#the others two but i think i only mentioned them

[fireinmoonshot]

control | robert reynolds x fem!reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Reader Summary: Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand. Warnings: Mentions of fighting, concussions and injuries. Word Count: 1.8k A/N: This is one of the other fic ideas from the poll that I posted the other day! I really loved writing this one, it was so much fun so I hope that you'll all enjoy it as well. Thank you for all the love on my Bob fics so far. I'm loving writing for him! 💗

“You need to tell Bob that he doesn’t have to worry about me,” you tell Yelena from where you’re standing, one of Bucky’s arms wrapped around you to help you stay upright due to the pounding in your head and the pain in your ankle. “He’s going to panic when I don’t come back with you guys.”

They’re the first things you say to Yelena when the team decides that it’s important to take you to a hospital so you can get looked at. You’ve all sustained injuries before, but being hit in the head as hard as you had been made everyone concerned, and the fact that everything is spinning a bit definitely isn’t a good sign. 

No one is surprised that your first thought isn’t about yourself, but about the man waiting for you back at the Watch Tower. They’re not oblivious to whatever it is that’s been going on between the two of you, but none of them have found the need to know specifics.

“We will,” Yelena assures you before urging Bucky to get going.

He’d been very insistent on accompanying you to the hospital as soon as they’d discovered the extent of your injury.

Yelena is full of nerves by the time they get back to the Watch Tower. The elevator journey to the penthouse, where Bob is waiting for you all to get back, is the longest minute of her life. There is no way that Bob is going to react well to this news, and part of their job involves keeping Bob and his powers in control, which is much easier to do when he’s calm and not worried about someone he cares for.

The second that Bob hears the elevator ding, he stands up from where he’d been sitting with his book and starts to jog towards it, a small smile on his lips. Everyone going on missions without him always makes him miss them more. You, especially.

“How did it go?” He asks, the second he sees Yelena exit the elevator.

His eyes scan over the rest of them – Walker, Ava and Alexei. You’re missing, and Bucky is missing as well. His heart drops into his stomach and he clenches one of his fists at his side, trying to control his emotions. 

“Where is she?” 

Yelena is quick to jump to action. She’s by Bob’s side in a second, placing a hand on his shoulder to try and help ground him. “She’s okay. Bucky took her to hospital to get looked at by a doctor but it’s nothing serious. She told me to tell you not to worry.”

He almost laughs at that. The fact that you’d told Yelena to tell him not to worry when of course he was going to worry about you, even if you’d told him not to. He spends half of his time worrying about you, especially when you go out on missions. This is the first time that you haven’t come home. The first time you’ve been injured more than just a couple of scrapes and bruises.

It’s the first time that Bob isn’t going to be the one patching you up afterwards. 

“What happened?” Bob asks, eyes flickering up to Yelena’s.

She tightens her grip on his shoulder a little. “Why don’t we sit down?”

“No,” he shakes his head and pulls away from her grip, starting to pace back and forth. He can’t help it even though he knows it’s only going to make him feel worse. “No, I need you to tell me what happened. Everything.”

Walker, Ava and Alexei stand just inside the door of the room, watching him with furrowed eyebrows and worried expressions. You’d warned them that Bob was going to panic, but they hadn’t realised it’d be quite this serious.

“I don’t think you need to know specifics,” Walker suggests, taking a few steps further into the room. “Just trust us that she’s okay, all right, Bobby?”

Their concern is further elevated when Bob doesn’t even bother to respond to Walker. He continues his pacing back and forth, occasionally mumbling under his breath so quietly that they can’t hear what he’s saying. 

If he’d been there, Bob thinks, maybe he could’ve prevented this. He should be going on missions by this point, even though he can’t really control his powers completely, he’s sure he could be of some use. He should’ve been there. It’s his fault, really, that you even got hurt in the first place. If he’d been there as The Sentry, he could’ve stopped all of this from happening and you’d be right beside him, unharmed. But you’re not. You’re in a hospital somewhere, probably alone in a clean, white room waiting for someone to check you over. You could be bleeding, maybe badly. There could be broken bones, or something internal that they can’t see until it’s too late. It could be any number of things, all of which could’ve been avoided by him being able to control his powers.

Yelena flinches as the lights in the penthouse start to flicker. She looks over at the others who all have the same expressions on their face. Bob is losing control. He continues pacing and the room starts to shake a little. She can hear the glasses in the cabinets clinking together. The coffee table vibrates on the floor and the windows start to creak a little. 

“Bob’s doing this…” Ava says, taking a step towards him. “We need to stop him.”

“He’s going to cause some real damage if we don’t,” Walker agrees.

Yelena is quick to respond. “I’ll take him to see her. It’s the only thing that’ll work.”

“What the hell are you thinking? He could get even worse once he’s outside!” 

“We have no other options!” Yelena shouts back.

She wastes no more time in walking over to Bob and stopping right in front of him where he’s standing. She’s a little surprised when Bob actually stops pacing and looks up, meeting her eyes. But then she sees the glowing in them and her concern grows.

“I’ll take you to the hospital to see her,” Yelena tries. “We can leave right now.”

The glowing in Bob’s eyes dims and then slowly disappears. She lets out a breath of relief, knowing that he’s back in control of himself now. The lights have stopped flickering and the room has stopped shaking. 

“You will?” Bob asks, voice soft.

“I will,” Yelena confirms. She extends a hand for him to hold. “Right now.”

He’s reaching for Yelena’s hand when there’s another ding of the elevator and his head snaps towards it. Everyone else in the room follows his gaze as the doors of the elevator open and you and Bucky are revealed. 

None of them have ever seen Bob run as fast as he does to get to you.

One second, he’s standing in front of Yelena and the next, he’s at your side, cradling your head in his hands and tilting it from side to side to examine the bandage that’s been wrapped around it and make sure you’re not injured too badly.

Bucky looks around at everyone. “What are you all doing?” 

“She was right,” Ava says, motioning to you. “Bob panicked when she didn’t come back.” 

His eyebrows furrow. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Walker confirms. “But your timing couldn’t have been any better.”

Neither you or Bob are listening to the conversation going on around you. You’re too focused on the feeling of Bob’s hands on your face and the look of relief on his face to focus on much else. He looks a little startled, too. His eyes are a little bit too wide and his breathing a little too heavy for someone who shouldn’t have been worrying about you.

“I’m all right, Bob, I promise,” you say, resting one of your hands on his wrist and dragging your thumb gently back and forth over his skin. “The doctors cleared me to go home. I have a mild concussion and a sprained ankle. I just need to rest.”

Bob shakes his head. “That’s not all right. A concussion is not all right.”

“It’s really okay,” you insist. “I promise I’ll tell you if I feel worse all of a sudden.”

“No,” Bob mutters, his gaze dropping from yours. “I should’ve been there. I could’ve protected you. If I had been there, none of this would’ve happened to you and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I should be able to be The Sentry without the other guy by now… if I could, I would’ve been there to save you from all of this pain.” His hands fall away from your face and he takes a step away from you. 

You frown, hating the way that he’s blaming himself for this happening when you were the only one at fault. You hadn’t been paying attention in the fight, too distracted by what everyone else was doing, and that had been the reason the man you’d been fighting had gotten the better of you and slammed you into the wall. Bob had nothing to do with it, not even you being distracted.

“Bob, that’s not true,” you sigh, taking a step towards him and taking his face in your hands to force him to look at you. “None of this is your fault. How many times have you patched me up before? This is not the first time I’ve been injured on a mission. You’ve been there for me every time to patch me up afterwards. You always save me from my pain.”

His eyes meet yours again and you almost crumble at the sadness in them. He’d really been that worried about you that he’d turned to blaming himself for it… telling Yelena to tell him not to worry was clearly never going to work.

“This time, it was too much pain for me to patch you up from, though,” he murmurs.

“No, it wasn’t. I still need time to heal. And you’ll be there for me while I do, won’t you?”

Bob nods. “I’m not leaving your side.” 

You reach down and take his hands in yours, giving them a squeeze. “You don’t have to.”

He takes a long, deep breath and steps a little closer towards you before leaning down and resting his forehead on top of yours, careful to avoid the bandage that’s wrapped around it and careful not to apply too much pressure in case he hurts you. “When I can control my powers,” he begins, “I’m never letting you get hurt again.”

“That’s a big promise.”

“I’ll keep it,” Bob hums. He stands up for only a second to lean down and press his lips briefly to your forehead, just underneath where the bandage is placed. “I’m glad you came home.”

You smile at the kiss and give his hands another squeeze. “I always will, so long as I have you waiting for me when I do.”

[somanyideassolittletime]

crumbs.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Summary: secret marriage just for shit and giggles. crack fic lowkey.

Warnings: language. insinuation to sex. mentions of cheating (not Jack). grammar inaccuracies as usual. have fun hahahaha idk why i write this.

Nobody ever pieced together the fact that both you and Jack are married to each other. Everyone, with the exception of Robby and Dana, that is. Everyone knows that Jack has a wife, whom he never refers to by name. Everyone also knows that you have a husband, who, to everyone’s convenience, is also referred to by you as your husband. 

It was common knowledge that you and Jack are close, eerily close to the point Whitaker once asked Jack if his wife knows you. One time, Langdon even asked Robby what’s going on in your house that you allowed yourself to be really close with Jack. 

Both of which were answered by “Not your business.” – In Robby’s case, he was right, though in Jack’s case, he was just messing with Whitaker.

Shen has a theory that Jack is cheating with his wife with you, and he got smacked by Ellis, saying, “What opposite sex can’t be friends now?” 

Javadi once asked you if Jack is your ‘Utah’, whom you can’t have but are attracted to. You laughed at her, saying, “I’m married” – to him. You should’ve said, but what importance is it anyway? 

When asked about her opinion – by Matteo, in one of their after-shift gossip sesh – Santos only answered with “Abbot? Yeah, no way that dude’s getting side chick. With her nonetheless” in front of Robby, who only scoffs, laughing nonetheless. 

It also doesn’t help with the fact that you two are damn professionals, never leaving any crumbs for others about your relationship with eachother – one time, the both of you had a big debate about patient care, making everyone who thinks both of you are married change their mind. 

(“See, if they’re married, you think Abbot would argue with her?” Mckay once said to whitaker. 

“It’s still weird they’re that close.”) 

It wasn’t like you two were overly secretive about it; if they were to just outwardly ask who it is you are married to, you would’ve answered them. But you know how kids are with their egos. You weren’t planning on making it a big secret anyway, but what started as a fun ‘private not secret’ thing became your source of entertainment. 

So when one of you accidentally leaves some crumbs, they eat them up like a starving wolf. 

| one

The first crumb started out with Jack’s car sweater, the one you insist on leaving in the car since he never outwardly says that he’s cold. It’s not like he planned on wearing the sweater that night, but it was so damn cold he started thanking you for leaving the sweater in his car on his way. 

“Didn't know you both went to the same school, man. Is that why you two are real close?” Shen commented to Jack as the latter peeled his sweater off his body and tossed it into his locker.

“What? Who?” Jack tried to be nonchalant in his response; if Shen were to find out, everyone would find out. Not that he minded, it was just so fun to see everyone trying to piece it together. 

“Y/n, man. Met her last week when she swung by my place,” 

“You met her last week?” Jack questioned him. Though he did remember you saying you’re going to Shen’s to drop something.

“Yeah, I was borrowing her speaker. Mine's busted. Told me that she rarely uses it now.” Shen sipped his iced coffee when a voice joined in behind.

“Whose stuff are you taking again now?” Ellis chimes in between the two men while opening up her locker and putting her stuff inside.

“Y/n. And no, I didn't take it, she kindly gave it to me – or I borrowed it – from her since she told me she never used it anymore.” Shen rolls his eyes, indulging in Ellis's antics nonetheless.

“ah yeah, is she coming today?” Yeah like he didn't just kiss her goodbye before going to work.

“Nah, man, it's her day off. Look, Abbot, you know I have like utmost respect for you, right?” Now this is getting fun.

Jack nodded slowly, unsure, and replied, “what do you mean?”

“Both of you always had like this weird connection, like mad weird. But don’t you think it’s bordering… I dunno like weird?” Ellis explained to him like it was a conspiracy theory they are unraveling.

“Yeah, I lost you,” Jack said. Shen sighed loudly, “You’re married, she’s married, y’know? Boundaries, man, boundaries.” 

“I’ll have you know my boundaries with my wife are perfectly intact,” Jack tried to say it as calmly as possible, but he bit his cheek in order to keep his smirk contained. 

