#I LOVE MEN DRENCHED IN BLOOD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keravnous · 10 months ago

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diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

#i'm back girlies #john wick smut #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #smut #my writing #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves smut

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pretty-little-mind33 · 8 months ago

Text

Tangerine x fem!reader / bonus: platonic!Lemon x fem!reader

Summary: Tangerine and Lemon care for the kidnapped girl they were paid a lot of money to save.

Genre: Fluff, hurt & comfort

Warnings: kidnapping, abuse, banter, cigarette burns, trauma, swearing

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~ @kpopgirlbtssvt here you go, lovely 🤍 ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

"Remind me again why we're here?" Lemon deadpans, his clothes drenched from the rain as he stands in the middle of the abandoned building, blood splatter evident on his shirt from the men he'd already killed outside.

Tangerine shakes his head, his hair wet from the rain as he grunts and checks his gun. "Because we're gettin' paid 300 million quid for this job," he snaps and runs a hand in his hair to tame it down, "And for once it's an easy one. Kill those fuckin' bastards, find the girl, and return 'er to whoever is paying for 'er. Easy."

"Ya, easy as pie," Lemon rolls his eyes sarcastically, "She some kinda princess or what?" he asks but he doesn't really complain about the amount of money.

"Blood hell, I don' know, but it doesn't matter, does it? Cover me will ya," his brother retorts and lifts his gun, kicking down the door and shooting whatever scumbag appears in the dirty apartment room.

Lemon covers him as he shouts curses. It's a bloody mess by the end and both of them are drenched in blood.

"Shit," Lemon curses again as he walks by a broken mirror in the hall, "Tis bad luck, mate."

"Can ya shut your mouth for once, Lemon?" Tangerine snaps as walks by, unamused by the comment. He looks purposeful as he walks to the closed room he assumes you're held in. He opens the door slowly, afraid to scare you, and his breath abruptly leaves him.

Lemon stands behind him, looking past him and his eyes widen. "Tan," he whispers as if his brother hasn't already seen you.

You look so fragile, so scared, and so alone. You're pressed against the wall near the broken bed frame, the dirty mattress caved in and blood-stained, and you're trembling harshly.

Your arms and legs are covered in bruises, bleeding cuts, and cigarette burns. Tangerine and Lemon's hearts mutually shatter.

You let out a whimper once they walk closer and Lemon instantly grabs Tangerine's shoulder. "She's terrified," he whispers, holding his brother back so he doesn't rush towards you too quickly.

Tangerine's shoulders tense as you continue to stare at them, tears and mascara stains running down your cheek. "I know," he answers and asks Lemon, "What do we do?"

Lemon thinks for a moment. "Show 'er we aren't a threat to ´er," he says and crouches down, putting his gun on the floor as he raises his hands in surrender. Tangerine copies his brother and he even removes his gold knuckle brace, putting it in his suit pants pocket without hesitation.

You don't move, too afraid to stand or attempt to run from them. Your body feels so weak and beaten down. Lemon and Tangerine crouch down near you and you just continue to stare at them.

You look terrified.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Lemon asks calmly. When he doesn't get an answer he sighs and puts his palm on his chest, "I'm Lemon, and this is my brother Tangerine."

Your eyes drift from Lemon to Tangerine but you still don't move or speak. Tangerine nods his head as if to say "hello" and he keeps his eyes focused on yours.

You shift away from them, exposing more of the bruises that litter your arm. Tangerine grimaces. "Do those hurt?" he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

You nod and his heart swells when you answer him. Tangerine looks at Lemon, who sighs and tilts his head towards you. "I promise we mean you no harm. Can ya come with us? Can ya walk?"

You blink, breathing harshly, but you nod again. Lemon stands and allows Tangerine to be the one to extend his hand to you. He does and you stare at his hand for a moment. You look up and Tangerine's chest tightens again.

You look so damn scared of him.

He shakes his hand, "Don' worry, I gotcha, luv," he says in a whisper and then he holds his breath when you eventually take his hand.

He helps you up, resisting the instinct to steady you with his arm around your waist as you stumble a little. He has a feeling you wouldn't welcome his touch right now. Still, you clutch onto Tangerine's hand, moving closer to him and flinching when Lemon wraps a blanket around your shoulders.

"There, there ya go," Tangerine's words of encouragement swirl around as you focus on breathing and walking in a straight line.

The Twins bring you to their car and help you into the backseat. You still have aven't spoken a word as you fumble with your hands and pick at your nails.

* * *

A few hours pass and Tangerine is really starting to become impatient. He's leaning against the hood of his car, trying for the seventh time to light the lighter he presses against his cigarette—but once more nothing but sparks come out.

Lemon stands next to him, wearing an annoyed expression as his arms are crossed. "What time did those fuckers say they'd pick 'er up and pay us?"

Tangerine glances at his watch and then mumbles around his cigarette, "Three fuckin' hours ago, mate," he finishes and with an angry huff, chucks his lighter to the side.

"And why're we still here?" Lemon deadpans. Tangerine turns to look inside the car and his eyes land on you.

You're sleeping in the backseat. Lemon follows his gaze and rubs his temples, understanding a little better now. "What are we supposed to do with ´er now?" he asks his brother softly.

"I don't know."

"Should we bring her to the coppers?"

"Absolutely not!" Tangerine glares at his brother, "I mean—doesn't this all feel a little fishy to ya? A promise of 300 million, with a 200 thousand advancement, all for nothing because the bastards don't even show up?"

"It's bullocks is what—"

"No, you don't understand," Tangerine continues, his stare hardening, "What if they want us to abandon her? Or bring her to the police? What if that was their plan all along?"

Lemon raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, "Since when are ya into conspiracies, bruv, this doesn't sound like ya—"

"Are ya saying we just leave her?!" Tangerine snaps.

Lemon instantly frowns, "That is not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying? We don't know who she is, why she was taken, and now we don't know where to bring 'er," Tangerine rambles, his eyes a little wild. Lemon pauses and examines him. He seems weirdly worried for this girl.

"So, you want us to take 'er in," Lemon deadpans, reading his brother's body language.

Tangerine's cheeks turn a little pink, "No—that isn't what—"

Lemon interrupts him and looks at you in the back of their car. "I think we should. I mean, look at 'er! She's harmless and she's hurt and we'd really would be fuckin' arseholes not to help 'er!"

Tangerine rubs his jaw, "Yeah, such fuckin' pricks."

Lemon nods in agreement "The biggest fuckin' arseholes."

So that's what they do, they bring you to their house; a mostly hidden mansion on the outskirts of the city. You stay quiet and meek as they show you to your room.

Hours pass and you still haven't spoken a word to either of them and as much as it does annoys the hell out of him, Tangerine understands.

"Do ya want some tea, darlin'?" he asks from behind the door to their guest room.

No answer.

Tangerine squeezes his eyes shut and curses himself. He opens the door a little and peeks in. He needs to make sure you're okay. Sure, Lemon has been the one to clean up your wound and give you some clean clothes—but that wasn't because Tangerine didn't care.

Instead, it was because he couldn't stomach seeing how badly you'd been hurt. It makes him want to puke (and he's usually good with things like that).

"Hey're ya alright?" he asks, seeing you sitting on the bed. Stupid, stupid question. Your eyes are bloodshot and you're clutching the covers over you, silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

Fuck, Tangerine doesn't know how to deal with this. Should he get Lemon? Lemon could probably turn your tears into laughter.

You look up and quickly wipe at your tears, staring at Tangerine as you nod an answer. His heart breaks and he clears his throat, weirdly timid as he rubs his nape. "Y'know, ya don't have to be okay. What happened to you was traumatizing and fucked up. It's okay to not be okay, luv."

You blink at him and then you nod again. Tangerine's shoulders relax. It's a start.

"Do you wanna call anyone for ya?"

You shift and pick at your nails again. Tangerine wonders if you even have anyone to call and he sighs. Why can't he be better at conversations?

Suddenly, the door opens again, and this time Lemon walks inside with an all too familiar sticker book in his hand that makes Tangerine groan. Lemon sticks out his hand and shushes him.

"I'm helpin' 'er talk," Lemon says and sits at the end of your bed.

You look at him, obviously concerned but Tangerine sees you shift closer and peek at the sticker book. "Have'ya seen Thomas the Tank Engine?"

Tangerine opens his mouth to protest.

You nod.

"See, this is how I read people," Lemon starts and shows you the sticker book. He unsticks one of them and just as Tangerine walks closer and sits next to him, Lemon smacks his hand on his brother's forehead and leaves behind a sticker, "See, my brother here is a Gordan. He's the fastest, the most important, but he doesn't always listen to people,"

Tangerine looks downright offended.

"He can, in other words, be an arrogant prick."

You turn to look at Tangerine, your glossy eyes taking him in, and Tangeirne's stomach sinks so far he's afraid he'll drown. For some reason, he doesn't want you to think of him like that. A blush creeps on his cheeks. He pulls off the sticker immediately.

"Obviously, I'm Thomas," Lemon boasts and sticks the Thomas sticker on his own forehead, which ears a grunt from Tangerine, "Because main character energy, hello?"

Both men swear they hear a small, almost non-existent, chuckle from your lips.

Lemon unsticks another sticker, not wanting to make a fuss over one almost-chuckle. He turns to you and raises his arm. You look at the sticker, understanding what he wants to do, and hesitantly, you lean forward to give him permission.

He gently sticks the sticker on your forehead. "And you, you're an Edward. You're kind, gentle, and smart. I can just tell."

For once, Tangerine agrees with Lemon's stupid Thomas the Tank Engine analysis.

"Ignore Lemon, he still plays with toys as if he isn't a grown man," Tangerine interrupts, his tone playful as he sends Lemon a glare and then turns to send a small smile your way. He almost chokes on his saliva when he sees that you're also smiling as your fingers delicately probe the sticker on your skin.

When Lemon nudges his side Tangerine wants to tell him to shut up but he's too immersed in your beauty.

"I always thought I was more of Percy," you whisper and look up at them. Both men look completely star-struck and it takes Lemon less than a millisecond to make a joke (much to Tangerine's horror).

"Ah, so she does speak," he cracks a grin, which you return and unstick the sticker from your forehead.

