#no bed head or nasty dark circles from over sleep

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Can't Leave Me

Pairing: Dark Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: Seeing a darker side of Keigo has you rethinking your entire relationship. But it’s not like Keigo is planning on letting you go. 

WARNINGS: Murder; Kidnapping. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

His hand rubs comforting circles over the expanse of your back, innumerous apologies being mumbled as he kisses the crown of your head. 

“I should’ve eased you into it. I‘m so sorry, baby.” his tone is apologetic, almost regretful, but you can’t be bothered by that.

Not after what you witnessed. 

The queasiness in your stomach increases, and you swallow hard, closing your eyes in a poor attempt to control both yourself and the wave of nausea that threatens to rise. 

“Next time, I promise I’ll let you know beforehand, ‘kay? No more nasty surprises, I promise.” his cooing has you pushing your palms against the edge of the marble kitchen island, and you take a few stumbling steps backwards.

“I really thought you’d like to see my patriotic work.”

“You…” his golden eyes squint for a second when you dodge his hand from touching your arm, “That man-”

“He’s no one. Just some fucking dirtbag I caught the other day on patrol. No one even cares that he’s gone, if that makes you feel better.”

You look at him in bewilderment, unable to believe his words. Was Keigo - always so sweet and gentleman - trying to convince you that killing people was fine? That it was okay for his basement to have pools of blood and pieces of human limbs?

The pungent smell of fresh blood is still haunting your nose and you scrunch it, remembering the nasty scene your boyfriend presented you. 

When Keigo asked you to come to his house, telling you he had a surprise stored in his basement for you, your mind wandered to the idea of receiving a sweet gift.

Maybe a painting or a bracelet, anything with a romantic meaning. A normal thing. 

But when Keigo took you to his basement, chest inflated with pride at what he called “city scum cleaning” it wasn’t at all what you expected. 

“You’re worrying too much.” he sighs, his wings ruffling behind him. “I’m cleaning the city from the filthy scum, nothing else.”

“They’re human beings, Keigo. You can’t take justice into your own hands, that’s not your job.”

Keigo only shrugs his shoulders, disinterested at your attempt to bring some conscience to him.

“I know this upsetted you, baby, so why don’t we change the subject? How about we start making dinner and then watch a movie? I know you’re excited to see that new action movie, right?”

His proposition makes you feel sick to your stomach for more reasons than one, but the realization that your boyfriend is trying to distract you from the fact that he’s a serial killer is too much.

You need to leave. Immediately. 

But you’re scared. Terrified of becoming Keigo’s new addition to his basement, if he realizes that you’re not on his side. You’re not sure if he loves enough to spare you from such destiny.

You’re not sure of anything anymore. 

You shift the weight from one foot to the other, eyes drifting to the kitchen door. 

“I think…” your voice shakes, and you attempt to clear your throat, “Maybe I should go,  Keigo. I’m not…feeling great.”

His expression drops for a moment, cold anger being replaced with feigned sympathy so quickly that you almost believe you imagined it. 

“Sweet cheeks, if you’re not feeling well, then you can just sleep over.” he takes a minuscule step in your direction, his wings stretching behind him for a moment. Demonstrating their enormous size before he pulls them back.

A not very subtle threat.

“I can prepare a warm bath for you, and then get you in bed with some painkillers. How about that?” 

You shake your head, feeling helpless. 

“No, Keigo, it’s fine, really. I can just go home and-”

“Nonsense. Besides, I don’t like the idea of you all alone in your apartment, especially if you’re feeling sick.” he brushes you off, “I can’t have you puking or passing out when you’re on your own. What kind of boyfriend would that make me, am I right?” 

A few of his feathers gracefully fly in your direction, gently but effectively pushing you forward. 

The conflict inside your mind only fires up, but you’re hardly able to bitterly swallow down all the shabby excuses and useless begging that would only result in angering Keigo. 

Your body bumps against his and Keigo instantly wraps his arm around your waist, replacing the feathers that rejoin his wings. 

He kisses your cheek with an arm tightly gripping your waist, as if he’s waiting for you to bolt and run away. You’d be lying if you say the idea doesn’t seem awfully tempting.

Maybe if he looks away or gets distracted…maybe then  you could take the chance. 

“C’mon, let’s get you a bath, ‘kay? You’re really not looking too good.” 

The melancholic moonlight hits you in the face, seeping through the locked window. Your eyes are wide open, despite the ungodly time of the night. It’s quiet now, aside from the light cricket’s sounds and the occasional car speeding up through the street.

You barely move your head as you glance towards the fluorescent numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table next to you, careful enough to shift as little as you can.

The arm draped across your waist feels like a rope, keeping you bound to Keigo.

But it’s better than the red wing that lays wide open in all of its immense size, acting as a second blanket to your body, caging you to the bed with its oppressive weight. 

Despite your objections of becoming too hot during the night, Keigo still insisted on covering your body with it, shutting you down with a gentle kiss.

He sleeps soundly, his chest a few inches away from your chest, his deep calm breathing hitting your ear and neck. 

You can’t sleep. Your mind is too bothered, too upset to even consider something as futile as sleeping when there are more urgent necessities. Such as escaping this house. 

Keigo fell into a deep slumber a few hours ago while you remained awake, thinking about your next steps. You have to leave the bed, leave the house, leave him. 

But even the last step seems complicated when you can’t even pull yourself out of the bed - out of Keigo’s suffocating embrace. 

You’re frozen with fear, you begrudgingly admit. Scared of accidentally waking Keigo up and in the process, to wake a side of him that you don’t want to see. 

You have to do this.

The first step is to test the waters.

You take a deep breath, slowly shifting your body, your hand gently pushing his arm down and away from you. Nothing happens.

Your heartbeat speeds up as you embrace yourself for the final step. 

Looking down at the impending problem of escaping the red wing, you take the decision to slide underneath it. 

It’s awkward and embarrassing when you weirdly dive underneath the wing, squishing yourself against the bed as you try to touch the feathers as little as you can. They don’t pulse or move, remaining completely still as you make your escape. 

A relieved sigh gets caught in your throat when your feet touch the floor. Just a little more, you think, bending your body to slide down the curve of the bed. 

Premature hope makes your breathe faster. Maybe you can actually get away.

Oh god, you’re actually going to get away. 

Your whole body freezes for a scary moment when Keigo mumbles a few incoherent words, shifting and turning in bed, but thankfully he remains asleep. You can breathe again.

It’s a bit hard to walk in the darkness, only the dim light of the moon helping you guide yourself, as your feet take baby steps and you prod the walls with your hands until you finally find the closet room.

The door creaks slightly as you slowly close it, and you hold your breath for a moment. Nothing happens. 

You open the light, hoping it doesn’t infiltrate through the door’s crack and search the place with your eyes, looking for your clothes. Keigo kept them there before handing you one of his shirts earlier in the night, saying that it would be more comfortable for you to sleep in his clothes than in your outer clothes. 

It’s easy to find your shirt and pants, both of them tucked away in a corner of the room, the evident contrast between Keigo’s expensive clothing and your cheap casual outfit standing out. 

You quickly put them on, looking around for your purse before remembering that you had left it in the kitchen. Fuck. 

You close the light, and silently leave the closet. 

“Babe.” 

Your blood runs cold at the sight of Keigo casually standing in front of you, arms crossed in his chest. There’s no anger  in his face - nor sleepiness, you notice - but there are hints of annoyance. Did he really expect you not to try and run? 

“I’m kinda disappointed, I gotta say.” he shakes his head with a tired sigh. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t do anything stupid tonight. Guess I was wrong.”

“I wasn’t-” your words lose strength, and for a moment, the idea of dashing for the door with all of your speed seems incredibly enticing, “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Pfft, c’mon, you seriously think you’re gonna fool me into believing any crappy excuse? Like I didn’t just catch you trying to sneak off on me?” he clicks his tongue, messy strands of blonde hair falling onto his forehead, “But you know what?”

It’s now. The moment he switches the flip on you and beats you and-

“Let’s continue this tomorrow, alright? It’s late, so how about we sleep on this and in the morning, we’ll talk.” 

You look at him, surprised. Isn’t he gonna drag you by the hair to his basement and beat you? 

Keigo directs you back to the closet, watching as you hesitate to change back into his shirt. 

“That was never gonna work, you know that, right?” he says. “It’s not like you could outrun me. I’m too fast for you, with or without quirk.”

When you get back on the bed, his wing covers you once again and his arm pulls you flush against his chest, suffocating you with his presence.

He kisses the nape of your neck. 

“Sleep tight.”

You wake up startled, mind buzzing with a chilling nightmare. Red blood and sticky viscera follow you even though you rise away from the realm of dreams. 

You breathe in. It was just a dream. 

Distant sounds coming from another room catch your attention and you remain quiet, catching the tiny rays of sunlight that come through the curtains, basking on pacific solitude. 

What are you supposed to do now? Relent and pretend that everything is peachy, to act as if the basement isn’t torture chamber and that your boyfriend isn’t some cold-hearted killer? 

You roll to the side, yelping when your leg gets caught on. 

A chain. 

A soft leather wrapped tightly around your ankle, connecting it to the links of metal that keep you in a short leash. There’s barely any length to it, meaning you won’t even be able to reach the bathroom if you need to. 

This can’t be real. 

You persistently rub your eyes, shaking your head as fear threatens to spill in the shape of a panic attack. 

Keigo wouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He just can’t. 

Much to your consternation, you don’t wake up. This isn’t some wicked dream, after all. 

“No, no, please, no.” you cry, pulling and tugging on the solid chain with both of your hands. It doesn’t work, despite all the clicking it does. Doesn’t so much as move away from your ankle.

But it does make a shrilling noise and soon Keigo rushes into the room, a worried expression on his face before he understands what you’re doing. 

He plops next to you, firm hands pulling your shaky ones away from the chain, despite you not giving up and you yelp when he uses his strength to expertly twist your wrist, forcing you to let go of the chain.

“Keigo, please, don’t…don’t do this. I promise I won’t run away, I swear!” you plead, snot and tears pathetically dripping down your face as Keigo pulls you into his lap, a large hand securing both of your wrists. 

“Keigo…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything is fine, it’s all okay.” 

It only makes you cry harder. One of his hands rubs your back while the other holds the back of your neck, pushing your face to his chest. 

“C’mon, don’t cry.  You know how awful that makes me feel.” he presses a gentle kiss to your head, rocking your bodies back and forth, comforting you as if you were a child throwing a tantrum.

“You left me no choice. You were gonna leave me, abandon me like I never meant anything to you.” his voice is almost quiet and you know that if you looked up, his face would resemble a kicked puppy.

It almost makes you feel bad until the stupid chain in your ankle clinks, reminding you that Keigo isn’t a good man. 

“But it’s okay now. I know you’re not happy with… our current situation, but you’ll soon see it my way. I’m doing this for you - for us.” 

His arms tightened around your wriggling body, keeping you close to him. 

“I’m not letting anything get between us. Not even you.”

[devilmademewriteit]

If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

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[xbellaxcarolinax]

Need You

Marc Spector x f!reader

Word count: 2588

Summary: In the middle of the night, when Marc comes home, is when he needs you the most.

Warnings: S m u t. Nasty, filthy, smut. Specifically: oral (both male and female receiving), riding, and p in v (no protection), let's add praise kink to be safe. Which means this is NSFW. Which means minors DNI. Also language. That's a big one. Marc can't help it.

There's fluff too, probably very cheesy. So bad omg. Smut with no plot. Not beta read. Let me know if ya'll like <3

...

The bed dipped and you stirred, your mind foggy—caught between consciousness and the realm of sleep. Your bleary eyes cracked open, vision hazy in the darkness. You managed a quick glimpse at the digital clock on the nightstand. 

3:55 AM. 

Your eyes fell shut as you stretched your limbs like a cat under the sun, a tired little whine escaping you. You had work in a few hours.

Turning over, you collided with the warmth of bare skin. Strong arms immediately wrapped around you, calloused fingers burying under your too-large t-shirt to skim down the dip of your spine. A warm kiss to your temple had you sighing in contentment and you breathed in the fresh scent of body wash as your hands slowly glided over damp skin. Your fingers traced the familiar ridges of marred flesh, tiny scars from the past that led up to the thin golden chain nestled comfortably between you both.

"Marc?" His name felt thick on your tongue. You knew it was him by touch alone. He was the one that held you as if afraid of losing you. He’d dreamed about it enough times to fear it, and each time, you reassured him that he wouldn't.

"Yeah, baby, it's me," he muttered, drawing small circles over your skin, "didn't mean to wake you." 

"S'okay. Missed you." You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your voice heavy with sleep. Marc hummed, a hand slowly trailing down your back to grab the globes of your ass under your thin panties, giving each of them a gentle squeeze. 

"Missed you, too." He said into your hair, kissing your bed-slept strands. You tipped your head back to look him in the eyes. The moonlight peeking through the blinds did little to illuminate his features, but you could make out the contours of his face, the prominent line of his nose. His eyes, dark and hooded, were focused on nothing but you. It was a stare you were well acquainted with. To others, it was deadly. To you, it was nothing but pure affection.

"You okay?" You asked him as you always did after he came home from a mission, reaching up to cradle the side of his face. His stubble was rough under your fingertips, your thumb lovingly caressing his cheekbone. He didn’t shave, probably too tired, but you didn’t mind.

"Yeah," he sighed into your touch, lashes fluttering, "I'm okay. Better now." You could feel the hardness of his bulge through his boxers. He was needy, pushing his length against you in a silent plea for attention. You chuckled tiredly, shifting to press your lips over his eager ones. It started innocent enough, lips fusing like puzzle pieces in a dance you both knew well. 

Marc peppered kisses over every inch of your face before gently sucking a bruise onto the delicate skin of your neck. You groaned, your fingers threading through his damp curls, easing him off just a bit.

"What's gotten into you?" You breathed, relishing the way his tongue lapped over the mark he'd left to soothe the ache.

"Need you, baby," he grunted, trailing his plush lips over your face, “need to feel you.” 

"Yeah?" You shuddered, a throbbing need blooming between your legs, "then take what you need."

As soon as you uttered those words, one of his hands came to rest behind the nape of your neck, guiding you into another heated kiss. It was filthy this time—wet—tongues and teeth clashing sloppily. Not so innocent anymore.

Okay, so Marc wanted it messy. Who were you to deny him? 

The night lamp was quickly switched on, and all thoughts on getting any sleep were left in the dust, not that you minded too much. You ended up between his legs with his boxers gone and your t-shirt flug somewhere, your knees cushioned by the pillow Marc had placed on the floor for you. 

"Let me take care of you." You purred, breathing over his cock before spitting on it without hesitation. You watched it run down his length and over the curve of his balls, seeping into the sheets below. Your eyes followed the stream with fascination before you devoured him whole, working your lips back and forth, from base to swollen tip. 

Marc was seated at the edge of the bed breathing heavily, one of his forearms propping him up while the other hand disappeared in your hair, guiding you.

"You take me so well, sweetheart," he whispered, eyes lidded as he watched you work, "love how you choke on my cock." And as if to prove his point he weaved his fingers into your hair, shoving your face into his pelvis. He made you sputter and wheeze, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. More spit dribbled past your lips and down his length, as you sucked and sucked and sucked. 

"Fuck, baby, you know exactly what I need, don't you?" He groaned, his head lolling to the side lazily. You hummed, letting your glossy eyes flutter just a bit when you glanced up at him, making sure to hold his gaze for a moment before lowering them again. You knew that drove him crazy. 

And it did, judging by the growl that rumbled in his chest. He tapped a finger over the tip of your nose, a signal for you to stop. You obediently pulled away with a loud pop, licking your swollen lips free of the salty precome that lingered. 

"Fuck, c'mere," Marc snarled, surging forward and lifting you to straddle him. He fell back against the bed, letting your hands roam the expanse of his smooth chest, your fingers lightly grazing over his skin from collarbone to navel and back up again. You openly admired him—the sheen of sweat over his tanned skin, the swell of his muscles as he held you tight, his glazed eyes following your every move. 

"You're beautiful," you murmured, carefully taking hold of the delicate chain around his neck before dipping forward to kiss him. His arms wrapped tighter around your form, holding you against him. He smirked into the kiss, the tiniest huff of laughter pouring over you. 

"Never been called beautiful before," he said between kisses, giving your ass a nice slap. You moaned at the light sting, grinding your clothed cunt over his slippery cock, desperate to be filled. Marc hissed, his hand pressing down on your lower back to encourage your grinding, the tip of his cock wet and leaking over his stomach. 

"Shit," he panted as you pressed your nose against his lovingly, "you wanna ride me, pretty girl?"

“Mhm.” You whimpered, feeling the pad of his thick finger press against your core, relishing in its moist heat before pulling the soaked fabric of your panties aside.

“Go ahead, baby.” 

Firmly planting a hand on his chest, you lined up his cock with your entrance before taking a breath and sinking slowly, swallowing him inch by inch.

“Mmmm, God,” you moaned, pausing as soon as you took him to the hilt, “fuuuuck, Marc.”

“My cock too much for you, sweetheart?” You could hear the smugness in his tone despite his panting. His hands flew to your hips, slowly raising them to feel your walls flutter against his length before bringing you back down gently, “You can take it, I know you can—yeah, that’s it, baby.”

You choked out a sob as you rocked up and down his thick cock, whimpering at the delicious stretch. Despite having had him more times than you could count, it still made you breathless at how well he stuffed you, how deep he could reach inside and make you see stars.

"Baby, I think you got it all wrong," Marc grunted, his fingers digging into your skin as he guided you faster and faster.

"W-what?" You pushed Marc's damp hair away from his brow, watching how his hooded eyes were pinned to your face. 

"I'm not the beautiful one here. Lookit you, you’re so fucking beautiful like this, so fucking pretty when you cream all over my cock, fuuuck." He looked at you with so much adoration, like he couldn't believe you were his. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and you continued to spear yourself on his length with your lip pressed between your teeth. His words went straight to your core, drowning him in your juices.

Within seconds Marc had you on your back, one of his hands pinning both your wrists above your head.

"So fucking beautiful." He said again, his heated gaze roaming over your body before he dipped down to give you a bruising kiss. His necklace swung in the duvet between your collarbones, the pendant barely skimming the surface of your skin. 

You loved being under him, loved the way he moved over you and manipulated your body. He was the musician and you the instrument. He played you sweetly, expert fingers trailing over your skin and down the valley of your breasts to tweak a pert nipple before continuing his journey in search of the treasure held within you. He quickly dragged down your panties—now completely soaked—pulling them down your legs with your help and flinging the flimsy thing somewhere across the room to be forgotten.

"Goddamn." He breathed, dragging his middle and ring fingers over your cunt, spreading your juices over his digits. You were a sopping mess, coating his fingers with every sigh and mewl that escaped you. "You're so fucking wet, baby—you're soaking the sheets." 

"Mhm," you moaned, feeling a bit vulnerable stretched out under him. Your thighs were spread so he could inspect you, and all you could see was his crown of curls between your legs, his breath fanning over your cunt until suddenly he spits on it. "Oh my God," you tossed your head back with a groan. Your toes flexed and your thighs shook as you fought to release your hands. You wanted to touch him, desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips.

"Marc," you begged through sobs, though you weren't too sure what you were begging for exactly, "p-please." He smiled, taking pity on you, releasing you from his grip.

"Be a good girl and let me take care of you now, can you do that for me?" He took his cock in hand and rubbed the underside over your messy cunt, tapping it until you were begging for him to put it in.

"I'll be good," you choked, "just put it in me, please, in me, in me, in me—" you chanted until he silenced you with his lips, and in one fell swoop he entered you to the hilt unforgivingly. You’d scream if you could but Marc swallowed all your moans and squeals, silencing you as he moved above you gracefully.

Your hands flew to grip his arms as he practically folded you in half, reaching the deepest parts of you with ease. You ripped your lips away to let out a series of whimpers.

"I know, baby, I know, I got you, doing so good for me," Marc heaved, "so fucking tight." He pressed his chest flush against yours, burying his face in your neck to silence his moans. 