“Okay, whatever.-” Shen sipped his coffee Jack was sure he needed to physically hold back from swatting it from his hand. “-just, respect, man, respect” 

Jack raised his eyebrow. “is there something I don’t know ?” Ellis cut to the chase, asking Shen. 

“y/n wear his sweater,” Ellis gasped, Jack mock offense. “What the hell?”

“You said it like only one exist, you can go to the nearest goodwill and find that shit man.” now Jack and you had promised not to lie if anyone were to ask, but he technically did not lie right now. 

“Oh the college one? Yeah, almost everyone who go there has one.” Ellis shoved Shen for giving her – what she thought – was misinformation. 

Jack huffed dramatically, rubbing his face (in a attempt to hide his grin) “thank you, finally some sense” 

“Nah, still gotta respect them boundaries, man,” Ellis shrugged. Shen still looked at him accusingly. 

“Y’know what? Why do I even listen to you guys? We got work to do, c’mon,” Jack said, clipping his badge to the side pocket of his pants.

Shen points his finger at him, walking away with Ellis “boundaries”. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved him off, before fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

|Jack : you know for someone who thinks this is fun, you keep giving them hints. 

|you : what now? 

|Jack : the damn car sweater. 

|you : Oh HAHA, you know if John just peeked out of his driveway, he would see I was driving your truck. 

|Jack : nah, he’s smart, but not that smart. 

|you : I have zero tolerance on my kid’s slander. How dare you????

|Jack : hon you can pick anyone and you choose him? C’mon now. 

He was called out before he can see your response, quickly he typed in. 

|Jack : i gotta go. Love you, don’t watch the new episode without me. 

|you: Hmmm hard bargain but love you too. 

| two 

The second crumbs were your fault. You were going to do some me time – and you always told Jack to get himself a good thermos for his coffee, he told you that he can always use yours, but when you pointed out to him that your bottles have bizarre colours, he gave in and gave you his card to, in his words, ‘surprise me’ before kissing your temple and walking you to the door – So your plan for the day was to get him a good thermos that can hold his coffee hot for at least his entire shift. 

How hard is it to get it right? Wrong. You’ve been to two target, one walmart, and one sporting store, only to find zilch. Okay, if Jack are okay with pastel yellow you could’ve gotten it in the first store. But you were looking for something more….him. So now here you are in an outdoor store looking for one freaking plain black thermos. 

Finally finding what you wanted to give to Jack, you were just taking it off the shelves when someone called out your name. 

“L/n? Fancy seeing you here.” You turned your head away to the voice, finding Jesse smiling at you. 

“Ugh, Jess, stop calling me that,” you groaned at him. “Habit, sorry-” he looked at the thermos in your hand, jutting his chin out to point at it, “-that’s a different vibe for you” 

You looked at the thermos in your hand, sheepishly, “ah yeah, wanted something neutral. You here alone?” you said, trying to change the topic from said bottle in your hand. 

He nodded, “Yeah, you in a hurry? I kinda need your input on a Jacket.” You shake your head, “nah, let’s see the jacket.” 

You should’ve been thankful that Jesse got himself on a different self-checkout, because if he were queuing behind you, he would’ve seen the card nameholder definitely not stating your name. But you put that encounter in the back of your mind until it was hinted at next time you met him.

It was a few hours into the shift when Jack took out his thermos at his station, sipping on it. Holy shit, it’s still hot. He thought. 

“Fancypants bottle you got over there,” Mckay pointed out at him. Catching the attention of nurses around – Jesse included. 

You heard McKay’s comment the first time, but decided that it’s probably just a chat, so you busied yourself. Looking over at him occasionally. 

“At least my coffee’s hot to keep me sane,” Jack commented to her, seeing the looks the nurses were giving him, he tried to pay no attention. 

Jesse approached him, “Actually, Abbot, can I see? I’ve been wanting to buy one” 

Jack nodded, handing his thermos to Jesse, who looked at the thermos way too thoroughly. He smirked to himself, “Didn’t peg you as someone who uses this,” he said, handing it back to Jack. 

 “Yeah, someone gave it to me. It’s cool, though. Still scorching hot.” 

Hearing that, Jesse looked over to you, who caught your eyes on him, and he raised his eyebrow suspiciously at you. You looked away too fast for someone innocent, and he smirked smugly at you. You shrugged at him, mouthing what? He laughed at that. 

“Why are you laughing, man?” McKay asked him. He shakes his head. “Nah, just reminded me of someone, I’ll put one on my wishlist though,” he said, the last part pointing at Jack’s thermos. 

Jack, who doesn’t understand what’s happening, over his damn bottle nonetheless, decides to continue focusing on the screen in front of him. 

It wasn’t until later that you realized why Jesse looked over at you when he called you “dr. someone.” fuck, he saw me buy that fucking thermos. You were going to talk back at him, but he was long gone. 

“Is it true? You gave him that bottle?” Ellis asked you as you were preparing to go home that day. 

You stopped your action, trying to stay cool. “What? Who?” – it has been a fun couple of years, shame it all go to waste because of a stupid thermos. 

“Jesse told me he saw you buy a bottle similar to one in Abbot’s hand” she explained, pointing at Jack, bag in his shoulder and the thermos in his hand. 

“So what? I gave Abbot a bottle and you act like it’s the end of the world” she looked at you incredulously, exasperated “dude, your husband, remember???” 

You laughed at her, “he won’t be mad. Gotta go bye” you said quickly, jogging over to the exit door. Still holding a grin. 

| three

The third crumb was a joint fault. It was because of a damn phone call. It’s not way too early in the morning, but it was one of those hours when it’s suspicious to be spending it together. 

Both of you just woke up, still trying to fight the sleep from your eyes with a cup of coffee in the silence of the kitchen, when the phone rang from the bedroom. 

Without a second thought, you stand up and walk to the room, looking at the caller. Langdon. You groaned, accepting the call. 

“Frank, I swear-” You looked over the nightstand. Huh, that’s my phone there. Langdon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “y/n?” you stilled. Shit. That’s my phone. This is Jack’s phone. 

You ran through the house, over to the kitchen, ignoring Jack’s confused face, before shoving the phone to his ear. You mouthed to him. Langdon. 

“Abbot. What’s wrong?” his voice gruff, almost annoyed. He looked over to you before listening to what Langdon was asking him. Why are you giving this to me? 

You mouthed back at him. Not my phone. He smirked, holding back a laugh before explaining to Langdon what he needed. 

You decided to go back to the bedroom to get the right phone. You scrolled over the notifications, mindlessly walking back to the kitchen. 

When you get back to Jack’s side, Langdon’s voice is muffled, but you can still hear it from where you’re standing. 

“Is that Y/n before?” he asked Jack, who elbowed your side gently before putting his arm around your waist. 

“What? Who? It’s my day off today. Just let me turn my fucking phone off.” 

“Oh shit. It is-.” Jack disconnected the call as soon as possible. 

He turned over slightly, facing you, laughing. “Remind me again why we still play this stupid game?” 

You stepped closer between his thighs, he leaned his head into your stomach, “because it’s fun-” you said, putting your hand in his curls. “-and god knows we need some fun things to do.” 

He slipped his hands under your shirt, needing the skin contact. You put your hands under his jaw, tilting his head slightly before meeting his lips in a fleeting kiss. 

“Jack, you know I love you, but your hand’s freezing,” you said to him, taking his hands in yours, removing them from your skin. 

He huffed, “You know your kid’s theorizing that I cheat on my wife with you, right?” 

You laughed wholeheartedly, knowing who he meant. “Oh my god, did we just adopt Shen?” he nodded. “Sounds about right.” 

You reached for your coffee before entertaining Jack’s earlier admission. “Matteo told me that Santos said you can’t bag me.” smiling into your mug. 

“Huh. last night’s my only argument” 

You gave him a serious look, “do you think we should tell everyone? 5 years enough for secrets don’t you think?” 

“Love, can i be honest?” you nodded at him, urging him to continue. “I kinda find it fun.” 

You rolled your eyes, “fuck I thought you wanna say somethin” 

“Whoa you kiss your husband with that mouth?” he teased. You shoved him gently before walking away “yeah, my husband ain’t getting a kiss today” 

You couldn’t see him feigning mock hurt, “wait you serious?-” 

“Hon?” you laughed at him back in the bedroom, hearing shuffled footsteps. 

|four 

The fourth crumbs was not a crumb, its a damn cookie being dropped, aka Jack finally tell everyone the depth of your relationship. 

It wasn’t even the worst shift both of you have experienced; it was fairly mild, to quote Shen’s words. But the med student currently on his ED rotation is getting on his nerves with how much he hovers over you. 

“Dr. l/n can I join you?”

“Dr. l/n can you teach me?” 

“Oh I can help you” 

And the worst of it all? Was him asking you, his wife, “dr. l/n, you’re working nights, is your husband treating you right?” 

You handled him like a champ, it’s not your first rodeo after all, so you gently put a hand on his shoulder, “trust me, if that’s what you're asking after joining me on multiple cases, you should reconsider being a doctor. Now take 20, heard there’s some food in the break room.” 

Ellis, the angel that she is, called out to him to join her in the break room, where Shen and Jack – on your insistence to take a break – are eating pastries. 

“What’s he doing here? y/n’s wearing you down, kid?” Shen commented, earning a shake of the head from said kid. 

“She told me to take 20.” Shen whistled, “damn. 4 hours. Record breaker over here.” 

Ellis laughed, looking over at the kid who looked lost. “If y/n tells you to take 20 means either you’re overworking yourself or you piss her off.” 

The kid takes offense at Ellis’ words, “ I helped her. A lot. Not my fault she’s pissed at me.” 

“You literally ask her about her home life, kid.” Ellis shrugged, leaning over to take a plain croissant – knowing the last pain au chocolate is yours. 

“He what?” Shen looked at the kid with a raised eyebrow, waiting for Jack to say something. 

“It’s a fair question, I mean, why would she even be working nights when she should be at home with her husband, y’know?” he said that as if it was no big deal, hand reaching out to take the pain au chocolate. 

Shen and Jack instinctively swat his hand away. “Not that one,” both of them said at the same time. The new kid retracts his hand, scared, before reaching over to the cheese croissant. 

“Hey, Dr. Abbot-” he turns his head towards Jack, “you’re the closest one with her, right?” Jack nodded, still hadn’t said a word the entire time he’s been here. Shen stood up, walking over to Ellis, looking for two mugs, pouring coffee before passing one to Jack.  

“Do you think she’ll go for breakfast with me after the shift’s over?” 

Y’know what? I’m sick of this. “Why would you?” 

“Well, she’s hot-. And smart as hell. Doesn’t help that she’s-” he stopped his rambling when he saw you walking over to the break room. Jack has his back on the door, but he always knows you’re close – a freak superpower, Ellis once told him. 

“Should I say the q word so you guys aren’t bored or what?” you said as you entered the room. 

“Don’t you dare.” “If you can say it faster than my hands,” both Shen and Ellis said, making you laugh. You looked over Jack’s shoulder to see the hot coffee in front of him. 

Without thinking, you walked over, putting your hand on his shoulder, taking the mug in your hand before bringing the coffee to your mouth. Sighing in content. 

“That’s his coffee,” the new kid commented. It was nothing out of the ordinary for Shen and Ellis, both currently thinking about how to stir the pot. 

“I know?” you asked him, unsure what he was insinuating. “That’s dr. Abbot’s coffee. You just drank from his mug.” 

The pot need not be stirred. Ellis and Shen are already liking where this goes. 

“What? My wife can’t take my coffee? Go ahead, ask her for breakfast.” Jack said, his hand shooting up to his shoulder to hold your hand. 

While the kid was flabbergasted, Shen was the first one to speak up. “What the fuck? What about your wife?” Ellis slapped the back of his head. “She’s his wife, you idiot” 

You chuckled, leaning down to give Jack’s curls a peck. “Damn, you said it was fun?” Jack shrugged. “Eh, getting pretty tired.” 

The kid stood up, looking at you, “i’m sorry. I crossed a line. Hope you understand.” you offered him a hand, “no hard feelings, kid.” he shook your hand, walking away from the room hurriedly. 

Shen was still lost, and Ellis already had an inkling but never voiced it out – she once saw both of you making out in a bar watching a Steelers game. 

“Any questions, John?” you looked over at Shen, “since when? HR? Why? Who knows?” you laughed at him, sitting down beside Jack. 

