#kyle gallner×reader fics

[star-p3bbles]

Can't find enough Kyle Gallner character fics so I'm gonna do it myself

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

♱ 18+ smut !! ♱

thinking about smoking with simon while u ride him ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ

♱⋰ ⋱✮ he’s convinced he’s corrupted you, turned you into some ‘cockdrunk stoner’, shaking his head at your insistent whines in his annoyingly clothed lap.

“you can’t get what you want all the fuckin’ time.” he griped, stilling your hips that seemed to have a mind of their own. of course he was a hypocrite, still-lit blunt gripped between his fingers pressing into your sides.

“why not?” you pouted, using the hands planted on his chest to lift yourself up and back down again, intent on torturing him just as much as he was you. he could be mean — deny you completely just so you’d really beg him for it, even make you get yourself off on his thigh without any help while he watches, but he couldn’t deny the effect you had on him; currently prevalent in his tightening jeans. he took another drag before grabbing your jaw, exhaling warm smoke into your mouth as your eyes closed.

soon enough you’re grinding on his dick — just lazily rocking your hips while he watches you. you take the blunt from his hand before he gets ash all over the couch, turning it towards him after tapping it against the glass tray on the table next to you, holding it for him so he can keep his hands gripped tight on your waist. your pace only gets more lax as you get higher, a loud smack to your ass reopening your eyes for you.

“c’mon ride it like you mean it. attagirl.”

˚₊‧꒰𓆩 ♱ 𓆪꒱ ‧₊˚

[hellfirecvnt]

Don't Piss me Off (Pt. 2)

John Q. (Simon) X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, oral (female receiving), "public" sex, unprotected sex (don't do that), poor life choices.

Summary: You still can't stand sticking around your parents for too long, but you stay in town for a while longer just to see him play. PART ONE IS HERE!!

Notes: I love him. I'm gonna write a million versions of the same story I stg. I didn't proof read. I got like 6 ideas at once and they're all getting written at the same time.

In the basement of a warehouse you'd assume abandoned, Simon and his band consisting of a handful of less ill-tempered, but just as dirty and dead-looking men set up for their performance. They're all spitting insults at each other as they scramble to plug in each meticulous piece of shoddy equipment they've acquired.

Simon's preoccupied. Clearly stuck on the thought of you. He realized hours ago that he never told you about the show tonight. He's wrapping the wire of the mic around his fist when he overhears the stagehands. "I didn't make it to Y/N's last party, I figured there would at least be one more before she bolted."

"She went back home?" Simon interrupts.

"Yeah, man. She left today, I'm pretty sure." The stagehands hoist a large amp to its spot, leaving Simon in the silence of realizing you two have no way of contacting each other. That's it. He shrugs his shoulders, brushing off any disappointment, as he's used to things falling through. Nothing's special to someone like him, or that's what he tells himself. He reaches into his back pocket and reveals a pair of underwear that had gotten tangled with his clothes when you did his laundry. He chuckles at the thought of how he would've made you think he stole them on purpose. He stuffs them back into his pocket and gets ready to perform as people start piling in the small venue.

You're nearly flooring it back to that gas station. Once inside, you leap over the counter and snatch the poster from the wall. "God damn! You could've just asked for the fucking flyer, man!" The cashier exclaims, certain you were attempting to rob the store.

"I don't have time!" You yell behind you as you sprint out the door. "Old fuckin' Mill building? Where the fuck is that?" You mumble to yourself, frustrated. You read that Psyops isn't set to play for another 30 minutes, so you speed around town to every old and decrepit site you can find. Four failures before you find the warehouse hosting the show tonight. "Finally!" You slam the van in park before bolting to the door.

"It's $10 to get in," a nonchalant man at the door huffs. You shove the money into his hand and he opens the large, black, graffitied door behind him. You're not shy in a crowd, so when you hear the boisterous speakers blasting the sound of guitar riffs through the building, you start shoving. The vibration sends the decently sized crowd into a wave of cheers and you finally make your way toward the front. You can hear a voice over the speakers, Simon. It's hard to make out what he's saying, but once the song starts, the crowd starts moving.

You're being jostled around for most of the set. Song after song, you try to force yourself to the front, but to no avail. Finally, once Simon takes one step off the slightly raised platform on which they're performing, you can reach him. His grip is white-knuckled around the microphone, now's your chance. You lunge forward and wrap a hand around the mic, pulling yourself forward. Confused and annoyed by the sudden tugging, Simon pulls back, effectively breaking through the wall of people blocking you. The moment your eyes meet his, under his ski mask, he grins. In the moment bringing you before him, he'd missed a few bars of the song, but effortlessly picks back up once you're front and center.

It feels like his eyes are locked on you for the rest of their set. You hate to admit it, but it's a hell of a show. The energy of the crowd, their presence on stage. No wonder Simon feels so strongly about it. He's a different person when he's John Q. An alias you found out about when you were seniors, and you hoped staying quiet about it would've shown him you weren't the snitch, but instead it took a coke bender several, several years later. Plus, he wasn't much less of a loser than you were. Who fucking cared back then that he has a stage name?

After Psyops' set, you and Simon slip outside for a smoke. Riled up from the show, he's too abuzz to make sure his face matches the angry stare he usually wears. "Someone said you were headed home already, didn't think I'd see you at a show any time soon," he says, lighting a cigarette.

"Said I would," you echo his words from his promise to back you up next time you got yourself into an altercation. "Can't let fucking John Q. be more trustworthy than me." Simon laughs at the mention of his stage persona. "I like the mask, though."

"Oh, yeah? That do somethin' for you?" He teases, reaching into his pocket for the mask, but pulling out a different wad of fabric. "Oops," he laughs, dangling your panties in front of you.

"Is that my fuckin' underwear, you god damn pervert?" You curl your lip, put off by the invasive behavior.

"They might be yours, I don't know. I get a lot pussy." Simon smirks with his eyes darkened on you.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck-" you're ready to lay into him, too violated to make any excuses despite how attractive he looks with messy hair and drying sweat.

"Calm the fuck down, they got mixed up with my shit when you washed my clothes at your house," he laughs. You roll your eyes and jump to grab them, but he's too quick. You miss the swipe and are now a great deal closer to him. "I'm gonna hold on to these," he says with a low voice as he scoops you against him with a hand placed on the small of your back. A second passes like an eternity and the two of you lock lips as he stuffs your underwear into his pocket again, allowing some of the silk and lace detail to hang out. As the kiss deepens, his hands move down your body, to your thighs before he grips your ass roughly. Soft moans escape against his lips as he gropes various parts of your curves.

"Do you know how worked up you get me?" He whispers between the press of your kiss. "Thought you left before I could get a taste." He reaches for your eyelet belt, but you stop him.

"Someone's gonna see us."

"Call it an encore," he mumbles before going back at your belt, but you swat him away again.

"At least take me around back, dumbass." You grab a fistful of his shirt and nearly drag him around the corner. It's dark and concealed from any passerby. He lifts you up onto a pad-mounted transformer and wraps your legs around him, still moving his head in sync with yours as each of your tongues explore each other's mouths.

"I guess I was kind of a prick to you back in the day, huh?" He whispers, running his hand through your hair.

"You were an angry piece of shit, yeah. We fuckin' or having a breakthrough?"

"Shut the fuck up for a second," he snaps. "I'm trying to apologize." He slips your denim shorts off your legs and all but falls to his knees in front of the large metal, green box you're sat on. His nimble index finger hooks around your thong and pulls it to the side. You barely have time to process what his "apology" will be before he plunges his head between your thighs. You fight to stifle a surprised moan as he conducts his skillful movements against your sensitive skin.

"Simon, oh, my God!" You whine, arching your back against the friction. He laughs against your skin sending waves of vibrations through your legs. One of his hands is occupied holding your panties to the side, the other is hooked around your hip, holding you securely in place as he meticulously works you over the edge.

"You want me to stop?" He asks, lips framed with drenched facial hair.

"No! No, I-" he cuts off your plea, resuming his position.

"Then stop fighting me," he snaps, harshly pinning you to the metal with the hand he had hooked on your hip. The stimulation quickly builds up, becoming too much, too quickly. You throw your head back and tangle a fist in his hair as he guides you through the high. Your legs shake and threaten to close around him, but his grip is too strong. You remain exactly where he wants you until you've ridden out your orgasm. You're slumped back on your elbows with your head down, breathing heavily as you return to reality.

Simon towers over you where you lay, staring down at you with his dark-circled eyes. You look up and watch him teasingly wipe his mouth, licking his lips like you're the first thing he's devoured in months. He slips your shorts halfway up your legs for you, leaving the rest of the work for whenever you can feel your legs again. "Um," you sigh. "Apology accepted."

"Tits."

"Is 'tits' good?" You furrow your eyebrows. He sighs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"You're leaving tonight, huh?" Simon lights a cigarette.

"Well... That's the plan." You feel a pit in your stomach when you think about going back home. The place is nice, it's far away. It's what you wanted, but life is full and meaningless. You don't have friends out there, it didn't strike you how hard it'd be to meet people in your mid 20s.

"You don't sound so sure about that plan, Y/N." He exhales a cloud that illuminates under the street lamp's orange glow.

"It's boring out there, but it's quiet. It's peaceful. My parents aren't in my ear telling me trying something new could kill me." You shrug.

"That's why you're running? Because of your frigid bitch mom and dad?" Simon laughs as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

"Okay, well. You know, maybe don't call them that or I'll lay you the fuck out, but yeah." You stand and fasten your shorts and belt, knees still threatening to buckle. "You had a hand in me leaving too."

"I know, I apologized!" He gestures to your trembling legs and you laugh.

"Yeah, yeah," you wave your hand at him. "Where'd you go? I was in town for weeks. I thought you were in the pin."

"I didn't want to overstay my welcome," he chuckles. "Or watch another fuckin' 80s movie with the volume on ten." He turns to look at you and he smirks.

"Well, my parents are in town now. I still have the rest of this week off. I was gonna spend it getting unpacked, but-"

"Fuck that. Let's go, you're driving." He walks off around the building toward the parking lot and you're dumbfounded for a moment.

"Of course I'm driving, it's my van!" You scramble after him. He hops in your passenger seat and you pull out of the lot, leaving his disgruntled band mates to pack up their own equipment. "You're not gonna help them?"

"What for? My shit's in the van. It's a microphone."

"Yeesh, sorry. Forgot you're actually kind of the worst when your head's not between my legs," you tease and Simon can't suppress a smile. As you cruise down the dark road, bright blue lights ignite in your mirrors. "Fuck. Get it the back." Simon wastes no time, he throws himself in the spacious rear area of the van as you pull over. You both wait anxiously for the cop to approach the window. Everything feels silent, until you finally hear the footsteps.

"I'm gonna run," Simon whispers, hand on the rear door latch.

"Don't." You demand sharply, rolling down your window for the cop. The air feels still and tight. It seems like it takes hours for the cop to speak, but when he does it's a routine traffic stop. He asks you if you knew how fast you were going and you innocently explain the floating nature of your speedometer. The officer laughs when he reads your ID and sees your last name.

"You're Frank's kid, right?"

"Yeah, his one and only." You beam, proudly. Happy to name drop your wealthy family.

"You just try to slow it down and tell your dad I said hello, alright?" The cop taps your door twice and sends you on your way. As you pull off, Simon peeks out from under the blankets and sighs with relief.

"Holy shit, with the way this thing looks, you should've been strip searched." Simon tosses himself back into the passenger seat.

"Don't shit-talk my van," you hiss. Simon proceeds to tell you where to go, each turn and shortcut, until you reach a large white house, almost as status defining as your parents'.

"My parents are out of town." He points to a concealed area to park and leads you to a basement door. He fights with a key for a moment before leading you inside. It's a messy basement room with red walls and posters from ceiling to floor. Instruments take up most of the space, aside from the bed.

"Do you avoid your parents like me, or do your parents avoid you?" You ask, bluntly, not considering the weight of that question.

"Both, I guess." He says after a long pause.

"You... Wanna smoke?" You ask, unsure how to navigate the silence.

"Can't. Fucks with my motivation," he grins. You shrug, rolling and smoking a joint by yourself while Simon works on some songs. He's got an ear for every instrument in his room, and he layers them over each other, creating complex instrumentals. It's nice to listen to while you lie on his bed and watch the swirling tendrils of smoke twist into the light and air above you.

"It sounds nice," you hum, settling into the cozy divot in the center of his mattress-on-the-floor.

"Write something for it," he commands, tossing a notepad and pen at you.

"Like lyrics? Why?" You stare at the blank page, unable to read the layers and layers of writing indented into it from Simon's heavy, angry hand.

"You need an out, I'm giving you one." He leans back in the rolling chair he resides in, staring me down like a hawk.

"I don't think I'm a very musical person. I think I'm more of a doodler, really," you argue, scribbling in the corner of the paper.

"Just fuckin' write something down and stop being a pussy." He snatches the pen from you and tosses it onto the pad.

"Bitch- How does that make me a pussy?" Your eyes narrow at him.

"It'd be too vulnerable. You're no tougher than that kid you were in high school. It's all fake now." It's clear he's taunting you. Making a fair attempt at reverse psychology.

"Fuck you, give me a minute," you huff, writing a line or two to start with. "Play your shit again." And he does. Restarting the instrumental he put together just for you. After a while, you've written something and you sling the notepad at Simon. He takes a moment to read through it a few times, almost trying to decode the melody of how I'd sang it in my head.

"Perfect. Now sing it." He nods toward his microphone stand.

"Fuck's sake, dude. Are you serious?" You whine, pushed further and further out of your comfort zone.

"Come on, let's see what you got," he says in a tone that lets me know I've already lost the argument.

"It doesn't feel good to be vulnerable to you."

"Tough it out." You roll your eyes at his demand, but you do it. You tough it out and recite your song over the music he provided. He hits 'restart,' and then 'record,' and then he points to you. After a measure you begin to sing. Low effort, but still angelic. Your song is about the feeling of being homesick no matter where you end up. It's about running and putting up a face as a defense mechanism. It's about wearing a mask.

When you're done singing and the music fades out, Simon slides the headphones off his ears. "That... Was tits." He looks elated. Like a poor painter with a new pallet.

"Is 'tits' good?" You ask again, emphasizing the lack of answer last time you asked.

"Yeah, 'tits' is good." He grins. "That was good."

"Fuck you. Who's not vulnerable?" You curl your lip, clearly more moved by the challenge than the release he was offering. Simon just shakes his head.

"Let's mix it." He beelines for the computer and begins fine tuning the song. You're watching in awe of his quick skill at this craft. As if watching him play all those instruments wasn't impressive enough. The night grows older. Simon offers you your favorite party favor, but you're over it. So the two of you share a joint.

"You don't ever get tired of living in a circle?" You ask through a cloud of smoke.

"A fuckin' circle?" He looks at you.

"Just, still in this town, still avoiding your parents, still making music alone in your room."

"Fuck," he huffs, offended but acknowledging the truth in your words. "Do you ever get tired of running from it?"

"Touché." You bring the joint to your lips as you lie in his disheveled bed. His arm snaked around you ages ago, slowly pulling you closer and closer to him. Like he's worried you'll float away.

"If our only two options are run away or get sucked into this shit hole of a town, I think we're a little fucked, don't you?" He chuckles to himself.

"Maybe those aren't the only options. We just don't have all the answers yet. I don't think anyone does." Your voice is wistful and quiet. You can feel Simon's eyes on you, but you stare at his dark ceiling. He rolls his eyes at your corny words, but he knows you're right. "It's funny, because if I could run from the uncertainty too, I would." You giggle, aware of your vices and poor coping skills.