You were cockdrunk, mouth hanging open as he slammed into your sopping core with a precision that only he seemed to have. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, the head of his dick kissing you where you needed it most.

Suddenly your body seized up and your pussy tightened as you came.

You swore you were on a different plane, a different galaxy even, floating away as pleasure rippled through you like an electrical current. You could barely hear him cooing at you, whispering pretty things in your ear as you gushed all over his cock.

"I-I love you," the confession slipped past your lips quicker than you could think it through, too high off your blissful orgasm. You meant it—of course, you meant it—but this wasn't the way you had planned to tell him, blissed out your mind with tears blurring your vision and drool running down your chin. 

It had lay heavy on your mind for a while now, ruminating, waiting for the right moment.

This hadn't been your intention.

You could barely react to your mistake, your mind now fuzzy with Marc's pretty whimpers.

"T-that's it pretty girl, that's it," he moaned, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, "you did so well for me, baby, so perfect. You're perfect." He babbled on as his thrusting became more sloppy and uncoordinated, chasing his own high.

"Come inside," you whined, barely finding your voice, "come inside me, Marc, please, I wanna feel you." One hand was buried in his hair while the other dragged down the expanse of his broad back, your nails marking his skin with angry red lines.

"Fuck," he moaned as he slammed into you one final time, releasing his thick spend inside.

He laid atop of you for a few moments, both of you struggling to catch your breath. Your limbs were a tangled, sweaty mess, useless for much else but laying there in a euphoric state.

Marc pressed a kiss over your collarbone before slowly holding himself up on shaky arms, gently removing his softening cock from inside you. His cum trickled out, a stream of white running down from your hole and straight into the sheets to join your juices. 

"You're a mess," he tutted quietly, immediately diving down to clean you up with his skillful mouth. Within minutes he had you coming again, his tongue lapping in and around you in search of every drop you had to offer until you yanked him away by the hair from the overstimulation.

"You're gonna kill me." You panted, reaching for him with shaky hands. He chuckled, pulling you in his arms as he smiled into your neck.

"Hope not," he muttered tiredly, holding you in the same position he had you in when he first arrived home,  "love you too much." 

"Hmm?" Your eyes lose their haziness from earlier, instantly alert and searching Marc's features for any signs of falseness in the statement. But you couldn't. His brown eyes seemed to hold nothing but honesty. You hoped he didn't feel forced to return the sentiment. You knew he cared for you a great deal, but that didn't mean he was necessarily ready to express it.

"Marc," you could feel your brows pull together in concern, "you don't have to—I didn't mean for you—" He silenced you with a kiss, long and sleepy, pouring everything he had with that one action.

"I love you," he said, clear as day, surging forward to kiss your brow. "I love you." He said again, kissing the tip of your nose. "I love you." A kiss on each cheek. "I love you." A kiss to your chin. "I love you." A kiss to your swollen lips before resting his head over yours. And that was that.

You choked, tears springing to your eyes but you said nothing more, just curled yourself into him as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. After a while, you felt your eyes grow heavy and you gave the clock one final glance over Marc's shoulder.

5:21 AM

It's okay, you thought, nothing wrong with calling out from work later that morning.

You fell asleep moments later to the sounds of Marc's sleepy whispers-

I love you, I love you, I love you—

[lipglossanon]

What You Do To Me (No One Knows)

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶

Stepdad!Leon S Kennedy x fem!reader-part 2

(Part 1)

(Part 3)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, mean Leon, bully Leon, fem!reader, stepcest, unprotected sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, breeding kink, oral (f receiving), slight dubcon, pussy slapping, choking, spit kink, dacryphilia, overstimulation

Not proofread so ignore any mistakes! It’s straight up nasty from the get go, so be forewarned 😈 hope you guys like it 🫣

Title from the song No One Knows by Queens of the Stone Age

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶

Leon has fucked you dumb at this point. You don’t know how many times he made you cum on his cock, but he has yet to let up. 

“Such a pretty pussy and s’all mine right baby?” 

You nod tiredly, “Y-yeah daddy.”

“Such a good girl,” he groans, grinding his cock deeper into your cunt and settling. 

He pins you to his bed—your mother’s bed—, chest pressed along your back as he slowly continues to fuck into you. He presses a hot kiss against your neck, nipping at the skin before dragging his mouth up to your ear. 

“If you’re tired baby, you can go to sleep,” he nips the tip of your ear, “s’okay to just keep using you, right?”

You moan weakly, hips arching into him while your hands twist in the sheets. 

He laughs at you, “You like that, sweetheart? Yeah you do. Just let me use you whenever I want, huh.”

“We can’t,” you hiccup even as your pussy clamps down harder on Leon’s dick. 

His hands come up to slot his fingers in between yours, pressing your palms flat onto the bed as he ruts into your wet cunt harder.  

“Sure we can,” he coos, dropping a kiss onto your hot cheek, “your mom is gone all the time and daddy gets so lonely, sweetheart. Lucky for me, I got a wet little hole ready and waiting just down the hall.”

Your eyes roll back as an orgasm hits you out of nowhere, walls convulsing and clenching down on Leon’s cock. 

“Damn baby, that’s it, cum on my cock,” he groans, slowly circling his hips to grind deeper into your wet heat. 

You can faintly hear an alarm going off but you’re so dizzy on the comedown you’re not sure. 

Humming, Leon sucks a bruise into your neck.

“Guess it’s morning already,” he sucks another bruise next to the one he just left. 

He pulls out of you with a soft groan; the empty feeling makes you whine before you can catch yourself. 

“Baby, I’m coming right back,” he soothes, walking to the other side of the room. 

Picking up his phone, he turns off the alarm. The realization that you’ve been fucking Leon all night leaves you dizzy while you shakily raise up on your hands and knees. When you turn over to your front, his cum oozes out of your sore pussy and drips all over the sheets. 

You hiss in discomfort and slowly scoot to the edge of the bed. Unbeknownst to you, Leon watches your every move with sharp eyes. 

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”

You pull your attention away from your throbbing lower half to look over at him. 

“I need to clean up,” you fidget under his dark stare. 

He walks back over and kneels in front of you. 

He rubs your calves with gentle hands, “I understand. Such a messy girl, but you’re my messy girl, right?”

You duck your head but give a shaky nod. 

“Then daddy needs to clean you up,” his voice deepens to a low rumble as he grabs your legs and pulls them over his shoulders. 

You gasp out as you find yourself flat on your back with Leon between your thighs, hungrily eating your pussy. 

“Nooo,” you whine, reaching down to push him away. 

Ignoring you completely, he grabs your wrists to pin them to the bed. You try to buck your hips but it only lets him dip his tongue deeper into your leaky cunt.  

“Stop,” your voice warbles, “it’s too sore.”

Leon pulls his face away just enough to speak, “I’m just cleaning you up, sweetheart. Stop being a little brat before I get upset.”

A broken gasp escapes your lips at the intense look on his face. 

“Now say sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“Please eat my pussy.”

“P-please eat m-my pussy,” your eyes water at the dull throb of arousal pulsing in your clit. 

His lips curl in a smile but it does nothing to instill comfort. 

“Good girl, now you gonna behave for me?”

“Uh-huh,” your breath shudders out as you agree. 

“Good,” Leon croons, eyes drifting from your face down the line of your body. 

He spits on your pussy and follows the line of drool down the puffy, abused lips of your cunt. Groaning, he buries his face back between your legs and eagerly fucks his tongue in your hole. He eats the mess he left inside, cum and slick dripping down his chin. 

“Such a sweet little cunt,” he praises.

You mewl, feeling a gush of wetness at his words. 

“C’mon, give me more, sweetheart,” he slips a couple of fingers into you, coaxing your hole to spread open for his mouth. 

Leon laps and sucks at your clit, moaning against the sensitive bundle like he can’t get enough of you or your taste. Your mind goes hazy from the overstimulation and pleasure and by the time your orgasm washes over you, you’re a boneless mess. 

You must drift off from sheer tiredness because when you come to, you’re lying on your side in the center of the bed—body feeling sore and used. Leon’s palm is covering your mouth, the other hand holding onto your rib cage, as his hips piston in your wet pussy. 

You realize he’s mumbling and panting into the skin of your shoulder. 

“Been wanting this for so long. Don’t even know how many times I thought of you when fucking her.”

He nips the skin then runs his tongue over the mark. You’re so sore and tired and yet you like how Leon’s cock constantly bullies into your cunt. He’s ruining your pussy… but you still want him to fuck you more—deeper, harder. 

“Pictured you under me, begging me to fuck you, crying cause you can’t take it,” he groans, “love when you cry, gets me so hard, baby.”

Your walls flutter around his cock as you moan a high whispery sound behind his palm. His quick thrusts turn into slow, deep rolls so his fat cock keeps your hole stretched out. 

“Finally awake, sweetheart?” he laughs meanly in your ear. 

His hand drags from your side up to tease and flick your nipples, “Been so good for me, baby. Keeping me all snug and warm as I fill this needy pussy over and over again.”

You clench down as he pinches and tugs on your nipples. He strokes his fingers over the hard buds as he sloppily kisses your neck and shoulder. He moves his palm away from your mouth to cup your neck. 

“S’too much,” your hands scratch at his forearms, “please.”

A slap rings out before you can register it, the sting of Leon’s hand imprinted on your pussy. Your legs kick out as he smacks your cunt again. He brings his hand back up to tug harshly at your nipples. 

“Behave,” the hand on your neck tightens, “and let me finish, sweetheart.“

The hand teasing your breasts slips down your body to softly rub your overly sensitive clit. Even as tired as you are, you thrash a little in Leon’s grip from the too much feeling his fingers are causing. 

He doesn’t stop or change, just keeps rubbing and stroking your clit as his cock fucks deep into your body. 

“C’mon, you can cum for me one last time,” he’s the devil in your ear, coaxing more from your spent body than you can give.

Tears drip from your eyes as you sob. 

“I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum again, L-Leon.”

Your orgasm is syrupy and slow, but it hits you so hard you can feel the muscles in your thighs seize. Your eyes roll back as you feel slick spill from your pussy, drenching everything below your waist. 

“Fuck me,” Leon gasps like he’s out of breath, “perfect, so fucking perfect baby. Squirting all over my  cock.”

His voice trails off into a low groan as he cums inside you, burying himself as deep as he can get. His hand moves from your clit to hold your side as he rocks his hips into you softly. The warm sensation of his cum spurting inside your cunt makes you weakly squeeze down on his dick. You feel hot all over. 

“Such a good girl,” he laughs, “you got me hooked, baby. Can’t wait to fuck you stupid again.”

You’re bone tired, body feeling like jello, so you only whine in reply. As he pulls out, you both moan at the feeling. He tugs your shoulder to roll you over on your back. 

He smiles down at you, eyes hungry and mean. 

“The way we’re going, might accidentally knock you up, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen with shock even as your pussy thrums with sick want, “N-no. I can’t— it’s wrong.”

He mockingly pouts at you as he brushes a stray tear away, “I said might baby. ‘M not trying to breed your little pussy. It just might happen is all.”

He slips a couple of fingers into your used cunt and fucks the cum slipping out back into your sore hole. 

“Gonna make that birth control of yours work extra hard.”

You’re left speechless as he pulls away and stands up. 

“Go get cleaned up, sweetheart. I’m gonna order some food,” he grins at you, eyes crinkling and fond. “Then we can finish that movie we started.”

You raise up and nod, still feeling unmoored. 

“Don’t look like that, honey,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up. 

He kisses you, soft and slow, slipping his tongue into your mouth to tease alongside your own. He pulls back and drops a kiss on your cheek. 

“I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?”

You nod again, feeling shy. 

He tsks, “Words, baby.”

“Okay, daddy.”

His eyes sweep down your body, taking in all the teeth marks and bruises. He kisses you again, harder and insistent. He cups your breasts and squeezes. 

“Lay back, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips, “gonna eat you out one more time.”

You moan, “I’m so sore though.” 

“I know, I know, baby,” he shushes you with more kisses, “just let me eat you out and I’ll let you go get cleaned up.”

You sigh into his mouth, “O-okay. Last time?”

He hums, “Yeah, just want you to cream all over my tongue one more time, sweetheart.”

You reach up to run your hands through his hair, “‘kay, thank you.”

His eyes soften for a moment, “Of course.”

He kneels on the floor and brings your legs over his shoulders. Leon drags the broad flat of his tongue across your hot, soaked pussy. 

You sigh out in pleasure as he places sloppy kisses to your clit over and over making your legs twitch. Your hands come down to tangle in his messy hair. 

He grunts and moans, pushing his mouth further into your pussy. His nose rubs against your clit, tongue flicking and stroking in and out of your hole. You grip his hair and ride his face, shaking and moaning. You can hear him jerk off while he tongue fucks your pussy and it makes you even wetter. 

Twisting your head to the side, you can see him fisting his thick, swollen cock. His knuckles are shiny with precum as he fucks his hand in a tight grip. Your clit throbs with want. You tug his hair harder, trying to get his attention. 

“D-daddy,” you mewl, “in me, in me please.”

His eyes are barely blue when he pulls back from eating you out. 

“What is it, baby?” He rasps, voice husky. 

“In me, please. Want to feel you,” you arch your hips. 

He doesn’t stop pumping his hand, but he slows to soft teasing strokes on his dick. 

“Hmm but I thought you were sore, baby?”

You nod but grasp at his shoulders, trying to pull him up. 

“I am, but it looks like it hurts”, you bite your lip. 

He huffs a laugh, “It does, but I don’t wanna hurt my sweet girl.”

“Go slow,” you bargain, clit pulsing as you watch him stroke his cock. 

“Yeah? Okay then,” his voice is low and wanting, “s’what my girl asked for after all.”

Leon raises up and presses your knees to your chest; his cock nearly bottoming out as he sinks into your warm, welcoming hole inch by inch.

Your hands scratch and claw at his broad shoulders, head tossed back with how intense it feels to be fucked again so soon. Leon pulls out and slowly sinks back in, never changing tempo as he buries himself in your pussy over and over. 

It feels so good, but it’s not enough. 

“Please,” you whimper, legs twitching against Leon’s hands. 

“Please what? Is it too much?”

You shake your head back and forth, “Daddy, please.”

He bottoms out, cock so deep you’re gasping for air. 

“Like that?” He smirks down at you.

“Yess,” you whine, “more, please”

He slowly pulls out and presses in deep; he does it again and again, getting quicker with his thrusts until he’s railing you into the bed. 

You’re openly crying now. He’s rubbing and pinching your clit as he fucks his cock deep into your pussy. He has you squealing every time the head presses against your cervix. 

“Right there?”

You only choke on a whine, eyes rolling back in your head. 

He groans, “‘m really gonna breed you deep this time, sweetheart.”

You moan, mind completely whited out by pleasure. 

“Breed me, daddy, please,” you’re babbling, not thinking at all of what you’re saying. “Want you to cum in me.”

One of his hands moves from your leg, to wrap around your throat. 

“Say it again,” he squeezes your neck. 

“Breed me,” you’re drooling, spit leaking down your chin, “want daddy to breed my pussy.”

“Yeah? Want me to knock you up? Cum all in this sweet little pussy?”

Your cunt spasms as your back arches. 

“Want it, want you to cum in me, please!”

His hand tightens on your neck. 

“Open up, sweetheart.”

Your bleary eyes look into his face as you drop your mouth open. He spits directly onto your tongue. Moaning, you swallow and quickly open your mouth again. 

Leon’s hand clenches around your throat and he drools into your open mouth. Moaning, you swallow his spit down your throat. 

“Knew if I fucked you good enough, you’d want it,” Leon groaned, “now you’re just a cock hungry little slut, huh.”

You barely hear him over the roar of blood in your ears as you shake apart from the longest orgasm of your life. He squeezes down on your throat as your nails dig into his shoulders to the point of breaking skin. It’s a kaleidoscope of feelings as your walls clench rhythmically around Leon, urging him to spill inside you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants under his breath, “gonna drain me dry, sweetheart.”

You gasp what little air you can and Leon releases your neck as he fills your pussy again. His thrusts stutter into your pliant body as rope after rope of hot cum fills your squelching cunt. Your walls clench repeatedly around the thick cock splitting you open. His dick throbs and kicks inside you as your hole keeps milking him for every last drop of cum. He lets out a low moan as he continues to finish inside you. 

Your throat feels raw as you try to catch your breath. Leon drops his forehead onto your clavicle, panting into your skin. A sharp sting followed by wet suction makes you tense as he leaves another bite mark. He lifts his head up to look at you. 

“So good baby,” Leon kisses you, nipping your bottom lip, “I’d say you earned a break.”

You feel floaty, thoughts drift in and out with no purchase in your mind. You smile at him and bring him down for another kiss. 

“Thank you, daddy.”

[lgbtimelords]

a fanfic i'll never write, part 3:

couldn't have loved me better

Kara sees the woman lying, bloody and dirty, in the tower’s medical and sighs.

Not another one, she thinks. One was one too many.

Bizarro. Overgirl. Red daughter.

Once is a mistake. Twice is a pattern. Three times is a habit. Four times is… fucking ridiculous.

She doesn’t have time for this. She really doesn’t.

She’s still too tired from her trip to the Phantom Zone. She needs to write that non-existent article for Andrea. She wants to sleep, a day- maybe two. She promised Alex a sister’s night with Kelly and Nia a lunch together. She wants to eat way too many boxes of potstickers until her stomach hurts and wants to watch a movie. She needs to call Eliza, maybe fly over to Midvale, too. She needs to answer all the pilling up texts from James, Lucy and Cat. But all she wants to do is curl up in her bed and cuddle with Lena- not that she’d ever voice that wish.

She wants to go back to that time before the reveal when touching was simple and normal. A hand on Lena’s back. A hug to say hello. A hug to say goodbye. Lena’s hand on the crook of her elbow as they walked together. Fingers through dark hair when it got messy. Fingers pulling up her glasses when they fell to the tip of her nose. Touch was… a thing. Their thing.

Now, other than the emotional and aching hug after Kara’s return, they haven’t touched. And Kara desperately wants to.

Half of it she blames it on her own need to know Lena is actually alive, actually here. And that none of the nightmares she went through in the Phantom Zone were real. She wants to make sure Lena’s heart is actually beating behind her ribs, make sure her head isn’t playing tricks on her and the heartbeat she hears isn't just an illusion. She wants to put a strand of hair behind her ear and make sure it’s as soft as always.

But Lena is careful and unsure around her— and it hurts her a little bit. Although she gets it, she’s unsure too. She’s not sure where they stand. And Kara’s restless nights, she’s too drained, physically and emotionally, to have such an important conversation with Lena right now. And by the heavy dark circles under Lena’s eyes and the way she keeps rubbing the back of her stiff neck, Kara guesses she’s as tired as her.

But now, after being rudely woken up at five am, she watches as Lena takes the woman’s arm- the woman that looks exactly like her- and softly wraps a bandage around it. It’s the softness that Lena does it with that makes Kara stop.

Her fingers softly trace the place where there’s a deep cup in the woman’s arm with a white-ish cream before she delicately wraps it. She does it with the one on her arm, then moves into her wrist- before she’s carefully cleaning a nasty cup above the woman’s brow, Lena’s face too close to her face. It almost looks like Lena is leaning in to kiss her and Kara wants to scream.

“You shouldn’t do that,” she says bluntly, making Lena jump, a hand on her chest as she moves away from the woman, “she should be okay after a while under the sunlamps.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she says, extending a tablet to Kara, “her blood work and every other test we’ve done so far came back human.”

“What?”

“I’m waiting on Alex to come by with the DNA test results but…” Lena trails off, unsure of her own next words.

Kara huffs- half laugh, half disbelief. She throws herself in the chair next to Lena’s computer. Or more like the tower’s computer that Lena is always using and because of that had taken the name of “Lena’s chair”. Lena’s computer. Lena’s side of the tower. Kara likes to hear that.

“That’s a new one,” she says, looking curiously at the woman, “I was half expecting a fight as soon as she woke up.”

“Well, I wouldn’t lose hope just yet,” Lena says, smirk on her face, “this still seems to be one version of you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she smirks at Kara, “I just think you can be a little hot headed darling, that’s all.”