“HR’s good, no power imbalance. why? Hmm I don’t know. Was fun, I guess-” you put your hand on Jack’s knee, “was before your time, but who officially knows is Robby and Dana. How long? Well, how long have we been together, Jack?” 

Jack chuckled “fuck if  I know, we both ain’t counting. But married for 5”  putting his hand on top of yours. 

“So when I told you about that sweater, it actually is yours? And Frank’s phone call was actually you? And that damn bottle rumors Jesse said was true?” 

“Do you need them to spell it out for you or what?” Ellis said to Shen. Jack leaned toward you, “told you your kid’s stupid.” You shoved his shoulder, still smiling. 

Ellis points at you. “Hey? What about me?” Shen smiles smugly at her. “I’m their kid. Take the L”

You reached over to Jack’s coffee again, smiling into the cup as you took a sip. Jack groaned “dude, we just outed your main gossip source, and that’s what you guys are concerned about?” 

“Oh no, we don’t care about you. About y/n though, so which one of us you love more?” Shen asked you. You laughed, giving Jack a peck on the cheek – his eyes fluttered, one Ellis catch. 

If this is what it entails when everyone knows of your relationship, Jack would’ve told everyone the moment you guys got married. 

“Not my fault, I’m lovable.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. You both can pester her all you want.” Jack said as he stood up, squeezing your shoulder, looking over at the kids. 

“So, what are you nosy about?” 

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Let them see [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you and Bob are forced to attend an event hosted by Valentina, where more is revealed than you would have liked.

masterlist

warnings: established relationship (kinda) mentions of comic characters like Norman Osborn (Green Goblin), Wilson Fisk (Kingpin) and Danny Rand (Iron Fist), some kissing and I think that's it!

Now that you were The heroes who would protect the earth and Valentina held a high position in the government, it was a prerequisite for the team to appear in public. You all knew it was like a huge, manipulative, and fake publicity campaign, but if it saved your ass, you didn't really care much.

Strangely, you had the most experience speaking to the press and with political figures, from whom Miss de Fontaine wanted to profit. So it wasn't a surprise when she said she wanted all of you at a charity dinner, where, at the same time, she would try to convince various businessmen to finance some of your projects.

You had to cover as much ground as possible, so she would arrange for you to be seated at different tables and, in addition, assign you a partner for that. She didn't ask your opinion, she never did, and you knew where you'd be until she handed you a small map with your assigned seats.

"I had to sit down with the owner of Oscorp Industries."

"Wilson Grant Fisk. Sounds important, doesn't it?"

Your friends were arguing and bragging about who they'd been assigned to sit with at dinner. You glanced at the names on your map, realizing none of them really interested you. Only one was familiar.

"Hey, Bob, we'll sit together."

The boy checked his own piece of paper, frowning to read it, and smiled widely when he checked what you said. You two had been trying to be a thing for a few months, though no one knew it yet. While they suspected it, you had been careful enough to make sure there weren't any incidents. So the coincidence made both of you happy.

"Huh, that's right. Valentina told me to tell you that you can't change your partners because every fire has its extinguisher, whatever that means."

“What are you talking about?”

"Every couple has one person who could break political relations if they don't keep their mouth shut, and another who turns out to be more cautious or diplomatic."

"No surprise my partner is Ava," Walker murmured, suddenly "No offense."

"No, it's okay. I'm used to hearing your bullshit, I'll probably know how to help you avoid it."

While they argued, you tried to guess the other combinations. Bucky and Yelena went together, obviously. They were like the team leaders, after all. Only Alexei remained, whom Valentina had probably paired with herself to prevent any mishaps.

"So you're the fire or the extinguisher?"

"Oh, I don't think that applies to us," you laughed, looking softly at Bob. "I think he just put us together so you don't have to interact too much. You know, the shyest one on the team whom I could talk myself into."

Your partner—would boyfriend be the correct term? No, perhaps lover, in any case—and you shared an amused expression, more pleased than the others with the arrangement your boss had made.

Bucky announced that Valentina would send some stylists who would take care of getting you suitable clothes, makeup, and a good hairdo—yes, the event was that important—and then the matter was settled.

At night, you could see that they had done a good job. Yelena was radiant, Ava looked like a supermodel, and the men didn't look ugly at all. Although, of course, for you, the most pretty was Bob. He was wearing a brown suit, with a nice striped tie, and shoes that gleamed in the light. His hair had been trimmed and was slicked back, but it didn't look stiff, just sleek; a wavy lock fell over his forehead, as if it had been intentional.

"I want all of you to rave about this project," Valentina warned you before walking through the door into the living room. "Make friends, chat with businessmen, tell them jokes, just be yourselves! Okay, a little more charming and less psycho, okay? Have fun!"

The entire group looked like a school classroom that had been forced to go on a field trip, but most of them managed to hide it. As you were entering and the camera spotlights began to flash, you took advantage of the chaos to approach Bob and grab his arm.

"You look handsome," you whispered to him. With your heels, it was easier to reach his ear.

"I feel weird. I was never a big fan of formal wear."

"Well, I say it looks great on you, darling."

A shy smile spread across his face, and although you couldn't see it, your eyes radiated tenderness and love; as if you were bewitched by him. Once you found your table, you took your place and were disappointed to see that you were at opposite ends of the circular table. You would have liked to sit next to him, but the seats were already labeled with each name.

You didn't know how the rest of your friends were doing, but apparently at yours, all the businessmen seemed pleased. It was probably because you were pretty—and wore a tight dress—or because their wives were smitten with Bob, pestering him with questions like seagulls around bread crumbs.

At one point in the evening, billionaire Danny Rand demanded your full attention. He wanted to talk to you about other charitable efforts his company was involved in that The New Avengers could join. He didn't seem as flirtatious or pushy as the regular millionaires, but you knew that if he tried to cross a line, you'd have to hold yourself back to avoid dislocating his shoulder or breaking his wrist.

"You know, now that I'm CEO of Rand Enterprises, I want us to be a more… how should I put it? Humanitarian, maybe. I want to help people, just like you."

"You're quite the philanthropist, I see."

"I'm trying to use my family's fortune to do more than build glass towers. Many people don't have a voice. I want Rand Enterprises to amplify it, not drown it out."

"And you repeat that idealistic speech at every gala?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Danny laughed softly, not offended.

"You know," Danny said, turning the glass between his fingers, "all this… the galas, the donations, the campaigns… it's all good. But if people don't reconnect with themselves, it's all a band-aid. You can't heal a broken system if you don't first heal those within it."

You crossed your arms, listening to him with a barely raised eyebrow. He spoke calmly, without a trace of ego. There was something genuine in his voice, though it wasn't exactly the kind of speech you expected to hear from someone with such an obscene bank account.

"Are you telling me that what the world needs is... meditation?"

"I'm saying we need silence. Inner silence. That people are afraid to be alone with themselves because they don't like what they're going to find. And if they don't confront that, no social change will be sustainable."

"Deep," you murmured, taking a short sip from your glass. "Maybe even a little depressing."

"Not if you think of it as an opportunity. The internal work is the most difficult, but also the most necessary. If every entrepreneur in this room took half the time they spend planning tax evasion and took an honest look at themselves, the world would be different."

"You have surprising faith in these people's capacity for introspection," you replied, amused.

Danny smiled at you. Not like someone trying to win you over, but like someone who truly believed what he was saying.

And then you felt it. That look. Subtle but piercing. You barely turned your face and saw him. He didn't do anything, he didn't say anything, but his expression was enough to understand. It wasn't explosive jealousy, but that kind of sad insecurity, as if he were afraid he wasn't in the same league as a man like Daniel Rand.

Without missing a beat or a smile, you looked him in the eye and winked graciously. A quick, playful gesture, like a secret password: I'm in control. This is all for the cause.

Bob looked away, but the tense line around his mouth softened. You tried to ignore the fact that his cheeks had turned red.

"Did I lose your attention for a second?" Danny asked calmly, following your gaze, though without reproach in his tone.

"Just for a moment," you replied with a light smile, settling in naturally. "But don't worry, I'm still listening."

Danny held your gaze for a moment longer... and then followed. His attention slid naturally to the other side of the table, right where Bob Reynolds was pretending to pay attention to an elderly woman chatting. He didn't seem to be looking at you at the moment, but his body betrayed him: his chin tense, his back slightly rigid, his thumb pressing restlessly against the glass of his drink.

"He's part of your team, right?" Danny asked, without malice. It was a simple question, but loaded with insight.

"Yes. It's... complicated," you replied, staying on neutral ground.

Danny nodded slowly, with that calm that always surrounded him.

"He has the look of someone holding something very heavy," she commented, without looking away. "As if he were standing in the middle of a chaos he doesn't know how to calm."

"Your reading is not bad," you murmured, somewhat surprised by the clarity of his perception.

"I don't judge," Danny added, finally looking back at you. "Some have to survive here, amidst the noise of the world”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you. He didn't press. He didn't probe. He just offered you a sincere, almost compassionate, unpretentious look.

"Sometimes," he added gently, "the true act of spirituality isn't meditating or helping others. Sometimes it's knowing when not to take someone else's place."

You looked at him, this time without pretense. Because in that moment, you understood that Danny wasn't trying to steal attention or gain your sympathy. He was speaking honestly. And he'd also seen more than you expected.

"You are much more perceptive than you seem."

He smiled barely.

"I try"

You remained silent for a few seconds, observing Bob more closely. His shoulders were still somewhat tense, but now he was pretending to be engrossed in a conversation with a woman who was talking more than he seemed to want to listen.

"He doesn't like these places," you commented, your voice barely above a whisper. "He's not exactly a fan of galas. He barely tolerates protocol, and the idea of having to smile for strangers seems like torture. He's… shy. It's hard for him. Much more than people imagine."

Danny nodded gently, without a hint of mockery. Only understanding.

"But he's here," he said. "For you, isn't he?"

"For the team, actually."

"He seems like a nice guy," Danny added honestly. "If you want, I can go talk to him for a while. That way he won't feel so out of place... and I'd have the perfect excuse to stop talking to businessmen who only want photo ops and tax breaks."

You let out a short, grateful laugh as you looked back at Bob. This time, you gave him a clear signal, a gesture with your fingers that said, "Come here."

Bob seemed to hesitate. Not because he didn't want to, but because he seemed unsure about interrupting. But you held his gaze pointedly, and that was enough. He apologized to whoever he was talking to, then walked toward you with a measured stride, as if trying not to inconvenience you.

When he reached your side, you smiled.

"Daniel, meet Robert Reynolds," you said naturally. "He's a fundamental part of our team."

Danny calmly extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Robert. I've heard good things."

Bob nodded as he shook hands, a little tense, but polite.

"Nice to meet you"

"How about you two chat for a while? I can sit where you were before and deal with the ladies for you."

Bob tried to stifle a laugh, but he couldn't. He was amused to think that his annoyance had been so obvious.

"Alright"

You took advantage of the moment to lean toward Bob and place a soft kiss on his cheek, taking him by surprise. Nothing exaggerated. Nothing over the top—just a brief, deliberate show of affection. Enough to calm him… and claim him.

"Be nice to him, Mr. Rand. Besides being a key part of the team, I'd say he's also the most handsome male member"

Both men laughed at your joke and then Bob sat down, a little calmer than before.

The gala continued with the calculated elegance of any event funded by millionaires with a socially responsible attitude. The glasses kept refilling, the music became a constant background, and you did what you did best: reading the room, smiling intelligently, leading conversations without seeming to. Bob, after his conversation with Danny, seemed more relaxed. Not extroverted, of course. But at least he wasn't on the verge of collapse anymore.

A couple of hours passed. You exchanged greetings with politicians, activists, and heirs. Until then, amidst the hustle and bustle, you felt a familiar presence at your side. Bob.

"Do you have a moment?"

You nodded at his request and then excused yourself to the guests. Bob took your hand in a gesture so casual it almost seemed unconscious, but there was a restrained urgency in his movements. He gently led you to a secluded corner of the room, a refuge between columns and shadows where the noise and curious glances couldn't reach you.

He stopped and looked at you, his deep, dark eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and a determination that made your pulse race.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" you asked, trying to soften the moment, searching for a connection that went beyond words.

Bob inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"I'm fine," he replied sincerely. "But I needed a break… a moment away from all of this. Being with you helps me catch my breath."

You smiled, almost without thinking, and reached out to gently straighten his tie. Your fingers brushed the skin of his neck and you felt that invisible electricity that connected you, like a silent magnet that couldn't be avoided.

"Sometimes everything is so overwhelming, right?"