"Yeah, you would," Simon mocks.

"And you? You're just going to live with it? Sit right beside the discomfort and accept that for yourself? Have you ever tried to give yourself more, even if it meant running?" You're slowly building up a sense of passion behind your words and Simon just listens, staring deeply into your eyes as you speak. Suddenly, you're cut off when he wraps a hand around the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. His lips crash into yours and the two of you melt into each other.

You can't even remember what you were saying, you just know you don't want to stop touching him. The heat of the kiss begins to swell as Simon's hands trail up and down your body. He's grabbing at you in a specific order, like he's been waiting to get his hands on it. Really get his hands on it. You grasp at the hem of his shirt, tugging in semblance to take it the fuck off, and he does.

His broad, pale chest rises and falls with anticipation as you strip off the same article of clothing. "Jesus Christ," he moans, pulling you to him to shove his face directly between your breasts. He breathes deeply, taking you in. With one swift motion, he's hoisted you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist. Simon unfastens the button on your jeans before tossing you to the side to undress you.

You're both naked and greatly anticipating the next moment your skin will touch. Seconds feel like hours until you're pressed against each other again. Simon buries his face in the crook of your neck as he guides his throbbing erection to your entrance. You're squirming and arching beneath him, and he releases a breathy laugh as he watches you writhe. "You're aching for it," he groans.

"Fuck you," you hiss, pulling him closer to you by his shoulders. All he does is chuckle before slowly slipping inside you. You moan loudly as you adjust to his size. Something about a lanky, dead-eyed man. His pace is steady as he rocks his hips against yours, picking up speed as you gush around him. Soon his thrusts are hard and rough, and your loud, vulgar moans echo off his bedroom walls.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he huffs, pulling out of you and tossing you aside. Simon quickly repositions you in front of him, on all fours. You let your back arch naturally, putting on a bit of a show for him as he watches you. His eyes are darkened and his smirk sends chills down your spine. You can't help but smile wide in excitement. With two round hands, he grabs your waist and positions you at the perfect height. His hands wander the soft flesh of your ass as you press up against him. "You drive me fucking crazy..." He sighs as he slips inside you.

Simon digs the tips of his fingers into your skin, pulling you against him with every violent thrust. You do everything you can to contort your body to give him more of you. He throws his head back, falling into a sloppy, unsteady pace. His breathing is wild and primal all the way up until the point of climax. You release a loud, fluttering moan as he fucks you through your high, quickly withdrawing to finish on your back and ass. You're both breathless for a while, the room is silent but for the sound of your lungs filling and deflating.

Simon climbs off the bed, but you're too fucked out to even raise your head up to watch where he's going. Moments later, he returns, towel in hand. He cleans you up and lands a hard smack on your right ass cheek. The sound is thunderous against the silence. You yelp and break into quiet chuckles.

Finally, you have the strength to roll over. You sit up against the mess of pillows that became a sort of headboard for his bed, feeling beautiful and bare before him. It's a nice feeling that you're not used to. Sure you've had your flings, but it's never occurred to you how quickly you tend to leave or cover up after. Not this time. You're both fully exposed and Simon's eyes drink you in, one last time before he speaks. "Don't go back." You stare at him for a long while, silent.

"I won't," you gasp, surprised by your own promise. As soon as the words leave your mouth, his lips are on yours. In the next few days, you quit your job and Simon rides with you to go back and get the most important of your shit. The rest goes with the trailer when you sell it. You don't run a single thing past your parents and you don't tell them you're coming back to town. It's a new sense of peace and adventure, though it feels like abandoning your old life.

After a month of van living, you and Simon get an apartment and constantly receive complaints about the noise, but nothing stops the music overflowing from your floor of the building. A new sense of bliss. It's comfortable now.

[luvmoonie]

me finding out there’s no fics for kyle gallner and that he’s married all in the same day

[kill-me-in-your-white-tee]

Pretty Little Thing, H. Farrell.

plotless smut, afab! reader + frontal penetration, praise, rough sex, choking, dom! hasil / sub! reader, multiple positions, pull out method (be responsible and don't do this irl), reader is crossfaded off of weed and nicotine, not proofread _ got lazy near the end.

"Gonna give you everything you've been beggin' for in that pretty little head of yours."

His voice barely cut through the thick clouds of pleasure that crowded your senses. The smoky amber haze of your bedroom combined with the mixture of THC and nicotine in your system made the sensation of him burying himself balls deep into your cunt all the more dizzying. Through tears and dark false lashes, the sight of his glistening skin strung tight over bulging muscles and his dark curls that clung to his cheeks and collarbone sent shivers of arousal through your being. Instinctively, you tightened around him, drawing out a low hiss and a stifled sound of pleasure from Hasil.

His strong, calloused hands gripped the sensitive skin of your hip as well as the calf of the leg tossed lazily over his shoulder. Each snap of his hips sent electricity through your veins and hurdled you closer to climax. He pulled you into his thrusts, making each drag of his curved cock against your walls press dangerously close to the spongy sweet spot that sent you reeling.

"Every filthy thing you didn't know how to ask for," he panted breathlessly against the skin of your knee before trailing passionate kisses up your thighs. "I'm gon' give it to you. Gonna treat you just how you like to be treated." As each press of his lips drew closer to wet, sloppy mess between your legs, the arch of your back deepened as he held his body impossibly closer. Losing whatever remnants of restraint, groans and whines slipped past your lips freely.

His lips trail over your stomach and through the valley of your breasts before settling against your jugular, his tongue snaking over the red love bites he had bitten into your skin.

"Sound so fuckin' pretty like that," his voice was low and hoarse, raspy from both the weed and arousal. "Each of those sounds go straight to my head. You have no idea what you do to me."

"Fuck! Has, please," your voice shook with each volatile rock of his hips. If you were sober, you may have felt your cheeks burn from the frantic slap of skin echoing off of the walls or the guttural - borderline pornographic - noises leaving the both of you.

His pace slowed, but only long enough for him to toss your other leg over his shoulder and to press flat against your thighs, sinking even deeper into your pussy. You gasp, only to be cut short by his massive hand pulling away from one of your breasts to wrap around your throat. He squeezes, allowing just enough pressure to render you thoughtless and completely cock-drunk.

Those gentle blue eyes of his that you absolutely adored burned holes through your skin as your own screw shut. A strained mewl dies in your throat as he shifted his hold to your jaw, holding your face mere inches from his.

"Eyes on me, baby," he purred, his breath warm and sweet against her burning flesh. "Don't even think about looking away, 'specially not after you ask for all this."

"H-Hasil," you slurred through ruined makeup and spit that coated the corners of your mouth from drooling into the pillow and all over his cock minutes prior. "Too much! Please-"

"Shh," he chuckles into her lips. "C'mon, sugar, you can take it," his hips began to snap even more forcefully against hers. "I know you can."

Pathetic whines are the only thing you could muster before you were clinging to him, your nails dragging against his scalp and the pale skin of his back. Lost in the sudden waves of bliss, you practically shriek into his shoulder as you come, spasming wildly around his cock.

"Fuck," his voice tensed in the all-too-familiar way that signaled his closeness. "Ain't nobody ever gonna fuck you like this, not the way I fuck you. You hear me?" His voice wavers alongside the steady pace of his hips. His grip tightened as he lost himself in the feeling of you coming undone around him. Small whimpers lazily covered by growls join the euphony of slapping skin and wetness.

"Shit--baby--I'm there," his hips stuttered as he quickly pulled himself out. The hand around her hip flew to wrap around his cock, squeezing his shaft tightly as he shut his eyes and replayed those filthy sounds that left your body. "There you go," he groaned as he came undone, coating her womb and swollen lips with his cum. "Fuck, there you go. Fuckin' take it," his hips snapped against his hand as he emptied himself onto your still writhing figure.

He leaned down to press sloppy kisses to her cheek, earning breathy giggles from the both of them.

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Bleeding Hearts: Part 1

Vince Schneider x Reader

A Romeo & Juliet + Scream AU

Warnings: SMUT and a LOT of it. Angst, a lot of Swearing, Alcohol and Violence, Mild SA, a very dark fic from the darkest corners of my mind.

- Character Visual Board -

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18+ Only

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One thing Vince knew was that he was not a good guy, but it didn’t bother him. It didn’t bother him what people said about him, or the way they scattered like roaches when he walked into a bar or down a busy street.




At 30 years of age, he had cultivated and perfected a mean facade that he valued more than anything. Being feared was worth more than money to him, it was power.




Vince hung out with the lowest of the low, a real bunch of lowlives and thugs he didn’t even have the emotional capacity to call friends. To him, these people were merely a means to roughen up his image enough so that everyone who knew his name feared him.




He joined a gang of bikers called The Devils Run on the south side of Woodsboro shortly after his near death incident 8 years prior, the experience that should have humbled him, but instead it made him fearless. He felt invincible.




He quickly climbed the ranks thanks to his no bullshit attitude, he had no issue putting people in their place, and now he practically ran the gang alongside the founder, Marcus. Needless to say, this pissed some people off, especially Marcus’ son Noah, who was less than trustworthy and not seen fit enough to run his fathers gang.




As his life got more involved with The Devils Run, Vince had less and less time for women. He had never had a good experience anyway, all relationships, if you could even call them that, had been volatile anyway, and he thought it was better this way.




That was until he spotted you one cold Saturday afternoon, laughing at the bar with your friend Rachel. He hadn’t seen you since high school, back when you were that dorky kid who couldn’t tell the difference between foundation and concealer and you routinely wore purple skinny jeans and a bright green hoodie. You looked so different now that he barely recognised you at first.




You had gone away for school, and you must have learned how to do your hair and makeup during this time, and that there was more than just brightly coloured jeans in the world of fashion.




You sat elegantly crossed legged at the bar, a cute little black sundress flowed effortlessly across your figure, your hair falling softly down your back. You laughed at something that slutty Rachel said. God he had always hated Rachel, but you had remained friends it seemed, and you looked radiant as you beamed at her, your eyes creasing.




Vince walked passed you as he made his way to the pool table at the back and your eyes met briefly. Vince registered a flicker of recognition in your eyes and your smile faltered slightly.




“Welcome back, Prescott.” Vince murmured as he leaned close to you on his way past, catching a whiff of your fruity perfume.




“Go away, creep.” Rachel spat, her face turned up in a scowl.




“Fuck off, whore.” Vince bit back.




“Say that again, I swear-“ Rachel started.




“I said, fuck off, whore.” Vince repeated, a smirk across his face.




You rolled your eyes and turned your back to Vince, your elbows resting on the bar. “Cool it, you two.” You mumbled cooly as you sipped your drink, highly unimpressed by the childish behaviour.




Vince smirked, satisfied he had caused her to bite. He relished causing mayhem, it filled him with excitement.




Vince was a couple of years your senior, and you remembered him and his chaos well. Rachel had the biggest crush on him throughout high school and even after he left, she practically threw herself at him, and when he turned her down - hard - she turned to hating him quickly.




You didn’t particularly like him either, it was hard to when his mother despised yours, blaming her for her brothers death, but hate wasn’t an emotion you held for many people.




Your mother always thought Vince was a bad seed. The way he was raised, barely raised that is, and the way he’d followed in his parents footsteps, idolising his uncle Stu, it all just spelt bad news. His father was somehow worse than his mother, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.


You on the other hand, hadn’t known your father, so your mom was your everything, and everything she said, went. You didn’t question her, after everything she had been through, you really couldn’t find a reason to. She was smart, resourceful, brave, but incredibly weary, and that was something she had passed onto you.


You had avoided Vince as much as possible, but luckily that wasn’t all that hard considering you were complete opposites and hung out with different crowds.


You were awkward, bright and friendly, he was cocky, dark and god damn terrifying. You moved in different circles, and you avoided eye contact whenever your paths did cross.


That was until that night in the bar, and Vince couldn’t stop himself from watching you.


You looked so different, but it was still you, the only daughter of Sidney Prescott. He couldn’t help but admire how you’d grown into your own skin, no longer that average, awkward teen, but now a glowing, beautiful woman.


You occasionally caught his eyes on you, heat crawling up your neck, but you pretended not to notice, catching up with your old best friend Rachel, enjoying her company after so many years apart.


The night drew on and the bar got busier, louder, and drunken townsfolk began to filter in and out.


Billy, someone Rachel worked with and had been seeing on and off, walked over and slung an arm around your friends shoulder.


“Hey Y/N. Mind if I steal Rach away for a little while?” He slurred, although still polite enough.


You laughed, “Be my guest, I need to get back home anyway, early day tomorrow.”


You hugged Rachel goodbye and grabbed your purse before squeezing out of the busy bar.




You hadn’t realised that you’d brushed the wrong persons shoulder and caught a dangerous eye on your way out, and that someone had followed you out.


The street was quiet enough for a Saturday evening, most people inside as the cool late November air began to bite at exposed skin and you shivered, kicking yourself mentally for forgetting your jacket at home.


You rubbed your arms as you walked quickly down the empty sidewalk, the twilight evening darkening almost with every step.


You thought you were imagining it, at first, but when you strained your ears, you could hear the second set of footsteps that almost matched yours, and you stopped in your tracks.


As you turned, you noticed a golden haired man, sandy moustache matching his small beard, a thick black leather jacket making him appear even larger than he was.


He shot you a cocky grin as he closed the distance between you.


“Can I help you?” You asked, a little uncomfortable at his proximity.


“I saw you walkin’ on your own, don’t you know how dangerous these streets can be at night, darlin’?” He drawled, a toothpick rolling between his teeth.


“I’m fine.” You forced a less than friendly smile as you turned back around and continued walking.


“Woah! No need for the attitude, princess. At least let me walk you home.” He wasn’t asking, and he grabbed your wrist and spun you round to face him. “The name’s Noah, I thought we could get to know one another a little.”


You tried to pull out of his grip, but his hand was like a vice, and before you could think to cry for help, he was pushing you back into an alleyway, his other hand clasped against your mouth.


You tried to cry out, but it wasn’t much use, and your other hand found itself trapped above your head with the other, both fitting comfortably in his large hand as his knee pinned you against the cold brick wall.


In his other hand, he flicked open a pocket knife, scraping the blunt metal against your exposed neck as you whimpered.


“Scream and I’ll have no choice but to shut you up, got it princess?” He hummed in your ear and you let out a cry.


The knife pressed harder against your throat as a warning, the tip piercing your skin and a trickle of blood ran down your neck as you began to shake.


“I said, got it?” He repeated, and nodded as best as you could against the blade.


“Good girl.” He hummed as his tongue darted out to lick the blood that trickled down your neck, his hips pressing uncomfortably into yours.


Tears spilled from your eyes as you screwed them shut, waiting for the worst to happen.


“Noah, you better step the fuck back before I gut you and send your innards to your father.” A familiar voice sounded from the end of the alley, and you felt the pressure against your hands and hips soften.


Your eyes flew open and Noah’s eyes were no longer on you, but staring sheepishly back at Vince Schneider.


Vince stood cooly at the end of the alley, his arms by his side and a knife in his own hand, and you suddenly panicked you were only about to be subject to the same fate by Vince’s hand.


“C‘mon Vince, I was just havin’ a little fun.” Noah argued, but he still wasn’t letting you go.


“I say what you can do for fun, this isn’t it. Let her go.”


Noah looked down at you once more and gave you a scowl before he let your hands fall and took and step back. You instinctively shuffled further back into the alleyway, desperate to get further away from him, and you watched as Noah skulked back towards Vince.


