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rafesgfs · 1 month

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wasted summer - one

series masterlist

watching jj like someone else hurts, thankfully, you finds comfort in rafe’s arms … and his bed.

Music boomed in your ears, the party in full swing as you made your way upstairs, away from the guys smoking weed and girls dancing to Kanye West. Using a guest room on the third floor, you opened the window and crawled out onto the roof. With a drink in hand, you watched partygoers jump into the Cameron's pool, observing the party from afar.

Taking a sip of the cheap vodka JJ had gotten, you glanced at the blond, a frown on your lips as you saw him sweep Kiara off her feet, jumping into the pool with her. Kiara likes JJ, that much you know is true after she had drunkenly confessed during a girl's night out. Bitterness grew inside you as you watched him respond to her subtle flirting, praying desperately he didn't return her feelings but your own.

You look away, downing the rest of the cup before throwing it off the roof in hopes of it hitting someone. Hopefully either one of them, but they were still playing in the pool. Together.

"Littering on my property? Harsh." a voice behind you murmurs as he crawls out the window, sitting beside you on the roof. Rafe grins at you, bringing the blunt to his lips.

You roll your eyes, keeping them on him instead of the heartwrenching scene below you. "Like you haven't littered at my house before. Payback."

"So vengeful ever since you started hanging out with those Pogues." Rafe chuckles, offering you a hit off his blunt. You decline it with a wave of your hand and he shrugs, taking another hit off of it.

Glancing back at JJ and Kiara, you can't help the pang in your heart as you watch them play in the pool, splashing each other with large smiles on their faces. Sighing, you look back at Rafe, suddenly wishing you'd brought a bottle of Titos with you.

Rafe arches a brow, a smirk dancing on his lips. "What're you doing up here, anyways? Shouldn't you be hanging out with the Scooby gang?"

Not wanting to be in his eyesight, you lay down on the roof, staring at the night sky, the lights from the party polluting the starry sky. "I needed a break."

"From those dirty Pogues?"

You smack his arm, causing the blond to burst out laughing. "Stop bullying my friends."

"Bullying works," replied Rafe, shifting to mirror your position. He groans softly as he lays back on the roof. "Remember Agatha Haynes? She no longer smokes fifty cigarettes a day after you called her Hagatha."

A snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. You shake your head. "God, I was a bitch."

"You still are." Rafe dodges another smack, a teasing grin slapped across his face. "Still the spoiled, snobby, selfish girl you were. You're just better at hiding it now."

"Oh, and the hits just keep coming." You groan out dramatically, smiling back at him. "I'll have you know that I am very empathetic and care about other people's feelings.”

The blond shakes his head, taking a hit from his blunt. "Is that why you're hiding out from your gang of mutts? Because you care about them so much you don't want them to know you're suffering in silence?"

"I wish you'd suffer in silence."

"Woah, don't violate the thirteenth-year truce," Rafe replies, drawing out a reluctant smile from you.

Rafe was ... Rafe. Born with a golden spoon in his mouth, acted like every rich kid from Figure 8, only worse, and knew how to get his way. The only fight the blond had lost was to a coked-out tourist to who Rafe ironically sold the coke.

Most people didn't see that he could be nice when he wanted to. You always held it above everyone that Rafe Cameron had a soft spot for you, even if it only came from being his little sister's best friend. Still, it was nice to be one of the few people not to be on the receiving side of his hostility, a side Sarah was constantly on.

It was a weird friendship built on a truce made by four and six-year-olds. During your fourth birthday party, Rafe had gifted you with a promise to never be the cause of your tears and you promised to never cut holes in his tighty whities again.

After a few minutes of silence, Rafe turns his head to look at you, exhaling out smoke. "Seriously, though, why are you hiding?"

"Not hiding, taking a break." You correct him, refusing to meet his eyes. He wasn't completely wrong, you were hiding from your friends, specifically two of them.

"That's such bullshit." scoffs the man next to you, rolling his eyes at your words. "Tell me."

You groan, covering your face with your hands in hopes of hiding your embarrassment from him. "No. It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"Stop being nosy."

Rafe snickers, putting his blunt out before grabbing your hands and pulling them away from your face gently. Eyes filled with serenity, a sight only you and Wheezie ever got to see. "Tell me, you know I won't tell anyone."

Your playful pout makes his grin widen. "You'll make fun of me."

"Me? After our truce?" asks Rafe, throwing his head back in laughter. "Never."

After contemplating whether to lie to his face, you sigh, rubbing your temples. It couldn't hurt to tell him, it's not as if he ever told anyone stuff you've told him before. "Kiara likes JJ. And ... I think he likes her back."

An awkward moment of silence hangs in the air before Rafe inhales sharply. "Oh. I didn't realize you wanted to fuck the help."

"Rafe." your tone made him throw his hands up in surrender. Staring back up at the sky, you scrunched your nose. "I kind of like him. It just sucks a little seeing them so touchy with each other and flirting in my face. If they become official, then I'll literally be the only person in the friend group without anyone. I'll be a seventh wheel and that's so fucking pathetic."

"You're getting ahead of yourself," says Rafe, scoffing. "My sister found someone who puts up with her shit, you'll have an easier chance finding a boyfriend. If you don't like anyone, I'll volunteer."

You can't help but roll your eyes at his not-so-comforting words. "Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel better."

The blond chortled, sitting up. "I'm serious. Anyone who isn't blind can see you're clearly much better than those idiots you hang around. The girls you hung out with were annoying as hell but at least they were better than those group of Pogues."

"How very Kook of you to say," you mutter back, not taking Rafe's words earnestly. Shifting, you sit up, eyes flickering back to the pool, immediately spotting Sarah and John B., Pope and Cleo, and JJ and Kiara still playing with each other. "I don't know, they probably don't care I'm not with them right now."

You could feel Rafe's eyes burning a hole in your face, his lack of insults to throw at your friends making you uncomfortable. Anything was better than silence when it came to Rafe. Silence meant he was thinking and you almost always never liked what he was thinking of.

He stands up before holding his hand out, gesturing for you to take it. "Come on, let's get you something to drink. It'll cheer you up."

You immediately take his hand, standing up. "Don't need to convince me."

"None of that cheap shit you've been drinking. My dad has some expensive whiskey he keeps in his study." Rafe adds, climbing back through the window with you right behind him. He doesn't let go of your hand, even after you climb back inside.

Rafe leads you through the swarm of people in the hall, heading towards the second floor for his dad's office. He pushes a guy away from the door, unlocking it and holding it open for you to enter. You step across the threshold, glancing around Ward's office as Rafe shuts the door behind him.

You'd been in Ward's office a handful of times, most times with Sarah and one time with Ward himself when you had skinned your knee riding a bike and he bandaged it up. Being inside the warm-lit room with Rafe felt strange and slightly tense.

Plopping down on the big leather couch, you watch Rafe walk towards the desk, raiding his father's desk drawer until he finds the big bottle of GlenDronach. He grabs two glasses, sitting down beside you as he pours the amber liquid.

You scrunch your nose at the smell. "God, I can smell the hangover."

Rafe smirks, pouring too much into both of the glasses, capping the bottle back up. "Nah, if anything this will help you sleep. It goes down smooth."

You take the glass from Rafe, wincing at the strong musk of the whiskey before downing half the bottle like a shot, immediately coughing after swallowing it down. Rafe's brows furrowed as he watched you slam the half-filled glass down on the coffee table, exasperated. "That did not go down smooth."

"It's sipping whiskey, you don't drink it like a shot of vodka." the blond clarifies, judgment and confusion in his tone. "Who the hell takes a shot of whiskey?"

Glaring at him, you cough out the burning in your throat. "Get me a Sprite, motherfucker."

An amused smirk dances on his lips as he stands up and opens Ward's mini fridge, pulling out a cold can of Sprite. He opens it before handing it to you, sitting back down. "I just witnessed a crime."

You gurgle half the can, soothing your burning throat before glaring at him. "I don't like the taste of alcohol, I just drink it to get drunk. Besides, people who actually enjoy the taste are psychopaths."

"You never miss the chance to tell me I am," Rafe replies, grinning as he takes a more moderate sip of his whiskey. He makes an approving expression, swirling the liquid around the glass.

"You can have mine. I hate it." You push the glass in front of Rafe, leaning back on the couch. Rafe sipped his glass of single malt whiskey while you drank a can of Sprite. "Worse thing I've swallowed. And there's competition."

Rafe makes a face at that, shaking his head. "Please, no details of how the help was in your mouth."

Smacking his arm caused a drop of his whiskey to spill over the side. "Stop calling my friends the help, you snarky asshole."

The blond gives you a look, setting his glass back down on the table. "Maybank helped me carry my golf clubs at the club last week. I can't think of a better title for him. It's in the name."

You roll your eyes, downing the rest of your drink. Rafe could carry his own golf clubs so you knew he sought out JJ's help specifically to taunt and mock him. "If I get the lifeguard job, are you gonna start calling me the help?"

His eyes softened slightly, head tilting towards yours. "No, of course not. You're far better than anyone else, even if you decide to get an unnecessary job.”

"Even better than you?" you arch a brow, watching his lips quirk up in a genuine smile.

"Always," replies Rafe.

Heat pools in your stomach, the whiskey's delayed effect. You glance away from Rafe's sharp eyes. Clearing your throat, you shift on the couch, making yourself more comfortable. "It's not unnecessary, by the way. The job. It looks good on my transcripts."

"Hm, still going to Charleston?"

You shrug, staring at the insurmountably large portrait of Denmark Tanney in Ward's office. "I don't know. My parents want me to, and I'll get into it but I don't wanna be so close to home, you know?"

Rafe's brows furrowed, a frown tugging on his lips. "Where are you thinking?"

"Either New Orleans or London," you answer, pulling a laugh out of Rafe. "Yeah, a wide range of possibilities for me."

"You don't wanna go to Charleston?" questioned Rafe, his eyes never leaving yours. A look of displeasure passes his face. "It's not that close, seven hours."

You make a face, shaking your head. "Seven hours is too close for me.”

The blond scoffed, leaning forward to sip his whiskey.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you observed him. Teasingly, you ask. "What, you gonna miss me when I leave?"

"I thought it was obvious," Rafe replied, downing the rest of his glass. He shifts on the couch, placing his arms on top of it, giving you a sardonic grin. "I think Charleston is far enough."

Rolling your eyes for the millionth time that night, you lay your head back, sighing. "You can come visit me anytime. Just don't bring anyone. Especially not Topper or Kelce."

"Ah, I wouldn't wanna walk in on you and your victims." jokes Rafe, patting your thigh softly. "Wouldn't be the first."

You laugh, winking at him. "Maybe you'll be my next victim."

Rafe raises a brow, leaning back slightly as he stares at you. "Don't tease me, I have no self-control when it comes to you."

"Yes, I think that was clear when you sent Tom Schnitzel to the ER for trying to drug me," you reply, inhaling sharply at the memory. You were positive you still had Tom's blood stained onto the white top from that night. "Thanks for that, by the way. I don't think I properly thanked you for that."

Rafe waves it away with a hand, standing. "Don't worry about it. I needed to get it out that night, anyway. Come on, I have something to show you."

Curious, you follow Rafe out of the office, walking down the hall to his room. He opens the door, motioning for you to enter. Immediately, you plop down on his bed, laying out on the soft mattress as he closes the door behind him. You watch him walk towards his dresser, turning around with a small jewelry box, a bow sitting on the top.

"What's that for?" you ask, taking the box from Rafe, and inspecting it.

He sits on the edge of the bed, eyes watching you fiddle with the box. "Your birthday present."

"It's not for another month."

Rafe shrugs, grinning. "Consider it your early birthday present, then. Come on, open it."

Tilting your head, you lift the top from it, the diamond tennis bracelet sparkling as soon as the light hits it. You gasped softly, taking the bracelet from its mold, watching in fascination as the diamonds danced in the light.

"Holy shit, Rafe," you mutter, inspecting the bracelet. "What the fuck? How much was it?"

The blond chuckled, taking the bracelet and unlocking the hook. He gestured for you to put your wrist out. "Real diamonds. None of that lab-grown bullshit. Don't worry, the cost didn't even dent my account."

You give him a look, allowing him to put the bracelet on your wrist and shake it as soon as it's on. "I told you before that I don't want expensive gifts from my friends. Just my parents."

"I'd like to think I'm more than one of your obnoxious friends," replies Rafe, causing you to give him a look. He snickered, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Last time, I swear."

"Highly doubt that." you turn your attention back to the bracelet, smirking at how it looked against your skin. "Thank you, though. It's really pretty."

Rafe stares at you, blue eyes watching you admire his present. "Yeah, beautiful."

You glance up at him, cheeks flushed from the whiskey and drinks prior. Heat pools in your stomach as your eyes meet his. Clearing your throat, you tuck your hair behind your ear. "Best present I got this year."

He smirks, laying his head down on a pillow, watching as you mirror his movement. "Yeah? Do I get to be your favorite until I piss you off?"

"Of course. I give it five minutes." you tease, grinning when Rafe smacks you with a pillow softly. You dodge his second hit, rolling closer to him, your arm pressed against his. "I was kidding! You'll be my favorite forever."

"That's more like it," Rafe says, a satisfied grin slapped across his face.

You groan softly, rolling onto your side to face the blond, eyes closing. The party was still going on downstairs, the loud thumping of the music heard two stories up. Your mind briefly flickered to what was happening with JJ and Kiara until Rafe's fingers ghosted over your side.

"I swear to god if you're gonna tickle me, Cameron," you grumble, eyes still closed, feeling his fingers roam around until they hit your stomach.

Rafe chuckles quietly, fingers stroking the ribcage tattoo you had gotten with Sarah. "When did you get this?"

"A week ago." you giggle as he runs his fingers up, touching your neck. Your eyes snapped open and you immediately slap his hand away, your brand new bracelet swinging slightly from the movement. "Rafe. You know how ticklish I am."

"Sorry," he smirks, tone unapologetic. His hand drifts to your hips, fingers playing with your cutoff shorts. "Wouldn't want a repeat of the Jenga incident."

Your nose scrunches at that, remembering the night you spent at the ER. "It was an accident."

"Still sticking to that story?"

"You moved your head."

"You threw a glass at my head." Rafe corrected, a smile tugging the corner of his lips up.

Scowling at him, you shake your head. "No, I threw it at the wall behind you. You moved your head at the last second and had to get five stitches."

"If you weren't so fucking competitive ..." Rafe teases, trailing off.

You bite your tongue, letting the subject go with great difficulty, but managing to not bite back. Closing your eyes again, you let your muscles alleviate. "Hm. Whatever."

You both lay in silence for a few minutes, the alcohol in your system and Rafe's soft bed allowing you to relax despite the loud music creeping through the walls. Despite feeling his eyes on you, you felt your body intense, the bed cradling you.

Rafe's hand drifts slowly up your hip, fingertips softly brushing against the sliver of bare stomach before slipping slightly under the hem of your top. Your eyes flutter up at the movement, watching as his thumb draws circles on your skin.

Goosebumps arise, and you suddenly realize how close he is, not even a foot away. His eyes flickered to your lips, his tongue peeking out to wetten his own. Your breath gets caught in your throat, his face somehow closer now.

Maybe it was the alcohol you've consumed trying to forget your own despair or an excuse to get your mind off JJ and Kiara, but you watched as Rafe brought his lips to yours, not pulling back when the taste of whiskey invades your mouth.

A hand caressing your cheek, Rafe rolled over on top of you, his elbows holding up his weight as he kissed you. His tongue sought entry to your mouth, biting your bottom lip. You gasped slightly at the feel, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You melt into his touch, your lips parting slightly as Rafe's tongue sweeps in.

Rafe breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck, leaving a string of soft kisses along your collarbone. Tilting your head back, you give him better access, running your hands through his hair, a soft content sigh escaping your lips.

He nips at your collarbones before sucking a mark into your skin, just right above your breast causing you to mewl at the touch, your hands drifting to his shoulders, freshly manicured nails digging into his skin. You meet his eyes, his ocean blues now darkened like the water during a storm.

Something comes over your body, seeing Rafe in a new light. Suddenly needy and impatient, your hands tugged at the hem of Rafe's black polo, pleading silently for him to take it off. Taking your hint, he sits up, taking it off in one swift move, tossing it on the floor.

You'd never admit it, not even to Rafe–especially to Rafe, but you'd always loved his abs. The definition of the, so toned, tanned, and delectable. He may have been your friend, but you weren't blind to his looks, and definitely how his abs looked when he flexed them.

As your fingers traced the defined line down his stomach, Rafe's hands slid under your top until the tips of his fingers met the fabric of your bikini top. Needing more, a lot more, you sit up, ridding yourself of the offensive clothing. You heard Rafe groan, pushing you back onto the bed, eyes roaming the sight of the hot pink bikini top you still wore, the top so little it was hardly covering your nipples.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmured, reaching out and pulling off the top quickly, the thin string breaking at the force, your tits spilling out. You gasped, nipples hardening in the cold air. Rafe groaned at the sight, hands cupping your breasts, his breath hitting your nipples. "Fucking incredible."