"I've wanted to leave since we got here," he confessed, making you smile.

One of his hands went to your waist, holding you gently and moving his thumb up and down, as if with that he could calm your anxiety.

"Hold on a little longer, just a little bit."

"And you? Are you okay?"

"Wonderful"

"I haven't told you that you look beautiful, have I?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, you look gorgeous."

At his compliment you smiled softly, and caught his gaze slipping to your lips. You knew what he wanted. Or what would make him feel better, anyway.

"Do you think they'll notice we've been gone for a few minutes?" you asked, tilting your head. Bob smiled back, the sweet, mischievous glint in his eyes only deepening what you already felt for him.

"Maybe," he said in a low voice, "but what does it matter?"

Without further warning, Bob brought his face closer to yours with restrained patience, as if he wanted to record every second before giving in. His other hand rested firmly on your cheek, while his lips sought yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

The kiss started slow and uncertain, but within seconds, passion erupted. His lips pressed against yours with a mixture of desire and tenderness that left you speechless. The hand that had previously been on your waist slid purposefully down your back, pulling you closer, melting into that small space that was now yours.

The world disappeared. Nothing mattered more than that burning touch, that electric brush that made you feel alive and yearned for. At some point, he lowered his hand to your thigh, and you lifted your leg, letting him caress your skin.

You continued for a while, and when you finally broke apart, Bob leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

"I guess you feel more relaxed now, huh?"

"Definitely," he exclaimed.

His hand gently released your leg until it was back in place, and then you both took a step back. You tried to smooth your dress, and Bob tried to fix his suit, hoping to look as natural as possible. A giggle escaped you when you noticed Bob had traces of your lipstick on, which you tried your best to remove.

To avoid suspicion, you left first, and a few minutes later he did. Just in case.

That was the calm. And then—the storm.

The next morning, well into the day, you woke up intending to find something for breakfast. The sight of all your friends gathered at the bar made you frown, thinking the worst. Most of them looked shocked. Bob, on the other hand, was completely pale.

"Good morning, young lady."

"Is something wrong?"

"Haven't you seen your phone?"

Everyone was focused on you while you tried to remember where you'd left off. You were barely awake yet, and you already had to deal with them.

"It's dead. I couldn't find my charger last night," you explained simply.

Yelena, still in her pajamas, reached out to give you hers. On the screen, there was a conversation, apparently from your group chat.

Mel: Valentina wants to know what this means.

Accompanying the message was a link to a compilation of headlines and photos from various digital media outlets. They all featured the same images: Bob and you arriving at the gala together, walking arm in arm with the ease of a long-established couple. But not only that: someone had captured on camera the fleeting, secret moment when you were secretly kissing in a corner, the intimacy of the moment glimmering in the shadows. The most scandalous outlets had added the obscene moment when you had your leg raised against his side.

"Fuck…"

"At least now we'll talk about the gala, right? That's what Valentina wanted."

"I think that you were more like firewood and fire than an extinguisher and fire."

"Yelena, will you shut the fuck up?"

"What? I'm just saying. Some articles say you look like you were about to take off your clothes…"

Overcome by anger, the embarrassment of the moment, you reached out to push your friend off the stool she was sitting on. There were two problems: you didn't measure your strength, and when she fell, Yelena made sure to grab your arm to pull you with her.

Bob was the first to spring up, approaching you to help you up, worried that either of you had hurt yourselves. You expected her to lunge at you and start hitting you, but that didn't happen. Instead, the loudest laughter you'd ever heard burst from her throat.

"Why did you do that?!"

"Lena, I'm so sorry…"

"You threw me out! What's my fault if you two decided to make out last night?"

"Shut up, for God's sake…"

While Bob tried to lift her, you reached out to cover her mouth, completely in vain. He gave up helping you when he saw you struggling, more out of pride than because you were actually upset.

"Who would have thought it, Bob? You've tamed the beast."

"Shut your mouth, Walker, you're next!"

Walker joined in the chorus of laughter. Soon, everyone else followed suit.

You thought that now that your affair was a matter of public interest, at least you wouldn't have to think about how to tell your friends. Valentina could go to hell.

In a strange, yet pleasant way, the revelation of the secret felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest. When you looked at him, smiling shyly, you suspected it was a shared feeling.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ body double.

sugar baby!paige x sugar baby!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: azzi and paige are both sugar babies who have no prior knowledge of each other. they end up meeting when their shared client invites them to the same hotel room. on the same evening.

cw: power dynamics, mentions of drugs (neither p nor a are the ones using), non-graphic & non-fatal overdose, non-sexual intimacy, suggestive content, the eroticism that comes with finding someone almost exactly like you, strangers to maybe lovers.

notes: hello, my loves. this was written as a part of a challenge to help me write more. the challenge was as follows:

work with isolated locations for the majority of a piece. only one place or two, almost like a film. pairing is pazzi. type: oneshot. prompt: body double.  

d.c. can feel exactly like new york city if you drink enough. azzi learns this about two months into the sugaring game. she also learns that people with copious wealth will wield it to test your willingness to receive it. 

azzi wonders if they see something when she looks up at them. if there’s a large question mark that they click onto that asks them: what else can i do for love? and the thing is, it’s not about love. it’s about affordability. but still, the wielding of wealth is exactly what’s gotten her into this hotel room with two women she doesn’t know.

one of them is clearly another baby, sugar. the one with the money, and therefore the most power, is currently in the bathroom getting ready for their “night of fun.” azzi and the other girl are sitting so still, each frozen on one of two twin beds, faces steadfastly turned away from one another. 

azzi is pressing her thoughts down like petals under glass. she’s trying to forget she has a body at all. the other girl seems to be evaluating whether or not this is really worth it. azzi understands. 

the drip of the shower is abysmally insanity-inducing, so azzi turns herself slightly so that she can study the woman who still refuses to look directly at her. she’s beautiful, even from the side.

she’s all-american: blonde hair like wheat tumbling past her shoulders, blue eyes that seem to x-ray anything she’s looking at, skin that’s probably more pale than the tanning spray it’s been painted with tonight, a sharp jawline that leans into a strong neck.

she’s awkward, tall, and a bit gangly. slacks. a collared shirt that doesn’t quite fit right. it looks too nice to be hers, probably the client’s pick. azzi fidgets with the glittered hem of her mini dress, which, too, is the client’s pick.

they fit the profile of what most older women with money seem to need: younger, younger in posture still, bodily desperation or at least the shape of it, wide eyes because it makes them appear more into it than they ever are. 

the other woman turns her wrist over, studying underneath her unpainted nails. azzi catches a flash of a tattoo sitting sweetly on her inner wrist. scales. libra, azzi thinks. she tries to think if libras and scorpios are known to be compatible, and she finds she can’t remember. 

she once had a client so into astrology that he used to check his horoscope before they ever slid into bed. he drove her insane. 

that was a valium heavy year. 

the shower is still running, and azzi belatedly wonders what the water bill for the hotel must look like. it’s how she knows she’s getting bored. next to her, on that other bed, her blonde counterpart shifts impatiently. azzi feels a smile flicker along the curl of her mouth, and she bites down on her bottom lip to keep it captive.

something about that urges the woman to look at her, and as she does, azzi lets her bottom lip slide out from where she’s bitten it bloodless. the plumpness returns to the vermilion, and the woman watches as the skin steadily fills back out. it sits pretty and wet in the low light. 

a pause. then:

“you know about this?”

the words both startle and provide clarity to azzi. she knows almost immediately what the appeal is. her voice is low, deliberately kept that way. azzi can tell. her thing is probably not to talk much unless necessary. the charm is always in what you never say.

“about…” azzi says, tilting her head.

“the alleged threesome we’re about to have,” the other woman says, voice just on the side of dry.

azzi gives a non-answer. “alleged is a great word, because with the size of her pupils and the slur of words, i’m not sure she’s making it out of that shower.”

there’s another pause, and then they both slide off the edge of the bed and stand. they do an odd dance for about five minutes: azzi forward, the woman backward, then stand side to side. all of this and never moving closer to the bathroom. finally, azzi is the one to push ahead and knock the door open with a manicured finger. 

they find their client slumped halfway in the shower, water still cascading down the curve of her back, mascara in twin tributaries running past her temples. azzi is the first to move, toeing off her heels, padded and slow over the tile. the other girl doesn’t move from the doorway, only exhales loudly. there's no scream, no panic. just a long, stunned silence.

“she breathing?” she asks, voice flat.

azzi kneels, checks a pulse she barely remembers how to find. “um, yeah,” she says. “i think so.”

they exchange a look.

“do we…call someone?”

azzi’s lip curls. “what, 911? and say what? ‘hi, our shared sugar mommy did too many muscle relaxers and now she’s unconscious in the waldorf astoria bathroom’?” 

her voice goes high as she does the impression, her cheeks slightly puffing so that she can mock pout as she blows her eyes out to look as innocent as they’re paid to be.

the blonde presses her thumb to the bridge of her nose. “we are not getting paid.”

“not tonight,” azzi agrees.

azzi stands up from where she’d crouched beside the tub, brushing her palms over her thighs like she can shake it off. she doesn’t look at paige when she says, “her lips look a little blue.”

the girl—azzi's coined her blondie— frowns. “what?”

azzi turns, finally, eyes more honest than they’d been all night. “i’m not a nurse, okay? but she wasn’t that color before.”

that’s what makes them check again. blondie steps forward, nudging the shower curtain back with two fingers like it might bite. the woman is still breathing, barely, but her head has lolled too far over the side of the tub, and her chest rises, falls, stutters again.

“fuck,” blondie groans.

azzi’s already moving, digging through the woman’s massive purse like she owns it. lipstick. loose twenties. pills. more pills. 

“are you stealing?” blondie asks, and she knows its the wrong thing to say but she’s shit at this. 

azzi tenses and doesn’t look at her as she answers. “i’m looking for narcan.”

“oh.” blondie's voice sounds steadier than she must feel, less apologetic than she wanted. “well, you’re calling.”

azzi glances over her shoulder, brown eyes dark like a deer’s in the light. she studies blondie for two seconds flat before nodding sharply. there’s hesitation, only for a second, then she dials. the conversation is short and strange: no real names, just room numbers and coded panic. she hangs up and drops the phone face down on the carpet.

“she’ll live,” azzi says, finally. “they said they’d send someone. told me to leave her in the tub. that seems cruel."

blondie says nothing.

paige observes how the other girl tucks a strand of hair behind their client’s ear, how she fixes the strap of her dress so she’s more dignified in her self-designed destruction. then, whatever paige sees? it’s gone. there’s nothing. just the buzz of silence around them, and water still running because neither of them dares to reach in and touch her again. azzi moves again, turns the water off. 

they slink out of the bathroom and sit on the beds again. paige rises, always antsy in conflict, and azzi watches her as she reaches behind herself to grasp her curls in one hand and pin them with the claw clip in the other.

paige leans on the dresser. “guess we’re not going anywhere.”

azzi snorts, then sighs like something inside her unhooks.

she stands, crosses the room, and tugs at the zipper of her dress. it’s glittery and stiff; it could hold its shape without her. 

“jesus, i can’t feel my ribs,” she mutters, more to herself.

the dress peels off like fruit skin. underneath, azzi wears something so worn it’s almost faded: a ribbed cotton tank with a thin daisy print and matching boyshorts, simple, clean, hers. paige is pretty sure it's from h&m.

azzi stretches, shoulders rolling back, head falling to one side in a sleepy waterfall. paige can’t not look. and then can’t stop.

azzi is beautiful. she’s fuller where paige isn’t, hips wide and waning like the moon. her chest is full, the skin glowing with an endless layer of body butter and maybe oiled perfume. her thighs are strong, indicative of an athletic background—her arms too.

paige is helpless to the way her eyes catch on the spill of her ass from her boyshorts, the high rise of them in the front that strip down in a tiny patch of fabric to keep her cunt hidden and alluring. she tries not to look at it for a second time, a third. tries. fails. then begins to wonder.

what does she look like in motion? in your mouth? is it like a flower rising toward the sun?

azzi glances over her shoulder. “are you okay?”

paige nods, too quickly. “yeah. yeah, ‘m fine. i’ve just never seen glitter look so relieved to leave a body.”

that gets a laugh, a bright, real burst, and azzi flops onto the nearest bed, folding one leg over the other. it’s the one paige had been sitting so clinically on before. “you’re kind of funny. didn't expect that.”

“why would you? you don’t know me.”

azzi hums, not disagreeing. “i’m azzi.”

