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sloaneispunk · 23 hours ago

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“a real man”

dbf!in-ho x you

when a family party takes place, you finally met the one and only hwang in-ho, your father’s best friend. when unsettled disputes take place, you find shelter with the man who was thrice your age.

“y/n, get the door will you?” your dad asked, taking the plates from your hands as you made your way to the front door.

you yanked the door open, mumbling under your breath. why did he have to throw this party anyway? it’s not like it was the first time you were home, why was he making such a big deal out of it?

“hey, sweetheart. is your dad home?” a man said.

you took a good look of the man that stood before you in the doorway. holy shit.

“in-ho! there you are! was starting to think you were ditching your old pal!” your father’s voice boomed from behind you, pushing you away from the door as he took your place, inviting the unfamiliar man in.

“it’s good to see you too, man.” he chuckled.

“i’m assuming you’ve met y/n?” your father introduced, stepping aside, revealing your confused face.

“i did…” in-ho nodded, “quite a pretty one.”

a blush crept onto your cheeks. “thank you.”

“polite too? you raised her well.”

“of course i did. don’t know what her mum’s been teaching her though, been a little angsty lately.” your dad revealed, making your eyes grow wide.

“can we not do this now?” you gritted, glaring at him.

after that, you never saw much of in-ho, being cooped up in the house while everyone was having the time of their lives outside with your dad in the party that he had organised for you.

eventually, you grew bored, grabbing a drink and hopping onto the kitchen counter as you watched the party unfold in the backyard with your father.

“hey, what are you doing here?” in-ho’s gentle voice rang in your ears, snapping you out from zoning out.

“these aren’t even my friends, they’re my dad’s.” you said defeated, peeking at the ongoing party outside.

“guessed it. didn’t think you’d be friends with all us older men.” he joked, making you chuckle, shaking your head. “you know, if it’s not pushing your boundaries, can i ask-why did your dad throw this get-together again?”

“i’ve been living with my mom for a few months, today’s the first time i’m back in awhile.” you told him. “oh, i’m sorry, do you want a beer or something?”

“don’t be silly, kid. this is your party, i’ll get it myself.” he smiled.

the two of you sat in comfortable silence as he leaned against the counter beside you, giving you the silent company you needed.

“you know for what it’s worth, i think you look beautiful.” in-ho broke the silence, turning his head slightly to face you.

“you’re not so bad yourself.” suddenly, he felt a sense of pride overwhelm him. he couldn’t possibly grasp the thought of you finding him attractive as he found you. afterall, he was almost thrice your age.

when it was finally time for a sit-around at the dining table, you were way out of your comfort zone. eyes burned holes into you from every angle, giving you no space for privacy whatsoever.

“so, y/n… youe dad tells me that you’ve been living with your mom?” a friend of your father’s questioned.

there we go. “uh, yeah.”

“how’s it like there? she any better than your dad?” he teased, making your father let out a low laugh as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“c-can we don’t talk about this-”

“of course it is!” youe father interrupted. “couldn’t even get her to come over for a good few months, must have been really great.”

only in-ho noticed you were in distress, your breathing getting faster as your leg shook under the table. testing waters, he placed a hand on your thigh under the table, hoping to give you some stability to get through the dinner.

when you felt his warm hand on your thigh, you jerked away initially, thinking that it was one of thise old creeps who had touched you. but upon realising that it was only in-ho you shifted closer to him. as if you were silently begging for his help.

“we can all be gentleman at this table, let’s not give the lady any trouble, huh?” in-ho had intervened, anger slowly building up inside of him as they continued to press you with uncomfortable questions.

“hey speaking of your mom, she ever bring anyone home recently? like a colleague? maybe a friend?” you father asked.

“no.” you stated bluntly, you could already feel your eyes being welled up with tears.

but it didn’t stop there, you father as well as his friends made no effort to stop their interrogation.

eventually, you broke, letting the tears spill onto your lap as you tried your best to play it off without drawing anymore attention to yourself, but it was in vain.

“kid, are you cryin’?” one of them laughed, catching the attention of the rest.

“she is!”

“why are you crying, little girl?”

“do you want your mommy?”

in-his fist grew tighter around the handle of the fork he was holding, he couldn’t sit there and watch as you were being tormented by these sick bastards.

“boys, that’s enough!” he suddenly yelled, causing the room to go dead silent.

without another word said, he stood up, his chair scraping ear piercingly on the wooden floor as he grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the table and out the front door.

luckily for you, in-ho was only staying a couple blocks down, no more than a good three minute walk. the whole time, he said nothing, only changing his grip on you from the hand to your waist, leading you to his porch.

when you got to the doorstep, you stopped on your tracks, making him turn around, quickly taking a quick scan of your face to see if he had hurt you on accident.

“hey, talk to me, what’s wrong, love?” he asked in a soft tone, as if he were talking to a little girl.

“i can’t be here.” you said, looking up at him teary-eyed. “my dad will kill me.”

“nonsense… i won’t let him lay a hand on you, i promise. it’s better to stay here than with all the rascals there anyway.”

you winced at his harsh words, reminding you once again of the conversation at the dinner table.

“let’s not think about any of that anymore, alright? come in, you must be exhausted too, pretty girl.” he said as he ushered you inside.

in-ho’s house was warm. it smelt like him, the dim yellow lights bluncing off the perfectly decorated walls of his home. it was so quiet, just perfect.

“here, you can change into this. make yourself comfortable.” he said as he offered you a shirt and sweatpants which looked like it was his.

you thanked him and headed to the bathroom to change out of your clothes. when you were returned bacm to the living room, he was already on the sofa, legs spreaded out cozily as a tv programme played.

“there you are, do you have anything you wanna do in mind?”

‘no’ you shooke your head.

“then why don’t we just stay here and watch some movies. how does that sound?”

a smile broke on your face, making him feel a sense of relief. but to his surprise, you didn’t take just any emoty end of the sofa. you shuffled up close to him, merely centremeters away as he could smell your perfume that hadn’t worn off. it was driving him crazy.

as the two of you sat in silence, watching the show, in-ho noticed how your head was starting to fall closer and closer to his chest. he took a peak, seeing that you were now barely awake, struggling to keep your eyes open. he chuckled, pulling away, making your slowly open your eyes and lifting your head.

“no, no, stay there.” he cooed, moving closer in a more snug position for the both of you. and wirh his signal, you laid your head on his chest, your body and legs curled into a ball as he draped his arm over you while the other found its way to your hair. he combed through the soft, lush strands, lulling you to sleep as he did so.

“goodnight, y/n.” he whispered before leaning down carefully, placing a kiss on your forehead, watching as you tried to snuggle up closer to him.

in-ho knew he was doomed. it was a dangerous game he was playing with his best friend’s daughter. but at that moment, he realised just how bad he had had it for you. and there was no turning back.

#frontman #frontman x reader #frontman x you #hwang inho #inho x reader #inho x you #squid game #squidgame season 2 #lee byung hun x you #lee byung hun x reader

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godmadeaterribleerror · 20 hours ago

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No More

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch.

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch.

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were.

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily.

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?”

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen.

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried.

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth.

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be.

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there.

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet, and never let yourself look back.