“Fine. Happy now?” Noah spat, and before you could comprehend what was happening, Vince’s fist collided with Noah’s jaw, and a second fell swoop landed in his stomach.


With a grunt, Noah doubled over and fell to his knees.


“If I ever fucking catch you doing that shit again, you’re done. Hear me?” Vince spat.




Noah nodded and struggled to his feet and stumbling out of the alley.




Vince watched furiously as Noah disappeared and then turned towards you.


You cowered, terrified, and Vince raised his hands defensively.


“Hey… it’s okay. Can I take you home?”


You stared up at Vince with watery eyes, unsure if this was some fucked up joke. He had never been awful to you, but he’d never gone out of his way to put the family feud behind you before.


“Look,” he continued, “there are plenty of creeps in this fucking town, I should know, at least let me walk you.”


You contemplated your odds, and somehow Vince was the safer option, so you nodded shakily.


“You cold?” He asked, removing his own leather jacket.


“Oh, no I’m okay.” You tried to refuse, but the jacket was already around your shoulders and you couldn’t help but relish in the warmth that had absorbed into it already. “Thanks.”


“I’m sorry about him.” Vince said, still standing over you. “He’s a fuck up on all accounts.”


“He’s not your responsibility.” You shrugged, wrapping the leather tighter around you for comfort.


“He kinda is, his dad’s my boss.” Vince said as you began walking.


“Brave hitting him like that if his dad is your boss.” You noted.


Vince chuckled, his hands sliding into his front pockets. You noticed how he’d filled out nicely as he’d gotten older, his biceps stretched the sleeves of his button up shirt, and the swell of his pecks showed under the few he’d left unbuttoned.


“Even his dad knows what a useless cunt he is.”


You walked in silence for a while, the streets now dark and lit only by the odd store, restaurant or bar that was still open. You realised that soon you’d be in a residential area and if he wanted to, he could easily drag you into a bush and no one would be the wiser.


You breathed deeply, “Vince?”


“Mmm?”


“Thank you, for doing what you did back there… but why did you?”


Vince shrugged, “I might not be a saint but I know what is saw wasn’t right, not by anyone’s hand.”


You nodded, and you continued to walk in silence.




After a while, your house came into view down the long leafy residential street and you let out a sigh of relief.


“Bit weird to say it but I owe you one.” You breathed awkwardly.


Vince grinned but you didn’t see it, “I’ll bank it for now.”


As you reached the softly lit front lawn of your childhood home, the same one your mom grew up in, you stopped at the front gate and turned to face him.


“Well… this is me. Thank you again.” You said softly as you pulled the jacket off your shoulders and handed it back to Vince.


“Don’t mention it.” He stood over you and your eyes locked for a moment, before you pulled away awkwardly. Vince noticed the tiny smear of blood that had now dried on your neck and he instinctively brushed his thumb against it to remove it.




You flinched, but quickly realised you weren’t in danger and you relaxed against his touch.




“Sorry.” He murmured, pulling back.




You looked up at him and smile, reaching up on your toes and pressing a quick kiss on his cheek.


“See you around, I guess.” You said as you pulled back and Vince watched you in surprise.


You walked through the gate and down the long winding path to the front door. Vince waited until you were safely inside.




Now he had a bone to pick, and he was going to need a few drinks beforehand.




——————————

- Part 2 Here -

Taglist:

@velmalav

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[fandomgirlz01]

By Your Side

(CSI: NY) Reed Garrett X Reader

Imagine on my fandom Instagram?: No  

Prompt or Request or Requested Prompt?: No

Style of Writing: Fic (Potential Future Series)

Edited: Yes

Word count: 5,204

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings here

Listen to the story be read out loud here {coming soon}. 

Post Date & Time: May 20th 2024 at 11:14 PM

Summary: When Reed accidentally gets involved in something his friend died for the reader (his girlfriend) comes home to a very scary situation. Later they each help each other through forms of grief. 

Authors Note: There will be a lot of time skips and it mostly follows Reed’s story line in the show with just a few minor (very minor) changes to it. This will be part of a future Reed series, for now though please just enjoy this part as a little sneak peek to the future series.

Reed’s Pov:

“Did you talk to Mac like you wanted to, babe?” Y/n, my girlfriend, asks as I talk with her on the phone while walking up to our campus dorm room building. 

“Yeah, I did. Told him everything I knew,” I answer her and she sighs, making me imagine her frowning. 

“Reed, baby. Are you sure you should be getting involved with this?” she queries in worry as I open the door to the building. 

“I’ll be fine, babe. It’s for Brian. You know he’d do the same for us,” I beg her to understand and she sighs. 

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” she tells me in a sad tone and I stop walking up the stairs for a moment. 

“Babe. Mac won’t let me get hurt. I’ll be okay,” I calmly inform her in hopes of calming her anxiety. 

“How’d you even get into the lab, isn’t it hard to get into?” she asks and I smirk as I start walking up the flight of stairs again. 

“I told them I was family and they let me in,” I inform her and she giggles. 

“And they let you in?” she parrots in disbelief and I smile even more as I let out a chuckle. 

“That they did,” I reply to her in a smug tone and she laughs as I imagine her shaking her head in disbelief. 

“That’s crazy. It’s the top forensics building in New York and they just let you in if you say you’re family? Shouldn’t their security be a little better than that?” she asks in an amused tone that makes me chuckle and shake my head. 

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” I ask and we both laugh. 

“Now I’m second guessing my future line of work…” she jokes and I shake my head. 

“Awe, don’t do that, sweetheart. It’s all you’ve wanted growing up. I’m sure not much actually happens where they need hard core security there anyway,” I comfort to the best of my ability and she laughs. 

“Oh. Okay… I guess I won’t drop out of class,” she jokes and I chuckle, shaking my head at our playfulness. 

“Anyways… When will you be home?” I ask her and she hums. 

“I’ll be home in about a half hour, tops, honey. I promise,” she swears to me and I smile, shaking my head as I continue my walk up the stairs to our dorm room. 

“It’s okay, babe. I know work is demanding sometimes. We’ve talked about this. All I care about is that you come home safe,” I inform her and she giggles, making me smile.

“Ok. Well, I’ll see you in half an hour babe. I love you,” she tells me and my grin grows as I unlock the front door. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” I respond and before I know it, she’s hanging up. 

I chuckle, shaking my head as I pocket my phone and finish unlocking the door before going into our room. I walk in and pull my bag over my head as I close the door, but I’m immediately in defense mode as the room feels off. I look over at my computer and find a sticky note stuck to it. 

At first I’m relieved, thinking y/n had just left me a cute note like she always does, but when I get closer it’s clear my laptop screen has been broken and as I read the note my stomach drops: keep your story quiet. 

I walk up a little closer as fear now courses through me and next thing I know, I feel a presence behind me. I quickly turn to look at what it is, but as soon as I do I’m punched, making me fall back to the floor. The person keeps kicking and punching me, but I can’t make out who it is because they wear a solid white mask. 

I try my hardest to fight back, but after a few hits to the head everything becomes blurry so I try to curl into myself and hide away. The person keeps kicking and I keep trying to move away, but to no avail. Soon before I know it, the person stops and I look up at them as black spots slowly fill my vision. The last thing I see is the person leaving the dorm room before finally my eyes close. 

Reader’s Pov: 

I smile as I walk up to our dorm room building, glad that my manager let me go home earlier than I was supposed to. I tiredly but happily drag myself up the stairs to surprise my boyfriend. Once I get closer, my smile falls as I see the door is cracked open. I immediately start to worry, seeing as Reed never leaves it open and I carefully push it the rest of the way open. 

“Reed,” I gasp out when I see him crumpled up on the floor.  

“Reed. Baby?” I call him again as I drop my bag aside before getting down onto my knees next to him. 

I shake him and he doesn’t respond so I turn him over. I gasp as I see his face clearly beaten and bruised up. Immediately I stand back up and at first I feel a little dizzy, but I push it off to walk over to the desk. Quickly I search for the card I know Reed has. It takes a few minutes, but I find it and hold it up. I quickly dial the number and it rings for a few minutes. 

“Hello? How can I help you?” A voice asks through the phone and I pause. 

“Hello?” The voice asks again and I blink. 

“H-h-hi, is this Mac Taylor?” I stutter out into the phone and he pauses for a moment. 

“Yes. This is he. May I ask who you are?” he asks and I look over at Reed. 

“I’m Reed’s girlfriend. He, uhh… said this morning that if anything happened to call you,” I quickly explain in a panicked tone. 

“Is Reed okay? Are you?” he asks me and I pause as I look down at Reed, now getting choked up. 

“I’m okay. I came home to our door open and him on the floor,” I explain as I hold my tears back so he can understand me. 

“Okay, listen to me. I’ll be there as quickly as I can and I’ll bring some others with me. Is he unconscious?” he asks me and I hold back another sob. 

“He is. I tried calling out to him and even shaking him, yet no response,” I inform him as I bite my lip, staring down at Reed with tears constantly welling up in my eyes. 

“Ok. Just stay with him. Me and a couple officers will be there in a few minutes, okay?” he calmly tells me and I continue to stare at Reed, not responding. 

“Can you do that?” Mac asks me again and I quickly straighten my back. 

“Y…yeah. Please get here quickly,” I reply as I now get onto the floor next to Reed. 

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he quickly promises before we both hang up. 

I sit against the side of our bed and lightly pick Reed’s head up to lay it in my lap. I hug his head close before leaving a light kiss on his forehead as I finally let the tears fall. 

“Reed. Come on, baby,” I gently coo to him in hopes he’ll start to stir awake. 

“Come on Reed. Please open your eyes for me,” I gently plead with him as I rub his hair back from his forehead. 

I sit with him for a few more minutes before suddenly he lets out a low groan. I perk up and gently shush him as I continue to rub his hair back. 

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. You’re okay,” I coo softly to him as he slowly comes to. 

It takes him a bit, but finally he fully comes to and when his eyes are fully open, he starts to squirm in my arms. He freaks out for a minute, but calms when I hold his head so he can see it’s only me. 

“Shh. It’s only me, babe. You’re okay… you’re safe. I’m right here,” I calmly murmur to him as I rock us back and forth lightly. 

“No. You can’t be here. Th- they might come back…” he fights me again and I shake my head. 

“No one is coming back, Reed. You're okay and I’m okay. Mac’s on his way,” I inform him as I continue to play with his hair and he immediately calms again. 

“I’m sorry you came home to me like this, babe,” he groans out and I shake my head. 

“It’s okay, honey. I’m with you through anything, you know that,” I promise him and he smiles sadly up at me. 

“Reed,” a voice calls out, making me look up to see a man standing at our door. 

“Hi, Mac,” Reed replies with a sheepish smile. 

“He’s in here, guys,” Mac calls down the hall before walking into the room. 

“Hi. I’m Mac,” introduces himself to me and I smile lightly at him. 

“I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Reed,” I explain and Mac smiles. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, although I wish it was over lunch or breakfast instead of this,” Mac comments and Reed laughs lightly. 

“Yeah, that’s my fault,” Reed comments with a sheepish smile that also seems to be full of pain. 

“Do you wanna get up?” I ask Reed and he gives me a light nod. 

“Ok. Come on,” I nod back before standing by myself and getting ready to help him up. 

I help him until he stands with Mac helping from Reed’s other side. Once he’s standing, he staggers ever so slightly and I hold onto him tighter before he moves to sit on the bed. One of the paramedics that came with Mac walks over. Once Reed sits, the dizzy feeling starts to creep up again and now I stagger a bit. 

“Whoa. Babe, sit,” Reed tells me as he holds onto my hand. 

“Hold that thought,” I reply before rushing to the bathroom on the other side of our room. 

“Babe?” Reed questions as he gets up and rushes in after me. 

I drop down onto my knees in front of the toilet and my stomach releases the dinner I had before work. Reed quickly rushes to hold my hair back and rubs my back soothingly. It takes a few minutes, but soon I finish and sit back against Reed. 

“Babe. Are you doing okay?” he asks me with a furrowed brow. 

“I’m fine, honey. I think I’m just in shock mode. You know me. Let’s go back out,” I tell him as I wipe at my lips before standing and cupping some water into my mouth. 

“Are you sure?” he asks me and I nod. 

“Let’s go,” I reply before pulling him back out to the bed. 

“Babe. Sit,” Reed commands as he pulls me down next to him. 

“Okay. Let’s take a look at the injuries,” the paramedic comments as he pulls out a few things from his bag. 

The paramedic quickly looks him over, checking his eyes and has him follow the light. Then he checks Reed’s ribs for any that may be broken. Soon the paramedic packs his stuff back up and stands. 

“Okay, son. I think you are okay. Nothing major, just a few bruises, a concussion, and a few broken ribs. All should heal within the next month,” the paramedic informs Reed who nods and sniffles. 

“Make sure to put something cold on that forehead bruise and maybe that eye,” the paramedic finishes off before nodding to Mac. 

“Wait…” Reed calls out before the paramedic can leave. 

“Yes?” The paramedic questions as he turns back to Reed. 

“Can you please look over my girlfriend? She’s been having throw up episodes and dizzy spells,” Reed explains and I quickly try to hide the widening of my eyes by looking towards the fridge. 

“Reed, baby. I’m okay. I told you it’s just the shock, it’ll wear off. Really, I’m fine,” I tell him before turning around with a soda. 

“Are you sure, ma’am? I don’t mind giving you a look,” the paramedic butts in and I fight the huff I want to let out. 

“Oh. Thank you, sir, but really, I’m fine,” I deflect and the paramedic seems to get the clue. 

“Ok. Have a good rest of your night then,” the paramedic bids his goodbye, leaving before Reed can say anything. 

“Here, babe, put this on your face,” I tell Reed as I hand him a can and he gives me a look of disbelief. 

“What?” I ask when he doesn’t take the can. 

“You should have gotten checked out,” he tells me and I sigh, shaking my head. 

“Reed. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m okay. A little shaken from finding you unconscious on the floor? Hell yeah. Other than that, I’m fine. I have a doctor's appointment set up tomorrow, remember?” I tell him and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“I just want you to be okay,” he whispers out and I smile softly as I sit down next to him. 

“And I am. So let’s get you in the same boat, okay?” I ask him as I reach forward and squeeze his hand. 

“Okay…” he agrees softly before pulling me into his side. 

“Here, baby. Put this on your face,” I almost command as I put the soda into his other hand and he chuckles. 

“Okay. Okay,” he agrees as he wraps his fingers around it and pulls the can up to his face. 

“Are you two sure you're alright?” Mac asks and we both look up at him. 

“Yeah. I think we are,” Reed tells him before putting the soda back on his face. 

“Reed. I want you and this beautiful girl of yours to stay at your parents’ house tonight,” Mac tells him, pointing at him. 

“Yeah. I’m keeping y/n safe,” Reed comments as he takes the can from his face and stands. 

“This is my first Geraldo, you know. Beat up for a story. Making my girlfriend have a freak out when she just wanted to come home and sleep,” he explains as he looks at himself in the mirror next to our bed. He rubs at his face before I stand just a bit to smack his hand away from his face. 

“What’s this about?” Mac asks him as he leans over the desk and uses tweezers to take the note off the broken screen. 

“I have no idea. You know, I’m not even writing on the Kings and shadows. My piece is about students paying other students to take their exams for them,” Reed explains as he sits back down next to me and I cuddle into his side when he puts his arm around me. 

“Brian Miller know this?” Mac asks as he closes up the yellow envelope he holds. 

“I told him as soon as he told me what he was writing about,” Reed replies with a head nod and Mac pauses as he looks at our floor. 