“paige.”

azzi nods, then leans over and yanks a beaded clutch from underneath the bed.

“you’re kind,” paige says after a minute, voice quieter now. “didn’t expect that either. you kind of come off as…”

“a bitch? yeah, i know.” azzi shrugs. “it’s not kindness, it’s survival. but thank you.”

paige wants to sit, but she doesn’t want to take the other bed. it’s too close to the bathroom. azzi looks up from where she’s scrolling on her phone, its delicate skeleton encased in a pink, plastic case with gold lettering airbrushed across it that looks as though it's seen the world. she shifts, makes space. paige climbs up to be with her. 

they sit like that for a while. the wet gurgle of the bathroom, the long shadows, the strange closeness of a night that probably would’ve been later repressed. 

outside the window, the city murmurs on without them. inside, paige’s eyes won’t stop catching on the soft places azzi has let show. not just skin, but still skin.

“what’s it say?” she asks, and azzi looks at her. “your phone case.”

“oh,” azzi says. she flips the phone over, holds it up to the light. “you have all these things inside of you. [i wish] you could turn into something beautiful.” 

“why the brackets?”

azzi brings the phone to the pit of her lap and looks at paige. “without the brackets, it’s a great motivational quote. with the brackets, it’s itself.”

“meaning…”

“it’s the last thing my mother said to me before she kicked me out and cut me off.”

paige lets out a breath. azzi smiles wryly. “we’re kind of okay now. she got comfortable with the liking girls thing when she realized it was technically half of me.” 

the joke makes paige laugh. 

“but still, bisexuality is a large pill for her to swallow. by the time she started to try, i was already thick in the game.”

azzi says it like she’s over it. like it’s a throwaway story she only tells when she’s bored or brave or buzzed off a stranger’s attention. but paige can tell by the way azzi presses the phone to her lap as if it might spill something, by the way she won’t meet her eyes again yet, that there’s nothing throwaway about it.

“that’s kind of beautiful,” paige says softly. “in a fucked up sense.”

azzi's shirt is clinging to her like a second skin, damp where the collarbones dip and the cotton’s gone sheer with sweat. the room smells like sterile panic, like baby powder and bile and something almost sweet underneath. paige’s perfume, maybe. azzi saw the valentino on the nightstand. or maybe it's the city. 

azzi tends to find the skyscape sweet when she has time enough to enjoy it.

paige shouldn’t still be watching her. should’ve turned away after that first scan down her legs, after the boyshorts and the way they cut in at the curve, gave shape to things paige wasn’t supposed to be cataloguing. but it’s like catching sight of your reflection in a window you didn’t know was there. she can’t look away, and azzi doesn’t seem to mind it.

“you always wear them like that?” paige asks. it’s nowhere near as casual as she hopes. she blames the question on adrenaline. on proximity. on whatever the fuck is happening with the allegedly arriving emts and the non-present narcan.

azzi raises an eyebrow, half-lidded, a little mean. “wear what like how?”

“you always wear your favorite underwear under a thousand-dollar dress? then strip down like you want someone to notice?”

a pause. a glint of something dangerous moves through azzi’s expression, then quiets. “how do you know they’re my favorites?”

paige raises a light brow. “baby, those things have seen leagues of better days.”

the pet name hangs between them like a dare. azzi’s mouth twitches.

“bitch.”

“sorry,” paige quips, smiling fully now. azzi can see teeth.

“don’t be.”

that hangs between them, too. 

paige looks down at the bed, at the mussed sheets, and then toward the bathroom where the person who paid for it is still lying. her gaze transfers to azzi, whose mouth is slightly parted like she’s catching breath that won’t come easily. paige feels her own stutter, short-circuit. 

azzi doesn’t look scared. she looks resigned, empty. nothing about this scenario is new to her.

paige thinks: she could be me. if i let go of the wheel. 

azzi catches her staring.

“would you have done it? fucked me, i mean. i’m starting to gather we both didn’t know about this...endeavor.”

it’s the answer to paige’s question from earlier. it’s not coy or flirtatious. it’s almost accusatory, clinical. like she’s calling paige on a secret she didn’t mean to let slip. paige doesn’t answer right away. her eyes flick down, then up again. the air hums.

“since i didn’t know about this whole proposition till we crossed the threshold, i don’t know if i would’ve fucked you,” she says. 

azzi looks at her from beneath her lashes. “do you want to?”

paige leans back on her hands, stretching her body out across the pillows she’s sitting on. she shrugs.

“i think i wanna figure out what happens if i do.”

azzi leans back a little, her head tipping so the tendons in her throat show. her arms are crossed but loose, like she’s considering the confession academically. there’s no warmth in her smile.

“you think it’s something about how we live the same?”

paige swallows. “a bit, yeah. but you’re not that hard to look at.”

azzi laughs again. second time tonight.

there’s a sudden knock, a bang against the doorframe, then rubber soles and clipped voices calling in. azzi rises and grabs one of the satin robes hanging in the room’s wardrobe. she ties it around herself, the belt coming into a neat bow along her hips. she turns, leans forward just enough so that paige can smell the caramelized citrus and musk of her perfume, and pops a few buttons of the shirt paige wears.

“try to look like you’re getting ready for bed,” azzi tells her. paige stands, tries to do her best.

the door opens.

“hi, ma’am. we’re answering an earlier call about an overdose. is she breathing?”

azzi nods jerkily. paige moves up behind her, arms up, closing the space like it’ll prove something. she presses two fingertips to the small of azzi’s back. azzi leans into her.

“she hasn’t woken up,” paige says. “we didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“how do you know her?”

“uh, we had dinner together.”

the excuse makes no sense, and they both ignore the knowing gaze of the team’s head member. a pair of emts flood the space with too much presence, all nylon and light and metal clips. one kneels beside the older woman on the tile, shining a small penlight into her eyes, asking questions she can’t answer. the other reads her vitals off the monitor like a grocery list.

paige backs into the corner, unnoticed, but not unseen. azzi is quiet.

the woman is now out of the tub, a puppet with its strings cut. she lets them touch her, prod and measure, like none of it matters. paige watches the whole time, arms crossed tight over her chest. she should leave. should fade into the background like any good girl caught someplace she wasn’t supposed to be.

instead, her eyes stay trained on azzi’s body, which now seems on the verge of collapse. paige slides closer to her, fits a finger into the hollow under her ribs. the room’s residue of glamour is approaching its expiration date.

“we’ll take her in,” one of the professionals says. “she’ll make it, but just barely. she needs observation.”

azzi finally turns her head, catching paige’s gaze like a hook in the mouth.

“that’s fine.”

it’s not a plea. it’s not a question, even. paige hesitates. then nods. the woman, nothing more than a bank deposit and a shared gps pin, is gone in under five minutes. a transaction cleared.

the silence after is paramount. paige closes the door, latches it. she turns, leaning against it with her arms crossed. 

“want to go to bed?” azzi asks. 

paige huffs out a low laugh. “might as well, mama.”

the sheets are still warm from when they’d sat on them. it makes them both shiver. they don’t say anything about it. 

paige pulls her shirt off first, then kicks out of her jeans, the slow reveal of ink across her shoulder blade catching azzi’s eye in the mirror. sports bra, soft boxers. nothing delicate, but it still makes azzi blink. her gaze stalls on the cut of paige’s abs, and when she’s caught, there’s nothing said.

paige knows she can’t say anything, not when moments before she was thinking about sucking azzi loose enough to make her cry, right through her fucking see-through underwear.

“do you think they have extra toothbrushes in the bathroom?”

“it’s the astoria. of course they do,” azzi answers, already turning toward the phone. “but probably only one. we’d have to call reception.”

they do. two pristine bamboo toothbrushes are left outside the door on a silver platter alongside a slim tube of marvis toothpaste. they wait for the other to finish despite there being two sinks.

azzi climbs in first, wriggles to the far end of the bed to steal the cold side, but paige follows. long limbs, loose breath, the heavy scent of sleep, something like chlorine and money.

they don’t cuddle. this isn’t what this is. not really. they just… end up there. one turn, another. an arm flung out. a thigh slips between the other’s legs. the legs that hold that thigh clench closed, keeping it there.

“it’s too fucking hot, bruh,” paige mutters, peeling herself off azzi—whose thigh is freed—and stumbling to the thermostat. “what is this, dubai?”

azzi laughs into the pillow.

“d.c., paigey.”

paige shoots her a look at the nickname.

“you could’ve asked her to pay for better a/c.”

“i don’t ask for shit.”

“you’re such a liar.”

“sue me.”

“maybe.”

paige doesn’t answer, just flops back onto the bed. azzi shifts, her knee bumping paige’s thigh as if trying to get her to open up again.

“stop moving,” paige mumbles, one hand flattening against azzi’s hip, her voice heavier now, eyes half-lidded.

“don’t tell me what to do,” azzi snaps back. but she doesn’t really mean it.

she moves more. on purpose. wiggles until the sheets shift and whisper in the most irritating manner allowed.

paige sighs, sharp. she presses a large hand flat against azzi’s stomach, just low enough to make azzi’s chest sing. her palm spans the place paige would push if she wanted azzi to cum on her.

“azzi, chill. ‘m tryna sleep.”

azzi only grows more agitated; she hates the pressure. she tenses, rolls halfway over paige with an arm to the side. her other hand sneaks low, fingers slipping just under the waistband of paige’s boxers before pausing.

“no.”

she rolls away, securing the colder side.

paige’s laugh is low, rough around the edges. a warning bell in a dimly lit room. 

she reaches, snaps the band of azzi’s boyshorts sharp enough to sting.  

azzi gasps, half-startled.

paige pulls her back anyway, drapes her arm over her waist, presses their bodies close, spine to chest. the room tilts. azzi goes heavy, steeped in jasmine and amber. she’s a little dizzy. paige’s scent curls around her throat like a loose ribbon. threatens to tighten.

“go to sleep, azzi,” paige murmurs.

and they do.

they don’t wake up at the same time.

paige stirs first, slow and unspectacular. she’s rising from too many layers of sleep, more than she’s had in weeks. her limbs are heavy, eyes gummy, the weight of another body is still pressed to hers like a shadow she can’t fully shake. 

azzi’s hair is a mess against the pillow. her lashes are long enough to cast shadows. her lips, parted. there’s a faint imprint of paige’s chain on her collarbone. paige thumbs over it, then remembers herself.

she does it again and understands—it's time to go.

she slides out from under the covers with practiced stealth. quiet but not quite careful. not tender, but still respectful. she dresses without ceremony: yanks on her jeans, and tugs her hoodie over her head. no perfume. no lip balm. not even a glance in the mirror. she ties her hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

she doesn't take anything but her phone.

as she passes the room desk, she spots a little leather portfolio with the wifi information tucked inside. beside it, a small tray meant for bills, folded sharply, ideally meant for tips for the cleaning staff. she pauses.

pulling a pen from the nightstand, she lifts the thick body of her phone case and slides out her last twenty. scrawls something quick, crooked, onto the face of jackson. she crosses the room again, barefoot. the carpet is plush, apricot-colored, and a little worn out.

azzi has rolled closer to the bed’s edge.

paige lifts the duvet, lifts the underside of azzi’s waistband, and tucks the bill against her skin with a faint twist of her mouth. she presses a kiss to azzi’s cheek. it’s barely there, more breath than lip. 

“see you, mama.”

she disappears. the door closes with a whisper, not a click.

she takes the elevator down to the lobby. nobody looks up. paige keeps her hood on, shoulders loose, head tilted forward like she's dodging the day.

outside, it’s too bright. the city is alive in that expensive, awful way it is at 9 am on a weekday. people in trench coats and bluetooth headsets. black cars. barking dogs. everything important, no time to feel. paige walks a few blocks before finding the metro.

she checks the time, taps her card, and descends.

halfway down the escalator, her phone buzzes. she closes her eyes, mildly irritated, already assuming it's her boss once again requesting that she cover another shift. she fishes it out, taps the screen.

unknown number. a text.

the twenty’s unusable btw.

your number’s all over it.

she stares at the screen for a second longer than necessary. then she smiles, small and stupid.

sorry

was trying to do something nice 

another minute passes, then,

hmm

make it up to me. 

it’s not a request. paige shakes her head, laughs once. it comes low.

course

she tucks her phone into her pocket.

the train screeches into view.

© hcneymooners.

