#no reason this ask should've taken this long

[kissandtellus]

Warning, Bite Risk: Ch. 3

ೃ⁀➷ Synopsis: MC goes back to work, leaving Hybrid!Caleb alone for the longest time yet. Caleb shows not only who he truly was in the past, but now, he shows how far he’s willing to go for her.

ೃ⁀➷ Warnings: Caleb is PATHETIC in the best way possible, mentions of PTSD, Slight Yandere behavior, stalking to some extent, possesive/obsessive behavior.

Tags: @mcdepressed290 , @seventeen-x , @rorel1a , @skylarkse

A few weeks pass, Caleb slowly starts to come around to the idea of living in a home where he is loved and cherished. But there is one enemy that he absolutely hates.

And that’s MC leaving for work.

Caleb follows her around the house like a puppy as she gets ready, and his tail is wagging like crazy. It's hard to believe that just a few weeks ago he had been hesitant and nervous to even move. He's excited, but there is a hint of unease.

"What time are you going to be home today?" He asks, a hint of worry in his voice. The question makes her pause, and she realizes what's bugging him.

Before, when she would try to leave the house, Caleb has always had to follow. He's usually very well-behaved, but today she can see some of his old habits coming through. He follows her like a shadow, and he seems like he's ready to make a dash to follow her.

She takes his hand gently, stopping him as he paces back and forth. She keeps her fingers interlocked with his as she speaks. "I'll be home around six. I'm going to pick up dinner, okay?"

Caleb looks down at their conjoined hands and pulls away, clearing his throat. This would be the first time she’d be gone for so long since she rescued him from the shelter.

He's quiet for a moment, and then softly speaks, "Is it... is it a big mission?" She can hear the small hint of fear in his voice, and it's hard to tell if it's for his safety, or hers.

He seems unwilling to leave her side, and his body tenses when she lets go of his hand. His ears lower, as if he doesn't want to leave her, and his tail slows to a gentle wag.

He looks up at her, and she can see his eyes are wide and pleading. "Can I... help in any way?" His voice is soft, and his expression is so soft.

He is starting to look like a lost little puppy again. It's hard to tell if he's acting or if this is sincere. Whatever the reason, she has to be strong. He can't follow her right now, and she can't miss this event.

"I'm sorry, Caleb." She speaks quietly, her eyes pleading for him to understand.

MC grabs her keys and wallet. “Alright Caleb, be good okay? There’s some food in the fridge. I’ll be back!” And then she’s gone, leaving the Malinois Hybrid in the apartment alone.

Caleb looks out the door with a look of longing, almost like he’s waiting for her to return. But finally, he slumps and goes into the living room. He settles in on the couch, and closes his eyes.

MC’s apartment suddenly seems so very… quiet. No one is moving around, or making a sound, and it’s odd. It’s been so long since he’s experienced true silence.

He’s a bit restless, and he can feel the anxiety building in his stomach.

Fighting Wanderers was exhausting, but when MC had a partner as skilled and talented as Xavier, it made a world of difference. They rode the subway home, both Hunters still trying to catch their breaths.

The mission had taken way longer than either of them had expected. MC felt a weird feeling bubble in her gut. She hadn’t really left the Hybrid with any way to communicate with her.

But back at the apartment, Caleb was twitching and pacing with anxiety.

Caleb paces around the small, crowded apartment, his slippers are making a faint click-clacking noise against the tile. His head is spinning, and all he can think about is how worried he is. It doesn't help when he looks out the window and sees that the sun is setting. She should've been back at six. She should've been back hours ago.

He makes a quick decision, and opens the window. He can wait, but he won't wait here. Not when he has no way of knowing what's going on.

Caleb drops out the window and onto the ground below. Luckily the apartment is on the ground floor.

He looks around, and then begins to stalk down the street, keeping to the shadows. His gaze darts from side to side, scanning his surroundings. His mind is focused on the task at hand, his heart pounding and his hands trembling slightly. He seems slightly on-edge, ready for *anything. *

His ears twitch as he runs through the city. He takes long, graceful strides, keeping to the shadows. He's focused, and clearly has somewhere specific in mind.

When he gets closer to the main city center, he leaps up to a fire escape, barely making a noise as he lands. He is careful and quick, trying to keep a low profile.

He has to hurry. He can't lose more time, and she might need him.

When he gets to his destination, he crouches down. He's in a spot where he has a pretty good view of the street, and he can see anyone coming and going.

He scans the crowd, looking for any sight of her or her group of companions. He has to be patient, but his heart is racing.

What if she's hurt?

What if she's in danger?

He bites his lip, feeling helpless with not knowing anything.

A couple of minutes later, MC turns onto the street with Tara and Xavier. The group is chatting casually, and MC feels much more relaxed than earlier. She notices a familiar shape perched atop of a roof, but it soon disappears out of view before she can see who it is.

She sighs, shaking her head with a bit of a smile, not bothering to tell either Xavier or Tara about it. Caleb has been on her mind the entire night, and she wonders how he’s been.

Caleb notices MC, and his heart soars at the sight of her. But when he jumps down, and gets closer, he can see her companions and immediately feels jealous.

Not about Tara so much but a male.

A male that isn’t Caleb.

His hands shake as he forces himself to take a deep breath. He is clearly unhappy, and his voice is almost a growl, though he's trying to sound calm.

"You told me you were going alone." He says, and his voice is low and rough. He looks like he's in a dangerous state of mind right now. "You lied to me."

He steps closer, getting in her personal space. He’s clearly frustrated, and his voice is low and dark. "You don't get to just lie to me. You don't get to just leave me."* He’s glaring at her companions, his eyes narrowing.

"You should've let me come with him," he mumbles. "I-I could've protected you, from them.”

"Caleb, calm down." Tara says firmly, stepping forward. She's clearly trying to diffuse the situation. She was there when MC adopted Caleb, and in the Hybrid’s eyes, she was an enemy, trying to keep HIS MC away.

He snaps his head towards her, his eyes flaring with anger.

He’s not going to listen to her.

"Stay out of this," he snarls, and his gaze flicks back to MC. "Are you trying to prove a point?" He snaps, "Trying to prove that you don't need me?"

MC swallows the lump in her throat. His eyes are not soft and pleading like they are when he’s begging for a piece of steak. They are predatory almost. “Caleb, let’s go home-“

He grabs her wrist a little too roughly, and steps even closer into her space. His face is mere inches from hers. "I would do *anything* for you. And this is how you treat me?" He asks, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I thought you were in danger, and the entire time you were out having fun?”

“I just got back from a mission with Xavier. Tara met us so we could go pick up lunch.” Her voice is even toned. She knew Hybrids could get very territorial. But she hadn’t expected Caleb to escape her apartment and track her down. “We’re going home Caleb. Now.”

Caleb’s chest heaves, and his eyes are wild and frightened. He pulls her closer, pressing his body against hers. He breathes heavily, and his grip tightens around her wrist.

His voice is low now, and almost pleading. "I need to keep you safe. If-if I can’t do that I… I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please, don’t send me-" He swallows, and glances between her and her friends. His eyes plead with her to listen, to understand.

MC sighs and rubs his back in slow, comforting circles. She can physically feel him shaking under her touch like a leaf. “I’m not sending you back to the Farspace Fleet. I promise…”

Caleb seems to relax under her touch, and his breathing slows down a little. He closes his eyes, and presses his face into the crook of her neck, his body relaxing. His voice is quiet, and full of gratitude.

“I… I’m sorry.” He says, feeling foolish now. He had come all this way, and had made a fool of himself in front of her friends.

He hesitates for a moment before adding, "I just... thought I lost you."

MC excuses herself from her friends and coworkers. While Tara brushes the whole thing off, Xavier watches the two disappear into the crowd, his gaze calculating.

The walk back to the apartment is quiet, save for the hustling and bustling of the city around them.

Caleb clings to her arm like a lifeline, even with his height, he buries his face in her shoulder like a scolded dog, tail tucked between his legs.

He walks along beside her wordlessly, still looking nervous. The fact that he looks so upset and guilty is hard to ignore.

He hesitates, but eventually speaks, his voice soft and unsure. “Are you... are you mad at me?” He sounds almost scared to hear to her answer, like he’s afraid that she will be.

He seems to realize how he’s being too much by being so clingy. His ears immediately flatten, his eyes lower, and he leans away from her slightly before stopping.

He slowly looks up at her, his expression unreadable. He hesitates, and then he takes her hand, curling his fingers around hers.

He speaks very softly, his voice tentative. “Please... don't be mad.”

He sounds like a little kid asking for permission to stay up late. His eyes are full of uncertainty.

MC takes in a deep breath before speaking. “Caleb, I care for you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. But….” She chews on her bottom lip.

Was she in too far?

Was this a bad idea from the beginning?

"But... what? I just-"

Caleb pauses, and his hand tightens around hers. His voice is suddenly filled with sadness.

"I can't live without you," He whispers. "Everything has changed so much... I don't want you to leave me."

He doesn't look like a K-9 military Hybrid right now. He looks so incredibly fearful, and vulnerable. It's like he's afraid to let her see him like this, and he can barely meet her eyes.

He drops to his knees in the middle of the street and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face into her stomach as he lets out an onslaught of pleads

He seems desperate, his voice choked with emotion.

"MC, please," He practically begs. "I'll do anything for you, just... don't leave me. Don't leave me alone again."

He's so focused on her that he doesn't seem to care that they're out in the open, or that people are staring at them.

He tightens his arms around her waist, and he speaks again, his voice hoarse with desperation. "I love you."

MC’s eyes open wide. In the few weeks they had been living together, they had grown close. Caleb was incredibly doting and attached to her, but she had to wonder… was this because of some sort of animal instinct that Hybrids had?

That’s what her friends told her every single time she went out without him, and was met with his worried antics when she returned

“Are you just saying that because you think you have to?” MC asks, slowly pulling away from him.

His eyes widen in shock, like he can’t believe what she’s saying. His eyes search her face, almost desperately.

“N-no!” He exclaims, shaking his head wildly. “I would n-never lie to you.” He seems desperate to convince her, and he sounds a bit upset that she would even ask such a thing

He hesitates, and looks down. “Why… why do you think that? Have I done something to upset you?” He asks in a small voice.

MC swallows the lump in her throat before grabbing his elbow to help him stand. “Caleb you can’t…love me. You barely know me. You don’t have to…to say that because you think I’ll leave you or mistreat you.”

Caleb hesitates, and he looks at her with wide eyes. "But I do know you. I know you like sweet coffee in the mornings, and you like wearing comfortable clothes, with your hair in a ponytail. I know you hate it when people call you ‘Pipsqueak.’ Besides me….” His gaze drops as he says it.

"I know you're kind, and sweet. And strong, and brave. A-and I like that... about you. So, I have to... I have to tell the truth when I say I love you."

MC stiffens her jaw, her eyes dart around to all of the people staring at them. “Caleb please. Let’s…let’s go home…”

He hesitates, but his face falls when he hears the tone of her voice.

"Yes ma'am." He mutters in response, and moves away from her, his ears lowering. He looks like a scolded puppy, and he doesn't seem to know what to do.

He keeps his head low as they walk, and it's clear that he wants to say something. His gaze keeps flickering to her, and his eyes are pleading with her to listen to him, but he stays silent.

The night is quiet when they return.

MC closes herself up in her bedroom as soon as they get home. Caleb is so anxious, whining, clawing at her door desperately.

Caleb whines and scratches at the door, his voice anxious and pleading. "Please, let me in? Please."

He doesn't seem to care that he's literally whimpering at her door like an abused little puppy. He needs to be in there with her.

His voice lowers to almost a whisper as he scratches once again. "Please... I don't want to be alone." He sounds so broken right now.

MC presses her back to the opposite side of the door, sliding down with her face in her hands.

She feels so bad for Caleb, she can’t bear to hear him whine and cry.

She has no idea what horrors he’s seen. She knows that’s why he’s clinging to her so desperately. But it’s not healthy for either of them.

Caleb's voice is strained, like he's about to start crying again. He keeps repeating himself, his voice getting more and more upset.

"MC, please... I won't say it again. I just... I don't want to be alone," and then there's silence, like he can't manage to voice it anymore.

Eventually, after a minute of complete silence, she can hear the sound of a dull thump against the door. He is lying on the floor, curled up into a small ball. His ears press against his head, and his tail is tucked between his legs.

"P...please." He begs softly, his voice now a small, broken whisper.

He sounds like a scared little kid, curled up into a tiny, shivering ball against the door. There's no sign of the tough, confident military K-9 Hybrid left in him. No sign of the cold, emotionless Hybrid soldier that he once was on the battlefield. That persona seems to have disappeared completely.

"I'm... I'm scared." He murmurs, his voice barely audible.

MC can’t take it anymore. She throws open the door and Caleb is on her in a second.

Caleb is quick to grab her, his limbs wrapping protectively around her. He's shaking, and he buries his face in her neck, desperately trying to calm himself.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry." He says, his voice quiet and trembling. He doesn't seem to care that he is probably scaring her. Right now, he just wants to be reassured that she won't leave him again.

He trembles against her, and he takes hold of her like she's his only lifeline.

MC finally lifts her arms to wrap around him, scratching at the base of his neck. “Shhh…I told you I wasn’t going anywhere….”

He nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent and pressing his body against hers as if he's trying to soak up all of her warmth.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and his voice is still trembling. His hands are still gripping her like a lifeline, and his tail is curled around her waist.

"I'm just... I'm scared," he says again, and his voice is so small and fragile.

"I don't want to lose you."

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

[thee-horny-thicky]

This might be a weird request. But I was looking for a Muzan or douma x reader. However whenever they get intimate- the female never moans. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy it she just isn’t very vocal which annoys and gives them a complex. The fact they can’t even get a human girl to moan annoys and frustrates them. She’s shy, little insecure (chubbier side) so never moans. Also doesn’t get off on general just touching etc. it excites her but doesn’t get her soaked.

Congratulations, Anon. You've been selected for 'Drafts Thicky Should Finish and Post Program!' I chose to do Douma for one because that's what past me chose to do. Anyway, enjoy!

Much didn’t hurt Douma’s pride. But you, a little human maid, succeeded easily. You were supposed to be a distraction, a way to get his dick wet. Then, when he was done with you, he’d turn you into a meal. You had a cute face and ample curves that’d keep him well-fed. At least, that was the plan, until you rejected him.

“I’m honored,” you’d said, a blush consuming your plump cheeks.

He remembered grinning smugly, thinking he had you in his trap. Then, you’d continued speaking, wiping his smile away.

“But I must decline your offer."

With that, you’d bowed and scurried away, leaving a shocked Douma in your wake.

Your rejection had lit a fire under Douma, spurring him to chase you until he finally got you in his bed. Somewhere along the way, he’d grown attached to you, the game of cat and mouse being played throwing a wrench in his plans to fuck and eat you. Through hours of stalking and harassing, he’d gotten to know you, and your gentle, bashful demeanor reminded him of Kotoha, when he’d first stumbled across her. Maybe that’s why, after he just finished fucking you, he had no interest in consuming your flesh. Or perhaps, it was because his mission felt incomplete. He’d bedded you, yes, but you barely made a peep. Your lip stayed firmly between your teeth, and when he managed to coax a sound out of you, it was only a few whimpers.

Worst of all, Douma didn’t think you came.

So, there he lay, stewing in frustration and humiliation, tangled in the sheets, his nude body pressed against yours. He had half the mind to snap your neck right there, for all the effort you were making him put in. But if he did, he’d have no chance to redeem himself. So, instead, he voiced what was on his mind.

“Was I not good?” he blurted, the question sounding absurd coming from his lips.

He was Upper Moon #2, irrefutably handsome, powerful, intelligent, and had a legion of loyal followers. He’d given many pleasure before you and would continue to give pleasure to many after you. Douma was more than good enough, he was amazing, and yet you had him questioning himself.

One day, you’d pay for that.

You looked at him, face flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, and eyes glossy. You looked thoroughly ravished, except you hadn’t fucking come.

“It felt good,” you said with a small smile, meant to be reassuring, but doing nothing for him. “I-I just don’t…”

You trailed off, then shook your head, looking away as your cheeks grew hotter. “Never mind. It’s silly. I…I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Tell me,” he ordered, feeling borderline desperate.

You sighed, then refocused on him. “I…I just don’t have intense orgasms. Really, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

He stared at you, not fully understanding. Never had he been with a woman who didn’t have a noticeable orgasm. Douma analyzed everything he’d done to you, which was rather tame compared to past encounters. He limited it to fingers and cock, too consumed with want to do anything else.

Oh.

Oh.

At that moment, he had a revelation, suddenly feeling like a dumbass. Penetration alone wasn’t enough for many women.

His gaze remained locked on yours, and the longer he stared, the more embarrassed your expression became. “Just forget I said anything,” you said pleadingly.

Absolutely not.

Instead of obliging, he sat up fully and crawled over your prone form. First, he kissed your neck, relishing in your soft gasp. He smiled against your skin. Already, you were proving his theory correct.

“Silly me, not savoring you properly,” he murmured as he kissed down your body, stopping at your breasts.

You squirmed, trying to escape his touch, but he held you in place

“Y-you don’t have to do this,” you panted, before whimpering when his tongue swirled around your pebbled nipples.

As he sucked and nibbled, he could feel your heartbeat quickening under his palm, smell your arousal, sense the blood pumping through your veins. The results he was getting just couldn’t be denied.

“But I want to,” he said, before switching to the other breast and giving it the same attention.

You moaned, back arching, hands tangling in his hair. Any protests you had died a quick death.

When he had his fill of your full tits, he resumed his descent, kissing your soft belly, then your wide hips, and finally your thick thighs. The smell of your wet heat had his mouth watering. He parted your legs, taking a moment to admire the slickness that greeted him, before leaning down and swiping his tongue along your slit. When your taste hit his taste buds, he groaned. You tasted so sweet. He imagined your flesh and blood would be just as flavorful.

When he spread your lower lips to have full access, he blew air onto your dripping sex, chuckling at your whimper and pathetic shoves. Teasingly, his tongue darted to sample some of your juices. The rich, tangy taste made his restraint snap. Not even a second later, he speared his tongue inside your core, nearly drooling at just how delectable you were, at the sweet sounds you were finally making.

“Oh!” you gasped, gripping the sheets and arching into his mouth.

He ate you with gusto, his eagerness reflecting his hunger for you, literal and metaphorical. Each move he made resulted in his nose bumping your clit, stimulating you further. Your shyness started to disappear, and soon, you were shamelessly grinding against his face, chasing the pleasure you’d been deprived of earlier.

Silly Douma, thinking his cock was the best part of him. Clearly, it was his mouth. Not only was he an excellent conversationalist, but his tongue could bring pleasure to any woman, a fact you were reaffirming.

He kept a firm grip on your thighs and hips, keeping you still as he feasted. To send you hurling toward the edge, he rubbed his thumb over your clit in quick, firm circles. Moments later, your body was tensing, your pussy clenching around his tongue as you came.

“Don’t stop, please!” you cried as you experienced your peak, moaning at the top of your lungs.

He had no intention to. He licked and fingered you through your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure until you were a sweaty, panting mess. He was content staying between your legs the rest of the night, finally sampling your flavor and pleasing you. It was a win/win, and most importantly, saw the return of the ego that defined him.