"Lemon," Tangerine hisses and looks at you, his concern obvious, "How're ya feeling, darlin'?"

Lemon rolls his eyes. "Smooth, bruv," he chuckles and then tilts his head and makes another joke, this time intending to make you laugh fully, "Ignore my brother, he has a permanent stick in his ass. He's fuckin' allergic to fun and laughs, apparently, the poor doctors couldn't find a cure." Tangerine's eyes widen so wide at this and he looks embarrassed. "Ya don't have to answer him right away, sweetheart. Breathe."

You look between the brothers as they argue.

"I am not allergic to fun!" Tangerine hisses.

"So you admit ya do have a stick up your ass?" Lemon chuckles and it takes all of Tangerine's restraint not to smack him.

"I'm gonna kill ya," he whispers harshly and Lemon pretends to gasp but his expression remains blank.

"How gentlemanly, threatening me in front of a lady."

"You prick—"

Your laughter cuts the tension and both of them shut their mouths. They look at you again and when they see that your shoulders look less tense and you're laughing now, your breathing calm and your tears dried, their bickering ceases.

Lemon looks at his brother and when he sees the look in Tangerine's eyes, he knows. He's done for, Lemon thinks with a smirk.

Tangerine watches the way you move as you laugh and as the sound dies down all he wants is to hear it again.

However, the sound of your voice will have to do for the moment because you look at them timidly and say, "My name is Y/n." You sound almost embarrassed by your own name.

Tangerine's heart swells and he swears Lemon might have to pry him away from you at some point because he's never voluntarily leaving your side again.

He grins wide and he's sure he looks like a smitten fool, which to Tangerine's dismay is confirmed when Lemon opens his mouth to make another joke.

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vxmpyree · 6 months ago

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does konig deserve a sweet wife?? no!! am i going to give him one?? yes!! konig and husband soon

[ and i love her - kurt cobain cover ]

konig doesn’t deserve you, not really. he is undeserving of seeing you in a white gown, drenched in eyelet lace and pearls, walking down the aisle. he doesn’t even deserve to see you in a beat-up sweatshirt with his old boardshorts, curled up in bed. he is unworthy of the austrian treats you learned to make for him, so very eager to bring light to his face after weeks or months of deployment.

well, that’s what people tell him.

konig knows it is what he’s owed. he’s performed countless successful hostage rescue missions. numerous lives have been saved all thanks to him, so why should he not wake up to a warm body in a soft bed? it’s not arrogant!

you are all he’s ever wished for and more-- heaven dressed in flesh and blood.

you are gentle with everything like anything could falter beneath your touch. as if; you couldn’t hurt a fly. you are not senselessly unkind, but not a pushover, he quickly learned. you do not challenge him, either passively agreeing or saying that you think otherwise politely. he can’t bring himself to make snarky remarks, not when you’re so… mild.

his chest puffs out whenever you’re in public together, taking pride in holding your hand at the grocery store or post office. he is the one who gets to hold your hand, the one who gets to wake up to you in the morning, your hair disheveled and clothes out of place. you don’t mind the little smirk he has-- you can’t help but laugh at the sight of his broad shoulders hanging back and head up, so confident to be by your side. you think it’s sweet. oh, if only you knew.

if his dear wife knew what he was like on the battlefield, what would you do? would you shut down and refuse to say a word to him until he begged enough? or would you not care at all, and say that his coworkers don’t know the real konig?

he hopes for the latter but knows in his heart that it is the former. you are not naive or unaware, but you certainly are squeamish and faint of heart. the thought of your husband slaughtering men like cattle and knowing that he is cocky while doing so would certainly disturb you for days to come.

konig keeps that part of him tucked away, sheltering her from the macabre life he leads once he steps out of your warm home. he’s fine with doing so, as long as he can still come back and fall into the softness of your body and stuff his mouth with confectionaries.

#call of duty #konig x reader #cod mw2 #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig #konig x you #cod drabble #cod fic #cod x you #vxmpyree

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luminewhosthat · 6 months ago

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Hey guys

I felt quite insecure and ashamed to post this,

But I don't think I can hold it back anymore.

I'm from Bangladesh, my homeland, I speak Bangla, it's my mother tongue, and I'm proud of my roots but my family immigrated to America many years ago. But I still care a lot about my country. So recently, there has been a lot going in Bangladesh. Mainly, it's because of its corrupted government. Our prime minister Sheikh Hasina is literally a dictator, if you go to twitter and search about recent news in Bangladesh, you can see that the situation is not that good. Basically, it's because we have a thing which is called "Quota" and it affects the Bangladeshi Government job sectors in a very negative way. This "Quota" is for the freedom fighters who fought in 1971 war which happened in Bangladesh. But the problem is that, even though those freedom fighters are dead, their families are welcome to enjoy the privileges which the quota provides.

Mostly, the grandchildren of these freedom fighters can use the quota to get jobs in Bangladesh's most prestigious job sectors, which has created a huge unemployment problem in Bangladesh. Also, these "so called" grandchildren are now TOTALLY CORRUPTED AND RUINING OUR COUNTRY while enjoying many privileges given by our PM and Bangladeshi students are very mad about it because normal, brilliant students with ZERO QUOTA cannot get into any prestigious job sectors no matter how hard they try!

Thousands of students have also committed sui*ide because they could not feed their poor family who are looking up to these brilliant students so that they can spin their family's poor fate.

From 13 July till now, the students of many public and private universities of Bangladesh are protesting together and risking their lives in order to remove this disgusting, vile and cruel quota system. Unfortunately, given to these current circumstances, our PM still pays no mind to these poor students who are protesting ENDLESSLY and literally DYING ON THE ROAD !!

Sheikh Hasina has labeled these brave students as RAJAKAR/TRAITORS (Collaborators who aided the enemy country Pakistan in 1971)

Our brave Bengali students, male and female, got so enraged, heartbroken by the fact that their prime minister called them traitors of the country just because they wanted the quota system removed. Following that incident, on July 15, at 1 AM, Dhaka University students, Eden Women's College students and many other University students broke down the gates of their hall at midnight and ran down to the streets to protest while chanting "Who are you? Who am I ? Rajakar, Rajakar!!"

Brave men and women who are protesting against this quota, are now being brutally attacked and mercilessly killed by the government party terrorist organization Chhatra League. The students at Dhaka University are now being attacked with stones, Bats, knifes and literally anything that can hurt a human brutally enough. Our government has turned their back on us, claiming that these students are traitors of their own country, and they are selfish because they do not want the quota system to give benefits to only the grandchildren of freedom fighters anymore.

But the reality is, these so-called grandchildren are now dominating 56% of job sectors with the help of money, nepotism and other dishonest ways while the honest student of our country stays unemployed, their talents wasted, efforts unappreciated and thus, they suffer from depression.

I'm not asking that much from my followers, but please, for the love of God, share my post as much as you can. These mass protests are not being seen enough, share and retweet as much as possible, we need to spread these horrifying actions committed by our PM to the world. Shame, shame, shame on them. Shame on our government for turning a blind eye to hundred thousand of these students. The streets of Dhaka have been drenched with the blood of our students; in order to save their lives, we need to spread this news as much as possible. My cousins from Bangladesh are absolutely frightened, their exams have been stopped, teachers are also turning their backs on these students, they have nowhere to go now. My cousin's classmate got her arm broken off by terrorist organization Chaatro League men just because she was protesting against the corrupted system.

Women are getting assaulted, acids are being thrown at these students, violence is now occurring left and right, our PM is a woman and still, she chooses to betray the students and stands still on her disgusting beliefs with the terrorist government organization Awami League supporting her crimes.

On 21 February, in 1952, thousands of students at Dhaka University protested against the West Pakistan in order to establish the language Bangla as the state language of east Pakistan. Thousands of students had died on that day, which is why we Bangladeshis celebrate 21 February as our Mother Language Day.

It seems like history is going to repeat itself yet again.

Shame, shame, shame on them!

#Step down Sheikh Hasina #Stop Quota Movement #ALL EYES ON BANGLADESH #Stop Quota System #Awami League resign now #Bloodred Bangladesh #1952 is repeating itself

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azmaranadir · 1 year ago

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MY MEN LIKES-

NSFW 18+ WINDBREAKER

To smack my ass till it's red.

-> If Vinny loves your ass, he might die from seeing his handprint imprinted on it. It's not intended as harm; he doesn't do it to inflict pain or punishment. For him, it's likely a form of self-gratification. He tests the limits, gauging how many smacks your skin can endure before mirroring the same red hue as his hair and eyes. At times, he even enjoys lightly scratching it, allowing his nails to graze over your skin as you straddle him, gripping it firmly with his entire hand, occasionally resulting in small droplets of blood. He is not a fan of missionary or mating press. He likes to have you either on top of him or taking you from behind, so he can have full access to smack it, till it's red.

"One day i will tattoo that handprint on the skin..."

To be the one who pierced my nipples.

-> Woonin is a bit of a troublemaker; there's no denying that. So, when he casually approaches you one day expressing his desire to see your nipples adorned with silver piercings, you can't help but hesitate. It sounds like a mischievous child asking for something from Santa Claus. However, as the idea lingers in your mind, Woonin appears with a piercing set, ready to be the one to execute the plan. It remains a mystery how he obtained the equipment or acquired the skills for proper piercing, but you should have anticipated that any semblance of professionalism would disappear the moment he insisted on being the piercer. After all, who combines sex with piercing the client's nipples?

"hold your breasts still love, they are jiggling to much."

To hold my mouth to keep me quiet.

-> Jay is not one to appreciate loud noises, especially when he's focused on something important like studying or fucking you on his desk. His door is locked to, because he does not like to be interrupted while learning or fucking you. His room is typically quiet during these moments, and he makes sure to lock the door to avoid any interruptions. His mother, downstairs, likely believes that her son has given up on romantic life, unknown that exactly that was going on over her head. As Jay concentrates on hitting the right spot, he places his hand gently over your mouth, urging you to keep quiet so as not to attract any unwanted attention from his mother. Your legs wrapped around his waist, while you sat on your worksheets, that were drenched already. He would kiss your cheek and nuzzling into your neck. His lips then find their way to your ear, where he whispers to you with a sense of urgency.