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up.

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you.

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean.

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll.

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement.

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish

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girl-lostconnection · 2 days ago

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✨Concept ✨1 part

Thinking about Helldiver!Reader again.

They way they would absolutely love Soap and his sharp mind and his out of box thinking and his resourcefulness.

As a Helldiver in the field you often don’t have resources — too little time, ship leaves the orbit and leaves you with no supplies, no reinforcements, no protection.

Just you, ammo you have left in your mag and whatever you can scavenge around the barren terrain quick enough to scramble something together.

And Soap that chats you up about the bombs and explosives, elated to have such attentive listener, shares the ways to demolish something the quickest way possible, talks you through the process and wires and “nah, it’s alright, C4 is fairly harmless, see? Can make lil’le snake out of it”.

You never say why you are so interested in it, you never share that oftentimes there are no more ammunition to shoot the enemy, that grenades are all you have.

Soap grins, offering to give you a hand with what you work with on daily basis and you let him in the armoury — showing what you already bought, showing what you are currently using.

You get a little carried away, so proud of collection you already established — it’s not much but it costed you almost half a year of everyday deployments and you feel like it’s somehow satisfactory.

Not like anyone really checks what Helldivers work with anyway so you are in the clear.

But there is a strange look in Soap’s face and your voice waivers, jaws snapping shut, awful uncomfortable heat climbing up your face when he asks if it’s really everything you have.

Was it…was it not enough? Are you supposed to have more? How much more is needed? Do SAS have more? Shit, it must cost them good chunk of their salaries.

Thoughts swarm your head, visor of your helmet clicking back in place, hiding your eyes and maybe there was something in them. Just a glimpse. Just before you slammed your walls back up.

Because Soap’s voice softens when he hums “no biggie, let’s see what we can do, aye? These ones are actually real blast—” and you have the petty desire to push him out of your armoury. Off your ship. Away from you.

You don’t need his pity. You don’t- you don’t know what the fuck SAS works with but you got your supplies yourself and you worked so hard to get them.

But your fingers just clench and unclench, creak of leather gloves louder than you would’ve wanted because Soap looks at you like he wants to smack himself, because it feels as if you almost shrink on yourself.

But you don’t say anything because…it’s really not his fault. It’s just the way it is, right? You are sure SAS have their fair share of issues with supplies, after all, command said that it’s better Helldivers cover the costs themselves.

Surely situation must be real bad if they can’t provide you with decent armoury. But it’s not in issue — you work hard, you buy your supplies yourself, you slowly upgrade yourself, it’s fine really.

So you just write down all of his recommendations and fist bump him on your way out. What’s a little sting to the pride if you got the information and advice of actual demolitions expert?

You don’t notice the way Soap looks over your armoury again, muscle in his jaw twitching. He can see the patience and care it took to build up a somehow decent armoury, he can see that you scramble to get whatever you can as soon as you get any funds.

But he can also see that it’s barely enough to cover what you two talked about. He can see that no one gave you a proper training, no one gave any manuals and no one provided you with actual fucking supplies.

Soap doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s unheard of for soldiers, especially someone of you rank, to cover their bloody supplies costs themselves.

Soap doesn’t know how to tell you that the shine of Helldiver branch becomes more and more nefarious the more he hears and sees.

Soap doesn’t know how to tell it so he goes back to his team. Maybe someone else will know what to do.

#call of duty #helldivers au #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #helldivers 2 #helldivers ii #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #task force x reader

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numberonesnarkfan · 2 days ago

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so... my thoughts on chapter 4.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!

sigh.

if I and the majority of the fandom are disappointed with the result, I can't imagine how heartbroken the writers must be.

I was immediately impressed with the significantly increased production value! During the beginning of the game, I was hyped! Mechanics were improved, the buildup was immersive. Everything that happened seemed like it had thought and care put into it.

I even thought the bit of Pianosaurus getting INSTANTLY ganked was cool. Like a fun wink-and-nudge from the devs. If Doey had been a more compelling character, it would've made for a memorable moment. Unfortunately...

Yeah. Doey is heavily DID coded.

And... He follows the same ableist stereotype as every other depiction of it: "a violent and abrasive alter takes over and ruins everything".

Thaaanks, Mob... I really appreciate this public announcement of how you perceive people like me.

(by the way, Doey's chase/battle REFUSED to run at ANYTHING above 13 FPS until I turned the game down to the LOWEST settings. I have a mid-range gaming PC. It can run AAA titles at max settings. Seriously? The entire rest of the game ran smoothly at max settings.)

Yarnaby's death scene was so underwhelming that I almost missed it by not turning around, assuming I was supposed to keep running.

By the end, I felt that the devs must have run out of time and budget pretty fast.

And, of course...

The Doctor.

Baldwin is such a talented voice actor. He deserved a better character than this.

The boss fight itself was so incredibly janky. I was able to cheese it without trying at all, because the robots just kept getting stuck on each other.

Sawyer's introduction and buildup were so good. The game made the player invested in the character, really really hoping that the final confrontation would be everything the trailers hyped us up for.

Every time we destroy different organ systems and he goes quiet for a while, making the player hold their breath, knowing that that can't be it, was SO well done.

Only for... That. A completely unoptimised final encounter followed by a disappointing death scene.

I figured we were going to kill him. But I figured at least that it would be like CatNap's death - compelling and thought-provoking, making you wonder about the setting and the characters.

I thought, at LEAST, there was going to be a compelling scene with The Prototype taking Sawyer like he did CatNap, perhaps more violently, with less warning. The Prototype taking advantage of him and then taking all that remains of him.

Or maybe a scene where his misdeeds catch up to him on his final breath in a moment of devastating terminal lucidity. Nope.

Just the "I was the scientist, the glory was supposed to be mine!" trope. I so badly wanted him to be more than a cartoon villain, man.

The fact that MOB set up this intrigue about his childhood and his origins so well in the ARG and then just... Didn't use it.. Is so disappointing.

Harley Sawyer as a character is a meditation on hubris. I've always said this. That still rings true now, but... There was no trace of that in his death scene. Which is the most disappointing thing. I genuinely think the chapter would've been a lot better in a lot of people's eyes if he had just died better. With some indignity, with some fervor, with anything to make the player feel something.

But hey.

Look. Huggy's back. The big money-making mascot is here.

It really does feel like Zach just said "hi, we here at MOB don't feel like giving our writers and designers and employees enough time or budget to make a good product. Sorry! Oh, and don't forget to buy the merch!"

