#and it ain't lettin go
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redroomroaving · 2 months ago
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Tethered.
My favourite bit about Yelena literally tethering Bob to her back with a firehose is the metaphorical tether she wrapped around him in the same moment for the rest of time.
(Bob x Yelena)
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tenebriism · 8 months ago
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Fellas, is it GAY to think your best friend is the most gorgeous person in existence? Contested by NONE? Absolutely, positively RADIANT beyond fathom?
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kindacreepy-kindaugly · 8 months ago
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nothing ever changes I'm so fucking tired of being this way
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phantomuheist · 1 year ago
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@guildofthieves said: "I've heard enough. Let me take over." 💋 — Goro and Akira adult versions
"Shut Up" Kiss starters | Accepting
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The kiss caught him off guard, but he returned it tenfold, arms looping around his neck. "What? Are you jealous that some people still flirt with me? You know what I tell them every time." That he's taken, of course. By a mysterious guy who's busy getting his life together or something like that. "Anyway, you wanna go somewhere today? Maybe watch a movie or take a walk at the park?" He suggested as his hands landed on his shoulders gently.
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starliis · 2 months ago
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(2) milk & honey— sinners.
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 pairing
elias "stack" moore & elijah "smoke" moore x black! reader.
 synopsis
one knew better than to look twice at the smoke-stack twins. but ain’t nobody ever said that once they set their eyes on you, it would already be too late. between their rough hands and honeyed lies, you learned real quick— it ain’t no sin if you ain’t plannin’ to repent. you belonged to them now. and they weren’t the kind to truly ever let go.
 warnings
sexual content, in other words smut, childhood lovers, mentions of possessiveness, some pining, romance, infatuation. african american reader; black representation. rooted in the 1930s, language heavy; cursing. written in a southern tone.
•  part one of milk & honey.
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Their lips felt like honey—so rich with delicate temptation, soft, but burnin’ with passion.
In the thick of the moment, their hands started roamin', greedy and sure—like they was tryna memorize every inch of you. They always had them big ol' hands, the kind that gripped your thighs like nothin', pushin' your body around like it weighed air. Feelin' their lips on your skin, slidin' over the silk, then findin' yours—it had you moanin' soft, breath catchin' in your throat. The feel of it all was too damn familiar.
"Hol' on," Smoke muttered, glancin' 'round like he was scannin' the treeline. "Not out here."
"Why? You scared, nigga?" Stack let out a low, rough chuckle, that devilish grin stretchin’ across his face as his mouth kept workin’ that sweet, sensitive spot on your neck—slow an’ sinful, like he knew just what he was doin’. He tugged you in closer, strong hands findin’ your waist as he leaned back against the hood of the car, real casual-like. The metal was warm from the engine, but it was nothin’ compared to the heat rollin’ off him—an’ Lord, you could feel that pressure buildin’ in his slacks, plain as day. Firm, thick, and waitin’.
“Don’t need nobody layin’ eyes on her. I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—an’ you damn well know that.”
"Nigga, we ain't playin' when it come to her—,” Stack shot back, smooth as whiskey, eyes never leavin' you. “I’d beat a muhfucka down, no talkin’. Easy.”
Lettin' out a low laugh, you start draggin' a finger slow down your thigh, eyes bouncin' between the two of 'em.
“Y’all talkin’ like I ain’t standin’ right here,” you purred, voice syrupy sweet as molasses. You slipped from their grip, slow and deliberate, pullin’ the shawl from your shoulders and lettin’ it fall to the dirt like it ain’t cost a damn thing. “If they dumb ‘nough to be out here watchin’, then we oughta’ give ’em a lil’ show.”
With a soft grin, you slid the straps of your silk dress down, lettin’ it fall around your ankles, leavin’ you standin’ there in nothin’ but your underthings. Both of ‘em froze. That look in their eyes? Pure trouble. Jaws tight, muscles flexin’, like they were fightin’ every urge not to tear into you right then and there.
“Damn,” Stack pushed off the car, his voice thick when he muttered, “Pretty lil’ thing.”
He swept you up without missin’ a beat, landin’ a sharp smack on your behind that made you let out a startled laugh. He set you down on the hood of the car, the metal still warm beneath your thighs. Then his lips found your skin—trailin’ slow and sure down your front. His mouth was hot, even through the thin fabric, makin’ you shiver where you sat, half-laid out on that shiny, elegant hood like a gift waitin’ to be unwrapped. He nuzzled lower, breath warm, lips pressin’ through the cloth restin’ over your chest. His tongue flicked just enough to pull a gasp from your lips, your hips jerkin’ up toward his mouth like you didn’t have no shame.
Smoke let out a low breath, tension easin’ from his broad shoulders. He stood close, watchin’—dark eyes locked on yours—as his hand reached for yours, thumb drawin’ slow, lazy circles over your skin while he licked his lips like he was starvin’.
Breathless, your head fell back, eyes on the rustin’ roof beams of that old sawmill, breath comin’ shallow and quick. The cicadas screeched louder now, like the world was tryin’ its damnedest to drown y’all out. But it couldn’t. Not over the sounds you were makin’. Not over the feel of their hands on you.
Stack glanced up, eyes dark and heavy, full of heat. “You want this, baby?”
‘Course you nodded—barely though. Couldn’t even find your voice. Your fingers cradled the back of his neck, tuggin’ gentle, but firm enough to tell him yes. That’s when Stack leaned down again, kissin’ a slow trail up your belly, toward your thighs.
“Ain’t no goin’ back now—,” he drawled against your skin, shootin’ one last grin up at you. He hooked the tips of his fingers ’round the edge of your panties, draggin’ ‘em down nice and slow, ‘fore settlin’ in like a man on a mission. “We gon’ ruin ya’ good.”
And Lord, you wanted 'em to.
His dark eyes glazed over at the sight of your glistenin’, pulsin’ little button, soaked and achin’ for attention. He slung one of your legs over his shoulder, then sank right in—tongue teasin’ them folds before slidin’ up to your clit, lickin’ like he’d been starvin’ for you. Every stroke was intense, unhurried, and filled with a kind of reverence that made your breath hitch and a moan slip loose from your lips.
Stack had them strong, calloused hands grippin’ your thighs firm, keepin’ you open for him. That brown skin of yours was soft as sin against his palms, and he groaned low in his throat, mouth still workin’ you like his favorite meal. Ever since the first time, he knew he was addicted—couldn’t get enough of your thighs, couldn’t stay away from bein’ buried between ’em.
A hum rumbled deep in his chest when he felt you rub on his head, your hips twitchin’ as he devoured you, slow and greedy. He loved watchin’ you fall apart—loved the way your pretty little moans echoed off the walls like a hymn. You tasted so damn sweet on his tongue, he was damn near dizzy with it.
“Fuck. Elias.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, refusin’ to come up for air. Didn’t mean he wasn’t watchin’ you though— both of ‘em watchin’ the way your face twisted up in pure pleasure. See, Stack was a student of your body, and he’d learned every little thing that made you melt. Smoke, grew impatient, he leaned against the hood and took a perked nipple in his mouth. Suckin’ and addin’ to your buildin’ pleasure.
Takin’ it like a prayer, chest risin’ with every shaky breath as he slid his middle and index fingers along your slick entrance. And when he worked ’em inside, it was like the world faded out—all that existed was sensation. You arched back, gaspin’ like you were drownin’ in him, beggin’ without words for more.
And Lord, he gave it.
He gave until your thighs were tremblin’, until his chin was glistenin’ with that holy nectar only you could give. He didn’t speak—just looked up at you with them deep eyes full of care and heat. Even with all that hunger, all that want, he still held you like you were precious.
But still, that sober mind of yours couldn’t help but feel a little shy, a little overwhelmed at how easy it was to come undone beneath him. Like he’d seen parts of you too tender, too raw. Like he was worshipin’ you—chastin’ you with every stroke of that tongue.
Smoke had moved in—quiet, steady, his eyes never leavin’ you.
“That’s ‘nough,” he said low, voice smooth like aged bourbon, but firm as steel. “Ya’ got her all warmed up. Now move on ‘long.”
Stack backed off with a smug little smirk, tongue runnin’ over his bottom lip. “Don’t take too long. She already tremblin’.”
And you were. Smug muthafucka. Your thighs, your hands, your breath—all of it flutterin’ like a moth to flame. He was a certified eater, somethin’ different.
Smoke stepped between your legs, thumb draggin’ across your cheek before his fingers slid into your hair, tiltin’ your head just how he wanted it. His gaze searched your face, slow and intense.
“I missed you, Silk.”
That sweetness caught you off guard.
He usually kept his feelin’s locked up tight, like he was scared to let too much show. Sure, he had his vulnerable moments—but this? The way he said it? It weren’t just words. It was low and honest, full of weight. Like it crawled straight outta his soul. You felt it in your chest, breath hitchin’, heart knockin’ hard against your ribs like it recognized somethin’ in him. Like it’d been waitin’ on that exact moment.
He was lookin’ at you different now. Eyes a bit softer. Jaw relaxed. Like he’d finally dropped whatever wall he’d been hidin’ behind. You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinkin’ back a tear you didn’t even know was there.
“I missed ya’ too,” you whispered, pullin’ closer till your chest brushed his. Your hands reached for his face, thumbs grazin’ along his jaw, tender. “So fuckin’ much.”
His arms came around you then—strong, warm, familiar. And for a second, the whole world got quiet. None but him breathin’ into your neck, and you holdin’ him like he might slip away again if you didn’t.
“You trust me?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe.”
“Nah, baby—,” he murmured, leanin’ in so close you could feel the heat of his mouth brushin’ yours. “You gone have to say it.”
“I trust ya’,” you whispered, and that was all he needed.
He kissed you then—deep, claimin’, the kind that made your toes curl. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, the other slidin’ down your back to press you closer, chest to chest. His mouth moved like he knew every part of you already, like he’d dreamed it a hundred times over and now he was finally starvin’ no more.
When he pulled back, your lips felt swollen, dazed, and he just looked at you for a second, real quiet, like he was tryin’ to memorize this moment before he ruined it.“Lay back f’r me—,” he drawled, voice thick as sin and twice as temptin’.
With even hesitatin’, you leaned back, stretchin’ out across that car hood like you belonged there. Moonlight slid over your skin, kissin’ it like silver fire—makin’ you shine just for him.
And Smoke? He got to work quick, fingers unbucklin’ his belt with practiced ease.
“Told ya’, Silk,” he muttered, hand slidin’ down to free himself, his voice low and hungry. “I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—now lay real still and let me show ya’ just what that means.”
Lawd, it was a sight. Both them men. Built like sin dipped in honey. Shoulders broad, arms carved from hard work, and bodies that knew nothin’ but sweat and fight. Ain’t no fluff on ’em—just muscle, power, and pure heat. But it was what sat between his hips that had you strugglin’ to breathe. Long, thick, and pretty—veins standin’ proud like they was waitin’ for your touch. It pulsed like it remembered you, just as much as your body remembered him.
It’d been a minute since you laid eyes on it, let alone felt it. But your body didn’t care nothin’ ’bout time. Nah, it answered him loud and clear—heat rushin’ through you, thighs shiftin’, breath catchin’. You was embarrassed by how fast your want rose up, but damn if you could help it. You wanted him.
Eager. Desperate. Drenched in need.
And the worst part? He knew. They knew.
Stack was watchin’, strokin’ himself to the sight of you.
He was leaned back against the car, one hand workin’ slow, eyes locked on where Smoke had you laid out like a feast. Lips parted, breath shallow, dick heavy in his grip—he looked damn near feral, but patient. Like he was savorin’ every second before it was his turn.
His eyes traced every curve of you, glintin’ like heat lightning in the dark. “Look at our girl—,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse with want. “Laid out like a blessin’.”
Smoke, then stepped in between your legs, slow and sure, like a man approachin’ his altar. He gripped your thighs, thumbs pressin’ soft circles into your skin, and leaned down—mouth ghostin’ over your lips before he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d missed it. Like he’d been thinkin’ ’bout nothin’ but you since the last time you let him in.
