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vunblr · 3 months ago

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An Unfinished Goodbye

Pairing: Ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Jealous Bucky. Slight angst.

Summary: Bucky tells himself he’s only watching over his ex-wife and son for their safety. But when someone threatens to alter the status quo, his quiet vigilance falters.

Word Count: About 2.6k

note: Although the events of this story take place before those in The Weight of Choices, this fic is intended to be read afterward, and not as a typical prequel.

Bucky didn’t let himself linger in the neighborhood too often. He told himself it was for her safety, to make sure no remnants of his past ever came close to the life he’d left behind. But the truth? The truth was much harder to swallow.

So here he was again, parked inconspicuously down the block, watching his old household from the safety of shadows. Nearly two years had passed since the divorce, yet his routine surveillance hadn’t faltered. He called it caution. Vigilance. Love disguised as duty.

But something had shifted over the past few months. He’d noticed a pattern: Wednesdays, late afternoons, like clockwork. She would leave the house with her bag slung over her shoulder and a bounce in her step. She wasn’t dressed for a date: no makeup, no particular effort in her outfit. Casual, comfortable, but... somehow purposeful. She always walked, sometimes taking Benjamin along, though not often. Her destination was only three blocks away, a quaint bookstore with dark wood paneling and colorful window displays.

At first, he dismissed it as another errand. But as the weeks passed, he couldn’t ignore how much time she spent there. The store was small, not the kind of place where someone could lose themselves in endless aisles of books. She never came out with stacks, just one or two bags that didn’t explain why she lingered inside for nearly an hour each time. It intrigued him.

What was she doing in there? Who was she talking to?

He had no right to feel like this, not after everything he’d done, not after he’d been the one to walk away. But knowing that didn’t make the questions stop, nor did it ease the tightness in his chest every time he imagined someone else making her smile the way he used to.

Bucky shifted in his seat, gripping tightly the steering wheel. He knew the store was safe, he’d checked it out the first time she visited, a quick sweep of its modest interior to ensure there were no hidden dangers. But that was before he noticed the pattern. Before he noticed him.

The clerk.

Attractive in an unassuming way, clean-cut, and friendly. The type of guy who probably didn’t carry the kind of baggage he wore like a second skin. He’d seen the way the man smiled at her, the easy banter as she lingered at the counter. It didn’t take a genius to see the man was interested. But what stung more was the question that haunted him every time he saw them together.

The first time Bucky walked past the bookstore on a Wednesday afternoon, it was a coincidence, or so he told himself. He’d been in the area, making one of his usual rounds to ensure Hydra remnants weren’t stirring trouble when he saw her through the large display window.

Was she interested, too?

-----

She stood at the counter, leaning slightly, with her bag hanging loosely off her shoulder. Bucky slowed his pace, his eyes drawning to her like a magnet. Her lips moved as she spoke to the clerk, and then she laughed. He couldn’t hear the words, but the warm smile she gave the man was loud enough to make something twist painfully in his chest.

His steps faltered, but he forced himself to keep walking, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn’t look back.

The second time, it wasn’t a coincidence.

She didn’t see him, of course. She never did. He’d become an expert at moving through the edges of her world without disturbing it. That afternoon, he lingered across the street, leaning casually against a lamppost while pretending to check his phone. She was there again, standing at the counter. The clerk handed her a small brown paper bag with a flourish, and her head tilted in a way Bucky recognized, a sign she was amused. The way the clerk smiled back was almost smug, and Bucky’s jaw tightened before he realized what he was doing.

It wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t about him. He was there to make sure she was safe, not to… what? Spy on her? Analyze every smile and gesture? No. That wasn’t why he was there.

By the fourth Wednesday, Bucky had stopped pretending. He started arriving just before she did, timing it perfectly so he could loiter nearby, feigning to check the notices on the community bulletin board. He didn’t always stay long, just enough to see her walk in, to make sure nothing seemed off. He wasn’t watching her. He was watching over her. There was a difference, even if it felt like splitting hairs.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

That day, though, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing through the window. Just a quick look, nothing more.

And there was the clerk. Smiling. Laughing. Reaching across the counter to tap the back of her hand, like he was entitled to.

The afternoon pick-up at the kindergarten next day was as uneventful as ever. Bucky leaned against the frame of the door, arms crossed, watching as Benjamin rushed to shove the last of his toys into his tiny backpack. The teacher smiled at Bucky, offering a polite nod before turning her attention back to the other children.

His stomach churned, and he didn’t wait to see how the rest of their interaction played out. He turned on his heel and left, quicker than usual.

-------

“Ready, buddy?” he asked when Ben finally zipped up the bag with a triumphant grin.

“Yep!” the boy chirped, slinging the strap over his shoulder and racing over to grab his dad’s hand.

They walked back to the car, and the boy chattered about his day: the finger painting, snack time, and the new dinosaur toy one of the other kids brought. Bucky listened, smiling faintly, trying to savor these rare moments of normalcy.

When they reached his apartment, Ben bounded in, already pulling out his toys and making himself at home. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He set down Benjamin’s backpack and started unpacking it, pulling out pajamas, a toothbrush, and a small paper bag. The bag’s contents caught his eye, a glossy new children’s book with a vibrant cover featuring talking animals.

“Where’d this come from?” he asked, holding it up for the child to see.

“Mom bought it yesterday!” Ben called from where he was lining up his action figures. “She said it’s funny, and I wanted you to read it to me tonight.”

That night, with Benjamin tucked under a warm blanket and already halfway to dreamland, Bucky opened the book. He flipped through the first few pages, skimming the cheerful illustrations, until something yellow caught his eye.

Bucky swallowed hard, tightening his fingers briefly around the book. It was a small thing, a routine purchase for their son. “Sure, pal,” he said, forcing a smile. “We’ll read it before bed.”

-----

There, stuck neatly to the inside cover, was a post-it note.

His stomach twisted as he peeled it off. The handwriting was neat and precise, the kind of deliberate script that came with care.

"For Benjamin and his supermom. If you ever need a moment to yourself, you know where to find me. Coffee’s on me."

For a moment, Bucky just sat there, with the note pinched between his fingers, and his jaw clenching tighter with every passing second. He read it again, and then again, as if repetition might dull the sharp edge of what it implied.

The clerk wasn’t just leaving a kind gesture for Benjamin. This was for her, testing the waters, pushing the boundary between friendly and…something else.

His chest tightened as he looked down at his son, fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in his father’s mind.

He ran a hand over his face, letting out a slow, controlled breath. He knew he had no right to feel this way. He was the one who left and broke her heart. She deserved a chance to move on, to be happy. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t interfere, wouldn’t sabotage any future relationships she might find.

And yet, as he sat there in the dim light of his living room, with his son’s soft breathing being the only sound breaking the silence, all he could think about was the smile she gave the clerk, the ease of their conversation. It twisted inside him, the raw ache of knowing she might be moving on, that someone else might be filling the space he’d left behind.

But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like something had been ripped out of his chest, leaving an empty, hollow ache. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

The book lay open on the coffee table, the colorful illustrations staring up at him like an accusation.

He should be happy, he knew that. If the clerk was kind, if he made her smile, then wasn’t that what Bucky had wanted? To know she was safe, loved, and cared for by someone who didn’t carry the weight and dangers of a bloody past?

Bucky told himself to sleep it off, to push it down and let the night take the edge off his emotions. But when he slipped under his covers, the darkness only seemed to amplify everything: the sting of the note, the look on her face when she laughed with the clerk, the ache in his gut.

What was he going to do? March into the bookstore and tell the guy to back off? Make a scene, all because he couldn’t handle the sight of her moving on? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It was pathetic and out of line.

----

He turned onto his side, then his back, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn’t grasp. Hours passed like this, his thoughts circling the same drain, relentless and unyielding.

He fell into a fitful sleep sometime near dawn and woke up with a headache pounding at his temples. Dropping Ben off at kindergarten helped distract him for a while; the boy’s energy was infectious, and Bucky managed a real smile when he waved goodbye, watching him run inside without a second glance.

He later met up with Sam at a quiet café in the city to discuss a potential mission overseas. A dangerous arms dealer had resurfaced, and Sam was talking about intel, tactical approaches, and backup options, but Bucky only half-listened. He nodded in the right moments and offered a few curt suggestions, but his heart wasn’t in it.

But once Ben was out of sight, the intrusive thoughts returned.

‐-----

Sam noticed. He always did. “You good, Tinman?” he asked, giving him a sidelong glance, his voice dipping in concern.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, too quickly. He took a long sip of his coffee. “Just a rough night.”

Sam’s brow furrowed, but didn’t push. He knew Bucky well enough to recognize when to leave things alone. “Alright. But if you’re not up for this trip, just say the word.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted, setting the cup down a little harder than he meant to. He forced a smile. “Besides, what else am I gonna do?”

Sam’s grin softened the tension between them. “Yeah, well, we both know you’re bad at sitting still. Just… if you need to deal with whatever’s got you distracted, handle it before it blows up in your face.”

Bucky’s smile faltered, and for a moment, he wondered if Sam could see straight through him. “I will,”

The day dragged on, filled with errands and prep for the potential mission. It was late afternoon when he realized where he was, standing across the street from the bookstore, hidden in the shadow of a building.

He shouldn’t be here. He knew he shouldn’t be here.

But he couldn’t leave, either.

The clerk was inside, bustling about, turning off lights and flipping the sign to Closed. The street was quiet, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows. Bucky’s pulse thrummed in his ears as he watched the man lock up, and a spring in his step made Bucky’s jaw clench. He didn’t know this guy’s name, and he didn’t care to know it. All he knew was the way the man looked at her, and it was enough.

Bucky stepped forward, letting the streetlight catch his face just enough for the man to see his cold and unyielding expression. He took his time, closing the distance with the kind of deliberate, measured steps that always made people nervous. He wanted the clerk to feel it, to know exactly what this was.

“I’ve seen the little note you left,” he said quietly, in a low rumble that carried in the empty street. He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t need to. The menace was in the calm, the quiet control. “And I need you to know something.”

The clerk swallowed hard, taking a half-step back. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Bucky’s eyes were steely as he interrupted. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I want you to stay the fuck away from my wife.”

The words hung between them, heavy and deliberate. He knew he shouldn’t have said it -my wife- but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to leave an imprint, to sow the seeds of doubt and fear. The man’s face paled, his eyes flicking between Bucky’s unyielding gaze and the empty street behind him as if he was already considering his escape.

“It didn’t mean anything,” the clerk stammered, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I was just… being friendly, I swear.”

Bucky leaned in closer, and his voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I don’t care what you meant. If you dare to leave another one, if you talk to her again, if you so much as breathe in her direction, I’ll know. And trust me, you won’t like what happens next.”

He let the threat hang between them, it wasn’t neccesary to elaborate further for the man to understand. The clerk nodded frantically, backing away, nearly tripping over the curb in his haste.

The next Wednesday, she walked into the bookstore as usual, expecting to see the familiar face behind the counter, the easy smile, and the warm greeting. Instead, a tall, bearded man she’d never seen before looked up from behind the register, offering her a polite but distant nod.

Bucky stepped back, letting the shadows swallow him again. He watched as the man stumbled away, disappearing down the street at a near run.

------

“Um, hi,” she said, trying to keep the confusion out of her voice. “Is Matt not working today?”

The new clerk shrugged. “He switched to the morning shift this week. Said he wanted more daylight hours,” he explained casually, returning to the task of rearranging colorful bookmarks without much thought.

“Oh,” she replied, caught off guard. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything about changing his schedule. For a moment, she couldn’t shake the odd twist in her chest, a mix of confusion and something that felt uncomfortably like rejection. It was silly, really, but she’d thought there was a small, unspoken connection between them, a hint of something starting. But clearly, she’d been reading too much into a few friendly gestures.

After a quick, half-hearted browse, she left the bookstore sooner than usual, with a distant expression as she stepped back onto the sidewalk. Her mind churned with a muddle of questions and disappointment, feeling foolish for hoping there had been something more.

Of course, Bucky was there, watching from a safe distance as she walked out of the bookstore, with a subtle sag of her shoulders. He knew exactly why; he’d made sure of it. It was pathetic, really. He’d driven off a harmless guy, because he couldn’t stomach the thought of her finding comfort or affection in someone else.

He swallowed hard, staring after her as she disappeared into the crowd. He’d done it again, made things harder for her, twisted the knife he’d already lodged in her heart. But despite the suffocating shame, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction #Ex-husband!Bucky #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

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Squeak Clean 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: yeah…

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re about done. You just need to take the trash out to the bin and pack up the last of your things. As you wind the cord around your vacuum, a throat clears and draws your head around. You crane to see Steve watching you from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Oh, just finishing up,” you say as you hook the cord to secure it and stand.

“No problem. I was actually gonna ask if you wanted a snack,” he says, lifting his arm to lean his elbow on the doorway. You stop yourself from frame your hips, letting that knot in your lower back linger.

A snack? You hesitate. You’re not bothered by your size or the assumptions people make about it. Still, you can’t help but be reminded of the extra cushion. You’re sure he didn’t mean it that way but it’s not really necessary for him to feed you. You bring your hands forward to fold them against your stomach.

His eyes follow the movement and he blanches. His cheeks tinge pink and he blinks furiously, “wait, I only—I'm just being... nice. Sarah Rogers raised me right, you know? Not right to have someone in the house and not offer.”

“It’s fine. I’m not a guest. I’m a cleaner,” you assure him and turn to grab the vacuum, dragging the wheels lightly off the carpet.

“Sorry, if--”

“No need. I’m not offended. Not hungry either.” You roll the vacuum to the front doorway and cross the room again. You approach him and slow, waiting for him to get out of the way, signalling with your eyes that you need to get past. “Excuse me.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he drops his arm but brings it back up to comb his golden hair. “How about water?”

“I keep a bottle in my kit.” You assure him as you search out the bucket.

He stands awkwardly by the door as you heave it up and carry it through to the front room. You put it with the vacuum and return one last time to the kitchen. You open the bin with the pedal but before you can uncurl the edges of the liner, Steve is right there.

“Here, it’s pretty full. I’ll take care of it.”

You back up if only to get space. You don’t like how easily he crowds you. You can’t tell if he underestimates his own size or yours.

“That’s what you hire me to do,” you say.

“Sure, but it’s one thing,” he lifts the bag out and ties it.

“Right,” you agree. “I suppose then, I’m done for the day.”

He lowers the bag to hang from his hand. He smiles at you. “You did a great job.”

You arch a brow, “thanks.” You’re not sure if it’s normal. Zuli said you wouldn’t have to deal with small talk, well, she was wrong. Figures she’d lie. She never really stops talking. Maybe she should take this one. “I’m going to go.”

He nods, almost as if he’s disappointed. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Sure,” you shrug.

You spin and stride away. You haul up the bucket and latch onto the vacuum. He comes closer again and before you can dodge him, he has a hold of your kit. You want so badly to rip it away. Didn’t he pay for a cleaner? Why is he trying to do everything himself?

You don’t react. You push it all down and head for the door. You put your shoes on and grab your sweater. You head outside and he follows you. You have to keep from running to your car. The weight of the vacuum helps slow you.

You open the trunk and lift in the vacuum. Not quick enough. He puts the trash bag on the curb and comes up to place the kit in the trunk first. He then lifts the vacuum and angles it into the car. You suck in a sigh.

It must be something programmed into him. He is a hero, after all. He can’t just sit back and let others do the dirty work. Even to a lowly cleaner, he needs to be a saviour.

“Thanks,” you mutter again.

“No, thank you,” he takes a step back and searches around, “uh, drive safe.”

“Mhm,” you nod again. “I’ll try.”

You turn and walk up the driver’s side. You feel him watching you. You’re not the most socially graceful creature on earth. Graceful in fact is not a trait you possess in any manner. Blunt would be a better descriptor.

You get in the car and shut the door. It doesn’t help cool the heat on the nape of your neck. You buckle your seat belt and glance in the rearview mirror. He’s still there behind you. Watching.

You want to assume there’s some logic behind his strange behaviour. He must not be used to having people in his space. If it was you, you’d rather just clean your own place than let someone else poke around. You’re sure you have a lot less to hide than Captain America.

You turn the engine. The rumble seems to jolt him into action. He moves away and grabs the trash bag. You flip your signal on and check your blind spot. You try to see around the cars behind you.

You peek over again as Steve nears the bins against the brick of the townhouse. He pauses as he drops it inside and waves at you with another grin. You wonder if he rehearses that suburban hero act. It can’t be real.

You pull out and shake your head. A job isn’t supposed to be enjoyable and rarely is it easy. You can tell already that while the work itself isn’t complicated, dealing with your client will be anything but simple.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #squeaky clean #series #drabble #maid au #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america

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rhiannonsknife · 14 days ago

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— BUT I’M A CHEERLEADER (part 4)

— summary: the party at lottie’s & its aftermath.

— warnings: friends to lovers. lots of fluff. the highly anticipated nsfw content. mdni. (this takes place in their last year of school. all characters in this are 18+!!)

the ‘post game hangout’ at lottie’s is in full swing by the time you and nat arrive in her car.

you half expect it to be a repeat of cheer squad gatherings: loud music, sharp glances, and judgment lurking behind every corner. but as soon as you step into lottie’s house -a massive place, bigger than any party you’ve been to before- it becomes clear this is a completely different world from what you’re used to.

it’s also much more of a party than just a ‘hangout’, but neither of you minds.

“lottie really knows how to throw a party, huh?” you say, glancing around. nat grins, giving you a playful side-eye. “she’s got the biggest house, so she kinda has to,”

the sound of music and muffled laughter spills from inside as you approach, punctuated by the occasional cheer or shout from someone already a few drinks deep.

“we don’t do small, cheerleader!”

“i can see that,” your eyes sweep over the pristine lawn and the line of cars already parked in the long driveway. nat gestures towards the door. “ready?”

you nod, even though you can feel the nerves bubbling up inside you. it’s not the party itself that unsettles you, it’s the fact that you’re walking in with nat. for all the teasing from the yellowjackets earlier, the lines between what you feel and what you’re allowed to feel still seem blurry and fragile.

the inside of lottie’s house is just as impressive as the exterior already gave away: the foyer opens into a sprawling living room that’s packed with people lingering in groups, red plastic cups in hand, the atmosphere buzzing.

nat nudges you with her elbow while you’re still busy taking it all in. “come on,” she says. “let’s find the others!”

just like that, you let her lead you through the crowd. there’s no weight of curious stares and whispered commentary you expected and nobody minds as you two make your way through the living room. when you finally reach the kitchen, it’s no surprise to see van perched on the kitchen island, a bottle of something strong-looking in her hand, while taissa leans against the counter next to where van’s legs are dangling, caught up in a conversation with jackie.