#poppy playtime #ppt #harley sawyer #pianosaurus #doey the doughman #poppy playtime doey #the doctor #doctor ppt #ppt the doctor #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime 4 #ppt4 #ppt 4 #rambles #yarnaby #yarnaby ppt

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eunandonly · 1 day ago

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today i received a comment on this post where i was addressing the hate jungwon was getting for dating and smoking allegations. this blog, or @/sighdeepseeker talked about how jungwon denied the accusations when he could’ve just done “whatever stupid he wants” and “stay quiet like idols always do”. they stated that they believe jungwon is lying, which they claimed was the reason for their hate toward jungwon after all the “sincerity and genuine claims”.

this led me to click into their blog, and just five seconds in, i found post after post of them hating on jungwon. they labelled him as “stupid” and said they’re hoping the hate on jungwon is still going on. (1) they also called him a “fake, sneaky liar”. not only this, they also referenced to dating rumours between jay and an unknown woman, but stated that it was better than the rumours between jungwon and winter since the woman seemed to be a non-celebrity. (2) — keep reading

(1) to (2) from left to right

they also expressed hate towards enhypen as a group, claiming they are just getting “worse and worse” (3) and said “lets wait next mistakes and horrible things since that’s all enhypen is”. they also said that ni-ki “apparently lacks intelligence too”. (2)

(3) to (2) from left to right

most of the hate seem to be directed towards jungwon and ni-ki, the “two most stupid youngest members” they hinted that they would hate on sunghoon as well if he got any dating allegations with ive’s wonyoung but said “but at least we don’t have that kind of images of them so so far everything is ok” (2) <- refer to photo on top right.

i also found a few posts on their blog hating on winter or referencing towards her without using her name in various different posts. (4) (5) they even called winter a pedophile for allegedly dating someone younger. (6)

(4), (5), (6) from left to right

the person behind this blog seems to be struggling with anxiety if what they’re saying is true (7) and seem concerningly obsessed with not just jungwon but enhypen as a whole. (8)

(7) to (8) from left to right

but i believe this, whether we do or do not know is true, isn’t an excuse to hate on jungwon, the other enhypen members or anyone in general. there’s a boundary that must not be crossed between idols and so-called “fans” or haters. it’s important to remember that idols are humans too with emotions and feelings.

i was discussing this with @wonziz and we both believe hate towards innocent idols should not be tolerated. we both know that we can’t know how idols act off screen. but as fans, we accept instead of judging or hating when there’s no reason for harsh criticism and hate. [nini’s post]

please block / report this account so we can stop malicious posts towards jungwon, the enhypen members and winter. none of them deserve to hear or see these types of hateful comments. please refrain from sending asks/dms/comments to the blog i was talking about in this post. we never know what someone might be going through. i don’t want any hate towards them, only for the malicious posts to stop.

if this is a satire account, it should have been specified, and even if it was, the things posted are still extremely hateful.

tagging: @wonziz @saemisic @flufflights @htaesan @itjengirl @flwrstqr @okwonyo @amouriu @yuvany @lilyberyls @sugarikiz

#📢 𝘐𝘔𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛𝘈𝘕𝘛 #just needed to get this out there #enhypen #enha #en-#enhypen jungwon #enha jungwon #en- jungwon #yang jungwon #won #heeseung #jay #jake #sunghoon #sunoo #ni ki #winter #aespa

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theexaltedbride · 19 hours ago

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Chronicles of Darkness is a total reboot. There are similarities between the two settings though so this is a bit of a TLDR, and honestly I really like Werewolf the Forsaken way more than Apocalypse. The Uratha feel much more heroic and less eugenics focused than the Garou. But in this one the Uratha (the werewolves) are descendants of two ancestral Spirits. Father Wolf, and Mother Luna. They inherit all of their powers from their ancient ancestors. Father Wolf was once guardian of the gauntlet between the world of the living and the world of spirits. He kept the two separate/made sure no spirit or human stayed too long on the other side, as they could have ill effects. He hunted great and terrible monsters known as the Idigam (eldritch horrors akin to the Wyrm and other horrors like that, to the point some of the descendants of the Idigam still fear wolves because of it, such as the Rat spirits who keep trying to eat away at the borders of reality and let in more horrors) and Father Wolf won the love of Mother Luna who bore him multiple children known as the First Born.

Mother Luna was known as 'Warden Moon' and a shapeshifter, and she actually imprisoned many of these Idigams to keep them from bothering the mortal world.

Eventually Father Wolf grew sick and weak, unable to hunt as he used to and his own children wished to usurp him. All of them knew about it, and only a few went through with it (though some hedged their bets and chose to stay silent). In a terrible fight they killed Father wolf and sought to take his place.

Mother Luna was not happy, in her sadness she cursed the wolves with weaknesses to Silver, and some Uratha (the ones who knew about the plan to kill Father Wolf but did nothing) rejected Luna and accused her of being behind it and outright rejected taking up Father Wolf's old duties. The would call themselves "The Pure" and would become werewolf supremacists believing that eth world would be better with spirits running wild, infecting reality, and letting them roam free to pull an Impergium on humans.

The other wolves "the Forsaken", accepted that they had done wrong. And tried to prove themselves to Mother Luna by taking up Father Wolf's old duties of keeping balance between the mortal realm and the spirit world, for they themselves were born of spirits and would become tied to humanity (though we can only assume this is from Firstborn mating with humans, but it never explicitly says how werewolves became part human, unless we imagine Mother Luna looked human when she was with Father Wolf). Many spirits hated the Forsaken from keeping balance, and forcing them to remain to their duties, but Mother Luna saw that they did, and actually chose to forgive them. She removed some of the weakness the Forsaken had to silver, and bestowed on them Silver Tattoos and Auspice powers to make them stronger and better able to fulfill Father Wolf's duties. Now many eons later, the Forsaken still keep up this duty, surrounded on all sides by hostile spirits and the cruel predations of 'The Pure', who want to do plenty of horrible things to humanity, the Forsaken, and even Luna. The later supplements even make it canon that some Idigam have broken free of Luna's prison, and it is up to the Forsaken to stop them. But despite always being outnumbered, the Forsaken haven't lost yet and they still keep the balance.

The Wolf Must Hunt, and so they shall.

(As I said this is a TLDR and I'm leaving out a lot of details, but I honestly love Werewolf the Forsaken much more than Apocalypse, even went so far as to actually get most of the books. Highly reccomend starting with the 2nd Edition and then finding supplements/sourcebooks which interest you. Thanks to the modularity of CofD, you can really play around with the setting and change things up. I recently just completed a game where a trio of Werewolves befriended a runaway Changeling and they formed an alliance which saw them allying with other local changelings to kill Huntsmen (Fae bounty hunters) and work with more Forsaken packs to chase all of the vampires out of the city and turn it into a safe zone for Forsaken and Changelings. Surprisingly a lot of Werewolf and Changeling lore fit together in odd places).

If you were interested in checking out a playthrough, I'd also highly recommend "The Bitches of Brewery Park" by DorkTales. its very well done and shows a lot of the aspects of Forsaken.

(Image is not mine. Taken from the Werewolf The Forsaken book "Signs of the Moon". )

I don't know what it is about this image but it manages to be so wonderfully bittersweet within a dark setting. Werewolf dad watching out for his kids and making sure they are okay. Still trying to be a part of his family's life even while fulfilling the duties of the Uratha.

It might be inconsequential to most people, but it's one of the things in Chronicles of Darkness that keeps coming to mind and is one of the glimmers of light that show the setting is worth fighting for.