You arched your back, moaning softly as his tongue wettens a nipple before taking it into his mouth. His teeth nibble it, sucking and teasing the hard bud while his fingers play with the other, rolling it between his fingers. Rafe pinches it gently, looking up at you with a smirk when you mewl.

Running your hands over Rafe's back, you feel the warmth and firmness of his muscles, wetness pooling at the thought of kissing every single inch of his torso. Before he could take the other nipple into his mouth, you pull his lips back to yours, wrapping an arm around his neck as a hand runs down his back, nails scratching his spine.

Rafe's hand moves down your sides, fingers playing with the button of your shorts. Pulling back from the kiss, he unbuttoned your shorts, slowly–and agonizingly–sliding them off. The cutoffs pile onto his shirt on the floor.

You know Rafe's experienced, so are you, but you swore he almost looked nervous as he stared down at you, his hands slightly shaky as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your matching pink thong. Those join the discarded clothing on his bedroom floor.

He looks like a man starved as his eyes focus on your bare cunt, hungry and almost animalistic as he leans closer to your glistening pussy, nose nearly touching the clit. "You're already so wet."

Instinctively, you spread your legs wider, hands grasping the sheets as his finger leisurely dips into your wet pussy, your lips parting slightly. His thumb touches your clit, rubbing it gently. You groan, hips bucking at the feel, needing more. "Fuck."

Rafe smirks, pushing a finger into your cunt, watching as your face contorted in pleasure. He adds a second before you could come down from the small high. "Look at you, so needy and desperate."

Before you could think of a retort, he leans down to replace his thumb with his tongue, licking and sucking at your clit as his fingers continue to thrust inside you, gaining speed. The sight of Rafe's head between your legs, his tongue flicking your clit was so erotic, the vision enough for you to get wetter. You throw your head back, your fingers tangling in Rafe's hair as you pull his head closer to your dripping pussy, a moan filling the room.

His fingers hit that spot inside you, causing a surprise whimper from your lips to escape. Rafe pauses, glancing up at you, pride in his eyes before he doubles his efforts, his fingers curling to reach that spot. He sucks your clit, nibbling it when you tug his hair.

"Rafe," you moan, arching your back. You push his head deeper between your thighs, pussy clenching around his fingers, so close to falling off. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"That's right, say my fucking name when you cum on my fingers," Rafe grunted, his fingers plunging in and out of your soaking wet cunt. He licks your clit, staring up as you come closer.

A dripping mess, you buck your hips up as Rafe continues his relentless actions on your pussy, moans of pleasure filling the room. His free hand moves up your torso, cupping your breast before rolling your nipples between his fingers.

You lose it when he pinches it harshly, moaning loudly as you come undone, pussy clenching around his fingers, throbbing. You whimper out his name, your hand gripping his hair. "Fuck!"

Rafe laps it all up, replacing his fingers with his tongue, hands holding your legs open as you attempt to close them, your clit sensitive. He runs his tongue along your pussy, lapping up your juices, groaning at the taste, unable to pull himself away.

He licks his lips, staring possessively at your cunt before looking up at you with a proud smile. "You taste so fucking good."

He then proves it to you, lips meeting yours in a kiss. You taste yourself on him as you kiss him back, lips moving against each other. As you come down from the high, you roll him over, straddling his torso. You move your lips to his neck, marking it until you kiss down his chest. Meeting his eyes, you run your tongue down his abs, kissing every individual one.

You move to straddle his legs, quickly unbuttoning his pants, much opposite of his agonizingly slow approach. Rafe lifts his hips, helping you take off his jeans, sitting up to pull you in for another kiss. Giggling, you push him back onto the bed, your fingers sliding underneath the band of his boxers.

You bite your lip as you take out his cock, your hand wrapping around it immediately. The size of it made your mouth water, licking your lips in anticipation as you stroked it slowly causing Rafe to groan. With an approving hum, you lick the tip, meeting Rafe's hungry gaze.

Smirking, you run your tongue along the length of it, pulling back when Rafe bucks his hips up, glaring at you for teasing him. Chuckling, you decide to end the shortlived torture, taking his cock into your mouth, your warm, wet lips wrapping around his cock.

He groans, fingers pulling at your hair, guiding your movements, and urging you to take more of him. The sight of your soft, pink lips wrapped around his cock was something he'd never forget. "That's it, baby. Suck my dick like a good slut."

You felt your pussy clench at his words, growing wetter as you suck him off, eagerly bobbing your head up and down his dick. Pre-cum drips onto your tongue and you savor the taste, moaning around his cock, Rafe grunting at the feel of the vibrations.

Not wanting him to cum down your throat, you stop, slapping his cock on your tongue, smiling innocently when he narrows his eyes at you. He looked so hot staring down at you, chest heaving as he panted lightly, his knuckles white as he tried to restrain himself. His cock bobbed up as if begging for attention.

Shifting, you move up his body until your pussy is inches from Rafe's cock. You tap your clit with his cock, whimpering quietly, your clit still sensitive. Rafe's hands drift to your hips and you smack them away, giving him a smile as you rub your cunt against his dick, wanting to tease him just a little bit more.

He grits out your name, hands by his sides as he clenches them into a fist. "Stop teasing.”

"Or what?" you arch a brow, smirking as you let the head of his cock slip into your wet cunt. Temporarily speechless, Rafe lets out a guttural groan as you sink down unhurriedly, watching as your pussy wraps around his cock until he bottoms out. The size of his cock stretches you out, your walls fluttering around him as you rock slowly. "Holy shit."

"Jesus Christ." Rafe growls, his hands cupping your tits as you begin to bounce on his dick. He squeezes them, watching as your pussy swallows his cock like a vice. "So tight. Made just for me."

You moan at his words, leaning back and placing your hands on his thigh, giving him a view men would kill for. You ride his cock, throwing your head back at the feel of his cock stretching you out. Rafe reaches down, slapping your ass as you ride him, and you mewl at the gentle pain. "Rafe."

Rafe's thumb touches your clit, rubbing it as he watches you ride his cock, his lips parted slightly like he is seeing one of the seven wonders of the world. His eyes dart between his cock sliding in and out of your cunt and your face contorts with pleasure, moaning every time you slide down his cock.

"Fucking gorgeous." Rafe whispers, thrusting up into you, his pupils dilated when you whimper loudly. He sits up, his hands gripping your waist, moving his face in front of your bouncing tits, taking a nipple into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue. "So much better than I imagined, baby."

You place your hands on his shoulders, pussy clenching around his cock. You moan into his ear, kissing his neck as he thrusts up into you, your legs trembling as you draw closer to cumming. "Rafe, I'm gonna cum."

The words cause him to double his efforts, gripping your waist so tight it would leave bruises, his cock filling you up as he fucks you fast. His lips drag across your neck, leaving a mark as his cock brushes against your cervix. "Cum for me. Cum all over my cock like a fucking slut."

You cry out as you come, your cunt tightening around his cock. You bite Rafe's shoulder, muffling your ungodly loud moan. "Fuck, fuck!”

He pulls you back in for a kiss, spilling his seed into your awaiting pussy. Rafe slows to a stop, groaning against your lips, his cock nuzzled deep inside you. Rolling you on your back, he doesn't separate from you, keeping his dick warm as he kisses you languidly. Taking a breath, he breaks the kiss, staring down at you, a small smile gracing his lips. "You alright, sweetheart?"

Tired and content, you return his smile, pussy throbbing around his softening cock. You nod, eyes heavy. "Yeah, you?"

Rafe chuckles quietly. "Yeah, me too."

As your eyes drift close, you feel Rafe press a kiss to your forehead.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #outer banks #obx

758 notes · View notes

latenightdaydreams · 4 months

Note

I have an idea that Konig is Ghostface and he's been stalking reader for a while. He found out reader is a bookworm outside but literally a cunt inside. Like she never comes to parties, spend hours with her vibration instead. One night, Konig sneaks in her house and rape her fat unused pussy 😩😩😩

🤭🤭🤭YES😮‍💨

Ghostface!König x Nerd!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

🚫TRIGGERS🚫

>cw: fem/afab, non-con, bondage, voyeurism, stalking

3.1k word count

👻

The first time König saw you was at the campus Valentine's Day party. You showed up dressed in a festive pink sweater, but then sat in the corner with a stank look on your face. His eyes followed you as you seemingly complained to the girl you came with, a friend? Either way, your breasts and sensual body shape caught his attention.

König walks up to a guy that’s talking to your friend, “Wer ist das?” He asks, pointing to you.

“She’s a bitch,” the girl's friend hits his chest as if to tell him to shut up.

“She’s just shy. She hates parties.” Christa, your friend, defends you.

They all stand there and watch you gather your things and walk out the door without saying bye to anyone, not even your friend. Interesting. What type of woman are you? He was intrigued and wanted to see more of you. See what those bouncy breasts look like outside of that pink sweater.

After this first encounter, he dedicated his time to following you around campus. First, only to figure out what your schedule was. What classes do you take, what teacher do you have, what building the classes are in, etc. Just the basics.

He stalks behind you, far enough behind that you’d never notice; but close enough to listen in on any conversations you had. Which was basically zero. You kept to yourself no matter what you were doing. If someone interacted with you, you’d have such a poor attitude about it. Snappy, short, lots of eye rolling. This went on for two months.

One day, König set up a forced interaction. Dressed casually and slicked his blonde hair back. He looks handsome, standing at 6 '10 and being pure muscle. He knows he is attractive; his personality just sucks, much like yours seems to.

He lingers outside your second class of the day and looks around as if he were a lost student. Once he sees you, he walks over.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Your eyes dart to him as you take out an air pod. “What?” Your tone is unkind.

“I’m lost and I don’t know which room-”

“I’m late for class.” You cut him off and walk past him.

König just watches as you walk away with a smirk on his face. He knows once he has you in his hands, he’d have fun breaking you. After that, he waits for you to leave class and follow you home. Since you would not get to know him the typical way, he would continue getting to know you in the shadows.

You walk fast, but he has no issues keeping up. Your hips sway hypnotically, keeping his attention. Finally, you stop at a cute one-story home. He watches as you take your keys out and enter your home. Waiting a few minutes before he walks up to peek into your windows. He looks around to make sure no neighbors are watching as he walks up to your house, crouching.

Eyes peering through the first window, he sees your living room. Your shoes kicked off by the door, TV turned on already, and backpack thrown on the couch. His eyes scan the room, trying to take in every detail.

Continuing on he comes to the next window. He sees you and ducks back, worried you might have seen him. After a few seconds of no screams, he creeps back to the window. There you are. Taking off your shirt and jeans, just standing there in your beige bra and blue cotton panties. Totally unaware you’re being watched as you check yourself out in your dresser's mirror.

Watching like a hawk as you open the top draw and pull out a pink little vibrator. König could already feel his pants begin to tighten. You walk to your bed, grabbing a towel that’s folded underneath the bed. Laying the towel out, getting your pillows situated, and moving the blanket. It’s almost like a ritual and König’s interest is definitely piqued.

He watches as you lie down on the bed. Your pretty pussy covered with a little bit of hair, as you spread your legs he can see the pink within your folds. Fuck this is gold…

König quickly undoes his pants as he watches you pick a setting before moving it to your little clit. Through the window he can hear how loud you’re being, your legs twitch from the stimulation. All the while König stands there feverishly stroking his leaky cock. Imagining him running up to you and shoving his cock in that tight little pussy…

Your hips begin to grind into the vibrator as your head drops back on to your pillows. Your left leg is starting to tremble… König watches without blinking as your innocent pussy begins to squirt. Fingers replacing the vibrator, you start rubbing your clit quickly. Your sweet juices are spraying everywhere. He bites his lip as he begins to cum, accidently cumming on the siding of your house. It felt as if he were a wild animal and just marked you, leaving his scent behind to deter other predators.

This became a ritual for König as the school year went on. He would follow you around campus, watch who you talk to, see how you interact with the world. Occasionally he would try to go up to you and just talk nicely, but every time you shot him down. As if you’re better than him. Then he would follow you home and masturbate outside your window as you play with your tiny cunt.

That was until summer break happened. You went away to work as a camp counselor for the summer, leaving König behind. With you gone, König felt lost. He spent most of the summer inside watching porn. Looking for actresses that resemble you, but none could match your perfect breasts or pretty pink cunt.

August rolls around and classes start back up. König walks into his social science class and sees you… perfect. You sit in the front, middle. Teacher’s pet know-it-all, of course you’d pick there to sit.

König sits in the very back, where he has a clear line of view in your direction. He watches as you rest your head in the palm of your hand. How you cross your legs and squeeze, as if you’re trying to stimulate some sort of pleasure. Little slut, you can’t even control yourself in class. All the obsession comes rushing back to him. He needs you.

Halloween rolls around. König is handed a flier for a costume party that will be happening at one of the sororities here on campus. His new friend Carl, your friend’s boyfriend, goes out with him to buy costumes.

They both walk through the Halloween store and talk casually. He tries to think of ways to ask about you without being so direct.

“Is Christas bitch friend coming?” König chuckles to make it seem less important to him.

“Y/n? Probably not. She never shows to support anything Christa does. When she does, she’s in a foul mood and just leaves. It breaks Christas heart.” He sounded genuinely upset with you and your behavior.

“What’s her deal anyway?”

“I don’t know. Little stuck up virgin bitch thinks she’s better than Christa because she’s waiting until marriage.”

Virgin. That’s why you only touch your clit; you don’t want to “pop” your cherry.

“Is she religious?”

“Probably. I never cared to ask. Let’s just hope she doesn’t show up and ruin it.”

“Yeah.” König didn’t want you to show up, but for a very different reason. He had something special in the works.

Reaching up, König grabs a Ghostface mask and holds it up to his face. “Hey, what about this?”

Halloween night, König puts on the black robe over a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, and a small satchel bag that has duct tape and rope. A real knife in his hand. He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, looking at himself. Blonde hair longer and pushed back, dark circles under her icy blue eyes, and a twisted look on his face.

“You got this. You can do it.” He whispers as he slips the mask over his face.

König leaves his shared apartment on campus and walks down the street while the sun is just beginning to set. Other students rush past him, all heading to their own Halloween parties. Towering over everyone dressed as Ghostface, he had a few people jump out of fear. From behind the mask, he apologizes while laughing. As if he is a normal guy.

Finally, he approaches the steps on the sorority. Walking inside he sees that there are a few other Ghostface at the party already. König rolls his eyes under the masks. His attention turns to the staircase as he hears Christa and Carl arguing. Without being seen, he walks closer to listen in. It’s clear that she’s talking about y/n.

You bailed. Probably home studying or making yourself squirt. The thought gives König a chub. You’re exactly where he hoped you would be. At first, he was nervous this wouldn’t work out for him. No, you never change. Easy to track. Before he is seen, he slips out of the doors.

He blends in easily for once in his life. Everyone dressed up like freaks or sluts. The giant isn’t the main focal point today. Once he enters your neighborhood, he notices the empty streets, but very loud house music. All of your neighbors seem to gather, yet your home's lights are on.

Cautiously, he approaches your living room window. Boom, there you are, asleep on the couch. The TV on TLC, some random trash television show. He attempts to lift the window in front of him, but it’s locked. Moving down a window to your bedroom, also locked. König walks around the back and tries the back door, locked. The kitchen window is a little smaller, but he still tries it. Open.

Carefully, König climbs through the window. His massive body just barely begins to fit, but he manages. Slowly he climbs off of the counter that was right under the window, being sure to not kick anything off the counter and possibly wake you up.

Once stable on the floor he stood there for a while and looked around your kitchen. Your style was quirky, which was odd because you act as if you have no personality. Before waking you up, he goes into the bedroom and gets that towel you keep under your bed. He lays it out on the bed the same way you do. Even arranging the pillows and blanket for you.

Reaching into his bag under his black robes, he takes out the rope and tape. The rope he leaves on the bed as he walks out of the bedroom with the tape. He pulls some and he can be quick to shut you up.

With soft steps he makes his way to the living room. He can see your hands are in your hands as if you fell asleep masturbating. A virgin whore. He’s ready to just make you into his whore. Standing over you as you sleep; eyes drifting over your breast and the tiny bit of midriff that is showing.

Slowly lowering his face closer to you until he sees your eyes open. At first it’s as if you didn’t register what you saw. König tilts his head. Then you open your eyes again and begin to scream. Quickly he covers your mouth with the tape.

“Shhh,” his eyes go wild behind the mask.

You try to stand and get away but his massive body easily overpowers yours and slams you back down into the couch.

“Don’t fucking move.” He hisses as he cuts the tape with the knife. Pulling more, he adds an extra layer.

With ease he lifts your body from the couch, pinning your arms to your side so you can’t hit him. Your legs kicking as he brings you into your room; eyes going wide as you see that he set the bed up the same way you set up when you masturbate.

