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xzaddyzanakinx · 3 months

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Not That Kind of Guy

Part Sixteen: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink(Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, public/semi-public, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, bondage/blindfolds, biting/slapping/spanking/cutting, rape kink, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, blood, knife, straight up murder, gun/knife violence, drug use GEN. SMUT [all possible tags, all may not apply]

Info: Ghost is too pleased with you over something he really shouldn’t be. You say things, his feelings get hurt. [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

The cool, end of summer winds blew over the bushes you crouched behind. The conversation between Ghost and Adam could be heard in choppy bits, mostly Adam’s side of the dialogue. His pained voice and sharp yelp carried loud and clear over to you. As you heard him shouting for his friends, you couldn’t help but pop your head up despite Ghost’s strict instructions to do the opposite. You couldn’t just ignore the possibility that a group of men might be charging at him any moment now. If you could help, even just a little bit, you would. Though it seemed to be an unneccesary fear, scanning the area quickly you noticed that the yard was devoid of any movement and the living room light in the cabin had been turned out. They’d abandoned their friend, no doubt barricading themselves inside the cabin at that very moment. Thinking quickly, you knew they all probably had their phones on them. If they hadn’t already called the cops, they would be calling them soon.

Pulling out your phone, you hid it behind your jacket sleeve, turning the brightness down. Once you’d wriggled around enough to safely switch it on and do some quick googling, you discovered that unfortunately for anyone in the area, the average police response time was about forty five minutes. But, as you looked up the county maps, along with the address to your cabin… you realized it might take them much longer to arrive. The lake sat directly on the county line, the county to the left had a police department fifty seven minutes away. While the one on the right had a department closer, yet inaccessible during certain hours.

A draw bridge along the river rose up and lowered manually, monitored twenty-four hours round the clock, seven days a week. It took five whole minutes to open, five whole minutes to close, and however long it took a large boat to chug along through the gap. If it were you, being tormented by Ghost and a boat was stopping help from getting to you… well, rightfully you’d be livid. Though you found yourself lacking the sympathy you should be experiencing for these boys. Of course they were horrible people, but violence wasn’t usually appealing to you in the least bit. You’d much rather Ghost confiscate their phones and drop them off anonymously at the police department on your way back to the city. Whatever they’ve done, there’s bound to be a shred of evidence on at least one of their cellphones.

You might’ve yelled out to suggest it, but you realized that would be very unwise considering you’d already broken your promise to keep your head down. So you stayed down, your phone now shoved back into your pocket with a timer set to vibrate in thirty minutes. You took a moment to strategize in the event that you needed to get the hell out of dodge at the first sign of flashing lights.

“Brandon! This guy’s tryna kill me!” Adam’s shrill voice rang out through the moonlit nightscape. Once again, unable to help yourself, you popped your head up, parting the leaves and twigs to peer through. You could barely make out a struggling figure on the ground, the large truck was obstructing most of the view, only allowing you to see beneath the vehicle.

You heard the unmistakable sound of metal singing, a sharp, shrill *schinggg*, followed by a shock-delayed roar of pain. The sounds weren’t quite right, the scream was in its place, but the blade and the squelch were in the wrong spots. You hadn’t heard the blade go in, you were only hearing it come out. You waited for a wet thud, but never heard one. Just rustling of clothes, Ghost’s unintelligible grumbling and footsteps heading away from you. Two sets of footsteps.

He hadn’t hurt him so badly that he couldn’t walk, just enough that he would be lightheaded from the blood loss within the next half hour. Adam stumbled in front of Ghost who directed his jerky, uncoordinated movements by his grip on the back of Adam’s shirt. You lost sight of them when their footsteps changed from soft thuds to louder *clunks*, they must’ve reached the porch.

“Say ‘Hi’ Adam.” Ghost shoved him toward the door, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Adam struggle to comprehend his simple order. “Can you fucking knock at least?”

“Shit, I guess.” Adam shook his head and cleared his throat, his arms still ziptied behind his back. He tapped the bottom of the door with his sneaker, kicking just loud enough for those inside to hear. “Hey! Brandon! Zach? Zachary! Zach I swear to god if you don’t open this fucking door I’ll deny your membership!”

They could hear hushed, frantic voices behind the door as his frat brothers tried to decide their course of action. Adam was getting impatient, kicking at the door handle forcefully in hopes to break it off and gain entry by force.

“Here, I’ll give it a try buddy.” Ghost said, patting his shoulder before gripping him by the hair and bashing his forehead into the solid redwood door. “It’s rude to leave a guest at the door!” Ghost shouted ‘knocking’ on the door repeatedly with the side of Adam’s head.

“Fuck! Open the fuckin’ door!” Adam breathed in short, shallow inhales as if he might hyperventilate from the stress. His lungs starting to constrict and make his face turn red, a wheezing sound escaping his throat as his breathing became labored.

“Do you have an inhaler?” Ghost asked with a slight laugh, “Breathing in all that frat boy bullshit caught up to you?”

“I-I have asthma.” He wheezed, choosing to save his breath instead of wasting it by feeding into Ghost’s deliberate emotional jab.

“Are you gonna die if you don't get it?” Ghost asked annoyedly, seemingly miffed that he wasn’t able to get a real reaction out of him.

“M-may… maybe.” He coughed, dry and raspy, from deep in his throat. Adam was instinctively trying to reach up to hold his neck, unable to because of the zip ties, realizing he couldn’t only made things worse. Being denied the simple instinctive human reaction caused his panic to flare up into a frenzy, the formerly sure footed, bull headed, asshole was reduced to a scared kid on his knees, choking on air as he fought against his own body to breathe.

“Shit.” Ghost sighed and rapped on the window with his leathered knuckles. “For real guys, get this little shit his inhaler. Open the fucking door or I’ll bust the window.” He yelled, smacking at the glass with his palm.

“You come in first!” A voice from behind the door shouted as the doorknob jiggled loosely, practically hanging by a thread from the beating Adam had given it.

“Sure.” Ghost called out, certainly not planning to follow that demand. He grabbed Adam by his shoulders and lifted him up. Forcing him to stand on his own two feet before shouting for them to open the door again.

The door slowly opened just a crack, a fist holding a long knife used to filet fish lashed out wildly, aiming at everything and nothing at the same time. Ghost was thankful for his quick reflexes, as much as he wanted to ensure these guys didn’t live to see the morning sun, he promised he’d only scare them. So, he pulled Adam back and kicked the wrist connected to the hand holding the knife, causing the wielder to drop it with a hiss of pain. Ghost stomped on the blade, drawing his foot backward to slide it out of the way and out of reach.

“Great job, almost stabbed your buddy here.” He grunted, hefting Adam up and pushing him forward. “Somebody catch him, get him his inhaler.” He said in a firm voice, expecting nothing but compliance.

Adam fell to his knees and a lamp flickered on before illuminating the room in a soft yellow hue, allowing Ghost to see what was waiting for him behind the door. What he saw made him laugh out loud: the couch flipped on its side, the kitchen table pushed against the couch as some kind of make shift ‘fort’ and four guys with pots and pans for weapons.

“Where’s Gordon? Didn’t realize I was walking in to Hell’s Kitchen.” He chuckled, flipping out both his knives, making sure to flick Adam’s blood at his closest frat brother, just for fun.

“What do you want man? Why? His inhaler?” The youngest and most meek of the group, Zachary spoke up, “If you’re gonna kill us why get him his inhaler?”

“Who said I was gonna kill you?” He laughed, wiping the leftover blood on his jeans. “Get the guy his inhaler, please.” He gritted out.

“Alright.” Wyatt nodded, coming out from beneath the kitchen table, he warily made his way to one of the bedrooms and returned quickly with Adam’s rescue inhaler.

“Great job,” Ghost rubbed the two blades together in a crisscross motion before turning one toward Zach. “Get me everyone’s phones… keys too.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded quickly, tossing his own phone on the floor at Ghost’s feet. “Brandon, please.” He breathed out, thrusting out his hand impatiently when his friend didn’t hand it over immediately.

“I’m not giving that psycho my goddamn phone!” He yelled, shoving Zachary away from him.

“Don’t you fucking call me that.” Ghost growled, stomping over to yank Zachary back to his feet after scooping up his phone from the floor. “Hand it over, like I said, I’m not gonna kill you. Just do what I say and I’ll leave.”

“Th-thanks?” Zachary scrambled back out of Ghosts grip, giving him Wyatts phone before he joined Adam and his other friend on the floor.

“Mhm.” Ghost nodded over his shoulder at him, watching him move to regroup with his friends. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and quickly spun around, only getting clipped on the shoulder by the cast iron skillet Brandon was holding over his head as if preparing to bring it down on him again.

“Goddamnit!” Ghost yelled, rolling his shoulder and feeling the muscles pinch uncomfortably. Holding both knives in a back handed grip allowed him to swing them closed quickly, holding them in his palms tightly as he wound up to punch Brandon. “Tryin’ to be civil here.” He growled, connecting his fist to brandon’s chin in an upper cut hard enough to make Rocky cry.

His target dropped the skillet and it clamored to the ground in a loud crash, followed by the fool who thought it would be a good idea to hit Ghost with a frying pan. Once Brandon was on his knees, his mouth bloodied and split open, Ghost crouched in front of him and held his hand out. Instead of receiving Brandon's phone, Ghost was kindly gifted a spray of bloody spit over the white of his mask. He breathed in and let out a tired sigh, standing up he brought his knee up quickly and aimed at the same spot, this time getting a bigger, louder reaction from Brandon.

The yowl Brandon let out was ear piercing, with shaking hands he tossed his phone to Ghost and cupped his palm beneath his chin, spitting out globs of blood and something… meaty.

“Yuh mad meh bighth ma tong ov.” He looked up at Ghost, a sniveling mess of red saliva and sobs, holding up his hand where he held the tip of his tongue in his palm.

“I didn’t make you do that. You made a stupid choice and you got a shitty result.” Ghost scoffed, and shouted to Zach, the easiest to deal with out of them all, he was the most impressionable. “Go put this on ice.” He gestured to the hunk of flesh dismissively, groaning in frustration when he heard very loud, very messy, alcohol tainted vomiting coming from the right of him.

“You fuckin’ serious?” He half laughed, half barked. Shaking his head, he snatched the tongue and walked to the kitchen, thankful that all the cabins here had a practically identical floor plan. Muttering to himself he grabbed a clean solo cup and filled it with ice from the fridge, dropping the flesh into the cup and returning to thrust it into Brandons hand.

“Don’t lose it, they can sew that shit back on.” He sighed, gathering up the phones he took a seat in one of the kitchen table chairs, facing the group to keep an eye on them

“Not a single one of you called the cops?” He laughed, scrolling through call history on two phones at once. “Why’s that?”

“W-”

“Don’t say a fuckin’ word.” Adam coughed, glaring at Zachary.

“Let the boy speak.” Ghost waved off Adam, taking on the torch of authority over the group for the time being.

“I- well,” Zach swallowed hard, it was clear that the kid was in over his head. This wasn’t his normal friend group, he stuck out like a sore thumb, he was the lackey and being the lackey of the group is just about as well paying as being a doormat. “Adam, I have to. You know I have to.”

“No you don’t!” He lunged toward Zachary, with how they were all acting Ghost was almost positive if he left now they’d all end up killing each other anyway.

“Shut up.” Ghost barked, making a frisbee from one of the cellphones, catching Adam in the outer corner of his already bruised left eye. He hissed in pain, but gave no more complaints.

“Go on.” Ghost nodded to Zach, standing up so he could spin his chair around and straddle it, using the backrest to lean against comfortably as he listened.

“We didn’t rent this cabin.” Zachary spat out quickly, looking pale in the face as Adam smacked him in the back of the head, muttering something about ‘stupid freshies’.

“That’s it?” Ghost laughed, smacking both hands on his knees, rubbing his leather palms against his jeans.

“We broke in, it’s not ours.” Zachary nodded frantically, hoping the quicker he spilled his guts, the quicker the ordeal would be over with. “I’m supposed to be gettin-”

“Inducted into the frat, I know, I heard.” Ghost sighed, standing up and grabbing the back of Zachary’s shirt. “Look, take a good look. Do these idiots seem like the kind of people you want to be spending everyday of your life with for the foreseeable future?”

“N-no.” He shook his head, hands shaking with tremors of anxiety.

“Good choice. Did you drive here?” Ghost asked, getting a nod in response. “Great, it’s your car right?”

“Yes.” Zach nodded again, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact with his ‘friends’. Ghost pulled out the phones, letting Zachary take his.

“Now, before you leave I want you to make a quick little post and send a few emails, okay?” Ghost said, pointing to the cellphone screen. “Can I trust you to do that Zach?”

“Y-Yes sir.” He nodded, “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve airdropped a bunch of screenshots from their phones. Email them to the Dean and the head of your frat house. Probably should take a good look at them yourself. You should know what you were about to agree to partake in.” Ghost said, kicking his boot straight into Wyatt’s chest as he attempted to tackle him. “That’s enough!”

Ghost shoved him to the ground, wrestling with him until he could get his hands behind his back. Busy with the wad of zipties he was pulling from his pockets, he didn’t notice Adam had recovered enough to join in on the scuffle. Just as he was pulling the ziptie around Wyatts wrists, Adam’s foot landed on top of Ghost, connecting with the back of his neck. A blinding pain rippled through Ghost, so quickly, so intensely that a wave of nausea washed over him like a tsunami. He felt green as he rolled off of Wyatt and out from under Adam who still had his heel on his shoulder. Ghost stood up, stumbling to his feet he forced himself to swallow the bile that crept up his esophagus. While Adam fell to the floor, unable to catch himself due to his restraints.

Ghost saw nothing but crimson red when he caught his balance, flipping out both knives in a backhanded hold, giving him the use of his fists and the convenience of a downward slash of his blade if needed. With one fist in front of his face, his other shot out to pop Adam on the cheek, tilting his fist to drag the cold steel down his ‘assailant’s’ arm. Blooming ichor cropped up through the deep split in the flesh, the heat of the fresh wound warming the blade for its next mark. Adam screamed, his hands and arms wriggling in an attempt to hold his bicep instinctually as he took in the sight of the gushing blood, in his panicked state he did what came to his mind first, trying to squish the meat back together by shrugging his shoulder up, tucking his chin there and pressing his arm against the floor.

“Listen here you little shit.” Ghost said, crouching down over top of the wailing guy beneath him. “I promised I wouldn’t kill any of you, I don’t like breaking promises. But, I’m not above it.”

“You wouldn’t!” Adam yelled, thrashing around, spilling his blood across the floor. Wyatt whimpering near the two of them as he pushed himself away with his feet on the slick floor.

“I would.” Ghost said, standing up and resting his booted foot on Adam’s skull to apply enough pressure to solidify his threat while he turned his attention back to Zachary. “You done?”

“I think so.” He nodded, handing Ghost the phone so he could approve the email and facebook post.

“Perfect, you should major in journalism. They’ll be begging for more on this story, might as well cash out.” Ghost said with a dark, deep laugh. “Nice to meet you Zach, get the fuck out.” Ghost shoved the phone back into his chest along with the handful of car keys.

Zachary took his phone and his set of keys, dropping the rest on the ground. He stood awkardly as though he weren’t positive that Ghost had meant what he said. Scanning the floor he took in the mess of furniture, blood, beer cans, and the quaking forms of the three frat brothers that he would be leaving behind.

“Wait. Where’s Justin?” Zachary asked, spinning around to look about the room, noticing the last member of their group was missing.

“Do you always travel in a pack?” Ghost grumbled, shoving Brandon and Adam together, lacing two more zipties through theirs to connect them. Then he brought Wyatt over, attaching him to the other two in the same manner, “Walk.”

“How do you expect us to walk like this?” Wyatt asked, a scowl on his face while the huddle moved slowly toward the coat closet near the front door.

“Well you’re walkin’ aren’t you?” Ghost growled, opening the door and uncerimoniously pushing them into the closet. He shut the door and grabbed the chair he was sitting in earlier, pushing it beneath the closet door handle to wedge it closed.

“Zach!” Ghost yelled, seeing the boy coming out of the kitchen with a large knife. “Seriously? I was starting to like you!”

“Wait!” Zachary screeched, throwing his hands up and dropping the knife to prove he wasn’t a threat. “Wait, i- i was just grabbing it to pop their tires.”

“Huh.” Ghost said, letting his body relax ever so slightly. “Okay well, did you find the other one?”

The yelling, screams and thumping coming from inside the cabin were too much for you to sit back and allow to go on, unchecked. You had decided after the loudest, most pained scream you’d heard so far rang out into the night, that you could no longer obey Ghost’s strict orders. After shoving your small backpack into Ghost’s larger one, you put it on and pulled the straps tighter to fit your smaller frame. Once it was secure enough that it wouldn’t hinder your ability to move swiftly, you made your way to the truck closest to you, hoping to stay hidden for as long as possible.

The gravel crunched beneath your feet despite the ginger steps you took, occasionally glancing toward the window and the front door of the cabin, willing Ghost to come out so you wouldn’t have to get any closer. After passing the truck, you ducked behind the Mazda, using it as cover when you spotted the front door slowly opening.

Peering through the dark glass of the car window you were able to make out a figure heading your way. Immediately retracting your sigh of relief when you noticed the height of the approaching person wasn’t nearly as tall as what you were expecting. As the figure lifted its head, rounding the corner of the house, your worries were confirmed. It wasn’t Ghost.

The weight of the possibility that Ghost really was the one crying out in pain was a pressure on your chest that went far beyond suffocating. It was chest crushing, lung squeezing, and breath halting. Without thinking you spun quickly, the gravel being displaced under your heel made a noise loud enough to have you clapping your hands over your mouth as you panted in short breaths. The soft rustling of the grass from the stranger’s movements stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence blanketing the area. For a moment it was just you and your uncontrolled breathing, the adrenaline saturated blood rushing through you as your heart beat echoed in your ears.

The illusion of being in a bubble of silent safety was shattered in less than a second. A rough hand grabbed you by the handle of your backpack and pulled you up to your feet and against the side of the car.

”So it was you.” The male voice from behind you sneered, squishing your face against the hood of the car. “Where’s the other girl?”

”She’s not here, she left earlier. W-way before I came over here.” You lied, panicking as you swallowed the rest of your anxiety induced word vomit in hopes that he’d believe the shortened version.

“So it’s just you and the sissy-boy, huh?” He prodded, trying to unzip your back pack. “What ya got in here? You stealing shit too?”

”No!” You wormed your way out of one of the straps, turning uncomfortably in your attacker’s firm grasp to pry the bag from his hands. It’s one thing to disobey very clear and concise instructions. It’s a worse thing to get caught because of your disobedience. But it would be more than a metaphorical death sentence for Ghost’s gun to end up in the hands of someone else.

“No, I haven’t stolen anything.” Your voice evening out after being raised an octave from the initial startled ‘no’ from your lips.

”Then what’s in the bag?” He questioned aggressively.

In that moment, you knew you had two choices. You could give it up or have it forcibly taken from you. Though there was a third option tapping at the back of your head, the little devil on your shoulder pulling on your ear and hoping you’d take the chance.

”This.” With your decision made, no matter how poor, you followed through. Pulling out the pistol from the bag, pointing it directly at his chest.

”Whoa! Whoa, easy.” He laughed nervously, putting his hands up and backing off as his eyes darted around, looking for an out.

”The trunk.” Your voice stern in a way you hadn’t heard before. “Open the trunk, get in.”

You gestured to the back of the car with the gun, watching him closely while he moved with slow, calculated steps. You could practically see the wheels turning in his brain, but by the time you noticed, it was too late. The very second he opened the trunk, he tried shoving you inside.

Wether it was an act of the gods or a a quick tug from your personal imp, you’ll never know, but somehow your finger pulled the trigger. A loud blast echoed through the trees around you, the man stumbled back, holding his chest. The recoil of the pistol startled you, though the realization that the gun really had been loaded this whole time, startled you even more.

“Shit.” Ghost’s body flew on autopilot when the crack of the gun reached the cabin. A million thoughts ran through his head at once, but only one stuck out clearly. Only one held his attention. You.

Zach hit the floor, his hands over his head when he registered the sound for what it was, his ‘friends’ shouting in panic behind the closet door. He made not effort to free them nor to move at all, simply frozen in fear as Ghost stepped over him, through the threshold of the front door. Jumping from the porch he hit the ground in a full sprint, only stopping when he caught sight of you, arms out in front of you with the gun still in your hands.

Through the ringing in your ears, you heard muffled words as a gentle leather hand peeled the gun from your grasp. His hands searching you for any injuries, satisfied that the only wound you’d sustained was mental, he scooted you away, shoving his arms under the armpits of the corpse before hefting the body from the ground and into the open trunk behind you. After making sure he really was dead, Ghost wiped the blood off on the man’s jeans and carefully guided you to the side of the car, having you sit down.

”You’ve got good aim for such a little doe.” He said, trying to lighten the atmosphere just a tiny bit. “Here I was thinkin’ it was deer season.”

”No?” He sighed, patting your head and massaging your scalp with his fingertips before he straightened up. “Too soon?”

“Just a little bit.” You said, looking up at him from were you sat.

”Don’t cry, it’s okay.” He said, noticing the tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about nothin’ okay?”

”Promise?”

“Promise.” He nodded, holding out his pinky finger and waggling it at you until you linked yours with his. “Good girl.” His voice was rough, but it was clear it wasn’t from anger. His body language was relaxed, like he was relieved.

He walked back to the trunk of the car and hummed to himself, a song that triggered a memory for you. It felt like years had passed since you’d heard it, but the beat came to the forefront of your mind with an image in tow. Followed by another, then another, and another. Ghost was humming the lyrics, but your mind was filling in the the missing instrumentals.

While you were busy trying to connect where and when you’d heard that tune, Ghost was busy cutting the shirt off the corpse of the frat boy you’d shot. With the blood soaked fabric out of the way the gaping wound in his flesh was easily visible. He let out a low whistle as he took in the damage from the close range shot. He shook his head with a little laugh and shifted his weight from one leg to the other, subtly giving his half-hard cock a bit more room.

He steeled himself for the next bit of his task, finding the bullet. He rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms to reposition his sleeves without having to touch them, before he sunk the middle and ring finger of both hands into the wound to pull it apart, lifting one side he dug around and pried open the rip in the muscle.

“Gross.” He whispered, making a gagging sound when he heard the wet tearing of the fascia, feeling the stringy substance snapping under his hands.

“Hey, sweetheart?” He asked in a soft voice, trying to get your attention without startling you.

“Huh?” You turned your head, only registering you were being spoken to after he snapped his fingers at you.

“Can you get me some gloves from the little side zippy?” He asked, pointing to the backpack now at your feet. “And there’s a thingy of wipes in the big front zippy.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” You nodded, moving slowly as you came down from the chemical rush you’d just experienced.

“No, no.” He quickly shook his head when you stood up to walk over to him. “Just set ‘em up there.” He gestured to the back windshield with his elbow, so you did as he asked, recognizing that he was doing something that was most definitely unpleasant to witness.

“Thanks doll.” He nodded, bending down and wiping the blood on his leather gloves onto the ground, dragging his fingers back and forth through the grass.

He stepped on the tip of each glove to pull them off his hands, quickly switching over to the latex gloves to continue the dirty work he shielded you from. You’d been through enough, he already felt immense guilt for what he’d brought you into, there was no need to add insult to injury. Ghost picked up where he left off, prodding around beneath the flesh, he realized he’d have to dig a bit deeper. Separating the tissue from the muscle he forced his flat hand underneath the left pectoral as far as possible.

“Fuck.” He cursed, his middle finger following the rippled meat until he lost the bullet’s path.

“Bad news bears.” He called out to you, popping his head around the side of the trunk. “I need you to look in the toolbox in the back of that truck. Put on some gloves first though.”

“What? Why?” You asked, snapping the latex into place on your fingers after pulling out a pair for yourself.

“See if he’s got some bolt cutters.” He sighed, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “If he doesn’t have bolt cutters get me a hammer or crowbar. It’d be sweet if he has a crowbar.”

“A crowbar?” You asked out of curiosity, then thought better of it. “Actually, nevermind.”

You climbed up into the truckbed and lifted the toolbox lid. There were no bolt cutters, only small wire cutters. Two hammers, a plethora of screwdrivers and a random assortment of metal fittings and other equipment. Buried beneath a pile of ratchet straps you found the crowbar.

“Oh hell yeah.” Ghost chuckled, taking it from you as you held it out at a distance.

“Uh, probably should cover your ears.” He said apologetically.

He pulled the corpse from the trunk, letting it thump on the gravel so he could plant his foot firmly on the abdomen, leaning forward with the curved side of the crowbar in his hands, the flat side pressed into the space between his ribs, just beneath the left pec.

Ghost put his weight into the crowbar, sinking it in with one firm, downward shove. It was a difficult process, one that needed a balance between force and delicacy, Ghost was only experienced at one of those attributes. He pushed too hard, going through the connective tissue between the ribs as planned and down into the chest cavity.

A wet, goopy pop met his ears before the blood began to seep out of the punctured viscera hidden in the chest cavity.

“Oh, yum.” He muttered under his breath as he wiggled the crowbar back and forth as he pulled it up out of the soft substance he’d pierced. The noise was similar to the suction of pulling your fingers out of a jar of hair gel.

Ghost left the crowbar sticking up out of the wound to jog over to the stack of firewood lined up against the cabin, grabbing a thickly cut log. Passing it back and forth between his hands as he returned to the body.

Placing the log on the torso as he resumed humming the song from earlier. You made the mistake of looking over your shoulder, seeing his bloody hand on the open lid of the trunk for balance as he stepped up onto the end of the crowbar sticking out of the corpse.

Pushing down on it with his body weight, using the firewood as leverage to crack open the rib cage. You felt sick to your stomach when you saw him jump on the crowbar, hearing the sickening crunch and crack of bone breaking under the force of his movements.

Grateful that you couldn’t see what was happening below the car, only having seen Ghost’s upper body’s part in the act. Nauseated, you pulled the pink silk from your face, gagging loudly as you held your stomach and bent over.

“Shit, baby you okay?” Ghost asked, coming around to check on you. He hesitated, knowing his hands were covered in… unsavory substances.

“Get back.” Your hand out behind you to stop him from coming closer. “Just do what you need to do and let me throw up in peace.”

“Oh, princess I’m sorry.” He said softly, unsure of what to do. He was in clean up mode, he’d never had company during this process before. So he did what he knew to be necessary.

He couldn’t have you throwing up and leaving any more evidence of your presence at this crime scene. He grimaced, wiping his latex gloves with a baby wipe from the pack you’d set out. Then unzipped a pocket on his backpack, pulling out a large ziploc bag filled with smaller ones. He dumped the smaller ones out, handing you the bigger, quart sized one.

“If you’re gonna upchuck, make sure it gets in the bag.” He said patting your back, nodding at your grunt of acknowledgment and leaving you to your own devices.

With the rib cage popped open, he wedged his hand beneath it, feeling the squishy, slippery surface of one of his your victim’s lungs. He braved it by clenching his teeth tightly to distract himself from the sound and sensation accompanying his methodical squeezing of the organ.

“Finally.” He sighed in satisfaction when he felt the hard lump of metal buried in the lung. He pinched it to keep the bullet from escaping his hand, not wanting to go through the disgusting process again.

Now with it between his fingers, he was able to dig around with his other fingers to pull the lung out of the chest cavity to access the area with both hands to dislodge the bullet.

“Got it!” He said proudly, dropping it into one of the small ziploc bags.

He dumped the body back into the trunk of the car, not bothering to removed the crowbar or slide the lung back where it belonged. Slamming the trunk shut he cleaned up his leather gloves until they were good as new, switching them out once more.

He disposed of his latex gloves in the same ziploc bag as the bullet, then made his way to you once again. He was pleased to see that you had not thrown up and the color was returning to your cheeks.

“Alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.” He said, rubbing your back as he picked up the bag and started walking toward the woods with you.

“Hey what’s that song you-“ You started, thinking if you heard the name of it you might be able to place it with the memory attached.

“Zachary, buddy.” Ghost grumbled, hearing the boys panicked squeal as he emerged from the cabin with his phone flashlight training on the two of you.

“Who is that?” He pointed to you, causing you to turn fully to face him. “Oh my god, you’re that girl.”

Ghost threw up his hands in frustration, dragging one down the side of his mask. “This is my lovely lady.”

“Leaving?” Ghost asked, putting his left hand in his hoodie pocket.

“Y-yeah.” Zach nodded, moving slowly as he walked toward his car which just so happened to be the Mazda.

“We still cool?” Ghost asked, signaling you to stay put while he ‘escorted’ Zach to his vehicle.

“Oh, yeah of course.” Zach said nervously as Ghost opened up the driver side door for him.

“Listen, I’m sorry for all this.” Ghost said, sticking out his hand for a handshake as Zach climbed into the car.

“Right.” He cleared his throat accepting the handshake which gave Ghost the opportunity to pull out his gun from his hoodie pocket, pistol whipping him with his temple as the target.

“I was really hoping this kid wouldn’t get in the way, he was the only decent one out of them all.” Ghost grumbled, throwing the comment over his shoulder before turning his attention to the unconscious boy in front of him.

He grabbed another zip tie, pressing Zachary’s finger tips against the plastic before placing his foot on the gas pedal and pulling the tie to secure it in place.

Ghost reached around, turning the key in the ignition and leaning over Zach to put the car in neutral.

“Close your eyes.” Ghost said sternly, watching you to make sure you were listening. “Good. Turn around, stay there please.”

“Thank you baby,” He called over his shoulder as he started to push the car, getting it rolling toward the lake. Once it was close enough he put it in park and shouted out to you again. “Cover your ears!”

Taking Zach’s hand he wrapped his fingers around the grip, positioning his pointer finger on the trigger and putting his other limp hand in the left hand cut out in the steering wheel. He pulled the trigger, the bullet ripping through the soft flesh on the underside of his chin and straight through his brain, exiting at the top of his skull, lodging in the dented metal roof of the car.

Ghost let the gun fall along with Zach’s hand before throwing the car in drive and pushing down on his knee to put pressure on the gas pedal. Quickly jumping out of the way as he slammed the door shut. Stumbling back and falling on his ass as the car sped through the yard and straight into the lake, sinking slowly.

Ghost stood up, dusting himself off before punching the air in a little victory celebration before he had to return to ‘caregiver to shell shocked girlfriend’.

Ghost approached you slowly, a soft hand on your shoulder to alert you to his presence. He pulled you into his chest and crushed you in a tight hug, squeezing you as he rocked side to side.

“I know this has been a long, really not so great night.” He said softly, resting his chin on your head. “But I need you to tell me something okay, I need you to listen. Can you do that?”

You nodded against his chest, sniffling while you prepared for whatever it was he had in store for you this time.

“Did you touch anything with your bare hands?” He asked, loosening his tight grip around you. “Think hard. I need to know so I can take care of it.”

Your mind raced, you’d touched a lot of things. It hadn’t ever crossed your mind that you might’ve left fingerprints. Fingerprints wouldn’t have mattered if it had just been your original plan. Fingerprints wouldn’t have mattered if you had just listened to Ghost and stayed put.

“Chalk and spray cans.” You said, your eyes wide as if trying to see the various items you’d left evidence behind on. “The truck. The window. That car, in the lake.”

“Did you touch anything inside the car?” He asked, tilting your head back to look at you.

“Not with my hands. I bumped the inside of the trunk with my arm.” You said, crossing your arms to hug yourself while he held you.

“Did you keep your hood up? Touch your hair or anything?” He asked, swatting at your hand when your lifted it to touch your hair.

“No I don’t think so.” You shook your head, hearing him sigh.

“Okay.” He took a breath, “here’s the plan:”

“You, sit your ass right here.” He said, pushing down on your shoulder gently to make you sit. “I’m gonna go get the cans, and wipe down the window. The truck… do you remember where you touched it?”

“The side facing the woods, then I climbed up to get that stuff from the tool box.” You said, holding up your still gloved hands. “But I had on gloves for the toolbox.”

“Perfect. Keep those on.”