“hey, look who decided to show up!” van calls out, waving at you both.

nat rolls her eyes. “you just saw us on the field an hour ago,”

“yeah, but this is different,” she teases, hopping down from the counter to greet you. “field nat is all serious and intense. party nat’s a lot more fun. and hey-“ she leans in conspiratorially toward you “she’s even more fun when you’re around!”

nat shakes her head, but you can see the faintest hint of color creeping up her neck. “i’m grabbing drinks!” she announces to the group, shooting you a quick glance before disappearing toward the living room.

you’re left standing awkwardly near the doorway until jackie waves you over to join them. “c’mon, don’t just stand there!”

you hesitate but ultimately follow her lead, perching on the edge of the counter while van leans in, her grin mischievous.

“sooo…” she begins, drawing out the word. “how long’s this been a thing?”

you blink, caught off guard. “what?”

“when did you and nat figure this thing out?” taissa chimes in.

“i don’t- there’s no- what thing?”

jackie gives a soft laugh. “come on, don’t play dumb! nat’s been acting like a completely different person lately. more focused, less grumpy. it’s cute, really!”

tai leans in, her voice low but teasing. “it’s pretty obvious. she’s been head over heels for you since, what? the arcade?”

your cheeks heat as you stammer, “we’re not- she hasn’t- there’s nothing going on!”

jackie exchanges a knowing look with the two. “if you say so,” she mumbles teasingly over the edge of her cup.

van, on the other hand, doesn’t let up. “c’mon, it’s fine! we’re just saying it’s nice to see her like this! she’s, i dunno… softer? it’s not a bad thing!”

you laugh awkwardly, unsure how to respond. before you get the chance to tell them that there really isn’t anything going on, nat returns, drinks in hand. the others exchange more looks as she strides over.

“there we go,” she says, handing you a cup, her fingers brushing yours briefly in the process. even as you take it from her, your mind is still reeling from what van, jackie and taissa just said. nat, head over heels for you?

“so,” she asks. “what did i miss? what are you guys talking about?”

“nothing,” van says innocently, her grin suggesting otherwise.

“right…” nat says, slowly lifting her cup to her lips.

the conversation shifts after that, the others diving into lighthearted banter about the game, but your mind lingers on what they said.

you glance down at nat once, catching her watching you out of the corner of her eye. she quickly looks away, taking a sip from her drink, but the small, almost shy smile that follows makes your pulse quicken.

all throughout the conversation, you’re hyper-aware of nat’s presence below you, standing close enough to where you’re perched upon the kitchen counter for you to smell the faint scent of her cologne and feel the warmth that radiates off her even though she’s not quite touching you.

the others are deep in their talk, laughing about some ridiculous inside joke that you don’t quite understand but can’t help smiling at. you feel lighter than you have in weeks, lighter than you ever did amongst the cheerleaders, like you’re finally where you belong.

still, your gaze keeps drifting back to nat, the reason why you’re here to begin with, why you get to belong like that.

it’s the shift of the music in the background, a louder, more fast paced song, snaps you out of your thoughts. a few people filter onto the makeshift dance floor that lottie has cleared in the living room, swaying awkwardly at first before finding a rhythm as a larger group gathers.

you glance back at nat as an idea begins to take shape.

“do you wanna dance?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended but still enough to catch only her attention. nat freezes mid-sip, her eyes widening slightly as she looks at you like you’ve just suggested something completely outrageous. “dance?”

your nod, grinning despite the nerves. “yeah, you know…where you move around to music. it’s kind of a thing people do at parties?”

her lips twitch into a smirk and she sets her drink down on the counter. “i know what dancing is, smartass. i just don’t…do it!”

“why not? scared you’ll look stupid?”

she scoffs, crossing her arms. “i don’t look stupid. just don’t like it. it’s not my thing,”

“come on!” you plead, now drawing the attention of the others as well. “just one dance! for fun? for me!”

for a moment, nat looks like she’s about to argue again, her brow furrowing as if she’s searching for an excuse. but then her eyes meet yours, and whatever she sees there makes her hesitate.

“show us how it’s done scatorccio!” van interrupts her train of thought, already urging her forward.

“fine,” nat mutters, pushing herself away from the counter, then waiting for you to hop off after. “but, i swear to god, if i step on your toes, it’s on you!”

you laugh, grabbing her hand before she can change her mind. “deal,”

you don’t need to turn your head to feel the eyes of all three girls on you as you make your way across the room.

leading her to the dance floor, you notice the way her hand lingers in yours, her grip firm, like she’s still not sure what to do with herself. the two of you find a spot near the edge, the lights dim and the music low, and you turn to face her with a grin.

“see? not so bad, right?”

“you haven’t even started yet!”

you turn so your back is to her front, already swaying to the rhythm of the song. nat hesitates for a beat before resting her hands awkwardly on your waist. it’s stiff and a little awkward at first, but the warmth of her touch sends a pleasant shiver through your body.

“relax,” you tease, moving against her. “you’re not being graded on this!”

she huffs out a laugh, her shoulders loosening just a bit. “easy for you to say. you’re probably great at this! you’re a cheerleader!”

the two of you settle into an easy rhythm, and while nat is still clearly out of her comfort zone, she starts to relax, her movements becoming less stilted. you can still feel the eyes of her teammates watching from the kitchen, but for once, you don’t care who sees. it’s just you and nat.

at one point, she leans in just a little closer. her voice is low and her fingers hook around the belt loops of your jeans as she murmurs, “this isn’t terrible,”

you laugh, your heart skipping at the new proximity. “told you so!”

the music flows seamlessly from one track to the next yet nat doesn’t leave the dance floor after the first song like you half expected her to. instead, she stays, her presence warm behind you, her fingers gentle on your waist.

even as the upbeat tempo shifts to something a little slower, you’re quick to tug her hand, keeping her on the floor so she won’t flee from you.

“not letting me off that easy, are you?”

instead of replying, nat spins you gently, making you laugh as you end up face to face, more suited for a slow dance like this. instinctively, you drape your arms over her shoulders and lace your fingers behind her back.

nat’s body seems much more relaxed now, her grip on your waist softer, her movements less self-conscious. you’re still swaying together, but there’s something gentler about it now, something intimate, with the soft glow of the lights playing across her features.

at this point, you’re hyper-aware of her hands on you and how close she’s standing. so close her hair brushes your cheek when she tilts her head, so close you can feel the shudder in her breath, sending a shiver down your spine that you hope she doesn’t notice.

“you’re getting the hang of it,” you mumble.

“don’t push it. this is already way more than just one dance,”

“it’s called making up for lost time,” you counter. “you’re doing great!”

nat snorts, shaking her head. “dont lie! i’m terrible at this!”

without hesitation, you tighten your grip on the back of her neck, pulling her gaze back to yours. “nat,” you say softly, catching her attention. “nat, seriously, you’re really not,” you insist, meeting her eyes.

the room seems to shrink as the two of you sway to the slower rhythm. the din of conversation and laughter fades into the background, leaving just the soft hum of music and the warmth of her presence in front of you. you glance up at her through your lashes, heart racing at how close she is. her gaze flickers down to meet your eyes, then drops lower, to your mouth, and for a moment, the world feels like it tilts on its axis.

the song begins to fade, and before either of you can move, someone takes over the stereo. the slow melody is abruptly replaced by an upbeat, fast-paced track that jolts you back to reality.

nat groans dramatically, stepping back with a shake of her head. “that’s my cue to get off this death trap!”

you laugh, reluctantly letting her slip away. if it wasn’t already, the party is in full swing now, with people around you shouting and singing along to the lyrics.

you follow nat, intending to tease her about her endurance, but something else catches your eye as she brushes her hand over her face: the faint smudge of black along her lower lash line, where the eyeliner she always wears has started to smear.

“wait,” you stop her just before she reaches the comfort of the kitchen the other yellowjackets seem to have claimed. “your eyeliner’s all smudged!”

“what?” nat frowns, her hand flying up to touch her cheekbone, wiping at her eye in an attempt to fix it. “are you serious?”

“stop,” you chuckle, reaching out to still her hand. “you’re only gonna make it worse! come on!”

“i can do it myself,” she protests, though she doesn’t pull away.

you tug her down the hallway, weaving through the crowd toward where you assume the bathroom is. even though she grumbles something under her breath about not caring how she looks, she doesn’t let go of your hand.

you close the door behind you, and nat stands just inside, her posture uncertain.

“sit,” you order, pointing to the closed toilet seat. “i’ll take care of it.”

she blinks before sitting down, knees pressed together, her hands resting awkwardly in her lap.

nat watches you, tracing every movement you make as you open your purse and pull out the small makeup bag. “do you really carry all that around with you?” she asks, her gaze meeting yours in the reflection of your mirror.

“hey! it’s for emergency touch-ups! comes in handy now, doesn’t it?” you laugh. “i could also leave you to look like a raccoon, if you want?”

nat huffs, shaking her head. “fine, fine. just get it over with.”

you turn around and step in, your knees brushing lightly against her legs. carefully, you move your fingers, steadying the eyeliner pencil.

“don’t make it weird,” she mutters.

you lift her chin gently to get a better angle, brushing her cheek with the pads of your fingers. “i’m not, i promise,”

nat doesn’t flinch when you trace her waterline, her eyes looking up as she stays still, her breath catching just a little as you work. there’s an undeniable pull now, an electric charge that shoots up your spine every time you glance at her.

you try to focus on the task, try to steady your hands, but it’s hard to concentrate when nat is so close. your heart beats louder than the soft scratch of the pencil on her skin.

“almost done,” you murmur.

when you finish, you lower the pencil and meet her touched-up eyes. they're wide as they turn to meet yours, her lips slightly parted. you don’t step back like you probably should. you don’t even remove your hands from her cheeks, where they still sit firmly.

there’s only the two of you and that undeniable pull. you’ve tried pushing it away, you’ve tried ignoring it. you’re tired of pretending like it’s not there.

you inhale deeply, your fingers tightening on her face and nat’s eyes fall to your lips. this time, it’s not a stolen glance either. it’s there, right in front of you, with neither of you bothering to hide it.

you’re about to close the space between you, when the door suddenly bursts open with a loud bang.

“guys!” van’s voice bursts through, full of energy and excitement. “you’re not gonna believe this, but-“ she stops mid-sentence when she sees you two, the scene frozen in place. for a beat, all three of you stand there, the room suddenly feeling much too small. van blinks a couple of times, clearly processing the intimate scene she’s interrupted, then grins from ear to ear.

“randy lost a bet and is jumping in the pool fully clothed!“ she announces. “but i guess you guys are…busy in there. i’ll leave you to it”

she’s already turning on her heel again, clearly not wanting to miss out on it. “remember to use protection kids!” she calls as she rushes down the hall. “don’t want any surprise bets on the way!”

you pull away just slightly, your heart still thudding loudly in your chest.

“uh, yeah,” nat says, clearing her throat, the moment slipping away from you. “we’ll be out in a minute!”

the second the door clicks shut, you and nat both exhale, as if you’d been holding your breath this entire time.

“i-“ nat starts but, for once, she doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“uh- i guess we should-“ you gesture over to where van had gone.

“yeah. yeah, definitely.”

you both stand in silence for another moment. for one last second, you think she might reach for you again. but she doesn’t. instead, nat takes a step back toward the door.

“wouldn’t want to miss out on that,” she says with a slight, uncertain grin, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

randy, true to his words, does make the fully-dressed dive into lottie’s pool, which earns him laughter and applause from the spectators surrounding the scene. the water splashes high as he emerges, dripping wet and grinning like a madman.

you don't catch half of it, too preoccupied with watching nat from across the yard, laughing with the rest of her teammates. you should have kissed that smiling mouth when you had the chance.

by the time the party begins to wind down hours later, only a few yellowjackets remain. the energy in the living room is mellowed but still full of warmth. van and taissa are the last women standing, still swaying to the beat of some toto song that's playing from the stereo. on the couch, shauna and jackie are curled up together, their heads close, their low murmurs barely audible over the fading music.

you stand near nat, a comfortable silence between you two as you observe the scene.

“guess it’s time to go,” nat says quietly, fiddling with the carabiner on her jeans as she searches for her keys. “lottie!” she calls, catching her attention from where she's chatting with laura lee -the only one of the group who’s still completely sober.

nat untangles the keys and holds them up. “i’ll leave the car here for the night, alright? just move it if it’s in the way!” she explains, setting them down on the table.

“you two heading out?”

“yeah, just walking home,” you tell lottie, nudging nat with your elbow.

“alright,” she hums, waving goodbye. “good night,”

“night!” you both call out to the group before turning to leave.

the cool night air is refreshing after hours in the suffocating warmth of lottie’s place and the streets seem quieter, the house fading in the distance as you walk side by side.

her hand brushes against yours every now and then, but neither of you makes a move just yet. the streetlights flicker above, casting soft golden light on the pavement ahead. you don’t speak right away, both of you settling into a comfortable silence as you walk.

the distance to your house is surprisingly short, but every step feels like it lasts a little longer than it should, like neither of you is ready for the night to end. it’s strange how just walking with nat feels like it could stretch into infinity, and you’d be content with that.

when you do reach the front porch, you stop, hand resting on the railing. nat lingers at the bottom of the stairs behind you, her own hands shoved in her pockets, not in any hurry to leave. you turn to face her, your pulse quickening in the stillness of the night.

finally, you find your voice: “thanks for tonight, nat,” you say. “i…i had a great time!”

for a beat you stand there, frozen in place, wondering if there’s more you’re supposed to say. your eyes meet hers again. you could say goodbye. you could walk inside, end the night, and pretend like there’s nothing more to it. but the moment feels too big, too full of things unsaid for you to walk away from it.

you turn fully to face her, your heart racing just a little. before you can second-guess yourself, you stumble down the stairs and grab the collar of her jacket. nat doesn’t have time to react, her eyes widening just as you pull her toward you, and in one swift motion, you press your lips to hers like you’ve been dying to all night.

everything pauses. the kiss is unexpected, quick, and electric. a mix of everything unspoken between you two. all the tension that’s built up over the weeks, all the doubts and fears, dissolve in that single, raw moment. nat’s body goes still, as if neither of you can quite process what’s happening.

then, almost as if waking up, she finally responds, her hands gently cupping your face. her lips move against yours with a softness that you hadn’t expected from nat: she’s slow at first, cautious as if she’s waiting for you to change your mind. but you pull her in closer, deepening the kiss without thinking.

the moment shatters only when you hear the faint sound of a car driving by down the street. you both jump apart then, but not far enough to break the connection. breath comes a little quicker now as you stand there on the porch, eyes locked, saying nothing.

the car drives by, leaving you invisible in the shadows of your house.

a beat.

you don't even register jumping back into motion, but suddenly, you're both stumbling back toward the door, lips locked again, hands moving instinctively, pulling each other closer. your heart beats faster with every step, every touch. you can't get enough of her.

you reach the lock, fingers fumbling with the key for a moment before it finally turns, letting you slip inside. the door closes quietly behind you, carefully pulled to avoid a sound. inside, it is quiet and dark, the house hiding you as you stand there, just breathing. nat’s forehead rests against yours, both of you too lost in the moment to speak, but the tension is still there, palpable.

nat breaks the silence first, her voice low, barely a whisper. "are we...doing this?"

you smile, your thumb brushing across her jaw as you pull her back into another kiss, slow and deliberate, like you're both savoring every second of it. you don't pull away at all this time. instead, you guide her to your room, the distance from the door to your bed feeling like miles.

you stumble against furniture and walls on the way there, giggling into each other’s mouths as you try to find your way.

when you finally make it to your room, you're both panting heavily, your hands still holding onto each other as if afraid one of you will slip away if you let go.

all the past weeks have come down to this.

nat leans down to kiss you again, even slower this time, her hands coming to rest on your waist, her fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. you press yourself against her, and the kiss deepens, more urgent now, as though you both can't help yourselves anymore.

“we have-“ you murmur against her lips between kisses. “-to be quiet!”

nat smiles softly, nodding, her mouth brushing against your ear as she murmurs, "i think we can manage,”

you grin in relief. carefully, you make your way to the bed. the only sound is the soft rustle of clothes being discarded, and then the warmth of her hands against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“i’ve never-“ you begin as you toss nat’s leather jacket over your chair. your teeth dig into your lower lip nervously, both because you’re admitting this to her and because you know what’s still to come.

“hey,” nat nudges your chin so you’re looking back up at her. her hands reach for your cheeks, the cold metal of her rings pressing against your skin. “it’s okay. you’re okay”

you nod on a shaky exhale and nat’s smile softens, mirroring your expression.

“we don’t have to-” she starts, but you're already cutting her off.

“no!” the word comes out too eager, too rushed, and you feel your face heat. “no. i want to!”

no matter how appreciative you are of her patience and assurance, you do feel ready. you had been the minute she’d first kissed you under the porch light (perhaps even long before that), when her chapped lips started moving against yours slowly.

nat nods once, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and your eyes fall to her mouth, helplessly transfixed. “okay” she says quietly. “okay...”

she's on you in seconds, her lips capturing yours again, her weight pressing against you until your back hits the mattress.

your arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her impossibly closer, and she hums into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips. nat’s fingers skim your sides, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her nails dragging lightly over your skin. goosebumps rise in their wake, and you shiver involuntarily when her rings brush your bare side.

nat pulls back, her lips grazing yours as she grins. “cold?”

“a little,” you admit, breathlessly.

nat's teasing smirk only grows as she sits back on her knees, perched over your legs. her hand rests flat against your lower abdomen, just above where your shirt has ridden up, while the other ghosts over your ribs.

you reach for the one pressing against you, your thumbs circling her wrist to pull it in. you hold her hand up between you, examining the metal bands on each finger for a brief moment before leaning forward. one by one, you kiss the tips of her fingers, your lips hovering over the cool metal as you move lower.

above you, nat sucks in a sharp breath.

you glance up, and her wide, surprised eyes meet yours.

your finger brushes over her knuckles as you tug one ring free, then another. nat’s gaze follows every movement, and when you press another gentle kiss to her now-bare fingers, a tremor runs through her. you set the rings down on your bedside table and turn back up to look at nat.

the tension between you hums like a live wire, but it's not overwhelming. it's something else entirely, something that feels right.

nat swallows hard, her lips twitching upward. “better?” she asks.