TLTR: Reader only has intense orgasms from having her pussy ate

[societyfolklore]

We Couldn’t Stop

Title: We Couldn’t Stop Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers 

Summary:  During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together.

Word Count:  7k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Sex Pollen / Drugged Lust, Threesome MFM, Dubious Consent (due to drug influence), Double Penetration, Oral (F & M receiving), Praise Kink, Rough Sex/Overstimulationm Fingering, anal ply, cum play, Competitive Doms

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo Square: A3- Threesome Card Number: KB003

The mission was supposed to be a simple sweep- an old HYDRA lab buried deep beneath the forest floor, long abandoned, just a routine retrieval run for leftover tech and encrypted files that could pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. You, Steve, and Bucky had done that sort of thing more times than you could count. Clear the rooms, grab the drives, secure any volatile tech, and call for extraction. In and out. Easy.

You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.

You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.

"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.

"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."

"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."

That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.

"I’ve almost got- "

The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.

A soft spray hit you all in the face.

It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.

You stumbled back, coughing once.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"

"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."

"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."

"Close it," Steve ordered.

Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."

"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.

The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.

You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.

You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.

Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."

Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?

"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.

"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "

"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."

You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.

"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.

"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval. 

"Buck.." His tone warning. 

"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."

"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."

And just like that, you were cut off again. Biochemical- engineered arousal.

"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."

That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.

You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.

"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."

"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."

"Worked up?" Bucky turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don’t feel that?"

Steve’s jaw flexed. "Of course I feel it."

"Then quit acting like you don’t."

You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.

And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder. 

Hours had passed.

You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.

You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.

Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.

Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.

"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.

Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.

It didn’t.

You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.

You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.

A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.

And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.

“Don’t- don’t do that.”

You froze. “I- I can’t- ”

Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.

You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.

Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.

Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"

"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."

"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "

"Fuck this. She needs someone."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.

"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.

Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.

Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.

"Please... please someone- "

Someone pulled the curtain back. Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak. It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”

Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.

They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.

You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.

"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.

At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.

You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.

Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.

"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.

Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.

"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."

Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.

Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.

"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

They were both on you.

You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.

Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.

Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.

You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.

You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.

Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.

“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”

Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs. “She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.” The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.

Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.

The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”

His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.

Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.

Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.

"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.

He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.

“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.” Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.

Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.

"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"

"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.

"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."

You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.

And then it broke.

You came- hard.

Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.

It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.

You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.

And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.

You were still shaking. Still needy.

Still burning.

You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.

"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"

Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.

Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.

Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.

You wanted him in your mouth.

You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.

“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”

You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.

Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.

“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.

You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.

The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.

Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.

It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.

They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.

You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.

They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.

“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”

You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”

Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.

“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.

"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."

Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”

You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.

“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”

And then it snapped.

Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”

He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed. 

The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.

Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.

His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.

You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.

“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.

You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.

And then one thick finger pressed inward.

You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.

You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”

Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.

“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.

Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.

“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.

Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.

As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”

You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.

Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”

The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.

You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.

“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”

You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.

You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.

The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.

“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.

But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”

You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.

You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.

“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.

You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.

Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.

Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.

Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”

“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.

“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”

And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.

Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.

“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”

Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.

“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”

Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.

“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.

“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.

Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”

Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.

“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”

You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.

“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”

Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.

“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.

“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”

They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.

“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”

“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”

Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.

You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.

“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.

Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”

Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.

And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.

You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked. You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.

You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.

Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.

Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.

Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.

“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”

You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.

“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”

You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.

Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.

He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.

“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.

“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again

TAGS: @buckybarnesfic, @ruexj283, @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora, @hextech-bros

[pencil-n-pen]

I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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₊ ⊹❀

You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[shotmrmiller]

sugar daddy!simon would go so hard cuz he'd need no sugar but lets his hand linger on the small of your back when standing at the register with his wallet out or grab your foot to massage beneath the table at the upper scale restaurant yall are dining at.

he doesn't push (surprisingly but hey it works for you!) you give him whatever you want, be it just your hand to hold or a chaste kiss on the cheek in thanks after carrying all the stuff he bought to your room. he spoils you rotten regardless but then the issue comes when you actually want him to touch you.

simon doesn't touch. not when you model the little slips of clothing he so generously gifted you from that one overpriced shop at the mall. not when you wear his favorite skirt, the one that got him to talk to you in the first place on the sugar daddy website. not when you invite him in for a nightcap, letting your bare legs rest on top of his while watching a movie.

he. doesn't. touch.

simon doesn't touch you even when you want him to.

keeps his right hand curled around the glass he's nursing and the other laying on the backrest of the couch when you tell him if he wants to peel off the undergarments he'd just bought you today. (a shot you don't shoot is a shot missed anyway.)

"'s not necessary," he says. "got 'em for you to wear." he hasn't taken his eyes off the screen once.

that'd sting more if you hadn't caught him discreetly palming himself outside his trousers while you'd modeled these too.

"might not be necessary but it's what i want." that gets his attention, an arrogant curl on his lip making your heart flutter in your chest.

he gives your knee a squeeze. "i've always given you everythin' you've ever wanted but this is the one thing you're gonna 'ave to work for."

work for? simon doesn't wait for you to ask what he means.

"only way i'm touchin' ya is if ya beg," he rumbles.

should've known it was too good to be true. but you've got an ache between your legs that won't go away no matter how many times you've used the rose (also another gift.) guess you'll just have to "beg".

/

your definition of begging and his are not even in the same dimension. he had shot you down when you'd said please. when you'd batted your pretty eyes at him while saying please. when you'd gotten on your knees between his legs and said please with your hands flat on the carpet.-

simon had only tapped you on the nose and said, "'s good, but not good enough."

what had been good enough was you riding his thigh until sweat slicked your skin, until your lip trembled with need, until his trousers looked like he'd spilled his drink on it while you mewled out your please's.

only then had wiped the corner of your eyes with his thumb and whispered tiny words of praise into your ear, his breath warm against it.

"wasn't so hard, was it, pet?" you'd been beyond reason at that point, core burning almost painfully hot with desire, so you'd jerkily shaken your head. anything to finally get him to touch you like how you need.

his long fingers splayed out across the back of your head, palm almost engulfing your entire head. "now tell me where you want me to touch."

he touches with clever fingers, his warm tongue, even uses his crooked nose to rub at your pearl while his thumb, spit slick, presses into the girl of your arse. having him fuck you is a whole different beast you have to tackle. if you plead for something, anything, he'll rut his cock between your thighs and come over your sticky pussy :)

[acid-ixx]

〔00〕 — 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 : perfect perception

DIRECTORY: concept, chapter 00, chapter 01

it was always just you, and your family.

just you, your mother, twin brother, and grandfather. the puzzle is complete, there is no need for an extra couple of pieces to add on to your already satiated life. there is no need to work hard, or to endure painful endeavors to attain what you want; not when your family would complete it all for you.

it wasn't like you could, or should, complain, no? you have everything granted to you from when you were born. scarred hands, jagged figure, weary eyes; those aren't necessary for a person like you, who will always be sheltered, in both cozy blankets and loving arms. oblivious to the cruel world and pesting hands that claw on innocent beings like you.

a steady house life, a mother who shielded your innocence from all the bloodshed within the family's ordeals, who read to you fairytales, who had you sleep in her bed when you feared, when you foresaw what you thought were monsters under your bed. instead of inhibiting hatred for an heir who'd flinch at raising hands and the sound of clanging swords, she encouraged your meak demeanor and even spoiled tantrums. she runs her hands across your silky tresses, and kisses your forehead a thousand times if you'd even mention it in a passing moment. she dresses you in jewels, in velvety, silky clothes, and bathes you in toys and gifts you never seem to ask for. your little body sleeps on her chest, and listen the steady beat of her heart, calm and beating, all for you.

you teach her softness, and the joys of being a mother. a concept foreign in her eyes, raised opposite to you. she sees herself in you, and projects what should've been her childhood to her youngest twin child.

you have a twin brother, who, despite being born only a few minutes before you, was significantly older than you, both mentally and spiritually. from the moment he was taken into the world, his duty to take all your pain away and to become your very light was established. and like the warrior he is, he takes that daunting task and transforms it into motivation. he is your knight in shining armor, the prince who catches you when you fall, the one who braves your nightmares, the swordman to your royalty. he trains, all day and night, from such a young age to protect you from unnecessary dangers he understood even his mother fears you'd be subjected to. he does not complain, he does not find reasons to gripe; he takes the scars, the bruises, the punishments and missions all in stride. if it meant seeing you happy and unaware from all the cruelty of living; then so be it. as long as, by the end of the day, he comes back to your shared room to find your tiny form drawing a childish imagery of the little family you love and cherish.

you teach him compassion, vulnerability, and share with him the admiration for arts.

then there is your grandfather. a hardened leader, a monster to all those who serve, but an idol in the eyes of oblivious you. he justifies violence in the wake of achieving his goals, he doesn't tolerate mankind's treatment of nature and its animals, and takes the lives of those who dares oppose. but you are treated differently, like glass that shatters at the softest of hits. his words are sugarcoated and stripped down to the most infantine of comprehension, his eyes are soft every time he kneels to your level to gently request that you return to your room. ra's does not kneel, he does not plead, he does not stoop to those younger than him. but to you, naive and dewy-eyed, akin to a fawn hiding behind a mother's legs, he does. every week, he takes in various experts in the field of teaching to become your mentors in whatever passion you have. he is the foundation of your growth, and he prides himself in that regard.

from him, you learn your love of animals. from you, he learns of weakness, and defeat to such platonic desires.

with your little family, you are happy. you never have to find reasons to complain about food, clothes, or any luxuries their family, akin to royalty, could obtain. you have a family smothering you in affection, attention, to the point where all you have to do is smile at the slightest thing and notice how they melt to your whims.

you were never alone when you didn't want to, you were always guarded, safe, and constantly served.

as you should, as it always should be.

and it was a routine you were used to. you never complained, you never pondered beyond primitive knowledge, you had never desired for more, or wanted less. life was normal despite the strange arrangements with servants always being by your beck and call, or how your brother would always seem to come seeking you after another day of "hard work" your mother doesn't permit you to try, with gashes that litter his tan skin and usually sharp eyes, still fixed with a glare though softened once your arms come to coddle him as a reward.

he finds comfort in your hold. it never once registered within you his ever-growing strength and how his hold on you would always seem to to tighten whenever a potential friend would pass by.

yet you are loved either way, you are cared for. what more is there to ask when you have and always been the singular pearl dripping with grace, poise, and a softness beyond the brutish weapons swung within the training grounds your brother finds himself in.

you are loved by everybody: by your mother, by your brother, by your grandfather, and you're the necessary voice that calls out mercy for whenever a servant would be punished for maintaining a less than satisfactory performance when it comes to serving you. you're the light of reason beyond instictive swings of the sword and the impulsive raise of a voice demanding for battle to settle a deal; biting your lips in disappointment every time your mother attempts to punish a small mistake a servant would do right in front of you.

although certain voices in the hallways find your presence... unsavory, out of place, or they simply pity you; whispers filtering through the kind words everyone else never withdraws from you— nonetheless, they'd have no choice but to obey your childish whims, to smile at you, to be kind and diligent to your emotions.

everything is perfect.

yes, yes it is. an undeniable fact within the factions of your heart. you ignore the subtle strain within your chest, the way the emptiness becomes blatant, and the misunderstood desire for something else... something greater, far beyond the honor of your current family; and replace it with temporary joy.

a joy that softly smiles at the piling gifts, a joy that teaches itself to be good, to be grateful, and to dismiss the ever-changing spotlight you have for your family.

to ignore their hushed whispers whenever your small, eight-year old form with wide eyes, holding a toy between your chest, inquire about what they're discussing with that requires such... strained air and ridged poses.

to ignore their careful words, their gentle hands that pats your hair, that beckons you to come to a different room, and the irritation and bubbling tantrums paired with the heat that wraps your boiling thoughts and clenching hands.

you ignore, and try to neglect that growing ache that insurmountably never passes.

even if you lay in bed every night, unable to sleep, gaining consciousness slowly but surely after another day passes.

you ignore, and dismiss, and it all becomes a cycle that you ought to never break, to never rupture with childish curiosity and the thirst for wisdom.

... because everything is perfect.

everything is perfect. like the candlelight beams of the moon dancing through victorian styled windows, fluttering past the curtains to kiss your resting body every night you lay sleeping on a king-sized mattress, surrounded by soft, cotton plushies and silky, cool blankets as your brother coddles you; your head laying on his chest like routine.

it is perfect like the gardens of flowers all planted with your favorites, an array of colors harmoniously dancing to the sway of traversing winds and bumbling pollinators.

it is perfect like the daily hustle and bustle of your servants, buzzing through wide spans of hallways with their voices mingling through busy air and the wafting scent of a new delicacy your mother ornately chose for you to try.

everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

until the illusion of completeness, of unity and satisfaction were shattered like the bones of your brother's opponents, powderized to mere dust.

until you take notice of the hollow piece in your heart, until your servant mentions a father (a word so foreign, so similar to mother... but different all the same) in mere passing when you two had conversed whilst they were tying your shoes.

at first, you didn't pay a mind, proposing to yourself that you'd ask your mother instead after you've finished your daily assignments.

but then, unlike every other time where you dismissed, ignored and forgot— you began to ponder.

the word, the meaning, its possible etymology and every historical relationship it might've contained; a lesson your brilliant mentor taught you, one that served as a paveway for curious, little you, to investigate.

a trait you're sure nobody really tackled within your family.

if that is so, then where does your stubbornness, your drive to seek answers, come from?

you try to solve the puzzle pieces, ones you thought were never present in your life, your mind wracking through stored memories of a young, prying individual like you; until you came to a conclusion.

does it possibly come from a... father?

father...?

father?

father.

... your brother, too, said the same word.

when he was tired and beat from his training, when all he wanted was a singular hug, whose hands were stained with dripping ichor and knees bruised from hitting upon rocky ground. his emerald eyes were seeking your presence, and you find how his delirious state, itching for calm after another stormy trial of missions, was abnormal; unlike you who flinched at the dizzying scent of blood.

too mature, now you've noticed. a presence that exudes superiority, that takes the lives of those who rebel, that punishes anything less than perfect; that only softens, whose shoulders only sag when he takes in your presence within the same room as him— traits too foreign in the midst of a brother the same age as you.

so when you denied him of oasis, when your young brain was too scared, too worried and all the more wishing for answers on why he always comes back bleeding and injured, rejecting his offer for you to come closer— he all but seethes, and instead sighs; watching your quivering lips and the igniting fight in your eyes, a shaded mixture of your mother's and his.

"you're exactly like what mother told me. stubborn like our father when inconsolable... but i love you too much, akhi/akhti, to care for your lesser."

he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes gleaming under moonlit glow as he looks at you, emotions too miscellaneous beyond the swirling pools of green that always keeps a watch on you.

sometimes, he feels less like a brother and more of a knight. sometimes, you wish to rebel and instead dig deep into what's been happening to your brother these past few years, shaped by experience you never once caught yourself transpiring through. sometimes, you wish he doesn't treat you like a glass ornament.

sometimes, you wish you had a normal family.

as much as his words were sweet, as much as you would've felt warmth at the mere affection and exception he holds you in regard to his heart, even if he takes your body in his arms prior to your previous rejection, all but melting and rocking your body to sleep; a common method he utilizes to make you feel drowsy, and to eventually forget the blood on his sheathed sword and sinful hands once your eyes drift to a close—

you still reflect upon his words even if weeks had already passed by after that incident, even if he must've thought your somnolence was enough to dismiss whatever was the 'grammatical' mistake he'd mumbled that night was a product of fatigue after a long day of work.

... because despite being the perfect family, despite the love and care they foster within your heart; washing off the beating emptiness in your chest was harder than any injuries you've obtained after momentary clumsiness.

at least you knew when those scars were incurred, at least you had people to comfort you through the tears that escaped through your eyes.

but this immaterial emptiness has long since festered within the confines of your caged soul.

it beckons you to choose rebellion, it traps your thumping heart and tightens its hold on it, snaring it in a pit you couldn't crawl yourself out of.

desire drives you further away from delusion, from the foundations of weaved lies and rose-tinted picturesque perfection.

and you began to crave satiation to at least mend the missing puzzle piece in your heart; piece by piece, stitch by stitch.

who is your father? what is a father? why did dami told me i'm like... our father?

as you sit alone in your bed, toys long forgotten, alone with only the cool breeze fluttering by your window to accompany you. the questions begin to grate at your mind, yet all you do is bring your knees closer to your chest, lips dry at the forgone isolation you put yourself through after a cycle of endless thinking.

"momma will be here soon," you mutter to yourself. your voice, meek and highly pitched, young and cradling childish curiosity; it breaks at the seams when your fingers bring itself to touch and wipe away at wet cheeks and tender, aching eyes.

dami was right; you are stubborn like your father.

because even if they try all necessary means to shroud your life in seclusion from reality— you don't easily back out of a losing fight.

even if the tears you shed from the lack of progress were insurmountable, even if you knew you were at a physical disadvantage shall push come to shove where you'd have to fight your dearest brother, even if it means struggling against the invisible shackle your beloved family locked you in.

because your perfect perception of your fucked up family has long since dissipated from the moment your servant and your brother mentioned a foreign word.

a simple word, a small mistake, yet acting as a newer path of life that long since diverged from the only way you knew how to live.

and you still wish to solve the mystery of your forlorn emptiness.

will you give up just so easily? would the tears you shed all become mere depression?

no, not even as you sit in your too-huge bed, with no clue on where or how to start a hopeless journey; too young to plan, too little to fight, too tenderhearted in the views of your family.

even then, your red, rubbed raw eyes seek to look back on your first hint from within the room

a dictionary was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, thrown haphazardly, opened to a certain page that highlights words closest to 'father'.

you crawl, with sore arms and wobbly legs, to retrieve the heavy, hard-bound and gold-encased dictionary, lounging on your bed with a damaged spine.

your fingers return to traverse multiple pages yet again—

stubborn, impatient and impulsive.

earlier, it came to you in the form of realization that the dictionary your mentor assigned you to read had a missing word cut precisely with a blade and replaced with an unintelligible one.

earlier, you realized just how much your perfect family was only perfect because they've hidden the truth from you.

earlier should've been years ago, earlier should've never been swept off the rug so easily. but what could an eight year old like you do? you've none of damian's talents to quickly learn, you're raised differently. it is only now you wish you weren't so gullible.

and as your fingers strum against pages, near to ripping out expensive paper, tears unceasing, lips bitten 'til bleeding— you learn, and you grow beyond simple comprehension.

motivation, and the drive to uncover all things unsaid, even if the end would result in something negative.

through them, you'll soon learn of spite, of anguish, and bitter contempt.

but for now, you're merely left alone, with only a mantra of words all circling back to dami's words; so many questions left unanswered.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: honestly don't know half of what i wrote + i don't like this as much as i wanted it to come out. this went through multiple revisions with an added fact of me trying to discern why my writing style keeps fluctuating 😭 guys please comment about what you think of this. if this flops, i'm gonna quit writing LMAO. this is a bit more formal than my usual style (re: again & again) because i wanted to capture the regality of the al ghul's family partly told through the perspective of a child.

taglist: @th0rn118, @obsessedwithromance @rogueofbullshit @ch1cky-093, @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd, @confused-they @biiibs01, @ghostdoodlen, @earlqurl, @chericia, @herebyaccident0, @ilovemyhusbandnanami, @mintynilla, @lilyalone, @anonymousdisco, @plsfckmedxddy, @maria-figueiredo, @143637-hrrm, @neerathebrightstar, @jsprien213, @realifezompire, @sammytheotakunerd, @sh4rk-k1d, @confused-they, @peptox, @lillian-morningstar.