He soon moves and bends down to it. He uses the tweezers to pick up what looks like a crumb of some kind and lifts it up to his face. 

“Let me see the bottom of both your shoes,” Mac tells us and Reed nods. 

“Yeah… ow,” Reed winces as he lifts his leg and I rub his chest lightly before lifting my own. 

“See, Brian and I, we were pretty competitive,” Reed explains and I scoff. 

“Pretty, baby you were more than competitive, admit it. You know I’m right,” I jump in and Reed looks at me before laughing. 

“I mean, she’s got a point… anyway, like I told him I wouldn’t mention him in my piece if he quit,” Reed goes on with his explanation again, wincing as he switches legs for Mac to look at. 

“But he said he’d already agreed to take two more exams. Then he was out,” Reed ends his explanation as now both his feet are down again. 

Mac looks over my first foot real quick, then I switch to the other and he looks at that one too before letting me put them back down. 

“Eddie Williams and Thomas Brighton were Brian’s last two clients,” Mac starts and Reed puts his head down, letting out a low ‘Yeah,’ as he does. 

“But only one of them had reason to want both stories killed,” Mac ominously comments as he stands up and puts the envelope in his pocket. 

After Mac and the rest of the CSIs left our apartment, we quickly packed our bags before heading to Reed’s parents’ house. Now we lay on his childhood bed together and Reed rubs my back lightly. 

“I’m thinking of going to Brian’s funeral…” he comments out loud and I move my head so I can look at him, letting my chin rest on his chest. 

“If you want to go, baby, we’ll go. When is it?” I inform him and he smiles softly at me. 

“How did I get so lucky?” he asks me as he rubs my arm ever so lightly and I smile. 

“I think I’m the lucky one,” I inform him and he smiles again, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“How about we’re both lucky?” he asks in a cheeky tone and I grin, giggling. 

“Agreed. Now, when’s Brian’s funeral?” I ask him and he pauses. 

“Tomorrow afternoon…” he admits, almost like it’s a bad thing. 

“Why do you say that like it’s bad, babe?” I ask him and he shrugs. 

“I mean… you have your appointment tomorrow, right?” he asks me and I perk up, sitting up fast. 

“Babe? What’s wrong?” he asks me with confusion and worry written all over his face. 

“I have something for you. I was going to give it to you tonight, but then everything happened,” I quickly explain as I dig around in my bag for the small gift I have for him and his face relaxes. 

“Babe, you didn’t have to,” he denies, shaking his head as I finally pull the small gift bag out of my bag. 

“Oh, but I did. Open it. I think you’ll be plenty surprised. I know I was,” I tell him as I sit on the bed with my legs curled up behind me and bite my lip. 

He starts to open it and soon before I know it, he’s pulling the little onesie out. He pauses to read it before looking up at me. I smile a shy, worried smile as he looks at me in awe. 

“Babe, is this real?” he asks and I giggle, nodding as tears well up in my eyes. 

“I had the same reaction. I know we said we’d wait till after marriage, but I know you’re the only one for me and I’ve known that since 4th Grade,” I ramble as I play with a loose string on his blanket. 

“Babe-” he starts, but I quickly cut him off. 

“That’s what the appointment tomorrow is for. First scan…” I trail off before I let out a gasp as he uses his finger to guide my face up to look at him. 

“Honey, I’m not mad. I’m elated, like you said I’ve seen us together since forever,” he tells me softly as he rubs my cheek ever so slightly and the tears start to fall. 

“I love you Reed, so, so much,” I inform him softly as his eyes fill with tears too and he wipes at one that falls down my cheek. 

“I love you too, so, so much pretty girl, always,” he replies, rubbing my cheek and I grin. 

He sets the onsie and its bag aside before turning back to me. He pulls me back into the hug and kisses my forehead before slowly laying both of us back down onto the bed. He lightly rubs my arm that lays across his stomach along with my lower back. We lay there for a few minutes, both grinning ear to ear as he now rubs light circles on my stomach, making me laugh every few minutes when it tickles a little. Soon he leaves another kiss on my forehead as he moves back to just rubbing my arm. 

“I was also thinking of asking Mac where mom was buried,” he mumbles out, breaking the serene silence as I draw shapes against his covered stomach. 

“If you want to, honey. I think it’d be nice to know,” I agree with him and he sighs. 

“It’s just… I wanted you to meet her just as bad as I did myself. It might… be the only way for me to introduce you and myself to her,” he explains and I shake my head. 

“Reed, baby. That’s very sweet, but you don’t have to explain to me. I get it, I know you,” I softly tell him as I lay my chin on his chest to look at him again. 

“And I’d love to meet her, although I’m very sure she’s looking down on you and watching over you,” I tell him softly as I reach up and caress his face. 

He leans into it before kissing my palm and a tear falls from his eye. I quickly catch it and wipe it away. He shakes his head and I smile softly at him. 

“What?” I ask him as he just stares at me like I hung the stars just for him. 

“I think she sent me you, knowing I’d need you. So she sent your stubborn little self my way…” he tells me softly and I huff. 

“I wasn’t that stubborn…” I fight back with a roll of my eyes. 

“Oh yes, you were. Still are. I remember your little first grade self marching up next to me and little Hero Mckinley telling him he should laugh at someone who clearly needs help and pushing him,” he jokes with a smirk and I roll my eyes. 

“Well he was making fun of you! I wasn’t just going to stand by and let my best friend get made fun of. Plus, he’s the one that egged me on,” I grunt as I cross my arms and Reed chuckles. 

“And who the hell names their kid Hero then teaches him to be an absolute asshat? Like that’s just stupid. Heroes are supposed to be the one saving the day, not the villain. I mean it’s literally in the name,” I complain and Reed laughs, making me slap his shoulder. 

“I mean, I can’t say I don’t agree with you, baby. He was the absolute worst,” he adds with a dramatic eye roll before shaking his head and I sigh. 

“Really, he didn’t wanna be pushed, he shouldn't have been bullying you and other kids, let alone tell me to fight someone my own size,” I add on and Reed laughs again. 

“Really, he shouldn’t have. You’ve always been good at taking down people half your size…” he agrees though his laughter and I shake my head. 

“Damn right you are, baby. He should have known not to mess with you,” I tell him and he grins as his laugh dies off. 

“See I told you, she must have sent you my way. Must have known that little me would be a sissy pants,” he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and I sigh. 

“Reed, you weren’t a sissy pants. You were an only child and you were seven years old,” I deadpan and he chuckles. 

“So were you!” he fights back and I shake my head. 

“Yeah… but I had two brothers… who still like to kick my butt when they see me. I literally had to learn to fight back,” I humorlessly tell him with a raised eyebrow and he pauses. 

“Yeah, I guess that changes things a bit…” he comments and he chuckles when I smack him again. 

“Ya think?!” I playfully ask him as if he’s stupid only making him laugh again.

“I really do think mom sent me you though,” he seriously informs me when he’s done laughing. 

“Well, maybe she knew we were made for each other, then. I know myself that we are,” I tell him and he smiles. 

“I love you, you know that?” he asks me and I smile softly. 

“Yes, I know that, and I also happen to know that I love you just as much,” I reply to him and he smiles before stretching his neck just a little bit to kiss my nose. 

I giggle and scrunch up my nose, but kiss him back when he kisses my lips next. He then lays back and I cuddle in a little closer. 

“Sleep honey, sleep, we’ve had a very long day,” he informs me and I nod sleepily against his chest. 

“Very, very long indeed. You sleep too, Reed,” I tell him in the most stern tone I can manage though my sleepiness and he chuckles. 

“I promise, baby. I will,” he replies and it makes me grin before my eyes slowly close as sleep soon takes over. 

I hold onto Reed’s arm as we walk out of the church behind the family and the pallbearers. He stops at the top of the stairs and puts his hands in his pockets as he lightly kicks the ground with the tip of his shoe. I squeeze his arm and he takes his opposite hand out of his pocket. He grabs my arm lightly and squeezes it back as I lean against him. I nuzzle into his side and turns to me, giving my forehead a kiss before leaning his cheek against of my head as I close my eyes. 

I open my eyes again and see he’s tearing up again as he watches them put the coffin in the hearse. I rub his arms for a few minutes before he gives a small nod of his head. 

“Mac’s over there,” he comments and I look up at where he nodded. 

“You wanna go talk to him?” I ask and he nods solemnly. 

Reed takes his hand out of his pocket and reaches down to mine, gripping it softly as we walk down the steps. 

“Hey, Mac,” Reed greets his somewhat surrogate dad as we come to a stop. 

Mac spares a look over at the casket as the pallbearers push it the rest of the way into the hearse. Reed chokes up again as he too watches and I start to choke up as well. I rub my cheek lightly against his shoulder while holding his hand a little closer for comfort. He pulls his hand away from mine so he can put his arm around my shoulder. I nuzzle into his neck as I try to hide my face and he squeezes my shoulder. 

“I wanted you kids to know that we’re going to make an arrest,” Mac informs us and Reed lets out a long sigh. 

“Good. I’m glad,” Reed comments, squeezing my side lightly as he lets more tears flow. 

“Maybe I should have just turned Brian in for cheating, you know?” Reed adds on as he starts to cry even more and I squeeze his side with the arm I have wrapped around his stomach. 

“He would have been kicked out of the university, but he never would have been in that hedge maze,” Reed finishes his thought with even more tears running down his face and I kiss his cheek lightly. 

“You’re taking a lot of responsibility, Reed,” Mac comments and Reed shakes his head. 

“It’s ‘cause I feel bad… I feel I shoulda stopped him. I feel like I shoulda done something, but…” Reed trails off as he looks down for a moment and I hug him a little tighter. 

“I’m gonna miss him,” Reed comments and I finally let out a broken sob. 

“Goodness, Reed. I’m gonna miss him too,” I add and Reed hugs me closer as I cry into his shoulder. 

“I know, babe. I’m so sorry,” Reed tells me as he rubs my lower back and I shake my head. 

“Don’t you dare say that. It’s not you who should be sorry. It’s whoever killed Brian who needs to be sorry,” I sternly tell him, hoping it’ll change the way he’s thinking. 

“I’d listen to your girlfriend. She speaks the truth,” Mac tells Reed and he lazily points at me. 

“She always does… look, we gotta go,” Reed tells him. “We’re gonna head over to the cemetery before y/n’s doctor's appointment,” Reed informs him and he nods solemnly. 

“Reed, if there’s anything I can do for you two…” Mac sympathetically promises us, Reed looks at me for a moment and I nod at him. He looks down for a second, thinking it over before looking up. 

“I’d like to know where my mom’s buried,” Reed finally asks and Mac looks away, sighing for a moment. 

“She wasn’t…” Mac somberly states and Reed sighs before turning to me to lean his forehead against me. 

“Her body was never found. No trace at all…” Mac explains in a tone of melancholy before pausing. 

“But they’re…” he tries to continue, but stops to sigh. “We’re still looking,” he finishes, looking away as his own grief hits him. 

Reed sighs before letting go of me and taking a few steps forward. He reaches out and pulls Mac into a hug. It takes Mac a second before he hugs back and squeezes him a bit with both hands. Reed sniffles as he and Mac hold each other in the hug for a few minutes before hesitantly parting. Reed steps back and puts his arm back around my waist, pulling me into his side. 

“Thanks for everything,” Reed gives Mac his appreciation and Mac nods. 

“Ok. Then we gotta get going. Ready, babe?” Reed comments as he turns to me and I raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh! Can we, ahh, do lunch or breakfast tomorrow?” Reed asks and Mac smiles softly. 

“Yeah. Of course. Just text me the time and place,” Mac agrees with a smile and Reed nods happily. 

“Ok then, we’ll see you tomorrow, Mac,” Reed promises with a smile and Mac nods. 

“See you tomorrow, kids,” Mac replies and Reed gives him one last nod before starting to walk away. 

After leaving Mac we quickly head to the subway and get on. We ride it all the way to the street my doctor’s office is on before getting off. 

“Are you excited, babe?” I ask Reed, who squeezes my hand. 

“Of course I am. What kind of question is that?” he jokingly asks and I playfully roll my eyes. 

“Oh of course, I’m so sorry,” I reply with a grin as he opens the door and holds it open for me. 

“Let’s go see our baby,” he tells me with his own grin as I walk through the door. 

The End…

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[vvabbitt]

KYLE GALLNER ‼️‼️‼️ 😍

[boypied]

TALK DIRTY TO ME.

pairings: kyle gallner x male reader

summary: kyle and male reader have hot phone sex (that's all).

warnings: SMUT, dirty talk, edging, masterbation.

You and Kyle had been on a off for a couple of months, and yet you always went back to each other, most of the time it was whenever you were both horny and in desperate need of your balls draining. Kyle was the only guy who could practically make you cum in an instant, it was like he knew your body better then you which is crazy to even think about. With one thrust of his hips he had you shooting thick creamy ropes of cum all over his and your chests, he was an incredible lover. Now Kyle is on the other side of the world filming a movie and you are desperately in need of... release.

"So... what are you wearing?" Kyle mutters out through in a breathy whisper, he palms at his clothed bulge, wanting to hear your sweet voice. "Just a jockstrap... your favourite one." You say in a seductive tone down the phone, hearing Kyle squirm through the phone. He slowly wraps his veiny hand around his rock-hard member, giving it a couple jerks before the real fun begins. "Are you touching yourself?" You ask him softly, "mhm" he mutters out as he strokes his cock gently back and forth imagining your ass wrapped around his cock.

"fuckin' hell. I wish I had you bouncing on this cock" Kyle murmurs out, "you want that daddy?" You tease him "imagine me riding that big cock, feeling it ruin me" you say seductively in a whisper causing his body to shiver with pleasure as he beats his meat, edging himself closer and closer to the climax. "We've been talking for hours now and you've only just started touching yourself?" You murmur out hearing his cute moans and the sound of pre-cum coating his cock.

"You close?" You ask Kyle, "y-yes" he whimpers out beating his more for an inch of its life "cum for me daddy" I say seductively hearing his whimpers "y/n!" He coos out a couple more times before shooting thick ropes of cum all over his chest, "A-AH" you bite your lip hearing the sound of his cum hit his chest "sounded like a big load" you giggle out causing him to chuckle sounding out of breath "the moment I'm done with this movie I'm going to fuck you so hard... you won't be able to walk" Kyle says seductively causing you to bite your lip "I'll be waiting stud."

taglist - @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronaaaaaaa @irlsamcarpenter

it's been a while (SORRY). Here's a cute lil' fic.

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

omg u write for simon .. he’s so bf ౨ৎ

i just need to follow him around like a lost puppy and he’s just like get tf away from me i’m a bad influence and ur just tilting your head like “but your nice to me :( and u make me happy :(“

i do and he is !!! this is so sweet </3

“come on, si, just let me come with you. you’re not that bad.” you protested, stomping behind him as he walked to the truck. he usually stayed over after a fun night together, even took you out to breakfast the next morning, but tonight he insisted that he had some business to take care of that you were just ‘too good’ for.

“look- I am, and you can’t. I’ll be back real quick and we can do whatever you want then, yeah?” he was always annoyingly persuasive and even though you wanted to cross your arms and get in the truck anyway, the smoke scented hands coming up to grab your face for a kiss were convincing you otherwise.

“you promise?” the everpresent pout on your face made his eyes roll, nodding your own head with his hands.

“yeah, yeah. now get back inside, got somethin’ real special with your name on it for when I get back.”