“yeah,” you rasp. “way better.”

you sit up to meet her halfway this time, giving her room to peel your shirt off and toss it aside. it lands on the floor by the side of your bed softly, leaving you in a plain black bra. still, her eyes rake over your chest both hungrily and with an adoration that’s softer than anything you’ve ever seen playing out on nat’s features.

“you’re so-“ she says, her fingers twitching like she’s resisting the urge to reach out. once again, you take nat’s hand in yours and guide it to cup your breast. you both exhale simultaneously, adjusting to the new sensation. she must feel your hardened nipples through the fabric, judging by the way her gaze drops and she bites her lip.

experimentally, nat’s thumb flicks the pebbled nipple, instantly drawing a shuddered moan from you.

“nat, off,” you manage, head lulling back already.

thankfully, she complies: nat reaches around your back and smoothly unhooks the clasps. while holding the eye contact, she pulls the fabric off, exposing your bare chest to the chilly night air. she discards it carefully, letting it join the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

“you too!” you urge, fingers impatiently reaching for nat’s tank top. she smiles but helps you get it off and throws it aside, revealing the red bra she’s wearing underneath. the sight takes your breath away, and you’re stunned into silence. unlike nat, you can’t help yourself but blatantly stare.

“you’re so pretty,” you finally whisper, leaning in to kiss the swell of her breasts that spill from the bra.

nat’s now bare fingers tangle in your hair as she guides you, letting you have this. you mouth at the fabric eagerly, yet before you can pull it down, nat pushes you back into the sheets.

you don’t feel exposed like you thought you would in this position, even though you evidently are: with your hair sprawled out around your head on the pillows, your nipples hard and on full display, and your chest heaving rapidly. you can feel the wet patch in your underwear.

nat leans over you and begins kissing down the expanse of your upper body. her mouth trails down the valley between your breasts, leaving the faintest marks in the places where she sucks on your skin just a little harder.

“so pretty,” nat mumbles absentmindedly, her calloused fingertips roaming your sides. they fall to your pants next. with both eyes closed and your head thrown back into the plushy pillows, you nod.

“please,” you whisper into the space between you. a space that’s yours and nat’s only. “please!”

“i got you, cheerleader,” nat says teasingly. you blink an eye open to see her staring down at you. her hands spring into action, skilled fingers unbuttoning your jeans before unzipping them and peeling them off your legs. you kick them down the edge of the bed, leaving you completely bare except for the thin, soaked fabric of your underwear. nat must see the stain on the fabric from where she’s sitting between your knees.

her palms press flat against your legs, brushing up their length until they land on the flesh of your inner thighs and nudge them apart. if she hadn’t seen your arousal before, the pleased smile on her face when her eyes land on your crotch speaks volumes.

“holy shit,” she mutters, her voice husky and low.

you want her, you realize, more than you’ve ever wanted anything else before. you want her fingers, her mouth, whatever nat is willing to give you. you tremble with the force of allowing yourself to feel this kind of want, to let it take over you without any attempts or reasons to oppress it.

“nat,”

her eyes flick up and her fingers instinctively reach for the waistline of your panties, a silent question hanging between you.

“yes!” you nod. “yes please!”

instead of taking them off right away like you had expected, nat begins kissing up your inner thighs, occasionally letting her tongue dart out to lick over your skin.

“can i…?” she husks when her nose practically nudges the crotch of your underwear.

too impatient to deprive yourself of it any longer, you hook your fingers into the hemline yourself and push them down past your knees.

nat smiles up at you softly before she lets her eyes drop to your naked form. you can feel all the places where your wetness is sticking to your thighs, the air making you hyper-aware of all the wet spots.

“god,” she groans, her fingers running through her bleach blonde hair. “look at you…” she brings her other hand up to gently spread you open and take in the sight of your body bare before her.

you spread your legs a little wider for her, gasping when nat’s thumb brushes your clit for the first time. your soft moan makes her crawl up your body, her lips meeting yours in a searing kiss to hush you, her fingers gliding through your arousal.

“nat,” you moan against her mouth. “nat, inside.”

thankfully, nat understands. your body tenses when she slides them into you with a soft moan of her own, then immediately relaxes when she smiles against your lips. you feel yourself fluttering around her as you take nat in greedily.

“good?” she breathes, motionless until you nod erratically. that’s when she begins to move.

immediately, she’s drawing obscenely wet noises from between your thighs that echo from the walls around you. you gasp at one particular good thrust against your walls, her fingers curling against a spot that causes your eyes to roll back in your head.

you moan as your head falls back against the pillows and your mouth hangs open against nat’s. you cling to her body breathlessly, reaching around her back as her fingers work themselves deeper into you.

“mhm, i know,” nat gently whispers, “i know, that’s it, i got you,”

all her praise goes straight to your cunt, sending another wave of pleasure surging through your body. your hand finds hers through the haze and you lace your fingers together. you need to feel her, need to know that she’s still there.

“you take my fingers so well,” she praises, each word accompanied by another thrust. you nod once again, her voice sending you spiraling and gushing more arousal all over her fingers.

“i’m gonna put my mouth on you now, is that okay?” she asks.

“yeah!” you instantly assure, eyes turning to the ceiling above, mentally bracing yourself for the sensation of her lips and tongue on your pussy. “yeah, please!”

she doesn’t kiss your body as thoroughly this time for the sake of reaching her destination faster: only brushes her lips over your stomach briefly before getting comfortable between your spread legs.

your hands curl up in her hair tightly in anticipation and nat hums in response before her mouth closes around your clit and sucks. nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the actual feeling of nat scatorccio's mouth.

you can see her eyes through her sweaty bangs, catch the way they roll back in head at the first taste of you.

“oh, nat!” you moan, louder than you should, but neither of you cares. you arch your back off the soft sheets, grinding yourself against nat’s broad tongue until you feel your stomach coiling and tightening in pleasure. there’s an unrelenting tension building up there, one that’s just waiting to snap. she lets you chase your orgasm, allows you to move however you please.

“are you close?” nat murmurs against you, her fingers sliding back into your cunt so suddenly you shudder. it seems harder for her to thrust into you now, with your walls tightening around the digits.

“i think so” you manage breathlessly.

nat, spurred out by this, doubles her efforts and dives right back in, flicking your clit with her tongue and curling her fingers against your g-spot. it’s so much. it’s not nearly enough. it’s perfect.

nat sends you over the edge in mere seconds.

“that’s it,” you hear her praising.

with a cry of nat's name, you cum against the feeling of her mouth and fingers. you can still sense her voice talking you through it, but it feels distant with the pleasure rushing through your veins.

her hand squeezes yours through the orgasm, grounding you as you tremble with pleasure. not once does she take her eyes off you as you ride out the waves of your height.

only when your body stops shaking, nat pulls out, clearly not wanting to push you to a point of overstimulation. someday, you think to yourself, you might ask her to. but not tonight. tonight you want to enjoy the new experience with her and the tenderness of nat’s touch.

the next time you open your heavy lidded eyes, nat is lingering above you. she’s watching you recover through wide, curious eyes.

“hi,” she whispers when she notices.

“hi,” you chuckle, still breathless.

“was that…” nat trails off, biting her lips. “okay?”

instead of a verbal response, you cup her cheeks and crane your neck to gently kiss her lips. you can taste yourself on them and have to fight back the urge to lick your arousal from nat’s mouth.

“more than okay,” you whisper then.

you’re spinning her around before you know it, kissing nat with newfound determination as you press her into the mattress.

there’s a long night ahead of you.

the room is dim now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the streetlight outside. nat is perched on the windowsill, the cool night air blowing in through the open window. she exhales smoke, the grey tendrils curling lazily in the air before disappearing into the darkness, and you watch her.

“can i ask you something?” nat’s voice is soft, her eyes lingering on the street outside.

you nod, drawing your legs closer to your chest you as you sit beside her. “of course,”

she turns to you, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “what does this…what does it all mean for us? i mean, after everything with your ex, i want to be sure, you know? i don’t want you to feel like you have to rush into anything or that i’m, like, pressuring you,”

you can tell nat is trying to be careful for your sake, but it’s obvious her mind is already on what’s next. you want to reassure her, to let her know this is what you want, something that feels right in a way nothing ever did with your ex.

“nat,” you begin “it’s okay. i do want this. i want you. i’m not going anywhere!”

she blinks at you, her gaze softening as the words settle between you two. she takes a slow drag from her cigarette, letting the smoke drift out of her mouth with a sigh. then, she sets it aside on the sill, her fingers tracing a light path along the window frame.

“i just want to make sure I’m doing this right,” she murmurs. “i mean, i kinda jumped into it with you. and, look, i’ve never really been one for...all of this, you know? i want to take my time with you. show you that i want this!”

your eyes widen just slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. “you want to take your time with me?”

nat looks away for a second, clearly flustered. “i know, i know. it sounds fucking ridiculous, but…yeah. i do. i’ve never really done this right with anyone before, and i want us to take this slow!” she glances back at you. “not because i don’t want you! god, i do! it's cause i really do want to…swoon you properly”

you laugh, a light sound, your heart swelling with affection. “you’re really something, you know that?”

“a hopeless romantic,” she jokes, but you can tell there’s none of her usual sarcasm behind it.

you pull nat a little closer, your fingers brushing against her hand. “i’d love that,” you whisper, meeting her eyes. “i’d love for you to…” you grin, making a vague gesture. “swoon me”

before she can say anything else, you kiss her. it’s slow, sweet, the kind of kiss that feels like it could go on forever if you wanted it to. eventually, you do have to pull away to catch your breath.

“i’m not going anywhere either,” you assure. “take all the time you need, nat. i’m right here!”

she grins, a little sheepish but undeniably happy, and leans in to kiss you again, this time with more certainty, more trust.

“deal,” she murmurs. “but, for the record, i do want to be your girlfriend. if that’s…something you want, too?”

just when you thought this evening couldn’t get any better...

“yeah” you confirm, smiling so widely your cheeks ache from it. “that is something i want,”

weeks later…

the air is warm, bordering on too hot, a hint of summer heat creeping into the car despite the ac as the engine hums quietly. the smell of fresh grass and the distant sound of chatter from the graduation ceremony echo outside, but inside, it’s just the two of you.

you and nat are in the backseat, both of you in your graduation gowns, caps discarded carelessly on the passenger seat. the gowns, those stiff, awkward, and uncomfortable outfits, are crumpled around your bodies as you make out.

your girlfriend’s lips are warm against your own, her hand tangled in your hair as she urges you against herself. her laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you break the kiss just enough to look at her, eyes practically sparkling with mischief.

“we’re going to be late,” nat murmurs between soft kisses down your neck, her voice teasing. “they’ll be looking for us, and then we’ll be arrested for public indecency!”

you laugh, a soft, breathless noise that blends with the hum of the engine, and shake your head. “who cares?” you press your lips against hers again. “i’d rather be here with you!”

nat grins, a little breathless herself now. “yeah, me too.” she leans in again, but pulls back just as quickly, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “we’re literally getting our diplomas in, like, 10 minutes. and we’re in the back of my car, making out. that doesn’t exactly scream ‘responsible graduates,’ does it?”

you both burst into laughter, the sound of it filling the space of her car. “let’s just skip the ceremony and do this all day,” you tease, your fingers brushing over her gown, feeling the fabric slide beneath your touch.

nat laughs again, pulling away to look at you with that same fond, playful expression she always has when she’s teasing you. “we could,” she says, “but i think the others might kill us!”

you chuckle, then glance out the window briefly. the ceremony is happening just outside the school, with enough room for all your classmates to gather for one final moment together.

you know this is it: this is a chapter closing. but for now, it doesn’t matter. all that matters is this moment. with nat and the heat of summer beginning to settle in around you.

her fingers brush your cheek, pulling your focus back to her. “we should really get out there,” she says, though there’s no real urgency in her tone. it’s clear that she wants to stay here with you just as much as you do too.

“i know,” you reply softly. then, after a pause, you add: “in a second!”

“in a second,” nat parrots, her voice full of affection. “just a few more minutes…then we can go face the world together, as graduates, yeah?”

you nod, your heart racing as her tongue briefly slips past your lips, deepening the kiss. her hand cups your cheek and her thumb brushes your skin, the free one creeping up beneath your gown, pushing your bra up and…

suddenly, there’s a loud knock on the window.

you both freeze, breaking apart so fast that nat accidentally bumps her head against the roof of the car. “shit!” she mutters, rubbing the back of her head as you whip your gaze toward the window.

outside, van is standing with a huge grin, tapping the glass with her knuckles. the rest of the team is waiting right behind her, all of them smirking knowingly.

“hey, lovebirds!” she calls, loud enough to make sure you both hear through the glass. she leans down so her face is level with the window, cupping her hands to block out the glare of the sun. “you two realize we can see you, right?” she says. “pretty sure the rest of the parking lot can too!”

nat groans, dragging a hand over her face while you stifle a laugh. she opens the door and climbs out, glaring half-heartedly at van. “ever heard of knocking quietly?” she grumbles.

“oh, i did,” van replies, her grin widening. “you just didn’t notice. wonder why…”

nat flips her off, more playful than anything. “you’re so annoying!”

“yeah, yeah.” van waves her off, completely unbothered. “let’s go, casanova!”

you climb out after nat, smoothing your gown and trying not to blush too hard under the knowing smirks of the yellowjackets gathered around.

jackie and shauna have their arms looped casually around each other as they exchange a look. “about time,” jackie says. “thought we’d have to drag you two out ourselves!”

nat snorts. “i don’t think either of you could’ve managed that!”

“don’t tempt us,” shauna fires back with a grin. “we’ve wrestled worse!”

“anyway,” taissa cuts in, grinning as she straightens the yellow sash draped over her blue gown. “can we get moving before we miss the ceremony?”

nat mutters something under her breath as she adjusts her own gown. you glance down, realizing the fabric is slightly askew where it had bunched up in the car.

“here, let me-” you step in closer, smoothing out the material over her shoulder and down her arm. your hands linger a second longer than necessary, and when you look up, nat’s gaze is soft.

van groans loudly, dragging out the sound and snapping you out of it. “oh my god, you two. we get it! you’re gross and in love! can we please go now?”

nat ignores her this time, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers together under the loose fabric of the gown sleeves as she tugs you toward the others.

by the time you reach the staging area, you've all settled into an easy hum of excitement. parents and relatives of your classmates chatter nearby, camera flashes going off as the graduates start lining up.

nat pulls you aside, letting the others shuffle ahead for a moment.

“everything okay?” you ask, your voice low.

she hesitates, glancing at the bustling staging area where the rest of the yellowjackets have gathered. then her eyes return to yours. “yeah, it’s just…this is it, huh?”

you tilt your head, smiling softly. “graduation?”

“no, i mean…this. us. life after this,” she says, her voice dipping quieter. “it’s all gonna change!”

your chest tightens at her words. things with you have been going well these past weeks. great even. life after graduation had been something you always purposefully avoided. you didn’t want to ruin your last weeks of this by worrying about what would come after.

now, before you can let the thought spiral, nat squeezes your hand. “not in a bad way,” she says. “i just…i want you to know, whatever happens now, wherever we end up, you’re it for me. you know that, right?”

it’s such a simple thing, the way she says it, but it hits you like the sweetest punch to the gut. you smile at her, your chest full of a warmth you can’t quite describe. “you’re it for me too, nat,”

before you can process what’s happening, the words tumble out of nat. “god, i love you!”

it’s barely above a whisper, but it’s there: raw and real and so perfectly nat. your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening as the weight of her confession sinks in.

she freezes, clearly realizing what she’s just said. “i- i mean-” she stammers, her cheeks flushing as she starts to backtrack. “you totally don’t have to say it back or anything! i just-“

“i love you too!” your voice cuts off her rambling. relief washes over her face, and she lets out a breathy laugh. “you do?” nat asks, like she’s scared she misheard.

you nod, stepping closer until the space between you is nearly nonexistent. “yeah, nat, i do”

she grins, her hands coming up to hold your face as she leans in. you kiss her back just as eagerly, forgetting for a moment that you’re supposed to be at graduation, that there’s a whole crowd of people right around the corner.

only the sound of a camera click jolts you both back to reality. you pull apart, turning to see jackie standing a few feet away with a polaroid camera in hand and a smug grin on her face.

“oh, come on!” nat groans, her hands falling from your face as jackie waves the photo in the air.

“this is going on the fridge,” she teases, holding it just out of reach.

“give it back!” you protest, laughter bubbling out of you as nat starts toward her. “come and get it!” jackie taunts, taking off toward the rest of the group.

you glance at nat, who’s already chasing after her. without thinking, you follow.

van watches the scene unfold, shaking her head with a grin. “they’re never gonna make it on time,” she says.

“totally worth it,” taissa replies, smirking as you and nat disappear into the crowd after jackie.

somewhere across the field, the cheer squad is frantically fixing their hair and makeup, their voices filled with nervous chatter. you don’t even notice. for the first time in what feels like forever, they’re the furthest thing from your mind.

the only thing you can think about is nat: her laughter, her smile, and the way her hand feels in yours as you chase after jackie.

and as you run, breathless and alive, you realize that all of this was supposed to happen. that you are exactly where you're meant to be.

— a/n: thank you all so much for reading! this was my first actual fic “series” with multiple chapters, so i hope i did a decent job covering everything 🐉 anon requested!! i appreciate your support & feedback so so much! thank you, thank you, thank you!! <3 (also the last sentence might be a chapter 1 reference…)

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #nat scatorccio #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x female reader #nat scatorccio x fem!reader #nat scatorccio x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x female reader #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni

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alba1221141 · 13 days ago

Text

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

(T.W Sexual content)

Y/N

I feel the weight of Cait’s gaze on me even as we get into position for the drills. The tension is still thick, clinging to the air around us. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let her down, but at the same time, something inside me rebels against her judgment. I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and I’m not sure if I can—or even want to—go back.

The sound of sneakers on the gym floor and Coach’s sharp instructions snap me out of my thoughts. I focus on the drills, pushing my body to keep moving, to not think too hard about the conversation that’s left a weird knot in my chest.

I glance over at Cait once more, but this time, she’s already looking away, her posture stiff, arms crossed over her chest. She’s not glaring anymore, but the distance between us is still there. It’s strange, how something as small as eyeliner can shift the way someone looks at you, and even stranger how it makes me question everything about myself.