He patted your head and went about his tasks, making the clean up quick as he jogged through the yard and picked up the cans he’d tossed in a pile. Taking an alcohol wipe to the window and then using more than a handful as he roughly scrubbed the side of the truck.

Thankfully, it seemed that daddy’s money kept Adam’s car well maintained so he didn’t need to worry about leaving one side of the truck shiny and the other dirty. This trip was probably the only time that truck had ever seen dirt. He used what was left of the chalk spray on that side of the truck just to even it out, throwing everything away in a grocery bag to shove in his backpack.

Everything was in place, everything was handled, everything was fine. It was all fine.

Except for you.

Diary Entry: September 4th early morning

Okay, so here I am, in a goddamn tree, sitting outside your cabin, watching you walk outside every so often to vomit. Your sister and Luke think you’ve got food poisoning or some shit like that.

You’re mad because I made you strip naked before I would let you climb back in your window. You’re mad because I had to bag up your clothes to get rid of. You’re paranoid because there hasn’t been a peep from across the lake.

Luke made you cry because he was woken up by ‘really loud pops’ and he’s ’almost for certain it was a gun, how did you not wake up?’.

I made you cry because I asked if you were okay.

You made yourself cry because you just had to take one last look as we walked away and you of course thought you saw a few bubbles float to the surface of the lake. ‘Oh my god, what if they’re still alive?’

Baby. They’re beyond dead.

Speaking of, can I just say that it was fucking hot as hell to see you standing there with my gun like that? Holy shit.

Then realizing there was a whole person you blew to pieces in front of you? Lord have mercy, Lucifer take my soul.

I wish I could say it to your face. It’s a compliment, but I don’t think you’d take it that way. You’re just so perfect. You’re beautiful even in moments like that, with those fearful eyes and that pretty pout. The little blush creeping up your cheeks and the squeak you made when I took the gun from you.

If you weren’t so distraught I would’ve ravaged you right then and there.

I forget sometimes that you’re just a girl. You’re a girl that I love and that I just wanted to have a good time with. I just wanted you to have a little taste of danger. I didn’t want you to murder someone on accident. I didn’t want to kill Zach.

But they’re both at the bottom of the lake and there’s nothing I can do about it now.

I’m sorry that I seemed insensitive. I really didn’t mean to. I just don’t understand why you’re grieving a person you didn’t know. The guy you killed was a gross, horrible, disgusting waste of space. Zach was okay, he’s just fucking stupid and had to come out and get a look at you.

You understand right? I couldn’t just let him walk off after he recognized you.

Maybe you’ve learned your lesson. When I say something, I mean it. When I tell you to listen, it’s for a reason.

When the little voice in my head says ‘hey that’s probably not a good idea’ I think I’ll start listening. Sometimes.

Maybe.

Diary Entry: September 7th

I’m picking up the vibe that you’re alittle bit upset with me. Like actually me, Anakin. You texted me that you got home but I was expecting you to come over or ask me to come over… since you’ve been gone the whole weekend. But you didn’t.

Are you just that freaked out by the whole thing? I told you it’s not your fault. I don’t know what else to do. People die. Sometimes they just die alittle earlier than they’re meant to. That’s just the way of things.

I was there. Yet I still feel out of the loop.

Cause there’s only so much information I have you know? I have my side of the story. But you’re keeping yours locked up in the Fort Knox of your mind.

You can’t just ignore me because of one little mistake on your part. Yeah, it’s not your fault but also it kind of is. You should’ve listened, but if I get back on that thought train I’ll be riding it for the next few stops.

So instead let’s focus on how I’m going absolutely insane because you won’t even let Ghost inside your apartment. I’ve never been mad at you but I’m so close to being pissed. A door stop? Really? New window latch?

If I didn’t have cameras in your place I’d be worried you found some other guy to do the window latch installation. I was pleasantly surprised (also proud) to see you putting it in all by yourself. If only it wasn’t simultaneously infuriating.

I think I’m going to have to do alittle research to see how I can worm my way inside without actually causing any damage to the door or window. If you’d just leave the apartment for even a few minutes I’d be able to go in through the door. But no, of course I wouldn’t be so lucky.

I totally considered throwing a brick through the glass of your living room window but then it’d be a few days before the super would ever even get around to fixing it, you’d have a gaping hole that anyone could climb in through and I’d be sleep deprived because I’d be sitting out there 24/7.

The only upside to that would be getting to see you. Although I have a feeling you’d be even more upset if I actually did do that… so I won’t, even though it’s very tempting.

Is it completely horrible of me to be driven by ulterior motives as well? Tempting… I’m all worked up and it’s really difficult to settle for my hand after having felt the flower of Eden between your pretty thighs.

I need you. I need you in a bad way. So bad I very briefly let myself wonder if it would be cheating if I bought a fleshlight and taped your picture on it.

Logically, duh I know it’s not cheating but it feels like it.

Maybe I can invent Clone-a-Coochie. You know like the make it yourself, at home dildo? Great business idea if we’re being honest. A perfect replica of your perfect pussy? Bitch, I’d put that on display.

‘What the hell is that?’ ‘Oh this? Yeah, this is my girl’s pussy.’

Seriously, it’s basically the same concept of the Roman and Greeks always putting flaccid dicks on their statues. It’s art.

Art that has more than one purpose! I love shit with more than one use. It’s pretty, it can be fucked, it’s pretty. Look at that. Three whole things.

But even if I did invent it, I’d still have to get into your apartment to make it in the first place and then I wouldn’t even need it anymore because you’d be there.

I’m rambling. This is what happens when I’m nervous. You’ve made me nervous. If I didn’t hate taking pages from notebooks I’d rip this out because I’m a fucking idiot and wrote it in ink so now the inner thoughts that should’ve been kept to myself are in permanent physical form.

Notebook law is that you can’t tear pages from a composition notebook. If there’s one law I’m not gonna break, it’s that one. Cause that’s just disgusting, vile.

Anyway, the B train has been tossing around some thoughts while the A train plowed through the brain car that gets rid of my bad ideas.

B train says I should figure out how to get in your bedroom window. There’s no fire escape under it. You’re on the second floor and there’s no way I’m rappelling down the side of an eight story building.

My need for instant gratification said I could commandeer a fire truck. They have really tall ladders. But then I’d have to worry about hiding a fire truck and that would be practically impossible so honestly, it’s for the best that A train ran that one over.

So I think my best bet is to violate every single safety protocol on ladders and push the dumpster over, stick a ladder on top and close my eyes and hope I make it to your window.

So, if I see you, I’ve succeeded. If I haven’t. Maybe don’t look out your bedroom window.

Ps.

I just don’t understand. I’m sorry, I don’t. This would be just so much easier if you’d flap your fucking jaws like you love to do. Just open your mouth and speak.

Date: September 7th

Anakin has called, texted, emailed, knocked, unlocked your door and been sent straight back across the hallway.

Unable to look him in the eye after what you’ve done, you’ve repeatedly ignored and pushed him away. You tell yourself it’s because you’re suspicious of his behavior, because he was spotted by your sister’s husband at that store. That’s why you’re ignoring him.

It has nothing to do with the fact that you killed someone and watched your other (stalker) boyfriend kill another man and stage the scene as a hostage-murder-suicide.

Ghost left those boys in the closet, zip tied together. You’ve watched the news everyday on a continuous loop for the last three days and you’ve not seen a single hint of information regarding the crime. They’ve not been reported missing. They’ve not escaped to your knowledge.

What was reported on however, was that a group of young men affiliated with the Alpha Sigma Psi Fraternity from the upstate university are under suspension pending investigation into their ‘hazing practices and illicit activities’. No names have been released, just ages.

It seems that Ghost really did think of everything.

How? How does he know what to do? How did he perfectly situate a very messy crime scene to fit the narrative of frat hazing gone wrong? How did he find the proof and get it to the university? Is there actual proof?

By the time those boys are found everything will have been taken care of and seen as a closed case before it’s even opened:

A young boy, a recruit, was taken out to the lake for a weekend hazing ritual. The last of his ‘trials’ to join Alpha Sigma Phi. All was well, drinking, drugs, strip pong. A bit of good natured, easy to clean up ‘vandalism’ to get him loosened up before they go into his final initiation phase. Recruit finds out what horrible things his soon to be frat brothers have done and now want him to do, then he attempts to escape, kills in self defense, ties others up and plans to dump the body. Recruit digs around in the corpse to get the bullet to get rid of the evidence, realizes it’s too late for him, feels guilty and kills himself.

The only loose ends are the other guys in the closet. Why not kill them too? And if you’re going to go through all the trouble of taking out the bullet, then shoot yourself… what’s the point of taking it out?

Maybe it just shows the panicked thought pattern of a scared kid who messed up, fell in with the wrong crowd and couldn’t get himself out of it without violence being involved. Maybe it shows that a girl and her masked secret boyfriend tried to have a little fun and ended up committing double murder.

Ghost explained that Zach saw you, would be able to identity you if he went to the police, there was no choice. He had to kill him to protect you.

When you questioned him about his gun and if it could be traced to him he told you it was bought third hand, unregistered and given as a gift. Not to mention he’s never handled it with his bare hands and he filed off the serial numbers after he received it.

Because ‘you never know’. What does that mean? You didn’t ask because you didn’t want to taint your image of him further.

There hasn’t been a linear pattern of thought since that night, thoughts, ideas, monologues, even fully fleshed out daydreams have been overlapping and going straight through each other at an alarming rate. Silence is a distant memory, the constant chatter of your inner voice has become your new normal.

A voice, a real one, called out to you for the umpteenth time today. Pounding on your front door, you didn’t even bother to look through the peephole. You didn’t get up and tell him to fuck off. You even turned the sound off on your phone hours ago, when you checked it you had over sixty messages. Some from Anakin, some from Ghost, Luke and your sister. Even Vigo from the diner. Everyone was concerned about your mysterious absence.

You just had too much going on at once to deal with answering any messages or questions. Too much happening to explain why you’ve called in for the past two days. Brain too full to comprehend the email from your English professor, wondering why you’ve not turned in your online quiz.

How can you be expected to lead your normal life after killing a living being with your own hands?

September 8th, 8:43 pm

Ghost got into position, feet firmly on the ground with both hands flat on the side of the dumpster, thankful it was on wheels as he pushed the heavy container toward your bedroom window. It scraped along the wall, metal on brick making a horrendous racket that he was relieved only lasted a few seconds.

He didn’t need a 20 foot ladder of his own. So naturally he swiped one from a construction site, planning to return if before the sunrise. After he precariously secured and balanced the ladder against the wall, atop the dumpster, he made his way up to your bedroom window.

Luckily this window also had an incredibly old style of latch and you hadn’t replaced it. So, he was able to use his heavy duty magnet to wiggle the curved latch out of the ring that held the window shut. The only difference from your living room window was that this one was smaller, still plenty big enough for him to fit through, and a bit higher off the ground as well.

The awkward position of the ladder, paired with his teeny tiny fear of heights made it the slightest bit terrifying to enter the window feet first. Head first was the only logical solution. He was long enough to hit the floor with his hands and ‘walk’ the rest of himself into your room without harming himself. So he did exactly that.

Bending at the waist he shimmied until his legs were bent at the knee to help him balance, both hands on the ground as he pulled himself forward enough to get away from the wall so that he could drop his feet down one at a time. It was awkward and uncomfortable, however worth it and necessary in his mind.

Once he gained entry and the window was shut and locked, Ghost walked out of your bedroom to hear your shower running. He was tired of waiting. Tired of attempting to give you a bit of space, alittle leeway for your healing and health. He did the only logical thing, pull out a bent paper clip to jimmy pinhole lock of your bathroom door knob.

He cheered for himself internally when he heard the faint *click* signaling he’d succeeded in popping the simple mechanism of the button lock on your side of the door. Carefully and quietly he entered the bathroom, making himself at home on the sink counter to wait until you were finished.

He closed his eyes, listening to the water pelting your soft skin and the sound of your fingertips scrubbing shampoo into your scalp, the product bubbling up to cleanse the day away. The sweet scent was soothing, he’d missed it, now that he was able to smell you, feel your presence again… he was a thousand times calmer. His mind clearing enough to think rationally.

You were living and breathing. You were okay.

You were tangible again. He hadn’t gone a single day without you in such a long time that he felt like an addict experiencing withdrawal during your time away. He was finally getting that first hit that soothed the hurt, steadied the shakes and warmed the ice of his veins.

Spotting your robe and towel sitting nearby, he picked up the robe and held it to his chest to transfer some of his warmth to it. It was a simple gesture, one that wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but you were his everything and he’d been deprived of you for too long. He considered that maybe he needed to start doing more of these micro feel-good acts to keep you satisfied with him.

It wasn’t as good as tossing it in the dryer, but the dryer was at the laundromat and he really didn’t want to have to climb up that ladder again. Holding it to his chest was the best he could do and he hoped it was enough. He hoped he was enough.

The water shut off, the following sound was your hands wringing out your hair, the stream of water hitting the shower floor. Pushing back the curtain you looked down at the bath mat as you stepped out, nearly slipping when you lifted your head and saw Ghost sitting quietly. He gave an awkward, tiny wave and crossed his feet at the ankles, clasping his hands in his lap around your robe.

“How did you get in here?” Your voice quiet and distant.

“Doesn’t matter.” He said while you toweled off, holding up your robe for you to slip on.

You almost refused it. He wasn’t meant to be here, he hadn’t told you he was coming and you took precautions to make sure he wouldn’t get inside your home. Apparently, no amount of security could keep him away from you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to deny him the right to treat you to such a simple gesture. Not when he looked at you the way he did. You could see it in your minds eye, the puppy dog eyes and wobbly bottom lip. He was sulking and his posture screamed it. Sighing, you turned around to insert your arms one at a time. The fabric was warm, a plush cotton hug that you didn’t expect but were glad to have.

Before you could turn around Ghost used a soft touch on your shoulder to make you stand still while he searched the drawer on his left for your hairbrush. The wet strands were plastered to the back of your neck beneath your robe, his leather finger separating it to lay it over the fabric and smooth it out just a bit before starting out at the very ends, working his way up slowly.

He was quiet, it was rare that he go so long without speaking. Almost seeming like he was waiting for you to speak first, but no words would come. What was there to say?

Once he finished with your hair he hopped down from the sink countertop, guiding you to sit atop the toilet lid. He kept a hand on you the whole time he set up your hair dryer and sprayed your leave in conditioner, like he was worried you’d vanish if you weren’t beneath his fingers.

The continuous droning flow of air from the hairdryer was warm and soothing. Like a cozy white noise machine. You could’ve fallen asleep with the way he was brushing through your hair as he dried it, the bristles massaging your scalp with every pass. He was taking his time, an occasional pause to separate and section off the next bit of your hair, a quick swipe of his thumb against your neck, leaning down to simulate a kiss to the top of your head with his mask’s cheek.

He didn’t poke and prod you for answers like you expected. He was patient, seemingly content to be in your presence even without the use of conversation. It was surprising when you factored in all the incessant texts and voicemails he’d left you since you arrived back home.

Taking both your hands he escorted you over to the sink, gripping your hips to boost you up onto the counter top.

“Open.” He tapped your cheek, grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste, scoffing like he was offended when you tried to take it from him.

“I’ll do it.” He insisted, shaking his head at you before carefully cupping your chin and pulling your bottom lip down slightly with his thumb so he could brush your teeth for you.

“Ready?” He asked, rinsing off your toothbrush and passing off the mouthwash to you. Ghost watched as you swished and spit, helping you down from the sink and walking behind you with a hand on the back of your neck.

He picked out your pajamas and helped you into them, treating you as if you were a porcelain doll. It was unsettling to see him so gentle and caring. This wasn’t his normal behavior. He had his sweet moments but characteristically he was moody, broody, grumpy and cynical.

“Do you think you can talk to me now sweet girl?” He asked, holding your face in his hands and swiping his thrumbs just beneath your eyes.

“You lied to me.” You said accusingly.

“No? What?” He asked, shaking his head like he was shocked you’d say that.

“You lied. You said you’d never hurt me, you’d never put me in danger.”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d be so violent. I didn’t know they were that bad of people, I would’ve never-“ His voice was strained, his hands shifting so that one was on your neck, rubbing the column of your throat.

“Not that.” You scowled, “I’m talking about the gun.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. I told you I had one, I told you it was in the bag! I even told you to use it if you had to. Where’s the lie?” He asked, getting upset at your accusations.

“It was loaded for real? Like you for real were playing Russian Roulette with my life? You could’ve killed me Ghost!” You smacked his chest angrily, shoving him away when he held out his arm to comfort you.

“No! No it wasn’t loaded I swear.” He said in a panic, standing up and going over to your still-packed bags from your weekend trip. He dug around in the pockets until he pulled out the bullet he’d carved your initials into. You noticed the last initial had been carved over in the shape of a heart.

“See? It never even touched the inside I swear.” He said, handing it to you. He’d saved it for you, tucking it away for you to see when you finally unpacked. You almost felt bad that you’d practically forced him to ruin the gift of the keepsake. An odd keepsake, but still.

“Then… then how do you explain the bullet in there? I never saw you load it.” You asked, confusion coloring your words.

Ghost sighed, trying to take your hand but you pulled it away. He grumbled, forcibly pulling it over by the wrist, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I haven’t and will never knowingly put you in harms way. You are my everything, without you I am nothing.” Ghost leaned in, testing the waters to see if you’d calmed enough for him to put his arms around you.

“I would never forgive myself if you got hurt because of something I’d done.” You let him wrap you up into his warmth, his large hand cradling your head to his chest. “My purpose in life is to love you, keep you safe and happy. You becoming mortally wounded isn’t included in that list, not even in the fine print. Quite the opposite actually.”

“I swear on my life that it wasn’t ever loaded, you weren’t in any danger.” He whispered, “I loaded it before we went out, just in case. I like to be prepared and I’m so glad I was.” His other hand no stroking your hair. “It was fully loaded, you don’t remember seeing me load in another bullet for Zach did you?”

“No.” You winced at the memory, the sound of the car reving and splashing into the lake replaying in your mind.

“Exactly.” He nodded, his hands fidgeting. “My little doe, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. You should’ve said something instead of letting it fester up like this.”

“Ghost, this has been… I don’t know. It’s been overwhelming okay? I can’t think.” Rubbing your face and running a hand through your hair. “I ki- I hurt someone.” You choked out.

“You did so well.” He said softly “I’m very proud of you. I’m just sorry I wasn’t out there with you so you didn’t have to face it alone. I know it was scary.”

“Scary?” You scowled, “it was terrifying!” You raised your voice slightly.

“I- I was worried! You said you’d be quick and it felt like it was taking too long… the yellin’ and noise.” Your voice was shaking and you didn’t even notice it, still speaking passionately. “I was afraid you were hurt! I’m sorry I didn’t stay put like you wanted but I couldn’t just sit there and not know if it was you that I was hearing!”

”There was a whole group of them and your went in there all by yourself like an idiot!” You yelled at him in a way you hadn’t done before. This wasn’t out of anger or frustration, it was fear.

The concept of you being worried for him was foreign to him, he’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to have you feel so strongly for him as Ghost. He knew it was definitely not the right time to push you down and let your sweet pussy milk his cock dry. But damn it all, if he wasn’t at least able to kiss you right now he may spontaneously combust.

“You were worried about me?” He asked so quietly his words dropped in and out of the vocoder. Ghost’s hands coming up to your neck, his thumbs under your chin to tilt your head up.

”God, you’re so stupid.” It came out much less angry than intended, more of whisper that trailed off into nothing more than a shallow breath.

There he was again, pouring out emotion without ever showing you his face. His eyes on you were comforting, like an embrace from the first sunny day in spring. The balance between you had always been a fragile thing, but it seemed that just like those sunny spring days encourage growth, something had begun to sprout roots.

There’s always been something so fascinating about flowers, one day they’re nothing more that a seedling, then in a blink of an eye they’ve bloomed and you missed it. The shock of waking up to discover the most beautiful rose carved from nature’s velvet had finally adorned the thorny landscape it had to endure on its path to life.

You’d failed to see something budding up and unfurling, now the bloom was staring into your soul, asking to be picked.

”Hey, I was jus-“ Ghost started, feeling a bit miffed by your words an the quick, almost eerie change in atmosphere.

”I was afraid.” A statement that could fit many situations you’d found yourself in with him, but it was being put to use in a different context now. “I was worried you’d be hurt so bad I couldn’t fix it.”

”Whoa.” Ghost shifted, bringing you closer, “Don’t cry. I’m fine, I’m right here.”

“Just bruised up a little.” He said, nuzzling into your neck, the cold, hard plastic used to be somewhat of an uncomfortable feeling on your skin, though now it was one you realized you’d miss if it were taken from you.

“You should see the other guy.” The grin beneath his mask was so wide it could be felt in the way he tilted his head against your neck.

For the first time in days, you laughed. Tiny fairy bells making music that Ghost felt privileged to hear again, he felt honored to be the one to bring you the first bit of happiness, reprieve, after such a horrifying experience for you.

You pulled back, smiling and eyes shining with tears that you’d have no need to shed. Ghost watched, seeing the wheels turning behind your pretty eyes.

“Ghost, I lo-“ Just as you parted your lips to speak, sweet words on the tip of your tongue, the moment was shattered by flashing red on your bedroom TV screen. “Oh my god, they found it.”

Formerly blush pink cheeks quickly drained of color as the news camera panned over a serene lake, the still waters now rippling with movement as the image zoomed in on a car being towed from the depths, the reveal showed something hanging from the drivers side door was followed by a startled yelp of shock from the in-field reporter on the scene. The video paused, the image blurred as the in-office news anchors scrambled to collect themselves. The male cohost held a finger up to his ear, receiving information live from the scene.

”Apologies to our viewers, it seems that Rebecca, along with other press on site have been asked to return behind press lines. Investigators have a sensitive development in the case and are requesting all live newsfeed footage to be halted effective immediately.” The man nervously looked over to his female counterpart, sharing a nod she announced that they’d update as soon as officials allowed it, directing the camera to join the weatherman for the latest forecast.

”Alright, no. You’re not watching this.” GHost stood up, snatching the remote from the bed beside you and shutting the tv off. Going so far as to pop out the batteries and put them in his pocket.

”Ghost, this is what I’ve been waiting to see, you can’t just-“

”Oh yes i can.” He growled, holding up a hand to stop you. “I’ll monitor the news. Give me your phone.” He stuck his hand out in a ‘give it here’ motion as you reluctantly passed it over to him.

”What are you gonna do? Hold my phone hostage?”

“No, I’m going to seize your internet capabilities.” He snorted, pocketing your phone, gingerly pushing your head back and away like an annoyed father who’s had enough of his kid tugging on his shirt sleeve.

”What? What if i need-“

”To google when the Byzantine Empire collapsed?” He crossed his arms and chuckled when you gasped. “I’ve been paying extra close attention to your search history. I’m so glad you filled your time away from me with educational Roman lore rather than researching the est way to die.”

You couldn’t refute his statement, it’s true. You weren’t depressed so much as you were just bored during your self imposed isolation. “I think it’s completely normal to want a few quiet days after the weekend i had.” You huffed.

”Yes, it would be different if your weekend had been a drunken rager,” He said, swatting your hand away from his waist when you decievingly attempted to wrap your arm around him as a front to steal your phone back. “It’s highly concerning and i think i had a right to be worried considering your weekend involved double homocide.”

”I guess that’s fair.” You conceded, knowing you probably had done a real number on him. Everyone else was worried and they had no idea about the reasoning behind your temporary hermit-hood.

“If you desperately need to know anything else regarding Ancient Rome during your no internet time, call me.” He said, crossing his arms.

”Anakin has a phone and a laptop. I bet he’d let me use those.” You countered, raising an eyebrow to see if he’d budge.

”Oh I’m sure he would.” Ghost nodded, leaning back on your dresser with his arms still crossed. “But you aren’t going to ask him are you?”

”So what if i do?” Your eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. You didn’t like the tone he was taking with you, it was so accusatory.

”Well I wouldn’t do anything to stop you if that’s what you’re asking.” He said, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “Go ask him if you’d like.” He gestured to the bedroom door flippantly, challenging you.

”No.” You glared, frustrated that he was winning a game you weren’t prepared to play.

“Why not?” He asked, is hand on his masks chin as if he were stroking a beard in thought. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with you ignoring the poor boy since you got back would it?”

”N-no.” You snapped back at him.”Even if it was, it’s not y-“

“Tell me your love life is not my buisness one more time.” He grabbed you by the upper arm, turning you to face the door. “And I’ll march my happy as over there and introduce myself.”

”You would’ve done that already if you really wanted to.” You wriggled free from his grip, rubbing your arm.

”Let’s go then.” He said, pushing you toward your bedroom door and opening it with a dramatic flourish just to pick at you a little more.

“Anakin’s not even home, he’s at work.” You lied, at least you thought you were lying.

”You’re right.” Ghost nodded, “My bad, I’ll wait til our schedule lines up.”

”Think he can pencil in… lunch on Wednesday?” He continued, pretending to seriously look at the desk top calendar on your bedroom desk. He missed the way your lips down turned in a frown as he teased you.

”What do you mean I’m right?” You asked, turning him by his shoulder to face you once more.

”Huh?” He he questioned, not having heard your question because he was distracted by the Rubix cube he’d swiped off your desk.

”Stop that, pay attention.” You scowled, taking it from him and rolling you eyes when he clearly seemed annoyed. “You’re worse than a child.”

”No, I’m actually pretty good at solving them, here let me-“

”Oh my god can you please just back track for a second?” You huffed, watching him reach for it again, this time your facial expression stopped him before he got half way.

”Sorry.” He mumbled, pulling out your desk chair to sit in, manspreading and leaning back. “What’s so important?”

”What’d you mean I’m right?” You asked, gesturing to the door. “About Anakin not being home.”

”Well, he’s not home. You said so yourself.” He shrugged, reaching back out for the rubix cube. You left his hand empty, crossing your arms and walking away for a moment.

”Do you know where he is?” You asked, not turning around.

”Um no.” He laughed, standing up and appearaing behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back to his chest. “Why? You afraid he’s gonna come barging in or something? We could give ‘em a little show.”

”Stop it. I’m serious.” You snapped at him and it took him back for a moment. He slowly released you, putting his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“Sorry doll, i didn’t mean to make you upset.” He said in a hurt tone, wondering what exactly he’d said that had went too far. He’s said much worse things about himself to you and he’d never gotten a reaction like that.

”You… you didn’t.” You sighed, turning around and glancing up at him for a moment before grumbling frustratedly. “I’ve just been thinking too much. I- I don’t know I’m just worried. I haven’t seen him, I don’t know if he’s home or… and I’ve been in my head… it’s been so much and-“

“Sweetheart.” His voice was low and warm as he addressed you, like a soothing balm.

“You know where I am.” He said softly, the weight of his words settled in your chest. You couldn’t put your finger on it, a strange tug pulled at your heart, telling you there was more to be said between those words.

Ghost sighed, returning to his spot behind you, tentatively reaching for you, giving you time to push him away again if you wanted. When you showed no signs of objection he pressed his half-hard cock against your ass, making you lean forward slightly to give himself better access to push up against your clothed cunt. A low grunt escaping him as he felt the warmth between your thighs.

“Feel that?” He asked, breathing raggedly, his hands coming to rest on your stomach before slipping one up under your shirt to settle in the valley of your breasts. “It’s me baby.”

“I’m here, I’m right here.” His voice soft and sweet, an odd comparison to the obvious upset in his voice just moments before.

“I can fuck it all better.” His gloved hand leaving your stomach in favor of honing in on the bundle of nerves hidden in your panties.

How could he expect anything other than enthusiastic consent when he spoke to you in that tone? The textured leather of his middle finger circling your clit in a feather light touch. His cock twitching, the rumble of the groan trapped in his chest resonated through you as he held you close. This wasn’t the normal experience with Ghost, this didn’t feel like a thrill or the promise of something new.

This felt meaningful and it scared you.

You nodded, not trusting your own voice, too afraid to speak your thoughts and feelings into existence. He let out a sigh of relief that you agreed, though internally he was preparing himself to hold back. He’d been so pent up, so needy and now he was here and you were vulnerable in a different way than ever before… he couldn’t in good conscience fuck you like a sex doll. Not even if he really, really wanted to. (He did.)

“Sit, get comfy.” He promoted you, tapping your ass with two fingers to prod you along so that he could turn off the lights and close your curtains. “Uh, I got rid of your pink silk thingy…” he said apologetically, hating that he had to use the rough, black cotton bandana on you again.

You didn’t answer, it was too difficult to separate your inner voice from your flow of spoken dialogue, having the two mixing right now would be disastrous. You just nodded, keeping your lip tucked away behind your teeth.

Ghost gingerly tied on the blindfold so he could remove his gloves and touch you with his bare hands, warm palms and rough fingertips dancing across your flesh as he removed the pajamas he put on you earlier. He was taking his sweet time to put you at ease, but it only served to make you feel… anxiety.

“Can’t see nothing, right doll?” He asked, smoothing his palm over your thigh, rubbing the blunt point of the mask’s nose through your folds, making you jump at the unfamiliar feeling.

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head, chewing your cheeks while a wave of nerves washed across your abdomen, feeling him lift up slightly to removed his mask.

Soft lips met yours after feeling his bare chest move up your body, settling his muscular body over yours. His pierced tongue sliding across your lips, clacking your teeth on its descent into your mouth to caress and lick the sweetness inside. His boxers barely containing the warm length pressed firmly against your wet core.

Rough, careful hands brushed over your tender flesh in the most sensual manner possible. It was nearly unbearable, the tingling heat that formed in the pit of your stomach from just the simple act. Ghost rutting his hips against you to give you the friction you so badly desired, his cock twitching when you moaned against his lips.

He hummed lowly, nodding in understanding as he kissed and nipped his way between your thighs to nestle his tongue into your sopping entrance, licking and slurping up the slick mess gathered there. The bridge of his nose bumping against your clit, the pressure deliciously fleeting. Those strong hands of his massaging and kneading your breasts, moving down your sides to your hips, one staying there to hold you in place while the other slowly twisted two fingers into your cunt, pumping them deep before withdrawing almost completely, just to do it all over again.

“Ghost?” You panted, mewling pitifully. He couldn’t answer verbally, not when you were so close, he didn’t want to risk losing his rhythm, he didn’t want to risk you identifying his voice without the mask. So instead he reached up his unoccupied hand to cup your cheek and brush his fingers over your lips.

“S’good.” The soft, slurred praise dripping with something more.

He smiled, wide and smug as he wrapped his lips around your clit and flicked his tongue rapidly, coaxing those warm and fuzzy tendrils to wrap around you just a little tighter before snapping and bringing you the rush of ecstasy he knew you needed. It took an unreasonable amount of self control for him not to poke fun at you for cumming so quickly, having to stifle his snicker in the fat of your thigh.

After you’d released him from the iron grip of your legs, he lifted up, not bothering to wipe his face before he put his mask back on. Forcing your legs back apart despite the quiver in them, he tugged down his boxers and nudged the tip against your clit, sliding it through your folds until he notched it in the dip of your cunt.

“Don’t whine darlin’.” He chuckled, hearing you squeak from the sensitivity as he pushed inside slowly. “I know it’s been a couple days since you’ve had a proper fuckin’. I’ll take care of you.”

With a shaky inhale he plunged into your depths, bottoming out just to circle his hips, making sure you felt him in every corner of your tight cunt. He leaned down, resting his mask’s forehead on your collarbone, moaning loudly at the feeling of your velvety walls fluttering around his throbbing length.

Ghost had never fucked you like this before. He’d never been gentle, yet here he was, treating you with the utmost care and only the most tender touches. His calloused thumb finding its way between your bodies to circle and roll your clit just enough to have you bucking up against him.

“Why’re you bein’ so sweet t’me?” You breathed out, eyebrows pinched together and upturned.

“I wanna give you what you need.” He nuzzled the cold plastic of his mask into the side of your neck, rolling his hips to drive himself deeper, to angle his cock perfectly.

“Yeah?” You whimpered, arching your back, your breasts pushing up against him.