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howlionj · 2 days ago

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kinda want to imagine alternative reality where rorke and elias start dating. just a little treat for myself i guess.

their first break together at walker's home at summer with both david and logan. rorke stays at guest room on a first floor of the house – far from master's bedroom and boys' rooms on the second. quite an uncomfortable change considering they mostly stayed together in one room, but it's not like he has any saying in this decision.

he is introduced as a 'good friend' by elias, but gabriel can sense that at least david not buying it. nevertheless, he introduces himself and logan, heavily implying that they both goes only by their full names. rorke nods at him, silently promising to remember that. elias is visibly unanxious during whole introduction and carefully studies all three of them.

'it went better than i expected,' walker says after the brothers went wandering in nearby woods.

'what you'd expect?'

'hostility, i think'

well, gabriel expected it too. him being literally no one to david and logan and suddenly appearing right at the start of their summer break? tragedy for any teenager. also, elias mentioned before that after tragic death of his wife there haven't been a lot of guests in walker's house for a while, so current situation might be stressful for the boys. he must be cautious and careful with them.

well, it goes that boys are more capable to handle rorke than he thought.

david is only fifteen, but he catches on things pretty easily and fast. gabriel to his dissatisfaction find out it late and not at fluttering time. he was smoking outside in the woods – elias told him that it's okay for his partner to smell like a tobacco company, but not for his furniture. so to the woods he went.

david approached him right after he put his cigar out on the sole of his boot with a determined expression on his face.

'i know you're dad's boyfriend,' he said loudly to assert himself.

'well, i'm quite old for that term, but you're right. what gave us away?'

'dad looks at you all mushy and soft, it was simple'

'yeah, sounds like elias'

'we are not against it. me and logan'

gabriel chuckled as david explained how progressive they both are.

'good to know'

'and we don't think you're replacement for mom'

it was a delicate moment for david, rorke knew it by the way boy went silent for a second.

'i hope you don't. it is not my intention to be one'

'good to know'

he when leaved back to the house, not saying anything.

and logan is two years younger, but as observant as his brother. not if more. gabriel was mowing grass in the backyard when youngest walker went straight to him with a notepad and sharpie. on the paper there were simple question, written messily:

"why do you wear bandana?"

rorke barked loudly surprised by a sudden question.

'i'm old, bald and ugly, that's why'

logan noded and wrote another sentence.

"you're all this thing with bandana on too"

he laughed at the comment - it seems that elias' witty mind popped up in logan.

'fair point, logan. actually, i wear it to hide a scar'

boy noded and fastly wrote another words:

"a battle scar? like ones dad has?"

'yeah, something like this'

"can i see?"

'well, i used to scare a lot of greens with it, your dad too. are you sure?'

logan noded intensely, signing something with his hands. elias mentioned before that logan after his mother death lost his voice and heavily relies on asl. improvidently for gabriel to not learn basics.

'sorry, kid, i don't speak asl'

logan simply pointed at his head.

'okay, i get. but be ready - it is a really nasty scar'

he untied the bandana and went on his knees to better display of his head. youngest walker stood on his toes and then excitedly sighed.

and like his brother he just left away, saying or writing nothing.

maybe, it was not a bad idea to visit elias family.

#call of duty ghosts #gabriel rorke #elias walker #just wanted some fluff with grandpas #and soft rorke dealing with little menaces david and logan #rorke x elias #elias x rorke #idk their ship name #post for one person and it's me

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grandhotelabyss · 1 day ago

Note

You said in your ancient Sandman blog post there’s a way to read Death as the villain of the comic. Would you elaborate on that?

Can we distinguish her cheery pragmatism from a complacent nihilism? It may be poetically apt for Death to have the manner of a good service worker, a cute (but not conventionally sexy) barista, the better to draw us in to her realm; a comparison to Gaiman as crowd-pleasing author, crowd-pleasing because of his charmingly "harmless" put-on, and comfortable in the routine exercise of his vocation, behind which he is monstrous, suggests itself. But if Gaiman were more spiritually serious, or spiritually serious at all, he would have shown what hides behind Death's human-flattering veneer, would've given Death a Krishna-reveals-himself-to-Arjuna moment, as Alan Moore might have. (This point applies to the portrayal of all the Endless, but it would have been most damaging to Death qua the series icon and mascot, as Gaiman's canny projection of the self-image of the female audience he pursued.) This unintentional ambiguity—pragmatic cheer as the camouflage of lethal power—exists on the plot level, too. I understand Gaiman wished to use the structure of a Classical tragedy, but still, his more novelistic literary mode gives us free rather than fated characters. On her first appearance, Death chides Dream for not asking for her help—but once the situation becomes clear, why doesn't she do anything? Why does allow Desire's plot to unfold to the bitter end? Death enframes Dream's story; she is essentially complicit in the scheme against him. The rules governing the Endless seem mutable enough—Destruction leaves, Delight becomes Delirium, and, indeed, Desire scripts Dream's doom—which means that Death could attempt to avert the tragedy. But why should she? The whole narrative tends toward death, and thus toward Death. The moral of the series is that Dream must change, but fan-favorite Death remains throughout the most static character, and morally undamaged by her stasis, or so the narrative implies. She enforces the status quo in the series' universe: a cute authoritarian. Behind her mask is Gaiman's own complacency and ruthlessness; the mask itself is his preferred erotic type, a spiritedly young but ultimately docile woman.

#neil gaiman

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theinheriteddutchess · 6 hours ago

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Kayce, she's just showed up, back off!

I thought you said it was only kissing but the way you write it I pictured her kissing something else than a mouth to me 👀 wait did she run from him without letting him know she knew what he did? Surely he must know now?

Yeah, why is he still wearing the ring?? So if she didn't show up he would have continued wearing it? 🧐

Girl your vagina is talking too loudly, calm down madam! You're less than a day here!

So not just kissing? Kayce you whore! How to explain this? Huh? Well you were horny and just went for it because you were selfish and stupid. Of yeah don't forget you were young 🙄.

I mean she might as well have stayed if she's going to fall for that so easily! Talked to him, forgiven him and started with him. Until the next mistake🥲

Vagina calm down! I know he's looking sad, and he has gorgeous long hair and a cute smile, but we're better than this! We don't listen to stupid hormones and make bad decisions for sad boys!

Sad boy, I fucked that man. I fucked him all over Texas! I'm here now talking to you, reminiscing him, okay? Is that what you want to know?

You got married, jeez dude the irony of jealousy here.

He's full of himself at least, around her!

On the other hand she's defending a relationship she's left, and moved back here to him, and she's doubting if she loved him now she's looking at Kayce again. He's probably is reading her like an open book.

The vagina isn't thinking clear, stop listening to his beautiful eyes! And his sad boy vibes, you came here to figure things out! (That confidence sure is sexy though)

Lol his dad "give her some time but tie that shit down"

Noooo is over, I wanted to continue reading🥲

I can just imagine him looking at me like that and saying all these things pretending to be cute, but we know he's a menace!

I was going to just comment shortly but alas I got caught up again 😮‍💨🤌🏻

Weight of My Sins, Part 1

Summary: You thought life on the ranch was over. Couldn't bear the sight of Kayce anymore, so you fled all the way to Texas. You found a new relationship. You lived. You got a degree. But you missed Montana more than anything, but he wasn't leaving Texas. Now you're back on the ranch, and you and Kayce both lived your life. But that draw to him is still there, even if you're terrified to let those walls back down again. No matter how much you crave him.

