and despite not liking his uncles, did not have an inclination towards violence. That night in driftmark had mostly occurred out of self-defense from both sides.

“Fine.” His voice drips defeat as he pulls away from her, plopping back onto the couch and staring off into nothingness. You turn to look at him and sigh.

Alicent walks over and places her hand on his shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. “You cannot go back to Harrenhal… As well as your grandsire and I believe a bedding ceremony needs to take place between you and lady y/n.”

Aegon does not hide his outrage well. He scoffs and leans against the couch, “If we do that everyone will know they have not already done so.”

Alicent glances in his direction, her features hardening. “Everyone already knows, we will have a maester oversee it.”

Aemond says nothing, not a single sound. He simply stares at his hands and nods. This must be what defeat looks like on the great kinslayer. He does not wear it well. You know his heart must be broken, but you selfishly hope that perhaps he will find comfort in you with this new-found loneliness. Perhaps he will finally see this marriage as his duty and honor it as he has done with everything else.

“I will be there for it as well, the king should be there for such important matters.” His voice is hardened and barely containing his anger, shaking a bit at the end, and you know he’s trying hard to control himself. It shocks you, him containing himself and his words. Your eyes widen in horror as you stare at Aegon, his mother simply sighs his antics but nods along. Whenever he pulls the king card, she seems to give in, most of the time.

“It will be tonight.”

Alicent nods and pulls away, most likely to make the preparations for such a thing as his words sink in.

Tonight.

#aegon x reader #aegon #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #hotd smut #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aegon smut #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii smut #aegon ii x reader #hotd fanfic

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oxittocin · 3 months

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whatever this is (nico robin x reader)

nico robin masterlist

i'm not a writer, just a nico robin simp. this is but an unworthy tribute.

cw: gn!reader, an exploration of the [nico robin x reader] relational development across arabasta, skypiea and enies lobby arcs, with the god/devil motifs.

i. Post-Arabasta

Sanji had a terrible habit of leaving his cigarettes around. It is kind of a miracle that his pockets continue to contain a never-ending cigarette supply. You spot a half-burnt cigarette lying on the deck for the fifth time this week and swiftly picked it up. Didn’t want litter on Merry.

“Should I start calling you Janitor-San?” A hint of playfulness in her voice as Robin looks up from the book she’s holding.

You cleared your throat with a flourish.

“You can call me Mr. Prince.” Cigarette between the index and middle finger, you cooly placed it between your lips, pretending to take a drag in the best Sanji impression you could muster. Wiggling your eyebrows and pretending to exhale sweet smoke into the cool air, you asked Robin, “Are you lost? I need to call God and tell him I’ve found his missing angel.”

Expecting to hear Robin’s gorgeous, gorgeous laughter, you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back for a job well done on an exquisitely accurate Sanji impression.

Or so, you thought.

A long moment passed before you saw the tiniest trace of amusement grace her features. Still, the silence that followed had already pushed you down a rabbit hole of self-consciousness and embarrassment. Involuntary flashbacks of Robin nonchalantly breaking necks with merely a flick of her palms had you panicking. What kind of idiocy had possessed you to freely joke around her like this? Stupid cigarette. Stupid Sanji.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust her. It just always felt like she was keeping you at arm’s length. A careful distance, a wariness masked by gentle smiles, a tentative friendship that rendered you a bumbling idiot. You didn’t know how to act around her when in this state of incongruence.

It felt like an eternity had passed when she finally responded.

“Ah, an angel.” She simply stated, turning her attention back to her book.

Now, cue the internal screaming, cursing yourself over and over again, wishing you could just jump off the ship and disappear. Face flushed red with embarrassment, it was no surprise that you missed it when she said, “Lucifer was an angel too.”

Ah, it must have been odd for someone so closely associated with the name of the Devil, to be called an angel.

ii. Post-Skypiea

Sure, God Enel did wipe out a whole lot of folks but the real bulldozer was the Moonlight Party afterwards. Leaving behind a sea of wasted idiots - including the majority of the Strawhats - you winced at your throbbing headache as you shuffled to sit beside Robin, who seems to be the only one sober enough for a conversation.

“What a God, huh?” You offered her a friendly smile.

“It seems you might have jinxed us with your Sanji impression, with wanting to call God and all.” She retorted.

“Well, eh, I’ve never believed in God,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. A pause, before you continue, “I believe in you, though.”

Throughout the events that unfolded in Skypiea, you had grown much more comfortable around Robin. She remains a mystery in more ways than one, but she has saved your hide countless times over that you feel safe around her.

“Another attempt at a pick up line, I see.” She teased.

“No, I mean it.” You admit. It must be the sentimentality that arose from the quietness of the night or the atmosphere under the full moon that had given you an ounce of courage to be sincere.

“Even if I were the devil incarnate?” She asked. In the dimness of the night, you couldn’t quite make out her expression. You weren’t sure if she were joking or not, but there was a quiet desperation in her tone that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

A pause.

“I’d still think you were cool.” You say softly to her, not sure if that was the answer she wanted to hear. You hope that it was enough anyway, because you meant it. You liked her, regardless. You hope she knows that, but the silence that ensued lasts a little longer and tells you that she probably doesn’t.

iii. Post-Enies Lobby

“It's divine intervention, you know that right?" That was the first thing you said to her after the ordeal that was Enies Lobby. A couple of pirates against the Marines' stronghold is practically a suicide mission after all. If not for heaven's will, then how else?

"And would God really save the Devil's Child?" She asked, amused by your interpretation of the events that had unfolded. A twinkle of playfulness in her eyes as she challenged your theory.

"God made me to never leave you alone."

A promise you intend to keep.

#one piece x reader #nico robin x reader #nico robin #robin one piece #nico robin x you #nico robin x y/n #one piece robin #one piece #sorry sanji

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malavera · 1 year

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Dad's Best Friend, pt. ii (m) | Tom Cruise

Tom Cruise is your Dad's Best friend. Your dad is a businessman in Hollywood, and he happens to be friends with your teenage year crush. You're legal now, what happens when you can finally live out your desires?

Summary: Tom made an appearance at your dad's birthday party. It's been 3 days since you had that one sinful dream, how could you recover from it? By ignoring him or tell him about that dream?