“Course I do, my little doe.” He cooed, sliding an arm under you to press you even closer to him. “Always.”

He had you so needy, so willing. Wet and panting, a mess of sweet sweat and slick. There wasn’t a thought in your brain other than him. His hands, his cock, his voice, his lips. Ghost was drawing inhuman noises from your kiss bitten lips, each and every breath bringing a new form of praise to his ears.

Ghost had you so fucked out, so blissful and beautifully undone that it crept up your throat and clawed its way out. You’d thought it, over and over and over again, the lines between your inner and outer voice were crossed and was something that could never be taken back.

“Ghost… love you.” Your soft lilt reaching his ears, his movements halting in disbelief.

“What did you just say?” He asked, his voice cracking under the weight of your confession.

“I- I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“ You started, grabbing his wrist to stop his shaking hand from removing your blindfold. “N-no don’t.”

“But-“ He stuttered, unsure how to handle the fiery mix of emotions that rammed through his chest. “I want you to… don’t you want to see?”

“I want to.” You admitted softly, though you shook your head. “But I don’t think I can.” You whispered, feeling the hurt and confusion that filled him up and spilled over.

“I… I don’t-“ He seemed at a loss for words, stuttering over the syllables until it was a jumble.

You heard rustling, felt his weight lifting from the bed and the creak of leather as he put his gloves back on. His socked feet shuffled across the floor so he could retrieve his boots and stomp his feet back inside, not bothering to lace them or even tuck the laces inside. He tossed your clothes at you, the fabric landing on your stomach with a dull *thwack*. You heard something clatter against your nightstand and before you even had time to form a coherent thought, he had slammed your bedroom door shut. Leaving you naked, alone and in the unforgiving darkness behind your blindfold.

September 8th, 9:54 pm

Anakin was overly tired and much too distracted to pay attention to what was going on around him. He wasn’t expecting anything other than the droning of his bedroom fan and the occasional creak of the floorboards in the apartment above his.

Perhaps it was complacency, maybe it was his overconfidence, or it may have been that he was simply distraught; he failed to do his after Ghost routine. Yes the mask was under his dresser. Sure, the backpack and his boots were hiding in the top of his closet just beneath the crocheted monstrosity his mother called a blanket. But his hoodie and jeans were crumpled in the floor, inside out, but it didn’t really matter, after all they were black like rest of his wardrobe.

Even worse? He’d left on his socks. His long black socks with lime green toes and heels.

“What the fuck do you want man? I’m busy.” A male voice grumbled.

“Can you be un-busy? I’m out.”

Anakin heard a sigh, then the low din of the bar in the background as his friend conferred with someone else.

‘April? Can you be me for like 30 minutes?’ Trevor asked. ‘C’mon, it’s Anakin… No, you can’t take it to him. I don’t care! You owe me for yesterday and you know it. You’re sure? Thank you babe, I’ll be back quick I promise.’

“I can be un-busy with time constraints.” Trevor said with a slight laugh. “What are you wanting? I’m walking to my car right now.”

“A quarter.” Anakin’s voice was scratchy, he cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “What… what else have you got these days, huh Trev?”

“Anakin you better not be telling people that I-“

“No, you idiot I’m asking for myself.”

“I thought you didn’t do anything other than smoke?” Trevor asked, the slightest hint of concern seeping past the curiousness in his tone. Anakin no longer heard the constant background noise of the bar, instead it was the crunch of gravel and the loud slam of a car door.

“I don’t!” Anakin snapped, quickly correcting his harshness. “I- I don’t. I was just curious that’s all.”

“Whatever.” Trevor snorted, starting up his car. “Well I’ll just bring my whole bag in case you’re more than ‘curious’.”

“Alright, yeah that’s… okay.” Anakin nodded to himself and cracked his knuckles, holding his phone between his cheek and his shoulder. “When you get here I’m on the right side of the building, I’ll be out on the fire escape.”

Anakin opened up the large window and left it open, the cool air flowing in and clearing his apartment of the nervous energy he’d let build up. He paced the floor, talking to himself under his breath while running both hands through his hair. It was a short drive from the bar to the apartment building, Trevor dusted off his hands and climbed the drop-down ladder until he reached the landing, walking up the stairs to where Anakin sat.

“Damn. You look like shit.” Trevor scoffed, holding out his hand to clasp his with Anakin’s, pulling him up to his feet.

“I know.” Anakin grumbled, climbing in his window and standing with his hands on his hips.

“Huh,” Trevor looked around the living space, a tiny smirk in the corner of his lips. “Didn’t take you for a girly girl.” He snorted, picking up a large Kuromi Squishmallow.

“Fuck off.” Anakin snatched it back and held it in his crossed arms against his chest. “It’s a pillow.”

“Oh, sure.“ Trevor snorted, a big grin on his face while he unzipped and searched through his bag to pull out the correct ziploc bag with the quarter of weed Anakin asked for. “S’okay. I won’t tell.”

”I believe i deserve a discount for possible emotional scarring in the event I come to work tomorrow and your little girlfriend starts laughing at me.” Anakin snatched the baggie from him and laughed.

”I’ll let you have it for free if you let me take your picture with it.” Trevor grinned, pulling out his phone.

”Throw in some K and we’ll call it a deal.” Anakin said with a smirk.

”Done!” Trevor snapped the picture and cackled to himself, tossing his phone in is bag and doling out two pills, dropping them in the ziploc bag of weed Anakin opened.

”Get out before I kick you out.” Anakin snorted, shoving Trevor toward the window, watching him leave before he turned around and hurried to his bedroom. Grabbing his large glass bong from his dresser along with his cigarettes and a lighter, he returned to the fire escape to grind and pack a full bowl of pot. Packing it in with the butt of his lighter before lighting it and taking a long rip. Holding his breath for a moment, letting out a cloud of smoke as he leaned back on the rusted metal steps.

Rolling one of the pills between his forefinger and thumb. Anakin stopped for a moment crossing his feet at the ankles and looking up to the nighttime sky, light pollution in the city was alm,ost always too great to make out many of the dimmer stars. Though after the last few days it seemed luck had finally turned around, even if it was only just the clear sky, it was better than nothing. Hit after hit, Anakin let himnself melt into the warm fuzzy feeling while searching for constellations.

——————————————————————————

You tried to relax, to think rationally. It would do no good for anyone if you went looking for trouble. Life was already complicated enough, it was bubbling up day after day and you didn’t want to be the one who let it boil over. Your little devil was back and it’s whispers were louder than before. Rightfully, you felt you deserved the truth. It couldn’t be that bad. After all, you’d already ruined everything by not keeping your mouth shut.

Ghost did it all the time.

You moved quickly before your confidence ran out, finding him on the fire escape after using the key he’d entrusted you with long ago when you’d given him a key to your apartment. You were startled to see him, Ghost had said he was out and you hadn’t planned on him being home. This was supposed to be a quick in and out, a bit of snooping to put your mind at ease. The space reeked of weed even though he’d closed the window, or at least partially closed it.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy relighting the bowl on taking another long rip. It was almost unfair how easily he distracted you. He always looked so pretty in everything he did. The way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when he tilted his head back to blow out the smoke, his eyebrows pinching together with the deep inhale from the bong, his hands flexing as he struck the lighter and brought it to life.

He seemed… preoccupied enough. Sneaking around couldn’t be that difficult, could it? He’d never know if you did it quickly enough, you were already here, you may as well try it.

Staying closer to the wall you went to his kitchenette, you’d learned one of the best ways to tell if a man has been cheating is to check the fridge, trash and sink. If there’d been another woman in here, you’d most likely find evidence there and not have to venture any farther. Surprisingly, it seemed Anakin’s normally well kept space was seeing less attention than usual. You’d never seen more than a cup or two in his sink at once, now one whole side of the sink was stacked with dishes. You picked up the glasses, looking at the rims for any sign of lipgloss or lipstick, but found none.

You kept glancing over at the window, making sure Anakin wasn’t gathering his stuff to come back inside. There were no ‘girly’ drinks in his fridge, other than the ones you’d left there and none of them were missing. The wine bottle you’d gotten a week ago was still there, unopened. The trash showed no signs of anything suspicious, not even the dust from the vacuum held a clue to any wrongdoings.

It wasn’t enough. You knew in your gut that there was something going on, regardless of another woman being involved or not. The thought of Anakin cheating had given you plenty of time to reflect on things you would’ve otherwise not given a second glance to.

Another look toward the window proved that Anakin was still busy, engrossed in his own world. Swallowing your guilt with a thick gulp, you made a quick dash across the line of sight from the window. Once you safely reached the samll hallway, you stood between the two doors on either side of you. The courage you’d gathered up to sneak in was wearing out and fast, the bathroom would be the quickest, the bedroom would possibly hold more than you could bare to digest at the moment.

Taking a deep breath you opened the bathroom door and closed the door, standing in the dark for a moment before flipping on the light. After your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, you got to work, nothing in the trash. No changes in the shower products, the cabinet hidden behind the mirror had been rerarranged but it seemed like it was only done to clean the shelves. The cabinet below the sink held it’s usual cleaning products, extra shower stuff and towels. Nothing seemed out of place and you were beginning to feel even more guilty than you were origionally. Closing the cabinets you moved on the two drawers along the side closest to the door. The top one opened up just fine, nothing but jewlery for his piercings and his cologne, along with other random bits and bobs.

Pulling out the bottom drawer you found that it stopped halfway, getting jammed by something and preventing you from pulling it all the way out. You wiggled it and shuffled through the items inside the drawer, feeling around to see if you could dislodge whatever it was that prevented it from being opened. You reached the back of the drawer, nothing inside seemed to be the cause, so you decided to reach a bit farther and feel along the back of the drawer and the walls. Thinking that maybe something had fallen from the top drawer and gotten jammed in the tracks for the bottom drawer.

Then, there was a noise. The window. Quietly shutting the drawer you listened, hearing Anakin muttering to himself and his footsteps stopping, the clunk of his bong hitting the coffee table and the sound of him plopping down on the couch. You had no choice but to pretend like you meant to be here, you were here to see him.

While you were busy preparing your ‘i missed you, I’m sorry’ speech, Anakin turned on his tv and Xbox, waiting for it to boot up and load Fallout. He wasn’t ready for bed, he wasn’t willing to be completely alone with his thoughts, so a distraction was in order. He jumped up from the couch and slunk into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and returning to the couch. Kneeling in front of the coffee table he used the beer bottle to crush up one of his pills, sliding his wallet over to him he pulled out his debit card and chopped it finely, lining it up on the edge of the table. He cracked open the beer bottle and took a swig, holding it in his mouth while leaning down to snort half the line. Swallowing the beer to help with the bitterness of the powdered pill, getting ready to start the process over again.

You slowly turned the doorknob, stepping out into the short hallway to see Anakin kneeled beside the couch, his head tilted back sniffing and wiping his nose like it itched. He swallowed, letting out a sigh and a hiccuped laugh, bring the bottle to his lips for another drink.

”Anakin?” You gasped. His head snapped over to the side, bloodshot eyes wide and confused as he stared at you, choking on his beer, coughing and spitting it out accidentally. He stood up slowly, keeping his balance by laying a hand on the couch’s armrest.

“H-hey sweetheart.” He gave you an awkward, sheepish smile, eyes darting around from the embrassment of being caught. Caught doing something you didn’t ever expect to see. “I missed you baby, ‘mere.” His words slightly slurred and his actions not quite right as he beckoned you over.

”I-i had a whole apology speech planned out… i didn’t-“ You stuttered, looking him up and down, “You- are you okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout it darlin’.” He casually waved your concerns away as if it were silly of you to ask such a thing. “Just uh, well it doesn’t reall thing. “Just uh, well it doesn’t really matter anymore now does it? You’re here now and you’re all i need.”

”No, you can’t just brush this off Anakin.” You said, walking over to him and looking down on the coffee table and what was left of the white powdery substance. “What is that?”

”Baby,” Anakin sighed, running his hands nervously through his hair. “I’m sorry okay? I just needed something to… to take my mind off stuff.”

”What stuff?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed in irritation at his vagueness. “Us stuff?”

”Well, yeah.” He nodded, his jaw set in a hard line while he shifted on his feet. “Where’ve you been? You disappeared on me.” He whispered, reaching out to take your hands in his, though you swiftly shut down his attempt.

”Where have you been?” You turned the attention back where it belonged, on him.

”Home.” He said, gesturing to his living space. “Called Trevor.” He motioned to the coffee table and the various paraphernalia. He tried reaching out for you again and was rejected once more.

”What did i do?” He asked, his face scrunched up in pain from your reluctance to touch him.

”I don’t know. You tell me.” You crossed your arms and stared him down.

”Please, baby just talk to me.” He whined, gently grabbing your shoulders and making you sit down. “You left for your trip and you were fine, you come home and you treat me like I’ve got the plague.”

“What is that stuff?” You pointed to the table angrily.

”Ketamine. Your turn, tell me what’s going on.”

”oh my god, no you can’t just expect me to let that go so easily Anakin!” You huffed spotting the other pill in the ziploc bag. “More? Really?”

”Don’t judge me, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this kinda thing.” He said angrily, pulling it from your hands and fishing out the pill. “Look, I’ll get rid of it.”

He grumbled, standing up and dragging you by the arm along with him toward the bathroom where he held the pill in front of your face, dramatically lowering it down over the toilet and dropping it in.

“There, flush it.” He crossed his arms, nodding toward the plunger. You rolled your eyes and pushed down on it, watching the little white pill disappear. “See? No big deal, it’s not like I’m some kind of pill head.”

“Now. Your turn.” Anakin walked on jelly legs back into the living room, sitting down on the couch with his hands behind his head, manspreading in his boxers and tshirt.

“I’m… I don’t know I guess I’m mad at you.” ‘I’m mad at myself.’ You sighed, kicking off your shoes and sitting beside him.

“Me? What did I do?” He made a face, pulling up his bottom lip and licking one of the hoops in his snake bites.

“Did you go to a sex shop?” You asked flatly, narrowing your eyes.

“While you were gone? No.” He snorted, wincing when you smacked his shoulder. “Ow! Fuck.” He groaned, running his hand over it to roughly massage it.

“Crybaby.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Jesus someone shit in your cheerios didn’t they?” He grumbled, rolling his arm in a wide circle with his arm bent at the elbow.

“I meant like in the time we’ve been together. Have you been to a sex shop? Lauren’s husband swears he saw you at one.” You accused, watching him closely for any telling body language.

“Yeah I did.” He nodded, looking at you like you’d grown an extra head. “Am I not allowed to buy stuff for our sweet love makin’?”

“What’d you buy? I haven’t seen anything new.” You asked, ignoring his ill-placed tease.

“Some lube, jewelry for my dick piercing. S’got a little vibrate-y thingy.” He gestured to his crotch.

“That’s it?” You asked, still uncertain. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It was a surprise! Gods what’s your deal baby?” He asked, getting up, steadying himself with a hand on your head before he walked off to his bedroom. You tracked his movements without following. Glancing down at the floor you did a double take.

“See look? Here.” He came back, holding up the two items and shaking them. The jewelry hadn’t even been taken out of the package yet.

“Did you get new socks?” You asked, looking from his feet to his face and back again.

“What are you the fucking FBI now?” He scoffed, obviously getting agitated at your insistence on questioning him. “Yeah they’re new. Would you like to see my receipt officer?”

“I don’t like your attitude.” You scowled.

“You don’t like my- oh, you know what?” Anakin stomped back over to you and grabbed you roughly by the jaw. “I don’t appreciate being interrogated by a bitch half my size.”

“Anakin Skywalker!” You gasped, pushing his hand away. He’d never acted like that with you before, it was startling, confusing… could one pill have really made that big of a personality change so quickly?

“I think I’ve earned the right to be a little bit of a dick don’t you think?” He asked, staring you down as he pointed at your chest, poking you aggressively as he toward over where you sat on the couch. “You planned a trip without me, didn’t tell me until you were getting ready to leave. You’re gone all weekend, you’ve been back a few days and haven’t even spoken to me and then you show up to my place and start questioning me like I’ve done something wrong!”

“What about you huh?” Anakin yelled, getting upset in a way you’d never seen him do before. “I think I should be the one asking you questions!”

“Ani! Ani calm down it’s okay!” Frantically you tried to calm him down, standing up and putting your hands on his chest in an attempt to soothe him. “I’m sorry Anakin I- I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve just… I’ve been on edge lately and that’s no fault of yours.”

“Damn right it’s not.” He muttered. Walking the room in a quick back and forth line.

He breathed in deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he dropped both hands down to his sides and sat down on the couch. Leaning over with his head between his knees as if he felt nauseous.

“I’m sorry.” Anakin sighed, clearing his throat, clasping his hands together behind his head, resting them on the nape of his neck. “I’m really sorry princess. That was uncalled for.”

“Anakin, let’s just take a second okay?” You said quietly, making your way to the fridge to grab yourself a water. By the time you unscrewed the cap, Anakin had already chugged the rest of his beer.

“Can we… how about we just forget it? Let’s just pretend I got home today.” You suggested, a hopeful look on your face, your plan having been so horribly thrown askew that you knew there was no salvaging it.

“We can start over.” You suggested quietly. es, you were terribly upset with him but it was **so hard to stay that way. Especially when he had every right to be angry right back at you. “I’m sorry too. Please? Let me make it right…”

“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. It should be me.” Anakin whispered, a lump forming in his throat.

“You gotta know that I love you princess. I love you so, so, so much.” He led you back to the couch, holding your hand and pulling you into his lap. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, never. I know that you’re disappointed in me…”

He looked up at you with glacier blue eyes, ones that had started to melt. Salty tears filling up to the brim and ready to flow over in a hot trail down his cheeks. He was holding his breath like he was scared to breathe, like he was afraid that if he did, he’d be pushed over the edge.

“I made a really bad choice and I’m so sorry.” He said quietly, his voice small and fragile. “It was wrong of me. I know that.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You frowned, carding your fingers through his hair. “It’s alright, it was just this once right? Only the one pill?”

“That’s not…” Anakin sniffled, hiccuping before he tilted his head back on the couch cushions,covering his face with his hands. He let out a few half-sobs, stopping himself by forcing them down and holding his breath. “I don’t, I didn’t mean to do it okay?”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He spoke through short, shallow inhales, his head jerking with each labored breath. “It’s bad. I’m bad.”

“Anakin no, no you’re not bad! Why would you say that?” You shook your head, eyebrows pinched together. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“But it- I never should’ve… I shouldn’t have done it.” Anakin swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He started to bounce the knee you weren’t sitting on, pressing his forefinger and thumb over his eyes and using his other fist to rhythmically pound on his thigh. “I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve you, I never have. I never will. You’re too good. You’re so good.”

His voice was squeaky, chopped up and uneven. The large, strong hands you’d come to love settled on your hips and waist, squeezing slowly, rubbing up and down as if he were trying to comfort you.

“C’mere.” He hiccuped, keeping his eyes closed as he wiped his cheek on his shoulder, pulling you flush to his chest. “I love you. Please don’t leave me.”

“Please, I promise I’ll be better. I swear.” He whispered, his words hot and breathy against your skin as he buried his face in your neck. “Don’t leave me.”

“Anakin I’m not… I’m not leaving you over something so, well I don’t want to call it insignificant. Because it’s not, it’s serious.” You said calmly, your own tears threatening to break through. It was so difficult to see him so upset, it was clear he felt immense guilt for this. “But it’s okay, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe. You’ll be just fine.”

“You won’t go?” He sniffled, squeezing you tighter. “You promise?”

“Course I promise.” You nodded, the guilt of your previous thoughts, your original plan for coming here, all the things you’ve done… it all came rushing to the forefront.

“Why don’t you take a shower, it’ll help you feel better.” You suggested, really only wanting a few minutes of peace to sulk alone. “Just shout if you need help.”

“I don’t need your help to wash my ass.” He snorted, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, taking in a stuttered breath.

“I don’t know Ani, you’re really wobbly.” You said sympathetically.

“You can shower with me as much as you want, but you will not be showering me.” He glared at you, a small smile tugging on his lips. “Sponge baths are the only exception.”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes, thankful that he was always able to lift the weight of heavy emotion off of any situation, with just a few words.

Anakin just smiled and ruffled up your hair before trudging off to the bathroom. You’d never seen him switch up emotions that quickly and so fiercely. His guilt ridden sadness was so intense you feared he may have went into a full fledged panic attack if you hadn’t have been able to de-escalate it fast enough. Then, not too long before that was his flip of the switch anger and aggression.

The moment the bathroom door shut you cleaned up the coffee table, wiping it down to make sure none of the pill powder was left behind. You moved to put away his bong but thought… maybe you deserved a hit after all the trouble you’ve had. So you had one, only one. Someone here needed to be sober and Anakin was obviously not the man for the job.

————————————————————————

“So what do you do there? When that happens?” You asked, pointing to the tv screen while Anakin was playing Fallout 76.

“What? Get rad poisoning?” He asked, sitting comfortably with his feet propped up while you laid your head in his lap. “I can find a doctor, eat some fungus.” He snorted. “But I’d have to find them first so I just use RadAway. This little thingy right there.”

He pointed, showing you what he was talking about, explaining it and the different functions of the Pip-Boy his character uses to track radiation, inventory and the like.

“Okay but you’re wearing a radiation suit right?” You asked confusedly. “So why do you still get poisoned?”

“Baby, it’s just like real life. The suits only withstand so much, plus mines already damaged so it’s not as effective.” He chuckled, looking down at you to play with your hair for a moment while he waited for the next room to load after picking a lock.

“Oh. Okay yeah that makes sense.” You giggled at yourself, enjoying the way he gave you attention even when he was preoccupied.

“So what’s the quest?” You asked, shifting a little bit to get more comfortable.

“Uh gotta figure out what happened to this lady and her Order.” He said nonchalantly, “there’s supposed to be some kind of jewelry along the way some where. The Eye of Ra I think?”

“What’s that do?” You asked.

“That’s a great question. I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.” Anakin hummed under his breath, practically trashing the room he was in while searching around.

“Y’know, this game is kinda cute.” You grinned, obviously trying to tease him.

“It’s not cute. It’s apocalyptic, how is that cute?” He laughed, looking down at you and tugging your hair playfully.

“It’s all the retro stuff! It’s cute.” You shrugged, pointing to a few different random items on the screen. “I like the music too.”

“I know you do.” He laughed, glancing down again before refocusing on his tasks.

You stayed quiet for a while, just listening to him self-commentate and curse under his breath, it was nice. Normal. The most normal interaction you’d had since before your trip to the cabin. Even after the argument… disagreement? You’d just had, Anakin still made you feel safe and secure, loved and cared for. Even when he was in his own little world, focused on something else, he was still doting on you with soft touches and quick glances of adoration. He was so easy to forgive, he made things easy to forget.

He made it easy to be at ease.

Curled up next to him with a comfy blanket tucked around you, his thigh for a pillow. The warm cedar scent of his soap and the soft scent of his laundry. It was all a big, cozy bundle of security.

While he waited on another load screen, you began drifting to sleep with his hand in your hair and his soft whispers of sweetness. Your eyes fluttering shut, a blissful and serene peace lighting up your face; only to turn pale and ashen as your body jolted awake at a familiar tune.

You’d finally placed that song. You’d heard it here, right here.

Part Seventeen

Tag-List:

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THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

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cordeliawhohung · 9 months

Note

i’m the mood for hurt/comfort but feel free to ignore,

what about mafia!price with his darling wife who is experiencing postpartum depression

PPD is such a terrible thing to have to go through. i've had a few patients share their experiences with me, so a lot of what i've incorporated into this short drabble is based off of that as well as some other research i've done. it's an issue that's largely ignored in our society but thankfully is being brought into light more. if you're experiencing this, please reach for help if you're able. there might be more resources for you than you realize (: i'll provide a link to the PSI website, should anyone find themselves in need of their support!

warnings: anxiety, intrusive thoughts (fear of infant death/harm), depression, hurt/comfort, f!reader, everything's gonna be okay (:

mafia!141 masterlist

She won't stop crying.

It's been four hours and your ears are ringing from your daughter's high pitched screaming, and nothing you do seems to console her. No amount of bouncing or shushing or attempts to feed her will cease her wails, and you're convinced that someone is trying to punish you. So you pace around the living room with her in your arms as you try and drown out her sobs with the late night weather. The clock on the bottom right of the screen reads 1:17 AM.

John is still at work.

You start crying when the clock reads 1:42. There's a terrible ache and burn in your arms from holding her for so long, but the thought of putting her down makes you want to scream. You think of attempting to tuck her away in her crib, to shut the door to try and take a moment to breathe and your mind is filled with what ifs. What if she chokes? What if she stops breathing and you're not around to help her? What if you leave her there, all alone, and you come back to nothing but a stiff corpse?

No, you can't put her down, so you continue to pace the living room while you attempt to ignore the wet tears that smother your face and neck. Why is she still crying? Is it something you did? Something you didn't do? Maybe you're just incompetent as a mother, so much so that your own child is rejecting you. This squealing, writhing mass of flesh is proof that you never should have bore her at all.

Keys jingle outside of the front door at 1:56 and neither you nor the baby have calmed down the slightest bit. The door swings open and shuts quickly after, and it doesn't take John long to find his wife and child sobbing together in the living room. He looks like hell with messy hair and wrinkled clothes, but it's nothing at all compared to your tear stained face and puffy eyes.

"Oh, darling," he breathes.

He crosses the room in an instant, but before he has time to question you, you hold the baby for him to take. There's an obvious tremble in your grip, and your biceps strain and cry out from the movement. Terrified you'll drop her, you all but shove her into his chest before he has the chance to scoop her up properly.

"Take her," you say through a sob. "I can't. I can't fucking do this."

Words leave his mouth but don't quite hit your ears. They're ringing much too loud for you to pay attention to anything other than the dread eating through your stomach.

Your tears don't stop when you leave the living room, or the house for that matter. Cool air teases the still wet streaks on your face, and with your hands free you can finally wipe them clean, though it doesn't make you feel any better. The backyard looks strange at night without any lights to illuminate it, and maybe you would feel creeped out or even scared if you could find it within you to even care about yourself in that moment.

When your legs can no longer carry you, you find yourself in the grass. Perfectly manicured and kept, it makes the perfect surface for you to sit on while you sob into your hands, powerless to do anything else. Something is wrong with you. There has to be. You couldn't comfort your daughter, couldn't get her to feed, couldn't do anything but hold her and pray it would all stop.

You aren't sure what time it is when you hear footsteps approaching behind you, but you don't have to turn around to know it's John. Tears have stopped pouring down your cheeks but your sobs still shake your body. John settles on the grass next to you, and you don't bother fighting against him as he pulls you into his lap.

You want to find comfort in his arms, in the way his hands rub long stripes along your back, but deep down you know you're not worth it. A pathetic excuse for a mother, you couldn't even calm his child before he got home from a long night at work.

"What's goin' on, love?" he prompts after a while.

It takes you a moment to find your words, and an even longer time before you can stop crying long enough to get any of them out. Still, John is patient with you, and he continues to rock and hold you, comforting you in the way you couldn't comfort your child.

"I wish I was a good mother," you cried, shamefully burying your face into his neck. "I can't get her to stop crying, she won't feed- nothing I do works. I'm sorry, I just can't, I don't know what to do."

John's grip on you grows tighter as you speak, and you focus on the way his thudding heart quickens at your words. One of his hands moves to the back of your head where he holds you even closer as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

"It's not your fault," he assures softly.

"It is!" you retort. "I can't bond with her, it's like she hates me. And I'm trying so hard but I can't get through to her..."

"Darling, she's just colicky, it's not your fault," he insists.

But you can't stop crying. There's a pit of hopelessness eating you from the inside out, and the pain turns your sobs into pathetic squeaks that shatters John's heart. He gently pries you away from his chest, cotton soaked and darkened from your tears, and cradles your cheeks in his hands.

"Look at me, hey," he whispers, guiding you to look at him. "You are raising a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Our baby. Sure, she's going through a fussy streak, but that's got nothin' to do with you. It's just colic, love. She'll get through it. We'll get through it."

It's difficult to agree with him, to believe him, and your confirmation feels empty in your throat when you speak. But he's looking at you with such love, like you hung the stars or...

Or like you gave him a child.

That night, John tucks you into bed and if the baby cries, you don't hear her. He spends the night tucked away in the living room on the couch, flipping through channels on the screen while shushing his fussy daughter. Her sobs had turned into heart wrenching whimpers by that point, which isn't great but is better than nothing.

When morning comes and the dull dawn light illuminates the room, John shoves his hand into his pocket and fishes out his phone. It's nearly dead since he had been on it half the night at work and didn't have the chance to charge it when he got home, but it has enough juice for him to make a quick call.

The dial tone is loud in his ear, and his daughter lets out a small whine before quickly settling down again. Simon's voice on the other end is groggy and harsh like he has gravel stuck in his vocal chords.

"Takin' the piss outta me calling me this early in the mornin' Price," he grumbles.

"You can get your beauty rest later. I need a favor," John says, ensuring that his voice stays low so as to not stir the baby. "I need some time off."

"Time off?" Simon repeats. "From the family?"

"My girls need me."

Silence fills the line. There's the slight sound of rustling, like someone's moving sheets or a duvet.

"Take care of 'em. I'll keep your boys in line," Simon replies.

There's nothing more to say after that besides a quick thanks, and as soon as the line cuts, the baby decides she isn't quite done crying yet. John shushes her as he rocks her and sits forward in his seat, pushing himself to his feet shortly after.

"Time for breakfast, is it?" he asks. Despite the sheer exhaustion that rattles his bones, he still smiles down at his daughter even though her face is too twisted with her cries to see it. "Alright sweetie, it's okay. Papa's gonna fix you something to eat."

#mafia!price #mafia!141 #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader

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notmyneighbor · 4 months

Text

resistance | doppel francis x female reader

part 2/?

words | 5.3k

cw | explicit sexual content

ao3 link

taglist | @jazminetoad @uhnanix @fangwh0r3 @zenxvii @mistrosa

You don’t sleep much that first evening with the doppelganger in the next room.

You glare at the alarm clock and shut it off before it has a chance to sound the next morning. Might as well start getting ready for work. You enter the shower before the water has a chance to run warm, thinking maybe the shock of the cold will make you feel more alert. After that brisk cleansing you return to your bedroom, glancing down the hall on the way by, clutching your bath towel tightly around you, but you don’t hear your guest stirring yet.

You get dressed—deciding on a dress today, might as well start with the summer wardrobe now—then prod your skin as you frown at your appearance in the mirror. You’ve got bags under your eyes to match Francis’ this morning. Well, you’d just have to hope the puffiness would resolve later. Concealer will have to do for now.

The replicant seems to have had no such trouble sleeping, you discover as you enter the living room. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling evenly in a slow, gentle rhythm, one arm draped lazily over the side of the couch, fingers brushing the floor, blanket in a rumpled mess across his midsection. You’d never guess in a million years that this slumbering person was really a doppelganger, a monster hiding inside the disguise of a man.

You begin making a quick breakfast in the kitchen, starting with the coffee maker. It isn’t long before your new roommate appears in the doorway, blinking drowsily and digging the heel of one hand against his eyes. It’s such an oddly human gesture. So…normal.

“Good morning.” You’ve finished pressing the paper filter into the machine, spooning a heap of coffee grounds inside, the water already measured and poured and the glass pot sitting on the burner. You normally only make a single cup for yourself, and you’ve no idea if the doppel will be interested, but you decide you’ll make it and offer it anyway.

“Mmmm,” he hums, dragging a hand through his mussed hair. You wonder if any of these mannerisms belong to Francis. Just exactly how much are these doppels able to replicate?

“You didn’t have to get up this early. I just have to go to work.” You point to the coffee maker. “Want a cup?”

“I guess. I’ve never had it before.”

You get another mug down from the cupboard, drumming your nails nervously on the counter while you wait. Francis’ clone is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching you, and it’s making you feel self conscious. You try not to stare too much at all that bare skin he’s flashing.

At last the machine hisses and sputters and begins dripping brown liquid and the aroma of brewing coffee fills the air.

“That smells good,” he murmurs.