Mel’s voice cuts through the silence, her usual easygoing tone filling the space between us. “You know, Cait’s just worried about you.” Her words are softer now, less guarded than they were earlier.

“I know,” I reply quietly, not meeting her eyes. “It’s just… I’m tired of playing it safe all the time.”

Mel gives me a small smile, like she gets it, even if she doesn’t say anything more.

The drills drag on, but my mind keeps wandering back to Cait’s disapproval, to the small voice inside me that wonders if maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m getting in over my head with all of this. But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m closer to something real, something that’s mine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

As per the request of my favorite nerd, I’ve been reading some good old Shakespeare.

I’m supposed to be diving into Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, epic tragedy, all that jazz. It should be interesting, right?

But the words are swimming in front of me because, let’s face it, I can’t concentrate for shit.

Not after this morning.

Y/N just looked so fucking pretty.

It’s ridiculous how she doesn’t even try, yet manages to ruin me without saying a word.

The way her hair fell around her face, a little messy but still perfect, and those big, thoughtful eyes that always seem to see right through me.

And that eyeliner—my eyeliner—that I practically begged her to let me do. Seeing my work on her face, sharp and bold, was enough to drive me insane.

Like a little piece of me was with her, walking around, unshakable.

And then there’s the way she blushed when I teased her.

That soft pink creeping up her cheeks, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Makes me want to press closer, push her boundaries just a little more, see how far I can take it before she pushes back.

Or maybe she wouldn’t push back at all.

What would she be like?

I’ve never seen her with anyone—guy or girl. Hell, does she even like girls?

The thought twists in my chest.

What if she doesn’t?

What if all the teasing, the lingering glances, the way her cheeks flush when I get too close—it’s just her being her, too sweet to tell me to fuck off? But then, what if it’s not?

What if she does?

I wonder what she’d do with one. What she’d do with me.

Do to me.

My hand trails down.

Down.

"Fuck,"

I'm already soaked.

I wiggle out the dampened underwear quickly, and toss it somewhere.

Doesn't matter where, oh fuck.

I lock eyes with myself in the mirror as I spread my legs, as wide as they can go.

Fuck, what has she done to me?

My lipstick’s a mess, smeared from where my teeth dug in.

My thighs are trembling and I haven't even touched... anything yet...

Normally i would just get myself off, quick easy, but Y/N wouldn't do that.

I'm sure she'd been curious, the girl's definitely never seen a pussy before, and I'm not sure any of her books have those lewd acts in them.

My finger slowly circles my clit, fuck that's good.

Gonna go slow.

Y/N would go slow.

My head drops back on my pillow as I resume those slow, slow circles.

God it's torturous.

My unoccupied hand, somehow, finds its way to my tit, totally unprompted.

"Fuck,"

The words barley there this time.

My teeth sink into my lower lip again when I slip a finger inside of me.

Gentle, slow.

Then another finger.

I keep my eyes trained on my reflection as I start those motions.

In out, in out.

"Fuck, fuck, Y/N," I turn my face into my pillow, whimpering now.

I bite down on the pillow to supress my lewd noises.

My hips move with my hand, chasing that sweet, sweet, release.

Fuck what would she do if she could see this.

See the state she's made me into, all squirmy on my bed.

She'd probably get that wide eyed look.

Maybe she'd whimper-

Oh if she damn whimpered-

My thoughts are cut short by a practically pornographic noise ripping from my throat.

"Oh, oh god,"

The noises leaving me gradually become more incoherent.

I can't keep my eyes open anymore, those familiar white spots starting to cloud my vision.

I've had orgasms before, of course I have.

But this was fucking earth shattering.

I don't know if it was the thought of her, those wide eyes, that blush, that spurred me on or what, but my back arched right of the bed, what was practically a cry leaving my mouth.

After regaining function of my senses, I lock eyes with my reflection.

Fuck I look a mess.

I lean closer to the mirror, squinting at the mess.

Jesus Christ.

Smudged eyeliner, streaks of lipstick—no, stains, because apparently, my mouth decided it wanted to eat the damn tube.

"Goddamn," I hiss, swiping at it with my thumb. It just smears more. Great. Now I look like a clown that got into a bar fight.

My hair’s a disaster too—sticking to my forehead in sweaty clumps.

I rake a hand through it, but it’s hopeless. I look like I’ve been... well, doing exactly what I was doing.

The chill of the room finally hits me.

Oh, right.

Still butt-ass naked. My eyes dart around for anything to throw on and land on an oversized hoodie draped over the chair.

Good enough.

I yank it over my head, the fabric catching on my damp skin, and flop back onto my bed.

The hoodie clings to me, sticking uncomfortably in places, but I don’t have the energy to care.

My legs are sprawled out, the hem of the hoodie riding up enough to make it clear I’m not bothering with underwear.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to will my brain into some semblance of order.

It doesn’t work.

My thoughts are still a chaotic mess, flitting between random nonsense and her.

Always back to her.

Her laugh. Her stupid, perfect laugh that’s like sunshine and honey and all that other cheesy shit people write poetry about.

Her eyes—soft, but sharp when she’s focused, like she’s solving the universe one thought at a time.

And that little wrinkle she gets between her brows when she’s concentrating too hard?

Yeah, that one’s burned into my brain. Thanks for that, Y/N.

I groan, rolling onto my side and dragging a pillow over my face. “You’re pathetic,” I mumble into the fabric.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: another short chapter, but i felt it was quite important to have certain bits as their own entity, hope you like it ;)

please like and reblog!

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insidekatmind · 2 months ago

Text

Best friends- Pope Heyward

Wearning: +18, smut, cheating,english is not my first language

The soft lights of the sunset paint the horizon in shades of orange and pink as you sit on your porch, a book open in your hands. The air is crisp, with a light breeze carrying the salty scent of the ocean. You're engrossed in your reading when you hear the familiar sound of hurried footsteps on the path leading to your house. You look up and see Pope, his expression troubled and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Can I come in?” he asks without preamble, his voice rougher than usual.

You set the book down next to you, concerned. “Of course, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. He climbs the porch steps, his movements quick and jittery. When he stops in front of you, you notice the flush on his cheeks and the slight tremor in his hands.

“It’s Cleo,” he says finally, crossing his arms over his chest as if trying to contain something too heavy to hold. “We had a fight. A bad one.”

You stand up, gesturing toward the door. “Come inside, let’s talk about it.”

He nods and follows you in, collapsing onto the couch in your living room. You bring him a glass of water, which he accepts with a small nod of thanks. He takes a sip in silence, then runs a hand through his hair—a gesture you know well. It’s his way of trying to calm himself down.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” you ask, sitting next to him, close enough to let him know you’re there for him but not so close as to invade his space.

He sighs, a deep and tired sound. “It started as something stupid, at least at first. We were talking about plans for the weekend, and I said I wanted to spend it with you guys, with the Pogues. She started saying we spend too much time together and that I should dedicate more time to just the two of us.”

You nod, trying to see both sides. “And what did you say?”

“That there’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with my friends. But then she got upset and said I never put her first.” He pauses, shaking his head. “It’s not true, but… I don’t know, maybe I messed up somewhere.”

You look at him with gentle understanding, seeing the weight he carries on his shoulders. “Pope, you know how much Cleo cares about you. But maybe she needs to feel more secure in your affection. Maybe your words made her think you don’t care enough.”

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his dark eyes filled with frustration and pain. “But that’s not true. I do care, so much. I just… sometimes I don’t know how to show it.”

You place a hand on his arm, your touch light but reassuring. “You don’t have to have all the answers right away. Sometimes it’s just about listening to the other person and trying to understand them.”

He leans back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. “Why does everything have to be so complicated? I thought being with someone was supposed to be easier.”

You shake your head with a wistful smile. “Relationships are never easy, Pope. But if they’re worth it, you work to make them work.”

For a moment, silence fills the room, broken only by the sound of the waves in the distance. Then he leans slightly toward you, his gaze now softer but also more intense. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know? You’re always here for me, even when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

Your heart beats a little faster at his words, but you try to stay calm. “That’s what friends are for, Pope.”

He offers a faint smile, a tired but genuine one. “You’re more than a friend to me, you know that?”

Your breath catches for a moment. “What do you mean?”

He moves closer, his face now only inches from yours. “I mean… I don’t know when it started, but lately, I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time I’m with Cleo, part of me just wants to be here, with you.”

His words leave you speechless. You search his eyes, trying to discern whether he’s confused or sincere. But there’s no doubt in his gaze, only honesty.

“Pope…” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you to get over Cleo. It’s not that. But tonight, when we fought, all I wanted was to come here. To be with you.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. It’s a kiss that starts tentative, almost unsure, but as you respond, it deepens into something more intense, more passionate. His hands rest on your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the world around you fades away.

When you finally pull apart, both of you breathless, he looks at you with a kind of reverence tinged with uncertainty. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

You did not let him finish because you have re-cut your lips with his. You sucked his lip whining moaning.

Pope lies you on the couch while he takes off your clothes and then takes off his.

Pope looks at you for a moment to confirm that you want to do it, and you nod.

You moaned at how big and long Pope’s dick was. He smiled and kissed you softly, then came in with a quick blow, making both of them groan.

"You’re tighter than I imagined," Pope muttered as he began to move.

You groaned and then caught your lips with him

As the impulses of Pope increased fucking you with force venting all his anger and all his passion that had at that moment.

You could only groan with force while your pussy held Pope’s cock tightly making him moan while he fucked you harder while he chewed your neck leaving spots and bruises but you didn’t care, you were enjoying and getting even more excited at the same time.

You scratched his back feeling how it was destroying your pussy and left big scratches behind his back but neither of them cared, too taken by the moment and how you were fucking so well.

"you’re fucking me so well" You whimpered and he growled as he felt your pussy tighten even more around his cock two more shots and made you come then follow you by wheel cumming inside.

"the best sex of my life" he murmured as he joined your lips with hers again.

Pope still had his dick inside you and you felt it was getting hard again and you moaned as you were watching and stroked his hair.

"Round two?" He whispered and you smiled nodding

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clovermunson · 2 years ago

Text

king hargrove — b. hargrove

summary: billy never saw himself as a dad, but he’d never trade his two little girls for anything— even when they ask him to dress up like a princess and have a tea party with them.

warnings: tooth-rooting fluff. like eating two bags of cotton candy and chasing it with a 72 oz. big gulp soda at the state fair. brief mentions of billy’s upbringing (not detailed). bee’s full name is beatrice but she’s called bee. oh and a mention of mechanic!billy. no use of “y/n”. first fic i’ve written and actually finished in…months? i think?? that’s about it really.

pairings: billy hargrove x fem/mom!reader

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: i told y’all motherfuckers i was gonna give billy something happy, and here it is!! it’s the most i’ve written in about two weeks and y’all can thank this lovely goon: @bookshelf-dust for that. anyway, as always likes and reblogs (especially reblogs) are greatly appreciated, i just ask that you DO NOT copy and repost my writing and claim it as your own!! — xo, morgan🖤

Billy Hargrove was many things. A bad influence, a womanizer, some might even say an antagonizer, of sorts. And while he’d agree to being all of those things before he met you, if someone would’ve told him that he’d become the father to a little girl in the spring of 1989, and then again in the summer of 1991, he would’ve told them they were crazy.

But now as he sat at the ridiculously small white dining table set, on the floor with his legs outstretched rather than in one of the dainty chairs that he was sure would crumble under his weight, he was certain that he wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

“Daddy, you gotta wear it.” Bee, your youngest daughter, had shoved a pink feather boa at him, making him jump back.

“Pleeeease? And this?” Juno, your eldest daughter had asked, holding a tiny plastic tiara out to him, “pretty please?”

“Okay okay.” Billy held his hands up, finally accepting defeat before letting Juno place the tiara on his head as he took the boa, wrapping the feathered accessory around his neck, then smiling for his girls.

Lord, if the guys at the mechanic shop knew about this, they’d never stop giving him hell over it.

“You look pretty.” Juno giggled at him as she pretended to pour two cups of tea.

“Pretty, huh?” Billy chuckled, “I don’t think the pink goes with my shirt.” He tugged at the material of his dark red shirt, showing how it contrasted.

“Oh well.” Bee shrugged, “gotta wear it.”

“Bossy.” Billy couldn’t help but laugh at the miniature version of himself, but if anyone asked where Bee got it from, he’d say it was from you.

“Get it from my daddy.” Bee didn’t miss a beat with her response, further showing just how much she was like her dad. All Billy could do was smile to himself, knowing that she was right.

Before he knew it, Juno had offered him an empty teacup, and he’d be damned if he turned it down. The floral patterned cup was abnormally tiny in his hand, but he still brought it up to his lips, pretending to take a drink.

“Pinky up.” Juno was quick to correct him, wiggling her tiny pinky at him.

At first, Billy looked confused. Why did he need to have his pinky up?

He felt Bee’s little hand grab at his, trying her hardest to raise his pinky.

“You’ve gotta put your pinky up, daddy.” She tried to pry his pinky from the tiny cup handle, giggling as Billy fought back with her.

“Daddy!” She whined, pouting at him. It didn’t take much for Bee to get her way. All she had to do was get those big ocean blue eyes a little misty, and she’d convince anyone to get her whatever she wanted— mostly her dad and her uncle Steve.

“Alright, alright.” Billy raised his pinky, waving it at Bee, “better?”

Bee simply nodded, appeased with her dad’s actions as she sipped her fake-tea.

You’d been carrying a basket full of laundry when you’d heard the giggling coming from the girls’ room. Instead of going on your way to the laundry room, you’d stopped just out of sight, leaning against the wall beside the doorway to listen in. Though you had to admit, seeing Billy in a tiara was quite the spectacle.

“You’re the king of the castle!” Juno exclaimed, quickly jumping up from the wooden chair to twirl around, her yellow polka-dot skirt twisting around her, the sleeves of her white blouse flowing from the small breeze she’d created.

“Is that so?” Billy watched as Bee joined in with her sister, both of them twirling around the table, skipping and jumping over their scattered toys.

“Mhm.” Bee agreed, “you’re the king. The king makes the rules.”

“I dunno about that, kiddo.” Billy snorted, “I would say I’m pretty influential around here though.”

“Infuwentual?” Bee stopped in her tracks, a bewildered look on her face. She struggled with the word, but Billy had quickly realized his mistake by using a big word.

“Influential.” He gently corrected her, “it means that daddy’s got a lot to do and say with what happens around here.”

Bee nodded, seemingly understanding the meaning of the new word. “So you make all the rules?”

“Not necessarily, babygirl.” Billy shook his head, smiling. “I do get to help make them though.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” Bee crossed her arms, expressing that she didn’t agree with that decision— or whoever made it. Clearly an attitude she’d picked up from her father.

You smiled to yourself at that. Of course you and Billy made the rules together, and it was a very delicate balance of give and take between the two of you. But if your little girl could have it her way, she’d be running the world in no longer than two weeks’ time.

“But that’s how the world works, Bee.” Billy shrugged, “what can you do?”

Bee sat for a moment, seemingly contemplating her choices. Finally she spoke, and her little voice carried so much certainty with it, that even you were sure you’d let her have whatever she demanded. “Become the queen.”

“You wanna become the queen, is that right?” Billy couldn’t believe what he was hearing, feigning shock.

Bee nodded proudly, her plastic tiara nearly falling from her head.

“Well, you’ve gotta be a princess for now.” Billy had made it fairly obvious that he could match his daughter’s sass, “you do such a good job at that already.” He adjusted her tiara, making sure it was straight again.

“‘Course I do.” Bee sounded almost offended, “I am the princess.” She annunciated the word, only to add emphasis.

“Yeah, the mean princess.” Juno stuck her tongue out at her younger sister, knowing that Bee would retaliate.

“How rude!” Bee tossed one of the little building blocks at Juno, pouting.

“Meanie.” Juno threw a block back at her, which Billy had caught with astonishingly quick reflexes, making both of his daughters’ eyes widen.

“Girls.” Billy’s voice was firm, yet gentle with them, “that’s enough.”

“Sorry…” both girls mumbled, afraid to even look at each other.

“Neither of you are in trouble.” Billy felt the need to clarify, as he always felt like the bad guy when he had to scold them, “you just can’t call each other names and be mean to each other.”

The girls nodded in unison, showing that they understood the ground rules.

Since Billy had become a father, he’d become more gentle and less abrasive. He’d never once yelled at either of your girls, choosing to raise them with the kind of gentleness and unconditional love that you’d find in a family movie— the kind of home that Billy wasn’t lucky enough to have growing up.

He’d be damned if he didn’t give his little girls the best life they could possibly have though. Juno was the surprise baby, and sure money got tight at times, but he always worked extra shifts and overtime to make sure she had everything she needed and wanted. Then when Bee came along, Billy had been promoted to assistant manager, which came with a nice paycheck every week that was more than enough to support your little family.

Instead of continuing on to the laundry room, you decided instead to turn on your heel, heading back to the living room with a bright, almost dopey smile on your face from witnessing possibly the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. You set the basket of laundry down on the couch, making your way to the kitchen where you began to prepare dinner.

After about twenty minutes, Billy had gotten himself out of the princess tea party by claiming that he had ‘kingly duties’ to attend to, and while the girls were upset over it, they allowed him to leave.

“Mmm,” Billy hummed as he approached you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, then he inhaled the aroma of the kitchen, “whatcha making?”

“Spaghetti.” You responded with a giggle, “or as Bee calls it, ‘pasghetti’.”

“She’ll get it eventually.” Billy chuckled, “she’s got her mama’s brains for sure.”

“And your attitude.” You laughed, scrunching your nose, “what a killer combo.”

“Tell me about it.” Billy grinned, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of your neck.

“William.” You scolded him, giggling as you shimmied out of his grasp, “not here.”

Before Billy could even put some space between the two of you, Juno and Bee had come barreling down the stairs, stopping just at the threshold between the kitchen and living room.

“Can we have ice cream for dinner?” They both asked, their puppy dog eyes on full display.

You looked at Billy, a brow arched as you continued to stir the pasta noodles.

“Don’t look at me.” Billy held his hands up, shaking his head, giving you that million-dollar smile of his, “I didn’t tell them they could”.

“But you’re the king!” Bee shouted, the anticipation was clear in her voice.

“And if the king says we can have ice cream for dinner…” Juno trailed off, looking up at her dad.

“I may be the king, but mama’s the queen. What she says goes around here.” Billy leaned over to press a kiss to your temple, knowing that the girls wouldn’t even try to argue with you over it. “Even I can’t get her to change her mind.”