Tags: 18+, allusions to smut, dirty talk, agegap (reader is 26, tom is 59)

tagging: @call-sign-shark @deanscroissant @helloitstsyu @moondustfairies ✨

creds for tomcruisebrasil on ig for the vid! just turned em into a gif using tumblr ‘s all. x.

check out the series!

“Don’t get him another watch! He’s got tons of that! Get him something that he hasn’t owned yet.” Your mother's judgemental tone, hissed through the phone causing you to roll your eyes.

The sun is high and beaming down to the streets of beverly hills. You cursed to yourself on why you didn't bring your sunglasses as it is difficult to navigate through the path that it caused you to squint and scrunched your eyebrows. You’re trying to figure out what present to get for your dad. He’s turning 61 today, and you don’t know what to get for a man who’s turning 61 years old other than a bottle as old as him, or something expensive to get in his collections of luxury things.

“Yeah? Like what?” You muttered, a challenge laced in your tone. You grumbled feeling your heels killing your feet since you've been walking for almost 20 minutes and still got nothing.

“Like grand babies for instance.” Yet again, You grumbled in your breath. You’ve expected hearing this coming out from your mother’s mouth. It’s not that you don’t want to have babies, or even get married. It’s just that, no men has met your qualifications and expectations. You’ve always been picky when it comes to dating men, because you don’t want anything that has happened in the past repeated itself.

You heard your phone gave out a beeping sound, means another incoming call wants to get through. You told your mom that you have to take this call as it is important because it’s your assistant.

“What, Glinda? I’m kind of busy right now.” You said as you stopped in front of a store, scanning the products from the window.

“I’m sorry, Miss. But, it’s really important. Maya needs you at the warehouse. Do you think you can stop by?” You fingers went up to massage your scrunched forehead.

Another packaging meltdown.

You’re a businesswoman in a Beauty industry. The business has been running for about 3 years, and it’s been going really well than you’ve expected it to be. It’s going so well that it became your baby, you couldn’t even leave her alone for just a 3 minute walk to the bathroom, hence why you don’t have time for romance and family.

“Ask Roy to take care of it! I hired him for a reason, he’s our manager for god sakes.” You commanded, turning your back as you’re facing towards the streets, watching cars passing by.

“Roy’s not available, Miss.” That idiot, I am so firing him once I get back to the office, you thought.

“Fine. I’ll be there in 10.”

*****

“Happy Birthday, Dad!” You exclaimed once you walked into the party room where your dad’s friends and your family be. Everyone cheered for your entrance, clapping of hands sounded through the air in the room as you approach him while holding his favorite vanilla cake.

Your dad laughed and smiled before he approaches you with opened hands, “Make a wish then blow the candles!”

He sighs lovingly before he closes his eyes before he bend his knees slightly to reach your level then blew the candles. Everyone cheered again as your mom takes away your cake in a hurry as she understands how her husband gets very excited about this moment, cue your dad engulfed you in a big hug.

“Urgh! My little one, thank you. I love you.” He lifted you up and slightly twirled both of you then set you back to the ground.

“I love you too, Dad.” You patted softly patted his back before he released you.

“You’re gonna have to wait for your birthday present in… Probably around 3 weeks?” You look at him with squinted eyes and gritted teeth as he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I don’t care. All I care is having you here! 3 Days ago was such a short time and before that, it has been like what? 5 months since I last saw you and I only get to be around you for 5 hours.” The way he explained it to you sounded like a rolling eyes in his tone. You chuckled nervously, of course your mind had to remember what happened 3 days ago.

You were supposed to be spending your time with your Dad, but once you arrived, He had to leave as he had a couple of errands to run. He told you to wait, and you did, but you fell asleep and had that dream.

How could you even explain it to your own self?

How can you even have that dream in the first place?

Was it because it was the week of Top Gun: Maverick premiere and you’ve seen the news of him being in Mexico and thought he was so hot during that premiere. You’d never admitted this ever, to anyone, not even yourself, that you started having wet dreams of your Dad’s best friend, the Mister Tom Cruise, when you were 19 years old.

Yes, you feel sick to your stomach.

How could a 19 year old girl thirst over a man who’s as old as her dad?

You blame your girlfriend’s in college for forcing you to watch Risky Business and Top Gun 1986 then started to realize what a hot uncle you have.

Well, he’s technically not your uncle we all know that.

But, he’s been around for so long, you were really closed with him when you were young but when you hit puberty and all those teenage years, it’s normal to say that, those were the phases where you distant yourself from your family.

Speaking of Tom Cruise, everyone seemed to turned their heads towards the entrance as he walks inside the room with a big smile on his face. You watched your dad made his way towards him before he engulfed him in a big hug also. Suddenly it felt like the air around you seemed to have gone away, your chest heavy, your palms sweating. A waiter holding a tray of champagnes came in your presence as you grab a glass before you took a sip of it and decided to leave the room.

Your head was heavy. Your mind couldn’t stop teasing you how good he looked today, it’s even encouraging you to take actions that you know it’s going to risk it all. Your feet dragging you away from the crowd, your hand placed on top of your head as you squeeze your eyes shut to stop thinking about some kind of evil plan that your own mind formed.

A gasp escaped from your lips when you felt a hard bump against your chest, resulting your glass of champagne spilled to your dark blue dress.

Aw, great, it looks like someone peed on your chest.

“Sshoot! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” You recognized that voice, the eyelids of your eyes slowly fluttered unfold to reveal Tom Cruise wearing that sexy black suit, a couple of his buttons undone. He’s very sexy, you thought.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry, dear. Let me ask your mother if she-” You immediately shook your head no.

“It’s nothing, sir.” Tom looked bewildered.

You never call him Sir, he’s always go by the name Tommy, Uncle Tommy, or Unky. You stepped away from him as you set the empty glass on the nearest table. Tom watched you practically sprinting off down the hallway. The top of his teeth pulled on his bottom lip slightly. It was a brief moment but nonetheless, Tom’s got a good look on your presence.

You’ve grown into such a mature woman.

You’re no longer had bangs that he find it very cute.

You used to have chubby cheeks and slightly chubby arms but he knew how that went away. He knew all about you more than you know about yourself. He knew all about the toxic relationship that you had with your boyfriend who were 3 years older than you. He had told your father how he shouldn’t have approved the relationship that you had, should’ve encouraged him to convince you to break up with the douchebag. But, eventually you finally got the light and you did break things off with him.

