#so close yet so far when it comes to getting that van

[is-this-fascism]

DISABLED HOMELESS TRANS MAN NEEDS HELP REPAIRING THE CAR HE LIVES IN

Once again my car has broken down, setting me back in my goal to purchase a van to upgrade my living situation. The repair + tow will end up totalling about $1000 or more if they find more issues with my car. I need to continue saving and cannot afford to let go of this money, as everything I currently have is savings from a fundraiser that I need to spend on the fundraiser's goal. Please help me recoup these costs so I can get the car I live in moving again and continue to invest in a better future for myself.

[allyricas]

imagine if eddie never got caught up in the upside down stuff in season 4. all the same people are still vecna'd, but chrissy never sought out eddie for drugs at school that day so he is oblivious to everything going on.

maybe he spends spring break playing music with the guys and getting drunk in the back of his van.

or, better yet, he's not even in town at all. he and the other members of corroded coffin are in indy for battle of the bands.

in fact, he literally has no clue what happened until he sees the news about the earthquake and he rushes back to make sure uncle wayne is alright. he's freaking out because when he calls his trailer numerous times, no one answers. he tries calling the plant to look for his uncle and they say he didn't show up to work.

chrissy was too intimidated to seek him out at school even in the privacy of the woods, so instead later that evening she goes to the trailer to look for him. she still gets vecna'd and the trailer becomes a gate.

eddie is never a suspect since he has a verifiable alibi. wayne still finds chrissy's body the next morning and still helps by telling nancy about henry creel. he can tell the teens are about to do something reckless and dangerous so he gets involved and ends up in the upside down instead of eddie.

he turns out to be very handy with various weapons and has a mind for battle strategy thus the party having a much better plan.

they win this time. steve gets really hurt, like nearly dies. wayne is the one who carries him out of the upside down and helps make sure he doesn't bleed out. they form a bond and wayne refuses to leave his side at the lab.

which is why eddie can't get ahold of him.

imagine eddie rushing back into hawkins only to eventually find out chrissy cunningham died on the porch of his trailer and that no one's heard from his uncle in days. he finds out from dustin that his uncle is at the hospital standing vigil over steve harrington's bedside, of all freaking people.

wayne looks pretty roughed up, but he's safe and he's okay. eddie is so relieved to see him with his own eyes that the reality of everything doesn't really sink in.

after everything is settled, the government compensates wayne with a new home. everything could have been a lot worse were he not involved and the earthquake split the trailer in two.

it's nothing fancy, just a three bedroom home on a nice plot of land. it's cosy and there's room for a fire pit in the backyard, maybe even a garden and a chicken coop. wayne manages to make anywhere feel like home, but this place has a certain charm.

once steve is well enough to go home, wayne all but insists that steve comes home with him and eddie. wayne tells steve he has a permanent home with him, that they're family. for once in his life, steve let's himself be loved and taken care of by an adult. wayne is everything his parents could never be.

wayne's heard all about steve's parents, noted that they never showed up to see their son and wayne doesn't want steve rotting alone in his big house. wayne always had a habit of picking up strays after all.

the problem with the situation is, of course, that eddie doesn't like steve. in fact, he absolutely cannot stand him and does not understand why his uncle is suddenly so close with him.

he steadfastly believes in his munson doctrine and has no plans to reevaluate. steve is a douchebag jock. in his mind, there's no way he has actually changed into this funny, dorky man who hangs out with his uncle for fun and drives around the younger teens just because he likes them.

he can't actually be best friends with band nerd robin buckley or close to his ex and her boyfriend. he can't be the man who put his body in front of someone else's. he can't be the man who smiles softly at eddie while he makes his snarky comments and refuses to budge and inch on his dislike.

steve harrington who helps his uncle plant a garden and build his chicken coop. who cooks and bakes far better than some rich kid should be able to. who asks about his band and hellfire and his books. who is far funnier than he has any right to be.

so, eddie is all snarky comments and rolled eyes every time he comes home to wayne and steve watching a game together. he is so jealous and can't say anything since wayne adores the guy...and since steve almost died.

he pretends that all the things he's learning about him must be a trick or a lie. steve can't be this person who fits so seamlessly into his life. even the other members of his band warm up to him

eddie will not budge. nope. never.

wayne knows his nephew. knows that eddie would like steve if he just gave him a chance. watches the way his nephew watches steve and waits for the day the eddie realizes what he thinks is loathing is a lot closer to something else. he loves the boy, but knows what a stubborn ass he can be.

steve likes eddie immediately and thinks he's adorable. he thinks eddie is cute when he's annoyed, enjoys the way he huffs and rolls his eyes. he is content to wait for eddie to catch up. he and wayne gossip over coffee and the subject has come up a time or two (or many) and wayne insists that eddie will figure it out eventually.

imagine a world where eddie never gets involved with the upside down but wayne does. even in this world he and steve are inevitable. wayne sees it the minute he watches them interact the first time in the hospital. he has a feeling they'd have found their way to each other somehow. he knows steve was meant to be apart of their family.

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[eddiesghxst]

warning: non-con/dub-con content!

thinking about bully!eddie

you try to avoid him at all costs but somehow he’s everywhere all at once. it’s as if he’s a dog with a keen nose for only your scent.

you think up different routes to get to your classes and he still finds you, and the teasing is even worse then since you can’t even deny that you were trying to avoid him.

his favorite time to catch you, however, is after school. unfortunately, your parents refuse to buy you a car so you’re burdened with a nice long walk across town every afternoon. and at first it was okay, aside from the fact that you’re exhausted from school, it was nice to breathe some fresh air! but then he started catching you.

the first time wasn’t too bad, a few choice words hollered from the drivers seat of his van, a coin or two thrown your way as you walk past. but that didn’t last long, because eddie is nothing if he is not greedy.

most days you spend the last class pumping yourself up to endure the relentless teasing and cruel words and pulling of hair that Eddie gives you in the parking lot, but today you were too focused on the test you’d just taken that you had forgotten about the hungry dog that awaits your arrival everyday.

you tense up when you see his van, and your books are held so closely to your chest they may as well become another layer of skin. you walk fast, eyes ahead and fingers crossed in hopes that Eddie doesn’t notice you.

but, as always, eddie catches you right off the bat.

“where you running off to, speed racer?”

you bite your tongue, continuing to walk, almost past his van— so close and yet so far.

“ignoring me won’t work, honey, i know where you live.”

shivers splinter down your spine in rivulets, ice cold and sharp because—god, you know he knows where you live because of that one night he showed up at your window. it was late and you had begged him to go away, but there is no such thing as “no.” when it comes to eddie.

you take a deep breath and stop, turning to him as you finally break, “yes, eddie?”

he smiles, tauntingly and smug because he knows he’s got his claws sunken deep into you. “don’t tell me you were trying to run away from me, princess.”

you can hardly look him in the eyes, shifting on your feet as you shake your head, “no i’ve just— i have a long walk home, so I have to go—“

“oh, well why didn’t you say so!” and oh god, no. no!

“i’ll give you a ride, doll. get in.”

you silently gulp, gazing up at eddie and shaking your head no, “n-no, it’s okay, really. i like walking—“

eddie cuts you off with a low rumble of your name and your blood runs cold. you blink at him and he tips his head, tapping a ring against the car door as he smugly grins, “get in the car. i don’t bite.”

and sure eddie does take you home, but he doesn’t just drop you off, no— he follows you inside, all the way up to your room where he eventually folds you over on your bed and shoves his cock in you.

“gotta thank me for giving you a ride some how, don’t you?”

he’s so mean with it, bullies his cock into your small hole and tells you to stop crying because “this is what you were made for.”

he gets tired of your babbling, slaps a hand over your mouth and shoves your head into the soft blankets on your bed, only fucking you harder when you scratch at his arms and chest.

you don’t want to admit that it feels good, but eddie can feel the way you squeeze him and can feel how soaking wet you are and he doesn’t waste a second to tease you about it.

and you beg him not to cum inside because he’s not wearing a condom and you’re not on the pill, but eddie doesn’t care. he squeezes your cheeks together until they’re puckered and he coos and tells you to that “you’re gonna fucking take whatever i give you, understood?” and his grip is so tight you can hardly nod, but even if he saw or didn’t see, it doesn’t matter because he cums so deep in you that you’ll be feeling him for days.

he doesn’t care to be mindful when he pulls out, leaves a mess all over your sheets and tucks himself back in his jeans before giving you a wet kiss to the forehead, patting your cheek and bidding you goodnight, “see you tomorrow, princess.” before leaving you there, shaky, breathless and messy. and it won’t be the last time that happens.

[sidekick-hero]

A Leash, a Van, and a Christmas Plan

steddie | rated teen | 3.7k | tags: Christmas fluff, Nurse Steve, meet-cute, Bear the dog | Read on AO3

Steve had always wanted a dog—ever since he could remember. As a kid, he would beg his parents endlessly, swearing up and down that he’d take care of it. He’d walk it, feed it, clean up after it.

Despite all his promises, a dog remained one of the few things he didn’t get as a child, right alongside the attention and affection he truly craved.

So, the moment he could afford his own flat, he knew exactly what to do. Together with his best friend Robin, he made his way to the local shelter in search of a furry companion. Robin, a self-proclaimed cat person, indulged him in this quest to fulfill his childhood dream.

They wandered the shelter for what felt like hours. Even Robin started to joke that they should just take all the dogs home. Steve, however, found the decision nearly impossible. How could he pick just one? They all deserved to feel safe and loved.

Steve was not projecting. Okay?

Anyway, just as they were about to give up, they passed what looked like an empty kennel. A faint growl stopped Steve in his tracks. Curious, he stepped closer and found a small black bundle cowering in the far corner. The dog was young, terrified, and yet somehow still looked like it was ready to take on the entire world.

“Robin!” Steve called over his shoulder. His friend was busy fussing over a golden retriever a few kennels ahead. “Can you get someone from the staff?”

A week later, after passing all the background checks and paperwork, Steve brought Cerberus home.

The name wasn’t his idea. That credit went to Dustin, one of the kids who worked at the shelter. Dustin had taken one look at the little dog and declared that it would grow into a huge, black monster, making “Cerberus” the perfect name. Steve hated it—but he liked the kid enough to keep it.

Besides, they ended up calling him Bear anyway.

That had been three years ago. Since then, Bear had grown into the huge, black monster Dustin had predicted—well, minus the monster part. Unless, of course, you counted being a total cuddle monster.

Still, Bear was a big guy, and his size alone was enough to make most people wary. It didn’t help that he was fiercely protective of Steve, growling at anyone who dared to come too close. He always needed time to warm up to new people, but once you were accepted as part of his pack, you had a loyal friend for life.

Steve didn’t mind Bear’s intimidating presence, though. If anything, it made him feel safer. As a nurse at the local hospital, his unpredictable shifts meant late-night walks were a regular part of their routine. Bear’s size and low, rumbling growl made it easy for Steve to wander through quiet streets at night without a second thought.

It was on one of those walks—a bitterly cold December night, just two days before Christmas—that everything changed.

Months of working with Chrissy, his dog trainer, had paid off in more ways than one. Steve ended up with a kind-of-well-behaved-but-stubborn dog willing to (mostly) cooperate, and Robin got herself a girlfriend who was every bit as amazing as she deserved. Even if it meant that Steve would have to spend Christmas alone this year, while Robin took Chrissy home to her parents for the first time.

Usually, walking Bear was uneventful—a blessing, considering Steve, despite being fit and regularly working out at the hospital gym, was no match for 145 pounds of determined dog. Bear stayed close to Steve’s side, happy to keep watch, growling menacingly at any perceived threats but always trusting Steve to handle things.

That’s why Steve wasn’t gripping the leash as tightly as he should have been. His thoughts were far away, preoccupied with a little boy he’d been tending to—a boy stuck in the hospital over Christmas and heartbreakingly sad about it. Steve was busy planning ways to make the holiday festive for the kids in his ward when it happened: a sudden, sharp tug on the leash.

The leash slipped from his fingers before he could react.

“Bear!” Steve shouted, his voice cracking with shock and just a little more panic than he’d like. “Come!”

Bear, however, had other ideas. He bolted, disappearing into the dense trees at the edge of the park.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Steve swore as he took off after him, already regretting not listening to Robin when she suggested a cat. A cat, after all, wouldn’t have him tripping through brambles and stumbling over undergrowth, with only his runner’s light bouncing wildly to guide him.

Finding a black dog in the pitch-dark night was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Impossible.

“Bear!” Steve called again, cupping his hands around his mouth to carry his voice further. “Come here, buddy!”

He stopped, straining to hear anything—a rustle, a bark, a clue—but all he got in return was the sound of his own heavy breathing and the distant hoot of an owl. The silence felt louder somehow, now that one of his senses was compromised.

The realization crept in slowly, chilling him even more than the night air: he was alone, in the dark, with his dog gone and no one else around.

His breath came in visible puffs, clouds of mist dissipating into the cold. A shiver ran through him, though he couldn’t quite tell if it was from the cold or the unsettling weight of his surroundings. The trees loomed, their shadows stretching longer than they should, and everything felt just a little off.

He was on the verge of giving up—tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, frustration mixing with fear—when a loud snap echoed through the stillness.

Steve flinched, his heart leaping into his throat.

Then, a deep, rumbling growl broke through the stillness, followed by a sharp bark.

“Bear!” Steve shouted, bolting toward the sound. More barks followed, their tone higher and lighter—not aggressive, but curious.

“Good boy,” a voice called out, shaky but trying for calm. “Or—uh—good girl? I don’t want to assume, man. Or… woman. Shit. Please don’t eat me?”

The voice sounded young, male and unmistakably terrified. Steve couldn’t blame him. Anyone would panic if they were cornered by 145 pounds of black fur and sharp teeth.

Forcing his legs to move faster and silently praying he wouldn’t trip over a stray root or branch, Steve barreled toward the commotion, his heart pounding in his chest. Bear was obviously holding someone hostage, and Steve had no idea what he was about to find.

He burst through the trees and stumbled into a clearing. There, parked at the edge, was an old van—and standing on top of it was a man.

The guy had his hands raised in a desperate, placating gesture, his voice trembling as he pleaded with Steve’s dog.

“Easy, big guy. Good boy. Or girl. Seriously, no need for violence here—”

Steve couldn’t tell you why, but the whole thing was so absurd, so completely surreal. Bear, massive and proud, sitting at the base of the van like some four-legged guardian, and the poor guy perched on the roof like he’d been treed by a bear. The adrenaline coursing through Steve’s veins, paired with the overwhelming relief that Bear was safe—and that no one appeared to be bleeding—hit him all at once.

Steve doubled over, hands on his knees, laughing in near hysteria.

Both Bear and the guy turned toward Steve’s laughter. Bear let out a low whuff, the canine equivalent of “Look what I found!” Meanwhile, the guy, clearly panicked, shouted at him.

“Run! There’s a wild beast—it’ll tear you apart if you don’t move! Hurry! I can try to distract it, but I don’t know if it’ll work.”

Another wave of laughter threatened to bubble up, but Steve managed to swallow it down. The poor guy was terrified, and yet he was still trying to save Steve. It was kind of adorable, in a completely ridiculous way.

Instead of laughing more, Steve decided to end the guy’s suffering. He walked toward them, shaking his head.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” the guy yelled, eyes wide. “Don’t come closer! I—I don’t think I can stop it!”

Steve smiled up at him, though in the dim light—provided by the van’s headlights and his bouncing runner’s light—he doubted the guy could see it. He kept walking until he was right beside Bear, the dog’s massive head level with his waist.

Calmly, he reached down to scratch behind Bear’s ears and said, loud enough for the guy to hear, “What do you think you’re doing, huh? We talked about this. No running away, and definitely no hunting down poor, innocent people.”

Bear responded with another satisfied whuff, his tail wagging furiously despite the fact that he was still sitting.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” The voice from above sounded incredulous. “Are you some kind of dog whisperer or that your beast?”

Steve looked up at Bear’s hostage, and upon realizing that his runner’s light was blinding him, turned it off. He could still see well enough with the headlights casting a warm light close by after his eyes had adjusted. The first thing he noticed were the guy’s eyes. They were huge and almost black in the low light, sitting atop full lips on a pale face framed by dark curls. He was adorable and hot.

“Sorry,” Steve began, running a hand through his hair. “Not a dog whisperer, or this big guy wouldn’t have bolted the second I got distracted and loosened my grip on the leash. In my defense, though, he’s never done that before. You must smell pretty incredible for him to chase you all the way down here.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Steve wanted to slap himself. Once upon a time, he had game. Real game. But apparently, those days were long gone, and now he was reduced to this—word vomiting as soon as he came face-to-face with a hot guy.

The guy—whom Steve had silently dubbed Bambi because of those wide, enchanting doe eyes—blinked at him, utterly speechless. Steve dared to hope he was overwhelmed by Steve’s suave charm, but that hope was dashed by the guy’s next words.

“Are you for real? You’re telling me it’s my fault for smelling like dog food that your… your beast chased me down?”

Something about the incredulous tone, coupled with the faint tremor in his voice that betrayed more lingering embarrassment than true anger, lit a spark of mischief in Steve. He wanted to make the guy laugh, to banish the last traces of fear, and—let’s be honest—to see how those full lips would look wrapped around a smile.

“Not dog food, no,” Steve said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Bear here is a professionally trained drug detection dog. So he must’ve picked up something really interesting to go off the rails like that.”

It was meant as a joke—obviously, Bear was no such thing as a professionally trained anything. But at Steve’s words, Bambi’s eyes widened to cartoonish proportions. Before Steve could assure him he was kidding, the guy scrambled to climb down the other side of the van, his movements jerky with panic.

“Whoa, hey—wait!” Steve called out, stepping forward, but it was too late.

There was a sharp slip, followed by a dull thud and a pained groan.

Steve hurried toward the spot where Bambi had hit the ground with an alarming thud, but Bear was faster.

“Please make it quick, big guy. Haven’t I suffered enough already?” came a slightly wheezing voice, followed by another soft whuff.

When Steve rounded the corner of the van, he stopped dead in his tracks, the scene before him equal parts surreal and hilarious.

Bambi was sprawled on the ground, spread-eagled, his head tilted to one side. Bear sat beside him, their faces mere inches apart. Bear’s loose fur and skin hung comically, his head tilted in a way that screamed curiosity, as if he were silently asking, “What are you doing down there?”

Steve considered taking a picture. Robin and Chrissy would never believe this otherwise. But a low groan from Bambi snapped him out of it.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Steve asked, quickly crossing the remaining distance. He dropped to his knees on Bambi’s other side, mirroring Bear’s concerned expression as he leaned over him.

“This is hell,” Bambi muttered, his voice heavy with dramatic despair. “The hellhound Cerberus has chased me to my demise, and now Charon’s coming to ferry my soul to Tartarus.”

Steve blinked. Was this guy serious? A concussion seemed likely at this point. But it was hard to ignore the weird coincidence that Bambi knew Bear’s namesake.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Steve said, raking a hand through his hair. “It was just a joke—I didn’t think you’d believe me. Robin’s right. I’m hopeless.” He let out a frustrated groan. “I mean, who almost gets someone killed trying to make them laugh?”

To Steve’s surprise, a hand reached out and found his, squeezing it once.

“You wanted to make me laugh?” Bambi asked, his voice soft.

“That’s what you’re focusing on? Not the ‘almost got you killed’ part?” Steve sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah. You looked so scared and embarrassed. I just wanted to see you smile. So I made a dumb joke… and ended up getting you hurt instead.”

Bambi—he needed to find out the guy’s name, Steve reminded himself—hummed softly, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So, just to be clear: You’re not a cop, and he—” he gestured toward Bear, still sitting like this was all a casual hangout in the park—“is not a drug detection dog?”

Steve let out a rueful laugh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as warmth crept up his cheeks. “Nope. Not a cop. Not a drug detection dog. Just a pediatric nurse with a terrible sense of humor and a dog who’s usually better behaved.”

Bambi’s tentative smile grew into something full and radiant, so dazzling that Steve momentarily lost track of everything else. It was the kind of smile that made you think cheesy things, like comparing it to the sunrise—hopeful and brilliant, warming something deep in Steve’s chest.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked, shaking himself back to reality. “I keep calling you Bambi in my head, and I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

That did it. The man on the ground burst into surprised laughter, his head tipping back as his eyes crinkled at the corners, the sound bright and unrestrained. It sent a wave of smug satisfaction through Steve, though it didn’t last long. The laughter soon faded into a low groan, Bambi wincing as the movement jostled whatever injury he’d sustained.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve blurted, words tumbling out as his concern surged. “Are you okay? God, I didn’t mean—”

The guy’s hand found Steve’s again, squeezing it firmly. “Shhh,” he soothed, his voice low and warm. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. I mean, your sense of humor might be the death of me, but what a way to go, huh?”

Steve barked a startled laugh at that, though it quickly gave way to a more serious tone. “I’d really prefer you don’t die on me,” he said, pausing deliberately for the guy to fill in the gap.

“Eddie,” came the soft reply.

Steve smiled, relief and something else he couldn’t quite name washing over him. “I’d rather you don’t die on me, Eddie.”

They were both smiling at each other, the night cold and silent around them, as if the world had paused just for this moment. And then, as if the universe wanted to underscore how surreal and cinematic everything felt, it started to snow.

Big, soft flakes drifted down, landing on Eddie’s long eyelashes and melting on his nose and cheeks. Eddie’s smile widened, his expression pure delight as he laughed softly, tilting his face up to the sky. Without hesitation, he stuck out his tongue to catch a few flakes, his laughter bubbling up again at the absurdity of it.

In that instant, Steve felt very much like one of those snowflakes—falling, utterly and irrevocably.

“So, Nurse—” Eddie’s voice broke through the quiet, pulling Steve from his rose-tinted thoughts.

“Huh?” Steve blinked, realizing he’d been staring.

Eddie grinned, a hint of mischief lighting his face. “I was being sneaky, trying to find out your name,” he explained, “while also asking for a little help here. As much as I’m enjoying the view, it’s getting kind of cold down here.” He shifted slightly, wincing before adding with a smirk, “I thought I’d be clever and ask Nurse Prince Charming—that’s what I’ve been calling you in my head since we cleared up the Charon situation—to help his patient off the ground.”