“Me? Hotheaded,” she gasps, “okay now you’re lying.”

“Oh, so it’s a lie that you used to say punching first, questions later?”

Kara groans again and throws her head back, making herself spin a little in the chair, “I hate that you and Alex talk a lot now. It’s unfair.”

Lena is smiling, that soft and kind smile Kara loves so much- and just when she moves her mouth to answer her, the woman on the bed is groaning loudly. Lena turns around, her face covered in worry, as she gently puts her hands on her shoulders- stopping the woman from moving around.

“Where’s everyone?” Kara whispers, as she hands Lena the syringe she wordlessly asked for.

“Alex should be here any minute, I sent Brainy home because he looked exhausted.”

Lena effortlessly inserts the syringe into the IV and the blonde goes still in the bed again. Now that she’s closer to her, Kara can see that while she does look like her, her face is somehow... different.

There’s some freckles in her face Kara knows she doesn’t have. Her hair is maybe one or two shades darker and there’s a lot of tan lines, one on her face clearly marking her nose, and on her body, she can see the lines of a bathsuit on her shoulders and one tiny scar of a vaccine on the side of her arm.

Her body is not as solid as Kara’s either, she notices when she helps Lena turn the woman to her side so she can tend to the wounds on her back. There’s muscles on her arms and back but they’re not as defined as hers, neither are her abs- they’re more like a soft line on her belly instead of the six pack she possesses.

It’s weird. It looks like her, except that when you look at her, she doesn’t.

“Do you want to have dinner?” Lena asks, as she sits down in one of the sofas in front of Kara, after checking and rechecking the vitals of the woman lying in bed.

“It’s five thirty am, Lena." She’d laugh, if she wasn’t so worried about the fact that the brunette has been neglecting her health again.

“Oh,” she sounds surprised, even as she checks the clock on the wall to confirm that, yes, it is five in the morning. She looks at Kara confused, “What are you doing here then?”

“Alex called. Said she needed to go out and you needed help.”

The answer is just Lena pressing her lips together, “I told her not to call you. You need to rest.”

“Lena-”

“-Kara,” she interrupts, “you’re exhausted. I know you are.”

“It’s okay,” she says, and wishes she could reach out and touch her hand. Be brave enough to do something as simple as to touch someone’s hand. “I want to be here.” With you.

Lena is hesitant but nods anyway.

“Really early breakfast then?”

Kara smiles, “Well, I won’t say no to that.”

They walk side by side, Kara’s pinky touching Lena’s- and she’s gathering all the streghtn inside herself to grab Lena’s hand when a loud gasp makes them turn around.

The woman is sitting up on the bed, the bandages on her arms turning red as she moves her hands up to her throat. She’s coughing and coughing and her back is so arched as she bring her head to her raised up knees that Kara wonders if it’s painful.

“Don’t move too much,” Lena says, walking closer to her and grabbing a water bottle on one of the tables.

It's like the words click a switch on the woman's mind and as quickly as her stiff muscles allow her, she wraps her arms around Lena as soon as she sees her. The woman's hands make a fist on Lena's clothes and her face hides in the crook of Lena's neck.

“My love,” she chokes out like a prayer.

[ghost-proofbaby]

69 + eddie munson

that number is just so fitting for eddie lmao. we love to see it. (also, are we even surprised taylor is all over my damn wrapped?)

#69: "MIDNIGHT RAIN" BY TAYLOR SWIFT (EDDIE MUNSON)

"he was sunshine, i was midnight rain."

warnings: serious thoughts of self-doubt and self-deprecation, angst?, hurt/comfort (this one ends happier i SWEAR)

wc: 3k+

There was more to Eddie Munson than what meets the eye. 

An entire town, somehow, had gotten it through their heads that the boy who lit up your days was something dark. A storm cloud, a hellraiser, a Satan-worshiper, a tornado of the utmost destruction – every nasty synonym they could roll off their tongues, they would spit at him. He was violent rain, he was uneasy nights, he was howling winds. They looked at him like an overcast for their sweet summer days, and they couldn’t be further from the truth. 

There was nothing violent nor stormy about the boy currently curled beneath bed sheets with you. Something soft and to be held – and that’s exactly what you did as the night swallows the two of you whole. You held him. His soft breaths ruffled the material of your shirt against your stomach, his curls tickling all the way up to your chest as a hand mindlessly twists at the end of a few stray strands. 

The clock on the nightstand blinks with a time far too late for you to be up, but you can’t help it. You’d woken up a few hours ago, and begged sleep to return to you, but it simply wouldn’t. Eddie had even roused at some point, twisting and noticing you awake in his half-dazed state, but his supportive state had been plagued by drowsiness, and the beckoning of his dreams won the war in the end. You didn’t mind it – it was nice to lay like this, the weight of his head on your torso and to feel his steady breathing rather than being left alone to your own thoughts. 

This town assumed Eddie was the terrible storm, but you knew better. 

He was the farthest thing from a storm possible. Even amongst his chaos, even amongst his wild demeanor, he still managed to embody the sun at the end of the day in your eyes. Warm, sought after, calming, relaxing. Bright and brilliant as ever. Those chestnut ringlets, those honeyed doe eyes – how anyone saw so much as a strike of lightning in them was beyond you. You were the one carrying storm clouds. You were the one with heavy forecasts, downpours that slaughtered in the dead of night. 

It was the thunder in your head that was keeping you awake. Not his, never his. 

“R’you still up?” he mumbles, nearly scaring you. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d awoken again, too busy staring at the ceiling as you watched shadows of the current rain trailing down the window reflected on the walls. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, looking down, moving your fingertips from the ends of his hair to his scalp before scratching in small circles, “Go back to sleep, baby.” 

“Can’t-” he starts to mutter, cutting off in a yawn as he twists so that his face is no longer buried in your chest, eyes still pinched shut for a moment before he can continue his thought, “Can’t sleep if I know you’re up. What’s bothering you?” 

Endless things. Your chest was coiled in terrible knots, strangling you on repeat with each second passing as you had been left alone with your thoughts. Haunted by every echoing step you had taken the last few days, taunted by every word you hadn’t said. 

Just how many mistakes had you made in the last twenty four hours alone? And how had they still, somehow, led you home to him? What had you done to be deserving of him?

“Just the storm,” you lie easily, keeping a soft tone, still trying to beckon him back to sleep. As if on cue, a distant roll of thunder can be heard following a brisk flare of light through the window pane. 

But his wide eyes only blink up at you, clearly awake now, “‘s that all?” 

His words are still slurring together a bit, but as he lifts his weight off of you, you know there’s no coaxing him back into rest. There’s no facing the storm alone tonight – and not the one that currently pelts the outside of the house. 

You can’t look him in his eyes. You’re terrified for him to see the rolling waves of nimbus formations behind your own. 

“Yeah, that’s all,” you say, patting your chest, trying to change the topic, “C’mere. Lay back down, there’s no use for us both to be tired tomorrow.” 

He sits up fully, your hands falling from his scalp, out of reach as he balances on his knees with a face of newfound determination, “I’m not letting you just lay here awake while I use you as my own personal drool catch. I know there’s something more than the storm bothering you.” 

Damn him. And damn his attentiveness. 

Even with the moonlight illuminating him, he emits his own specific shine that gleams golden through the dark room, striking you right in your heart. Your boy made of sunshine and kindness, good intentions and a pure heart.

Your sun. 

“It’s stupid,” you start, picking at the threads of the comforter as he settles to lay comfortably beside you. In an instant, the positions are switched, and he’s pulling you to lay on his chest, “I just… It can all get a bit loud, you know?” 

It’s not about the people in the town who talk. Not an ounce of their gossip can really get to you, hardly scratching at your skin. At most, they only leave their mark when they talk badly of Eddie. And even then, you know your truth. 

“We’re the talk of the town again, huh?” Eddie chuckles, fingertips grazing at the small bit of the nape of your neck that’s exposed from beneath the neck of your shirt. Lazy circles, wobbling triangles, hardly-distinguishable squares. All mindless shapes that he’s probably unaware of painting over your skin, and they send shivers down your spine all the same. 

It’s not the people in the town who are loud. 

It’s that voice in your head, the whisper that he’s too good for this. There is something simply so inherently good about the boy that lays beneath you. Something so golden, so warming that it aches and nearly stifles you. He deserves more. He deserves someone who can offer him the world, not someone who will never manage more than rotting away with the worms below the dirt. 

“Why did you choose me?” you blurt out before you can think better of it.

The storm outside the window picks up in pace, raindrops racing faster down the glass. You try and pick one to follow in particular, but they all disappear quicker than they appear to begin with. 

“What do you mean?” 

You can’t make sense of it, the way he loves you. As if he doesn’t see the storm always on the horizon, as if he can’t feel the sharp pain that resides permanently within your chest. A pain you were born with, a pain you’ll surely die with. The nasty thing that pangs every time you grow too comfortably, that screams for you to run when things get too good. 

You just don’t get it. 

“Everyone is always asking me why I’m with you,” you wish you could choose your words more carefully, but you can’t. They only come tumbling out, an avalanche of honesty over the crack of thunder that sounds, “Saying things like how I’m so nice, how you’re so… so… not. And I just don’t get it, because you are. You’re… everything, Eddie. You’re the sun incarnate, so good and so nice at your core. And they never have time for me to wax poetic, to go on and on about just how good you are. They always act like you’re the impending doom, and I’m always in danger, when it should be the other way around.” 

His slow motions on the base of your neck pause, “I’m not sure I’m following along, sweetheart.” 

You lift your head, look up at those eyes that could hold an entire Universe inside of them. The kind that do when the sun’s rays hit them just right in the daytime. He is everything. Every star, every first bloom of spring, every fresh breath of air. 

And you aren’t.

You’re built off of late nights and terrible troubles. Of racing thoughts and sweaty palms, and a mouth that always fumbles with its words. Something unhinged and something unattractive at its core. It’s not the outside so much, not that you don’t feel pretty enough for him, but the inside. That inner natural disaster waiting to happen. A tsunami of forces waiting to engulf you both, drown him right along with you. 

You want to run because you want to save him from that fate. You can’t save yourself, but you could save him. 

“I’m the storm, the unpredictable and violent one,” you choke out, placing a flat palm on his chest, “You’re… not. They think you are, but you aren’t. You deserve better than to sit around with me, waiting for the clock to strike midnight and for my torrential downpour to start. You don’t deserve to sit in the rain with someone who isn’t worth it.”

How many breakdowns had he already bore witness to? How many late nights had he already sacrificed his rest to spend talking you through a spiral? How many times had he given up all that he deserved, just to sit in the rain with you? 

“Quite the metaphor you’ve got going there,” he laughs under his breath, but all the joking fades when he sees that disaster-torn look cross your face, “Have I ever told you how when I was younger, and it would rain, I’d insist on sleeping with the window open?” 

Your brows furrow, “What does that have to do with-”

“You have your wild metaphors, let me have mine,” he interrupts, sitting up a bit, leaning forward until your forehead nearly bumps against his, “Wayne hated it. It would get everything soaked – the curtains, the carpet, my desk – and it would run up his electric bill. Said he’d always come into my room in the morning to find me shivering under the covers, and have to run up the heater to stop my teeth from chattering. The old man never lets me forget, either,” he pauses, and brings a gentle, warm palm up to your cheek, “But even after countless lectures, you know what changed? Nothing. Every day, whenever I saw the clouds or smelled the rain coming, I still got so damn excited. I still ran home to open up my window, and I smiled like a fool the entire fucking time. It only drove Wayne more insane.” 

“Okay?” you question, peering into his eyes, still not following, “So, you love rain. Are you trying to say you want to open the window right now? Or-”

“You’re so close to getting it,” he chuckles, closing the distance between the two of you, shutting you up with a brush of his lips against yours. 

“Getting what?” you mumble into his mouth, frowning a bit as he pulls back and his lips hover. 

That palm holds you steady, keeping you close as his other hand wanders to your hip, giving a soft squeeze to the tender flesh, “I love rain.” 

He loves rain. 

Your mind twists and gravels, tries to make sense of it when you’re still so consumed by him. The brush of his lips against yours as he whispers. The caress of his breath over your cheek, still minty from when the two of you had brushed your teeth together before bed. The warmth seeping out of his skin against yours, warming you even as the storm wages on. The smell of his sheets mingling with the damp air fighting through the vents from outside. 

He loves rain.

It clicks. 

“You love rain,” you say carefully, eyes fluttering open to find him already looking at you. 

He nods, forehead finally bumping yours. “I fucking love rain. Always have, always will.” 

The storm within your head that had been raging for hours, that had kept you up as your sunshine had slept soundly, goes still as night. It all stops – the wind, the thunder, the downpour. Every single thought halts in its tracks as you look at a boy who’s watching you with such adoration, with such promise of offering up the entire world if you asked. You have his heart in your hands, and he’s well aware you could destroy it at a moment’s notice, but he trusts you. 

He loves you. 

“Now, come here,” he insists, scooting back on the bed until his back is flush to the wall and his arms are wide open for you to crawl into. You don’t deny him. Slowly, you make your way to his chest, letting your ear press against his skin and listen to the steady and sure rhythm of his heart as his arms wrap around you, “We don’t have to go back to bed, but you do have to let me be here for you. Let me just sit with you in the rain, with the window wide open, yeah? Your storm can get the curtains wet, you can freeze me out – I don’t care. I like the storm… I love the storm,” he whispers as you settle against him. You finally glance at his old alarm clock, the one Wayne had bought him back in sophomore year when he’d insisted he was tired of waking the boy up every morning. Those blinking numbers read 12:43 just as his lips press to your temple, “I love you.” 

Such a quiet declaration. Full of meaning, full of intent. The only rain still pounding away is the one outside of the trailer, sounding off in a tinkling tune of water against metal slates. It’s almost melodic as you feel his exhale against your hairline. 

“I love you too, y’know?” you whisper right back, a hand coming up to curl around his wrist as he places his hand on your shoulder. It’s not enough to just hear his heartbeat; you need to feel the pulse beneath his skin, thumb digging in helplessly as you focus on just him and his rays of light as your clouds begin to break, “I’m sorry if I’m hard to love, or dramatic sometimes-”

“Never,” he cuts you off, “You’re never hard to love, sweetheart. Not for me.” 

No more words are needed as the seconds pass and the two of you stay like that. You, counting every beat of his heart. And him, still bleeding sunshine even in the black of night. Messy crown of curls, a smile that never quite leaves his lips. It’s impossible to wrap your head around – the boy who could light up even the darkest of rooms, who glows even at midnight, loves the rain in a way you never thought possible. Loves your rain specifically, and all the storms you always fear and battle with through every sleepless night. It doesn’t phase him in the slightest. 

“Are you ever going to get tired of me?” you ask, more out of curiosity than insecurity now as your fingers fall to trace over one of the tattoos inked into the skin of his chest, “I mean, I know you say you love rain now, but people can change. Hell, even I’m changing constantly. No two storms are ever exactly the same, or whatever the fuck they say.” 

“Do they say that?” he murmurs. You can hear the sleep returning to him, drawing him under, “To answer your question, no. I don’t think I will ever get tired of you. Change all you want. I’m just happy to be here.” 

You smile, and you know he feels it as he squeezes you a bit tighter, “What if I decide to shave my head tomorrow? Or dye my hair the ugliest shade of neon yellow I can find? Or tattoo my entire face?” 

“If you dye your hair neon, can you dye one of my strands to match?” you snort at his response, tilting your chin to catch him looking at you with a playful smile, “And I’ll still love you if you’re bald. As a matter of fact, I think I can see a bald spot already forming on the back of your head, so…” 

Your hand flies up to your hair, feeling for what he’s talking about as he descends into cackles. Head fully thrown back and eyes tightly screwed shut. 

God, he’s beautiful. Too beautiful for you to even get genuinely upset with his teasing. 

“Fuck you,” you say as you realize he’s joking, forcing a faux pout and throwing your head back down onto his chest hard enough to make him emit a small oof, “If either of us are going bald, it’s you.” 

He gasps, still dramatic even as he’s half-asleep, “How dare you. I was even going to offer up some of my luscious locks to make you a wig if you needed it.” 

“You don’t have long enough hair for that.”

“Yet,” he insists as your eyelids grow a little heavier, “I’ll just keep growing it out. You know, in case you need it, even though you were so mean to me.” 

Your body sinks deeper into him, as if you could bury you both into the safety of this mattress for the rest of your days. 

“I hate you,” you lie, half playful as the thunder outside the trailer becomes nothing more than a lullaby. 

He slips down further into the comforter, resting his head on his pillow rather than the uncomfortable wall as he holds you tight to him, “I love you, too, my little rainstorm.” 

You don’t even have a quick defense against his teasing nickname as sleep takes hold of you. You’re already far gone, eyes shut and mind slipping away as he kisses the top of your head before joining you. 

Storms are easier with Eddie. Window open and all.

[patrollingboston]

Hi egghead!

I've been a fan of you since I was 68! Could you please write a fic about Captain Price nursing reader back to health whilst they're ill? I've been DREAMING of the day someone writes this!

Cheers big ears!

Hi egghead? I don’t know what this means haha. Here is the fic, hope you enjoy!

Chicken Soup // Price x Reader fluff

5:30am

You groaned as you rolled over, it was still pitch black outside making it even harder to force yourself up. It was a cold winter november morning and there was a nasty virus floating round base. Unfortunately for you you had caught it but it's not like you could take the day off sick. You had to train all day today as a big mission was coming up that would require everyone in peak condition. Great.

You slumped up in your bed wiping the messy hair out your face. Your nose was completely blocked and your head was throbbing meaning, you had exactly 0 hours of sleep.

After getting ready and taking way too much cold medicine you strapped your boots on and headed out your room towards the first training hall. Your head was throbbing with every step but you didn't want anyone to seem less of you for taking a sick day for a 'simple cold.'

You walked in pushing open the large blue double doors the fluorescent light attacking your senses, your nose red and stuffy, greeted by Ghost, Gaz, Soap and Price stood round in a circle.

"Y/n get over here."

Price beckoned towards you. You placed your water bottle down before jogging over trying not to wince at the pain your headache was causing you. A few scattered Hi's and Hello's from the rest of the team as you joined the circle.

"Quite simple stuff today, lift the jerrycans and do 5 laps one in each hand. Working on endurance.”

Okay, easy enough, you can manage that surely.

You and the rest of the team walked towards the cans, the team picked them up with ease and began to jog round the sports hall. You bent down to pick up a can and groaned, your body was achy all over yet you pushed through and began your first lap.

"(L/N)”

Your head snapped towards price. He was stood with his arms folded, you could hardly see his eyes due to his boonie hat always hanging low over them, stupid hat.

"Captain?"

You gently placed the jerrycan down, your arms visibly shaking despite your efforts to make them stop.

"Your forms off what's going on?"

He glanced down his eyes peeking from his hat.

"I'm just not feeling the best, I think I have that cold going round it's no biggie really-"

As if on cue you felt a cough tickle in your throat. You began to violently cough stood in front of Price whilst he just stared at you like you were crazy. You felt a little self conscious, the rest of the team began to slow their laps to look at you out of concern.

"Go back to the Barracks go on, I'll check in later."

Price sighed, picking up your jerrycans and pointing towards the exit. He seemed disappointed, it made your stomach flip a little, already nauseous from being ill.

"No really I don't want to miss out on training Cap."

"No offense Sunshine but you look like hell, get going."

You simply nodded and walked out towards your barracks.

A few hours later, you layed rotting in bed watching some random movie you'd found on tv. You were just dozing off as you heard a knock at the door and you jumped awake.

As you stood up to answer the knock, Captain Price gently pushed your door open, poking his head inside. He wasn't wearing his boonie now but a dark beanie in its place.

"Hey, you okay? I'm just checking in."

"A little rough but yeah, I'm going to get some food in a bit."

He stepped inside revealing a tupperware in his hand. His body language was almost anxious.

"No need. You like chicken soup?"

"I do? is that what's in there?"

He lets out a small chuckle and fully enters your room closing the door behind him. You were slightly embarrassed at the state of your room, your duvet was crumpled from laying in it all day and there was various pieces of rubbish laying around your room from being too lazy to tidy up. You noticed his gaze linger on the framed photos of you with your friends and family.