"Psh, you got to be quiet, if my Mother comes here, we have to stop, and we have to do this all over again."

To fuck my after fights.

-> Joker exhibits a shameless nature, perhaps influenced by Woonin, and he doesn't hesitate to thrust into your cunt after a fight.His body, still sweaty and bearing bruises from the physical exchanges, presses into yours. Joker isn't fond of you witnessing his fights, but he loves seeing you after it, watching you whimper, moan, and shiver as he thrusts deeply. His fingers, accustomed to forming fists during battle, find a new purpose within the softness of your thighs. They grip onto the plushy flesh, pulling you closer to him with each powerful thrust. Watching you arch your back trying to stay quiet.

"Fuck the money, that's my price."

#webtoon #jay jo x reader #windbreaker #jay jo #vinny hong x reader #vinny hong #joker windbreaker #joker x reader #wooin windbreaker #wooin x reader #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker smut

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scooterscoob · 1 year ago

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god I love men fucking drenched in blood

[little insight for upcoming work :D]

#i LOVE JOHN SO MUCH #HES SO FUNNY TO DRAW #tbh this feels out of character BUT ITS FINE THEYRE BEING SILLY LMAOO #malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent fanart

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epicbuddieficrecs · 1 month ago

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Weekly Recap | November 18th-24th 2024

How we doing after the fall finale fam? 100 days until 8B !!

Complete

please don't go by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (S8E8: Wannabes Coda | <1K | General): "Don't go." The words are trapped in a cage at the back of Buck's throat. Every time he's opened his mouth in the last week he's had to speak around them. He feels like a tiger pacing his enclosure, like he's going to snap at the bars if anyone gets too close.

Hold me like you'll never let me go by I_still_dont_understand_13/ @dangerpronebuddie (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 1,4K | Teen): "Oh! You didn't bring any baking?" Maddie asks as she opens the door for Buck to enter. "I... haven't felt like baking much," Buck says as he trudges in, gravitating to the kitchen. "Since you got over your ex boyfriend?" Maddie asks, a hopeful note in her voice. "Since Eddie decided to move to Texas," Buck blurts out.

want but not have by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Post-S8E8: Wannabes Coda | 1,5K | General): “Buck.” Eddie greets in surprise when he pulls the door open. The other man is standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders drawn up to his ears, eyes rimmed red, and an absolutely heartbroken expression on his face. “I need…I have…” Buck inhales shakily, “Can we talk?”

of bookmarks and bravery by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (S8E8: Wannabes, Getting Together | 1,6K | Mature): The moment Buck snatches the tablet, he regrets the decision. It’s an invasion of privacy—but they don’t keep secrets from each other, he knows that flipping the tablet and seeing a regular tab of pornhub open won’t actually embarrass Eddie, or make him upset. The second he takes a look at the screen, however, his blood runs cold. Not necessarily because of what’s on there—but because this is suddenly a vastly different genre of invasion of privacy. The video is paused, two men on the screen, drenched in sweat, one of them with their legs locked around the other’s waist, a large, happy grin on his face as the man between his thighs seems to be in the middle of an especially deep thrust. Jock Rails Latino Hunk (RAW) (REAL COUPLE)

wherever you are, that's where i'll be by bellabrady/ (S8E8: Wannabes Coda | 2K | Not Rated): “Buck,” he says, huffing a small laugh. “You know I can’t afford that.” He expects Buck to tease him in response, or maybe to roll his eyes. He doesn’t expect the serious, almost nervous expression on his face as he looks at Eddie. Before Eddie can ask about it, Buck speaks. “Maybe the two of us could.”

It's Not What It Looks Like by eightpackdiaz (S8E8: Wannabes | 2K | Teen): Buck catches Eddie reading Hotshots fanfiction on his tablet

i love you never felt like any blessing by bucksbicycle (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Getting Together | 2K | Mature): “No, Buck. I can’t leave you like this and I only have–” “I don’t want you to go.” It burst from him like a flashover. It’s far too loud for a small grocery store. They both flicker over to the screech of cart wheels making a quick-change, whoever was steering deciding that they can come back later. “I want you to stay,” is what he whispers, waiting for Eddie to say something. Anything. or: grocery store divorce 2.0 (with resolution)

What would you prefer I call you? by Kwills91/ @kwills91 (Established Buddie | 2K | General): Buck and Eddie have been dating for a month and when Buck discovers what his contact name is in Eddie's phone, he kind of loses it. What kind of boyfriend would have him as 'Buck Work'?

Not Coming Back by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Getting Together | 3K | General): “But seriously, when are you coming back? It’s been weeks…” Eddie feels the guilt inside of his chest tighten. This is it. This is the moment he needs to tell Buck. He’s put it off long enough. His eyes flicker around the kitchen of the house he’s rented. The one that Buck has no idea he’s rented. “About that…” Eddie starts.

'cause baby you make it all fade away by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Buck's having a no good very bad day and Eddie makes it better. No hoodies were harmed in the making of this fic.

🔥 worship like a dog (at the shrine of your life) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 6K | Teen): "Y-you're thinking about moving?" Buck asks, words turning to ash in his mouth. "Starting to think about it anyway," Eddie says, braced like he's waiting for Buck to snap his tablet in half. But Buck is a good dog, really. Or, he tries to be. Tries so hard. So, he doesn't do anything he wants to. Doesn't throw up on the living room carpet. Doesn't piss in every corner of the house. Doesn't scratch his presence into all the furniture - it's there already, he thinks, I'm there already, aren't I? (OR: eddie's house is home, buck finds worship there)

i would stay forever (if you say, don't go) by justhockey (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Chris Comes Back, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): Eddie’s house has felt far too quiet in the months since Christopher left, without the sound of video games, or the clack of crutches, or the quiet rumble of Christopher’s voice as he talks to himself while doing his homework. But, as the door clicks closed behind Buck, the whole place falls completely silent. It’s like the last part of its beating heart has left, and now nothing but an empty shell remains. A house is not a home if there is no love living there, and Eddie just sent the last of it packing.

I’m always free to run home by scarmaddiewrites (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Chris Comes Back | 6K | General): A fic written after the season 8 mid-season finale that answers some of the unanswered questions.

carve your name into my bedpost ('cause i don't want you like a best friend) by bibuckdiaz (Post-S7, PWP, Getting Together | 6K | Explicit): Somehow, by some miraculous series of events that Buck himself isn’t sure weren’t divine intervention, he finds himself with his back pressed into the Diaz household couch, with his best friend of six years straddling his lap and currently sucking a bruise into the space above his collarbone; a place that Buck has for years privately thought of as Eddie’s spot.

More Than Anything by scarmaddiewrites (Getting Together, Chris POV | 6K | Teen): Eddie honestly can’t believe he lied that easily to a priest. Well, yes he can because he’s been lying to himself since he was 8. Lying so much that he’s repressed a huge part of himself. “No offense, I’m straight.” He mumbles to himself in the mirror. “And the sky is pink.” Buck and Eddie get together and Christopher has some feelings about it.

🔥What A Mental Fire Alarm by I_still_dont_understand_13/ @dangerpronebuddie (Post-S8E5: Masks, Eddie Sexuality Crisis, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): “I have an idea,” Hen declares, drawing everyone's attention. “Why don't you make your own quiz?” Buck tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Yeah,” Chim says, drawing out the word. “Maybe your answer will come to you while you make it.” “You'll need a control though,” Hen says. “Someone straight.” Buck looks to Eddie. “Would you be my control?” Hen coughs and thumps her hand against her chest. Eddie raises an eyebrow at her. “You good, Hen?” “Fine,” she croaks. “Perfectly fine.” “Would you?” Buck asks, knocking their knees together. “Of course I would,” Eddie assures him. An excited grin slowly spreads across Buck's face. He hops to his feet and dashes for the stairs. “Where you going?” Eddie calls. “I need a clipboard!” Buck hollers back as he rushes down the stairs.

i’m not your homeland anymore by shortndiaz (Post-Lawsuit, Canon Divergent | 8K | Teen): post lawsuit, Bobby takes the option to transfer Buck to another station.

Bobby Versus Buddie by songbvrd/ @songbvrd (Bobby POV, S2 to S8 | 10K | Mature): Eddie huffed out a breath. “I’m having a crisis.” And Bobby, he wasn’t proud of it, but the word ‘finally’ was flashing in front of his eyes in giant, neon yellow letters, because surely, surely this meant that he’d figured it out. Finally, at long last, Eddie was having the crisis they’d all been waiting for since he’d started a thousand emergencies earlier. “I think I’m homophobic.” Bobby blinked at him. “I’m sorry?” OR - Five times Bobby tried to gently hold Buddie's hands and tell them they were in love, and one time they got the picture.

🔥 if the heavens ever did speak by songbvrd/ @songbvrd (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Eddie Sexuality Crisis, Getting Together | 19K | Mature): He lay in bed at night and he wished he didn’t, but he thought about Buck. Wondered who was touching Buck. He wondered if Buck felt satisfied at the end of it or if he just felt more alone. He wondered if Buck needed him and wasn’t saying so. He wondered what it must be like to have Buck that way. To hold him close, to hear the sounds he’d let slip when he was too distracted to be in his own head. He wondered how he’d look when he came undone, and if the person he was with could even begin to fathom how lucky they were. But no, Buck just went back to eating his cereal, like he hadn’t just confessed to something that made Eddie’s whole body burn with too many feelings to articulate. He was humming, happy as a pig in mud. And as weird as he’d been with Eddie, Eddie found himself asking: “Sorry, are you humming Losing My Religion?”

🔥 50 Cheeky Texts by songbvrd/ @songbvrd (Post-S7, Getting Together | 21K | Mature): Buck gets drunk-dared to send Eddie one cheeky text every day for 50 days. Eddie loses his mind. TW for the cringiest pickup lines in existence.