You’ve grown ever since then.

You seemed to be more aware of yourself. You started taking care of your body, eating healthy foods, exercises 4 days a week, and now here you are. Almost looking like a woman, that Mr. Tom Cruise himself didn’t recognize.

Pushing down the door handle to your room, you stepped in as you give yourself a second to take in the atmosphere of your old room. Not one single thing had moved from it’s original position. It had been left, just like that. You sighed to yourself, closing the door behind you and opened a door to your closet.

Your old clothes are still there. You moved out of the house around 2 years ago, when your business came up and running. You decided to have a place of your own because when you live under your dad’s roof, you’d live under his rules and it’s no time for that. You rummaged through a couple of dresses, mentally cursing to yourself for having more sweatshirts than dresses honestly. You sighed, you didn’t find anything that you could wear.

You jumped when you heard a knock on your door, “Y/N, It’s me. Your mother told me to give you this, may I?” It’s him.

Cracking your knuckles anxiously, your knees popping slightly. Shit, why is he here instead of my mom? You thought. You licked your bottom lip, straighten your posture and rub your slightly sweaty palm of your hands on your dress.

"Hi," You breathed when you pull the door open to reveal Tom plastered with a sweet smile on his face, holding a what seem to be a dress that your mom was about to go upstairs and give it to you but Tom insisted saying it was his fault so he wanted to be the one giving it to you instead.

"Your mom told me to give this to you." Tom stated, his arm extended to you.

"Right, thanks." You breathed yet again, you seemed to be out of breath are you okay in there? Tom thought. You took the hanger off from his grip in a quick motion and as you were about to close the door on his face, Tom stopped you from doing so.

"Can we talk? You seemed to be ignoring me, is there something wrong?" Tom questioned, his eyes were on you before they drifted their focus onto your room behind you. Tom pushed the door softly before entering in, without realizing you're following his movements as you backed away with the door.

"Your room hasn't changed much huh." Tom stated as he chuckled to himself, dragging his fingertips across the wooden bedpost. "I remember how you used to talk to me about boys and that was, I think, when you were about 14 years old?" Tom turned to you with a smile as he chuckles a little bit.

"Aha, right." You couldn't help but chuckled awkwardly. Tom stands firmly on his ground, with his hands on the pocket of his dress pants, mouth slightly agape in confusion.

"Y/N seriously, is there something wrong? You know, you can still tell me anything. About your life, you work, whatever it is," Tom murmured while he approaches you slowly, step by step. Your fingers played with each other, your knees bouncing anxiously, biting your bottom lip.

"I really wanna know, because I care about you." Tom ended softly, his hands now placed on top of your shoulders as you look at one before looking back at him.

Care? In what way?

In you're my best friend's daughter care?

Or actually, really cares?

Well, he said I can tell him anything right? You thought. But your other conscious on the other hand said, No it's embarrassing Y/N and it's fucking weird that you had dreams about him fucking you.

"I-.. Actually.. Have s-something to t-tell you?" You stuttered, and that sentence came out like a question instead of a statement. Tom's eyes are on you as he nod his head slowly and guide him and you to sit on the edge of your bed.

"Okay.. Sweetheart, do tell me." Tom acknowledged. You swallowed down your saliva, gripping on the hanger of your dress that is laying on top of your lap. You chose to risk it all.

"I... Had a dream."

"Uh.. Huh.."

"It's um-"

"Y/N, Honey... Your hands are shaking," Tom pointed that you yourself didn't even realize that, not just your hands but, your whole body trembles.

Okay, Y/N just drop the ball! Your mind shouted before you push yourself off from the edge of your bed and tossed the dress to his side.

"I had a sex dream about you!" You exclaimed with your eyes closed. When you open them, it revealed Tom's bewildered expression. You shrieked to yourself, hands went up to clasp your mouth.

"Okay.." You peeked one eye, his eyes are still on you. Tom's hands then extended to reach your figure, placing them on your hips softly, before he pulls you in just a tad closer.

"Do you mind telling me about this dream?" Tom muttered.

What?

"Huh..?"

"What were we doing in there?" Tom questioned while he stood up from the bed and tower his frame over you. He moved his hands from your hips to your arms, as they wandered upwards softly towards your shoulders, his thumbs grazing over your collarbone before they both went towards your neck. His fingers resting against the nape of your neck. His eyes swimming in yours, searching, waiting for answers.

"Did you kiss me?" His question made you drew the bottom of your lip to your teeth. He took that as a yes when you didn't answer him. His thumb grazed over your bottom lip to release 'em from the grip of your teeth.

Tom's jaw clenched, he leaned his face to your neck, his hot breath fanned against your skin. A whimper escaped from your lips, Tom's aware of the effect he has on you. His lips went up to your ear, you feel more of his hot breath, your hands balled into a fist in your side.

"Did you cum hard in there?" He whispered. Your eyes widened and a small gasp left from your mouth. When you felt his lips connect to the skin of your neck, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. His hand went down to your side, gripping your hip before pulling you closer. Your chest and his now pressed against each other. His hand went up to grope your breast, a moan escaped your lips.

All dreams must cum to an end, as he was about to press his lips to yours, your phone rang. You mentally cursed to yourself, fuckkk!

The ringing from your phone must've snapped something out from both of you as Tom immediately let go of his grip from your lips. You were panting, as you tried to find your phone. Tom found it before he gave the device to you. You turned your back to him before you click on the green button on the screen.

"Yes, Roy." You slightly snapped.

You listen to the complaint from Roy with your head on your hand. Tom watched you, chewing on his bottom lip. A smile crept on his face.

He liked it, he liked kissing your neck. He liked the effect that he has on you. The way your whole body instantly succumbed to him. He didn't care that you're his best friend's daughter, in fact, the excitement of getting caught gave some kind of adrenaline to his body as his head turned towards the opened door of your bedroom. The thought of taking care of your sexual needs, hands wandering on your body, seem to never stop running from his mind since now.

"Fine, fine, I'll come. I'll be there in 15." Sighed another work problems. You turn to Tom to find him standing there, holding your dress.

"Change, I'll drive you."

You gulped, will this be a good idea?