You fill his mug three quarters full. “I don’t know how you take it. I mean, you don’t either, obviously, if you’ve never had it before.” You add a spoonful of sugar and pour some cream in and stir, handing the mug to the doppel.

He takes a tentative sip. “Bitter,” he says. “And hot.”

“More sugar, then. You’ve got a sweet tooth, I think. And let it cool for a minute before you take another sip.”

He frowns over the term you’ve used and you elaborate. “It means you favor things that are sweet. Prefer them.”

“Mmmm.” He still looks drowsy. It’s amazing how much he sounds like his human counterpart. Francis Mosses was a man of few words. Stop comparing him to Francis. To humans. He’s neither, you remind yourself.

“Have a seat at the table. It’s just going to be cereal and toast, I’m afraid. I don’t typically cook before work.”

You watch the imposter milkman slouch into the same chair he’d used the previous evening. How strange it was to see a man occupying your kitchen like this. Well, not a man; a male, you suppose, recalling your silent reprimand from moments before. Dropping down, spreading out. He takes up room, the way only one of that gender can. Dominating. The table looks so much smaller with him sitting at it, elbows resting on the Formica table until he moves one arm to lazily scratch at some itch on his chest, the thin white shirt rumpling and shifting. Speaking of clothing…

“I’ll try to find you something else to wear this weekend. I checked the tags on your uniform already. Washed in the sink and hung up to dry in the bathroom. I know it’s not ideal, but for now…”

“Thank you.”

You fill two bowls with cereal and add milk, cutting up the last of the strawberries from the pint in the refrigerator and slotting another pair of bread slices into the toaster after the first set is finished and buttered, setting everything in front of the doppel, along with a spoon and a much sweeter cup of coffee. He takes another hesitant sip, then nods. “Better.”

“There’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. Or you can make a sandwich.” You’re not sure if he even knows what that is. You suppose it’s a little cruel to make him eat the remains of last night’s dinner cold, but there’s no way you’re letting him use the oven.

The doppelganger eyes the red seeded fruit sliced over his cereal curiously, lifting one free and munching thoughtfully. He hums appreciatively and you add that to your mental list of things he likes. Why does it matter what he likes?

You finally join him at the table, the rest of your meal ready. “What are you going to do all day?”

“I don’t know yet. Just lay low and wait for you to return, I suppose.”

“And then what?”

He’s making short work of the cereal, you notice. Toast, too. Maybe you should offer more. Maybe he needs larger portions. Why are you being so hospitable?

“Then you teach me another recipe.”

“Alright.” You take a bite of buttered toast.

“No vegetables,” he adds.

You smile softly. “They’re good for you. Maybe we can find some you’ll like.”

“Then more cake?” He sounds hopeful.

“It’s gone, but we can bake something else. I only made a small one because I wasn’t expecting company.”

He nods, finishing the rest of his coffee.

You fiddle with the handle of your spoon, trying to think of something else to say. “Were there other doppels there with you? Inside the DDD building?”

“Not that I’m aware. I wasn’t looking, though. I just got out.”

“Did you kill the men?”

He lets his utensil drop, striking the side of the now empty ceramic bowl loudly. “What do you think?”

You lower your eyes. It had been easy to pretend, for a moment there, that he was peaceful. That this was normal. How convincing and manipulative these beings are, you think. How terrible.

“What would you have had me do? I didn’t ask to be taken.”

“I know,” you mumble, wishing you hadn’t mentioned the topic to begin with.

The remainder of breakfast continues in silence. You bring the soiled cups and dishes to the sink, glancing at the clock on the wall. Definitely time to leave for work. You’re running a bit behind, actually. You’re not used to having a second person here to wait on, doing double of everything. The doppelganger follows you to the front door.

“I’ll be home around five, if there isn’t too much paperwork. I’m not planning on staying as late as I did yesterday.”

“Imagine if you hadn’t. Then I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m sure you’re wishing now that you’d left sooner.” There’s a layer of acidity there that he doesn’t bother masking.

Your eyes meet his. “You murder humans. Eat us. How else do you expect me to react?”

“Your kind slaughters animals. Do they deserve it?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Animals are bred to be consumed, for us to survive…”

“And do they not deserve a chance to survive? Do they not have a right to exist as much as you? Don’t answer, because I can see it clearly. You think they’re of lesser value than humans. Just like the doppels.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” the mimic retorts bitterly.

“Listen. I don’t know how long you’re going to be hiding out here, but I’ve been trying to be kind to you, accommodate you, and it would be nice if you could return the favor.”

The replicant’s hands, curled into fists, abruptly relax. “I’ve been trying,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Try harder. I’m leaving now. Remember not to make too much noise. Don’t go outside. I can’t be held responsible for what’ll happen if you do.” You shut the door behind you with more force than necessary, realizing your hands are shaking. Infuriating, how judgmental the copycat is. As if he had any right to be, when he’s imposing on you, putting your life at risk.

You’re mad at yourself, because there were moments, last night and again this morning, where you had found yourself enjoying his company, and that admission is something you can’t bare to fully face and analyze the implications of right now.

***

Your shift passes by without a single mention of the doppelganger’s escape the previous evening.

Indeed, if you didn’t know any better, you’d never have guessed anything had happened. The guards still nod courteously as you flash your badge before entering the facility. The standard pair, no additional forces in sight. Everyone else in the office seems calm, focused on their work.

You struggle to feel the same way. There’s a fugitive doppelganger waiting for you when you get home. You can’t stop thinking about him. About your last conversation. He’d been upset. You had, too. You’re not sure if he’ll have cooled off by the time you return.

You try to ask casually in the breakroom if anything interesting had made the news, if anything new was happening at work, but no one provides the information you’re feeling around for. So the story was kept secret, then. Too risky for the DDD to admit they’d lost a captive doppel. Maybe too difficult to explain why he was there in the first place.

Why had they taken him? Why did they alter his memories? Were there other doppels here, too? Being captured and experimented on? To what end?

Your fingers stumble on the typewriter’s keys. You’ve made so many errors today. The wastebin is loaded with crumpled drafts. You find your mind wandering again, your fingers stilling completely. You don’t even hear the phone on the first ring, relying on successive attempts to finally break through your reverie.

You’re no nearer any answers to your questions by the end of your shift. You just find yourself asking more and more. Spreading and multiplying, virus-like. Replicating like the doppels.

The trip to your car is uneventful tonight. Now you’re headed back to the apartment building. To the fugitive you’re concealing.

There’s a doppelganger in your home, and you’re not nearly as upset about that fact as you should be.

***

The day drags by.

The doppelganger isn’t sure what to do once he’s showered and dressed in clothes that are still a little damp, truth be told. The television that humans seem so fascinated with holds no interest for him. He paces the hallway and tries to plan his next course of action. He’s escaped, a free agent, but he’s left without intact memories. He’s not sure if there’s any way to recover them, but if there is, the DDD is the only means to that end.

He can hardly stroll back inside to inquire. Which means possibly putting you to work, seeing what you can discover. Risky, of course. Just like you allowing him to stay here is risky.

He’d been harsh with you that morning. He doesn’t regret it, exactly; he thinks you needed to hear the words, realize the truth behind them. But he’d rather not have had you depart immediately after the argument. It makes him feel…something. He’s not sure what. You make him feel a lot of things he’s not familiar with; has no terminology, lacks definitions for.

He knows he’s been forbidden to enter your bedroom, but he feels that is meant more for when you’re present, for privacy’s sake, so he finally enters in the early afternoon, partly out of boredom, partly out of curiosity. The dresser is littered with objects. A tray full of jewelry, a decoration that baffles the mimic nearly as much as the makeup you wear. There are bottles of various perfumes that he samples, finding most of them to his liking. It reminds him strongly of you, your presence, and he wishes you were home, instead of in that wretched DDD structure.

A wooden hairbrush, the bristles stiff but soft, several threads of your hair visible between them. He watches the way the light filtering in through the windows catches on the strands, turning the handle this way and that. He knows the feel of it, having touched you however briefly the previous evening, securing the loose hair that had spilled free. Silky soft, and fragrant.

Your robe hangs on a hook over the closet door. The doppel takes a handful, lets the fabric brush his injured cheek, inhaling your scent. He knows he’ll also find it in the pillows on the bed, but he doesn’t dare disturb that neatly made furnishing, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

There is not much else that interests him in your home; little to occupy his time with. He rifles through the mirrored medicine cabinet. A razor. Something he doesn’t require, as his appearance is all an illusion. His face will never grow hair, because Francis Mosses does not have facial hair. He will never need the tousled brown mane to be trimmed, because the length it is at is exactly the same length as the milkman’s. His eyes will always appear tired, because the third floor resident he’s cloned has perpetual smudges beneath his own orbs. The doppelganger stares at his reflection, and for a brief moment, he lets the image shift slightly. The teeth sharpen and yellow, the eyes streak with burst vessels, the lids become red rimmed. You would not care for his real appearance, he is certain.

The milkman’s image is restored. He wanders back to the living room to sit on the couch, waiting for your return.

***

You unlock your apartment door and ease it open, seeing that Francis’ clone is seated on the couch. No disasters, then.

You hurriedly shut and lock the door behind you, stepping forward just as the doppelganger rises and moves toward you. Your handbag is set on the console table.

“How was your day?” The morning’s conversation is still fresh in your mind. The anger on both sides. Your tone is cautiously neutral now, trying to feel things out.

“Boring. Lonely.”

You feel a little ache in your chest at this admission. You don’t know what to say. He missed you, specifically, or just didn’t like having no one else around?

“Did anyone mention me at work?”

“No. Not a word. It was just like any other day.”

“Don’t you find that strange?”

“Yes,” you admit. “But that doesn’t necessarily prove anything.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do. I just can’t reconcile that an organization created to protect us would be involved in some sort of devious experiments on the very creatures they’d promised to destroy. I tried to wrap my brain around it all day, and I just couldn’t make it make sense.” You pause. “You’re lonely? Do you have family, or…?”

“Not that I recall. Again, much of my memories are full of holes. This place is empty without you here.”

You swallow, processing that sentiment. So he did miss you. “I don’t want to fight with you,” you say softly.

“I don’t either.”

“Truce?” You hold out your hand and he looks at it curiously. “You shake on it. It’s an agreement. A promise, to keep things peaceful between us going forward.”

“You said never to touch you.”

“I’ll make an exception for this.” His fingers touch yours, threading between them instead of gripping them. “No, it’s meant to be…” Your voice trails off as you stare at that pairing, not drawing back, allowing yourself to be entangled with those warm, human feeling digits. You know they’re not real, and yet they feel it.

“Your heart is beating fast again.”

“I know.” You reluctantly drop your hand. “I should start dinner.”

“We,” he corrects.

“Yes. We.”

***

The doppelganger hadn’t been bragging. He is indeed a fast learner.

Already moving around the kitchen with a comfort and familiarity that’s surprising considering it’s only his second day here.

“You need to crack an egg. You hit it against the side of the bowl, but—” Too late. The doppel smashes the fragile item firmly against the rim and the shell shatters, pieces falling down into the bowl, the yolk running in a slimy trail down the side. “—Not too hard,” you finish, wincing. “It’s okay. We’ll try again. Wash your hands first. I’ll pick out the shell.”

When you’ve finished removing the slivers from the batter as best you can, you select another egg from the carton, handing it to him. “We’ll do this together so you can see how much force to apply. It’s a swift, firm stroke, but very precise, so you’re breaking it open as cleanly as possible to extract what’s inside.” Your hand covers his poised near the rim of the bowl. “Like this.” You guide his hand downward. There is a soft cracking sound, and then you maneuver his hand over the mixture. “Release, gently.” You feel his fingers shift and the jellylike yellow center drops down, the clear, sticky protein filled fluid oozing just behind. “Perfect. You’ve got it.” You smile, turning to face the doppel, and your breath hitches. He’s staring, not at the food he’s preparing with your aid, but at your face, with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Rich milk chocolate eyes, a delicate fringe of lashes on their borders. Full lips slightly parted, breath rushing past. In and out. His hand is so warm.

“You can…you can just drop that into the wastebasket.” You force yourself to release his hand and he obeys your command, the moment dissipating.

***

After dinner and dessert, you both sit on the couch. The television is playing softly in the background but neither of you is paying attention to it.

He’s staring at you again. You can feel it. You change positions and squirm, trying to relax and get comfortable, but it’s impossible. He’d slept here last night. His head cradled right where you’re sitting. Sprawled out. Growing warm during the evening, shoving the blanket down. Long limbs shifting.

You clear your throat. You have to stop thinking these thoughts. “Why don’t we play cards?”

Francis’ clone looks at you quizzically and you jump up, grateful to be kept busy for a few moments, distracting you from the copycat’s gaze as you rummage in the tv cabinet to retrieve a deck. You don’t play often, just an occasional game of Solitaire, but you think the imposter just might enjoy something like Crazy Eights.

“Come with me into the kitchen. We need a flat surface for this.”

You sit at the table and the doppel joins you, watching as you slide the deck free of its container and begin shuffling the cards, dividing the stack and then fanning the edges, then sliding them back together. “Want to try?”

He nods and you guide him through the process. He gets it right on the second attempt, his fingers deftly interweaving the cards.

“Good. Now the game we’re going to play is called Crazy Eights. The goal is to get rid of all the cards in your hand. The first person to do so wins the game. To begin with, we each get five cards.” You deal them out, continuing your instructions. “Leave them facedown for a second. The rest of the deck gets placed here. Top card flipped…okay. Three of spades. That means that if it was your turn right now, you’d need to play another card that is either the same suit, matching this symbol here, or else has the equivalent number value. If you don’t have either of those available, you must keep drawing from this pile here until you find one you can play. With me so far?” He nods. “Now the only other thing you need to know is that the cards with the number eight on them are special. If you place one down, you’re able to declare what suit you want your opponent to play next. We’ll just do a practice run so you can see how it goes, then we can play for real.”

It doesn’t take the doppel long to figure it out. He’s smart, you think. Really clever. Adaptable.

He has to be, you remind yourself silently. That’s how they survive.

You play two rounds, then switch to Rummy, then Spades, then show him Solitaire, something to keep him occupied while you’re at work. You try to conceal a few yawns and the doppel notices.

“You’re tired.”

“It’s been a long day. And I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Because of me.”

“I was nervous.”

“Are you still nervous?”

Yes, you think. But for very different reasons now. Aloud, you simply state that you are.

You place the cards back in the box and leave it on the table. It was time to get ready for bed.

***

The doppelganger makes up the couch while you take your shower.

It’s a simple task that leaves him wanting for things to do to keep him occupied while he waits. His eyes keep glancing to the hallway.

He’s thinking of how it had felt, threading his fingers through yours. Having you hold his when you’d been cooking together. He’s enjoyed this evening with you. You’re the enemy, the one he’s meant to destroy, to conquer, and yet…he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to harm you.

Francis’ clone sits and then stands again. He can’t. He simply can’t tolerate waiting here. He walks down the hall, waiting beside the bathroom door, listening for the sound of the water running, waiting for it to stop. There. Some rustling. Drying off. The sound of the lock turning, and you emerge, looking startled to find him standing right outside.

“Francis.”

He feels odd when you say that name. Partly pleased, because it means he is convincing as the true man. Perhaps a little jealous, too. He wonders if you find the original attractive. A little flare of jealousy at this. He wants to be the superior version. The preferred model.

“I’ve already made the couch up.”

“Oh. Good.” You adjust the height of the bath towel wrapped around you a little higher, concealing more of the curves of your breasts. “Well, I’m finished in the bathroom, so I guess I’ll say goodnight now then.”

“Goodnight,” he says, reluctantly stepping aside to allow you to cross the hall. The bedroom door closes. He stares at that door for a long time, imagining you preparing for bed, your body naked before…

No interest in anything of that sort, isn’t that what he’d promised you? So why is his body reacting this way? The replicant strips and enters the shower, still damp from your recent one, and each stroke of lathered hands over his skin seems a cruel tease, an unsatisfying supplement for what he really wants. He wants your hands touching him, especially…

His breath hitches as he strokes his growing erection. Here. Urging to mate. Sensitive, hot, flushed, hard. Your pleased smile when he does something correctly, the lesson learned. The lines of bone leading to your shoulders, visible even earlier, in the v neckline of the dress you’d worn. Just now, those shoulders bare.

He presses his palms against the wall of the shower, head bowed, letting the water cascade over the nape of his neck. Those lips. He covets those most of all. Those soft looking, pink wedges of flesh. Gates to the warmth and moisture within.

He leaves the shower, aching, unsatisfied. Brushes his teeth like you’d demonstrated. He doesn’t care for the mint flavor, but he does like the clean sensation in his mouth. Combs through his hair. Thinks about you brushing through yours. Those silky strands. Torment.

The mimic returns to the living room, switching off the lamp as he goes. He can find his way in the dark now. He lies down and crosses his ankles, staring up at the void, the blanket shoved at the other end of the couch by his feet. He’s only wearing the briefs. He’s too warm. He shuts his eyes and they snap back open.

You hadn’t locked your bedroom door.

***

You didn’t lock your bedroom door.

You’re thinking this after you’ve gone to bed, lying there suddenly not able to sleep, in spite of how tired you are.

You’re not even sure if leaving the door unlocked was intentional, that’s the crazy part.

Perhaps some part of your subconscious had been at work, providing opportunity, should the doppel be interested.

Be interested in what? You know. Of course you know.

You rest a hand on your chest and feel how hard your heart is pounding. He surely hears it. How can he hear it?

The sound of the doorknob turning makes you hold your breath. You close your eyes and try to keep still. Pretending to be asleep.

A slight creak as the door opens, a click as it shuts. Bare feet sinking into plush carpet. Pausing by the side of the bed. You know he’s there, even with your eyes closed.

“I know you’re awake,” he says softly. “Your heart wouldn’t be beating that fast if you were sleeping.”

“It might if I was having a nightmare.” You can’t help but try to defend yourself just a little. One last measure of resistance before surrendering to the inevitable.

“Is this a nightmare, do you think?”

“No.” You sit up, easing your legs over the side of the mattress. Pushing yourself to your feet. He’s right there. Beside you. You can feel the heat wafting from him.

Your hand reaches out blindly, finding his. Fingers tangling together in the darkness. “Touch me, Francis.”

“I’m not supposed to touch you, remember?”

“You’re not supposed to come in my room, either.”

You can picture him smiling at that, a little smirk. “You left the door unlocked.”

“It was an accident.”

“Was it?” His index finger slides along yours.

“No. It wasn’t.” You turn and his hand shifts, reaching up blindly to sink in your hair, his fingers trailing down your cheek and stroking your jaw. They define collarbone and shoulder and then curve around one breast. Down to your hip and then you take control of his hand again, guiding it beneath the waistband of your satin pajama bottoms.

You whimper, biting your lip when he first grazes your sex.

“No panties. Did you forget those, too? Another accident?” His fingers glide between your lips and you gasp.

“No. Not an accident.”

“You want this.”

“I do. I do want this, Francis. Oh…” He’s brought the dewy slick of your arousal back to your bud, drawing a circle, teasing the hardening flesh out of its hood.

His nose bumps your cheek, trying to find your mouth in the darkness. There. Your stomach somersaults as his lips crush against yours. He moans at that touch and you think it is the most sensual thing you’ve ever heard. Just absolute helpless pleasure and desire. You can taste your toothpaste as he strokes your tongue. Another stomach flip at this sensation. Your nails dig into this shoulder. He’s still massaging your clit as he explores your mouth, until it makes you quiver too much and you sink back onto the bed, reaching for him, urging him to follow.

You feel the weight of his knees pressing on the mattress, sinking down, braced on either side of you. Hands reaching beneath your top to massage your breasts as you struggle to get your pajama bottoms off, lifting your hips and scraping them down over your buttocks. Francis’ clone tries to help, still kissing you, still trying to explore your body while helping divest you of your clothes, everything made more complicated because neither of you has turned on a light. You laugh a little at the absurdity of it and he pauses midway through tossing aside the top you’ve finally removed in a joint venture, the bottoms already shed.

“What’s amusing?”

“Just…doing this in the dark. You can put the light on, you know.”

“But that would mean moving away from you,” he counters. He’s at your throat now, planting wet kisses there. “Besides, I don’t even know where it is. You shouldn’t have worn something so complicated. What you had on last night would have been much easier to remove.”

“You’re right.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He reaches for your hand, laying it on his chest and pushing down. You feel the lean torso of the imposter milkman, the slightly coarse texture from body hair between his pectoral muscles and then again leading down in a stripe to the waistband of his briefs. He keeps pushing, at a slower pace now, and you feel his prick tenting his briefs, hard and demanding, and a little damp spot of pre cum saturating the fabric.

Another moan of sound. You move back to the elastic band and help him shove the underwear down over his hips. Not much past that level, but you don’t think it matters, because you’re both too impatient now. Your legs are spread and he’s found his way between them, sliding his erection across your mound, over your sensitive nub and down to your entrance.

He begins to thrust inside and you drag in a harsh rasp of air at that feeling of being stretched, filled. The doppel leans and pushes further in, down and down until he’s fully buried inside and his mouth is back on yours, his fingers lacing through the hand you have resting limp somewhere near your face.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips lifting slightly, cock easing out before he pushes back inside.

“Where did you learn that word?”

“Where do you think?” He nips at your ear.

“I never taught you that.”

“No. I don’t know where I heard it. But it seems appropriate. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking,” he pants beside your ear after another several thrusts. “Mating. Breeding…”

“Francis,” you gasp, both at his words and the sensation as he pumps in and out of your pussy.

“You feel so good,” he sighs, nuzzling your cheek. “So warm, so tight, so wet…hungry for me, hmm? What a pretty thing you are, so sweet…” His voice fades as he begins pounding into you in earnest, setting a more rapid, intense rhythm. Your pelvis rolls to meet him, knees digging into his ribs. You suck his bottom lip and squeeze the hand that you’re clutching, urging him on. He tastes like salt now, perspiration mixed with soap and musk all lingering at his brow, his cheek, the side of his throat.

Everything is growing tighter inside you, coiling, pressure building. Your bodies slap wetly together and he batters that special aching spot deep inside. He breathes your name and it sounds reverent. Overwhelmed. Back to cursing, primitive and filthy and vulgar, and you drink it from his lips, whisper it back to him. There. It’s happening. Unwinding and shattering around him, becoming boneless, soft, limp as the echoes wrack your limbs, waves that drag at the cock invading you, pulling him under with you, spilling seed, breath hotly huffed above your lips, a little noise of wonder, a groan, the fingers tightening in yours, holding on to you, keeping anchored, until he finally slips free, drops next to you, wet and panting, still tethered to your hand, in the darkness.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #that’s not my neighbor #milkman x reader #milkman x you #the milkman #tnmn francis mosses #tnmn smut #francis mosses tnmn #doppelganger francis mosses #doppel francis #francis tnmn #francis mosses smut

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agirlnamedelia · 1 month

Text

The Perfect Gift || Katsuki x Reader

Genre: fluff Pairing: Katsuki x FEM!Reader Synopsis: Your rich billionaire sugar daddy always bought you what you want and what you need. However its his birthday, how could you ever compete with the gifts he had given you.

You paced back and forth in the living room, biting your lip in frustration. Bakugou’s birthday was just around the corner, and you still had no idea what to get him. It wasn’t like he needed anything; he was rich, powerful, and could buy whatever he wanted at the snap of his fingers. What could you possibly give to someone who had everything?

As you stared blankly at your laptop screen, which was currently open to a gift ideas website, you sighed. You had gone through dozens of pages, looking for something—anything—that might be worthy of Bakugou. You knew he wasn’t big on material gifts, and he’d probably scoff at anything too fancy or overly sentimental.

“Ugh, this is impossible,” you groaned, leaning back on the couch and rubbing your temples. The pressure was on, and you were feeling it hard. Every year, Bakugou went all out on your birthday, surprising you with the most thoughtful gifts and extravagant experiences. And every time, you were left in awe of how well he knew you, how much he cared. Now, it was your turn to show him how much he meant to you, and you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You glanced over at the clock—only a few days left. “Think, Y/n, think,” you muttered to yourself. What did Bakugou like? What did he need?

Suddenly, an idea struck you. He might not need anything material, but maybe he could use something from the heart. Something personal and meaningful. With renewed determination, you grabbed your phone and started making a list of ideas, brainstorming anything that might bring a genuine smile to his face.

The next few days flew by in a whirlwind of preparation. You spent hours working on your gift, making sure every detail was perfect. It was a labor of love, and though you were nervous, you were also excited to see his reaction.

Finally, the day of Bakugou’s birthday arrived. He had planned a small gathering with a few close friends at his favorite restaurant, and you spent most of the evening by his side, enjoying the laughter and good company. But as the night wore on, you could feel your nerves starting to creep back in.

After the cake was cut and everyone had sung a boisterous rendition of “Happy Birthday,” the group started to disperse. Bakugou wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Ready to head out, or you wanna stick around a bit longer?”

You smiled up at him, trying to mask your anxiety. “I’m ready whenever you are. But, um, before we go… I have something for you.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, his expression softening. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “It’s just… well, it’s not much, but I wanted to give you something special. Can we, um, go somewhere private?”

His curiosity piqued, Bakugou nodded, leading you out of the restaurant and into a quieter part of the nearby park. The cool night air was refreshing, and the soft glow of the streetlights created a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

You took a deep breath, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small, wrapped box. “I know it’s not fancy or anything, but I wanted to give you something that… that shows how much you mean to me.”

Bakugou took the box, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know. I’m not big on gifts.”

“I know,” you said quickly, wringing your hands nervously. “But this isn’t just a gift. It’s… well, just open it.”

With a grunt, Bakugou carefully unwrapped the box, lifting the lid to reveal a small, handmade photo album. His brow furrowed as he opened it, flipping through the pages. Each page was filled with pictures of the two of you together, from your first date to the countless adventures you had shared over the past year.

But it wasn’t just photos. Alongside each picture, you had written little notes, recounting your favorite memories, the silly jokes you shared, the moments that had made you fall in love with him all over again.

Bakugou’s eyes softened as he read through your words, his lips quirking into a small smile. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just taking in each page, each memory.

Finally, he looked up at you, his expression unreadable. “You made this?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. I wanted to give you something that… that showed you how much I care. I know you don’t need anything, but I thought maybe you’d like to have something to look back on, you know? Something to remind you of all the good times we’ve had.”

Bakugou stared at you for a moment, his gaze intense. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair. “Dumbass,�� he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden affection. “I-I wanted to,” you stammered, hugging him back. “You do so much for me, and I wanted to do something for you, too. I know it’s not much, but—”

Bakugou cut you off with a soft kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a long, sweet moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were softer than you had ever seen them. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “Thank you.”

A relieved smile spread across your face, your heart swelling with happiness. “Really? You like it?”

He nodded, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Yeah, I do. More than you know.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the quiet comfort of the night. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, the anxiety and worry melting away in the warmth of Bakugou’s embrace.

As you leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you realized that you didn’t need to stress so much about finding the perfect gift. What mattered most was the love and thought behind it, and Bakugou had shown you that in his own way.

With a content sigh, you snuggled closer to him, closing your eyes. “Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Best damn birthday I’ve ever had, thanks to you.”

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allgoodnamesrgoneee · 3 months

Note

Hmm I’ll just request (please make this long and in depth) of like it being Kylians birthday and readers never had a birthday or anything and makes him like the coolest gifts like a shirt with him and the eiffel tower on it and a bunch of cool diys and her being shy and embarrassed and him just being so shocked that she made him something and thinking its so cool. Can we please get Kylians pov too and him telling his family about the gifts and the reader also getting him some luxury stuff too

You got it😉

Birthday Boy

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You surprise Kylian for his birthday.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 2k

Warnings! FLUFF, birthday boyy, cute reader, insecurities, the request basically covers the rest,

Fuck.

You weren't ready for this.

You're really not ready for this. You don't know how to do any of this. But it was his birthday, and you knew he would be upset if you didn't get him anything. He deserves something special though.

You're standing in his apartment, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You have no idea what time he's going to be home from training, but it couldn't be too long now.

You have a few gifts for him, and you're really proud of them. Well, proud wasn't exactly the word. Nervous was more like it. He might hate them, and that would be really embarrassing.

You looked at the clock on the wall and gasp when you realized what the time was. He's going to be home any minute now. You quickly run to the kitchen, hiding behind the counter with all of his gifts on it. You hold your breath and hope that you won't make a fool of yourself.

You heard the door open and his footsteps as he walks into the living room. You slowly peer around the corner and see him looking at you in confusion.

“Hey, are you alright? Why are you hiding behind the counter?” he asks, walking towards you.

You blush and look down, playing with the hem of your shirt again. “Happy B-Birthday! I-I got you some gifts,” you stammer out, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably.

He looks at you in surprise, face lighting up in excitement. “You got me presents?!” he exclaims, running to you and pulling you out from behind the counter.

He spins you around so you're facing him and then pulls you into a hug, lifting you off the ground. “Thank you, trésor,” he whispers in your ear.

You blush and smile shyly, hugging him back.

He sets you back on your feet and pulls away slightly to look at you. “Why are you blushing so much?” he asks, a smile on his lips.

You bite your lip and look away from him. “I just don't know if you're going to like them,” you mumble, looking down at your feet. You look up to see him looking at you curiously.

“What makes you think I won't like them?” he asks, looking confused.

“I-I don't know,” you reply, looking back down at your feet. “Well, they're not that expensive or anything. So you might not like them.”

He laughs, a soft smile on his face. “That doesn't matter at all,” he says, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards the counter. He lets go of your hand and pulls all the gifts over in front of you. “Tell me about these,” he asks, sitting down at the counter and gesturing for you to sit next to him. You do as he says, biting your lip.

He picks up the first gift, which is wrapped in green wrapping paper. “This one is just some candy,” you mumble, watching him tear the paper off. He opens the box and smiles widely when he sees the chocolate inside.

“Mmm, I love chocolate,” he says, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth.

Next he picks up a small, blue box. “This is some new headphones,” you explain, watching as he opens the box and pulls out the headphones.

“Cool, I needed some new ones,” he replies, putting them on and fiddling with them for a second. “I love them!” he exclaims, smiling at you.

You bite your lip again as he reaches for the final gift, which is a small, white box. He opens it and pulls out a shirt. His eyes widen when he sees what's on it, and he looks at you in shock.

“You made this?” he asks, staring at the shirt in disbelief.

You nod your head shyly, biting your lip. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble.

He holds the shirt up and smiles, looking at the drawing on it. He'd drawn a picture of him and the Eiffel tower in the background. The picture had 'Happy Birthday' written above it in swirly letters.

“Trésor, I love it,” he whispers, looking at you in awe. “Can I wear it now?”

You nod your head excitedly, watching as he pulls off his shirt and puts on the new one. He turns around to face you and smiles. You blush and look away from him, fidgeting with your hands. He walks towards you and lifts your chin up with his hand so that you're looking at him.

“I love it,” he repeats. “Thank you.”

You bite your lip and smile shyly, nodding your head.

He pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead. “Thank you so much, trésor,” he whispers in your ear.

You blush and hug him back, smiling. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, and you have to suppress a sigh. He smells amazing. He always smells amazing. Like home. Like a warm hug on a cold day. You love how he smells.

He pulls away from you slightly and kisses your lips softly. “I'll be right back, I need to call my family,” he says, kissing your lips again before turning and walking towards the couch.

You watch him go, biting your lip and blushing. You turn and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge and sitting at the counter to drink it. You look out the window, watching as the sun sets behind the Eiffel tower in the distance. You sigh happily, smiling. It's so pretty. You could get used to seeing that every night.

Kylian sits on the couch, watching as you drink your water. He can't help but smile as he watches you. you are so cute. He looks down at the shirt he's wearing and his heart flutters. It was so adorable. He had never met anyone who could draw as well as you could. It was perfect.

He pulls out his phone and dials Ethan's number, waiting for him to answer. He picks up on the first ring. "Happy birthday, bro!" Ethan exclaims.

Kylian laughs and leans back against the couch. "Merci, merci. Where's mom? I tried calling her earlier but she didn't answer." he asks. It hurt him not to spend his birthday with his family this year.