WIP

cancelling the apocalypse by literalmetaphor (Pacific Rim AU | 24/25 | 116K | Mature): Buck doesn’t take his hands off Eddie’s shoulders as he glances over to Athena and Nash, who are watching the display calibrate. “How’d we do?” “See for yourself,” Athena says. Bad, Eddie thinks. He half-expects it. He wants to brace Buck for it, for the disappointment – wants to explain that whatever has screwed his compatibility scores till now, this one is all on Eddie. “Oh, shit…” Buck whispers. Eddie lifts his head, finally lets himself look, and then takes an inhale so sharp he tastes blood. Oh, shit.

🔥 go and kill, go and die by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 12/14 | 48K | Mature): The 118 are a group of survivors in a small California town in the wake of a zombie apocalypse. For months they've been isolated and safe. But the arrival of some new players, the search for some missing loved ones, will shake everything up and put their little team in jeopardy.

I guess your mama didn't know the gift she got when she got you by disasterbuck/ @disasterbuck (Post-S7, Fake Relationship | 6/? | 12K | Teen): "He has someone else he can go to," Eddie said automatically, Buck's smiling face flashing into his mind. "Your friend Buck doesn't count," she said dismissively, and Eddie felt his hackles rising defensively. "I'm talking about a partner, Eddie. Someone who will commit to being with you and Christopher for the rest of your lives." "Buck is committed," Eddie said before he could think about what he was saying. "He's not going anywhere." There was a pause on the other end of the line. "When you say committed…" she asked hesitantly, voice trailing off. - Tired of his mom's nagging, Eddie tells a lie that spirals wildly out of control.

Re-Read

🔥 Your Kiss Might Kill Me (So Won't You Kill Me) by morganofthefairies (PWP, BDSM | 9K | Explicit): Buck hadn’t been a virgin by the time he’d hit Peru – not even close. He still considered Peru a critical point in his sexual history, though, because Peru had brought him Fiona, and he was pretty sure he could credit her with like 80% of his sexual knowledge. None of that was the point, though. The point was that, six years later, when Eddie called for the jaws to get to a woman pinned in her car while responding to an 8-car pileup, and absentmindedly called him a good boy as Buck handed them over, he had a totally normal reaction to it.

#buddie #epic buddie fic rec #buddie fanfiction #buddie fic rec #buddie fanfic #buddie fic

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themorningsunshine · 2 years ago

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Pie - eyed over you

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Mentions of murder and weapons

Word count - 3.3k

a/n - This is my first time writing an AU and I am super nervous (also because I have combined two things I can just not write about, weapons and cooking). Please let me know what you think.

Rain was pouring heavily on the roof of the shed and he wasn't sure if the old sheds meekly covering the building could contain them much longer. He couldn't care less.

He walks out of the building and into the rain, wiping his left arm on his dry coat to wipe off the blood covering it. The pouring rain caresses his face but does nothing to the ever-present frown on his forehead and the grimace on his lips.

He used to love the rain as a kid. The gentleness of the droplets, the smell of rain, and the puddles. It was so much easier back then. So innocent. He closes his eyes as droplets slide their way all over him. They touch him like they don't know what he has just done.

His frown deepens as images claw into his mind once again. He clenches his fist remembering how it had taken him mere 10 seconds to shoot 3 bullets straight into the man's head. The killing had become easier over the years. Picking the bullet and shooting straight into the target had become second nature to him.

What hadn't become easier was the aftermath. The guilt that somehow always gnawed its way into his heart. The question was there any other way?

With his eyes still closed, he brings his face towards the sky, daring the rain to wash away his thoughts the same way it has washed away the blood that stuck to his metal arm not so long ago.

He likes the rain for a completely different reason now.

It provides him with an escape.

From his mind.

His thoughts

The images. The man screaming, begging him to stop and he doesn't even feel disgusted by himself when he doesn't even falter. He left his men to take care of the body.

A face lingers in his mind, pushing away all the dark thoughts. His ma "Bucky "

It's like he can hear her call out to him, urging him to come back home.

She would have hated how he turned out.

But he tells himself he doesn't care.

It didn't matter what his ma would have thought about him. She wasn't here. She didn't have to know.

He snaps his eyes open when he doesn't feel the rain falling on his face anymore. He can still hear the raindrops thudding on the roofs of the buildings. He looks up to see a huge umbrella over his head, shielding him from the rain.

He frowns and follows the handle of the outrageous floral print object only to be met by the sight that was going to change his life forever.

The first thing he saw when his eyes met y/e/c ones was that they held a certain softness to them that he didn't think still existed in this world. He was almost afraid to take his eyes off yours as if he was scared that you would crumble down under his gaze.

But when he brought his eyes over your face and then the rest of you, he knew it was the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever landed on. That even the most beautiful paintings in the world didn't hold a candle to you.

"Are you okay?" You whispered, voice so gentle, it could calm the most violent of storms.

Bucky thinks those are the most precious three words he has ever heard. He nods his head, mostly because he doesn't speak too much these days and also because it has been a very long time since someone has asked him that question.

"I am walking that way and the rain is increasing, you don't want to get drenched. Walk with me?" You ask and he thinks he would burn the whole world down to the ground with a smile on his face if you asked.

He looks at the way you are pointing and realizes that's where his car is parked. He says, "Okay" and sees as you take a step towards him, covering the both of you with your umbrella, and his senses are filled with your smell. You smell like freshly baked cookies and coffee. It's his new favorite smell.

You take a couple of steps ahead before turning towards him and he realizes he is staring. He doesn't remember the last time when somebody had enthralled him so much. For some reason, he just can't get himself to look away.

"I have not seen you around before." He says only to hear you speak again.

"Yeah, I am kind of new here. Been less than a week." You reply with a smile on your face and Bucky thinks this cursed town has just been blessed.

You look around before commenting, "It's a beautiful town." And for the love of god, he can't figure out how this part of the town which is more of a dumpster with remnants of buildings all around can be beautiful to somebody.

"This is not really a safe place." When you look at him with confusion in your eyes, he continues, "Especially at this time of night." As if that explanation is enough. He straightens his back and tries to get the confident, mob aura he has around everyone. "What are you doing here?"

If his slightly changed demeanor throws you off guard, you don't point it out. You just bite your lip before speaking, "What if I tell you I lost my way?"

The chuckle that leaves him is involuntary. "Really? Lost your way?"

"Hey. In my defense, it's just been a week." You place your hand on your chest in fake offense.

"Where were you heading to?"

You put your hand in your pocket before taking out a piece of paper. "Here"

Bucky takes the paper from you and looks at it with furrowed brows. "Why are you walking this way? This place is at the other end of that alley." He says before pointing out to a dark alley.

You make an o shape with your mouth before turning toward where he is pointing. "Got it. Thanks."

When you reach his car and his driver opens the door for him, he turns back before saying, "Let me drop you." It doesn't sound like a request.

"No, no. It's fine. I don't want to be trouble. Also, I am not sure your car would fit in there." You said before tilting your umbrella towards yourself.

"I'll see you around." You tell him before giving him a small wave and walking away, a smile still etched on your lips.

Bucky stands there, watching you go, and realizes he didn't ask your name. But he'd be damned if he let you go in that alley alone. He asks one of his men to make sure that you reach your destination safely.

"Keep an eye from afar." He instructs him. Voice cold and commanding.

But the frown on his head and the grimace on his lips are a little less evident on the way back.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" Bucky's voice bellowed around the dark room, startling everyone around him.

"S- sir, I tried." Peter bows his head before whimpering.

Steve, who has been standing beside Bucky's chair leans in to whisper, "He is just a kid, Buck."

Bucky rubs his hand over his face before looking at Peter trying his best to give him a soft look. "Okay, Peter. I don't have time for this. What exactly is the problem here? And don't tell me a full-blown story."

"S-sir, the new bakery. The owner says she isn't going to pay the money. Said something about taxes and also that, 'If I don't barge in there asking for weapons, don't barge into my place asking for money.'

Some of the men standing in the corner chuckle but are rewarded by a glare from Bucky.

"I don't have time to deal with a Baker. Did you tell her that everybody in town pays the money? It's for protection." He says, voice slightly irritated. The townspeople feared him. There was no doubt about that in his mind. Hence, they sent him money at the start of every month diligently. But sometimes, out of the blue, someone would come and try to be the savior, trying to rebel. He didn't understand what they wanted. He wasn't a monster. Over the years, he had relieved some people of paying the money on various occasions.

"I did tell her that, sir. She asked me who exactly is this protection from." Peter whispered, now slightly trembling with fear.

This piqued Bucky's interest. Over the years, nobody had ever asked his men the reason behind the money. They just obliged.

Peter continued, "I told her it's from the mob. Some of us. And she said she isn't going to pay us to do the bare minimum, to be human." Bucky leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes in annoyance.

Steve spoke up, "It's okay, Buck. I'll handle this. You know they all give in eventually."

Bucky opened his eyes and stood up from his chair. "Nope, I will come with you. This is different." He then looked at Sam who was standing at the other end of the room, "Receive the order of the weapons. The delivery is scheduled in an hour."

Same nodded his head before walking out of the room. Bucky dismissed the other men and along with Steve walked towards Peter, both of the men towering over him.

"Peter, are those crumbles of pie on your face?"

A shiver passed through Peter at his cold tone and he willed himself to speak, "She gave it to me, sir. I tried to refuse. Really did. But she said that I am just a kid and don't deserve - " Peter cut himself before he could speak too much. He somehow had the habit of always speaking about stuff that is supposed to be kept secret.

A small smile found its way to Bucky's lips but it was gone as soon as it came and he patted Peter's shoulder dismissing him. "This is different." He said to Steve before walking out of the room.

And for some reason, he was sure it was true.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

"We are here, sir."

Bucky looked up from the file he was reading to his driver and then around him. It was one of the good areas of the town where families stayed, holed up in their whole little world, the darkness of the other side not fully reaching them.

Steve instructed the driver and the guard to stay in the car as the both of them walked out. "That is the one," Steve said pointing towards something.

Bucky followed his gaze and his movements faltered for a slight second. He had never seen something so - warm.

A little bakery standing between a bookstore and a cycle stand with sweets adorning its shelves looking delicious enough to lure anybody inside—soft music playing in the little speaker placed outside. People occupying the chairs outside and inside the shop, kids running around with huge grins on their faces, every one into their own little world.

It looked lively.