Steve threw his head back and laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained. He couldn’t help but feel charmed by Eddie’s offbeat but endearing mannerisms. In all his life, he couldn’t remember meeting anyone quite like him—and they’d only known each other for a few minutes.

“It’s Steve,” he said finally, his smile lingering. “And I’d prefer to check you out real quick—” he paused, realizing how that sounded, and tried to recover, “—to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself too badly before helping you up. That okay?”

Eddie’s grin turned sly. “Oh, darling, you can check me out as much as you want,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek.

Heat flooded Steve’s cheeks at the innuendo, even as he tried to stay professional. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, though he couldn’t deny that having an excuse to touch Eddie wasn’t exactly the worst thing in the world.

“I think it’s safe to say it’s nothing life-threatening if you can joke around like that,” Steve said, shaking his head but unable to hide his fond smile.

Eddie snorted—a sound that shouldn’t have been cute but somehow was—while Steve carefully began to palpate his ribs.

“My uncle always said my last words would be a joke,” Eddie mused, wincing slightly as Steve pressed on a tender spot. “Probably after my big mouth got me into trouble.”

Steve chuckled softly, trying to keep the mood light as he continued his examination. “Well, I’m not letting you test that theory tonight, so sit tight.”

Eddie’s ribs were bruised, and he’d probably be sore for a few days, but thankfully, there was no serious injury. Steve helped him up carefully, Bear trailing close, unusually subdued but steadfast. The dog stuck by their sides as Steve walked Eddie around the van to its rear. Following Eddie’s quiet instructions, Steve opened the door and helped him settle inside.

The interior was cramped but functional. A mattress with a thick sleeping bag was tucked in the back, surrounded by scattered clothes, empty bottles, a bong, a pizza box, and an acoustic guitar propped against the passenger seat. The van had the unmistakable feel of a makeshift home, and Steve’s heart sank.

Eddie caught him staring, and a nervous laugh bubbled out as he rushed to explain. “It’s not what it looks like... God, I can’t believe I just said that. Jeez—” He cut himself off with a sharp breath, grimacing from the strain. After a moment, he added, quieter, “I know it looks bad, okay? But it’s just for a few days. Until I get back on my feet. It’s fine. Just a hiccup.”

The words were defensive, but the shame lurking beneath them hit Steve like a punch to the gut. Eddie was trying to downplay it, but the tightness in his voice gave him away. Steve wanted to say something, anything, but before he could, Bear whined softly, breaking the silence. The big dog nudged Eddie’s thigh with his muzzle, his soulful brown eyes a perfect mirror of Eddie’s own.

Eddie, who’d been so terrified of Bear earlier, now reached out instinctively, stroking the thick fur of his head and neck. His fingers found the sweet spot behind Bear’s ears, and the dog leaned into the touch, letting out a contented huff.

“You were planning to sleep here tonight?” Steve asked softly, the question heavy with concern.

Eddie didn’t look up. He just nodded, his hand still moving absently through Bear’s fur.

Steve cursed silently. The thought of Eddie spending the night in this van, in freezing temperatures, sent a chill down his spine. Even if he kept the engine running, the risks—carbon monoxide poisoning, frostbite, worse—were too high. Steve couldn’t stomach the idea.

“Come home with us,” he said, the words tumbling out before the thought had fully formed. He just knew he couldn’t leave Eddie here.

“What?” Eddie blinked, his hand pausing mid-stroke. Bear, displeased by the interruption, let out a soft, insistent whuff and nudged Eddie’s hand again.

Steve forced a smile, trying to sound casual. “Bear and I both want you to come home with us. I can bandage your ribs properly, and you can keep petting Bear. Clearly, he’s touch-starved and desperately needs some affection.”

Once again, Steve was not projecting. Okay?

Eddie raised an eyebrow, scanning his face carefully. "Oh, so Bear needs some affection, huh?”

Steve rolled his eyes, his cheeks heating. “Look, are you coming or not? Because I’m not leaving until you agree, and I’ll have you know Bear can be very persuasive.”

At that, Bear whuffed again, his tail thumping lightly against the van floor, as if to second Steve’s statement.

Eddie’s lips twitched, and for a moment, Steve thought he might actually laugh. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

“Not really,” Steve admitted, his tone softening. “But seriously, Eddie. Let us take care of you. Just for tonight.”

Eddie hesitated, his gaze dropping to Bear, who was still gazing up at him with unrelenting devotion. Finally, he sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine. But only because your dog’s giving me the eyes.”

Steve grinned, relief flooding through him. “Smart choice. Bear’s impossible to say no to.”

Bear, as if understanding, let out a low, approving bark.

As Eddie took the hand Steve offered, his fingers cold but steady, Steve felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the touch itself. It was the kind of warmth that came with hope—the quiet, surprising hope that maybe neither of them would have to spend Christmas alone this year.

[lexawritex]

—make you mine

pt. 2 of punishment ★ wonyoung couldn't stop thinking about you and how she is obsessed with seeing you cry because of her. 4.7k!words a/n: coming back with a long ass smut after disappearing for weeks ;] ⚠️smutsmutsmutsmut! strapon! dom!wonyoung, swearing!

wonyoung attended a fashion show for the clothing brand she currently endorses, seated gracefully in a custom-made dress that hugged her figure perfectly. though she wasn’t the center of attention, she effortlessly captured every gaze—she was jang wonyoung, after all. even in the most casual attire, she would still stand out.

models strutted down the runway, showcasing the designer's creative visions, yet wonyoung remained unimpressed. of course, she didn’t show it, masking her boredom with the charming smile she had perfected over the years. her thoughts drifted in an attempt to fight off drowsiness—the event felt dull and dragging, only amplifying her exhaustion. after all, this was her third and final schedule of the day.

the final model stepped onto the runway, and for the first time that night, wonyoung's interest was piqued. her gaze lingered on the turtleneck the model wore, a simple piece that triggered a memory—one of you and a moment far more heated than the fabric suggested.

wonyoung felt a sudden warmth spread through her body, her mind spiraling at the mere thought of you. you had been her manager for quite some time—always composed, unreadable, and detached. yet, there was that one moment, that single instance where your facade cracked. she had seen you vulnerable—flustered, teary-eyed, and utterly weak for her. the memory alone sent a thrill through her, a deep craving to witness that side of you again. to have you at her mercy, completely overpowered by her. the thought alone made her pulse quicken with excitement.

if she had wanted the event to end before, now all she could think about was leaving. but she knew disappearing early would cause an uproar—one that could jeopardize her contract with the brand. so, she forced herself to behave, to sit still despite the growing restlessness creeping up her spine. but patience had never been her strong suit. wonyoung was used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it, and this—this unbearable waiting—was testing her limits.

- 

after bidding farewell with expertly crafted smiles and polite nods, wonyoung wasted no time slipping away from the venue. the moment she stepped outside, she spotted the familiar black van waiting for her and rushed toward it, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. as soon as she slid into the seat, she urged the driver to take her home—fast. impatience buzzed beneath her skin, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her thigh as the city lights blurred past.

the instant the vehicle rolled to a stop in front of her home, wonyoung pushed the door open, stepping out with urgency. her sudden movements sent a ripple of concern through her staff, their voices laced with confusion as they scrambled after her, struggling to keep up. they followed closely, trailing behind her like a line of ducklings, their hurried footsteps echoing through the grand entrance as she made her way inside, her mind fixed on a singular thought—you.

however, there was no you.

wonyoung froze at the realization, her excitement instantly morphing into irritation. her eyes darted around the grand space, searching, expecting—but you were nowhere to be found. a sharp exhale left her lips as frustration bubbled inside her. how were you not in her mansion right now? after the endless hours she spent waiting, the burning anticipation that built up inside her—only to be met with an empty home?

her fingers curled into fists at her sides. she had half a mind to call you, to demand an explanation, but that wasn’t enough. she needed you here. now.

wonyoung snapped her head toward her head maid, her sharp gaze cutting through the air like a blade. the older woman flinched under the weight of her stare, quickly straightening her posture as if bracing for impact.

"where's yn?" wonyoung asked, her tone firm, demanding.

"she went to get coffee," the maid answered immediately, voice laced with caution.

wonyoung scoffed, her lips curling in disbelief. with a flick of her wrist, she tossed her purse onto the sofa before letting herself sink into its plush embrace.

"why would she go out for coffee when she could just ask the chef?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

her brows knitted together as she rummaged through her purse, fingers fishing out her phone. texting wasn’t enough—no, she needed to hear your voice. better yet, she needed you back home. now. without hesitation, she pressed your number, fully prepared to call and demand an answer.

"yes, wonyoung, i'm on my way now. i just went out to get your usual—you might need it," you answered immediately, balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder as you carefully held onto two steaming cups of coffee.

the lack of cup holders from the café had made things unnecessarily difficult, and you were doing your best not to spill anything as you hurried toward your car. the last thing you needed was to show up at her place with coffee stains on your clothes.

on the other end of the line, there was silence. not the usual kind, but the kind that made you uneasy—the kind that told you she was either irritated or scheming.

"you left without telling me," wonyoung finally spoke, her tone smooth yet edged with something unreadable.

you sighed, adjusting your grip on the cups. "it was just for a few minutes. besides, I figured you’d be too tired to notice."

"oh, but I did," she replied, voice dropping slightly. "so you better hurry back before I get even more impatient."

you swallowed. she always had a way of making even the simplest words feel like a command you couldn’t ignore.

- 

when you finally arrived, the faint sound of your worn-out sneakers padding against the marble floor caught wonyoung’s attention. her sharp eyes flickered down at them, and she made a quick mental note—she’d have to buy you a new pair soon, whether you wanted them or not.

she turned her head, fully prepared to unleash a string of complaints and her usual sermon about you disappearing without notice. but the words never left her lips. instead, they got caught in her throat as she took you in.

the oversized polo shirt you wore was lazily tucked into your shorts, the fabric slightly wrinkled from your rush. the way the shirt hung loosely around your frame, the way your bare legs stretched beneath the hem of your shorts—wonyoung’s irritation faded into something else entirely.

she leaned back against the sofa, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of her dress as she let her gaze linger.

"took you long enough," she finally said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. "you look…" she trailed off, her eyes flickering over you once more before she simply smirked. "never mind."

but the way her gaze darkened ever so slightly told you she was thinking something else entirely.

sensing the sudden shift in her demeanor and catching the brief flicker of something familiar in her dark eyes, you felt warmth creep up your neck. wonyoung wasn’t just looking at you—she was studying you, her gaze shamelessly dragging over every inch of your frame with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

quickly, you busied yourself, setting the cups down on the coffee table with slightly unsteady hands, deliberately avoiding eye contact. you could feel her smirk without even looking.

"what's wrong?" she teased, her voice laced with amusement. "why are you avoiding me?"

you cleared your throat, shaking your head. "i’m not."

"mm," she hummed, tilting her head, her sharp gaze never wavering. "so if i asked you to look at me right now, you would?"

you swallowed hard, keeping your focus on the coffee instead. wonyoung chuckled, clearly entertained.

"thought so," she mused, stretching lazily against the sofa, fully enjoying the effect she had on you.

"you should wear clothes like these more often."

you hesitated but eventually looked up—and instantly regretted it.

wonyoung was staring at you with an expression so dangerously unreadable yet utterly clear at the same time. her dark eyes held a promise, a silent challenge, and the unmistakable look of someone who was ready to devour.

your breath hitched. she didn’t need to say anything; her smirk, the lazy way she leaned back, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of her dress—it all screamed one thing.

wonyoung watched in delight as your usual nonchalant facade crumbled in mere seconds, revealing the flustered mess hiding beneath. her sharp eyes didn’t miss the way your fingers twitched, how you shifted uncomfortably, your legs subtly pressing together in a weak attempt to cover your exposed skin.

sinful thoughts clouded wonyoung’s mind, darkening her gaze as she watched you squirm under her attention. all she wanted in this moment was to see those pretty eyes of yours glazed with tears—or better yet, to hear you cry for her. not out of distress, but from the overwhelming pleasure she’d so generously give you.

the mere thought of breaking you down, of making you submit entirely to her, sent a thrill up her spine. she could already picture it—your breathless whimpers, the way you'd cling to her, completely at her mercy.

her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she leaned forward just a little, her voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous.

standing up with an air of confidence, the tall woman began strutting toward you, her every step deliberate, her hips swaying with an elegance that was almost hypnotic.

your breath hitched as your eyes remained locked onto each other—neither of you daring to look away. wonyoung’s gaze was intense, dark with unspoken intent, her lips curled into the faintest smirk as she closed the distance between you.

the room felt smaller, the air heavier. every inch she moved closer sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation crackling between you like static.

she finally stopped in front of you, tilting her head slightly, her long fingers reaching out to gently brush against your chin—urging you to look up at her even more.

before you could even process what was happening, you were beneath wonyoung, her body hovering over yours as her lips crashed against yours in a heated kiss.

her movements were skillful, dominant—claiming you with every press and tilt of her mouth. to her surprise, you responded almost instantly, lips moving with eagerness, desperately trying to match her pace.

that made her smirk against the kiss. cute.

her large hands roamed your body, exploring, mapping out every curve as if committing your form to memory. her touch was both teasing and possessive, fingertips ghosting over your skin just enough to make you shiver.

she deepened the kiss, pressing you further into the plush surface beneath you, her body molding perfectly against yours. the way you responded—soft gasps, slight trembles—only fueled the fire already burning inside her.

taking advantage of the soft gasps slipping past your lips, wonyoung’s tongue effortlessly slipped into your mouth, claiming you in yet another way. she moved with dominance, her tongue expertly tangling with yours, teasing, exploring—leaving no room for you to resist.

the sensation was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, a moan escaped from deep within you.

that single sound sent a jolt of pleasure straight through wonyoung, a low groan vibrating in her throat. her grip on you tightened, her nails slightly digging into your skin as she pressed even closer.

"mm, that’s it," she murmured against your lips, her voice husky with desire. "let me hear more of you."

she wasn’t satisfied—no, she needed more. she wanted to hear you completely fall apart beneath her.

so she pulled away, savoring the way your lips parted in a soft, breathless whine. the sound sent a thrill through her, but what truly made her chest tighten was you—the sight of you beneath her.

your hair was a mess from her touch, your lips red and swollen, your skin flushed with heat. your chest rose and fell unevenly, breaths shallow, pupils blown wide with something dangerously close to need.

wonyoung swore she had never seen anything more beautiful.

her fingers trailed down your cheek, slow and teasing, as she tilted your chin up slightly. her eyes flickered with amusement, but there was no denying the dark hunger behind them.

"look at you," she murmured, her voice impossibly soft yet dripping with control. "breathless, dazed… all from just a kiss?"

she smirked, leaning in just enough for her lips to barely brush against yours—just enough to make you want.

"where’d that cold facade go?" wonyoung whispered, her voice dripping with amusement as her fingers trailed down your neck, featherlight but deliberate.

her touch sent shivers down your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. she could feel the way your pulse quickened beneath her fingertips, how your breath hitched ever so slightly.

"let’s see how far you’ll last," she continued, her smirk deepening as she leaned in closer, lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. "before you finally break for me."

her words were a promise—a challenge. and you knew, in the depths of those dark, hungry eyes, that wonyoung always got what she wanted.

large hands gripped your shirt, and with one sharp pull, the buttons popped off, scattering onto the floor.

you shivered as the cold air kissed your exposed skin, but wonyoung? she simply smirked, eyes darkening as they drank in the sight of your purple lingerie.

"pretty," she murmured, fingers trailing along the delicate fabric. "just for me?"

her hands cupped your clothed mounds, resulting a soft moan slipping past your lips as she began to massage them, slow and deliberate. your eyes fluttered shut, body melting into her touch.

"so sensitive," wonyoung mused, smirking. "i've barely even started."

after deciding she's done with your twins, her eyes fell down to your denim shorts and had her hand unzip it. her eyes went up to yours to ask for permission to which you responded with a subtle nod. pulling the cloth down, she massaged your drenched underwear and immediately, your body trembled, a breathy moan slipping past your lips.

wonyoung’s smirk deepened, her eyes burning with desire. "mm, that’s it," she purred. "music to my ears."

sitting up, wonyoung took a moment to admire you—eyes raking over your flushed skin, your heaving chest, the way you looked so utterly wrecked beneath her. god, if she could, she’d take a picture and keep it forever.

her tongue darted out, wetting her lips as she reached down, effortlessly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside without a care. the second you were bare before her, she pounced—her lips wrapping around one of your hardened buds while her hand eagerly kneaded the other.

your reaction was immediate—a sharp gasp followed by a moan as your back arched into her touch. fingers instinctively tangled in her soft brown locks, gripping tightly as she worked you over.

"so sensitive," she murmured between kisses, her tongue flicking over the bud before sucking hard, drawing out another broken moan from you.

your voice trembled with pleas and praises, each one only fueling her more. wonyoung smirked against your skin, enjoying how easily you were falling apart under her.

wonyoung wasn’t done with you—not even close. she wanted to see you, hear you, feel you completely surrender to her.

her hand trailed lower, fingertips grazing down your stomach, teasingly slow. every inch she moved sent shivers through you, anticipation tightening in your chest. your breath hitched when she reached the waistband of your shorts, her fingers toying with the fabric.

she pulled back slightly, eyes locking onto yours—dark, hungry, and completely in control. "look at you," she mused, voice dripping with amusement. "so needy already."

her fingers slipped just beneath the waistband, not quite going further, just testing you, making you whimper under her touch.

"tell me, baby," she whispered, leaning in, her lips barely brushing against yours. "how badly do you want this?"

you locked eyes with her, your body already surrendering before the words even left your lips. there was no turning back now—not that you ever wanted to.

"yes, please… i need it so bad…" you whimpered, voice laced with desperation.

wonyoung’s breath hitched, a shiver running down her spine at the sound. god, she could never get enough of this. she’d pay millions just to hear that sweet, needy plea over and over again.

"that’s what i like to hear," she purred, her fingers finally slipping past the waistband of your shorts. "now, let’s see just how badly you need me."

upon reaching your bare, soaked heat, wonyoung let out a satisfied hum, her eyes never once leaving your face.

"so wet already," she mused, her fingers gliding effortlessly against your sensitive bundle of nerves. "all this just for me?"

your body jolted at the sensation, a desperate moan slipping past your lips. she loved it—every whimper, every shudder, every way you reacted to her touch.

"mm, such pretty sounds," she purred, increasing the pressure just slightly. "go on, baby, let me hear more."

your moans spilled freely, each one only fueling wonyoung’s desire. her fingers worked faster, pressing, circling—drawing out every little sound she craved to hear.

when your legs instinctively tried to close, she clicked her tongue in disapproval. "stay open for me," she ordered, using her free hand to firmly spread your thighs apart.

 without hesitation, she stripped away your shorts and soaked panties, tossing them aside like they were nothing. her gaze dropped, taking in the sight of your slick-coated heat, and a smirk curled on her lips.

"so pretty," she murmured, running a single teasing finger along your folds. "and all for me."

"ah~!"

"fuck." wonyoung cursed under her breath, the sound of your high-pitched moan sending a rush of heat through her.

at this point, she didn’t just want to make you moan—she wanted to make you scream. to have you chanting her name like a prayer, voice raw with pleasure. she wanted everyone in the house to hear, to know exactly who you belonged to.

"don’t hold back, baby," she purred, fingers pressing deeper. "let them all hear who’s making you feel this good."

and you did exactly as she commanded—your moans echoed through the spacious living room, shameless and uncontrollable.

the thought of others hearing, of the entire house knowing what was happening, barely registered in your overstimulated mind. all that mattered was her—the woman you worked for, the woman ruining you with her touch.

slipping two fingers inside you, wonyoung felt the way you clenched around her, drawing a sharp, loud moan from your lips.

she paused for a moment, letting you adjust, her dark eyes watching every little twitch, every shiver of your body.

"so tight," she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. then, slowly, she began to move—her pace steady at first, but gradually increasing, curling her fingers just right, searching for that spot that would make you fall apart completely.

wonyoung groaned at how tightly you gripped her fingers, but she didn’t stop—she wouldn’t stop.

she started slow, teasing, letting you feel every inch of her fingers stretching you open. but as your moans grew needier, your body trembling beneath her, she picked up the pace—thrusting deeper, faster, each movement more deliberate than the last.

her free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you pinned beneath her as her fingers worked you over. "you can take it," she muttered, her breath warm against your skin. "so fucking good for me."

her pace turned ruthless, her fingers pounding into you, curling just right—determined to drag you to the edge and make you scream her name for everyone to hear.

breathless and a moaning mess—that was all you had become under wonyoung’s relentless touch.

your body jerked, overwhelmed by the blinding pleasure coursing through you, but she wouldn’t let you escape. her free hand pinned you down, keeping you from thrashing as she mercilessly toyed with your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that had you crying out.

her fingers inside you moved at a brutal pace, unstoppable, stretching and filling you with every thrust. the wet, obscene sounds mixed with your desperate moans, echoing through the room.

"look at you," she taunted, voice thick with lust. "completely falling apart for me."

your vision blurred, tears welling in your eyes as overwhelming pleasure consumed you.

wonyoung saw it—the exact sight she had been craving. those teary, dazed eyes, your mouth hanging open in silent moans, completely ruined beneath her. it drove her insane.

with a low groan, she slammed her fingers into you rougher, deeper, faster—chasing your high with reckless abandon. she could break her fingers and she wouldn’t care. all that mattered was making you fall apart completely.

"that’s it, baby," she growled, her pace unrelenting. "cry for me. let me hear you."

"i'm coming...ah! wonyoung!" 

you cried out, fingers gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles turned white. your body shook, overwhelmed, yet wonyoung showed no mercy.

she fastened her pace, her fingers plunging into you relentlessly, curling just right—hitting that spot that had you seeing stars.