Juno sulked, padding over to her chair at the table, seemingly having accepted defeat.

Bee took a big whiff of the air, then smiled. “Mama, is that pasghetti?”

“It is spaghetti”. You gently corrected, knowing she still wouldn’t say it right anyway. “Go sit at the table with your sister and I’ll make you a plate.”

“Okay.” She chirped, nearly sprinting to the dining table, taking the seat right next to Juno.

Billy watched as the girls chatted amongst themselves, their senseless babbling making his chest swell with pride and an almost overwhelming sense of joy. Everything he never knew he needed was right in front of him, and he wouldn’t trade it for the anything. He leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he felt that warm sense of comfort wash over him that he’d been waiting years for.

Seeing the opportunity to tease your husband, you took it without so much as a second thought, though you kept your focus on making dinner.

“You may be the king, but you make a pretty princess too.”

Billy’s eyes darted over to you, and he smirked to himself. He knew that arguing was pointless, because the queen was always right.

#this shit killed me to write #cutest shit i’ve ever written #girl!dad!billy can have my life #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove fic #clovermunson’s fics #morgan’s writings

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differenteagletragedy · 4 days ago

Text

In which Soap's significant other/spouse dies unexpectedly :(

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

It was a question Johnny had been asked countless times over the years: in hushed, anxious tones by his mother in visits home, when she still held onto hopes that her son would pick a safer life, and in slurred, almost voyeuristic voices from girls he’d pick up in bars.

And the answer was always no. An easy, thoughtless no, because he wasn’t, not really.

Now, as he stands in front of the mirror of the bedroom you used to share until you were taken from him, he realizes why.

The hard part isn’t in dying. If something were to happen to him on the field, it would likely be quick — a gunshot, an explosion, with no time to think about what it would mean to no longer exist. And even if his last moments were drawn out, there would be an ending to it in sight. A clear cap on whatever suffering there would be.

No, the hard part wasn’t in the idea of leaving this world. It was in being left.

Johnny takes a breath, tugging up the pants of his dress uniform -- the only nice clothes he had, and the ones he'd wear to bury you.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, and the weight of that knowledge threated to drag him down, so hard and heavy that he wasn't sure he'd be able to carry it. After he fell in love with you, really let himself fall and feel it, it broke his heart to know that someday he might die on you. Thoughts of your sweet, beautiful face, crumped and lined with tears when someone told you he'd never be coming home would flicker in his mind during missions sometimes, always unwelcome. They haunted him.

It never even crossed his mind that he'd be the one on the other side.

He shrugs on his jacket, lines still crisp from when he'd hung it up in the back of the closet after moving in with you, and quickly does up the buttons and tugs it into place. He looks at his reflection, but it's all wrong. Who gives a fuck about medals and ribbons and how nicely the seams are pressed when he's never going to hear your laugh again?

But it's not just that, the awkward formality of it all -- his eyes come up to his hair, too. He's always liked the mohawk (obviously he has, or he wouldn't have kept it this long), but seeing it now feels almost shameful in a way that doesn't necessarily make sense but still burns.

He's in the bathroom, decked out his dress blues with clumps of dark hair lining the sink, when Simon comes in.

Johnny barely remembers this -- some plans made at some point in the last week for Simon to come help him with everything. Did he give him a key, has he been locking the door? Ever since he got the news, things have been happening in waves of clarity and a strange foggy dissonance, so he can't be sure what's real, or if it matters.

The deep, familiar tone of Simon's voice as he says his name though ... that feels real. The feeling of his fingers brushing against his chest as he unbuttons his jacket and carefully dusts it off, countless tiny hairs falling to the floor, that's crystal clear.

Johnny's own voice sounds further away, a rush of words coming out that barely registers in his mind. "Feels like a fucking joke," he tells Simon, but what he's talking about, he's not exactly sure.

Simon tells him a number of things, rattling them off in clipped, calm sentences, enough to start to push through the fog, and he doesn't fight it when he takes the clippers from his hand and spins him around, saying something about cleaning him up.

"Just get through the day," his lieutenant tells him over the buzzing. It almost sounds like an order, and Johnny, ever the good soldier, gives an affirmative hum, like it's possible.

When Simon finishes with the clippers, he grabs Johnny's jacket again, holding it out for him to put back on, and when he does, he rebuttons it for him. He systematically goes over the insignia, strong, steady hands making sure everything is in order, and Johnny could almost weep at the small relief of not having to worry about one more thing.

But more than that, Simon's hands feel like an anchor, like a tangible weight holding him to now. There's warmth radiating from his body, and it's not like yours -- he doesn't think he'll ever be able to find a warmth like yours again -- but it's there. It's something, and after days of wallowing in your empty home, smelling your pillow and cradling your clothes and letting himself cry in a way that he hasn't since he was a child, it's a hell of a lot better than nothing.

"You ready?"

Simon's words are phrased like a question, but Johnny picks up on the tone -- another order. It's time.

And he's not ready, not even close. His stomach turns at the thought of seeing your lifeless body laid out in a casket in clothes he picked, and everything in him is screaming, telling him to run, far and fast and hard, from all of this.

But, as always, he's been hardwired to obey his superiors. So instead, he nods.

The funeral is unbearable, but somehow, Johnny bears it. And later, when the grief has settled into an old achy wound instead of bared nerves burning, he'll know that it was because of Simon. Because of his presence beside him, an occasional hand on his shoulder, calloused and sure, that kept him tethered to him when all he wanted to do was float away.

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap x you #john 'soap' mactavish #john mactavish x reader #widower johnny i guess idk #cod soap

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talesofesther · 2 years ago

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darling darkness

Wednesday Addams x OC/Reader

This story belongs to the I Told the Moon universe

Summary: Wednesday has a strange way of calming you down even on your worst days.

A/N: A little deeper look into my favorite universe. Some ideas here were suggested by @annalestern and @roleplayfandom. <3

Masterlist

There was something about the little nook where the Poe Statue stood. It was reserved, but not hidden. Away from prying eyes, yet not safe from any wandering students.

You figured that's why Wednesday liked this spot, she liked the risk of getting caught. The rush of it, if you will.

You could tell just from the feeling of her smirk. The small curve of her lips that made it just a tad harder for them to fit with yours.

For someone so sharp-edged — her words, not yours — rigid even, from her routine to the straightness of her clothes; she quite enjoyed to have you unraveling her.

It always started with her fingers curling around the fabric of your blazer so she could lay the ghost of a kiss on the edge of your mouth. She's not one for words, never has been; actions are her thing. Wednesday will confess to you in the way her nimble fingers traced a path up your neck and to your jaw, tender in a way you doubt she even knew she was capable of.

That was always your cue to pull her closer, to bring your arms around her waist and bury your hands underneath her shirt to touch the surprisingly warm skin of her lower back.

And Wednesday shivered at your touch, every single time. You're the only one who can make it happen.

Her kisses held unspoken words in them. But who needs words anyway, when she presses herself to you as if you'd run away?

It's been like this for a few months, and each time she pulls away — lips a little swollen and pupils so big that her eyes are almost totally black — it feels like the first time.

"Why do you insist on them?"

Her voice was like a soft gush of wind over the haziness her lips always put you in.

You smiled at the girl who had you pressed against the cold concrete wall, your thumb lazily tracing the skin on her waist. "Sorry," you raised a hand, taking off your sunglasses, "I forgot."

One thing you learned pretty quickly was that Wednesday had a passion for your fiery eyes. You'd catch her staring just a moment too long whenever you took off your sunglasses in her presence. Eventually, you started to not use them at all when around her.

Wednesday's dark doe eyes seemed to count each speck of color in your irises, each shade of honey and golden brown, losing herself in you. Her eyebrows softened their crease and you could feel her nails scratching at the back of your neck slightly.

You loved her for it, for associating a part of you you were never too keen on, with something worthy of devotion.

Something you didn't exactly love, though, was how perceptive she was.

"I couldn't help but notice your lack of annoying quips today," Wednesday raised an eyebrow at you then, "why is that?"

You averted her gaze then, clicking your tongue. As you did so, both of you could hear faint footsteps approaching; Wednesday was quick to untangle her limbs from yours, clearing her throat as she leaned back against the Poe Statue.

Two gorgon girls passed by you, and you stuffed your hands in your pockets. You wondered if they'd believe you if you told them how the Wednesday Addams turns into putty in your hands.

That was a thought for another time though, as you could feel a familiar weight settling into your chest and raising goosebumps on your skin. She wasn't wrong, you've been quieter today. "Um-" you tried to start, words heavy on your tongue, "my father called this morning, letting me know he's coming to pick me up this weekend." You gave Wednesday a defeated shrug, feeling small under her gaze.

"Why is that?" She asked without much emotion in her tone, but you could see the way she clenched her jaw.

The silence dragged, as if speaking would make it more true.

"Our family has been invited to a gala, something about potential business deals, I didn't really pay attention," you grimaced, "my father says it's imperative that everyone attends… especially his prized pony." You mumbled the last part, disdain dripping from each syllable.

Sincerely speaking, you were used to these parties, had attended them more times than you could remember. Though it always brought a knot to your stomach to think about being surrounded by disagreeable people who were all too powerful for anyone's sake; always whispering about wicked deals without considering who loses their lives on the line. Your family had one of the most renowned names amongst them, so whether you liked it or not, you were already in the game.

"Tell him you can't go, that you're busy with school," Wednesday raised a brow, taking half a step closer to you, "I'll vouch for you."

It was sweet just how protective Wednesday had grown of you. Reaching out, you gingerly ran a finger over one of her braids; "unfortunately, it doesn't work like that."

Wednesday's dark eyes flitted over your features and, slowly, she hooked her fingers with yours. It was a comfort to know she'd be waiting for you upon your return.

—

There was something about the darkness of the night. The cold and quiet tend to make one's emotions flourish; maybe it has something to do with the hazy silver glow of the moon and how it shines over the low fog.

Because of the fog, the grass under your paws was slightly wet, cool to the touch. The fur of your legs that touched the longer blades of grass grew damp as you walked through the deserted gardens of Nevermore.

The huffs of breath that escaped your nose were just as white as the fog, telltales of the approaching winter. It was a cold night, but you didn't feel it; the thick layer of midnight fur around your body kept you warm enough.

If any unlucky student were to bump into you right now, they'd probably think their time on this earth came to an end and the devil's beast was here to claim their soul — what with how you were lost in the darkness of the night, only leaving the frightening sight of your honey-colored eyes.

Still, nighttime was your time; it relaxed you as almost nothing else could. Pulling your mind away from your unfortunate predicament as you lay on the damp grass and gazed up at the shining moon above you.

There was an anomaly though, has been for a while. You're not sure how exactly she finds you, part of you thinks she has Thing keeping watch on you. But recently, she has been the one to invade your nights, and not the other way around.

Your ears perked up at the sound of her footsteps, listening carefully until you felt movement beside you.

She was the exception. The student who didn't fear the sight of your eyes, but loved it. The one who could calm you down more than the moon ever could.

Wednesday sat down beside you, the grass undoubtedly dampening the fabric of her pants as her thigh brushed against your paw.

Words didn't matter much.

Wednesday reached a hand out, her fingers disappearing between the dark fur of your neck and sliding up to your ear until she traced its form. And you melted.

Your head came to rest on her lap and she cradled you to her. Embracing her wolf closer to her body. Your fur doing a good job of keeping her warm on this cold night.

That's all you were tonight, all you wanted to be. Her wolf.

—

The morning you watched your father's car pull up to the school's parking lot was a cloudy one. You were dressed to the nines; with a long, dark dress that hugged the form of your body perfectly, and obsidian jewelry that cost more than you'd like to admit. All of it carefully handpicked by your father, his only child had to exude nothing less than perfection anyway.

Wednesday sat atop your bed while you glared at your reflection in the mirror, fiddling with the necklace on your hands. Though you could feel the weight of her gaze on you.

You felt out of place in your own body. Suffocated by the layers of expensive fabric that touched your skin. Slowly, you were falling into a mild panic, anticipation twirling inside your stomach.

And then, the feeling suddenly dissipated.

Cold fingers grazed the nape of your neck. You watched through the mirror as Wednesday stood behind you, her fingers disappearing into your hair the same way they did against your fur. The ghost of a kiss she placed on your shoulder came unexpectedly, but not unwelcomed.

"Even if the circumstances are not ideal, you look dazzling, mi luna."

A soft warmth came to your cheeks upon hearing Wednesday's words and you ducked your head sheepishly with a chuckle. You turned to face her then, all so you could pull her into a kiss, which she reciprocated immediately.

Wednesday's palms smoothed over your dress, dark nails digging into even darker fabric as she tugged you closer.

You pulled away slowly when air became a necessity, without really wanting to, running your tongue over your bottom lip to catch any remains of her.

Feeling strangely timid, you glanced down at the necklace on your hands, running a thumb over the faded pink pendant. You looked at Wednesday through your lashes; "would you keep it safe for me?" You asked, extending the necklace to her, "my father doesn't like to see me wear it."

A beat or two passed with Wednesday's eyes going from your face to your hand, she looked almost… surprised?

"Of course," she eventually breathed.

You reached around her then, gently clasping the necklace around her neck. The pink pendant looked a little foreign on Wednesday's pale skin, but you loved it on her. It felt as if a part of you would stay close to her heart.

"I'll be counting the seconds until I can come back to you," you whispered, leaning in once more to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

Wednesday kept a secure hold of your hand as you walked together down the stairs, through the gardens, and to the parking lot. She stopped by the gates, with a faraway gaze focused on the figure of your father waiting for you outside the car.

Only when you squeezed her hand, did her eyes slowly settle back on you. Her bangs flowed softly with the breeze outside, her cheeks a tad rosier because of the cold; "let me know if I have to kill anyone upon your return."

She managed to pull a last smile from you and you ran your thumb on the skin of her hand before letting go, "I will."

With that, you were walking away from her, your high heels steadily thudding against the stone path as you reached your father. You couldn't breathe even if you tried to. "Hello, dad."

He didn't look at you, instead, he kept his eyes on the dark-haired girl who stood by the gates, undoubtedly holding a daring staring contest with him. "Who is that girl?"

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but for Wednesday's sake, you said them; "just a friend, no one important."

Silently, the golden eyes of your father looked you up and down, making a shiver run down your spine. When he judged you were looking appropriate enough, he turned around, "get in, we should've left two minutes ago."

"Yes sir," you mumbled and opened the passenger's door.

As the key was turned in the ignition and the car started slowly pulling away, you kept your gaze out the window and focused on Wednesday. The last thing you saw was the way she took half a step forward, as if the increasing distance between you pulled painfully at her heartstrings.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevans @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story #jenna ortega x reader

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luveline · 2 years ago

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i am obsessed with your kisses before dinner au, do you think you can maybe write something about what it’s like when the new baby is born or maybe how the older kids reacted to becoming siblings if yk what i mean? absolutely no pressure and ily!!

baby number four comes back from the hospital and steve tries not to cry about it (he fails) | kisses before dinner universe

afab!fem!reader x dad!steve (tw ment labour + pregnancy)

Steve sits down beside you on the couch with Beth in his arms and tries to calm his racing heart. To think your new baby is finally here, right here, safe and healthy and home, makes him want to throw up. He won't, obviously, but if he's a little grey around the gills that's his business.

Avery sits on your other side quiet as a dormouse. As the oldest, she's experienced this twice before. She can't remember when Bethie came home because she'd been so young herself, and Steve suspects she might not fully remember meeting Dove for the first time either, but she remembers to be quiet and gentle, and that's all she really needs to do.

Steve had wanted to bring them to the hospital to see you as soon as the baby was born, but Robin, rightfully, encouraged him to wait. He agrees now, because after labour you hadn't looked yourself. You'd been tired and sick. "You're having the next one," you'd joked. He had laughed until he cried, emotional from seeing you screaming and sweaty, his hand reduced to mush. Steve had been beside himself. He loves his girls, but he doesn't love how they came into the world. Seeing you that way… he can't regret getting you pregnant, not when he has all these beautiful babies, but he feels something similar. He feels better now that you're home.

"Tada," Steve whispers in Beth's ear. "There's your baby sister."

"Another one?" you'd asked when you found out the gender, defeated but not really. You'll love whatever you're given. He loves that about you, and he feels the same. "Steve, come on."

"It's not my fault!" he'd insisted.

"She's really small," Bethie whispers back.

"You don't have to whisper, sweetheart," you say, your face flopped against the couch cushions. You're still sapped. "She has to get used to all your voices."

Bethie stands on Steve's leg and holds onto your shoulder. He grabs her waist in case she takes a spill, letting her peer down into your arms at the face of her new sister. Her lips part.

"I think," Steve says, squeezing gently, "we finally have another one who looks like mommy and you."

"I think so too," Avery says quietly.

"Yea?"

"She's got mom's nose."

"Little," you joke, giving Avery a playful nudge with your elbow. "I think so three."

You swap. Steve gets to hold his new baby and you make as much room as you can in your lap for the oldest two, wincing when someone's knee jabs your sore stomach. He's about to tell them to climb off of you when you wrap your arms around them, hiding your face in Avery's soft, silky hair. She got nearly everything from Steve, including how much she loves being cuddled, and she melts like butter in the sun at your touch.

"I missed you, mom," she says. "Please don't have more babies for a while."

You laugh. You all know Steve wants an army. You also know Steve wants what you want. You could never touch him again and he'd be okay with it, somehow. Safe to say, you won't be having any more babies for a while, if ever again.

"I missed you too. Three days without you is three too many. And don't worry, my love. Me and daddy aren't having anymore for a long, long time." You peek over Avery's shoulder and smile. "I wish we didn't make such pretty ones. Maybe I'd be less tempted."

"That's all you," Steve says.

Bethie slouches to rest her weight on Steve's arm. God, he'd missed his girls. He'd been hoping your time in the hospital would be quick considering you've had three before, though they've been varying degrees of difficulty, and almost always made you poorly. That hope had been struck down fast, and Steve had just done whatever it was he could do to keep you breathing and smiling. He must be good at it, because four babies and eight years later he can still make you laugh between pushes.

He's, pardon his language, fucking amazed at what you can do. And he's so in awe of his life, his family, his girls, he finds himself welling up for the tenth time today, the perfect tiny face of your newborn a blur in his eyes.

Bethie pats his arm as he sniffles.

"You want a hug?" she asks knowingly.

"Yeah," he says. "I do. Thanks, baby."

"I'm not the baby," she says, draping herself over his shoulder. He drops his face against hers and sniffles some more.