“Sorry about the mess.”

“Ah please, I’ve shared a room with Gaz it cannot be worse than that.”

He handed you the pot, it was warm and it smelt amazing even through a blocked nose. You could tell a lot of care had been put into making it and it made your heart feel warm.

"It's a family recipe, supposedly cures all."

You smile, you had never seen this side of Price. Usually he was stern and quite cold, you had had the odd chat but nothing too personal. You liked this side of him.

"Getting soft on us Captain?"

"Psh, don't get used to it."

The crow lines on his face accentuated as his smile rose on his face.

You both took a seat at your desk and began to chat, eating the homemade soup together and he was right, you got better in no time.

[munsons-melody]

sick day

summary: eddie cuts class to come help you get over your cold

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader

cw: none + established relationship

word count: 1.5 k

a/n: i thought this was a v cute concept

masterslist

i do not consent to having any of my works republished, translated, or posted to any other site except here. if you see my works anywhere but tumblr, it has been republished without my knowledge, consent, or permission.

—

you were undeniably, undoubtedly sick.

what started out as a sniffle from the day before turned into a full-blown-out nasty cold. you could only blame the weather for the illness.

it was a gloomy tuesday morning, and upon hearing your groggy voice and horrific cough in the morning, your mother sent you straight back to bed and called the school to tell them you weren't coming in.

you ended up falling back asleep for a handful of hours, trying to avoid the torture of being awake with a headache, a sore throat, and uncontrollable coughing. however you were soon woken up by your phone ringing.

"hello?" you sleepily croaked out, your voice hoarse from the amount of coughing you had succumbed to

"hey y/n, why aren't you in class?" you heard eddie ask, the sounds of people talking behind him. he was using the school phone to call you.

"i'm dying," you told him, sniffling a little bit. "what?" he asked in confusion

"i got the worst cold ever and i'm dying" you said again, feeling a cough coming on

"oh shit, how are you feeling?" he asked and you rolled your eyes

"actually I'm doing great thanks," you responded sarcastically

"sorry, that was a stupid question" he said. you heard the bell ring in the background and some shuffling noises

"i gotta go babe but i love you, feel better" he told you, making you smile. "i love you too" you said as you heard a click and the dial tone ring out.

you coughed a couple more times, causing your throat to burn with pain. you groggily pushed yourself up from your laying position and sat on the edge of your bed

you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and your looks had mirrored how you felt; like shit

your nose was bright pink from the countless times you had to blow your nose, cheeks were flushed, hair was in the messiest braid ever, your dark circles engulfed your eyes from the lack of sleep you got the previous night. you were wearing a giant shirt with garfield on it, some baggy pj pants, and you knew if anyone were to see how you did now, they would be disgusted

you went and used the bathroom, then went to the kitchen to search for something to eat that wouldn't make you more nauseous but failed to do so 

the house was quiet, the only thing you could really hear was the birds chirping and cars passing outside. you stood there, enjoying the silence, sipping on your water

you headed back to your room in attempts to fall asleep again, but after tossing and turning for a good 10 minutes, you sat up with a huff

just as you resigned yourself to the rest of the day filled with solitude and sniffles, a knock echoed through the house. startled, you slowly made your way to the front door, your stuffy nose adding an extra layer of annoyance to your condition.

you looked through the peephole to see eddie standing there with a large brown bag in hand. he looked so good wearing his black sabbath t shirt and ripped black jeans, his white reeboks giving a pop of white.

you slowly opened the door, only leaving a little bit of it open to avoid him from fully seeing you. it’s not like you always wore tons of makeup, just enough to boost your confidence, and eddie had seen you completely without makeup only a handful of times, but you didn’t want him to see the horrific sight which was you with the worst cold

"eddie, what are you doing here?" you asked with a raspy voice

eddie flashed his trademark grin, holding up the bag in his hand. "since you're sick, i thought i could be of some assistance. i brought you some homemade chicken soup. wayne swears on it" he said sweetly

"thank you baby that's so sweet," you said with a smile, before furrowing your brows

“wait where did you get homemade chicken soup?” you asked and he blinked

“oh well technically it’s campbells… but it works just the same, i swear, scouts honor” he smiled, lifting three fingers

he started to walk in but you shut the door more

"i don't want to get you sick" you told him and he shook his head 

"i have the immune system of an ostrich!" he declared and you let out a giggle which turned into a nasty cough 

"oh baby," he said sympathetically, standing up the next stair to the doorway 

"c'mon let me take care of you please, just until your parents get home?" he asked with the sweetest tone

"eds i have to be honest, i look absolutely disgusting right now, i don't want you seeing me like this" your voice faded into a whisper

"y/n, i can promise you that nothing you do or have will make me less attracted to you, i love you in every conceivable way now can i please just come in and heat your soup up for you?” he begged, giving you puppy dog eyes

you slowly opened the door, revealing your sick state to eddie and he smiled, walking in to your house and immediately giving you a kiss on the forehead

“jesus you’re burning up” he said taken aback and you rolled your eyes

“no shit sherlock” you huffed as he walked into your kitchen

“well i guess the first symptom of this cold is hate” he joked with a smile and you shook your head at him, shutting the door

“so how come you were able to come here in the middle of the school day?” you questioned, leaning against the kitchen counter as he poured your soup from the can into a pot

“i just went to the nurses and told them i was feeling sick and apparently there’s something going around the school so they believed me and sent me home” eddie shrugged, turning up the heat on the stove

“so that’s what i got” you said, crossing your arms

“maybe” eddie said, eyes staying on the soup to make sure it didn’t boil over

“wait what did you mean you have the immune system of an ostrich?” you asked, realizing what he said earlier

“yeah they have one of the best immune systems, it’s a fact” he said nonchalantly and you laughed

“and how do you know what?” you asked as he turned off the stove

“well when i was growing up, wayne had the day shift and after school i’d go to the library to read before he’d come and pick me up, i learned it from some nature book” eddie smiled, and handed you the steaming hot bowl of soup

“thank you” you said, your stomach suddenly making countless noises and rumbling, since you hadn’t ate anything all day

you sat at your kitchen table and ate your soup, and eddie munched on a couple saltines you had from your cupboard

“yeah and luckily i had a test i didn’t study for at all for 7th period so i get more time to study” eddie said and you nodded, not really caring in that moment if you secretly knew you had to help him study because you were so hungry, the soup vanishing in front of you

“mhm” you mutter out, finishing the rest of the soup and chugging some water

“feel better?” eddie asked and you nodded. honestly you did. now that your stomach had shut up and power of chicken noddle soup was finally coming to fruition, you felt the tiredness loom back over you

you yawned and stretched your arms out and eddie could see the sudden drop in the little bit of energy you had earlier

“now back to bed young lady” he said in a not so stern voice and you listened, getting up with your bowl in hand and placing it in the sink

eddie followed you into your room and shut the door. you put some of the tissues that were discarded on the floor and put them in the trash, and then instantly cuddled into your sheets, pulling them around you

eddie took off his jacket and shoes, walking over to the other side of the bed

“ed’s what are you doing? i told you i don’t want you to get sick” you said, and he just smiled, taking off his pants and then crawling into the empty space next to you

“i don’t care sweetheart, all i care about is you feeling better and i know that you’ll sleep better with me here, it’s a fact” he said, pulling you in close

“oh really? did you learn that in your nature book as well?” you asked with a slight laugh and he kissed your head

“no, i just know you that well” he said, letting you lean your head against him

you felt the sleepiness wash over you like a wave on a beach, and you just let your eyes close, feeling eddie’s chest move against your back

you were a little jealous he could breathe through his nose without the annoyance of it being stuffy but you didn’t care because he was right, you do sleep better with him near

fin.

[danikamariewrites]

Hey! Could I request Cassian saying to reader “who did this to you?” Maybe Devlon or someone hit her and Cassian goes feral, a bit more on the dark side. 😊

Protector

Cassian x reader

A/n: one of my fav tropes with one of my fav boys 😋

Warnings: injuries, abuse, violence

Not wanting to give the camp anything to talk about you headed straight to Rhys’s house. Slamming the door shut you waited for Cassian and the others on the couch, cradling your mangled arm to your chest.

Your brother, Bade, has been your biggest bully all your life. He constantly used you as his personal punching bag. Usually it wasn’t too bad, a few bruises here, some cuts and scrapes there. This time he had taken things too far leaving you with a fractured wrist and some other broken bone in your arm, a black eye, and a nasty cut running through your eyebrow.

Your parents never did anything about it. Your mother and father always just saying “males will be males” and treating Bade like the golden child. You had had enough though. Today had shown you that Bade would never stop and the people who were supposed to love and protect you unconditionally weren’t going to make it stop.

You have no idea where you’d go but at least you still have your wings. They probably thought Bade hurt them so bad it was pointless to clip them. Another thing your parents were wrong about.

Cassian comes home first. He kicks the snow off his boots before looking at you. His rugged face changing from excitement from seeing you to concern and anger. Rushing over to you Cassian gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. He tilts your face side to side. The frustration rolling off him in waves.

“Who did this to you?” He grits out. “My brother.” You said with slight hesitation. A sick part of you wanted to protect him, that small voice in the back of your mind saying he’s family. Cassian knelt between your legs rubbing your thighs lightly.

Cassian calls out to Rhys to bring a healer home in his mind. In that moment he was making a plan to get you to Velaris and out of this gods forsaken camp.

“He’s never going to hurt you again sweetheart, I promise.” You gently kiss his forehead and give him a sad smile. “Thank you my love.” The two of you wince as the burn of a bargain tattoo stings the inside of your wrists. Looking down you see the black ink formed a pair of wings in flight for the freedom your mate has promised you.

You stay with him that night, not wanting to return home to your fathers wrath for running off. You’ve always felt safe with Cassian. Even before the bond snapped you were always attached to each other. As you snuggled into his chest and drifted off to sleep you dreamt of a future with Cassian. Where you’re happy and surrounded by friends and family.

The next morning Cassian slips out of bed before you can wake up. Even though the camp healer mended all your injuries you still need rest. He kisses your forehead after getting dressed.

Shutting the door to the house his face turned to stone. Pure wrath swimming in his eyes. Cassian is on a war path. His goal; end your brother.

“Bade! You’re against Cassian. Get in the ring!” The commander yelled. Bade visibly paled at the sight of Cassian flexing and cracking his knuckles. Rhys and Azriel stand behind Cassian wearing matching stoic faces.

“Don’t go easy Cass. Y/n’s father needs to be taken down a few pegs anyway.” Rhys said in his mind. “There won’t be anything of this fucker left after I’m done.”

Stepping in the ring the males put up their fists and began circling each other. Cassian didn’t give Bade a chance to get a hit in. He immediately pounced on your brother, hitting him with a right hook. Then a blow to his stomach, then ribs.

Bade stumbled back, his face drenched in blood. The commander didn’t stop Cassian. Letting the beating continue. Cassian continued his assault until Bade was flat on his back on the cusp of consciousness. Cassian lowered himself on his haunches, gripping Bade’s blood soaked face in his large hand.

“You will never lay another hand on her. Or any female. Ever. Again. If I hear you are I’m going to kill you.” Cassian shoved his head into the ground so hard Bade passed out.

Getting up, he strode over to his brothers, wiping off his knuckles.

Tonight. Tonight he’d take you to Velaris. You’d live in the House of Wind and Mor would keep you company. You’d be part of the family. And most importantly, you’d be free.

[thesamoanqueen]

Happiest Girl

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: SMUT; Fluff(?); Choking, Spanking.

A/N: it was supposed to be a tender and romantic ff, but Y/N has lost control so... nasties

She never woke up so early. But it had happened that morning, and she wouldn't regret it for the world, because Roman was there.

After months, next to her, occupying almost the entire bed and sleeping. His hair curled all over the place, his breathing relaxed and that hoarse gurgle, sort of like a hibernating bear that Y/N had joked about every time they'd slept together for the last year. He was there, motionless, with one arm firmly anchored on her side, even though he was on his stomach, holding her from a run she woud never attempt.

She never got tired of Roman, never felt disappointed or regretted something with him. And maybe she should have, maybe that break before WM should have taught her something, maybe what they have was too much, but this was where she always wanted to be, this was the feeling Y/N always wanted to feel. She was happy. Sincerely and purely happy as a little girl.

Life had taught her with hard lessons to value things. And this reason, she had given value and weight to everything, especially to herself and she had always kept feet firmly on the ground even when could have let go and waited for the flow to carry her. She had held on to him too, she had tried not to expect anything, see things only for what they were, but Roman had pulled her down mercilessly.

And she was happy that he did so. She was so infinitely happy…

She kissed his cheekbone and another kiss on his nose, receiving a murmur from him that widened her smile. Fingers worked their way through his dark hair, moving a couple of strands finished on his face to give him another soft kiss on his forehead and another on the shoulder. She continued on his stubbled cheek, one more and another one, lightly, but quicly, until Y/N found his mouth shushing his gurgling. Roman mumbled something and Y/N laughed softly against his big shoulder, watching him move a bit in the covers when he no longer felt her under his arm.

He was incredibly clingy to her if they were alone. Made him nervous not keeping his hands on her, but that day it was her turn and so, Y/N ran her fingers over him, working her way up Roman’s arm and up to his back. Slowly, she climbed on top of him, careful not putting too much pressure on his back where doctors had placed bands to help him recover. Her hands began to trace the line of the tattoo, massaging muscles and planting kisses on his skin, up to the nape of his neck. For a long moment, eyes closed, Y/N breathed his scent and listened to his breath, hands that kept stroking between his shoulder blades.

- … right there – he mumbled against the pillow, voice even hoarse than usual and Y/N straightened up a bit, stopping immediately for spite.

- I thought it was impossible to wake you up

-There's power in those hands of yours – he said after a second, a little more awake than before, turning heavily, to look at her.

His face was beaten from sleep, but still straddling him, Y/N couldn't find a reason to stop looking him straight in the eyes. The same eyes that had already regained their sparkle and were now holding her own, still and hungry, like the night he had refused to listen her doubts.

- Just my hands? please… my hands…- Y/N joked, caressing his chest, while his fingers roamed slowly on her thighs, up and down - my hair… - magic undone curls that swayed on her back following the head movement - my lips…

She smiled, leaning into him for a new kiss, her back arching naturally as she felt Roman moving over her thighs and the hem of her – his – shirt, worn to sleep. He squeezed her soft hips, grabbing her ass shortly after and Y/N moaned inside his mouth, giving him permission to enter and explore. She rocked slowly, circling only with her hips, his morning boner pressing against her and tongue caressing hers. Her belly was already heating up, a reaction that she couldn't control with him and lost in that sensation, Y/N shamelessly sucked his tongue, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth when the need for air became for both of them too much. Roman grinned, hands still caressing her rounded buttocks and Y/N quickly gave him another kiss.

- Pretty confident, huh?

-Im happy – she admitted, feeling a strange discharge go through her body, seeing him lighten up at that revelation and she straightened up, slowly scratching his abs -… so dont you dare messing up things, ya understand?

She trusted him and her good purpose on that relationship . Still it seemed absurd, however, that after the only crisis between them, after having tried by all means to keep things as they were, they had come to that point. And now, now that she really had it, she didn't want to let go of him. She didn't want to lose him.

Roman nodded slowly, hands squeezing hers for a moment, then moving again to rock her back a bit and sink into her bare hips.

- There was actually something I was planning to messing up – he confessed, scanning her with his brown gaze and Y/N stifled the smile to give him a menacing one.

- You better do it – she threatened, leaning down to kiss him once more.

She felt him laughing against her lips, eyes following her, as she slid down in a trail of kisses.

- You liking a lit bit too much this bossie role, babygirl. You lucky you're cute.

The slap on her ass made Y/N jump and she looked up at him, who hadn't moved at all, but was now caressing her skin right where he'd struck.

It was all she wanted. Everything she had always looked for. Nasty sex and someone to hold her. A kiss on her forehead, that would give nothing to him and nothing to her, except care and comfort. Laughing after being eaten and losing her voice. Knowing she could be alone, but feel better when he was around. Have power and still be willing to drop to her knees to see that sparkle on his eyes. Someone who treated her as she deserved, with respect and loyalty, without forcing her to ask and who also knew when to throw her somewhere and make her forget everything.

With itchy skin, she slid further down, kissing his stomach and abs, slow and tenacious, every inch down to the strip of hair that emerged from the sheet. She felt his hands come up from her, caressing her ribs slowly, exposing her lower body, still naked after the night. The air against her cunt sent a pleasant shiver up her stomach, her back now fully arched, as fingers pulled away the last barrier between them to finally release his manhood. Roman stroked his thumb down her cheek and Y/N brought her eyes back to him, licking the length of his shaft and bringing out a different gurgle from him. Without depriving him of her attention, Y/N licked her lips and took him into her hand, his hot weight warming her all over and making her hips rock.

- I want you all - she whispered against his tip and Roman pursed his full lips, watching her hungrily swallow more than half of him without problems.

- Take me

The taste of him flooded her mouth, as unmistakable as the quickening breath and the heat building in the pit of her stomach. She scratched her nails up his strong thighs and up his sides over Roman’abs, sucking on him and feeling his hardness increase against her tongue. She focused on the head, moaning as he dug his hand into her hair, growling menacingly at the treatment.

-Like that-

Y/N shivered over him in amusement, her throat almost taking him all, her tongue rubbing against the protruding veins. She felt him tug at the new sensation again, this time encouraging her to do more and she bobbed her head up and down, eating him hungrily, sucking him dry, not slowing until Roman throbbed inside her mouth, precum messing her tongue. Y/N pulled back with a loud pop, pledging to suck him one last time, hard, before standing up again and seeing him swinging in front of her, shiny and fully hard.

She bit her lip, satisfied and proud, but the warmth inside her body was too much to remain admiring her work and her hands went to the edge of the shirt was wearing, making it pass over her head.

-Ya definetly have a talent for this – Roman noted, staring at her as she brushed hair off her shoulders and pressed his lower stomach to stand up.

- Strip? - slowly, she slid forward, her center leaving a wet trail on his thighs.

- Drive me crazy

The hunger in his voice left no room for doubt and as she felt his fingers on her round ass, squeezing and spreading to help her take him, a new shiver made her body vibrate in anticipation.

- Good…-she murmured hot, climbing on top of him -… cause I want you addicted big boy – she gasped together with him, feeling the tip open and crawl inside her without difficulty.

-Aint complaining… but ya late– he growled under her, holding her hips when he was all inside her.

It didn't matter how few hours had passed since the last time or that they had collapsed after who knows what round. It was never enough for her when they were together, her body craved to feel him inside her, his warmth, his company, his aura. She'd never been so wet for anyone else, no matter how much they'd done or what, it was a spontaneous reaction, as was his always willing to satisfay her. It was comforting, exciting.

She felt him pulsing between her folds, filling her perfectly and streching her like the first time. Hands resting on his midsection, Y/N circled her hips, Roman inspiring lunges as she enjoyed his big intrusion. Her nails dug into his skin, scratching softly and somehow remembering that thousands of people would see him that night, fingers trailing, back hunching. They had started everything slowly, with kisses, massages, but Y/N didn't want to wait anymore, wasn't able to wait anymore. Roman stroked her butt, trying to grab as much as possible when she lifted a bit to welcome him back inside herself completely. He held her even if she didn't need it, as he always did, as he did everywhere and as he promised to do in the future.

- Ah… fuck… you streach me so we-ell- once, twice, slowly, before increasing the pace.

She felt his head sink past her curves, rubbing against the spongy walls, pulling at the skin and settling with every jolt. Up and down, swift and merciless to herself, clamoring and craving more with each slimy sound that began to rise from their union.

-Ruin yourself with Daddy's cock… mmh… dont hold back – his voice, hoarse and low, had the ability to charge her as much as his big hands.

Bracing herself on her knees, she kept only the tip inside each time she rose and then fell, hips spinning furiously. Lost in that warm feeling, she closed her eyes, head tilting back, mouth open to fill the room with moans. Her mind emptied more with each lunge, pussy wanting to melt and when she finally found the right angle in her cunt, her head fell forward.