Bucky couldn't remember seeing something like this in the town before. Maybe he hadn't even bothered, or maybe something had really changed. With their black sunglasses and dressed up in dark colors from head to toe, he wasn't sure if he and Steve were going to fit in, but he couldn't care less.

As they walked closer, Bucky could now see most of the shop and when his eyes landed on the sole person behind the counter, his breath hitched in his throat.

Removing his sunglasses to get a better look, he stopped in his tracks when his suspicions were confirmed.

It was her.

The girl with the floral umbrella and the warm smile.

The girl who had somehow crept her way into his thoughts more than he would like to admit in the past week since he had seen her.

And she was beautiful.

He saw as you stood behind the counter, handing a box to a little girl with a huge grin on your face, the girl jumping up and down in excitement as you leaned towards her to whisper something.

He then saw the little girl run out of the bakery, clutching the box to her chest towards her mother as if it was the most precious thing in the world. When his eyes went back to you, he saw how you talked to the next customer, an old lady, with the same huge grin on your face.

He hadn't noticed that he had been staring until Steve cleared his throat, a smirk on his face. Before Steve could say something, Bucky muttered, "Stay here, let me handle this." He walks towards the stops with a calculated gaze and a perfected aura of confidence.

As he opens the door to the bakery, the smell of coffee and cookies hits him hard and a feeling of warmth engulfs him.

"How can I - " Your words die in your throat when your eyes land on the familiar figure.

Bucky could swear your smile gets wider.

You compose yourself before saying, "Hey, I know you. You are the cute guy from the other day."

Bucky frowns as he takes in your words. Cute? Did you just call him cute? He had been called intimidating, scary, and even sexy. But cute? He was furious. He was anything BUT cute. Also, was he allergic to something in the shop? Why the hell was his stomach suddenly fluttering?

He also ignores the way his heart is beating quicker at the realization that you remembered him. What was happening to him today? "I am looking for y/n l/n."

Your smile turned slightly mischievous as you replied, "That would be me."

Bucky's eyes almost widened at that. "You are y/n? The owner of the bakery?"

"Yup." You said popping the p as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And the last I checked, introductions went both ways."

You raised your hand towards him for a handshake and after looking at your hand for a moment, he shook it. "I am B - James." For some reason, he didn't want you to know who he was. The nickname might give it away.

You smiled at him again before returning your hand, a little too early for Bucky's liking, "So, James. What can I get you?"

He had it all planned. It was like second nature to him. I want my money. Abide by the rules, you don't want to know the consequences. It was the usual. But for some reason, his mouth had gained a mind of its own as it said before he could comprehend, "Cupcakes"

You looked at the huge display of baked goods before looking back at him, "Which one?"

Bucky gave the display a glance, he was sure he hadn't ever tasted most of them. "What do you recommend, sweets?"

He watches as you are visibly taken aback by the nickname. A smirk find its way to his lips as he watched red color creeping up to your neck.

"I - uhm" You take a breath to compose yourself. Get it together. "These red velvet cupcakes just came out of the oven and they are kinda my favorite. So.." You look at Bucky with excitement in your eyes and he likes how passionate you are about your work.

"I'll take a box."

You smile at him before bending down to pack a box of the delicacy and he watches how you oh-so-gently pick up each piece before placing it inside the box with practiced precision.

When you hand over the box to him and your hands brush, you feel the sparks through your spine once again as when you had shaken hands.

When he puts a hand in his pocket to retrieve the money, you cut him off. "Don't worry about it. It's on the house."

Bucky smiles a little before replying, "Sweets, you keep giving free goods like that and you'll have to close the shop soon." He says in a teasing voice.

"I'll let you in on a secret, James." You lean towards him as if it is the most secretive thing in the world. "This is a business strategy."

He frowns a little, trying to cover the fact that he was getting too comfortable with how close the both of you were, before saying, "How's that?"

"The first order is on the house but then you come again. And again. It's really profitable."

There is this - innocence and purity in your voice that reminds him of a little child. Of old times. Easier times. And he just stares into your eyes for as long as he can, as if they could help him escape, become a portal to a time long lost.

You don't dare to move either. His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue you have ever seen. They have this intensity to them as if hiding the stories of a lifetime and you just can't get yourself to look away. You have always loved a good mystery.

Bucky clears his throat, bringing the both of you out of the daze as he brings the teasing tone back to his voice, "What makes you think I will come back?"

You chuckle a little before giving a proud smile. "Oh, you will, James. I trust my cupcakes."

He gives you another small smile as he takes a step back. This is the longest conversation he has had with a person outside his line of work in a very long time. Everybody was just too scared but he couldn't care less.

"Goodbye, sweets." He says before letting the new customer who had just entered go ahead.

"Goodbye, James. Until next time." You add with a wink.

Bucky walks out of the bakery, his initial motive forgotten completely. From the outside, he turns back to look at you for the one last time and watches as you say something that makes the teenage boy laugh while taking out cookies from the shelf.

A moment later, you look towards the window and your eyes meet for a fleeting second. You smile at him and give him a small wave.

Bucky turns around to walk towards his car when he notices Steve standing a few feet away with a knowing smirk on his face.

Bucky rolls his eyes before muttering with clenched teeth, "Don't"

Steve doesn't ask about the money and Bucky is glad. He isn't really sure how he would answer. Whatever happened wasn't what he was expecting. You weren't what he was expecting.

As he slid into the back seat of his car, the image of your smile when you were that close to him lingered in his mind and he couldn't stop the way his lips had pulled slightly upward.

When the car started driving, and with Steve on a phone call, he opened the box of cupcakes and picked one to take a small bite.

As he takes the first bite, the softness and the sweetness of the cake engulf him and leave him wanting more. He doesn't remember eating something this good in a long time.

And for many reasons, he will definitely visit again.

Next part

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honeyshiddendesire · 9 months ago

Text

He’s So Nasty 🫣😮‍💨

*Old author's note: Wrote this awhile back while I was on my flo so I was a horny monster lol!*

*New author's note: Old work from my deleted blog but once again sooooooo hype that I found it again cause the He's So...Series was a banger and I never finished it but now that I found it I definitely have too lol*

This is the One Piece Hunks as some nasty men! I’m listing lots of warnings so don’t come for me saying it’s gross keep going scroll to the next one please ! Some messy kinks up ahead lol 😂

Part 2 of the “He’s So…” Mini series I’m doing

Part 1 “He’s So Mean”

⚠️18+! MINORS DO NOT ENTER! 18+!⚠️

Warnings:

Spit Kink (first section)

Cum Kink (section 2) daddy kink! Mating! Breeding kink! Mating season Drake!! Hybrid sex! Misuse of d.f. Powers ! Biting kink! Slight blood kink!

MENSTRUAL SEX! (For section 3 & 4) Oral Sex While on MENSTRUAL! Serious Blood Kink! Fingering! Bathtub Sex! Pet names! Praise Kink! Degradation! Dom/Sub! Spit Kink!

PISS PLAY!!! IN THE BOTTOM SECTION!! Femdom!! Nasty boy Barto!! Voyeur Kink! Pet play ! Collar kink! Dom/sub!

Characters: Bartolomeo! Monkey D. Luffy! Doflamingo! Shanks! Zoro! Eustass Kid! X Drake! Marco! Gol D. Roger!

Drooling on Him

They all think you look so pretty when you’re a drooling whimpering shell of yourself.

“So messy.” They’d say looking down at you with a big grin so full of pride.

They love seeing you slobber on their cocks, the look of shock when they’re cumming deep down your throat without warning. The feeling so good and the tears you give them as you choke was such a rewarding experience for them.

They were more than mean, they were nasty.

Finding pleasure in the tears that sprung to your eyes from the coughing fit and deep gag your throat gave at the force.

Drool, tears and his spilled seed flowed down your cheeks beautifully, it was like artwork.

Barto

🤍Bartolomeo basked at the cum seeping from your lips making him lick his own before smashing them into yours. Tongues and teeth clashing as he forced his seed down your throat. Saliva creating a cocktail that he couldn’t get enough of.

Hands ripping at your panties so he could get ready to have you hop on for the main event. Barto was a sucker for overstimulating and with how good you looked he needed it right now.

“Spit on my cock again.”

Doflamingo

🤍 Doflamingo’s hand caressed your cheek in what almost seemed like love for such a deranged man. Stopping when he got to your lips, thumb opening your mouth without resistance. “Mmm.” Doffy would hum at your pathetic attempts to swallow his privileged semen.

“I think you know what this means don’t you.” He was calm, too calm before suddenly long fingers shoved down your throat gagging you. Other hand shoving his long fingers in your wet pussy to start a brutal pace. “Mhmph! Do~ffy ”Your moan would break due to the long appendages, eyes rolling from the brush of his thumb on your clit.

“Sorry what was that whore? I couldn’t hear you with that filthy mouth of yours so full.” Doflamingo gave a laugh that sent chills down your spine, pussy squeezing his fingers shamelessly as your eyes rolled back. “Maybe you should’ve swallowed like you were told.”

Luffy

🤍 “Aye~ Mami~ you’re making a mess.” Luffy would taunt as he’d shove the dripping cum and spit back into your already full mouth. His wide smile looking anything but joyful as you gagged around his fingers. Spit and cum falling more for your wicked Captain who pulled you into his lap.

“If your mouth can’t handle it maybe we should try down here instead.” Luffy’s smirk that you loved so much made you whimper around his fingers. Cock pressing the wet spot on your drenched panties causing him to groan with his head back.

One hand quickly moving your panties to the side with an impatient huff. Luffy moved the fingers from your mouth to rub at your cunt getting you ready for his already hard cock. It was practically bouncing to get inside your tight dripping pussy. He couldn’t help but whine at the feel, “I love how wet both your lips get mami~”

Shanks

🤍“Sorry baby guess I couldn’t help myself.” Shanks would smirk at your wrecked expression, petting your head gently as he stood up to tower over your kneeled form.

“Don’t worry I’ll make it up to’ya. Get on the bed baby and I’ll show ya.” Outstretching his hand with a wink you gulped when you noticed his cock twitch. “So… are you ready to be on bed rest tomorrow?”