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

a/n: i might turn this into a series 👀

#tom cruise #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise fic #tom cruise smut #tom cruise x female reader #tom cruise movies #tom cruise imagines #tom cruise one shot

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fromkenari · 7 months

Text

Waterloo Letters #4 (4/4): Hometown stuff

Re: Hometown stuff A [email protected] 9/4/20 8:31 PM to Henry H, Fuck. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m so sorry. June and Nora send their love. Not as much love as me. Obviously. Please don’t worry about me. We’ll figure it out. It just might take time. I’ve been working on patience. I’ve picked up all kinds of things from you. God, what can I possibly write to make this better? Here: I can’t decide if your emails make me miss you more or less. Sometimes I feel like a funny-looking rock in the middle of the most beautiful clear ocean when I read the kinds of things you write to me. You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate. Catholic God made me to be the person you write those things about. I’ll say five Hail Marys. Muchas gracias, Santa Maria. I can’t match you for prose, but what I can do is write you a list. AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES 1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off. 2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?). 3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough. 4. How your hands look when you play piano. 5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you. 6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after. 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying. 12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters. 13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it). 14. The way you look when you first wake up. 15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio. 16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. 17. Your equally huge dick. 18. The face you just made when you read that last one. 19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it). 20. The fact that you loved me all along. I keep thinking about that last one ever since you told me, and what an idiot I was. It’s so hard for me to get out of my own head sometimes, but now I’m coming back to what I said to you the night in my room when it all started, and how I brushed you off when you offered to let me go after the DNC, how I used to try to act like it was nothing sometimes. I didn’t even know what you were offering to do to yourself. God, I want to fight everyone who’s ever hurt you, but it was me too, wasn’t it? All that time. I’m so sorry. Please stay gorgeous and strong and unbelievable. I miss you I miss you I miss you I love you. I’m calling you as soon as I send this, but I know you like to have these things written down. A P.S. Richard Wagner to Eliza Wille, re: Ludwig II–1864 (Remember when you played Wagner for me? He’s an asshole, but this is something.) It is true that I have my young king who genuinely adores me. You cannot form an idea of our relations. I recall one of the dreams of my youth. I once dreamed that Shakespeare was alive: that I really saw and spoke to him: I can never forget the impression that dream made on me. Then I would have wished to see Beethoven, though he was already dead. Something of the same kind must pass in the mind of this lovable man when with me. He says he can hardly believe that he really possesses me. None can read without astonishment, without enchantment, the letters he writes to me.

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 301-304). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

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#waterloo letters #hometown stuff #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #out of credits

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unrulywritings · 2 months

Text

{Too Little ❤️‍🩹 Too Late}

Summary: In which Alex accidentally spills his guts to his best friend… his newly engaged best friend ❤️‍🩹

Word Count: ~3.4k ❤️‍🩹

Category: Angsty-ish/Fluff ❤️‍🩹

Trope: Friends to Lovers/Love Confession (part one?); GN reader (alluded afab like twice) ❤️‍🩹

Warnings: Not much I don't think, cheating (not Alex), some swearing, mostly they/them usage (sorry if I missed changing any, I decided to change it halfway through), usage of pet names (love, sweetheart, darling), usage of Y/N (just once I think), possibly cringe writing, grammatical errors, my first fic- (feel free to tell me if there's anything else)❤️‍🩹

A/N: I'm sorry if this is cringeeee- this is my first fic I'm actually posting to the world so constructive criticism is welcome- if this goes well I may start regularly posting idk but enjoy -🌈 Rainbow❤️‍🩹

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

🎼 You had been engaged for one week. One terrible exhausting week. Your boyfriend, now fiancé, was late home tonight… again. You'd been having your suspicions about him for a while but did nothing, I mean you had suspicions but no proof. So why blow up something good when accusations were unfounded… right?

Well that was until now-

“I'm sorry that you had to hear it from me,” the sweet apologetic voice says, “I want you to know that I had no idea he had a girlfriend or anything and I'm so sorry, I feel like a fucking idiot, and terrible person.” you listen to the poor girl on the other side, shuffling through the photos from the manila envelope you found in the mail today.

“Yep, those suspicions were founded then” you think as you see a picture of your fiancé with not one but three different girls in different photos. How one has the time to trick not only one person but four into thinking you’re in a committed monogamous relationship is baffling. The girl on the other side of the phone is one of those girls just like you. Apparently she had gotten your number from someone and felt so guilty she needed to call you to apologise.

“No sweetheart, you did nothing wrong, he was the one in the wrong. I'm sorry that he has deceived both of us. And thank you for reaching out, truly it means more than you could know,” she apologises again saying she's done with him and how much of a fool she feels.

“Oh trust me, I feel even more a fool, he proposed to me last week, and I said yes even though I had a feeling he was stepping out,” you sigh, you really were a fool.

You say your goodbyes to each other as you hear a key click into the lock and the door open. You take a deep breath and prepare to see your soon to be ex-fiancé walk down the narrow hall into the living room but instead you hear the call of your best friend.

“Darling? Are you home? You didn't answer my messages so I just came over,” he calls as he pads through the hall looking for you.

“Oh there you are love,” he heaves slightly with a bit of relief, as if your hour of not communicating led him to believe you were in peril.

Alex Turner, front man of the Arctic Monkeys, media proclaimed sex-god and unbelievably attractive man. To you it was all funny, you remember him as the cute boy in your maths class in university who was nervous to ask you to pass around the flyers to their next gig.

He made you feel welcome and comfortable in a new place, you'd foolishly decided you wanted to go to school in a new place— one far away from home and across the pond felt far enough to you. You were wholly unprepared to be in the world alone and in a foreign place but when that nervous boy in your freshman maths class walked up to you to give you a stack of flyers to his next show you felt welcome.

After he had introduced himself he warmed to you quickly and when he handed you a small stack of papers he'd told you to “Invite any of your other pretty American friends, we could really use more of those at our shows.” You blushed at his comment and when you'd told him you were utterly alone in the world he told you “That’s alright, you're pretty enough alone, you'd more than make up for the lack of pretty faces in the crowd,” and before he turned a heel and left the room he also told you “oh, and you just made your first friend here, so you're not so totally alone anymore,” he then flashed a cheeky grin and disappeared out the door leaving you utterly charmed in a full body flush.