[acosmicbee]

Rehabilitation

Your father wasn't a villain. At least, he wasn't one in your eyes. He'd always been your hero, making sure you had enough and keeping you safe. Those hypocritical heroes had no right to have stolen him from you.

Ever since a hero team had been elected into power, everything had changed. Even the slightest bit of vigilante-ism was declared as villainous activity and hero teams were allowed to use lethal force if they felt it necessary.

You refused to give in to the brain washing, especially now that you had no one. The only reason you attended school was because your government mandated family made you. The only reason you were with a governmentally mandated family was because the police somehow found out you were living by yourself.

That didn't stop you from trying to continue on your dad's legacy. You refused to let his name and all he'd done for you die with him. The first step, in your mind, was to get revenge on the hero team you felt was most responsible for his death.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Of course nothing could ever go your way. It felt like the universe had a personal vendetta against you. Fixing up some of your dad's old gear, just some simple stun guns which were kind of outdated, had taken more time than you were expecting. On top of that, you'd spent the last few months in daily detentions for refusing to praise your 'heroic' overlords. 

Because of this, the warm weather you'd based your plan around had left and winter had taken it's place with the weather to match. Not to mention that one of the heroes you were getting revenge on had some sort of ice power that only grew stronger in the winter.

All in all, you probably should've waited a little longer. Should've bided your time and held out at least until Spring. But the hatred you felt overwhelmed you. It was what led you to bundling up, hiding your makeshift weapons in your coat pockets as you snuck out through a window.

Your tried to look as casual as possible as you boarded a train for the area you knew that hero team liked to work. You tried to stay under the radar.

It worked until it didn't.

While in warm weather you could search for an extended period of time as long as you had a big water bottle, it was so cold you were worried your fingers would fall off. On top of that, the incoming blizzard was said to be harsh and bring even colder weather on top of the ridiculous amount of snow.

Even your burning hatred wasn't hot enough to bring the feeling back to your fingers so you finally decided to take shelter in a nearby cafe. At least until you could feel your fingers and toes again.

By the time you finished a warm drink and snack the state of weather had only deteriorated. On top of that, you were feeling extra miserable due to your lack of success, so you decided to head back to the train. 

You were minding your own business as you walked, glaring at the ground. You only looked up when a pair of fancy looking snow boots were blocking your path. Looking up your mood worsened, seeing the exact same ice hero you'd been worried about running into, Ice Blade. Except now, instead of fighting, all you wanted to do was go home.

"Hey kid, where are your parents?" He asked cheerily. You glared at him, stepping around him and continuing on your way. Almost instinctively your hand found your dad's old stun gun in your pocket. You made it midway down the block before he caught up to you, blocking your path once again.

"That's a little rude don't you think?" He said, with a fake pout. You went to side step him but he moved in front of you. "You look familiar though. Have I saved you before?"

"You have never saved me. Leave me alone." You grit out, continuing on down the block. Apparently heroes didn't know how to take hints because he followed after you.

"Wow, you sound really angry. Why don't I walk you wherever you're going! A kid your age shouldn't be out alone in this weather."

You carefully removed one of the stun guns from your pocket, holding it at your side. If he got too close you'd shock him, consequences be damned. Not just for your father anymore, but also because he was annoying you to an astronomical degree. 

You were about to strike when someone's hand gripped your wrist, forcing you to drop your weapon. Whipping around with a pissed off growl you were even more pissed to find the other four members of his team standing there.

"We leave you alone for five minutes and you almost get attacked by a child?" The leader, a hero who went by Gaea, asked in disbelief. You glared at her, trying to wrench your arm out of her grip.

"But look at them! Aren't they just the most adorable thing ever? I know it's bad, but I had to let them feel accomplished! I could've taken a small shock." Ice Blade whined. 

"You're going to hurt them, Gaea." Another one of the teammates said. He was the group's healer and you weren't sure what exactly his code name was.

"Gaea, that's a kid. Obviously Blade was making them uncomfortable." The last male in the group said. He was a fire hero who went by Inferno. 

"Thats good and everything but where would a kid acquire something like that?" Gaea asked, using her free hand to point towards your discarded stun gun. The last member of the group, a hero who went by Tide, picked it up.

"These look like the ones that vigilante used to use. What was his name? Strike or something?" She asked. Not only had these heroes killed him but they couldn't even be bothered to remember who he was?

"His name was Shock!" You hissed, finally pulling free of Gaea's grip. From the sidelines Ice Blade snapped his fingers grinning.

"Thats where I recognize you from! You were part of his civilian life, Y/N, right?"

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" You yelled.

"Father?! Why didn't you mention this to anyone, Blade?!" Gaea demanded, turning to face Ice Blade for a second. 

You took advantage of the moment, using your remaining stun gun on Tide. The second she crumpled your grabbed the one she'd been holding and took off running down the street. No matter what they decided to do with you now that they knew your father, you wouldn't go down without a fight.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Another part of your plan you'd drastically underestimated was the fact that you, a fourteen year old, was supposed to somehow outrun five fully grown adults. Five adults who were trained to catch villains and did so on a daily basis.

Despite that, you were somehow still running. They were obviously still following you. It had started to snow and now that the sun was setting it was getting even colder. You were even more miserable as you gripped onto your stun gun.

You were freezing, tired and overall pissed off. You had been ready to go home but the stupid heroes had to ruin everything per usual.

You were almost ready to just attempt to face them head on when a few factors suddenly combined to make your day even worse. One, Ice Blade froze the ground under your feet. Two, the loss of friction caused you to slip. Three, you landed hard on your right wrist. Four, the pain in your wrist made you press down on the stun gun's power button and you accidentally shocked yourself through your jacket.

"Blade! Look what you did!" Gaea hissed. You glared at them, trying to regain your footing as the medic tried approaching you.

"Hey there kid. Can I take a look at your wrist?" 

You slid backwards, using a nearby street light to hoist yourself off the ground. Your breath was coming out in staggering puffs, visible in the cold air. Your wrist and side burned and you felt done with everything.

"Woah there. You shouldn't be trying to stand! You could be hurt really badly!" The medic tried again. You held out one of your stun guns in your uninjured hand.

"Back. Off. Don't touch me." You growled. Your entire body was shaking, both from the pain and from the cold. Your state was deteriorating by the second.

"Woah there kid. Dan's right, you're clearly not doing too hot." Inferno said. "Look, soon the blizzard will get worse and then we'll all be stuck here. So either you wear yourself out or you let us get you somewhere warm. Either way, you're coming with us."

"No! I'm not going anywhere with any of you!" Your words were a lot more hollow when a sudden gust of wind sent you stumbling. At this point your hand was shaking so much you weren't sure you could press the activation button if you wanted to.

"This is getting out of hand." Tide said, striding forward. She had fully recovered from her earlier shock and, despite your best attempts, she disarmed you easily, tossing the stun gun over to Inferno who tucked it away. The second she stuck her hand into your pocket and retrieved the second one your entire body went limp.

The cold was penetrating into the very fibre of your being, your coat and boots useless to stop it from overwhelming you. You could barely make out arms reaching for you and muffled cursing before your knees hit the ground and your vision went dark.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

"We need to report them to the higher ups. They should've been put somewhere secure considering who they are and their history." Gaea said. They had just barely managed to make it back to their team headquarters before everything got snowed in. Now, they were trying to figure out what to do with you.

"Aww, I do kinda feel bad though. They're so young and didn't even really do anything." Blade pouted.

"Speak for yourself! That stun gun hurt way worse than when Shock used it." Tide said. At the name of the fallen vigilante a silence fell over them. 

"You know... Shock wasn't really that bad..." Dan said, peeking out of the room you'd been placed in. You were still unconscious and Inferno was with you, trying to help raise your internal temperature.

"I'm not saying we give up on the kid." Gaea clarified. "I think all of us have our own thoughts about Shock and how everything played out that day. Since they didn't inflict any permanent damage maybe the higher ups will let us keep them here."

"Like a rehabilitation program? I suppose that could work. It could open a new window for younger vigilantes and villains." Dan said.

"That sounds so fun!" Ice Blade smiled.

"They seem okay. I probably would've reacted the same way in their situation." Tide admitted, though she still rubbed her side where you'd managed to shock her.

"I'm alright with it. They're stable, by the way." Inferno said, emerging from your room.

"Then its decided. I'll call the higher ups now and see what we can do." Gaea announced. With that their team meeting dispersed. By the time you woke up the next day, your new life would already have been decided for you.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

"I refuse!" Ever since you'd woken up in an unfamiliar bedroom, you'd been surrounded by the same heroes who had ruined your life. In fact, Gaea had just explained that you wouldn't be allowed to leave until they had 'fixed you' and deemed you 'non-dangerous to yourself and others'. On top of that, you had been handcuffed to the bed you were laying on so you couldn't even do anything.

"Well you don't get a say." Inferno said, crossing his arms. He sat at your bedside, literally radiating warmth, to help combat the mild hypothermia you'd contracted.

"You should be happy. We saved you from being sent to jail and ruining your life." Ice Blade said, frowning.

"Blade, you can't just say that!" Tide hissed, smacking him in the back of the head. The two of them began quietly bickering but you were too busy glaring at Gaea to be entertained.

"I'd rather go back to my governmentally mandated family then stay here." You said, which was an insult in your book because you hated your governmentally mandated family.

"That's too bad. Here, we need to keep your temperature up." Dan said, offering you a steaming cup of herbal tea. You refused to take it, eyeing him skeptically.

"They aren't going to take it. Let's just leave them be for now." Gaea said, grabbing Tide and Blade by their costumes and dragging them out of the room. Dan set the tea on a small bedside table while Inferno stayed at your side.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

"I'm not eating that."

Gaea looked like she was about to have a brain aneurysm and Dan looked disappointed. They'd been attempting to feed you dinner, seeing as you were still handcuffed to the bed.

"I can't believe I have to tell you this. Eat your vegetables." Gaea said. She was smiling, but you could feel the anger radiating off of her.

"What if I was allergic?" You asked.

"We were sent your file, which includes all your records. You are not allergic to vegetables." Dan sighed, holding out the fork. 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want them. You're not my mom." You huffed, turning to face the wall.

"Dan? Remind me of their age."

"Fourteen, why?"

"Because I could've sworn we were dealing with a toddler for a second." Gaea groaned. You smiled to yourself as you heard the two of them leave the room. If you could just annoy them enough then maybe they'd give up on you and let you leave.

"Y/N!" You groaned, attempting to smother yourself with the provided pillow as Ice Blade burst into the room. "Dan let me see you!"

"I really wish he hadn't." You muttered. 

"Hey! That's not nice!" You could practically hear the pout in his voice. It didn't take long for him to plop down onto the bed and attempt to rouse you.

"Leave me alone." You glared at him, almost daring him to try something.

"Nope! Dan said we aren't allowed to leave you completely alone until your actual room is finished, because this one is just temporary! I hope it's next to mine! I've never had a baby sibling before!"

"Don't call me that!" You hissed, throwing your pillow at him. He caught it, thanks to hero training or whatever, but his smile never faltered.

"Wow. I leave you alone for two minutes and they look more murderous then before." Gaea said from the doorway. She was holding a smoothie that she placed on your bedside.

"Now, this smoothie is for you. It has some nutrient powder and fruit. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is you drink it all right now and we can get on with our days. The hard way is we leave you here until you're so hungry you beg for whatever scraps we may have to give you." You could tell from her tone that she wasn't joking. Seems you'd finally hit your limit. Still it was either smoothie or Ice Blade...

You swallowed your pride and drank the stupid smoothie, looking miserable the entire time. It wasn't fair that it didn't taste bad either. You hated it here and it hadn't even been a day.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

You were finally being let outside, which was rather humiliating to admit. Ever since your kidnapping, or 'rehoming' as they called it, you'd been stuck in their hero agency while they worked on fixing up a room for you and alternating patrols. However, none of them had clothes for a 14 year old, and you refused to wear anything of theirs so they'd been rewashing your clothes every day.

Therefore you were being taken shopping... with three babysitters. During the week or so you'd been trapped here you'd started to work out the dynamics between the five of them. Gaea and Dan were the exasperated parents who were stuck with a bunch of kids. 

Inferno was the emo son who was convinced that dying his hair black wasn't a phase. Tide was the middle child who got away with everything. Ice Blade was the youngest who annoyed everyone and was barely tolerated because there wasn't another choice.

Or maybe you were the youngest now... You really hoped they weren't getting attached to you, because you were still plotting ways to escape.

Right now you were being forced to hold Gaea's hand like you were a child as you waited to leave. Inferno, Blake was his civilian name, was standing to the side on his phone and Tide, Phoebe, was looking for her coat. Gaea had just insisted you call her 'mother' while out and hadn't given you her civilian name.

You refused and just decided you would never address her while outside.

"Phoebe, just wear a different coat!" Inferno, or Blake you guessed you should call him, yelled.

"I want my red coat!" She yelled back. It took her five minutes more before Gaea handed you over to Blake and found the coat in 0.2 seconds.

"Now lets go. Y/N, absolutely no funny business." Gaea said, her eyes narrowed.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Shopping was just as boring as you remembered it to be. Gaea dragged you to different clothing stores, and forced you to pick out some items from each. There were also some clothes she added to the cart that you hadn't picked.

Finally, you'd put your foot down on any more clothes shopping, so you'd been dragged to some sort of home decor place to pick out some things for your room. You were begrudgingly looking at some sheet sets, while Blake and Phoebe added unnecessary commentary.

"Ezekiel's being annoying." Phoebe said, looking at her phone. Ezekiel being Ice Blade's civilian name. You tried to wander away but Blake stopped you, redirecting you towards the sheets.

"Y/N, no. Gia said to pick at least one." Blake said to you before turning to answer Phoebe. "He's the same in and out of costume. You know that."

"No. I don't like any of them." You said. You really wanted the sheets from the apartment you had shared with your dad. Having to get all of this new stuff was off putting and overwhelming. You also took note of the fact that Gaea's civilian name was apparently Gia.

"You need to pick one." Blake repeated. You shook your head.

"No! None of them are right! I don't want any of them!" You yelled. You didn't want to start crying but your eyes burned. You couldn't explain why everything felt so wrong but you needed them to listen.

"Y/N. You are fourteen. Please do not act like a child right now." Gia said, walking down the aisle. You shook your head, trying to back away but being stopped by Blake and Phoebe.

"Fine. Then I'll pick but I don't want to hear you complain later." Gia sighed, walking over to the sheet sets and picking one up.

You just silently stood there, glaring at the ground as tears ran down your face. You tried your best to tune out the world around you, ignoring Gia's questions about whether the set was good enough. Blake and Phoebe's whispers became a quiet white noise as your ears started to ring.

You weren't sure why it was hitting you so hard now. You'd never had this kind of emotional response when you'd been placed with your governmentally mandated family. Then again, they hadn't taken you shopping, just set you up with stuff they already had. Maybe it was the fact that you were being forced to make a choice you didn't want that had finally pushed you over the edge.

You wordlessly let yourself be dragged to each section, not answering anything that was asked of you. You didn't care about blankets or sheets or decor. It wouldn't be the same as it was at your dads. It wouldn't be as perfect as it was at your dads.

"How about this?" Phoebe asked you, handing you a fuzzy blanket. You didn't react but she placed it into the cart anyway. Blake did the same when it came to a few decorative pillows. By the time you were done 'shopping' it was nearing lunch time and you were dragged to the food court to pick out something.

Blake ordered for you when you still hadn't snapped out of your mental prison, but you barely took a few bites. Food just made you nauseous and the thought of these monsters trying to replace your dad made everything worse. 

You wanted nothing more than to have this all be a bad dream you would wake up from.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

By the time you'd been dragged back to their base, you were still retreated into your mind. The mug of tea Dan had handed you when you stepped through the door had cooled in your hands. Even Ice Blade's annoying existence, Ezekiel because he was in his civilian getup, had become nothing to you.

You hadn't eaten much at the mall, or even for breakfast, but you weren't hungry. Instead you had curled up on an armchair, because Gia was busy making your new bed 'the right way'. You wanted nothing more than to disappear beneath the sheets, even if they were wrong in the worst ways, and pretend you were a kid again, waiting for your dad to come home.

You barely registered Dan sadly prying the cold and untouched mug from your hands. To you the entire world was going in slow motion. You didn't pick up on anything, much less the conversation happening in whispers right in front of you.

"They didn't even touch the tea... When did they start acting this detached?" Dan asked Phoebe.

"After Gia made them pick out some sheets. They had some sort of breakdown and well..." Phoebe gestured to your detached state. Dan let out a worried hum.

"That's worrying... I don't think they had a record of depressive episodes. Then again, the family they were assigned to after the death of their father did admit they didn't spend much time with them. Maybe they just never noticed?" Dan was frowning deeper, staring at you sympathetically.

"Well, they've got Blake stress baking so at least they'll be something to eat when they do wake up." Ezekiel said, joining the conversation with a freshly baked muffin in hand. It looked to be chocolate chip.

"Everything is set up. Is Blake in the kitchen again?" Gia asked, exiting the room that they had decided would be yours.

"When is he not? Plus, the kid is really stressing him out." Phoebe said, despite her own worried look.

"Want a muffin?" Ezekiel asked, offering his own half eaten muffin. Gia gave him a look and pushed his arm away.

"I don't understand why they're acting like this. They were perfectly fine this morning."

"I might have an idea." Blake said, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of muffins. He placed the plate beside you before moving over to the others. "It could be that it made them remember their dad."

"That's why they were saying it was wrong. It wasn't just going shopping with us that was wrong, it was the sheets themself." Phoebe said. 

Suddenly, everything seemed to click into place for all of them. Every sorrow tied back to your father. Your father, who meant everything to you. Your father who they'd found dying in an alleyway from a stab wound. Your father who they hadn't managed to save. Your father, who they gotten the credit for 'taking another vigilante off the streets'. Your father, who they never tried to correct the press or government about his cause of death. 

That night had sat with all of them in different ways. Some of them had been brand new to the group, tagging along with their more seasoned peers. Some of them had just been trying to get through another patrol without incident. The truth behind that night had never left the five of them.

"Their old apartment... is there anyway to access it?" Gia asked.

"I doubt it. It's likely been sold with all the old stuff thrown out." Dan said, his tone somber. 

"I think we should at least look into it." Ezekiel said, finishing his muffin. "There could be something."

"We can at least try... for Y/N."

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

It had taken you a day or two to finally return to feeling in control of your body. Despite that, you still obviously not okay. You refused to touch the bed you'd been given, and barely even entered what was supposed to be your room.