Dove wakes up a little while after that, and when she calls, "Mommy!" from her crib you're thrilled to be able to go get her. You're still kissing her when you reach the bottom of the stairs, your nose sliding over her chubby cheeks as you coo praises at her.

"I missed you so so much, my love," you say, softly and brightly, affection dripping from every syllable. "Mommy missed you sooooo much. You've been such a good girl for daddy and Aunt Robin, I know you have." You beam at her tiny dimples. She beams back. "You want to meet our lovely new baby?"

Steve doesn't get too cut up about his family anymore, but he can't imagine his mother ever holding him so tenderly. He thinks she must have, once. Or maybe she didn't. There's no way to know, he only remembers growing up with that spearing sense of loneliness heavy in all his bones.

Robin, his best friend in the entire world, had absolutely healed him. When he met you, he didn't have to worry about being enough or being too much, he'd just loved you. You'd filled those last cracks, and his daughter's pretty much erased any trace of them.

He's so lucky. He could cry again, but the tears give him a migraine and he needs to be right as rain for the nights to come.

You sit down. You smell familiar, and your smile curves under his ear as you drop a kiss against his wane skin.

"Are you alright, Stevie baby?" you ask softly, one part concerned and three parts fond. You know what he's thinking.

"I've never been better." He reaches out to comb a rogue strand of hair from Dove's face. "Are you ready to meet your new little sister?" he asks her.

Dove glares at him. He wouldn't expect anything less.

#kisses before dinner universe #kisses before dinner #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #tw pregnancy #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble

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natalievoncatte · 1 year ago

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Here's a quick snippet of something I'm working on. This is from a discarded draft, but I'm still thinking of rewriting it and using it as the cold open for the story.

The bullet in her leg was going to be a problem.

Lena had been in scrapes before. This was, after all, the third version of her armor, each one built after the previous one had failed her in some way. It had taken her six long years to work out the balance between strength and agility, speed and power; to enhance her stealth abilities and find the right balance of preparation vs weight in her equipment. Prior to that she'd spent almost ten years preparing for her mission. Traveling, studying, learning, inventing.

At first her only concern had been blades and bullets. That had been easy to deal with. Her armored suit consisted of a base layer of electrically activated fibers that simulated fast twitch muscle fibers and could boost her overall strength output five fold, making her the physical equal or better of any enemy she might encounter in the field. A layer of kevlar-nomex triweave and proprietary composite armor plating over that made her quick and agile but well protected against guns and knives.

Tonight she'd learned that well protected wasn't totally protected.

It was almost funny, after everything that had happened in those five years, everything she'd overcome, that a gang of corrupt cops and mob thugs would be the ones to take her down.

Oh, and make no mistake, she had been taken down. She might have escaped the Axis Chemical factory, but she wasn't going to make it to the extraction point, and she knew it. She wasn't going to make it to Alfred this time.

They'd find her, eventually, pry her out of the armor, and reveal to the world that the Batman had been Lena Wayne all along. Of all the things she regretted as the plain flared in her thigh and she felt hot blood flowing beneath the inner layer of her suit, Lena was surprised to find that one of the things she'd regret most was not getting to see the looks on their faces when they found out.

She'd faced down plant toxins and freeze cannons and a shape-shifting monster. Aliens and metahumans and magicians. She'd taken them all on and come up ahead.

You know what? Lena decided, this isn't too bad. No, it wasn't a good death, but she was going out on her terms, knowing that she'd made some small difference. Maybe someone else could carry on her work. She'd left journals behind, set out instructions for what was to be done with her inventions and technology and the Wayne fortune. She would leave good in the world behind her. Martha and Thomas, the people who'd taken her in and raised her, would be proud. Bruce, her little brother who'd been the bravest man she ever knew, would be proud.

Maybe it would be a good death after all.

Lena stumbled through the open construction, threading between exposed I-beams. It wasn't in her to give up, to stop limping forward. She'd locked out her wounded leg, turning the suit rigid so she could hobble on it, and had already hit herself with an adrenaline auto-injector to keep her eyes open. She could make it to the extraction if she just kept moving.

Just keep moving.

As she limped forwards, Lena wondered how she'd get down. One problem at a time. She was in no shape to use a grapple line to get to street level. Keep moving. The pain in her leg was shocking, excruciating. She wondered if the bullet had fractured her femur. Maybe. She'd been hurt before, of course. Bullet to the back that slipped between armor plates and punched through, once, and all the ones that didn't hurt like hell anyway; it was like being pummeled with baseballs.

The display on the inside of her cracked helmet was lit up with warning lights and messages she didn't have time to parse. She knew what some of them were: Corrosive damage to the suit, drained power cells, her vitals plummeting, and the repeating all points bulletins declaring that the Batman was to be arrested on sight for the murder of Jack Napier.

Lena made it to the edge and leaned on a steel beam, looking down. Two blocks over to the extraction point. Alfred would be waiting for her. He'd get her out of the suit, patch her up, make it better. Alfred always made it better. She had to try. She had to try to get back.

Fumbling, she almost tumbled right off the edge until she slumped against the beam, her wounded leg starting to slide out from under her. She had to hug the steel to pull herself back up, prop herself up on the locked armor segments.

No, she wasn't going to make it, she realized. This was it. No heroic last stand, no final sacrifice, just bleeding out in a half-finished bougie apartment complex that had been stripped of all its copper five times. Lena wanted to laugh, but her lungs could only wheeze.

She almost didn't realize it when the half-skeletal building shook from a gust of wind.

No, not a wind. A blur of motion.

Her HUD lit up with proximity alarms, the onboard computers panicking when the sensor systems started failing from lack of power or severe damage. She really wanted to laugh. What now?

Turning, Lena put a hand on the beam to keep herself upright, and sighed.

No amount of preparation, no amount of refinement to her suit, would ever prepare her for this.

The Kryptonian strode across the plywood construction floor, cape majestically billowing behind her. Even in the dark she seemed alive with light, haloing her flawless golden curls and alive in her sky blue eyes, like she brought the sun with her. Her bright blue and red uniform stood in stark contrast against the muted grays, blues, and blacks of Gotham by night. Below them, sirens wailed. Hunters on the prowl for their wounded prey.

"What do you want?" Lena rasped. Her helmet altered her force into a deep growl.

"Batman," said Supergirl, "there's an all points bulletin out for your arrest."

"What else is new?"

Even now, she was the detective, stalling. The helmet's systems were scanning Supergirl's face, matching against her own facial recognition database using algorithms she'd written herself. The suit did all this automatically, so that she had complete files when she returned to the Cave.

"They're saying you killed a man tonight," said Kara. "I'm taking you in."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Lena coughed, the sound exploding in a garbled belch from her damaged helmet.

"You can barely stand," said Supergirl. "That wound in your leg needs medical attention. Just let me help you."

"Help me?" Lena spat, reaching for her belt. "Don't be absurd."

"You're coming with me either way," said Supergirl, edging closer. "Trying to fight me is pointless. You don't stand a chance."

"Want to test that theory?" said Lena.

Supergirl shook her head.

The suit came back with a facial recognition match.

DANVERS, KARA.

Her biographical data began to scroll across Lena's vision. She dismissed it with a laugh.

"It figures," she muttered.

"What?" said Supergirl. She moved closer. "I can hear your heart rate decreasing. I'll take you to a hospital. I promise, you'll get a fair hearing, you just-"

Lena laughed again. "A fair hearing. You must be joking."

Supergirl edged closer. "Wait. You're using a voice changer."

Lena's eyes shot open wide inside her helmet. "How... of course. Superhuman hearing, right?"

"Wait," said Kara, "wait, I know that voice. Lena?"

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supercorp fanfic #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #Bat!Lena #AU #what if the waynes adopted Lena instead

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infinity-mars · 2 years ago

Text

Play With Me

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!reader

Word Count: 8.5k+

Rating: Explicit Smut (18+ only)

Summary: You go out for a night of fun and encounter an alluring cowboy that does everything he can to capture your attention.

Also posted on my AO3 !

You loved to dance. Those moments when your heart fluttered in your chest made you move like you could fly, relishing in the feeling of power it gave you. You weren’t particularly graceful or always on time, but there was a certain magnetic thrum in the air that bent you to its will all the same.

From outdoor dance clubs to private velvet-roped lounges, discothèques, raves and rooftop bars, you’ve tried to see it all with your friend Kate by your side.

The cool air nipped at you both as you finally walked inside the club, the heat of passing bodies a welcome feeling. The lit room had a hushed glow as people made their home for the night in plush seats off against the far walls.

You imagined that the venue was similar to what Alice saw when she went down the rabbit hole and found herself in Wonderland. The bar certainly had the right name, you thought, the people walking around just as colorful as the children’s story.

The bartender was quick and you were thankful, even though the drink he made was weaker than you preferred. Vodka burned as it hit the back of your throat, aided by the scoff that found you at the man chatting up your friend.

Kate always had a thing for slightly pathetic men, like she could eat them alive. You were used to her routine by now, her colorful storytelling one of your favorite things to listen to over your morning coffee.

Honestly, you were both horrible together: you pitied the unsuspecting bystanders that listened in. Laughing at an old story she loved to tell at your expense, you didn’t see him at first.

You wish you could go back to the moment he came crashing into your orbit, not noticing the person on your left until he made himself known.

“Now what is a pretty bee like you lookin’ so bored all the way over here?” a gravelly voice spoke, the man’s lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear.

Your eyes looked over before your brain could catch up, and what you saw certainly sidetracked whatever thoughts had possessed you before. Wearing a black leather jacket that swam in the neon light of the bar, he almost seemed to glow in a classic white shirt that tapered on his slim waist.

“I’m enjoying myself just fine thank you,” you retorted, taking a generous swig of your watered down drink to hide the rush of nervous energy that possessed you. You were used to beginning the chase, and it caught you off guard to be taken by surprise.

How refreshing.

A small grin flickered across his face at your answer. His dark hair and broad shoulders only made him more mysterious, the lolling drawl of his voice making you curious despite yourself.

Men would approach you with the fashionable audacity they all liked to carry around with careless hands hoping for a quick fuck. Sometimes you’d indulge yourself, but the enjoyable heat of another person wasn’t worth it if they never shut their mouths.

Your vibrator and weighted blanket made sure of that.

You were undecided if this man fit into that category though.

“That’s not what I see.”

“Hmm, what do you see then, if you know me so well?”

The man shifted his foot and leaned in closer, the subtle spice of his cologne clinging to his suede collar. The way he wore it was effortless, and you wanted to grab onto his jacket to either bring him closer or shove him back, depending on what he said next.

“I see a woman that’s bored out of her mind trying to convince herself she’s not, drinking alcohol not worth the proof on the bottle,” he explained, voice dipping lower as you turned to fully face him, finally meeting eyes that never strayed from you.”You want more than whatever junior over there could ever offer someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Oh honey, I know I walked into that one with both feet. You’re just fishing for compliments now, aren’t ya?”

“Mmm, are you going to tell me what I wanna hear or are you going to buy me a drink?”

“The shit they mix here ain’t what you deserve, I saw that bartender mixing those drinks. Take a sip of this darlin’, and tell me I’m not wrong,” the man tempted, readily extending a sleek silver flask to you that was attached to his belt buckle. How scandalous .

The promise in his expression emboldened you. He had taken a drink from the flask himself before offering it to you in invitation.

“What’s life without a little risk?” His eyes seemed to ask.

You took the chance, the warmth from his hands lingering on your fingers as you took the flask from him.The delicate gold choker on your neck glinted in the light as you swallowed.

Taking a swig, you absorb the flavor. He knew his alcohol, and from the confidence of his statement nothing less than top shelf mattered. You could certainly respect that, wondering if his lips would have the same taste if he kissed you.

“You’re not wrong, it’s very good. I’ve always been partial to whiskey myself.”

“Just good? What you have in your hand is a rare share of Statesman Whiskey, made straight from the source in Kentucky,” he retorted, almost offended if not for the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Something you had said passed a test you weren’t yet aware of.“Even as a Yankee you must understand the quality of that. I knew you would.”

“You caught that, did you?”

“I don’t miss a thing, and you have most certainly caught my undivided attention.”

You shifted completely to turn your back on your friend and her man of the hour, uninterested in the conversation that no longer included you.

This man was right about one thing: you had been bored, and hopefully he would measure up for the evening. He didn’t shrink at your gaze.

It was nice to be approached for once with an interest that could mirror your own.

“I don’t know how you fit that ego of yours inside this place. This doesn’t exactly look like your scene if I’m being honest.”

He chuckles at that without taking offense and coyly tips the brim of his hat in your direction, smiling with a flash of tongue at your choked laugh that's just for him.

“Let’s just say I’ve gotten a lot of practice over the years. Even more talking to gorgeous girls like you. A buddy of mine wanted me to check out this new place to meet up sometime for work .”

The queer way he said that wasn’t lost on you, but you figured it was just an inside joke of some kind.

“You know that a honey bee can sting when it's threatened right?”

The way he widened his stance in victory as you focused on him was intentional, the insufferable action the kind of cockiness you usually wanted to smother with your own if not for the way it oddly suited him.

“Oh, that doesn’t deter me one bit. I’m sure your sting is just as sweet. I happen to like that.”

The grin peeking out from beneath his mustache looks genuine. You’re intrigued, looking at him now in consideration. As you checked him out from head to toe, one thing stood out rather prominently.

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just really happy to see me right now?”

New York might be a concealed carry state but he looked like one of the only men on the premises actually packing heat in all of the ways that matter. The well fitted dark blue denim hugging his thighs left very little to the imagination.

He was tailored to torture you inch-by-fucking-inch.

“Why don’t you come dance with me for the next song and find out?”

Oh you definitely wanted to shut him up. Preferably with something else to keep that mouth of his busy.

“No.”

“No? Give me one reason why not and I’ll leave you alone. You can take someone else home tonight and leave ol’ Jack behind.”

“So that’s your name then? Jack,” you reply. His eyes droop at the sound, half lidded and unhurried in the way he examines the way you say his name.

You finally introduce yourself, like you hadn’t been bantering with the man for a while now.

Like you hadn’t been imagining what he would look like after spending a night with you, scratch marks down his back a parting gift that'll make him think of you every time he moves.

“If you are so obliged, it’ll be the name you’ll be screaming later and that’s a promise,” he vowed, chewing on a mint he popped in with a cheeky wink thrown in your direction. On any other man that would be a turn-off, but you looked down and saw the way his hands clenched around nothing as you observed him.

Jack was his own harbinger of surprises it seems.

The second of silence that follows sears under your skin, charged and frantic for more friction. A quick reply caught on your tongue that you held in, keeping it for later: never let it be said that you didn't like flirting with delayed gratification every once in a while.

“How do you know that I don’t have someone already waiting in my bed for me?” You asked. Jack’s eyes were arresting, lingering lower on your chest for a few moments before looking into your own to answer you.

He gave a satisfied hum when he found whatever he was searching for.

“I think the way you’re staring at me is all the answer I need.”

You’ll give him credit, he was saying all of the right things. Or at this point, you wanted them to be, your attraction only tipping in his favor.

“Now what is a Southern boy like you doing here? Not to be a cliche, but you’re a long way from home.”

“Oh, I’m just like anyone else. I work at the Statesman New York office, traveling a lot when I’m needed elsewhere. What do you do when you’re not talking to vagrants like me in strange bars?”

“I’m a romance novelist, dabbling in a lot of things really, you know how it is.”

“Hmm, now that sounds interesting. What words must form on that clever tongue of yours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you flirted back.

He began speaking again, the story he launched into exotic and altogether hard to believe, but it wasn’t the words that reeled you in. It was his large hands waving temptingly close that distracted you. You could care less about the time he almost died in Marrakesh after offending someone’s wife.

You’d commit the story to your memory later when the pleasant haze of him faded away.

His tale came to a close as you glanced down and laughed at the stereotype that for some reason didn’t surprise you.

“Can you even dance in those boots for anything other than a two step?”

“I can do a lot more than that.”

“With your shiny belt buckle and Stetson I’d almost think you’re compensating for something,” you teased. A flash of delight lit up his face at your observation, the smirk he sent your way something just north of sinful.

“Everything is bigger in the south darlin' and besides,” he trailed off, hands coming to slowly cage you in against the bar but not quite touching you. “Let’s be honest here, we both know you like what I’ve got underneath.”

You lean forward, a breath of air suspended between you as your mouth almost ghosts over his. Maneuvering out of Jack’s reach, you reach up and take the hat off his head.

You had no doubt he would have stopped you if he had actually wanted to, those large hands of his able to easily overpower and hold you down.

You suppress a grin at the thought.

Putting the large hat on your head, you brushed out your unruly hair to make it stay firmly in place. His eyes unfocused for a moment before looking at you with renewed intensity, his jaw ticking to the side as he takes you all in.

You loved the chase, but at that moment you were tempted to end the flirtation and leave the bar to see if those fingers would fill you up as well as they promised.

“Come on, show me your moves," you dared, steeling yourself as you joined the growing crowd beginning to take over the dance floor. He convinced you. "Do your worst, Jack.”

A remix of one of your favorite songs set the pace as it moved through you. The bass was rich and dark in your veins as you danced, Wonderland falling away in the fury of bodies all around you. The charge that flitted low in your abdomen was one that threatened to crack you in two as Jack brought you back, your ass grinding into him after each beat.

It would be so easy to turn around and let yourself melt into the heat of him.

But riling him up sounded like a lot more fun. So when the beat shifted so did you, one hand removing the hat from your head as the other reached behind you to bring him down to your level.

“You know, there’s a saying I heard before that if you steal a cowboy’s hat you’re either fuckin’ or fighting, and darlin’ I don’t have any weapons on me right now. So what’ll it be?” He asked, his voice against your ear making you lean into his palms.

You felt like smoke, weaving around him as you continued to dance.

“Mmmm, doesn’t a combination of both sound just as good?”

The reactive tightening of his fingers on your hips was just what you needed. The both of you were lost, the music loud enough to cover up how hard your heart was beating.

Jack runs his nose along your neck and jaw until he nips at the vein, the heat of his breath making your own decision for you.

Turning, you reach up and finally kiss him. It wasn’t a quick affair, the push and pull between you both a fight to see who would give in first. You wanted to memorize the feeling, imagining the burn of his facial hair on your thighs as you rode his face.

You’d even wear his hat while you did it if he asked nicely.

He tasted like mint and mussed hair dangled in front of his eyes, lightly brushing your forehead as you mingled together.