He's been so busy lately that he's barely had time for anything but football. He was starting to get homesick. Which is why he's so grateful for you. You keep him company and keep his mind off of missing his family.

"She's right here, I'll go get her. So how did you celebrate your birthday?" Ethan asks, sounding excited.

Kylian smiles and looks over at you. "I haven't yet," he replies, watching as you stand up and walk towards the kitchen. "But Y/N got me some amazing gifts. I'm so happy."

Ethan laughs on the other end of the line. "Aww, that's so sweet! What did she get you?"

Kylian grins as he tells Ethan about all the gifts you got him. He can hear his brother making sounds of amazement and excitement as he talks. "And then there was this one shirt," Kylian starts. "She made it herself."

"Wait, what? That's awesome!" Ethan exclaims. "Show me."

Kylian laughs and places the phone on the coffe table, standing up to show Ethan the shirt. He hears Ethan gasp in surprise and smile. "Wow, she really made that?"

"Yeah, I know," Kylian says, sitting back down on the couch. "It's amazing."

He hears Ethan laugh. "She's so cute! You should propose to her already!"

Kylian laughs. "Ethan, she's been my girlfriend for like eight months," he replies. "I'm not proposing yet."

"Aww, come on," Ethan pouts. "You know you want to."

Kylian sighs and rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he replies, laughing.

His mother's figure approches the phone. "Is that Kylian I hear?"

He grins. "Oui, maman," he replies, eyes tearing up slightly at the sight of her. He misses her so much.

She smiles widely. "Bonjour, mon amour," she says, leaning forward so that he can see her better.

He smiles at her and reaches out to touch the screen. "Bonjour, maman," he repeats, voice shaking slightly.

His mother's smile falters for a second when she sees his face, and then it's back to normal. "Are you okay, baby?" she asks.

Kylian nods his head. "Oui, I'm fine. Just a bit homesick," he explains. "But Y/N is keeping me company and making sure I don't miss you guys too much."

His mom nods her head. "Oh good, I'm glad she's there for you," she says. "How was your day? Did you have any fun?" she asks, smiling.

"Not really," he replies, sighing. "We were training all day, and it was exhausting. I'm glad it's finally over and I get a break. But Y/N got me some amazing gifts," he adds, holding up the shirt. "She made this one herself."

His mom's eyes widen in surprise as she stares at the shirt. "Wow, that's beautiful," she exclaims, smiling. "You must have been a good boyfriend," she teases.

Kylian laughs. "I try my best," he replies, grinning.

His mom laughs. "I know you do, baby. You deserve someone who loves you like that." Kylian nods his head, thinking about you. You do love him. He knows that. It's not hard to tell when you look at him the way you do. And he hopes you never stop. Because he can't imagine living without you.

"I have to go, maman," he says after a few minutes. "But I love you and I'll talk to you later," he adds, smiling.

His mom nods her head and smiles. "I love you too, mon amour," she replies, leaning forward to kiss the screen. Kylian smiles and kisses back before saying goodbye and hanging up.

He looks over at you and smiles when he sees you walking towards him. "I love you," he says as you sit next to him. You blush and smile shyly. "I love you too," you reply. And you do. So much it hurts sometimes. But it's a good kind of hurt. A happy kind of hurt.

And you know you'll never stop loving him. Never stop loving him and cherishing him. He's your everything. Your soulmate. Your heart. And you're his. And that's all that matters. That's all that will ever matter.

"So…How are we celebrating tonight?" He asks you. You smile and shrug. "I don't know, whatever you want to do" you reply. Kylian laughs and pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly. You blush and kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulls away slightly and smiles at you.

"What do you think about going out to eat somewhere nice?" he asks. You shrug and nod your head, smiling.

"I would love to," you reply.

Kylian grins and kisses you again. "Let me call for a reservation," he says, pulling away from you and standing up. You watch as he walks over to the counter and pulls out his phone.

You sit on the couch and wait for him to make the call. You can't help but smile as you listen to him talk. He's so adorable when he's concentrating on something. You lean forward and rest your head on your hands, watching him.

He hangs up a minute later and turns to smile at you. "I got a reservation at a nice restaurant for 8," he says, walking over to you and pulling you to your feet. "So let's get ready," he adds, leading you towards the bedroom.

You smile and follow him, already excited for tonight. You know it will be amazing. Everything is always amazing with Kylian. He always makes sure of it. And he always will. He loves you too much not to. He'll always do anything to make you happy. And you'll do the same for him. Anything to make him happy.

And that's how it should be. That's what love is. It's happiness and smiles and laughter. It's Kylian's arms around you and his lips on yours. It's everything good and pure in the world.

It's all that matters.

It's all you'll ever need.

Kylian.

Forever.

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #football #kylian fanfic #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian x reader #kylian x you #kylian mbappe #kylianmbappé

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jq37 · 3 months

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Would it be possible for you to briefly outline the gist of the Bad Kid’s relationships to each other in terms of individual pairs (i.e. Fig and Kristen, Riz and Fabian, Adaine and Gorgug, etc)? And if that’s too much, maybe specifically the Fig ones (I’m trying to get a sense of her friendships because they are so important to her).

This is SOOOOO late but I didn't have the time to write it when you sent it and then I figured I might as well wait till the end of the season to get a full picture and give the best answer. Hope it was worth the wait!

-----------------

Fig and Fabian: Fig and Fabian are the two that most closely fit the classic "cool kid" archetype (though obviously we know Fig is mainly a big sweetheart and Fabian is a loser no matter how high he rolls). As far back as S1 they were playing the party faces and schmoozing Penelope together. I think their friendship now is exemplified by the fact that when Fabian wanted to threaten his banker, Fig was there as his first mate to help out, no questions asked and no payment required. They're each others, "I can count on you to do this bullshit with me," friends.

Fig and Riz: I think Fig knows she doesn't necessarily have as much in common with Riz naturally as she does with some of her other friends but she obviously respects and deeply cares for him. The main reason she started taking her classes seriously Junior Year is because the whole party passing together was really stressing him out and she spent some of her very limited downtime sending Riz a, "Thinking of you" not to lift his spirits (though she signed it from Gorgug because she can't help being chaotic). Similarly, I think Riz obviously cares a ton for Fig even though he finds 70% of what she does crazy. Think about him following behind her to clean things up as she pretended to be a doctor and had to do surgery in Freshman Year. But I think she's helped him lean into his chaotic side a bit more as well--I always think about their side mission to hell in Soph year and her going, "Hiss at her litigator!" And at the end of Junior Year, he comes to the conclusion of, "I gotta let her do her own thing and not pressure her to live by my standards." So lots of mutual respect.

Fig and Gorgug: Fig and Gorgug have been besties and bandmates since Freshman Year. I've always had the sense that Fig has some big sister style protective feelings towards Gorgug since he's often the gentle giant of the group and this season, she hyped him up a ton with his Barbificer stuff. I would argue that, besides his parents, Fig is Gorgug's biggest cheerleader.

Fig and Adaine: Fig ALSO has sister energy with Adaine but it's less "protective older sister" and more "odd couple playfully clashing". Think them burning spellslots to fight for the best rooms in Mordred in Soph year and Adaine foaming at the mouth to get info about her crush on Ayda. They're living under the same roof so we have to assume they have a lot more interactions that we don't see and I feel like Adaine probably really enjoys that she gets to have closer to a normal sibling relationship with Fig since her blood sister is Aelwyn and that relationship is intense and meaningful but nothing approaching normal. The teasing is there but so is the genuine love--remember how devastated Fig was when Adaine was taken to Falinel in Soph year despite their best efforts? And her long hug during the Baron fight this season even though they were VERY MUCH on the clock. And Fig was Wingwomaning hard (along with the rest of the Bad Kids) to help her notice Oisin. Also think about Fig having a whole crisis of self during The Last Stand and turning to Adaine for reassurance and Adaine just going, what? Girl, no you're awesome and painting an arcane bullseye on her target so she could smite like crazy. Despite the playful ribbing, they have very supportive sister energy. "Absolutely my king, whatever you want."

Fig and Kristen: I think Fig and Kristen have two big things is common. One is they're both very chaotic people and the other is they have both gone through kind of intense rebellious periods spurred by or resulting in family trauma. Because of that, I think they likely get each other a bit better than the others might (and we can see that Fig followed in Kristen's footsteps a ton this season god-wise). Fig also decided to take on the protective, German Shepherd role over Kristen this past season which I think is partially for the bit, partially about personal development, and partially about just how much she genuinely wants to help protect Kristen.

Fabian and Riz: Classic jock/nerd friendship. The original Bardy Boys. The kind of friendship that is made special by the absolute lack of obvious commonality between the two parties. "The Ball" is a friendly nickname now. Oh how the turns have tabled.

Fabian and Gorgug: Fabian started out the series by attacking Gorgug for no good reason while he was being gifted a tin flower and midway through this season he was like Gorgug, you're quitting Bloodrush? I'm gonna miss you :(((((( even though they're still fully in a party together and spend so much time together. The bro energy has completely solidified. It's also funny that Fabian texted Gorgug like, "Congrats on making it with Mary Ann!" and Gorgug was like, "You do know I've had sex before, right? I come from an extremely sex positive household and I had a steady girlfriend for two years who also came from an extremely sex positive household." Fabian has all the aesthetics of a cool kid but Gorgug is actually about that life, lol.

Fabian and Adaine: This is another pair that I think has serious sibling energy (and not just bc they both have posh high elf backgrounds). I'm thinking about Fabian yelling for Adaine's help during The Last Stand (even though she was like why am I the one you're calling for help right now???). I'm also thinking about Adaine being like Fabian hit me :( during the Baron encounter and Fabian being outraged at the thought that he would ever hit her. I think if you asked Fabian, he'd say his best friends are Riz and Adaine (which is really funny considering they're the nerds of the group).

Fabian and Kristen: Bad decision buddies with no game who are still somehow getting their kisses in.

Riz and Gorgug: I think that Riz was one of the Bad Kids who realized how smart Gorgug really is the fastest. He's always like, "Nice one Gorgug," when he offhandedly comes up with a connection that helps solve the mystery and I feel like they have to work on gear and gadgets together. I think the fact that Riz believed Fig's lie that Gorgug wrote him the encouraging note says a lot and the fact that Gorgug immediately made him a real present (the Medal of Wit) also says a lot.

Riz and Adaine: Party nerds, investigation buddies, voices of reason with specific things that get them unreasonably angry. They are the only ones who were excited that there was an academic portion of The Last Stand. Riz made Adaine a folder with nothing in it at the beginning of Junior Year to say, "I'm not worried about you but I want you to be included anyway." Adaine in a conversation to I don't remember who said that she knows that at the very least she and Riz are going to college together. When everyone was wasting questions questioning Bakur, Riz told everyone to shut up except for Adaine and himself. They are the braincells of the operation and they have party nerd solidarity.

Riz and Kristen: I think Riz has a similar relationship to Kristen that he does to Fig. This season he was her right hand man with campaign stuff but ended the season like hey, do you. I don't want to put pressure on you. And Kristen in turn I think appreciated his efforts a bit more by the end of the season. I feel like it's easy to feel like their relationship is unbalanced but I think Riz is a lot like his dad and he not only feels weird when he's not working but also shows his love by working so it's more symbiotic than it may seem at surface level.

Gorgug and Adaine: Gorgug and Adaine don't interact the most, but I feel in my heart that they have a lot of chill, lo-fi study time together. This is me extrapolating a bit but I think they kind of inherently balance each other out. Gorgug being mechanically big and full of rage but really sweet. Adaine being small and polite but full of so much rage. In-universe you know she spends a ton of time standing directly behind him and casting spells while he soaks damage. That's gotta give you a special kind of camaraderie.

Gorgug and Kristen: Whenever I think about Gorgug and Kristen, I always picture them in Sophomore Year, Going Through It with their girlfriends at the same time, lol.

Adaine and Kristen: I think Adaine and Kristen's whole relationship is best summed up by three actions. (1) Adaine casting Friends on her to make her go to school so she won't fail and then Kristen giving her the Help action to be charmed. (2) Kristen making the effort to be mean-nice to Aelwyn because presumably Adaine told her she likes that better. (3) K2 being sent way and Kristen being like, "I did enjoy having a sister" and Adaine immediately going, "I'm your sister." (Which, from her history, you know isn't something she'd say lightly). I think Adaine is often exasperated by the insane shit Kristen does (see eg: ribbon dancing) but she was also right there hyping her up and helping her cover during the "Passed the test to give me new spells" fiasco at the food trucks. At the end of the day, Kristen respects the hell out of Adaine and Adaine is ride or die for Kristen.

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #the bad kids #fig faeth #adaine abernant #kristen applebees #fabian seacaster #gorgug thistlespring #riz gukgak #asks #anon #d20 #I wrote this in several sitting so apologies if the tenses get weird or anything is off #just need to get this off my plate lol

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scatterbrainedbot · 9 months

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Hello :D

You're so cool

Anyway have you thought that in your rat sons au Splinter might outlive the boys?

You're very cool :D love your stuff dude

(tw for some blood, light gore, implied overdose (kinda??))

hi copper!!! this is a fantastic question!

so obviously typical irl rats have far shorter lifespans than the average irl tortoise. according to google (yes, be awed by my spectacularly in-depth wealth of research) the average pet rat lives between 2-4 years ish, and the oldest on record lived to be about 7. meanwhile, an African spurred tortoise (Splinter's species) averages more around a 50ish year lifespan in captivity, tho is suspected to possibly exceed 75 or more in the wild.

Now, the mutation does give us a lot of wiggle room for playing with these numbers. For the rat sons boys, id say their natural lifespan probably clocks in at about 45-55 years old? definitely not old by human standards, but not young young either. (though, its also important to note that the boys were exposed to the mutagen just days after being born.)

For Splinter, meanwhile, aging is slightly more complicated. He lived the vast majority of his life as a regular normal African spurred tortoise (well, non-mutated at least. there were perhaps some shenanigans of a more mystical variety going on before he was mutated, but thats a separate matter) He was about 70ish i think? when the boys were born and they were all exposed to the mutagen. so he is already distinctly an old man turtle papa. id guess he'd probably still have another eh lets say 25-30 years after his mutation. he could probably push it a little farther even with some mystic nonsense, but when push comes to shove id say his 'natural' post-mutation lifespan would put his death like a solid decade or two before his sons.

of course, the tricky part of the matter is that theres no way for Splinter to know any of this. theres no way for him to know how the mutation affected them all, or if it even affected them all in the same way. especially since the boys dont show many physical signs of mutation for the first few years, and just kinda look like normal rats, (albeit with a more human sort of intelligence) — what sort of health standard do you hold them to? what if they simply dont show external signs of sickness or old age anymore? how do you actually know if something is wrong?

for a while there Splinter is very worried that one of his babies will just essentially reach the end of their normal rat lifespan, fall and not get up again.

so mostly, he just tries to live in the moment, enjoying whatever time he does have with his little ones, taking each day as a gift <3

still,

that fear

never

really

goes

away.....

#cue the 2003 tmnt dramatic Shredder sound effect TM #my art #rat sons #tmnt au #ask reply #TOOK ME A FULL MONTH TO ANSWER AND IM STILL NOT SUPER PLEASED WITH THE RESULTS BUT #also apologies if shits incohierent im v sick rn #but thank you so much for the question copper!!#a parents grief and terror at the thought of outliving their children #always gets me #and boy howdy these rat babies do Not make that shit easy for ol Splinter #all of them have brushed too close to death too many times #tbh thats probably why he started teaching them ninjutsu etc #like yeah yeah discpline and routine and practice all excellent lessons #but also #yall squishy babies and ur father is Stressed please learn to fight good so its one less thing he has to worry about #sorry splints theyre hamatos now theyre destined for danger #cw blood #cw gore

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [4]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 4,609

A/N: omg i’m back from the dead with an update, lol. thank you all for being patient!! i really hope you all enjoy this next installment. i think it’s pretty safe to say… the shit is hitting the fan. mind the warnings! divider by @firefly-graphics

You sleep so fitfully it wakes both you and Ransom, your husband blinking blearily at you in the dark as he asks if you’re okay.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, turning over onto your side with a frustrated sigh. A quick glance at the digital clock on the bedside table tells you it’s after four in the morning. The last you looked, it had been just after one-thirty, and you aren’t really sure where the time’s gone. You can’t get comfortable, and though the pills normally make you drowsy, you find yourself frustratingly awake. Ransom mumbles something you don’t really catch before settling back down again.

With a huff, you slide out from underneath the covers, and the tile flooring is cool on your feet. If you can’t sleep, you might as well walk. You pull a hoodie out of the dresser, and slip from the room. You squint into the darkened living room, and sigh with relief when you find no one there. On your way past, you sneak a piece of fruit from the refilled bowl on the counter, peeling the banana on your way out the door.

You immediately feel better outside, taking a deep breath. The air is tinged with salt from the sea, and you suck down grateful lungfuls of it, sighing. You don’t know how to explain your drop in mood after dinner, excepting maybe hormones. Either that, or—

No. You shake yourself. You’re not going to think about it. Not going to give that tiny, ridiculous seed any leeway to sprout. Besides, you have more pressing things to be concerned about—like the fact that you’ve already pregnancy’d out of your swimsuit. What you had thought was gas upon packing your bikini a few days ago is now clearly something else. You’re just on the cusp of two months along now, and you supposed—rather foolishly, apparently—that you would not yet be showing.

You glare at the slight protrusion and take another bite of your banana, all while getting the distinct feeling that your belly was glaring right back at you.

“You’re supposed to be working with me here, kid,” you mutter. You know that part of the purpose of this trip is to spring the news, but you don’t want to hop on the train to grandparent-town before you and Ransom are ready. Though it’s just a bump, you rub your belly somewhat absently as you stare down at the ocean.

“Mind if I join you?” Lloyd sounds like Lloyd when he speaks. You turn in the chair to look at him. He raises an eyebrow. You want to say no—and you can tell he knows it too.

“No,” you say after a moment, biting back the put upon sigh that threatens to escape right after it. Try to get along. Try for Ransom. “Go ahead.” He settles himself in one of the other patio chairs, before raising an eyebrow.

“Having trouble sleeping?” He asks, and you nod with a grimace.

“Um, yeah.” You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think it’s, well. You know.” You point at your stomach, and Lloyd laughs.

“Kid keeping you up already? That was fast.” He gestures down at the slight swell, and even though it’s hidden by your t-shirt, you get the feeling he might have noticed it before you did. “I figured they had to be out of the womb for that.” You laugh in spite of yourself, and the sound surprises both of you. You aren’t used to Lloyd being funny. Well, funny to you.

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

“Have you thought of any names yet?” He asks. You have, privately. Ransom had said he didn’t want to pick a name too early—how can we name a kid we haven’t met, Sweetheart— but you can’t help it, looking up baby name lists in secret, going through each letter section and writing down the ones you like in the notes app on your phone.

“What, did Ransom not tell you?” You say saltily. “We’re waiting.” Lloyd rolls his eyes.

“Yes, but that’s not what I asked. I asked if you thought of any.” Your head snaps up, and you can’t help but look at him, surprised. Lloyd’s observant, you know that’s a quality both he and Ransom share, but you can’t help but be shocked at the depth of said observations.

I didn’t know he knew me so well.

The three of you had known each other since college, of course, but being that you spent most of your time with Ransom—and that hadn’t changed since you’d gotten married—you hadn’t realized Lloyd had had as much time to observe you as he apparently had.

“Well, yes,” you admit after a moment, biting your lip as an embarrassed smile blossoms on your face. “I guess I’ve… thought of a few.” Lloyd smiles and leans in conspiratorially.

“You want to share with the class?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why? So you can run and tell Ransom I didn’t?” Lloyd scoffs, and has the gall to look offended.

“Me? You wound me, Princess. I would never tell tales about something told to me in confidence.” He holds up his right hand and crosses his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You never were a boy scout.” You say flatly, and Lloyd laughs.

“Fine. Agent’s honor, then.” He stares at you imploringly, and with no small amount of hesitance, you fish your phone out of the pocket of your shorts and pull up the tab.

“Well, I… I have them separated, you know. Boy names, girl names, neutral names, I’m sure you get it.”

“Start with the boys.” Lloyd leans back in his chair, his hands behind his head. He reminds of you of Ransom just then, and guilt fills your stomach with cold lead. This is a conversation you should be having with your husband, the father of your child, first and foremost. Not his brother. You swallow thickly.

“Maybe… maybe I should wait for Ransom,” you say guiltily, but Lloyd waves his hand at you, dismissing your concerns.

“Come on, Princess. It’s not like you’re picking now, right?” You nod reluctantly. “Right. We’re family now, aren’t we?” It’s tempting—you’ve been dying to talk names with Ransom. But with him being stuck on waiting until the baby actually comes to discuss it—at least for now—you’ve been shit out of luck.

“He’s my husband Lloyd. It’s a little different.” You reply, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Is it?” He hums, tapping a finger on the wide arm of the chair. His signet rings clack dully against the wood as he cocks his head at you. Your face heats, and you don’t really know why.

“Y-yes,” you say, forcing a laugh. “Very.”

The way he says family makes you shudder, like he wants to say something else entirely—you just don’t know what. Ransom would say you were being ridiculous, looking for something that isn’t there. He did want me to get closer to Lloyd…

“I guess you’re right, though,” You say as you glance back down at the app. “About, um. Family.” Resigned, you scroll down to the first name. “I really like Harlan,” you begin, and Lloyd laughs.

“After the old geezer? God, Ransom’ll love that. Keep going.” You’re pleasantly surprised at how enthused you feel at his approval—perhaps that means Ransom will like them too. Heartened, you continue.

“Oliver, I really like Oliver. And Devin.”

“Devin’s not bad.”

You run through the list, finding it shockingly easy to talk to Lloyd. You reason that it’s because he’s not showing off, or parading something expensive around in front of you with that weird, knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. When you run out of names, the two of you sit in silence for a while, watching the dark water.

“I think Ransom will like your list.” Lloyd says after a lengthy silence. “They’re good names.”

“Thanks.” The sky is just barely beginning to lighten at the edges. How long have I been sitting out here? You stand up hurriedly, stretching. “I should, um. Head inside and try to get some sleep before everyone gets up,” you say, shuffling awkwardly between his chair and yours to get to the door behind you. Lloyd makes an approving noise low in his throat.

“Yeah, you need your baby-sleep,” he says, and when you look back at him, he winks. “You have a good night, Princess.” Again, you feel like he wants to say something else with the nickname, like it has an unspoken connotation you don’t know.

“Um, yeah,” you say, turning to avoid his gaze as you shuffle back inside. “You too.”

—

You wake mid-morning, your stomach churning as you race to the bathroom, a hand clapped tightly over your mouth. Acid burns your throat as you empty your after-midnight snack into the bowl, groaning. You lean back against the tub, the porcelain thankfully cool against your back through your t-shirt. It feels good against your heated skin.

You grimace at the foul taste in your mouth as you get up, leaning hard against the sink as you splash water on your face and rinse the bile from your tongue. You’re glad Ransom’s not there—his doting is becoming exhausting, especially now that Lloyd is doing it too. Their constant overbearing presence is enough to make you glad you’d woken up alone. The shower is still wet from Ransom’s turn in it, the stone flooring in the stand-up shower warm to the touch.

The villa’s bathroom is as luxurious as the rest of it, equipped with a jacuzzi tub in the corner opposite the shower. The water is perfect when you step in, and you stand there, absently enjoying the feel of it. The sound of a knock startles you, and you lean your head around the foggy glass divider that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom.

“Ransom?”

Your husband pokes his head into the bathroom.

“Oh good,” he says, stepping inside. “You’re up. I know you had trouble sleeping last night.” There’s a sympathetic note to his voice. “I’m sorry.” You duck back around the partition, shivering at the cool air that gusts over you with his entrance. He crosses the room with long, purposeful strides to poke his head into the shower. Ransom pays no mind to the water as he kisses your cheek, worried little frown working its way onto his lips.

“Are you okay, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, leaning back into the spray with a sigh. “I’m just tired,” you say, and he nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. You’re half expecting him to make a joke about you being tired on vacation, but he doesn’t, his eyes dropping down to the swelling curve of your belly.

“Well, you’re baking a person in there,” he replies with a smile. “It makes sense that you’d be tired.”

You make a face, and he laughs. “Still.” You run wet hands through your dripping curls, massaging your scalp with the tips of your fingers. “Ugh, what time is it, anyway?”

“Almost time for lunch,” Ransom says, and you can see his silhouette through the frosted glass as he reaches for the sprayable sunscreen on the bathroom counter. “That’s why I came to get you, I figured you might be getting hungry.” It’s true that your stomach is painfully empty. “And, you know, Linda and Richard are here.”

You groan, smacking your palm to your forehead with a wet clap. “Oh my God. I’m sorry, I totally forgot they were getting in today.” Great. You and Linda haven’t exactly been close—her gin-doused toast at your wedding had been more of a lament over the loss of her son than a celebration of your union. In fact, the only person in a worse mood at the reception than Linda was—

Lloyd.

“It’s okay. They’re settling in, getting all unpacked, and besides, I told Linda you weren’t feeling well.” You swallow your retort as you turn off the water and force a smile. You know your mother-in-law well enough to know she had most definitely taken your absence as a personal affront. Despite your attempts to deepen the relationship, she’d remained aloof, barely tolerating your presence at the few family events you were actually invited to before the wedding, and enduring your frequent presence after said nuptials with simmering contempt.

In fact, you were surprised that she was even coming at all, all things considered. Ransom seems to notice the look on your face and he scoffs, reaching forward to tap the tip of your nose with one finger.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what? I didn’t even say anything,” you grumble, grabbing your towel and shimmying past him. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what I’m like, your mother hates me.” Ransom scowls at you as you plant yourself on the counter, rubbing lotion and sunscreen into your dewy, post shower skin.

“She doesn’t hate you.” You fix him with a look, and Ransom holds his hands up placatingly. “She doesn’t. She just… she’s… protective.” You raise an eyebrow as you stare at him, pressing your lips into a firm line. “Look, all of that stuff aside, she’s here now, and I think she’s really trying to meet us halfway. And I know she’s going to be especially excited about…” He trails off as he rests a hand on the swell of your belly. When you don’t respond, he pouts a little, sticking his lower lip out until it trembles.

“I did it for your father,” he reminds you, and you sigh, throwing your hands up.

“Fine,” you relent. You grimace at Ransom in the mirror, and he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your wet hair. “But I’m doing the announcement. You’re riding high on your locket gift, you gotta give me something.” You sigh, and he laughs. It’s infectious, and you can’t help but smile.

“Deal.” Ransom kisses your cheek. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast in you two.”

—

Breakfast—brunch, really—is served on the beach. You’re not sure when the tables had been set up, but they’re laden with fresh fruit, waffles, oatmeal, bacon—too many things to count. The anxiety that grips you at the sight of the small crowd gathered there is almost enough to make you turn around, to tell your husband to shove his deal, and return to the safety of your hotel room, but you swallow the urge. As if he’s privy to your thoughts, Ransom squeezes your hand affectionately.

“Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart.” He whispers, one hand on your back as he helps you down the stairs and into the sand. “It’s gonna be like cuddling a basket full of kittens, you’ll see.” You find your mother-in-law in the crowd, her lips pressed thin and brow furrowed as if she’s already displeased about something, despite the fact that they’d only just arrived.

Maybe, if one of those kittens is a grizzly bear.

You offer your husband a strained smile.

“Thanks, Ran.” You make your way across the warm sand, dreading every step.

“Look who’s up!” Your father is the first to see you, waving as he stands up from the table. He claps Ransom on the back vigorously. “Glad you could join us. This one wouldn’t let us touch a thing till you all got here.” He jerks his thumb at Lloyd. He grins at you over your father’s shoulder.

“I thought Sleeping Beauty would appreciate us waiting.” You don’t know why, but you feel guilty about your midnight conversation with your brother-in-law, like you’d crossed into unfamiliar territory. You offer him a strained smile.

“Thanks.”

You make your rounds, greeting your family as you apologize for your tardiness. Your brother hugs you warmly.

“Look at this spread,” he says, gesturing at the table. “Your in-laws go all out.”

“Lloyd doesn’t do anything halfway,” you laugh dryly. “I’m just happy you’re here.” You’re reminded of how intense he’s been this entire trip, how focused he is on ensuring everything goes well—almost like he’s the one trying impress his in-laws, and not Ransom. You spot Linda, deep in conversation with your mother, and as you grimace as Ransom steers you in her direction. When she sees you, her tight mouth curves into what you assume is meant to be a smile.

“And I—Oh! There you are.” She hugs Ransom, pulling him tightly against her chest. Your husband had told you early on that his mother was not the most… publicly affectionate of people, and as she pulls him but wonder who the show is for—you, or your parents. “I’m so happy to see you both.” She greets you in a more muted fashion, but you are still unprepared for her over-familiar embrace. It’s a far cry from the last time you’d seen her, coldly wishing you a “Merry Christmas” over a pack of wholesale department store socks.

You try to smile anyway, awkwardly fitting your arms around her shoulders.

“Its, um, it’s good to see you too?” You curse inwardly at yourself for making it sound like a question, but Linda either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care as she regards you warmly.

“Lloyd’s told me you all have been having a ball,” Linda laughs, clapping her hands excitedly. “I love that.” You nod stiffly, unsure of what to say.

“Um. Yeah. It’s been lovely.”

“I was just so excited to come, you know family is everything.” She nods sagely, as if dispensing priceless advice, instead of parroting what Lloyd’s been saying to you for four days straight. tWhen it comes down to it, it’s really all we have.”

“I, um. I couldn’t agree more.” You jump a little as Ransom rests his arm around your shoulders, but quickly lean into the reassurance of his touch. “Thanks for coming.”

“We couldn’t be happier,” Ransom replies, leapfrogging effortlessly off of your awkward input. “In fact, we’re so happy all of you could come.” He speaks louder, and you swallow thickly, knowing where he’s leading you. Ransom looks to you pointedly, and suddenly, despite your earlier determination, you find yourself struggling to speak.

“I—um, yes. God, sorry. I’m not good at speeches, you guys know that,” you reply, a self-deprecating little smile worming its way onto your lips. “I’m just, um. I’m really thankful you could all be here. Blending families is never easy.” You look down at your feet. “But I’m so glad we’re all trying. My parents told me that it takes a village to raise a child, so… hopefully I’ve found my village.” You rest a hand on your belly as you peek at your family through your lashes.

Oh no. No, they’re all angry, they—

“Oh my GOD!” Your mother shrieks, before bursting into tears as she charges forward, hugging you tightly. She places her hand over your own, wiping messily at her face with the other. “You think you could have buried the lead any deeper?!” She squats down until she’s face to face with your belly. “Hello in there!”

“Oh my God, Mom—” Your father’s embrace is tighter than ever, and you can feel his happy tears soaking into your hair. “Dad, you’ll kill us both like this,” you wheeze, and he releases you with a cough, wiping nonchalantly at his wet eyes. Linda hugs you again, pressing lipstick-stained kisses to your cheeks as she babbles about how happy she is to be a grandmother, and you bear it with as much patience as you can.

Lloyd clears his throat, holding up both a bottle of champagne and several flutes.

“A toast, maybe?” He asks, before popping the cork. As he’s pouring, he winks at you. “Sorry Princess. None for you.” You return his smile thinly. Lloyd finishes filling the glasses, and your families grab them hurriedly as he lifts his own. Lloyd’s eyes find yours.

“To blending families.”

The words seem to echo in your ears uncomfortably. You mumble your agreement as you look away, twisting your wedding ring with nervous fingers. It lingers in your mind even as you try to dismiss it. Your father clears his throat.

“Now can we eat?”

You’re careful of your queasy stomach, picking at a few slices of toast along with a few mouthfuls of fresh fruit. As the rest of your family socializes, you wander down to the water, standing with your feet in the surf as you eat.

“I just wanted to say congrats again.” Linda repeats herself as she comes to stand next to you. “I really can’t tell you how happy I am.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a stiff nod. “We’re… we’re really excited too.”

“To see my boys be family again… It’s worth anything.”