[hellfirecvnt]

Don't Piss Me Off (Pt. 1)

John Q. (Simon) X Fem!Reader

Warnings: DRUG USE!! Y/N smokes weed and does coke. Don't do drugs, it's for the bit. Drugs are bad. Don't be stupid. This is self indulgent as fuck. Simon is mean, obvs. Y/N is also mean.

Summary: You're back in your hometown for a few weeks to house sit for your parents. A rivalry dating back to your high school years makes an appearance, but this time, he's met his match.

Notes: I finally found someone angry and hot to fill the Billy Hargrove shaped hole in my fanfic writing heart. Fuck ST. Free Palestine.

You invited everyone to this party. An absolute rager while you're house sitting for your parents. Their home is huge compared to your humble two bedroom house, states away. You've reached out to everyone you can remember from your hometown, and it's surprisingly a lot. The house is packed by the time all the guests arrive. A feeling of accomplishment straightens your shoulders as the music surges through the house. Your pride is promptly diminished when a familiar face you specifically didn't invite steps through the door. Simon.

"Why is he here?" You whisper to the nearest person, but somehow, through the music and loud conversation, he hears you as if you whispered it directly to him.

"I heard there was a party. I followed the clientele." He winks, patting a pocket on his dirty bomber jacket.

"Are you selling drugs inside my parents' house?" You ask, acting mortified. He just smirks, basking in the idea of setting you off like he used to, years ago. Long before you left this town. "Let me get an eighth of smoke and a gram of whatever I can put up my nose." The request visibly caught him off guard. He stares at you with a raised eyebrow as he rummages in his pocket for your order.

"Y'know I don't really-"

"What? You stop selling weed?"

"No, it's just," he tilts his head before shoving the illegal contents into your hand. "You seem different."

"Different?"

"Yeah, like you're not a whiny fuckin' kid blowing up my spot anymore." He chuckles as he slips past you, and dissolves into the party. That's right, years ago, when the two of you were in high school, he was expelled when administration seemingly randomly brought in drug dogs, and his locker was raided. To everyone's surprise, he still graduated from the alternative school and even went on to college, but apparently his pursuit of education stopped there when his well-known temper earned him the boot.

Sure, you were a bit of a late bloomer. A classic loser amongst your classmates. The poster child of people who took D.A.R.E extremely seriously, even though you'd never once given a shit about it. You knew he always blamed you for his getting caught, he made your life hell in college before you moved. You forgot all about him before he stepped through your parents' door.

He's already here, so you decide to let him make his money and spice up your party. It's not like you'll run into him again with the way people keep showing up. A bored town, a boring town seeking any kind of thrill outside the two bars that close at 11 PM.

You're not much of a drinker, so your eighth and blow do exactly what you need them to. The coke keeps you chatty and energetic, while the weed mellows that swinging jaw you'd have. Coke is a special occasion drug, your tolerance isn't something to brag about. You sneak off to the bathroom every once in a while, and no one seems to notice, so you get a little brave, slipping away on the empty back patio to cut out a quick line on your mother's hand mirror.

Your technique is swift, muscle memory from your harder partying days in college. The entire time, Simon watches through a window. He'd caught you in passing, and watched in curiosity as the girl he knew with big, innocent eyes and a loud mouth rails a sizable line of hard drugs. He's dumbfounded, laughing lightly to himself. You clean the glass of the remaining powder with your index finger and rub it against your gums, lifting the mirror to check your nose for evidence of your patio soiree. Just as your eyes meet your own, the patio door slides open, and you're no longer alone in the safety of darkness. "Not your first time with that shit." It's not a question, but it sounds like it was supposed to be.

"Far from it," you sigh, relieved. You don't mind smoking with others, but the coke is something you'd prefer to keep to yourself.

"Could'a fooled me," he strikes a lighter, cherrying the end of his cigarette. "You used to be a fucking bitch." He wraps his lips around those last two words, really annunciating each syllable. It's dark, but there's enough moonlight to see the dark circles around his eyes as he displays that same threatening look he used to shoot at you in college between shoulder checks and vulgar insults.

"This 'fucking bitch' will beat your ass now, Kenny. Watch ya' fuckin' mouth," you mock his accent, as yours thinned out after being away for so long.

"Who the fuck is Kenny?" He looks genuinely thrown off.

"No fuckin' poise. Stay focused. Don't insult me on my own patio, I'll fuck us both up." You're speaking almost gibberish, but the only way to knock him down is to throw him off.

"Who the fuck are you?" Simon chuckles, taking a drag of his cig.

"It's been a long time. I'm surprisingly not 16 anymore. You don't seem very young yourself."

He takes a drag, eyes widening as if he's watching a TV show that caught him pleasantly off guard. "Yeah, okay."

"How are sales?" You ask, running your tongue across your teeth to disperse the numbing of the bitter substance.

"Not bad. You just invite everyone whose name you could remember?"

"Everyone but you, Simon." You sigh.

"Well, I hate it for you, Queen Bitch. But I've gotta make money somehow."

"You could try a job," you say, but after you look him up and down, you change your mind. "Nevermind." He releases a genuine laugh, puffing plooms of smoke from his lips with each heave of his chest. "You still doing that band thing?"

"'Band thing?'" he huffs. "Yes. I'm still doing the... Band thing."

"Yikes, soft spot, huh? Not going great?" Years ago you took his verbal beatings with a cowering stance, and often, tears. Today you're giving it all back to him. The reason for your vitriol is not lost on him, so he takes every blow.

"It's going fine. You should come to a show. Get out of your little rich kid bubble for two seconds." Clocked. You've been clocked. Your stunted social skills stemmed directly from how sheltered and spoiled you were until the age of 18 when you finally realized what your life was, compared to others. You worked and saved your own money and moved away at 20. Away from your shelter, away from your helicopter parents, and realistically, away from Simon.

"Yeah, that'll be the day," you're laughing until you notice something going south right inside the door. A fight seems to have broken out. You burst through the entryway, shoving yourself between the two men. One of them, a tall, broad man steps back, acknowledging the escalation at hand. While the other, shorter, almost shorter than you, seems to only get more angry. "You need to calm the fuck down!" You yell, only trying to be heard over his own volume.

"Get the fuck out of my face, bitch!" The short man spits like venom. You look at him with a raised eyebrow, and something takes hold. Before you know it, your own fist is connecting with his jaw. The crowd is rallying you on, but your hit wasn't enough to knock him out. You're aware that your swing warrants a swing back, but God, you know it's about to hurt even with this dude being the size he is. He swings his fist under and hooks you in the stomach. It's painful, but you can't help but heave a wheezing, breathless laugh at the idea that he swung low because he might not have properly reached your face. He's not even that short, but you can't stop the laughter. That only pisses him off more, and he swings again, this time catching your cheek.

By now, you've both been separated as the spectators realize it was kinda strange to watch a man fight a woman, regardless of how it started. You're still laughing, breathless from the hit and sweating from the cocaine. When you're finally released, the laughing returns to anger and you run half of the party off.

"Party's over, fuck outta here!" You call, harshly pushing the power button on the stereo. "Short stack ruined it for all of you. Get out of my house!" You leave the passed out guests alone, they're safer here anyways. Once you return to the patio, you take your same seat and return to the conversation as if nothing happened. "As I was saying, no. I won't be at a Psycho's show."

"It's Psyops and you fuckin' know that." He speaks harshly before reeling it in, and clearing his throat. "What the hell was that?" He gestures to the door with his thumb.

"I told you I'll beat your ass now, Kenny."

"Was that Kenny? Who the fuck is Kenny?" It's clear he hasn't stopped thinking about "Kenny" since the first time you said it.

"I don't know who that guy was," you shrug. "Can I have a smoke?" You rub your sore cheek.

"Whatever," he tosses a cigarette your way. "What was with the laughing? You just fuckin' insane or something? You been in the asylums this whole time?" He looks almost serious with his inquiry. Like he wouldn't be surprised.

"No, I just-" you start to laugh again. "I imagined him punching me in the gut because he couldn't reach my face." You graze your fingers over your cheek again. "But clearly I was unaware of his lengthy arms or something. He seemed shorter from far away," you chuckle.

"Fuckin' ridiculous," Simon laughs with you, shaking his head.

"Yeah, thanks for jumping in, by the way." You joke, cutting out another line on the small silver mirror.

"Jumping in? For you? A fuckin' snitch?" He raises his eyebrows, as if he's been waiting to address this.

"Oh, fuck off. I didn't fucking snitch on you," you announce before inhaling the line.

"Y/N, it's been years. Just fuckin-"

"Simon, I didn't snitch on you. I didn't know you sold drugs at school. I thought they searched our lockers daily, I didn't think anyone would be able to sell drugs that easily at school." As you're explaining, you realize you never denied telling on him, you just silently took his punishment, hoping it'd eventually stop.

"Are you a god damn idiot? You thought they searched all those lockers every fuckin' day?" He's in disbelief.

"That's what my parents told me," you shrug, rubbing the powder from the mirror on your gums again.

"I ain't buying that shit," he mumbles like a growl. "You got that Mickey kid expelled too. Year before." He's staring you down like he's got you cornered.

"Yeah, because he pushed me down the fucking stairs, Simon. I was in the hospital for a week. He broke my arm." You're shocked that it wasn't common knowledge why Mickey was expelled. "He's in jail right now for the armed robbery of a church."

"Wait, seriously?" Simon huffs a chuckle as he pieces it all together and finally, finally considers the fact that you weren't the snitch.

"Have you ever considered that maybe you weren't very good at it? Selling drugs at school, I mean." You tilt your head, awaiting an answer.

"You really didn't do it," he exhales a cloud of smoke from the cigarette he'd just lit.

"No, I didn't. And you made every single day hell for me. You ran me out of town." You're laughing as you say it, looking down and focusing on rolling a joint, but he keeps his eyes on you. A glint of guilt flashes in his pupils, but you'd never know. He used to wonder if he had a hand in your running off, and today it was finally confirmed. Your laugh carries the weight of everything you were getting away from. A man that feels anger as deeply as Simon does, incidentally, comes with the ability to empathize with pain.

"Alright. Next time, I'll jump in." He relaxes, leaning back into the chair.

"Sounds good." You spark up your joint and take a long drag before passing it to Simon. An olive branch. A silent truce. Forgiveness that he didn't deserve. He takes it from your hand and takes a hit. The usually smooth smoke scrapes into his lungs from the guilt. The feeling quickly dissipates as the two of you get stoned.

You both stay there in those seats all night. You hardly realize the passing of time until the sky begins to light up a pale morning blue. "Holy shit, how long have we been out here?" Simon asks, noticing his empty pack of cigarettes. You throw a five dollar bill toward him.

"I owe you. I smoked over half of those." He stuffs the money in his pocket with a nod. "You can stay here, but if you knock on my door at any point after I go to sleep I will fight you like the little guy." Simon looks around and shakes his head.

"No thanks." He nods and heads towards the door.

"See ya' around, Simon." As he closes your door behind him, something sends a tingle down his spine when he hears you say his name again. A softness directed towards him that he's not used to. It's uncomfortable and new and the sensation of craving more pisses him off. He shrugs his shoulders, physically shaking the feeling from his body before heading off on foot. To where? Who fuckin' knows.

The next day, or that same day, way later when you wake up, you're already planning your next get together as you clean up from last night. It's not as bad as usual, but probably because it got cut a few hours short after the altercation. A feat that you had forgotten about until you caught your reflection while brushing your teeth. A small bruise has formed under your eye where you were hit. "Ha, what a pussy." You lift your shirt to examine your stomach and there's not even a semblance of a hit. "Pussy!" You repeat, louder.

After getting ready for the day, you head to the store to replenish the stock for your next shindig. Your parents always leave their credit card when you house sit. It's the only time in your adult life you don't mind using their money. They hardly notice it anyways.

As you're strolling the aisles of the bodega, you spot Simon. Something in you feels awkward about last night, so you hang back until he leaves. He looks tired and disheveled. More so than usual. And he's a little out of breath like he'd been running. He buys a pack of smokes with the five you gave him and disappears out the door. You make your purchase and tote two 30 packs to your rickety, old van. A vehicle you were proud to buy yourself before you moved out. Simon watches you from the corner of the store, having a smoke before continuing his trek across town. He furrows his eyebrows, trying to remember when he saw you drink anything at all at the party. "She can't seriously be throwing another shit show," he mumbles.

He bolts when police pull into the lot, no doubt still in pursuit of him. They pull up to your van and you stand outside, defensively. Unsure of what in your van could get you in trouble at this moment. "Have you seen this guy?" They hold up a picture of Simon. The way he looked in college, anyways. He's shaved his head now.

"No, I can't say I have." You shrug.

"Take this and let us know if you see anyone suspicious." The cop hands you the paper and you take it with a flat smile. Once they leave the lot, you crumple the paper into a ball and toss it in your van.

Simon just can't shake the image of you he's had in his mind all these years. Shy and afraid. Avoiding eye contact and clutching your books to your chest when he'd loom over you and whisper vicious cruelties. Now you walk with your back straight. You look him in the eye, even when he tries to make you uncomfortable just for fun. You fist-fight people and laugh because you imagined something funny in the middle of getting an uppercut to the stomach. You bought drugs from him the second he walked in the door. You're hardly recognizable.

That night, you're settling in the living room with a movie on the TV. It's a quiet, peaceful evening as you smoke a joint on your couch, enjoying the silence of your own company.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!

Someone frantically bangs on the door before bursting in and slamming it behind them. "Hey! Are you home or what?" Simon yells into the foyer.

"I'm right here, you scared the shit out of me!" You throw a handful of popcorn at him. "Why are you inside my parents' house? What time is it?"

"I don't know what time it is. Shut up, listen, I need to," he seems to search for a softer word than 'hide.' "Stay in here for an hour or two."

"I saw your wanted poster. You're a real outlaw, huh? Arson, right? Hard." He rolls his eyes. "I told them I hadn't seen you."

"Yeah, thanks. I'd hope so."

"You gonna sit down or what?" You ask, annoyed that he's interrupting your movie. He huffs and joins you on the couch and you pass the joint to him.

"The fuck are we watching?" He raises an eyebrow. You stare at him for a second before answering.

"Firestarter."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he sighs.

"Yeah, I started thinking about it after I read your charges. Fucking idiot." You laugh. "Broad daylight is brutal."

"Their house was fine."

"Well, you can hide here as long as you need to. I'll be here for a few weeks. But I am throwing another get together tomorrow, so be down for that."

"Again?" He scoffs.

"Yeah. It's way more fun to party in this giant house than my fucking double wide."

"You live in a double wide trailer?"

"Yes. I got out on my own dime. Options are limited where I ended up." You always tell this story like a brag. It's something you're proud of. After all, it's a nice double wide. It's not even in a trailer park... This time.

"Hard." He mocks you and you laugh in response.

"So these are your two options? Party or a movie with barely any volume while you get high?" He leans across the couch to pass you the joint, unknowingly scooting closer with each reach.

"Normally I'm not talking over the movie so the volume is just fine." You shrug. He takes the hint and finally shuts up, watching the movie and keeping panicky eyes on the windows. By the time the joint is finished, the two of you are much closer than before. Not too close, but gravity seems to be doing its thing. Simon can finally see the small bruise under your eye.

"Is that from that guy?" He laughs.

"Yeah, I know. He tried his best," you join in the laughter. Simon raises a hand to brush his thumb over it, never minding to invade someone's personal space.

"There's not even a welt. What a fuckin' pussy," he says as he lowers his hand. You're not sure if you're blushing or not, but you do know that you're frozen for a moment after the sudden, close quarters. You may have grown out of a lot, but you're still pretty fucking awkward sometimes. Simon notices right away. God damn it.