"that’s it," she purred, watching you unravel beneath her. "take it all, just like that."

your body shook violently as your climax crashed over you, a loud, broken moan spilling from your lips. waves of pleasure wracked your frame as you released, coating wonyoung’s fingers in your slick.

she slowly pulled out, eyes dark with satisfaction, and without hesitation, she brought her fingers to her lips, sucking them clean with a low, pleased hum.

"so sweet," she mused, licking up every last drop. her gaze flickered back to you—breathless, trembling, utterly spent.

"mm," she smirked, leaning closer. "i think i want more."

wonyoung hovered over you, her breath hot against your skin as she pleaded in a voice dripping with both need and mischief.

"can you handle one more? hmm? please?" she begged, though you both knew it wasn’t really a question.

she wanted to see you shatter—to push you past your limits until you were completely ruined for her.

"i know you can," she cooed, her fingers trailing down your overstimulated heat, already plotting exactly how she’d break you.

pulling away, wonyoung wasted no time. she slipped an arm behind your back and lifted you effortlessly, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

your body trembled against hers, still reeling from the pleasure, but she only smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"you're not done yet, baby," she whispered, striding toward her bedroom with clear intent. "i'm not letting you go until you’re completely broken."

upon reaching her massive bedroom, wonyoung tossed you onto the plush mattress with ease. you barely had time to catch your breath before she turned away, striding toward her drawer with purpose.

she pulled it open, rummaging through its contents before retrieving something—something that made her smirk dangerously as she turned back to you.

"let's see if you can handle this, baby," she mused, stepping closer, eyes gleaming with pure hunger.

your eyes dropped to the object in her hands, and your heart skipped a beat.

oh god.

wonyoung’s smirk only deepened at your reaction. she climbed onto the bed, settling between your spread legs, her presence dominant, overwhelming.

with ease, she peeled off her expensive dress, tossing it aside like it was nothing. now bare, she secured the strap around her waist, adjusting it just right before letting her eyes roam over your trembling, spent body.

"don’t look so scared, baby," she cooed, running a hand down your thigh. "you can take it… i know you can."

wonyoung didn’t give you much time to react as she pushed in, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. the stretch was intense, your body instinctively tensing, but she merely smirked, holding you down with a firm grip on your hips.

"breathe," she ordered, her voice both soft and commanding. "you can take it."

she gave you a moment to adjust, her fingers tracing soothing circles on your skin—before she snapped her hips forward, pulling a gasp from you.

slow at first, letting you feel every inch, before her pace picked up, her thrusts turning deeper, rougher, making the bed creak beneath you.

"there you go," she murmured, watching you come undone beneath her. "so good for me." the slick from your previous climax making it easy for her to pump in and out of you.

wonyoung watched in satisfaction as you lost yourself to her movements, your body writhing beneath her with every deep thrust. the way you clutched the sheets, back arching, voice spilling out the sweetest sounds—it was music to her ears.

"that's it," she purred, her grip on your waist tightening, making sure you felt everything. "let me hear you."

her pace only grew rougher, each motion deliberate, dragging out every reaction she wanted from you. increasing her pace in an almost animalistic pace, you were screaming, eyes pooling with tears, letting it cascade down your cheeks, smudging your makeup. wonyoung loved the sight, you looked so broken, tears rolling down mixing with your sweat and drool coming out of you. your cries mixed with your moans, each sound only fueling wonyoung’s determination to push you further. she held you firmly, her movements steady yet intense, ensuring you felt every bit of what she was giving you.

"that's it," she murmured, her voice both soothing and commanding, her fingers tracing over your skin as if to ground you. "let go for me."

the warmth between you grew, every touch, every motion sending you deeper into pure bliss, completely lost in her.

your moans grew louder, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps—a clear sign that you were close. wonyoung noticed immediately, and it only pushed her to go harder, rougher, her movements becoming more intense, driving you closer to the edge.

"come on," she urged, her grip on you tightening. "let me feel it."

the intensity built with each movement, your body reacting to every touch, every motion, until finally—you let go, completely unraveling beneath her.

you came and let your juice coat the strap on and her. wonyoung slowly pulled away, earning a soft whine from you at the overwhelming sensitivity. a smirk tugged at her lips as she took in the sight of you—breathless, trembling, completely spent.

she gently ran her fingers over your flushed skin, soothing you as she whispered, "you did so well for me."

you let yourself fall on the soft mattress, catching your breathe and let your body relax. wonyoung smile and removed the strap from her before laying beside you.

"you're mine now, yn," wonyoung murmured, her voice soft yet possessive as she nuzzled into your shoulder, her warm breath tickling your skin.

you felt her hold you tighter, her presence grounding you, and despite the exhaustion, a small smile tugged at your lips.

with the steady rhythm of her breathing and the comforting warmth between you, sleep quickly took over, pulling you both into a peaceful dreamland—wrapped up in each other.

- 

the next morning, you stirred awake, immediately feeling the dull ache coursing through your body—especially down there. a soft groan left your lips as you shifted slightly, only to be met with the feeling of wonyoung’s arms still wrapped around you.

you turned your head, taking in her peaceful, sleeping face, her long lashes resting gently against her cheeks. it was still surreal—the most popular celebrity you worked for had just claimed you.

a small smile crept onto your lips at the thought, your heart swelling with warmth. as if sensing your gaze, wonyoung stirred, her hold on you tightening as she mumbled sleepily, "morning, mine."

and boy, did that make your stomach do backflips, a warm shiver running down your spine at the possessiveness in her voice. before you could even process it, wonyoung’s lips curled into a smirk, her fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your waist.

"you’re sore, aren’t you?" she murmured, her tone teasing yet affectionate. "let’s take a shower. i’ll take care of you."

you should’ve known better. because the moment you stepped under the warm water, pressed up against the cool tiles, you found yourself bent over once again, completely at wonyoung’s mercy as she insisted on making you hers—again.

[i-dared-myself]

Avoidance of Spiraling

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by @lynni3x: wanted to see if you could do reader had struggled with depression? Maybe it went away and something that staff mentioned triggered it, like saying she wasnt gokd enough but then one of the members over hear it and comfort her, slong with everyone else,

You wipe your forehead off on a towel, glad to have practise finally over. It’s been gruelling lately, with times going far into the night. Chan tries to not overwork the group, but it can’t be helped sometimes.

You see Felix and Seungmin in the corner, giggling about something stupid probably. You’re happy that they’re still enjoying themselves.

You, on the other hand, have always found the long nights tiring. On your body of course, but also on your mind. 

You need your moments of rest to remain in the right headspace. The relaxing times to yourself, or lighthearted times with the other members always help you. When you don’t get your spare time, it has a major impact on your mental health.

You’ve been okay so far, making it through the recent comeback with no issues depression wise, but there’s always the worry in the back of your mind. What if you go spiralling? What if what little free time gets taken away?

Changbin bumps elbows with you, nudging you gently. “What’s up? You have a look on your face.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. Are we done yet?”

“Yeah,” he answers, uncapping his water bottle. “You tired?”

You roll your shoulders out. “And sore. Very sore.”

“You could always ask Chan for a massage,” Changbin says, gaze flicking over to said leader. “He’s always happy to please.”

You hum at the thought, slipping your jacket on. “Maybe. Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” Changbin replies. He squeezes your shoulder, smiling softly at you. “You can sit on my lap and sleep when we get home.”

Car rides always made you sleepy, and being on Changbin’s lap after made your rest even deeper. There was nothing quite like a cuddle nap.

You grin excitedly. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“If I don’t get there first!” Jisung jokes, smiling broadly. He giggles to himself when Changbin flashes him an irritated look.

“Meet you in the van,” Changbin mutters to you as he wanders off. Jisung follows close behind, bickering with Hyunjin about something.

You reach for your phone on the table, glancing up at a staff member. She has silky hair and a grimace directed at you.

“Uh, hi,” you awkwardly say to her.

She forces a smile. “Should I tell the driver to wait for you or to go home now, because…”

“Because what?” You stand up straighter, shifting between feet.

“Because you need the extra practise,” she says, voice cold. “Did you not know that?”

You swallow thickly. “Excuse me?”

She flicks some hair over her shoulder. “You’re not as smooth as them. You’re not as fluid.”

You blink and stare down at the floor. You need to fix this. If you stay two more hours tonight, you can practise. Then you’ll get at least five hours of sleep before up for tomorrow.

You would be giving up your time, but it’s okay. If you need to extra work you can push through.

“So what do you want me tell the driver?” she impatiently asks.

You chew the tip of your finger nervously. “Uh- I- I’m staying. I’ll be practising more.”

Jeongin clears his throat, his usual bright smile weak. “Um, no?”

“What?” You turn to face him, eyebrows shooting up. It’s not often that he puts himself into these situations.

“You should come home.” Jeongin fidgets, avoiding eye contact with the staff member. “You don’t need the extra practise.”

There’s something tightening in your chest. It’s reminiscent of affection, but there’s too much whirling in your head to fully comprehend the implications.

“You’re great, and some people are just difficult,” he pleasantly says. He holds his hand out for you to take. “Now let’s go home.”

You feel nauseous. “But what if I’m not good enough? What if I need the extra practise and it’ll take away my spare time and I won’t relax and-“

“Listen,” Jeongin softly says, breaking through your spiral. “You’re okay. You’ll still get your time to yourself. Just breathe.”

You sniffle and nod, wiping at your eyes. “But what if-“

“None of that,” Jeongin scolds, not harshly, but sharp enough to draw you from your panicking state. “Let’s go home. I promise you that you’re doing great.”

You take a shuddering breath and clasp his hand with yours. He tugs you along with him, swinging your arms wildly. It elicits a small laugh from you, which causes his eyes to scrunch up on joy.

The others are aware of your depression, and what triggers it, but it’s always nice to know that they remember. That they remember what can help you through these moments before it leads to depression.

Jeongin’s squeezes your hand, dragging you from your thoughts. “Looking forward to sleeping on Changbin?”

You flash him a look that you hope expresses how grateful you are for him. “Yes. I might even drool on him.”

He laughs. “You’re lucky he’s not Hyunjin.”

The van is in sight now, the door open for you. Your hand is only released once you’re in your seat, and Jeongin leans down to buckle you in.

“I’ve got it,” you say, but you let him do it.

He pats your thigh as he pulls away, settling into his seat. “Chan, a staff member was mean to her.”

“Who was it?” Minho’s eyes glint darkly and he shifts in his seat. “Was it that guy who was staring at your legs? Because I noticed him.”

“What? No.” You shake your head and relax into your seat. “It really doesn’t matter.”

“Want a massage later?” Chan calls from the driver’s seat. “I heard that you’re sore.”

You grin excitedly. “Yes please.”

Seungmin gazes out the window. “It’s not too late to turn around and beat someone up.”

“We if you could take someone in a fight,” Hyunjin scoffs. 

“What, like you can?” Felix’s lips lift into a mocking smile. “I’ve seen you cry because you stubbed your toe.”

Hyunjin crosses his arms. “You don’t know.”

“I think we all know,” Chan remarks. “But it’s okay, Hyunjin. We love you anyways.”

You let your head drift to Jisung’s shoulder. “I believe in you, Hyunjin. You could do it.”

They all start arguing about who would be the best in a fight. You don’t say anything else, because you know it would be you. 

Then you arrive at the dorms, and Hyunjin’s fingers are laced with yours. He insists it’s because he doesn’t want you tripping, but you feel his thumb moving in circles on your skin.

You change into your pyjamas, finding Jisung outside your room. He wordlessly holds out a Quokka for you, and you clutch it to your chest.

“Hurry up!” Changbin yells from somewhere. “We have a shitty drama to watch!”

You and Jisung sprint into the living room, met with the scene of the members spread out across the room. Practically every spot is taken, so you settle into Changbin’s lap.

You make it about halfway through an episode of some amnesia based show before almost falling asleep. You have the best pillow of all and the most comforting friends, even though you’re aware that Minho is gone.

You jerk back into full consciousness. “Where Minho?”

“I’m not sure…” Felix frowns. “He left a couple minutes ago I think.”

Seungmin stands up and stretches. “I’ll find a shovel.”

Chan’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Why? Why do we need a shovel?”

“Oh, poor, stupid Chan.” Seungmin sighs and clicks his tongue. “Put two and two together.”

Chan narrows his eyes. “Watch your tongue- Oh. Oh no.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Is our yard big enough for a body without hitting a waterline when we dig?”

“I’ll check the blueprints.” Jisung gets to his feet with a weary sigh.

“Hey, maybe he just went out for cupcakes,” Jeongin argues. “You don’t know for certain that he’s going to kill someone.”

“I’ll give you my entire bank account if he walks in here with cupcakes,” Seungmin seriously says. 

“Okay, we’ll see then.” Jeongin lifts his chin.

Minho did not return with cupcakes. He also didn’t come back with a body.

Instead, he puts his cat on your lap with a warning to not make her unhappy.

And you melt into a pile of goo at the cute kitty, and also how much you cared for them all and how much they care for you.

Taglist (Open):

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche

[wheneverfeasible]

So we all know the mechanic Eddie aus out there, all love a greasy dirty Eddie Munson in coveralls, but what about mechanic Steve?

Steve, who has a nice car, who learned how to take care of it himself. Steve who found that he was actually pretty good with his hands, and a knack for fixing things. He understands cars, likes to tinker with them in his spare time, even if he had to teach himself at first.

Eventually he sees a Help Wanted sign at the mechanic’s and…well, why not? He applies, and he’s inexperienced, but they hire him. He sweeps and keeps things clean and tidy at first, and then he learns some hands-on experience, moves up in the job, and eventually he becomes the guy everyone wants to work on their car.

When the owner retires, it’s Steve who takes over the place, making the shop his own and making certain that it’s a safe place in a town where safety isn’t always guaranteed. The kids he used to babysit who aren’t kids anymore all learn car basics, Steve making certain they’re not caught in a jam and unable to help themselves, especially the girls. In the window, a small picture of Dorothy from Wizard of Oz rests, letting those who know…know.

And then maybe one day rockstar Eddie Munson returns to the small town he blazed out of after finally graduating, packing his shit up and high tailing it outta there like the bats of hell were chasing him. Maybe he’s still driving a shitty van, or maybe he got something a little more fancy. Maybe fame and money got to him a little bit and he’s got some fancy high end sports car and a bit of a dick personality. And this car breaks down. Who does he have to call?

King Mechanics.

And Eddie is huffing and complaining at it all, at his car for crapping out, for being late to meet his uncle, for having to wait for some mechanic to show up. And one does, not too much later after that first annoyed phone call. And the mechanic has surprisingly well-styled hair, and a body firm with muscle, filling out those oil stained coveralls nicely, and maybe Eddie starts to sort of flirt with the guy, until he looks at him properly.

Until he sees it’s Steve fucking Harrington.

And maybe they don’t get along well at first, and it’s all Eddie’s fault really, who is now huffy and puffy about having to deal with King Steve. Steve, on the other hand, is nothing but polite and professional, maybe even friendly. He might have taken back the moniker of king for his shop, might have even taken it as his last name after his parents disowned him when he came out as queer, but he’s far from who he was in high school.

And honestly? Teasing Eddie is kind of fun. Watching him get flustered and annoyed is funny because enough time has passed that Steve is comfortable with who he is and everyone in town knows he’s turned over a new leaf and it’s just amusing watching Eddie not realizing this yet.

They didn’t really have the parts he needs to fix Eddie’s car at the moment, however, so he orders them in. Offers to give Eddie a ride to wherever he needs to go. Maybe even mentions Wayne, with whom he actually got kind of close with, and who sometimes comes around for a cold drink now that he’s retired and has more free time on hand.

Eddie is incensed Wayne never told him he was friendly with King Steve, but Wayne never cared much for gossip, and Steve has been a godsend more than once when Wayne’s old clunker died frequently.

And so Steve and Eddie are thrown together, and Eddie realizes that maybe there’s more to Steve than meets the eyes, and that’s even before he discovers the Dorothy in the window. Sadly, he doesn’t discover it until after he goes on some rant about how Steve is clearly homophobic, but Steve just stares at him amused because he hadn’t even known Eddie was gay back in high school.

Eventually, Eddie realizes he and Steve have more in common than he ever realized. Realizes he’s become the sort of people he always despised and was a bit of an ass. Steve meanwhile was already aware of his crush on Eddie and was merely waiting for the right time to make his move.

Anyways. I just like the idea of done-up Eddie, slick and fancy, and dirty grubby mechanic Steve.

hostage tag: @derythcorvinus

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

a/n: thank you to my lovely gc for helping me come up w/ a plot for this chapter lololol love you guys

There wasn’t a name for what you and Sae-Byeok were doing.

No labels. No conversations about it.

Just hands pulling at clothes in dressing rooms before shows. Just stolen kisses in the back of the van when no one was looking. Just the quiet way she would press you against a wall, lips on your neck, fingers gripping your waist like she couldn’t help herself.

It was reckless. It was secret.

And it was happening a lot.

You weren’t sure when it became routine, but it had.

You’d be getting ready for a performance, adjusting your in-ear monitors, fixing your outfit—and then, suddenly, Sae-Byeok would be pulling you into a corner, mouth against yours, hands slipping under your shirt, breathing you in like she needed this before she could go on stage.

And you let her.

Because, truthfully, you needed it too.

The only rule? No one could know.

And so far, you had done a decent job of keeping it a secret.

But then—

Jisoo walked back into your lives.

And everything shifted.

The first time you saw her, you almost didn’t recognize her.

Jisoo stood near the entrance of the venue, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, looking hesitant—like she wasn’t sure if she should even be here.

The last time she had been around, things hadn’t ended well.

She had walked away from the band. From all of you. And her leaving had hurt—especially for Sae-Byeok.

For a second, no one said anything.

Then Ji-Yeong, ever the one to break tension, let out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Jisoo gave a small, sheepish smile. “Hey.”

Se-Mi tilted her head. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

Jisoo nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

No-Eul crossed her arms. “So, why are you here?”

Jisoo took a breath. “Because… I miss you guys.”

Silence.

Then—

Ji-Yeong huffed. “Damn it. Now I can’t be mad at you.”

Se-Mi rolled her eyes. “You were never mad to begin with.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to pretend for dramatic effect.”

Jisoo let out a small laugh, but her eyes flickered to Sae-Byeok.

And that’s when the tension returned.

Because Sae-Byeok was mad.

Or maybe not mad—just… wary.

You knew her well enough by now to recognize that stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

Jisoo took a step closer. “Sae-Byeok.”

Sae-Byeok didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Jisoo sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Sae-Byeok’s jaw clenched.

Everyone was watching. Waiting.

Finally—after what felt like forever—Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply and muttered, “Whatever.”

Which, in Sae-Byeok language, was as close to I forgive you as Jisoo was going to get.

Jisoo smiled, relieved. “So… does this mean I’m not banned from watching you guys perform?”

Ji-Yeong grinned. “Depends. You buying us drinks after?”

Jisoo laughed. “Yeah, yeah. My treat.”

And just like that—

She was back.

Sae-Byeok didn’t say another word, just turned away and went back to tuning her guitar.

But you knew her well enough to see it.

She wasn’t over it.

Not yet.

You found her alone in the dressing room, sitting on the couch, pulling at the wrap around her wrist—a lingering injury from too much guitar playing.

You closed the door behind you.

“She’s not the same person she was before,” you said softly.

Sae-Byeok didn’t look up. “Maybe.”

You stepped closer. “But you’re not either.”

That made her pause.

You sat down beside her, close enough that your thigh brushed against hers. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of her skin.

Sae-Byeok sighed, finally looking at you.

“You think I should just forgive her?”

You hesitated. “I think… you should stop holding onto it if it’s only hurting you.”

She scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say.”

You tilted your head. “Is it?”

Her gaze flickered to your lips.

Your breath caught.

Because you knew that look.

And sure enough—

A second later, she was kissing you.

It was slower this time. Less desperate. More… something else.

Something dangerous. Something that made your stomach twist.

Because this wasn’t just some pre-show distraction.

This was something else.

And when she pulled back, her lips barely brushing against yours, she whispered—

“I don’t know how to stop.”

Your heart pounded.

Neither did you.

Sae-Byeok didn’t want to talk to Jisoo.

She had been avoiding it all night—keeping her distance, answering in clipped responses whenever Jisoo tried to make conversation—but eventually, Jisoo cornered her in the hallway outside the dressing rooms, away from the others.

“Just give me five minutes,” Jisoo said, voice low, almost pleading.

Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply. “Fine. Talk.”

Jisoo hesitated, shifting on her feet. “I meant what I said earlier. I really am sorry.”

Sae-Byeok crossed her arms. “I don’t need your apology.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

Sae-Byeok clenched her jaw. She hated this—hated the way Jisoo was looking at her, like she was trying to dig up something that Sae-Byeok had already buried.

Jisoo sighed. “I wasn’t in a good place when I left. I made shitty choices. I hurt people I cared about.” She paused, eyes searching Sae-Byeok’s face. “I hurt you.”

Sae-Byeok looked away, staring at the wall. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Jisoo took a step closer. “It does to me.”

Sae-Byeok stiffened. Jisoo was too close now, standing right in front of her, and Sae-Byeok could feel the weight of her gaze—like she was waiting for something.

“I miss you,” Jisoo murmured.

Sae-Byeok frowned. “Don’t.”

But then—

Before she could react, before she could even process what was happening—

Jisoo leaned in and kissed her.

Sae-Byeok’s body went rigid.

And then—immediately—she shoved Jisoo off of her, hard enough to make her stumble back.

“What the fuck, Jisoo?” Sae-Byeok snapped, eyes blazing.

Jisoo looked at her, startled. “Sae—”

“No.” Sae-Byeok wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, fury burning in her chest. “You don’t get to do that. Not after everything.”

Jisoo’s face fell. “I thought—”

“I don’t care what you thought,” Sae-Byeok cut in, voice sharp. “It’s not like that. I’m not like that with you.”

Jisoo flinched.

Sae-Byeok shook her head, turning away. “I shouldn’t have even come out here—”

But then—

A movement in the corner of her eye.

A familiar figure.

Sae-Byeok’s stomach dropped.