For a moment you’re confused. “I mean, babies do bring families together,” you say, your brows furrowing. Linda shakes her head.

“You don’t understand. I mean, how could you? You tore them apart without even thinking twice about it. But this is a new chapter for you—for all of us. I think it’s going to be wonderful.”

You scoff disbelievingly. “I didn’t ‘tear your family apart’,” you reply sharply. “You disagreeing with Ransom’s choices—you know what? I really don’t want to argue right now.” You say, smiling tightly. “Thank you for coming. Really.” You ball your hands into tight fists around the rim of your paper plate as you march back toward the table. You toss the plate into the trash with more force than necessary. Ransom rests a worried hand on your shoulder.

“Hey are you—”

“I’m going for a walk.” You grit the words out through your clenched teeth. “I just need a couple of minutes.” Ransom moves to follow you, but you shake your head. “Alone.” You aren’t in the mood to hear him defend his mother, not today. He watches you silently as you about-face, storming off down the beach.

You march steadily until you can no longer hear the sounds of music or conversation, following the shoreline until your family are just vaguely people-shaped specks against the sand. There are more rocks on this side of the little cove, and you pick your way carefully across their slick surfaces as you walk. You bend down to sift through the wet sand for a couple of small stones, and you toss them angrily into the water one by one.

“Family,” you mutter, watching a rock skip across the water’s surface twice before throwing another one. “Maybe that’s where he fucking gets it.” Ransom’s heavy sigh makes you turn, slipping a little on the rocks.

“Careful, don’t want you falling and hurting that pretty head. I need you to tell me where who’s getting what.”

You turn to glare at him sharply. “I told you I needed some space.”

“I gave you some,” he replies, smiling amusedly. “I waited a whole ten minutes before I followed you out here.” You scowl at your husband, before turning back to the water, hurling another stone into the shallow water with a satisfying plop. “Come on, Sweetheart. Talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

You release an exasperated breath as he makes his way over to you.

“You know what’s up, Ransom.” You fix him with a tired look over your shoulder. “Your mother loves to hate me.”

“I know.” His soft reply takes the wind out of you, leaving you sputtering at his admission.

“I—what?”

“I know. I know she doesn’t like you, Sweetheart. Everything changed after we got married, and… it was hard for her. And for Lloyd.” You roll your eyes at his brother’s mention.

“Lloyd? Please.” You roll your eyes. “So what, he had a little crush on me from before you and I got together. It’s been years.”

“It was more than a little crush.”

“Oh my God, Ran. So what? That makes it okay for her to make me miserable every time I see her?” You moan, throwing your hands up. Ransom catches them, placing them gently back down by your sides before he pulls you to his chest. He smells good—familiar.

“No, no it doesn’t.” He presses a kiss into your hair. “It doesn’t make it okay.” It feels silly to cry over something as minuscule as this, but you can’t help it, frustrated tears filling your eyes as you press your face into your husband’s shirt. He strokes your back quietly as you sob, rubbing soothing circles into your skin until you run out of tears.

“Stupid pregnancy hormones,” you sniff, drawing the back of your hand roughly across your face.

“Is that what we’re blaming for this?” Ransom asks amusedly, and you swat at him, still sniffling even as a small smile plays at the corners of your mouth.

“Yes.” You nod stoutly. “Get ready for that for the next nine months.”

Ransom laughs. “Noted.” He leans down to kiss you, and you let him, sinking gratefully into his arms. He doesn’t stop, though, nipping at your lower lip as he hums with pleasure. You giggle against his mouth as Ransom’s hands find your hips, squeezing them. There are plenty of large boulders sticking out of the sand, and Ransom takes full advantage, walking you backward until you’re pressed against one. You hiss as the cold, wet stone meets your skin, but it’s easy to ignore it as your husband kisses his way down your jaw.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Ransom mumbles, making quick work of the buttons on your shirt. The bikini top you’re wearing underneath is quickly pushed up to allow Ransom to roll your puffy nipples between his eager fingers. He deftly undoes the button on your shorts, and you let him tug them down one leg before he lifts the other, wrapping it around his hip.

You whine as he tugs aside your swimsuit bottoms, his thick fingers stroking gently at your already damp folds.

“Already wet, Princess,” he says with a sultry chuckle. “Gonna blame the pregnancy hormones for that, too?” He drags his thumb through your slick folds, and you stare up at him, your hips twitching as you whine. He grins at you, before popping his wet thumb into his mouth.

Princess. You don’t know why it gives you pause, your cottony thoughts slow to connect the dots as he grinds the heel of his palm against your swelling clit. He’s hard already, his cock pressing hard into the soft meat of your thigh, throbbing.

“Fuck—wait, Ran—” He kisses you again, sweeping your words away with the sweet press of his tongue. Princess.

“Don’t wanna wait,” he growls against your lips, and you feel him fumble between your bodies for a moment before his bare cock slides against you. You can’t help but moan at the feel of it, the thick tip of him pressing enticingly against your entrance. The stretch and burn of his entry is delicious, and for a moment you’re entirely wordless, staring down the line of your own body as he forces you open.

“Fuck, Princess, can’t get over how tight you are—”

Your eyes widen as he bottoms out, the sharp chords of pleasure cut short as fear takes their place. You stare up at him as terror curdles the desire growing in your belly, his name a fearful whisper on your lips.

“Lloyd?”

He grins, pulling out slow before sinking back in to the hilt.

“Aw, Princess,” he says, rolling his hips into yours with heavy, languorous strokes. “What gave it away?”

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naughtyneganjdm · 10 months

Text

Naughty or Nice - Chapter 5

Summary: The jealousy that Y/N has about finding out how Negan and Maggie's relationship started fuels her and she has a heart to heart with Negan that leads to a fiery interaction between the two of them.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC), etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51464518/chapters/131751610

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, angst, lots of smut, daddy kink, etc.

Notes: This is a long chapter. Thank you for taking the time to read it. I'm sorry it took some time to get out! Things have been really busy over the last few days.

It was strange how certain things could change at different points in your life. When Y/N used to live in her family’s home as a teenager, she always hated having the bedroom that she did. It was on the side where the sun rose and it used to drive her crazy waking up to the sun blinding her every morning. But when her eyes finally fluttered to an open, she actually enjoyed the sight before her. The sun wasn’t completely up yet, but it was a beautiful sight seeing the sun rising slightly over the tree line of the woods in the distance. It’s shine was hidden somewhat by the morning clouds and she found comfort in the sight. This was the first time she had woken up at her family’s home in a very long time. It was both a strange and awkward feeling.

Truthfully? She really didn’t know how to feel about things. The last thing she remembered was Negan sneaking into her room to cuddle with her in bed. Once Negan entered her mind, she felt her heart skip a beat. Pushing up onto her palms, she turned her attention toward the bed where he was last night. A sense of sadness rushed through her veins when she saw that Negan wasn’t there. No one was. With a frown, she stretched her hand out and felt the bed. The sheets were cool beneath her fingertips and she wondered if she dreamt all of that. Everything about yesterday was stressful. The only thing she found comfort in lately was Negan, so maybe that was a way for her brain to relax.

Of course it had to be a dream. Why would Negan show up in the middle of the night to cuddle with her? Why would he want to hold her in his arms? There were so many people that could have walked in and caught them. Especially with Maggie not far from her room. The last thing Negan likely wanted to do was fall asleep in her bedroom.

After having Maggie talk to her last night, she just assumed Negan was likely fresh on the mind. Talking with everyone made her realize that it was a dumb idea to come back here. A long time ago she knew that she didn’t belong here and in the small amount of time she had been back, it had been proven to her many times that she was right. Part of her still wondered why she came back here after everything her family put her through. Hershel made it clear he didn’t like her and he didn’t want her back. Maggie tried last night, but they were still off with one another. Even though Maggie meant well, there was always going to be tension between Maggie and Y/N. Maggie was Hershel’s favorite and Y/N was the one that Hershel hated. That alone made things tense. Adding Negan into the picture was a whole new world of mess. Learning about Negan and Maggie’s relationship and all the things they did together only made Y/N jealous.

Hearing the ticking of the old alarm clock on her nightstand, Y/N stole a quick look at it to see the time. If her family stuck to their routines, as they often did, she was up early enough to go work on the farm before her father woke up. Maybe if she got to spend some time with the things she actually loved about this place when she was a child, she would actually understand why she came back here in the first place. Feeding the animals might be a calming thing for her and give her time to really think things out.

Seeing that there was a thin layer of snow on the ground, Y/N dressed in warmer clothes that would be comfortable for the morning. After she got dressed and left her room, she stopped at the door to listen. Everything was quiet. That told her that her family was still asleep and it made her happy. It confirmed for her that she would be able to get some alone time. Thank God for their routines. Sneaking out while everyone else was asleep reminded her of her childhood. There were so many times she would just get up early just to get time to herself. There was a chill in the morning air that made her huff. This was so different than what she had grown accustomed to living in big cities for so long.

Heading toward the stables, she noticed that the doors were partially opened as she approached it. A nervous breath fell from her lungs when she wondered who could have beat her in waking up. Stepping in closer, she tipped her head to the side and heard the faint sounds of a deep voice coming from inside, “See. I’m not so fucking bad. I think the two of us could be friends. Don’t you?”

With a smirk, she carefully pulled open the doors further to see that Negan was standing at one of the stables petting the muzzle of the horse that he was in front of. An amused exhale fell from her throat when she saw how he was dressed. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans with a heavy tan jacket that was opened revealing the black long-sleeved shirt that was beneath. A light-colored cowboy hat was on top of his head and he was wearing a pair of boots to go along with it. There was a theme to his whole outfit and he was selling it. Never in her life had she ever pictured Negan getting caught wearing something like that. At this point she could tell that he didn’t notice she was there and she found herself enamored with him.

“What are you doing?” Y/N finally spoke up causing Negan’s eyebrows to bounce up, his eyes lifting to meet her stare. An amused smirk tugged at his handsome features when he saw that it was her and he gave her a simple shrug. Approaching Negan, she noticed that it was Apollo that Negan was petting and it surprised her. Especially since Apollo seemed to enjoy having Negan touching him.

“I’m making friends,” Negan’s deep, raspy voice informed her when she stepped in beside him. Just standing next to him felt nice. There was a warmth radiating off of Negan and it was a nice contrast to the morning air around them. “I woke up early and decided to help your stepbrother. Shawn is around here somewhere. I used to do this kind of stuff when I was a kid at my grandparent’s place. It’s like riding a bike.”

“A bit different,” she acknowledged with a shake of her head. It was hard not to focus on Negan’s apparel now that she was standing beside him. Truth was? She actually liked it. But it did bring one question to her mind. “Where in the world did you get the hat?”

“Your stepbrother gave it to me. I thought I looked good in it,” Negan turned to her, giving her a flirty wink. Just that alone had a rush flooding into her face. God, he was so fucking cute and he knew it. Shaking her head, she tried to focus knowing that her stepbrother was likely near. “I’m a city boy, but I can go back to my old roots if I have to.”

“And you can win over the heart of the biggest asshole on this farm,” she acknowledged, still surprised to see that Negan was managing to get along well with Apollo. That horse was never really friendly and hated most people. So to see them like this? That impressed her. Then again, she thought about the words that she said to Negan. The biggest asshole that she knew on the farm was actually, in her opinion, her father. “Well, the second biggest asshole. My father still likely hates you.”

Snorting out, Negan’s nose wrinkled and there was visible amusement from what she had just said about Hershel. That was one thing he wasn’t going to fight her on. Her father was indeed an asshole. And she more than anyone would know that. Petting Apollo a few more times Negan shrugged his shoulders and drew her attention back to the older horse, “I think it’s because we are both old and grumpy. It only makes sense that me and this guy would be able to get along.”

“That sounds good, but I promise you that no one has ever gotten on this guy’s good side. Maybe Beth? But other than that,” she alerted Negan who seemed pleased to hear that he was one of the only people to get on Apollo’s good side.

“I’m pretty good at winning most people over,” Negan mused, his eyebrow arching when he took a quick gander around the area. Making sure that they were alone, Negan slowly turned to Y/N and reached out to slide his glove covered hands over her sides. Drawing her closer to him had her letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there in the morning when you woke up. I woke up about an hour ago and figured before your father showed up with a shotgun, I should get out of there,” Negan explained, his voice quiet enough for only her to hear and it made a breath catch in her throat. Noticing the surprise in her features, Negan tipped his head to the side and smiled. “What?”

“Nothing, I just thought…I didn’t think that was real,” she was honest with him hearing his snickering follow. There was that adorable wrinkle of his nose followed by his dimples sinking in. Even with him amused with her he was fucking cute. “I thought I dreamt you crawling into bed with me last night to try to comfort myself to sleep.”

“No, that was me,” Negan corrected her, urging his glove covered finger in underneath her chin to get her to look up at him. There was longing in Negan’s eyes, his long eyelashes fluttered before he lowered down closer to her. “I’m the real deal, not a dream.”

A moment later Negan’s lips were covering hers. The warmth from the kiss was a vast contrast to the cool air that was surrounding them. It sent a chill down her spine but warmed her up at the core when she reached up to slide her hand in over his shoulder to brace herself.

“Negan,” she stopped him, pulling away when she thought about the fact that Negan was actually helping her stepbrother. “If Shawn sees…”

“I know,” Negan frowned remembering what she had asked of him the night before in trying to hide his feelings for her. “I’m sorry. You know how I feel about you with things. I just got caught up in the feeling of everything. Waking up with you in my arms this morning. Your face being the first one I saw. Well, other than your brother.”

“Why do you have to be like this?” she frowned, stroking her hand down from the center of his chest toward the middle of his abdomen. How quickly she fell for Negan was scary. It was too fast. Right?

With Negan pressing his forehead to hers, she was getting caught up in how affectionate the movement was. Closing her eyes, she cherished the warmth of his breath hovering over her lips. Nuzzling his nose in against hers, Negan stroked his fingers in over the sides of her face and breathed in sharply.

“Negan,” she sighed, her eyes fluttered to an open knowing that she didn’t want this to end. “We can’t do this here.”

“I know,” he swallowed loudly, his long eyelashes fluttering, but he wasn’t quick to pull away from her. As they parted, his thumb dragged across her bottom lip and it took her breath away. Just his touch could drive her wild and he knew that. “I promise I will try to relax. It’s just I’m getting caught up in all of this. Having you sleeping in my arms last night was fucking great. It just made me fall for you fucking harder. I’m head over heels for you.”

Parting her lips, she went to say something, but the sound of shuffling in the distance was heard. Stepping away, she pulled herself from Negan and it made her heart race. A disappointed breath escaped Negan’s lungs, but he gathered himself. Shawn made his way around the corner and thankfully by the time he did, they were far enough apart for him not to question things. Once Shawn’s eyes connected with hers, his smile expanded and he actually looked happy to see her. Dropping what he was carrying, Shawn headed over and wrapped Y/N up in his arms giving her a big hug.

“I didn’t get to talk to you yesterday, but I’m super happy to see you sis,” Shawn released her and stepped back on his heel noticing that Negan was approaching her. “I know that dad has been giving you a hard time, but you just have to ignore him. He’s upset that you left him and he never let it go. When you left, he thought you were going to come crawling back to beg him for help. And you didn’t. So his feelings are hurt. Or maybe his ego is bruised. Either way, don’t let that bring you down. You’re the most successful of all of us. No one can take that away from you.”

That was something she needed to hear. And it surprised her that it came from her stepbrother. Shawn was never really good at picking up on people’s emotions and feelings, so to hear that coming from him didn’t feel like Shawn. It was sweet, but still unusual.

“We might have talked a little bit,” Negan spoke up, his hands resting at his hips while Y/N looked between the two of them. Tension flooded her features and Negan knew that she was overthinking what he said. “About the family I mean. That’s all.”

“What else would we talk about? I wouldn’t know spit from spat when it came to your work or anything like that,” Shawn’s southern drawl made Negan snicker. Bouncing his eyebrows, Negan turned his attention back to Y/N and gave her a small nod. “Just know that myself, my ma and Beth have really missed you. Your energy is something this family is missing. You were always the one pushing for more and I think we all needed that around here. We’re content, but with you…you made a lot of us want more.”

“Thanks Shawn,” she brushed her fingers over the back of her neck before pointing along the horses. “Do you think I can take Dakota and one of the horses on a ride? With the snow, I don’t know which ones handle it the best. I want to show Negan something.”

“You think the city boy here can handle riding a horse?” Shawn teased Negan, elbowing him in the side causing Negan to huff out.

“I actually grew up on a farm with horses. Well, not all the time, but my grandparents had a farm, so I’m not full fucking city boy,” Negan explained with a snort and a shake of his head. “I think I can handle a horse.”

“You sure?” she made sure that Negan was comfortable which was followed up by a confident nod from Negan.

“Alright. I reckon I would go with Lucky. He’s the most well behaved and he can handle the snow,” Shawn instructed pointing over toward one of the horses that was brown with white on the muzzle. “I don’t think Lucky would be upset if Negan was uncomfortable at certain points.”

Shawn started preparing Lucky for Negan to ride while Y/N was getting Dakota ready. Heading over in front of Apollo, Negan stroked his hand over the length of the horse’s head and snickered, “Now don’t you go getting jealous of me and Lucky. You and I are still friends, but we have to learn to bond with one another more before I even consider taking a ride on you.”

“I wouldn’t do that if you want to keep your life,” Shawn snorted from the other side of the aisle where he was at. “That boy hasn’t let anyone ride him in years. We can get a few pets in here and there, but he’s feisty.”

“We’ll see,” Negan grumbled under his breath, brushing his fingers through Apollo’s mane. “I think this guy will open up to me at some point.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with riding? I figured since you were new around the farm, I would just show you some things that you might like. Maybe you will want to show the kids later,” Y/N spoke up and Negan gave her another confident nod. “Alright then.”

Both Y/N and Shawn waited when Negan climbed up onto Lucky to make sure that he didn’t fall over. At first, he seemed off balance, but when he got his center, he flashed them a bright cocky smile that had Y/N shaking her head. Of course Negan had to be good at most things. Walking over to Dakota, she got up and then directed Negan with what he needed to say to get Lucky to do what he wanted. Once he got the hang of things, they started off through the large, empty field toward the trees.

“Couldn’t wait to get me alone, could you?” Negan joked getting her to look over at him. Flashing her a big, arrogant smile had her rolling her eyes. Shaking her head, she didn’t give him the satisfaction of getting an answer from her and just kept on forward. “I actually don’t mind this whole farm life thing.”

“Oh?” she quipped, her eyebrow arching in curiosity when they reached the tree line and she led them through the woods.

“I mean, I look good in a cowboy hat,” Negan reasoned with her, lifting his left hand to point toward his face. Flashing another arrogant, wolfish smile had her rolling her eyes and continuing. “I’m a sexy cowboy.”

“Does the ego ever quit?” she wondered hearing his raspy laugh follow. Even though she found him adorable and agreed that he made a good-looking cowboy, she knew that it seemed like he was always egotistical.

“I mean, it’s not ego if it’s true,” Negan countered, his head bobbing about when she came to an area in the middle of the woods where she wanted to stop. Watching her hop down, he got Lucky to stop before getting down himself. “I think I just really am that fucking awesome.”

“Of course you do,” she headed over to the large sitting rocks that were set out in a circle. This was a place that Maggie and her friends had set up when they were younger, but Y/N would often come here a lot when she was a kid to get some time to think about things. Taking a seat down on one of the larger rocks that were there, she let out an extended sigh and noticed the tip of Negan’s head. “What?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Negan sat across from her, leaning forward on the large rock that was there. Arching his thick eyebrow, he waited for her to say something and tossed his hand up. “I know that look on your face. It’s the, I’m really upset and I have something to say face, but I don’t know if I should. You use it all the time at work when you are trying to be polite, but you hate something. Not that you use it with me, but I’ve seen it with other people.”

“Jesus. You know my faces now?” she retorted and Negan nodded his head shrugging his shoulders when she repositioned on the rock that was before him. It was best to just get everything out now that they were alone and she knew that. “Maggie and I talked last night.”

“And?” Negan slurred as if waiting for something to come from her. There was no panic or worry and that surprised her.

“Negan, I don’t think I can do this with you,” she declared, lowering her head so that way she didn’t have to look at him. Looking at him made things hard because just the sight of his eyes could cause her heart to skip a beat. “Maggie told me about the first time that the two of you met. And she was talking about you. A lot. In extensive details.”

“Okay. And?” Negan put emphasis on his words, still confused as to why she was questioning things with them again. “What is going on here Y/N? We talked about this yesterday and I thought we had a deal between the two of us. You know that you want to be with me and I want to be with you.”

“I know, but it’s…” she felt the lump in her throat growing and the guilt started to eat away at her. “It’s complicated.”

“What isn’t complicated in life? If we let everything that was complicated stop us, none of us would fucking be here,” Negan tossed that out to her and it surprised her how much it made sense. “What did Maggie say that has you uncomfortable?”

“She was talking about the first time that the two of you met. How you brought lunch to her on the steps and then later in the night the two of you had sex in a bar bathroom stall,” Y/N listed off the things that Maggie had told her. Hearing all that made her jealous, but Negan didn’t seem affected by it. “She was going very much in depth about how good at sex you were. How you had a big dick that was really nice.”

“What about that bothered you? I am good at sex. I do have a big dick,” Negan listed off hearing the groan that followed from her. Throwing his hand up in the air, he tried to reason with her about things. “I mean these are things that you know already Y/N. I also have a small ass. I got no back in the booty. I come a lot too.”

“Negan!” she scoffed noticing the dramatic flair he was adding to everything he was saying while bobbing his head back and forth. “It was awkward hearing how the two of you had sex that first night. You have no idea how hard it was for me to sit there and listen to my sister talking about fucking you on the first night. Showing me how big she thought your dick was while deep down I already knew.”

“I still don’t get it. Yes, I had sex with Maggie on the first night, but that’s because your sister grabbed my wrist after she lost to me in a game of pool. She dragged me into the bathroom and it just kind of happened,” Negan recalled his past with Maggie and he licked his lips. “Y/N in this case, I understand that Maggie is your half-sister, but she’s just some person that I had sex with on the first night. But it was safe. I wore a condom. I always wore a condom with Maggie. I get you feel weird about it because she is related to you, but you haven’t even talked to her in years. The people here, they don’t respect you. Shawn, your stepmother and Beth seem to admire you though. I don’t think they would care who you were and you weren’t dating.”

“You say all that like it’s nothing,” Y/N frowned hating that she found herself feeling both jealous and guilty over Maggie. “You’re literally fucking my sister.”

“Correction. I used to be fucking your half-sister. I haven’t had sex with Maggie in a while,” Negan informed her with a grunt, throwing his hands up in the air when she mentioned it. “I’ve been so fucking busy with work and the kids that there was no way that it was going to happen. No nut November would have described the situation going on in my pants because there was no time for anything.”

“Are you ever serious?” she scoffed in frustration hearing Negan’s thick rumble of laughter over his own explanation of things.

“I’ve been nothing, but serious with you,” Negan pronounced his words in such a way that it made her laugh and roll her eyes at him. “I find it hard understanding where the problem falls in here with you and me. I want to date you. I want you to be mine and more than fucking anything I want to be yours. Yes, I was dating your sister. Yes, I’ve had sex with her, but I never will again.”

“You can’t say that,” she dismissed his comment with a grunt. Maggie was a very persuasive person and she knew by the way that Maggie talked about Negan that she honestly liked him. “I can’t expect you to drop every person that you want to have sex with just because you are interested in me and we are having…whatever this is.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Negan assured her with determination in his voice, reaching up to pull the cowboy hat from his head to set it in his lap. “I’ve been dating your sister for six months. Kind of. And I haven’t even given her a key to my apartment yet. She doesn’t live with me. I came on this trip because I was worried about my children not having a good holiday. I can’t tell you how unserious this relationship actually is with Maggie.”

“Oh,” her lips parted, her eyes shifting when she thought about the information that he just gave her. “I didn’t know that.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know and I’m an open book that will tell you everything,” Negan threw that out there, throwing his hands up in the air. “Go ahead, have at it. If you are uncomfortable, ask me anything and I will tell you. I’ll be upfront and honest with you. I don’t want to hide anything from you.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you Negan. It’s just Maggie has real feelings for you Negan. I think she believes that she loves you,” Y/N educated Negan on how Maggie appeared to feel about him. “And I’m sure you have some feelings for her there too.”

“I think both Maggie and I love each other,” Negan maintained, his right hand lifting up and circling in the air while he tried to gather his thoughts. “I love Maggie. I do. But the way in which I fucking love Maggie is not me in love with Maggie. I love Maggie the way anyone would love their friends that they are close to.”

“Their friend that they’ve had lots of sex with,” she corrected Negan, allowing that jealousy to flood her features again. Gazing out into the woods around them, she felt like her face was on fire when she let Maggie’s words replay in her mind.

“I’ve had sex with you once and I’m more hooked on you than I have been on Maggie since I met her,” Negan snapped his fingers to get her to look at him. Her face scrunched up and he chuckled, his nose wrinkling at the idea that she was jealous of Maggie. “Boss, I know I probably sound like a fucking creep, but I’ve never felt something more real than I do when I’m with you. I have no doubt in my mind that you are meant to be with me and I am meant to be with you. And maybe having Maggie in my life was the world’s way of putting us closer together like this.”

“I feel like a bad person,” she finally confessed to something that was eating away at her. “I’m engaged to Glenn. And while I should feel guilty about cheating on him with you and for wanting to be with you, I’m actually more upset because I’m jealous of my sister. Jealous that she’s been with you. That she’s gotten to have you for this long. With how I feel about you, I’m a horrible person in terms of both Maggie and Glenn. Both of them are good people Negan. What we’re doing, it’s wrong.”

“So because Maggie and Glenn are good people, we should ignore the things that are happening between us? You should be miserable for the rest of your life because Maggie and Glenn are good people?” Negan inquired frustration flooding his veins and he shook his head. “That’s your abusive family talking, not you. Why can’t you be happy?”

“Because my happiness is going to break the heart of Glenn, my sister and it’s going to tear my family apart again,” she whimpered when Negan stood up from the large stone that he was sitting on, but moved around the area they were in to take a seat next to her. Putting his cowboy hat back on, Negan stared out at her and shook his head. “Negan…”

“If it tears your family apart, you will find your family with me, Beau and Erin,” Negan explained, his hand reaching up so he could sweep his thumb in over the side of her face. “I promise you, it might seem fast, but when you fucking know. You know.”

“But why me Negan? Why me?” she was getting emotional with the way that he was talking to her and the way that he was touching her. “Maggie is so beautiful. She’s perfect. She’s always been better than me.”

“You are beautiful. You are perfect. You are everything I want,” Negan declared, his eyelids growing heavy with his eyes locked on hers. “Yes, I care about your sister, but I want to be with you. I think the two of us could share a beautiful life. And why wait? We both know what we want. Think about it. You can move in with me. If you miss home, we can get ourselves a farm on the side so when you need that break away from the big city, we can disappear together. I mean we can certainly fucking afford it.”

“We’ve had sex once and you’re talking about moving in,” she was shocked, her head shaking but Negan captured her jaw between his thumb and index finger. “How can you make these plans so fucking fast?”

“Because. As crazy as it fucking sounds, sometimes love doesn’t fucking take it’s time. It comes out of nowhere and it punches you in the face and then the gut. I want to be with you every second. I want to walk into work, see you and know that beautiful woman is mine and no one is ever going to change that. I think we’d make cute kids. You can see by Beau and Erin, I make good looking kids. If you are worried about the whole children thing, we don’t have to rush into it. And I’m willing to give you as many children as you want. As long as you would still treat Beau and Erin good because they are my heart. Of course, if we had children they would be too, but I need to have room for all of them. Not just ours.”

“Children?” she chuckled, her eyes tearing over while Negan spoke about things. “In most cases people would think you were insane and I should run.”

“But it appeals to you,” Negan grumbled when she stood up from the oversized rock that she was sitting on. “If you weren’t so worried about other people’s feelings, I would run away with you and the children right now. I would take you home and we could start right there. But you are forcing yourself to worry about everyone else. When in reality, for the first time in your life you may have the first real thing you’ve ever had with me. We’ve gone through all the stages already. Desperation, jealousy, hurt…you name it. As someone who knows what it is like to find a special love and lose it, why would you want to wait when you’ve found something so…so fucking real.”

“God, you have no idea how hard you are making this whole thing,” she shook her head, moving around Negan to head back toward Dakota to hop on the horse. When she took off, Negan swiftly moved back to Lucky. Doing his best to follow her, Negan noticed that she stopped at the old barn on the property. Following her in, Negan saw that she was sitting on a pile of hay, her head buried in her hands visibly upset.

“What has you so upset about us today as opposed to yesterday?” Negan knelt down before her, his hands cautiously reaching out to press in over her knees to caress over them in a tender sweep. “Talk to me Y/N.”

“Maggie brought up something last night. When we were younger, she stole my boyfriend. I was dating someone older than me. Someone that I should have never been with to begin with, but he took my virginity and I thought I was in love with him,” she admitted to Negan, her throat tensing up when the idea of Shane and Maggie re-entered her mind. “What I didn’t realize was that he had eyes for Maggie. I never told Maggie about him, but he used me to get to her. And it worked. Maggie slept with him and I found them together. And even when she found out that he was my boyfriend, she still decided to date him. Maggie stole my boyfriend. If they find out about you and me, they are going to think I’m doing this for revenge Negan. They are going to think that I am holding onto a grudge from all those years ago.”

“Who cares what they think? We both know that’s not the truth. You and I had sex long before I knew you were Maggie’s half-sister and long before you found out that I was dating Maggie,” Negan pointed out, leaning in closer to her, his hand outstretching so he could caress over the side of her tear-stained face. “Your family did a fucking number on you honey. What you need, what you’ve always needed was someone who saw you…all of you and stood up for you. Here I am to tell you, who gives a fuck what they think of us? What they think of you? If Maggie thinks you stole me because of that? Well, good. Because that was fucked up what she did with that fucker.”

“That’s not the point Negan. I don’t even care about that guy anymore, but Maggie will. She will think that I did this in order to get back at her for what she did with him,” she explained hating that it was getting to this, but it was true and she knew it would be brought up. “Yes, I want to be with you…”

“Then stop right there,” Negan interrupted her, leaning forward with his long eyelashes fluttering and his hands grabbing a firm hold of hers. Caressing his thumb over the back of her hand, he got her to look at him and he offered up a big, goofy smile. “Y/N, that’s all that I need to hear. You want to be with me. I want to be with you. It’s not much harder than that. I don’t care what Maggie, Glenn or your family thinks. I don’t care what anyone thinks,” Negan lifted up enough, the warmth of his breath lingering over her lips. “We will make this whole thing work.”

“You’re so confident,” she tremored with Negan’s lips faintly brushing over hers drawing her to calm down and into a sweet surrender all over again. Bracing her hands in over his chest, she slid her palms up to caress in over his shoulders. “How do you know we aren’t making a mistake?”

“Because I know how I feel,” Negan asserted, his words vibrating against her bottom lip with the kisses he was peppering over her flesh. “I’ve felt this way once before and it wasn’t wrong then either. Every time I see you, my heart skips a beat. And it happened long before we hooked up in your office. I’ve always been enamored by you, but spending that first night with you? I just knew right then and there that it was you. You’re my missing piece.”

“Fuck you Negan,” she palmed up over the side of his face, her fingers hooking into his hair. Confusion flooded his hazel eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Why do you have to make me fall in love with you every time you talk?”

“And here I was afraid of using that word,” Negan slurred, his eyes narrowing when he reached up to brush her hair out of her face. Gasping, she realized exactly what he meant by using that word and he hushed her. “I was afraid of throwing that word around, just in case it freaked you out, but with you saying it first…”

“I don’t know what to say,” she was honest. She was at a loss for words. She wanted to deny things, but she couldn’t. And she could go further in depth but she was afraid to. “You’re the only person that makes me feel that way.”

“That’s because I’ve always got something to say,” Negan hushed her, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip repeatedly. A gust of wind filled the air making Negan lift his head to see that it was starting to snow again. “I’ll talk enough for the two of us.”