When you showed up at the pub they were playing it was the first time in a while you didn't feel alone. You felt like you belonged, a feeling you didn't even have back home. That night was the night you also met your fiancé.

You stop yourself, “Nope— ex-fiancé as of tonight.” you think.

But that was years ago, and now that little indie band you used to hand out flyers for on campus is now internationally known. The boys had just finished another tour and you felt like a proud mother. It made your heart swell to see them so happy doing what they love everyday but you were glad they were home. You'd missed them dearly, especially Alex.

You really wished that he’d come at a better time though, you had to plan what you were gonna do when your fiancé got home. How you were gonna break the news to him that you were now broken up. You wished you could confide in Alex what your fiancé had done but you feared what he’d say. Your mind raced with anxiety and anger.

It seems you'd zoned our because when you tuned back into it Alex was calling your name, “Are you alright love?” he asks you concern crossing his face, “you kinda spaced out there, is everything okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, everything is fine Alex,” you let out a bit more aggressively then you had wanted, “I just got a lot on my mind you try to soothe, Alex had quickly picked up on your tonal slip up and poor cover-up.

“Sure,” he says skeptically, elongating the “E.”

You roll your eyes at him and you move to go to the kitchen, “What do you want Alex? I'm kinda in the middle of something and I gotta get dinner ready before—”

“I can come back at a better time? I'm sorry I let myself in, you weren't answering my messages and I got a bit worried,” he gives you his puppy eyes, trying to apologise for his intrusion but you weren't mad at him you were mad at your fiancé, your cheating, lying fiancé who was gonna be home soon.

You sigh, “I'm sorry Alex, I'm going through something right now,” you rub your temple as a tension headache starts to form. All of this was too much.

Alex steps towards you and wraps you in his arms, “It's alright love, do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head “no” and bury your face in his neck. He smooths one hand down your back and the other in your hair instantly relaxing you, “Well when you’re ready I’m here you know. I’ll always be here for you.”

Goodness did he know you. The hug, asking if you wanna talk, everything about him puts you at ease. He was perfect, and his perfection only made the fact that your fiancé was cheating on you sting even more. You deserved better than a person who cheats and lies.

You nod affirmingly and reluctantly pull away, “Thanks love, but I really should get started with dinner, I’d ask you to stay but you know…” you trail off.

“Ironic” you think, that your fiancé was worried about Alex when he was the one stepping out on you. Projection much?

Alex’s shoulders dip, “Yeah, I know love,” he sighs, he looks troubled.

Your brow furrows in question and concern, “Alex?” you ask.

“Yeah love?” he asks right back.

“Are you okay?” you question him, just as he knew you, you knew him.

To any other person they may not have picked up on his mannerisms. The way his eyebrows have been furrowed the entire time he’s been here, a small crease forming between them. Or how he keeps fiddling with the pull on the zip of his leather jacket. Or how his dishevelled hair is even messier than usual. Or even the quiet storm that rages behind his eyes. You know he’s troubled with something but it was up to him to share that. You weren’t going to force him just as he didn’t force you.

It was nice to be understood like that, on a deep level that not a word needed to be exchanged to know the other. In a way that’s why you and Alex were best friends and why you were closer to him than any of the other boys. And if you let yourself think about it even closer than you and the person you had agreed to marry…

He clears his throat, “Yeah, yeah I’m alright love, no need to worry about me, yep, I’m alright,” he clears his throat again and runs his hands through his hair, “anyway I’m going to get going, see ya later darling.”

He was out the door before you could even blink.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

🎼 I take the slick steps down to the street and get in the car waiting for me. I don’t even bother to try and avoid the pelting rain. It felt kinda nice letting the heavy rain sting my skin as I dip into the car, shutting the door.

“So, did you tell them?”

“Couldn’t,” I shrug.

“Really? After everything you did just to get here? The PI, the pining, the waiting, the songs, the—”

“I get it Matt,” I grit out, “they’re more to me than someone to hang off my arm and you know that. It was just the wrong time. I couldn’t do it.”

“I do mate, but you gotta act, how’re they gonna know if you don’t tell them anything?”

“Too little too late, I told you that last week.”

“You think they’re gonna stay with him after all he’s done? I doubt it. Y/N would be very stupid to say no to you, so it’s a good thing they are smart. They know their worth.”

“Just take me home,” I was done trying to argue, I’d lost them years ago, far before they got engaged.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

🎼 It was even later than you expected for your fiance to get home. So late in fact that most of your stuff was already packed away in your car. You didn’t know what you were going to do or where you were going. All you did know was that you were going to confront the cheating bastard and leave him behind.

You sat on the loveseat in your cramped living room waiting for your fiance to walk in. You had heard the door open and close along with shuffling. You just sat and waited patiently for him to walk into the room wasting no more effort on him.

“Babe? Where are you? I totally got swamped at work, I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, even before you knew about his infidelity you hardly believed his stories about being swamped at work. You just assumed he wanted to hang out with his friends, and of course when you were most insecure, you thought he might be cheating yet each time you asked and he reassured you, you believed him. At your sound your fiance finally walks into the living room.

“There you are, did you make dinner? I’m sorry I’m late.” He leans down to where you are on the loveseat to kiss you but you swerve him, his lips landing on your cheek instead, “Huh? Is something wrong babe?”

You scoff again and get to your feet, “Is there something wrong?” you mock, childish you know but surely you deserve to be a bit childish after everything you’ve been submitted to.

His face screws up in confusion and he steps back from you, “Seriously? What’s your problem? Are you on your period or something?”

His words make your stomach turn, “Seriously? You can’t even have an original retort? And for your information, you are my problem,” you spit back, and cross the room toward the hall and front entrance.

“W-what?” he sputters, “I don’t understand, how am I your problem?”

You throw the envelope to him and it lands at his feet, “That is why you are my problem,” he moves to pick up the envelope as you put on your coat and pick up your keys at the front door.

Somehow his face gets even more screwed up, “Huh? Wh–? It’s not what it looks like! Where did you get these? Baby I can expl—” you stop him with a hand, making him pause.

“I don’t care to hear what you have to say, and whoever sent them did me a favour. Goodbye and fuck you.”

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

🎼 You pulled into the drive not knowing how or when you decided to come here. Something in you just said it was right and as you turned off the engine to your car you looked up at the windows of the modest but beautiful home of Alex.