König giggles looking at your face, “I did good, ja?”

He grabs the rope and tosses you on the bed. As you try to stand up, he pushes you back hard, “Give up Maus, you’re mine tonight.”

Using his massive body to pin you down, he climbs on top of you. Your face down into the mattress as he grabs one of your arms and pins it behind your back before grabbing the other. He uses the rope to tie your hands together, tight enough to dig into your flesh.

“I’ll show you how to have a really good time.”

König stands and grabs your body, turning you to rest on your back, nuzzled in the pillows like when you masturbate. He walks to your dresser and takes out the small pink vibrator. You look up at him with wide eyes, it’s clear that he’s been watching you.

“Now, don’t move, or I might cut you.” He says leaning back over your body as he begins to cut your shirt from your body. Your full breasts come into view and he can’t help the temptation of reaching up and pinching your nipple. You try to scream through the tape, but the sound is muffled.

His attention drops down to the waistband of your pajama pants. Slowly he pulls them down. Seeing your cunt face to face instead of at a distance was breathtaking. Speechless, he moves his fingers through the soft hair that covers your pussy. Finally, he can feel you, smell you, taste you.

“If you move, I’ll gut you.” He threatens as he begins to settle himself between your legs.

He lifts his mask slightly and takes in a deep breath of what your pussy smells like. It’s almost sinful. He has to taste it. Slowly he slips his tongue out and swipes it through your folds. You squirm slightly but stop, remembering the knife. He swipes his tongue up again. If he knew you were this sweet, he would have broken in sooner.

Shoving his face into your pussy he takes a deep breath before sucking on your clit. He bites it lightly, causing you pain as your body jerks away. Not letting you move; he wraps his arms around your legs tightly to hold you still. Spit running down his chin as he aggressively laps at your cunt. He slurps your pussy juice before biting your labia. Again, you jerk in pain and König just laughs as he pulls his mask back down.

Once he stands from the bed he just looks down at your naked body. He begins to pull off the black robe, tossing aside the satchel. Stripping down to his birthday suit, but the mask stays on. His body is massive with a cock so heavy it hangs.

He grabs your pink vibrator and turns it on, gently holding it to your clit. His eyes light up as your legs begin to tremble. Muffled little moans escaping your lips. You can’t help but to feel pleasure, even though you’re in this situation.

“Good…kleine Hure.” He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside. Inching closer to you, he slaps his cock on your pussy a few times.

“Ready?”

You shake your head no and try to scoot away from him, but he grabs your legs and drags you back to him. “No, no, no, you’re not getting away that easy.”

Looking down at your cunt he rubs the head of his cock back and forth over your clit. Slowly he slips down. With one hard thrust of his hips, he bullies his monster cock deep inside of your unused pussy. The tightness of your cunt was something only his hand had ever given him.

“Mien Gott, you really were a virgin.” He chuckled.

König grabs your legs and lets them fall over his arms as he holds your ass up off the bed slightly. His hips rolling rapidly into you, looking down he can see blood on his cock. A soft growl leaves his lips.

He lets your legs drop as he leans over you, one of his hands wrapping around your throat lightly. “My fat unprotected cock just ruined your pretty virgin cunt.”

You try to turn your head away from him as tears begin to roll down your eyes, but he doesn’t let you. He turns your head back to face him.

“Eyes open. I want to see the shame when I make you cum.”

You open your eyes as you have no choice but to listen. His free hand reaches down between your legs and begins to rub your clit. Trying to resist the pleasure was impossible, your legs tremble as your pussy feels as if it were torn in two.

He watches as you shake your head no. Your pussy getting tighter on his cock, he knew. He pulls out quickly, shoving his middle and ring finger into you. He presses down on the lower part of your stomach as his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

You drop your head back and he slaps your pussy, “Eyes on me!” His voice a low growl.

Lifting you head back up to look at him, your eyes cross from the explosion of pleasure you’re feeling. You squirt, hitting the Ghostface mask slightly, getting it all over König’s hands and arms.

“That’s what I want to see!” He excitedly slips his cock back into your pussy. His eyes watch as you wince in pain.

His hips move mercilessly into you. “I’m going to cum deep inside of this pussy. You’re going to get pregnant with my babies. You like staying home anyway, right?”

The look on your face as he talks down to you is full of fear and it’s just enough to get him off. He presses his cock fully into you, your cries of pain muffled buts still so beautiful. König cums deep inside of you. His seamen painting every inch of your velvety walls. A loud groan leaves his mouth as he tries to press in even further.

The look on your face is almost relieved as he cums, that means this is over with. So, you thought. He pulls his cock out, covered in blood and cum. In one quick motion he flips you on to your stomach, pulling you down the bed a little. He sits on the bed now, one leg on either side of you. König leans forward to pull the tape off of your mouth and drags you closer to him by your shoulders.

“You’re going to clean this.” He says slapping his cock on your face a few times. “Open.”

You don’t struggle, opening your mouth wide. The taste of salty cum and blood assaults your taste buds. His hand grasping a fist full of hair and shoving his cock down your throat. Your body thrashes, legs kicking as you gag.

“Get used to it, Maus. My cock isn’t leaving your throat any time soon.”

847 notes · View notes

megalony · 2 months

Text

My Little Girl

This is an Evan Buckley imagine I very suddenly had an idea for. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff

@jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Evan is happy to bump into his wife and daughter while out on a call. But things go sideways when they get involved in a sniper shooting and his daughter gets hurt.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Em! What are you doing?" (Y/n) took a sharp breath when her eldest pulled on her arm, almost yanking her arm out of its socket. A jolt ran through her shoulder but she paid it no mind, focusing her attention on Ember instead.

The fifteen year old tightened her arm that was looped through the crook of (Y/n)'s elbow and started speeding up, subsequently dragging her mum along with her.

"That's dad's truck, right?"

Hope fuelled Ember's voice and a smile lit up her face when she pointed towards the fire truck across the road that acted like a beacon drawing her in. For the last four and a bit years since her dad became a fire fighter, Ember lit up whenever she saw a truck or heard that familiar siren. She was always looking out for the trucks, wondering if it was her dad's team passing by. Just like her younger siblings did.

And the few times she saw the right truck it was like she was floating. Ember had spotted her dad driving the truck once on her way to school and she had grinned like the Cheshire Cat when he flicked the siren on as they passed her by.

(Y/n) squinted and leaned forward, looking ahead at the truck but her lips curved into a smile when she noticed the writing on the side.

118.

Oh yes, that was her husband's truck.

"You wanna go see if he's there?" (Y/n) already knew the answer and when her daughter visibly shivered and nodded, they changed their direction.

The pair of them had been out for a doctor's appointment this morning, something Ember wasn't so good with. She couldn't handle needles and this morning the nurse had the joys of trying to take a blood sample from Ember. After three goes of trying to find a suitable vein, Ember fainted and she still looked a bit worse for wear. But seeing her dad's team might be the thing to perk her up before (Y/n) walked her back to school.

The pair of them turned to the left and crossed the road, aiming for the truck parked up on the side of the street. There was an ambulance parked just behind the truck and another truck from a different station a few feet ahead.

If they were busy or right in the middle of a call then the girls would carry on their way and head back. But they knew it was worth searching just to see if they could catch a glimpse of Evan at work.

They spotted him instantly. He was the odd one out in the group of men stood on the pavement beside the truck like they were having a motherly meeting.

Evan had his back to them but from the way his biceps were tensed, he looked to have his arms folded over his chest. He was wearing a tight pair of black jeans and a white button up shirt with faint golden lines sewn into the material. The sleeves were short and looked like they were digging into his biceps that were a little too big to fit properly into the sleeve holes.

"Dad."

Ember glanced at her mum for approval before she slid her arm from (Y/n)'s elbow as Evan spun on his heels.

A bright smile lit up Evan's face and his arms dropped from his chest and opened wide when he saw his girl barrelling towards him. His teeth sank down into his lower lip and his arms bound tight around Ember when she tucked herself into his chest. He felt her arms squeezing around his chest and her nose pressed against his sternum as she burrowed into him.

He kissed the top of her head before pressing his cheek into her hair and he began to sway them from side to side.

"Hey sweetheart." He murmured softly into her hair while his eyes lifted and locked onto his wife.

He watched (Y/n) stand beside Eddie, her arms folded over her chest and a soft grin on her lips.

The team knew all of Evan's family, they had to considering Eddie was his best friend and Chimney was practically an in-law now he was dating Maddie. Each of them knew Ember, the fifteen year old frequented the station often enough. They knew she was the apple of Evan's eye, and everyone knew he would get defensive if people dared to snigger or comment on the fact that he had only been seventeen when he had her.

He always said she was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Ember tilted her head back so she could look up at Evan, her grin never wavering whilst her chin pressed down into his chest just below his collar bone.

"How'd it go this morning?" He took the chance to peck her forehead while his hand glided up and down her back.

Ember darted her eyes down, focusing on one of the buttons on her dad's shirt before she loosened her left arm from around his waist. She reeled her arm back and nudged up her sleeve to let him see her elbow. There were three distinctive red marks on her skin that showed the nurse's failed attempts at drawing blood. And then there was one larger blood wheel where they finally got to take two samples.

She had an under-active thyroid which needed constant monitoring and an iron deficiency. So blood tests were needed every other month so they could try and get her on meds to keep everything under control and try to lower the side effects.

"I passed out, mum caught me though."

"That bad, huh? We'll have to get Chim to do your bloods next time." Evan pecked her temple once again before he unravelled his arms from his girl and looked towards his wife.

(Y/n) rose a brow and dragged her eyes up and down his frame. The first two buttons on his shirt were undone, but apart from that, he didn't look like he was no shift at work. He wasn't out of breath, he wasn't sweating through his clothes or red-faced or using any equipment. He looked like a passer-by rather than one of the team considering the rest of them were in uniform.

"Are you too good for your uniform?" She dropped her folded arms and reached out for Evan's chest when he stood in front of her. He tipped his chin down and looked over his attire, suddenly remembering he still wasn't dressed for work.

He had only just turned up at work after dropping the two younger kids off to school when Eddie said they had a call. There wasn't time for Evan to hop in the locker room and get changed into his uniform so he climbed in the truck and off they went.

"Hm, something like that. You okay?" The smirk on Evan's face had (Y/n) breaking out into a grin and she dragged her nails up and down his chest before peppering kisses up the side of his neck.

"You mean besides practically carrying our fifteen year old out the doctors, yeah I'm good. You can take her next time though."

It was no secret that Ember was a daddy's girl, she was always going to be calmer with him. Although she had done great at staying calm today, even when she fainted she had come round and got back up again perfectly well. But it would have been easier with Evan there. He could have caught her a bit more gracefully than (Y/n) had since she practically fell on top of Ember when she tried to stop her sliding off the chair onto the floor.

It was just a relief that she was fine and moving about now as if nothing had happened this morning.

"I will, baby, don't worry." He nudged his nose against hers, gently tilting (Y/n)'s head back enough to capture a quick but searing kiss from her lips.

A grin broke out on Ember's face and she dragged her hands up and down her arms, arching a brow at Chimney when he pulled a face at seeing her parent's display of affection.

"So, where are you two headed?" Both Chimney's hands fell to his hips and his fingers began to tap along with his foot beating out a rhythm against the pavement.

This call had been surprisingly quick and now all of them could head back to their station. No one would be opposed to (Y/n) and Ember coming back to the station with them for a while. Especially since Hen and Bobby would most likely be on shift by now. They hadn't been as early as Eddie and Evan this morning and Chimney had already been on shift for two hours.

"School." Ember muttered with pursed lips and a quiet sigh. The only good thing about her doctors appointments was the fact that they had to happen within school hours. The GP office was only open between school hours and closed on weekends, and they had to fit Ember's appointments around (Y/n) and Evan's work shifts.

She couldn't go by herself because she was only fifteen and she had a tendency to faint. Someone had to accompany her.

Eddie leaned one elbow against the truck and used the other to give (Y/n) a slight nudge when she and Evan finally parted.

"I bet you've got time for a coffee." He grinned, flashing his pearly whites when (Y/n) nodded and Ember's smile brightened. She didn't have to go back to school right this minute. They had time for a trip in the fire truck and a coffee at the station before (Y/n) got her back to school.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and glanced over at her daughter. She was stood back on the pavement, swaying from one side to the next as she retold one of Evan's embarrassing stories to Chimney. Her grin broadened every time Evan shook his head or sighed. He was stood near the back of the truck with the Captain from the 227 beside him as they had been at this scene for backup.

She twisted to look back at Eddie with a soft grin. They had time, it would perk Ember up to be around the team for a while and it would let (Y/n) be with Evan for a bit too. And they needed to arrange plans with Eddie since Chris was dying to come over for a sleepover, and he wouldn't stop hassling Buck until they sorted it out.

"Yeah, I think-"

Whatever (Y/n) was about to say faded out into silence in comparison with the gunshots that rang out through the air.

Evan froze.

His muscles contracted, his head tilted back and his arms froze in mid-air when blood splattered up his shirt and across his face like someone had drove past him and hit a puddle. He couldn't help but flinch, feeling his upper lip curl and a disgruntled noise swallowed at the back of his throat.

For a second, when the blood hit, his eyes closed. But the moment they opened, it was as if his whole world had fallen apart.

His daughter fell.

Her body twitched and turned to the side as if she was searching for him and it cut violently at his heart strings. She didn't quite seem to recognise that the blood covering Evan was her own because something horrid and frightened dwelled in her eyes when she looked at him.

It made her look like a little girl again.

Like the little two year old that stopped Evan from completing his training for the Marines. The little heartstopper he couldn't get out of his head while they were trying to train him to lose all emotion. Or the eight year old who loved it when Evan worked in that bar in California because he would always take her to the beach on his days off.

Then she stumbled. Her feet slipped, her upper body tilted backwards and she went down to the floor as blood soaked into her school shirt, changing it from crystal white to rose red. It blossomed on her shirt like petals being scattered over her body. And the way it trickled out the exit wound in her back, creating a darkened puddle on the floor beneath her.

Static buzzed in Evan's ears as his tense, taut body suddenly jolted when the Captain launched himself at him. He grabbed the back of Evan's neck and his arm and tackled him to get him down to the floor as close to the truck as they could manage to be hidden from the line of fire. No one could hear, think or understand where the shots had come from and at least two more hit the engine of the truck and bounced off into the street.

Evan didn't realise he was making a noise until the ringing in his ears slowly faded and gave way to the petrified scream that took all the air from his lungs. When he dragged in another breath, he went right back to screaming until he was red in the face and the vein was popping up the side of his neck.

His nails clawed at the tarmac road until blood started to scrape along the pad of his fingers.

"Ember!" His daughter's name morphed into a scream but when he tried to scoot closer to her, The Captain laid over his back and pinned him down, still holding the back of his head to keep him looking down.

"Shots fired! Repeat, we're being shot at! Civilian down, back up needed now. Send help!" Chimney screamed into the radio clipped to his shoulder while he cowered down, using the truck as cover next to Evan and the other Captain.

(Y/n) couldn't see.

Spots flooded her vision and a terrible ringing like constant bells were going off in her ears, blocking out the rest of the noises around her.

She felt frozen to the spot, right until Eddie's hands clamped down on her arms and he was pulling her away. He was trying to take her away from her daughter. She needed to get to Ember. She had to get to her little girl. She was hurt, she was in agony, she needed protecting.

(Y/n)'s arms started to bash from side to side and horrid, burning screams left her lips that she could hardly hear. She couldn't hear Eddie's rough, calloused voice telling her to get down. Telling her he would get to Ember, but they needed cover first, they needed to hide. They had no idea where the sniper was or why he was shooting at them.

She didn't care. (Y/n) just wanted her daughter. her knees scraped against the floor and the back of her head collided with the truck when Eddie yanked her back into his chest. He rolled onto his back, sliding off the pavement and onto the rough tarmac road with (Y/n) against his chest. He bound his arms around her waist, preventing her from moving.

Eddie would never forgive himself if he didn't protect (Y/n) in time and let her get shot. They had all failed already, Ember had gotten hurt, Eddie couldn't let anyone else get shot. He couldn't let another one of Evan's family get shot down after his teenage daughter.

"Em! Ember-"

"We'll get her. We will, just stay down, please." Eddie could feel tears welling up in his eyes when (Y/n) started to sob.

He had known them for over four years. He knew Ember since she was ten, she had grown up with Chris, the two of them were like siblings and seeing her get hurt in turn hurt Eddie too. He would help her if he could, but he had to keep (Y/n) down here where she was covered and protected by the truck.

Eddie was used to batlefields, he knew how to navigate them and he knew this was the best option for her.

Evan wasn't sure how he heard it over the raised, screaming voices, the shots and the sirens wailing from the trucks, but he heard it. Evan heard his name. Or maybe he just saw the way Ember's lips moved to try and form his name but either way, he knew his little girl was calling out for him. And he had to get to her.