“Love is a big word you know,” she pointed out, her eyes narrowing when he leaned her back into the hay crawling in over her.

“It’s actually not,” Negan replied back, his lips hovering over hers. “It’s a four-letter word. It’s a really short word if you think about it.”

“Negan,” she scoffed having his nose wrinkling in amusement and his deep raspy laugh following. “People would say we were crazy if we started throwing that word around.”

“Why? I think the word is a very good word to throw around when you feel something so deeply for someone. Like, I love your smile,” Negan pressed a kiss over her cheek, taking the time to pause, “I love your eyes,” Negan continued pressing a kiss over her forehead. “I love the face you make when you’re deep in your work,” Negan’s mouth moved to her jawline to press another kiss there. “It took one night for me to know I’m in love with you. Obviously. I’m fucking willing to run away with you. Start a whole new life. Kind of at least. Last night when I laid with you, you cuddled into me like I was protecting you. Like in my arms you were safe. But having you in my arms like that? It was the first time I’ve felt whole in a very long time.”

“If you threw on half this charm to Maggie, I see why she feels the way she does about you,” she informed him, tugging him down to her to forcefully kiss him. Over and over again, his lips caressed over hers and she allowed him to have the dominance in this moment. She liked the way he took control and how it made her feel.

“It’s not the charm. It’s how I feel,” Negan stated with a smirk, his eyes fluttering to a close when her fingers tugged at the shirt he was wearing to get it loose from his pants. Pushing her hands up underneath the material made him hiss when her cool fingertips skimmed over his torso. “I’m fucking crazy for you.”

“You know how I mentioned you being submissive?” she wondered, her hands sliding up over his chest and back down again toward his lower abdomen near the top of his pants. “What if I asked you to be incredibly dominant with me right now. Would you do it?”

“What do you have in mind?” Negan’s eyebrow arched when she pulled her hands out from underneath is shirt. Licking his lips, he wasn’t turned off of the idea, but he didn’t know where she was headed with this.

“With how I’ve been feeling, I kind of just want you to have your way with me,” she informed him noticing the way he got more comfortable over her, his eyes searching hers for some kind of direction. “I don’t know Negan, I’m so used to having control and here I feel completely out of control with things. Maybe I’m just looking for you to be dominant so I can actually feel good while you’re doing it.”

“Hmm…” Negan hummed, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip before a small smile tugged at his lips. Exhaling loudly, he adjusted his weight over her so he could sweep his thumb over her jawline. “I think you just need a new daddy in your life. One that gives you exactly what you need in life. Love. Acceptance. Understanding. A daddy that will constantly pamper you and praise you.”

Finally bringing their lips together had her purring out against the kiss. Negan’s right hand caressed down over her side while he braced his weight on his left arm. Curling his arm around her waist had her lifting her hips so he could squeeze at her bottom. Moaning against his lips had him pulling back and smiling down at her.

“Daddy kink?” she slurred, sucking at her lip with an amused sound.

“Is that a turn off?” Negan wondered, lifting his hand to use his teeth to pull the glove from his hand. Tossing it beside them, he lowered his hand to pluck open the button of her jeans.

“In most cases, probably,” she admitted with a tip of her head, sinking her fingers into his hair leading him to lean into her touch. His eyes closed, his jaw flexing showing how much he appreciated just having her touch him like she was. “With you? Surprisingly? It’s the opposite.”

“Good,” Negan snickered, burying his head against the side of her neck to pepper her flesh in wet, heated kisses. “Daddy will make you feel so good. I promise.”

Wincing, she arched her hips when Negan’s fingers tugged down the zipper in her jeans. Tipping his head down, he made sure that he pushed the material apart before sliding his palm beneath her pants to caress over her body through the thin material separating him from her flesh. Clinging tightly to Negan, she panted and felt her heart skip a beat at the touch. Chills flooded her veins with the way his palm teased over her most sensitive parts. The warmth from his palm was a vast contrast from the coolness of the cold air that was surrounding them in the old barn.

“When you mean dominant, do you mean just control things or do you mean fuck you raw?” Negan’s words rumbled and a rush of excitement flooded her veins. With the way her pupils dilated after his question, he knew what direction this was going. “You know, I’ll give you what you want, but at some point, I’d like to have sex with you in a bed so I can make love to you. Make you understand what it is that you fucking deserve.”

“I don’t know if that’s going to be possible in my father’s house,” she gasped when Negan forcefully pushed down her pants to her thighs. Tugging at her panties had her arching her hips to help him before he got her settled back in the hay again. “There are so many people in that house.”

“I’m sure I can keep you quiet,” Negan winked at her, his throat flexing when the warmth of his fingertips traced over the length of her sex. Every touch had her tremoring and by the time her breathing was loud enough for him to hear, he couldn’t help but snicker. Teasingly, he circled his fingers around her sensitive bundle of nerves having her coo out with the touch. “I think your body has not been pampered in the way it should have been through the years.”

“You look at me like I’m an innocent virgin Negan and I’m not,” she reminded him, sucking in a sharp breath of air. “You are far from the first man I’ve been with.”

“Mhmm, but I’m the first real man that you have been with,” Negan arrogantly stammered, his lips hovering in over hers. In that moment, his caress got stronger and more determined. “You’ve never experienced real pleasure until you got with me. All the other men in your life? They had no fucking idea how to pleasure your body and make you experience things that you should have been for so long. What you needed was a real man to show you what you are capable of feeling.”

“Negan,” her eyes closed tightly, her cries growing with how he touched her. Rocking her hips into his caress had him letting out a long exhale. Clinging to his wrist, she found herself desperate for his touch and knew that he was right. No one made her feel the way that he did. She had never longed for someone like she did Negan.

“You are so fucking perfect,” Negan slurred, lowering down enough to kiss over her jawline toward the side of her neck. Tipping her head back, she whined when his fingers left her clitoris to slide further down between her thighs. Taking his time pushing a single digit into her warmth had her moaning out, her head burying against the side of her neck. Adding another, Negan hummed and unhurriedly started thrusting his fingers inside of her. Gradually each movement grew in strength having her whimpering against his flesh. It drove her crazy that Negan knew exactly how to touch her in just the right way to have her trembling beneath him. “Look at you. Glenn has no idea what he is doing with you.”

“He was a virgin when I met him,” she blurt out only realizing almost immediately after how bad that sounded when Negan snorted. Crying out, she dropped her head watching Negan’s quick movements hearing the wet sounds of her body while he fingered her.

“Makes sense then,” Negan growled lowering enough to nibble at her earlobe, giving it a firm tug. Soon her moans grew louder, her body shaking against his touch while he focused on her g-spot. “Almost there…”

“Your fingers are so fucking long,” she panted, tugging on Negan’s hair to bring him to her in order to kiss her. “Goddamn.”

“I do have big hands. But I’m also an artist and a gamer,” Negan informed her with a wicked smirk having her clinging tightly to him when he quickened his movements. “So these hands know exactly what they need to do in order to get things done.”

“Negan…fuck…” she cried out with the fire burning deeply inside of her. Pulling her hips away from his fingers, she heard a wet sound follow and a raspy moan fell from Negan’s throat. Digging her nails into the material of Negan’s jacket, she felt the warmth of his kisses trailing up the side of her neck and she panted. Everything inside of her was tingling and her heart was hammering inside of her chest. There was an ache in her head while her hips shook. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? That is the greatest compliment someone could ever get,” Negan questioned, his tone amused when her body finally started to calm down and relax after the orgasm he got her too. “There is nothing wrong with doing that. See, this is the problem. No one has made you feel as good as you should and you feel bad for coming. I hear you, it feels fucking good, right?”

“Yes,” she licked her lips watching Negan give an arrogant nod before lifting up. A worried sound fell from her, but he shook his head and hushed her.

“Don’t worry, we’re not done yet,” Negan assured her, taking the cowboy hat from his head. Setting it aside, he brushed his fingers through his messy hair to slick it back. Honestly? Knowing that she panicked at the idea of him leaving fueled him even more. Pulling off his other glove, he tossed it aside and then lazily pulled his jacket from his body. Crawling in over her, Negan got on his knees and started to pull his belt open. “Why don’t you show daddy how much you appreciate him making you feel the way that he does?”

Pushing up on her hands, she smirked when he started pulling open his pants. Shifting her weight, she reached up to help him push the material apart. Pushing his shirt up toward the center of his abdomen allowed her the gift of seeing his slender abdomen. Stroking her fingertips over the warmth of his flesh had Negan tipping his head back licking over his lips. Sliding her palms down, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and smirked, “Just curious. Do you have anything other than black and red?”

“Huh?” Negan snorted lowering his head to watch her pressing wet kisses over the area right beneath his bellybutton. With a firm tug, she pulled down the front of the red colored boxer briefs he was wearing and it made him grunt when his cock sprung free from behind the material. “Yes, I have other colors. I’ve got gray, blue, white…I just happen to think I look good in black and red. Do you not?”

“You look good in anything,” she dragged her tongue along his flesh having a grumble fall from his lips. Hooking her eyes with his, her fingers curled around his girthy length taking her time to caress over his hard cock. Faintly pressing kisses at the shaft had his hips arching forward toward her making her purr out. “I can’t get over how pretty your cock is.”

“Not as pretty as you,” Negan sank his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back slightly. It had her looking up at him. Her lips parted, her pupils dilated with lust. Curling his fingers tighter into her hair, he reached out with his left hand and dragged his thumb across her bottom lip. Wrapping her lips around his thumb, she sucked faintly keeping her eyes locked with his while her tongue dragged against his flesh. “You’re being such a good girl.”

“Yes daddy,” she purred and it made him laugh, his fingers pulling from her to wrap them around the base of his manhood to caress over it. “I have a confession to make.”

“Yeah?” Negan’s eyebrow arched, curiosity flooding his features when he pushed his hips forward to drag the tip of his cock against her wet lips. Grunting out, he adjusted on his legs while she pressed gentle kisses against his flesh.

“When Maggie was talking about how big you were, I told her that I thought you were small,” she informed him, her tongue dragging out across the slit at the tip drawing Negan to groan out. “With your ego, I would have never guessed you genuinely had a reason to have such a big ego. But you do. Your dick is so…so…nice.”

“My dick can also be very naughty,” Negan teased urging her to hold her tongue out. Obeying, she did what he wanted when he tapped the head of his cock against the warmth of her tongue. “I’m glad I was able to prove you wrong. But I’m also sorry to hear you’ve never been with a man capable of really pleasuring you the way you are meant to be. Now be a good girl and wrap your lips around daddy’s cock.”

Doing what he asked, she took Negan into her mouth, bobbing her head forward before pulling back and dragging her tongue across the flesh. It had Negan’s abdomen flexing, his hips arching forward toward her movements while she pleasured him. The strokes of Negan’s fingers over her scalp were an added bonus while he helped her movements over his distended flesh setting a steady pace over his length.

There was so many things appealing about Negan. From his arrogance to his looks and the way he spoke. Even with sex. She liked that he could be both dominant and submissive with her. Shane was her first and he was rough, but not always in a good way. There were other unforgettable men in between and then there was Glenn. Who almost was afraid of sex and shy to do things. Which is why Y/N never really focused on sex much. Being with Glenn was more of her having a relationship with someone and not being alone. It gave her time to focus on work and not have to worry about the whole sex thing because it never really worked out with her. But with Negan? She understood the appeal. Whether he was being naughty or nice, everything worked with her.

“Relax your throat,” Negan growled, pushing his hips forward to sink his length further down her throat. Gagging slightly at first had him pulling his hips back allowing her to take in a big gasp of air. “Too much?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, licking her wet lips before going back into pleasuring Negan. At first, she took her time on the first few inches of him. This time Negan let her do what she was comfortable with until she started taking more of him further down her throat with every movement.

“Fuck. That’s so good,” Negan dropped his head back, his fingers hooking tighter into her hair while the wet sounds of her pleasuring him filled the cool air around them. Pulling back on her hair had her whining when he pulled her from his length. An amused sound escaped his lips while he used his other hand to pump his hand over his rigid body. “Look at you. So addicted to my cock that you get mad when I take you away from it. I mean, you can keep giving me a blowjob, but you asked me to fuck you raw. If you want to just give me a blowjob, I won’t fight you on it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tipping her head further back to look up at him with a frown. “I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

“That’s better,” Negan snorted, grasping her jaw between his thumb and index finger. Smirking, Negan urged her back again, tugging her boots off with a grunt and she laughed when he almost fell. “I’m doing my best here.”

“I like it,” she assured him with a tiny laugh when he reached for her pants to tug them down her legs along with her panties and tossing them aside. Pushing his pants further down his hips, Negan stroked his fingers over his length drawing attention to it. Even though she wanted this, there was still a sense of panic when he lowered in over her, bracing his weight on his left arm. Pressing her hands in over the center of his chest, she caressed up and over his shoulders. “Can you take your shirt off?”

“I will if you will,” Negan’s nose wrinkled and she gave him a nod. Working with Negan, she managed to quickly get her jacket, shirt and bra off before helping Negan to push his shirt up his lengthy torso. Once he laid over her, the hairs from his chest tickled at her flesh, but the sensation of the skin-to-skin contact felt amazing. “You just want the both of us to freeze, huh?”

“I just want to see all of you,” she stroked her fingers through the dark curls of hair over his chest, shuddering when Negan nuzzled his nose in against hers.

What was almost amazing is they sold this whole extreme sex situation, but instead they were more so just cuddling against each other at first. Lifting up, she kissed over his collarbone toward his freckle covered shoulders. Awe for this man filled her and she couldn’t believe how much they actually connected. Adjusting her thighs, Negan lowered himself down and grabbed a firm hold of his erection. Leading it toward her entrance, he made sure she was ready before thrusting forward. Sinking into her unhurriedly, Negan’s raspy moan filled the air and she clung tightly to him. It had only been two days since he was inside of her last, but it felt like a lifetime after all she had been through. Meeting Negan’s lips in another kiss only seemed to enhance the feeling of all of this. It was incredible how full Negan could make her feel as he stayed stagnant inside of her for a moment. Once his hips started moving, their kisses grew in strength, her muted cries falling from her throat with every fluid thrust forward.

Hovering his lips over hers, Negan teased her with the idea of kissing her as the strength of his thrusts grew. Every smack of his hips against hers had her mewling out, her fingers digging into his shoulders while he did it. A sound drew Negan’s attention and he looked back over his shoulder to see that the horses were moving around outside of the barn.

“You don’t think they will draw attention, do you?” Negan inquired, lowering himself to be closer to her, the friction of his groin rubbing up against her clitoris with every roll of his hips he made.

“I don’t care at this point anymore,” she informed him, stroking her fingers through his messy hair. And she meant it. If her family were to come here to find Negan fucking her, oh well. The only people she didn’t want to see them was Negan’s children and that was for obvious reasons. But her family? Their judgement was something she didn’t care for. “Fuck them if they see.”

“Thatta girl,” Negan growled, nipping at her bottom lip hearing her cries getting louder. “Feel good?”

“So good,” she whimpered clinging tightly to him, letting out a moan when she felt his left hand reaching up to wrap his fingers loosely around her throat. When he applied a small amount of pressure, it had her purring out and she leaned her head back. Winces fell from her with every forward thrust he made into her. “You feel so fucking big daddy.”

“That’s because daddy’s cock is big inside of your tight little pussy,” Negan growled, his forehead resting against hers. A chill flooded her with his dirty talk. God, it was so fucking hot. Underneath him, her body tensed up. Her thighs were twitching, her pussy tightening around his length. It had Negan cussing out, his thrusts more prominent when he got her to another orgasm. Clinging to him, she was desperate to still keep him moving while her moans filtered from her throat. “Fucking hell Y/N. You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

Pausing his movements, Negan enjoyed the way her warmth contracted and relaxed around his throbbing length. Watching her lick her lips made him smile. Her pulse was jumping in her throat, her pants loud enough for them both to hear with her eyes closed. Grumbling, Negan pulled himself up to his knees and relaxed. Tugging her closer to him, he urged her to wrap her hands under her knees so she could hold her legs up for him. Getting as close to her as he could, he traced the length of his body over her sensitive folds and watched her hips rock up toward him.

“Nothing turns me on more than the faces you make while I’m fucking you,” Negan informed her, sucking at his bottom lip when he caressed the ridges of the tip of his cock against her clitoris. It had her purring out and he reached out to cup her breast with his left hand while his right continued to tease her with his rigid length. “I’m so used to seeing you stressed or focused, it’s nice to see you relaxed and so euphoric over something I’m doing to you.”

“You’re starting to stress me out the longer you aren’t inside of me,” she alerted him and his deep laugh followed. Nodding, he lined the tip of his cock up with her entrance and pushed forward only slightly. Allowing the tip of his cock to enter her, he pulled back and watched her pout before repeating the movement several times. “Please Negan.”

“I know. I know. You just have to understand how amazing the sight is watching my dick going in and out of you. It looks good and it feels good,” Negan growled, leaning back and bracing himself on his left hand. “But you don’t want just the tip. You want me balls deep in your beautiful little pussy. I understand.”

Giving her what she wanted, he led himself back into her hearing the whine she released when he bottomed out. Staying still had her hips arching up against him causing him to growl deeply while his right hand squeezed firmly at her hip, “Good girl. Now keep those legs up.”

Staying put, he slid his right hand down and circled his thumb over her clitoris hearing her coo out upon the contact, “Fuck me…”

Sucking at his bottom lip, Negan started to rock his hips, taking his time thrusting into her at first. Just keeping things steady and sweet. Trying to work up that hot spot inside of her. Once her cries started to escape her lips again, he pulled his right hand back and braced himself on both of his hands. Taking a second to position himself appropriately, he began driving his cock into her at just the right depth to hit her g-spot with upward thrusts. Paying close attention to her reactions to everything, Negan would slow down or speed up at the right times to help aid to the pleasure she was getting. There was something so entirely appealing seeing the way she would lift her head up to watch his cock pounding into her again and again.

Keeping her quiet was not something that was going to happen right now. Not with how he was visibly making her feel. Hearing her breathing hitching, he watched her fingers digging into her flesh and he quickened the roll of his hips, “Don’t hold back this time. Just let this happen.”

“Negan,” she gasped, noticing the strokes of his cock getting harder and faster before she pulled her hips up and away from him when another powerful orgasm hit her. A low guttural growl fell from Negan’s lips. Caressing the tip of his cock against her clitoris had her whimpering out, her hips arching up toward him. Soft tapping sounds were heard before he traced his length between her sensitive folds. “Fuck…I think you’re going to kill me.”

“Only in the best of ways,” Negan grunted with a smile, urging her to turn onto her stomach before he crawled in over her. Resting a knee on each side of her, Negan got comfortable while he stroked his aching erection in his hand. Underneath him she was panting, her hands stretching out to squeeze around the loose hay that was there. With a smirk, he brought his palm down in over her bottom spanking her. A surprised exhale fell from her throat and he didn’t know if she’d be into a light spanking at first. When she wiggled beneath him and purred out, it gave him the okay to do it again. And he did. This time, he squeezed at her fleshy bottom knowing that by the sounds she made that she liked it. “Good girl.”

Readjusting, he grabbed a firm hold of the base of his manhood, leading it back toward her opening. Once he was lined up, he smacked his hips forward drawing a gasp from her throat when he did it. With both hands, he squeezed at her bottom using it to help her bring herself back against him. Their flesh smacked together, the deep plunges of his cock inside of her causing a wet sound to surround them. Pounding into her had her almost sliding forward, but his hands slid up to her hips to grasp them and keep her in place.

“Fucking hell,” Negan tipped his head back, his thrusts hard. His testicles were smacking up against her clitoris and it was already sensitive as hell so the sensation left her wanting more. Reaching around her, she grasped at his hip needing him closer to her.

“Holy shit Negan,” she blurt out, looking over her shoulder to steal a glance at him pounding into her from behind. Gasping out with every thrust he made, she dug her fingers into his flesh and heard him groan. Just watching him, seeing what he was doing to her turned her on all the more. “Fuck…fuck…”

Moving forward, she felt Negan following her, his hands pressing in beside her when he lowered himself, “I know it’s sensitive, but you are gonna want this honey,” Negan assured her, his right hand reaching up to curl around her jaw to get her to turn her head slightly so it could bring their lips together. Brushing his tongue between her parted lips, Negan felt her eager to return the gesture while he had his way with her. Outstretching her left hand, she hooked her fingers with Negan’s and squeezed them tightly. At that moment, she started feeling faint. There was an ache at her temple, a tremoring sensation in her thighs while Negan kept up with his speed.

“Fucking…Negan…” she cried out, bouncing forward when the power of his thrusts grew stronger. Dropping her head, her eyes slammed shut and she pushed at Negan’s lower abdomen when her body started shaking again. A proud exhale fell from Negan’s throat when he kissed down over her jawline, biting at her chin while she urged him to take a moment. “Goddamn it Negan. I’ve had orgasms, but these…”

“Yeah?” Negan chuckled waiting for her to have some kind of response, but she was still shaking beneath him.

“I’m gonna need a second,” she explained knowing that while she felt incredibly good after the orgasm he just gave her, it felt like her heart was going to pound out of her chest.

“Yes ma’am,” Negan responded with a half-laugh, dropping down beside her in the hay. Rolling onto her side, she laid her head in over the center of Negan’s chest when he wrapped his arm around her and she looked to his rigid cock that was twitching. Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around his body and took her time stroking over it. “Next time we’re going to do it in a bed. And instead of multiple orgasms, I’m going to draw it out so by the time you finally do come it will blow your mind.”

“I’m so confused,” she breathlessly stammered against his flesh, kissing at Negan’s chest before nipping faintly at the flesh. “Were you always like this?”

“What? Hot?” Negan snorted and she rolled her eyes. A moment later she was shakily pushing up to crawl in over Negan still caressing over his erection with her gentle touch. “Yes, I was always pretty good looking.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant good at sex because it’s like you know exactly what to do and how to do it in order to get whatever it is you want,” she rambled off how she was feeling making Negan smile from where he was beneath her. A muted moan fell from his throat with the way she was touching him and he shrugged. “I don’t get it. I’ve had sex with other people…I’m not a virgin. But with you it feels like I’ve never really had sex before.”

“A lot of people aren’t me,” Negan reasoned with her, his palms reaching up to caress over her breasts while she took time to gain back her strength. “I just have learned to pay attention to people and what they like. No I wasn’t always good at sex. I’m sure if Lucille was here, she would tell you our first time was trash. I had absolutely zero control and I was just eager to come. Now, with practice, I’ve learned to control things, pay attention to what makes someone feel good and I work on that. Do I still come fast sometimes? Yeah. I do. I get excited too. I’m not always perfect. And if you want to be with me, you can’t always expect me to be perfect a hundred percent, but I’ll always try.”

“I see,” she was impressed that he was being honest with her as she reached for the cowboy hat he had pulled off earlier to put back on him. With an amused rumble of laughter, Negan felt her crawling in over him more confidently. Dragging the tip of his cock through her folds, Negan moaned out and rolled his eyes back. His body was ready to come and it ached like hell, but he wanted to give her time to let her body do what it needed. Once she lowered down over his length, he let out a grunt when she took him inside of her completely. Her nails dug into his chest and his fingers squeezed at her hips while she braced herself over him. “Fuck.”

“Goddamn, you feel so fucking good,” Negan arched up toward her drawing her to whine with the feeling. “For someone not used to a big cock, you sure do take it well. God, I want to come so fucking bad.”

“Then do it,” she gave him the okay hearing him huff when she started to only slightly roll her hips over him. “I want my sexy cowboy to come inside of me.”

“Yeah?” Negan wondered, pressing up on his hands eager to watch her ride him while she started confidently to bounce her hips over him. Allowing her to use his body the way she wanted, Negan lowered his head and kissed over her breasts. The sounds they were making were loud and crude. There was no hiding what they were doing or keeping it hidden that they were enjoying themselves. Feeling his body tensing up, Negan rolled her onto her back again. Her legs wrapped around his waist while he bucked up against her. “Fuck.”

“Fill me up with your cum daddy,” she spoke, urging his lips to hers with his moans vibrating against her flesh.

“I’m going to,” Negan assured her, the vein at the side of his neck bulging when his moans grew louder. Looking down, he stole a look at his cock pounding away inside of her and he felt his testicles tightening up. “Fuck…daddy is going to paint the walls of your pussy with his cum. Would you like that?”

“Please,” she begged of him, her whimpers growing louder with him smacking up against her harder. Winces started to fall from his throat when the throbbing of his body inside of her was felt followed by a warmth. Following through with his thrusts, Negan continued to fuck her and she appreciated that. A lot of guys would stop once they started to come, but not Negan. There was a need to want to draw things out to the very end. His hips started to falter, his breathing uneven when he laid in over her. Once again, he was cuddling up against her after they had sex and she liked it. Stroking her fingers through his hair, she knew that she wouldn’t be okay for the rest of the day but she didn’t care. Negan hadn’t pulled out of her, he was just lying in over her having that bonding moment he seemed to long for.

“I fucking love you,” Negan grunted, his head lifting up to show the redness that had flushed into his face. There was something different in his eyes and he shook his head.

Reaching out, she stroked her fingers over the side of his face and led him to kiss her. Their kiss lingered before she sighed and nuzzled her nose in against his, “I love you too.”

“Fucking good. Because I was starting to wonder if I was insane for the way I was feeling,” Negan turned onto his side, urging her to follow his movements with her leg still draped over his waist while he grew soft inside of her. “I don’t want to keep pretending anymore Y/N.”

“I get it,” she replied, stroking her fingers over the side of his face and into his damp hair that was beneath the cowboy hat. “I really do.”

“Then what are we doing?” Negan panted, his eyes searching hers while she swallowed down hard. “I mean, if you choose to be with me, imagine all the amazing shit you could have. A family. That actually loves you and wants the best for you. Think of how when we’re working together, no one will question it at first and I can go down on you while you are working in your office…”

“You don’t have to keep selling yourself Negan. I want to be with you,” she silenced him with a laugh, stroking her fingers through his hair. Pulling his hips back allowed his cock to pull from her body and she let out a surprised sound when she felt some of his release dripping from her body and sliding down her thighs. “I don’t let people come in me Negan. I trust you. I want what we have here.”

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here,” Negan suggested lifting his head up enough, his wet hair in his eyes after the cowboy hat fell from his head. Sweeping his hair out of his face, she sighed loudly and shrugged her shoulders. Grabbing the hat again, she put it back on his head and heard him snicker. “What is it?”

“I think you’re right that I made a mistake coming here. My family wasn’t worth all of this, but…” she slid her palm down in over the side of Negan’s face, her fingertips tracing through his short beard. “I actually think Beau needs this. I’ve already made plans with Beau last night to try to make this Christmas better for him.”

“Beau?” Negan repeated his son’s name, the emotion in his eyes changing when she brought up his son. “What do you mean?”

“We talked last night while you were watching movies with Erin and my family. He really misses his mom. And he misses the way things were with her when he was younger,” she informed Negan, feeling the warmth of Negan’s breath pressing in over her pulse point when he faintly kissed at her sensitive flesh. “He gave me a list of things that he wants to do while he’s here and I promised him we would do all of them.”

“Wow,” Negan muttered, his hazel eyes gazing over her while he hooked his fingers with hers. “You’re worried about my son?”

“I am,” she nodded her head, being honest with her emotions that had been fueling her yesterday after talking to Negan’s son. “The two of us have a lot in common and he just wants to remember what it felt like to be with his mom for Christmas. I can’t give him that, but I want to bring as much magic that I can into his life as I can. I’ve been without my family for so long and I don’t know…”

“I love you,” Negan breathed out, lowering down just enough to press a loving kiss over her lips that took her breath away when he pulled back. “Hearing you talk about my son like that reconfirms for me everything I was already thinking about with you. And you think staying here will do that for him?”

“I think so,” she informed Negan, sliding her fingers up over the side of Negan’s neck. Stroking her fingers at his flesh, she didn’t know if she was overstepping, but she felt like this needed to be done. “I made a promise to him. A few of the things are silly, but doable. He wants to make sugar cookies with his sister. And be messy with it. He wants to go ice skating and he wants to build a snowman. In a day or two, there is supposed to be a big storm. So we’ll be capable of doing the snowman. He wants to go to the main town and see what they have there. There is this wooded walk they have a little while away from here. I was going to run to the store today. Get a few things for a project I want to do with Beau today if you are okay with it. Maybe we can go to town, walk around a little bit and then do the sugar cookies before bed.”

“I like the sound of that,” Negan crawled back in over her, peppering her with kisses until the point they were both giggling by how silly he was being with his kisses. “How are we going to tell Maggie and Glenn?”

“Carefully,” she replied knowing that in order to have a good few days they would have to still keep things from Maggie and Glenn. “Let’s make it to Christmas. Keep things on the downlow until then so we can make things good for Beau and Erin. Then after Christmas, we can kind of drop the bomb. And if we’re kicked out before New Years? Then so be it. But you’re right. What I feel for you is pure. It’s real. I don’t want to waste this.”

“Okay,” Negan agreed, nuzzling his nose in against hers before letting out a sigh. “Then that’s what we will do. I’ll gradually put the brakes on things with Maggie. Start breaking is slowly, but you have to understand during these events, it’s you that I want to be with.”

“I do understand that,” she noted, lifting up to kiss him again. While she thought that they could have given Beau what he wanted if they left and ran off to New York, she thought maybe having her family around for the two children would be good. Beth was fun. Her dad and her stepmom would likely pamper the hell out of them and that’s what they needed right now. Cuddling in closer to Negan, she nuzzled her nose in against the side of his neck and pressed a faint kiss there. “I have to admit something to you.”

“Yeah?” Negan pulled his head back enough making her laugh when the cowboy hat he was wearing fell over his eyes. Tossing the hat aside, Negan grunted and couldn’t help but smile with her laughter.

“I’m freezing,” she alerted him, lifting her head up to stare out at the door that was partially opened to the barn.

“Noted,” Negan grunted, looking down between them realizing that while they were still pressed up against one another, it was still really cold. “My ass and my testicles are really feeling that cool burst of air coming through. And it’s…well…maybe a different version of blue balls that might happen soon.”

“Dear God,” she groaned out, shoving her hand into the center of his face hearing his snort follow.

“I’m serious,” Negan laughed, nodding down toward his chest. “It’s so fucking cold my nipples are hard right now. Look at them.”

“I see,” she slid her hand up to pinch at his nipple before sitting up enough to circle her tongue around the flesh. Giving it a small nip had him groaning out before she shook her head. “We should stop while we’re ahead.”

Moving in beside her, Negan reached for his boxer briefs and his pants that were down at his ankles to pull them back up over his long legs and over his slender hips. Thinking things over, she cleared her throat when she reached for her panties and her pants. “I’ve got nothing to clean myself up with.”

“And that’s a problem?” Negan growled, his thick eyebrow arching in amusement when he slid in beside her palming up and over her thigh. “I like my cum marking you.”

“I would have never guessed,” she shuddered when Negan’s lips captured hers again drawing her to tip her head back to allow him to kiss her. When his tongue brushed against hers, she gasped when his fingers traced over the length of her sex. “I’m going to have to shower this morning before I do anything.”

Holding his hand up, Negan reached for the jacket that he had pulled off earlier. Digging into the pockets, he pulled out a pack of tissues and tossed them to her, “My allergies suck this time of year so I always carry those on me.”

“Smart,” she commented noticing the way that Negan grabbed her panties and she huffed. “You can’t steal my clothes again Negan.”

“Of course I can,” Negan held the material up watching her attempt to grab them and he shook his head. Pushing her panties in his back pocket had a warmth flooding into her cheeks. “These are mine.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she commented, cleaning herself up while Negan continued to get dressed. “You’re not kidding when you say you come a lot.”

“I’m a pretty honest guy,” Negan replied back with a laugh, shrugging his shoulders when he spoke. “I’m a perfect breeder. I have a big dick. I come a lot. My cum is healthy. My sperm makes pretty babies. I’m good looking. I have the cutest fucking dimples…”

“No one strokes your ego better than you Negan,” she continue to get dressed feeling Negan sneak him behind her to snake his arm around her hips. Picking her up, he peppered kisses over the side of her face and heard her laughter filling the air.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Negan muttered against her flesh, nipping faintly at her earlobe when he cuddled her close.