- A-ah! Fuck! Y-yes… ah! – she meowed shamelessly, mouth hanging open.

- That's it… g-good girl, harder – growled Roman, slapping hard her buttock.

Pain made her wince, in contrast to the visceral pleasure from feeling him strike on her sweet spot. But soon that one became pleasurable too and Y/N leaned forward, rubbing her button of nerves against him, her ass slamming at an unnatural pace. There was nothing else in her head, just Roman and the heat building fast, hand moving back up to her hips and then up her stomach. He gripped her boob, his thumb playing with her dark nipple, twisting it from side to side, as she did with his cock. When he pinched and squeezed, something else about her tightened the grip on him and Roman moaned in response, growling and pulling her closer to meet her jolts.

The silence of the room at that hour was now filled by their hot breaths and the slimy sound of colliding bodies. Concentrating she could have felt their bed as well, shaking because of them, but it was impossible to focus on anything other than the heat was now building in her stomach and threatening to make her chest explode. It felt like it was dripping down her legs and it probably was, her body was covered in a sheen of sweat and so was Roman's. She stared at the line of the tattoo, abs contracted, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving. Her hands began to wander, feeling the tension coursing under his skin, hips thrusting, walls pulsing, riding him. Roman suddenly stopped torturing her nipples, to forcefully pull her against him and Y/N smashed her mouth against his full one, immediately feeling Roman invade her with his tongue. That umpteenth intrusion brought her one step closer to the edge, she moaned his name, stomach now seeming to rise in her chest and melt between her legs. Her folds vibrated out of control, gripping him every time Roman spread her, every time she pounded herself, unable to slow down.

- Fuck me until you can't think straight-yes! Thats it! Yes – Roman blew into her face, lungs ready to explode and Y/N smashed a hand into his chest.

- Lemme-aahn!

Legs shaking, she straightened up again, his enlarged cock throbbing fully inside her again, meeting the heat that had built up in her stomach. She was a mess, a beautiful mess only him, knew how to reduce her and when his hand spanked her ass again, making her shiver, Y/N crumbled on top of him. Her climax shook her from toes to head, eyes narrowing, lip between teeth and an unspecified scream welling up from her chest. Her pussy refused to let go, squeezing as if to strangle him and taken into the moment, Y/N didn’t understand where that sensation began and where Roman's hand, that now had grabbed her throat.

- R-Roo-mmh! - she gasped, gaze back on him who was now sitting up.

She was still shaking as he kissed her, biting and licking her mouth, chest pressed against her breasts.

- We've found a… new kink- he grinned pleased, throwing her on the bed, to climb partly on top of her – my messy whore – the adoration with which he had whispered in her ear brought Y/N to curl up against him, body, weak for the climax, that still didn't stop shaking.

Her mind was blank, she felt his kisses along her face, fingers squeezing enough to hold her still, but not enough to choke her. He was still inside her, still lodged in her throbbing center, smeared all the way to her length and as he started pounding her hard, not holding back, the familiar feeling of overwhelm washed over her.

-P-plea-ase – she pleaded, clinging to his arms-… aah, please- moans now similar to cries.

-I gotchu hush-hm… Daddy'll wreck y-you- she wasn't sure what she was begging for, the intensity of the climax had made her hypersensitive and her whole body was on fire at that point, but Roman was ready for both.

He pulled one of her legs up onto his muscular shoulder, spreading her as wide as possible and with his fingers around her throat, he quickened the pace, his lips pressed against her temple. Y/N clearly felt his hardness pulsing near her spot, tip torturing her most sensitive point, causing her to writhe beneath him. She gasped for air, room spinning over her and the only anchors seemed to be Roman's arms. Y/N heard him ranting something, moans growing more furious above her and she closed her eyes again, losing herself in another climax, as he came inside her, sinking with obstinacy and the intention of fill her.

For long seconds her mind was filled only with the sound of her crazed heart, strength drained. She was never as vulnerable as in that moment, when she let go of everything abandoning herself to the flow, the world spinning, running around her and her forgetting it. Eventually though, Roman came out of her with a satisfied grunt and before he could fall back into their covers, Y/N clung to him again.

Roman’s laughter, amused, low, tired, rang above her head as he planted his usual kiss on her forehead.

- … is my happy girl still happy?

- Happier - she confessed, his hand stroking her back.

- We'll work on the happiest, whatchu say?

She raised her head, eyes meeting him, unable to hold back the smile that his arrogant face brought on her.

She already was the happiest, but it was better not to tell him or it would have been the end of everyone.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @wickedsunfire @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @thiccc-rider-mcintyre @keybladeofsteel @iovereigns @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @ichdrachenfrau @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @wrestlezaynia @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @namjoonspinkytoenail @tribalchiefdaily @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @raeluvshammett @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @thewarlordsworld @jeonmahi1864 @jxtina-86 @harmshake @harlem11680 @jeysuso @joanoai @southerngirl41

[brighttears]

Home

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description, no use of y/n

Summary: Joel wakes up alone in your bed in your house in Jackson, only a few months in there, and does not know what to do without you there. When you get home, he figures it out.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: pet names (baby, my love, angel, good girl, perfect girl, darling), smut (minors dni), mutual masturbation, unprotected PiV, dirty talk, roughish?, creampie (joel wants to put a baby in you), size kink

A/n: some sweet nastiness that is all <3

—

Joel wakes up with a start, sucking in a breath, eyes, once the images from his nightmares have released them, flicking around the room, disoriented. All there is, though, is the white walls, littered with tasteful, plain paintings, hung by someone else. He feels the sheets under his hand, soft and light. Coming back to the present, relief washes over him, releasing his lungs. The feeling is fleeting though, and followed by hazy disconcertment. He’s still not used to this, waking up in a house. The place next to him in the bed is empty, a dip in the pillow still left from your head. Joel raises slowly, as he does these days, nothing to get up for, really, no pressing objective, no crisis to address. He wears socks, sweatpants, and t-shirt. He only just barely became accustomed to sleeping in something other than his full gear—jeans, shirt, jacket, even his boots. Ready for anything. But, again, there's nothing to be ready for in Jackson. 

Joel sits up on the bed, planting his feet on the hardwood floors with a sigh. You’re not here, which he never likes, but he knows you’re safe, helping out in the kitchen before breakfast, like you do many mornings. You are also stuck on not having anything to do, and have yet to adjust to a sound sleeping schedule. 

He raises to his feet to stand, not moving, not sure what to do now. He walks out of the bedroom, stopping again in the hallway, a bathroom and spare room doored along the wall with a staircase on the other side. He walks into the bathroom, clean and white. He stands in front of the mirror, blinking at his reflection. Another thing he’s still not used to. He looks tired. He always looks tired. Droopy skin, wrinkles and scars, dark circles stained under his eyes. Graying hair. Graying beard. The first time he got a good look of himself here it occurred to him that he’s too damn old for this. For all of it. But now… he’s safe. In a house. Waking up in a bed, a real bed, frame intact and all. But he doesn’t quite feel safe, normal, like the walls around him are. He feels alien. Like he doesn't belong.

He turns on the water and splashes it cold on his face, rubbing it off with a soft towel. He wanders back into the hall and starts down the creaky steps with heavy feet, running his hand down the smooth wood railing. At the bottom of the stairs, he’s stuck again. Nothing to do. 

Joel drifts from room to room, aimlessly wandering around the house. Passing his eyes over more tastefully plain decorations that mean nothing to him, running his hands over clean surfaces, he feels utterly lost. A stray in a new home, though you’ve been here for a few months now. The sound of laughing children float in through the open window in the kitchen, reminding him again that he’s in Jackson, a peaceful commune, walled in, safe. The word still tastes sour in his mouth, as if he’s being fed fruit that looks fresh but is rotten. 

He turns on the tap, lets it run, turns it off again. He misses you. You are his what to do. You are his direction, his plan, the one he looks to, stands by. You are what he does. Without you, he’s lost, lost in this big house. 

The doorknob turning perks his ears up, and Joel walks straight to it before it’s even open, halting his feet before he reaches you, timorously as you enter, a small smile growing on your lips once you see him, eyes halfway bright like a struggling bulb. 

“Hey,” you greet him softly. 

“Hey,” he returns, drawing closer as you unlace your boots. 

“You were at the kitchen?” He asks even though he knows the answer. 

“Yeah—I didn’t wake you up when I left, did I?”

“No, I only got up a little bit ago.” He motions upstairs, nervously scratching the back of his neck. Little greetings like this, casual chit chat, is another thing to learn. He’s used to emergencies, calamities, sudden movements, things like that, not frivolous conversation, though he cherishes every word. 

“Good. I never wanna wake you. You always look like you need the sleep,” you chuckle as you straighten, coming up to him to smooth your hands up his chest and around his neck, looking up at him with a wide smile, eyelids droopy, your soft expression rolling a smile upon his own lips. “You look good in sweatpants and a t-shirt.” 

Joel chuckles, wrapping his hands around your waist and rubbing them up and down your back. He sighs, then whispers, “I missed you.”

“It’s been less than 12 hours,” you chuckle, matching his quiet tone, idling eyes over his features filling his chest, though he’s watched it a hundred times, “but I missed you too.” You press a gentle kiss to his lips, and with his eyes closed, he hears you say, so soft it sounds like it’s only the air itself whispering, “My love.” Joel sighs, your words like clean air pumping back into his lungs. He kisses you again, unable to help himself, like it’s simply the next thing to do.

That feeling of disorientation and misplacement is gone now. Because you are here. You are absolutely his rock, his meaning, his reasoning, his purpose. The world makes sense only when you are there, here, in his arms, your lips bringing him back to the ground. And now, he loves this house, your new home, though it doesn't look like it yet. But you are here. So he is home. Within walls, a roof over your head, a bed to lay in, a table to eat at together. A couch to lounge on. A bathroom to shower in together. And somewhere were you can fuck however loud you want. That is another fortuitous plus of Jackson, he can finally hear your moans in their full capacity, hear you scream his name, beg for more, your sounds a new addition to all the things about you to be addicted to. No burying those sweet refrains in the palm of his hand or some filthy mattress. 

The first time you broke in the bed, Joel could felt like he might actually believe in god. And you get to do it whenever you want, every night, all throughout the day, like you’ve rediscovered it, and can now appreciate it in all its glory. 

You are also allowed slow moments, like this, defenses down, closed eyes and relaxed limbs, wandering, oh, the hallowed lingering, Joel is cognizant of every moment, treasuring the time he used to agonize over, all that wishing for something like this, just, time, and here it is, in his arms. 

Joel eases you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you to press your body until it’s flush with his, burying his face in your neck, inhaling, and exhaling, “I love you so much, baby.” Your body configures perfectly with his, like two pieces of a puzzle, and he cocoons you as if to mesh you together permanently. Your hand tangles in his hair, the other smoothing around his neck, and you whisper back, “I love you more than anything, Joel.” He breathes your words in again, feeling his brow furrow up like he could cry. 

Yes, it’s strange here, sometimes perturbing, so completely unknown, and it’s been a battle to let his guard down, but he has some; he’s cried more times in the few months you’ve been here than he has in years. The first time, it was because of something like this. Lying in bed, unhurried, roaming hands, rolling together like slow waves, room for ease, for sluggish touch, oh god, the relaxation, words simply falling out, endless I love you’s, and you whispered in his ear, “I love you more than anything,” and he cried. And you held him, and reminded him that he could, and he cried hard, like a child, and you cradled him like one. 

It’s because he can now, can allow himself to feel fully, and be allowed to release it, into someone's arms, into yours. Safe. Home. 

He sways you slowly in his arms, pressing soft kisses over neck and shoulder. You told him you loved him for the first time years ago, but then, what mostly filled him was fear. Despair. Loving you, having you love him, was not very beautiful, because it meant pain. Always pain. He knew the love was immortal, but the two of you are not. Who would he rather die first, him, leaving you alone out here, or you, leaving him with that gaping wound? Every close call was like taking an ax to the poles that held the world up over his head, watching it swing, only barely missing the thing that kept all the wood and rock and sky from crashing down. But, you made it to Jackson. And now, that fear has been reeled back in, and the charm and grace of being in love has been unearthed. The I love you’s were caked in fear before. Now, they’re pure. 

“I love you more.” He smiles into your shoulder, knowing the response he’ll get, which is an annoyed hum and a quick step on his foot. 

“Stop saying that. It’s not fair.” You whine, muffled in his chest, though he can feel the smile on your lips. 

“Alright, alright,” he murmurs, chuckling. You pull back to look at him and he lets his hands rest on your arms, watching you. 

“I really did miss you.” You say quietly, “I’m still not used to not being with you all the time.”

“Me neither.” He mumbles, looking over your face. The face of an angel, that’s what ran through this mind the first moment he saw you. An angel with a rifle and a smile that could make even the roughest man swoon. Something sent from god to show him why he needs to keep going, why he’s here—to protect, to love. 

He was digging from the bottom of the barrel when you met, relying on old phrases that had kept him going for years, focused on Tommy, but the lens was getting dirty, and he found his movements starting to slow. But then you came along, and he was rejuvenated. Ready again to do whatever it takes. For you. For Tommy. To keep you and to find him. And he’s done it. Now all there is to do is to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Spending time with his brother, going on double dates with him and his wife, walking around town hand in hand with you, and fucking like rabbits. 

You hum a sigh, tucking a curly lock behind his ear and letting your hand rest there on his face. “We’ve still got some time before they start serving food. I wanted to come back here so we could go together.” You chuckle, “I don’t know what to do until then. Still not used to idle time.”

The thoughts rolling around behind his eyes slip out through his hands, traveling up the back of your shirt, and he smiles, “I have an idea.” You chuckle as he brings his face close to yours, ghosting your lips with his. No more quick and harsh, no need to rush. 

“Don’t tease me,” you breathe out, hooking your wrists around his neck to pull his kiss. He obliges, sliding his arms around your waist to bring you close once more. You press yourself closer, deepening the kiss with a mewling moan, a sound that never fails to get him hard. A moan rumbles from his throat as he crosses his arms around your waist to pull you against him, starting to grind his hips. You pull in a breath, parting your lips for only a moment before you lick back into his mouth. 

“Where d’you wanna go with this?” Joel mumbles into your lips, sliding his hands up to hook his thumbs over your shirt to start to pull it off. 

“We haven’t fucked on the couch in awhile, huh?” You reply, shifting back to help him to unclothe you. 

“We have not.” Joel smiles, shamelessly staring at your bare chest, bringing your breast into his hand as he pulls you back against him instead, kissing sloppy and wet. You start to walk backwards and around to the couch, and he chases you with his touch. You turn him for his back to be to the couch, then shove your hand into his chest to push him down on it before coming up to straddle him. “Goddamn,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and you smile into his lips. You start your hand on his lower torso, gracefully sliding your hand under his shirt to pull it up his chest. Your touch over his skin sends shivers up after it, that giddy feeling that makes him feel young again making him sigh. Even after all this time, you still manage to make him feel shy about what you can do to him, how head over heels he is. Eagerly, he follows your lead and pulls his shirt up over his head, leaning forward once it’s off to find your lips again and then pull your hips over his. You start to roll them, placing your hands back around his neck, and Joel’s fingers dig into your thighs, reminding him that you still have too many clothes on. He starts to unbutton your jeans, and you raise to your feet to take them off, him rushing to pull own his bottoms off. Swift movements on both ends to get naked so that you can come back over him and start to grind your hips again. He’s already hard enough for his cock to be raised up over his stomach, the lack of stimulation raising another deep moan from him. You reply with your hand around him, using your thumb to drag his precum down, and his lips part, toes curling at the touch on his sensitive tip. You take the hint, keeping your pumps close to the top, and he rolls up into it, moans escaping from a mouth he can’t close. 

“That feel good baby?” You whisper. 

“Ahuh,” is all he can get out, eyes closed, and then your tongue on his neck creates a melody of breathy moans from him. In response, Joel opens his eyes to find where to slide his fingers into, your slit already slick for him, and he moans out, “Baby,” raising his gaze to lock on yours as you pleasure each other on his lap. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, then slowly let your hand fall down to his base to grip and then pull up just as slow, starting long pumps up and down his length. Joel’s eyes close again as they roll back into his head, leaning back against your other hand still around the back of his neck. 

“Joel,” you whine, and he knows what you want without you needing to tell him, moving his hands to grip your hips and help you raise them as you line up his thick cock with your entrance. You sit down on it slowly, adjusting to his size. Both of your bodies relax with each other, once again united in this way that feels so right, feels so good, and Joel starts to move like his body tells him he needs to, and then like you tell him he needs to, quiet begging that runs more chills through him despite your warmth now around him. He buries himself deep with you sat securely on his lap, fingers digging into your thighs, eyes closed, like it’s the first time again, fucking an angel gently, feeling like you were made just for him, fitting him so perfectly, your limit just around his tip. 

“S’ okay baby?” He mumbles, like he does every time, the question coming out with much thought. 

“Yes,” you reply, voice just as lazy, rolling your hips forward to tell him more, his body replying with anything you want as he lifts you to give him room to fuck into you. “Yes,” you repeat, sliding your hands onto his arms without a break in contact over his skin. 

A refrain of moans arises from your mouths, and his eyes are locked on your open mouth. As he quickens his pace, he relishes in your expressions, furrowed brow, your shoulders and chest moving up and down as your voice carries louder, displaying your tits. He takes a hand off of your hip to massage your chest, amazed still that he gets to touch you, gets to fuck you, that he’s the one that gets to hear you, make you feel good like this, that it’s his name that comes out of you, that you want him. That he gets to give you everything you want, anything you ask him for, which is more, harder, and that you want exactly what he does. Skin slapping skin echoes throughout your house, chorused with louder moans as he thrusts harder and faster, feeling himself hit your limit over and over. You lean forward to reunite your lips, messy sucking and licking and biting, needy and hungry for each other. Joel raises his grip to your sides, stilling so that you can fuck him yourself. 

“Fuck, baby, s’ good,” Joel voices, wet and mumbled, “you’re such a fuckin’ angel, such a good girl for me, pussy’s fuckin’ heavensent, I swear,” 

“All for you,” you reply as you start a rhythm with your ass, “I’m yours, baby, I’m yours,” and there again is Joel’s belief in god. 

“S’ good, baby, s’ good,” he mumbles, eyes closed, brow furrowed, aahing as your tight sheath strokes his cock. He splays his hands over your ass, requesting control again to match your movements with his own, fucking up into you again. “S’ good, you feel so fuckin’ good. Perfect lil’ pussy. My perfect girl. You’re so perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Your moans heighten in his ear, fingers digging into his biceps. “I’m gonna cum, Joel,” you say into his ear, voice lilting with his clapping beat. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me?”

“Yeah,” you trill. 

“Go on n’ cum for me baby, cum for me,”

Moans catch and tumble from your throat, and he wraps his arm around your back to pull you close, fitting the side of his face against your neck. His  other hand still guides your ass to deepen his rowdy thrusts as he speaks, “I wanna feel all ‘f you, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel your pussy squeeze around my cock, cum for me darlin’,” Joel says, lips pressed against your neck. Your voice sings chirping moans as your body starts to tremble and you wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

Only half aware of what he’s saying, overcome mostly by the feeling of you cumming on his dick, thighs quivering against his sides with your crying moans in his ear, Joel mewls, “I wanna make a baby with you, I wanna make a baby with you,” and you hang onto him like you’re on the outside of a ten story building and he’s the only thing saving you from flying off of it, like you’re hanging on for dear life, wrists crossed with both hands gripping his hair. “God, baby, you feel so good, fuck,” he whines breathily, then grabbing your ass with both hands to tug up and pull you back down on him as euphoric pressure builds inside of him, blocking out most of everything other than your pussy’s tight trembling strokes around his cock. His hips buck almost involuntarily, and he’s ready to cum, needing it, in this moment wanting nothing more. “I’m gonna cum, baby,” he tells you, feeling that white electricity of pleasure building to its climax.