Pairings: Kayce Dutton X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings: explicit language, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.1K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @saradika-graphics

“Stop fidgeting,” Rip’s gruff voice bellows in the truck, and you press your hands under your legs. Continuing to stare out your window. The closer you get to the ranch the worse the feeling in the pit of your stomach gets. This has got to be a bad idea, and nothing good can come of it. You need a job just as much as you need a place to stay. And Rip did you a solid in getting John to allow that for you. Under different circumstances this would be the perfect solution to your problem.

“You’re going to stay in the bunkhouse, so I’ll have to go over some ground rules with the wranglers,” you roll your eyes as you turn to look at him. Ever the protective big brother role. He isn’t your biological big brother. Just a man that felt sorry for you as a kid, and helped out when he could. You were his pet project. And one of the few people he was kinda nice to. Some things never change.

“I don’t want you fucking around with them. And believe me, they’re a bunch of lonely, horny cowboys.”

“Aww, but you’re not interested in me. Are you still lonely and horny?” He gives you an eat shit grin, shaking his head. You are not the least bit worried about the wranglers. They are the least of your worries. “What if this doesn’t work out?”

“Grow a pair of balls and make it work,” he shrugs as the ranch comes into view. Immediately your fingers start fidgeting under your thighs. So many memories remained here. Up until the point that you left for veterinary school. Anything to help out the ranch. That’s Rip’s philosophy, even if he won’t say it. Anything.

“Quit fidgeting!” He growls at you.

“I’m not!” You don’t want to admit that being here is turning your stomach inside out. Don’t want to admit what just seeing the last name Dutton does to you. Some things just are better left unexplored. Especially now that you’re going into his territory. His home.

Rip puts the truck into park, and you inhale slowly. Letting the fresh air fill your lungs before you slowly exhale. Popping your neck for good measure before you sling the door open, and jump out. Time seems to stand still here. Very little has changed, except your age. “Come on,” your adopted brother says, and you follow along with his long strides.

Slinging the door open, Rip drops your meager duffle bag on the floor, and every man in there turns to glare at you. Lloyd gives you a slight dip of his chin, “Welcome back, Bronc,” you nod to him. The others you don’t truly recognize.

“This here is like a little sister to me. You treat her with fucking respect, and you stay out of her damn pants,” clearing their throats they return to their card game, leaving you puffing out a nervous breath before giving Rip a head nod. “Yep. That’s it,” he says, turning on his heels, and leaving you in this den of bears.

“Which bunk is available?”

“One of those back ones,” Lloyd points in the direction without removing his eyes from his hand. You didn’t expect a grand welcome, but this is pathetic. Your eyes roam around each of the bunks. Examining the spaces, looking for anything familiar.

“He’s not here,” Lloyd answers, finally looking at you.

“Who?” the old man’s eyebrows lift, as he nods at you sarcastically. Judging asshole. You weren’t looking for anyone. You were trying to figure out how you fit in with these men. Reaching into your bag, you stuff a few peppermints into your pocket. You sling your duffle bag onto the bunk before turning to go towards the door, “I’m going out.”

“Uh huh,” Lloyd answers knowingly. You didn’t care what the man thought of you. You need to get out of this room. It’s stifling being in this bunkhouse. Hell, it’s stifling being here. With all these memories. But ones that you love so much. You miss it.

Sighing at your contradictory thoughts, you kick gravel as you walk to the barn. Getting away from humans, and joining animals. They were better than humans. They didn’t offer any words of wisdom, or judgement. They are just there. Lifting up a peppermint to one of them, he eats the treat off your hand, and you lean your head against his nose petting him.

“First night here, and you’re already spoiling my horse, Bronc,” you didn’t have to see him to know that voice. The one voice that makes you weak in the knees, and sick to your stomach all at the same time. The one voice that has stuck to you like a bad habit, and you seek comfort in it with every sylablle.

“Dutton,” you respond before starting to walk away. He steps in front of you, and you turn to walk the other direction, but he jumps in front of you again. His mouth turns up into that irresistible smile, and ‘it just makes you angry, and also makes you want to touch him. The conflicting emotions just don’t stop.

“Why are you feeding my horse treats?”

“Why are you hiding in the dark?” He shrugs. A cute smile creeps onto his face, and you bashfully look away as heat flares your cheeks, “Did you follow me out here?”

“No, I didn’t know you were going to be here. Why are you here?”

Somehow him not knowing you are going to be living here floods you with relief. “This baby wanted a little treat, and I doubt you were giving him anything.”

“You’ve not changed,” smiling, you let your eyes coast down his body, freezing at an ugly ring on his finger, and your blood turns cold. Why is he even here giving you any ounce of hope? He notices where your sight is, and hides his hand, but it’s too late. Everything from that last night boils in your chest.

“But you’ve changed,” you try to smile, and it just hurts. You didn’t expect Kayce to not have a life and live it, but moving on with a wife is not what you expected.

“It’s complicated,” is the only thing he says as he stuffs his hands in his pocket.

“It always is with you, Dutton,” you respond, starting to walk away. This time he doesn’t follow. You can almost see him standing there with his pretty puppy eyes.

“We’re separated,” you stop in your tracks, but don’t turn around. Saying something like that is almost a death sentence. Separated did not mean they weren’t going to get back together. It could mean they needed space. And you weren’t going to be the space he filled. You sigh, turning to look at him.

“Mmm, I don’t know if that’s good enough, Kayce,” his smile doesn’t falter. You used his first name. Using that name is so much warmer than using Dutton. When you bring out the last name, he knows you’re slightly annoyed.

Walking up to you, his calloused fingers brush over your cheeks, and he pulls you in for a familiar embrace. Caressing your back as he brings you too close. Like your bodies were made to meld together.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you respond, pushing out of his hold and you turn to give the horse a kiss.

Your body is on fire. Trembling as you take a step back from him. His scent of sunshine and leather blinds you. The want for him is almost too strong. “What do you want?”

He grunts, “You,” but you shake your head no. Everything is always so damn complicated with him. “We are separated.”

“And yet, you’re still married.”

“Do you think that if I was happily married I’d be out here after midnight? I’ve moved back to the ranch, and we rarely talk, unless it has to do with,” his voice goes softer, and your eyes slowly close, “My son,” the twisting of that knife hurts so much worse than hearing he’s married. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yeah. And I can imagine how it is with you. You come here to be separated, and somehow you end up feeling sorry for yourself, and lonely, and then you're driving out wherever, and right back into her arms to play house. Is that how it goes?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why is it different now?” There’s no answer that he could give you that would make you feel better. You’re left feeling like a junkie, and your drug of choice is Kayce John Dutton. Always was. Probably always will be.

“Because of you.”

“Oh, no. I just got here, and you don’t get to come here with your pretty words when I’m trying to do a damn job. You and your cute ass need to keep things professional. I don’t need this Kayce. It’s my first night.”

“So you don’t hate me?” You could never truly hate Kayce. You could have your heart broken by him. Again. But you’ve never hated him.

“No, but I’m also not fucking you,” he chuckles as you walk backwards, and out of the barn.

“Again!” He yells, too loud, and you hope that no one hears the two of you out here alone. You didn’t need any rumors going around about how you were fucking him in the barn on the first night.