[1980shorrorfilm]

you’ve seen the butcher

hey guys whats up

pairing…shauna shipman x fem!reader

in which…you make a new life for yourself after being rescued, but that doesn’t stop your ex from finding you.

before you read…18+. nsfw. smut!!!! post-rescue shauna. shauna shipman being shauna shipman. did i mention gay sex. everything is morally grey. wc 3.8k.

no one came to visit you. not friends, not family, just an occasional deer and fox that leave their friendly marks on the dirt surrounding your home, always near the blooming june flowers. 

though, you couldn’t say they were the ones who left a beat-up cardboard box on your porch.

you had yet to touch it, because that had meant bringing it inside, opening it, and seeing whatever the fuck it was. 

and nothing about an anonymous delivery with no return address, at your cabin in the middle of the damn woods, screams good news. 

especially when you’ve done your best to remain off the grid, and away from everyone that once knew you. those girls most importantly. what happened out there, stayed out there; that’s what she told you. 

the words that left shauna shipman’s mouth after you were rambling in your hospital bed that you do like her—like like her—your heartbroken self trying to keep what you two had before they found you.

the long romantic nights in your shared hut, whether that meant physical or simply holding her after she was comfortable enough to cry to you. 

that wasn’t often, shauna feared vulnerability. 

you guess that’s why she couldn’t face her feelings for you when there was a such thing as being in the public eye. why she kept whatever she still felt for you, a secret.

you, her secret. 

drunken sleepovers that made her feel alive again. locking you in the bedroom of some rando’s party. parking at the beach at night when it was just you and her and the water and the moon.

that didn’t last. she had jeff, and you had no one, just the weight of feeling like a burden. 

you had moved away quietly just a year ago. not a word was said to anyone because they would just try to talk you out of it. thinking it was some fucked up response to your trauma, moving to a remote location, your only neighbors being the trees and passing animals. 

maybe it was, or maybe it was just a cheap buy and a desperate urge to get away from everything. 

although, that didn’t mean you could truly leave the past, in the past. 

you get up from your dining chair, no longer able to occupy yourself with the latest flashy magazine you picked up in town, forcing yourself to walk to your front door. 

you open it, and the wind chimes hung on your porch greet you, the metal echoing while the sun sets over the cabin. the package is still sitting at the top of the steps, taunting you.

before you step outside, your eyes scan the area, from the tall vibrant green trees around your home, to whoever could be stalking behind them. there’s no one and nothing, so you push the screen door, the warm breeze hugging you when you walk over and grab the box, not wasting time to get back inside.

you bring it to the table, using a dull knife to cut through the messy tape, a scowl on your face at the idea of something gross being inside. 

luckily, it’s not.

it’s a vhs tape, no note, no other random object in the box, just that alone. eerie, and oddly intriguing. you slowly walk to the room over, kneeling before the boxed tv that’s currently on a broadcast of an old game show. the laughter from the speakers cuts off when you switch the channel, inserting the tape into the player beside you.

you should be more hesitant, more worried, but you were now way too fucking curious. the screen is static at first, then plain darkness with muffled voices. 

that goes on for nearly a minute before the camera is seemingly tossed on a mattress, facing a wall.

shauna’s wall, her bedroom, and her voice in the background. then, she emerges in the frame, laying back on her bed with her elbows propping her up. 

she wears a toothy grin and eyes something off-camera like she’s looking at meat. then you hear yourself.

“why would you fucking invite him?”

you sound pissed, and shauna seems to take enjoyment in it, still smiling like an asshole. typical. 

“jeff literally passes out before the family guy theme song ends, chill.”

you turn the volume up, the approaching night causing the temperature to drop and the breeze to pick up, the wind chimes growing louder outside your windows. 

“yeah, okay,” you laugh dryly, “i should’ve just gone out with natalie instead of this bullshit.”

“you still can, you know? i mean you’re fucking dressed for it.”

the smile had dropped from shauna’s face the moment you mentioned the other yellowjacket, her dark eyes seemingly scanning your figure still away from the camera, while the angered words spewed from her pink lips. 

it goes silent. almost like the camera had broken, and didn’t pick up any audio.

you shift uncomfortably, noticing the way her pixelated face softens and she frowns with a pout. the switch; what she pulled in every argument that got you to shut up when you locked eyes with her doe ones. you predict the next words that leave her lips.

“i’m sorry, okay? c’mere…”

she was always sorry. always for a different reason, and you never once questioned her if she ever truly was; you liked to believe so. you feel pity for yourself, watching you emerge into frame, in that fucking dress she had gifted you.

it was a mint green with tiny white flowers—one that seemed familiar as if you’d seen it in her closet. though, shauna had never worn it. 

you stood before her, and shauna dramatically pouted, her palm on the back of your thigh, pulling you into her lap and slipping beneath the material of the dress.

shauna wanted you to see this. to see her hands traveling on the sacred parts of your body and her mouth on your neck; eyes locking momentarily with the camera lenses. you hate her. she’s not here, and you haven’t seen her in so fucking long, but you swear you hate her. 

you hit stop on the vhs player, the television screen now blue and reflecting off of your flustered face. 

you didn’t need to watch it to remember it. that sleepover took place once your therapy started working and your family stopped coddling you so damn much. things had gone back to a somewhat normal and you thought one night with shauna would be fine. good, even.

you hadn’t known that making out with her until jeff showed up with a pizza, would lead to an argument that would cause you both to stop talking to each other. 

you’d bring up her worst habits; like cheating when you could just fucking be together, and she’d say the meanest shit to you to get a reaction, and remove the burning spotlight from herself. 

how could she ever date someone as pathetic as you? as boring? you didn’t answer her when she asked that.

she had ended it her hot headed rant with ‘you aren’t special.’

the words that were drilled into your head until the weeks passed and you left her, and that town, behind.

and out of everyone, shauna fucking shipman was the first to find you.

it hits you at once, she came here and you didn’t even notice. 

the goosebumps rise on your skin, the metal of the wind chimes clinging with a force. your head turns immediately, eyes peering into the darkness that's outside your windows. 

you’re not as pathetic as she thinks. 

you get up, walking with hurried steps to your dimly lit room, though you don’t need the warm lamp beside your bed to see beneath it. you know exactly where it is, the shotgun you purchased not even a week of living out here. surely not the safest spot but easy access.

you bend down and grab it, not yet adjusting the safety as you follow your footsteps back to where the tv is still blue, turning and heading towards the door. you turn the porch light on, and exit the home, keeping the weapon pointed while you study your surroundings. 

you think you should shout something; especially when a branch snaps to the left of your porch, but you remain mute. you even take a few steps forward, and down the stairs, holding a hardened face and scanning the forest with the gun. 

a minute passes, and then two, and nothing greets you. not a scared deer or a protective mother bear or a terrorizing shauna shipman. 

the nerves in your system don’t settle, and you nervously turn back around and rush into your small home; where the television screen is no longer blue, and playing the fucking homemade movie.

you don’t let the scene play out, briefly catching a glimpse of her mouth attacking your neck before you unplug the television completely, leaving the screen foggy and dark, with the shadow of two figures reflecting in it.

“that’s lame—you were just getting to the good part.”

you hear her before you see her. part of you doesn’t even want to turn around and face her, to acknowledge shauna is here and not in your nightmares and dreams. you don’t lower your gun, if anything you keep it lined with her chest when you do force yourself to look at her.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“i missed you?” shauna says so casually, as if the tension in the cabin was one-sided, or nonexistent completely. she doesn’t even care that you’re pointing a weapon at her—she knows you wouldn’t use it—and she moves away from the door, taking a seat on the couch. legs spread and eyes locked on you.

shauna doesn’t look much different from the last day you saw her; maybe with less makeup and longer hair. she ditched her light clothes for a dark long sleeve and pants similar in shade, and heavy boots rather than the flats jeff likes seeing her wear. she notices the steady trail of your eyes, leaning back in the cushion.

“you don’t think it’s like…stockholm-y to be out here?” 

“i like it.”

her mouth opens, then shuts, a hummed laugh.

“yeah,” she mumbles, “i bet you do.”

you bite your tongue, and there’s a beat of silence.

“must be nice,” shauna speaks quietly, daring to remove her eyes from you to inspect your home, fingertips trailing the arm of the couch, “to just…leave.”

“didn’t really feel welcomed back at home,” you mutter, and it’s not rocket science to figure out you’re talking about her, not the occasional judgmental eyes or unwanted sympathy you received at the mall. 

she ignores the passive aggressive comment, narrowing her gaze, “you left me behind…so fucking easy for you, too.”

shauna earns a short chuckle from yourself; because you couldn’t help but find it hilarious that she’s somehow the victim here. the narrative that she’s your precious lover that you left in the dust with a smile—when you cried to yourself the first damn night you were miles away.

“that what you came out here for?” you ask, lowering your gun until it points to the scratched-up wood floor, “to throw a pity party?”

“i deserve it after what you did to me,” shauna mutters, making your jaw slightly drop at the sheer audacity shipman had. you couldn’t say you were the best girlfriend, but holy fuck.

sure, you’d blame the shit that happened out there, solely on her, like you weren’t stood firmly by her side when she insisted on staying in the woods. and yeah, she’d beg to see you because you were the only one that understood her, and you’d ignore her calls and keep your door locked when she showed up unexpectedly.

but, shauna was worse. that’s what you tell yourself.

you shake your head, and point your finger, “i did you a favor by fuckin’ leaving—a-and you have him.” 

“i never wanted him and you out of everyone know that.”

shauna gets up now, and her height doesn’t play a factor in how she seems to tower you. that’s just her when she got like this; pissed. 

“i needed you,” her voice raises, stepping around the coffee table before her, but not yet closer to you. she’s being smart about this—catching her emotions bleed through her tone and gulping, blinking fast. 

she pays no mind to the pain ripping through her chest, resisting the urge to scream how fucking badly losing you had hurt, and how selfish you are for not caring. you expect the switch, and her demeanor does indeed shift, but it’s not the kind eyes and light voice. 

she slowly walks over, a hint of a grin on her face, watching you dare to raise the shotgun at her. you can only shuffle in place nervously when she’s right in front of you, pressing herself into the barrel. 

“think you can do it?” she teases, testing you despite knowing the outcome.

“i just want you to leave, shauna—and not fucking come back,” you tell her, voice wavering and your stare trailing to the center of her chest, where your gun rests. you don’t even sound convincing to yourself.

“think you want a little more than that.”

her hand finds the top of the gun, gripping it at once, observing the way your pretty lips frown while the weapon sways. she truly did miss this. 

how not only was it the fear that coursed through you, it was excitement. a quick widening of your eyes as they begin to mirror her darkened ones, letting her take full control of the gun now. 

it’s why you connected with shauna shipman in the first place. you’re not that different.

the shotgun is now pointed at you, her head tilting to your kitchen. she demands, “walk.”

you obey. with soft steps, your feet carry you to the room over, barely making it in the archway before you felt the cool metal pressing into your backside, into the thin material of your lavender nightgown.

she pushes you to the small brown dining table in the middle of the room, though the weapon was more so encouragement than force. you bend over the surface without her having to ask, your face tilted sideways on the wood grain.

shauna is already high on euphoria at how easily you let go of any personal fucking ‘morals’ you claim to have, giving yourself up for her the way people do to their beloved gods. as if you never even parted ways. if only. she thinks she’d have somehow gotten you pregnant by now, had she continued to have access to you. 

you’re just so beautiful, she thinks, putting the gun beside your head, gently stroking the side of your temple with her thumb. she only sees you in photos now, or envisions the common scowl on your face mid argument. but you like this, waiting for her, yearning for her; fucking angelic.

shauna roughly pushes your nightgown up, pulling down your underwear, nearly drooling at the sight. the plus side about you being out here, meant you were alone—no one to feel you in the ways she pictures before bed. 

“you know,” she begins, holding back a laugh at the way you huff to yourself, already so damn eager for her, “i told you i missed you…you didn’t say shit back.” 

you don’t respond, nearly twitching the moment her fingers find their way between your thighs, trailing up the skin, and to the most sensitive part.

you sigh, two fingers rubbing precisely in a circular motion with ease; your underwear had grown damp moments ago. another thing so easy for shauna. 