“I can’t,” she responded with laughter, her hands meeting Negan’s to give them a tight squeeze. Once they were finally fully clothed, Negan dropped back into the hay and got comfortable. Wiggling his fingers out at her, he motioned her to come to him. Lowering down, she sat between his legs with her back pressed against his chest. Wrapping her up in his arms, Negan cuddled his chin in over her shoulder and held her close to him. “Are you typically the kind of guy that steals women’s panties after you’ve slept with them?”

“Not really,” Negan snickered, the warmth of his breath tickling against the side of her neck. “Maybe I’m just proud of my moments with you. But, think of it this way. After you move in with me, these will belong to you again.”

“Oh, that’s a plus,” she rolled her eyes, resting her head back further against his chest. “Did you do that with Maggie?”

“Which part? Steal her underwear?” Negan grumbled causing Y/N to laugh out loud. “I can’t say that I did. Nor have I done a lot of things with Maggie that I’ve done with you. I don’t want to shame your sister because I can’t. I’ve had my wild years too. But your sister I think…is a lot more experienced than you. In terms of she’s obviously been with a lot more people and she’s not as innocent. Which is totally okay, but you, your reactions to everything are so special and you enjoy everything so much.”

“I see,” she tried to hold back on the amusement that she had with Negan’s answer. “I’m glad you enjoy sex with me more than Maggie.”

“I’m glad I do too, but it’s not just about the sex with you,” Negan promised, kissing over her jawline and letting out an amused sound. “You have to understand, the sex is great and it makes me happy to be able to pleasure you like I do, but I just feel this connection with you. There is just something so much more between us than I’ve ever felt with Maggie.”

“We should probably get moving,” she suggested allowing Negan to wrap her up tightly in his arms once more to give her a big hug. Standing up slowly, she reached for Negan’s hand to help him up. Stepping before him, she placed her hand in over the center of his chest and looked up at him with big eyes. “Are you sure about this? Everything you feel is real?”

“Everything,” Negan assured her with a wink. Stroking his finger in underneath her jawline, he urged her to look up at him and he shook his head. “I love you. As crazy as that makes me. When you know, you know. I promise you, after Christmas…when we’re together, I’ll be everything your family wasn’t.”

Lowering down, Negan claimed her lips in a long, drawn-out kiss that had her falling in closer to his chest. When they separated, Negan nuzzled his nose in against hers. Holding her for a moment longer, the sound of the door creaking was heard and before they had time to react, it was being pushed open.

“Hey dad,” Beau’s voiced filled the old barn when he entered it, stopping in his tracks when he saw how close Negan and Y/N were. Almost immediately both of them stepped back from one another, Negan’s hands pushing into the pockets of his jacket and Y/N lowering her head to look down toward the ground. “Maggie is looking for you. They made breakfast for everyone and they were coming to get the two of you.”

“Thanks buddy,” Negan felt his heart hammering inside of his chest when he noticed the way that Beau was gazing back and forth between the two of them. It was an awkward situation for Beau to come in at, but he was thankful it wasn’t during one of their kisses or something even worse. Clearing his throat, Negan stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Beau to give him a big hug. “It’s good to see you this morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I think maybe we should have that discussion at breakfast,” Beau pulled away from Negan’s hug, pointing back toward the horses that were in front of the barn. “I think you two might want to put the horses away before Maggie finds the two of you.”

“Good idea,” Y/N stepped forward rushing out of the barn, going for Dakota while leaving the two of them alone.

“I uh…I can explain,” Negan lifted his hand, pointing out toward Y/N while Beau stood before him with his big hazel eyes. “You see, we were just…talking and…”

“Dad,” Beau interrupted Negan, pointing back toward the horse that Negan needed to help Y/N with. “I’m not asking questions. If you want me to know something, you’ll tell me. Until then, do whatever you have to do.”

“What does that mean?” Negan noticed the expression that Beau was giving him. Simply shrugging his shoulders, Beau turned on his heel and then went to go help Y/N with the horses. In that moment it felt like the world was spinning around Negan and he wondered if his son knew more than he was actually giving off.

----

Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @de-gabyconamor @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf @hollyismentallyillhelp @promiscuousbarnes @tone-stark @lanadelnegan @flippittygibbitts @stickyhuesos

#Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan #Negan fanfiction #negan x reader #The Walking Dead #twd fanfiction #negan x you #Negan Smith #Negan smut

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

Text

He Who Hides Behind a Mask.

Scaramouche x F!Reader.

Warnings: Scaramouche is a mess, Reader is honestly a mess too, implied not SFW. Word count: 6k.

Note: originally, this story was going to be lot darker (haha), but after the 3.1 cutscene... i decided mr. mouche can have a break just this once. as a treat. please handle him with care. he really needs all of it he can get. anyway here’s my love letter to my fav genshin character.

You are, without a doubt, the worst human in the world.

If Scaramouche was labeled an eccentric by his peers throughout the centuries, he wonders what that would make you. Whatever conventions you abide by are a complete mystery to him. Perhaps you damaged your head at some point in your life and are now living with the consequences. Or, your head has made it out mostly unscathed, and you really are just this foolish for no good reason. That miserable doctor might say there’s an explanation behind every phenomenon, but the charlatan surely would change his tune if he met you.

What else could possibly explain why you have the audacity to waltz into his office, entirely unannounced, scuttling about like you owned the place?

… And if that isn’t worse enough, why does he let you?

“I brought some reports from Yaroslav and Stepan,” you slap said reports on his desk, then stretch your arms over your head. Scaramouche purses his lips as he contemplates how wide open you’ve left yourself to attack. He considers chastising you but decides against it this time, feeling otherwise preoccupied with your words. He’ll save that lecture for another day. Lord knows he has plenty building up already.

“Did they offer any explanation as to why they sent you in their stead?” Scaramouche scoffs, straightening the papers out and giving them a once over. If memory serves, this time-sensitive information was supposed to be here hours ago. He would’ve hunted the two aforementioned slackers down himself had he not been so inundated with other matters. Really, he shouldn’t be dilly-dallying with you at all, he should just wave you off so he can focus again.

Emphasis on the word should. He knows he most definitely won’t. Not when he had to bite his lower lip to stop a smile from spreading upon you barging in.

You unclasp your standard-issued Fatui mask from your face and toss it aside. “Well, if you want my opinion—”

“I can’t say I ever do, really.”

“—Okay, I’ll be ignoring that comment. Anyway, back to my opinion. I believe they find your lordship unpleasant. Horrifying. The worst company anyone could ask for. Had it not been for the fact they were wearing gloves, those papers would’ve been soaked from how much they were sweating.”

Gross mental image aside, he laser focuses on the insults you so freely flung in his direction. “If my company is ‘the worst anyone could ask for’, why is it you seek me out like a pest so often?”

You help yourself to the chair in front of his desk. Scaramouche had never seen anyone aside from you use it, since the few trembling Fatui agents that managed to survive their encounters here never risked staying long enough to test the furniture. It might as well belong to you at this point. As does the windowsill you somehow manage to balance yourself on when the sun is beaming in, the couch, his bed in the attached room…

“What kind of pest are we talking about here? Bugs or rodents?”

He rolls his eyes. You’re so purposefully obtuse that it’s a wonder your back isn’t bent a hundred degrees. “A mutation between them that maximizes both of their worst qualities.”

“One, that’s too cool to be an insult,” you put a gloved finger up, “And two, I’m convinced that if I didn’t keep you company, you’d go crazy from loneliness and zap everyone to death. I consider this a community service.”

Oddly enough, you might be spot on. What was that phrase again? A broken clock is right twice a day? He mentally rephrases it so that the ‘twice’ becomes ‘once’. He can’t be giving you more credit than is absolutely necessary. While he doesn’t have definitive proof you’re a telepath, it’s too much of a risk to presume otherwise. Your ability to read him is just… uncanny. He has his suspicions.

“You’ve been slacking in your supposed community service then, seeing as you’ve been gone the past week.”

Oh no, that came out way more bitter than he intended. And oh no, now you’re smiling, not the kind he’d begrudgingly call cute should his enemies ever waterboard the information out of him, either. This variation is the worst. Malignance hidden behind a veil of purity. The stuff of nightmares. It’s the ohh-you’re-so-taken-with-me-aren’t-you smile that puts his reputation of being cool and composed on the line. He can’t have that, not with you. It does away with the telepath theory that he desperately clings to.

If you’re somehow not a mind reader, then the only other explanation is that he’s made himself vulnerable enough for you to understand him. He doesn't like the thought of that. Not at all. The possibility pricks at him like a thousand needles, jamming in from all directions. Sharp and digging so deep past the surface, that removing them would cause him to bleed out.

With far more confidence in your gait than he would’ve preferred, you stride over, slinging an arm around his shoulder. The touch fills him with warmth, and still, he shivers.

“Did you miss me?”

There it is — a final blow worthy of taking him out. He wouldn’t succumb to flesh wounds, time’s passage, or elemental attacks that could level nations. It was only the sweet words that left your lips that held the high honor of potentially doing him in. Scaramouche is left stupefied. He doesn’t think about the two bumbling idiots that used you to avoid his wrath, the workload piling up as each second passes, or how grating his fellow Harbingers are.

Absolutely nothing else in this existence registers aside from you.

How close you are, how right it feels when your bodies connect, the scent of pine trees and brown sugar that make up the shampoo he knows you favor. The very shampoo he uses in your absence to try and placate himself until you return.

Emotions brew within him like the tempest above Seirai Island in his homeland. He hides it by biting down on his bottom lip, somehow managing to keep the cracks of his porcelain façade from spreading further. Once the damage is done, he hasn’t the slightest clue on how to go about fixing it. All he knows is that you are the one inflicting the damage. Far more than you could ever know. Far more than any veneer could ever polish.

With a strained tone, he manages to free the words that were lodged in his throat.

“You’re so full of yourself. Of course I didn’t.”

ii.

Scaramouche never thought he’d be able to desire a human body as much as he does yours.

It wasn’t until he made your acquaintance that he could understand how scholars went mad in pursuit of knowledge they’d never obtain. They knew it was a fruitless endeavor too, as did he, and still, what other choice did they have but to continue their studies at the expense of themselves? He was a creation — you were created. A line separates you both that he would always pass if it meant he could get the slightest taste. The blame all lies with you. Had you not tempted him, he’s certain he would’ve had the wherewithal to resist.

Or maybe that was just another pretty lie he wove, for he’s more comfortable claiming you’ve trapped him when he’s every bit the willing prisoner.

He once found the human body to be a miracle, something to envy in his earlier days. An unobtainable treasure for a tossed aside husk like himself.

He’s since rectified that naive line of thinking. What was so good about blood that couldn’t clot itself fast enough to heal mortal wounds in an instant? Skin that inevitably withers and sags from brittle bones? A heart that could kill its host should it beat too slow or too fast? The design was subpar. His being triumphed over it in every conceivable category. In the same way a swan would never pause to consider the appearance of a worm in light of its own beauty, Scaramouche thought he lacked the capacity to admire anyone other than himself. He figured that if he’d gone five centuries without finding anyone worthwhile, such a mythological figure must never exist. His modus operandi remained firm. Distrust miserable humanity, mock the foolish gods who are far less omnipotent than they’d like to admit.

Then you stumbled into the picture. No grace, no poise, only offering whatever it is you offer that he apparently just can’t get enough of. Addiction would be putting it lightly.

He runs his fingers over the hand-shaped bruises forming on your hips, then the blotches he greedily left behind on your neck. He considers the faded bites he had left around your collarbone upon receiving news you were to be away for a week on a job. He shifts himself, allowing the light from the full moon to illuminate where you returned the favor in kind, only to find the skin had healed completely. He frowns and tugs at his yukata to hide the perfection.

Indeed, you were subpar in comparison to his own divine design, but he couldn’t help but take a liking toward what your body was capable of. Far from revulsion yet not quite envy. This new emotion that bloomed in his chest went unidentified on purpose, for he never wished to give it a name.

Your body told stories, whereas his scrubbed the words clean from the pages, lest anyone ever read them.

A soft exhale from your sleeping figure draws his attention. You help yourself to snuggling deeper into his pillows, a content little smile on your lips that were raw from his various ministrations. He fights back a laugh at the state of your hair, sticking in enough directions to rival a compass. Absent-mindedly, he smooths out what he can. He’s probably not in a much better state himself. You were such a hair grabber. Perhaps all his spoiling made you impatient.

After running out of good excuses to stare at and touch you, he lays back down. His bed is far more inviting now that you’re back in it. Even if you have an unseemly habit of hogging the blankets.

“I did miss you… a bit.”

He whispers it as if it were a confession he’d clung to his entire life, only letting go moments before eternal slumber so that he may know peace. Scaramouche isn’t sure why he’s so adamant about denying you the truth. Is it pride? The thrill of being chased and sought after? Or, more realistically, and far uglier, could it be cowardice? He thought he had removed the filth that is emotion from his being. He declared it to be so, reveled in it, found solace that stretched centuries because of it.

You’ve reawoken that which lays dormant within him. If there’s anything the discarded puppet understands, it’s the danger that comes from rousing things from their sleep.

Much to his alarm, you stir, and he freezes like a thief caught in the diabolical act. You mutter some words that he can’t quite make out. Then, seemingly content with your change in position, you’re out like a light once more. His tense shoulders relax and he almost sighs from relief. He decides it’s too early to entirely let his guard down, not until he can confirm you aren’t faking slumber for some insidious machinations. He wouldn’t put it past you.

“You irritate me,” he murmurs, using the same volume that he did before.

Nothing.

“Your plant died because I forgot to water it like you asked me to.”

Still nothing.

“... Personality aside, you have some attractive qualities.”

Nada.

Huh. So he was being paranoid for nothing. He huffs in frustration, whether it can be attributed mostly to you or himself, he cannot say for certain. What he does know is that the sun will be rising in a few short hours and he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep. The fault lies with you, he decides. If you weren’t so pleasant to look at, he’d have been well on his way to dozing off. Every anomaly in his life can be traced back to you like an elaborate tapestry. He’s thought about ripping it off from the hinges, igniting each thread until it frays, warming himself with the fire that he’d start and maintain.

While it might be difficult at first, in the long run, it should make everything easier. Get his focus back onto his lifelong grudges and goals.

But when he feels how your palm locks perfectly into place against his, he decides the warmth he gets from you as you are now is superior. Even if it means that he might possibly be the one to go down in flames instead.

iii.

“Hey, [First].”

“Hm?”

“If I said that I hated you, would you believe me?”

You take a pause from sipping on the tea he prepared. Your fingers trace the outer ring of the yunomi, eyeing the steam rising from the murky green liquid inside. Unfortunately for Scaramouche, you’d witnessed him preparing matcha tea in the classic Inazuman style, and often bugged him to make you some. He always complained about how high maintenance you were yet never refused the request. The one time you pointed this out, he hastily made the excuse that you talk less and are generally more bearable when your mouth is preoccupied. This earned him a wink that set his face ablaze.

“I think it’d depend on your reason for hating me,” you decide.

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“Well, yeah. Otherwise, you’re not putting your heart into it. It’s too tepid. Go big or go home, as they say.”

Who exactly says that…?

“And what if I don’t have a heart?” Scaramouche proposes. You’re giving him a weird look. He knows he’s being overly cryptic and searching for answers you could never give, but he can’t stop himself. There’s a certain satisfaction to be found in getting all passionate over a perceived wrong. Searching for offenses hidden beneath the reeds that simply aren’t there, yet settling on labeling the rough shape of it just that. He likes it when others make mistakes in his presence. When he has an excuse to belittle and berate them.

What that says about himself, he could care less. Very few have the power and or courage to call him out on it.

He’s scrutinizing your every movement. From the fluttering of your eyelashes against your cheeks to how you readjust your posture, searching and searching for the perfect opening for him to lunge at. He needs it from you, he realizes, in the same way lost humans in the desert need water.

Scaramouche starts drumming his fingers on the ground. Why are you taking so long to respond? Normally, you would’ve rattled off on some nonsensical tangent by now that he’d claim to only be half paying attention to when he actually soaked up every word. Could it be that you sense the underlying severity that he tried so hard to mask? Or is his telepath theory gaining newfound credence again?

He has to sever this connection with you. If he doesn’t, every time he tries to pull away, he’ll snap right back in your direction.

“The way I see it,” you start, five words that make him internally cringe yet lean in nonetheless, “Your heart is a work-in-progress. An ongoing project.”

“What?” He deadpans. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

“Hold on, I’m not finished yet. You can’t judge me until I’m done.”

He has reason to disagree but keeps that sentiment to himself.

You set the near-empty yunomi onto the ground and look him straight in the eye. “A heart is what guides you. It takes you in all sorts of directions, good and bad. You’ll think to yourself, ‘why did I do something so stupid, when I knew it was stupid’, and well, that’s because of your heart. So as far as I see it, anyone capable of messing up has a heart.”

You tap your head with your knuckles and he’s semi-amazed it’s not a hollow sound that comes forth. “See, if we only used this and abided purely by logic, we’d all be super boring and perfect. That’s where our heart comes in. It sends us spiraling all over the place and makes things interesting.”

“So you’re saying because I’m stupid and have the capacity to ‘mess up’, I have a heart?”

“Well, I would’ve gone for an artsier flare in trying to sum up what I said, but I guess that’s the gist of it.”

“I’ll be generous and overlook the incredibly foolish nature of your words that defy all sensibility—”

“Wow, thanks.”

“—And entertain your assertion with one final question before I drop the subject. You still haven’t elaborated on the work-in-progress part. Explain.”

“Oh, this one’s simple,” you nod with confidence that makes zero sense to him. “It’s only a work-in-progress because you haven’t realized you already have a heart. Once you figure that part out, you’ll be all set.”

You have the audacity to conclude this world-shattering statement with a thumbs up. Scaramouche gawks at you, vacillating between incredulity and sheer awe over your apparent nerves of steel. Grown men cower in his presence. Villages and settlements are razed on his command. He could very well ascend to godhood one day so that he might tear the false stars from the sky. And here you sit, speaking candidly with him, as if it was the most normal thing.

You interrupt his thoughts by holding the empty yunomi in his direction. “Would it be okay if I had some more of this stuff? It’s delicious.”

He yanks the yunomi with far more force than necessary, turns his back to you, and starts assembling the necessary tools while muttering obscenities under his breath. The matcha powder is all but flung into the bowl. Stupid woman with a stupid pretty face making him do stupid things—

Scaramouche freezes.

You make him do stupid things?

Oh no, this is really, really bad. Wait. There’s still hope. A light at the end of the tunnel that he must run towards. If he doesn’t believe your mad ravings, because that’s definitely what they were, no doubt about it, then he’s safe. In the clear. All good. Above reproach. The implications that would arise otherwise are too damning, possibly enough to rewrite his entire existence—

You wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your head atop his. “Are you okay, Scara? I’ve seen statues move more than you have in the past few minutes.”

He swallows thickly.

“... Kunikuzushi.”

“Huh?”

“My name isn’t Scaramouche, you dullard,” he can barely ladle the hot liquid into the bowl from how much he shakes. “It’s Kunikuzushi. Remember that.”

He feels you hum, the sound low and remarkably pleasant. “Ku-ni-ku-zu-shi. Kunikuzushi. Okay, got it. What a relief. That’s way better than what I thought your actual name was.”

“What did you think my name was?” He questions, momentarily forgetting that giving into his curiosity around you often spelled trouble for him.

“Balladeer,” is your instantaneous response.

He lets out a sound he didn’t think he was capable of making anymore. You must believe this as well, for you release your hold on him, swiveling around in front with wide eyes. Scaramouche covers his traitorous face to the best of his abilities, but it’s too late. You caught a glimpse and now he will have to live with the consequences. He swats you away as you try to pry the hand covering his smile.

“Oh wow, I made you laugh!”

“You did no such thing.”

“It wasn’t a derisive laugh or anything either! I thought you could only do evil little chuckles. This is a discovery worth celebrating.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Look who’s talking.”

For once, he doesn’t have a good response ready to fire back.

iv.

Fate is an unfunny joke, as far as Scaramouche is concerned.

He was destined for more than the hand he was dealt. A creation torn away from the higher purpose it was handmade for. Godhood, divinity, a seat amidst seven holy thrones. Fate had spat in his face and turned its back on him. Some — a certain pink-haired kitsune comes to mind — might label his various schemes a tantrum. That could be exactly what he was doing. What the fruits of hundreds of years' worth of labor ultimately amounts to. He doesn’t care if that’s the case. People could look down on petty revenge all they want, but at the end of the day, what matters is that it feels good. Vindicating, exhilarating. There is unrefined beauty in disaster when he is the orchestrator of it.

Yet for some reason or another, he doesn’t want disaster to rip its claws into you.

Your touch is different tonight and so is his. There’s a raw urgency behind it that he doesn’t care to conceal, whereas yours is sluggish, almost apathetic. It’s the antithesis of everything you are and he can’t help but find his mood soured because of it.

Scaramouche is doing everything he knows you like. Touching you in the places that normally produce such lovely noises, devouring you with his lips and body. He’s giving you everything — more than that, even — while you give him nothing. You don’t goad him on or push him away. This impossible to decipher situation has his head reeling. He wants you, he needs to have you, but not like this. Not when you aren’t yourself. For that is what he desires the most.

When he pulls back from his heated kiss, saliva connects your lips in a thin line. He grimaces at your blank expression. Why isn’t this working? In the past, when words failed him, he compensated with his actions. He’d encourage you to sing, make you throw your head back and abandon all sense of propriety, freely handing the worthless notion over to him without a second thought. You never refused to give when he went to take. So this drastic change is both abnormal and unwelcome.

“... What?” He demands, breathless. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Why does it bother him so much?

Scaramouche knows he could get up and leave. Perhaps that’s what he should do, and what he would’ve done years ago, but he’s paralyzed. You’ve injected your venom so deep inside him and he didn’t realize until it was too late. Death’s tolls are ringing in his ear to come claim him, with you standing as his executioner.

“You’re going to Inazuma,” the words come out slowly and in a tone that hardly fits you.

“Yeah? And?”

“You’re going to Inazuma without me.”

“I’m failing to see the issue here,” he grits his teeth. “Spit it out already. You’re testing my patience.”

You both glare at each other in silence for some time. A little voice in his head that he repeatedly tries to silence tells him he already knows where you’re going with this; you’re trying to give him the dignity of fessing up before he’s pressed further. You were an unrivaled master when it came to navigating the complex maze that is his existence. In any other instance, he might cave and give in. He can’t with this, it’s too imperative, the driving force that’s erred him on for countless years.

Scaramouche scoffs and moves himself off of you, settling on hanging his legs from the side of his bed. You don’t try to stop him or chase after him. You just lay there, your eyes burning on his back, ensuring that the atmosphere remains thick.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. There has got to be nothing worse than when one realizes they’re in the wrong. He can count the times he’s felt this way on a single hand, most of the experiences connecting back to you in some way. Conviction eludes him otherwise. He could shock sobbing and pleading individuals to ashes without batting an eyelash, but no, the moment you’re upset, it’s all too much and he can’t handle the pressure.

Fine. You want him to come out and say it? He’ll do just that.

“I’m going to leave and betray the Fatui,” he says as if he’s discussing the weather. “I want that deplorable Electro Archon’s gnosis. I’ve waited centuries for an opportunity like this to present itself. So, if you have half a working brain, you can see why I don’t plan on having you tag along. You’ll likely be labeled a traitor too for fraternizing with me.”

He’s grateful you can’t see his face, for he doesn’t have his hat to conceal it.

If he has little reason to stick around, you have infinitely less after a cold confession like that. He’s admitted to endangering you despite knowing his plan to one day betray the organization you both are members of. He selfishly embedded himself in you regardless, soaking up your warmth and everything good you had to offer. A parasite, he thinks. That’s what I am. A parasite that grew addicted to you and took more than it could ever hope to give back. He’s discarding you in the same way his mother did to him, once his existence was deemed unfit for its desired purpose. If he considered humans untrustworthy, what does that make him?

“... Is that all you want, Kunikuzushi?”

He’s never heard your voice so soft and delicate. What a shame that out of all the times he’s felt he deserved it, it had to come now, when he knows he doesn’t.

“It is,” comes his curt response. “You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

He has no better defense other than to say you knowingly got entangled with a Harbinger. You could argue the point, call him on his bluff, hurl every insult under the sun at him. He’d let you too — it might as well be your right. You do no such thing. You don’t even storm out of the room in a huff. Instead, you pull the sheets up to cover your bare chest, fluff out your favorite pillows, and smooth out the wrinkled blankets. Scaramouche has to glance over his shoulders to confirm what it is you’re actually doing. Sure enough, you’ve closed your eyes, and are well on your way to falling asleep.

He shakes his head in complete and utter disbelief.

It would seem that he could never understand you, not even in your last night shared together.

You don’t come to see him off on his voyage.

His ego might be larger than any numerical measurement could hope to quantify, but not even that could make him believe you’d have any kind words left for him. That was the point of him pushing you away, wasn’t it? To enjoy you up until the very last second then make a clean break? Still, he can’t help but feel troubled by the dejection looming over him like storm clouds in your absence. What a pain. It appears you’re destined to annoy him no matter the circumstances.

Standing atop the upper deck, he overlooks the desolate landscape of Schenzaya that seemingly stretches on forever. Muted grays and blues blend together in a dreary canvas befitting of his current mood. Fatui soldiers rush around from all directions, though they do their best to avoid the space Scaramouche occupies, leaving him to brood in silence. The dark aura emanating off of him does well to warn others off.

Scaramouche doesn’t understand why this debacle is troubling him so when he knew it was coming. His ultimate goal has always been obtaining a gnosis or any other path to divinity, that didn’t change when you came stumbling along. He needs to get over this inconvenience promptly. For him to fulfill his lifelong dream, he must ensure his chest is a blank slate. He even abandoned his childlike longing for a heart upon recognizing this. Everything must be stripped clean for what is to come next. This mire plaguing him is no different — he’ll wash and drown it out.

Suddenly unable to stomach the view any longer, he pivots and makes for his private cabin. The mere thought that you’re somewhere out there, far beyond his grasp, where others take kindly to you… he could almost get sick. If you were likable enough for him to ease up in your presence, who else would succumb to your charms? He balls his hands into fists by his side. You could do so well for yourself and he loathes the thought. There’d be some admittedly petty satisfaction if he was confident you’d be alone forever after him, but it just isn’t realistic. Irksome woman. Damn you for being enjoyable company and easy on the eyes. Damn you for making him care in the slightest.

Those he strides past either scramble to occupy themselves with busy work or fixate on the floor. He pays them no mind, viewing them as insignificant as the chipped wooden planks beneath his feet. By the time he gets to his cabin’s doors, fatigue falls upon him, though his long journey is just beginning. He shoves the doors open with enough force that the hinges shriek in protest. His kasa is pushed slightly askew from the doors slamming shut, yet he cannot think to fix it or anything else. Not when he sees what awaits him inside.

Not when he sees you. Lounging on his bed as if it’s the most regular thing ever, a framed picture of yourself in your hands that he brought along against his better judgment.

“I’ve got to say, this shot looks pretty good,” you hum. “Although I have no memory of it being taken, so that’s creepy. Do I even want to know how you got this?”

… You probably don’t, but that’s beside the point.

Scaramouche all but stomps over to where you sit. He is a bundle of unsteady energy that is ready to explode at the slightest trigger. You smile at him as he leers down at you, his eyes twitching from how nonchalant you are about this intrusion. Yes, that’s exactly what this is, an intrusion, you’re entangling yourself into something beyond your scope. Beyond your comprehension.

“How,” He narrows his eyes, jamming an accusatory finger in your direction, “The hell did you get in here?”

His personal security might completely pale in comparison to him, but they should be competent enough to keep the likes of you at bay.

“The same way you did, I imagine. The door.”

Scaramouche growls and you put your hands up in defense. “Okay, bad timing, sorry. I told the guards that if they didn’t let me in, I’d tell you about the time they came back from town drunk and tried flirting with me.”

The lightbulb overhead flickers from the electricity Scaramouche exudes.

“They what?”

“Ah, sorry Grigoriy and Igor…”

He shakes his head, deciding to return to that egregious revelation later.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you overboard.”

You part your lips and then close them, eyebrows furrowing together. Whatever it is you’re mulling over, he doesn’t know why he gives you the time, or why he waits with bated breath. He longs to chalk it up to you being dense. How much simpler that would be, if he could insult your intelligence and call it a day. Deep down, he knows the truth is far more complex than that. You have your reasons for doing what you do. There’s intentionality interwoven into your being, no matter how casual you act. It’s what lures him in and keeps him trapped.

He never knows what you’ll do or say next — and he always wants to stick around just a while longer to see.

“Last night, you told me you only wanted the gnosis,” you set the frame down and fold your hands onto your lap. “I thought about that for a while. Not because it surprised me, but because you chose to stop at that. I couldn’t understand why. I know you’re greedy. I know you want more… you want me.”

You tilt your head, your eyes crinkling and full of mirth. It’s enchanting. “So be greedy. Want me as much as I want you. If your kindness is pushing me away, then I don’t care for it, because I’m greedy too. I only want kindness from you if we can both enjoy it. Talking for hours about the silliest things… arguing about topics neither of us really care about… you making me matcha tea in the middle of the night ‘because I whisk it like I’m trying to break your bowl’. That’s the weird, twisted kindness that I’ll accept.”

Scaramouche has never felt so light and heavy at the same time.

“You’re serious about this?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

“I’m worse than you think I am.”

“That isn’t too surprising.”

“Way worse,” he’s breathless, his face is on fire, and he wants to kiss you senseless until you are too. “If you think I was greedy before, you haven’t seen anything yet. You can’t promise yourself to me without knowing that. I won’t stop at anything to keep you all to myself. If you betray me like my m…”

His voice threatens to crack, but he manages to smooth it over, “If you betray me, I might just destroy this world and everyone in it.”

Including himself.

Your hands are cradling his face. He sees his reflection in your eyes and it's a vulnerable sight that hasn’t stared back at him for centuries. It disgusts him, taunts him, and unearths memories that he thought he buried six feet under. He’s at his ugliest and you look at him as if he were beautiful. Despite himself, he leans into your touch. You were a priceless find. Some treasures were meant to be displayed for the entire world to envy; he decides that method isn’t for him. Your logic-defying ways were to be reserved for his viewing and no one else's.

“And if I never betray you?” You inquire, the pad of your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek. “What then, Kuni?”

His eyes are lidded when he responds. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t understand trust or the concept of depending on another. In his earliest days, when these imperative truths were beginning to take root, the world burned it to the ground. He always thought the soil was poisoned beyond repair and left it at that. For if tried only to fail again, he’s certain he’d doomed himself to a cycle of disappointment in others.

“Well, I guess that means we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

You make it sound so easy.

“... Fine. Suit yourself,” Scaramouche fights back a smile at the way you cheer in victory. “Something tells me if I threw you overboard, you’d just cling to the boat, anyway.”

You shoot him a wink. “I’ve been told I’m relentless at getting what I want.”

The imbeciles you surround yourself with might have a point.

Scaramouche knows the words were spoken in jest, yet he fixates on them. You want him. You want him. You want him. For better or for worse (he’s leaning toward worse), you’re still willing to put up with his endless list of negative qualities. He can’t remember the last time anyone offered him that, probably because no one ever has.

You start to move away and he holds you in place, stealing the kiss that’s been on his mind since you had the audacity to show up uninvited. His mouth slants against yours, his appetite voracious and demanding everything you could possibly offer. You reciprocate in kind, your lips curving upward, and your hands guiding his to settle on your hips.

You are the worst human, he thinks, pushing you back onto the bed and eliciting a gasp from you in response.

So it’s his job to see that you’re dealt with accordingly.

By him and him alone.

#scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #reader insert #genshn impact reader insert #fatui x reader #harbinger x reader #not sfw #my stuff

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