You'd crash on the living room couch or armchair when you did sleep and it was never for long. Usually you'd get three or four hours before waking up from some sort of nightmare. Then you'd spend the rest of the night watching something quietly on the communal TV or playing around on your phone until you passed out again.

It was often for Ezekiel, surprisingly the early riser of the team, to find you curled up wherever you decide to sleep in the morning. He'd learned the hard way, with you punching him in the face and leaving him with a nasty bruise, not to wake you up.

It was clear to the whole team that you weren't doing well. There were permanent bags under your eyes and you always seemed half asleep. You couldn't even muster up the sarcasm they'd gotten used to from you.

It had gotten to the point where Dan had dragged you out to buy some laundry detergent and dryer sheets with him so you could pick out something familiar. It helped a little, but you still refused to touch 'your' bed.

Until one day, Gia announced that she had a surprise for you. So you, and the rest of the team, had been unceremoniously shoved into her surprisingly large car for a drive to some mystery location.

Phoebe was complaining over how you'd gotten shotgun, Ezekiel was begging you to play his playlist because you were closest to the aux cord. Blake and Dan were having some debate based on some show they'd watched. Gia was yelling at everyone to shut up, yet still driving perfectly and you were wishing you had a pair of noise cancelling headphones.

"Alright. Everyone except Y/N out of the car." Gia demanded once she'd stopped in front of a small cafe.

"Huh? Then where are you going and why'd we have to come?" Ezekiel asked with a pout.

"Me and Y/N are doing something special. I didn't want anyone, but especially you, to destroy the base while we're gone. Have some drinks and pastries and I'll pick you up in a bit." It still took a harsh glare from her to make everyone leave the car. You watched them entering the cafe through the rearview mirror as she sped off again.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

You were staring out the window, lost in thought, when you realized the buildings were beginning to look more and more familiar. This was your old neighborhood, the one you grew up in.

You turned to Gia, who didn't react. Instead she kept her eyes on the road, only occasionally glancing at the GPS. It was silent save for the low hum of the car. Slowly the car came closer and closer to your old apartment building.

"When I was barely eight years old," Gia started, "my parents were killed by a villain."

You stared at her as she parked the car outside of your old building. Her face had a sad expression on it as she looked at you, attempting a weak smile.

"This was in the older days, before the new government and rise of heroes. The villain escaped and wasn't caught for another three years. I remember in that time wondering what I, or my parents, had ever done to deserve that. I wanted to find that villain so bad, to avenge my parents. I tried sneaking out multiple times to hunt him down."

Your brain was trying to soak up the new information she was telling you. It was hard to imagine the uptight and serious Gia trying to sneak out to do something so dangerous. Something so similar to what you had done.

"The only reason I didn't was because the family I was placed with made sure I never did that to myself. They made sure I was safe, and encouraged me to process my feelings in less harmful ways. When it was discovered I had powers I was offered to train under some of the top heroes and I took it. I interned under the top hero team for a long time, far before they were elected to power. After that, I took over as a leader within the new generation of hero teams." Gia paused, taking a deep breath.

"What I'm trying to say is, I can understand where you're coming from. But eventually, you will need to learn to move forward. We, all of us, want to help you with that. You're destroying yourself right now. You barely eat or sleep and you're always on edge. Hopefully, what we're here for will help a little, but I need you to try your best to start to heal."

With that Gia opened her door and climbed out of the car, you following silently. You trailed behind her as she pulled out a key and led you to your old apartment.

"I called the landlord the other day. No one has rented the place yet, seeing as a lot of the people who lived here are moving towards downtown and their jobs. Because of that, the stuff you left here hasn't been touched. I want you to take what you need to feel comfortable." She said, unlocking the door. 

It looked just the way you had left it, albeit more dusty. The sight brought tears to your eyes. Photos of you, some with your dad, lined the walls. You hesitantly stepped into the apartment, tears filling your eyes as memories replayed in your head. On autopilot you walked over to your old room. 

It was just as you'd left it. Your dresser was open from when you'd been forced to pack light to be moved in with the family you'd been placed with. Your bed was still half made. Nothing had changed, like the room had been frozen in time. Slowly you walked back out into the hallway and made your way to your dad's room.

His clothes were just as he left them, neatly folded on his bed waiting to be put away. His bed was neatly made, just the way he liked it. On his nightstand was a picture of you on your ninth birthday, smiling with a plastic crown on your head. You sunk to the floor, feeling around for a lose floorboard which you pried up. Under it lay the remnants of his vigilante gear. Some grappling hooks and a spare mask. 

Picking up the mask was what made you finally break down. You sobbed, holding onto it like a lifeline. You could only hope your father was happy wherever he was right now.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Gia drove silently, her hands firm on the wheel as she kept glancing over at you. You'd fallen asleep the second you'd finished packing what you wanted to bring with you. That included a couple of sheet sets as well as a bunch of photos and clothes. 

When she picked up the rest of the team from where she'd dumped them, not one of them had made more noise then necessary, very aware that you needed the sleep. 

Back at the base Gia quietly instructed the others to grab the things you'd wanted while she went to gently lift you out of the car. She froze when you wrapped your arms around her neck, groaning at the light. 

With a smile she carried you inside to the couch. Laying you down and covering you with a fluffy blanket. Within seconds you'd fallen back into a deep sleep, completely at peace. In a few hours, all the laundry would be done and you'd finally have what you needed to feel comfortable there.

Soon you'd trust them more. Then, you'd begin to talk to them and you'd stop trying to be unnecessarily difficult. You'd have a family again and you'd never want for anything again. Not if they could help it. 

After all, once the higher ups saw that rehabilitation was a successful option, she'd petition for permanent custody. Then you'd legally be a part of their patchwork family for good.

[pineconepie]

I DONT CARE WHAT YOUR CREATIVE BRAIN WHIPS JUST PLEASE GIVE ME A FEM YANNNN (love your work btw)

Hehe tysm!! I hope this is good!! <3 I made parental yandere ghost!!

TW: Kidnapping, parental yandere, infantilization

...

When you got a shady ad of a mansion for the same price of a tiny home, you figured it'd be covered with mold and falling apart. The ad didn't give much information, other than it had several acres, and three stories tall.

You wondered why someone would sell such a building for such a cheap price, but given your budget, might as well check it out.

And oh boy were you shocked at what you found.

A beautiful mansion, not a single sign of mold or decay in sight, other than a tiny bit of dust here and there. It's as if no one lived in it for quite some time, yet it was taken care of.

Three bedrooms, all fully furnished. Three bathrooms, also fully furnished. A kitchen that you couldn't even imagine in your wildest dreams. A living room. An attic, a basement, a garage. All of them with furniture inside. Several acres of land, as it had advertised.

"Is it to your liking?"

You whip around to see a woman with short black hair, brown eyes, wearing a dress shirt and tie with a long black skirt. She looks to be in her early to mid forties.

You're pretty sure she wasn't there before. Perhaps she came in silently and didn't mean to scare you like that.

"Yes. Yes! Of course! Is this seriously all for such a cheap price?" you ask, completely confused. Something isn't adding up here. There has to be some kind of catch, surely.

Her smile unnerves you just slightly, its a little too wide. She makes a cooing noise in the back of her throat, but snaps out of it quickly.

"The reason it's so cheap is because there's not that many people interested in living out here in the middle of nowhere. It's incredibly hard for us to get this off our hands."

You don't believe that's the only reason, but you decide not to question it. "And you're the realtor, right? Blair Watts?"

"That would be me!" she says cheerfully, although there's an edge to it that you can't place.

It doesn't matter anyway. This is the house for you. "So... where do I sign?"

Blair gestures to a paper and pen on the nearby table. You read over them.

Something about this house seems wrong. You should've listened to that feeling. But you sign the papers and hand them back to Blair, who takes it.

She smiles down at you, although her expression is a mix between condescension and what you think is relief.

"Welcome home," she croons. "If you need anything, feel free to contact me."

"Thank you!" you say, maybe a tad bit too quickly. But who cares! A mansion for such a cheap price! You're about to ask another question relating to the home, but in just one blink, she's gone. No trace she was ever there at all.

A chill goes down your spine. This woman is absolutely strange, although she didn't seem harmful in any way. Not in the physical sense, at least.

...

You move all your things with relative ease into your new home. It's not much to fill the space of a mansion, so you still have several empty rooms left. The furniture that's already there looks far too expensive and nice to get rid of or replace, so you decide to keep everything as is.

It could definitely use a makeover, if you have that kind of money anytime soon, but it isn't your top priority for now.

When you enter the room with your own things to decorate as your own bedroom, you notice it looks different than how you remember.

The walls are painted pastel, there's toys littering the floor, and even the bed has a cartoon-themed comforter spread over it. You glance behind you and see that nothing else looks out of place.

So weird. Maybe you just forgot which room you liked best, and didn't see this one earlier?

You back up, only to bump into someone. You drop all the boxes in your hands, and spin around with wide eyes. There stands Blair, a concerned smile on her face.

"Oh, what's wrong, honey?" Blair asks, her voice sounding like a parent trying to speak gently to their upset child.

Her arms wrap around your body. You freeze as she slowly rocks you both back and forth. Her touch feels cold yet not as solid as most normal touches are. As if it were... ghostly.

"Uh- yeah, I'm alright! Just... just lost my balance for a second there! But hey, when did you get here?" More importantly, why is she here?

She keeps rocking with you in her arms. "I never left." With a chuckle she finally lets you go. "That room is my favorite in the whole mansion. Isn't it lovely?"

You nod without thinking. You start gathering your dropped belongings as quickly as possible, and stand back up. When you look at Blair again, something really doesn't feel right. Her presence is uncanny, yet you can't really pinpoint why.

There's a slight haze that comes off her outline, almost like she's blurry around the edges. Like a bad photoshop edit on the image of reality.

"Yeah. Lovely," you mutter. "I swore it was different last time."

"Oh." Her smile softens. "I tried to decorate it to your personality."

"But it's not..." You shake your head. "Why? I don't understand what's going on..."

"My child deserves the best, after all." She makes that cooing noise again, which sends another chill down your spine. "How about we unpack?" You're in too much shock to argue when she kneels down to pull things out of your moving boxes.

"Hey, that's not--"

"Hush, dear. Mama needs a moment."

A long beat passes. "...What? Mama?"

Blair sets almost everything into a large pile--things like your electronics, books, paperwork, and other adult essentials. In fact, anything adult seems to have been set aside.

The only things left from the box is your stuffed animals and blankets.

Then she glances back up at you. "You can call me Mommy too, if you'd like. Anything but 'Mother'. Makes me feel old." Her voice gets distant. "I always wanted a little baby to raise as my own... that's why the price was so low! To encourage someone like you to buy this home. I could tell you would need me right away. I mean, look at you!" She gestures to your clothing and messy appearance.

You're too confused to even get offended. "Someone... like me? Aren't you the realtor? What's going on?"

She sighs. "No. Not technically. But this is all too complicated talk for you, silly. Grown-up talk will just overwhelm you."

"But..." You flinch when her smile fades just slightly. "Look... I don't know what's going on, but I think I wanna back out of this..."

"No. No, no, no. We can't do that."

"Well I just--"

"You just want attention," she scoffs. "Don't worry. You'll get plenty of it from Mama." She effortlessly picks you up, much to your shock. Is this a real person, or are you just losing it? "Now, how about some dinner, hm? I have many bottles and sippy cups already prepared for you, and more items for you on the way!" She peppers the side of your face in kisses.

They still feel cold, almost like ice. "Blair, please put me down! This has gone far enough!"

"If that's what you want..." She releases you, and you land with a hard thud onto the floor. You wince at the impact and lay there, taking a minute to process this interaction. She has the audacity to gasp in shock. "Oh goodness! Are you alright? Oh, my poor baby!"

You're too speechless to answer, and before you know it, she picks you up again. If you didn't know any better, you'd say this woman was legitimately worried over you.

For the rest of dinner, you tune out her words, in too much shock and confusion over your situation.

She gives you some sliced fruits and finger foods to eat, as well as a sippy cup filled with juice. You keep pushing the items away, but every time you do, she simply pushes them right back. Finally giving up, you eat, wondering when you can escape her and figure this place out yourself.

At the end of the meal, you push away the empty plates.

"Are you finished?" she asks in such a gentle tone, you nearly forget how scary she can be.

"Yes." Your voice sounds raspy and far-away. It makes sense, given what you've been through today.

"Very good!" she praises, pinching your cheeks as you sit frozen on the spot. She takes the dishes away and hums as she cleans up, her apron tied behind her back as she washes each plate by hand.

"...Blair."

"That's Mama," she corrects gently. "Try again. Here, I'll help you practice. Ma-ma. Can you say that?"

Your eye twitches. "Mama," you repeat emotionlessly. "I'm tired. Can I just go to bed?" Hopefully you can wake up from this nightmare.

"Yes, of course." She puts the wet dishes onto a drying rack to let them air dry. Her skirt swishes around her legs as she turns back to you. "Do you need my help changing into your jammies?"

"I'm not a child," you deadpan. "Let me just change clothes by myself and you go somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"How rude!" Blair says, putting her hands on her hips. "I try so hard for you, and then you disrespect me like this? You really do need discipline. Do you really think you can do whatever you want in this house?"

You go quiet.

She tuts. "You go get dressed into your jammies, and I'll come up in a few minutes to tuck you in. Got that?"

With that command, she nudges you towards the stairs.

You trudge up, each step taking much more energy than it normally should.

As soon as you step into your bedroom, you shut the door behind you. It's not like this door has a lock or anything, but at least she can't watch you while you get ready.

After you change into the childish pajamas she put out for you and climb into bed, you bury yourself under the covers and pray this all blows over by tomorrow.

She comes in, and you try your hardest not to glare at her. Blair sees that your eyes are open anyway and beams.

"There's my perfect angel~" Her cooing voice does nothing but terrify you now. You stay silent and try to ignore her gaze. "Now, would you like a bedtime story? Or perhaps a lullaby?" You feel her presence as she sits down next to your blanket-covered form.

"How about you tell me what you are? Why are you doing this?" You don't sound angry or even scared anymore. Just tired and done with everything that happened so far today.

You suppose there must be an explanation to this.

She takes a deep breath. "...I'm not... human. I used to be, but not anymore."

You blink. "Are you a vampire?"

Blair chuckles. "No, sweet pea." She hesitates a bit more. "I'm... I suppose what people would call a ghost." She speaks her last word so softly you nearly miss it.

"...A ghost?" You sit up. "You're lying! If you were a ghost, why can you touch me and other objects?"

She tilts her head. "Hm? Oh! That's because we're in my home. Where I died. As long as I'm here, I can be seen and touch anything like you can. I can leave, but I can't really do anything. That's why I made that fake listing. I'm lonely, and I've always wanted a baby of my own. But I died before I ever got to experience that."

"...A ghost..."

The pieces fall into place. Her blurry outline, her strange appearance, her odd behavior. It makes more sense than one would expect.

You can almost see pity in her brown eyes as she brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. "But now that you're here, I have my very own little baby to take care of!" Blair practically squeals in excitement. "My life--or rather afterlife--is complete now that I have you. And as long as you stay, I will always love and take care of you."

So if what she says is right, then if you escape, there's no possibility she could make you come back, or even be visible to you.

Blair frowns. "I know what you're thinking. But please reconsider! You're already settled in, and I want you to have everything you could ever need. This doesn't need to be negative."

You narrow your eyes. "...okay."

She doesn't like your dry, one-worded response, but chooses not to push it. Instead, she stands up.

"Sleep tight, angel. Mama loves you. I promise to show you that, okay?" She kisses your forehead and flicks off the light, closing the door behind her.

You hear her lock it from outside the room with a key.

[princesssmars]

desert eagle

another rodeo!abby x reader | p.i

seeing the star of the rodeo secretly in the night has been fun, but things start to get tense from miscommunication. but it’s amateur bull night down at the cow belle, and you’ve still got a few tricks up your sleeve.

wc : 2.619

contains : fluff. reader is hard headed. jealousy? fxf smut. strap on sorry to the people sick of it </3

a/n : you thought it was over ahaaaaa. wdym part one was in APRIL i suck at this. why are all of the desert eagle position pictures slightly different its pissing me off.

truly, everything currently going wrong was all abby anderson's fault.

it's a humid saturday night at the cow belle, and you're pouting while nursing a beer as your friends chatter around you. they'd taken you out to your favorite spot to try to brighten your spirits after noticing your sour mood, hoping some alcohol, dancing, and flirting would fix you right up.

but it was hopeless, for a dark cloud seemed to be hanging over your head the whole night. an annoying, sweet-talking, six-foot, blonde braided cloud.

it was established after your first extremely hot and extremely long night together with abby a few weeks ago that you both had an understanding. no strings, no attachments, no labels. you weren't gonna let a big beautiful woman butter you up only to leave you in a ditch, not after the last time. you'd go to the other's house, have rough messy sex, and maybe have some nice conversation, before heading your own way and repeating it the next week. no more and no less.

but god, you should've known it wouldn't last. ever since that first night when her silky smooth drawl convinced you to stay just a bit longer, to sleep in her bed with her shirt on! you might as well have woken up and cooked her breakfast in bed with a 'good morning, honey.'

who could blame you really? ever since you'd set eyes on abby anderson you knew she was something else, a beautiful force of nature that wouldn't budge until she wrecked you so thoroughly. at the time you were as horny as a coyote in may and saw that as just what you needed, a prized golden notch on your belt. a completely different way from what you do now.

right now you were trying to telepathically burn holes into the back of her beautiful head as she flirted with that hussy donna mayfair, an admittedly gorgeous girl with a big personality, big hair, and big...well, y'know. you look down at your chest and slightly straighten your back before roughly shaking your head after realizing this damn woman has you comparing yourself to a mayfair! of all people! the thought only upsets you more and you down the nearest drink to you, ignoring your friend's whine at the loss of her whiskey.

the small and reasonable part of your brain knows you have no right to be upset. after all, it was you who just a week ago insisted to a blushing abby that you truly did want to just keep things casual. you felt bad a little bit, she'd shown up to your hookup flushed and high off of another rodeo win with a tiny bouquet of your favorite flowers, explaining when you asked how she knew that she noticed them on the motif of your favorite pair of figure-hugging jeans. the bastard.

the relaxed but downcast look she wore after your rejection is a stark contrast to how she looks now, pearly whites showing when she throws her head back at some joke donna told, a large hand coming to rest on the redhead's waist. you can see her preening, foot nearly popping up as she swoons over the female goliath giving her all of her attention. it's enough to make you throw up. or maybe it was drinking all that busch light. whatever.

you must not have been very discreet with your glances because suddenly blue eyes are lifting up and focusing on yours, the shock of being caught forcing you still as your finger circles the rim of your next glass. you try to keep normal 'we're two normal people and definitely not recently gone sour fuck buddies' eye contact, but your body betrays you when your eyes flick down to her hand still on donna's waist. when you look at her again the corner of her lip is quirked up, never looking away as she pulls the redhead in closer and whispers something in her ear, the girl visibly going weak in the knees while abby licks her lips-

"well slap my ass and call me sally, come over here hon!" your darling charlize breaks you out of your..whatever that was and picks you up from your stool to drag you over to the event area, a few people drinking while gathered around the brand new bucking machine as one of the bar hands tinkers with the controls.