He thrust his elbow into the Captain, he screamed and roared until he managed to roll under the truck. He was getting his daughter back in his arms, he had to get to her and she was going to be taken to the hospital whether the shooter liked it or not.

Evan army crawled beneath the truck, scraping his chin against the floor to stop from bashing his head up against the metal.

"Ember! Sweetheart I- I'm here!" He poked his head out from under the engine and took a quick look round for the shooter but he couldn't see anything. His vision was blurred and hazy and his eyes were moving too rapidly to take anything in. All he could see was Ember.

Blood was forming a river beneath her chest and her white shirt was turning crimson from the rouge blood dribbling down it. She had been shot in the chest, but she was still conscious. Her head slowly lolled to the right to look at her dad and he saw the manic fear and the pain dwelling in her eyes as his name bubbled past her lips.

"D-dad-"

"I've got you baby."

He didn't know where to grab her. Where could he hold her without inflicting agony on her? Where would be the best place to grab her so he could drag her across the road to get her beneath the truck with him? He wasn't sure and he didn't have time to debate it, he had to be quick.

His fingers dug into her shirt just near the collar and his nails scratched through the thin material until he was scraping her skin beneath his short nails. His right hand pressed into the floor to steady himself when he started to pull. A violent scream tore from Evan's lips as he shuffled back and dragged his daughter with him.

"Come on!" His words mingled with Ember's tormented cry when he pulled her sharply and the pain ignited in her chest. Tears blurred down her face and her wet lips parted to let out another tepid, meek cry when the tarmac scraped against her back that felt like it was on fire.

The clouds in the sky looked like cotton candy swirling above her head and Ember could see stars shining above her in the middle of the day. The pain became too overwhelming to continue staring at the sky so she snapped her eyes closed as tightly possible. Emitting a feeble howl when her dad yanked her by the scruff of her shirt with an unknown force that had her sliding beneath the fire truck.

Once they were both safely hidden beneath the engine of the truck, Evan let his head slump down against his forearm and he tried to catch his breath back. He could feel his body shaking, his muscles tightening from straining to drag his daughter with only one hand. But he couldn't stay here. He couldn't stop, he had to keep moving. He had to get her to the hospital. Evan couldn't let his daughter bleed out on the road; he couldn't lose her.

"I got you, sweetheart."

Evan could feel his elbows and knees scraping against the floor causing bloodwheels and grazes to cut into his skin, but he didn't care. He latched both hands beneath his daughter's arms and shuffled backwards, beneath the truck to the other side where his wife and team were.

"We need assistance-"

"Get in the truck! We have to move her. Now!" Evan's hoarse, scraping voice cut over Chimney's through the radio and he pointed at the truck as venom and spit passed his lips. He wasn't waiting here like a sitting duck and letting his daughter die in the street.

Tears streaked down (Y/n)'s face and her hands scraped against the gravel to shuffle closer to her daughter.

Why her?

Why Ember? Had she been an intended target? Surely not, no shooter would know that (Y/n) and Ember would cross the street to talk to the firemen. They had to be innocent bystanders, but if they weren't the target, who was? Which one of the team was supposed to be hit? Was it Eddie, who had been closer to (Y/n)? Was Evan supposed to have been hit? Why were they being targeted?

Why had their daughter been shot?

She could feel Eddie's hands on her shoulders and his body hovering behind her, trying to shield her just in case the shooter was going to target her too. He would rather keep (Y/n) and Ember safe than faff trying to protect himself right now.

A round of trembling shook Ember's body back and forth against the pavement but she could barely feel it. She couldn't feel anything but the hole in her chest just beneath her right shoulder. It felt like her skin was splitting apart at the seams. She was a tappestry being unravelled. Cotton fibres pulling apart, ready to be littered across the floor like a crumpled mess.

"Baby, eyes on me, okay?"

Ember tried to keep her eyes focused on her dad when he leaned over her and his hands cupped her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks and he tilted her head back so she was looking at him but a guttural cry left her lips when Chimney leaned over her and tried to assess her chest. Even the slightest touch of his fingertips felt like he was burning her skin.

"Everyone in the truck."

(Y/n) didn't know if she held the willpower to get up or not but she did her best to clamber onto shaking legs. Her hands shook as they plastered to the side of the truck. She tried to keep herself hunkered down so she wasn't going to be a target. Her knees scraped against the metal steps and once she was inside the truck, (Y/n) flopped onto her knees and cowered down.

She watched Chimney hop up after her and keep as low as possible when another round of bullets pummeled into the side of the truck and sent them shaking back and forth.

A number of words were on the tip of Ember's tongue but she couldn't find anything to say when a bullet hit close and her body shuddered. She wasn't sure why it scared her when she had already been hit once, another bullet might send her unconscious and stop the pain or finish her off quickly.

She watched her dad hover over her, leaning closer as if to shield her from anymore bullets.

Ember wanted to smile, she wanted to feel relieved and bask in the safety she always felt when her dad went to pick her up. But all she could do was scream when he lifted her up.

It hurt so much. He hooked her right arm around the back of his neck and it caused her skin to tear and her blood to bubble and she felt all her blood soaking into her shirt as if she was showering in blood. The feeling of her chest pressing into Evan's shoulder made Ember cry out feebly and she went limp against his chest with her head flagging against his upper back.

He kept hold of her arm and his other hand gripped her thigh to keep her as still and steady as possible so he could move. He felt Eddie's hand on his lower back, his friend hovering close behind him as Evan spun and scrambled up the steps into the truck.

Spit dribbled past Ember's lips and onto Evan's shirt and tears dropped off the end of her nose and left a trail across the floor behind them. She wanted to clutch at him, to cling and hit and kick her legs to get her dad to somehow make the pain go away, but she couldn't move at all.

"D-dad…" The broken tone of her voice made Evan shiver and had tears pouring down his face.

"Sorry baby," He cried along with a grumble as he carefully lowered Ember down across the row of seats. He was glad to see (Y/n) curled up in the corner seat, trying to keep herself as small a target as possible. But when Evan lowered their girl down, (Y/n)'s arms instantly opened up.

She shuffled closer so Ember's head rested on her lap, just like she would when she was little and she felt sick or when she couldn't sleep. The thought sent (Y/n)'s mind reeling and tears soaked her face as her trembling hands smoothed up and down Ember's arms.

"Mum,"

"It's okay, honey. W-we're here, you're gonna be okay." Tears poured down (Y/n)'s face and she rolled her lips together to supress a broken cry.

She didn't want to breakdown yet. Not when Ember was trying to stare up at her through blurry eyes and floods of tears. Her daughter needed her to be strong and (Y/n) would do her best.

Eddie took a quick leap and bolted across towards the truck and climbed in the drivers seat. He slouched down low to avoid being shot and hurriedly turned the engine on so the truck rumbled to life. Relief overtook Chimney when he noticed the medic bag was still sat on the backseat, unused and ready for action.

Evan leaned forward on his heels with the soles of his boots pressed into the bottom of the seats, his large frame didn't cramp well in the footwell of the truck like this. His hand rested on the back of the seats to keep himself hovering over Ember while his other hand planted down on (Y/n)'s thigh, gripping as tight as possible until he was almost cutting her leg in two.

They left the truck door swinging open as Eddie took a sharp turn and jolted the truck to life, juttering down the street to get away from the scene.

"Let me see, sweetheart." Evan's voice dropped an octave and shuddered along with the truck when they turned another sharp corner.

He leaned against the seat and grimaced as he pulled at her shirt until the buttons split and came undone to let him see the wound. This was the last thing Evan wanted to be doing, but he had to stop the bleeding and check where the bullet had gone. He had no idea if it had hit her lung or not and if he was close enough to her lung, it could cause her chest to collapse.

The gunshot wound was two inches below her collar bone on the right side and it was pouring blood like a tap. Blood coated all her chest, trickled down her abdomen and started to pool beneath her on the seats. It was lathered all over Evan and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

A feeble cry left Ember's lips when Evan snatched the wad of gauze from Chimney and pressed it down against the wound so deeply it felt like he was trying to apply CPR to her chest. Her chest shuddered and pushed up from the seats and her nails scratched into the back of Evan's arm as she screamed. Spit bubbled past her lips and her blurring eyes locked on her dad.

He leaned over her and pressed a shaking, bloodied hand against the side of her face. His thumb smoothed over her cheek and his fingers fluttered against her jaw. Evan tried to smile but he couldn't manage it.

"Hurts, dad."

"I know baby, just focus on breathing for me, okay? We've got you," He swiped his sleeve beneath his nose and rubbed at his reddened eyes before his hand reached out to brace on the seat when Eddie took a sharp swerve to the right.

His other hand stayed pressed down on Ember's chest and he managed some sort of morphed smile when her trembling hand reached up to clamp down around his wrist. Her grip was weak but her touch was what they both needed. It showed Evan she was still conscious and focusing on him and it reassured her that both her parents were there and neither of them were going to leave her.

"I… I wh-" She couldn't seem to find the right words and Evan wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him.

Her eyes tried to open wider but they kept going round in circles, unable to focus on anything in particular.

"Eyes on me, baby. Hey Em, Ember look at me." Evan watched her eyes roll towards the back of her head but when he patted her cheek and nudged her head from left to right, she tried to focus again. Her fingers twitched against his wrist and she managed a feeble groan while (Y/n) tried to rub her hands up and down her daughter's arms to stimulate her. And she leaned down to kiss the top of Ember's head.

But (Y/n) looked up at her husband with fright written across her face when Ember started to cough. Evan sobbed. His wet lips parted and a groaning, bubbling cry left his lips when his girl coughed up blood that dribbled down her chin and spotted across her lips.

"We're here!" Eddie jumped down from the truck and slammed his hands against the side of the truck before he pulled the door wider and waved Chimney down.

"Let's get you to a doctor, just stay with us baby, please?"

"You're gonna be alright honey, it's all okay. Me and dad are here, okay?" (Y/n) kissed her temple and moved her hands to hold the sides of Ember's neck to keep her head steady while Evan crouched down beside them both.

He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other under her back, making sure not to touch the wound. He couldn't inflict anymore pain onto his daughter.

Once he was up on his feet, (Y/n) carefully nudged Ember's head against his shoulder so her neck didn't hurt or strain. Her hand stayed on Ember's arm while her other hand scrunched up into Evan's shirt and she climbed down out of the truck behind him. She glued herself up against her husband, trying to stay as close as possible.

They barely got onto the pavement before three doctors rushed to meet them with a stretcher aiming their way.

He felt (Y/n) lean round him to help set Ember down on the stretcher as carefully as they could and a doctor was quick to clip a beck brace around her throat.

"Keep breathing for me Em, y-you're doing so good." Evan snatched the oxygen mask from the doctor and placed it over her mouth and nose while his other hand held her wrist when Ember's fingers deadlocked in his shirt.

He could briefly see the boys running after them out the corner of his eye and he felt (Y/n) hurrying at his side, both of them trying to stay as close to their daughter as possible. It was hard to run at an odd angle with the stretcher, but neither of them cared. They had to go with her. They didn't think or consider where they were going or what was going to happen. Not until they reached the theatre ward and a nurse suddenly held onto (Y/n)'s upper arms and started to pull her back.

"No- no please." (Y/n) did her best to shrug the nurse off her so she could run her shaking fingers through Ember's hair. "Baby we'll stay r-right here, okay? You hold on for us."

When hands tried to pull Evan away from the stretcher, shivers coursed up and down his body and he couldn't find the ability to breathe.

"No! She's our daughter we have to go with her!"

"Mum… daddy,"

Sobs ransacked Evan's body and his body jolted back and forth like he was being electrocuted. He could feel his heart trying to errupt from his chest and follow their daughter when she was snatched from their sights. He wanted to go with her. He wanted to keep her within his line of sight so he could reassure himself she was still alive and fighting to stay with them. They couldn't take her from him.

She was fifteen. She was still a child. Children didn't get shot, they shouldn't get hurt like that.

Why didn't the sniper hit Evan? Why did they hit his little girl?

Evan twisted to the left and the moment he opened his quivering arms, (Y/n) burrowed herself into his chest. Her face smashed into his sternum, her nose crushed against his skin and she choked when she realised the strong iron smell was the blood soaked into his shirt and lathering his hands and face.

Her nails clawed up and down his back as the pair of them began to shake. She could feel Evan sobbing into her hair, not even bothering to hide his tears anymore and she knew he could feel her cries vibrating through his ribcage and into his heart.

"Cap?" Eddie clenched his hand around his hip and took a few steps back so he was out of earshot. But he could still see the couple stood ahead of him with Chimney at their side, ready to reach out for them if they needed him. "We have a situation,"

"What kind of situation?"

"There- we were finishing up a job a-and a sniper fired at us and civilians. We're at the hospital."

"Is anyone hurt?"

"Ember was there; she's been shot."

***

"I'm here for Ember Buckley. Where is she? She's my niece." Maddie planted both hands down on the reception desk and tried to take deep breaths, but she resorted to gasping when it didn't work.

She had never had such a panicked phone call from Chimney before. She could barely make out what he had been trying to say and when she realised she could hear her little brother and sister in law sobbing in the background, her world shattered.

This wasn't the kind of phone call Maddie was used to. The only call she could reference to this kind of panic was when Ember had been four. Evan had only been twenty-one at the time and he called Maddie when Ember started to have breathing trouble and she was going lathargic. They all spent five days in the hospital with her after finding out she had developed sepsis from an infection.

That was the only time Ember had needed hospitalisation and it was the only time any of them ever worried they might just lose her.

Maddie didn't need the receptionist to reply when she tilted her head to the left and locked eyes on her partner in the next corridor. Her hands left the counter and her knees started to shake as she stumbled down the corridor, her eyes now locked on her little brother.

He was sat on the floor.

Evan was sat leaning up against a wall, his thighs spread wide to let his wife sit between his legs. (Y/n)'s head was burrowed into his chest and her hands were deadlocked around his bicep as Evan had one arm bound around her waist and the other strapped across her chest. With his head tilted down, his lips meshed into her hair and his eyes closed, silently streaming tears down his face.

"Buck…"

Blood lathered his arms, dried beneath his fingernails and across the palms of his hands and droplets were splattered across his face. He had been in too much shock to even think about going to the toilet and cleaning himself up. All he could do was sit down and rock back and forth with his wife in his arms. Muttering Ember's name over and over like a mantra to stop himself from going mad.

"Buck, are you okay? What happened?"

Maddie dropped her bag near Chimney's feet before she scuffed down on her knees in front of the couple. Her hands shakily reached out for Evan but when she tried to touch his thigh, she seemed to send him into shock. His body shuddered back against the wall and his head snapped up to look at her.

"What happened?" Maddie looked up at Chimney who had his hands entwined together behind his head like he had done for the last hour. She could see she wasn't going to get much of an answer from her brother or (Y/n) right now.

"They were coming back from the doctors, and we were about to leave the scene when they came over. Shots got fired, we couldn't even see where they were coming from. We couldn't do anything," None of them had even seen anyone in a building or close by with a gun. They couldn't see anything until the bullets were shot into Ember and bounced off the truck. It was like they had been ambushed but they didn't even know why.

"Em got hit, the bullet tore clean through her chest below her shoulder. She went straight to surgery, they'll come get us when it's over." All Eddie wanted to do was lean down and wrap Evan up in a hug. He wanted to comfort and console his best friend and tell him that his daughter would be alright. His girl took after him, she was a fighter, she wouldn't be taken away from them this easily. But Evan wouldn't listen.

Tears trickled down the bridge of Maddie's nose as she pressed her hand over her mouth to swallow down any cries threatening to come out. She rested her free hand on (Y/n)'s knee and started rubbing up and down to give her some sort of comfort.

This wasn't right. Maddie's eldest niece. The little girl who lightened up her life and made her feel alive. The girl she had helped to raise, the girl who stayed with her every weekend who was more like a granddaughter than a niece. Not their Ember.

"Why don't we go get you cleaned up." Her hand left her mouth and moved to wipe away the tears.

It wouldn't do them any good to sit here caked in dried blood. Their daughter's blood. Maddie could help, she could get Evan cleaned up and try to get them both calmed down and a bit more cooperative. They needed to be calm and ready to talk to the doctor once Ember's surgery was over.

But Evan shook his head and let fresh tears trace through the blood staining his face. He didn't want to move, he wanted to stay here holding his wife until they were allowed to be with their daughter.

"It's her blood,"

"I know,"

"Why wasn't it me? S-she was right there, I should have- I should have protected her. I couldn't- my little girl." A flood of tears streamed down Evan's face as he started to gasp and sniff through each breath.

He tucked his face into (Y/n)'s hair and held her tighter until he couldn't feel his chest anymore and he felt (Y/n)'s nails scratch into his arm.

Evan had been stood right in front of Ember. If she had moved a few feet towards him, if they had only been in each other's place then it would have been Evan who took the bullet. If he had been in front of her, the bullet might have gone straight through him and still hit Ember or one of the team, but he would of taken the brunt force and most of the damage.