You sighed and willed yourself out of your car. You weren't scared if Alex would let you in or anything but you were nervous about everything that came after getting inside. What would Alex say to you about devoting so much of your life to a scumbag? To you it was probably one of the only things you couldn't predict about your best friend. You knew Alex didn’t care for your ex-fiance and you never really knew why but for the sake of yourself you typically just tried to avoid the topic of relationships when you were together. It made you wonder about Alex’s relationships now, I mean since you never really spoke of yours he never spoke of his. What you knew of his partners came from the media and what he told you in passing. Your thinking also made you wonder what Alex was like in a relationship.

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts as the rain picked up again. You quickly moved up the drive to the stairs as the rain soaked you to the bone. You climbed the few steps and gave a firm but not aggressive knock to the door. When there was no answer you knocked again a bit firmer. When still no answer you sighed and used your key. You knew he was home by the lights on inside but you didn’t like using your key unless need be.

You let yourself in, stripping off your soaked coat at the door along with your shoes. You’re grateful for the warmth inside the house contrasting your shivering frame. SIghing you grab the throw blanket from the back of the couch in the living room and wander to go find Alex. You assume he’s in his home studio. It’s sound proof in there so the chances he heard you are slim. You make your way there and as you do you hear Alex and what sounds like his drunken ramblings through the studio door left slightly ajar.

It’s not the first time you’ve heard said drunken ramblings and you roll your eyes at his ridiculousness. As you move closer to the door you can just make out a few words or what you assume are words as most of it is a slurred jumbled mess of sounds that vaguely resemble words. You’re just at the door when you hear Alex sigh and say your name. You freeze— had he seen you? Surely not, he hadn’t answered the door and you hadn’t made much fuss at the door. And as you listen further you’re sure he hadn’t heard you.

“They’re just so pretty, it’s like they’re made of sunshine and starlight,” he drunkenly slurs. You’re wide-eyed at that accusation, surely he wasn’t speaking about you— right?

“But I’m just a fool, a spineless fool to fall for me best friend and one engaged at that! Oh, Alexander, truly what a fool you are! To pine for a person taken before you could get the courage to ask them out and to spend years trying to recreate what you have with anyone else is embarrassing. All the times you tried to tell them such and floundered miserably; just like today. Oh, the time you’ve wasted on a person you can even have! And doesn’t it hurt to know that the bastard has been cheating on that beautiful soul and you’re to do nothing more. Ugh!” you hear a crash on the other side of the door, possibly a glass thrown but you were more preoccupied by the confession. The words bounced around in your head as you tried to make sense of them. You were so preoccupied in fact you hadn’t noticed the heavy foot fall heading right toward you.

“Oi and you’ve made a right mess of yourself haven’t ya? You certainly aren’t fit for a person worthy of more than the world or universe could ever conjure. A person wh—” he pauses as he flings the door open and collides with you in the dark hall.

You’re knocked back a bit but quickly steadied by Alex’s hands on your shoulders. His touch grounding yet electrifying and you jump back to reality. Both wide-eyed and painfully aware you stare at each other in the darkened hall, the only source of light the ambered glow of the lamp in the studio behind Alex.

“D–darling?” he stutters out nervously, “when did you get here? Are ya alright, you’re soaked! You’re gonna get a cold like that, here let me get you something dry to wear,” he tries to manoeuvre you out of the way but you stand firm.

“Alex?” you query and he tries to move you once again but you stand solid.

You shrug his hands away, “Alex? Is— is what you just said true? I mean— how— how did you know about the cheating? Do you really like me? When? How? What? I—” now that your head is catching up to everything you just heard a million questions flicker through your mind for Alex and even more for yourself.

“Do I like him? And if I did what would I do? Oh god am I blushing? I feel like I’m on fire! Did he say he wanted to tell me? TODAY? Is that why he got all squirrely this afternoon? Did he send the photos? How did he find out? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

Alex steps back and pulls at his hair seemingly having just as many conflicting emotions run across his mind, “Oh god darling, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I— I— oh god,” he collapses on the couch in his studio, head falling into his hands as he mutters on about how he just ruined everything.

You cross the room to sit in the matching armchair across from where he’s sitting, avoiding bits of glass that seem to have been the cup he threw at the wall by the door earlier.

You look at him and ask again, “Alex,” you plead, “do you like me?” You’re not certain what you want his answer to be but you’re desperate to know.

He goes silent for a moment and lets out a sigh. He runs his hands through his hair, his dishevelled look becoming even messier, “Would you hate me if I said yes?” he asked right back, sounding so insecure. It was like you were back in that class and he was that nervous boy trying to introduce himself.

And you could help but love that boy.

“I wouldn’t,” you smiled, “in fact,” you implored further, “I think I might say I like him too.”

Your words make his eyes snap to yours, “Really?” he asks, looking at you bewildered and unbelieving.

You nod and bite back an idiodic smile, “I think so… I mean if I think about it, who wouldn't love a man like you?”

“But, you’re engaged and—”

“Not anymore and that doesn’t matter anymore,” you interject, “I think we both have a lot of things to catch up on and lots to discuss,” you stand and put out your hand for Alex, “come on, it’s gonna be a long night.”

He smiles and takes your hand.

Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.

A/N (pt two): This ended up way longer than I expected (I am very long winded in real life as well 😅) I also wrote much of this while watching Tangled on repeat (Eugene is so baby) ANYWAY I hope you at least mildly enjoyed this I feel like it’s too cringe but I am done trying to edit this 😭 Feel free to interact as you please I am going to disappear into the void now

-🌈 Rainbow❤️‍🩹

#alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fluff #alex turner fic #alex turner angst #alex turner one shot #alex turner imagine #unrulywritings

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jarofstyles · 2 years

Text

Selfish II

… hey… selfish part II is finally here. 🍿

Check out our Patreon!

——

2 months.

It took 2 months for her to open the door. Granted, it was shorter than the combined time he had ignored her, but Y/N just couldn’t deal with it anymore. He refused to leave her alone. He got cookies at night sent to her door and he sent food when he knew she didn’t have her classes. He would show up and talk at her door. He had slipped notes underneath saying how sorry he was, and she would read them with tears staining them. It made her want to forgive him, seeing his own tears on the paper, but the wounds were far too fresh.