"what about it char, 'm really not in the mood..."

"oh don't be such a sourpuss, jus look at this!" she gently grips your chin and tilts your head to a nearby wall, a small white poster detailing a month-long mechanical bull contest as soon as the thing was completed, and each winner would get free drinks and $500 cash prize.

"jeez, since when did the belle bring in bucks like that?"

"doesn't matter. in one weeks time you're gonna put on a hot little outfit and win us those free drinks. and hopefully the cash takes your mind off of your situationship."

"oh yeah? and what makes you think I'm gonna be the one to win?"

"honey, ive seen the most hardass women look at you like well-trained pups. you've gotta be the best ride i know.”

so a week later you’re back in the same spot, hair pulled up and donned in your cropped and tied plaid shirt and your cutest pair of daisy dukes as you wrote your name down on the sheet of others trying to win the prize.

your friends are gathered around you, ever the voices of support as they fuss over you and give you words of encouragement. and while you do smile and laugh with them you can’t help from occasionally looking at abby, back with donna as her group hangs around the edge of the bull area.

“y’know i’ve never heard of someone bagging a hot ass woman, rejecting a relationship with said woman, and then pining over and trying to make that same woman jealous.” savannah fixes your hair while judging you, making sure it won’t get in your face so you can see what you’re doing while up there.

“stop questioning me, i’ve already been doing that myself.” your mumble makes the girls laugh before one of the workers comes to tell you that you’re up after the next person. you give them a nod before walking over to the small gate that leads to the bill, right next to-

“hey, looks like our little buckle bunny is gonna ride an actual bull! make sure to give us a nice show, huh bonita?”

you can’t help but smile when manny comes up beside you to throw an arm over your shoulder, nudging your body with his. the rest of his friends are here of course, including she who shall not be named with her new beau at her side.

“you’re gonna ride the new bull? well i hope you know what you’re doing, don’t want you to end up getting hurt now.” donna asks, grasping your hand in hers with a genuinely worried look on her face. damn it, now you were starting to feel bad.

“now don’t you worry, hon. i’ve got quite a bit of experience in riding.” you throw a wink her way before looking at abby next to her, not noticing the flustered look on donna when all you can do is revel in how you caught abby staring at your exposed stomach. before you can try to tease her about it your name is being called up and you're heading into the pit.

you graciously accept one of the workers' help to get you up on the bull, ignoring some of the catcalls that ring out when your shorts ride up an inch or two. you make sure to do everything you've seen others do (and maybe you watched a certain someone's videos to prepare yourself), steadying your dominant hand on the saddle while your free hand is raised above your head.

the experience is fast and hard just like you like it, the bull spinning and bucking so fast its almost enough to make you dizzy. as much as the cheers of fellow patrons make you want to look up and revel in it, you know you need to watch the bulls head to prepare for each time it turns, thighs tightly squeezing its sides. it's only when you hear the timer start to count down from ten that you look at everyone again, blowing a quick kiss to the blonde that's staring you down.

once the machine stops moving you are helped off and guided back to your incredibly loud friends, all happy to hype you up and start planning how much of the expensive high shelf drinks they wanna get. when you're announced as the winner only a few minutes later the night quickly becomes one filled with dancing and laughter.

you wave goodbye to your friends as their truck speeds away from your street, blowing you kisses as they yell for you to have a good night's sleep. you can't help but smile as you place your bag down in your kitchen, ready to wash the sweat from dancing off your body before sleeping through the night. unfortunately, some absolute boar decided now would be a good time to come knocking at your door."

"alright alright, im comin'!" your shouts do nothing to dissuade the steady banging against your door, nearly slipping on your hardwood floors as you rush to undo the locks and see who it is. "i really hope i owe you some money or else i'll"

"or else you'll what?" the sound of abbys voice makes you freeze, the woman resting against the doorway with one hand in her pocket and the other above your head. you need to blink away your surprise at not only her being here but the fact she is now only a few inches from you, close enough that you can smell her signature scent of pine-

"can i come in? or are you gonna keep teasing me like you did at the bar?"

"i did no such thing, you must have me confused with one of your many other flings." you flippantly address her as you turn around back into your home, hearing her quickly trail behind you and lock your door.

"ohh you'd like that, wouldn't you? gives you a reason to be so difficult for no damn reason."

you ignore her words as you head into your kitchen and retrieve yourself a glass from the cabinet, pouring yourself some water and downing it in a few gulps. jesus it's hot, is she hot? she doesn't seem so, minus the fact the sleeves of her shirt are rolled up and straining against her arms.

"no, i was in fact celebrating my win if you didn't notice. although I'm pretty sure you did, it'd be hard to miss my brilliant technique. maybe i can give you a few tips, i watched some of your shows and honestly hon, you're a bit sloppy."

you try to keep your tone cool while she moves closer and closer to you, eventually taking your empty glass and setting it down before placing both of her arms on either side of you, caging you into the counter, and blue eyes darting between yours and your lips while you speak.

"so you've been watchin my videos, huh? i'd invite you to actually come watch me, like I've already done before, but that would require you to stop ignoring me."

"you had donna mayfair to keep you company, i really doubt you noticed i was gone-"

she kisses you to shut you up, and you really wish you could've said you resisted her for long, that you didn't throw your arms around her neck and wrapped your legs around her waist as soon as she set her palms on your ass. you don't have the time to be embarrassed when shes carries you to your bedroom, removes your clothes before she does the same to her own, and reveals the strap she'd been wearing for who knows how long.

"yeah, not so mouthy now, are you?" abby smiles from above you, admiring how fast she's got you fucked out beneath her while you erratically lift your hips up to meet her short and shallow thrusts. the crooks of her elbows are helping to hold your legs in the air, your hands gripping your thighs to help give her easier access as she pounds into you.

"ab's, fuck, please."

"please what? use your words, beautiful."

"please, 'm sorry i won't ignore you again just- just do something, anything."

she puts on a sickly sweet lovestruck smile, and whispers a small 'god, you're lucky you're cute," before starting to fuck you exactly how she knows you like it. it's fast and hard, yes, but there's a hint of something more in the way she stares at you, how you lift your head for a kiss and she gives it to you without a second thought.

your hands start to claw at her waist, gripping the muscle to try to bring her impossibly closer every time her hips meet yours and her strap presses into that spot that makes your eyes damn near cross.

before you know it your orgasm is creeping up fast, unable to say it but of course, abby can tell regardless, how the resistance between your legs steadily increases and how your moans turn into desperate little whimpers.

"c'mon, you can do it. cum for me sweet girl."

all you can do is shake in her arms like a petal on a leaf, moaning and mewling up to the high heavens as abby pushes you through your orgasm, not stopping her thrusts until you weakly push at her arms to signal her to stop.

you fade in and out of consciousness while she takes care of you, the feeling of a rag cleaning your skin and more water being guided to your mouth all seeming to happen in a few seconds. when she finishes you blink your eyes open at her, admiring just how pretty she always seems to look after taking away your ability to walk.

you stare at each other for a moment, her palm coming to fix a few stray hairs on your face before you reach up to grab it and pull her into bed beside you. you pull the covers above the both of you, ignoring her raised eyebrows and know it all smirk.

"well, im not rude enough to send you home after all of that. might as well make yourself comfortable."

she chuckles, reaching over to turn off your bedside lamp before cuddling you from behind, her soft skin like its own blanket against yours.

"whatever you say, bunny."

when you wake up in the morning it's from the gentle rays of the sun peeking through your curtain and into your eyes, the smell of coffee and bacon quickly filling your nostrils when you notice your...partner, isn't in bed with you.

quickly throwing on a robe and padding your way into the kitchen, you can't help the warm feeling that grows inside of you at a shirtless abby pouring two cups of coffee while two plates of a small breakfast are already plated on your table.

you come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder when she slightly jumps at the surprise.

"mmm let me guess, you remember how i like my coffee too?"

"i'll remember whatever you want me to, sweet thing."

and right about now that didnt sound too bad.

[spencersmopbucket]

Fatal Attraction (1) | Paul Lahote

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader Summary: When you, Edward Cullen's scorned ex lover, return to Forks to answer a desperate cry for help, you don't expect fate to be easy on you. However, you certainly didn't expect to find your mate or to find that your mate is a 6'5 hunk of mortal enemy.

Part 2

For someone in your situation, you really should've been far more unpleasant than you were.

You were 104 years old. You were born in (hometown), which was very, very far from where you were now. And at this point in your life, you wandered around aimlessly, sight seeing beautiful things (many of which you'd already seen), hunting to quench a thirst you wished would just die out, and hurting.

You were hurt. You were angry. The only reason you hadn't taken to the Volturi to end yourself was because they'd want your abilities and would force you into the Guard.

You had a lover up until around two years ago.

Edward and his coven were incredible. They were the type of family you so badly wanted to be a part of. They perfectly understood each other -- protecting, cherishing, and loving each and every person in the family. You were part of it for decades, the one person to fully understand the most complex of the group.

When you'd met Edward, you were a nomad. Your bleached skin sparkled in the sunlight of the mountain top, basking in it, enjoying the warmth as it heated up the porcelain surface. But someone was near. The scent was pungent in the middle of the forest.

Linen. Old books. A faint touch of cedar. Your nostrils flared, your red eyes darting around to find the source.

He revealed himself when he was ready to.

A beautiful man with golden eyes. Bronze hair. A curious yet tense look on his face.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moved. The forest was silent around you, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

"You shouldn't be here," Edward said finally, his voice low, cautious but not unkind.

You tilted your head, studying him with equal curiosity. "Is this claimed territory?"

The man analyzed your red eyes, clearly finding that your carnivorous habits differed from his own (based on his bloodless, golden eyes.)

The man analyzed your red eyes, clearly finding that your carnivorous habits differed from his own (based on his bloodless, golden eyes).

"Not claimed," he said carefully, "but protected."

You let the words sink in, weighing his meaning. Protected. By him? By others like him?

"And you're the protector?" you asked, your voice light but edged with curiosity.

A faint smile ghosted across his face, almost reluctant. "One of them."

You hopped up onto a tree, sitting on the limb. Your booted feet swung as you studied him. You were silent for a few moments, just taking him in. Trying to make sense of him.

"If you're protecting a little town in Washington, your diet must be a bit unorthodox." You finally commented, picking at a piece of bark on the tree. "However, I already knew that. Your eyes." You noted.

Edward chuckled under his breath — a low, almost musical sound. "You're observant."

You shrugged lazily. "I have to be. Survival depends on it."

For the first time, a genuine smile broke through on his face. It was faint, but it softened him, made him look less like the wary protector and more like someone... lonely. Someone who might understand you in ways you had long ago given up hoping for.

Humming, you hopped down from the tree, slowly and curiously approaching the man. He simply looked down at you, his height greater than yours.

Extending a hand, your lips stretched over glinting teeth.

"Well, protector, I'm Name. And you are?"

For a second, he just stared at your hand — as if he wasn't used to such easy gestures, as if he didn't trust it. Then, almost hesitantly, he reached out and clasped your hand in his. His skin was like marble: cool, impossibly smooth, yet not unpleasant. Same as yours.

"Edward," he said, his voice soft but sure.

A jolt of something electric and sharp traveled up your arm at the contact — a feeling you hadn't felt in decades, maybe since you were human. Judging by the slight darkening of Edward’s eyes, he had felt it too.

You didn't pull away. Neither did he.

"Edward," you repeated, tasting the name. Your smirk deepened. "Fitting for a knight in shining armor, don't you think?"

That earned you another one of those almost-smiles — shy, fleeting, precious.

"I'm hardly a knight," he said under his breath, almost like he didn't mean for you to hear it.

You cocked your head, still not letting go of his hand. "No? And here I thought you were protecting the poor defenseless humans of Forks."

Softly letting his hand go, you stepped away.

"Alright," you cleared your throat unnecessarily. "I hardly like to intrude on other people's territory. I'll be on my way, Edward."

For a moment, he looked conflicted — as if some part of him warred against letting you leave. His golden eyes flickered, studying you with an intensity that made the cool air between you feel somehow heavier.

"You don't have to," he said suddenly, the words slipping out quicker than he seemed to intend.

You paused, brows lifting slightly in surprise.

Edward shifted his weight, almost awkwardly, a hand raking through his bronze hair. "I mean... you're not a threat. Not to us. Carlisle would want me to at least offer you... a place to rest. To be safe. If you need it."

You blinked at him, trying to read between the lines. Caution. Kindness. Curiosity. Loneliness. It was all there, laid bare even in his tightly controlled voice.

"You don't even know me," you said, your tone gentler now.

He smiled — truly smiled this time, though it was still small. "Not yet."

Your heart — what was left of it — twisted painfully in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you felt something other than loneliness clawing at your ribs.

Hope.

And damn it, it scared you.

You forced a smirk back onto your face to mask the storm inside you. "Alright then, protector," you said, your voice light and teasing as you turned slightly, giving him a look over your shoulder. "Lead the way."

Edward hesitated for just a heartbeat — then he followed.

You and Edward were passionate. Happy. It was almost enough to ignore the fact that the love between the two of you wasn't a mating bond, and you both still had someone out there that wasn't each other.

You became a part of the family. You moved in to the house, got enrolled in school, curved your diet. For years, you had a life with the Cullen coven. You had a life with Edward.

Until the arrival of a new student. Until the arrival of her. The human pet.

The difference in his behavior was immediately evident. After the first day, he literally fled from Forks, declining your offer to join him. The first red flag.

After that, you slowly grew apart, until he finally broke your heart.

You had seen it coming. You weren’t blind. But still — nothing could’ve prepared you for the way it shattered you.

Edward didn't say much when he ended things. He barely looked you in the eye. And when he did, you saw it — the guilt, the confusion, the pull toward someone that wasn't you. It wasn't rage you felt when he left you standing there in the woods, empty and alone. It was something quieter. Colder. A grief so deep it hollowed you out from the inside.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t cry. You simply stood there, the mist curling around your ankles, and let it happen.

Let him go.

Because if you were anything, you were proud. And no matter how much you loved him, you would not fight for a heart that was already lost to someone else.

You packed your things the next night, not saying a word to the others — not even Alice, who had tried so desperately to reach you through the swirling storm inside you.

And you left Forks.

You wandered again, like you had before. Only this time, the world was duller. Colder. Not even the most beautiful sunsets or bustling cities could stitch together the broken pieces inside of you.

Two years passed.

Two years of wandering, of surviving, of refusing to fall completely apart. Until one day, a call came. A desperate plea from Carlisle.

A threat bigger than any before. An urgent need for help.

And despite everything — despite the way your chest still ached at the thought of that house, that family, that boy with the bronze hair and golden eyes — you answered.

Why was your help so important to the Cullens?

You were powerful. You had an ability, as Alice, Edward, and Jasper did.

The Volturi called it the "empathic flame." It was incredibly rare — in fact, the Kings were certain that you were the only vampire alive today that had it. That's what made you so valuable to anybody, let alone the Cullens.

You had the rare ability to manipulate and amplify another's emotions to the point where they physically manifested as flames. If focused enough, they could scorch an enemy, burning through skin and eventually destroying them. The fire wasn't just a byproduct of their anger, their hatred, or their fear — it was a direct result of your control. A unique and terrifying weapon.

At first, the power had been uncontrollable, like a spark that you couldn't quite quench. When you'd first discovered it, you'd learned the hard way: emotions weren't just fleeting feelings — they were forces you could bend, twist, and manipulate, sometimes with deadly consequences.

But it took years to learn to temper it, to refine it. Now, you could do things with it that most vampires couldn't fathom. You could turn a vampire's ferocity against them, suffocating their reckless aggression in a blanket of overwhelming fear. Or, you could use it on your own side — amplifying the calm in a battle-hardened vampire, focusing their clarity to make them nearly unstoppable.

The Cullen family had come to rely on you in ways they never expected.

You were the shield and the sword — a counterbalance to their strengths. Alice’s foresight, Edward’s reading of minds, and Jasper’s emotional control were a force to be reckoned with, but you were the wild card. A weapon that could end the battle before it even started.

Even when the Volturi had gotten wind of your ability — and they had, long before you ever left Italy — they understood just how rare you were. And just how dangerous.

That was why you had to be careful. Careful about when you used it, careful about how you used it, and careful about who you trusted. The Volturi would take your ability in an instant if they thought they could harness it for their own purposes. You knew that. You’d seen what they did to others who were "too valuable" to let go.

Stepping back into Forks felt like going against every shred of pride you had. If you weren't so empathetic, you wouldn't have. You hated it there. You hated the reminder of what had happened, how lonely you were. You hated the scent of human blood, which you'd been struggling not to turn back to.

You preferred somewhere rural. Somewhere that no one else would find you.

Of course, Carlisle had searched for you. He wouldn’t give up. He never had, and you should’ve known he wouldn’t now. The Cullens always had their way of worming their way back into your life, even when you wanted to stay gone.

But what made it worse? What made it more unbearable? The fact that you couldn’t kill Carlisle’s son. You hated him — or at least, you used to — but there was a reason why your heart still clenched when you thought about him. And that, that was the weakness you couldn’t rid yourself of.

Turning the corner onto the familiar road that led toward the house that had once been home, your thoughts drifted, unwillingly, to Edward. You could still hear the sound of his voice in your mind — the way he said your name so softly, how his lips always brushed against yours, almost too gently, as if you were something breakable.

And that... that was why you had left. Because you couldn’t stay in the same room as him. Not when everything about him made you ache with longing and resentment.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. The Cullens needed your help now. An enemy was rising, and even with your power, you weren't sure what the outcome would be. But there was no backing out. Not now.

You made it to the door and raised your arm to knock. Before you could even manage, the door opened. Arms were thrown around your frame, pulling you into a crushing hug.

You immediately recognized the scent. Alice. You smiled, rolling your eyes.

"Hello to you too, Al."

Alice squeezed you tighter, her voice a melodic giggle as she pulled away just enough to look you over. "I knew you’d come back eventually," she said with that same knowing smile she always wore. "Though I didn't think it would take this long."

You rolled your eyes again, though there was a soft warmth behind it. Alice had always been the persistent one, and despite your best efforts, you had never been able to completely escape her.

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" you teased, your voice more playful than you'd intended. The tight knot in your chest from being back here — back in their world — loosened just slightly. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all going to be more complicated than you wanted.

Alice's grin widened, her eyes flicking to the side briefly. "Nope. But I’m so glad you’re here," she said as she stepped back, pulling you further inside.

As you crossed the threshold, the familiar smell of the Cullen house hit you — a mix of human and vampire, a blend that once felt like home. It was both comforting and suffocating.

"How’s everyone else?" you asked, trying to push down the inevitable tension that lurked beneath your calm demeanor. You couldn't ignore the pull to search for Edward, to see if he was here, to see if he’d even acknowledge your presence.

“Carlisle and Esme are in the kitchen, working out the details of the newborn army," Alice said, a flicker of concern crossing her face before it was quickly replaced with a smile. "And Edward... well, he’s been trying to act casual, but I think we both know that’s not happening.”

You fought the instinctive wince.

"Great," you muttered, your hand resting against the doorframe as your mind raced. "So, the world’s about to end and they need me, huh?"