If only the sniper hit him, everything would have been okay. They had three kids together, (Y/n) and Evan, and he would take a bullet for each of them any day of the week. He would die for them. But Evan never thought about what would happen if he lost Ember or Marcus or Lily. He never thought he would see any of them get hurt, let alone get taken down by a sniper.

Of all the bad things in the world, Evan had never thought about any of his children getting hit by a bullet.

He couldn't even catch her when she fell.

How were they meant to sit here and wait? How could they sit and do nothing when their daughter was in peril? What if she didn't make it? What if she died and they weren't there with her?

What were they going to do if they lost her?

***

Evan's head jerked forward from where he had been leant back against the wall and his hand clenched around (Y/n)'s at the sound of their name.

His legs started to jitter up and down, the heels of his shoes clicking against the floor which caused (Y/n) to jutter against his lap.

She lifted her head from where she had been laid over Evan's lap and she untangled her hand from where it had gone dead interlinked with Evan's fingers for what felt like an eternity. (Y/n) rubbed her hands up and down her face to liven herself up a bit and her knees trembled when she stumbled up to her feet.

Both hands reached out and clung to Evan's arm as the pair of them hurried ahead to meet the doctor halfway.

She could see Maddie out the corner of her eye perk up in her seat and clutch Chimney's hand to her chest. And she knew Bobby was still clutching his rosary beads which he had been praying to for the last few hours since he arrived.

It had taken a while, but Maddie had eventually managed to get Evan to his feet and guide him to the toilets to clean him up.

She found that telling him Ember would not want to wake up seeing her dad covered head to toe in blood seemed to click something into place in Evan's mind. He agreed. He would only frighten Ember if he walked into her room with blood splattered across his face and up to his shoulders.

He couldn't do much about his white shirt that was now crisp with dried blood. It would need to go in the bin when they went home, but he couldn't go home yet. He couldn't change or shower or think about stepping one foot out this hospital until he had seen his daughter. His baby girl.

Since then, Bobby had been silently praying, Eddie had been pacing the hall enough to complete two marathons. Hen had come down and was sat with Chimney and Maddie to try and calm them both down and give moral support. For the last hour, they had all been in silence in their own methods of praying, panicking and worrying.

But now the doctor was here, and Evan didn't know if he wanted to hear the outcome or not.

(Y/n) didn't want to know if this was going to be bad news. Her heart wouldn't be able to take it. She had barely managed to thank Hen who had asked Karen to pick Marcus and Lily up from school and watch them until they knew what was going on with Ember.

How could (Y/n) go home to her other two kids if they got bad news? How could she face them and tell them what had happened? How could she carry on if this was going to be the worst day of their lives?

(Y/n) could still remember everything from her pregnancy with Ember. She remembered seeing the light sparkle in Evan's eyes when she told him. She remembered how happy Maddie had been and that Maddie had been with them at the hospital when she gave birth. (Y/n) remembered all the scans and Ember's first steps, her first words, her tantrums and her cheeky grin and when she would sing with them in the car on a long journey.

All of that couldn't stop now. This couldn't be the end. This morning (Y/n) had been worried about Ember getting bloods taken at the GP, and this afternoon she was worried about her daughter surviving surgery. This wasn't where she thought she would be when she woke up this morning.

"Is- is she okay? Please tell me she's okay." Evan latched his right hand around (Y/n)'s hip since she was clinging to his arm, almost pulling him down with her. And his left hand started to scratch along the back of his neck creating deep indents that were drawing blood beneath his nails.

Tears were already freely streaming down his face again despite not knowing any news yet. His heart was threatening to give out. If she was okay, his heart was going to slip into cardiac arrest with relief and love. If she wasn't, Evan's heart would die of heartbreak.

"A vein burst during the repair and she haemorrhaged a lot, but we managed to stop the bleed. The bullet missed her lung and didn't catch any ribs, it was a clean shot. No nerve or bone damage and surgery went well, we've put her in the ICU for recovery."

Evan could feel his knees threatening to give way and he choked on his breath as his nails punctured into his neck. He felt (Y/n) gasping into his arm and she couldn't help but lean her weight into him like relief had swamped her and knocked her off her feet.

Tears started to flush (Y/n)'s face again even though she felt like she had cried enough to flood the ocean by now. But the relief came with such an adrenaline burst that (Y/n) was sure this is what it felt like to have a heart attack.

"C-can we see her now?"

"Of course."

Evan glanced over his shoulder but he could see by the tears of relief streaming down Maddie's face that she had caught wind of the conversation. She knew Ember was going to be okay. He didn't have to go over to them and explain. They could go straight in to see her and then the rest of the team could see how she was.

And Evan was going to have to thank them all for staying here at the hospital with them and waiting for news. They didn't have to stay and all of them didn't have to come down here, but they had. They had stuck with him and (Y/n) because they were all one big family, and they all cared about Ember.

(Y/n) could feel more tears streaming down her face before they were even in the room.

But once the door opened, a shiver crawled down her spine towards her toes and she pressed herself into Evan's side, unsure how to take a proper breath.

There was their daughter. Hair askew around her head, an IV taped into the back of her hand, wires stuck to her chest. An oxygen tube taped beneath her nose which they both knew she wasn't going to keep there for very long. Her right arm was in a sling pinned to her chest, presumably because the bullet had been close to her shoulder and they didn't want her moving the joint yet and causing any damage or distress.

Her eyes looked drowsy and out of focus when both parents hurried over to the bed to be as close as possible.

(Y/n) perched down on the edge of the bed beside Ember's hip and immediately reached down for her left hand that was twitching against the covers like she was reaching for something. She brought Ember's hand up to her lips and gently peppered kisses over her knuckles.

"Hey baby," She grinned through tears when she felt Ember's hand give hers a light squeeze and her fingers began to tap against the back of her hand.

"Mum…" Ember's eyes rolled around the room like they were following a beam of light and she huffed through each breath, trying to wake herself up a little more. She wanted to sit forward but she couldn't. Moving in any direction felt too tiresome and used too much energy when she didn't have any left to begin with.

Her other arm jerked but the motion caused her to wince and groan when she realised her arm was bound to her chest. She let her eyes do another sweep around the room that was slowly fading from blended colours into proper shapes and forms. And her lips curled into a docile smile when she realised who was hovering over her.

"Dad,"

She let her eyes fall closed and settled into their warmth and love when she felt her dad's hand cup the side of her neck and his lips pressed a few wet kisses to her warm temple.

"We're here, sweetheart. Don't worry, we're not going anywhere, and neither are you."

#evan buckley #911 imagine #imagine #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #maddie buckley han #eddie diaz

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mydearlybeloathed · 11 months

Text

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: even as you grow older, you'll always be his baby sister

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: strawhats x sanjissister!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lowercase intentional, cursing, allusions to insecurities

𝐚/𝐧: this is basically just sanji curing my childhood wish for a big brother. i have more ideas about how sanji would be at his wits end with a reckless little sister so look out for those hehe

i imagine sanji is two years older than you, but it never felt like it. you and him were never apart for too long, more by obligation than choice.

so it was no surprise when sanji dragged confused little you with him as he hid from the pirates invading the ship, only outing your hiding place in the name of saving his food from oregano.

you'd hurried after him, of course; that's all you knew to do at such a young age.

and when zeff had sanji up against the wall, being so young meant you also knew only one thing to do in this situation: you bit zeff, latching your teeth around his arm and drawing blood from his broken skin.

zeff howled and very nearly threw you into the wall as well, before his eyes zeroed in on you, this little girl with wild eyes and a mighty strong jaw. he only jerked you off him, then, staring from you to sanji then back to you. "wha—? what kind of little gremlin just bites a man?!" your eyes were steely. "I'm not a gremlin." then, "bitch." though it was clear you didn't understand what it meant, probably catching it from the other chefs of the now sieged ship. gritting his teeth, zeff continued on his shouting. it made you and sanji angry, and zeff marveled at how your expressions were twin–like, despite your difference in appearance. then, the ship had wrecked, and it all went downhill from there.

sanji always made sure you’d eaten more than him on that damn rock, even when you fought him and scratched him as he forced a morsel of bread into your mouth.

he'd held your hand as you cried the first ten days, and he had mourned when on the eleventh, your eyes took on a dead sort of sheen, like you were now a decade older in the head.

it was unnerving, really.

sanji learned a lot on that rock. like what it meant to be the responsible one, or at least more responsible than you.

sanji just wanted you to listen, but it seemed like all his words went in one ear and out the other. you wouldn't eat despite all his begging, only staring at him with that horridly blank stare and pushing the food back toward him. tears started to form at the corners of his eyes as he held up the very last piece of bread. "please," he begged. "please just eat it." you shook you head, forcing the tears to stream down his cheeks. that broke through your indifference, your frown deepening as you inched closer to him. "we'll half it," you offered, taking his shaking hand and guiding him to split the bread, taking one half and waiting for him to calm down before you ate in silence. you really did feel older than him, and he didn't like it. only when that night fell did he realize you were simply a very, very good actor. your whimpers were like thunder in his ears as he sprang up from a featherlight sleep, his eyes locking on your quivering form just a hair's breadth away. "y/n?" he whispered, shaking your shoulder. you spooked awake, and in the reflection of moonlight he saw glinting tears traced down your face. "nightmare?" your nod and sniffle tore him up inside, and in seconds he was hugging you to his chest, telling you stories till he was sure you were at least sleeping better than him. "someday," he said, "we'll find a place where we'll never go hungry. where every flavor and ingredient can be found. the all blue. i'll take us there, and we'll never starve again." you were asleep by the time he started plotting to raid zeff's side of the rock in the morning. it had been sanji who guarded you from seeing the stump left of zeff's leg, ignoring you when you asked him to explain what was happening.

growing up on the baratie was an experience, for sure.

your only company were the crooks who worked in the kitchen alongside you and sanji, and you found them amusing company indeed.

especially when they started teaching you how to be a remarkable little con-artist. once in your late teens, it wasn't long before you'd abandoned your work in the kitchen to wait tables.

not only were the tips amazing to pocket away, but your charming smile and whimsical attitude made you a master of sympathy.

there isn't a customer you can't placate, a fight you can't break up; sanji would never admit it, but you'd save him from one too many brawls with just a single simper.

it was easy to hold that over his head, but for some reason, sanji never let it keep him from completely wrecking your social life.

to say sanji is protective of you is the understatement of the century; you'd be the first to attest to that.

it was growing to be annoying and just plain inconvenient, if you're being honest.

was it too much to ask for some time to yourself... with the company of a horny teenage boy... in your quarters... alone?

"sanji!" you hissed, face bright red as your brother dragged you and this young sailor boy--you hadn't caught his name--out of a broom cupboard, his grip on the boy's collar deathly. throwing the boy aside, sanji stormed back up to him. "did you touch my sister? you think you can just take advantage of her like tha'?" you ran your hands over your face and rushed to separate sanji, shaking in anger, from the boy, shaking in his boots. "stop! he wasn't takin' advantage of me, sanji. hell, i started it!" "y-yeah!" the sailor boy piped in, cowering behind you. "she was all over me and—" "shut up," you and sanji said in tandem, shooting the boy matching glares that sent the poor sailor darting for his crew's ship.

as the years dragged on, you and sanji couldn't deny that the idea of remaining on the baratie all your lives would be... well... sad.

you wanted more for yourselves—you specifically wanted to get sanji away from zeff's constant criticism, no matter how well–meaning it was.

but the years really were dragging, and could you ever really bare to leave the man you'd nearly called father on several occasions? could you leave the shit-hole restaurant that raised you in it's wooden arms?

probably not. you'd probably die washing dishes (snore) and burning water (whoops) and charming the pants off grumpy old men (yuck).

that is, it always seemed that way until a grand vessel with a goat for a masthead docked at the baratie.

the day had been it's usual level of boring, until two customers decided to have a little row which heated up with every word shot back at each other.

you, having a good track record, rushed forth to prevent the fight just itching to break out. but today was not your lucky day.

"gentlemen," you grinned. stepping between the two men, you held up your hands and settled each of them with batted eyes and a soft expression. "what's this about, hmm?" sanji loitered at a nearby table, refilling drinks with one eye on you. he was ripely kicked out of the kitchen, snug in his waiter's jacket. one of them huffed, "he's at my table!" "i don't see your name on it!" the other snapped. your patience wanned, your thoughts screaming man-child. "i'm sure we can work something out. just please, don't start anything in the restaurant." the first man seemed to consider you, his eyes dragging up and down your form, but any progress you might have made was destroyed by the next second. "i ain't movin', girl. he can go shit 'imself in the corner." that was how you winded up directly between them, your hands pushing against either chest to keep them separated, your heartrate accelerating as they pressed in on you as if you weren't even there. grunting, you called out, "brother?" in seconds, sanji had a grip on your sleeve in one hand and a fistful of the first man's collar in the other. he jerked you away from them and swiftly shoved the men away from each other. "sister," he said in turn, cracking his neck as the men continued to not learn their lesson. "take these rolls to table four, yeah?" you didn't need to be told twice, swiping the tray of bread from his arm and beelining for a booth housing a motley crew of people. behind you, grunts and winces and crashing could be heard, followed by the thick silence of your brother's victory. you set the tray down on the table, shooting a tight lipped smile up at the guests. a boy wearing a peculiar straw hat locked you in place with his bright eyes and wondered aloud, "he's a great fighter." "yep," you quipped. "a real hero. any drinks for the handsome crew?"

it turned out the boy with the straw hat was crazy: he intended to become king of the pirates.

you admired his tenacity, of course, but really? he had a death wish.

still, the more you spoke to luffy and the more you observed his character, being king of the pirates didn't seem so crazy. he had guts, that was for sure.

as crazy as it sounded, you started to believe he could do it.

so it was really no surprise you said yes when luffy asked you to join his crew.

he had already asked sanji the day before—before luffy's swordsman friend got obliterated by a warlord of the sea.

you didn't know him, but when you rushed onto the going merry after zeff an sanji, and you saw the bloodied man lying there, you could barely move a muscle.

you were never good around the air of death, and it was all around roronoa zoro, lingering like a knock you expected but never came. so you couldn't move, not even when they moved zoro to a bed, out of sight. not when zeff and sanji retreated back to the baratie.

you snapped back to life at the sound of luffy's voice, finding him leaning down to be directly eye level with you. he was still speaking, and it felt sort of like being under water, till finally, you surfaced. "sorry what?" "are you okay?" he asked, brows knit. you pondered your response while looking anywhere but his face. "yeah, sorry. i... i don't like feeling helpless, i guess." you vaguely gestured to where zoro's limp body had laid upon the nearby table. "being out of control makes me wig out." luffy tilted his head. "why're you out of control?" "because," you nearly laughed. "your friend is dying." immediately, you regretted your word choice, hating how the light fizzled from his eyes. "he's not dying," luffy snapped back. "he was injured and now he's healing. why does everyone insist he's dying?" you shuffled on your feet. "right, sorry." when you met his eyes again, there wasn't any frustration like you assumed there would be. instead, he settled you with a curious look. "you don't have to keep apologizing." luffy was an odd type of pirate, you thought with a forced little grin. "then how will people know i'm sorry?" he smiled. "fair point." taking a hold of your sleeve, luffy started to drag you deeper into the going merry, leading you right to where zoro was laid. his grip on you loosened as he passed into the room, but you stayed cemented in the doorway. nami was there, sullen looking. you watched as nami berated luffy and stormed away, shoulder checking you on the way out, leaving luffy smileless. that didn't sit well with you. walking up beside him, you took a kneel just as he did, and turned your eyes on zoro's pallid face. "hello," you murmured. silence was your reply. "i'm y/n. you don't know me... your friends care a lot about you. it'd be... sad, if you died." luffy stiffened at your side. "which you won't! i've heard of you. no way the demon pirate hunter will let—let a scratch get him..." as your rambling died down, luffy slowly shifted to look at you, all serious for a moment. unnerved, you chuckled nervously. "what?" a tiny grin worked its way onto his lips, a glimmer in his eyes. "will you join my crew?" you nearly laughed. "luffy, you don't want me." "yeah. i do. why else would i ask?" "i'm useless." "you're kind," he said, shutting you up as a flush bloomed in your cheeks. "not everyone can say that."

a long story short, you joined luffy's crew of strawhats right along sanji.

your parting from the baratie had been watery, to say the least. whilst sanji shouted curses at zeff and stormed out to luffy's ship, you stood shaky as zeff huffed, his eyes roaming toward you.

you very nearly tripped head over foot in your sprint to wrap him in a hug. he was the only father you'd ever had, really. leaving him was bittersweet.

the going merry was a very nice place to call home, in your opinion.

you were a jack of all trades amidst the crew, choosing to do odd jobs around the ship. most days, you found yourself asking around with a little list in your journal, taking note of everyone’s grocery needs and even keeping track of the ship’s supply inventory.

not only that, but you found your crewmates tended to lack the sense to take care of themselves in a timely manner.

that is, none of them could be faster than your attentive eye, and no one was safe from your protective inclinations.

nami was attentive, but she tended to disassociate, and when she did it was very hard to get her back. she would go on for hours, working herself to the brink of exhaustion, not accepting even a sip of water. (she couldn't stop you, however, from forcing a cup of ice water down her throat. even she was intimidated by your determination to hydrate her).

then there was zoro, who absolutely refused to allow anyone to help him dress his wounds; and since he wasn't the best at it, you often stared at his haphazard bandages with fear of infection. he brushed you off enough times to invoke your wrath upon him. (zoro quit refusing after the first three times you ambushed him, wrapping your arm around his neck and blocking his airway).

you always listened to usopp's stories, but oftentimes you grew tired of the repetitive and clearly fake tall tales. you wanted to know his real stories, and you told him so. he'd laughed awkwardly and replied that he wasn't interesting enough for that. (he was fairly surprised at your insistence, and was warmed at your fascination with the silly story of how he met kaya).

luffy, your captain, was a walking migraine most days. he was smart, but just as brave, and jumped to action faster than you could process. it left you stressed beyond what you could handle, and this alone was enough to make luffy more cautious. (he never wanted to make you unhappy, so you'd inadvertently given him some of your common sense).

finally, sanji, who you'd been dealing with all your life. you knew all his tells, whether it was baking macarons when he was upset or going eerily silent for far too long. you always knew what he needed, and when he needed it. (more often than not all he needed was a compliment, and not just from some doe–eyed woman at a bar; a word of sentiment from his baby sister could drag him out of any stupor).

overtime, the crew took to calling you their boatswain. after all, you fit the job description, and you took the title with pride.

as time flew by with the strawhats, you began to listen to the dreams and aspirations of the others, and began to wonder what exactly you wanted out of life. the all blue was sanji’s dream… so what was yours?

the going merry was docked at a friendly port for the next few days, meaning the crew was free to explore and roam the city as they pleased. you, however, remained behind that very first night.

as far as you knew, the others had decided upon a bar for the night’s celebration. The quiet dwelling over the ship was calming, and from your sweat crisscrossed on the afterdeck you had a wide view of the stars.

your notebook rested on your belly, pen tight between your fingers, thoughts moving a million miles an hour. there hadn’t been time to get shopping done that day, so you would rouse the ship early the next morning and assign them to fetch groceries in pairs of two—just to be safe.

and though the heavy thinking could wait till the morning, you were stuck in a spiral of inventory and lists. it was… exhausting, and offered little to no fulfillment. still, it was what you did to help.