“Ain’t nothin’ else in this world I need more than this right here,” he murmured against your mouth, voice all thick molasses and heat.
Then he slid in—slow, deep, heavy. A groan rumbled out his chest, rollin’ over your skin like thunder as your body stretched around him, pullin’ him in tight. He moved with that Southern patience, like he had all night. Every stroke hit deep, tender and steady, makin’ you whimper, makin’ your eyes roll back.
“Elijah,” you whine softly.
“Mmm-hmm,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, filled with that soft fire. “There she go,” one hand came up to cradle your jaw as he rocked into you. “Look at me, [Name]. Let me see ya’ fall ‘part.”
And you did.
Bitin’ your lip, body tremblin’, you let go beneath him. Let him love you how only Smoke could—full of control, full of reverence. When you clenched ‘round him, cryin’ his name like a prayer, he dipped his forehead to yours, ridin’ it out with you, stayin’ buried deep until every bit of his need poured into you slow and warm.
He pulled back, breathin’ hard, eyes heavy-lidded with affection and heat. But before the sweat even cooled on your skin—
“Move over, nigga,” came Stack’s voice, low and wild with a grin on his lips and sin in his eyes.
Barely catchin’ your breath, this crazy-ass boy went and hooked your leg up high, steppin’ between them thighs like he owned the whole damn place. Stack didn’t ask—he never did. He just took, like the firecracker he was. Picked you up like you weighed nothin’, holdin’ you flush against him, muscles flexin’ under your hands.
He’d always been the wild one—reckless, hungry for life, always lookin’ for the next thrill. And this? This position he had you in? Had you clingin’ to him like a lifeline. Arms wrapped tight ‘round his shoulders, legs locked at his waist, breath hitchin’ as his mouth got busy on your neck—kissin’, suckin’, bitin’ like he was claimin’ you all over again.
His hand slid down, rough and eager, guidin’ that thick wood into your heat—feelin’ every bit of what Smoke had left behind. And Lord, he growled, deep in his throat.
“Damn, ya’ messy,” he laughed, but there was nothin’ but hunger in his voice. “Been thinkin’ ’bout this all damn day.”
He didn’t ease in like Smoke. Nah—Stack hit like fire.
He filled you up with one smooth, greedy thrust, and you damn near lost your mind right then and there.
“Shit,” Stack hissed, head droppin’ to your shoulder as he held you up like nothin’. “You so tight ‘round me—clenchin’ like you missed it.”
And truth be told, you did.
His hands gripped under your thighs, holdin’ you steady while he started movin’—hips rollin’ like waves, not just slammin’ into you, but grindin’, hittin’ deep, hittin’ home. He wasn’t just tryin’ to fuck—he was tryin’ to make you feel it in your bones.
“Shit. Yes,” you moan ‘loud.
“Look at ya’,” he drawled, kissin’ your jaw, your ear, voice thick with pride. “Already shakin’ f’r me, baby. Damn. I ain’t even got started yet.”
He walked you to the side of the car, settin’ your back flat on the hood while his body hovered over yours—all heat and hunger. The stars above flickered like they was watchin’ in awe. Stack ran his tongue down your chest, takin’ his time, suckin’ at every dip of skin like he was memorizing it all over again.
“You know I love ya’, right?” he murmured against your breast, voice crackin’ soft like a secret. “Love how ya’ moan, how ya’ take me, how ya’ let me go wild wit’ it.”
Then he buried himself again, this time rougher—hips smackin’ against you as he let go of all that restraint. His hand reached down to circle your clit, thumb movin’ in perfect rhythm with each thrust, and your back arched clean off the car.
Cryin’ out his name, and he laughed—boyish and breathless.
“That’s right, baby. Say my name, say it loud. Let Smoke hear it too.”
Then you came hard, legs lockin’ around him, body shudderin’ while he kept drivin’ into you like a storm rollin’ through the bayou. Voice gone, body wrecked from one man and bein’ broken in by the next—but you loved it. Loved them. The way they touched you different, but held you the same. Like you were somethin’ precious. Somethin’ theirs.
And Stack? He didn’t stop ‘til he gave you every last drop he had—spillin’ into you like it was his God-given right. Chest to chest, skin sticky with sweat, he collapsed on top of you with a low groan.
“Damn near saw the Lord just now,” he muttered against your collarbone, laughin’ breathlessly.
Smoke came up behind y’all, kissin’ your temple, that slow smile on his lips.
“You good, baby?” he asked, hand slidin’ over your stomach, down to where the mess of love and sweat clung between your thighs.
All you could do was nod, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, heart poundin’.
Because between the two of them—you ain’t never known a love so wild, so deep, so Southern. Your body was still tremblin’, nerves hummin’ from bein’ stretched and filled by the both of ‘em. Sweat clung to your skin, coolin’ in the soft night breeze, and your breath came out in shaky little puffs like you’d just outrun a storm.
Stack was the first to move—he always was. Still catchin’ his breath, he lifted off you careful-like, like he didn’t wanna let go but knew you needed space to come back to yourself. His palm slid over your side, reverent, his touch whisper-light.
“Aight now, c’mon baby,” he said softly, voice deep and syrupy. “Let’s get ya’ cleaned up, yeah?”
He reached into the backseat, grabbin’ one of them soft flannel shirts he always kept around, and gently wiped between your thighs—tender, like you were made of glass. You winced a little, and he stilled.
“I got ya’,” he whispered, kissin’ your knee, your hip, your stomach like he was sayin’ sorry without the words. “I ain’t mean to go so rough—just… damn, I missed ya’.”
Reachin’ down, your hand tanglin’ in his beard, thumb brushin’ his skin.
“I know, baby. Me too,” you murmured.
Smoke came round next, eyes darker now, but soft. He crouched beside the car hood, layin’ a gentle hand on your cheek. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, then your jaw, eyes studyin’ you like you were his favorite book.
“You good, Silk?” he asked, voice quiet, almost boyish. “Need some water? Somethin’ sweet?”
Shakin’ your head slow, still dazed, eyes glossy with love, you answer him softly. “I don’t need nothin’ else. Just y’all. I love y’all.”
Stack came back, slidin’ his strong arms under you like he’d done it a thousand times. Lifted you like you didn’t weigh more’n a breeze, settin’ you gentle in his lap on the old blanket stretched out in the back of the car seats. Your back rested warm against his chest, his heartbeat steady behind you.
Smoke slid in close beside you, stretchin’ out with a little grunt as he curled up at your side. His palm found your thigh, drawin’ slow, soothing circles like he was tryin’ to anchor you right there with him.
Above y’all, the stars were shinin’ like spilled sugar across black velvet—bright, scattered, holy. The cicadas had gone quiet, leavin’ behind nothin’ but the hush of wind and the thump of three hearts beatin’ close.
“We love you too,” Smoke said low, his voice thick like molasses on a warm biscuit. “An’ we gon’ keep on lovin’ you like this… ‘til lonely ain’t nothin’ but a memory.”
Stack leaned down, pressin’ a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, arms still wrapped tight ‘round your waist.
“Our girl,” he murmured against your skin. “Always have been. Always will be.”
And you—tired, full, wrapped in their warmth like a lullaby—just smiled. Sunk deeper into the cradle of their bodies, heart settled, soul quiet. Let yourself drift, safe and loved, right there in the arms of two men who’d burn the whole damn South down for you.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────
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sillyswriting · 5 months ago
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: ̗̀➛ zombie apocalypse simon 'ghost' riley - 02
cw : gore details, sexual theme
ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcollection - prev ⋆ next
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it had been a rough winter. the heavy snow and the amount of dead in the cities had forced you and simon to retire into a small cottage you had stumbled onto. you had stayed there for the entire winter. it was safer this way, that's what simon had said.
it was almost absurd how domestic your life had been back in this cabin. simon would go out to hunt, raid anything he could find, and bring it home to be fixed or used. you knew he was still searching for the one thing he truly needed: a radio. but it seemed harder and harder to find. you'd stay at home, read, cook—but simon wouldn't let you go out with him. you had begged and cried. what if something happened to him?
he had reassured you—he'd survived years in the SAS, fought terrorism, and prevented a nuclear apocalypse; it wasn't some undead that were going to kill him. and he had been right. every time he went out, he came back full of resources.
"get more done knowin' you're safe, ain't i?" he grumbled when you marveled at his findings.
at night, you'd cuddle up on the mattress simon had brought in front of the fireplace. you didn't know what it was, but simon had opened up to you. he told you a bit about his old life, his past job in the sas, then the task force, and he spoke a lot about his teammates. you could tell he missed them, but you could never truly understand the bond that tied them together.
the biggest change had been the fact that he had let go of his balaclava. he had shown you his face. and truly, you had never seen anyone that beautiful before. sure, he had scars, and his features were hard, after years of fighting, but god, he was handsome. and you had told him. he hadn't believed you. so you showed him.
that night had been magical, truly one of the best in your life. that night, it had been the first time simon didn’t fuck you. he made love to you. even though the words hadn’t been exchanged between you, you both had felt it.
it had been heartbreaking when spring came, forcing you away from your little heaven. you knew simon was on a mission, but you had hoped maybe you'd become important enough for him to decide to stay. when you'd ask why you couldn't stay here, he had been very blunt with you. now, he needed to go further and further away to find anything, putting you and himself in danger. he had added: "you also know i’m lookin' for people, don’t ya?" as if to remind you what you had accepted when he offered you'd stay with him.
so, you left the cabin.
and now you were getting closer to bristol, because for some reason, simon had a gut feeling about this city. it made you anxious, it was a big city, and big cities meant a lot of people… of dead people. even though over the year you’d spent together, simon had taught you self-defense and how to shoot a gun, you were still very wary about killing people. "they're already dead, luv. just doin' 'em a favor," he had told you, but it didn’t change the fact that they had once been people. so you let simon do all the killing, and he didn’t mind.
he was a good dog, defending what was his. he had been trained for that.
simon had found a cute little house to stay the night. his head was on your naked chest, snoring softly, but you couldn't sleep. tomorrow you'd be in bristol, and you had a terrible feeling about it. you couldn't shake it off; it stuck to you. as if he had a sixth sense, simon moved, pulling you onto his chest. the way he manhandled you awakened something in you. when he asked what was wrong, you just told him you couldn't sleep.
"know a way to knock you out, luv. wanna give it a go?"and as his hips connected with yours, his usual praises and grunts turned into something more. "i fucking love ya, not lettin’ anything happen to ya." and that triggered your own pleasure. you fell asleep before you could say it back.
you had been right. bristol was a mess. and as you pulled an injured simon with you toward the back of the shop where you were currently, you hoped none of the dead would reach you before. simon was heavy, limping, and on the verge of consciousness. you guessed you had the dead to thank for his life.
you had stumbled into a group of men. one look at them and you knew they were trouble. they looked at you as if you were the first woman they’d seen in months, and you probably were. they offered simon food and munitions in exchange for, well, you. you couldn’t even fathom what they wanted to do to you.
if it had been any other man, they would have given you away in fear of conflict. but not simon. he fired the first shot. you had never seen him in action, he was a killing machine. but he was outnumbered, and when the bullets ran dry, the remaining men jumped him. one stabbed his thigh, while another threw punches at his face. one of them was restraining you, as you screamed at them to stop, telling them you'd leave with them.
you had been saved by the dead. the guns had made a lot of noise, surely alerting all the living and dead things from kilometers around. luckily, they had attacked the vile men first, as if they knew. you didn’t wait around to see; you picked up simon and ran. you had never been to bristol, you didn’t know the city. you spotted what looked like a butcher shop, and your brain pictured the cold storage room, so you ran there.
now you had simon's head on your lap, begging him not to fall asleep as you rummaged through your bags for a medical kit. looking down, you saw no reaction from him. outside, you heard noises—it sounded alive. if the men had escaped and found you, they would kill you. you knew it. more tears slid down your cheeks as you reached for simon's knife—a poor defense if they had guns.
the footsteps were getting closer, your breathing growing heavier.
as the door opened, you were met with two new men. you relaxed a bit, but then it hit you—they could be from the same group. you hadn't seen all of them.