Because there—standing at the end of the hallway—

Was you.

And the look on your face—

The hurt. The betrayal. The way your hands curled into fists at your sides—

It hit harder than any punch ever could.

Sae-Byeok’s breath caught. “Wait—”

But you were already walking away.

Fast.

Too fast.

Sae-Byeok cursed under her breath and ran after you, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Wait!” she called, but you didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look at her.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She had to fix this.

Before it was too late.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[thosekidswhohuntmonsters]

I think I'll Take My Whiskey Neat

Summary: The reader has been traveling with Joel and Ellie for awhile, and the group has finally made it to Jackson. What will Joel Miller do now that for a moment he doesn't have to worry about keeping you safe, but can think about making you feel good.

Word Count: 4835

Warnings: None other than filth times a million

I think I’ll take my whiskey neat 

If you can sit in a barrel 

maybe i'll wait 

until that day 

“Ain’t too bad mhm (y/n),” Joel says after looking around the surprisingly crowded room and then fixing his eyes upon you. 

Ain’t too bad? 

Those aren’t the words that come to mind when you think about your current situation. 

There no longer being 2,000+ miles between you, Joel, Ellie and Jackson ain’t too bad. Washing off said 2000+ miles in Tommy and Maria’s freezing cold shower ain’t too bad. Hell, depending on if you got him drunk enough Joel might even insist that good ole Will Livingston ain’t too bad. 

But, nestled beside Joel Miller in a secluded corner of an otherwise crowded bar is worlds away from being ain’t too bad. This being the only bar in this little Jackson safe haven means so many patrons that you and Joel are squeezed into a booth that would still be relatively uncomfortable for a man half the size of Joel. 

Such close corners in fact that you’ve got to lean in real close, per Joel’s innocent request, towards his good ear as you speak. And, is surely the only reason why one of his arms is draped over the back of the booth behind you cutting whatever remaining space there was between you both. 

“Ain’t too bad,” you say while leaning in close to Joel. You know better than to make Joel repeat himself. A lesson you tell yourself you’ve learned as to give him a break from Ellie’s defiance, and not because the very gravel of his voice lures you instantly into submission like kindling to a flame.  

In the split second before the rim of Joel’s whiskey glass touches his unfairly pink lips you swear they curl into a smile. Even if it’s for a moment, and underneath multi-colored string lights with one or two bulbs out, it’s beautiful to see. To be this close to Joel outside of a life or death situation feels far too indulgent. It’s the way that for the first time you’re able to notice how the silver strands of his mustache swirl with the chestnut like Van Gogh’s goddamn Starry Night. Or that as you take in his scent all the nights where he’d insisted on taking first watch so you could fall asleep beside the warm fire only to be woken up in the morning as he hands you a cup of black coffee come flooding back. 

“You alright darlin,’” Joel asks knowingly. There’s no excuse as to why he leans in so close to you as he asks. Even though underneath his gaze you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, both of your ears work fine. 

If Ellie were here this is exactly when she’d say some smart ass remark to cut the tension. Something about your face getting stuck like that for how you’re looking at Joel, or that she didn’t know Joel even knew how to do anything else besides scowl. But she’s not here, in fact, it’s the first time that it’s just you and Joel. 

You and Joel. 

“Mhm,” you say back, trying not to squirm under his full attention. It’s not that you don’t like it, the problem is how much you do. How in this moment you know that with every fiber of your being you’d do anything to keep his eyes on you. This feeling of desire sends more of a rush throughout your body than whatever cheap liquor the bartender poured in your cup. 

“Think Tommy will mind if we add another round to his tab?”. 

Joel gestures to the now empty glass in his hand. Oh, his hands. You can imagine his hands sanding the delicate molding of a house effortlessly working off of years of repetition. Images of his body so in tune with the soft yet firmness needed to craft something, that his mind can drift off and his hands can do all the work. He works smoothly, with the grain of the wood, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply to get it to work with him. Not against him. Before you know it you begin to wonder if he could mold you just as easily into whatever he desired with those very same hands?

“Think you can handle another round Miller?” you wager with a false confidence you hope turns into something real. 

“It takes much more than a few glasses to take a man like me down darlin’. Now how about you, has that whiskey got you feeling warm yet?”. 

His words are dripped in suggestion and coated with desire. Whether it's the heat rising to your cheeks, or the whiskey, you’re feeling more than warm. You’d almost forgotten that with the right person it was possible to feel like your entire body was on fire just from a certain look in their eyes. 

What was the look in Joel’s eyes right now? Like something primal deep within him had been awakened and needed to feed. He could be such a calculated man. So certain of the expression on his face, or the tone of his voice and all in the name of remaining in control. Joel could effortlessly take control of any situation at any time, but the reason was always to protect you and Ellie. 

For the first time you were beginning to experience what it felt like when Joel demanded control not for perseverance, but rather in the name of pleasure. Yours, and his. It made you bite your inner cheek as you dared to think about what he’d do to satisfy such a primal hunger. 

“Like honey,” you answer before you’re aware the words are even leaving your lips. There is no space between you both anymore to hide your expressions, and seeing Joel smile like the fucking cheshire cat is almost too much to handle. 

Is he so pleased with himself because he’s simply just enjoying this, or because he’s seemed to corrupt you? Your need to be taken by a real man has been ever growing like the branches of the swarm since you’ve crossed paths with Joel. Can he smell it on you? 

“Mhm darlin’ bet you’re sweet like it too”. 

His eyes only leave yours to look at your lips. Slowly he takes his chin in your hand and with his thumb drags down your bottom lip. His calloused fingers are so rough against your cheek that once again you’re reminded of what he can create with those same fingers. Or destroy. Your body aches to know how it feels to be reduced to nothing but a desperate little thing by Joel Miller.  

Joel has always walked the line with you because you both were doing everything you could to protect Ellie. There was too much at stake to give into the burning desire that seemed to be programmed into the nucleus of each cell in both your bodies. But by hell you’d made it to Jackson. Tommy was alive, and had Maria. Ellie could be an actual kid for once. Joel found the words of Bill’s letter replaying in his mind. 

He’d kept you alive, and he’d always protect you, but now he could finally allow himself to have you. The thought alone igniting atoms inside of his body he wasn’t sure even worked anymore. His body was crying out for yours, and no longer would he pretend he didn’t hear the call. 

Your face feels so small in his hands that Joel feels his breath hitch. You are so soft and delicate - a stark contrast to anything he’s done with his hands in a very long time. Holding your face alone feels like a pleasure he doesn’t deserve. Like he’s snuck into some secret garden and allowed himself to feel the softness of the rarest rose the world has ever seen. You’re the petal he’s got delicately between his fingertips. 

“So taste me and then you tell me Miller,” you say before placing a soft kiss to his thumb. 

He can’t remember the last time he’s heard something so tempting. Were he Eve in the garden and you the apple, he would’ve eaten you core and all. Joel moves his hand from your cheek and allows it to become tangled softly in your hair. He sees the hunger in your eyes, feels it radiate off of you and envelop him like a warm summer breeze.

Joel is the one to close the final distance between you both, and that’s exactly how he wants it. It’s an open mouth type of kiss - the only kind either of you would have shared after all these months of pent up tension. No sooner than as he feels your lips brush his, he can feel you deepen the kiss with your tongue. You’re both desperate to taste each other in every way you can. He can taste the whiskey on his tongue mixed with the coke you’d insisted on using as a chaser from yours, and shit you are sweet. 

Joel doesn’t care if there’s a hundred people in this shitty little dive. He’s going to pull you into his lap like you’re the only two in the room, and anyone who gets in his way be damned. He’s waited far too long to have you, and as he hears you moan against his open lips all restraint leaves his body. A man like Joel Miller can only deny himself so long. 

Making use of his hand tangled in your hair Joel uses his grip to pull your head back and expose your neck to him. His mouth only leaves yours to sink into the crook of your neck like a vampire desperate to feed. It doesn’t take him long to find your sweet spot and earn yet another moan from your beautiful lips. 

“Joel,” you say, and he's surprised you even remember how to speak. The only thing that can take his breath away quicker than hearing how you sound calling out for him in pleasure is the way you say his name. So needy. He thinks to himself as he smirks into the knape of your neck. 

He knows what you’re struggling to say. You both need more, and unless you want to put on a performance for the whole bar, more means privacy. Though Joel would happily take you over the table audience and all, he’s also desperate to be fully alone with you. Desperate to know how indulgent you become when it’s just you and him. For only him. 

Joel is raking his mind for where you both could go. There’s no cars in this safe zone as there's hundreds of miles between you and the nearest road. He can’t take you back to Tommy’s without Ellie finding out, and having a fucking field day. And it’s too damn cold to head out back behind the bar. This fuckin bar….suddenly he’s got his answer. 

“I know sweetheart,” he all but purrs back to you. Joel feels a sense of pride to have you so worked up with doing so little. You’d let him take you right here and now it’s clear as day all over your beautiful little face. He allows himself to commit to memory the way your pleading eyes look to his before taking you by the hand and leading you to the only place he knows you two can be alone. 

“It ain’t the Ritz sweetheart, but it’s better than letting the whole bar hear how sweet you sound for me”. 

Joel has taken you to the only room he is sure will have a lock in this place; the bathroom. It’s got graffiti coated walls, a questionably sticky floor, but a door that locks. Privacy. And neither of you wants to let another moment of that go to waste. 

Like a hunter honing in on its prey Joel guides you backwards until you can feel the backs of your thighs meet the cold granite sink. There’s a darkened look in his eyes as they look down to meet yours. Maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s knowing there's nothing stopping him from what he’s been dying to do for months. Take you. 

His hands find your waist and before you can even think about what he’s going to do, he lifts you up and places you on the sinks edge. Slowly his hands trail back down from your hips to where the fabric of your skirt meets your exposed skin. Your thighs are so soft beneath his fingertips Joel feels his desire growing. He could easily leave his mark on any inch of you, a beautiful reminder to all that you were his, and to him a beautiful reminder of how you were his. 

Were he a younger man with better knees he’d kneel down and wrap your beautiful thighs around his face. He’s dreamt far too many times about tasting you that he feels like some bee desperate to return to the hive and sink right into the comb. If only you knew how much strength it took to restrain himself on cold nights where you’d shared Frank’s sleeping bag, or when he’d have to suddenly hold you silently in place with a hand over your mouth while listening for clickers.  

“Joel please,” he hears you say as he awakens from his trance. This time it’s your hands on his face guiding him closer to you. It’s the way your brows are furrowed and how you bring your hips forward that lets him know although you’ve dreamt about this too, you can’t stay in anticipation for much longer. When a match catches flame there’s only so long it can hold on before being thrown onto the waiting fire and engulfing it whole. 

Joel’s lips are on your neck once again, and slowly he kisses up to just below your ear. “Please what?” he asks before lightly biting your earlobe and earning a frustrated growl from you. Before you can answer him with words, he feels you move to grind yourself against him. While he loves the feeling, he also wants an answer out of you. Wants to hear you explicitly beg for him. 

“Use your words (y/n),” he demands in the same solid tone he uses when you’re both checking if a room is clear, or navigating a trade between other drifters. Joel brings his hands back to your thighs and begins to push up the fabric of your skirt. He’s too busy leaving love bites all over your neck to see your face, but from the way he hears your breath catch in your throat he knows you’re struggling to speak. 

With his tongue Joel licks over the spot on your neck he’s certain will bruise, and then places a soft kiss to your already reddening flesh. His hands hook underneath the backs of your knees and he pulls your body closer to his. All that separates you now is his jeans, and the thin fabric of your panties. 

“Need you to touch me-” you manage to say even though you’re sure your brain has ceased working entirely and speaking at all is as high a request as reciting nuclear fusion codes. Suddenly you feel him smile against your skin, and you’re sure you even hear what sounds like a laugh emerge from his chest. 

For a moment he’s so amused with himself he takes pity on you and your poor lust-drunk brain. “That’s what I’m doing right now ain’t I sweetheart?” and to emphasize his words Joel squeezes your thighs. It anchors you to the reality before you, and makes something shift inside you. Was that same primal hunger taking root in your chest? 

“I need you to finally fuck me like you’ve been dying to for all these months Miller”. 

What would Will Livingston have to say about your choice of words? 

With his free hand you feel him begin to trace the hem of your panties, edging closer and closer to finally touching you where you need it most. He’s got you on the precipice, and you feel like a bullet in a loaded gun waiting for someone to pull the trigger. Like any true hunter, Joel knows to steady himself before taking the shot. 

“And you gonna be a good girl and take it like you’ve been dying to for just as goddamn long sweetheart?”. 

As he speaks you feel his thumbs hook underneath your panties. The fabric suddenly feeling paper thin beneath his touch - like with the pure heat of desire emanating from his body he could melt them right off.  

“Bet these are already soaked through for me, aren’t they sweetheart?” he teases while taking his time to slide them off of you. Without shame, or hesitation, you open your legs for him in the same way a flower blooms.  

For the first time Joel’s eyes leave yours, but only so he fully drink in the beautiful sight of your legs fully spread before him. He finds himself cursing his knees once more and vows that the next time he has you all to himself like this there’s going to be a goddamn bed in the room. Even if he has to make it himself. 

You’re on the edge of the sink physically, and mentally on the edge of insanity thanks to him. Here you are legs spread and practically begging to be taken, and suddenly Joel’s moving like this whole moment hasn’t been months in the making. 

“Should I go find a camera so you can take a picture, or should I be genuinely worried you’re having a senior moment?”. 

Well, that bratty behavior snaps him right out of it. In one fluid motion Joel’s undoing his belt, and moving your body so that now you’re bent over the sink. He moves your hair out of your face and lets his hand run down your spine until it rests at your hip. With a subtle nudge of his knee to your inner thighs, he lets you know to spread your legs again.

“I want your eyes glued to that mirror sweetheart, so you can watch yourself as I fuck this needy little cunt-” as he speaks you can feel him drag his hard cock up and down your slit. A delicious reminder of what is about to come, but altogether still not enough.

“Let’s see what you’ve got to say with that mouth of yours when you’re filled to the fuckin brim with me,” this time he rubs his tip right against your clit. 

Out of instinct you go to look over your shoulder at him thinking it’ll somehow convince him to take pity on you, but you feel him plant a firm spank on your ass and pull his hips back. You doe-eyes and mouth agape convince him no less than a bunny rabbit can convince a wolf to resist the hunt. 

His tone is just as firm as his touch, “I’m not even inside you yet sweetheart and you can’t even follow instructions? Let me make this real simple for you…you’re gonna watch yourself come undone on this cock”. 

You feel his body weight against yours as he leans forward and with a vice-like grip moves your head so that you’re once again looking at yourself in the mirror. He means it. You are going to watch yourself cum around his cock. He only takes his hand away to help you discard your shirt, and with it any of the remaining clothes you’re wearing. 

As you look at your reflection and take in your disheveled appearance you’re surprised to feel it turn you on. 

You notice the way your body curves outward from your waist, your hips seemingly made to be gripped by strong hands and provide an anchor. As you lean forward you take in the shape of your full breasts, and how your nipples harden as they meet the cold granite countertop. Then, you finally look at your own face. Your cheeks are crimson red, your pupils shot, and your lips all pink and rough from kissing. The only thing that pulls you away from looking at yourself like this, is an equally naked Joel. 

Part of you wishes to kiss along his collarbones and down his chest until you know every inch of skin. How far down would you reach until he’s begging to feel your lips around his cock?

His breathing is ragged as he drags out his words to tease you in the same manner you’d teased him earlier. “If you take your eyes off that mirror before I say darlin’ I’m taking away this cock”. To prove his point further you feel him lightly slap his cock against your folds. 

“Yes Joel,” you answer. 

Finally, your little game of cat and mouse comes to an end and you feel Joel sink inside of you. Your mouth opens wider than before as you adjust to his size and bask in the feeling of being so full. A fullness so intoxicating that you find it hard to think, and mourn any moment you’d spent without him so deep inside of you. 

“Open those pretty eyes sweetheart,” Joel says as he pulls his hips back and begins to find his own rhythm. Your eyes flutter open and a desperate little whine leaves your lips as you feel him pull out of you. In the reflection of the mirror you can see a playful smirk upon his lips. 

“So fuckin’ needy,” he teases with a smile before entering fully inside you once more. Again you’re hit with the euphoria of your walls stretching to accommodate him. Joel’s hands slide down your sides before coming to rest at your hips once more. 

He uses his hands on your hips to hold you firmly in place and with a roll of his own, he thrusts into you. The only sounds in this dingy little bathroom are the obscene sounds of skin against skin, and Joel talking you through taking his cock. With each thrust you feel him bottom out inside of you, no doubt months of tension finally escaping his hips. 

“Mhm, hear how wet you are for me sweetheart?” Joel asks as he picks up the pace. He watches his cock disappear inside of you with as much admiration as the first man to discover fire. As far as Joel’s concerned, seeing your pretty little pussy swallow him whole is the most beautiful thing on this planet. That and the sounds leaving your lips as you take him in and out of you. 

“Mhm,” is all you can manage to get out. You’re too distracted by Joel’s broad shoulders and the way his arm muscles flex as he holds you in place. Right now you wish to be immortalized like this, the both of you carved from marble and beautiful enough to put Michelangelo’s best to shame. 

“You were made to take this cock weren’t you sweetheart-” he says in a tone so low it’s almost a growl. 

Made to take this cock? Suddenly you can’t think of any other purpose for existing. Just when you think his body is intoxicating enough, his words make your brain all fuzzy. You can feel the pleasure building inside of you like an uproar. You arch your back to let him enter further inside you, building with pleasure like the way temperatures rise to create a tropical storm. 

“Look at you fuckin’ smile while taking it - you love this don’t you?”. 

Smiling? You are off floating in heaven. The sensations coursing through your body making you feel like you’d fully ascended to some other plane of existence where good was great, and Joel’s body working with yours was euphoric. 

“Yeah, I fucking love it,” and if you words aren’t convincing enough, the look on your beautiful face does it for Joel. He can tell that right now you’re floating, the only thing physically holding you here is the way he’s buried inside you to the hilt. 

Joel has always felt like your anchor, but now it’s in a whole new way. With every thrust of his hips he brings you closer and closer to the edge. He knows what it's like to have your life in his hands, but now he’s got the power over you to make you see stars. 

“Then let go for me sweetheart, give me all you’ve got-”. 

He wants it just as much as you do; to feel your walls clench around him begging to be painted with his seed. Joel would fill you up every chance he’s got - mark you from the inside in the ways only his cock could. To ruin any other man for you and teach you what real pleasure is like - just like he knows you’re aching for. 

Joel takes a hand from your hips and snakes it around your waist and lower until he finds your clit. His strong and rough fingers knowing exactly how to dance upon your delicate skin and coax an orgasm out of you. Softly he rubs, while roughly he pumps himself inside you. Was there some secret code upon your flesh that only he could read? One that let him know exactly what you needed most, and when? 

“That’s right darlin, let that pretty pussy soak this cock”. 

There is nothing left you can do, but listen to his words and give him exactly what he wants. To follow his orders like you always do, but this time you’re giving him much more than satisfaction. You’re giving him the ability to reduce you to nothing but a wanton mess, coming undone upon his cock in ways you didn’t know you could. 

He throws his head back as he feels you squeeze against his every inch - your cunt desperate to suck him in and keep him there. His remaining concentration is used to keep moving his fingers against your clit with the same expertise he uses to pull the trigger of a gun. Joel feels you milking him for everything he’s got, and it’s enough to take his breath away. 

“Mhm just like that sweetheart” he says, still talking you through it - ever the gentleman despite the sinful scene before you both.  

Joel takes one final glance at you in the mirror before allowing himself the same pleasure he’s giving you. With awe in his eyes he studies the way your mouth hangs slightly open, and your eyes clench shut in ecstasy. He knows you’re giving yourself completely to him with every moan that leaves your lips, and with every squeeze of your cunt against his cock. More, more, more. 

He can feel you cumming around him, but being able to watch you as you do makes him feel like some kind of god. What was created on the seventh day again? Nothing that fuckin compares to this. 

Unable to deny himself any longer, Joel allows his orgasm to rake through his body like a wild-fire. Each pleasure-center of his cells up in delicious flames as he empties himself deep inside you. So deep only he could reach - he thinks to himself as ribbon after ribbon of his cum coats your walls. His desire to claim you never ceases. This, the final thought to fill his mind before he loses himself completely to the feeling of you around him. Joel feels like the center of your universe. 

He’s not sure what he says as he cums, but he hopes it isn’t some profession of his undying love for you. That’s a card he’s hoping to keep close to his chest for the time being. His chest. Joel quiets his mind, and pulls you into it. 

“I think I saw a defibrillator back there if you need one,” you tease as you’re the first to catch your breath. It’s much easier to steady your breathing as you nestle into Joel’s chest and listen to his heart. You feel a soft rumble against your face as a laugh emerges from him. 

Joel wraps his arms around you, and lifts you to sit upon the sinks edge once more. “Thought I just fucked that attitude out of you sweetheart,” he teases back at you. Joel knows the only way he’d ever get you to watch your mouth is by filling it, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy every little remark that left it just as much as you enjoy making them. Your laugh is muffled by his chest. He places a soft kiss on your temple, “let’s get you home huh, sweetheart?”. 

Home. Words Joel was certain would never leave his lips again. There were a lot of things Joel thought he’d never experience again after the outbreak; laughter, purpose, love. But, in one fell swoop you’d given him all three and for that he’d give you every last ounce of himself. Or inch. Pun intended. 

Author's note: thank you for being a doll and reading this, please feel free to comment what you thought! <3

[desertduality]

gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo

physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao

-------

The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.

The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.

So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride. 

“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt. 

“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”

“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”

“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.

“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer. 

“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”

“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked. 

“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”

Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave. 

“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top. 

Huh. Interesting. 

Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”

There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.

“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”

“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”

“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”

“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van. 

The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability. 

The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.   

“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed. 

“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”

“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”

Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.

“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”

“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.

Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown. 

“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.

“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”

“...huh?”