A familiar patter of boots broke your reverie, and you peeked up to find sanji coming to loom over you, his hands shoved in his pockets. his suit jacket was draped over one shoulder and his hair was a mess—he wasn’t drunk though, which was a very good sign.

silently, he disposed of his jacket and laid down beside you, resting his hands behind his head. for a split second, you got a glimpse of the damn rock imbeedded in your memory for all time, and how sanji used to make up stories about the stars.

since then, you’d come to know their true stories. you knew every constellation by name, having memorized them upon the baratie and spoken to them every lonely night. the stars had been your friends in your youth, and though your conversations with them were few and far between now, they always shined for you. so as far as you knew, you were never alone.

sanji raised an arm and pointed in a random direction. “bet you can’t name that one.”

a grin worked its way up your face. “how much?”

he turned his head, eyes boring into you. “if you can’t, you tell me what’s on your mind.”

“that’s hardly fair.”

“take it or leave it.”

you huffed, but complied, glaring up at the sky. “cassiopeia. cursed to remain in the stars for claiming her daughter was more beautiful than the nerieds.” you kissed your teeth. “hardly a punishment. i’d love to be in the stars.”

there was a weight behind your words; a truth so deep you had to take a long breath to recover. wetting your lips, you asked your brother, “do you think, someday, i could study them?”

“why someday?”

“well, you need supplies. tools. there’s only so much our eyes can tell from down here.”

“tools,” he murmured. “so, you want to study the stars?”

the words flooded from your lips. “i want to know everything about them. i want to know why they shine, how far they are, what’s beyond them… can we get there?” you sighed into a smile. “there are some cities that have observatories dedicated to astronomy, but you’ve got to be some kind of noble scholar to get in.”

sanji listened, and he listened well. He laid by your side and listened to you tell him about the stars till nami and zoro came lugging a drunk usopp between them, luffy taking the lead. he remained in thought for most of the night, and sought out nami to ask about expenditures, and then set out to find luffy.

it was safe to say you weren’t quite as upset at sanji and luffy for disappearing all evening when they returned at sunset, some beri short, with a gift in hand.

you stood slack jawed as they revealed a beautiful telescope, the metal polished and bright and shining. how they had managed to sneak it past you and set it up on the afterdeck was beyond you, but you hardly cared to ask.

you threw your arms around your brother, whispering your thank yous, and quickly turned to tackle your captain in a hug just as tight. the night to follow was marked by your awed sighs and the excited way you told the crew about ursa major and ursa minor, then about castor and pollux, and so on till you could barely keep your eyes open.

and sanji would never say it out loud, but he admired you. you turned out pretty damn good despite having him as your big brother. someday, you’d reach the stars. he knew that for certain. he could only hope you’d come visit once or twice.

“g’night,” he muttered to the crew as he stood, making his way over to where you’d drifted off against a barrel. he scooped you up in his arms and was veyr careful to not wake you as he made his way to your and nami’s quarters.

sanji rested you down and moved to take off your boots and pull the blanket over you, and he found himself frozen all of a sudden. lips pursed, he patted your hair, and turned to go. at the door, he paused and looked back. you slept so soundly for once, something he was so very glad for. he wasn’t blind to how you’d been overworking yourself.

perhaps he would talk to you about that in the morning, but for now, he simply smiled. “good night, sister. love you.”

and whispered back to him, just in time for him to hear: “g’night, sanj. i love you.”

2K notes · View notes

macfrog · 1 year

Text

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

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pearlzier · 16 days

Text

────⠀ RICH.ᐟREADER struggles with showing love.

NOTES ,, might do a tag list specifically for skater!matt and rich!reader if anyone.... is interested... this is just fluff but i think theyre so cute <3.

you don't really know how to show affection towards those you like or love without spending money. you're so used to others doing it for them—your parents throwing a couple of expensive clothes or jewellery at you for your birthday, your friends taking you out to lavish restaurants as a gift as opposed to something homemade or actually thought out. of course, you like all of those things, who wouldn't? but.. they don't know how to not spend money on those you love.

you don't understand the saying, 'money doesn't buy happiness'. it's managed to make you happy your entire life, so how's that supposed to work? like.. it doesn't make sense. so when matt's birthday's coming up, well, you immediately knew you were gonna buy him something nice and take him somewhere expensive.

but you can't help but think that maybe that's not the best course of action, that matt wouldn't exactly want the generic rich kid birthday starter pack. he's got three siblings, damn it, maybe he'd want something a little more.. meaningful? he's probably seen a few birthday dinners at expensive resturaunts in his time, you doesn't want it to be boring for him. you wanted to make an impact, even if you didn't know how.

it gets to a point where you're stumped, completely. you know matt so well, but are so stuck in your old ways and so used to just shelling out some cash for one day only to do it again and again annually, that coming up with anything that he wanted seemed impossible.

a new skateboard? surely he had enough. protective gear? now that was just comical. you hated the feeling of not being able to come up with a meaningful gift to give him. sure, you two aren't dating, but you're close enough to constitute a gift, right? it pisses you off to no end, to the point of upset. you practically storm into matt's room, having been let in by chris when he saw how distraught you were. "you're so fucking hard to please! how am i supposed to get you a gift for your birthday when, when—"

matt's taken off guard. first of all, how'd you get in? he's assuming it was one of his brothers who'd let you in, but.. second of all, you're so upset. he'd thought he'd done something wrong but you're yelling at him about a gift? his birthday? he blinks for a minute, sitting up, "hey, hey, hey," he starts, frowning. the sight of you so upset makes his heart ache in the worst way possible. getting up from his bed, his gaze rakes over you.

it's appreciative, of course, but also concerned. "you're scarin' me, sweetheart, what's goin' on?" he mumbles, taking a little step closer as he reaches out for you. gently, he places his hands on your arms and draws you a little closer. you look up at him with glassy eyes, a little wet with tears that you try to blink away as to not seem weak or make your mascara run. "stop bein' all.." you don't know what you're protesting against, you really don't.

"all what?" his brows furrow a minute, a small, faint smile ghosting his lips. it only serves to make you a little more upset with how caring he is to you, even when you're a bit of a bitch to him sometimes. hey, he's a bitch in return too.

"all nice. we're supposed to fuck 'n' be all passionate, that kinda thing," you mumble under your breath, lashes fluttering as your eyes lift to his. matt feels a warmth flood his chest and he shakes his head, "don't even want you thinkin' 'bout that whilst you're feelin' like this," he murmurs quietly, tone firm but soft. "you gonna tell me what's up, or—'cause we can just watch a movie or somethin'." as much as he was passionate with your body, he was passionate with your heart too.

"wanted to get you something nice for your birthday, yeah? like.. something you'd enjoy, not some shit you'd say you like and then never use ever again," you start to explain, relaxing a little at the touch on your arms finally and melting your way against him. he hums for a moment, slowly nodding his head at your words. "but nothin's coming to mind at all. blank slate—i can't think of anything you like, i've tried every store, every website." you'd spent hours with your laptop and your soft blankets wrapped around you, just trying to find a single gift for him.

"babe," he sighs at the sight of you, the corners of his lips flitting upwards at the realisation that settles upon him. all this over him? over his birthday? god, you're adorable. "really?"

"what do you mean, really—what type of shitty response is tha—"

"hear me out," matt murmurs, interrupting you gently. he rubs his hands over your arms easily, sighing for a second as his eyes meet yours. "what if i don't want all that? what if i just wanna spend some time with you? y'ever think about that?" his hands slide up over your arms to your neck, fingers curling around the back gently. "that ever cross your mind?"

you scoff instantly at that—"well, who'd want that?" he doesn't admit it, but the sound of you saying that about yourself makes his heart ache in his chest once more. shaking off the pang of hurt, he continues after being quiet for a moment. "me, i'd want that. jus' bein' with you makes me happy. that'd make it a real good birthday." you can't deny there's a warm, fuzzy feeling in your heart when he says that. no one's ever said that your company is all they need to be happy.

you bite your tongue momentarily, considering your words. a bashful little look dawns on your face and you look away with a quiet huff. "yeah?" you mumble, looking up at him through your lashes after. damn it, he makes your heart feel all fluttery and warm like no one else has before. you're not sure whether you like it all that much—since it's so vulnerable, but you can't say you hate it, since you don't. "really?"

he draws you into him, his hand sliding up to the back of your head to cradle it before he holds you against his chest. "i mean it, pretty girl," he murmurs, his words completely genuine and true. he really does mean it, he loves you and your company so damn much—even if he can't say it. he doesn't need your alone time with him to end with having sex, or for you to buy him expensive little gifts, he just needs you. "really do mean it. i like hangin' out with you, ain't it obvious?"

"you're so—like," you don't know how to explain it. your head tilts a little, chin bumping against his chest a little as his fingers brush over your jaw. "so.." you're a little lost for words, admittedly. a smile plays over matt's lips once more, his eyes fluttering over your pretty face.

"so what, babe?"

you're quiet again, considering what to say before you make the decision that words can't describe how you feel enough. so you lean in, grasping at the fabric of his shirt to draw him closer and press your lips against his. it's slow, gentle, he blinks a minute to adjust to the fact you're kissing him, but he melts into it almost immediately. his plush lips against yours feels like heaven, parting a little instinctively. resting his hands on the sides of your face, he holds you against him.

after a little bit, he pulls back. "i get it," he murmurs quietly, "no need to explain. i know." he gets you more than anyone else.

ִ ֹ ★ @mattybsgroupie, @dayzeandhaze, @mattslolita, @stellasturns, @stevelacylovebot, @55sturn, @jetaimevous, @phone4pills, @aesthetixhoe, @venusiers, @chrissdollie, @stvrnmc, @sarosfilms, @beetlejenna, @funkycoloured, @v3nusasagrl, @imwetforyourmom, @deansbite, @beridollie, @https--roman, @sincerebabydoll, @pillwebb, @cayleeuhithinknot, @j2ss7 ִ ꒱

#𐙚˙ ana writes ⋆.˚#⁺ skater!matt ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓇼 #⁺ rich!reader ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓇼 #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you

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trashogram · 7 months

Text

He Chose You (P. 5)

Lucifer/Reader — Lucifer wants you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for the smut. FINALLY

(Hope none of y’all were planning to actually get off though).

“You want a… baby?”

Lucifer looked as stunned as you felt. He reminded you of a spooked deer — frozen and wide-eyed as he waited for imminent death. Or more aptly a dying fish as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

“… To hang out with?”

Lucifer found himself in your apartment for the second time, milling about beside your coffee table. He internally scolded himself for fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other, but it was either that or burn a hole in your head with his hopeful gaze.

“No!” He let out a pathetic laugh. “Well, yes, b-but obviously not just that! I know there’s more to it than just ‘hanging out’.”

“I'm not stupid.” He chortled again before glancing at you. “… I’m not that stupid.”

The King had the uneasy feeling that you might see right through him now; find that inkling of excitement still germinating in his breast, and change your mind. Or worse, you’d withdraw even more and he’d have to feel that dreadful, terrible, no good shame.

He had practically skipped through the halls of his castle (unbeknownst to you) with the contract held tightly between his claws. But as soon as he entered your fireplace, the excitement had curdled like milk. It was replaced by that shame when he looked at you and saw your ashen face.

“Obviously you wouldn’t be doing this for free!” Lucifer gesticulated wildly. “You, you said you wanted to travel right? Right! If you agree, you’d get to travel wherever you want, whenever you want, no strings attached!”

“A-and also! No more costs, period! All your bills and expenses paid forever, in perpetuity, beyond the grave! Capitalism is a bitch? No, capitalism WAS a bitch!”

“No, no! Capitalism will be YOUR BITCH!”

Your resigned countenance combined with the memory of his pitch made Lucifer flinch.

——

You were never very good in a crisis. Or under a severe amount of pressure… or a moderate amount, in all sincerity.

But you’d have thought, even with the prospect of homelessness looming over your head, that you’d have drawn the line at making a Deal with the Devil to avoid it.

Or at least you would’ve taken more than the time it took to draw up a legal contract to accept your fate.

That time maxed out to 6 days.

The scroll unfurled before you. It radiated an ethereal golden light, and lined with a litany of official statements occasionally broken up by blank spaces meant for a (second) signature.

Lucifer Morningstar was signed here and there, in the same glittery calligraphy as was on his business card.

‘This contract must be interpreted by the Governances of Heaven [Heofon, Himmel, Kem, ἄκμων, آسمان, अश्मन्] and any litigations associated with Hell [Hel, Hallju, Kel]…’

‘… By this contract, Party A agrees to carry the Seed of Party B, hereafter known as “Father”, to the extent of natural gestation as governed by the Law of Nature…’

‘… This union shall be recognized only within the parameters listed and not heretofore or after…’

The legal jargon was giving you a headache. You scrubbed a hand down your face, determined to at least read through it all and, if you couldn’t pick out tiny discrepancies, at least find any giant red flags.

(Even if you’d already reserved the excuse that it was easy to be tricked by the Devil when the Devil was insanely good at presenting himself as a theatrical little man who wore his heart on his suit sleeve).

Then again, would it not just be easier to sign away your life without regard to the consequences?

Lucifer twitched when you groaned on your seat at the table. “Problem?”

You rose slowly from your hunched position to make eye contact. “… My pen isn’t working.”

You demonstrated by scribbling randomly on the sticky notepad beside his scroll. Lucifer responded instantly, left hand flexing in the air and, with a flashy poof, snatching a fancy pen out of thin air.

“You can keep it” He said, grinning as you accepted it with a sour look.

“Thanks… show-off.” You began scribbling your name in half-assed cursive on every blank line in sight.

The grin on Lucifer’s face became borderline manic as soon as you’d crossed your ‘t’s and dotted your ‘i’s. His teeth glinted in the light from your cheap-ass lamp and it made you wince as you handed the rolled up document back to him.

“Um, can we maybe skip the kissing stuff?” You asked. “I don’t really want to cut my tongue open.”

His wounded expression tugged rather annoyingly at your heart.

“Sorry.”

The smile he gave your mumbled apology was strained at best. “No, no I understand. The fangs were daunting to me when I first got them, too.”

You cocked your head, thoughts materializing like the web of a spider.

“That’s actually something we should talk about.” You voiced your thoughts. “Are we compatible? Down there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean — you don’t have teeth down there, too… right?” You asked. “Or some kind of eldritch horror miasma that I can’t touch lest I fall into a coma from ecstasy? Or a tentacle?”

“No!” Lucifer looked mortified. “Wh-what is wrong with you humans?!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just asking!” You cried.