Taking his hand with a loud laugh and an eye roll he lifted you up. “Okay, big fella! Just cause you wrecked my face, doesn’t mean you can destroy this pussy.” Slapping you on the ass with a light chuckle, “That sounds like a challenge to me doll!”

Zoro

🤍“Open your mouth.” Zoro would growl to see the evidence and scuff at your lack of success. Leaning down to spit in your open mouth making you whimper.

“Wasted it. Now you can do it again.” He’d hiss out making your pussy tingle as his hand stroked his thick cock. “Better not waste this batch. Got it!”

He wasn’t looking for an answer by the way he gripped your hair to push your lips back on his growing length. “Swallow everything this time. You should know when I’m gonna come by now. Guess you’re my dummy cock slut, huh?”

X Drake

🤍“W-wow you actually look pretty cute like this.” Drake would stutter out as his giant hand cupped your face wiping your tears.

“Think you can go again for me?” He’d question crouching down to nip at your ear gently causing you to shiver. “No one else can do it like you baby. You know I like it sloppy.”

🤍Kidd🤍

“You look like a total cum slut right now! It’s insane…but fuck- it’s so hot!” Kidd would laugh at you making you squirm on your legs uncomfortably until he scooped you up.

Winking at your cute shocked expression before he tossed you on the bed like a ruined rag doll. “Okay! Time to mess that pussy up!” Your eyes nearly popped out as he literally jumped on you causing you to shriek, “Eustass-!”

“Fuck yeah baby! Say my name!”

Marco

“Oh what happened little dove~?” His deep voice cooed in your ear when he crouched down like a tempting song bird, “Can’t handle the medicine your doctor gives you?”

Words of silk wrapping your dirty form made you whimper only for him to shush you sweetly. Finger pressing against your cum stained lips keeping you quiet.

“It’s alright baby bird I gotcha. You did well but I think it’s time for my snack. Don’t you think?”

Gol D Roger

“Aye sorry lass. Could ya blame a guy though?” A boisterous laugh made you glare up with a pout that he only found cute. Hoisting you into his arms for a deep kiss to forgive him. Nearly taking your breath away as his large hands groped at your breast and anywhere he could. Fingers twirling and twisting your sensitive nipples till you were shaking.

“It’s just so hard seeing you get all enthusiastic about it! A man can’t help but get a little carried away with a throat that good.” Laying down on his back he pushed you toward his face with with wink, “Its okay you can get some pay back dear and don’t go easy on me.”

Marco, X Drake & Luffy

The Feral Ones that need to breed you because it’s in their zoan dna. Pulling your hips back to meet every powerful thrust of their thick cock in your tight pussy.

Mark your skin with love bites and playful nips, “Can’t stop baby~ fuck~ you feel so good.” The deep moan they let out made your pussy quiver, moans of your own pleasure following behind. Nails like claws keeping your body in place, legs pushed back for mating. “Have to fill you!”

“Need to fill you.” They practically growl as they bite into your neck. “Yes yes yes! Please cum in me!” They’ll have you screaming out for their potent load. Whether it’s in you or covering your body like a piece of art, you beg for it. “You belong to me-every inch of you.”

Load after load they’re filling your slutty pussy like their own personal cum dumps, no care in the world.

For the ones that can shift… trust me they’ll shift for sure.

Marco would use his heat to burn your clothes, talons to hold you down or his wings to shield you from public touches. Smirking as you sit on his lap wrapped in wings of fire, “She’s just cold.” He would say smoothly, not an ounce of wavering.

Really he just couldn’t contain the need to breed your cunt every chance he got. Especially with his brothers flirting with you just to make him jealous. They thought it didn’t work because of his casual expression, but your creaming pussy behind his shield like wings would beg to differ. “Better keep it down, yoi~”

Marco knew his deep voice sent chills down your spine, further playing into the cold scenario. Forcing him to pull you further down onto his girthy cock, wings wrapping tighter like heating pads. When he’s painting the inside of your cunt white, he warms you inside and out making you whine.