"More or less," Alice said with a small chuckle, her eyes shining with excitement despite the gravity of the situation. "But we could really use your help. I know you’re hesitant, but..." She looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in a long while, her gaze softened with understanding. "We need you, you. Not just your power."

You swallowed hard, your heart clenching. "I’m not sure I can give that to you," you whispered, the words feeling like they were torn from your chest. “I’m not the person I used to be.”

Alice’s expression softened, her voice quiet. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t help us. We’re all just trying to do what’s right. And... I think you’re still part of this family, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and in that moment, something deep inside you cracked. Maybe she was right. Maybe you were still a part of this strange, mismatched family, even after everything. Even with the wounds you hadn’t allowed to heal.

"Fine," you said with a sigh, the words heavy on your tongue. "I’ll help. But I can’t promise anything."

Alice beamed, her enthusiasm almost infectious. “That’s all we can ask for!” She gestured for you to follow her. "Come on, Carlisle’s been dying to see you. And... I think someone else might want to talk to you too."

Your stomach flipped. You knew exactly who she meant.

You were dragged through the house and into the kitchen, where everyone now stood.

You had to admit, the tension in your chest was loosening, if only just a little. But you were about to face them all—Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, and Edward.

Carlisle was the first to spot you, his face breaking into that calm, warm smile you remembered so well. "Welcome back," he said softly, his voice kind but serious. You could see the concern in his eyes, a gentle reminder of why you were here.

You nodded, trying to keep your composure. “Thanks,” you said, meeting his gaze with a quiet understanding. You both knew why you were here, and that made things just a little more difficult.

Esme came next, her arms open wide. You didn’t hesitate this time, accepting the embrace. Her scent was familiar, like the comfort of a mother’s love that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. "It’s so good to see you," Esme said, her voice filled with warmth. "You’ve been gone too long."

You pulled away, giving her a faint smile. "I wasn’t planning on being gone this long, but..." You trailed off, not wanting to get into the reasons why you'd stayed away. Not now. Not yet.

Rosalie, standing next to Emmett, was next to approach. Her golden eyes softened slightly when she met your gaze. “You look exactly the same,” she said, her voice steady, but there was an unmistakable warmth there. You'd always had a special connection with Rosalie. She was one of the few who understood the weight of your past, the loneliness of it all.

Before you could respond, Rosalie pulled you into a hug, her arms strong but somehow comforting. "It’s been way too long, you know?" she added, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "Alice has been driving us all insane talking about you coming back."

You chuckled softly, pulling away as Rosalie smirked at you. “Typical Alice,” you said, glancing over at the pixie who was already looking smug.

Alice bounced on her toes. “I told you, she’d come back,” she said, her grin wide and mischievous.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” you muttered. "I’m here."

Emmett stepped forward then, clapping you on the back with enough force to make you stumble slightly. You hadn’t forgotten his playful nature. "Finally! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist our charm." He grinned at you, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It’s good to see you again, seriously. We’ve missed you.”

You chuckled, steadying yourself. “I’m sure you have, Emmett. It’s hard to miss this much muscle, after all. You missed me giving you a run for your money?” You said, flexing your arm.

Emmett gave a mock offended look, but it was clear from his laugh that he didn’t mind. “You’ve got jokes, huh? I’ll remember that.”

Jasper stepped forward next, his expression calm but his eyes full of understanding. You knew better than to expect a grand display of affection from him—he was always more reserved, especially with emotions like these. Still, his presence alone felt grounding, a reminder that some things hadn't changed.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unspoken message of support. He didn't have to say more. His presence spoke volumes.

You smiled back at him. You and Jasper had always had an understanding. Both empaths, but one could use it a bit.. differently than the other.

Finally, you caught his scent before you saw him. He came down the stairs, his golden eyes immediately zeroing in on you. You looked back at him, a frown slowly forming on your face involuntarily.

Edward.

He spoke first.

"Hello, Name." He said, testing the words. He hadn't said them in years.

"Edward." You responded, your words clipped.

Then, another scent. Strong. It made venom fill your mouth, your fangs growing, touching the inside of your cheeks. You stiffened, cutting off your air flow.

That must have been Bella. Just as you suspected, she meekly stumbled down the stairs behind Edward, coming to his side. You'd never met the girl that ended your 11 year relationship, but you couldn't say you ever wished to.

Now, you had no choice.

Edward noticed immediately, his eyes flicking to you with a sharp intensity, and then back to Bella. The connection between you two was always like this —i ntuitive. But there was no time to address it now, not when Bella stood there, her presence suddenly undeniable.

Bella shuffled closer to Edward, her eyes flicking nervously between you and the others. You could see the slight tension in her posture, the uncertainty radiating off her. She had to know that you weren’t just anyone. You were him, Edward's past, and that was not something easily forgotten.

"Um... Hi," Bella’s voice was soft, hesitant. She wasn’t as bold as you'd expected, and it only made the whole situation worse. She looked at you with wide, uncertain eyes, clearly aware of the sharp tension in the room.

You cleared your throat, stepping away slightly.

"You smell very strong." You said, your voice heavy with thirst.

Bella flinched, her eyes widening at your words. The tension between you both thickened, and you could feel the weight of the room shift. Edward’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing on you, but you didn’t care. The thirst was there, pulsing in your veins, clawing at the back of your throat.

Bella, clearly uncomfortable, took a small step back, her eyes darting nervously toward Edward. She didn’t fully understand, not yet. But she could feel the weight of the unspoken words between you and Edward, the history, the pain. And now, the thirst.

"Sorry," Bella mumbled, her voice quiet and unsure. "I didn’t mean to—"

"No," you cut her off, your voice low, the irritation in your words unmistakable. "It’s not your fault. It’s.. Natural." You took another slow breath, the scent of her blood tantalizing, but you forced yourself to look away. The control was there, barely. But you wouldn’t lose it. Not here. Not now.

"You're.. Name." She addressed. "I'm Bella."

You managed a small smile. The little human.. She had a clear bravery. To address you meant that she must have known the story. Your story. Edward wasn't one to lie, but he was one to brood and feel guilty. You had no doubt that he told her, though no one in the room would address it.

You couldn't believe she introduced herself first. She must have known that you wanted to rip her head off. And Edward's. In one swoop.

"I am. It's nice to meet you, Bella." You said politely, nodding your head towards her.

Bella smiled nervously, though there was a hint of something else behind her eyes. She wasn’t naive. She knew exactly what you were, and what your presence meant. But she wasn’t backing down, either. She wasn’t running from the reality of this world, even if it scared her.

"Uh, it's... nice to meet you too," she said, her voice trembling slightly, but there was a steady determination in her gaze. It was clear she wasn’t backing down either. And that, if anything, was a small relief.

Edward shifted uncomfortably beside her, his eyes flickering between you and Bella. His silence was loud. You could feel it—his guilt, his helplessness. It was suffocating. And it made you want to scream. But you didn’t. Not yet.

You looked at him for just a moment, eyes narrowing. "So," you said, breaking the silence, "newborn vampires? Do you know who organizes them? What they're here for?" Your voice held an edge to it, but it wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. You could feel the tension in the room already, thick and sharp like a storm just waiting to crack open.

Edward’s jaw tightened, and he shifted on his feet, as if uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. Bella, still standing slightly behind him, looked from you to Edward, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern.

"They're organized by someone we’ve... encountered before," Edward replied slowly, his voice measured. "Victoria. She’s been working behind the scenes, creating an army of newborns to take us down."

You felt your teeth clench at the mention of her name. Victoria. The fiery-haired vampire who had been nothing but trouble from the start. You'd never encountered her, but you knew about her through letters exchanged between you and Rosalie.

"And what’s her game?" you asked, forcing your voice to remain steady. "What does she want with you all?"

Edward’s eyes flickered briefly to Bella, before looking back at you. "She wants revenge. For her mate, who I killed. And she’s using the newborns as pawns."

A flash of annoyance flickered through you at the mention of James. That whole situation had left scars on the entire family.

"You’re not worried about Victoria," you said, your gaze never leaving Edward. "It’s the newborns that concern you."

The thought of an army of them—powerful, uncontrollable, and bloodthirsty—sent a dangerous ripple of anticipation through you. It wasn’t just the Cullens who had to face them. No, you knew your abilities were vital in keeping everyone safe. If things got too out of control, you would have to step in.

Edward’s eyes darkened, a flicker of his old protective nature flashing through them. "We have a plan. Carlisle and the others have been training the werewolves to help us, but we may need your power."

Werewolves.

Your jaw dropped.

"You're working with dogs?" You hissed.

Edward’s expression shifted, a mix of amusement and defensiveness crossing his features. "They’re not just dogs," he said, a slight edge to his voice. "They’re allies. We’ve been working together for a long time now."

You couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. "Allies?" you repeated, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "You expect me to work alongside them?"

There was no mistaking the tension in the air. The idea of working with werewolves — creatures you had never particularly seen eye to eye with — was almost laughable. The last thing you wanted to do was ally yourself with something that was, essentially, a natural enemy.

It was even worse than you were suddenly hit with the smell.

"Play nice, leech. We will in return."

You spun around at the sound of the voice, your fangs barely hidden, eyes narrowing immediately at the sight of the newcomer. A tall, russet-skinned man, his posture brimming with arrogance. His scent hit you instantly — wet fur, earth, and something raw, primal. It was unmistakable.

Jacob Black. You knew him too. You'd known him since he was just a child, clinging to the police chief's pant leg and pushing his father's wheelchair around.

You didn’t hide the distaste on your face. "So this is one of them," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "A werewolf."

Jacob’s lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes locking onto yours with a fire that felt almost challenging. "I’m not just a werewolf, sweetheart. I’m the one who’ll keep your precious Cullen family safe while you try not to bite someone’s head off."

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you stood taller, narrowing your eyes at him. "Don’t get too cocky," you shot back, the venom in your words as sharp as ever. "Just because you’re a ‘protector’ now doesn’t mean I won’t burn you to a crisp if you get in my way."

The air crackled between you two. The tension was palpable. You could practically hear Edward’s teeth grinding, his usual calm composure strained. But you didn’t care. You weren’t here to play nice.

Jacob took a step closer, not backing down in the slightest. "I’m not afraid of you, bloodsucker," he growled. "I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little flame trick."

Your lips curled into a grin, your eyes glowing with a flicker of dangerous amusement. "You should be," you said softly, the words carrying a weight that made his eyes flicker. "Because one wrong move, and I’ll show you exactly how much heat my flames can carry. And trust me, you don’t want to test that."

Jacob didn’t flinch, though you could see the tension building in his shoulders. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, then chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "You're a real piece of work, aren’t you?" He took another step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "I get it. You don’t like us. We’re not your kind. But the enemy isn’t here to pick sides. We’re all in this together now. Whether you like it or not."

You held his gaze, unblinking, but something in his words —his confidence— shifted something in you. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t backing down. Maybe it was the fact that you were both in the same damn situation. Either way, it was frustrating.

"I’ll tolerate you," you said, your voice low and dangerous, "because I have to. But don’t get comfortable, dog."

Jacob’s smirk didn’t fade. "Likewise, leech."

-

The next day, it was time to train. Though you could feel the nerves on the rest of the Cullen family, you were eerily calm. You knew you could handle this. After all, you'd singe anyone that had an issue.

The vampires arrived in the clearing first, the rain falling in misty waves. Your jacket was soaked. You all waited in silence for the rest of the Pack to arrive.

It made you want to puke, if that were possible anymore. Werewolves. You were expected to work with fucking werewolves. It was obvious that whatever class Edward once had was gone, if this were his idea. Your golden eyes glared at the rustling woodline, the scent of wet dog filling your nostrils once again. At least you were outside this time and not confined in a kitchen.

You crossed your arms, the dampness of your jacket doing nothing to quell the fire inside you. It wasn’t just the scent of the werewolves that had you on edge — it was the fact that you were about to be forced into working with them, cooperating with creatures that were the very opposite of you. A natural predator.

The rain continued to fall, a soft, persistent drizzle that only added to your growing frustration. Your thoughts turned dark, your gaze unwavering as you waited for the Pack to show up. It was almost too easy to imagine the worst-case scenario. Werewolves had a certain...wildness about them that made it impossible to predict their next move. And you? You were nothing if not calculated. Every move, every decision, was meant to ensure you came out on top.

Edward was standing slightly behind you, his expression unreadable as he too scanned the woods, likely picking up on your agitation. The tension between you both was palpable. Despite your control, your anger simmered beneath the surface. He had been a fool to think that working with them would be easy for you.

Finally, the rustling in the trees grew louder, signaling their arrival. You stiffened instinctively, but forced yourself to take a deep breath, calming your volatile thoughts before the rest of the Pack stepped into the clearing.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. The Pack was here.

Jacob was the first to emerge from the trees, his large frame cutting through the mist. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, and there was that familiar, ever-present cockiness in his grin. Then, the rest.

Only some felt comfortable enough to come out of their natural wolf form.

This one was smaller than Jacob, but still imposing in his own right. His dark hair was messy and tousled, the light rain soaking through his shirt. He had an easy, almost laid-back aura, one that contrasted sharply with the energy around him.

You studied him, noting the slight, unintentional bounce in his step, as if he was a bit more at ease than everyone else in the clearing.

He caught your eye, giving you a small but friendly wave, though you didn’t return the gesture. You could tell he wasn’t as confrontational as Jacob or the others. He seemed almost... curious, his expression open but not entirely without caution.

"I'm Embry."

You stared at him for a moment, trying to piece together what exactly you were dealing with. Another werewolf? You could feel the heat radiating off him, the telltale scent of wet dog mingling with the unmistakable tinge of wolf.

"You're a kid. Don't you think you're too young to be fighting in a war?" you said, keeping your tone cool and neutral. You didn’t bother to fake any interest — but curiosity flickered in your chest. Who was this one?

Embry didn't seem to take offense to your words. In fact, he chuckled softly, the sound warm and easy, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. He didn’t look like the type to back down, not even from your cold tone.

"I’m not a kid," he said, his voice calm but with an edge of determination. "I’m older than I look."

You raised an eyebrow, still not fully convinced. His youthful appearance, that carefree attitude, didn’t fit the usual profile of someone ready to fight in a battle like this.

"I can handle myself," Embry continued, his gaze steady on you. "And besides, war doesn’t really ask if you're ready, does it?"

You frowned at that, the reality of the situation settling in. War didn’t care. But that didn’t mean you had to like the idea of a werewolf —especially a younger one — joining the fray. The tension between the Cullens and the wolves had always been a delicate one, and the thought of working alongside one of them made your stomach churn.

"Fair enough." You said shortly, turning back to the Cullens.

Or that was until you felt another presence.

The moment the rustling from the trees caught your attention, you knew someone else was approaching. Embry turned slightly, a playful smirk crossing his face as he watched the new arrival, and then, without missing a beat, the two were engaged in a rough, friendly scuffle—tussling with the kind of ease only two werewolves could manage.

You watched them for a second, your golden eyes flicking between them with growing annoyance. They were too casual for a situation like this. Too... careless. You hated the way they didn’t acknowledge the danger that loomed.

The tall, broad-shouldered figure had that unmistakable arrogance in his stride, the sort of cocky swagger that made it clear he thought very highly of himself.

But before you could even fully register his presence, the most bizarre thing happened. He locked eyes with you.

The air shifted. His movements faltered, and for the first time since he'd arrived, his attention was fully focused on you. The playful fight with Embry stopped. The playful energy, the jokes—all of it faded as Paul’s gaze hardened, his eyes flashing an intense, golden brown. You felt the air around you thicken, and a strange energy pulsed between you two.

"Paul?" Embry asked in confusion.

You didn’t know what was happening at first, but you felt it in the pit of your stomach—a magnetic pull, like gravity itself had shifted. Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could even process what was happening, Paul’s entire demeanor changed. His lips parted slightly, his fists clenching.

And then it hit you. He was imprinted on you.

You froze.

The shock on his face was instant. His expression darkened with anger, confusion, and disbelief all at once. His body stiffened, as though he were fighting some invisible force that had latched onto him. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and his eyes flicked over your face, searching for something — anything — that would explain this absurdity.

"No," he growled under his breath, his voice barely audible but thick with the kind of rage you’d only seen in werewolves. "No fucking way."

He stumbled back as if he’d been hit, shaking his head violently, his muscles tensing as though the very idea of imprinting on a vampire — on you — was something he couldn’t bear.

Before anyone could say a word, Paul’s body spasmed with pain. The shift was sudden, violent. His body rippled and contorted, muscles bulging, bones snapping as he phased into his wolf form right before your eyes. He howled in frustration, a guttural, enraged sound that echoed through the clearing and into the trees, sending shivers down your spine.

The others reacted immediately — Jasper tensing, Edward’s gaze following Paul’s every movement — but no one dared to move. It was as if the entire forest had held its breath, waiting for Paul to do what he was so clearly struggling to do.

Paul didn’t look at anyone else as he ran, his massive wolf form bounding through the trees with a final, ferocious howl, the sound of his angry cries fading with every passing second.

Embry’s wide eyes met yours, his mouth slightly agape, but the words didn’t come. No one knew what to say. It wasn’t just shocking — it was unprecedented.

"He… He imprinted on her?" Embry’s voice finally broke the silence, his tone incredulous, still processing the absurdity of it all.

But the rest of the pack was still too stunned to speak. The Cullens stood in eerie silence, only their eyes darting between you, Paul’s retreating form, and each other.

The tension in the air was thick — raw. And you couldn’t help but feel it too. You weren’t sure whether to be irritated, confused, or... relieved. Relieved that you were finally set free from Edward.

Whatever it was, you didn’t know how to handle the fact that Paul Lahote — a wolf — had imprinted on you. A vampire.

[doctorho]

thinking about viktor with a chronically ill reader. you know? we see the vision, right?

it just works.

the thing with chronic pain, illnesses, disabilities, all of that - is that you can't always see them. sometimes you can, sure, you can see the mobility aids and the not-standing-up-for-too-long and the bruising from blood draws and sometimes you can see the compression garments, the pills and inhalers and the i'm fine, i just need a moment-

but most people just don't pay attention to that. or if they do, they don't put the pieces together fast enough to figure out what's really going on under the surface. viktor does, though; he's been there, and most of the time he's way beyond hiding it. or, well, he's way beyond hiding some of it.

walking with a cane was like carrying a neon sign that said yes there is something different here. yes i can't walk the way you can. no it's not going to get better. that last part wasn't directly evident just from him using a cane, sure, but with the way his cane looked, it should've been pretty clear. He had used one practically forever and it had evolved with him, he'd made it as comfortable to use as it could be, had even made it match his uniform.

so yeah. viktor knew what it was like. he'd been the disabled kid forever, even if some of the others were never going to say it out loud. that was just a thing about him, and he knew how hard it could be to navigate something like that in an academic environment. it was hard to admit you couldn't do something, that you had to sit down, that you needed a moment. that sometimes your body was just falling apart for no particular reason and it was just another tuesday.

sometimes it was easier to sit with the pain than take medication in the middle of a meeting, knowing that someone would make a bigger deal out of it than it had to be, even if it was just raising their eyebrows meaningfully. they'd think about you differently afterwards.

he could see you push through it, and he didn't blame you, really, he did that himself, too, but - he didn't want you to hurt yourself. you hadn't been in the lab as long as he had, so he could understand you being a little cautious with how you acted and what you told people, but he didn't want you to feel like you had to put on a show for him. he was, after all, walking around with the equivalent of a light-up sign of i'm disabled, too, and he liked to think of himself as someone who wouldn't come off as judgemental about stuff like that. other stuff, sure, stupid stuff, but not that.

so when he sees you dealing with the telltale signs of being in pain, he conveniently sends jayce and the others to pick up some parts that would take a while to collect and that they wouldn't actually need until the next day. but better prepared, right? what's the harm.

and then he comes to sit next to you and sighs deeply. leans back. relaxes to the best of his abilities. asks if you're alright, and sounds like he already knows the answer.

you sigh too, shift your position, and answer with it's fine. and viktor recognizes the strain in your voice, in your posture, and he knows there's a key difference between this and i'm fine, but he'll take it. it's not what he'd like, but he'll take it.

he leans over to dig around his belongings, and then offers you a bag of candied almonds.