You continued when his expression stayed stagnant. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you but I’m about to become intimately acquainted with… it, and I think I should be prepared!”

Your hellish companion stood, eyes closed, hands folded over his mouth as if in prayer. He breathed in slowly, then out.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry it’s… it’s been a while since I’ve been with a human.” He reasoned. “It’s good to ask questions. It’s—that’s a good one. Do you have any more?”

That made you pause. There were millions of things you could ask the King of Hell and yet not one thing could properly formulate in your brain.

“Um, I need a second to think about it.” You muttered. “What about you? My setup is pretty basic? I guess? I have a womb. At least I did, at my last physical a year and a half ago.”

Lucifer’s lips twitched upward in a half-smile and there was an answering flutter from your stomach. “I know.”

Your eyebrows shot up and he immediately started babbling. “I mean! I know because the contract went through! The ink would’ve turned red… or disappeared… To be honest, I don't know. I haven’t made a deal in a long time, ha ha. But I remember something happens when there’s a technical issue!”

“Ah,” You felt better with that explanation.

Kind of.

“I thought of a question, actually. Sorry.” You shrugged sheepishly. “It’s probably in the contract but…”

You swallowed down your trepidation. “… I won’t die, right?”

Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, you faced the floor and missed the way Lucifer’s face fell.

“Barring the normal risks that come with being pregnant, nothing else is gonna happen, right? Or if it does, it won’t be agonizing?” You asked quietly.

A moment of silence passed before the ex-Angel’s fingers curled under your chin. Your head rose and you saw Lucifer's eyes soften from something sharper and more determined.

“I will do everything in my power to protect you and the baby.” He said firmly. “Nothing terrible will happen to either of you. I swear.”

It was strange, the effect his words had on you. The jittery feeling in your chest slowly disappeared, and the tears forming in your eyes didn’t fall.

“Okay.” You nodded with a barely there, watery smile.

——

“I’m gonna turn off the lights, ok?” You said over your shoulder.

Lucifer was undoing the last of the buttons of his dress shirt, vest and overcoat already laid neatly over your desk. He met your gaze, eyes bright.

“Of course.” His close-lipped smile struck you, but you flipped the light switch before you could think on it.

A lack of light did very little to suppress Lucifer. He seemed to glow like the star of his namesake, flourishing in the dark and hard to miss. You simply hoped, as you pulled at your sleeves, his shine wouldn’t illuminate the terrain of your body.

Cold air hit your skin, goosebumps rose along your bare arms and shoulders, but you persisted. When everything was shucked save for your underwear, you moved to your bed and realized Lucifer was still standing at the baseboard.

With arms crossed, you assumed the same position at the side of the bed. “Um?”

“Ladies first!” He chimed, as if reading your mind.

You sighed, then slowly climbed onto the mattress and awkwardly pulled the comforter from under your butt. You settled and patted a spot in front of you.

Hesitantly, Lucifer accepted the invitation, and he was sitting next to you before you could blink.

No going back now.

You shifted in your spot uneasily. Fuck, it had been a long time since you had sex.

How did you start this shit again?

No kissing — per your own request. You had half a mind to take it back while you sat there floundering, trying not to let the tangible awkwardness break your resolve entirely.

You could do this. For a lifetime of no work, no bills, no cares.

You could do this.

A bit of movement in the dark caught your eye. You glanced down and realized that Lucifer was twiddling his thumbs waiting for you.

The laugh came bubbling from your throat before you could stop it. Reaching out, you grabbed one of his hands and tugged him forward.

You could see his throat constrict as he swallowed and smiled questioningly. “What?”

Lucifer yelped when you laid back, taking him with you.

——

“Ah! F-fu — Slow down!” You scolded, words muffled as you were repeatedly pushed down into the pillows.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you just,” Every word was punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips against the flesh of your ass. “Feel. So. Fucking. Good.”

Lucifer moaned loudly as he continued to lose himself in the sensation. You could only groan, irritation building as your partner refused to give you even the most basic attention. The frustration peaked quickly, then unraveled as his pleasured moans and squeaks caused your stomach to somersault over and over again.

You clenched around his cock when he whined, thrusting into you so deeply you felt the base of him stretching your hole that much wider.

Well, fuck you for finding the sound of a masculine voice cracking the hottest thing in all of creation.

But it was actually getting you there, so what were you complaining for?

Eyes closed, you focused on the feeling, trying to jump off that precipice with only penetration. It reminded you of when you were a teen, awkwardly feeling around down there. Of trying to find the appeal in your fingers inside of somewhere so sensitive against the fear of hurting yourself. All while you worked yourself up with your own imagination.

In a perfect world, you would’ve moved on from that stage of life with no repeat performances. Hopefully, it could still be salvag—

You gripped the pillows that hadn’t tumbled off the juddering mattress when Lucifer’s claws dug into your hips. He pulled you as close as humanly possible with a strangled yelp, shivering, shuddering, stammering incoherence as warmth flooded your insides.

Fuck’s sake.

——

You were disappointed, but not surprised. All you could do after the fact was bury yourself in the covers and watch Lucifer catch his breath beside you.

Not finishing aside, exhaustion from the entire ordeal made you indolent and your thoughts hazy. You studied your partner as he calmed down, clearly trying not to be too close to you now that the deed was done.

Lucifer’s hair was in disarray, the space between his eyes and across his cheeks rosy like the blots parallel to his smile.

“Hey.”

Lucifer looked at you innocently, waiting. You could physically feel your walls crumbling down despite yourself.

“Come here.” You murmured, hand sliding beneath the covers to touch that poreless skin.

Damn you and your soft heart.

‘Actually…’ You had Lucifer in your arms, his body still warm. Once he was in your grasp, the King melted against you.

He looked a little afraid as you tilted him up by the chin to look at you. The Devil had surprisingly soulful eyes, questioning whatever you had in store.

The tiny thought that he was being way too vulnerable drew a taut, uncomfortable feeling your chest.

“Kiss me.”

Lucifer blinked in rapid succession — surprise, wonder, confusion and hope bloom all at once on his unusual face.

It made you laugh in the quiet, comfortable darkness of your room before you yourself leaned in and met his lips with your own. The line of Lucifer’s mouth trembled, but he reciprocated with only minor hesitation.

* Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1,

Please let me know I missed tagging you!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar

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adams-angels · 8 months

Note

ÓHi, could you smut Adam x fem Reader he has sex with Lucifer's wife

💖 I can certainly try! I had alot of fun writing this one idk why? I think I went slightly off topic but hopefully it's okay!💖

Revenge 😈

Adam X Lucifers wife!reader

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

Smut below the cut! Minors dni

Extermination day. Every year it's the same. Your husband always disappears a week leading up to the events and then a week after. You're already lonely since he spends most of his time making ducks. It was cute at first and now it's just annoying. You want attention. Any kind will do at this point.

You walk out onto the balcony looking down on the carnage that's destroying hell. You see a sinner nearby. "Oh, hello! Come inside you'll be sa-" a spear pierces through the being. "Shit." You grumble to yourself, leaning on the railing. "Awh, don't look so glum, slut." You didn't know why but he always visited. He'd always tease you about being alone the most dangerous time of year.

You roll your eyes at the voice. "hello, Adam." Groaning as you look up to the giant in mid flight. "What's up, babe? Luci left you alone and helpless another extermination day?" His obnoxious smile covers his face as he hovers above her. You push yourself off from the balcony railing, crossing your arms as your glare at him. "I'm not "helpless" Adam." You declare. It's true, you survived many extermination days before you married Lucifer.

"oh? What's stopping me from killing you right now then?" Adam asked, he thought he was so smart. "I don't know," you shrug. "why don't you tell me? I'm leaving myself wide open here, yet you're just..." You gesture to his body in flight. "There." He blinked. You could tell his little man brain was going into over time trying to find an excuse. "How abou- you just- argh!" He swoops down placing his hands on the railing, facing now inches apart. "Why don't you just fuck off and die!" He yelled. "Why don't you do your job and kill me?" You replied with a smirk.

He growled. "Won't your little friends be like, pissy, that you're sparing me?" You tilt your head with a smirk. "Won't your little husband be like, pissy?" You were confused. What did he mean by that? Before you knew it he closed the gap between you both and kissed you. Nothing fancy, a quick peck. He pushed himself away, both of you stared at each other like a deer in headlights.

You were only brought back to reality when Adam screamed and flapped his wings, blowing wind in your face. "AHH! FUCK YOU! WHORE- DIRTY FUCKIN- DIE, BITCH! I HATE YOU!" He yelled as he flew away, tripping on nothing as he headed back into the blood filled city. You touch your lips. Did that really just happen?

You head back into your marital bedroom. "What the fuck.." you mutter to yourself. You want to feel guilty, you really do. Lucifer is a good husband, but to be touched.. kiss. Fuck. From that moment on Adam consumed your thoughts. You longed for the next extermination day.

The year dragged. You just wanted to see Adam again. You wanted to fluster him. But the day was the day. You dressed up for it. God, it was sick you were excited for this disgusting day but it would be the only time you see him. Putting on your best little black dress you head to the balcony and wait.

The heavens open so it was only a matter of time before he'd come. At least you hoped. The day went on, you heard the screams, the pleading, the cries. All day. You usually last a couple of hours but all day was a bit much. You kicked nothing on the floor, frustrated that you let yourself believing he would return to you. You were a sinner. That's all he ever saw you as, that's all you ever will be to him.

You open the door to return to the bedroom but freeze. "Sup, sugartits." Adam. He wasn't sounding insufferable as usual. "What? Missed me?" Your turn to face him. He was right by the railing. His cocky smile was a cover up, that much you could tell. You step closer and slap him, hard. Good thing you're not a fallen angel other wise his mask would or cracked. "Hey! What the fuck was that for, bitch?!" He yelled in your face. In response you grab his collar kissing him, aggressively.

"I want you." You tell him, asserting your dominance. "O-okay.." his response surprisingly timid. You take his hand and lead him inside to your bed. Turning around a photo of Lucifer. "Yeah, that'll help with the guilt." Adam teased with a smirk, his narcissistic tone returning. "Shut up." You hiss, climbing on top of him, straddling his lap. "Mask off." "How did you kno-" "I'm not dumb, dickweed. Off."

He peels off his mask, he's a lot more handsome than you thought he was, still had that fucking grin. You move into his neck, gently kissing to gauge a reaction. You feel his member hardening underneath you. "You ready to get fucked by the first dick created, babe?"

"you know technically you're not the first dick created. You're the first human dick, sure but not the fi-" you're interrupted by his tongue down your throat. "Maybe shut up, yeah?" He mumbled in the kiss. Your tongues explored each others, as he gripped onto your hips lifting you up slightly to remove your panties to discover you're not wearing any. Pulling away from the kiss "Really? Someone's desperate?" He peppered your neck in kissed. "S-shut it."

He snaked his arms around your waist and flipped you into the bed. He towered over you. Why did God have to make the first man so tall? Hell, who are you to question?! You like it. You help him take off his robe and admire his body. It's pudgier than you were expecting, but you're not complaining. "Like what you see, sweet?"

He returned to your neck, his tongue travels from your ear down your collar bone to your chest then your nipple. Circling his tongue around it as his hardens. Taking it aggressively in his mouth as his hand travels down your body. Two of his fingers separate your folds while his middle finger prods your entrance. You can't help but gasp at his touch. He knows what he's doing.

As he inserts a single digit in your expectant cunt you can't help but reach for his hair, tugging at his locks. A grunt escapes from him. Slowly he fingers you, using his thumb to gently rub your clit. "Ah- Adam~!" You quietly moan. He releases your nipple and looks up at your desperate face. "Oh, fuck yeah, baby. Say my name." He inserts a second finger inside of you. Curling his fingers up, hitting your stop just right.

"m-more!" You demand. "What did I say?" He Purrs. "M-more, please- Adam, fuck me, please?" You beg, desperate for his cock. "Good girl." He removed his hand which causes you to whine. He adjusts himself between your legs with a smug grin. "W-what? Why do you look like that." You ask, you weren't even sure if you wanted the answer.

"just revenge is so fucking sweet, babe." He doesn't waste anymore time and thrusts himself inside of you. One hand on your waist, gripping so tightly it will leave a mark. "Fuckin' hell, ngh- y/n.." he grunts. It didn't take long before you were biting down on your arm trying to keep the noise to a minimum. He grabbed your wrist pulling it away from your mouth. "Scream for me, baby. Let everyone hear how much you love my cock." It didn't take long until you were screaming in pleasure, he threw your legs over his shoulders to get a better angle on your g-spot. He used on of his hand to hold your hip to get as deep inside of you as he could. His other hand was rubbing your clit. "A-adam, I'm close!" You exclaimed. "Then what you w-waiting for? Cum on my cock, babe." He fucked you harder not giving your a chance to lose your incoming climax. You pull yourself up, wrapping your arms around his shoulder as your walls contracted on his member. Bringing him closer to the edge. His arms wrapped around you as he continued to fuck you with mercy. "T-tell me you love me." He said. "What?" You were taken back by his request. "Tell me you love me! TELL ME YOU LOVE ME!" He repeated as his voice became more desperate. His hips bucked and his movements became sloppy as he finished inside of you. Collapsing on top of you on the bed.

His face in the nook of your neck once again. "So.... "Tell me you love me", huh?" His only reply is a groan of embarrassment.

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

#hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #adam x reader #hazbin adam smut #hazbin hotel adam smut #hazbin hotel adam x reader

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cottoncandyswisherz · 1 month

Text

we'll see

toxicbabydadd!chris x birthdaygirl!reader

warnings: toxicccccc, rough, unprotected sex (dont be dumb) biting, choking, the word 'then' a million times

ITS A REAL BITCHES BIRTHDAYYYY

your house is full and everyone's drunk. except you.

you have to say sober, because you're breastfeeding your daughter aaliyah.

but you don't have to be shitfaced to have fun, so when you hear your song come on, you tap your best friends shoulder.

you've had a routine to freak hoe since high school so she knew what time it was. you move through the routine with no grace. throwing ass is not elegant but it's what you do best.

"WE ATTTTEEE!" she yells over the music.

"AND DIDDDD!" you shout back.

"IM NOT DRUNK ENOUGH!" and with that, she's gone. off to make herself another drink, leaving you to go to your room to call the sitter and pump.

but as soon as you enter, you see chris standing in your room, on his phone. he looks up when he hears me.

"what the fuck?"

"i just wanted to give you your gift and leave."

"so you went to my bedroom?"

"i saw you dancing with celine. i didn't wanna kill your vibe."

you scoff at this and sit on your bed, bringing out your phone. "you killed my vibe when you fucked someone else while i was 8 months pregnant with your baby."

"aight, bro, chill."

"fuck you."

chris walks around your bed and stops right in front of you. his waist dangerously close your face. he places his hand under your chin, gripping your jaw.

"watch it, mama."

WOOOOOOOOOSHHHHH just like that. panties ruined.

but tina aint raise no bitch so you stand up, roll your eyes and walk over to your dresser to fix your lashes.

"or what, chris?"

"you know what."

"i really don't" you said bluntly. "you don't get to have the whole 'i'm sorry, please let me cum' thing anymore due to the fact that you're a cheating whore that i no longer love."

hearing that must have pissed him off because he was on you in an instant. his lips on yours, his left hand applying beautiful pressure to your throat, his right hand squeezing your ass.

your head grows fuzzy. its like he has crack on his tongue and is intoxicating you with each stroke of it.

you don't have time to think of the hurt he caused as he moved from your lips, to your neck, then to your chest.

then he's on his knees. pushing your dress up your hips and kissing down you waist sucking hickeys onto your thighs.

"you think that shit's funny?" he growls, biting the meat of your inner thigh. "talking shit to me, after i've been trying to get you back for months?"

this made you laugh. "you'll never get me back chris."

he turned you around so your front was pressed against the wall. his fingers gripped the edges of your panties, guiding them down your legs, biting your ass and smiling when he saw the mark of his teeth in your cheek.

"we'll see."

and then he was standing up, your back to his front, and you felt him on your bare ass, his sweats doing little to hide the effect you clearly had on him.

you felt his hands grip your hips and move you from the wall to your dresser, so you could see yourself.

"i want you to watch." he slid his bottoms down to knees, freeing him of his his restraints. "i want you to watch me ruin you."

and then he was sliding in you with so much force, you jerked forward, throwing your hand up on the mirror to brace yourself. and in that moment you remembered why you'd let him get you pregnant.

this man was a fucking beast.

he was fucking you like it was all he could do to stay alive. hard, fast, and so, so, fucking good. he was so deep, hitting the same spot that made you taste purple. all your senses were out the window yet you felt everything he was doing. you felt his hand digging into your waist, you heard his grunts of pleasure, you saw his eyes trained on where you were joined.

he looked so.... fuck.

all you could do was grasp at the edges of your dresser and keen for him.

until you felt him move impossibly faster and his fingers reach under you and draw quick circles on your clit. then all you could do was tremble in his arms and reach behind you to push him away because it was beginning to be too much.

he used his free hand to pin your arm to your back and use it as an anchor, digging deeper in you so you felt more of him than you thought there could be.