"That's exactly what I said! There's nothing on my stomach either. It's like I fought a toddler." You laugh, your head is clearing up, but not for long. Simon leans in closely, sliding closer to you than before and invading your personal space much more boldly than when he touched your bruise.

"You know how to take a hit, huh?" He whispers, inches from your face. Your eyes are wide and you feel the heat rise in your cheeks when you feel his hand on your thigh.

"You're about to take a hit if you don't move that fuckin' hand," you snap with a wavering voice that you hope he doesn't notice.

"I'm just fuckin' with you. Had to find some way to do it. You're all... difficult now." He laughs at your still red face. He backs down and you roll your eyes, defeated by your own bodily reactions.

"You are God damn difficult, Simon." You jam your finger into his chest, sizing him up, invading his bubble. "You're difficult and it makes you angry. Now, I'm letting you hide in my parents house from the fuckin' police, so please, for the love of god, tone that fuck-shit down." He can't help but grin at the tables you've turned. Your forehead might as well be pressed to his as you tell him what for.

"Calm the fuck down, Y/N. I'm just fuckin' with you. Thanks for the safehouse." His thanks sounds like sarcasm, but you decide it's the best you'll get from him. He keeps his distance after that, but doesn't shift away from you. For the rest of the movie, you catch him stealing glances your way. He's silently reliving the moment you pushed back, a smile cracks across his lips, but you're too focused on the movie.

The two of you fall asleep before the credits roll. You're baked and glued to the couch, he's exhausted from running all day. It's barely dawn when Simon shakes himself awake, startled by something only a mind as paranoid and volatile as his could dream up. He looks at your sleeping form on the couch and checks his watch. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mumbles to himself. As he quietly steps toward the door, you call to him from the couch.

"You can shower here if you want. You look like shit. It'd probably be harder to spot you if you weren't filthy." Simon rolls his eyes, but you're right. You rise and stretch from your blanket cocoon. "Fuck, what time is it?"

"Early."

"Useful. The bathroom's down the hall to the right. Toss your clothes in the basket and set it outside."

"Alright," he huffs, unsure how to process your balance between "fuck you" and "I'll do your laundry for you so you can shower."

Simon leaves his clothes in the basket just like you asked and you toss them in the washer with a few of your clothes to fill it up. It'll take longer to wash and dry his clothes than it'll take for him to shower, so you rummage through some of your dad's PJs and leave a pair of soft pants and an old Harvard T-shirt in place of the basket. After a while, Simon emerges from the steamy bathroom, towel-clad. "Are you serious?" He asks, holding up the clothes you've left for him.

"Don't you wanna know what it's like to wear a Harvard shirt?" You jest. "It'll be another 30 minutes on your clothes." Simon rolls his eyes, and tosses the clothes on the couch.

"I'll wait." He takes a seat next to you, the towel secured around his waist. "Give me that." He takes the joint you've barely just started rolling out of your hands. It feels more like a "thank you" than a "I'll do it better" so you let him roll it. It's a gesture of kindness from him, and you accept it.

After a joint or two more, the buzzer sounds on the dryer. "I'll be right back, I threw some of my clothes in there too." You leave and return with a basket of fresh, clean, warm clothes. You dig through and find Simon's belongings, tossing them to him piece by piece. Once he slips off to the bathroom again, he comes back fully dressed. A cleaner, easier to look at version of himself.

"Thanks," Simon nods, but he doesn't retake his seat next to you. "I'll catch you later."

"You coming to the party? For the money?" You grin, secretly hoping to repeat your patio soiree from before.

"For the money." He chuckles as he steps out the door, leaving you in peaceful silence. You fall back asleep right away. Hours later, when you finally awaken, some people are already in the house.

"Jesus Christ, you guys don't knock or nothing?" You rub your eyes. "Don't fuck up my parents' house. I'm gonna go get ready."

"Yeah, yeah," your friends chant back, picking out music to play on the stereo. Once you're dressed and made up to your liking, you return to the party. The size of the crowd doubled in the hour it took you to get ready. As you play hostess, you're secretly searching each room and hallway for Simon, hoping he'd show up, though you're not sure why you're so eager. He was a dick for most of the time you've known him, but even back then, he's a very attractive man.

You pour a round of shots and pass them out, making sure each of your closest pals gets theirs first. You're holding onto one last one, searching for Simon, when you round the corner and see a familiar face. It's the short little shit you just fought the other night. "Aw, god damn it." You sigh, already anticipating the spectacle that's about to unfold.

"You got a lot of fucking nerve throwing another party after the shit you pulled," he says, cracking his knuckles, but you're looking down at him almost, so it's not very threatening

"What? Nerve? Aren't you trespassing right now? Get the fuck out of my house. We're all pushing 30." You're dumbfounded by this weird turf war happening inside your childhood home.

"You think just 'cause you're a broad, you can mouth off to anybody you want and get away with it."

"No, I didn't 'get away with it,' you left a faint little freckle on my cheek with that crabapple you call a fist." And with that, you catch another swing. Just as painful, and this time, no laughter follows. The shot glass is knocked from your hand and shatters on the floor just before you land, cutting up your hands pretty good. "Ah! God fucking damn it!"

"Fuck you, bitch!" The man shrieks, kneeling over you to beat you senseless, but he doesn't get a second hit in before someone's grabbed his shoulders and ripped him off of you. Simon.

He has the short man pinned against the wall receiving hit after hit to the face and stomach. "The fuck you come back here for, dumbass? Playground's already closed?" Simon taunts as he lands blow after blow. The rage in his eyes is palpable. You're on your feet in no time, folding your glass-filled hands in on themselves to swing brick-like fists at the troublesome man. It's you and Simon vs that guy until his friends eventually join in, knocking Simon around and finally dragging their friend out of the function. You wonder what the point of showing up was at all.

Simon helps you wash the glass and small traces of blood from your hands. There's only one significant cut, and a bandaid will have it fixed up in an instant. "Why and how did you manage to land on a pile of broken glass?" He asks, frustrated with the tweezers he's using to remove the tiny shards. "Who keeps inviting that fuckin' guy?"

"I saved you a, uh... I saved you a shot." Your voice lowers as the sentence goes on as you realize how desperate it sounds.

"Saved me a shot?" He laughs. "You were waitin' for me." He grins.

"Yeah, I was hoping to sweeten you up and get a heavier gram this time." You reach into your pocket for money and shove it at him, leaving your bandaged hand in front of him, awaiting your drugs.

"I'll share my personal with you, how about that?" He tilts his head up, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes as he raises a cigarette to his mouth. He already knows you'll be pulling him onto the patio, so he wastes no time lighting it.

"Sounds good, let's go." You lead him to the dark backyard and the two of you take a seat at the table, but you're a chair closer this time, making it easier to share the little mirror. You cut out two lines and pull your hair away from your face. Once the substance enters your body, you're ignited into conversation. You drone on and on, and Simon listens to every bit, quietly hitting his cigarette as he watches you go. Slowly, the adrenaline wears off, and the reality of the ache in your face settles in. "Oh, my God. My fucking face." You brush a finger over the inevitable darkening black eye on the right side of your face.

"Yeah, they uh, kinda fucked us up." Simon speaks through cigarette smoke.

"Do you even know who they are? The short guy?"

"You keep calling him short. He's your height." Simon squints.

"I just feel so much taller than him. Maybe it's the shoes, I don't know." You shrug, snorting another line with the side of your nose that hasn't swollen shut from the fight.

"It's clearly a sore spot for him, regardless."

"You jumped in," you smile, feeling as if this "friendship" has finally been validated.

"Said I would," Simon responds flatly. You roll your eyes and stare up at the night sky for a moment. Inside, the party rages on. Music thumps from indoors, but the sound is well sealed from where you two sit.

"This is gonna hurt so bad tomorrow, huh?" You ask, sniffing through your coke and blood-filled nose.

"Oh, yeah." A drag of his cigarette. "It's gonna fucking suck." He can't help but chuckle, having lived through an ass beating or two in his life.

"You gonna be here when I wake up?"

"Stop asking me so many fucking questions." He waves his hand dismissively.

"Not even to hide?" You smirk.

"I'll come back to hide." He exhales smoke through a small smile. You two are up long past sunrise, and when the last of the coke finally begins to wear off, you head to bed.

"Goodnight, Simon. Don't go to jail today." You chime behind you as you head down the hall. Simon scans the living room and it's emptier than the last party. As in, no one stayed the night. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment, unsure of his next move. Before he knows it, he's face down, passed out on your parents soft, leather couch.

You can hear the familiar sound of falling face-first into that exact couch, and you feel a sense of comfort knowing Simon won't be running from the cops while you sleep. He's gone when you wake up and to avoid any more drama, you hold off on planning your next party. Days go by, and your time house sitting dwindles. Simon hasn't come back, not even to hide.

Weeks pass and you're packing your belongings into your van, giving your parents a hug and assuring them that nothing went awry. They shower you in thanks and love, sending you on your way back home, states away. It feels bittersweet, and you wish you got to tell Simon you were leaving. Maybe give him a phone number or something stupid like that.

Before you leave town, you stop by a gas station to fill up and grab a snack. At the register, a tall man with long locs peers at you from behind the counter. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah, and the rest on pump four." The man nods at your request. You'd be lying if you said you weren't looking for Simon to pass by outside, or hopefully catch him walking somewhere so you can say bye. It's a strange feeling in you to want his presence. As you reminisce about the sheer rage in his eyes as he pulled that guy off of you during the fight, your eye catches something behind the register. A poster for some gritty, underground band. And opening for them... Psyops.

The cashier hands you your bags and you point to the poster. "What's the date on that? The concert thing."

"I think it's tonight," he answers flatly. Your shoulders fall, wondering if this late in the evening means you've already missed him. You shake these weird feelings from your head, reminding yourself that a few days of liking each other doesn't make up for all those years of torment. You continue down the road for a few miles more.

"God damn it!" You burst, cutting a U-turn in the middle of the street, barreling your van back into town. He said he'd jump in, and he did. You told him you'd go to a show.

(Part 2 is HERE!!)

[always-andromeda]

₊⊹⁀➴ 𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑨𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒕

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Benson x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4,107

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Soooo...uhhh...I've been into Kyle Gallner for a while now...and I've been very into him as Benson in The Passenger specifically. So this is me sort of warming up to write him in some actual fics. Forgive me if my characterization is off at all. I haven't seen The Passenger in almost a year so I'm basing some analysis on my terrible memory lol. Anyhoo. I actually enjoyed prattling this one out!! I tend to get a little longwinded and let myself write a bit more casually with these. I like having fun with alphabets. So I hope this is enjoyed by the handful of Kyle fans on here lol. Credit for all dividers goes to @strangergraphics!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | no smut (regardless, I am not comfortable with minors interacting with my blog, period), bits of fluff and angst, elements of toxicity, allusions to Benson's neglectful childhood and possible SA, doesn't follow the canon of the film, nothing else I can think of!!

A = Affectionate (How affectionate are they?)

Benson’s generally pretty minimal on touchy-feely stuff. He thinks public displays of it are especially tacky. However, he will use it to his advantage if he can. If he’s trying to convince you of something he’ll get real close and cup your cheek or the back of your neck. More disarming than the physical aspect is his penchant for intense eye contact. His eyes themselves are just so expressive, you come to learn exactly what each one of his little looks mean and can read him better than pretty much anyone.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How does the friendship start?)

For a long while you’d sort of think he hates you. He’s on the quiet side. And not a shy sort of quiet. It’s a say the wrong word to him and you’ll regret it sort of quiet. You’d be walking on eggshells around him until he makes first contact. Maybe one day he’ll catch you doing some activity you enjoy on your lunch break. He’ll make you jump out of your skin when he says, “Didn’t peg you as that kind of girl.” And before you can even ask what kind of girl did you peg me as? he’s already walked off.

Had you ever even heard his voice before that moment? You can’t even fucking remember. But you’re kind of surprised his first words to you aren’t also the last.

Both in the sense that he just emanates that “could snap at any moment” energy but also in the sense that he just keeps randomly projecting himself into your life. He makes more little comments, watches you in a way that makes your skin crawl, yet he actually sees you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How do they cuddle?)

Only in the middle of the night and sometimes mornings. At the end of a long day, he wants his personal space. But don’t be surprised if you wake up in the middle of the night with his arm slung around you and his face buried in your neck as he snores softly. He’ll hold you so firmly; in his eyes it’s something close to possession.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How good are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Honestly, Benson’s sort of surprised to have lived as long as he has. Never in his wildest dreams could he imagine being with someone who he could tolerate and who could tolerate him in return.

So domesticity and everything it entails is completely lost on him. So many single men live like absolute creatures and Benson is on a similar level. I mean, he can clean decently enough. Hell, cleaning is part of his job. So he prefers keeping his space clean. Cleanliness isn’t an issue with him as much as disorganization and discordance is?

He has like three plates in his cupboard. None of them match. And one of them has a massive crack down the middle of it so he doesn’t use it. He has one (1) mug for coffee in the morning. And that’s the one (1) dish he doesn’t ever clean because he heavily believes that all his years of using it has “seasoned” it. Can’t really cook for shit. He can feed himself adequately enough but he still doesn’t eat very well. He sort of uses it as an excuse to find all of the cheap, hidden gem restaurants and food trucks in town. This man will get himself a burrito at some food truck and bada bing, bada boom, that’s dinner and then breakfast in the morning!! What a resourceful guy!!

E = Ending (If they had to break up with you, how would they do it?)

No matter how fucked up this guy is, I don’t think he ever would. If he loves you, he’s there for fucking life. But for argument’s sake, I firmly believe he’d be a break up in person type of guy. Even then, I still think he’d be somewhat flippant about it. He can’t bring himself to be the asshole who throws out the cliché it’s not you, it’s me routine even though that’d 100% be his reasoning for doing it in the first place.

He’d very bluntly tell you, “This isn’t working out. It’d be better if we went our separate ways.” That’s the most he’ll give you. No explanations. No opportunities to work things out. Absolutely nothing. If he doesn’t think he can be good for you, then he’ll banish himself. And since you only deserve good things, in his mind it’s incredibly simple. Probably traumatizing or at the very least moderately upsetting for you to go through and that part especially kills him. But it’s for the better. So even though it’d break his heart too, he’d deal with it.

F = Fiancé (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Loyalty and commitment? He fucks hard with those sentiments. Marriage, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. He definitely has a I don’t need the government to say it’s cool we’re together sort of mindset about the whole thing. All the formality is jack shit to him.

If you absolutely have to get married someday, he’ll settle for a small courthouse shindig and even that would be pushing it. A big wedding is the one thing he’d vehemently and guiltlessly deny you. Just the thought of all the fake family members showing up for a photo op, the relentless judgement, the pageantry, and the money wasted that could’ve gone into getting a more comfortable place for you and him? It all makes him seethe.

All he needs is you. He doesn’t need witnesses or approval from anyone. Only you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, physically and emotionally?)

He fluctuates pretty wildly between tenderness and severity. Some moments he’s cold, quiet, and can't handle being touched. Other times he’s your gentle guy, laying his head on your lap after a long day just to flush out the frustration from his system.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often would they hug you? What are their hugs like?)

Not the biggest hugger in the world? And he definitely doesn’t consider himself to be the kind of guy who wants or needs them either. I think he’s just so touch starved that he doesn’t even recognize how truly starved he is. If you’re more inclined to expressing your love through physical affection, it takes a while for him to get used to it. Slowly but surely he’ll become your stubborn black cat that cuddles up with you as if this is just part of the job description as your boyfriend. But you best believe if you disentangle yourself before he’s ready to let go, he’s pulling you right back against his chest.