"drop the knife, now, yae!" the first man said—a scot. the second man beside him was eyeing simon. you could see the skepticism in their eyes. were they thinking it was a trap?
raising your hands slowly, you let the knife go, letting it slide a few meters away from where you were on the floor. they hadn't killed you on sight—maybe that was a good thing, right?
"dead or bitten?" the scot asked again, nodding at simon. you whispered that it was neither—he was stabbed. they didn’t lower their guns, and they still hadn’t stopped eyeing you suspiciously. you were not above begging for your life, but just as you were about to, another man stepped into the room.
he was older, a weird beard adorning his face. now that you thought about it, this trio felt familiar—a handsome man, a scot, and an old bearded man. no, they couldn’t be?
"simon?" the old man asked, his eyes landing on the man in your lap. both men beside him looked back at you, surprised.
fuck. you hadn’t been the one to find them—they’d found you.
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ozarkthedog · 4 months ago
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𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲
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pairing: Jackson!Joel x afab!reader
warnings: 18+ mdni. dirty talking Joel. some pussy play. pussy pronouns. allusion to sex. w.c: under 500
an: I had a thot and this is the tiny result. 💙
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫
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Warm, golden rays are pouring through the kitchen window in Joel's Jackson home when he finds you bent over, inspecting the contents of his fridge for. You must've grabbed his blue jean button-up when you woke up, the one he tugged off in a hurry last night, leaving him wondering where you ran off to when he rolled over and found the side of his bed warm to the touch.
Your bare ass peaks from under the worn material when you shift on your feet, gifting him a vivid glimpse of the place he swore he called home hours ago. Joel curses under his breath as blood rushes south.
Before he can think, he weaves his hands around your hips, yanking you into his clothed body, a high-pitched yelp tearing from your lips. Your ass cushions his pelvis as his hold on you grows tight.
Joel drags his nose along the curve of your neck as you squirm in his arms, and he winds his hands around your waist, settling his palms on your soft, bare belly. 
"You look real good wearin' my shirt, Darlin'. I'm thinkin' this is all you wear from now on."
You sag against his frame, a wall of warmth and safety; your hands barely fit around his wrists as you clutch him for support. The thought of being so bare to him has your stomach tumbling. Your back arches, testing his vice lock around your middle, seeing if he'll let you escape, but a rough hand slides north and presses between your breasts, a subtle warning as he easily keeps you pinned. 
"Got you right where I wan' ya," he husks, slowly grinding his half hard cock against your ass. "An I ain't lettin' ya go anytime soon."
The hand that clutches his wrist travels south as he moves; thick fingers creep through the curls that cover your mound before cupping your sensitive flesh. "Gonna be good? Lemme fill you again before day breaks?"
With a breathy mewl, your head lolls. You press your weight into the hand on your sternum as nimble fingers dip between your folds, gathering arousal and swirling a slick pad over your clit.
"Bet that pretty pussy would love bein' on display for me," He husks, "Lettin' me claim 'er whenever I want."
A pathetic gasp fills your lungs. Heat rises steadily in your belly, raging and consuming, setting every nerve ablaze. You grab the counter, hands clutching the top in a death grip as the faint sound of a zipper registers in your brain.
"I'd hold on tight if I were you," Joel teases, flipping the bottom of the blue jean button up over your hips so he can get a front-row view just as his cock catches on your weeping hole. "Cause I plan on fuckin' 'er until she's cryin' all over the kitchen floor."
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feel free to scream at me -> 💌
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strangersteddierthings · 8 months ago
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Made With Love
It takes one bite for Eddie to suspect he's done something wrong. A second bite confirms it. He's fucked up somehow and cannot for the life of him remember what it was.
Did he miss an important date of some sort? It couldn't have been their anniversary because that's August 13th (Eddie's new favorite day of the year, for obvious reasons). He absolutely didn't miss Steve's birthday. Not with how long he and Robin had spent planning the damn thing. (Eddie is never throwing another surprise party in his life; the stress of secret keeping was too much to bear.)
... Did he miss Robin's birthday?
No. That can't be. Steve would never let him miss that.
It could be one of the Party's birthdays, but Eddie doesn't think that's a transgression that would warrant this.
This, of course, being his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"What, your peanut butter's gone bad?"
Eddie lifts his eyes from the proof of Steve's anger at him to his coworker, Charlie, sitting across the table from him in the closet that Thatcher claims is the break room. "No. It's much worse than that, I'm afraid."
"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Charlie deadpans.
"This sandwich wasn't made with love," Eddie whines, looking back at the sandwich with as much sorrow as he can muster. He sets the sandwich down on the baggy he had pulled it out of so that he can frown down at it without having to touch the offending creation.
"Ah shit," Charlie says, voice filled with empathy. This is why he's Eddie's favorite coworker. He gets it. Possibly because he's the only person who's tasted the difference for himself, back when Eddie'd just started at Thatcher Tires. "What'd'ya do?"
"I don't know!" Eddie wails. "Everything was fine when I left this morning, or I thought it was anyway."
"Ain't your misses pretty good at lettin' you know you done fucked up?" Charlie, like the best coworker that he is, looks surprised that Eddie doesn't know what he's done. He's right, too. Steve is the goddamn king of petty, and Eddie has never struggled to know when Steve's mad at him. The struggle usually comes from Eddie refusing to be in the wrong.
(That's not to say that Eddie is always in the wrong. He's not. Sure, a good percent of their arguments Eddie is the one at fault and he's mature enough to admit so once the argument is over, but it's not always his fault.)
Anyway, the point is, regardless of who's at fault, Steve is angry at him about something and for the first time in months Eddie doesn't know what for. They'd promised each other, after their first very big fight that almost ended in a breakup and was over a misunderstanding, that they would tell each other why they're mad or upset or feeling some type of way. So for Eddie to not know...
He thinks he might have fucked up big time.
"I know!" Eddie cries, shoving the sandwich away from him to make room to drop his forehead onto the table, then turns to smoosh his cheek against the table so he can look at Charlie. "Charlie. Charlie what do I do?"
Charlie blows out a long breath, thinking, before he gives a decisive nod and says, "you gotta beg forgiveness."
Eddie knows Charlie's right. He doesn't know what he did but he's going to beg forgiveness anyway.
Which is how he now finds himself in the small floral section of the grocery store looking over the sad, wilted bouquets after work. His arms are already full with Steve's favorite ice cream, candies, an over-priced little blue teddy bear that's holding an 'It's A Boy!' card that Eddie plans to rip off, and a blank card with a painting of sunflowers on it that he plans to wax poetry about Steve inside.
The final part of his groveling is, of course, the flowers. It's the wrong season for sunflowers, so Eddie was going to settle for roses. It's just that these roses are all sad looking. They don't really scream 'I Love You More Than Anything Else In The World, Please Forgive Me For What I've Done' though.
Let it never be said that Eddie doesn't know how to beg forgiveness.
He ends up picking the least wilted looking bouquet, one with white and yellow flowers he can't name.
The cashier is an older lady who takes quick catalogue of his items and asks, "is it your anniversary, darling? Or, oh!" She picks up the blue bear and Eddie feels his ear heating with embarrassment as she coos, "are you expecting? How exciting!"
"Err, no, not, uh, no. It's just blue is hi-her favorite color, so I was planning to just cut off the little card," Eddie stutters out the lie. Blue isn't Steve's favorite color but Eddie's used to making up many little lies when talking to strangers. Being hate-crimed is not a passion of Eddie's. "I, uh, messed up. And I don't know what I did, but I'm going to make it right."
The lady smiles at him and gives him a firm nod as she scans the items. "Smart boy. I'm sure she'll forgive you."
Eddie gives her a smile he hopes isn't as tight-lipped as it feels on his face.
Back in the safety of his van, Eddie roots around until he finds a pen and gets to writing all the things he loves about Steve in the card and all the things he hopes they'll get to have in the future. Nothing they haven't spoken about before, but it still makes Eddie a little emotional writing it all down.
Once he's done writing, he pulls his pocket knife out and cuts off the 'It's A Boy' card from the bear, crumpling it up and tossing it in the back of the van to be forgotten. He shoves the sunflower card in it's place. His card is a bit wider than the previous one here so it stays in place, albeit precariously. He'll be careful handing it over to Steve.
He knows that Steve is at home already. Steve's always home first because he's off work at four compared to Eddie getting off work around five.
Well. Closer to five-thirty today with his stop at the grocery store. He really hopes that whatever has Steve mad at him isn't time related. Being late home without calling might earn him no favors if it's a time-based blunder.
Steve is in the kitchen, back to the door since he's facing the stove, as Eddie expected he might be. Which means that Eddie doesn't get to lay out all his Items of Forgiveness across the counter like he had hoped but that's okay. If the love of his life has chosen to forgive him, he knows Steve will be just as overjoyed to rifling through a bag of goodies as he would to pick them off the counter.
"Hi sweetheart," Eddie says, words oozing with adoration and sweetness.
"Hi baby," Steve's tone matches Eddie's, like an instinct to match Eddie's energy has written itself into Steve's DNA. And it might have. Eddie knows the reverse is true.
Steve turns from the stove, then, and his face lights up with delight and surprise. "What's all this?"
"Your favorite things, because I love you," Eddie says, raising his arms a bit. The grocery bag is looped over his wrist with flowers in one hand and the bear in the other.
Steve looks positively smitten.
Eddie is nailing this apology that isn't an apology. And let it be known; he cannot say he's sorry. It'll ruin everything. Because Steve, his wonderful, beautiful, kind and loving Stevie, will cock one perfect little caterpillar eyebrow and ask if Eddie knows what he's apologizing for, and Eddie will have to say he doesn't know and that isn't something he's willing to do. Especially not when it's looking like whatever Steve was mad about has completely slipped Steve's mind, too.
"I got your favorite ice cream, too, so we might want to get that into the freezer," Eddie says, passing the bear and card to Steve and shimmying around him to get to the freezer.
He lays the flowers on the counter and sets to emptying the bag. Ice cream in the freezer and goodies on the counter, while Steve reads the card silently behind him.
He knows he's successfully made up for whatever it was he had done, because Steve crowds him against the fridge shortly after setting the card down and turning the stove burner off, kissing him breathless.
Eddie even gets desert before dinner, with Steve all but dragging him to their bedroom.
-
The reddit post that inspired this -
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rickydoodahgrimez · 6 months ago
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𝞋𝞎 ─────── 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧
pairing: rick grimes x reader
summary: the governor seems to have taken you hostage because of his last conversation with rick. but only if he knew that taking you was the worst thing he could have done.
warnings: swearing, gore, violence, kidnapping, angst, torture, yelling, descriptions of injury & blood, weapons use, death and a bit of possessiveness (from rick)
word count: 4.0 k
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𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄.
Not even when his dead ex—wife Lori was about to give birth and they didn't have a place for her to deliver the baby. And not when the farm was burning down and they were on the road for months, starving, desperate, barely hanging on.
But this was different. This was you.
You, who had been by his side since he met you. You, who saw through the cracks in his armor, who never flinched when he fell apart behind closed doors. You, who held Judith like she was your own, whispering soft reassurances when the nights were too quiet, too dangerous.
You, who stood beside him, gun in hand, every single time, ready to protect your family. You, who made him believe—if only for a second—that there was something worth surviving for.
And now you were gone.
His hands were trembling, but he clenched them into his fists, multiple times out of anger, as the quietness of the prison enveloped him. Perhaps, it was too quiet.
Not the calming kind of the quiet, but the kind of quiet that settled deep into Rick's chest and squeezed, making it hard for him to even breathe.
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him—Daryl, Hershel, Glenn, Carol, Maggie, Michonne, Tyreese—but he didn't care. All he cared about was you and the thought of you being alone, out there with him, the Governer, made him sick to his fucking core.
“We need to go. Now.” His voice was rough, strained, and held a barely restrained edge of panic.
“Rick.” Hershel’s voice was calm and firm but all Rick heard was the static buzzing in his ears. “You’re no good to her like this.”