“It was a mistake,” you wink at him. Lying in this instance is a way to protect you. There’s nothing that you regret with Kayce. Not on your end.

“And why was it a mistake?”

“Premature ejaculation,” he looks down at his feet, as he toes the ground, “Due to the fact that neither of us knew what we were doing. But it sure did get us into a lot of trouble, huh? Have a good evening, Dutton.”

“That wasn’t nice,” he peeks up at you, smiling anyways.

“Nice? Was it nice that I saw you with some girl in our spot? You sure were curled up, and enjoying her with your mouth. Was that nice?”

“Wait…” you have to rip the bandaid, and let him know that you knew what he was doing. You should have confronted him then. Maybe you could have truly moved on and healed. Maybe you wouldn’t have longed for Montana, and those pretty brown eyes still.

You shake your head, because you need space from him. He is crowding your thoughts, and your vagina. If you didn’t get away, you’d be rolling around in the hay with him. “I get we were teenagers. Too young to be fucking. And too stupid to remain faithful.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Like we have a choice,” he stands there smiling. Not fully defeated by your words. You weren’t bending to his words and charm, but you also weren’t refusing to talk to him. “Don’t wear the ring.”

“Whatever you say, Bronc,” you wouldn’t forgive him if he kept showing up with that ugly thing. It pains you to know that he went off and married someone and had a child with someone that wasn’t you, and you couldn’t blame him either. He’d moved on, and in so many ways you haven’t.

You hope you don’t regret this decision to be here. Hope that Kayce doesn’t infect your mind, and heart in the way he’s always done. Knowing that he’s married, even if separated, helps. And he has a kid. Time didn’t change your feelings because you still ache for him.

Separated.

What did that even mean? How did he define that word?

How long has he been separated? Were his sweet words anything more than that? Would he return to his wife? He has a kid with her, so it’s not like he can just walk away easily. Unless he already has. But how can you be sure that this is it? It’s the end and he’s never going to be with her again? And if he was sure, why not going through a divorce?

No. You’re here to do a job, and doing a job is what you’re going to do. You want to be treated just like everyone else on this damn ranch. You weren’t going to become a love sick puppy for him. You’re going to enjoy the Montana air. The view here. And finally doing something with your life. And for you.

“Bronc and I are going to take the back,” Kayce smiles at Rip, and the older man’s eyes narrow at him.

“Why?” he asks, giving you a quick look as you saddle up a horse, ignoring the conversation. You’ll go where you’re told. “Why are you bringing up the rear, and why is she even coming out with us?”

“Because if something happens, we have a licensed vet right with us. She’s bringing up the rear because she’s never gone out with us before, and this will give her a chance to learn.”

Rip places his hands on his hips, gazing out to the sunrise, sighing, “I’m still not sure why you’re with her. Put Jimmy in the rear with her, and — why the hell are you shaking your head at me?”

“She doesn’t know Jimmy.”

“And yet she sleeps in the bunkhouse with him,” Kayce clears his throat, and only because the last place that he wants you to be is with Jimmy. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Bronc and I are taking the rear. Jimmy’s got flank. Is the bunkhouse really the best place for her to be?”

“Hell, Kayce, she’s not going to learn anything by getting special treatment,” you aren’t getting special treatment from him. He just wants to make sure you stay comfortable, and be with him. He needs more time to talk to you. “Fine,” Rip growls, getting on his horse. “She’s your responsibility then.”

“I’ll try to keep her out of trouble.”

Rip turns his horse around and heads towards the front, “Bronc, you're with Kayce in the back,” you sigh, climbing onto the horse. Kayce gives you a wink as he climbs on his own, and waits for you.

“You’re not subtle, you know?” He shrugs, and you can’t help but take a peek at his hand. The ring thankfully is gone. He kept his word. And while it does ease your stomach, there’s still a part of you that knows that still isn't enough. It’s easy to not wear a ring in private. It’s easy to pretend it doesn’t mean a thing, but it does. It should.

“Are you planning on making sure we’re always together?” He shrugs again. He’s the one that wanted you in the rear with him, and now he’s not talking. But maybe you’re just not asking the right questions. “So how have you been?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m better now,” you scoff, keeping your eyes on the cattle. “What? Is my response not satisfactory? Remember you left Montana.”

“And you had your hands in some other girl's pants.”

He winces, sucking air through his teeth, “Are you ever going to let me explain, so I can maybe get your forgiveness? I told you I was stupid?”

“Are you ever going to do it again?”

“Are you ever going to go on a date with me?”

“Not anytime soon,” you click your tongue, and tap your heels on the horse. Speeding up a bit more, but he keeps his pace with you. “Things can’t go back to how they were,” you wonder if he thought any relationship can return to how they were before, or if you’re just the lucky one. Did he still carry a torch for you, like you did him?

“So no more sneaking off into my room, doing things we were too young to be doing?” Him and his stupid little smile get you every time. Not to mention the passion you always felt with Kayce. You were never going through the motions, you loved every moment with him. Even your fights that quickly were resolved, and you went on loving each other anyways, and loving harder.

“Why did you leave?” His voice darkens, and he turns his face away from you.

“I needed air,” he nods, understanding. You needed to get away from him. “Why did you do it?”

“Kiss someone that wasn’t my girlfriend?”

“You weren’t just kissing.”

“Yeah, that’s all we did,” you shake your head no. That is not what she implied happened. And just kissing is enough anyways. “It was stupid. And I quickly realized that she wasn’t you, and did I say that I was stupid?”

“You did,” you look over towards him, smiling, “But you can keep saying it,” a comfortable silence settles between the two of you, and you breathe in the fresh mountain air. Realizing all the reasons that you missed Montana, but also the Yellowstone. Things are peaceful in their way, of course, but there’s just this home feeling here.

“Did you miss it?”

“Do you mean did I miss you?” You turn to peek towards Kayce, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“I asked if you missed it as in this?”

“Every day,” you enjoyed school, and you would do it all over again for the experience, and to say you have a skill. You did miss some of the people, and now that you’re here you miss some of the people in Texas. One of the people.

“What did — did you — I mean,” he clears his throat. Looking up to the clear blue sky, before back over towards you. You already know exactly what he’s struggling to ask, and it’s due to the fact he doesn’t really want to know. “How was Texas?”

“You want to ask me the real question?” sometimes it’s best to just know the truth, and lay it all out there. Even if you’re scared to know the answer. You can learn ways to cope or just get over it.

Kayce sniffs deeply, and tilts his head to the side in thought, “Did you meet anyone there?” Not the right question. He’s such a coward.

“Cowboy up, Kayce. You can do better than that if you really want to know. Just ask me like a man.”

“Are you dating anyone?”

“No.”

“Did you?”

“Was that so hard?” Surprisingly he nods his head. He can respond but just asking was like pulling teeth, and it kinda gave you a bit of a confidence boost. “I did. Was. I was dating someone. It was pretty serious, but he wanted to stay in Texas, and I wanted to be back here. We split amicably, and I packed up my stuff, moved out, and now I’m back here.”

“What was he like?” His jaw flexes when he asks. He doesn’t truly want to know what he is like, but you’re going to tell him anyway. Kayce always had a possessive streak. It never reached toxic heights, thankfully.