"if you're going to take pain killers, it's better if you eat something first," he says, and you just stare at him. "i assume you haven't taken anything yet. nothing strong enough, at least," he continues, casually, and you take a deep breath and accept the almonds.

he smiles. continues like this is totally normal. "jayce made me start carrying around some food so i could do that. for myself, i mean. but it doesn't hurt to have some snacks around either way, i suppose."

he knows he's skirting around the real topic of the conversation, but he also knows that sometimes people get uncomfortable around his bluntness, and you hadn't exactly told him you were in pain, so he'd understand it if you were a little weirded out. after all, most people didn't notice this stuff. but you haven't run away from him, and you're eating, and then you're digging around your own bag to take your medication, so he'll count this as a win.

thanks, you exhale, handing back the almonds, and he takes a handful of them himself.

"i'm fine, really," you continue, not really looking at him, "it's just hard sometimes."

he nods. it was - even if he didn't know the specifics, he knew that it was true. especially since you had been hiding it from the others. and with something like that, something the others couldn't see, the invisible step to let them see it would grow bigger and bigger with time, when they expected you to be able to do everything they did without a second thought.

he also knows you didn't mean fine in the dictionary definition sense of the word, but more in the this is normal and you don't need to worry -sense. and that's fine. he was used to functioning on different parameters than most people, so this version of fine was good enough.

my body just isn't always very reliable, you explain with a sigh, and that he knows better than well.

he hmms in answer and nods. he knows.

you exhale a small laugh at that.

and he's glad you're relaxing, wants you to be as comfortable here as possible.

"these people are alright," he says casually, "as far as healthy people go."

viktor smiles a little.

another win for him.

and then he sits with you, talking and not talking and enjoying the quiet comfort if it all. and then he makes up some excuse so you don't have to keep working yet. he was well aware what it was like trying to work through the pain, waiting for the medication to kick in, and he wouldn't exactly recommend it. besides, as a rule, you were more likely to make mistakes if you were thinking through a layer of pain, and that was just plain bad planning. it made much more sense to just take a break and continue when you felt better. in fact, he was in dire need of a caramel latte and a pastry right now, do you want anything?

and after that it just... sort of falls into place. you're more relaxed around him. and the others, too, but he's the only one that really gets it. doesn’t make a whole thing out of it when you need to sit down for a moment or take a break while your pain killers kick in. he's just there.

he knows what it's like, and that feels like an invisble curtain lifted from between you and him, and it's just easy. you don't have to pretend you're doing better than you actually are and he doesn’t hide it when he's in pain, either.

most people don't see it, but there's a mutual understanding there; yeah, sometimes life sucks and sometimes you're in pain and no it's not fair that sometimes your body is falling apart and life just keeps going. you can't do all the things you want to do but you still have to show up for the other life-stuff and if you took a day off every time you felt bad you would never get anything done and it just never stops.

but sometimes there's someone who'll sit through it with you without judgement. offer a warm drink and a snack and some understanding.

[keeksandgigz]

my guy

eddie munson x fem!reader

Eddie being your personal handyman and stupidly in love.

cw: 2k words. no warnings just two kids being absolutely smitten for each other. tooth rotting fluff. teeny allusion to smut. Eddie being a flustered mess bless him. 18+ mdni

AN: this is literally the most low stakes thing i've ever written i just started cheesing at the idea of eddie cheesing at being called your guy

The sputtering of the washing machine startles you.

Huffing, you put your book down on the couch, rising from the depth of the cushions in which you had settled yourself into after finishing your chores and go assess the issue.

"Shit," the floor is wet and you shudder at the feeling of the cold soapy water getting into the bottoms of your socks as you slowly make your way to the washing machine to unplug it.

You try your best to dry the floor, wincing at the feeling of wet socks on the linoleum floor, cursing under your breath at the cold feel of the fabric against your skin.

Despite the floor being dry, your washing machine was broken, and you couldn't afford to buy a new one. Fortunately, your neighbor, Eddie had been your own personal handyman ever since you mentioned in passing that your sink was leaking a bit after moving into your place a couple months ago. The day after he was at your door, toolbox in hand. Your sink was fixed in less than a couple hours.

You knock at his front door, three precise, well timed knocks. Your mind cannot help but start counting just to see how long it will take him to open his door.

One, two, three, four, five, si--

The rattling of the door handle distracts you from your counting. Eddie's eyes are wide as they stare at you. His hair is tied in a low bun and he's fidgeting with a guitar pick in his hand. He must have been playing.

He's really quiet for a second, then clears his throat. "Oh, um. Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, nothing much? just wondering if you're busy right now" your tone always softens up with him around.

He looks around his apartment, almost as if he needed to remember if there was anything he should've been doing.

"Nope, don't think so. Why?" He leans against his doorframe, and he's cute in the way his pitch perks up, his smile expands just a bit to let a few crinkles form around his eyes.

"Well um... my washing machine broke and I can't afford to buy another one. I have a really important interview tomorrow morning and I need a clean dress shirt to wear. I thought I could get my guy to take a look at it and assess the damage?" you lightly punch your fist across his chest and he blushes a bit. You can tell by the way he starts blinking a bit faster that he's flustered.

"Your- your guy?" he stutters, almost as if he heard nothing else aside from that.

"Yeah, silly. My guy, like, my handyman" you smile at him, and if someone could get even more nervous, you're sure that Eddie just did, because he lets out a breathy laugh.

"Right. Your handyman guy, of course" and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a bit.

"So... can you do it?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, no of course, sweetheart. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll be right over to you" he says smiling.

You head back to your apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow you with his toolbox, and Eddie feels like he’s lost every sense of reason when he enters and becomes surrounded by your scent.

The fabric softener you use has taken over every corner of your house, but he’s not complaining. Taking one last sniff for courage, he steps into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at, waiting for him.

“Alright, can I take a look at your washing machine?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s right this way” you lead him to the laundry room, and Eddie’s suffocating. You’re everywhere.

He kneels in front of the machine and opens its door.

"What's this interview for anyway if it's got you actin' so nervous?" He says from inside the washing machine. He's fidgeting with the rubber at the opening, the hose.

"It's for this job at the school. I applied to teach at the middle school, but I'm not sure if they'll give it to me" you say, panic settling in. He's taking too long, you're done for. No clean shirt, no job.

"Nah, sweetheart, there's no reason why they shouldn't. You're incredibly smart, from all the books I've seen you read, your apartment is all books, you nerd" he starts laughing, and then stops.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you a nerd." He takes his head out of the washing machine. "I just- I know you're gonna do great. And if you don't maybe you can become my apprentice, would you mind passing me my flashlight?" he gives you a half smile.

Reaching for his toolbox you pass it to him.

"See? You're already perfect for the job, you're hired" he says, making you laugh. He smiles proudly to himself, and he's happy that you can't see him from inside the washing machine, because he's sure he's bursting with joy at the sound of your laughter.

"Thanks, Ed. I'll consider it." you say, and immediately after you hear a oh shit! coming from inside the machine. Concern washes over your face.

"Ed? What's wrong?" you say, as you carefully step closer towards him.

“I know what the problem is." He takes his head out again The rubber thingy that helps you close the thingy is broken” he says, like you understood what he meant.

“For a handyman you sure have your way with words” you laugh, and he doesn’t even care that he’s made a fool of himself by forgetting what the rubber gasket was called. Because he’s made you laugh.

"So how do I get this rubber thingy fixed, mr handyman?" you ask, voice still amused at how flustered he is.

"Well, I'd need to go down the hardware store and get a replacement, but it's 8PM, so I can't do anything about it now, sweetheart. Sorry" he says, and it breaks his heart to have to say no to you.

"Oh, okay." your voice sounds sad, it hurts him. "Thanks anyway, Eddie. I'll stop by the hardware store tomorrow morning before my interview if you wanna stop by in the afternoon and finish this?"

He thinks about it, about the interview. About how much you said you want the job.

"Wait, I have an idea. What if you wash your clothes in my washing machine for tonight? So you can have your shirt ready for your interview, then tomorrow I can go and get the gaskets to fix it. It's called a gasket, not rubber thingy" he says, playing with his hair.

"Ed it's fine, I can go get it" you say, trying not to blush at how gentle and kind he is "I'll take you up on your offer of using your machine, though. Thanks, Ed. You're too nice" you say, reaching for the basket of wet clothes on top of the dishwasher.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Y'know I take good care of my clientele" he says, smug smile on his lips. You giggle and fake a gasp.

"Are you cheating on me? Are you being someone else's guy?!" he laughs and goes along with it.

"Well, Mrs. Davis did ask me to fix her bathtub, after learning from someone that I fixed their sink" he said, a fake accusatory stare at you.

"You should get paid for this, Ed. You've already fixed my sink, my door hinges, helped me change my lock and now my washing machine. Soon the whole complex is gonna ask you to do their maintenance" you laugh.

"I do it out of the kindness of my heart" he says, taking a dramatic bow , then rises and leans against the washing machine. "Really, though, I don't mind doing it. I enjoy being helpful. I don't want your money, sweetheart"

"No, Eddie, I insist. I need to pay you, especially after you said you're getting the rubber thingy for me, what was it called again? A gusset?"

"Gasket" he says smiling, pointing a cheeky finger at you. Then the air becomes a bit tense, he stiffens up. You see him takes a deep breath, he's suddenly nervous which puts you on edge. Did you say something wrong? Then he speaks up again. "Tell you what, as a payment for my services, I pick you up Friday night at 7 and we have dinner. What do you say?"

Shit. You would not have pegged him for the type to be that smooth, but he had you. He liked you and he was sweet to you and he wanted to take you out to dinner. It helped that he was cute. There was no hesitation when you nodded your head yes.

"I say that's a great idea, Ed. I'll let you know how the interview goes. Should we go to your apartment?" you say. You notice the quizzical, borderline alarmed, look on his face.

"So I can wash my stuff, I mean" an awkward laugh escapes you as he motions for you to lead the way.

His apartment is the same layout as yours, but rather than books, his walls are filled with painted figurines, guitars, notebooks and DnD game sets. A true nerdy den.

"Um, the washing machine is down the hall. We have the same one, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says, heading over to the couch, setting his toolbox down and picking up his guitar.

His laundry detergent is strong. The thought of this load of washing smelling like him makes your head spin.

After you've started the load, you head out of the laundry room and head over to the couch, where Eddie is. You swear his eyes glint a little when he sees you.

"Hey mr. handyman." you say, plopping down next to him "Keep playing, I'm just gonna watch you." You smile at him.

His face is concentrated, tongue darting out of his lips every once in a while. Cute, you think, a silly quirk that makes your mind travel to places that it should not even dare to go, you haven't even had your first date yet. God, you wanna kiss him.

He plays some aggressive guitar chords, one after the other, music sheets scattered on his knee, balancing precariously as he taps the rhythm with his head, his hair falling out of its confinements with each bob of his head.

"I hear you play sometimes." You interrupt. He raises his head, his hair has all fallen out of the bun and lays on his shoulders.

"What?" he says weakly.

"Sometimes, in the afternoon, because you're so respectful, I hear you play. And I- I just stop whatever I'm doing and listen to you and- and it's so cool. Your playing is so cool" you stop your ramble, because now he's staring at you and he's making you nervous. He's closer, and closer, and closer. And he's kissing you.

His lips are soft, albeit a bit too wet from all the times he's licked his lips to focus. His hand is on your cheek and it's big and warm and his breath is on you and you just melt into him. Soft kisses, quick kisses.

After what feels like hours, your mouth is open and you're reaching for his shirt, but he stops you, a puzzled look on your face. "Let's save this for another time, sweetheart." He says, and you can tell he's struggling to say no to you "I wanna take my time with you. Maybe after our date?" he gives you a sly smile and you think you have melted into the cushions.

"Can we cuddle, then?" you say shyly and he opens his arms for you to fall in, you take a deep breath. He's warm and smells nice.

"For a handyman you kiss really well" you say, laughing a bit. He jerks his head and quirks an eyebrow.

"How many handymen have you kissed?" his tone is dramatic and you know he's joking.

"None that I am aware of, but y'know, it could be a side job" You giggle.

"I thought I was your guy!" He says with a whine, and he makes you laugh like no man has ever made you laugh before.

“Maybe you can be my guy for real then” you say, smiling, finally holding eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I can be your guy, sweetheart.”

[cavernsandcod]

gnawing on your idea of cheating on Price with Simon.

Cause maybe you didn't realize Simon knew your husband, but Simon definitely knew who you were when he started taking you home. Snatching up John's little love from right under his Captain's nose.

And maybe John is upset, more so by the disobedience of his Lieutenant doing something like this behind his back (which he will be sure to correct accordingly) than the fact you were sleeping with him.

In fact, John's a bit relieved that it's one of his men you were cheating on him with. Yeah Simon may have taken some liberties, but at the end of the day his Lieutenant's actions work in his favor, gently herding you away from any other man trying to steal from his Captain. (Saves him the trouble from having to murder someone for touching what's his)

Though if you were feeling neglected you should've just told him honey, what's his is yours. He would've let you have his pick of any of his boys, but now he has to make sure both you AND his men stay out of trouble. Maybe a little lesson is in order?

(first time writing anything, throwing this at you and bolting)

i like you anon; feed meeee seymour

it makes the most sense because all of them would keep their families secret for security reasons. therefore, only the few members of the task force and a handful of others would know who you are, what you look like, the location of the secure homestead, etc.

john let it stew for quite a while and couldn't figure out a better solution. he noticed the changes in your apathy levels. how your intimacy shifted for the worst. that the toys he bought you weren't enough. not even his voice over the phone.

so, why not ask simon? he's dependable. secure. covert. won't give in at all if you try to do something dangerous—

long story short, he was only supposed to keep an eye on you where john couldn't. but he's a nasty mutt with a possessive streak.

he stopped shadowing you and entered your line of sight (disobeying orders directly, mind you—) and he decided to play along when you eye-fucked him in the pub, acting like the big, mean stranger you were searching for that night.

simon figures it's better him than any of the sleazy men who've been trying to get in your pants... right....... right?

[thriftedtchotchkes]

waiting to spill

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, breeding kink, smut, desperate!mike, unprotected piv, creampie, riding, fingering, blue balls, mentions of pregnancy, cum play

word count: 3.9k

(based on this request)

Mike's praying the call goes through this time because if it doesn't, he might just lose his mind. You were supposed to land 20 minutes ago, but it's already half past 4 and your phone's still off.

Will it show how many missed calls you have? God, he hopes not. He's been redialing for the better part of an hour, hoping you landed early, but luck clearly isn't on his side. Every time it goes to voicemail, your voice taunts him. Just another reminder that you're not here—unreachable and untouchable.

Shitty fucking airline. He knew you should've taken an earlier flight, but he didn't want to be that guy. The one who tells you what to do and when, and makes decisions for his own benefit. He's a better guy than that, a better boyfriend than that, it's just—fuck, what is taking so long? 

One more time. He'll try you one more time, and if it doesn't connect, he'll go sit on the couch and distract himself until you call him. He's already waited this long. He can suck it up a little longer. Probably.

He hits redial for the umpteenth time, his forehead thunking against the wall next to the landline, and then something miraculous happens. It rings.

Once, twice, and then you pick up. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Any patience he had left flew out the window hours ago and he doesn't care if you know it.

"Babe?"

You laugh softly on the other end, and it tugs at his heart...and his dick. Seatbelts click open in the background, and sounds of movement and chatter filter through the speaker.

"Hey, you. I actually just landed. I'll call you back once I get through customs, okay?" you reply, bright as ever. 

It sets him off worse than he expected. You're so much more potent in real-time than on voicemail, and it's fucking with his sense of urgency. He doesn't want to rush you, but he needs you. So badly.

"W-wait. Can you come over? After you're done with the airport stuff, I mean," he manages to get out, interjecting cautiously before you can hang up.

"I was gonna stop home to drop off my bags and take a quick shower, but I can come over after that," you reply distractedly, likely dealing with overhead bins and other passengers trying to deplane. 

He shakes his head, gripping the phone a little too tightly as he bites back a frustrated whine. That'll take too long. The airport's about an hour's ride from your apartment, and by the time you're done showering—no. No, just come to him. It's a shorter ride to his house, anyway.

"Just—you can do all of that here. Stay over and I'll drive you back to your place in the morning. Please?" he asks, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice. 

It pulls your attention back to him almost immediately, and he hates how good that feels.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you counter, misreading his plea as an emergency. 

Your phone keeps shifting like it's tucked against your shoulder, and now it sounds like you're moving faster, hurrying like he wants you to, but for the wrong reasons. 

"Everything's fine, I just need to see you," he says, willing you to understand. "Babe, I really need to see you."

He's too ashamed to spell it out. What would he even say? If he doesn't cum inside you soon, he thinks he might die? He's horny, not pathetic.

"Mike, that doesn't sound fine...," you sigh on the other end, your quickening footsteps audible through the receiver. 

"Please."

You pause for a second, and his heart leaps into his throat. Don't say no. Please, don't say no.

"Gimme an hour, okay? I'll catch a cab to your place as soon as I can," you finally agree.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, but it's louder than he realizes and you clock it on the spot.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, all good. I'm just glad you're back. Feels like it's been forever," he mumbles, somehow sated and yet anticipating your arrival more than ever. 

He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, wincing at the unexpected friction against the growing problem between his legs. The atmosphere around you changes and your responding laugh blends into the bustle of casual conversations and overhead announcements in your terminal. 

"Can't survive one week without me, huh? I guess I'm bringing you and Abby along next time I visit my parents," you joke, but it's getting harder to make out what you're saying. "Look, I'm almost at customs. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The call ends, and he's left with the loneliness of a dial tone and an empty house. He hangs up and plops down on the couch, clutching the TV remote like a lifeline while he desperately tries to ignore the painful tent in his boxers.

An hour. He can handle one more hour.

He can't handle one more hour. It's been 45 minutes and he feels like he's about to burst. The worst part? It's his own damn fault. 

He's the asshole who made the conscious decision not to jerk off the entire time you were gone, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He had his reasons. In about 15 minutes, it'll all be worth it.

Maybe less. 