Rick’s head snapped up, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it. We don’t have time. Every second we waste, she’s—” He cut himself off, his throat tightening painfully. He couldn’t say it. “I ain’t sittin’ here, not while she’s out there with him.”
Daryl shifted beside him, crossbow slung over his shoulder, eyes dark and unreadable. “Ain’t sayin’ we don’t go after her.” He said, voice low and even. “But we go in half—cocked, we’re in trouble. She needs us alive.”
Rick swiped a hand over his face, the stubble scraping his palm. His breath was coming too fast, too shallow. The thought of you—hurt, trapped—sent something ugly clawing inside his chest. He couldn’t let himself picture it. Couldn’t let himself feel it.
“She ain’t got time.” He said, his voice quieter now but no less desperate. “We gotta go now. We don’t wait. I ain’t lettin’ that son of a bitch keep her another second.”
His gaze flicked around the group, searching for any hesitation, any sign of doubt. He started walking, his hand on his rifle, his jaw clenched and a fire in his eyes. He was about to open the cell door to leave when a figure appeared in front of him.
Michonne appeared in front of him, her katana strapped to her back, staring him in the eyes.
“Michonne.” Rick gritted out, staring at her furiously. “Move.”
Michonne didn’t budge. “You can’t just walk out there alone.”
Rick’s nostrils flared, his grip tightening on the strap of his rifle. “I ain't askin’.”
Maggie, standing with her arms crossed, exchanged a look with Glenn, worry plain on her face. “Rick, we all want her back. But we go in now, we’re walkin’ into a slaughter.”
Rick didn't turn around but his chest heaved. He knew they were right, but logic didn’t matter in his mind—not when it came to you. He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t breathe right.
“She’s tough.” Carol said softly, stepping forward. “She’s strong. She’s holdin’ on. And we are gonna get her back, Rick.”
Rick shook his head and stumbled back. “I shoulda’ been there.” He muttered under his breath. “Shoulda’—shoulda’ protected her.”
His voice cracked, and his shoulders tensed when he realised you weren't there in that moment to put a hand on his shoulder and reassure him.
Daryl clapped a hand on his shoulder instead and Rick flinched at the unfamiliar warmth from his hand. “We’re gonna fix it. But you gotta keep your head, aight?”
Rick closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. “I need her back. I can’t—” He stopped, his throat tightening again. “We move out at sunrise. No longer.”
And if anyone had a problem with it, they could fucking stay behind for all he cares.
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A dull throbbing pain echoes through your skull, dragging you out of your unconsciousness. A bright light immediately hit your eyes and your head lolled to the side, immediately squinting your eyes when a sharp sting stabbing your temple, where dried blood lay.
You shifted more and your felt the cold bite of the chair, sending a shiver up your spine. Your froze and tried to move more, only to realise that your eyes were tied behind your back.
A low groan escaped your lips as you blinked, your vision swimming in and out of focus. There was a dim light above you, casting a dark shadow across the room and then you saw him.
The Governor.
He sat on a chair, in the corner, legs crossed watching you with amusement gleaming in his one eye. “Look who’s finally awake.” He drawled. “I was startin’ to think you wouldn’t make it.”
You swallowed, tasting copper in your mouth and rolled your jaw, trying to relieve the pain. “Sorry to disappoint.” You muttered, voice hoarse. “Hope you dint’ miss me too much.”
The Governor chuckled. “I knew Rick had a thing for the feisty ones.”
Your stomach churned at the mention of Rick, but you didn't show how it affected you and rolled your eyes. “That why you dragged me here? To talk about my love life? Aren't you a gossip girl?”
The Governor gritted his teeth, irritation flicking through his eyes as he stood up, walking towards you. “Actually, darlin’, I brought you here, not only because Rick defied my orders and now I'm teaching him a lesson, but I wanted to see if that smart mouth of yours would hold up after a few. . . reminders.”
“Well sorry to break it to you, darlin’,” You tilted your head and smirked. “But you're not as scary as you think.”
It seemed he didn't like that very much by his fist connecting to your right cheek. Your head snapped to the side and blood dripped from your lip. You let out a ragged breath and your turned your head to face him again, a smirk still playing on your lips.
“Is that really how hard you can go?” You rasped out. “Rick hits harder.”
His eye twitched and his fist flew at your face again, and again, making your vision blur. Your ears were ringing and you were swimming in and out and focus but you refused to let yourself break. Not in front of him. Not ever.
You tasted the sweet but salty metallic taste of blood in your mouth again but you swallowed it down and a weak laugh erupted from your mouth, making the Governor's jaw to clench in irritation.
“You're fucking weak.” You slurred, earning another punch to your face. Your head snapped to the side and you tilted your head back. “Come on, really? I thought you were like, the big bad wolf.”
“You never know when to shut up, do you?” He snapped, his voice low.
“Not when I'm having this much fun.” You smiled fakely and met his gaze head on.
His hand shot out, grabbing your chin in a bruising grip, forcing your head back. “You think this is fun?” He sneered, tightening his fingers on your jaw. “Let's see how fun it will be when Rick watches in front of his very eyes as I kill you.”
He let go of your jaw and pushed your head backwards. You pouted mockingly and frowned at him. “Are you sure you want to kill me when I have this pretty face?”
Another punch landed on your face because of your comment and your head snapped to the side once again. You whistled and you used most of your strength to loll you head back so you were facing him.
“You're getting really worked up.” You pointed out, amusement gleaming in your eyes. You then took notice of his knuckles that were now dripping blood. “You should really go and clean that up before it gets any worse. You know, don't want your blood mixing with mine. That's so unhygienic.”
There was obvious sarcasm in your voice but the Governor didn't seem to comment or do anything about it. His jaw clenched and a chuckle escaped his mouth. “I can't wait till’ I wipe that grin off your fucking face.”
“Good luck, darlin’.” You called out mockingly as he walked towards the door.
“Let's hope Rick hurries,” He said over his shoulder and then turned to look at you. His eyes roamed over your bloody face but they landed on your bare thighs. “I’d hate for him to find you in worse shape.”
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you in the dimly lit room. You let out a shaky breath eyes flickering to your bare thighs, no trousers, only thing protecting was your underwear.
A cold shiver went down your spine as the weight of his words draped over you like a blanket. Your breath hitched but you refused to show fear — the sick bastard wanted that.
And you would never give him what you wanted.
Swallowing, you shifted in your chair, testing the tightness of the ropes around the wrists. Your jaw clenched as the ropes didn't give in, not even a little. A frustrated sigh erupted from you and you eventually gave up, trying to free your hands.
You looked around, trying to look for something to help you out but there was absolutely nothing in sight for you to use. You couldn’t even use the chair to help you because it was metal. What the fuck?
Sighing, you slumped back into your chair and dropped your head forward. You shut your eyes closed and tried to steady your breathing but you only had one thought one thing in your mind.
Rick, please hurry.
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Rick’s hands moved with precise precision, loading rounds into his rifle. His jaw was tight and his eyes were dark with anger as he loaded a magazine in his pocket.
There was no way in hell he was waiting until sunrise.
His breath was ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears as his hands moved with urgency. The thought of you out there, alone, with him—it made his chest tighten, made his fingers curl a little too tightly around the rifle in his hands. Every second that passed felt like another knife twisting in his chest.
He needed you. Now.
He put down the rifle and grabbed his revolver, slipping it into his holster, when a voice cut through the quiet night.
“You didn't think that you would go without us, did you?”
Rick froze, fingers hovering over the rifle. Slowly, he looked up, his sharp blue eyes finding the rest of them. Standing there was Michonne with her arms crossed and her katana resting easily on her side.
Daryl, with his crossbow already in his hand, a knowing look on his face like he already expected this. Glenn stood next to him, a rifle slung over his shoulder, a tense but resolute expression on his face. Maggie stood behind him, arms crossed and Tyreese stood next to her, nodding at Rick firmly.
Rick sighed, running a hand down his stubble. “Knew I couldn’t slip out without you noticing, huh?”
Glenn stepped forward with a tired smile. “We knew you’d try and sneak off while we were sleeping.”
Daryl huffed, stepping forward with Glenn. “Ain’t your fight alone, man.”
Rick exhaled, nodding, his glaze flickering between all of them. He didn’t necessarily like leaning on others but right now he was very grateful. He swallowed before looking over at them once again.
“Where’s Carol?” He asked gruffly, reaching for his holster.
“She’s stayin’ back.” Maggie answered. “Lookin’ after Judith and Carl with my daddy. Said someone had to keep things together here while we go.”
Rick nodded again, putting the rifle strap over his shoulder. He couldn't argue with that. Carol was smart—she knew what had to be done. But right now, he wasn't focused on that.
“Alright,” Rick said, his voice firm. “Let's go.”
And as they moved through the prison, Rick only had one thing in mind. The Governer had you. And Rick was coming for him.
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Rick had been angsty the entire drive to Woodbury. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight that his knuckles turned white as he sped down the road. His foot pressed harder on the gas pedal was his other leg shaked.
The truck engine roared in response of going faster but Rick didn’t care. All that was on his mind was you.
Michonne had looked at him and had told him to calm down before he drives them all into a ditch. Her exact words.
Her words didn’t exactly help much but no one expected it to. He lost his mind when it came towards you and he was already too far gone. The only thing that was keeping him afloat was that he would deliver you home, safely, in his arms.
However, his mind drifted off to the negatives that made his chest close up. If he couldn't find you. If he touched you—
Rick’s nostrils flared from where he was walking down one of the corridors of the Governor’s house. Explosions were going off in the background which was Glenn and Maggie’s doing.
Footsteps followed behind him as he kicked one of the doors open and quickly looked inside to see if you were there. He repeated the same process for a few more doors down and panic clawed in his chest when he saw you weren’t in any of them.
Shit. Where were you—
“Rick! She's in ‘ere!”
Rick ran the fastest he could in his life. He had his gun raised if anyone else was in the room but the gun in his hand slowly clattered on the floor as he took you in. It felt like as if time slowed.
The sight of you nearly took him to his knees in despair.
Slumped in a chair, all bruised and bleeding. His hands trembled as he roamed his eyes all over you, taking in every cut and every bruise. Your head hung forward, your face swollen and battered and a trail of blood ran down your temple. Your trousers were gone, leaving you in your underwear.
He crossed the room in three long strides, falling to his knees before you with a shaky exhale. His hands were cradling your face with such gentleness that you wouldn't even know that he was angry, if you didn't see the violence in his eyes.
“Oh God,” He murmured, his voice breaking as he stroked your cheek, where dry blood was. “I'm ‘ere, sweetheart, I'm ‘ere.”
At his touch, your eyelids slowly opened and you smiled weakly as you saw him in front of you. “Fucking finally.”
At your words, Rick let out a weak laugh as Daryl worked on untying the ropes behind your back. He pressed a long kiss against your temple and he shut his eyes as he felt tears coming to them. “I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so sorry.”
Once Daryl got your ropes undone, you winced and rolled your shoulders from being in that position for so long. Rick’s hands were on you again, checking you for any more injuries he missed. His eyes landed on your thighs and if possible, his eyes darkened even more as he saw bruises litter all over your thighs to your legs.
He lifted his eyes up to yours but this time, his voice was low and dangerous. “Did he touch you?”
You shook you head, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Not like that. Dickhead just used his fists.”
Rick let out a shuddering breath and took off his jacket, placing it on your legs before picking you up bridal style, making sure you were comfortable.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you heard explosions going on outside, and you craned your head to look up at Rick as he carried you. “Why do I hear explosions?”
Rick walked down the dimly lit corridor, with you in his arms and the rest following behind him, weapons ready. “That's Glenn, sweetheart.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you racked your brain for a ‘Glenn’. “Our Glenn? Pizza delivery guy, Glenn?”
Daryl gave you a look as he walked beside Rick, crossbow in hand. “You kno’ any other Glenn, sunshine?”
You shrugged. “Glen Powell.”
“I think he might be dead by now, sweetheart.” Rick huffed out a laugh as he turned to walk down another corridor. However, the laugh abruptly stopped when he saw there was door at the end of the corridor, a few metres away from where they were supposed to leave.