“and that’s weird—because…” she leans over you, her hips pressing against your own while her weight is on your back.

her fingers suddenly leave your clit, swiping against your pussy, and she holds her hand up, just inches from your face. she’s forcing you to watch it glisten. 

she tries to humiliate you, snickering, “seems like you do.”

shauna doesn’t expect you to grab her wrist, pull her closer, and wrap your lips around her fingertips, pushing your head down upon them. she gulps, a raspy ‘fuck,’ muttered near your ear—before she suddenly bites it, and reconnects her hand to your cunt.

you gasp when she wastes no more time, entering two fingers still coated with your spit inside of you, moving them as if she’s trying to remember what you felt like. you’re squeezing her, groaning her name, and shauna can confirm this is what heaven is. 

not fucking pure white clouds and a golden gate like jeff’s parents insist to her—it’s your warmth. in every way that had meant. 

she slowly pulls out, both of you exhaling, before she starts to pump them into you.

her wrist is angled in the most perfect way, that her index finger is prodding at that soft and special spot inside you; the lonely cabin filled with the lewd sounds of her fucking you and ragged breaths. 

your heavy eyelids are focused on the gun in front of your face, shauna’s hand still on it while her other one is roughly working below your waist. you have to stretch your arms over to the edge of the table, attempting to stop sliding with each thrust—not from her fingers, but rather her pelvis pushing into your ass. 

“say it,” she breathes, “tell me you missed me.”

again, you ignore her, only paying attention to the way she was fucking you with no mercy.

her hand frees from the weapon to the base of your neck; a delicate hold with a careful squeeze.

you groan, “i did—i did, shauna.”

she smiles with cocky satisfaction, before occupying her lips on the backside of your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you in sync with her fingers.

you’re clenching around her now; shauna moaning into your flesh at the sensation, slowing down her movements to really feel you. 

you’re so close, you weakly try to hump her hand, to increase the speed she’s suddenly lacking. shauna laughs at you this time because you’re too intoxicated on her to care. 

“missed you real fuckin’ bad.”

the words leave your mouth like a hushed sin, raw and honest, and probably something you’ll regret once you come down from this high. shauna is fucking thriving. 

“should’ve come sooner,” she says, picking up her pace, earning the most heavenly cry from you when she pushes her fingers deep and presses hard. “you just looked so peaceful out here…all alone.”

your blurry vision, somewhat steadies, back onto the gun, replaying what she had just told you again in your head. but it’s too late, your mind goes fuzzy and your legs go limp, whimpering her name when she brings you to that sweet edge. 

“c’mon,” she whispers from behind you, “fucking give it to me.”

you feel her fingers slide out of you, focusing once again on your clit, rubbing harsh and sloppy circles that make you see stars. shauna could never forget your body, or how to treat it, it’s her favorite place.

her hips continue to grind into you, teeth nipping at the back of your neck, tickling a sweet spot while you tremble head to toe.

“ssshauna.”

it comes out a very bleak warning, shauna humming but not letting up between your legs. you swear the table she has you bent over will have your nail marks in it, scratching down the surface, shutting your eyes while her hand tightly clutches your throat. 

she pulls you up—you can hardly even stand—her grip from nearly choking you is keeping you from collapsing. you’re leaning your weight on her body, still trapped between her and the table, the woman now silent as she brought you to another orgasm.

and it happens fast…for the both of you. shauna couldn’t help it, you felt too perfect squirming against her, and you use her name like your only prayer—she missed this way too damn much.

she has to taste you. she earned it, after all.

with a long trailed stroke on your pussy, she brings her fingers to her salivating mouth, sucking on them and not wasting a single drop of you. her eyes shut in bliss, wishing this could last forever. 

then, she snuggles her head into the crook of your neck, an innocent kiss compared to what she had just done.

for a few minutes, the cabin is still, and shauna holds you while you both come down from your high. that is, until you slip from her arms, tugging your underwear back up and fixing your nightgown. her fixated stare doesn’t leave you, and you turn around to meet it.

“…you knew i was here.”

shauna blinks at you, walking away, opening one of the cabinets in the kitchen. she grabs a glass cup, conveniently knowing where they were located, and fills it at the sink.

“i mean, i’m here, aren’t i?”

you bite your tongue, your eyes not leaving hers while she gulps the water down. the faulty wiring in the old cabin makes itself known, the lights flickering once more, a heavy gust of the night breeze flowing through the windows. 

“shau—” “how about i run you a bath? with those bubbles you like, hm?”

you don’t get the chance to reply, subtly flinching when she hits the glass on the counter to set it down. with a soft smile, she walks toward you, halting her steps to kiss the apple of your cheek. you start to turn your head, and she grips your chin, tilting your jaw to her.

you’re upset, she knows this, you get stubborn.

deep down, you won’t admit why, but shauna doesn’t need a verbal confirmation from you. she hears you, crying out her name in the darkness of your bedroom, windows open like it was a fucking beckoning.

keeping old polaroids of you together on your nightstand to hold when you needed her. because no matter how many times you scream and shout that you hate shauna shipman—you love her so much more—so deeply and there’s simply no way you could ever stop.

you know what she’s capable of, the sick shit that happened in those woods that she fucking loved. you’ve seen her at her worst and her cruelest and you don’t care.

you’re upset shauna hadn’t made her presence known sooner.

you close your eyes when shauna kisses you, your fists balling around the fabric of her black shirt. it’s not rushed, not at all messy, shauna’s mouth is practically eating yours with a slow hungry passion.

it transports you to the past, and for a moment, there is no bad. not even the kind that you accepted and tolerated and took depraved amusement in. it’s just two people that love each other for who they are, no matter what.

the world unpauses when her tongue stops moving with yours.

shauna pulls away, and continues to the bathroom, walking down the hall and glancing back at you, waiting for you to follow. 

and you do, without hesistation.

[gay-dorito-dust]

This is my first ask for anything so forgive me in advance.

I was wondering if you'd have any gender neutral headcanons for Bob with a reader who's goth. Like a Addams Morticia and Gomez kind who looks haunting but is generally so sweet to everyone in this strange way. Readers absolutely down bad for Bob.

"Goth bad bitch I got by being autistic "

🫵👁👁👍 tysm ima go evaporate.

You and bob were jarring to look at side by side, not in a bad way, but more so in a way of curiosity of how your clashing aesthetics oddly complimented each other in a way.

However to those that knew you were aware that you were the sweetest person they've ever met, even if you did look as though you had come out of an Addams Family movie, and that was not to mention the fact that you'd often treat those closest to you in a uniuqe expression of affection.

Some of which includes being given throneless black roses, taxerdermied animals in funny outfits, home decore that is heavily assosiated with death or the afterlife, insecets submerged in amber, vertibrae bracelets, skull shaoed candel holders and even a weighted plushy of a death's head hawk moth and or bat.

your unique kind of sweetness might not be to everyone's taste but your gestures of kindess and concern for your friends well being wasn't lost on them at all, some even finding humour when you give them a taxerdermy gerbal in a fancy suit, cane and top hat or a card that said 'i'd help you cover up a murder' or 'i hope we have a shared coffin as there's no one rather be six feet underground with then you.'

to your darkness there was a sweetness that couldn't be denied as you have given each thunderbolt a morbid gift that you thought suited them.

For Yelena you had given her a selection of ear jewlery of daggers, roses morphed into skulls, the sythe of the grim reaper and more when she had told you she was in needed of more.

For Ava you had given her mini ghost figurines that line her shelves, a play on the fact that her name was 'ghost' and you saw her groan upon getting them, but the smile that followed after her playful slap to your arm told you that your gift was more then appreciated.

For John you had given him a pocket bat gnome for no particular reason at all, yet now and tehn you would see him hold the little pocket plush in his hand, squeezing it now and then when he felt the need to worsen his mental state by looking online. it brought him an odd sense of comfort that he will never admit to you but it was clear to see whenever he pulls out his keys, the bat gnome was there, ever present.

For Alexei you had gotten him shot glasses in the shapes of skulls, bats or a regular beer glass with similar designs for whenever he treated himself to a celebratory drink or two. You were given a bone crushing hug from the man as he laughs wholeheartedly in your ear, but you wouldn't trade it for anything.

now as for Bob you were incredibly infatuated with the man who could barely watch a horror movie without burring his head into your shoulder, the man who always complimented your look even if you dressed like you were going to kill someone, all the while with an adorbale puppylove within his big blue eyes.

you couldn't help yourself but find everything he did to be something spectacular, even if it was simply washing the dishes, reading self help books or toying with the seelves of his baggy sweater out of nervous habbit, biting his bottom lip.

anything he did was precious to you and you didn't want to waste a single second no worshiping the ground he walked upon, kiss the back of his hands, kiss his forehead and whisper words of affection agaisnt him when his mind told him otherwise. even if your words of affection consisted of how you'd walk through the valley of death for him, hoping to join your souls in elysium forever, never to part from one another like you never did in life.

you didn't dare think about parting from his side, only doing so when when he required his own space, but otherwise you were locking your arms with his as you wandered through the halls of the Watchtower close together. the mere thought of parting from Bob pained your heart and you'd act like a mourner when he leaves your sight for five seconds, you literally wore a funeral outfit when Bob left your side for just about anything.

'my heart has been shredded in two, never to be put back together becuase the pieces are so small, so incapable of fitting together again as the love of my life has left me on my lonesome.' - you when Bob had to get something from his room, he even gave you a kiss on the forehead, telling you he'd be back but the second he stepped out of the room you were inconsolable.

so when Bob does come back with what he needs, you've latched onto him and burry your face within his neck while the man is smiling sheepishly, rubbing your back as he holds you close as whispered that he would never take that long again.

Bob was not use to having someone like you in his life to love him and act as if any amount of ditance between you two was heartbreaking for you, and looking at him as though he was more then he gave himself credit for, holding his face between your hands and like you haven't seen him in a while and commiting every part of his face to your memory in the unfortunate event you would forget what he looked like.

even though you both knew you never would, how could you forget the face, the laugh and the smile of a man whom you love with your whole heart so easily becuase that didn't sound like you at all. not one bit.

many wonder how Bob managed to have you, but you were quick to tell them that it was him who had managed to hook you with his kindess, his sweet soul, his beauitful heart and his ability to extend the hand towards those who needed it despite suffering his own battles.

You were taken the moment that Bob had given you flowers that unfortunately dried up and died, yet you loved them regardless and had them put in a photoframe that remained on your bedside table to this day, amongst other things that he had given you since that fateful day.

there wasn't a words that left your lips that didn't contain Bob's name in someway, talking about how beautiful he was, how generous he was and yet how powerful he was when doing simple tasks that displayed the strength that no average human possesed, a Hercules like figure if you will but without the demi-god status, but a man delt a tragic man and came out of it an even brighter version of himself despite the trials and tribulations he went through.

His heart still bleeds kindness, his smlie brought you joy and life within your chest, his touch brough air to your lungs and his eyes allowed you to know where home was whcih was with him and in his arms, basking in his warmth as you allowed his light to shine on your darkest days.

you loved Bob so deeply you fear that the broken heart that would follow from it would kill you, yet there was reassurance that you would find him again in the infinate lives you'll both share in differrent universes, whether he was still called Bob or gone by another name, he would still be yours becuase you will it so and demnad that fate let you have this one simple ask; to always allow you to be by Bob's side.

not becuase you didn't think he could surivive without you, you knew he could as he was the strongest man you've ever loved in a long, long time. you merely ask the universe, ask fate this because you couldn't see yourself without him.

Bob was happy that he had you, he didn't mind you clining onto him like you do, for you always gave him the space to breath when needed but even then Bob just wants you to be close by. He could never feel down when you were there telling him that you'd much rather commit arson then ever say goodbye to him, a weird thing to say but Bob knew that this was just you being passionate about him.

'i'd kill for you my love.' you tell him. 'i wouldn't let a single thing hurt you or threaten you, as i would gladly die for you if you so ask me to as well as live for you if you pleaded me to. whatever you want from me will forever be yours without question.' you finished as you ran your fingers through his hair, admiring how soft and fluffy it was as it slipped through your fingertips.

'i could never ask you to such lengths for me.' he tells you, knowing that you weren't joking when saying that you'd kill for him should he show a distate for someone. To have someone do something without much of a reason other then your lover told you to do so wasn't a fate Bob wanted for you, he didn't want your hands stained in blood for him as he'd much rather just be here with you in your shared bed; thankful that you get to do so and lull him to sleep like you always did with your protective presence.

'i know my love,' you replied, 'i'm just merely putting out the extents i'd go for you, but if you only wish me to be here for you then here for you i will be forever and always.'

Bob grabs your free hand, intertwine your fingers as he placed it on his chest, where you could feel his heart beat, before kissing it as he looked at you with such softness it took the air from your lungs. 'then i want you to stay, here, with me and like this even when we're old ang grey, please.'

you smile and kissed the tip of his nose, then across his forehead, then back down his nose until you pecked his lip softly as you rested your forehead against his own. ‘Then here I will stay, until we’re old and grey and the grim reaper allows us a final moment because even death wouldn’t dare tear a love as pure as ours apart, granting us the possibility of finding one another again and again until forever ends.’