There's a knock at the door, and he's up and off the couch so fast, he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash. He wrenches it open to find you on the other side, a little stunned by the abrupt greeting, but worth every second of blue balls he put himself through.

"Hey," he breathes out, winded by his mad dash and the relief of you finally being here. 

"Hey, yourself," you smile wryly. Your eyes drop to where he's not even remotely trying to hide his raging boner. "Ah-ha, so that's—"

But that's all you manage to say before he drags you into the house and slams your back against the door, shutting out your luggage and the cab driver still idling in the driveway. His lips crash into yours and you taste so good, it's dizzying. 

Remnants of Sprite and spearmint gum linger on your tongue as it meets his, and he groans, wondering how he went an entire week without this. All that time, deprived of your addictive touch and perfect tits while he tortured himself, waiting for you to come back to him.

He can't decide where to put his hands first, roaming and squeezing from your waist, up your shirt—which he's just realizing is his—to splay across your ribcage. Pressing you harder into the door, he separates from your lips to mouth at the underside of your jaw, mumbling his appreciation between each harsh bruise he sucks into your skin.

"Fuck, I missed you," he pants, shamelessly grinding into your hip for relief. He wants you to feel how hard you're making him, so you'll understand all those missed calls.

"Yeah? I can tell," you laugh breathily, running your hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as you go. 

Your thumbs brush against his bare skin, sending a heady jolt straight to his cock, and suddenly none of this is moving fast enough. His hands drop to your ass, roughly tugging your hips into his, and you gasp in unison at the friction. Together, you fall into a frantic rhythm, rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Shit, Mike...," you moan his name, and he feels like he's dreaming. He has to be because nothing else in his waking world has ever felt this good.

Contrary to the rest of his body, he kisses you again slowly, savoring every noise he's coaxing from you and devouring them like a man starved. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, and he swears he's never letting you leave this house again. 

If by some miracle he does, he's going to make sure you're pumped so full of him, you'll be leaking him the entire time you're gone, unable to think about anything else. And when you come back, he'll do it all over again.

Damnit, he needs you in his bed, now.

He backs away from the door with you still in his arms, leading you further into the house down a path you know by heart. Briefly, he separates from your lips to lift your shirt up and over your head, then discards his own before tugging down the cups of your bra to latch onto a nipple.

You hiss at the contact, trembling as he teases it with his teeth, and immediately reach behind you to unclasp the offending piece of fabric. It drops soundlessly to the floor along with your jeans, underwear, and finally his boxers. Nipping sharply at the sensitive skin one last time, he pulls away to admire you, trailing his fingers down your arms until your hands are in his.

You're fucking beautiful. Your lips are kiss-swollen and glossy, begging to be kissed again, and your thighs are...wet, fucking hell. Fuck, he missed you. His mouth starts to water at the thought of licking into you, fucking you with his tongue while your thighs quake on either side of his head, but the painful throbbing between his legs is starting to overwhelm him.

He's positive, now, that if he's not inside you soon, he'll actually die. He's not just horny, anymore. It's so far beyond that.

Four more agonizing steps backward and he's finally passing the threshold into his room, so close to being on his back with you bouncing on top of him—except he doesn't make it that far. 

The door shuts behind you, and then you're on your knees, wrapping those perfect fingers around his dick and guiding him between your lips. He panics. There's no way he's going to last if you try to blow him right now.

Tenderly, you lick a stray bead of precum off the tip, and his balls immediately draw up so tight, he has to slide your hand down to the base and squeeze to keep from cumming on the spot. He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Babe, I can't...," he grits out, struggling to find the words to explain himself. "I'll cum too fast, you can't."

You grin, leaning forward to press your lips against his white-knuckled fist.

"That's sort of the whole point, isn't it?" you tease, trailing back to his cock, seconds away from giving him the most intense orgasm of his life.

"I need to fuck you," he blurts out. It's short and to the point, but there's no use in pretending he doesn't. At this point, he'll be lucky if he doesn't explode the second he's inside you. "I need to fuck you so bad right now, I feel like I'm going crazy."

You pause to look up at him, your eyes roving over his face, lingering on his angrily ticking jaw. You get it, now.

"Hey, it's okay—you're okay," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss away another drop of precum. He chokes back a groan and reflexively jerks away, and you take the hint to release your grip. "Okay, fuck me. Show me how much you missed me."

But you don't have any idea what you're asking for, do you? He missed you so much. There's so much catching up to do, and he has so little patience left.

He doesn't waste any more time. With every ounce of self-control he's got left, he drags you to your feet and towards the bed, trying his best not to manhandle you up the mattress and onto his lap. He fails epically. The second he's flat on his back with you grinding down on him, his patience becomes a thing of the past.

"You ready for me? Because I'm not gonna be able to stop, and I need you to feel good," he's starting to babble, but he has a feeling nothing he says from now on will make any sense, and he needs you to want it as much as he does.

His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, and when he tugs you closer to notch at your entrance, he can feel you clenching wetly around him.

"Shit—," he breathes out, his biceps tensing as he lifts you and lines himself up. He pushes in just enough for you to stretch around the tip, and you steady yourself on his chest, your palms searingly hot on his skin as you squeeze him a little harder.

"Let me make you feel good," he says again, even though you're already letting him, already yielding to his steady push and pull. Every inch he gives you feels like taking a shot of tequila, and it's making his head spin. If he could hear himself anymore, he'd realize he sounds wasted.

"Let me fill you up, please," he begs, rolling his hips up to lengthen his thrusts. They’re so much easier now that you’re dribbling down him—so much wetter—but you're so damn tight, he has to force himself to look away from where you're joined and gripping the hell out of him. "You know, I-I waited for you—waited to cum, I didn't cum at all."

"Mike...fuck. That's good. That's so good, baby," you tell him shakily. "Give it to me. Nice and deep, you deserve it."

He keens at the praise—he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried—and your nails bite into his skin in response, nose scrunching adorably as you gush around him. He knew you'd like that. He knew you'd want it. 

Look at his girl, so pretty on top of him, just waiting for him to bust inside you. Fleetingly, he wonders if you're still on birth control. Possessively, he doesn't care. Rationally, he knows he can't afford to knock you up, but shit—right now, he really fucking wants to. He imagines you in the same position you're in, horny and round with his baby, and suddenly he's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He doesn't stop to think about whether or not he should. He doesn't stop at all, just like he warned you, not even when he's buried to the hilt and you're both struggling to adjust. 

He just buries himself in you again and again and again until the sound of your skin colliding with his becomes a wet thock-thock-thock that bounces off the walls of his bedroom. The springs beneath him squeak dangerously as he pushes his bedframe to its absolute limits, but he can’t hear any of that, either.

His senses are in overdrive, and all he can focus on is how you feel around him. And he’s not nearly as deep as he needs to be. Rougher than he means to, he grabs your ass with both hands and starts to force you up and down his cock, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’ll hate how much he likes the idea of that later. 

"S-so fucking pretty...gonna make me cum so hard. So much. Need you to take all of it," he pants with the exertion of lifting and dropping your full weight onto himself.

He can feel himself slamming into your cervix and desperately tries to think about anything else but emptying right into it, but the sight of you taking him like you were made for it makes it ten times worse.

Just looking at you makes him want to cum—your tits bouncing as you ride him, your pussy creaming down his cock and balls, and seeping into his sheets. Those pouty lips of yours moaning around pleas of harder and right there and don't stop, I'm cumming.

"Baby...babe—," your shattered voice cuts through the fog, and then he feels it. "M'cumming. I'm...Mike, keep going there, there. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Fucking hell, you're really cumming. Tight and wet, and clamping down on him like a vice. Somehow, he always forgets it's like this with you. That you cum this hard for him, that he's able to make you cum this hard for him. For a second, he feels overwhelmingly grateful. Then, he's planting his feet on the bed and fucking you so hard, you stop moaning and start screaming.

It's there. It's right there, so close he can feel it building everywhere. Sweat trickles down his temples, matting his curls to his forehead, and you brush them away, one hand braced on the mattress next to his head and the other buried in his hair as you ride out your high.  

His balls draw up so tight, it's painful, and he thinks he might start yelling too, but he's too focused on the chase. He's too busy watching, dumbfounded by the perfect body coming apart on top of him. 

The girl he waited for. 

He tries to tell you. He tries to open his mouth and tell you that you’re everything he thought he’d never have, and that he wants to keep you forever. That he wants to be part of you, that being inside you is one of the rare places he’s ever felt wanted. But that’s not what comes out. 

He’s too far gone now, and all he can manage is an incomprehensible stream of moans and sighs as he forces you flush against his pelvis, grinding into you as deep as he can reach. His eyes struggle not to close, nearly crossing as that familiar heat permeates his limbs and pools at the base of his cock. But it’s so much more intense than he can ever remember it being.

He lifts his gaze to your lips to find them moving, repeatedly forming a single word he can barely make out. But by the time he figures it out, he’s already giving you what you asked for. 

Please. You’re saying please. He repeats it back, begging you to take it, thanking you for letting him have this.

His orgasm rocks him. As it peaks, he feels numb like he’s suspended in time, and then it slams into him so hard, he folds in on himself. He buries his face in your tits, his breath hitching sharply in time with the visible throbbing of his cock, and he’s immediately flooded with relief. But it won’t fucking stop. It lasts so much longer than either of you expect it to, pulse after endless pulse, and he holds you in place through it all.

When it finally subsides and sensitivity sets in, your nails scratching lightly across his back are what bring him back to the present. He lifts his head from where it's still pillowed on your tits, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

Maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe he’s just been dreaming this entire time, but he swears you’re glowing. The final rays of late summer sun illuminate your dewy skin and soft curves, and as you move lower to kiss his lips, he unconsciously rests a hand over your stomach. It feels right—but only briefly. His head starts to clear the longer he licks into your mouth, and when you part, reality finally hits.

"Shit, I think I just got you pregnant," he breathes out, sliding his hand off your stomach to your waist before collapsing onto the mattress. "Shit."

He looks up at you in concern, his mind racing a mile a minute. What did he just do? He can’t—you can't get pregnant. Not with Abby, and your jobs, and his shitty finances. It just isn't an option. 

And yet you’re still perched on top of him, snug around his softening dick, and he can’t bring himself to pull out. You don’t even seem remotely worried.

You're actually smiling. No, you're laughing, and he's still panicking and confused as hell. It gets infinitely worse when you accidentally push him out and his gut reaction is to plug you back up with his fingers, keeping his release from leaking out. This is so fucked up. He’s so fucked up.

"I mean—were you trying to?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Kinda seems like it."

Your eyes drop between your legs to where his hand is cupping your heat, irrefutable proof that you’re not wrong. So, why doesn’t that bother you? 

"Babe, breathe," you smile softly, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "I'm like, 98.8 percent positive you can't knock me up. Give or take, but we can check the box if it'll make you feel better."

It actually might, but the last thing he's going to do is admit it. He can't believe he didn't double-check something like that—but then again, he feels like he's been in a fugue state for hours, if not the entire week you were gone.

"You're still on birth control?" he asks cautiously, almost afraid to get his hopes up. He takes a deep breath like you told him to and it helps ease some of his lingering panic. Not all of it, but at least he's starting to think rationally and not with his dick.

"Mike. There isn't a single condom in this entire house. Yes, I'm on birth control," you laugh again, and even just the sound of it is soothing. It helps, too.

"And it definitely works? Because that was...a lot," he mumbles. He already knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he has to be sure. There's still a week's worth of his release plugged up inside you, and as much as it turns him on, he needs to know if he has to run out to the pharmacy or if he's free to do it again. And again.

"Have you ever fucked me with a condom on?" you counter. He scoffs at the question, and you clench around his fingers in retaliation.

"Of course, I have. Maybe not in a while, but early on, for sure," he replies confidently, even though he's not confident in his answer at all. Sure, he can't give you a specific example, but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"You literally came inside me the day we met," you deadpan. 

His cock stirs at the memory, hardening distractingly against your inner thigh. That, he definitely remembers. He's pretty sure that's the night he fell in love with you, but he's hard-pressed to admit that, either.

"There's no way."

"And every time since then," you continue, looking way too amused at his misfortune. Can't get anything past you, can he?

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just your trip that triggered what happened tonight. Maybe it's always been a thing. His thing. You just look so goddamn good—filled with it, covered in it. Shit, he really shouldn't be hard already.

"Babe, come on. I do...it other places, too,” he reasons, sliding his hand up to tweak a nipple. But it becomes a moot point the second your breath hitches. So much for rational thinking. “I just—"

"You just really like cumming inside me," you finish for him, taking his cock in your hand and stroking him until he's as desperate as he was earlier.

He pulls his fingers free from your pussy and tries not to lament the immediate rush of cum that leaks out. It's okay. He's got plenty more to give you.

"Yeah, I really do."

thanks for reading!

(and so much love to @joelsgreys, @tinycozycomfort & @psychedelic-ink for your help & support, and for listening to me go on and on about this man <3)

[boofeine]

So interesting on how seventeen gets jealous.

Hehe, able to do a drabble for mingyu jealous based on it?❤️😬🫶🏽

(sorry for taking so long... again 😅)

WARNINGS: mdni, angst,,, unrevised work !!!

"I'm gonna take a shower" Mingyu says while you finish to let your shoes by the door and lock it as you both enter your apartment.

That's not an uncommon saying or action from him, but you know when you just know something is off? That was the case. He sounded dry for some reason and didn't even spare a glance as the first thing he does it's walk to the shower.

You're letting your things by the kitchen corner, taking some things out of your purse when you hear the water running. You feel uneasy and contemplate if you should dare join him or just wait to talk when he comes out.

'Fuck it' you think, walking to the bathroom door, jeans already being undone and shirt getting lose. You knock and no response.

"Gyu? Can i come in?" You speak through the door, waiting a few seconds before opening the frame "Gyu?" you ask again, slipping your head inside. The room is starting to get foggy, but you are still able to see the outline of his naked torso as the water runs down from his neck to his chest, enough to gather you courage to come in.

You finish taking your clothes off and join him. He slowly opens his eyes, meeting down on your small form as you smile foundly but whimsy.

"Hi" You murmur.

"Hi" He answers, dry again. Opening you space to take the water instead. He leads you and changes your positions with a hand on your hips. Even looking as something wrong happened, he stills the sweetest to you.

When you wet yourself enough, you look back, and he has shampoo on his hair. You change positions again, and he starts to clean it off. You tiptoe, getting closer to reach his long hair hair too, helping him out. Your hands are soft and caring as you caress his hair. Mingyu is just looking at you, the same way you are looking at him, but he has a sad look and pouty lips.

You pull him, soap on your hands as you start to spread on him, his shoulders first, and then down his chest and belly.

"When you're gonna tell me what's wrong" You say while on it.

He helps you, spreading the soap on his arms as he thinks what to say. After a while, he shoots "I saw that guy hitting on you earlier". Your lips form a thin line. Somehow, you want to smile, but he hasn't finished yet. "And still, you stay most of the night of his group of friends".

It's true, you think. Now that he said that to you, you can understand where it comes from. Yes, the guy did hit on you, but you said no, and also add that you are taken. His group of friends are your friend's friends, and the only people (that you slightly know) that were dancing, and you wanted to dance, so you stuck to them.

"You should've tell me" you said, getting a bit sad too. The sudden silence gets you itchy and you can see Mingyu swallowing dry.

"You looked so happy. I wouldn't bother your fun." He adds, confessing it. And some of it makes him embarrassed and bothered that you were having so much fun without him. But he won't tell you that.

"You don't bother me, Mingyu" You reply seriously, stopping on your tracks to look back on him. "I wanted to dance, and they were the people I knew" you add "I want you to tell me when you're uncomfortable" you say lastly, and you suddenly want to cry because you're afraid he didn't have fun like you did, and you feel bad for have not done anything.

"Okay" he says smally and low.

Silence again.

"Turn around" you said, as you start to clean his back down to his hips, but also to hide how a few tears fall down. You clean than off and finish "I'm sorry" You add when he starts to turn back to face you again.

"Please, don't be!" He answers way too fast that startles you, cutting your words "Please don't ever apologize for having fun. I am sorry" he says, and you nod because he's right, but still, he can't just put aside what he feels either, you think that just what jealousy is.

You tiptoe again, caging him on your arms instead as he touches you for the first time, sliding his hands to your hips and resting on your lower back that let shivers down your skin. Your faces are close, nose slightly touching.

"I love you" You say, your hot breath on his lips making his mouth open in an almost gasp.

"I love you too" He adds before finally kissing you, raw and needy like he was craving it.

[madforhoran]

I'm gonna go off (cuz I can) as I wanna clear this up once and for all, hopefully. This post has been inspired by couple of my mutuals who are also trauma survivors.

These takes are still circulating:

Astarion cannot consent to anything because trauma & he cannot say No.

Astarion is forcing himself to have sex and the cemetery.

To start this all off, Neil is a god-tier voice actor and he's demonstrating perfectly well when Astarion is being honest or playful.

Instances where Astarion says No directly / implies it / expresses his disagreement because his boundaries are about to be or were crossed:

-> says No to Araj

-> says No to Tav (he tells Tav in-between the lines 'let's put a pause on sex' and if Tav misreads it and crosses his boundaries, breakup follows = "I didn't know how to say no, but I do now")

-> he refuses to take the astral tadpole

-> he doesn't wanna participate in an orgy when you take him to the brothel before his personal quest resolution

-> he's ready to rip a new one when Tav says his siblings should've kidnapped him

-> he doesn't wanna kiss Tav or continue the romantic relationship if they turn full squid

It is a player’s problem where they force or intimidate him into saying yes.

Instances when Astarion is being playful and lovey because he loves Tav:

-> how can I say No? (when it's just a stupid love test at the circus that doesn't mean anything)

-> how could I say No? (when Tav asks for a kiss, he's being a tease)

There is a clear tonal difference between these No's and situations above.

At the cemetery, he gives us the big beautiful speech where he finally answers "what do you want?" with genuine "You, I want you." and goes on how Tav cared, was patient, trusted him. How safe and seen he feels.

"I love you, I love this, and I want it all."

Now the big sentence which for whatever reason gets twisted that he's forcing himself to have sex & hasn't given consent. You've heard him say all of those beautiful words previously, in Neil's honest genuine tone. Astarion is being genuine and honest when he drops the high pitch.

"If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded."

The man has poured his entire heart out there and is telling Tav [ONLY SLIGHTLY HORNY, NEIL] that he's ready to have sex. He's saying "if YOU are offering, then I'm up for this, to get down and dirty right here on top of my grave". If you tell him instead that you're not ready or you won't do it, he's taken aback and disappointed.

In the spawn!ending Astarion completes the arc of "what do you want?"

"What do any of us want?"

"I'm not sure, it's been so long since I got to decide what I wanted."

"You, I want you."

Astarion has trauma but he is a character with trauma, not trauma walking on two legs. You as a player are actively guiding him through it and when he gets it and asserts his boundaries you cannot just backtrack and say, wait a second you have trauma, you're not allowed to step out of your trauma bubble ever and you're not capable of consent.

It's like saying SA victims in real life are never going to be able to consent to sex (or anything for that matter) or ever move on in their lives from what happened to them.