He heard through Sarah that he had broken up with Indya. She had gone through how upset Harry had been once the realization set in and how he immediately jumped to action to try and fix it. Her friend was a good one, she knew. Not just everyone would chew him out for his wrongdoings because it hurt her. Though, she did say it was up to Y/N on when or even if she would forgive him when she asked what to do.

It didn’t feel right for a while, and despite sitting on the opposite side of the door while he spoke to her through it and sniffled, she hadn’t had the nerve to open the door.

Not until now.

The click of the door jolted him out of his pre-rehearsed lines in his head. He hadn’t expected it. The beat of his heart thumped to life, breathing catching in his throat as he looked at her.

God, his sweet girl. His best friend. His ideal lover. Looking so nervous and unsure around him, it broke his fucking heart. Shattered it. That look was never something he had experienced before. It used to be a soft happiness, excitement. Relaxation. This was all his fault, and he couldn’t blame anything else for his fuck ups besides his own selfish.

“H-Hi.” He whispered, wringing his hands in front of him. The note in his back pocket felt especially heavy. “Thank you for opening the door. I-I miss you very much.” His voice was hoarse, unsure how to go further with this.

She didn’t say anything besides opening the door further for him, letting him inside of her apartment.

The rush of familiar sandalwood and vanilla hit him. It was warm and soft, the candles obviously lit. It was always so comfortable in her house. It’s why he used to spend so much time over here. It went right to his stomach, realizing if he didn’t fix this, fix them and stop being a coward he could never spend time here again.

As much as it sucked because of the circumstances, the overall comfort of her house did wash over him. He had been missing out on it for so long now because he was a right idiot. A proper fuck up when it came to his own feelings. Trying so hardly to keep his own emotions in check and not mess up their friendship that he ended up doing the very thing he feared the most.

Her hands held on to her own arms as anxiously she walked into her kitchen, putting the counter between them as she motioned for him to sit on the breakfast bar. It was safest to keep him away from her physically because the moment he hugged her would be the moment she caved. Though seeing him now, she could see that he hadn’t taken this friendship break up lightly at all.

The man looked riddled with nerves, fingers twisting his rings and squirming a bit under her gaze. She adored her Harry so much, but the past year had been so difficult for her. The 2 months she shut him out probably was nothing compared to how she felt every time he found a new girlfriend and ditched her.

“I’m still upset with you.” She spoken quietly, taking her warm mug of tea into her hands. Sweater paws covered most of her fingers but he could see the slight shake in them, jamming another spike into his heart. She was unsure and scared and it pained him to his core to see her like this. Especially when he should have been the one she felt at home with. “I’m… I don’t know why you chose to do what you did, or why I wasn’t good enough to keep around whenever you got a girlfriend. I was good enough to sit with when you were single, and even not. You’d cuddle me, you’d touch me- you- you’d crawl into my bed even when you did have them and insist on being so close with me. I felt so guilty every time for enjoying that. Knowing that if my… if my own boyfriend was doing this with another girl, I’d be crushed.” Her voice broke, but his mouth opening was cut off with a shake of her head.

“But I knew that it didn’t mean anything- it couldn’t, when you’d ditch me for weeks on end. Barely texting me, if I was lucky. You’d be so hot and cold with me. It hurts, you know? To care so much, to be known as your best friend and then have people ask how you are… and I don’t even know. I can’t, cause you won’t answer the phone.” There was an attempted sip of tea, but it felt hard to swallow. His sad eyes looking at the countertop, hands flexed on the ends of it.

“I came to terms with the fact that we were in different spots that our friendships would change. That I’d need to just get used to you being less available but… I never imagined you’d get so far gone with another woman that you’d ignore me on my birthday.” Her lip wobbled and he went to stand up, to go to her and maybe fall to his knees, but she shook her head. “No. Stay over there for right now. Please, Harry.” The true pleading in her tone was the only thing that had him pausing. He didn’t want to make it worse.

“I felt so stupid. So… so awful and sad and stupid. I made sure they’d have a drink for you set out so you could have it whenever you showed up. I knew you weren’t talking to me but I never anticipated you’d just… not come.” Her shaky voice felt like daggers. Her thoughts that were so untrue but she didn’t even know it. He had let her think those things… all because he didn’t want to admit he liked her? So he could be comfortable in a friendship and not risk losing her, all to do it anyways??

He was a big fucking idiot. An asshole. A dick. Every insult.

“And I just… I know it’s partially my fault, too. I know I shouldn’t have put all my hopes into you coming because I should have enjoyed everyone else that actually came to celebrate with me. People came to see me and love me and cared enough to drive, some from hours out just for my birthday. But the one person I wanted?” She choked on her words, shaking her head. “He was probably in bed with his girlfriend who didn’t even like me, having sex or watching some stupid movie. Not even thinking about me or caring how my night was.” The bitter words and thoughts made him recoil. Flinching at the ideas and the fact that she was halfway right. He was watching a movie- but he never, ever stopped thinking about her. That’s why he didn’t get to have sex even as a distraction. It showed that he was upset.

“And I knew. I knew that you’d just pop in out of nowhere and expect me to be okay with you again. To roll it off my shoulders and smile and hug you, take a shitty excuse and a half assed apology. It’s because I always did. How would you have learned? I let you walk all over me, I let you break my heart into pieces and stomp all over them until it was finally like sand. You couldn’t pick it up anymore.”

That? That right there is what killed him. Nausea washed over him as he saw her shrink down her shoulders and turn away from him, looking at the floor. He had done that to her? He, the person he always prided himself over protecting and swore he was doing the right thing by trying to save their friendship, had made her feel like her heart was in irreparable pieces. It made him sick.

He wanted to be the one person she could always count on, but he had a very shit way of showing it. Originally he wanted to please his case and say that he was doing it all to protect the sanctity of their friendship. That he loved her too much in a different way and it was too tempting to be too close and potentially ruin it- but that logic was cowardly. He did it to save himself heartbreak and ended up doing the same thing he had always tried to avoid.

He broke her damn heart.

“Talk.” She waved her hand as she looked down at her feet again, knowing he was thinking up a storm.

The shaky breath did little to steel himself for the case he had to plead. He felt almost resigned.