“He’s a mechanic. Older than me. He’s a good guy. He didn’t have much growing up, but he made something of himself, despite his setbacks,” Kayce just nods his head, refusing to look at you. You like seeing him squirm a bit. Not that you’re into comparing, but you didn’t have a child with him, nor were you married. “I think you’d like him.”

“Not likely.”

“He played football.”

“Definitely wouldn’t like him then. Let me guess, he’s just a regular ole pretty boy that treated you okay, but it wasn’t great? Maybe borderline annoyed you?”

“He’s a good guy. We were getting to a more steady part of our relationship. It wasn’t too exciting. And we never fought,” Kayce snorts, causing you to look towards him. “We didn’t.”

“Sounds like there was no passion.”

“You mean it doesn’t sound like us?”

“We’re adults now, Bronc. We’re not going to act like two lovestruck teenagers anymore. We were figuring ourselves out. We didn’t know the meaning of compromising. Now we’re grown,” no, you weren’t teenagers anymore. He’d definitely grown. At times you and Kayce just didn’t want to see eye to eye. There was absolutely no compromising in your relationship. So him admitting that makes you feel happy. You left something steady, albeit boring at times, because the two of you couldn’t compromise on where to live. He wasn’t leaving Texas, and you wanted to be in Montana.

“So just how boring was this guy?”

“Tell me about your son,” you counter. Kayce smirks while looking up ahead to the herd. You aren’t supposed to go out with them often, but you wanted to see the land again. “How old?”

“He’s eight.”

“You didn’t waste any time did you?”

“He wasn’t planned, and I was distraught. I don’t regret him though. He’s perfect. Reminds me of myself.”

“Did you love her?” He goes silent. His puppy dog eyes scan over everything as he contemplates. “I think I loved him,” Kayce turns to look at you, his smile now returning. “What?”

“Did you ever tell him?”

“Yes.”

“So did you lie?” It’s an odd thing to say, really. It shouldn’t be hard for you to admit that yes you loved him or no you didn’t. It felt right at the time but hindsight is always twenty twenty. Now, you’re unsure just how you felt about him, “So what you mean is you didn’t love him like you loved me?”

“No,” definitely not what you meant. Right? All those years weren’t a lie. You had fun. You enjoyed yourself. You loved, and felt loved, and — so easily left it for here. And Kayce. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he looks towards you, slowing his horse down, but your mind is racing too much to try and look at him. You need space again, and yet have to stay. You want to run, but towards him or away from him? You knew that the forever there complicated feelings towards Kayce would return the moment you saw him, but you weren’t prepared for this. And if you left again, those feelings would remain. Eventually you’ll have to explore those feelings.

Questioning your relationship was not something you had planned. You loved him, but could live without him. It’s why you chose to come here. Back home. And to him. So why is it so hard to admit that out loud, and to Kayce. Why does this man crowd your brain space, and make you question every decision you’ve ever made.

The only reason you left Montana was to get space from him. You needed to breathe and make sense out of everything going on. And to find yourself without him in it. Without anyone in your life. To know you could do it. Kayce was supposed to give you time to figure this out. You could have a life out of this bubble.

This beautiful, amazing bubble.

“Why did you come back?”

“This is the place that has always felt like home.”

“Because it’s where I’m at,” he sure is cocky. Brazenly full of himself. Part of this being home is him. But that doesn’t mean that you are referring to him as home. It means… “You can deny it all you want, but…”

Kayce clicks his tongue, and starts a faster gallop, leaving you contemplating what he said. It’s what he does. He weasels into your brain, and makes you think and question things. And then he finds himself in your pants, and then in your heart. But that isn’t the concerning thing, the concerning part is not fully knowing if he is correct. And do you want him there?

“You know what I always liked about that girl?” Kayce looks up at his dad, confusion laced in his eyes. “She never tried to change you.”

“Who?”

“Oh, are you still denying that you had a thing with Rip’s little orphan project?” Instead of responding, his son takes another bite of food. The two of you weren’t exactly quiet about your feelings for one another, but you also didn’t parade it around. “I see. So she comes back to town, being hired on as a personal vet or wrangler, I can’t keep up. And the first thing she does is go on the trail with you, and rides right beside you? Okay.”

John eats a piece of meat, smiling at his son who still says nothing. “You speak more when she’s around.”

“Are we going to talk about Bronc this whole dinner?”

“Still got that same nickname for her. How do you feel about her sharing a bunkhouse with a bunch of men?” Kayce despises it. Hates even thinking about someone getting too close to you. He’d offer for you to stay with him, but you’d immediately jump to conclusions. You could sleep where you wanted to, but he did have an extra room. “I see. Must make you sick to think about all those cowboys around fresh meat. We know Bronc can take care of herself. But she did just get out of a relationship because he didn’t want to take things to the next step.”

“He didn’t want to move to Montana.”

“Where she wanted to get married, and settle down with him,” John shrugs as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “She’s quite vulnerable. Don’t push her, but don’t have her too far away from you,” he nods as he pushes his chair back from the table. “You should offer her some of the food Gator made. I’m sure it’s better than whatever microwave food she’s got there.”

—

There is a lot of freedom being here. However, the food sucks. You’ll have to remedy that soon. Sitting out on the porch, you kick up your feet, and inhale deeply. Letting the mountains absorb your problems. Hope that they will, so you have some clarity.

Even with everyone in the bunkhouse carrying on and playing a game of poker, you feel relaxed. Today felt good. You didn’t exactly know what your job here would entail; maybe you’d need to travel to some other ranches and tend to their animals. But tonight, it’s just you. And the annoying music coming from somewhere.

You won’t let it bother you.

You don’t care if it’s annoying ‘country’ music. What even is that shit? Nope. It won’t bother you. You’ll just sit and eat your microwave Mac and cheese, and ignore whatever is going on over there. This is your bubble. Your safe space. You are calm and collected. Not annoyed at all.

That music is just very obnoxious, and you swear it’s getting louder. You could ask them to be quiet. You don’t even know whose cabin it is. Someone that works here, obviously. But it’s like they're purposefully trying to get under your skin.

You sigh as you stand up stretching. Going inside the bunkhouse would involve you trying to ignore the wranglers. While not impossible, you’re now more curious as to who is being obnoxious. It won’t hurt to go check it out.

Making sure to throw your garbage away, you start to head towards the door, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lloyd calls after you, but you don’t listen. Don’t even turn around. You have some exploring to do.

You have to know. Need to know who it is. You don’t have far to walk judging by the sound. It’s close. Far enough away from the bunkhouse for some privacy. There’s nobody here that would hurt you. There could be other things that could be dangerous.

“What are you doing out alone?!” You spin around, and hit him due to your veins coursing with adrenaline. “Ow, you still got an arm on you,” Kayce winces, rubbing his arm.

“Why the fuck are you sneaking up on me in the middle of the night?” Whisper screaming as you hit him again. “What is wrong with you, and what is the deal with this shitty music?”

“So the music worked?” You stare at him dumbfounded, trying to figure out what he’s meaning. “It got you over here, didn’t it?”