“Cum for me, baby,” you breathe into his ear, fingers tugging his hair with every thrust. With your encouragement in his ear, he loses all control, now requiring you, and he wraps his hands around your lower back to hold your hips down and pump himself into you. 

“I love you, I love you,” the words spill out of his lips as his hips buck, acting out of pure instinct as he cums. You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, locking his gaze as you tell him, “I love you Joel, I love you, cum inside of me, I want your cum, fuck me,” Joel’s eyes roll back with them still open, “that’s it, baby, I want it all, cum inside of me,” filling his ears as he does as you ask, as if he could do anything else, nothing else in his head but your words and the pure euphoric pleasure as he cums. 

As his strokes slow and he comes back onto earth, moaning, you lean back to sit on him as he continues to pulsate inside of you. 

“Baby,” you drawl, sliding your hands to cradle his face as you kiss his lips. Joel’s hands wander up and down your back and sides, relishing in the touch. 

“Angel,” he replies, and you hum a sigh into the kiss. 

“You’d think this would get old eventually, with how much we’re fucking doing it,” you chuckle into his lips, “but I swear, it gets better every time.”

“We’ll be fuckin’ professionals in a couple months,” he replies, making both of you laugh. 

“There’s still some things we haven’t tried,” you say. 

“Well we’ll get to em’.”

“We sure will.” You chuckle, smacking a kiss to his lips before leaning back. “I’m sure breakfast is ready by now. Better get up before Tommy or Maria come to check on us and catch us like this.”

“Yeah,” Joel sighs, still slipping his fingers up and down your sides. “I’m fuckin’ starvin’ now, anyways. I’m old, this shit takes it outta me.”

You chuckle, teasing, “Are you complaining?”

“Fuck no,” he replies, pulling you back in for a kiss, “hell fuckin’ no.”

“Good.” You chuckle again, sighing into a sloppy kiss before leaning back again, and with another sigh, “I love you, baby.”

“I love you more, angel.” He smiles, laughing when you slap his chest. 

“Fuck off!” You laugh back, then climbing off of him to grab your shirt off the floor and pull it back on. Joel learns forward to reach for his pants, moving slow to watch you change back into your clothes. Catching him, you smirk, pulling your panties back up slowly, teasingly, for him to watch. He feels his lips part, realizing that you’re gonna have his cum leaking into them all day, like a secret just for him. A secret that’s going to tease him all day, and then when you get home tonight, he’ll slide those panties right back down to fill you up again. As you snap the band around your waist, you look at him like you know exactly what you’re doing, and exactly what he’s going to do about it later. As a cherry on top, you press a kiss to his cheek before turning around to pull your pants on. Joel chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he stands to dress. 

“You gonna go to breakfast like that?” You question, turning to him. 

Joel looks down at himself, realizing his still in sweatpants. “Why not? Not like anyone’s gonna care. Plenty of people go to breakfast in their pj’s. I’ll come back and change after.”

“Fair enough.” You shrug, “You look real good like that anyways.”

Joel smiles, chuckling and little shyly. This morning, the disorganization and looseness of life in Jackson felt intimidating, but now that you’re here, he can appreciate the freedom. Life is fucking good, he thinks to himself as he watches you tie your shoes, knowing he hasn’t had any thought like that in decades. Loud morning sex with you and a freshly cooked meal in his pj’s is something he can definitely learn to get used to.

[collectivecloseness]

Perv!Eddie humping bestfriend! reader or using their hand to jerk off while they're sleeping at a sleepover

(Cw: perv!eddie, somno, 18+)

Ohhh absolutely. Eddie’s just so enamoured with you. Absolutely in love with you. Severely aching to be with you, to have you all the time. So he comes up with these little schemes.

Even though Eddie’s a nasty perv, and he knows it, he’s also not brave enough to tell you how he feels. Not yet. He’s sure if you ‘caught him’ then he could smirk and find that confidence while he makes you feel good, then that would be a great time for him to do what he needs. Eddie knows just how to work his magic on you, maybe you’re harbouring a little crush for the town metal head too.

So he invites you over for a sleepover! Or more so, you were already coming over to smoke pot, and Eddie was just being his entertaining self long enough for the time to simply slip you by. And when you finally noticed how dark it was outside, Eddie circled his arms around your waist and spun you closer, away from his door. Still dancing with you in the kitchen, to the George Michael song he swore he’d only listen to if he was playfully ‘jamming out’ to it, with you. A fact that always made you shyly smile. He convinces you to stay, still swaying with you to the music. Spinning you around and around with his hand until you got dizzy, and he caught you again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, on your lower back.

You were pretty tired anyway, Eddie always had a way of tuckering you out, whether it was from his own energy, or getting you to do things. And Eddie says Wayne’s already gone, it’s perfect!

Eddie even gets you in his clothes for pyjamas and God, he could actually drool. But sorry, his ac is busted, and most of his comfortable pants are dirty or in the wash. Eddie even lightly kicks away a pair of grey sweats, that clearly have white patches on them. Him kicking them under the bed had been the reason you’d seen those stains, looking away to spare his modesty. Even though Eddie had kicked them on purpose, to really set in that his comfy pants were dirty. And to maybe put a thing or two in your mind. You didn’t want them!

You can put on one of his shirts and keep your underwear on, you can even run straight under the covers, he promises he won’t peek - he covers his eyes with his hands as he says that, pushing two of his fingers apart, and coyly smiling at you, before pressing them in harder. Keeping them over his face, even as he heard you giggle at his antics.

When you suggest taking up the sofa, Eddie profoundly swears against it. He’s your best friend! He doesn’t have cooties, does he? You two are just friends! You do way more intimate things all the time. A fact that gets you to bend your head even at the suggestion, making Eddie’s heart beat faster, wondering if you remember those ‘practice’ kissing sessions, or the spin the bottle games, or the way he holds you just like a boyfriend does, touches you in those ways, how he carries you places, plays with you, all the sweet pet names you constantly call each other. Don’t you trust him? Come on sweetheart... It’s just sleeping! You’ll both be out before you even know it. And hey, he’s not uncomfortable with it! So don’t worry.

You jump into the covers while Eddie still has his back turned, which helps because he doesn’t have to cover up his smirk, not that he would of anyway. And he can feel your eyes on him. Which is when he drops his jeans, leaving him in his black boxers, as Eddie takes off his shirt for the day.

When Eddie turns around you’re still looking at him, like you can’t turn away, and Eddie’s so pleased with himself, as he goes to find a pyjama shirt, a shorter one. “Oh, by the way, do you like my new piece? I thought it’d also be your kind of thing.” Eddie comes forward, showing you his bare, tattooed, chest, and he swears he sees your hands itch towards him.

Instead you just nod, humming and Eddie smiles. Putting on his shirt (in a bit of a show), just to ease you in a bit. And since he knows you definitely like his bare chest, maybe it’s something he can give you as a treat later. As well as being something to keep you wanting, something you’re going to be thinking about until you dream, so close yet unattainable, just like you were for him. Until tonight.

You rest your head on Eddie’s chest, once he’d reached over your body to turn off the lamp, and he even gave you a kiss to the corner of your lips, a simple kiss goodnight, one you returned to his cheek. Cute. You snuggled into his chest, resting your arms on his torso, and Eddie gets to hold you. Something he really enjoys, holding you in his arms. And soon, you’re drifting off to sleep, but not before slipping your leg between his, and your palm spreads over his chest, over where his new tattoo is, lips pressed into his shirt. Then, after about an hour of just holding you, Eddie gets to have a different kind of fun.

Something he’d been thinking about since the moment he met you. And something he just can’t help, he just needs you so badly.

You’ve turned around a little at this point, in sleep. Your back to him, but still clinging onto his arm that had been around your front (over your tits), drooling slightly on his hand. Eddie didn’t mind, drool away baby, so said Eddie, lightly brushing your ever soft cheek. Eddie’s other hand was laying on the curve of your waist.

He lifts the covers up now, to get a peek at your ass, your thighs, your hips, covered by only your panties. Goddamn, you’re as pretty as he imagined. Eddie lightly rests his hand on your outer thigh, no rings at this time of night, his guitar player fingers stroking up and down your smooth skin. Did you moisturise your thighs as well? Or did you just always feel this good?

Lifting the covers a little more, not wanting to expose you to the air too much, Eddie gets a proper look at what you’re wearing. Comfortable black panties, high on your hips, shielding them, but lacy at the sides. The material only just covering your ass. Something that would be found indecent to the civilians of Hawkins Indiana, but something so so sexy to Eddie. “Wear this just for me baby? So pretty on you.” Eddie mumbled, your body only rising and falling softly with breath in response. He loved that you wore black panties to come and see him, you knew that that was his favourite colour. And holy shit did they look good on you.

Eddie slid his hands down your panties, not anywhere private just yet though. Only down your hips. Eddie shuddered a breath as he got his hand down there, his calloused fingertips reaching the end hem of your panties at the side, and then going further. Eddie just held your hip for a while. Before rubbing his hands smoothly, up and down your hip. Massaging his thumb over the bone, bringing his palm back up to lay on your waist, rubbing you lovingly there.

With a sigh, Eddie decided to lay his thumb on the luxurious curve of your waist, his fingertips venturing down again, and sliding beneath your pretty panties. Having to bite his lip, with an annoyed face, to stop himself from circling your hip. He didnt want to fuck things up and wake you. Not yet.

Eddie slowly lowered your panties, only a little. Not enough to indecently expose you, not yet. Just so he could see those hips, so your waist could be free, so he could be teased just that bit more.

Fuck Eddie hates teasing himself. He can’t even edge himself with your stolen vibrator, he couldn’t do this. The vibrator you cried to him about, terrified your parents had found it and were waiting to tell you off for. Admitting you even had one to him a moment of vulnerability after Eddie calmly coaxed you into telling him what’s wrong when faced with you crying.

Eddie wasn’t really planning on returning it, but fuck, he couldn’t watch you cry. Especially not when you were crying to him, shaking into his chest. And anyway, once Eddie returned it behind a ‘jammed’ desk drawer it must’ve fallen into, he was returning it very well loved and used, so watching you use it again from your window was actually way more fun, after he’d already used it himself enough times.

Eddie pulls your panties up, wedging them in between your ass cheeks, and tight on your mound, wondering if that feels good for you too, even in sleep. And finally being able to have more of your ass on display, your shapely pussy tight against the clothing. God... what Eddie wouldn’t give to be able to lick your pussy. Even once, even through your clothes!

...Fuck it, he’d give risking his plan. Eddie wasn’t a strong man. Eddie leaned down, his hands fisting his sheets so he didn’t squeeze you instead, as he peered his big brown eyes down at you. Before his nose pressed into the curve of your ass, and he let his long tongue flatten against your pussy. Licking up in a long stripe against your cunt, before shifting his head up, only to see you wriggling in sleep, still comfortably on his pillow he’d humped last night picturing you. Fuck... even through your panties you tasted good. Eddie licked his lips again, patting away some drool from the corner of them with the back of his hand.

He really wanted to go back in, but that would wake you too quickly. And he wanted to stick to his plan. Cupping himself through his own underwear, he could tell he’d need to soon, before he exploded. But Eddie releases his grip, he doesn’t need to touch himself anymore. He has you.

Eddie gets back to the position he was in before, taking one more look at you, so perfect like this in front of him, and places his hand on your warm, bare back. Before thrusting himself gently into the curve of your ass.

Again, Eddie does this, his hand now on your waist, steadying you, so he’s not jiggling you about too much, he wouldn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep.

He humps slowly against your ass, more so pressing the outline of his hard cock in his boxers against you, sliding it over your backside, before wiggling down, and humping up into your warm cunt. Sighing shakily as he forces himself to gulp down a breath, keeping his hands gentle on your waist, as he humps his clothed cock over your heated cunt, and into the bottom of your ass, doing this over, and over, until his thrusts were at a slow, but steady and rhythmic pace.

Eddie wraps his arm around your stomach, then quickly changes as he realises his opportunity, holding his bat tatted arm over the length of your torso, his hand talking a greedy, but still gentle, grab of your tit. Holding your breast in his hand, and pressing his nose into your back as he shoots out a needy sigh, at being able to feel your nipple through his shirt. It wasn’t even cold in here.

He keeps dryhumping you, desperately trying not to squeeze, but just fondling your breast instead. Were you feeling this? Were you dreaming about him? God he hoped you were. Eddie moans into your shoulder blade, his face smushed there to avoid any loud sounds, as his cock ruts hard against you, feeeling your pussy lips starting to open up around him, his other hand bringing your panties up tighter, allowing his cock to slip through them just a bit, even with both your pants on.

Eddie couldn’t stand if you were dreaming about someone else. He ruts more, sloppy. Eddie needs you, needs you like air, for him to keep going through his day. He pants heavily onto your back, and he’s sure you’d be able to feel the wet heat, sticking your shirt to you. Eddie would do anything for you, and he can’t believe he’s finally here, so close to getting what he wants. He presses a small kiss to the back of your neck, rutting up further into you, even through your panties, like he was trying to rip a goddamn hole through them and...

God. Were you wet?

Eddie forced himself to lean back just a little, his tongue between his lips as he trembled a whine. And while there was definitely a spot of pre in his underwear, the white glob being obvious in your black pants too, Eddie looked down as saw a wet patch in your underwear. Dark, and right where your pussy lay, sticky, and wet.

Oh my god.

Eddie dove in again, his hand reaching under your shirt to grab your tit properly as he moaned quietly into your ear, his face on yours, hair all over you, as he repeated his humping. His pace picking up as he slammed into your backside, needing your cunt so so so badly.

When you start to wake up, Eddie’s already drooling down your neck, it slipping down his shirt and past your tits. You’d think he was just drooling in his sleep, if it wasn’t for the voice that so obviously belonged to Eddie, moaning, in your ears. And more so, the fact you woke up with pleasant spikes shooting through your cunt. And you could feel Eddie rutting against you.

A gasp left you before you could even stop it, although it was more of a moan. Eddie squeezed your tit now, finally able to, and you just held onto his hand through the shirt, brain still waking up.

“Here. Lemme help you.” Eddie whispers right under your ear, into your cheek, his drooling lips moving against you. And before you know it your top is thrown off, and you’re backing into Eddie even more at the sudden exposure.

Something Eddie throughly enjoys, holding you closer, his other hand meshed with your hair on your shoulder, as he humps up further into you.

You’re starting to wake up more now, sure you just fell asleep at your best friends house. “E-Eddie?-“

You’re cut off with a squeak, as Eddie’s hand that was on your tit, is suddenly over your mouth.

“Please.” Eddie groans, humping up into you and you can hear the slap of both your thighs. Not sure if it was you who was so wet, creating that sticky sound, or Eddie. “Just let me have this. Be such a good girl for me. Even lick my cum out of your perfect little cunt once I’m done. Lick you clean, promise. Know you just want me so bad.” Eddie whines into your face this time, gutturally, and unashamedly needily so. Turning his head it seems on purpose, so his hot breath hits your cheek even more, as he whines into you.

You take Eddie’s hand, firmly in yours, but when you bring it away from your mouth, and further down than where you tit is, Eddie momentarily pauses.

But it’s not enough for you to even notice, because you’re already putting Eddie’s very skilled fingers you’ve always taken notice of, down your pants, and against your soaked thumping clit. “Please Eddie. Was close before you woke me up.”

You didn’t even know where this was coming from. You just woke up in a haze of lust, and didn’t care about your best friend dry humping you with all his love when you’d never done anything like this before. You just knew Eddie was making you feel good, and you wanted him to finish what he started. No thoughts. Just what Eddie had made you feel.

Eddie of course snatches his opportunity, moaning grossly indecently in your ears, which only made you moan back, holding his toned arm as Eddie rubbed your clit furiously, worshipping it with his fingers, and knuckles, and thumb, his heel, and his entire hand for all it was worth, moaning lewd words into your ears, as he drooled against your cheek, which were only making you wetter. His bouncing curls you loved so much sticking to your dampened face, as Eddie kept grinding on you.

Bringing his hand up to stick his fingers in his mouth, something that made you rock back into his rock solid bulge as you watched in pure lust, Eddie looking like he was about to cum just from tasting you, before sticking his wet fingers right back against your clit. “Fuck yeah. Shit baby, been wanting you for so long. Glad you finally got your fuckin eyes open. God, I’m gonna cum in you till I actually pass out in this bed. You’re mine now. Want to be mine? Want you so bad. Kept fucking my fist to you every night. Used your vibrator so much it almost broke. Want to be mine? Know you do. Bout to cum all over me. I can fuckin feel it. So dirty for me. Knew you wanted me.” Eddie bites your ear, tugging on it as he pants moans of swears and praise and filth into your ear.

Eddie’s quickly cumming in his pants, crying out your name in his loud voice as he keeps humping you, his hand crushed under your body but still rubbing your clit with speed as he humps you into the bed, spreading his cum all over your painted pussy until you’re spraying in his hand. Screaming out Eddie’s name, which only gets him to cum more, spreading it over you as much as he can as he thrusts his dick against the wet warmth of your cum ridden pants, fucking himself against it, and holding you so closely, all the while you ride his hand, gripping onto your best friend just as tight. Both of you adding new stains to Eddie’s bed.

[throneofsapphics]

PART TWO PART TWO OF kiss my knuckles before you punch me in the face

PLEASE PLEASE PELASE PLEASEEEE

kiss my knuckles before you punch me in the face (part two)

(part one)

Rowaelin x f!Reader 

Summary: “Did we do the right thing?” Aelin asked after she was fully unconscious. 

“Anything could have happened to her out there.” Rowan hedged, his eyes fixed on the sleeping form. 

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: gaslighting, kidnapping, dark & manipulative rowan/aelin, bad handling of mental health, mentions of suicidal ideation, toxic relationships, not proofread

A/N: honestly I wasn't planning a part two but here you go!

She blinked her eyes open slowly, the room spinning. A soft bed underneath her - a familiar one. 

Aelin perched next to her on the bed, a concerned look on her face. “You hit your head pretty hard, my love, how are you feeling?” 

“I didn’t … I didn’t hit my head.” They exchanged a concerned glance. 

“You went for a ride this morning, you fell.” She knows she didn’t fall, she’s been riding for years. This morning, she left. She raised her hand up to her head, brushing her temple. A nasty bruise sat there. 

She shook her head rapidly, wincing as pain pounded through it. “No. No, I left - you dragged me back here.” Her breathing grew rapid as she sat, trying to wrangle herself out of the blankets they’d wrapped her in. Aelin’s hands pressed down against her shoulders, trying to push her back down, but shoved away from her, managing to get to the other side of the bed. She glanced behind her, towards where the balcony doors were, but a shield of wind blocked them. 

She’d told them? Hadn’t she? About her moment out there a week ago. 

Rowan slowly rounded the bed, approaching her like a feral animal, his hand held up in front of him. “You need rest.” His eyes flicked to the small wound on the side of her head. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind. A night gown - not the clothes she’d worn this morning. Everything … all of the things she’d packed were back in their usual places. Almost like when she woke up this morning. “Can I heal that?” He asked gently, slowly taking steps towards her. 

It did hurt, and letting him heal it couldn’t hurt. She gave a short nod. He didn’t touch her, but a small wave of magic flew towards her, healing the wound. She raised her hand up - no cut, bump, or bruise. Nothing to indicate what happened. 

“You dragged me back here.” She emphasized, not willing to give that up. 

“Get some rest,” she heard Aelin. “We can talk about this later.” 

Sleep … sleep does sound nice, but she held her ground. “No. I’m leaving.” Her steps were shaky, but she moved quickly - almost sprinting to skirt around Rowan, but not fast enough as the Fae warrior caught her easily, holding her gently, but pinning her arms to her sides. A clever hold - one she couldn’t escape or fight. He had three centuries of experience on her. That didn’t stop her from trying, from squirming in his arms. 

“It’s the head wound,” she heard Rowan tell Aelin. 

“It’s not the damn head wound,” she cursed, “and one of you hit me.” 

Aelin narrowed her eyes at the accusation. Not an accusation, she reminded herself, a fact. She’s not crazy, not insane, but they’re making her feel that way. Rowan twisted her, so she faced his chest, running one hand through her hair to try and calm her. It didn’t work, she was still frantic - still desperate to leave. 