“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”

“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”

Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”

They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.

Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all. 

Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.

They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through. 

They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.

Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it. 

The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it. 

“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”

“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”

“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”

Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”

In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.

“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”

“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”

“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.

Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”

“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”

“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.

The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time. 

Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”

A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.

When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was. 

Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.

Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed. 

“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”

Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.

“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him. 

Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack. 

“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”

With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile. 

“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”

Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”

“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”

“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”

“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”

The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”

“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”

“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”

“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”

“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”

“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”

“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”

“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”

“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”

“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”

“Oh, none taken.”

“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity. 

“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”

“I was just wondering!”

“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”

Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”

“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. “It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”

“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”

“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”

Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street. 

It really was quite a nice neighborhood. 

“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”

Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed. 

Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.

[marie-swriting]

The One I Want - Eddie Munson

Stranger Things Masterlist

Summary : You and Eddie are dating and before you can tell your parents about your relationship, your dad finds out when Eddie is in your bedroom.

Warning : fake friends, mentions of rumours about Eddie (leading cult/venerating Satan), mention of teenage pregnancy (but no pregnancy), parents walking in you and your boyfriend, angst, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 6.4k

French version

Song Inspiration : But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

Most of your body is on top of Eddie’s while his arms are wrapped around your waist. You are both peacefully sleeping, light snores coming out of your boyfriend’s lips. Slowly, you wake up but you keep your eyes closed, wanting to enjoy this moment with Eddie. You hold him a bit tighter against you and stay like this for five more minutes before finally opening your eyes. You gaze at his sleeping face. A few curls are on his visage which makes him even cuter; delicately, you put his hair back then you kiss his cheek. 

Unaware what time it is, you look up at the clock on his nightstand and you start to panic. It’s almost eleven in the morning, however you have to be at the Smith’s house at eleven for their annual garden party where your parents are already waiting for you. In one second, you jump from the bed and scream at Eddie to wake up. He groans and shoves his face on the pillow while you take your stuff and run to the bathroom as you keep telling Eddie to get out of bed.

Not having too much time, you quickly freshen up then you dress. While you put your skirt on, Eddie appears in the room, yawning. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I’m gonna be late!” you reply, yet Eddie is still confused as he rubs his eyes. “My father’s colleague's party, I told you about it yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Can you drive me? I planned on taking the bus, but I don’t want to be even more late.”

Generally, when you sleep at Eddie’s, you don’t take your car as a way to avoid using two vehicles. Though, today, your car would be useful.

“Of course, lemme put on some pants and let’s go.”

“Perfect, you’re the best,” you say, pecking his lips.

You leave the bathroom and you go pack your bag while Eddie puts his clothes on. Once you’re both ready, you get in his van. Eddie is about to drive but stops the second he sees you with your makeup bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m putting my makeup on,” you reply as if it was obvious.

“Are you sure about it?”

“I’m used to it, don’t worry, just drive.”

Without wasting more time, you leave the trailer park. You do a natural makeup look as you can not do something more sophisticated. The minute you’re close to the Smiths, Eddie stops the car just before their house.

Your parents are clueless about the fact you’re dating Eddie. To be honest, except Wayne, no one knows. You don’t need everyone’s comments about your relationship. Your parents think you stayed at Nancy who you work with at the school newspapers. Consequently, they can’t see Eddie’s van. 

Once the car is parked, you thank Eddie and throw him a quick ‘I love you’ before kissing him and bolting out of the car. While you run to the house, you try to smooth your outfit out while putting your backpack correctly on your shoulders. The second you arrive, you find your parents, your dad sends you a pointed look.

“I’m late, I’m so sorry, daddy”, you say, hoping the use of the term ‘daddy’ instead of ‘dad’ will make things better, “We forgot to turn on the alarm,” you explain while wiping some sweat on your forehead.

“Isn’t Nancy with you?” your mother asks.

“She had to go back home quickly.”

“Go say hello to the Smiths and ask where you can put your bag.”

You listen to your mother and walk to the hosts who aren’t far away from your parents. You apologize for being late and Mrs Smith tells you you can put your belongings in Sarah’s room, their daughter who you go to school with. Glancing at her, you see her with Hannah Williams who is sighing ‘what a mess!’ to her while she is clutching her pearls. Mrs Smith asks her daughter to come so Sarah leaves her friend then she gives you a hypocritical smile before inviting you to follow her.

Once you’re rid of your stuff, you go back to the garden and you have to be social with Sarah and Hannah for the following hours. You try to keep your cool the whole afternoon. The people around your age aren’t the one you get along with, notwithstanding you can’t cause a scandal, though they make it hard. Calvin Jones, Jason Carver as well as two other guys and girls join you and you have to hold yourself back from breathing out every two minutes.

“I still don’t understand why you’re friend with the Freak,” Jason suddenly states, turning to you.

“We just get along, it’s as simple as that.”

“Yeah, but still. He’s weird. Wouldn’t you be better with normal people?” Calvin adds, putting his arm around your shoulder, making you uncomfortable.

“At least, he knows what personal space is unlike some,” you retort, looking him up and down.

Sure when he’s with you, Eddie is always in your personal space. He has this need to feel your body against his, whether it’s his hand in yours or on your lower back or on your thigh. Eddie is a real koala, but it’s only because you’re his girlfriend. Back when you were just friends, he wasn’t as touchy so technically, your comment is not really a lie. 

Nevertheless, your comment flies over Calvin’s head who keeps his arm on you; to get rid of it, you have to go get a drink. You’ve only been here for two hours and yet, it feels like ten. Reluctantly, you end up going back to the teenagers and occasionally you participate in the conversation. You only want one thing and it’s to go home and ring Eddie or even better, be in his arms.

However, you have to wait until the beginning of the following week to see him again. While you arrive at school, you hear someone calling your name. Turning around, you find Eddie, trotting around, a book in hand. Once he’s in front of you, you realise he’s holding your mathematics textbook.

“You forgot it at my place,” Eddie explains, giving it to you.

“I knew it was weird I hadn’t forgotten something.”

“What would you do without me?”

“You’d be the one lost without me,” you joke.

“True.”

The bell rings, students walk in the building, already bored of their first period.

“Thanks,” you say, pecking his lips without thinking.

You walk to the main entrance as Eddie doesn’t move, startled by your kiss. He didn’t expect your lips to touch his and judging by your lack of reaction, you haven’t realised what you did just yet. Indeed, you only realise you’ve kissed Eddie in front of the entire school once you’re sat in the classroom and you freak out instantly.

During the whole morning, you think back to the kiss. You wonder if a lot of people saw it and if Eddie is mad at you. He’s not the kind of person to get mad, sure, nonetheless you didn’t talk about not hiding your relationship anymore, though you’ve been meaning to tell your parents for quite some time now.

You don’t listen to a single word your teachers say, impatiently waiting for the lunch break to find Eddie. As soon as it’s time, you join him at the picnic table in the woods outside of the school. Without any big surprise, Eddie is already there, he’s probably skipped his last period before the break. He does it so often that you don’t even react to it anymore. You’d be more shocked if he went to all of his classes. As you arrive, Eddie stands up from the bench and he walks to you before hugging you and kissing you.

“We should talk about this morning,” Eddie tells you with a small smile.

“I know, I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did it, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“Do you know if a lot of people saw us?” you question, biting your nails.

“I have to admit I was too in shock to check this,” he answers, taking your hand out of your mouth.

“Well, at least, now we have an excuse to tell my parents.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m tired of lying and I want them to meet you. If you agree, of course.”

“I totally agree,” he exclaims, clapping his hands together, happy.

“Perfect! You’ll come have dinner at my place one evening. I have to plan it with my parents and I’ll tell you.”

“I hope everything will be okay. I want to make a good impression,” Eddie confesses, putting his hands on your hips.

“Since when do you worry about what people think of you?”

“Since they’re your parents and I don’t want to create problems between you and them.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you. Don’t worry, I’ll plan everything.”

You beam brightly to Eddie then press your lips against his. He kisses you back in the second, bringing you closer to him. 

You can’t wait to introduce Eddie to your parents. Sure, you’re worried they heard about the stupid rumours concerning Eddie, nonetheless you’ll make sure you give them all the right information before meeting him. You want everything to be perfect for their first meeting. 

You still haven’t found the perfect time to talk to your parents about you and Eddie. You wait for the right moment to tell them and as for right now, it doesn’t seem to come. 

Though, it doesn’t prevent you from inviting Eddie to your place when your parents aren’t home. Your father is at work until seven in the evening while your mother is out with her friends, so you have the house to yourself. As it’s the weekend, you’ve decided to call Eddie and he didn’t waste a second before leaving his place.

Fifteen minutes after your call, you hear somebody knocking on your back door. Nimbly, you open to Eddie and you don’t give him a chance to say something before putting your lips on his while dragging him upstairs where your bedroom is. He doesn’t need to be told twice and follows you.

Once you’re in your room, you take his leather jacket off while Eddie starts unbuttoning your dress. Eddie’s lips go from your mouth to your neck and then they lower down to your chest, you enjoy every kiss with your eyes closed. Your hands search for the hem of his tee-shirt as he kisses you again. You’re about to take his shirt off when you feel him being harshly pulled back. Opening your eyes, you find your dad, holding Eddie by the collar and dragging him out of your room.

“Who do you think you are to be in my daughter’s room, you pervert. You better get out of here now or I’ll make sure your hands won’t be able to touch anything ever again,” he yells, dropping Eddie once they’re downstairs.

“Dad, wait!” you beg, running with your dress unbuttoned. “Daddy, please.”

“Don’t 'daddy' me! You better stay out of this. I can’t believe you let a stranger in,” you father reprimand you, appalled. 

“He’s not a stranger, he’s my boyfriend, Eddie is my boyfriend,” you admit, buttoning up your dress.

“Him, your boyfriend?” he questions, staring at Eddie with disgust.

“Hello,” Eddie awkwardly exclaims, “Nice home.”

“What the hell do you have in your head?” your dad resumes, not paying attention to Eddie, “He’s crazy! Don’t you hear what people say?”

“Nothing is true. Daddy, please-”

“No, I don’t want to hear anything,” he cuts you off.

“But daddy, I love him,” you scream, tearing up.

“Love? You’re only seventeen, you know nothing about love,” he claims before turning to Eddie and sending him a dirty look, “You better leave now before I get really mad.”

To emphasise his words, your father grip Eddie by the collar again, opens the door and forces Eddie out of the house while you follow them.

“Y/N…,” Eddie tries to say, yet your dad interrupts him.

“Out of my sight!”

“Go, Eddie,” you softly end up telling him.

Unwillingly, Eddie listens to you, leaving you alone with your dad who is more than angry. The second Eddie left, your father grabs your arm and forces you back inside. You hear him mumbling then he violently closes the door. You manage to get out of his grip and cross your arms on your chest, ready to defend Eddie and your relationship.

“Is this teenage angst? Your rebellious phase? If it is, you’ve rebelled, I’m proud of you, now cut the bullshit,” your dad retorts.

“You judge without knowing anything!”

“How long has this been going on?” he asks, however you stay silent, “How long?”

“Six months, but I was about to tell you,” you admit.

“How kind of you it is to finally think about your parents,” your dad exclaims with irony.

“It’s true, I was about to tell you about me and Eddie.”

“There’s not you and Eddie. You won’t see that boy ever again, he’s no good.”

“If you tried to get to know him-”

“I’ve had enough,” he interrupts you, “He leads a cult and listens to weird music.”

“He leads a Dungeon & Dragons club and it’s not because we don’t exclusively listen to classic music we’re weird! Give him a chance.”

“Oh, I’ve seen enough,” he sighs, massaging his temples, “What were you thinking by bringing a boy in your room? Thank God, I arrived before it went farther! Do you have any idea how irresponsible you are? If you stay with him, you’ll end up pregnant before finishing high school and trust me, he won’t be here to help you raise a child. He can barely take care of himself.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He was held back a year from what I was told.”

“He just had a complicated year.”

“Don’t you want to date someone respectable who comes from a good family with a good economic background?” he replies, annoyed.

“So, this has to do with his economic background, then?” you retort, mad.

“Precisely because he’s only with you for the money you can give him.”

“What? Nonsense! He loves me and I love him,” you affirm.

“That’s what he wants you to believe. If you absolutely want to date a guy, why don’t you go out with Calvin Jones, for example, he’s a nice guy.”

“You’re joking, right? He’s completely stupid.”

“He’s just naive,” your dad corrects and you scoff.

“He thinks Shakespeare was one of our presidents.”

“At least, we know who he is. He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You have no idea what love is, you’re too young.”

“I don’t even know why I keep talking to you,” you state, going upstairs.

“Come back here, missy,” your dad orders, following you.

“No!” you reply, entering your bedroom.

You don’t have the time to close the door that your father is in your room. Swiftly, he walks to your nightstand and takes your brand new walkman you got for your good grades. 

“What are you doing?” you question.

“You’re grounded for three months, minimum, no more hanging out after school and your new walkman, I’m confiscating it for a month just like your car keys. You better not talk to him again from now on and until the end of your life. You better not even call him, send him letters and at school, he keeps his distance with you, if he even goes to class. And don’t even think of sneaking out, I’m watching you from now on. I was too indulgent with you,” he announces and you feel the rage in your body.

“This is not fair!”

“That’s how it is. Now, stay in your room until we eat.”

Upon those words, your father slams the door and you throw yourself on your bed and scream in frustration on your pillow. Angry tears roll down your cheeks and you don’t even try to wipe them.

You weren’t expecting your dad to meet Eddie that way, his first impression of him is now ruined. Henceforth, he’ll never want to see him ever again and that’s a fact, yet it doesn’t mean you want to break up with Eddie. You know your boyfriend and you know he’s a good guy and contrary to what your dad claimed, you know what love is, you discovered it with Eddie. You have no idea how you can fix the situation. In any case, if you find a way to do it, you won’t be able to do it today. Your father is too beside himself to listen to you. Your only hope is your mother. If you can make her understand who Eddie truly is, she might be able to make him listen to reason. 

Distraught, you stay lying in your bed, staring blankly at your ceiling. Eddie is in your mind, he must feel awful even if it’s not his fault. You wish you could talk to him, notwithstanding your dad is keeping a close eye on your comings and goings, therefore you don’t leave your bedroom.

Once the sun starts going down in the sky, your door softly opens and your mom walks in. she should have been home later, you guess your dad phoned her to tell her about what happened. Your mother looks at you with eyes full of compassion while she gets closer to you, she sits down next to you and puts her hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

“Dad didn’t have to ruin your night with your friends for this,” you say, avoiding her gaze.

“I can always see my friends another day. He told me everything about you and this boy. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Depends, will you listen to me?” you ask without any hope.

“Of course.”

“Eddie is a good guy, mom, I swear. I wouldn’t be dating someone who isn’t.”

“Are you sure you know him very well? From what I’ve been told, he isn’t well respected around town and with what happened today, it’s not making things better for him,” she contradicts with a sweet voice.

“Those are just unfounded rumours. He’s just non-conformist, that doesn’t mean he’s mean. I love him.”

“You think you love him but you’re young. You’re blind by your teenager's feelings.”

Following her comment, your growl in frustration. It’s the third time you’re told you have no idea what love is and you’re sick of it.

“Why do you all think it’s impossible for me to love someone?”

“Because you two are not from the same world. We don’t know either him or his family.”

“If you were a bit more open-minded, you’d know him,” you retort.

“It’s just puppy love, you’ll forget him fast enough.”

“How can you be so sure about it?”

“You’re too different from one another. You should find a boy from a good family.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to date Calvin Jones, too.”

“God, no!” your mother exclaims with her eyes wide open, “He’s cute but he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“It’s Eddie that I love, he’s the one I want, mom,” you confess, sitting on your bed, “It’s serious between me and him, we have plans together,” you inform.

“What are they?”

“He has a band, he wants to launch his career in Los Angeles.”

“Is that why you absolutely want to go to University there?” she questions, sighing, “Don’t let a guy dictate what you should do.”

“That’s not what it is! I wanted to do my studies in Los Angeles way before him.” 

“What about him, does he want to go to University?”

“No, school isn’t really made for him.”

“So, how will you two take care of each other there? It’s not with his band and you studying that you’ll earn a living.”

“I’ll find a job and I have my savings you and dad made for me.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t want-”

“You’re not gonna say this, too!” you interrupt, annoyed, “Is it too hard to believe he wants to be with me because he loves me? He’s not mean, interested in money or I don’t know. Yes, he’s unapologetically himself, even if it means not following what society tells him, it doesn’t make him a bad person, though.”

“Of course, honey, if you say so,” she says, without taking you seriously, “We’re going to eat soon, come set the table.”

You obey your mother and stand up from the bed and follow her to the kitchen. Your conversation with your mom has frustrated you more than the one with your dad. She acted like she was empathising with you nevertheless she didn’t listen to you for one second.

During the whole evening, there’s this tension between you and your parents. Your dad is still mad, talking to you coldly. At first occasion, you run away to your room, not supporting their presence anymore.

On Monday, you can see Eddie at last for the first time since your argument with your parents. He’s already at the picnic table; if there’s one day where he doesn’t like his schedule, it’s during the first day of the week. Upon arriving, you find him focused on his next campaign. As he hears twigs and leaves crunching under your feet, he looks up to you. In an instant, he stands up from the bench and hugs you. Once you’re in his arms, you let go of a sigh, as if you had been holding your breath for the past two days. You hold him tighter as he strokes your back and whispers sweet nothings, your father’s punishment is the last thing on your mind. A few minutes later, you break the embrace then you press your lips on his.

“Are you alright?” he asks with worry, putting his hands on both sides of your face. “I tried calling you, but I didn’t get an answer.”

“My dad is watching the phone and me like a prison guard.”

“I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble with your parents. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m grounded for the next three months. It’s not your fault, Eddie. I didn’t think he’d come back this early,” you reassure him with a small smile.

“I guess your parents aren’t my biggest fan now. I mean, considering the way your dad found us out, I can’t really be mad at him.”

“It doesn’t mean he should judge you harshly.”

“What about your mom, what did she say?”

At the mention of your mother, you sigh, exasperated as you think back to your conversation.

“She acted as if she was listening to me, it was like talking to a wall. They don’t want to hear me out and they don’t want us to be together.”

“It’ll be okay, I’m sure they’ll change their mind,” Eddie promises, kissing your forehead.

“You don’t know my dad. It’d take a miracle for him to have an epiphany. I think it’d be easier to run away,” you propose, almost serious.

“As tempting as it is, I wouldn’t want your parents to hate me even more,” he refuses with a heavy heart.

“This just proves you’re a good person, you prevent me from running away.”

“Oh, trust me, it wouldn’t be hard to make me change my mind, but I don’t want you to get into more trouble because of me. We’ll find a solution, don’t worry.”

Eddie hugs you once more and you stay like this during the first period. It’s not the thing to do, your parents might learn you skip a class, though you don’t care. You’re already grounded, you don’t see how it could get worse than that.

Your day at school is over, you leave the building and you’re about to find Nancy - she offered to drive you home while you don’t have your car - when you hear Sarah and her friend group talking more or less discreetly, you try not to pay attention at first.

“I can’t believe she kissed the Freak last time!” Hannah exclaims.

“I told you they were together. I was sure there was more, they were too close,” Sarah adds.

“I don’t get her, he’s not attractive at all,” her friend comments, frowning. 

“I heard her father tell mine he caught them in her bedroom.”

“You can’t be serious!” another girl says, following Sarah’s information.

“Hell yeah, I am! You’ll see in a few months, she won’t come to class anymore, if you understand what I mean.”

Not supporting those childish stories anymore, you decide to join their group, skirting a few students, among them some Hellfire members.

“Hey, girls, how are you doing?”

“Oh, fine and you?” Hannah questions, her cheeks red.

“I thought you were just talking about me.”

“No, you’re not as interesting as you think,” Sarah retorts.

“Really? That’s too bad, I was about to confirm to you guys I’m having his baby, actually. I’m eight weeks pregnant.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, every single girl’s eyes are wide open just as their mouths are. Some of them let go of a surprised shriek and others put their hands over their lips.

“Wait, you are?”

“No, I’m not, but you should see your faces,” you admit, “Instead of gossiping about my life or Eddie's, you should take care of yours.”

“Gossiping?” Sarah starts, walking towards you, “Honey, I’m just stating facts, it’s not my fault if you can’t handle your new reputation.”

“You know what? If you have nothing better to do, then keep talking. I have other things to do than listening to what you think.”

“We just want what’s best for you,” one of the girls says with empathy.

“So you’re doing all of this out of the goodness of your heart?” you ask with irony. “It means a lot to me, yet it doesn’t change anything. You all are just hypocrites.”

On those words, you leave them, not handling their presence anymore. They won’t learn anything from your exchange, though it doesn’t matter. You never liked them in the first place so losing their so-called friendships is the least of your worries.

In Nancy’s car, you enjoy this moment with a real friend to empty your mind.

During the following weeks, you keep walking on eggshells with your parents. On one hand, you don’t want to be too headstrong about it, on the other, you don’t want to let them think they can forbid you from being with who you love. Consequently, you try not to cause any more drama however whenever there is an occasion, you defend Eddie. Your mother is a bit more open now, though your dad stands on his ground. However, the conflicts with your parents are becoming more regular and you hate every one of them. Nevertheless, you’re your father’s daughter and when you’ve both made your mind to it, you can be very stubborn. 

You and Eddie defy the rules by continuing to see each other, although now you're more cautious about seeing each other away from prying eyes. Eddie didn’t want to get in the middle of it at first, telling himself it’s between you and your parents, though he sees you suffer because of it and that it causes you stress. Before all of this, you were close to your parents. He tried to reason with you by saying you should make up with them, no matter if your relationship is the price to pay for it but you refuse to listen to him. He’s touched by the way you have his back, however he doesn’t like being the reason for a conflict when it’s about you. As a consequence, he’s decided he’ll fix the situation himself. It can’t go on like this so Eddie found your dad’s work number and he called him. It took him a solid minute to figure out who was calling him then he hung on Eddie, not without threatening him again. For all that, it didn’t stop Eddie. He tried calling him several times, in vain. As he understood it wasn’t working, Eddie decided to go see your dad directly. If your dad doesn’t want to listen to him through the phone, he won’t have any other choice but to listen to him in person. He won’t give up until he does.