His eyes darkened, the reminder of what happened to you but then he looked down at you. You looked up at him, somehow knowing what he was thinking and nodded.
Rick took that as consent and gently handed you over to Daryl, who put his crossbow on his back and carried you in his arms. Rick kissed your forehead and you murmured a ‘be safe’ to him.
“Get her out of here. Keep her safe.” Daryl nodded at Rick and left through the exit, towards the outside. Everyone else followed him except Michonne, who looked at him.
“You need help?” Michonne asked and Rick immediately shook his head.
“Nah, need to do this myself.” He gritted out and walked towards the door. He kicked the door open, seeing the back of the Governor and he felt something indescribable rise in him.
I found you, you son of a bitch.
The Governor barely had time to register what was happening before Rick slammed him against the wall, his forearm pressing hard against his throat. The room was dark, the only source of light coming from the corner, casting shadows across Rick’s face and the Governor almost shuddered.
He looked like he came out a fucking nightmare.
“What the hell were you going to do with her?” Rick growled, his voice low, and trembling with barely restrained fury. His eyes were wild, his face inches away from the Governor’s. “You sick son of a bitch.”
The Governor smirked, his one good eye locking onto Rick’s. “She put up a fight, I’ll give her that,” He rasped, his voice dripping with something vile. “But I was just getting started.”
Rick snapped.
His fist connected with the Governor’s face so fast and so hard that there was a sickening crack. The Governor’s head snapped to the side, blood splattering against the wall, but he wasn’t done. Not even close.
He punched him again. And again, until he fell to the floor and Rick straddled him and carried on punching him.
“You touched her?” Rick’s voice was ragged, broken, each word punctuated with another punch. “You thought you could lay a fucking hand on her?”
The Governor’s head lolled to the side, blood streaming from his nose and split lip, but Rick didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. All he could see was you, tied up, bruised, bleeding, and he suddenly went rogue.
Rick’s hands curled around the Governor’s throat, pressing down, his breathing ragged and uneven. His fingers dug into the flesh, cutting off his air, and for a moment, all that existed was the sound of the Governor’s choking gasps and the blood roaring in Rick’s ears.
“I should kill you slow.” Rick seethed, his teeth bared in a snarl. His grip only tightened, his thumbs pressing harder into the man's windpipe. “Make you suffer for what you did to her.”
The Governor clawed weakly at Rick’s arms, his face turning red, then purple. But Rick didn’t feel mercy—not for this sick son of a bitch.
“You don’t get to live.” Rick hissed, his eyes cold, empty. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind screaming at him to finish it, to make sure this shithead never laid eyes on you again.
Surprisingly, he went against his mind and got off the Governer when he heard walkers banging on the door from all the noise inside. He walked towards the door, ignoring the Governor's wheezes behind him.
“However, you don't deserve to have a quick death.” Rick stared the man in the eyes as he pulled open the door, allowing the herd of walkers to enter. The Governor’s eyes widened as he saw what Rick had done and started to scramble away.
Rick hid himself behind the door so he could watch as the walkers walked towards the smell of blood, but hidden enough so they couldn't see him.
He felt a sense of pride when the Governor let out a scream when a walker took a bite out of his arm. The Governor looked at Rick and only saw coldness in his eyes and as he walked away, he started to realise one thing.
He really shouldn’t have fucked with Rick Grimes.
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Rick admired you as you slept on his lap, in the backseats of the car. Daryl was driving and Michonne was in the passenger seat. Maggie, Glenn and Tyreese were in car behind them.
His fingers gently ran through your hair as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. God, even with cuts and bruises littering your face, you were still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his life.
He gently tucked you more into the blanket, making sure you don’t get cold. Because of his action, you stirred and your eyes flickered open slowly.
He noticed and started to gently run his fingers through your hair again. “I’m here,” He said softly, his voice breaking through the quiet of the vehicle. “I’ve got you. Just rest.”
There was something about his tone that made you believe him and you rested back onto his lap, eyes looking up at him. He smiled and rested his hand on your cheek, stroking it softly.
You smiled back, leaning into his hand and your eyes fluttered closed. You let out a breathy sigh and your eyes flutter open again, something like vulnerability in your eyes. “Did you. . .?”
Rick nodded before you could finish and you let out a sigh of relief and took his hand that was stroking your hair and pressed a kiss on the back of it. “Thank you.”
“He had it comin’,” He replied, interlocking your fingers with his. “Shouldn’ have took what was mine.”
You chuckle and then it is silence for a few moments. “How bad do I look?”
“Exactly the same.” He said, smiling at you gently. “Left looking like the most gorgeous girl in the world, came back looking like the most gorgeous girl in the world.”
You rolled your eyes, but still smiled at him. “I love you.”
“Love ya’ more, sweetheart.” He replies and then starts to stroke his fingers through your hair once again. “Go back to sleep. I'll wake ya’ up when Hershel checks on you.”
You nod, exhaling through your nose softly and fluttering your eyes shut. A few minutes later, your sound asleep again, cuddling up on Rick’s lap.
He watches you for a few more moments, his hand still gently brushing over your hair, careful not to wake you. There’s a softness in his eyes that he shows around you, what the others haven't seen in a while.
You shifted in your sleep, nuzzling more into his chest and his arms instinctively tighten around you. He let out a shaky breath and rested his chin on top of your head. His mind travel to tonight’s events before he realised that none of that mattered.
All that mattered was you being in his arms and the steady of your breathing. And as the car drove back to the prison, Rick Grimes made a vow to protect you as long as he shall live.
Because without you, a piece of him was missing.
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rick in this omg 😍
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rowarn · 2 years ago
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afab!reader, gn!reader, simons a fighter, protective!simon, blood mention, fingering, lil bit of mean!simon for flavor <3 MDNI
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simon riley is by all means a "do what you want, i can fight" kind of man. and fight he will. simon will go to the ends of the earth to protect you. and that's always been incredibly hot to you. you'd never had a man so eager to defend you.
especially to the point that simon was. more than once he'd come away from a fight with bloody knuckles and a split lip. 
that's exactly how he looked now, but he also sported a cut across his eyebrow as well. the guy he'd beaten in the alleyway looked much worse, but he got a few good hits in. 
all you knew was that he said some revolting things about you that simon happened to overhear. simon refused to tell you specifics, citing that you didn't need to hear something like that. 
you both had gone home quickly after that. but the sight of simon all beat up, knuckles split and bruised from the force he'd used to beat the man had something stirring in your stomach. butterflies. 
as you cleaned his cuts and wiped away any blood that stained his skin, you could feel the wetness growing in your panties. you clenched your thighs and shifted as that began to uncomfortably stick to your pussy. 
simon, always attentive, noticed right away. his pretty, brown eyes lit up in interest, a brow raised as he watched you shift on your feet. 
"something wrong?" he asked, as if he couldn't tell what was going on. 
"n-nothing, si," you responded sheepishly, tossing the bloody gauze into the garbage can before stepping away. 
simon doesn't let you get very far before his arms are wrapping around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. you can feel the heat radiating off of him and feel how his heart pounds on his chest against your back. craning your neck, you look up at him. 
"ain't nothin'," he says, voice low and quiet, "and i'm not lettin' you walk out of here with that pretty pussy drippin'.''
you swallow around the lump in your throat as he says it. he wraps his big hands around your waist and moves them downwards, slipping under your shirt and pawing at the hem of your sweatpants. he dips his head down so he can kiss along your neck, practically purring when you sink into him. 
he takes the opportunity to slip his fingers under your panties, thick fingers prying your pillowy lips apart. you adjust your stance, leaning back against him for support as you spread your legs a little more so he can slip his fingers further down.
first he glides over your clit, pausing to stroke and roll the tender little bud under his fingers. your whole body twitched at that, trembling hands reaching to grip onto the fabric of his hoodie. your head fell back against his chest, giving him more access to your neck. 
his fingers dip lower, finding your entrance, slick and drooling all over the digits as he strokes back and forth, teasing you with their presence. 
"tell me," his voice vibrates in his chest, deep and low, "what's got you this wet?"
"mmm, d-dunno, si," you lie right through your teeth at him. 
he hums, pulling his fingers away from your sweet little hole to go back to your clit, pinching the bud. you whimper at the feeling, hips rabbing back to get away from the little pain, "you're lyin'. i want you to tell me the truth. what has this pretty little cunt all wet?"
"simon..." you whine. he knows you don't want the embarrassment that comes from the confession but he teases it out of you anyway, "y-you got me wet, si!"
"me?" he grins, wolfish and predatory, "i didn't do anything, love,"
you whine, rocking your hips forward. he took some mercy on you and slowly sunk one, long, finger into the tight clutch of your cunt. the stretch wasn't enough, he knew that, you'd become so accustomed to the fat girth of his cock that one single finger would never be enough to satisfy you now. he'd ruined you. 
"y-you beat that-that guy up for me..." you finally manage to squeeze out of your dry throat, "'s hot..."
he scoffs as if he didn't already know that that was the reason, "you like me beatin' some bastards head in for you?" you nod, sighing in pleasure when he rewards your with a second finger, "you're fuckin' filthy. you think he'd be happy to hear that it turns you on?"
"don't care about him," you quickly answer. 
his grin broadens, "that's the right fuckin' answer, love."
he finally gives you the third and final finger. you keen when he stretches you open on those digits, curling them just right to hit that gooey, spongey little spot inside you. his palm curls around your pelvic bone so the heel of his hand grinds against your clit just how you need to cum nice and hard for him. 
he works his fingers slow and deep, making sure to hit that spot every time he stuffs his fingers back inside you. his other hand comes up, wrapping around your throat to pin your against his chest. you moan freely, clawing at his tattooed arm desperately as you rock your hips against his hand. 
he can hear the wet, slick sounds of him fucking your precious little cunt open. you work your clit feverishly against his hand, helping yourself along to the high you so deserve. you're dripping down his fingers, making a mess of him and yourself but you don't care. 
"'m gonna cum!" you needlessly warn him.
"i know," he grumbles, tilting your head up so he can press his lips against yours, hand still firmly wrapped around your throat. 
he sees your eyes roll back before you melt into the kiss, your orgasm washing over you. he groans when he feels you squeezing and clenching around his fingers, pathetically humping against his hand to work your clit even harder. he slowly strokes that spongey little spot to help ease you through your high. you tremble and clutching desperately at his arm as you start to come down, whimper and panting into his mouth before he lets you pull away. a string of spit connects your lips and you look completely dazed as you gaze up at him. 
he always did enjoy the way a good orgasm had you looking all dumb and pliant for him. 
he pulls his fingers out of your panties and you whine at the loss, watching him bring those cum-covered fingers up to your face. you could see the way the bruises and splits in his knuckles were covered in your cum and had to hold back to keep from moaning at the sight. 
he popped them into his mouth, sighing at the taste of your sweet cum on his tongue. 
before you knew it, he was breezing past you out of the bathroom and down to the living room, no doubt on the hunt for something to eat. 
"simon!" you called petulantly. 
you heard him laugh from the living room, "what?"
"you aren't gonna fuck me?" you complain, feeling heat flood your cheeks when he laughs again.
"dunno, love," his tone is teasing, "we'll see."
ugh. he could be so generous one second and mean the next </3
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mwah here is some food my beloveds
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arthurmorganswh0re · 3 months ago
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A Final Goodbye
about: arthur writes you one last letter tags: angst, mentions of death, illness, regrets an: another angsty lil piece i put together, i thought about what arthurs last words would be to his lover if he had to say goodbye
My girl,
Don't know what good writing this'll do, ain't like I expect you to read it. Ain't like I even have the courage to send it. But the words are sitting heavy in me, and I can't carry em no more. Maybe you'll find it someday, maybe you won't. Either way, it's yours.
I've been thinking about you more and more. Reckon that ain't too surprising. Dutch's hold on me don't compare to yours, yet I let you slip through my fingers like the damn fool I am. I haven't slept proper since the day you left, and maybe that's a sign of the regret I have. I miss you somethin' awful.
I think know you were right, about everything. About Dutch, about the gang. About me not being brave enough to let go of everything for my own sake. I wish I had listened to you, left when you told me to leave, maybe I wouldn't be dyin' like I am now.