"oh fuuuck-" you gasped.

"you don't love me anymore mama?" he forced out.

"chris- shit! please...." you cried out. "i'm gonna-"

"hold it."

"no! please no." you begged.

"you wanna cum?"

"yes please, chris" you were a mess at this point. eyes rolling back as you tried to do what he'd asked. you knew that if you came before he'd allowed it, you'd never leave this room.

"do you love me?"

as much as you wanted to say yes, you refused to let him win so easily.

"no."

this only pissed him off because he shifted from fast and hard to slow, deep, torturous strokes that made your brain go blank.

"jesus fucking..."

"you sure?"

"i don't know..."

"i think you do mama." his pace on your clit was the same demonic speed as before, confusing your mind. "all you gotta do is admit it and you can come all all over me. i want you to make a mess for me. i wanna feel you all over m-"

"FINE FUCK!" you cried. "i love you."

"that's my girl."

that's all it took for his pace to restart, pounding into you with ferocity.

"cum, mama. cum for me."

and you did. you sucked in a deep breath and slammed your eyes shut as you shook on the dresser.

all you heard was the blood rushing in you ears as you let go of everything you'd been holding for the past 2 minutes.

"shit, babe. i'm gonna-"

that snapped you back into reality. you did not want any more kids right now so you gathered all the strength you could and turned around, dropping to your knees and taking him in your mouth.

your head rested on the drawers of the dresser as you felt his load shoot down you throat with a moan that can only be described as godly. and when he pulled out of your mouth he pulled you up to your feet by your throat, kissing you with so much passion, you were ready to go again.

but then he pulled away and gripped your face so you were looking into his eyes.

"you'll always belong to me, y/n."

niyah speaks rushed as helllllll but hapy late birthday!!! @55sturn

taglist: @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @thisisntmattsturniolo @chaossturns

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic

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augustsprincess · 2 months

Text

August Walker x Reader (Drabble)

Warnings: Daddy/little vibes, noncon/dubcon, violence...its August.

There's no plot I'm sick and possessed.

It was your fathers business, then it was your brothers business. You didn’t care for the details of it, you just looked after the gardens and made sure the house was in good condition. Talked to the servants and all that. Sure, you knew it was a dodgy business. Far too often you saw people going home in body bags in the dead of night. But you chose to ignore it.

The current guest….was a man named August Walker. You caught a glimpse of him as he was dragged in through the back door, unconscious. He was gorgeous in a demented, do not touch kind of way and that intrigued you all the more. So when your brother said he’d be away on business for 2 days and you weren’t to go into the basement…well. It was obvious what you would do. One peak wouldn’t hurt, right?

At first the man is terrifying, and even speaking to him is like dipping your finger into a lake of piranha and waiting for one to snap.

But eventually you realize his binds are painfully tight around the centre column he's sat against, which means you can tease and annoy the living daylights out of this poor guy. And hey, if he's tied up in your basement it's for a good reason. Maybe a bit of fun torture would do him well. Besides, you were dreadfully bored and the staff had all gone home for the weekend.

He can’t do a thing.

The more he calls you a slut, bitch, whore or worse, the more you giggle. It infuriated August to the point he almost welcomed death.

On the first day, you sit 10 inches from him with your drawing pad and sketched him. You made small talk, showed him your drawings. He'd even admit you're a decent artist, that is until you added the kitten ears and heart stickers to his illustrated face. After a few hours your curiosity grows. You've one pink heart sticker left and you want to see how close you can get to the lion before the lion rips your hand off.

"Don't..." He warns. You giggle. "I mean it, girlie. Don't you put that thing on me." He wiggles again and you pout, frustrated. “Get the fuck off me, dumb bitch!”

“Hey! That’s not very nice! I’m giving you my heart!” You giggle. Once he calms down you try again, ignoring his persistent complaints. The more he speaks, the more his warnings turn to a plea. "Hey! No!" He shouts, snatching his head away from your index finger.

"Hold still, Mister! It won't hurt." You gently press the sticker to his left cheek with your finger and smooth it over with a gentle kiss and a loud “Mwah!”

August huffs as he stretches his face muscles to try to get it to wrinkle but the damn thing won't come off!

"All pretty! Good night, mister." You blew him a kiss as you closed the basement door and left him alone for the night.

“Stupid girl…..” He mutters. Wait… Why was he so uncomfortably hard? “Fuck.”

On the second night, you feed him some bread and cheese by hand and reluctantly he actually lets you. You were finally taming him!

August sits with you in his lap, a firm and unwavering snarl painted on his lips. You begin to play with his curls with one hand, and his chest hair with your other. All the while August is growing more and more hard under you. You're so distracted by a specific lock of his hair that you fail to notice all but a sound when the rope finally snaps behind him.

With a stupid amount of bravery you climb into his lap and start to tell him all about your day as if he was a willing listener. You feel something solid beneath your skirt but choose to ignore it. Your nonsensical ramblings about the latest episode of your favourite TV show send him into a begging frenzy yet again, but what you don't realise is that those bindings are getting more and more loose as you yammer on.

"Did you hear that?" You ask, curiosity lacing your words

"Must be the pipes. We are in the basement, girlie." He lies.

You snort at him. “I like you. You even have a cute nickname for me! I’ve never had a nickname before.”

You start to comb your hand through his hair and you're suddenly taken aback by the look he's giving you. Like the cat who got the cream. Was he...enjoying you stroking his hair? You tried not to think about it and continued but his unwavering stare and….lustful eyes? Well, you were drowning in them.

You're gently pulled closer by his left hand and in your naivety you give him a sweet smile before the penny drops.

And boy does it fucking drop.

You gasp. His fangs show in a sinister grin and you launch yourself from his lap, snatching his hand from your hip. He only has one hand loose so you take it as your opportunity to escape, slamming the door behind you to slow him down.

You sit in the cloakroom, cowering with the cobwebs and long forgotten coats of the guests who never had the chance to leave this house. Hoping and praying your brother would be home soon to save you. But the truth of it was, superheroes don't exist.

The heavy sound of the prisoners bare feet on your father's old wooden floors beat in tandem with your heart as he chases you through your home. Eventually you lose him and as quietly as humanely possible, you climb into the cloakroom and hide.

Nothing was coming to save you.

You stayed silent for what felt like hours before you were alerted to a dull creak and a loud slam as the cloakroom door was almost ripped off its hinges.

"Found ya!". You screeched as you were physically dragged from the cloakroom by your ankles.

"No need to squeal, little pig. It'll only hurt a bit." You clamber to your feet, the harsh carpet making your ascend slow enough for August to catch you first. He sticks his foot out, tripping you to the floor again, toying with you. Like you were food.

"Oh stop crying, girlie. I thought you liked to tease?" You try to stand and run again but you're thrown over his shoulder in a split second and no amount of hitting him is helping. There’s nothing else to do but to watch his feet as he carried you up the stairs, straight to your bedroom.

With one swift movement and a harsh grip of your hips he has you pinned, chest down to the bed.

"That's a good girl, stay still for Daddy." He purrs, pulling your bright pink stockings from your legs. He tosses them to the floor as he climbs onto the bed, the mattress deepening under his heavy body.

"Please! I'm sorry, I was just bored! I didn't mean to upset you-" You try your best to help yourself, but it’s like a switch just been flicked and he turns from excited, to pissed the fuck off.

"You were 'bored'?!" The man flips you to your back and yanks your body towards him, as he leans on his calves. "No, no, no. You're a slut. A dirty brat and you thought you could get away with it, didn't you? Thought I wouldn't break free and catch you. Well I know just what you need, just what you asked for."

If you could, you would laugh at the situation. Here was this gorgeous, dangerous and absolutely insane man. Kneeling at the end of your bed, hard as a rock and all the while with a heart sticker attached to his cheek. And he was so pissed!

It was the reappearance of the rope binding in his hand that brought you back to the severity of the moment. Fear turned to manic terror as you shuffled backwards.

"No...no! Please don't!" August climbs on top of your body, thick thighs trapping you to the bed as he deliberately presses his hard crotch into you.

"Ah, ah, ah, shhh." He presses his index finger to your lips. You can't stop him, he's twice the size of you at least. So you watch as he ties your hands to the headboard of the bed.

Once he's done, he leans down....covering your entire body with his own...

"I fuckin' hate a tease." He snarls into your ear, before your pretty pink skirt is ripped clean off.

You’re pulled back to the office with a sudden wave of guilt and shame. Your face felt like it could light a match and your coffee cup almost slipped from your sweaty hands.

“Are you alright, Miss? You look like you just remembered an embarrassing dream.” Mr. Walker teases, before he walks on past your desk and towards his own. Fuck. How could you have forgotten that dream until now? How could you have even dreamed something like that up, and with your boss. And that look on his face, it was as if he knew.

You shake your head and face your computer, determined to continue your work and get on with your day. Maybe you could look into therapy later or talk to your best friend about it. Surely there was a completely normal reason for dreaming about your boss being tied up in your basement and then chasing you for some depraved, frustrated sex. Right?

“Ms. Y/S/N, Mr Walker would like to see you in his office, it's urgent.” Fuck.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #august walker x reader #august walker #twickster writes

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springgirlshowers · 2 months

Note

How about the reader and Joost are childhood friends that get split up, but reunite because Joost wants them to be apart of his eurovison team. They realize they miss eachother a lot and confess and happily ever after (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

It’s So Sweet

Paring: Joost x GN!Reader (no pronouns used!)

CW: none!

A/N: ahhhhhh this one is so cuuuuuute! i love the childhood friends to lovers trope so much! thank you for the request and i hope you enjoy it <333

masterlist!

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Joost and you were never seen apart as kids. Always walking in the school hallways together, sitting and partnering up in the classes you had together. Constantly hanging out after school and on the weekends. You two were basically connected at the hip.

Until your family gave you the news you would be moving to Sweden. Something to do with a better job opportunity. You begged for them not to, to move somewhere where you currently were at least. Though you knew your pleas wouldn’t do much.

Before you left, Joost and you exchanged emails. To keep in touch while you two would be apart.

You did for awhile. But as you both got older, your emails to each other took longer. It would be weeks, months, before you replied to each other.

Until they just stopped completely. You two had gotten too caught up into your adulthood. You hadn’t returned to your hometown since you moved away.

Joost fell into a successful career as a musician. You getting yours as a dancer.

It’s been years since you and him talked.

Your heart nearly stopped once you saw the notification when you were on the bus after a rehearsal.

joostklein has requested to follow you.

His profile picture was a picture of him as a toddler. The one you’ve seen so many times before, hanging on the wall in his living room when you went over to hangout after school.

You looked through his account, he almost looked the exact same as he did when he was a preteen. Only his body was scattered in tattoos, he had grown a mustache, much taller, and his hair was dyed into a nearly white color and cut into a mullet.

His most recent posts were a reel revealing how he’d be representing the Netherlands in the next Eurovision competition, and another video revealing the date his song for the event would be released.

Minutes after you accepted the request and followed him back, he messaged you.

It was a simple question, asking if you were the same one he knew as a kid. You responded, telling him you were.

The texts following after that were a little bit awkward. Soon the tension between you both was gone, you told each about what you’ve been doing for the past years, how they’d gone, what you’ve been doing now.

After exchanging phone numbers, the texts turned into calls, then video chats.

You listened to his songs, almost going through every single one of his albums in one night.

You were surprised by a lot of the lyrics, by how the innocent boy with a side swept haircut you once knew, was now singing about having sex with women to a mario kart remixed beat and saying “suck my dick bitch” multiple times in another song.

You honestly found them catchy, however you realized they were better to listen to with earbuds in or alone, rather than in any public place.

However, the lyrics in other songs were more heart breaking. God, soul shattering even.

“Maybe it was wrong. But I miss us, I miss home.”

“My dad who was laying there, seen but no authority. We'll see by the days, we don't say goodbye. My mom who was laying there, I often think about that day.”

“Hey, I have a disease, it's a very specific one. I always panic and they have no therapies.”

“But still it hurts. Am running from myself. Cry the entire day for "help"

Joost would show you his tattoos, the ones he already had and the ones he wanted to get in the future, drawings he made, but he refused to show you the idea concepts for his Eurovision costume.

He told you he wanted it to be a surprise.

The day before he revealed his outfit to the rest of the world. He called you during a work break, telling you he had to show you something.

You opened the video call to see him standing there in a big bright blue suit with extremely pointy shoulders.

You felt bad when you let out a laugh, slapping your hand over your mouth to muffle it.

“You like it?” He asked, posing goofily.

“Yeah. It’s very…silly. Very big.” His grin only grew larger at your words.

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I was aiming for.” He smiled and sat down.

“So, your other friends, one of them is gonna dress up as a bird? And the other is gonna wear a clip on ponytail?”

“Yep!” He pipped. You just laughed and shook your head. He cleared his throat, his face on the screen looking nervous all of the sudden.

“So, you told me you still dance.”

“Yeah! I do group shows and stuff.” You nodded, placing your head on your fist.

“That’s great, very great. Um, do you still hakken?” You were a bit taken aback, confused by why he was asking about that specific dance.

“Uh yeah. But usually jokingly, like when I’m with friends.” You bit at your thumbnail. “Did you ever learn?”

“Yeah! I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” He chuckled, going silent for a minute after. “I’m wondering if you would perform with me, like on the stage. I need another back up dancer. And you’ve always been so talented at it.” His words made you blush, but you were still a bit unsure on what he was asking you.

“So, um, you want me to do the hakken dance with you? At your performance?” You felt nervous, when you did the dance you usually did it after a night of drinking to make your friends laugh.

“Only if you want to! I mean, we could meet up, I’m in Sweden now.”

“What?” You shouted, cringing at how loud it was.

“Yeah, i’ve been here to do interviews and all that stuff.” He scratched at his arms, a bit embarrassed he didn’t tell you earlier about this.

“You really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” He spoke, “Its free of charge for you, you’ll get paid for it. If that persuades you.” He added on, joking.

“I’ll do it for free.” Maybe your answer was a bit too quick, maybe it was impulsive. But you really wanted to see Joost again, you’d jump at any chance you could see him.

The both of you agreed to meet up a few days later at a park not far from where you lived.

The park was quite empty, most likely due to the fact the sun was already going down, an orange gradient filling the sky.

You nervously walked up to him, he was sitting on a bench. He looked so familiar yet so different. It gave you a strange sense of nostalgia.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He immediately grinned as he saw you. You sat down next to him.

The sunset cast a golden glow on his face, making his blue eyes so much more prominent, his face was so gorgeous.

“So you’ll really dance with me?”

“Yeah, why not.” You shrugged, completely unbothered by his question.

“You’ll be on a giant stage in front of thousands of people. You’ll be on TV with the entirety of Europe watching.” Joost felt nervous, he didn’t want to pressure you into doing this, he really wanted you to be there with himz But he wasn’t gonna force you into something you had no interest for.

“I’ve never been one for stage fright.” You smiled, the sweetness in your expression made his worries begin to drift away.

“Perfect.” He looked down at his feet, smiling so hard his cheeks begin to hurt, “I’ll text you the schedules and everything you need to know.”

“Cool.” You looked down at your shoes as well. Enjoying the comfortable silence and soft breeze of the air.

“I really missed you.” He spoke out, added your name to the sentence, making it more impacting. You looked at him, jaw ajar in admiration.

“I missed you too.” You said softly, placing your hand over his. Soon wrapping it around his. You both sat there for a few minutes like that.

“I’ve been thinking of moving back.” You broke the silence. “To the Netherlands, that is.”

“Really?” Joost looked at you, a mixture of amazement and shock in his face.

“Yeah. A company reached out to me, giving me a job opportunity. Really good pay, positive reviews, a safe workplace.” It felt funny, you were thinking about coming back to your hometown for the same reason your family made you leave.

“That’s great! You should take it!”

“I probably will. It seems promising.” You squeezed his hand. “And it’d be nice to be close to you again.” You added on, pursing your lips to try and hold back a smile, it failed.

“Yeah, yeah, that would be nice.” He murmured,“Um, I should get going, early TV interviews tomorrow.”

You nodded, getting up before he did.

“Just text me what channel you’ll be on, i’ll make sure to watch for you.” You said, a little bit too excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I will! I’ll see you later.” He chuckled.

“I’ll be in the Netherlands in a month most likely, just so you know. See you, Joost.” You turned, only getting a few steps in before his voice stopped you, causing you look back at him.

“There’s this really great ice cream parlor that opened up there, maybe we could, uh, go there when you’re back, if you’d like?” He cleared his throat.

“I’ll be going back in a month too, just for a little bit before I have to come here again.” He fiddled with his fingers.

“Awesome then, it’s a date.”

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#joost klein fanfic #joost klein x reader #joost klein #joost klein x gn!reader #joost klein x fem!reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost klein x you

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