You were both insulated in the crowd, kissing each other until you were hardly even dancing anymore.

Ready to leave the liquor and low lighting behind, you stopped Jack in his tracks. Backing him into the wall of the hallway you ventured into, you did so firmly, hands holding him hostage as you clung to the lapels of his leather jacket.

The hunger he saw reflected in your eyes pinned him in place, and that alone made him want to ruin you.

Leaning up in your high heeled boots so that you could kiss his cheek, the remaining lipstick you wore smeared onto his skin like a brand, the red lip print left near his opened mouth telling him that you were dangerous.

Better yet, his favorite kind.

“Follow me cowboy,” you rasped, leaving goosebumps in your wake as you lightly skimmed over his skin with your teeth. The fever consuming from now was one he hadn’t felt bubbling in his blood ever since his last mission months ago.

He craved it.

Jack vaguely connected that you were an unstoppable force to his immovable object, ready to crash into him like the paradox you were presenting yourself to be.

When he had clocked you from across the bar earlier he had admitted to himself that you weren’t the usual type of woman he jumped to charm into his bed. You had looked wholly unimpressed with your surroundings before, swirling the ice in your drink as the yuppie next to you preened like a toddler with a captive audience.

The oncoming storm he’d read in the lines of your body told him another story, however, one that swept him into you and past the redhead that had been trying to catch his attention since he’d walked in.

The shadow of something wicked had made Jack eager to align your passions with his own.

Impatient at his composure as he thought of this, you hooked two fingers into his belt loops and tugged him off the wall and into you, that jolt he felt from before electrifying below his skin as you pressed against him.

Reaching down and lightly cupping one of your hands over the denim of his jeans, you felt him squirm the longer you dared.

His dark brows furrowed at your forwardness, wanting to taste you again.

Your hands were firm on him, brokering no argument for the sly agent to persuade you with. He admired your drive, easily taking the momentum from him and twisting it to your desires. You kept surprising him, and by the way you delved into his mouth you weren’t afraid of showing him this side of you.

You wanted him to say something, anything, so this time you squeezed with intent, the hiss in your ear headier than the alcohol on his breath.

His cock twitched under your hand, and god it was power .

You enjoyed him like this: slightly wild but contained, a groan threatening to break through clenched teeth as you felt him up in public so casually.

You kiss him possessively in that dark room, drinking him up and daring him to consume you in turn like he promised. He might have approached you first, but you were going to finish what you both started.

It was desperate and messy and loud but neither of you cared.

A couple walked close to the both of you, forcing you to break from him in the narrow hallway to let them pass. Your absence made Jack swiftly reconnect himself with your body, his large hand sliding down into the pocket of your jeans to roughly squeeze your ass that had been grinding on him only moments before.

Leaving his hand where it was, he used it to direct you outside into the street. The nighttime air filled your lungs with relief, cooling the sweat that dampened your neck.

“You're positive you don’t wanna go back to my place? I can assure you the view from my floor is nothing to scoff at.”

“While that might ordinarily be tempting, Jack, your apartment doesn’t have any of the toys that I like to use,” you retorted.

You could already imagine flashes of the night ahead of you at your apartment.

“A pity then, I just know that you pressed against my floor to ceiling windows when the sun rises would be a pretty sight indeed.”

“Let’s enjoy tonight and plan on that for next time.”

Shame was not an emotion that Jack entertained often and he wasn’t about to start now, leaving your lipstick where it sat proudly on his face. A few people stared at him in the street, but no one stopped your brisk pace.

At the last crosswalk he pinched your ass in retaliation when you turned to kiss him harshly, nipping his chin as you leaned back onto your heels. As if you were dry kindling struck by lightning, his hands trailed flames in their wake, each touch only hastening your steps forward.

Exposed brick, industrial lighting, and high ceilings were what attracted you to your building when you first moved to the area. Your small loft on the upper floor gave you the privacy you craved, the cityscape around you comforting in the way it always kept moving.

While waiting for the elevator Jack untangled himself from you to lean against the wall on your right. He stood there appreciating you as a few of your neighbors walked around the lobby, Jack tipping his hat to them as they passed.

You didn’t even realize you’d dropped it at some point to kiss him earlier.

“Prettier than a peach,” he murmured, his hand reaching to smooth over his mustache in thought. He was earnest, the mood shifting into something unnamed as the elevator dinged. You huddled into him as people came and went.

"You know," you began, "I'd look even prettier with your hands wrapped around my throat."

He coughed into his hand, not wanting everyone else in the lobby to see how tight his jeans suddenly felt. You laughed.

You both stumble into your apartment, the size of Jack overwhelming as he backs you into the closed door. His mouth was persuasive, like a switch was flipped now that you were both away from everyone else.

He left bruising kisses on your neck, completely unyielding in his quest to mark you wherever he could reach. His hands were on the back of your head, holding you in place as he gripped your neck just so.

For a long suspended moment you were frozen, wanting to regain the ground you refused to lose. But hell, could this man kiss the thoughts from your head.

Then, all at once, heat spreads through you, thawing you into action.

Holding onto his jacket with your fingers you tilt your head back with a breathless chuckle, making Jack look into your eyes. You take up one hand and grip his chin, the other drifting to caress the lipstick mark you shamelessly left on his cheek. Pressing down on it with more pressure to show you meant your next words, you wanted him to listen.

He smirked into your touch, a cocky sort of grin showcasing his dimple that felt entirely warranted as your breath stuttered in your chest.

“Go sit on the couch,” you ordered. Kissing you once more before moving away, a filthy moan left you as his tongue darted out for a taste. His eyes didn’t look away until you turned your back, shedding clothes in your wake until all you had left on was the lace you were wearing.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Sure thing baby, pour me a bit of whatever you’re having.”

You didn’t leave him for long, reappearing with strong liquor and the type of lingerie that made you feel like you could eat a man’s heart in the marketplace like Beatrice once said.

The warmth from the drink you’d sipped in the kitchen enveloped you as it licked up your chest— you were in your element now.

Grounded in your body, you took a deep breath.

Emerald lace and satin embrace you, assured in the sway of your hips as you walked over to your cowboy. Handing him his drink and swiftly straddling his parted thighs, you let him take you in.

You don’t know when he became “your cowboy,” but it sounded right, for the night at least.

Say what you will, but Jack was flexible with a change in plan. He just had to bide his time, finishing the finger of bourbon left in his glass before setting it aside.

The way you spilled out of your lingerie had him drowning in you. Champ once told him that he was an adrenaline addict, chasing every mission that got his heart racing. He wasn’t wrong—you couldn’t function as a successful Statesman agent without a dash of daredevil in you.

And he just loved the way you moved.

His mouth descends on you again, leaving you once to gulp in a desperate breath before attacking with renewed vigor.

He hoarsely spoke your name, and it was the best thing that had left his lips all night. You wanted him to say it again but this time underneath you, unbidden and desperate at the way you pulled it out of him. You slid your tongue into his mouth and brought up a hand to roughly yank at the hair on the sides of his head, until he bowed his back and leaned into you for a moment.

“Is this what you want?” You asked, snaking your hand underneath the cup of your brassiere to shove it aside and caress your breast, a groan breaking through your composure at the way Jack bucked into you. Though his breathing was measured and even, his lips parted at the sight of your nipples pebbling in the cool air.

“You know, when I saw you at the bar I knew I had to talk to you, take you with me when I left,” he murmured, quiet in his admission as it rang true on his face.

“Mmmm, honey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but...you’re in my apartment at the moment, on my couch no less, drinking my bourbon,” you answer just as quietly into his ear. You graze over it teasingly with your teeth just to see him shiver. “And I’m wearing a matching set right now. So who really took initiative tonight, hm?”

Jack laughed almost in disbelief at your words, his body responding for him. It’s an honest sound, one that makes you kiss him deep enough to taste his tongue in the back of your throat.

Ultimately what you saw in his eyes was patience. And that was hotter than anything else he could have done.

You sigh his name, letting your head fall forward as he seeks out another kiss from you.

“This is just the preview. I want it all, and I know you do too,” he breathed against your lips. “Now are you going to let me touch you, or do I have to watch you fuck yourself on my thigh before I can taste you? You can only tempt a man so far.”

“Is that a threat or a challenge I hear?”

“I did promise that you’d be screaming my name, and I take that job very seriously. You'll hear no arguments from me.”

“You sure you can handle me like that, cowboy?”

Jack was wavering somewhere between wholly aroused and perversely indignant. No one questioned him like this, in the bedroom or otherwise if he could help it.

He hated how it turned him on like this.

You’re not sure what emboldens you to tease him; your resolve only heightens the longer he looks at you, as if you could spill over into him and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“I have never been more sure than I am right now.”

He knew how to fire you up. In many ways, you were both quite similar.

Restless and insatiable.

Purposefully running your hands down his chest only to stop your exploration at his belt, the rumble in his chest was one of approval as you scratched at his abdomen through his shirt.

You enjoyed yourself when pleasure could mix with a bit of pain, and you had an inkling that Jack did too. You wanted to deny him, reduce this enigma of a man into a begging mess before the sun came up. But your own need to be touched by him won out, and damn him for kissing you like that—as if you were the antidote to a fatal poison he had drunk in an effort to forget you.

“You can touch me, Jack, but there’s something I want to do first.”

You meet his gaze for a brief moment as you pause in this position on top of him, being perfectly still when all you wanted was to hold him close until there was no space for questions or distractions.

An understanding passes between you both. Your body buzzes with nerves, synapses firing as all thoughts focus on the man holding you.

He grabs at your hips, whispering encouragement in your ear as he guides you to settle flush against his lap with your legs on either side of him. The zipper of his jeans and his belt buckle rubbed into your clit hard enough to make you shiver.

“ Fuck… ”

Jack scrapes his teeth over your jaw. Barely there. More of a breath across your cheek than anything.

You reach back and unlatch your bra, throwing it away as he cups each breast in his calloused hands. Arching into his attentive mouth as it reached your skin, you threaded your fingers in his hair, messing up the hat flattened strands and tugging on them harder when he bit down teasingly.

Letting your nipple go with a wet plop, he leaned back into your hands on his head.

“God, I am so fucking hard thinking about licking into that pretty pussy of yours, bet you taste real good,” Jack groaned. You answered in kind, kissing him again to swallow his words.

This was just the warm-up.

“I’m going to cum just like this against you, but if you move any more then I won’t be quite so kind later. Wanna make you earn it. I’m a generous lover, Jack, but a fair one,” you simpered, grinding almost cruelly against the hardness of him that you could feel throbbing through his pants. “You want me to be nice, don’t you?”

“Oh darlin’, I’m sure you’re sweeter than a saint,” he grunted, words stuttering as you brought his head up closer to yours, lips touching but not quite. Rotating your hips, you sigh into his mouth as you move against him.

True to his restraint so far, he kept himself in place, his breath hot against your cheeks as your pace quickened.

“Mmmm, can’t wait to have you inside me,” you sighed, his muscles straining beneath your fingers. Shuddering at the feeling of him under you, your first orgasm was creeping closer as it began trickling down from the tips of your fingertips. “D-don’t want you to cum until I’m done with you.”

Jack’s mouth opened partly in awe as you grinded on him with even more force.

He had a hidden strength to him, and by the way his arms flexed around you he could have easily moved you under him at any time. The fact that he didn't demand it was arousing.

Fuck you were wet.

Tilting his head slightly, he enjoys the view of you on his lap using him for your own pleasure. Your tits bounce as you move, and he’s torn between telling you how perfect they are and moving just slightly to bury his face in your softness. He whimpered silently as you pulsed around him, able to feel it over his clothes as you threatened to unravel.

“Oh, look at you,” he exclaimed, voice a low rumble that stokes the fire in your belly. “Just like that, baby. Fuck, come on. Take what you need from me.”

He says your name once, fervent and taut, barely able to keep himself in check. The fact that he was still almost fully clothed made him need more . You were all warm skin and curves and he wanted to feel every second of you wrapped around him.

He tensed his thigh and shifted slightly but you didn’t notice as you rode out the waves of pleasure rolling over your clit.

It was exquisite and hurried and not the end goal but you didn’t mind. You had wanted to see if he would listen to you. If he could take what direction you gave him. It was an entirely different high you’d surprisingly discovered in your twenties, having a man in your control, making him beg with just your body.

And yet, Jack did not beg for himself. The look in his eyes was expressive enough. Still he didn’t move, and that was what finally pushed you over.

Gasping in shock, your orgasm softly washed over your skin. He eagerly watched, memorizing the way your mouth hung open at the feeling of him grabbing your hips with bruising force to drag you over him once again.

When you finally opened your eyes Jack was already looking at you, and you did not shy away. His hair was tousled from your hands, lips swollen, eyes bright—you savored him like the Kentucky whiskey on his breath.

“Mmmm, you were so good for me,” you praised, voice heavy in your mouth as you recalled how to speak.

As you came back down he chased your lips, taking his time to touch you the way he could now that you’d fallen into his chest. His mouth was a wanting, wretched thing, tracing a path from your lips to your chest.

You pulled back for a moment. “Do you want to switch to the–”

“I’m not done yet,” he interrupted, bringing you back into a heated kiss that had you whining into his hold on you. He slips his tongue in your mouth and seems to slow time licking into you just so, making you shiver.

His hands were frenzied in the way they glided over all the flesh he could reach.

You would torture him no longer.

His blunt nails traced over your spine, and you wanted to ask him to do that again.

“Now you are a rare gift, my dear,” he hummed into your mouth. “I would hate for you to be tired already.”

“Oh, you don’t have to question my stamina,” you slyly answered. Even now you are still hazy in your bones, tethering yourself to his firm grip on your ass. “Worry about your own.”

The chuckle that leaves him is telling, and you clearly feel his frustration rolling off him now that you can think in complete sentences.

You kiss the corner of his mouth and swiftly hop off of his lap, trembling for a moment as you right yourself. There’s a slight damp spot from where you were sitting on his white shirt that had been hanging over half untucked from his jeans, but you’re too drunk on endorphins to feel embarrassed.

You did that .

Your heart stuttered for a moment at the raw ache you saw in his face. Hooking your fingers in the slim waistband of your panties, you then cast them aside.

It felt like an afterthought after what you had both just done, but the way Jack looked at you was anything but unappreciative.

What you inspire in him is so erotically charged that he is momentarily struck dumb by what you do next.

Falling onto your knees you look up at him through your lashes, taking the flask attached to his belt buckle, the surface slightly wet from your release making it slick in your hands. It was silent in the apartment, the only sound Jack’s breathing as he watched you drink from the flask that he favored so much.

You could taste yourself around the metal and lipstick and whiskey. A theme of the night it seemed.

Awareness flows down your spine at Jack’s gaze. As you take one more pull, his hands reach up to card through your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail, reaching for you with a finality that has you arching into him.

You lead him into your room, wishing you had cleaned up a bit before tripping on the rug, laughing as you both stumble into your metal bed frame.

“Now Jack,” you begin, bracing yourself for the next conversation you rarely walked into without some gut feeling bracing you up. “Do you have a safe word?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did he was entirely focused on you.

“I do, pretty girl. It’s sweet tea.”

The way his mouth caressed each syllable with that slow southern drawl shouldn’t have been as damning as it was.

“How do you feel about ropes?”

The way he lit up was thrilling. He looked away with unfocused eyes, enjoying a private joke that only he knew. It was the expression of a man that delighted in his own mystery.

You couldn’t deny that a part of you was burning to know what he locked away. He prowled with that hidden energy, and knowing what you’d experienced of him so far, you would have to work for a proper taste.

“I happen to be quite gifted with whips and a lasso if I do say so myself. I’m rather versatile in that regard. Rest assured it is not my first rodeo.”

“In that case cowboy, I want you...to tie me up,” you said before grazing your thumb across his bottom lip. He nodded slightly surprised, with the way you had directed him earlier he had thought you’d wanted to tie him up instead.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t escape from some ropes if he really needed to.

He had been amazing under you before, but you wanted more. You wanted him to take your body and make your need dissolve on your tongue as you cry. You wanted it to hurt.

Jack felt like you could read his mind, look into the very heart of him and learn all of his desires. Palming himself over his jeans, he imagined the warmth of your mouth and had to stop from outpacing himself.

You walked into your closet with purpose, toeing on your favorite pair of stiletto heels as you grabbed your selection of ropes from where they’re hidden.

His eyebrow ticks up at the sight of you naked with only your Louboutins on, the black ropes in your hands are just as daring. He waits for you to settle onto the pillows of your bed before methodically tying your hands to hooks in the wall on either side of your headboard.

It took him a few moments but his knots were sound, loose enough but tight on your wrists so you couldn’t break free. You were grudgingly impressed with how fast Jack could work when he was motivated, filing it away where you could exploit later.

He throbs at the salacious painting you rendered, spread out and glowing in the warm lighting of the room. With your opened legs you were vulnerable and slick and soft.

Jack didn’t want to wait any longer before losing himself in you.

He shifted down to lay himself between your parted legs. You swiftly stopped him with your left leg extended fully out, the stiletto of your heel digging into his lowered shoulder as he kneeled on the bed. The startled look on his face made you tease him, grinding it in a little further before moving it down his chest to stop at the length of his cock straining for freedom.

Pressing down.

The choked groan that he involuntarily let out was painfully erotic. You wish you could record it and hit rewind.

“Hold your horses, Jack. You have far too many clothes on. Strip for me first before you get what you want.”

To his credit he didn’t jump up and frantically discard the remainder of his clothing. Like you before his expression turned calculating, methodically shifting off the bed and taking off his shirt and discarding his pants along with his underwear. All are then folded on your nightstand, neat and pricise to minimize wrinkles.

You swallow at the way he ignores your anticipation, but it brings no relief.

His skin is tan like the rest of him, belly soft and strong before a small trail of dark hair leads down to the base of his cock sitting heavy against his stomach.

You imagine tracing your tongue over every inch of him seeing where he’d fracture and break in your hold, only to put him back together again when he asked.

He was incredibly distracting like that when he wanted to be.

Captivated, your eyes stop back at his chest, small faded scars criss-crossing his skin, one worryingly close to his heart that had you straining for a closer look. His muscles ripple as he moves, the veins of his arms as formidable as the rest of him.

Jack was focused as he finally settled low on the bed, fingers ghosting over skin as he hitched your legs over his shoulders. Kissing and nipping at the inside of your thigh, he took in a deep breath and let out a little hum, puffs of air hitting your pussy as he adjusted.

He leaned his head on your left thigh and looked up at you briefly.