That’s how Eddie finds himself in front of your dad’s workplace at the end of the day, his van parked close to his car. Your dad recognizes him from afar. He loudly sighs, preparing himself to ignore Eddie. With a big smile on his face, Eddie gets closer to him and holds out his hand. 

“Good evening, I’m Eddie Munson.”

“I know who you are and I thought I had made myself clear last time,” your father answers, looking him up and down, “I don’t want to see you.”

“We started off the wrong foot and I want to change that.”

“Why do you insist so much? Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage already? My daughter barely talks to me because of you.”

“Actually, it’s because you refuse to listen,” Eddie corrects, making the situation worse. 

“I forbid you from giving me advice on the way I educate my daughter.”

“I’m not here to create problems, I swear!” he argues, preventing your dad from getting in his car.

“Yet, it looks like you are.”

“I just want you to hear me out. I want what’s best for Y/N, that’s all.”

“If it was true, you would leave her alone. Goodbye.”

Eddie doesn't try any longer and lets your dad go, he doesn’t admit defeat though. He will talk to your dad, that’s a promise he made to himself. Eddie gives him a few days off, before going at it again. This time, he chooses to wait for him in front of your house. Once he sees the car coming, he stands straight. Your dad rolls his eyes before getting out of his car.

“This is stalking. I’m going to call the police.”

“If you’d listen to me, I wouldn’t have to do this. Please, I’m just asking for five minutes,” Eddie humbly begs, “After that, you’ll be able to tell me to leave and I will, though I sincerely hope you won’t.”

“You have five minutes, not one more second.”

“Great!” he exclaims, excited before clearing his throat. “I’m aware I didn’t leave a good impression.”

“That’s the least you could say.”

“And,” Eddie resumes, without paying attention to your dad’s comment, “with what people say about me, I understand you don’t want me near your daughter. To be honest, I don’t even know what people say about me these days, the stories are so far-fetched. Anyway, I can assure you the Hellfire club isn’t a cult, if you want, you can even come to one of our meetings to see for yourself. I don’t venerate Satan or anything else. You think we’re too young, though I promise you I love her. I feel things for her I had never felt before.”

“Yes, I gathered that the second I found you in her room.”

Eddie purses his lips, embarrassed by the innuendo. He scratches his neck before talking again.

“I’m not with her for… that. I really love her and I want a future with her, I wanna build a life with her.”

“A life she will fund, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s a fact I won’t be able to live off my music right away, but I’ll work. I’m not with her for the money, I’m in love with her. I know you don’t like my background nevertheless I’m not gonna apologize for this. It’s something I can’t control and besides, even if I didn’t have an easy life, I have a great uncle who takes care of me and I’m grateful for him, he’s doing his best so I can have a good life. Sure, we’re not rolling in the money, however it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to treat your daughter respectfully. Since your fight, she’s sad. She won’t say it, but I know she hates it as much as you. You mean the world to her and she never meant to hurt you by hiding our relationship. She just wanted to be sure it was serious and she wanted you to meet me in good time. Unfortunately, that’s not how it happened. I tried to tell her she shouldn’t go against you as much as she does, yet she doesn’t want to listen to me, that’s why I keep on trying. I don’t care what people think about me, though, she cares what you and your wife thinks. I’m not gonna lie, I’m not perfect, I have flaws and I made mistakes and I’ll make others, but hurting Y/N won’t be one of them,” Eddie states with confidence. “If you give me one chance, I will show you I deserve your daughter.”

Your father looks hard at Eddie, weighing the pros and cons. He doesn’t want to admit it, however Eddie found the right words. He runs a hand over his face, then breathes out before replying. 

“One chance. I agree with you coming to eat at home so we can get to know each other. Don’t ruin it.”

At his words, Eddie holds himself back from jumping in joy. He can’t ruin all his good effort now, so he just smiles.

“I won’t, sir.”

Eddie holds out his hand and your dad shakes it, sealing their agreement. The noise of the front door opening catches their attention. Turning their head toward the door, they see you walking in, your school bag on your shoulder. Once you see them, still shaking their hands, your brows furrow, not understanding what you’re gazing at.

“What’s happening?”

“Eddie came to talk to me,” your dad explains, taking his hand off Eddie’s, “He’s been trying for a few weeks and I finally agreed to listen.”

“Really?”

“I couldn’t handle the way you were tearing each other apart because of me,” Eddie adds.

“And I don’t like the way you're is cutting me out of your life and after hearing Eddie out, I think, maybe, I judged him too quickly. I’m not saying I’m happy you love him, though he knows how to defend himself. You’re still grounded by the way,” your father quickly specifies as he sees your joy on your face, “but I agree on eating with him this Saturday so I can judge if he deserves you or not.”

“Thanks, daddy!” you exclaim, hugging him, “You have no idea how happy I am.”

“I just agreed to get to know him, it doesn’t mean everything is fixed.”

“I’ll prove to you I deserve your daughter,” Eddie promises, strutting. 

“We’ll see about that. Now, go home, she’s still grounded.”

“I’ll show him to the door,” you say.

“You have five minutes.”

You take Eddie’s hand and drag him outside, wanting to enjoy every second you have with him. Eddie is pleased he made things better between you and your dad. 

The minute you’re alone in front of his van, you jump in his arms. Eddie loses his balance for a bit yet he catches you nonetheless then, he holds you tighter. A few seconds later, he takes a step back, wanting to talk seriously with you. You guess this by the way he plays with his hands and searches for his words.

“Everything okay?” you question.

“Yes, I’m happy your dad is giving me a chance. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to talk to him? We could have done it together.”

“I hesitated to tell you however I thought I should be the one doing it; it’d be easier. I mean, I had to fight for three weeks just so he’d listen to more than one sentence. The fact is, we’re on the right track.”

“What’s wrong then? I feel like there’s something else.”

“Yeah, there is,” he admits running a hand over his face, “Look, you probably planned to tell me yourself, to tell me in a beautiful way but I know.”

“You know?” you ask, your brows knitted together.

“Yes and that’s why I wanted to smooth things over with your dad,” Eddie continues, ignoring your confusion, “You’ll need them and you can’t stay on bad terms with them and all of this stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” he says, putting his hand on your stomach.

“The baby?”

“I know you’re pregnant,” Eddie states and you’re getting even more lost.

“What? Eddie, I’m not pregnant,” you inform, taking his hand out of your body.

“You don’t have to lie, I’m not mad. Sure, I panicked when Dustin told me but I’m here for you, no matter your decisi-”

“Eddie!” you interrupt, “I can assure you I am not pregnant. I got my periods a week ago. I don’t know how Dustin could have believed that.”

“He said he heard you say it to some girls.”

Following Eddie’s sentence, you need a second to understand how Dustin could have heard this. As soon as you finally figure it out, your face relaxes and you lightly chuckle.

“Oh, this! No, it was a joke. They were gossiping and I wanted to shut them up.”

“So, you’re not pregnant?” Eddie wants to make sure, still worried.

“No.”

“Thank God, I didn’t tell this to your dad,” he says, sighing in relief.

“Thank God, yeah or you would have been six feet under already and I would have followed you.”

“More scared than hurt. Though, I meant it when I said I’d support you if it ever were to happen.”

“I know you would. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You put your hands on both sides of Eddie’s face and he leans in to kiss you. His hands make their way to your hips, bringing you closer. Your kiss doesn’t last long, guessing your dad is watching you through the window. You break the kiss and Eddie gives you one last smile before getting in the van. Before leaving, he opens the car window.

“I told you we’d find a solution. See you Saturday.”

Stranger Things Masterlist

[bellewintersroe]

Okay this is part 2 from this anon request, which one of my lovely followers asked if I could do in the comments @beautifulbluejay <3

Easy Boys x Reader Headcanons - How They React To You Going MIA.

It happened just before his leave to Paris, in fact the reason Nix pushes his leave so hard is because everybody genuinely thought you had gone.

So the trip to Paris isn’t exactly a leave for him, he’s alone and just thinking about you the whole time.

Grief stricken- nobody else knew about your relationship considering it was fraternisation, so he literally feels so alone.

This one’s a lil different- but you’d be completely lost and track Winters down in Paris, all you’d need to do is ask Lewis and he’d probs blabber mouth it to you- although he does think you’re a little crazy because you’ve just gone MIA in the middle of Europe for almost a week and now you’re wanting to travel to Paris.

Anyway you’d get to the correct place, despite having a slight cut on your forehead and grazed knees you’re physically fine- but you get caught up in a German hospital during your time lost and it’s mf scary. You’re so lucky you’re still alive.

You’d knock on the door (assuming it was his) and when he answers it he kinda cracks it open only slightly, and then rips the rest fully open and has a literal heart attack.

“Dick?!” Your voice cracks and you’re crashing into his chest before he can even fathom.

“You’re- you’re here- I?” He’s overwhelmed, wondering if he’s dreaming or not until his arms wrap tightly around you, feeling you cling onto dear life.

Once the shock has worn off and tears were shed Dick can’t let you go. He’s slightly dizzied with practically the shock of his life.

When you’re sleeping he keeps watching over you, checking you’re real.

He can’t do enough for you, gets you food water (ofc), checks over any wounds you have, really talks to you about it- like Dick out of all the men seems extremely emotionally intelligent, so he wants to make sure you’re really okay.

“Just tell me and I can send you somewhere safer…”

“I’d rather just be where you are.”

Lewis Nixon:

After he was supposed to jump into Berlin and he only just made it out of the plane, he turned up to see the explosion right before his eyes. The Germans were shooting down the planes- including the ones he knew you alongside so many other flight nurses and young men were on.

Not only had it gone terribly- now his trauma of knowing you’re potentially gone makes everything 10x harder.

He’d not been able to see you much throughout the war, you’re often stationed in different areas, but he always worried about you, and just then he was so close to you, yet still so far away- it pained Lewis.

Replays the moment over and over again in his head, drinks more and more and as the days pass and he receives no letter from you or your company or family- he knows the worst is coming.

Asks Dick if he should write a letter for your family- he was there after all. Dick informs him it’s probably best to wait until he’s found out what’s really happened to you.

But the silence was screaming at him- and every time be see’s a nurse in a uniform near him he grows restless.

He’s walking near the hospital one day, where he knows hundreds of the prisoners from the camp are being treated. He watches from afar as dozens more of them pile out of trucks and vans, some of them unable to walk- the rest of them still being treated inside the walls of the camp.

He turns away when he see’s the nurses, feeling overwhelmed by the grief until he hears a quick, “Lewis!”

He turns around so quick, dropping his cigarette when he’s stunned by the sound of your voice.

Seconds later you’re running towards him, grinning and giggling. He feels his chest squeeze tighter and he’s practically scurrying towards your direction to embrace you in the biggest hug of his lifetime.

Holy fuck. Lewis thinks. Holy fuck, fuck, fuck. Thank god.

His eyes close and he squeezes you tighter, hand pressing to the back of your head as he attempts to calm himself down whilst you cling onto him.

He very quickly pulls you towards his lips, kissing you deeply, so needily, he doesn’t care who see’s.

Both of you keep talking over the top of one another, excited to be in each others presence again.

“But I thought your plane went down?!” Lewis doesn’t notice until you hold his hands that he’s shaking.

“No, we turned back miles ago, it was too dangerous- oh I’m so glad you’re okay, I didn’t know what happened to you.”

The feeling is mutual, and even if you only get a night to spend together Lewis makes it all worthwhile.

Ron Speirs:

This man is tense asf from the second anything happens.

“What happened to the nurses?” His voice is quiet yet sharp and quick. His hand grabs at Nixon’s arm, urging him to answer immediately.

“Uh, I don’t know. They were in the hospital that got bombed, we’re not sure.” Lewis sighs out slowly, clearly affected by the trauma, but he has no idea about Ron and you.

Ron takes it upon himself to literally do anything he can in his power to find you- ofc he’s worried about everybody else, but the two of you have been together in private way back since before you were deployed. His hearts in his chest.

“We got them all sir, but one.”

“Y/l/n. Where’s Y/l/n?” He attempts to keep cool but his heart is thumping, he has the worst sickness and he can barely hold back how he’s feeling.

The man pauses and shakes his head. “Don’t know, sir.”

The whole company is obviously in grieving, this is when he’s still part of D-company but he’s in misery- he breaks only when he’s alone and in front of the men he keeps an even more tough exterior than ever.

Truthfully he’s hard to be around, he tries to push you to the back of his mind, trying his best to accept you’re gone and that’s it but he can’t.

He’s in the infirmary one day, after literally being shot in the ass- he almost can’t believe what’s going on and refuses to believe it’s true. Ron for the first time feels weak and useless.

“Can somebody help?! Please!” A frantic calling from a more than familiar voice cries out as he’s laid on his side in the bed, curtains closed around his area.

This is the first thing that causes him to move. Ignoring all soreness (he probs just blocks out the pain) he crawls out of bed at the sounds of scurrying and desperate shouting of the medical staff.

Ron could’ve sworn that was your voice, and when he stands, opening the curtains and staring straight at you, he thinks he’s seen a ghost.

He mutters your name so quietly, but you look up, face dirty and slightly bruised and bloodied, uniform dusty with a GI woollen jumper hanging over your frame. Like you’re just looking at each other.

“Excuse me, please.” You’d just tell the medical staff, hurrying your way down the hospital, weaving passed people until you’re stepping closer and closer.

Ron’s breathing and heart increases in a state of shock and you nudge him back in, yanking the curtain shut before you just engulf one another in a hug.

“Ron.” You’d mutter through tears, he grips you even tighter, engulfing your smaller body. “I was so scared, Ron.”

He pulls back your face, his eyes wide and stunned before holding either side of your face and pulling you in for a deep, borderline desperate kiss.

It’s the best comfort either of you have had in days, and once your lips part you fall back into his arms.

He’s probably lost for words for the first few minutes, and he’ll become all teary eyes for the first time in front of you.

“Are you okay? What happened to you?” He speaks for the first time, checking over you worriedly after remembering you must’ve been in that shelled out hospital

“There was Germans… I took a patient and ran away in the bombings. We got lost- we only just got back here now. I don’t know if he’s okay or not.”

All he can do is comfort you and hold you close, still in a state of disbelief.

“Why-why are you in here? What’s wrong?” You’d eventually ask. “I was shot.” Ron spoke in a blasé manner. He didn’t care about himself, only you.

“Where?”

… “my ass.”

Babe Heffron:

Hear me out, you’re a little bit clumsy yet always careful with everybody’s life but seemingly your own?

Like you’ve been at war for 8 months or so and still Babe worries that you’ve stumbled onto enemy lines just because you went to find a man’s boots or something.

He looks out for you and takes care of you so much, like it’s so so sweet and everybody’s aware that you’re Babe’s girl, even if you keep it more or less hidden out of respect for the fraternisation rules.

Anyway, you’re assigned to second platoon & that’s how you and Babe got close initially, the second nurse was sadly lost, and ever since then in Bastogne, Babe has been extra worried that something might happen to you.

It’s the day after Jackson passed and everybody’s exhausted, even though they’ll be moving off the line, they’re all sick of war.

“Hey anybody seen y/n?” He’d glance around the room where she’d usually be hanging out when she wasn’t at the aid station.

“She’s not at the aid station?” Joe would ask.

“No.” Babe would frown, pushing himself up and heading out.

He tries not to panic at first, but admittingly he has an anxiety nibbling away at the back of his mind.

Something just feels off, you’re not at CP, at the infirmary, with the other nurses, where you’re billeted.

“Babe!” One of the nurses shrieks in surprise as he bursts into the house they were stationed in.

“Sorry, sorry. Anybody seen y/n?” None of them have, not since the early afternoon and it was nearing 6. Your duty ended three hours ago.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

(Okay this isn’t as extreme as some of the other cases, I wanted to change it up a bit)

20 minutes later he’s chain smoking like crazy, asking all the guys where the hell you were.

“Babe? What’re you yapping about?” Your voice appears, giggling as he snaps his head, almost doing a 360.

At first relief floods through him, but then he see’s your helping a limping soldier, bleeding just below your eyebrow.

“Jesus- what the hell?!” His voice raised, breath stuck in his chest.

“A little help here, Babe?”

After hooking up under the other side of the wounded back, he helps you both back to the aid station firing questions a million miles an hour in your direction.

“I’m fine, Babe.” You’d soothe. “What happened?! Where th’ hell were ya?!” He’d take both your shoulders, holding his hand over the cut on your forehead, in an attempt to apply pressure.

“Babe-” you’d swat his hand away, becoming distracted with the sight behind you. Clearly you didn’t realise how worried he was.

“Ya shouldn’t run off like that!”

“Babe-”

“Ya got me worried sick!”

“Edward! His leg is crushed! Let me go help!”

“Edward?!”

“Wait here, alright? I’ll be 10 minutes.”

Babe waits, watching you help some of the other nurses and medics with the man you both carried inside, tending to what looked to be a badly wounded leg. He grimaced and turned away, growing an even more profound respect for you (if that was even possible).

When you’re done you head straight back to him. “Sorry, Babe, his leg was so-” You go to hold his arm but instead he turns, engulfing you in a bone crushing hug.

“I thought I’d lost ya, never do that again.”

Finally, you’d silence and realise just how worried he was. He was border lining upset, his frustration had dissolved and turned into pure relief.

“I’m okay.” You’d whisper, leading him to the quieter area of the porch.

“Where were ya?” He’d glance over you, checking head to toe everything was okay, hands still on your forearms.

“I went to get some supplies, then I found him- his leg was stuck under rubble. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“What ‘bout ya head?”

“I knocked myself in the face, you know what I’m like.”

“Oh thank god, ya scared me, angel.”

Ugh he’s such a sweetheart, just apologise to him and promise you won’t do that again without telling him.

[see-arcane]

With a total of 1,176 votes tallied, the preferred plushie poll winner with 28.8% of votes is…

What a close one! Jonathan came in with 27.7%, the mysterious Mr. Morse with 24.9% and, delicious irony of ironies, London Dracula with 18.9%. Rest in pieces. Now, what does all this mean going forward?

First, just to reconfirm: I will absolutely be looking into the costs for having more than one plushie character produced at a time. For all that Mina has the top spot if it comes down to a solo run, Nobody Wants to Separate the Gothic Horror Soulmates, even as wee little plushies. It hurts my heart to think of. Mina and Jonathan deserve to sit side by side on everyone’s pillow. Just as Quinn Morse deserves to haunt the pillow next to theirs while casually throttling and carving London Dracula into pieces. For enrichment.

But beyond that, some other key things:

How is this getting done?

Sadly, I was not a cool enough kid for Makeship to greenlight a collaboration with me. Tragique. But while I was sitting around waiting for them to get back to me, I had time to browse around for other options. During that sniffing around I dug up a couple of promising manufacturers—one of which has some really neat options for not only plush toys, but all sorts of bric-a-brac like stationery, shirts, bags, cups, et cetera—and I plan to reach out to them for quotes to start with. Nothing really gets to move forward until I can nail down prices and the amount of X plushies to be made.

I am more than a little hesitant to tell anyone MAKE ME 1000+ PLUSHIES, PLEASE, THE TUMBLR POLL SAID THEY’RE GOOD FOR IT. These aren’t as simple as print/make-on-demand products, so I need to be careful estimating the amount of folks ready and willing to drop money on the little guys. But I will keep everyone updated on the numbers regardless!

Sooo is this a crowdfunding thing or an investment or what?

Don’t know yet. I am still between jobs at the moment—reminder to check out my Ko-Fi if you want to drop me a buck or commission some art!—but if this is something I can safely drop some of my own money in with the guarantee that it will let me do better than break even, I’ll do what I can out of pocket. However, if the cost of making something of good quality turns out too steep, I’ll start looking into stuff like Kickstarter and Backerkit and so on. I want to be sure I’m not gutting anybody’s wallet to pull this off and I want to be double-sure that what we’re paying for isn’t some flimsy throwaway junk. We are all here on the same Dracula book club starving artist site, so It Has to Be Worth It and not a money-sink for anyone.

Got it. Any other info to spare?

For the plushies specifically, this is when I’ll start:

Polishing up the current four designs into cleaner illustrations with different angles to provide for mockup samples with whoever I pick to manufacture with. If I get stuck on something—(which is likely)—I may throw up another poll to bug everyone about palettes and fashion choices. I have a few more designs I haven’t dropped yet for Epilogue Harkers, a non-Bloofer Lucy, and keychains that I’d love to share too!

Eyeballing materials. I’m already picturing a very close-cut cloth for the build and clothes, but I need to decide on filling too. Stiff overstuffing to hold a pose versus softer/lighter plush for floppy cuddleability. 

Poking at other character roughs, ala the Suitor Squad, the Weird Sisters, Van Helsing, Renfield, and Baby Quincey. And if all of those go well…

…maybe some designs for other favorites in the public domain playground. (Looks meaningfully at Clarimonde, Carmilla, Victor Frankenstein and the Creature, the King in Yellow, too many others.) ((But that’s all far-future stuff at the moment.))

Cool! But you also mentioned something about other merch?

I did.

Because goddamn do I want some Dracula-themed stationery. Journals! Memo pads! Pens! Every day we don’t have these things with the Harkers’ mark upon them is a victory for the forces of Count Dracula’s document-destroying evil. Likewise for shirts, totes, mugs, keychains, face masks and other things that could use some novel-flavored goodies. Hell, I’ll probably even get on with making stuff for The Vampyres to link on my website too. Because I am. Maybe behind on that. By several months.

Anyway.

I’ve got to start working on some designs for those too while the plushie process is progressing. Pray that my carpals don’t get tunneled.

Nice! Sounds like your plate is pretty full. So that’s it, right?

:)

Arcane?

:3c

Arcane. I need you to tell me this is all you’re working on.

>:}

Arcane.

Please stand by.