“You ass, Kayce Dutton. I was minding my business, eating dinner, and looking at the stars.”

“Your dinner wasn’t good enough,” you have to look away when he licks his lips. Causing every fiber in your body to heat up. Being with him alone in the dark is a sure fire way to get you in trouble. You’re resisting the urge. You could fall for Kayce again, just not tonight.

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?”

“I brought a plate from the lodge,” bare minimum. Don’t fall for this. This is barely anything. You want him to work if he wants to get you back. And you know you shouldn’t rush into anything serious. With Kayce it will be serious. “I can heat it up. We can dance, talk, watch a movie, sit out here?” he smiles sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders.

“We’re not dancing to this shit.”

“Of course not.”

“And I don’t think dancing is something we should do,” he nods his head yes, agreeing to that. “We can sit out and stare at the stars, and I’m going back to the bunkhouse.”

“I have an extra bed.”

“But I won’t stay in it.”

“Why’s that?” Kayce steps too close to you, invading your bubble, and it’s hard to breathe. Be strong. Do not fall for this. If you want to be with Kayce the wait will be worth it. You want to be able to give you and him the best possible chance. Start from the beginning.

“Because I am weak when it comes to you, and I don’t want to be. So my happy little ass will walk right back to that bunkhouse, and I’m going to sleep there. And tomorrow is a new day, and you’re going to stop flirting so hard.”

“I can try and do that,” his hand brushes away the baby hairs off your forehead, and you fight not to lean into him. Glancing down to his left hand, you count this small moment as a win.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him before spinning around, and walking towards the cabin.

“Why?”

“If I have to tell you it doesn’t have the same gravity,” he smiles serenely before jumping in front of you to open the door. He’s had that ugly ring off twice now. It’s a small thing that should not mean much, and yet it does. You just hope that he keeps it off. Because you can’t handle another heartbreak like that.

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @theinheriteddutchess

#weight of my sins #kayce dutton x reader #kayce dutton x female reader #kayce dutton x you #luke grimes #yellowstone fanfiction #fanfiction

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43hughes · 3 days ago

Text

── chain reaction

╰┈⪼ after another tough loss, rakell let’s his frustration out post game, with his ever loving girlfriend.

★ rickard rakell x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 mlist

★ smut, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 wc 1k

★ warning! dom rickard, rough sex, mentions of his chain, unprotected sex, public sex, etc

the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the third period. they had lost..again. your heart sank seeing the penguins skate off the ice as the kraken celebrated. it was another tough loss, you knew how much it’s been taking a tole on rickard. he played his heart out every night yet it wasn’t enough. he was always so hard on himself. it broke your heart seeing him so upset and frustrated with himself. you quickly left the stands going downstairs to the tunnel, waiting for your que to go in.

all you could do was smile encouragingly at a few passing players going into the locker room. rickard must have already been inside the locker room, so you waited patiently resting against the cool wall. the only thing on your mind is how you’d be able to make him feel better. there was nothing you hated more than when your man was upset. especially due to a lost game.

one by one the players all left, holding their bags and messily in their entrance suits. you waved at them as they past, bidding them safe travels. sid was the last one to come out, he looked at you and smiled sadly. “he’s taking it hard, you can go in..he’s moping,” he patted your shoulder. “thank you for being there for him,” he walked off after saying goodbye.

once he was out of sight, you took a deep breath before walking into the locker room. rickard was sitting in his cubicle, his head held low, hands on his head. “ricky..” you said softly, he looked up at your voice. “it’s okay, you’ll get the next one,” you tried to encourage him. he stood up quickly and stormed over to you. “and when we don’t? then what another season without making it to the playoffs, we play our asses off but it’s never good enough,” he yelled.

he began pacing, ranting about how the team wasn’t at it’s full potential. the veins in his neck popped out, his face red with anger. you placed your hands on his shoulders, stopping his pacing. “what can i do?,” you asked looking him in the eyes. he let out a hesitant breath of air. “i couldn’t,” he mumbled, looking down. “tell me and i’ll do it,” you encouraged him.

he was quiet. you knew the storm was still brewing in him. “are you still angry?,” you asked. he nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists. “so use me, use me to take your frustrations out on,” he looked at you bewildered. “baby i can’t, i don’t want to hurt you..” he trailed off. you shook your head, “you won’t, and i want this..i want to help you,” you stepped closer to him wrapping your arms around his neck.

rickard was quick to grip your hips, firmly pulling you close to him. his lips made quick work of neck, nipping and biting the area. you tilted your head giving him more access. his grip on your hips tightened. “go ahead ricky, i won’t break,” with the final permission from you he was quick to lift his jersey off your body, revealing your black lacy bra. he groaned at the sight of you, his favorite set adorning your body. you made quick work of pulling down your leggings.

he brought you in for a deep kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips. your hips bucked at the sensation, you grinded against him, his hard on already pressing against you. rickard pushed down on your shoulders, signaling he wanted you on your knees. you quickly obeyed, kneeling in front of your boyfriend. he looked down at you, pushing his boxers down freeing his hard cock. “i’m going to fuck your face, open for me baby,” you opened your mouth and he was quick to slip inside. his tip hitting the back of your throat. usually he lets you warm up before taking all of him, but not tonight. tonight he needed you and there was no time to waist. he gripped your hair into a ponytail, thrusting into your mouth. his tip hitting the back of your throat at a brutal pace. “fuck,” he grunted, his head thrown back..adam’s apple bobbing. he pulled you off of him, allowing you to catch a short breath of air. the sore ache already settling in your throat, didn’t help you were screaming at the game all night. your mascara was ruined, from the tears that fell. “look at you baby, already fucked out and i haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pulled you to stand before bending you over the nearest bench. his large hand roamed your bottom, before leaving a harsh smack on each cheek.

your body jolted forward, he was quick to hold you still. he pulled your panties to the side, using your slick to coat his hard cock. once he was satisfied he pushed his way inside. the pain from the stretch of taking him was quickly replaced by pleasure. rickard gave you no time to fully adjust to his size before he snapped his hips against yours. his harsh thrusts had your body half hanging off the bench. your knees burned from the contact with the floor.

one of his hands harshly gripped your hip, the other was tangled in your hair. using the hand in your hair he pulled you up against his chest. the new angle allowing him to hit that spot deep inside you. “f-fuck,” you whined. rickard smirked at your sounds. he leaned down, his cold chain, sending chills through your heated skin as it dangled over your shoulder. his thrusts became quicker, you moaned when his fingers came in contact with your aching clit. the added pleasure sent you over the edge. your body shaking as your orgasm washed over you. rickard held your body close to his just as his release hit him. his thrusts stopped as he spilled his hot cum into your aching cunt.

he pulled out, causing you to whine at the loss of contact. a smirk wash over his face as he watched his cum drip down between your legs. his arms wrapped around you tightly. you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the chain. “do you feel better?” you asked voice quiet. rickard nodded his eyes not leaving yours. “i do thank you baby,” he kissed you deeply.

✎ᝰ. i literally wrote this in the car on the way home from a game….rakell just does something to me y’all 😫

yours truly, echo ♡

#rickard rakell #rickard rakell x reader #pittsburgh penguins #nhl #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl players #nhl hockey

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