“You remember the safe word, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded, almost drunk at the heat of him crowding you. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes Jack, I remember it’s sweet tea. Now are you going to eat my pussy like you mean it or do I need to get myself off again?” You answered, tapping your leg down on his back knowing fully well how it would rile him up.

He grins at you savagely, leaning down the remaining space to lick a long stripe all the way up your folds.

You buck into his mouth, your already sensitive clit coming alive again. He moves his arms to cage your hips in his hold, bringing you flush to his tongue by grabbing onto your ass.

He was nestled between your legs, mapping your body with licks and handprints. Your half-formed praises and keening whine made Jack a mess of a man, grinding into the mattress as he drank up everything you could give him.

He loved your voice and the way it scattered into nothing when he sucked your clit into his mouth. He made no pretense at staying quiet, noisy and whole in his destruction of you.

Coming up for air, his mustache glistened, cheeks red from his own harsh breathing against your cunt. His lips were wet and you wanted to taste yourself when he kissed you. He reaches down for a moment and pumps himself harshly, tightly fisted and the sound he lets out...you feel it like a pulse.

His nose brushes you as he dives back in. If he could sink underneath your skin you would burst.

He slides two fingers inside, your muscles clenching around him as far as he could go. Curling his fingers upward and holding them there, a hot fusion of unnamed pleasure and painful awareness zips through you. You can't help but squirm underneath him.

There it was.

Jack wanted you to call his name until he no longer connected it with himself, an uncontained force that compelled him to do whatever you wanted if only you'd say his name like that again.

Wanting.

“Fuck, when you say my name like that I just burn all over,” he murmured. “You gonna cum now, baby?”

You hum distractedly, the coiled tether in your abdomen snapping when he doubles down just right. He eagerly laps at you as your pussy flutters, climbing higher and higher until plunging you into nameless bliss. Each limb feels liquid as you touch down.

Jack keeps sucking and licking you without stopping and you can’t cover your mouth to muffle the whimpers that slip through. He adds a third finger and continues to move through each aftershock that bounces through your body.

“Come on. Lord—when you sound like that I don’t want you to stop. You’re not done yet, I know you can give me another one. Look at the way you take me in.”

You wanted to dodge his mouth as he sucked on you again, even the gentle way he prodded at you felt like too much. You weren’t going to beg yet, even for a man like Jack. Despite your discomfort you felt yourself stir again, weaker but no less corporeal, as he pressed down hard on your clit with a pressure that made your breathing pick up.

With effort you rocked into him once more and strained to lock your legs around his head, squeezing when he nipped at you. A handful of minutes later you were boneless and spent, legs trembling as he drew your pleasure out.

He moaned at the feeling of being utterly surrounded, desperately sending you over again so that he could breathe.

You couldn't think past the wall of sensation you were being held against without mercy.

This orgasm was harder than the last, a juggernaut that only built on the first. A few silent tears trailed down your face, so overcome that his facial hair burned similar to the hand shaped bruise already forming on your hip.

You close your eyes so tightly that sunbursts bloom behind your eyes as you breathe through it.

Standing up to catch his breath, he used some of the slick on his fingers to slowly cover his shaft, aching from being hard for so long already. From the sheer size and weight of him that you can see, you’re glad for the bottle of lube on your bedside table, though you’re so wet it probably didn’t matter.

Jack settles himself over you, tugging you up into a fierce, messy kiss, teeth and tongues and harsh breaths traveling from his mouth into yours.

You were so relaxed that the stretch of him affected you only for a moment as he buried himself inside you. The gasp when he moves catches in your throat, a ghost of all the pleasure he had given you just moments before leaving your body.

His voice stutters as he slowly thrusts inside of you, setting a steady pace. “Should keep you right here just like this, make you cum until you forget your own name. Would you like that? Take care of you like no one else will?”

You swear, picturing his words as they traced themselves down your body. As heavy as the feeling of Jack resting his weight on you was, you thrived on it. Your arms felt strained from being tied, but he curled around you just so, keeping you both connected for as long as possible.

Jack’s arms flexed as he adjusted to reach for you, extending his fingers until they pressed into your parted lips.

Swirling your tongue around his two fingers, you could taste yourself on his skin. He then leaned down and used them to press into your clit. It had you closing your eyes, too overwhelmed to speak through it.

You didn't have any smart comebacks in you now.

His unrelenting tempo jostled the bed against the wall. Moving back to lean on his heels, Jack pistoning into you at this new angle was overwhelming but you simply didn’t care. He yelled out in a voice you almost didn't recognize, hoarse and wet as it ripped from his chest.

“Come on Jack, cum in me,” you panted. “ Fuck , I know you’re close. Can feel you aching for it. You’ve been so patient. So good . ”

You intentionally clench around him like a vice, and it has him tumbling into his own release moments later with a startled shout.

Satisfaction seizes his veins in a chokehold.

He collapses into your chest, the both of you covered in a slight sheen of sweat that was beginning to dry in the cool air.

Whimpering slightly as he pulled out, he worked through his own lethargy to take care of you.

He leaned up and undid the knots holding you hostage. Immediately your arms flop onto the mattress, the burn of your muscles just adding to the mental catalog of sensations you take stock of. With Jack resting on your chest you card your fingers through his hair, the both of you too out of breath to say anything for a few moments.

The weight of him on top of you kept you grounded.

Warm. Languid. Eyes drifting closed at how heavy you feel.

“You are gonna be the death of me, woman.”

“Mhmmm, if that’s the case then I’ll wait to tell you my proposal then. Wouldn’t wanna kill you before another round, Whiskey.”

He lifts his head from your chest at that.

“What did you just call me?” He asked, eyes unreadable as they scan your face. You didn’t care, the words light in your mouth as they leave you.

“Whiskey. You taste like it. And if you think this is the only time I take you to bed, then let me inform you: I still need to drink my fill of you.”

He scratched at his mustache for a moment in thought before he smiles, the most genuine of the night that makes his eyes crinkle with laughter. There it was again, that secret in his expression that has you eager to ask what he’s hiding.

“You’re a very perceptive person, honey. I am thoroughly surprised by you. Tell me what you have in mind when I come back.”

He jumps out of bed to walk into your en suite bathroom, his ass distracting as you watch him fumble around before returning with a warm washcloth to clean you up. Each brush of his hands on your body is gentle, reverent even as it glides over you. He kisses where your hands had been bound, asking if he was too rough.

You almost laughed.

You liked it that way.

Something inside you wanted to stay in the moment, gazing at each other in the dimly lit room. Not forever, just a little longer. You imagine him walking away from you out the door, and it puts an unpleasant feeling in your gut, like you wouldn’t see him again.

You had the sneaking suspicion that if Jack didn’t want to be found he’d disappear.

“So I was thinking,” you began, finally tossing your stilettos off the bed to lay under your quilt. “I have an ungodly expensive espresso machine that makes a decent latte and fresh beans in the kitchen. How about we take a quick nap and then fire it up before round two? I heard once that drinking coffee makes the sex even better.”

“Don’t you mean rounds three and four?” He teased, that ego of his purring at the thought of how much you spasmed and shook around him.

If you weren’t so relaxed you would have probably grabbed onto his balls in response, made him swear around that crooked smile of his.

You'd learn how he liked it and edge him until he melted out of his damn cowboy boots. The thrill of him was delicious, and you hadn't gotten to take a true bite out of him yet.

“You think you can go another round later and finally ride this prize stallion?”

That makes you slap at his shoulder. His laugh diffused whatever seriousness lingered and you readily agreed, the both of you winding down as exhaustion hits.

As his arms settle around you, you imagine the potential of a future with this man of mystery.

He had barely scratched the surface of what made you wild, and you wanted to change that. Leaving Wonderland with him tonight was an event you were eager to repeat.

#jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #smut #one night stand #jack daniels imagine #jack daniels fanfiction #agent whiskey imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction

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daryltwdixon · 3 months ago

Text

The Promise of Us: Chapter 38

As the hours drag on, the woods stretch endlessly ahead, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional distant call of a bird. Beth walks silently beside him, her steps light but tired. The earlier tension between them has settled into an uneasy quiet, leaving Daryl alone with his thoughts.

The sharp, gut-wrenching panic over Y/N’s absence has dulled into something different now—more of a steady, familiar ache. It’s like a constant, low throb in the back of his mind, not as overwhelming as before, but still there, persistent as ever. Every time the brush shifts or a branch snaps, he half-expects to see her stepping through the trees, her expression determined, maybe a little annoyed that it took him this long to find her.

He almost laughs at the thought, but it gets caught in his throat, replaced by that damn ache again. Even if it’s not the screaming, desperate grief from before, it’s still like picking at a scab that only just stopped bleeding.

Beth walks a few paces ahead, her blonde hair a stark contrast against the green of the forest. She’s not Y/N, not by a long shot, but she’s someone who’s still here, still moving forward. Daryl keeps his eyes on the trail, his grip tightening on the crossbow. He doesn’t let himself linger too long on the memories—they’re too painful, too distracting. But no matter how hard he tries to shove them down, Y/N’s face is always there, just beneath the surface.

“Motorcycle mechanic,”

“Huh?” Daryl grunts, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

“That’s my guess,” she says, “For what you doin’ before the turn. Did Zack ever guess that one?”

“Don’t matter,” Daryl’s voice is low, “Hasn’t mattered for a long time,”

“It’s just…what people talk about, Daryl,” she says, a little snipped, “you know, to feel normal,”

“Yeah, well that never felt normal to me,” he says, and as they walk into the clearing of the woods, along a dirt path, a small cabin materializes in front of them.

“Found this place with…,” he says, his voice so low and rough it’s hardly even a whisper. He trails off though, unable to form his mouth around her name out loud. Sure, her name scratched at him, relentless in his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Speaking it felt like giving in, like he’d finally collapse under the weight of her absence.

Daryl’s eyes fix on the small house in the clearing, its dark, dusty windows triggering a flood of memories he wasn’t prepared for. He remembers finding this place with Y/N during one of their runs from the prison—a quick break from the chaos that defined their everyday lives back then.

The memory is immediate, foggy with time but still vivid enough against the backdrop of exhaustion. It had been a long day—one filled with tracking game, dodging walkers, and keeping their guards up. But the moment they’d stumbled upon this house, he’d noticed the rare spark of excitement in Y/N’s eyes.

She’d grinned wide, nudging his arm. “Looks like we got ourselves a jackpot, Dixon,” she’d said, that familiar teasing lilt in her voice. He could still see that big, radiant smile of hers, the one that he hadn’t seen for months at one point— but it felt like a burst of warmth cutting through the constant cold reality they lived in.

They’d made their way inside, not to settle but to rest, scavenge, and maybe find something useful. It was a simple house, nothing special, but it had four walls, a roof, and a momentary sense of privacy. He remembers the way Y/N had moved around the small kitchen, rummaging through cabinets, her eyes lighting up at the sight of some canned food that had somehow avoided looters. The real memory, the most vivid one of course, is the way they laid on the old, rotten couch, so familiar to their old trailer homes growing up, and their bodies wasted no time to be close again. He remembers the way she’d looked at him, sweat still clinging to her skin from the hunt, eyes intense, the air between them charged. They’d reached for each other, hands rough but urgent, wrestling between gentle and rough touches, wanting to be as close as possible. It was a brief period of complete privacy, no echoing cement walls, no cold metal bed frame pressing into her back as they melted together.

“I was expecting a liquor store,” Beth says, pulling him from his memories, unaware of the flood of emotions churning inside him. He lingers for a moment longer, the warmth of that day replaced by a cold emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

“No, this is better,” he says quietly, staring out at the house.

He swallows hard, pushing down the memory as Beth moves toward the front door. The memory felt so sharp, that dull ache he had before split open, bleeding and raw.

Beth’s footsteps keep him here, in this moment, even if she’s unaware of the flood of memories that’s just hit him. He follows slowly, his steps heavier, his heart weighed down by everything he’s lost. Instead of taking her to the front steps however, he veers to the area behind the house.

In the back shed, Daryl spots it—a row of old wooden crates filled with dusty glass jars, the contents clear as water. The sight pulls a memory from somewhere deep, something old and foggy but sharp enough to hit him in the gut. Him and Y/N in his father’s backyard, working under the relentless sun, hands sticky with sugar and alcohol, the day their friendship had their first crack in it–the argument about Shane that felt so distant now, like another lifetime. The memories kept coming, relentless and unforgiving. He wishes he had the strength to shove them away instead of letting them crash through over and over. It was near torture now.

“What’s that?” Beth asks, snapping him from his memory once more.

Daryl’s hands tighten around the crate as he lifts it. “Moonshine,” he says, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, the hint of nostalgia sneaking into his voice, “Come on,”

Inside, the house looks exactly as they had left it, if anything just more layers of dust that had accrued. It didn’t look like anyone had found it since that day. So, he sets his crossbow down once he checks the back room and grabs a glass from the cupboard. He twists the moonshine jar lid off, and pours her a little bit, handing it to her with pride.

“Alright, that’s a real first drink right there,” he says, but she pauses, looking nervous, “Wha’s the matter?”

“Nothin’,” she says, but half heartedly, “it’s just…my dad always said bad moonshine could make you go blind,”

Daryl almost chuckled at that, a sound lost so deep down now that it never comes, “Ain’t nothin’ worth seein’ out there anymore anyway,” and he leans down to push it closer to her, and watches her take her first sip. As expected, however, once the alcohol hits her tastebuds she grimaces, pulling the cup away.

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted,” she breathes a laugh, but then brings the cup to her lips again, and when she puts the glass down again, her smile never fading, she says, “Second round was better,”

She reaches again for a jar, cheeks already tinting a bit, and Daryl eyes her warily, “Slow down,”

But she just smiles up at him again while she pours it, “This one’s for you,”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says casually.

“Why?”

“Someone’s gotta keep watch,”

“So what, you’re like my chaperone now?”

He rolls his eyes, stomping away, “Just drinks lots of water,”

“Yes, Mr. Dixon,” she sings as he passes.

Over the next couple of hours they spend fixing up the place, just to make it safe for the night. Covering windows, scavenging what he and Y/N might’ve not found that day months back.

He hears Beth chuckle behind him as she says, “Who’d go into a store and buy this?”

He turns, and sees her holding a large makeshift bowl that’s made to look like a woman’s bra, hot pink and full of cigarette butts. The second he sees it, it’s like he’s thrown back into his childhood home again.

“My dad, that’s who,” he calls over, “Oh, he was a dumbass,” he says shaking his head when he looks at her fully, her eyes unbelieving, “Used to set those up on top of the TV set, use ‘em as target practice,”

“He shot things inside your house?” Beth asks seriously.

“It was just a bunch of junk anyway,” he says quieter now, “That’s how we knew what this place was,” he gestures around, “That shed out there, my dad had a place just like this. You got your dumpster chair for sittin’ in your drawers all summer in, fancy buckets for spittin’ chaw in once your old lady tells you to stop smokin’,” he pulls the newspaper off the old table, “Here’s your internet,”

“Did you and Y/N hang at your house a lot back then?” She asks, but then her eyes widen as she bites her bottom lip, like she didn’t think before the words fell out of her mouth. Daryl just glances over at her before he’s freed from having to answer by the low groaning coming from a walker passing through, snarling close to the window.

“Just one of ‘em,” Daryl says.

“Should we get it?”

“If it keeps makin’ too much noise, yeah,”

“Well, if we’re gonna be trapped again,” Beth says, reaching for the jar of moonshine again, “We might as well make the best of it,” she holds it out to him with wide, blue eyes, “Unless…you’re too busy chaperoning, Mr. Dixon,”

He hesitates, looking between her and the alcohol in her hand, but grabs it despite his uncertainty, willing to keep the memories that keep flooding in at bay, “Hell,” he gravels, “might as well make the best of it,” he parrots.

He sits on the dirty old couch, no longer masked with the smell of his and Y/N’s sweat and raw need, and sips from the jar with ease, “Home sweet home,”

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

You

The woods stretch out endlessly around you, the thick canopy above shrouding everything in muted greens and browns. Your boots crunch over the dead leaves, the air thick with dampness and the faint, earthy scent of rain. You pause for a moment, trying to get your bearings, but your mind is a tangled mess of exhaustion and grief.

You glance down at your hands, the dried, dark streaks of blood still visible beneath your nails, rough and caked on your skin. It’s Jade’s blood—what’s left of her after the attack, a brutal reminder that nothing, not even a moment of connection, is safe in this world. You rub your hands together absently, trying to scrape off the dried flakes, but it clings stubbornly, like the guilt that’s been gnawing at you. The bitter taste of failure sits heavy on your tongue, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re destined to lose everyone you try to get close to. It’s a familiar ache, but Jade’s loss is fresh, a new wound layered on top of old scars. You take a shuddering breath, blinking hard to keep tears from rising. You can’t afford to cry—not now. Grief is a luxury, one you’ve learned to push down deep.

As you stand there, trying to get your bearings, you think of places you’d been before—familiar trails you’d taken with Daryl, the abandoned houses and cabins where you’d scavenged together in these woods. The memories are muddled now, hazy around the edges, but one stands out clearer than the rest: a small house, tucked away deep in the woods. You remember the afternoon there, the way the sunlight had slanted through the dusty windows, warming the worn floorboards. You’d rummaged through old cabinets, found a few canned goods, and laughed at the ridiculous floral wallpaper peeling off the walls. How much it reminded you of your childhood homes.

And then, there were Daryl’s hands on your waist, rough but urgent, pulling you closer, his breath warm on your neck. You’d barely made it to the tattered couch before the world blurred into a mess of tangled limbs and desperate need. The memory isn’t just about the physical—it’s the feeling of safety, however fleeting, that came with being in that space with him. The way you’d both collapsed afterward, sweaty and spent, laughing softly at nothing at all.

You swallow hard, the ache in your chest sharp and familiar. The idea of going back there, even just to see if it’s still standing, feels like chasing ghosts. But it’s a direction, a goal, something to keep you moving forward. It was potential shelter from the elements, from the walkers. Even if it’s far—even if it’s too far—you don’t care.

You adjust your pack on your shoulder, taking a deep breath as you pick a path that feels familiar, even if the forest around you seems to blur into sameness. You step forward, each stride more certain than the last, driven by the sliver of hope that the cabin is still there. You don’t know what you’ll find when you arrive—maybe just an empty shell of a place that no longer holds the warmth of that memory. But it’s better than nothing. It’s something to hold onto in a world that’s taken everything else.

And so, you walk.

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