I have a little treat brewing for the Dracula Dailiers and @re-dracula folks in honor of a very special day for our good friend Jonathan Harker.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

1. TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: if you're seeing this for the first time, welcome! If not, and you were following my other blog, welcome back! Either way, I hope you enjoy this dumpster fire brought to you by my imagination ✨️

Summary: In the town of Agua Fria lived a shooter called Texas Red. Many men had tried to take him, and that many men were dead. A duelist and potential outlaw, with a secret no one knows. The perfect recruit for Dutch Van Der Linde to sweet talk into joining up.

Warnings: game typical violence, gun violence, dueling, old fashioned ways of thinking (no racism depicted in this chapter, but misogyny is mentioned) mild language, Arthur is a grump but also a sweetheart.

WC: 6.5k

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair? “Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Javier, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are here,” 

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

TAGS: @sheepdogchick3

[zombiekooo]

❗️S M U T ! Honestly just filthy. Cunninglings, blowjobs, dominant reader, submissive Daryl, vaginal sex. You name it. Complete NSFW ❗️(also on a03– titled Ride Along)

Rick doesn’t want to risk accepting new people into the prison. Daryl sees no threat in one lone woman.

It was late. Far later for a lady like you to be walking these streets, Daryl thought.

How’d he spot you? He asks himself the same damn thing. You were dressed in a black cloak like some bandit, a bag nearly twice the size of you on your back, and a silver gun in your right hand. Maybe it was the shine the gun gave from the car’s headlight’s that caught his attention. Or maybe it was the glisten of your eyes, peering beneath the hood you wore ever so slightly. It didn’t matter.

All he knew was that there was a woman alone in these woods without an idea that the direction she was heading was straight into the hands of walkers.

“Rick, stop the car.” Daryl says, already unbuckling his belt.

Rick slows down, confused. He hadn’t seen you until Daryl pointed you out— walking the opposite direction from the car and ignoring them completely.

“Daryl, we’re not taking anyone into the prison right now.” Rick replies, picking up speed once again, but Daryl was already out of the car and jogging towards you, leaving Rick with no choice but to stop the car completely.

“Hey, you!”

You pause. He notices the way you clutch your gun, your arm trembling and the way your chest fell unevenly. You turn around apprehensively, eyes wide and scared.

“Hey there, m’not gonna hurt you.” Daryl lowers his crossbow, comfortable with the distance the walkers had from you.

“I don’t have anything valuable,” You reply, a distinct quiver in your voice. “Don’t make me use up my bullets.” You point the gun at him.

Rick got out of the car, which startled you enough to nearly lose grip of the gun. Your eyes dart from one to the other, going through the options you have to escape.

“We ain’t here to collect any of your stuff. Just concerned is all,” Daryl says, lifting his free arm above him. “We want to know if you’re okay.”

“I am fine.” You’re quick to reply.

Rick comes up behind Daryl to get a better look at you.

“She says she��s fine. C’mon now, let’s go.” He says,

“Nah, nah. I ain’t leaving just yet. She looks too young to be round’ here alone.” Daryl takes a couple steps closer, just enough to get a decent look at your face.

You were young, younger than he was for sure, but most likely in your mid twenties. Your wide eyes full of terror made you seemed younger from a distance. Like a bunny about to be scavenged by wolves.

His eyes dart down to your hand that held the silver gun. It’s oozing blood out from the darkness of your cloak, and pooling at your fingertips, sullying the silver gun.

“We’ve got a camp not too far from here. There’s people who’d be happy to look at that wound of yours.” He says, confident in taking another step closer. When he sees that you don’t back away, he takes another.

“And what do you expect out of all this? Is this just the kindness from your heart?” You sneer. You’re having trouble keeping grip of the gun. It has become slippery with your blood.

“You ain’t gotta take the offer, but if I were you, I’d get that injury treated before them walkers begin to smell it.” Daryl shrugs. He’s close enough to be able to take the gun from your hands but, he’s too afraid to make any daring move in case you get spooked.

He sees the fear fan across your face for a split second.

Rick seems to have given up on getting Daryl to think otherwise.

“We got lots of women your age at the camp. They’d be happy to see another kind face.” Rick elaborates.

You step back the moment Rick takes another step. You hesitantly return your gaze to Daryl. You watch how he extends his hand.

“There’s no reason a lady like you should be walking these streets.”

————

You end up in the backseat of the van behind Daryl. You’re still hesitant about leaving with the two men, but you seem to have run out of options. Your arm throbs and you feel fresh blood slither down your forearm. You had broken the lousy stitches you had done with your non-dominant hand when drawing your gun.

“That isn’t a walker bite, is it?” Rick asks from behind the wheel, glancing at you through the mirror.

“No. Got caught on some barbed wire.” You reply vaguely.

Rick hums in response.

“Where were you headed? Down where we came from there was a huge herd of walkers. We had just grazed it when coming back.”

You frown. You had no idea that was such a red zone.

“Nowhere.” You rasp.

Rick decides that it was no use getting anymore information from you, so he turns to Daryl.

Daryl sighs and stretches, turning around the car seat and looks at you.

“How many walkers have ya’ killed? People?”

You eye him carefully, but you trust him more than the other, considering that he was the one who insisted on helping you in the first place.

“I haven’t killed many. Maybe two dozen of what you call ‘walkers’. I’m not good with a gun, only killed when I had too.” You say.

Daryl nods, looking back at Rick for guidance. You see him nod and persuade him to continue.

“What bout’ people?”

Daryl sees you hesitate for a moment. Closing your mouth, opening it, then shutting it again.

“I only killed someone before they could turn.” You say, quieter than before.

Daryl nods and turns back around, slouching in his seat.

“Seems pretty harmless to me.” He says to Rick.

Rick says nothing, only giving you one last glance through the mirror before turning his attention to the road.

————

Daryl walks you to his cell before introducing you to the group. He attempts to take your bag from your shoulders to set it next his belongings, but it has you instinctively yanking it back.

“Sorry,” You mumble under your breath, a bit frazzled from trying to adapt to people who aren’t dead.

Daryl nods, giving a sympathetic look. He gestures to the empty space next to the bed for you to place your bag.

“For now, Rick says he wants an eye on you. An’ since I was the one insistin we bring you, M’left with the responsibility.” He says, a lighthearted smirk peeking through the light dusting of hair on his face. But it quickly dissipates when the gears in his brain start shifting.

“Unless, y’know, you’d feel more comfortable with a lady friend—“

“No, please. I’d like you to stay.”

Daryl pauses. He’s leaning against the open cell door, his hand curled into a fist. He still has his crossbow with him, seated on his back. He holds himself steady as if the crossbow weighed nothing to him. He seems a bit taken aback by your quick response.

You drop your bag, placing your knives and guns onto the table beside the bed, glancing at Daryl, and sliding them towards him.

“If I am being completely honest, I haven’t been around people for a few months.” You sit on the bed, glancing at the few shirts draped over the side of the bed. It’s his cell, you realize. “I’d like to stay with you for awhile, if you don’t mind.”

Daryl rubs the back of his neck. The way you said that made his heart skip a beat. He glances over your face, no longer covered by the cape. You were attractive and well spoken. Probably from a family that took good care of themselves— educated. Unlike him. He hadn’t had a clue why you felt comfortable with him. If he was in your shoes, he’d prolly be sceptical of himself, bringing a girl alone in his cell.

“M’fine with that. Rick said I hadda ask you a few questions anyways.” He says. He’s overly aware by the new scent of you mingling in his room. He becomes too conscious about the way he smells. Dirty. Like an animal. You probably think he looks like one too.

“I understand. I assume your leader wants my weapons. I don’t have much.” You shrug, and unclasp your cape. Daryl’s gaze flickers to your arm, the bleeding has slowed, but it needed medical attention. Earlier, you had insisted to rest before heading over to get it looked at.

“Alright then. What’s ya’ name? What’s ya’ life story?” He asks, deciding to ignore your wound for now.

You’re quiet for a moment, collecting your thoughts.

“Reader. I was raised a lone child. Parents worked in the E.R, so when shit hit the fan, they were contaminated quickly. I was 21 when it happened—never was taught how to use a gun or weapons, so I got lucky and survived by finding a group.” You stop, hesitating your eyes flickering up at his face then back to your hands.

“They were all young though, made reckless decisions. Didn’t last long. Soon it went from a dozen people, to just me.” You finish, purposely vague.

Daryl nods. You talk as if you’re weak, but to be surviving this long in an apocalypse took more than just a strong group.

“That’s pretty shitty.” Daryl says,

“Yeah, suppose so. Haven’t really been able to survive without relying on others.” You half laugh half scoff.

“You can’t survive without relying on others.” Daryl points out.

You nod. “Sort of just rode along. Grabbed onto anyone I could. Until I met a group that took advantage of my uselessness.” You don’t elaborate on that, but Daryl thinks he has an idea of what that means.

Daryl doesn’t know how to comfort you, so he just mumbles a ‘sorry to hear that’ beneath his breath.

When you don’t say anymore, he decides it’s his turn to speak.

“I think you’ll fit fine in this place. I’m Daryl, the guy you met earlier is Rick. He’s the leader of the group. Had us survive this long so I reckon you’ll like him.” He says.

You smile at his attempt of hospitality. You could tell he wasn’t one to talk much, so it relaxed you knowing his intentions were genuine.

“Thank you, Daryl. You’re a kind man.”

Daryl has many words to describe him. But kind wasn’t on the list. At least, not that he knew of. It shocked him. More so than he would like to believe.

He swallows, replying with a short nod. He ignores your thanks and leaves the cell with a warning that Rick will come along to collect your weapons later tonight.

—

When he visits the cell at midnight to do his night watch over you, he could barely recognize the woman that had once been dressed in complete black.

You cleaned up yourself during the time he was gone. Rick must’ve brought over Carol to fix up your arm since it no longer bleeds freely. You have your hair out of your face, the dirt on your skin has been washed off, and the thick cloak you wore no longer droops over your frame. Instead, his shirt is on you, paired with slacks Carol must’ve given you.

In most cases, he would be pissed. Having someone use his stuff without permission, but instead, his thoughts were directed whether or not it smelled.

You feel a presence loom over you, so you look up from the book you read, and spot Daryl staring at you through the bars.

“Hey, I was wondering when you would come back.” You say, your eyes smiling the moment you land your gaze on him.

Daryl sputters for a moment, recollecting his thoughts.

“Yeah, m’sorry. Had to help Rick take out few of the walkers outside the prison.” He says. He must’ve been staring at his shirt you wear, because you look down at your sleeve, then back up at him.

“Carol said I could borrow one of your shirts since there isn’t any spares that fit me. Sorry if I crossed the line—“

“Nah, nah. It’s fine. Yer’ my responsibility anyways.” He says. He opens the cell door and steps inside.

You snort at his response. You watch him cross the room and shimmy off his jacket, hanging it over the railing of the top bunk.

Once he’s done, and his gaze is back to you, a silence thrums between the two of you.

The shirt you wore looked breathtaking on you. He didn’t mean to make the room awkward, he really didn’t. But, it had been too long since he’s seen a woman dressed in his clothes. His intention was never meant to pick you up because you were pretty— he just couldn’t stand the thought of someone as lost as you alone during these times.

He wasn’t a kind person, he tells himself. He has killed many. Hurt dozens. If only you knew the kind of person he saw himself as— the type of person he really is. He didn’t want you thinking he was some hero just because he decided to bring you into the prison.

“What’s bothering you?”

He blinks.

“What?”

“You’re thinking about something that’s bothering you. What is it?”

He’s at a loss of words. He makes no move to step away from you, even though he knows he should. You are probably anxious to have a man loom over you like this on his own bed.

“Nothin’. Just, hadn’t seen a new face for awhile is all. Wanted to take a good look atcha’” He sniffs, looking away.

The last thing he would have expect was your touch. He wasn’t prepared— he jumps at the contact. Your hand is resting on his cheek, cradling him carefully like he would jump away if you touched him too hard. Your thumb smooths over the planes of his cheeks, and feeling the roughness of his beard underneath your palm.

You look at him with stern eyes, knowing he isn’t telling the full truth. Touch always reveals a bit of truth in the eyes, you’ve learnt.

“Will you stay?” You ask.

He looks at you dumbly.

“What?” He says, frowning.

“Will you stay in here tonight?” You explain, lifting your hand away from his face. He’s surprised to miss the warmth of your palm on his cheek.

“Where else would I be? I ain’t sleepin’ out on a chair outside the cell for some woman.” He scoffs, half-jokingly. “You got nough’ luxury sleepin’ in my bed.”

“I’m glad,” You chuckle.

“Why? Plannin’ on killing me in my sleep? Tough luck, girl. Not that easy to kill.”

“Who knows?” You hum, pouting your lips.

He flicks your forehead. “Stupid girl. If you were goin’ to kill me, you would’ve taken the safety off your gun when I first found ya’.”

You blush at that.

“Was it really?”

“Damn right it was. Had me questioning your wits and whether or not you’d be too stupid for yer’ own good and put us all in danger.”

You frown, which he chuckles at— flicking your forehead for the second time.

“But here you are sleeping in the same cell.” You shoot back, rubbing away the sting from your forehead.

“Yeah well, I’m confident enough that I can take ya’.” He drops his crossbow, shoving it to the corner of the cell room along with his boots.

“Consider yerself lucky getting the better half of the bunk.” He adds as he pulls himself up onto the top bunk, the metal rods that support it creak and groan as he settles up there.

“Is that right?” You roll your eyes, and dip under the blankets, pulling them up to your chin. They smell like him— like what you imagine the forest smells like without the smell of the dead.

“Mhm.” Is all he replies with.

A comfortable silence follows for a few minutes. You start to wonder if he had fallen asleep, but you decide nobody could doze off in such a short span of time.

“What did you work as before all of this happened?” You ask, half expecting there to be no answer.

Daryl groans, and you hear the bed creak as he shuffles around.

“A drifter.”

“How about your family?”

“How bout’ you stop asking shitty questions and go to sleep, dammit.” He scoffs.

“You did say I was your responsibility. At least give me an idea of what kind of person you are.” You scoff back.

“Yer’ typical asshole redneck. Now shut up.”

You fall silent for a few seconds. Daryl finally thinks that you may be falling asleep.

“Least’ wish me a goodnight…” You huff.

“For fucks’ sake woman! Goodnight.” He bangs the side of the metal rod stabilizing the bed. Despite his tone, he can’t help but smile.

—

A couple of days pass by fairly quickly. You’re introduced to the people inside the prison. Daryl had seen your hesitance around them. He can understand that— it’s probably been a long time since you’ve been able to trust those around you. So, when you decided to stick by his side for most of the days, he never shooed you away. He felt good knowing he gave you some sort of security.

He began bringing you on hunting sprees for food when he was confident enough that there weren’t many walkers around. He taught you small things about tracking and different calls birds would make. Make you strip the squirrel of it’s guts, and hack the fur off the skin.

He liked your eagerness to learn. Despite the faces you’d make and the questionable looks you gave him when he told you it was your turn to gut their catch, he enjoyed your company unlike any other person he’s been around.

It hadn’t been until a week passed, and a routine quickly fell in place that he began questioning your relationship with him. Each night you’d take night watch with him for a few hours until you both returned to your cell to sleep. There would be a bicker between the two of you, (mainly of Daryl to tell you to “shut the fuck up and stop asking shitty questions”) until one of you passed out.

He wasn’t one for emotions or relationships. So when he caught himself with lingering eyes on you, or a thumping heart whenever you smiled at him, it bothered him. It bothered him a lot. You were young. Hell of a lot younger than he was, and he hated himself just a tiny bit more each time he imagines your touch on him like you did the night he first brought you into his cell.

Today was no different.

You have stuck by him for most of the day. Currently, he is taking the time to teach you basic protocols with a knife and gun. His rough hands on top of yours, manipulating your fingers around the gun’s hilt to hold it properly.

God has it been too long since he’s ever been so close to a woman. He never was quite popular with the women in his hometown, never fooled around much. So maybe that’s why his heart thunders beneath his chest right now when he catches a whiff of your scent.

When you look up at him with that excited gleam when you do something right on your own— like loading a gun properly. It makes his heart bloom. It angers him. It was so out of character for him to have this kind of affection towards someone.

He learnt that you’re naturally a cautious person. You make calculated decisions. You project your feelings a bit too much on others. You mentioned earlier on a hunting spree that you first believed the walkers felt lost and had come to you for help. You soon realized how ridiculous that sounded, but it had only made him realize how kind of a person you are.

Unlike he was.

He was afraid. Maybe a bit regretful even. He knows that he will mess this up one way or another. You were young, naive, pretty. Why did he even feel the need to teach you how to hold a gun, or use a knife? That wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a kind person. He didn’t do things out of the kindness of his heart.

Maybe he did have ambiguous intentions— he starts to question himself.

“What’s bothering you?” You say, tapping his hand. He had gotten distracted, nearly forgot he was supposed to be teaching you how to shoot a gun.

He frowns at you, you’re looking up at him with those perceptive eyes of yours. How did you always know when he was troubled?

“What’s it to ya’, girl?” Daryl scoffs, and backs away from you. He’s all too aware of the cold air hitting his palms that had once been warmed by your hands.

You lower your gun and furrow your brows. He was acting strange. Or maybe you were just thinking too much into things like you always seem to do.

“You go quiet when you’re thinking about something that troubles you.” You explain, walking up to him to close the distance he had put between the two of you.

“M’ always quiet.” He shrugs. “Stop carin’ so much.” He takes another step back, and picks up the crossbow he left on the ground, swinging it over his shoulder.

You don’t make a move to close the distance between the two of you again.

“M’goin on a scouting trip with Rick to get more supplies.” He decides suddenly.

You’re caught off guard for a moment. He never was one to simply ditch a practice.

“I could come, I know these parts quite well—“

“No.” Daryl says a bit too harshly than he would’ve liked.

You huff.

“If you’re worried about me getting hurt, I’ve taken care of myself long before you came along, so—“

“We ain’t bringin’ a woman who’d just get in our way.” He spits. “Like you said, you jus’ rely on others. You’d get us killed.” He pauses, mumbling the last part of his sentence. “Prolly how the first group you’d been in died.”

He watches the shock contort the smile you had worn just seconds ago. He doesn’t know why he said that, or why he feels so angry all of a sudden. He ignores the hurt that struck his chest the moment he saw your smile fade.

You don’t say anything. You look hurt and confused. He knew it. He knew he’d fuck up. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe this would stop him from thinking about what he desired deep down, to stop his true intentions from forming.

He doesn’t wait for your reaction. He just scoffs, and walks away. Leaving you alone in the middle of the prison field.

—

A few days pass. You and Daryl haven’t spoken. You would be lying if what he said didn’t hurt, but in a way, he was right. But still, you would’ve been happy to pretend it never even happened.

That night after the argument you had with Daryl, he never showed up to night watch, or his cell. You were scared that something may have happened on his trip, but the next morning you see him roasting squirrels on the fire. When he heard your footsteps, he had looked up, but never acknowledged you.

“You went hunting without me?” You pout, trying to break the awkwardness between you.

He only grunts in response, which wasn’t unusual from Daryl. He was a quiet man, but he was usually a lot more responsive around you.

“We could probably made a nice stew with these big fella’s. Carol was telling me about the tomatoes she grew.” You hum, remembering the adoring smile on her face when she told you. She was the only other person you talked to regularly other than Daryl.

You reach to grab a stick that the squirrel is pierced on to turn it, but a hand slaps you away.

“Ain’t for you, get yer’ own grub.” Daryl spits. He still doesn’t look you in the eye.

You’re shocked. You hold you hand close to your chest. It stung from the slap, but it was nothing compared to how your heart clenched. You blink a couple of times in disbelief.

“What?” You say stupidly.

“I said get yer’ own damn food. I ain’t yer’ provider. Maybe try and do somethin’ on your own for a change. You follow me like some dumb lost puppy and I’m sick of it.” He yells.

He makes the mistake of looking up at you.

You’re looking down at your hand, smoothing your thumb over the place he slapped you— comforting the sting. He sees the start of tears collect at your waterline, but you make an effort not to let them spill over.

You swallow thickly, nodding with a tight lipped smile while still looking at your hand.

He knows he should apologize. His heart aches seeing your lost look on your face. This isn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want to hurt you. He curses at himself in his head, his hands cramping up from clenching too hard.

He doesn’t know where to start. How to explain himself— explain how he’s feeling. So he says nothing, and looks down at his feet.

You clear your throat and stand up. He watches you take the knife he had left next to his crossbow, but he continues to stay silent. He’s silent when you walk off. Doesn’t make a move to catch up with you and tell you he’s sorry. He just continues to watch you walk towards the prison with the knife in hand until you disappear inside.

Once you’re gone, only then does he bury his face in his hands, wishing that he could take what he said all back.

—

Daryl walks into the prison, searching for your cloak to bring to you for the night watch. It was cold out, and he knew how reluctant you were to ever wear more than your long sleeve, saying some shit about how “it builds your immune system.”

He plans to apologize to you. Try his best to explain his feelings. Maybe you could just look into his eyes like you always do, and understand what is bothering him. Tell him what is bothering him, because, frankly, he doesn’t know himself.

He enters the empty cell, looking into your bag for your cloak. He does his best not to invade your privacy, but when he doesn’t find it, he empties the bag entirely.

Your personal gun and cloak is gone, which was unusual. A thread of fear begins to knit its way in his chest.

He stomps out of the cell, and into the main room of the prison where he spots Carol.

“Did you see Reader anywhere?” Daryl asks, more desperately than he would’ve liked.

Carol gives him an odd look and shakes her head.

“I assumed she was with you. Last time I saw her she came in here to grab her gun around this morning, thought you two were going on one of your hunting sprees.”

His heart drops. There was no way you took him seriously. You were a smart girl, you were cautious, made careful decisions— you wouldn’t do something as reckless as leave the prison without him.

His breathing becomes uneven— he’s panicking, he realizes.

He doesn’t say anything else, he just sprints out of the prison without a second thought.

He passes by Rick who shouts at him, but he can’t make out what he’s saying. He doesn’t try to. All his thoughts are revolving around whether or not you’re okay.