I think back on the times we had, me and you, and I can only wonder what life would've been like if I had gone with you the day you left. I ain't mad, no, I could never hold it against you. You gave me something beautiful for as long as you could. It's my biggest regret, lettin' you go. I think it's what I deserve, truthfully. For all the blood on my hands. I always told you I wasn't a good man, but you believed I could be. Maybe we were both fools for that.
Death will come for me soon, and I'm scared. I don't think I've ever admitted that to anyone, not even a piece of paper. But I am. And I'll die wishin' I could see you again. As much as I want to be selfish, I know I ain't no good for you and that it's best if we stay our separate ways. I was never nothin' good to look at, but now I'm worse, and I'd hate for you to see me rottin'. I ain't a pretty sight.
I miss the way things used to be and I still live in them memories, they make all of this mess easier to put up with. I have to fight the urge to find you, know you're okay, even if it's in the arms of someone else, someone better than me. I hate even the thought, but it's what someone as good as you deserves.
Goddamn I miss you.
Forever yours,
Arthur M.
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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 5 months ago
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"Ah, c'mon. That can't be true! I've seen ya kill how many walkers at this point?"
"Technically, it's not killing if they're... undead?"
Daryl chuckled and stirred the coals sending up a tornado of sparks. "Oh? What is it then?"
"Hmm. Re-deadifying?"
He cocked an eyebrow up. "I think I'd go with 'killin' if I were you." You laughed and there was a lull for a moment where only the crickets could be heard. "Ya really ain't killed a person? In all this time? How's that possible with the way shit is now?"
You shrugged. "Look, don't misunderstand me... I've done some damage. I've—I've done plenty of damage when I have to. But... I've never intentionally killed someone. It's a line I try hard not to cross."
Daryl studied your face for a long moment before he nodded. "I guess I get that. I just—I hope ya ain't ever in a situation where ya gotta then."
You let out a dry laugh that drew his eyes back to yours. "Oh, no... it's—I already have been. Or where I should've. Probably. But I didn't."
His brow furrowed. "Ya regret it? Lettin' 'em live?"
You shuffled your boots in the dirt and wrapped your arms around your knees, staring into the light glowing over the coals. "Depends on the minute." Prompt: "Technically, it's not killing if they're undead." / "Oh? What is it then?" / "I call it re-deadifying." A/N: Hi loves. I hope no one was worrying about the lack of posts the last few days. I'm sick AGAIN. And I'm working 3 back to back hell weeks and interviewing for jobs and there's a f*scist government betraying all Americans so I've been prioritizing rest. Be well babies <3
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starliis · 3 months ago
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milk & honey— sinners.
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 pairing
elias "stack" moore & elijah "smoke" moore x black! reader.
 synopsis
one knew better than to look twice at the smoke-stack twins. but ain’t nobody ever said that once they set their eyes on you, it would already be too late. between their rough hands and honeyed lies, you learned real quick— it ain’t no sin if you ain’t plannin’ to repent. you belonged to them now. and they weren’t the kind to truly ever let go.
 warnings
some sexual content, in other words the implication of sex, childhood lovers, mentions of alcohol, moments of envy; jealousy, some angst + pining, romance, infatuation. african american reader; black representation. takes place in the 1930s, language heavy; cursing. written in a southern tone.
•  part two of milk & honey.
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Trouble don't always come loud and stompin'.
Sometimes it just smiles— real slow, tips its hat, and waits. That's how it felt the first time you ever laid eyes on 'em.
The twins—
Smoke and Stack.
Standin' there in the swelterin' heat like bad omens dressed in bruises and Sunday shoes. Grinnin' from ear to ear, like they knew all your secrets—and were fixin' to ruin you for 'em. Whenever you looked at 'em, it was like starin' straight into the faces of killers— past lovers, present heartbreak, and future mistakes; all bottled into two walkin’ contradictions, with fists that still bleed from the night before.
And yet, even standin’ side by side—one made of fire, the other of ice—they’re bound by a brilliance that’s all their own. A beauty so sharp, it hurt to look at for too long. ‘Cause, as your momma once said, a sin can't be undone, only forgiven. And for some reason, they were much more than just that. They were a glance held a little too long, a touch that lingered, and sometimes even a thought that should've been buried, but got watered instead. By the time you’d realize what's been done, it was already bloomin' wild inside you.
Too far gone to pull up by the root.
Until they left, that is.
Leavin’ without so much as a warning or a goodbye. Leavin’ after memorizin’ your body the way they always did—strong hands, gentle kisses, intimate but passionate love makin’—all for you. And for a moment, you thought only for you. But that? That was the greatest lie. Years had come and gone, and you ain’t received so much as a letter. Not even a word that they was still breathin’. At some point, you grieved ’em like they was dead—ghosts from a past you still, ’til this very day, fought to forget.
‘Cause even the rootworkers say, ghosts only come ’round when you call ’em. But you reckon that’s a lie too. This time, they came lookin’ for you first.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────
Southern Mississippi had few, to none, hidden juke joints for just colored folk— there had only been 'bout one that made good profit; a sin-soaked buildin' where all the hard-workin' men spent the last of their well-earned dollars on drinks, while women sang to the blues all night long. That’s where you danced for a livin', outside of bein' a sharecropper. It was a side gig— non’ special. Just a lil’ somethin’ to put a few extra coins in your purse, keepin’ you afloat for whenever you fell behind on your quota.
Though this ain't the life you truly dreamt of, it was the closest you ever got to it.
For just a few hours every night, you'd listen to Delta Slim perform the blues—his tunes pourin' out slow, like molasses, a river of achin' guitars and wailin' brass, where every note dragged its feet through the dust of lost dreams. It was a sound born of broken backs and stubborn hope, of hearts too heavy to fly, yet too proud to bow. Each chord cracked open the air, lettin' sorrow breathe, lettin' joy slip through its fingers like a prayer whispered into the twilight.
And from there, you danced— with fire in your hips and storms in your eyes, movin' through the thick, breathin' heat. The only silk dress you owned clinging to you like a second skin, damp with sweat and sweet with the smell of tobacco, gin, and longin'. The floorboards shivered under the stomp of your heeled feet, the hem of your skirt twirlin' like smoke from a dyin' cigarette. You danced like the world had wronged you— and you forgave it, one sway, one roll, one wild, laughin' spin at a time. The music wrapped itself 'round you like a lover's arm, pullin' you deeper into the pulse of somethin' too old, too sacred, to name.
When the night ended, you were coverin' yourself in a shawl and walkin' out the front doors with a smile on your face—pleased with the earnings, and filled with a sense of somethin' close to enlightenment.
As all you ever wanted to do was dance.
"Do make sho' to bring your fine ass back here next week, Miss [Name],” hollered a drunk regular from the doorway, tippin' his hat and raisin' a metal goblet high.
"You's foolish," you laughed, wavin' him off. "I'll see y'all."
Walkin' down the dirt pathway, you ain't pay no mind to the low rumblin' of an engine, figurin' it belonged to some motor car. It rang out soft and lazy into the night.
That's when you saw 'em.
Two big, strong men. Leaned up against a big black Packard like they owned the night itself. Cigarettes burnin' slow between their fingers, suits pressed finer than any preacher's Sunday best. You knew who they was. But standin' there starin' at 'em felt like lookin' dead into the eyes of ghosts—skeletons dug up from a past you done already tried to bury. And truth be told, if they was gon' stay gone that long, they shoulda stayed buried.
"Miss [Name]," Smoke greets—deep voice, slow like syrup, always the calm, collected one. "It's a bit late for you to be walkin' home. Why don'tcha hop in the car, let us give ya' a ride?"
Smoke was dressed in deep blue—a color so rich, it looked like the midnight sky had been stitched right into his suit. He stood with his shoulders squared, eyes half-lidded, draggin' on his cigarette like he had all the time in the world, his whole body hummin' with a stillness that made your skin itch somethin' fierce.
"I'm good," you said, curt. "Thanks."
"Now that wasn't no suggestion, swee’heart."
Beside him, Stack stood in a suit bold as sin—deep red, reckless, alive. His coat flashed under the moonlight as he tipped his hat to you, grinnin' like he could split the Mississippi clean in two. Stack was all flash and fire; even standin' still, he was movin', talkin' with his hands, his shoulders, that damn devil's smile.
"It still don't change the fact I said no—," you shot back, cold.
Stack pushed off the car, swaggerin' toward you like a man ain't never been told no and sure as hell wasn't gonna start tonight. "Mind who you talkin' to—," he said, voice low but sharp. "We came all the way out here for ya'. Show some damn respect."
"Respect?" you scoffed, feelin' the old anger rise up in your chest like a bad storm. "Tell that bullshit to all them letters y'all never answered."
Smoke didn't say a word—just watched you from under the heavy brim of his hat, cigarette smoke curlin' up slow between you like a bug he ain't in no hurry to chase off.
"C'mon baby," Stack drawled, flickin' the stub of his cigarette into the dirt. "Let that shit go. Ain't no use holdin' on to it."
Tightening the shawl 'round your shoulders, your jaw was set hard as stone. With a sharp nod, you turned your back on both of 'em and started walkin'. "I did—," you said over your shoulder, voice calm, cold, and sure. "And I buried it right next to y'all."
Smoke, always so calculated and quick on his feet, found his way in front of you, "Stop playin' wit' me, Silk. You ain't walkin' home in the dark by yourself."
He sure did love callin’ you by that damned nickname—it stuck with ya’ ever since you was just a lil’ thing. Reckon it’s ‘cause he always went soft when you wore one’a them silk dresses.
"Why? You scared somethin' gone happen to me?"
He ain't say nothin'. Just stood there, them eyes of his shinin' in the dark. Reminded you of the way he always looked when some other fella stared at you too long. Always been so damn protective, like it was his God-given duty to keep you safe. But him standin' there quiet, not sayin' a word, not showin' no feelin' — that's what made you start thinkin' maybe he ain't care near as much as he used to.
"Thought so. Least out there, if somethin' did happen, it'll save y'all a funeral to go to."
"Aight, 'nough of that sad-ass shit you talkin' 'bout. Let somethin' happen to ya', let a nigga touch ya', and they gone get buried in that cotton field out back," Stack spoke, voice low and serious. "That's the way it always been. So go sit ya' pretty ass in that damn car and don't make me say the shit twice."
"Then we can talk 'bout what you really mad 'bout," Smoke added, watchin' you with them heavy-lidded eyes. He knew what you needed; hell, he always did.
Exhaling loud enough to shake the trees, you stomped to the car. It was somethin' real pretty, like nothin' you'd seen 'fore. Brand spankin' new, all dressed up with them fancy interiors. Made you wonder what kinda deal they had to cut to get their hands on a babe like this. Then again, you ain't have to wonder too hard. Folks 'round here knew better than to ask questions. Smoke gave you a hand up and you slid into the back seat. He took the driver's spot, leanin' back like he owned the night. Instead of sittin' shotgun, Stack brought his black ass to the back too, ploppin' down beside you. He got close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne—dark, smoky, expensive.
"Y'all takin' me straight home?" You asked, eyein' both of 'em suspiciously. These some pre-meditatin’ ass liars, sho’ ‘nough. You knew that for damn sure. Both of ‘em could talk a woman clean outta her drawls, make a brotha do they dirty work too—and all of it’d be for the sake of business. No strings attached.
"Yeah. 'Course we is," Stack smirked. But it didn't sound too convincin'. He kept inchin' closer, like you was somethin' sweet he couldn't resist.
“Then why yo’ black ass keep scootin’ so damn close to me? M’not gone disappear,” you snapped, cuttin’ your pretty eyes up and down him, full of fire. You was gettin’ real tired of him crowdin’ you, his whole presence gettin’ under your skin somethin’ awful.
"You might."
There was a bite in his words that only stoked the fire burnin’ in your chest. Hard to stay calm when they struttin’ ‘round like they ain’t done nothin’ wrong, like you wasn’t left behind to pick up all the pieces. You clenched your jaw, words spillin’ out low under your breath. “It ain’t me you oughta be worried ’bout—,” you muttered, barely louder than the hum of the tires on the dirt road.