I = I love you (Who is the first to say, "I love you"?)

You would absolutely have to be the first to say it. Because he just wouldn’t see the importance in stating it outright. In his mind, words don’t impact anything. He knows how he feels. And he tries as best as he can to show it. If you need to be told it, he must be fucking things up. Verbal communication isn’t his strong suit in that way.

So when you first say it, he’s almost startled. There’s a small voice in him that immediately wonders what did I do wrong? Are you breaking up with me? Because why else would you look at him like that? Why does he suddenly feel like a dog being fed chocolate because they’re being euthanized the next day? He doesn’t really understand that sometimes words do matter and just hearing them aloud can be reassuring.

A lot of the time he’ll return you saying it with a gruff, “Love you too,” before pushing the anxiety from his mind as quickly as he can.

J = Jealousy (How jealous are they?)

Benson’s jealousy is uhhhh…borderline lethal? Granted, that anger isn’t directed at you. And he knows you wouldn’t fuck around on him. But even when he’s getting up in the face of some other guy and telling him that you’ve already got a boyfriend, it can get a little too intense.

For your sake, he tries to keep his fists out of the equation. He’ll still keep a mental note of any guy around you who might be a little too close for his liking. Juuuuust in case.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like?)

Benson kisses the correct way (according to him): deep and slow. There’s no quick, sloppy kisses with him. Just ones that completely steal the air from your lungs and all thoughts from your brain. He’ll typically grasp your chin or cup your jaw while doing so. He also has the tendency to groan into them a little bit which makes it all the worse. When he pulls back for air, he’ll rest his forehead against yours and keep his eyes closed for a few seconds. Even if he’s not intending to go any further, he kisses like he wants to.

L = Little ones (How are they around kids?Do they want any?)

Kids make him a little antsy. Working in the service industry almost his entire life he’s seen droves of shitty parents who let their kids scream and run around the store rubbing their sticky little hands all over everything. It makes his job about a hundred times more difficult.

Say you’ve got younger relatives or children of friends that you bring him around. He’s very reluctant about spending much time around them. They’ll show him their toys or whatever “cool trick” they learned and he’ll just tersely smile at them before saying, “That’s great, kid.”

He’s annoyed by them at first. But if they’re decently behaved, they’ll grow on him. He’ll let your niece practice hair braiding on him (as long as she washes her hands at least twice beforehand). He’ll reluctantly sit in on tea parties even though he thinks it’s kind of silly that he’s being expected to pretend your nieces teddy bears and dolls give a single shit about etiquette. But hey, if it makes you and her happy, fine.

He’ll play action figures with them too. You know how kids will “yes, and…” their way through playing pretend? Benson is fucking brilliant at it. Your little cousin will go, “My guy has laser eyes and he just cut your guys leg off!!” and Benson will go, “Well…my guy is part lizard so his legs grow back.” And he says it with such a “yeah, that’s right, get fucked” sort of tone that you have to roll your eyes at your boyfriend beefing with a child through Minecraft action figures.

Despite all this, I still firmly believe he wouldn’t willingly have kids of his own (unless it was an accident…but that’s a whole different story lmao).

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings can be a little messy. If he’s scheduled for an opening shift, he’s probably out of the door before six. If you don’t have to be awake, he’ll try his best not to wake you. But he’ll softly kiss your head before leaving for the day and telling you he’ll see you when he gets home. He definitely uses his off days to catch up on sleep. That means waking up to him clinging to you like his life depends on it and groaning grouchily if you pull away.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Benson’s first priority at the end of the day is having a nice, long shower. He probably reeks of sweat and oil and his skin just feels disgusting. So he won’t even let you touch him too much when he gets home. He gives you a quick kiss at the most before heading off to the bathroom and washing away the day.

And I’m sorry, but the man isn’t afraid to bitch about his day. Like when he emerges from your shared bedroom with some comfier clothes on, he is venting about something one of his stupid coworkers said or a difficult customer he had to deal with. Whatever semblance of a “customer service attitude” he puts on at work is just GONE.

Once he’s tuckered himself out, he’ll ask how your day went, hoping it was better than his. Aside from the talk, he likes spending evenings catching up on whatever shows you and him watch together or diving into a shitty movie; maybe I’m just projecting (I’m 100% projecting) but he really strikes me as a guy who enjoys laughing at a bad horror movie in order to destress.

O = Open (When do they start revealing things about themself? Is it all at once or bit by bit?)

Benson is very much a mixed bag. When you’re first getting to know him, you wonder where his angst and pessimism comes from. Has he experienced some sort of trauma that’s influenced him in this way or is he just another guy who thinks being a dick is cool? You aren’t sure which one you’d rather it be.

Unfortunately, however, it’s the former. And Benson keeps it extremely close to his chest. For one, he refuses to let you meet his mother for an extremely long time. And when you finally do, he promises himself that that’s the only time you’ll be in the same room as her. After that point he’ll start to tell his story in bits and pieces. He’ll admit that he used to be a pretty happy kid but won’t go much further than that. He’ll explain that his dad left the picture when he was young so he doesn’t remember much of him. He’ll list the string of shitty, nameless boyfriends his mother brought home.

You gather that she wasn’t there for him almost ever. Not even when it mattered the most. You start to understand why he wears such a hard shell. Though there are a lot of things he leaves unspoken, you make it as clear as possible to him that he doesn’t have to be afraid of whatever’s left inside him; that if you can ever lighten the load for him, you would in a heartbeat. He appreciates it, truly. But there are some things he’s not ready to see in the light of day yet.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

You’re probably one of the only people in the world he extends any amount of patience towards. Because most things sort of annoy the shit out of him. And even if you’re trying to annoy him, he probably just finds it sort of silly?

I just have this image in my head where you played a joke on him by signing him up for some random ass mailing list. So now whenever he gets an email for fucking farmersonly dot com or a Michael Jackson fanclub that’s all in Bulgarian, he can’t help but roll his eyes and tell you that you’re so dumb while laughing under his breath. He could never really get truly mad at you unless you were doing something sincerely stupid.

Q = Quizzes (How much do they remember things about you? Do they remember everything in passing or do they forget everything?)

This man remembers fucking everything. Even the smallest, unspoken things end up seared into his mind. Of course there are the mundane things like the way you take your coffee or tea. But then he’ll recall just how much you spent on jeans the last time you went clothes shopping. He’ll remember the exact date you said you got your childhood pet. He has a pretty phenomenal memory but he’ll always brush you off when you point out how crazy his accuracy is.

R = Remember (What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

It’s the most innocuous moment from before you and Benson really defined your relationship, actually. Back then it was this nebulous connection; not quite a friendship, but definitely not a romantic relationship yet. Instead it was some strange third thing where he found himself wanting to be around you more than most people.

So he invited you to a little get together with some of his friends. They’d meet every once in a while to catch up. They’re old friends; people he trusts. So he asks if you’d like to come with him sometime.

You’re hesitant. For one, you couldn’t fathom him having friends. Then you scold yourself internally for the assumption. Of course he has friends!! And he must consider you something akin to one too if he’s inviting you to go out with them outside of work!! The butterflies are fluttering in your stomach before you even say yes to tagging along.

Perhaps you like Benson. Perhaps you’d like him to like you too. So you try the whole night to make the best impression possible. His friends tease him about bringing a girl along until you clarify that you and him are just friends and Benson agrees. Then both of you try to pretend that that assertion doesn’t sting just a little teeny tiny bit.

But there’s a moment when he’s dropping you off at home when the night ends. You thank him for the invite and say you had a lot of fun as he pulls up to your place. And when you get out, he expects you to be gone. Instead, you walk around his truck and linger at the driver’s side.

Then you say with a tired smile, “See you tomorrow, Benny.”

Benny.

Normally only his mother calls him that. And he fucking hates it when she does. It makes his blood boil and pound in his ears. Makes him want to tear something apart and scream at her for daring to treat him like he’s still a boy. And yes, hearing you say it puts him on edge and his blood starts to simmer. But it stays right there. The nerves in his fingers begin to twitch and he’s fidgety the whole drive back to his place. Like he’s just waiting to hear it again. Waiting to hear your voice call him that sweet little nickname again. Knowing that he’d now forever think that just Benson was so stuffy and ancient sounding.

His favorite memory is the moment he realized he wanted to be your Benny.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective. Similar to his jealousy, when Benny goes into protection mode, all bets are off. As far as protecting him goes, he likes to think that he doesn’t need protecting. He’s got all the answers. He can take care of himself.

So, naturally, you often end up protecting him from himself. Which means talking him down from the occasional anxiety spiral before he slips too far down the drain, encouraging him to be a little gentler to himself, and reminding him that he can’t solve every issue with brute force.

Benson tries to protect you from the world, you try to protect him from the big black void that is his anger.

T = Try (How much effort do they put into dates/anniversaries/etc?)

He tries his best, truly he does. He never forgets an anniversary and is as attentive as he can be when you’re together. But sometimes he just doesn’t have the cash to give you everything he wishes he could. The cynical side of him says that the fancy dinners and expensive gifts are all superficial bullshit and that he shouldn’t care that he can’t give everything on a silver platter. The other part of him (the part that’s in looooove <3) so desperately wants to give you everything. He wants to give you a reason to look at him with that soft expression of pride you get sometimes.

To make up for it all, he takes you to all of his favorite spots in town. The back alley food trucks, the hole in the wall bars, the takeout places where everything on the menu is in a language he doesn’t even understand. He shows you the few bright spots in his world and hopes that you’ll see what he does in them.

U = Ugly (What is a bad habit of theirs?)

Aside from the jealousy and overprotectiveness, Benson’s definitely got some bad habits that are a little less cerebral. The worst is probably his smoking. He tries to break the habit a few times, especially when you remark once that his kisses taste like ash. But he ends up getting another pack at the gas station after less than a week of trying. The least awful of his bad habits are how he picks at his skin. I just know this man chews the fuck out of his cuticles, especially if he can’t have a smoke for whatever reason.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s pretty average as far as the care he takes in his appearance. He keeps clean, grooms his facial if it starts to get unruly, and tries to keep his work uniform as spotless as possible (though he’ll never be able to get rid of the stench of beef fat and stale fry oil).

He’s actually got a pretty fun sense of style outside of work. He’s got an exquisite collection of t-shirts with super metal art pieces on them that he takes pride in. And man, we’ve all seen his furry hazelnut yellow cardigan!! The man likes to be comfy!! So I definitely see him as the type to typically lean towards comfort over fashion. Still got some dope ass t-shirts though!!

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He’d be reluctant in admitting it to himself; being so dependent on someone is so far out of his wheelhouse. But he’s inclined to believe that he has no clue what he’d do if you weren’t there.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I see him being a big vinyl enjoyer. And a guy with a DVD collection. He’s just a massive physical media snob in general in my eyes. Those are pretty much the only things he has an abundance of and he gets really defensive if you tell him to just stream something lol.

Y = Yuck (What is something they wouldn't like either in a partner or in general?)

Straight up? Asshole behavior. Like if he sees you being mean to a service worker? Or witnesses you being needlessly rude to anyone in general? His opinion immediately sours. Everything he once thought was interesting about you immediately becomes so ugly to him.

Z = Zzz (What are their sleep habits?)

Terrible!! Benny’s sleeping habits are terrible!! Those tired eyes of his aren’t a fashion statement!! They’re a lifestyle, babe!! You don’t get dark circles like that on accident lmao.

He tries to sleep most nights. But there are some where he’s just…awake. He’s getting up just so he can stop staring at the ceiling; just stop thinking about the world and his life and how you fit (or don’t fit) into it all. Then he’s mindlessly turning on the TV but not really watching it before going outside to smoke a cigarette.

He’s taking a long puff of his cigarette when you find him outside. Your eyes are bleary, face a little puffy, and hair a bit of a mess. And you’re freezing standing out in the cold night air with your thin pajamas. Immediately the guilt overwhelms him. Just because he’s fucked, it doesn’t mean you’ve gotta be fucked too.

Even though he says you don’t have to wait up for him, you do anyway. With your arms crossed over your chest and chattering teeth, you wait. Benson doesn’t even finish his smoke. He puts it out and lets you lead him by the hand back to bed. He lets you wrap yourself around him, holding him to you as if you hope it’ll keep him there until the end of time itself. He breathes deeply and gradually melts into your embrace as your body warms back up.

Floating somewhere between reality and dreamland, you manage to mumble, “Love ya, Benny. Night.”

Amongst all that trauma and guilt and the overwhelming desire to take care of you always, he can occasionally admit that it’s a little nice to be taken care of too; to be seen.

Just because he’s fucked now, it doesn’t mean he’s gotta be fucked forever.

[auroracalisto]

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[sparklypinkflightsuit]

The Island: Entry 5

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

A Lost AU

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Gore, Violence, Swearing, Death, Alcohol, Plane Crash, Various Inaccuracies, Just Gross Things in General.

- Entry 4 Here -

——————————

18+ Only - Lots of Angst in this one my dudes

——————————

“What? Are you crazy?” Bradley chased after you as you collected supplies for your mission into the jungle, Jake’s gun already tucked into your shorts.




“They fuck with one of ours, I’m gonna make them regret it.” You huffed, riffling angrily through the first aid suitcase.




“Y/N, stop! You saw that thing when it chased us in the jungle, how fast it went and how easily it snatched Bob away, you can’t seriously be thinking of going in there?”




You turned to face Bradley, your face a picture of disbelief as you scoffed, “But you did?! Even after I begged you not to!”




“I had to! You don’t, it’s not safe!”




Suddenly there was movement from the left of your vision, and you turned to face Austin, standing wobbly and puffy faced at the entrance of the hull.




“He’s right, Doc. I know you’re angry, but it’s a bad idea.” He drawled as he held onto the metal bar above his head.




You looked between the two men and shook your head, “Someone has just died, how can we not do anything?”




You stormed off down the beach, desperate to get a moment away to clear your head. You weren’t angry at them, but days worth of frustration was getting the better of you, and now you’d witnessed your first human death, and you felt helpless.




Once far enough away, you dropped the backpack in the sand and found a rock to sit on, and you let all of the frustration out as you began to sob helplessly.




You had a bad feeling that no one was coming to save you, and that made you scared for more than just one reason. You were terrified that so many people were depending on you.




You heard dull footsteps in the sand behind you and quickly snapped around to check who was approaching, your nerves on edge.




“Brad, I just need a moment.” You sniffed, wiping your face.




“I know, I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know I’m here.” He sat down next to you, a heavy arm wrapping comfortingly around your shoulder.




“I can leave if you want?” He offered after a couple of minutes.




You shook your head as you stared out onto the endless ocean ahead of you. “No, this is actually helping. Please stay, I should be comforting you, not the other way around.”




Bradley pulled you closer into his chest and rested his chin on your head.




“We’ll be ok… I promise.”




——————————




2 weeks passed with no rescue, and so you began to make the most of your time on the island.




Everyone in the camp was forbidden from entering the jungle, especially alone. You all had a job now, to help keep things running smoothly and to pass the time.




Some built shelters and rain water catchers, others gathered food or fished. There were those who washed clothes and cooked and others had more specialised roles.




You were now officially the island Doctor, and you were getting more comfortable with it as the days passed.




Jake was the sheriff, keeping the peace and ensuring no one stepped out of line, especially Adrian, who was now released and on ‘parole’.