-

Rowan pulled her into his chest, and looked at her with a frown. Get a sleeping tonic. 

Aelin didn’t hesitate, rising to find some of the ones they keep on hand. They still get nightmares from time to time, y/n included. As soon as she was back, she circled the bed - over where y/n was still squirming in his arms, despite his best attempt to calm her. He turned her just enough, lightly grasping the back of her neck to keep her head in place, and Aelin tipped the jar down her throat before she could argue, and held her jaw shut. She stared at her, pure stubbornness in her eyes. 

Aelin huffed, but pinched her nose. Forcing her to swallow it. Y/n tried to hold out for a while, but eventually she watched as her mate's throat bobbed, and only then let go. 

She was mad, pissed - and reasonably, but Rowan easily lifted her into the bed, and the tonic worked quickly - lulling y/n off to a deep sleep. 

“Did we do the right thing?” Aelin asked after she was fully unconscious. 

“Anything could have happened to her out there.” Rowan hedged, his eyes fixed on the sleeping form. 

“But knocking her unconscious, and lying about it?” She waited for him to meet her eyes, waiting for his response. 

“She did fall. And we never denied what she said.” 

Fell, but didn’t hit her head on the ground. As soon as Aelin caught her attention, Rowan knocked her unconscious, and they brought her back to the castle, unpacking everything - just as it had been before. Hoping it might bring back a sense of normalcy for her. 

-

“I thought mates,” she said the word with so much vitriol, “couldn’t hurt each other.” 

“We’re keeping you safe.” Aelin hedged. 

“You’re keeping me miserable.” 

They’d had repetitions of this same conversation over and over again for the last two days, and Aelin was nearly at her wits end.  Aelin had never known y/n to be so … stubborn and unyielding. As soon as she was more … stable, and less likely to try and run out the damn door, they finally discussed what happened. Acknowledging she did try to leave. Still - they stuck to their story, she fell and they brought her back. A small loophole, just enough to keep them from saying a complete lie. She fell, but they didn’t say why.

“What will it take for you not to be miserable?” 

“To leave.” 

Aelin was getting nowhere. Rowan keeps insisting she’ll come around, but she’s starting to have doubts. 

-

Rowan had the most experience with immortality, out of the three of them. He knew that he could out-wait y/n, wait for her to settle back in. He’d do whatever it takes to fix this - to keep her alive and happy. The first part he could do easy enough, but the second was more difficult. 

He and Aelin had been on eggshells around her, but she’d been absolutely brutal - a complete spitfire. Almost to the point where he was amused by it, but seeing how it took a toll on Aelin curbed any sense of amusement. 

-

“If you leave, we will find you.” Rowan said it so mildly that she almost didn’t recognize it as a threat. His eyes seemed to say, and drag you back here, again. 

They never explicitly told her they dragged her back to the castle, and she didn’t figure out exactly how she ‘fell,’ but she knew they were using a loophole to avoid a complete lie leaving their lips. Maybe as a form of absolution for them, to ignore what they’d actually done. Dragged her back against her will, gaslighted her, drugged her, and kept her contained until they didn’t think she was a flight risk, or a risk to herself anymore. 

She remembers the agony of leaving, how it seemed to break her heart with each step. Maybe it would be easier to stay here, to avoid that kind of pain again. But - that would mean they won. 

“Tell us what to do here. What to do that will keep you happy.” 

Keep her. Like some sort of possession. “You can’t keep me happy if I’m already miserable.” She spit. 

He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Then tell me what will make you happy.” 

The word on the tip of her tongue, the one she’d been saying all along, leaving. But … maybe she could try something different, “I've told you a thousand times, and you never listened before. Why should I think anything will be different now?” 

“Because we know how close we came to losing you.” Aelin’s voice sounded from the doorway, she was leaning against the frame, her arms crossed defensively. 

She found her eyes drawn to the Queen, studying her - her expression, the emotions rolling from her. Genuine, she could tell Aelin was being genuine. Rowan was harder to read, but something inside her told her he was as well. Still, she wouldn’t lay it out for them. She wouldn’t make it easy. 

“Then figure it out.” Y/n said after a few moments of silence. “You’re the ones who need to fix it, you find the solution.” 

Rowan grimaced, and exchanged a glance with Aelin. She could practically hear they’re conversation, she’s difficult or this is harder than I thought it would be. Good. She wouldn’t make this easy.  Maybe she could stay … give them one more chance. Or she could gain their trust and run. As far away as she could, somewhere they’d never find her again. She could play the long game. Give them a few years, let them believe she’s truly happy, and leave when they’re least expecting it. Time for her to make a plan, and to get her revenge. She’s immortal, after all. A sense of calm settled over her, a calm that came with having a plan. Maybe it’s cruel, but they hurt her in ways they’ll never understand. It’s only fair she returns the favor.

[obislittleone]

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 13

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: This one's dark dark... Mentions of sexual abuse, human trafficking, murder, burning alive, mentions of blood. Mentions of suicide, suicide attempt, depression and anxiety.

Chapter Summary: One tribute remains in the arena with Mercedes... but which one?

Word Count: 3.5k

hello people yes i'm sorry for the delay I've been busy setting up a store front (I know I said I was not gonna be busy but I guess more things started happening so) but I will be getting back to posting I swear.

The dress you’re wearing is now drenched, as your hips are fully submerged. It was white and purple, stingrays printed all over the fabric. It was quite beautiful, but not so much now that it clung to your skin. The dark woolen sweater overtop wasn’t doing anything to warm you, not like that was your objective, anyway. You got deeper than last time, the water drenching your shoulders. You let your eyes close, and let your steps take you until you heard paddling behind you. 

Finnick went to bed. He knows that he's done everything he can do, and that there are only two tributes left. He’s given everything he has and if it isn’t enough, he knows he can’t stand to watch it play out in front of him. Even though he believes in you, on the off chance that he’s wrong, he can’t watch you die. 

So he goes to bed. 

He doesn’t sleep, mind you… there’s no way in hell he could, but he locks himself away in his room, no screens, no capitol pigs to entertain, and no victors to talk to. He doesn’t want anyone’s company but yours right now. He keeps thinking about the last glimpse he had of you. The bare skin of your shoulder as you boarded the jet. It was so simple, so unimportant, and yet it burned itself into his mind. If that’s his last memory of you, he knows it will be well preserved for the rest of his life. He tried to remember the last glimpse he had of last year's tributes but he can’t for the life of him come up with any imagery. Hell, he doesn’t even remember his last glimpse of Lukas.

He sits alone past sundown, about three or four hours. He can hear no cheering in the capitol outside of his window, nor can he hear the thunderous applause from several floors below him. 

He starts getting anxious when he hears the noises of anticipation growing from the balcony of the winner’s circle, and so he closes his window to make sure the whispers of the outside cannot dictate his mind… as if they had the power to, anyway. His mind was still on you, your soft skin, the way he’d seen you in the silken nightgown after your interview. You’d been so soft, so angelic. You were mercy in its purest form, and he cannot think of a better word to describe you. What was once a threat to your chances in the games would now always be on his mind as a reminder of who you truly are. Whether you come out of that arena or not, he knows the word will echo through his brain always. Mercy, Mercy, Mercy…

He had rested his head against his pillows, nearly finding rest when it all fell apart. 

The silence was broken, and the thunderous applause of the outside sent him jolting into action. 

He cannot explain the terrible feeling he had there and then, but he knows it can’t mean anything good. 

He practically tears through the apartment to turn on the screen, and he can’t believe what’s happened.

-

It was later in the evening, the waters of four sloshing around your ankles as you did your best to slowly merge deeper into them. It’s been a long time, but you’re tired of the nasty looks, tired of all the bullying and name calling. Tired of never being able to get a word out without stares or laughs or your head pounding from the stress of producing a single sentence. Your mind was too fast for your mouth, and it was getting to be unbearable. You hate the way you sound, the way others perceive you. You hate yourself and the fact that you can’t be balanced or coherent. 

The last time you tried this, you had every intention of coming out, but you’d needed saving, as usual. No one was here, this time, and that’s how you wanted it. 

Your mother will miss you, that’s for sure. Your father will grieve you in his long days of work, and you imagine a certain young fisherman will have to find ways to pass the time without you… but you can’t stand another day in this world. This world built by the Capitol of Panem is a cruel enough place without adding a speech impediment and crushing anxiety into the mix.

You step deeper and deeper, and the water is cold this time of night. It sends a shiver up your spine that makes you wrap your arms around yourself. You do your best to keep the tears at bay. They don’t really do anything but make this harder. Your body is already reaping the nasty consequences of your decision, you don’t need to be racking sobs on top of it. 

You start shaking in fear and adrenaline when the water reaches your knees, something that shouldn’t make even the smallest child in four tremble. You contemplate letting your weight take you out, falling over would let nature take its course but for some reason you are insistent upon doing it this way. You have to secure the outcome, and sinking this shallow won’t do you any favors. 

The dress you’re wearing is now drenched, as your hips are fully submerged. It was white and purple, stingrays printed all over the fabric. It was quite beautiful, but not so much now that it clung to your skin. The dark woolen sweater overtop wasn’t doing anything to warm you, not like that was your objective, anyway. You got deeper than last time, the water drenching your shoulders.

You let your eyes close, and let your steps take you until you heard paddling behind you. 

“Mercedes! What the hell are you doing?” 

And again to your rescue came the boy you would miss most. 

He got close enough to wrap his arms around you, and you threw yourself into him, eyes bawling a river of tears that could make the tide rise in this ocean. He saved you, he always would. He’d been there since the beginning, and he’d be there till the end. If ever there was something to happen to him, you weren’t sure what you would do. 

Without him, you would need another to protect you. Not because you needed saving from others, but often because you needed saving from yourself. 

He sat on the beach with you, helping you calm down, using his jacket he’d left on the sands to help dry you off and keep you warm. He’d walk you back to your home, but he figured that was the last place you’d want to be on account of giving an explanation. 

“What were you trying to do?” He asked, but he didn’t need to. He’d already known by the slow and steady pacing you’d held that you didn’t plan on stopping. He knew you were trying to get rid of your problems once and for all.

You stayed silent, a few hiccups and tears resurfacing at his question. He knew, and you knew… you had wanted to die. 

“Why wouldn’t you talk to me?” Was his next question, and this time you felt you owed him an answer, but he wasn’t done. “If I hadn’t been here-”

“I’m s-so sorry, Lukas.”

He hugged you tighter into his side, the pain in his own chest increasing when he heard how hurt you still were through your voice. 

“Don’t be sorry. Just please, talk to me the next time you get an idea like that. Promise me you will,” he knew it was juvenile, but he held his pinky up anyways, just like when you both were children and made him use the meaningless motion. 

You took it, locking fingers but not letting go yet. You let your hands sink to the sand the way they were intertwined, and kept your head rested on his shoulder. 

“If someone had found you washed up tomorrow, I don’t know what I would do… I don’t think I’d ever get over it if you died.”

You felt terrible, not just because it was a foolish mistake on a depressive whim, but because you would have affected not only his life, but the lives of your family on account of a really bad day. 

“You can’t die, Mercedes… I’m sorry, but I won’t let you.”

You jolted awake, your head slamming back against the tree you were sleeping by. You didn’t have time to think, or to process a thing, because the sound of the twig snapping in the distance put you on guard. 

Your knife was in your hand, and you had to be prepared to face either Estelle or Brock. Both outcomes would be easily accounted for. You had no intention of losing anymore. There was a venom in your veins, a fiery need for revenge. It consumed you. 

The note that Finnick sent you wasn’t just telling you to kill this tribute, it was telling you something more. 

Show no Mercy. Don’t be merciful, but also, don’t be you. Forget yourself, and become something you swore you wouldn’t. You would have just given up and died had it been a different situation. Had your best friend’s blood not been staining your body. 

Out from the shadows of the humid forest, and into the light of your torch flame, Estelle stepped forward, her knife in her hands, and a wicked look on her face. 

“I would never have expected it to be us,” She said, her mouth twitching into a smirk. What kind of game was this to her? 

The hunger games are a terrible thing for all involved, but some tributes… they like it. The way they get to kill and be praised for it. She’s one of them. 

“You k-killed Brock?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as if annoyed you would even question it. 

“When it comes down to three tributes, you can’t keep allies. I knew I could kill you, but it was easier to kill him first. He wasn’t expecting to die before you, so it was pretty easy. Stabbed him in the back, literally.”

You twisted your face in disgust. You would give anything for Lukas to be alive right now, and here she is, bragging shamelessly about killing her ally. 

“You s-should have waited.”

She looked at you with surprise, taking more steps towards you while flipping her knife in her hand. 

“We’ll see.”

She stepped at you immediately with a swing of her weapon, but you had been on pins and needles, dodging the attack and trying to get the upper hand. You weren’t skilled in combat. You didn’t know what you were doing. She caught you off guard, pinning you to the tree and trying to dig her knife into your skull. 

The advantage you did have was your strength. You were able to push her arm back, keeping the knife a good distance away while being able to slash yours back over her shoulder, the blood splattering your face and your hair. She yelped in pain, but was back on you, chasing you the few steps you took away from the tree. 

“Get over here,” she sneered, her energy becoming more vapid and ruthless as she started swinging aimlessly with all the strength she had. You were able to get out of the entanglement and carefully lead her back towards the tree, but on the other side. You purposely fell out of the way and over the gathering of rocks you’d formed, landing on your back. Looking up at her, your knife had been lost in the dirt, and she had every right to believe she had the upper hand. 

“I’ve worked my entire life for this, and killing you,” she pointed her knife at you, her steps slowly coming forward until she was right where you wanted her. “Is going to be the most satisfying thing I’ll ever do.”

“I’m n-not afraid to d-die.” 

She scoffed, stepping forward one more time, losing her balance on the hidden tripwire. You quickly shuffled back when she fell forward, watching as your woven rope trap fell from the tree canopy above. The rocks attached to the four corners weighed her down, and she’d lost sight of her knife. 

“I’ve n-never been afraid to die… I’m afraid t-to live.”

You stood up next to the tree, taking in your hands the lit torch you’d set up earlier. You came before her once more, a pitying look on your face, but it wasn’t for her. 

“I guess I’ll have to f-face my fears.” 

And with that, you dropped the torch onto the rope, watching it catch faster than a candle wick. 

A mound of giant flames was seen, and an abundance of screams and painful cries were heard, but you didn’t wince. There was no compassion in you for the one who took away from you what you had held so dear. There was nothing you wanted anymore. 

You fell to your knees upon hearing the cannon, and curled into yourself with your hands over your head to try and dull the sound. You’ll be traumatized by cannonfire for the rest of your life, you know it. Even hearing it now, and feeling the fire still ablaze before you, you cannot feel peace. 

Your enemy is defeated, the person who took everything from you is gone, but it didn’t 

satisfy you. You still felt empty, and cold, despite the fire, and despite whom it consumed.

You only stood back up when you heard the canopy of the trees part over your head, a carrier lowering itself to take you away. It sounded crazy, and you know that mentally you shouldn’t even be thinking this, but you don’t want to leave this arena. You don’t want to leave Lukas here without you, and you don’t want to leave the place you last saw him alive. You have no intention of getting on the craft until it lands, and several men begin to pull and prod at you until you’ve boarded. 

You take one last glance at the rainforest behind you before the door raises and closes. You’ll never see it again. Never see Lukas again. Never see any of your allies again. Twenty-four tributes went in, and you came out… and you hate everything about that. 

-

His heart was pounding, his footsteps racing. People spoke to him as he walked by, but he didn’t hear any of it. They were all muted in his sense of urgency. It was real, but he had to see for himself, touch for himself. 

It was quick and all at once, the relief, the anxiety, and a new rush of sorrowful emotions. A cycle of the three, rotating constantly and turning his stomach over each time. He sees the back of your shoulder and arm, the only thing visible from behind the separation curtain between each medical bed. He never understood why there were so many. There was always only one winner. It’s not like this was a hospital. 

His feet still carried him, the walkway, though crowded with a team of experienced staff, were no match for him. He barreled through, earning little protest from anyone. He supposed it was a perk of being a Capitol darling, no one could ever tell him no in a setting like this. 

Your back faced him. Your hair, once braided in a unique and athletic style by Dalton, had been completely destroyed, strands sticking out, some covered in a dried red substance he didn’t care to think about right now. It had been all over you.

“Mercedes,” his whispered word reached your ears, and you turned your head. Bloodshot eyes gazed back into his, and the entire world stopped for you. 

He’s right there. The thought you’d been holding onto in the arena. The mentor who had taken such good care of you both in and out of the games. The only one you wanted to see right now. 

Due to his stillness, you almost thought him to be a figment of your imagination, a culmination of your dwindling sanity that somehow managed to form an actual manifestation… but then he stepped forward, once, twice, three times. 

He was careful, treating you like a scared animal. He’s seen what people can be like when they come back from the games. Sometimes they can’t tell that they’re no longer in them. He didn’t want to freak you out, or even make you feel the slightest bit uneasy.

“Finnick,” your eyes welled up with tears for the millionth time, and you tried your best not to let them fall now. This was a happy moment, don’t cry. Be happy. You survived the hunger games. It wasn’t even supposed to be you. 

He came close, not yet touching what he didn't know he could. You weren’t stiff by any means, but you just seemed so monotonous. So still and weak, and still scared. He took the moment to look at you more. Blood was smeared on your face, your neck, your arms. There were few places it wasn’t residing. 

He couldn’t help but reach up with one hand, his fingertips brushing over your shoulder. It had been the last thing he saw of you, and now the first. He hoped you weren’t so damaged from how you’d been when he saw you last. You had so much you needed to tell him,  he’d remembered. He remembered because it was his hope for you to come back.

“Are you hurt?” He knew he should have added a word, but it slipped his brain. Physically, are you hurt physically?

You shook your head, understanding what he meant. You didn’t want to have to ask, but you wanted his comfort, wanted his embrace. You just survived the worst tragedy someone of your age could experience, and yet, were too scared to ask for a simple hug. 

“W-will you-” you stopped short, the question hiding behind your teeth. You took a shallow breath and met his eyes. “Will you h-hold me?”

“Yes.”

His arms didn't hesitate to move of their own accord. They swarmed around your bare shoulders, smudging the dried blood around and making it feel crusty beneath his long sleeve shirt. He could care less. This shirt could never be worn again and yet he would sacrifice every shirt he had if it meant keeping you here and now, in his embrace. It comforted you, it helped you find peace. 

You hadn’t been able to think or speak of anything else since you left that arena. He was the happy thought on the carrier ride, and in the transport truck, and now even here in the medical ward. He was the sustainability that you craved to go on. You still wished it had been you. Someone else should be sitting here and thinking about going home. It should be Rodey or Lukas or Lyra. The people who saved you from harm and protected you when all else were out to kill you. You didn't blame those kids, either. They were just playing by the rules, doing what they were told. 

You didn't even want to go home. You didn't know what you would do when you got there. You didn't know if you could look your mother in the eye after what you had done. Your father would be ashamed of you. Your little brother would have to grow up with your reputation hanging over his head. You're a murderer, and a nasty one at that. 

The worst part about Estelle's death was that you didn't regret it. You were happy to stand there and kill her, completely enthused to watch her body be consumed in flames while she flailed about, burning to a crisp. It gave you a sense of pride, that justice had been done for your allies, the ones who should have won. 

She's the only thing about the games you don't regret. You should have stopped the venom from killing Lyra, you should have shoved off Rodey when he went to take the hit for you, and you should have pulled Lukas into the water. Those were the biggest regrets. 

Here and now, with everything that was at stake, you shouldn't be here. You should still be in the arena, or wherever they lay the tributes to rest after the games are over. 

Finnick felt you tense in his arms a few times, and he knew it was probably due to your thoughts. He remembers how badly they tortured him when he came home. His guilt was riding on his shoulders for weeks, all hidden under a stunning smile, of course. It was all he could do to mask how horribly he really felt. It wasn't long after that he’d been asked to start his favors for Snow. 