Stack caught it, though. He let out a low chuckle, deep and dry like gravel, “Nah, baby. You grown. Speak up.”
Snappin’ your head toward him, your eyes flashed, “I said it ain’t me you oughta be worried ‘bout.”
Smoke’s hand tightened ‘round the wheel. He cut his eyes at you through the rearview, a slow, sharp glance that made the tension crackle.
“What the hell that ‘posed to mean?” He asked, voice low and dangerous.
Leanin’ back in the seat, you fold your arms tight across your chest, heart hammerin’. “Means I’m sittin’ here starin’ at two strangers. I don’t even know who ya’ll are no more.”
The car got real quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than any yellin’ ever could.
“[Name], you knew we was headin’ off to the war,” Smoke finally said, like that explained every damn thing.
“Yeah, I knew—,” you snapped back, voice tremblin’ with all the hurt you tried to swallow. “But I ain’t know leavin’ meant disappearin’. I ain’t know I was never gone hear from y’all again.”
"We had business to handle," Smoke said.
"Right. M’bad, Elijah— you was always 'bout yo' business. No matter who it hurt in the process—," you scoffed, your words hittin' hard enough to bruise all three of you.
"What you want us to say, baby? We sorry?" Stack asked, voice dry.
“Not if you don’t mean the shit,” you muttered, a bitter little laugh scratchin’ its way up your throat. Wasn’t nothin’ funny ‘bout it, but hell—sometimes you had to laugh just to keep from breakin’. Bein’ here with them, after all this time, hurt you in ways you couldn’t even name no more. Pain boiled up inside you, hot and heavy, like thick molasses turned sour; all them nights you laid awake, cryin’ into your pillow, feelin’ like a damn fool for lovin’ two devils who knew how to kiss like angels and lie like snakes.
Even a strong woman like you—hard-headed, proud, tougher than leather—got cracks in her armor. Always did. Tears pricked at your eyes before you could blink ’em back, and you scooted over, puttin’ as much distance between you and them as the seat would allow.
Stack let out a low chuckle, dry as a corn husk. “Careful, girl. Any further and you gon’ roll right out the damn car.”
“Don’t act like you care now,” you snapped, voice low and sharp, cuttin’ through the thick silence that settled. You stared out the window, jaw tight. “Just—,” you breathe. “Just get me the hell home. Please.”
Smoke sighed, shiftin’ in his seat like the weight of what you said sat heavy on his chest. “You mad—,” he started, his voice rough but steady. “We get it, Silk. But what you ain’t gon’ do is sit here and act like we ain’t give a damn ’bout you. ’Cause we did. Still do.”
"I hear you.”
“But you don’t believe me,” Smoke said, his voice low, almost tired.
“Sho’ don’t,” you shot back without missin’ a lick. “If you gave one damn ’bout me, y’all wouldn’t’ve laid with me, then left me sittin’ all by my lonesome like yesterday’s newspaper.”
The car rumbled to a stop, kickin’ up dirt and hushin’ the crickets for just a second.
“You right,” Smoke admitted, his hand grippin’ the wheel like it hurt to say it. “We ain’t stand by you the way we was s’posed to. For that, we apologize. But we here now, ain’t we? Let that mean somethin’, girl.”
‘Course you didn’t answer. Ain’t even look at him. Your stomach twisted up tight as you stared out the window. This wasn’t your little white cottage with the porch swing and the climbin’ roses. This was the old saw mill—deep in the woods, where the trees grew thick and the night air smelled like damp earth and old memories.
“Y’all said y’all was takin’ me home,” you said, brows knittin’ together, voice low and brittle.
“This don’t remind you of home?” Stack asked from the back, his tone half-playful, half-hopin’. Like maybe he could pull at somethin’ you buried long ago. Hell, he knew you remembered. Could see it all over your face—the weight of it, heavy and hurtin’.
Stack helped you out the car, and you looked around, a ghost of a smile flickerin' across your face. Back then, when y'all was a bit younger, this was the spot. The old abandoned mill by the pond—the first place y'all ever met. The memory was 'bout as clear as day. Just you, sittin' under an old pecan tree, a book too heavy for your little hands. Dreamin' about places you'd never seen, with your Sunday dress hitched up 'round your knees, dirt smudgin' your bare ankles. Readin' like it could save you. Like it might carry you somewhere better.
They spotted you 'fore you even knew they was there — struttin' over with easy smiles and slick mouths, smellin' like sweat, gunpowder, and cheap whiskey. You was shy back then, a little soft 'round the edges, but never dumb. You ain't take neither one too serious. Not yet. Not 'til they made you fall in love. Not 'til they touched you like you was made of glass, fucked you like breathin', kissed you like every day might be the last. They made you feel untouchable. Made the whole damn town know you wasn't a girl to mess with. 'Cause you belonged to them.
And they belonged to you.
They taught you how to fight. Hardened you up. 'Til no bitch — not Mary, not Annie — could look at you wrong without catchin' a beatdown. Those boys that once made you laugh 'til you cried, danced barefoot behind the mill, were the same ones who left you bawlin' alone, spillin' tears into the dirt.
And now, they was tryin’ to drag you back to it.
"Why's we here?" you asked, voice crackin' under the weight of memory.
“Business,” Smoke said low, like it oughta explain everything.
Stack struck a match, lit up another cigarette, and took a long, slow drag ‘fore passin’ it off to his twin. “See that ol’ mill? We buyin’ it from a cracker first thing in the mornin’. Gonna turn it into a Juke Joint — a real one, for our folks. A place they can dance, drink, breathe easy without worryin’ ‘bout no white folks breathin’ down they necks.”
Once again you stared at ‘em hard, suspicion risin’ up heavy in your chest like a summer storm. How they got the money for somethin’ like that, you didn’t know. Truth be told, you wasn’t sure you wanted to know. Ain’t nothin’ in this world free, especially not for men like them. Especially not down here.
“And what the hell that got to do with me?” you asked, voice steady, even though your hands itched to fold over your chest.
Smoke leaned back, one hand fidgetin’ with the silver ring on his index finger — a tell he had since y’all was kids. He only did it when somethin’ was sittin’ heavy on his mind. “We need the finest dancer in town to bring that floor alive—,” he said. “Need somebody who make folks spend they last damn dollar just to watch ‘em move. And we payin’, make no mistake.”
Lookin’ between ‘em, you met each of they dark, familiar eyes, and made damn sure your words came out clear. “I don’t want money wit’ blood on it.”
They didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.
That was one thing ‘bout Stack and Smoke—they could take you at your hardest, your meanest. Could stand up to the fire you threw without backin’ down. But you knew deep in your bones, no matter how tough they acted, those boys was always weak when it came to you; to them big, pretty eyes they swore could bring a man to his knees.
Stack’s patience snapped first, just like always. He shifted, tossin’ the burnt-out cigarette down and crushin’ it under his bootheel.
“Well, what the fuck do you want, then?” he barked, voice sharp with frustration. Always the hothead, always the one to talk ‘fore thinkin’. Never the type to hold his tongue or watch his own damn back.
"To go home, Elias. Care to indulge me?"
"Nah, baby. I don't, actually—," he said without missin' a beat. He was a smart-mouthed fool too, flashin’ that grin full’a them shiny-ass gems every time he opened his mouth.
“What y’all want with me? What y’all really drag me all the way out here for?” you demanded, voice tight like a stretched-out clothesline.
“Done told ya already, girl—,” Smoke said, cool as a winter creek. “Ain’t gone say it again.”
“This a town full’a dancers, Elijah. Ya’ll don’t need me.”
Stack, leanin’ back against the car like he had all the time in the world, just shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But we want you.”
Smoke stepped in closer, his voice a low rumble under the heavy night air, "We told you we was gone give you a stage'a your own. Make you a star like you always dreamed ‘bout. 'Member?"
Damn them. You remembered every bit of it. You done tried buryin’ it deep, stuffin’ it down like old letters in a dusty chest — but all it ever did was ache. Your throat burned up like a bad fever, your eyes startin’ to sting, chest tight enough you thought it might split clean open.
“Y’all full of shit,” you muttered, but it come out softer than you meant, breakin’ right down the middle.
“We ain’t,” Smoke said, steppin’ even closer now, til you could smell the tobacco on his breath, the heat rollin’ off his skin. He reached out, catchin’ your chin between two fingers, touchin’ you like you might break if he held too hard. “We bled for that dream, same as you, Silk. Fought for it ‘til we damn near lost ourselves.”
With your hands curlin’ into fists at your sides, you was fightin’ the tremble workin’ its way through you.
“Why now, huh?” you snapped, voice crackin’ like a whip. “Why the hell now? After y’all acted like I ain’t mean nothin’? I want the truth this time. None of that sweet-talkin’ bullshit you good for.”
Stack, who usually had a smart mouth ready for anything, went real still. Real quiet. He pulled his hat clean off his head, runnin’ a hand over his hair, lookin’ like he ain’t had a single slick thing left to say. Chicago did ‘em good, cut a line in the side real fresh.
“Why else? We love you,” he finally said, voice rough like gravel. “Always did. Ain’t never stopped.”
Smoke leaned in real slow, close enough you could feel the heat of his breath brushin’ across your face. His presence wrapped ‘round you like a heavy blanket in the dead heat of July. You braced a hand against his chest, feelin’ the steady thud of his heart — and under that, a tremble, like he was holdin’ back somethin’ deep, somethin’ old and wounded, tryin’ its damnedest not to break wide open.
“But one thing for sure, two things for certain,” Smoke said, his voice low and rough as gravel, catchin’ on every word like it hurt to say ’em. “We wasn’t bred to be with a woman as good as you.”
Stack, leanin’ nearby with that bitter smirk of his, let out a humorless chuckle, “Still ain’t.”
The words hit you harder than a blow. Your throat tightened up, and you shoved at Smoke’s chest, hard, but it was like pushin’ against a brick wall—he didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Just stood there, lettin’ you take out all that hurt and anger without sayin’ a damn word.
“So you thought leavin’ me was better?” you choked out, voice crackin’, the betrayal sharp in every syllable.
"Nah," he said. "We thought it was the only way to keep you clean. Safe. Smilin', even if we had to stay gone for a while."
"But as it turns out—," Stack added, steppin' in behind you, his chest brushing your back, caging you between 'em. "We can't stay away for too long."
Their hands found you at the same time — Smoke's rough fingers liftin' your jaw, Stack's palms slidin' down your arms, steadin' you even as your knees wobbled.
“You ours,” Smoke murmured, voice low and rough, his lips ghostin’ right over yours, not quite kissin’, just teasin’ — like he wanted to savor the moment you gave in. “Always been.”
“That wasn’t ever gon’ change,” Stack rumbled against your ear, mouth grazin’ your neck in slow, temptin’ bites that made your knees damn near buckle again.
The anger, the pain — all that hurt you been bottlin’ up for six long, lonely years — it started boilin’ over, hot and wild, mixin’ with a hunger you tried so hard to kill. It cracked you wide open now, floodin’ every inch of you like a busted dam, no holdin’ it back.
“Don’t put me through this again,” you begged, voice tremblin’, breathless, your body already betrayin’ you, rememberin’ the way they touched you, the way they loved you, like it never forgot. “Don’t come back just to leave me worse off than ‘fore.”
Smoke’s hand slid around your waist, pullin’ you flush against him, his chest hard and hot under your palms.
“We ain’t goin’ nowhere this time, baby,” Stack growled low, a promise buried in every word. “And we gone make damn sho’ this sweet lil’ pussy remembers exactly who it belongs to.”
“It knows,” you whispered back, your hand driftin’ down without thinkin’, findin’ the thick heat straining against the front of Smoke’s slacks. He shuddered under your touch, deep and real, like he was barely holdin’ on. “Just like y’all know ya’ll belong here, with me.”
Smoke's mouth crushed yours before the last word even finished leavin' your lips, kissin' you like he was starvin', like he needed you to breathe.