“I don’t deserve you, and i never have.” He swallowed. “That isn’t a pity move. It’s… the truth. My excuse isn’t something that can explain away why I did what i did. I’m still a bit confused as to what my brain was doing.” He admitted. “I um…” it was so difficult to admit. His heads sweating and cold fear enveloping him. “I realized a while ago that i was in love with you. I knew that if i let it go into a relationship that.. potentionally I’d ruin it. Us. You.” He laughed bitterly. “I know now that it isn’t a good excuse. I just never felt worthy of you. You’re this bright light. Forgiving and soft, so kind and genuine. I’m bitter and dark and sarcastic. I would dim your light, I thought, but I selfishly wanted it. So I began to date other people. People who I knew would distract me enough that i wouldn’t find my way to talk myself into being with you when you deserved better.” Saying it out loud sounded even worse.

“I got careless. I thought… I thought we were unbreakable, that I’d do anything and you’d find a way to get over it because i was selfish. I knew you were a sure thing. You’ve been in my life so long that I couldn’t imagine losing you and if i didn’t break your heart, you’d have no reason to leave me, right?” He had been such an inconsiderate idiot. Selfish, selfish, selfish. “It’s so fucked up, angel. It is. I know i fucked up so bad and I don’t… I can’t expect you to just drop everything and forgive me. That wasn’t why I came and wanted to talk. I will work on forgiveness but I just fel so empty.” He choked out, letting his emotions get the best of him.

“I went for the opposite of you. So I wouldn’t keep fucking girls thinking it was you and wishing it was. I let them control me so i wouldn’t be controlling you but i did it wrong. I’m sorry. So, so fucking sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what i can do to fix it, to make you love me and trust me again, but I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to have you back in my life.”

“Harry…” she whispered. All of this was so shocking. So.. unexpected. Of course she had thought he liked her at first and it had made her giddy. Then he started dating women nothing like her and it made her feel even worse, letting them lead him around like a dog on a leash and sending mixed signals when he would eventually come back to her. Sing her praises. It was so bad, a back and forth on her heartstrings.

“I.. there’s a lot i want to say but I physically don’t know how to.” She dragged her sock covered foot on the ground anxiously. “You are my best friend. You were.” He winced at that though he knew he deserved it. “I was hoping that one day you’d come and tell me that you were into me the way I was into you.” His head shot up quicker than a bullet. “I never imagined it would be because of this. I can’t say I’m not disappointed that it all turned out this way. I felt so awful because of those girls, Harry.” Her soft spoke scolding hurt worse and stunned him more than any yelling.

“It’s like… I know you don’t understand it sometimes but I think you bury your head in the sand. These girls you brought around hated me, they were mean to me, and I couldn’t even blame them. Do you know how unfair it is to not only me, but to them?” Her face was scrunched up in upset. “You were only with them to try and stop thinking about me. It hurt me because i wanted you and it could have just been me. But they aren’t dumb, harry. They knew, at least their guts knew, that you liked me like that. You talked about me in a way that was disrespectful to them. Calling me the most beautiful and amazing girl in the world in front of their faces? It felt so good and hurt so damn bad. I felt so bad for them and It confused me even more. If I was.. why wasn’t I good enough to date for real?”

The moment tears welled up again he stood up, but Y/N placed her hand up. “No. Not yet.” The yet gave him a surge of hope he didn’t deserve.

“Y/N, angel.. please. I know it was fucked up. It was. I apologized to them already, I let them know they weren’t at fault. But you have to know that you are good enough- you’re too fucking good for me. It wasn’t a matter of not being enough- it was me. I didn’t deserve your… your fluffy light and sweetness. I haven’t ever been good with emotions and you deserved to have someone who could be there and understand-“

“What the fuck did you think you were doing as my friend?” She cut him off. “Don’t use that excuse, Harry. Do. Not.” She warned him. “I can decide what I want as it is, but you were my rock before you got all weird. You held me when i was sad, you celebrated with me.. how much different does it get when we are able to get deeper? Maybe for you, you can’t do that with someone else. But you could do it with me, you always did. I don’t want to hear that.” She clutched her arms together again.

It had taken him aback that she had actually raised her tone a bit. She never had before. It felt like a slap in the face because ultimately- she was right.

She was fucking right.

“Christ.” He choked back a cry. “You’re… why am I such a fucking idiot?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck. FUCK! You… you’re right.” He leaned over the counter and took a moment to collect himself. “You’re always right, angel. Always. I’ve fucked up so bad. I know it. I know that i hurt you, I made you feel like you didn’t matter but…” he took a step closer after righting himself. She didn’t tell him to back up, so he allowed himself a bit closer.

“One thing i will swear to you, is I’ve loved you this entire time. So much I swore there was something wrong with me. I was obsessed- I am. I never imagined losing you and now that i have, i never want to do it again.” He rasped. “Please. I love you, angel. I do. My whole heart is in smitherines, just like yours but,” he looked over her tear stained face. “Let’s fix them. I won’t ever hurt you again- well, I’m an idiot so i may piss you off- but i will never hurt you like that again. I won’t leave. I never wanted to even when I was making myself.” He stressed. “Let me love you the right way. I’ll take my time and prove it to you. To everyone, I swear it. Your pace.”

Y/N looked at him apprehensively. Part of her wanted to scream bullshit but… she knew him. She knew the desperation on his face, the truth behind his words. He wasn’t joking.

God, if he wasn’t her only weakness.

“My pace?” She peeped, wringing her hands together as her shoulders fell slightly from the tense position.

His heart stuttered with the realization. Please, please, let this mean what he was hoping.

“Yes, of course. Your pace. I’ll come over when you say, or I’ll show you how i can treat you as a boyfriend. As anything. I just need you in my life, sweetheart.” His throat felt sore and scratchy but he was sure hw would talk forever without a glasss of water if it meant he got her back.

“Okay.” A shudder sigh had her dropping her hands as harry approached, a cautious look on his face. “But slow. I’m still sensitive, Harry, you can’t take it to heart when I doubt you. I will. I want to trust you. But know that If you ever repeat that or try to take me for granted again, I am gone.” This was true. Her heart couldn’t take another beating this bad,

“I swear, I won’t let you regret this. I love you so fucking much.” He opened his arms. “Can I hold you? Just for a moment?” Pushing his luck for sure, but he knew she needed it just as badly.

The moment she fell into his arms, he knew he would never let go again. Not when she was the love of his damn life.

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