Taking the little noise you let out as an opportunity he will taunt you even more, “Awe~ must have a fever birdie~. I should take you to the infirmary and give you a proper check up.”

~~~~~

Drake using you as his custom little fleshlight during his mating season leaving you like jelly. “Fuck you’re pussy’s all mine! All mine! I’ll fuck you so full you’ll have no choice but to carry my kids.”

Teeth sharper than a humans biting at your neck drawing small drops of blood. Hushing your whimpers away as he sucked on the mark, kissing it softly after. “Shhh~ I know you can be a good mate for me~ take daddy’s cock like a good girl okay.”

Your cunt stretching along with his body growing, no choice but to take the monstrous cock for breeding. “Such a good breeding hole baby~” Drake can definitely get carried away when it comes to his cum, filling your belly till it bulges.

Rearranging your insides with his girth till your body went numb covered in spit and cum just how he liked you. Different positions till he has your legs thrown over his huge arms with your back against his scaly chest. Lifting you like a pocket pussy onto his cock till he had you squirting again.

Zoro, Eustass Kidd & Doflamingo

When bloodlust calls and they need to see their hands stained with blood that’s from something other than death. Your pussy sensitive, dripping from your monthly & mixing with your cum.

“Red looks good on you.” Their taunting voice rings in your ears, but you’re to far gone to care. Bolts of ecstasy shooting throughout your body from where his fingers curled into your soaked sex.

“Oh fuck!” You scream out arching your back, your breast pressing against his rock hard chest. Hovering above you like a powerful lion waiting to devour you.

Slowly descending down your body leaving you a shocked yet turned on mess. “W-what are you doing !?”

“Just trying to drink some red wine.”

The smug grin he gives before diving into your red ocean has you panting but ready for his wicked assault. “Shit~ Now that I’ve had you I’ll never get enough.” Moaning into your messy cunt making your shiver and scream. “Mmm~my messy girl~ fuck!” The vibrations of his deep voice against sensitive pussy had you cumming with a loud moan.

“G-gonna cum!” You cry out to them but the lust for your mixed cocktail is to much. The taste so different and intoxicating they have no choice but to make you cum multiple times more after that.

“Can’t get enough of my dirty girl~” His voice a teasing coo as he leaves a stained kiss on your thigh. Fingers dipping into your pussy for extra pleasure to join in on the fun.

You were so overstimulated and he was to pussy drunk to care about the mess. But oh well that’s what soap and water is for you can just burn the sheets you or toss’em no biggy.

Shanks & Gol D. Roger

The ones that just wanna help ease the pain by fucking you nice and slow. The loud squish of your extra lubricated pussy and the bath water making you flush from the lewdness.

“You feeling okay baby?” They’ll ask you softly with lips kissing along the side of your neck, fingers massaging your tender breasts.

“Yes! Please don’t stop~ it feels so good~” You whine out as you push yourself back onto his cock. Water from the tub warming your exterior with his cock heating you inside.

“Oh baby girl I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Strong hips fucking up into your cunt making you moan loudly, “Yes right there!” Eyes rolling back as the hot water and skilled fingers worked away the soreness.

Rubbing your lower back and hips till you were moaning with pleasure. Moving down to open your legs to make room to play with your clit. “No mess you make can ever be as bad as what I’ve seen love. You’re perfect doll~ so be good and cum for me.”

You scream out their name like a wonderful siren, drawing them further into your enchanting trap. “Thank you thank you~”

“My pleasure my lovely queen of the Red Sea.” Though they treated you like royalty during your monthly you weren’t completely safe from their teasing. Making you flustered beyond belief but that was life with a pirate like them.

Bartolomeo !!

The nastiest of them all, the one so pussy drunk he doesn’t want you to stop riding his massive cock. The one obsessed with the degradation you give him when he begs for it. Begs to be showered in your yellow liquids.

“E-ewe that’s so dirty! Just lemme get up real quick! I’ll be right back.” You say in disbelief trying to stand up from your cowgirl.

The look in his eyes is nothing but hungry lust, frenzied as he claws at your hips, “Yes! Yes Y/N! Fuck! I’m so dirty! Please! Please baby!”

You can’t lie, the relief you got from peeing was rather refreshing. The reward was good too when he picked you up in those strong arms of his to carry you to the bathroom. Fucking you senselessly in the shower till you were sobbing.

“Such a good nasty boy for me! So ~So good!”

“The best! Fuck! Only for you baby.” His sharp teeth pulled back in a wide grin that made your pussy clench. Biting into your neck and moaning when you squirt all over him.

Or !!!!!

When he walked in on you peeing and instantly got a hard on. With a man his size there was no covering up the reaction he had seeing you tickling away. Swallowing hard and slowly sinking to his knees like some kind of dog crawling towards you.

“P-please keep going…I wanna watch.” The puppy dog eyes he gave you had you biting your lip in contemplation. A pleading expressive look in his eyes for a front row seat of your private show. “Please Y/N~”

You swallowed hard and started to pee when his words caught you off guard again. “Open your legs a bit more baby.” His hand coming to gently rub your knee in reassurance.

Opening them a bit more slowly, you kept peeing, sighing at the relief you finally got from holding it. “Shit-that’s it baby.”

Long tongue coming to lick at his sharp teeth in hunger, “Fuck!” He cursed shakily when you finished. His eyes practically sparkled when he looked up at you with excitement.

“C-can I watch you again later?” With his position kneeling on the floor before you you couldn’t help but think he’d make a cute puppy.

That little spark inside you flared up and you couldn’t help but lean towards him. “Maybe I should get you a leash since you beg like a little puppy. Wanna be my little bitch boy and watch me pee again?” You smirked as he let out a moan.

The hand that gripped your knee clutched tightly as he spoke, “Watch it baby~ don’t make promises you can’t keep. You know I like it nasty.” He finished with that wicked toothy grin you loved so much.

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medusas-graveyard · 1 year ago

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Questionable morals!Danny

When can I see Danny just straight off killing GIW agents?

I want to read a story where Danny's moral compass is non-existent, where after getting adopted by Bruce Wayne instead of healing, he processed his trauma to something else.

It turned into nonchalance.

Indifference.

Where even after he successfully managed to live a normal life where he finally received a loving family, the GIW were still in an active hunt for him. He let his guard down, and it resulted in him getting captured.

Yet after all of this, the Bat and Birds were met with a massacre of men in white. They watch behind a pillar as Danny straight off ripped one of their heart out and throw away the man's body, leaving the still beating heart in the teenager's hand while the teenager in question was drenched in blood that didn't belong to him.

".…."

"...What time is it...?"

They heard the teenager mumbled to himself, his voice empty and hallow. The was beating heart on his hand stops beating and he looks at it for a moment, soon whistling to no one in particular.

A glowing dog shows up out of nowhere.

He drops the heart.

The dog starts to chew on it.

Danny looks down indifferently.

"...this is so tiring."

#danny phantom #dp x dc #batfam #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dpxdc prompts #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #welcome to my feral Danny agenda

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myhappylittlesideblog · 9 months ago

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Make It Back

A/N: A right of passage- sticking the reader character into the 'Andrea shot Daryl' scene :) Reader goes OFF on her, so be prepared lol. Sorry if you love Andrea

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader

WC: ~4k

Warnings: talk of Daryl's injuries, falling down the cliff, Walker attack- nothing too graphic; Andrea shooting Daryl but just grazing him; mentions of gore/blood- nothing too graphic; angst, comfort, fluff, cuddling; Daryl being sassy; reader character fighting with Andrea (yelling match)

Summary: You confront Andrea after she shoots Daryl, thinking he's a walker. With your anger taken out on her, you then comfort Daryl as he spends the night in the Greene farmhouse.

You heard the gunshot. Everyone on the farm did. You just didn’t know exactly what had happened.

Following Lori’s lead, you jogged around the house, hoping it wasn’t another accident like the one that almost killed Carl. It was a single shot. Why would anyone risk a lone round out in the open like this? On this beautiful farm.

Once you circled the house, landing in a clump of Herschel’s family and a few others from your group, all you saw was sun. Its rays were blinding yellow as they cut over the tall, deep treeline on the edge of the meadow. It was the middle of a gorgeous day.

You heard Rick scream. It was a booming, worried thing. Then he screamed again.

“What the hell is going on here?” Herschel bellowed.

You moved closer to the field, the gravel of the driveway turning to grass under your feet as you neared the van. Dale was standing beside it with his hands on his head, panic clear in his figure as he looked out to the scene in the pasture.

“Shit,” Andrea said as she hastily climbed down the ladder from the top of the van. She started whining, more to herself than anyone else. “No, no, no, Daryl.”

“What?” you asked, a cold shock running down your spine from the back of your neck to your heels in the dirt. “What? What about Daryl?”

“I-I thought he was a walker,” she said.

Your head whirled to the cluster of men at the treeline. You tripped, your feet rooted to the ground in horror and misunderstanding. Was Andrea actually saying-

“I shot him.”

You bolted at her confession. These days, you were used to running, having done plenty of it through the woods to escape walkers. Then, you had to be careful of roots and puddles and dead bodies and the trees slowed you down, making sprinting difficult. Now, as you watched Rick fall to his knees in the distance, reaching for Daryl’s head after it hit the ground, speed came easily to you. The open meadow of freely growing grass under the clear blue sky was practically a racetrack.

Andrea panted behind you and the useless coins in Dale’s jeans clinked together, but you were faster, your feet agile in their swiftness. Your boots didn’t pound into the dirt like theirs. You sped to Daryl, only slowing when Rick threw one of Daryl’s arms over Shane’s shoulder and took the other one over his own. Daryl’s body fell limp against them, his feet dragging.

As the men caught their balance, you took Daryl’s face in your hands, seeing it drenched in blood.

“He’s unconscious,” Rick said to you. “We’ll get him back to the house.”

You nodded, otherwise silent.

Andrea, however, let loose her apologies and worries in a shrill voice that made everyone around tense up like their limbs were attached to drawstrings.

You didn’t listen to her words. Or T-Dog’s or Glenn’s and you didn’t notice Rick pull something from Daryl’s neck. Only the grass had your attention as your mind ceaselessly spun. Your boots pushed the tall blades around, making them sway with your every step. The shades of green were glowing in the slowly setting sun until they were marred- darkened by the looming three-headed shadow making its way across the field. Daryl’s blood dripped with every step, leaving red droplets behind with the last of the dew.

“I’m sorry,” Andrea said. When she touched your arm, you jumped, jarred back from the peace of the meadow and into the grisly present.

You didn’t answer her.

Daryl was still unconscious by the time Rick and Shane laid him down in the bedroom. While they’d carried him into the house, you beelined straight to Maggie, asking for a rag and some warm water. You ducked into the bedroom and dodged the panicking men so you could sit on the bed and wipe as much grime from Daryl’s face and hands as you could manage before leaving Herschel in peace to bandage his wounds.

When the door to the bedroom closed you out, you sat on the floor in the hall. Earlier, you had wondered if what Rick told you was true, if Daryl was only unconscious. If the bullet had truly only grazed him. You only fully believed Daryl was alive when you washed his face clean. His brow even crinkled when the wet cloth touched it. He was in there still.

Lori sat down quietly next to you in the hallway. She patted your knee. She didn’t have to say anything. You knew her well enough by now to know what she thought. You’re a good friend to him, she’d say. And he doesn’t have many.

You leaned your head back against the wall with a soft thunk and closed your eyes. It was tranquil there for a moment before a familiar, unwanted voice interrupted.

“Can I talk to you?”

You opened your eyes to see Andrea standing above you and Lori.

“Now’s not a good time,” you said. It was awkward and uncomfortable. “I’m waiting for- for some word.”

“I’ll be quick,” she asked, sliding down the wall and sitting beside you.

Andrea had a knack for rubbing you the wrong way at the worst times. You wouldn’t call yourself a ‘strong personality,’ but she certainly was. Whatever it was deep down in you was constantly butting heads with whatever lived in her core. You disagreed with her most of the time, but tried your best to be patient and gracious given the losses she’d suffered and the emotions clearly wracking her. Still, you couldn’t help but feel she went about most things all wrong.

Like insisting she speak to you now.

So you stood up. You asked Lori to come find you when Daryl woke or when you could go visit him- whatever came first- and you left the house. The turmoil in your chest almost made you scream. But instead of letting it rip through you, you sucked in a deep breath and walked down the front steps. To be alone.

“(Y/N), wait.”

You could tell it was her by the sound of her voice.

“Andrea,” you warned, “I’m not in a place to talk right now.”

“To anyone? Or just to me?”

“Does it matter?” you asked, spinning around in the gravel to face her. “Can’t you just respect that I’m- I’m trying to-”

“What?” she shouted, hands in the air. “Trying not to yell at me? What if I want you to? What if I want you to scream at me? Tell me I’m reckless! Tell me-”

“Tell you what you need to hear? That’s not my job.” You were calm, considering the outburst in front of you. “Just leave me be.”

“No.” She ran in front of you, standing with her feet spread wide, blocking your path from the farm house. Like a child. “I need to… I need to apologize. To you. For what I did to Daryl.”

A laugh escaped you. “Apologize to me?”

“Yes. And-”

“You know who you need to apologize to, Andrea?”