He runs the direction of the forest where he usually hunts, where he has taken you to for nearly two weeks now. Taught you. Trained you. And adored your attention and company the entire time he did it.

You would’ve gone there, that’s where you’re most familiar with.

And he’s right.

He slows down, a few metres from the entrance of the forest. A figure emerges from the forest, walking towards him, a hood covering the face. But he knows, he knows it’s you and not some walker.

A walker wouldn’t be holding three squirrels by the tail. His girl wouldn’t have left that forest without a meal in her hands.

He sees your eyes peek from under your hood, an exhausted smile on your face. You hold up the squirrels above your head for him to see. Your eyes shine the same way they do when you’re looking for that praise he gives you when you do well.

His heart hurts seeing your smile. Like you had to prove something to him, that you weren’t weak. That you were nothing like he said you were.

“You fuckin’ shitty woman.” He says with no venom in his tone. He jogs up to you and embraces you tightly, thankful for the darkness to hide the tears of relief collecting in his eyes.

You cry out when he does, startling him and backing away. You're reaching for your arm, the one you injured when he had first met you.

“I think I tore the stitches.” You grunt, stumbling a bit. Daryl holds you tight and stabilizes your footing. Your hood has fallen back, and only then can he see the blood smeared across your face.

“Shit, what were you thinkin’ He says, wiping the blood off your face with his thumb.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss his worry.

“Gotta get back before the walkers smell it, right? That’s what you said.” You chuckle.

He nods, remembering when he said that those weeks ago. He crouches down and picks you up effortlessly. You gasp at his strength but he quickly ruins the way you romanticize it by commenting on something stupid.

“Fuck yer heavy, girl.”

You don’t know what you were expecting, really.

He carries you back to the prison, ignoring the concerned glances of Rick and Carol. You wave them off with a smile, but you don’t think that’s what drove them away, because when you look up at Daryl’s face, he’s glaring at the both of them— silently saying “leave us alone.”

He enters his cell, shutting the curtain to give some sense of privacy, and gently rests you on the old, single chair in front of the equally as old desk. He kneels on one leg, taking the squirrels from your hand, and stripping you of your cloak.

He doesn’t think before he begins to unbutton your shirt, all his thoughts are directed to whether or not your hurt underneath your sleeve. But he stops when he feels you tense under his fingers.

Shit, what was he thinking?

“M’sorry, uh, I should prolly fetch Carol—“ He stammers over himself.

He tries to retract his hand, but you catch it and place it back onto your chest, just above your breasts. You’re looking down at him, your chest heaving. You look so tired. There’s blood staining your teeth, dirt above your brow. But, he would be lying to himself if he said that you didn’t look sexy looking down at him like that.

“I don’t want Carol.” You say, furrowing your brows at him.

He feels dirty. He shouldn’t be allowed to see you, to touch you so intimately.

“Daryl.” You say, sensing his hesitance. He looks up, realizing that he was staring at his hands instead of you.

“For fucks sake just take off my bloody shirt.”

His eyes flicker to your lips spreading to accommodate your smile. Your beautiful smile despite being sullied with blood. He swallows when he watches your tongue dart to your lips, licking the blood that had spilled from your torn lip.

He nods, pushing away the fear and returning his work on your shirt. He slips each button out of their hole and slides it off gently by your shoulders, careful not to disturb any other injuries you may have gotten.

He tries his best not to look at your black laced bra. Tries not to flicker his eyes down to your breasts protruding from them, avoiding the beauty marks scattered amongst your skin. Instead, he forces himself to look at your wound.

It wasn’t bleeding. He releases a deep breath, relieved that the stitches hadn’t been broken after so many days of healing. You must’ve hit it though, since there’s a bruise that begins forming under his touch.

“What did yer do? Stupid girl.” He says, gnawing on his lip. He doesn’t look at you in the eye, too ashamed of his stupid mistake. He peels your sleeve down more, and spots a few scrapes down your forearm. He wipes away the blood seeping out from them— it’s not a lot, but it’s hard for him to look at knowing it’s because of him.

He feels defeated. Tired. You must have seen it on his face because you comb your fingers through his hair, which startles him. You watch how his shoulders jump at the contact, but he eventually compels himself to relax.

“Did what you told me to do. I went into the forest too far, and got lost tracking a couple of squirrels. I fell when a walker popped out at me from nowhere, but I’m fine. Your tracking skills helped me get back— even if it took me this long.” You say.

Daryl shuts his eyes closed listening to you. He starts sinking down onto the floor, and he puts his head in your lap, hugging your hips with his arms. He breathes in your scent, masked by dirt and blood, but even then, it’s still so distinctively you.

He squeezes you tight, making sure he’s not dreaming. That you’re with him, that he’s in your lap. That your touch is real.

“M’ so sorry. M’ a fuckin’ idiot. I thought that— thought that if I were to’be an ass and keep away from yer, that I wouldn’t have these terrible thoughts.”

You’re quiet, silently playing with his hair. Twisting it in your fingers, and causing chills to slither down his neck. He sighs at your touch. He never knew how good it felt to be touched so simply.

“What were your thoughts?” You whisper. One hand slides down the back of his neck, feeling where his neck meets his back muscles. Subconsciously, his grip tightens around your hips, silently begging you not to pull away.

“I- I don’t, can’t—“ He curses at himself. He’s stuttering like some pussy, overwhelmed by all of you. Your touch. Your smell. Your voice. When did he become so soft? He wishes that you could read his mind, tell him what he’s feeling, why he’s feeling this way towards you.

“M’not good at, y’know, feelin’s n shit.” He decides, hoping that you can understand.

And you do. Of course you do.

“I’m listening, take your time.” You say. Your hand that was on his back trails up to his cheek. He’s resting one side of his head on your lap, so you see how his eyelashes flutter at the soft touch. He’s unaware that you can see his lips part in a sigh.

“I neva’ wanted to make yer think I took you into the prison jus’ cuz’ you were alone and, y’know, a young pretty lady. I never had other intentions other than helpin’ someone.” He begins, often tripping over himself to find the right words. But you don’t interrupt him, you just continue to comfort him with your soft touches.

“But m’not a kind person like you. I neva’ did things out of the kindness of m’heart. So, I began wonderin’ if I actually did have secret intentions, and it fucked m’up an I got angry at m’self.” He breathes in a shaky breath and swallows down his nerves. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout’ your touches, and how fuckin pretty you are. An’ I jus felt like a pervert. So I took m’ anger out on you, thinkin’ if I did, it’d stop all them stupid thoughts.”

You hum, long and deep. He can feel it vibrate his cheek, and he feels comfort knowing that you’re listening and not pushing him away in disgust.

“What if I said I have the same sort of thoughts about you?” You say.

You feel his shoulders tense and his fingers dig into your hips without knowing. He’s completely taken aback by what you said.

“Don’t say stupid shit. Yer’ jus a kid.” He scoffs, trying not to let your words get him too hopeful.

“I’m 22, Daryl. I may be half your age, but I’m still an adult.” You say as you smooth his hair away from his face.

He grimaces.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that.”

You slither your hand under his shirt, tracing circles over his shoulder blades.

“I don’t understand what you mean, Daryl.” You whisper his name in breathier tone which has him visibly gritting his teeth.

“Yer way younger than me…” He argues weakly, shuddering when you dance your fingertips from the middle of his shoulders, all the way up his neck. He can feel himself begin to strain against his jeans.

“Yet I’m still a consenting adult, aren’t I? Don’t patronize me with your shit.” You huff.

“With some redneck like me?” He scoffs in disbelief.

“Mmm.” You agree which makes him chuckle lowly.

“Besides…” You say, urging him to lift his head from your lap. He does, and he looks at you. He has a light dusting of blush on his cheeks which was rare to see. It makes your heart flutter.

You lift your legs over Daryl’s broad shoulders. One of your hands grip onto his hair, pulling him closer to you.

He’s speechless. Your thighs are soft and warm against his cheeks, and your ankles rest where your hands hand been— right between his shoulder blades. A warm sensation builds in his abdomen. He shuffles, feeling the tightness in his jeans continue to grow.

“You have some apologizing to do don’t you?”

His mouth goes dry. You couldn’t be serious, could you? With him? His eyes dart from your face, to your exposed chest, then between your spread legs. With hesitance, he bring his hand on top of your thigh that rests on his shoulder. He looks back up to you for guidance.

“What.. whatd’ya mean?” He licks his lips, causing you to smirk. He knew what you meant, he was just too afraid of being wrong.

“Figure it out.” You urge his head forward and squeeze your thighs around his head once.

He looks at you a second longer. Searching your eyes for anything saying that this isn’t what you actually wanted. But all he finds is an almost desperate look of hunger. He feels your fingers tighten around his hair impatiently, pushing him closer to your clothed cunt.

He swallows down his nerves, and runs his hands down your thighs until he reaches the hem of your pants. He takes a nervous glance up to see your reaction, and he’s pleased to see a blush paint your cheeks.

Hooking his thumbs on each side of your pants, he pulls them down slowly, revealing your underwear. He takes note of a damp spot on the fabric, feeling a bit more confident seeing your arousal seep through.

With a new boost of confidence, Daryl pulls your pants down to your knee, revealing your thighs and begins leaving gentle kisses between then. You feel the scratch of his facial hair and it makes you release a shuddering breath.

“Good.. that’s good.” You praise quietly, rewarding him by pushing his hair away from his face. You don’t know it, but Daryl’s heart flutters at your praise, and he continues kissing further until he reaches your clothed cunt.

He spreads your legs a bit more, allowing himself access to your core. He breathes in your scent, and it nearly makes him dizzy with arousal. It’s been too long.

With a final glance to your flushed face, he begins peeling away your panties.

With two fingers, he spreads your folds open, presenting all of yourself to him. You’re glistening and soaked to the touch. He mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath before diving in.

You throw your head back, your hand quickly shooting up to your mouth to smother your moan. You find purchase in his hair to stabilize yourself and hands help keep your hips from canting up into his mouth.

Your lower stomach is showered in a warm, bubbling sensation. Just the first lick he gives to your clit has your legs trembling and your breath stuttering. His facial hair is rough and drags between your thighs, adding a tingling sensation to the heat building inside you.

His tongue begins at your entrance, and licks all the way up to your clit, moaning at the taste. He craves more of you, and starts lapping at your clit, swirling his tongue around the bud before sucking it in entirely. The sensation has your back arching off the chair, forcing Daryl to hold you down as he continues eating you out.

“Oh! It’s so good. Feels so good.” You crumble under his touch, crying out from behind your hand.

Daryl moans again into your clit, sending vibrations up your body that make your legs close onto his head, squeezing him with the meat of your thighs.

Daryl takes your legs into his hands, not once leaving your cunt, and he stands, crouching over you. He holds your ankle of one leg down, and keeps another on his shoulder. You’re bent almost in half in the new position he manhandled you in, but the new position gives him a clear view of your entrance.

Letting go of your ankle, he lets your leg drop, his one hand still keeping your leg still on his shoulder. He rubs a finger around your entrance, listening to your breath hitch and shudder. He slips it in with ease, curling it up and rubbing in long strokes against your g-spot.

“Daryl…” You drop the hand that covered your mouth and put both hands on his forearm, unsure whether you were trying to pull it away or bring him closer.

Spurred on by the sound of his name falling from your lips, he slipped in a second finger. Obscene squelching sounds carried through the room each time his fingers pounded in and out of you.

You were so close, but you couldn’t let it end here.

You push his head away from your cunt. His face is dripping with your juices, his tongue laps up the remainder of it on his lips and he tries to dip back down between your legs, eager to taste more of you, but you stop him.

“Whas’ the matter?” He says, his voice raspy and deep. His expression flickered from lust-filled to concerned in a matter of seconds. “Did I—“

“I was close.” You manage to say despite trying to catch your breath.

He relaxes knowing it wasn’t anything that he did. He scoffs and tries again to delve back into the heat of your thighs but you stop him for the second time.

“C’mon, yer’ close, weren’t ya’?” He says, nipping at your inner thigh which makes you jump.

He looked so enticing. His cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed and hungry, his tongue darting out to taste the remainder of you on his lips. It was almost too much.

“I… I wanna do the same to you.” You say, now your turn to be shy.

You watch how he sucks in a breath and you feel the way his hand squeezes your thigh.

“You… you ain’t gotta.” He says as he drops your leg from his shoulder.

“I want to, please.” You insist. You reach around your back and unclasp your bra, letting it fall and reveal your breasts to him.

His eyes instantly dart down to your freed breasts.

He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a nod and backs away to sit on the bed with his legs widespread.

It’s your turn to kneel beneath him between his legs. You lift the hem of his shirt up, kissing the warm skin of his navel. He has a dark happy trail leading down his groin. You breathe in his musky scent there, and look up at him with wide eyes.

He takes the hem of his shirt and takes it off for you to have better access. His hands then return to the edge of the bed, fiddling with the covers nervously as his eyes rake over your body.

You do the same to his.

You knew he was strong. You always had an amazing view of his biceps whenever he would chop wood for the fire, or lift his crossbow to shoot a walker. But up close, seeing his upper body completely bare made you realize how strong he really was.

Daryl became a bit antsy, unsure where to look. Your stare made him feel strange. He wasn’t used to being watched so intensely.

“Stop starin’ girl.” He flicks your forehead, making you jump back.

You pout up at him, rubbing the spot he flicked to soothe the sting. You mumble a “prick” under your breath which makes him rumble a deep chuckle. It has you squeezing your thighs together in anticipation.

You undo his jeans and yank his underwear down. His cock springs free and hits your cheek. The visual of his hard cock on your face has his cock pulsating on your cheek.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He can’t take his eyes off you. You look stunning under him like this, kneeling before him and worshiping his cock.

You take him into one hand and you bring the other down to his balls, rolling them in your palm as you lower your head and take the head of his uncut cock into your mouth. You’re fascinated by the way his jaw drops open, and how the muscles in his abdomen flex and flutter from pleasure.

You dip your tongue under his foreskin, massaging every part of him you can reach with your tongue. You then pull back and suckle the tip, holding eye contact with him as you do. The saltiness of his precum coats your tongue, and it has you humming, sending vibrations down the shaft of his cock.

“Shit,” Daryl moans, stooping over your head. He can’t seem to restrain himself. His hand drops down to your chest, fondling and massaging your breasts. His other hand rests at the back of your head, not daring to push you past your limits. You’re grateful for that and reward his actions by pushing him deeper into your mouth.

The muskiness of his sex has you seeing stars. It was all so arousing. His hands on you, his rough moans and heavy breathing, his quiet praise whenever you would suck him deeper into your tight heat.

You drop one hand from his balls and run it up his side, feeling the firm muscle twitch under your touch. You caress his sides, then over top of his abdomen that ripple with strong muscle. You reach his chest, and you feel his heartbeat pound fast against his rib cage.

“Shit, darlin’ m’close.” He warns, and threads his fingers into your hair, yanking you off of his cock.

You suck in a breath and lick off the mix of precum and saliva on your lips. You swallow, wiping your face on your shoulder and looking up at him expectantly.

“Dammit girl’ don’ look at me like that.” He hisses, helping you wipe off a smudge of spit on your cheek.

You smile up at him and crawl into his lap. You slither a hand around his shoulders and up to his neck, grabbing at the long strands of hair. Your breaths hover over each other’s lips, sharing the air between you.

Daryl looks conflicted. His eyes dart from your lips, then back to your gaze. He wants to kiss you, but he feels that may be too intimate.

“Do you want to kiss me, Daryl?” You ask, trailing a finger over his brow, noticing a small scar on his forehead. You trace it with your finger adoringly.

He’s too afraid to speak, knowing that his voice will most likely crack, or his pounding heart will make his words stutter. So he nods shyly instead.

You smile.

“Go ahead then.”

With hesitance, he cups your cheek in his big, calloused hand. You watches how you lean into it encouragingly.

He leans in and takes what he wants. He kisses you shyly at first, but then turns greedy once you kiss back. He slides an arm around your waist, pushing you impossibly closer to his body.

He tastes the faint remainder of your blood on your lips, a reminder of what hedid to you. It makes him angry, but he pushes down the feeling by kissing your harder, shoving his tongue into your mouth.

You moan into his mouth which he swallows. Without breaking the kiss, he lays you down onto his bed— the one you’ve stolen from him, and hovers above your body, caging you with his frame.

Your nails scrap down his back which earns a low growl from the back of his throat. He breaks the kiss to take in your naked body beneath him.

He can’t believe that you’re real. That you’re beneath him, squirming and impatient for him. Body flushed and shining with a thin slayer of perspiration. Soft moans escaping from your swollen lips, and a desperate look in your eye.

And it’s all for him.

“Daryl..” You moan his name, running your fingers through his hair.

“Mm?” He replies, returning his attention back to your face.

“I want you inside me.”

He believed that his cock couldn’t get harder, but he was wrong. He could’ve came from those words alone.

“Ya?” He says a bit hesitant. He needed to make sure this was what you wanted.

“Please Daryl!” You plead, wrapping your legs around his hips and pushing him closer to your core.

He nods, pleased with how desperate you are for his cock. He places a forearm beside your head, resting his weight. He takes the other hand and lines himself up to your entrance.

“Ready, darlin?” He asks, kissing your temple. You never imagined Daryl to be an intimate person, but you adored it. The innocent kiss had your stomach fluttering.

“Please,” You moan, canting your hips forward to try and slip his cock inside. Daryl chuckles and holds your hips in place with one hand, forcing you to be still.

Slowly, he sinks inside you. His cock being enveloped by your soft warm walls, hugging him tight like a vice. You both moan in sync, shuddering as he continues to fill you up until his balls rest at your bottom.

“Shit, darlin. You feel s’good.” He says with his face between the crook of your neck, the vibration of his deep voice tickling your skin. He lets you adjust to his girth, patiently running gentle circles along your sides.

He feels you flutter around his cock adjusting to him. He runs a hand from your side, up to your face, cradling your cheek and coaxing you to look at him.

“Does it hurt?” He asks. He wasn’t certain whether you were a virgin or if it had been a long time since you’ve had sex. He wants to make sure you feel as good as he does.

“Just a lil, just give me a sec.” You reply, pecking him on the lips. He nods and kisses you, distracting you from the pain by licking into your mouth. He takes one of your nipples between his fingers and rolls it, making you squirm and gasp under him.

You both kiss until you run out of breath, and when you break apart you nod, allowing him to move.

He hugs you into his broad chest, burying his face into the top of you head and breathing in your scent as he pulls his hips back, and sheathes himself back inside you slowly, helping you get accustomed to him.

“Faster,” You moan, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You can feel his back muscles ripple under your fingertips and the raised skin from old scars.

“Greedy girl,” He whispers in your ear, smirking. But he obeys your command and snaps his hips faster into your pussy.

You bury your face into Daryl’s shoulder, muffling your moans and sobs of pleasure. He angles his hips just right, pounding that spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. Your nails drag down his back, earning a loud growl in your ear. He goes faster, spurred on by the sharp pain.

Your pussy made obscene wet noises with each snap of his hips. He felt your wetness coat his cock and drench his balls. He looked down at where you both were connected, and the visual of his cock disappearing into your pussy made him curse.

He switched the rhythm but kept the same speed. With each thrust inside your cunt, he would grind his groin on your clit.

You released a particular loud cry into his shoulder as he did this. His pubic hair accompanied by the powerful grind on your cunt had you reaching your climax quick. It was euphoric the way he played your body.

“That’s it girl.” Daryl praises, slapping the side of your thigh just to watch the fat jiggle. He felt your walls tighten at the action, and it had him smiling deviously into your neck.

“Yer’ just a slut fer my cock, aren’t ya? Humping me like some horny bitch in heat.” He says with a sadistic chuckle. You were shocked by his dirty words, but it had you melting in his arms.

“Yes! Yes Daryl!” You reply. The euphoric feeling with each slam of his cock has your mind shut off completely. You went limp, accepting him to use your body in anyway he wanted.

“Dumb slut, yer’ just drunk on my cock.” He says, slapping your thigh for a second time. “With your fucked out brains you’d do anythin’ wouldn’t ya, slut?”

You moan loud into his shoulder, rapidly nearing your orgasm. You can feel the tightness in your stomach about to snap.

“Yes! Anything! Anything for you!” You chant.

Daryl’s hips begin to stutter and he lets out a shaky moan.

“Then come on ma’ cock.”

That’s all it took. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as your body goes taut. A rush of pure euphoria clouds your mind. Daryl watches your face contort and feels your walls go impossibly tighter around his cock.

He continues thrusting, holding off his orgasm to ride out yours. He waits until your body goes limp in his arms before letting go.

With a drawn out groan, he indulges in your warm heat before pulling out and spilling his hot seed onto your stomach. His balls clench, and long stripes of white coat your abdomen and breasts. He strokes himself until his body shakes, and his orgasm fades into a dull pleasurable pulse.

He takes a look at your fucked out expression and gives you a lazy smirk. He lays beside you, hugging you into his chest— not minding his seed smearing on his stomach.

You’re both quiet for a few moments, listening to each other’s heartbeats and satisfied breaths.

“Holy fuck that was hot.” You’re first to break the silence.

Daryl snorts and smacks your ass, loving the way it jiggles from impact.

“Tell me bout’ it.” He says.

You look up at him, forcing him to open his tired eyes.

Despite all that you’ve done together, his heart seems to flutter most at the way you smile up at him. He’s about to ask you what you’re looking at him for, but before he can, your lips are already on his, kissing him short and sweet.

“You’re forgiven.” You say with a devilish smile.

He scoffs. “Yer’ a lil’ shit.” He says, and pushes your face into his chest. He rests his chin on your head and closes his eyes, ready to sleep.

Your arms wrap around him and you breathe in his smell noisily while tangling your legs around his torso.

“Jeez, woman. Go to sleep.” He huffs, a smile tugging on his lips.

“Mmmhmm.” You reply, snuggling into his chest, nearing the edge of falling asleep. “Goodnight.”

He rolls his eyes but still, he kisses your head.

“G’night darlin.”