Stack's hands roamed lower, greedy, sure, gatherin' your dress up in his fists as he pressed hot kisses to the side of your neck, beard scratchin’ soft as his lips dragged over your skin, teeth sinkin’ in just enough to make you gasp.
Their hands—rough, calloused—claimed you in the sticky heat of the Mississippi night, under the shadow of that old mill, with the hum of crickets and the whisper of the river nearby. They kissed and touched like they was tryin' to make up for all the empty years in one night, and Lord, you let 'em.
‘Cause no matter how bad it hurt, you still wanted ‘em. Needed ‘em, somethin’ fierce.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────
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dooblebugss · 10 months ago
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Ooh, now you're lettin' go Heart beatin' faster, feet pushin' on the floor Ain't nothin' better Ooh, now you're lettin' go Heart beatin' faster, feet pushin' on the floor Ain't nothin' better Wavey Davey's on fire You still got it, you still got it alright, yeah (Huh, huh) Wavey Davey's on fire Oh, you still got it, you still got it alright, yeah (Huh, huh)
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deansbeer · 4 months ago
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breaking in the last chair!
𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 ADULT CONTENT ; minors go away.
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୨୧ warning(s). smut | fem!reader | cowgirl position (beau's favorite) | riding | praise kink | established marriage | playful teasing | strong language.
୨୧ word count. 797
୨୧ kari notes. beau brainrot is HEAVYYY rn. that's all i gotta say. he's the finest man to ever walk this earth. <3
check out LIBRARY for more <3
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you've officially broken in every piece of furniture in this fancy hotel suite—except for one.
the plush armchair sits untouched and inviting in the far corner, bathed in a soft glow of afternoon sunlight filtering through semi-sheer curtains. beau's lips curve into a slow, mischievous smile as he glances from the chair to you, his eyes dark and smoldering.
you know that look intimately, the kind that makes your pulse quicken and your heart race. it's the same look that's left you pleasantly sore and thoroughly loved on every surface available—bed, dresser, shower, even the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony —over the past few days.
"come here, sweetheart," beau drawls lazily, sinking back into the chair with that devastatingly charming smirk of his. his deep velvety voice sends heat pooling low in your stomach, and you can't help but smile as you move toward him, his eyes glued hungrily to your bare skin.
he reaches out, strong hands gripping your hips as you settle comfortably on his lap, thighs spread wide over his, your knees sinking into the soft cushions.
"we're really gonna christen every corner of this place, huh?" you tease softly, running your fingers through his thick hair. he chuckles deeply, a sound that makes your stomach flutter pleasantly.
"damn straight," he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips tenderly against your jaw, his neatly trimmed beard tickling your skin in the best way. "ain't lettin' a single inch of this room forget us, darlin'."
you laugh, breath hitching when his mouth trails down your throat, pressing gentle, lingering kisses that make your pulse quicken. his hands slide reverently up your thighs, over your hips, gripping firmly as he guides you down onto him, filling you perfectly and slowly, inch by delicious inch.
"oh fuck," you whisper against his mouth, your breath hitching sharply as you settle fully onto him, taking a moment to adjust to the familiar stretch.
"that's it, baby," beau encourages gently, his voice rough with pleasure, yet laced with tenderness. "ride me nice and slow. show me how my babydoll takes care of her cowboy."
his words send a rush of heat straight to your core, igniting something playful and fiery within you. you smile against his lips, rolling your hips experimentally, savoring the deep, guttural groan that escapes him. his fingers tighten at your waist, guiding your rhythm, urging you to take control.
"goddamn, darlin'," he breathes roughly, green eyes dark and heated as they watch you move above him. "ain't nothin' in this world prettier than you riding me like this. my beautiful cowgirl."
you laugh softly, tipping your head back as you move faster, hips rolling smoothly, finding that perfect angle that sends sparks dancing up your spine. beau's lips brush along your collarbone, hot and open-mouthed, teeth scraping lightly against your sensitive skin.
"can't get enough of you," he murmurs huskily, voice thick with genuine adoration and desire. "never gonna be enough. fuck, baby—you got me addicted."
your chest tightens at the sincerity behind his playful words, your heart swelling with a deep, overwhelming love. even after years of marriage, he still makes you feel like the most beautiful, alluring person he's ever laid eyes on.
"good thing you've got forever," you whisper breathlessly, gripping his shoulders tighter as you ride him harder, faster, chasing the intense pleasure building steadily within you. "'cause 'm not going anywhere."
he grins broadly, eyes softening, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, utterly captivated as you lose yourself in the rhythm, in the perfect friction of your bodies moving together. his hands slide reverently up your spine, pulling you close until your lips crash together, messy and passionate, hips grinding desperately against each other.
"ride me, sweetheart," he growls against your mouth, voice deep and rough, edged with need. "show me how my cowgirl does it."
you moan, speeding up your movements, chasing the sharp burst of pleasure that's building intensely. beau meets every roll of your hips, thrusting upward to match your frantic pace, fingers digging gently into your skin, holding you securely against him.
"that's it," he whispers roughly, voice breaking slightly with pleasure. "just like that—shit, you're perfect."
you cling to him tightly, fingers tangled in his luscious hair, breathing heavily against his mouth as pleasure crashes over you, intense and overwhelming. beau groans your name hoarsely, hips stuttering beneath you as he follows you over the edge, holding you impossibly closer as you both ride your highs together.
"best damn anniversary ever," he whispers softly, pressing tender kisses along your jawline, your neck, soothing your trembling body.
and you smile, feeling impossibly happy, impossibly loved.
"best one yet," you whisper back, knowing each year somehow just gets better and better.
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all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 year ago
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32 / 1.4k / soap soulmate au, part 9
...
Soap goes still and quiet, his grip loosening. "People?"
"Human trafficking."
"How do you know?"
"Because security is quadrupled in the basement lounge. The client and his inner circle are scheduled to move downstairs after midnight. They're calling it an afterparty."
"You're sure it's not drugs?"
"I'm sure. I saw the dossier given to security downstairs."
Soap's mouth twists. The target sure as hell isn't leaving this place alive if he can help it. “Could’ve mentioned that earlier."
“I tried. Who do you think tipped Laswell off?"
That gives Soap pause. "Laswell? You’ve been in touch with her?"
"Once." You curl your fingers tighter into his vest and grab his chin to make him look at you. "Johnny, listen. If you kill him now, everything locks down. You won't be able to get into the basement. You need to get down there quietly with the element of surprise."
"What have you got in mind? Covert extraction, no prep, no briefing?" He raises one hand as if to cover yours, to trace along your knuckles. After so long, he can’t help it. He just wants to touch you. "That's a lot to ask. What was your plan if we didn’t show? Go it alone?"
"Figure it out as I go along, I guess."
"Christ, you're a headache." Soap's hand tightens around yours, gently pulling it off his collar to bring your hand up to his cheek. He turns up your palm and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. You're on his side this time. He can't put into words how light it makes him feel. 
He makes a low sound in his throat before he pulls back again. He clicks on his radio. "Captain, LT, you'll want to hear this."
While Soap explains the situation on his team's comms, you put yourself back together, checking your rifle and your gear. He watches you the whole time. You’re not what he remembers—not the cornered animal he met in that interrogation room before. You're in your element. If he could, he’d drag you away, take you back to some safehouse somewhere, and focus on getting to know you in every way and every position he knows. Patience, he tells himself. After this mission, he'll have all the time in the world. 
After the brief conference--and Laswell confirming she’d received an anonymous, cryptic tip about stolen goods in the target’s favorite Swiss Alps resort--he turns back to you. "Price wants the target no matter what. We're pullin' back to regroup and plan our strategy."
Your stomach drops. "What? There's no time."
"You said it yourself: we have no intel, no time to prep, and no good way in. Civilians everywhere. If it goes tits up, people die." He grabs your hand and pulls you into the hall, heading for the stairwell. "We're fallin’ back and regrouping while we still can."
You jerk your hand out of his, stumbling back. "We have intel. I was briefed on this mission. I can get downstairs,” you argue.
You mean alone. Soap doesn't like that. "Not happening,” he snaps, his voice rough with frustration. He glares down at you, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenches his teeth. “I know you can more than handle yourself, but not against a hundred of these bastards."
"Those bastards are my coworkers," you retort. "They won't look twice at me."
That's the worst part. Your familiarity with this place makes you an undeniable asset for this mission—that’s why he sought you out. The reason that’ll be in the official report, anyway. Damn it. He's torn between the knowledge that he should be happy you’re willing to help his team out and his desire to throw you over his shoulder and carry you out of the building.
"You said yourself security's quadrupled down there. If it goes loud, you're done. I'm not lettin’ you play hero. No. Ain't happenin'."
“Then we find a different plan,” you argue. You've never met someone so hard-headed.
"She might have a point," Gaz's voice says in Soap’s earpiece. "If we find a way to bring security up to the ground floor instead, you and Ghost can get down there and find the hostages. Security's already jumpy with the power out--give them a reason to come upstairs and they will. It’s just a matter of finding a distraction. And we've got snipers posted. Distractions are easy."
Hearing Gaz, you nod. “I'll take the target and lead him into view for your snipers.”
Soap curses under his breath, running a hand over his mohawk. He wishes he’d turned his radio off. He doesn't like putting you at risk.
You huff and sling your rifle over your back. Time is slipping away. "I need to find the target. I'll wait for your signal and--"
Soap grabs your arm before you can walk past him. "Jesus, stop. Give me a minute to think."
"We don't have--"
"Time, I ken." Soap's grip tightens. He tugs you against him again, one hand going to the back of your neck to hold you in place. "You're not goin'. Not without me."
"That's ridiculous!" Your voice climbs despite the way he forces you closer--folds his arm around your lower back and pulls you chest-to-chest. "They’ll see you. And they’re not just going to arrest you, okay—they’ll kill you."
Soap’s expression tightens. "How do I know you won't abscond with the target? Wouldn’t be the first time you left us high and dry."
You close your mouth and stare at him. He’s worried you’ll betray him. Your gaze falls to his chest, silent, because it wouldn't be the first time.
At the look on your face, Soap’s chest feels like it’s caving in. But he keeps going before he loses his nerve. He doesn't care if it's selfish. "You disappeared. No word. No message. Not even a thank you. I'm not lettin' that happen a second time. One wrong move and I'm pullin' you out."
He lets go of you, unhooks the collar radio from around his neck, and puts it around yours instead. "Tell my team when and where you have the target in place. They'll take care of the rest."
You put the earpiece in place and adjust the bit around your neck. "Fine."
He stands still, arms crossed, as you adjust your gear one more time. Your nerves are shot.
You glance at him, an apology stuck in your throat. "I was going to contact you, I just..."
"Just what? Had more important things going on? Assholes to protect?" he snaps. He stalks closer, towering over you again. The frustration flashing through his eyes eclipses the sudden, haunted look of a man who hasn't slept well in weeks.
You press your hand to the armor on his chest and lower your voice. "I get it if you don't trust me. Just... trust that I want your target dead as much as you do."
"Promise me you won't disappear on me again."
You bite the inside of your lip and put your hand on his cheek. Something in your chest twinges when he leans into it. "I promise," you lie.
"Good." He closes his eyes and lowers his forehead to yours. He breathes deeply, committing your touch to memory.
Then he opens his eyes and angles your jaw up toward his, his mouth slanting over yours in a hard, possessive kiss that empties your brain completely. When he pulls away, his eyes glimmer.
"You’d better stand by that promise, darlin’,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “I let you go in Las Almas because you didn’t want my protection yet. Could’ve taken you with me whether you liked it or not, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you hatin’ me. Even if it meant keepin’ you safe.” The cool leather on his knuckles brushes tenderly against your neck. "But those reservations aren’t holdin’ me back anymore. I will do what needs to be done if you play games with me. You understand?"
You stare at him, heart thumping strangely. "I don't think that's... necessary."
“I hope it’s not.” He cups your jaw in his hands and brings your lips to his again. The kiss this time is gentler, softer—just a slow, intimate press that melts you completely. You’re breathless by the time he lifts his head. "When this is over, you're mine."
You nod weakly, not trusting yourself to speak.
...
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