Bradley was the decision maker for all intents and purposes, the ‘Mayor’ as you liked to call him, taking a huge weight off of your shoulders.




You could trust him to make decisions that were best for the island, and you had found yourself getting closer to him, sometimes without even realising it.




You sat together every day to eat, and he would check in on you often, making sure you were okay. Some days you’d curl up against his side as you read the same book, options severely lacking. From an outsiders point of view, they may have thought you were together, but from yours you knew it was just a friendship.




Austin’s swelling had completely subsided and he was now left with a fading black eye and a couple of scars on his cheekbone.




You were beyond relieved that his injuries hadn’t been worse, and once he was feeling better, about a week in from the crash, you were able to ask him what he was doing on the plane that day.




“My levels were real high, and I was gonna do my shot in my seat but the kid I was sat next to wouldn’t stop movin’ about. I thought it was best to find a bathroom, but they were all full in our section. I passed through to the next one and found a bathroom there, by the time I got out the fire had already started, and then the next thing I remember I was wakin’ up in the water.”




You were cleaning his cheek as he spoke, he leaned back against his palms, his eyes locked onto yours.




“Well did you tell Adrian that?” You asked absentmindedly as you dabbed at his bruised skin.




“I didn’t get a chance, he sorta blind sided me with the first punch. I’m kinda embarrassed to say I went down hard-“ He chuckled, pulling a laugh from you too.




“-and the next thing I know there’s an angel standing over me.” His voice was soft and your hand stilled as you looked at him in surprise.




Your face flushed but you distracted yourself with packing away your supplies.




He was easy to get along with, and you found yourself enjoying his company during checkups, but your attention was really drawn by Bradley.




The only thing was you weren’t certain if Bradley liked you as anything more than friends.




“Well, your swelling is going down quickly which is good, you should be back to normal soon.” You scratched behind your ear awkwardly as you thought of something to say.




“Doc, you believe me, don’tcha?” He asked suddenly.




“Yeah, of course I do.” You nodded, “I think some people are just impulsive, Adrian obviously acted on what he thought to be true rather than actually speaking to you first.”




You had spoken to Adrian, and he hadn’t seemed apologetic, even after explaining what Austin had said, but he was being closely monitored and the two men had stayed as far apart as reasonably possible, no further incidents ensuing.




Austin nodded, readjusting against the hull wall. “It’s just that fella of yours doesn’t seem to like me all too much.” He chuckled.




You shot him a confused look, your eyebrows creasing together, and then you barked out a laugh as you realised who he was talking about, “Who? Bradley? Oh… he’s not… we’re not together. We’re just friends I mean.”




You were now blushing hard, Austin’s blue eyes glinting as he watched you flush.




“You sure?” He chuckled, “His loss then I guess.”




You quickly stood up, looking around the hull for any forgotten medical items, “Yeah, well… I have to go and check on Tate, make sure his arm’s okay. Call me if you need anything.”




You had never scrambled away so quickly before, heat rising up through the collar of your shirt.




You spent the rest of that day staying away from both Bradley and Austin until you had cooled off.




Now nearly a week later things had fallen into a comfortable routine, and despite not having most basic home comforts, you all made it work, slowly losing hope as the days passed that you’d ever leave this island.




You had just finished cleaning yourself using the makeshift shower one of the engineers had created using bamboo and a bucket to collect rain water, and you were drying yourself off in just the little black underwear that you’d showered in, when a low whistle sounded behind you.




You jumped and quickly wrapped the towel around yourself.




“What’s the matter, Doc? You shy?” Adrian tutted, sauntering over to you.




You rolled your eyes, tucking the towel into itself to keep it up as you picked up your clean clothes from the rock they sat on while you showered.




“No, you just startled me.” You stated as you began to walk away.




“Hang on, hang on. I wanted to talk to you about something.” His arm landed heavily around your waist as he caught up with you.




“If you want to talk about something, you don’t need to touch me.” You squirmed uncomfortably out of his grip, finding it hard to stay out of his reach for very long.




“Oh come on now, there’s no need to act prude, I see how you are with the other guys.”




You pulled away from Adrian and turned to face him, annoyed and disgusted.




“What do you want, Adrian?” You spat.




“I want you to get rid of that terrorist fuck you’ve gotten so cosy with.” He turned volatile quickly, realising you weren’t playing along with his little game.




“He’s not a terrorist, you’re just impulsive and stupid and you could have killed him for nothing.” You turned back around and walked away from him, but didn’t get very far before you felt the towel slip out from under your arms as it was yanked off of you.




You gasped as you turned back around to see Adrian grinning at you, clearly asserting his dominance in one way or another if you wouldn’t give it to him yourself.




“Damn, Doc. You should really walk around like this more often.” His beady eyes slid up and down your barely covered body as you snatched for the towel, suddenly very glad you were wearing black instead of the white set you were contemplating earlier.




“Fuck off, Adrian. This isn’t funny.” You huffed as he held the towel out of your reach.




“It is to me, pet. I like watching your tits jiggle when you jump.” His smirk was one of superiority and privilege, and you weren’t sure what came over you as your fist connected with his nose.




Adrian fell backwards, clutching his bloody nose in shock as you shook your hand out, convinced his face had done some damage to it.




“Fuck!” You hissed, clutching your hand.




The commotion had drawn some attention and Jake ran over, surprised at the scene before him.




He quickly put two and two together, and rolled his eyes as he pulled Adrian to his feet by his collar.




“What fuckin’ trouble have you gotten yourself into now, boy?” Jake asked as Adrian stood, his hands covered in blood as he whimpered into them.


You looked between the two apprehensively.




“Well?” Jake prompted.




“Fucking bitch!” Was all Adrian had to say before he sauntered off down to the water to rinse his face.




“You okay, Doc?” Jake asked, his eyebrows creased as he noticed your hand shaking.




“Yeah, I’m fine…” you chuckled awkwardly, feeling too exposed to the world.




“Let me see that.” He took your hand gently and inspected it, a bruise already blooming under the skin. “Looks like you punched him pretty damn hard. Is it broken?”




“No, I think… I think it’s just bruised.” You wiggled your fingers and winced, “Worth it.”




Jake smirked, “I like your gumption, Doc. Come on, let’s get you back, I’ll deal with Billy the Kid later.”




Jake walked you back to camp to your makeshift tent, and you felt eyes on you as you made your way through in just your underwear. You sucked in a breath and straightened up, pretending you weren’t bothered.




“Thanks Jake. Hope I’m not in trouble for assaulting him.” You joked as you stopped outside the front of the teepee structure.




“No ma’am, you’ve saved us all a job.” He chuckled, leaving you to change in your private quarters.




You quickly threw on dry underwear, a clean pair of shorts and a tank top. Your next port of call was to take stock of the medical supplies and see if you could find any more insulin, and you made your way out of the tent.




You checked to make sure Adrian wasn’t around and caught Jake talking to Bradley out of the corner of your eye.




You could tell Bradley was angry even though you couldn’t hear what they were talking about, his jaw clenched visibly even from that distance and his fists balled up, and before you could register what was happening, he stormed down the beach towards the showers.




“Oh shit.” You breathed, quickly following after him.




Bradley was a way ahead of you so you couldn’t stop him in time, and you watched as he pulled Adrian out of the water by his collar, holding his body in the air as he shook him angrily.




“Brad!” You called as you ran over, “Don’t, just put him down, I’ve dealt with him already!” You pled as you pulled on Bradley’s t-shirt.




Bradley ignored you as he shook Adrian violently, shoving him hard onto his back in the sand.




“Touch her again, I fucking dare you!” Bradley growled, his face red as Adrian whimpered on the ground.




“Bradley, stop!” You demanded, pulling on his arm.




Bradley shoved Adrian into the ground once more before releasing him. He turned and walked away, rubbing his face in frustration as he panted through the fury that caused his body to shake.




Leaving Adrian to sulk in the sand, you chased after Bradley as the others looked on, horrified.




“Brad, stop, please.” You tried to get him to face you, “Would you just look at me please?”




Bradley swung around, his face full of fury which you knew was not aimed at you.




“Hey…” you said softly, pulling him towards you by his shirt. “I’m fine, I handled it.”




Bradley rubbed his face again, nodding silently but clearly still frustrated.




“Are you okay?” You asked softly, still holding onto his shirt, scared he would run off again.




Bradley let out a deep frustrated sigh, “I’m fine…”




“You’re not fine, I’ve never seen you this angry, not even after-“




“I said I’m fine, would you just lay off?” Bradley snapped as he pulled away from you, leaving you standing shocked and confused, hurt by the way he was acting.




You watched him storm away into the sparse tree-line that separated the beach from the deep jungle, his tall form thundering and angry and you had to bite your cheek to stop the tears that threatened to spill over.




You walked back to your tent with your head down, trying hard to avoid looking at anyone on the way there.




Austin caught the end of the commotion and made his way over to you, worried.




“Hey, what was all that about?” He asked, and as soon as he looked at you he could tell how upset you were, “You okay, Doc?”




Austin’s hands rubbed your upper arms comfortingly as he stooped down to look you in the eye.




You allowed an angry tear to fall but quickly wiped it away, clearing your throat. “I’m okay. I don’t wanna talk about it.”




Austin nodded, “Okay, how about we just sit for a while?”




You hummed in agreement and sat down in the sand outside your tent.




Austin followed, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back against his hands.




You breathed deeply through you nose and tried to steady your heart, struggling to come to terms with how you were suddenly the bad guy in this situation.




A few minutes passed in silence and there was still no sign of Bradley, and you let out a deep sigh.




“He doesn’t deserve you, you know.” Austin stated, his fingers sifting through the sand absentmindedly.




You looked at him and scoffed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”




“I know there’s somethin’ goin’ on there, and whatever it is, it’s your choice, but I meant it when I said I would take care of you once I was better.”




“What did you mean by that?” You were watching him now, resting your chin against your bent knees.




“I really like you, Y/N. And if you want someone who will care for you the way you care for others, I’m that guy.” His smile was genuine and his eyes were kind, you had realised that before but this was the first time you allowed yourself to admire him.




“Don’t feel like you have to make a decision, I just wanted you to know how I feel.” He stood as he spoke, smiling softly down at you. “If you need anythin’, you know where to find me.”




You watched in shock as Austin walked away, thinking about what he had just said. How could one man be so vague about his feelings while another was so open.




You found Austin attractive, of course. He was tall, dark and handsome, his voice was deep and he was intentional with his actions and movements, like he thought everything through before he did it.




He was almost completely the opposite of Bradley, the protective, passionate, golden God who struggled to control his emotions.




Your feelings were all over the place and you suddenly begun to feel very hot. Bradley was someone you’d started to develop feelings for since day one, but he was aloof and you were sure he didn’t see you as anything other than a good friend.




Austin on the other hand had openly expressed his feelings for you on a few occasions now, and you liked that he wasn’t scared to. You liked how that made you feel.




You got to your feet and walked into the hull, Austin stood with his arms grossed and a grin across his face, like he had known you’d follow him.




“This isn’t me making any decisions right now.” You stated.




Austin nodded, “Okay, understood.”




You walked up to him and pressed your lips against his, taking him by surprise.




His arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand cupped your face, gladly deepening the kiss and pulling your body against his.




You pulled away, your heart racing, “I… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I have no idea what I’m doing or… who I have feelings for, things are a mess and-“ Austin cut you off by pressing his lips to yours again, and you sighed into him, your arms snaking around his neck as you enjoyed the feeling for just a moment.




“Take your time, I’ll be here.” He mumbled as he pulled away, his forehead resting on yours.




You gently pried his arm off of your waist and stepped back, more confused now than ever. Without another word you left the hull and made a beeline for the trees.




You had to find Bradley and clear things up.




—————————







Bradley sat on a rock in the middle of the beach at the furthest end from camp. He must have walked for 20 minutes to get that far and you were tired by the time you’d finally found him looking out over the water.




He looked over his shoulder as he heard you approach.




“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, Doc,” he said as he looked back over the water.




“I kissed Austin.” You blurted out.




Bradley was still for a moment and you wondered if he’d even heard you, but he finally turned to look at you and your heart was in your throat.




He nodded slowly, swallowing thickly, “And why are you telling me that?”




You walked forward, getting closer to him, your hands on your hips as you braced yourself for this conversation. “Because I need to know if I’m making a mistake.”




Bradley shook his head in disbelief as he stood and turned to face you, “A mistake in kissing him? I’m not your dad, you can make your own choices.” He snapped, angry again, and you flinched.




Seeing you flinch hurt him, and he softened immediately, closing the gap between you. He towered over you and you had to crane your neck to look at him, so close you could hear his heart racing.




“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this, I’m just… I’m having a hard time controlling myself right now.” He sighed, taking your hands in his.




“Bradley what’s going on?” You braved yourself and slid a hand out of his grasp and placed it on his chest.




“I’m just scared, Y/N.” He sighed under your touch.




“I know, we all are. Doesn’t mean you need to do this alone.” You touched your fingers to Bradley’s cheek and he melted into you for a second, breathing deeply as his eyes fluttered closed.




“I’m not talking about the island.” He mumbled.




“Then what is it?” You cooed.




His eyes opened and he bit his cheek, “I’m scared of what extent I’d go to for you.”




You looked at him, confused, hoping he’d elaborate, but his eyes just silently flitted between your eyes and your lips, locked in a battle of what’s best and what he wanted.




After a moment of silence, Bradley dipped his head and pressed his lips against yours, taking your breath away.




You had to steady yourself, your fingers threading through the curls at the back of his neck.




Bradley let out a soft moan, his hands gently grabbing your waist, but the moment was too short lived as he pushed you away from him softly, his head hanging low and his brows creased in what looked like shame.




“I can’t.” He whispered.




You stepped back, surprised and deflated, “What?”




“I think… I think this is a mistake.” He turned his back to you.




“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Your voice rose an octave.




“It means what it means, Y/N. I can’t give you what you want.”




“Do you even know what it is I want?” You laughed incredulously, shocked at how quickly the moment had turned.




“Whatever it is, I can’t give it to you.” He snapped back.




“With all due respect, Brad, that sounds like a fucking cop out.” You turned to storm off, but he chased after you, grabbing you by the wrist.




You spun around, “What? You gonna tell me that it’s not me, it’s you? That you’re not in the right headspace right now? I’m not asking you to move into the same tent, Brad. I just want to know if you have feelings for me!”




“Of course I fucking have feelings for you, are you stupid? Haven’t you seen the way I look at you, how I spend most of my time with you?”




You pressed your hands against the sides of your head, gritting your teeth. “Then what’s the problem?!”




“I can’t fall for you right now! We could be rescued tomorrow and I might never see you again!”




“We’re not getting rescued, Brad!” You huffed out an incredulous laugh, “No one is coming for us!”




Bradley’s face was red now and he seemed taller somehow, “Then why in Gods name are you considering a diabetic as a contender? He’ll be dead in 2 weeks, Y/N, did you ever think about that before you kissed him?”




He knew immediately he’d taken a step too far, as his words caught you off guard and you looked like you’d been kicked in the chest.




You looked at him in shock for what seemed like forever, silence filling the void between you as you blinked tears from your eyes.




You nodded in defeat, “Fine, Brad. You win.” You murmured softly, and you turned and walked away.




“Y/N, wait-“




You held up a hand as you left him behind, stopping Bradley in his tracks.




He stood and watched you until you disappeared down the far end of the beach, wondering how he had gotten this so messed up.




He couldn’t tell you the real reason though.




Despite wanting you so badly his body ached, he could never tell you the real reason he couldn’t be with you.

———————————

- Entry 6 Here -

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