He'd been thinking about that all of last night. When he didn't know if you were going to live or die, he thought about all the things that could happen in either scenario. If you won, you'd be dealt the cards that he was. If you lost, you could escape it in peace. If you won, he'd be able to hold you just like he's doing now, but if you lost, he'd have to suffer the loss of you. He'd have thought about you every time he looked at a new promising tribute. He'd have to think about the promise he made himself and how he'd not only failed to honor it, but failed to save you. 

He shook it all out of his head. You were here, and you were alive. His sweet Mercy.

“I'm gonna take care of you. I promise.”

-

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn @emma-andrea1 @marvelescvpe

[starlahuskyz]

Chances - Chapter 20

Summary: The boys take Jordan to properly meet their sire, however one thing leads to another and an old face rears their ugly head once again.

It's been a while, but I'm just in time for my oc x canon's anniversary! Things are picking up finally, so the end is near.

Chapter 19 <<< >>> Chapter 21

TW// Stalking, Sexual Themes, Implied Smut

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

Jordan had been sleeping peacefully with Marko that night, that is until she found herself in a dark room only lit by the moonlight casted through the windows. Marko was nowhere to be found, and she heard nothing but the deafening silence accompanying her. She scanned the darkness around her and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her, she started recognizing where she was. The Looff Carousel on the boardwalk, she’d visited this ride plenty of times while living in Santa Carla. She walked along the platform and grazed her hands along each horse that sat along the ride.

Without much of a warning, she heard the sound of mechanical whirring starting up and the whole attraction came to life, the tune “To the Shock of Miss Louise” started blaring on the speakers surrounding the ride. Jordan was perplexed and she grabbed a hold of the many poles circling the rotating platform. Said platform started to move and each horse moved up and down, Jordan carefully walked in between each horse trying to find any potential souls besides her own.

It didn’t take her long before she started feeling uncomfortable, she once again felt the sensation of being watched again. Her hair stood up on its ends and she grew anxious wondering who was with her. She thought back to the one person she saw who sported a clown mask similar to the clown face seen on the walls of the carousel. She jumped to the conclusion that it must’ve been the same person and immediately started scanning the room around her, she then only realized something.

Every single horse within her view had their eyes on her, and as she walked through the ride they only stared at her. The feeling of anxiety grew to an all time high, the ground beneath her started to disappear before her and she soon fell down with it. She only remembered one thing as she fell, the voice of someone saying,

“I’m still here…”

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

With a nasty fright, Jordan woke up and found herself on the ceiling above her bed. She rolled over and saw Marko still lying peacefully on the bed with Bixby, not even realizing Jordan wasn’t with him. Mildly panicked as she struggled to get herself down, she called for Marko.

“Marko! Are you awake?”

No movement, she opted to get Bixby’s attention.

“Bixby! Wake him up!”

The little black feline lifted its head begrudgingly growling lightly until seeing the predicament his owner was in. The cat stalked over to Marko’s face and meowed and swiped at him, waking him up.

“Dammit cat, leave me alone! What?” Marko looked at Bixby angrily until realizing Jordan was gone and upon looking up he saw her still trying to free herself from the ceiling.

“What the hell happened?”

“Like hell I know, now help me down please!”

Marko grabbed Jordan’s leg pulling her down to the bed where she finished her little flying session. 

“Did you have a bad dream or something?” Marko rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.

“How did you know?”

“Vampires tend to fly in their sleep when in distress and not holding onto anything. Like one time, Paul took a nap and started to fly around the cave.” He recounted how confused Paul was after that experience.

“It was definitely a bad dream, but I’d rather not think about it too hard right now.” 

Jordan laid back onto the bed petting Bixby on his head as he sat in a loaf position on the bed. Marko did the same and nuzzled himself into her neck purring loudly. Taking a glance at her clock she saw it was 5pm, still another two hours before the sun properly sets.

“We should rest a bit more, it still isn’t sundown yet.” Marko suggested.

“I really don’t wanna go back to sleep after that.” Jordan responded exasperatedly.

Marko rolled onto his back and clicked his tongue thinking about what they could do to wait out the time. He reached a hand onto Jordan’s thigh and squeezed it, she only looked at him confused.

“The hell are you doing?” 

“I know what we could do to pass the time.” Marko winked at her and she tensed up and sat up.

“Are you out of your mind? Why now?”

“I know it’s a bit sudden but, hearing about your ex made me kinda mad. I wanna prove that I can treat you better than he did,I could rock your world babe.”

“And you’re gonna prove that by having the dirtiest sex imaginable?”

“Well…if that’s what you want then-”

“No. Don’t even, you have to earn that from me.” She stood up and turned her TV on to see what shows were on, Marko stayed in the bed watching her. His face was thoughtful.

“Earn it…what do I gotta do?” 

“You sure are desperate aren’t you?” Jordan moved away from the TV to look at him after settling on a show.

“I’m just asking, can a guy not ask a question?” Marko grabbed her hands and pulled her into his lap, without contest from Jordan.

“Listen, it’s just been a while since I’ve done anything like this and to be honest, the night Viktor turned me was my first time being intimate with anyone. And I don’t really even remember it. I don't want to rush into this and end up regretting it.” 

Jordan thought back to that night and how after she drank the blood, everything afterwards became nothing but flashes of distant memories and singular moments in time.

“Well, I can say this much, you definitely won’t forget or regret any of the action I'd give. I’d make all your worries melt away, you deserve everything. I want you to forget all about that scumbag and pretend like I’m your first…only if you're okay with it.”

Marko shoved his face into Jordan’s neck and nipped at her skin relishing in her scent and taste. She ran her fingers through his golden locks as he did so, she pulled his chin up and looked him in the eyes. She gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead making him grumble happily.

“Can I trust you?”

“May god strike me down where I sit.”

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

8:30pm

Marko and Jordan laid together watching the TV quietly play a random show they'd both never seen before. However, neither of them paid any attention to what was being said. Jordan traced shapes onto Marko's tummy while he played with Jordan's raven hair, they both purred happily as they enjoyed each other's company.

They were pulled out of their comfortable silence though when they heard a loud knocking sound on the basement doors outside. Jordan begrudgingly sat up.

“Who is it?”

“It’s the pizza man! Open up, Jordan!”

Marko sat up as well and wrapped his arms around Jordan, purring.

“Did you bring us a spicy sausage pizza?” Marko asked, making Jordan swipe at him in embarrassment.

“Hell yeah! How do we open the door though?”

“There should be a key to open the lock inside a potted plant next to the door.”

After that, she heard some footsteps and shuffling leave and come back she then heard a sudden bang come from someone busting the lock open. Paul sauntered in

and Dwayne followed through holding a busted lock in his hands. 

“Couldn’t find the key, so we took advice from what you did-” Paul’s words quieted after he noticed a rather jarring change with Jordan’s outfit…or rather lack thereof. “Looks like someone got lucky last night.”

It was only then that Jordan had noticed she was completely underdressed for the occasion and Paul had been staring at her bare chest. She quickly pulled her blanket up to cover her up.

“Maybe I did, but that doesn’t give you the right to stare at my chest you asshole. Dwayne, can you toss me my clothes?”

Dwayne wordlessly handed her something to wear and Marko simply got up to get his clothes while completely naked.

“And you don’t look half bad yourself.” Paul purred at Marko who in turn cuffed the side of his head.

After Jordan finally put something on and looked more presentable she turned the TV off. “Why are you guys even here?”

“David wanted us to come and get you guys.” Dwayne explained.

“Dad wants to talk to us over dinner about Marko’s new girlfriend.” Paul chucked one of Jordan’s stuffed animals at Marko as he put his pants on making him trip over himself.

“You guys have a dad?” Jordan asked, Paul pulled her out of bed and threw an arm over her shoulders.

“Don’t worry about that right now, you need a nice outfit for tonight.”

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

Within the hour, the boys had taken Jordan to a pleasant looking house. They had given little to zero information about who they were visiting on the way over. And now they were standing on the porch awaiting an answer from the person inside and Jordan was beyond nervous. David stood at the front of the group obnoxiously ringing the doorbell while the others just snickered quietly. Marko stood in the back with Jordan and wordlessly grabbed her hand to help relieve her anxiety.

Eventually the door opened up, and much to Jordan’s dismay, it was the owner of the video store on the pier of the boardwalk. She never liked him before and now she realizes why. The man had a look of annoyance in his face as he stared down the platinum blonde.

“Feeling a bit daring, don’t we David?”

“Just playing around, we brought Jordan like you asked.” David moved aside to let Marko bring Jordan up to become acquainted with their sire.

Marko gently nudged Jordan forward while she just stared at the vampire warily.

“Glad we can finally be properly acquainted, I’m Max.”

“I know, you own the video store on the pier.”

Max chuckled at her somewhat snappy nature. “You have a fiery spirit, it doesn't surprise me that Marko pounced on you once he finally had the opportunity.”

The others snickered at Marko while he quietly growled back at them. “Lay off Max, can we just come inside now?”

Max moves aside leaving access for the group “You’re invited…”

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

Everyone sat around a dining table eating a quaint little dinner together, having small conversations together to break the ice between them. Jordan took note of how the boys were acting somewhat well behaved, they still occasionally made jabs at Max or each other but they didn’t do anything all too out of line. Eventually, Max began to start talking with the newest member of the family trying to learn more.

“So Jordan, I hope Marko has been treating you well, same thing with all my boys.”

“Marko has definitely been behaving well, can’t say the same about the others though.” Jordan eyed the others as they quietly chuckled. “I don’t care too much though, I mean, I’m happy now so yeah.” She shrugged her shoulders unsure of what else to say.

“I noticed you seemed to deny Marko’s love before all…this. What made you come around?” He folded his hands ready to listen in.

“I don’t know, it happened the day they all found out I was a vampire. We talked for a bit and I guess I liked his style, we made plans to hang out and now we’re here.”

“That’s wonderful, but now I wanna know what kept you from saying yes from the very first encounter with him?”

Jordan hesitated, telling Max means she’s going to have to tell her story once again. Before she could answer, Paul answered for her.

“She played hard to get, all because she had a shitty ex.”

“Paul shut up!” Jordan snapped at him.

“It’s true, you told us all about it last night. Now you don’t wanna talk about it?”

Max tilted his head curiously “I’m assuming it’s a long story?”

“Yeah, but to give you the cliff notes, I moved here, met a guy who turned out to be a vampire. We dated for a while and he ended up turning me into a vampire without my permission, and I may or may not have killed my whole coven and now I live in my parents basement.”

Max leaned back in his chair, his face was thoughtful. “I see.”

“There was a lot more stuff in between, but the point is that I was left with horrible trust issues for the past year and that’s why I rejected Marko at first.”

Max still looked thoughtful as Jordan spoke and the boys took notice of it pretty quickly.

“Cat got your tongue?” David asked.

“No…Marko do you mind if we talk in private real quick. The rest of you I want in the living room.”

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

The boys and Jordan minus Marko all waited in the living room while Max talked to Marko. It was a sudden change and everyone had been caught off guard about it. Jordan was especially anxious about it.

“Do you think it was something I said?” Jordan turned to the others looking for reassurance.

“Who knows, I wouldn’t worry too much. Probably just chewing out Marko to make sure he treats you like a queen.” Paul sprawled out on the couch with his head on Dwayne’s lap as he spoke to Jordan.

“But what if he comes out saying it’s something about me and I might be causing problems.”

The boys all groaned quietly, then Dwayne shoved Paul off of him and asked “If I eavesdrop will you stop worrying?”

Jordan thought for a moment “Sure, just make sure they don’t notice you.”

Dwayne stood up and quietly moved towards the kitchen to listen in, he caught on to the middle of their convo.

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

“You know the rules Marko.”

“Bullshit, she said she killed him. How do you know for a fact he’s still alive, I’m sure I would’ve noticed.”

“She just has a presence on her, it’s unmistakable, I know the feeling of a sire when I feel it.”

Marko huffed in frustration, “The hell am I supposed to tell her? That her ex is still alive and is watching her? She’d probably drop dead.”

Max laid a heavy hand on his shoulder “Listen, I understand this is hard, but even if you wanted to be with her, her sire will try to fight you for her. I don’t want to have to come and save you.”

Marko shook his shoulder to remove his sire’s hand “I don’t need your help, I’ll find him myself and fuck him up.”

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

Dwayne perked up at the convo and returned back to the living room, as soon as he’s back Jordan stood up and approached him.

“What did you hear?”

Dwayne reached a hand up to scratch the back of his neck not saying a word.

“Please don’t tell me it was bad…”

“Listen, I wanna ask you something first. When you killed your ex, are you absolutely sure he was dead?”

“Of course! A stake to the heart instantly kills a vampire right?”

No one says a word for a moment.

“Well not if he’s your sire, a fledgling can’t kill their own sire in the typical vampire slaying way.”

Jordan’s face pales “You’re kidding, right?”

Dwayne then speaks again “Shit, then it might be possible.”

Jordan doesn’t say another word, and makes a beeline for the door and runs out into the woods surrounding Max’s house. The others don’t even have the chance to stop her and just stand by the open door.

“You guys stay here, I’ll go get her.” David quickly follows after Jordan.

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

She didn’t know how long she’d been running for, a part of her didn’t even know why she was running. She just knew she wanted to get away, she couldn’t even fathom the idea of her ex still being alive. It just couldn’t be, she found herself in the heart of the forest she ran into and stopped for a minute to ponder what was happening. 

Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts a second, she wasn’t sure who to believe. Was she right? Did she think too confidently about whether or not she finished the job?

Before she could come to a conclusion, she heard a voice from behind her.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

Swiftly turning around, Jordan felt her heart drop into her stomach upon seeing who it was.

“Viktor…”

“Jordan, you look just as beautiful as the day you left me. In fact, you may look even better.” He slowly approached her, he looked practically the same from when she originally saw him from the first time.

Jordan didn’t speak, at a loss for words. Viktor approached her until he was at least one foot in front of her.

“Too stunned to speak?”

“...How? I staked you.” She stared up at him, feeling all alarms going off in her head.

“Well, didn’t your friend already tell you? With me being your sire, you couldn’t kill me by staking me. It’s silly, isn’t it?” He lifted a finger to twirl it around her dark locks of hair.

“Silly isn’t the word for it, infuriating is more appropriate.” She stepped away from him, breaking contact.

“Oh, Jordan you’re breaking my heart. It’s been almost two years, are you ever going to let go of my mistake?”

“Mistake? You’re full of shit Viktor! You planned to turn me without my permission, that was no goddamn mistake!”

“True, but I truly never meant to hurt you. I just want you back, you’re all I have now.” 

“Bullshit, you should’ve thought better before you pulled that crap on me. I’d rather let a train run me over a thousand times over before I ever think about going back to you!”

Viktor sighed, then laughed.

“You’re stubborn, you really don’t believe me? I’ve kept an eye on you ever since you decided to go on your own. I’ve been watching you every day making sure you would be okay, if I truly wanted to do anything harmful to you I wouldn’t have already done it?”

Jordan thought back to those feelings of being watched she’d experience. It made so much sense now.

“Of course it was you…I should’ve known. You know if you truly loved me, you wouldn’t breach my damn privacy and watch me for every moment of my damn life.”

“I just wanted to keep up with what you were up to, especially after that new boy came into your life. I can smell him on you, and to be frank…it makes me sick.”

Jordan grew more defensive. “If you even try to touch Marko I swear to god you’ll have the devil to pay god dammit.”

He laughed coldly, “Cute, you love him don’t you?”

“Yes, he’s not perfect but I’ll take someone honest over a lying asshole like you. If you want me back, you’ll have to fight me for that.”

Viktor’s face was thoughtful for a moment, the wind started to pick up around them as leaves flew past them and trees swayed back and forth.

“Let’s make a wager on that, how about in a week from now, I will come visit your home. We’ll confront each other and see what happens, and just to be fair, I’ll leave you be for the week so you can get your affairs in order.”

“Fine, I’ll rip your ass to pieces, you just wait.”

He smiled, “I’m looking forward to it, by the way, don’t even think about bringing any of the clowns with you. This is between me and you only, please don’t disappoint me.”

As Viktor finished speaking, a new presence made themself known.

David stood in the same opening “Get away from her you prick.”

“I was already on my way out.” Viktor quickly left not before giving Jordan a quick peck on her cheek. She couldn’t even say anything due to how sudden it was, she only watched him leave swiftly into the woods behind her.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” David approached her watching her.

“Not physically.” She turned back to face David.

“Don’t let him get to you, we’ll put his dick in the dirt before he even has the chance to take you away from us.”

David moved to leave before Jordan ran in front of him, cutting him off. 

“NO!” He raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, “I mean, no. Don’t bother.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for that bastard.”

“Of course not! I mean you can’t tell anyone about this, because I told Viktor that I’d confront him on my own. He doesn’t want anyone else with me, me bringing you guys along means I’m admitting defeat!”

“Who gives a shit! What makes you think you’ll be able to take him on by yourself when you couldn’t even take me on.”

“I’ve gotten stronger!”

“Bullshit.”

Jordan moved to attack David, but with a quick reaction he grabbed her wrist and crushed it under his vampiric strength making her falter. He let go and watched as Jordan fell to her knees in defeat.

“You going to fight him on your own is a death sentence, I understand what you’re trying to do. But I refuse to let one of our members get themselves killed because of their own stupidity. Imagine how Marko would feel if you were killed.”

Jordan stared up at David in disbelief, but she realized that he was being genuine. He stared her down making her know her place in their coven, Jordan stood up slowly.

“That’s a good point, but I will never truly be Marko’s mate if I never get rid of Viktor for good. I appreciate your care, but I need you to keep this between you and me. If I need you guys to help me, I’ll let you know. Just give me a chance to at least try, I’m tired of running.”

David said nothing, he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine…but if Marko finds out, it’s your problem.”

“Fine by me.”

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

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[danny-and-hisshadow]

Bad decisions lead to worse consequences part 2

Phantom and Fenton had no idea on how to say goodbye to each other. How does one say goodbye to a part of yourself. Both had a sense that this might be a more permanent separation, that was a bit frightening,not something they had considered when they were still one being. Phantom looked at Fenton who looked back.

well,take care of mom and dad, I'll stop all the ghosts from coming through the Fenton ghost portal, though there is not much I can do about natural portals". Phantom inhaled a moment, holding his breath, but as a ghost he didn't need to breath,it was just habit, so he didn't really exhale.

Fenton nodded,"I will, I'll make sure they don't miss meals". He didn't think about what the meeting was going to be about at the nasty burger, he had a feeling it was going to be very enjoyable. He couldn't tell them he was hunting ghosts or had been phantom, or anything dealing with ghosts. "Take care of yourself". He didn't know what else to say.

Phantom entered the portal and Fenton,now Danny, used the Fenton DNA lock on the Fenton portal to close the Fenton ghost portal. He was quick place a clear piece of tape over the DNA finger print part, knowing it could buy him a bit of time before his parents replaced the part. He hurried up to his room where he started brainstorming what he was going to do.

If his and phantom's plan went right maybe he could get his life back on tract? He just hoped vlad didn't mess things up like he seemed too lately.

He settled into bed, exhausted and unable to sleep he continued to think about tomorrow. He finally decided on a few big lies, that he had been on drugs to explain his jumpiness around his parents, that he left school during ghost attacks to get his fix, and that lately his stress had been from quitting drugs and going cold turkey, that he had come to his senses after 'witnessing' a overdose and that he didn't want to end up like that. He was ready to tell that to his parents and mister lancer,he was going to lie his ass off. He was probably going to be grounded or worse, but there was no way he was telling the truth.

Danny's s dreams were more nightmares than anything , and when he woke up he had dark circles around his eyes. He showered and dressed, snunk his way into the lab and grabbed a Fenton anti-ghost belt, paranoid and wanting some security, he locked the belt and put the key up under a cabinet. He took a wrist ray, a lip balm Lazer, some Fenton gloves modified to me fingerless, and took Fenton thermos just in case.

Danny drank a pot of coffee and headed to school early, hoping to avoid his bully dash. Having no friends made him a big target to just about anyone who wanted to bully Danny. Now that he was human he wouldn't have a way of defending himself from anyone. He felt like this was the start of something rough.