“Daryl, I know, but-”

“And Herschel and Rick and Glenn and T-Dog, and everyone else you put in danger when you decided to not do what you were told.”

You watched her jaw clench and set in place. Lowly, she said, “I don’t need to be told what to do.”

“Apparently you do. Apparently you don’t have your head screwed on straight!” you said.

“What’s that supposed to mean-”

“No, Andrea!” you cut her off with a stabbing shout. “You’re gonna follow me around like this and beg for a piece of my mind? Let me give it to you! Lord knows no one else here will.” You took her arm, leading her away from the front of the house where your temper- or loss of it- wouldn’t disturb Herschel’s family. When she tried to talk over you, tell you she knew what she was doing with that gun in her hands, you snarled at her. “Shut up! I’m speaking now.”

***

You didn’t realize that the hidden spot you led her to happened to be just below the bedroom Daryl and the other men were in. You had no clue that your every word rode the breeze up and through the window above where Rick, Shane, and Daryl could hear you as clearly as if you stood right before them.

And you didn’t know Daryl was already awake.

Shane, arms crossed over his chest, peeked out the window at the sound of Andrea’s voice. He whistled to Rick. “Catfight.”

“What?” Rick asked. He followed Shane’s gaze and shook his head when he saw you. “Nah, (Y/N)’s good. She’ll keep her head.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure,” Daryl grumbled. “Girl’s got a temper.”

“Never heard anything out of her,” Shane said.

“Thas ‘cause you ain’t never heard her complain ‘bout you.”

“Man, shut up,” Shane growled over Rick’s chuckles. “If (Y/N) gives Andrea a talkin’ to, that’s one less thing on my list.”

Daryl violently shifted the pillow under his head. “Dun even wanna know what’s on yer list.”

Shane shushed him, spitting on the window screen, and nudged Rick. “Wanna listen to her.”

***

You stuck an accusing finger at Andrea, keeping her staring at you and squinting into the low sun. “You need to understand, there’s no ‘girl jobs and boy jobs’ here. It’s not that simple. Just because you don’t like doing laundry and washing dishes doesn’t mean you get a gun to flaunt around by default.”

“They’re wasting my skills!” she hissed.

“Those guys,” you pointed out to the pasture, where Daryl went down, “Rick, Shane, Daryl- those guys are trained with those weapons. They were fucking cops and hunters, Andrea! That’s why they get the guns right now, not because they’re better than us, or whatever the hell story you’ve told yourself.”

“Then I should be trained the way they were,” she said. “Before they took it from me, I had my own gun for years-”

“After what you did today, I hope you never get your hands on another gun! You put every one of those guys in danger today. What if your aim was further off, huh? What if you shot Glenn? Or Rick? You could have killed him right in front of his boy! Right after Carl got back on his feet, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does!”

“Are you sure?” The sun was beating down on your back. The heat of its rays added to the roiling in your gut, making sweat drip down the side of your face and pool on your lower back. Its slick had your t-shirt clinging to you. “Are you really sure? ‘Cause if your shit aim was a half an inch better, you would have killed him today! One of our own. And you’re acting like you barely care- you’re here apologizing to me?”

“You’re closest to him,” she grumbled. “I was trying to be-”

You spoke over her meaningless words. “Daryl is an asset to this group. He keeps us safe, feeds us- he was coming back from looking for Sophia and what thanks does he get? A fucking bullet to the head. You took down a good man today-”

“I thought he was a walker!” Andrea screamed in defense.

“So what?” Your throat ached from its work and Andrea flinched. You forced a calming breath before you continued slowly and deliberately, hoping some of your words would actually stick in her head. “We are so lucky we’re allowed on this property. That we found this doctor.”

“I know.”

“And he asked one thing in return. No guns. You were told by Rick, by Shane- no guns. You saw- you thought you saw one walker and you waste a bullet on it? That one gunshot could have led a whole herd to this house, Andrea. What would have happened then?”

“I get it, okay?”

“I don’t think you do. Four men went out there to take down that walker. They explicitly told you not to shoot that gun. And you did it anyway. And for what? Pride?”

She stared at you. Then she shrugged flippantly. “I wanted to do it. I knew I could do it.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it to you.”

***

Shane whistled again from his spot in the window. “If we ever need a lawyer, she’s the one.”

Daryl laid his head back on the pillow after holding it in the air to listen carefully to your argument. His cheeks, ears, neck and chest were hot and flushed from your words about him.

“She still down there?” he asked.

“No,” Rick said. He rounded the foot of the bed and walked towards the door of the bedroom. “I’ll go check on her. She’ll wanna know you’re alright.”

“He’s red as a tomato,” Shane said, slapping Daryl’s foot, “but alive, right Daryl?”

“Barely,” he grumbled.

***

It was Lori who found you first. She grabbed your wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Daryl’s okay,” she said. “You can go up and see him now.”

You ran your palms up over your cheeks and into your hair, feeling the sweat that had gathered. You sighed. “Maybe later. He should probably rest.”

“He was askin’ for you,” Rick said, appearing behind Lori with a hand on the small of her back. “Go on up.”

At that, you nodded and headed for the bedroom.

Miraculously, you didn’t run into anyone else as you made your way through the house. You would have been embarrassed to see one of the Greenes after what had gone down today in the pasture or even after scolding Andrea, whether anyone had heard you or not.

You couldn’t quite get yourself to open the bedroom door, even as you stood before it, hand on the knob. There was no talking or snoring or shifting of sheets from the inside and you debated if you would be a disturbance or a comfort to whatever mood you’d meet inside.

Finally, at length, you pushed it open.

Daryl was shirtless, legs tangled in the thin sheets on the large bed. He only took up a small portion of it, though he was laying almost diagonally across it so he could watch the door. Of course he and his tracker’s ears had heard you open it. He looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Hey killer,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t even.”

You stood in the doorway, watching him. His arm was tucked tight under his head as he looked away from you and down into the sheets. He tucked them up all around him, blocking his injury and most of his skin from view. You knew why, but ignored it. You instead stared at the bandage tied around his head. It made his short hair stick up wildly, like a bloody coyote in the woods.

“You wanna be alone, or you want me to stay?” you asked, hanging onto the doorknob.

He shrugged. “Dun matter ta me.”

That was the closest to a yes you were ever going to get. You closed the door behind you with a soft click and walked to the emptier side of the bed to sit on its edge. “You need anything? Water, or-”

“Got it,” he said, blindly pointing to the nightstand beside the bed.

“Kay.” The air in the room was hot, but since the sun was setting lower and lower each minute, you knew there’d be a breeze blowing through the lacy curtains soon enough. You wiped your brow again. “How are you feeling?”

“‘Bout as bad as I look.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

You breathed out a laugh. “You looked like death itself before, though, so this is an upgrade.”

He glared at you, but it was playful. For him, you knew it was. “Well, I was shot.”

“Yeah.”

You swallowed hard at the reminder. Next to his glass of water was the bowl and cloth you’d brought to him earlier. You reached for it now, wringing it out some before bringing it to his forehead which was as damp with sweat as yours was.

“What else happened out there?”

“Nuthin’,” he said, shrugging off the cloth.

You didn’t budge and asked again. “You look rough, Dare. Herschel said there was something with your side too? I saw all the blood.”

He was quiet, attention again on the sheets as you dabbed at his forehead and cheeks. There was still blood on his chin and grime on his neck- mud and something else you didn’t care to guess at. You stopped at his shoulders. It was clear he didn’t want you looking anywhere near his chest or back, buried in the sheets.

Then you noticed him watching you.

“You…”

“Hm?” you pushed.

“You were worried? ‘Bout… ‘bout me.”

“Of course I was. Still am. You’re one of us, we’re all worried-”

“I fell. And a couple’a walkers found me.”

Panic shot through you like lightning, branching through your veins and up your limbs. “Walkers?” No one told you. No one said anything about a bite or scratch or anything- “Is that, the injury on your side, it’s from a walker?”

“No,” he was quick to correct. “Nah, I fought ‘em off. Didn’t get me.” “Christ,” you whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to keep the unshed tears stuck in your eyes.

“When I fell down the cliff, I took an arrow through my back.”

It didn’t-couldn’t-register. “You fell down a cliffside?”

“Twice.”

That was all you could take. The emotion, the stress and panic of the day, of the weeks past, caught up to you in one drowning swell. You felt your lips tremble and tried to keep them shut up tight, tried to count the bumps in the washcloth still in your hands, dripping on the knee of your jeans.

“Ay,” Daryl said, gruffly. He took the washcloth from you and smacked your arm with it before tossing it near its bowl. “Dun do that. Dun- dun cry fer me-”

“Argentina?”

“Wha?”

It made you laugh. It was a wet, snotty laugh and the curve of your cheek pushed out a fat tear that carved its way down your face. “It’s a song,” you said.

“Don’t start singin’ neither.”

You chuckled again, losing more tears and the fight to not cry in front of Daryl.

With a painful grunt, he moved himself on the bed, opening a spot for you. He patted the empty space, mumbling. “Come on.”

You kicked off your boots and laid down on the bed, mirroring him. One arm supported your head, while the other tucked tight against you, keeping to your own space as you looked at him. His teeth dug into his lip over and over as he studied the hair and freckles on his arm as if he’d never seen it before.

“Were you scared?” you whispered.

After a long while, narrowed blue eyes met yours and he nodded.

“Out there alone.” Your voice broke, shaking with the tight breath in your chest.

“S’alright. M’back now.”

You flopped on your back, away from him for a chance to breathe. You were losing your grip and you didn’t want to break in front of him. You were there to support him, not force him into comforting you. But the thought of him in fear and suffering alone was stubbornly lodged in your throat.

“When I was out there climbin,’ that’s what I was thinkin’ ‘bout,” Daryl said. “Thought ‘bout comin’ back. Seein’ ya. Knew I had ta get back.”

His words hung in the air. They were soft and open, his voice less harsh than usual.

“That’s right,” you said. Using the collar of your t-shirt, as sweaty and dirty as it was, you wiped the tear tracks from your face and cleared your eyes.

“Now we both look bad as I feel,” Daryl said.

“Shut up,” you said. But you laughed.

The air felt clearer now. It wasn’t so stifling hot and you watched the transparent curtains dance in the breeze coming in through the window. Again, you turned to him, laying on your side, able to study him more. Daryl, however, seemed like he couldn’t bear the attention. His flitting gaze fell on just about everything in the room except you until he seemed to settle upon the safety of the bare ceiling above, studying it as if it were a map to a hidden treasure. Like a cure to the world’s mess.

“You okay?” you finally asked.

“Did you mean it? What ya said?”

“When?”

One of his hands flew up, gesturing toward the window. “Earlier. To Andrea.”

You hummed, lips glued together for a moment. “You heard all that?”

He chuckled. “Loud and clear. She deserved it.”

“Mm. Just lost my temper.”

He grunted, agreeing. “But’cha- what ya said ‘bout me.” He struggled for the words, throat and mouth working for the right thing to ask. “Said I was a good man, ya mean that?”

“Of course.” You sat up, moving your face into his line of vision. You made him look at you. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. And I wouldn’t be here with you right now if I didn’t think it.” Your fingertips grazed his skin, tickling down his cheek until they turned the other way, your knuckles running the same path for good measure. “You are a good man. I see you. I see the things you do and no matter how much you like to hide it, I know you have a big heart. I’ve seen it.” You gave him a soft shove on the shoulder, teasing. While you were there, close to him, you brushed the hair off his forehead before returning your hands to yourself and laying back flat on the bed.

He grunted and pressed his lips together, staring at where your face had been, the spot that was just the bare ceiling now. Then he shrugged away from you and turned to the opposite wall and grumbled, “S’not what I asked, girl.”

“Gave ya some extra bang for your buck, that’s all,” you said. When he didn’t turn or even chuckle, you bent towards the floor for your boots. “Want me to go? So you can get some rest?”

He gave you nothing in answer. You at least hoped he heard what you said, took it to heart. But, you thought, that’s what you get for blubbering all over his bed. Only slightly bothered, you leaned towards the nightstand to see if he had enough water for the evening. Then, you’d leave-

“Dun haf’ta go,” he mumbled.

“Oh.”

“So long as ya don’t go all girly ga-ga on me again.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he peeked at you over his shoulder. “You mean telling you that I actually care about you? Then don’t go tryin’ to die on me again.”

He flopped over. “Ya think I wanted to fall off the damn cliff? Fuckin’ horse threw me off.”

Setting your boots back down, you settled into the bed next to him. “Horse shoot you with your own crossbow too?”

“You shut your mouth, girl.”

“Mhmm.” you hummed, grinning.

Like two parallel beings, you laid opposite each other, close, but not touching. You used your own arm for a pillow and tucked yourself under the sheet of the bed. Daryl looked past you, as if watching the door as another breeze blew through the room.

“Here,” he said, shimmying up towards the head of the bed and sliding the arm of his uninjured side under your head. You laid close, tucking your arms into your chest so only your elbows and your knees crossed over into Daryl’s space.

At least, it was that way until he leaned down into you, resting his chin on your forehead and letting his other arm drop over your side. You let loose a sigh at the touch- he’d made it back.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead Daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead Daryl dixon x reader #my writing #daryl dixon comfort

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