‘Until forever ends.’ Bob echoed, closing his eyes as he allowed himself this happiness that he thought he’d never get, happy to have been proven wrong as he finally got to say that he had been loved

[screamlet]

fic recs: so you survived season 8(b) of 9-1-1

credits rolled on 8×18 and i decided to make myself feel better with some fic recs. these have tons of recency bias since i wanted to focus on stories set primarily during 8b - there have been a lot of good ones on this fucking section of the rollercoaster!!

if you're looking for more recs, check out my 911 fic rec or 911 fic tag (which includes my own stuff). there's also my ao3 bookmarks. fandoms include: 911, hockey rpf, bts, annnnnnnd whatever else i've got in there. (so much check please. what a time that was.) anyway.

--- all bucktommy unless noted otherwise, all complete (no wip's) most of them are locked to ao3 users

You as you were @geddyqueer 10k, rated M, complete notes: yes i know this was posted today but it needs to Be Here

"Evan," Tommy says, and the brittle look on his face makes Buck stop laughing right then and there. "What's going on?" "Oh, you know," Buck says. "I'm being evicted."

---

the only way out is through @ambernotember 10k, rated T, complete notes: yes i know this was posted yesterday but it needs to Be Here

Bobby’s old apartment building. He knew how it would look to the others so he just… hadn’t mentioned it. He met them at their houses or took Jee to neutral places, like the park or the aquarium. No one questioned it. He doubted they’d even noticed.

---

called out from the mouth of oblivion @r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e bucktommy/bathena, 4k, rated E, complete notes: 8×15 au (bobby lives)

It was good, overall, that no one had ever managed to break Buck of his impulsive, hothead ways completely. Bucking the lead, Bobby thinks fondly. It’s the thing that’ll save all of their lives again before the end finally comes, he's sure of it, and one day it'll make Buck the best kind of captain, the kind his team will follow to hell and back.

---

half a page of scribbled lines @liminalmemories21, @cecilyv 25k, rated N/A, complete notes: kid fic aka THE ONE WITH ROBBY!!!!

They get married before they move in together. Tommy's pretty sure that if someone had told him a year ago that he'd be married and finding a place in his garage for the bike he's never seen Evan actually use, and watching Evan survey his — their — kitchen like he’s determining the best position to station his troops, he'd have given them a free ride to the hospital.

flag-bearers @liminalmemories21, @cecilyv tumblr fic, 8×15 coda

The bubble of hope pops abruptly when Evan says, "What are you doing here?" "Your sister called,” a voice he doesn't recognize says. And well, fuck. There's just no way this ends well.

---

wind finding @rcmclachlan 3k, rated T, complete notes: sunset helicopter drama, were we ever so young??

Tommy's in the cockpit of his favorite AW139 with a gun pressed to the base of his skull.

---

if there's solid ground below @stars-inthe-sky 1k, rated G, complete

This summer was shaping up differently.

---

inhale 'til your lungs get sore @apollabarnes 5k, rated T, complete

Bobby Nash dies. Bobby Nash... sticks around.

---

I Never Really Had a Friend @firewasabeast 5k, rated M, complete

Buck is standing in the middle of Eddie’s living room. No. His living room. At least for one more week. It’s almost empty... But it’s in this space, this room filled with memories and ghosts, that Buck decides he’s never really had a friend.

---

what I covet, I keep @firehose118 9k, rated E, complete

Eddie is back for the weekend and Tommy stakes a claim.

---

you take the love, i'll take the fall @postmodernau 4k, rated E, complete

Buck gets more than he bargains for from a Grindr hookup.

---

8×15 codas from @leashybebes

part one

It doesn't matter what they are. What they were in the past. What they might be in the future. Evan is breaking apart on the screen in front of him, and Tommy feels like there's a hook in his gut, hollowing him out even as it pulls him closer.

part two

Evan pushes away from him, sits up, scrubs his hands over his face. His shoulders straighten, his back stiffens, his jaw tightens. He clears his throat and a different person looks at him out of Evan's eyes, made dull by the low light and the things that have happened. They've never knowingly worked a sanctioned scene together before, but he thinks this is what Evan must look like when he takes charge in the field.

---

these episode codas from @alchemistc

favors

Tommy's the kind of asshole who checks his phone at the table in the middle of a first date, now.

ivory limbed and brown-eyed

Buck wakes with the sun streaking across his face and a finger tracing the lines around his eyes, feather light touch and a shadow across his brow like Tommy's tilted his head just to make sure he doesn't take a direct hit from the early morning rays.

---

and there's more every day because yay fandom! we made it!

[redr0sewrites]

🩵 A/n: i feel like shamil wouldn't align much with beauty standards when it comes to attraction, so here is something for my fellow insecure ppl!! ily all sm !!

🩵 Cw: fluff, very slightly suggestive (like only two lines- easily skippable), mentions of: acne scars, chubby/plus size reader, stretch marks, sh scars, glasses, crooked teeth)

🩵 dividers

thinking about Shadow Milk Cookie, who....

absolutely loves your acne and acne scars. he thinks that the splotchy marks scattered across your face, back, and anywhere else on your body are absolutely endearing, and doesn't hesitate to let you know. he sees them as adorable even, a sign of your youthfulness and perfect imperfections. he loves to count them, even especially when you're annoyed with him, because he loves seeing the way your face scrunches beneath his scrutiny. sometimes, when you're asleep, he imagines them as beautiful interconnected constellations, and will gladly spend hours tracing silly lines between the bumps on your skin.

absolutely adores a chubby partner. he is enamored by your plush body, who finds your tummy rolls to be so soothing to lay on and loves grabbing a handful of your body whenever he can. Shadow Milk Cookie loves to lay across your thighs and practically squeals in delight when he sees how much larger they are in comparison to his, and don't get him started when he sees you in something tight fitting- the second he sees the ripples of your tummy or back rolls, prepare to be truly smothered in affection.

finds stretch marks to be equally endearing. loves when you wear shorts/skirts just so he can see the marks littered over your thighs like stripes, and will not hesitate to smother them in kisses when getting intimate. he also adores the stretch marks on your tummy and, if you have boobs, those as well. in comparison to his own porcelain skin, it is quite refreshing to see such unique and beautiful marks on your skin, and loves to poke and prod at your marks just to admire how they ripple beneath his touch

when finding out about your self harm scars, isn't the least bit judgemental. who sits between your thighs and counts each scar on your body, and, in tandem with each number raised, presses a surprisingly gentle kiss over the raised skin. who listens, uncharacteristically quiet, when you explain the story behind each one, who wordlessly promises to make sure you never hurt your beautiful body again.

would absolutely ADORE. a partner with glasses. he loves pushing them up when they begin to slide down your face when you're unfocused, loves how they fog up when you both kiss or do ,,, other activities, loves when you fall asleep wearing them- but most of all, Shadow Milk Cookie loves stealing them from you to make you stay with him longer while you look, loves how your eyes light up when he presents them to you with a cheeky grin, even though you both know he had hid them the whole time. he absolutely teases you about your eyesight, but secretly loves how you cling to him when you don't have your glasses to see.

thinks your smile is perfect. doesn't vare about crooked teeth or uneven lips, and tries his absolute best to make you laugh for the sole purpose of getting even just a glimpse of your joyous expression. if you wear lipstick, he'll gladly put it on for you, no matter how crooked or twisted your lips are, he giggles with delight as he paints them a pretty pink. he pouts whenever you cover your smile, and will tug your hand down without shame whenever you try to shield your happiness from him. Shadow Milk Cookie certainly won't abstain from tickling you as well, loves seeing you writhe and giggle in happiness from his caresses.

will make anyone who makes you feel bad about yourself disappear. no one will ever hurt you or make you feel bad about your appearance ever again, that he is one thing he is sure of.

i love making him uncharacteristically loving IDC IDC he is genuinely such a freak but you will KNOW. he's obsessed with u. my possessive evil princess <3

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Eight

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, pregnancy discussion, suggestive themes, brief angst

Word Count: 3.3k

The advisor and family planner sit down for a discussion about your future in the safe zone. You and Ghost hit a roadblock.

Chapter Seven // Chapter Nine

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

“Thank you for joining us today.”

Not like I had a choice.

Rays of afternoon sunlight shine through the slots in the open blinds, casting everything in a golden glow. The two individuals sitting across from you smile warmly, not a hint of deception in their gazes. Charles, your transitional advisor, cleans the lenses of his glasses, holding them up for inspection. Beside him is Joann, your family planner, wearing tan slacks and a blue long-sleeved turtleneck. She’s pencil thin—dainty, silver hair combed smooth.

“Glad to be out of the apartment,” you reply, returning the smile.

It’s no lie. A week since you’ve had your meeting with Commander Graves, and you spent it all locked away in your little apartment. Lieutenant Riley brought food, filling the fridge and cupboards, but you refused to speak with him whenever he attempted to make conversation. Thankfully, he never pushed, not until this morning. Ghost insisted, continuously knocking on your bedroom door until you finally yanked it open in irritation.

Joann’s smile widens. “Charles tells me the two of you discussed stationing you at the archive.”

“We did,” you confirm.

“How lovely,” she sighs. “They’ve been understaffed for ages.” She glances at Charles. “The library certainly needs it.” Charles returns his glasses to his face, inclining his head at Joann’s statement but not verbally agreeing.

She tucks her hair behind her ear. “As you know, I’m one of the family planners here.”

“Commander Graves mentioned someone might want to talk to me,” you reply slowly, already wanting to flee.

The conversation with Charles just before this was polite and straightforward. He read over Graves’ notes, asked some follow up questions pertaining to the work you did before the world collapsed and what you did after. He agreed that working in the archive and library was a perfect fit. Simple. Easy. No strings.

“Oh, I’m sure he did,” continues Joann, that smile softening in understanding. “Now I’m not at all sure what he told you, but knowing him, I doubt he provided any assurances.”

Hardly.

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Commander Graves didn’t exactly make for pleasant conversation.”

Charles chuckles and then quickly clears his throat, covering his laugh.

Joann shakes her head. “I can imagine. While I don’t know what he said to you, I don’t want to alarm you or cause you any distress. There is nothing to worry about. It’s simply standard procedure. Everyone who meets the requirements for repopulation must talk with a family planner.”

“Everyone?” you ask with a hint of doubt.

“Everyone,” she says. “Personally, I think it’s easier to start this whole process when you first meet with your transitional advisor. Better than bringing you back multiple times for meetings. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You only give a half-hearted smile.

Joann opens the folder in front of her. “According to your medical results during intake, you’re surprisingly healthy.” She glances up. “Given the fact that you were on the other side of the wall for so long.”

“I take it most people are in worse shape?”

She sighs and clicks her pen. “Some are like you, but most aren’t.” Joann makes a note on the paper. “But with what I can see here, I see no barriers in you starting a family. If that’s something you want to do.”

You haven’t forgotten what Graves said to you—how blunt he was about your fertility, “Commander Graves said that repopulation is one of the pillars of the mandate.”

“It is.”

“Then it’s not optional.”

“Family looks different for everyone,” replies Joann, flipping a page over in the folder. “I’m here to help you figure out what that looks like for you.”

“And what if I don’t want a family?”

That easy smile fades. Her lips become pinched, eyes narrowing slightly as she stares. Charles coughs again, dispelling the tension.

Joann taps the stack of papers in her lap. “I have some informational packets for you. A few things for you to look over. It covers all the different options. The benefits of starting a family. Larger families receive better, roomier housing. That I can tell you is not based on income.”

“Money doesn’t exist here,” interjects Charles. “Not in the traditional sense.”

It’s all an exchange. Allowances. You still don’t entirely understand it.

“Yes, well,” sighs Joann. “At the moment, I would discourage you from engaging in any sexual activity at this time. At least the type that might result in potential conception.” This time she laughs, and it nearly borders on hysterical.

Charles’ round cheeks go bright pink.

“Is—is there no birth control?” you ask, suddenly fearful.

You hoped that they would at least have something. If not, you’d have to reach into your knowledge of mixing different plants to stave off pregnancy.

“Oh, there is,” affirms Joann. “But since you’re new and under probation, it’s not something you currently have access to.”

You nearly scoff. “I’m also not interacting with anyone.”

They have you isolated and in military housing. How would that even happen?

Joann blinks, clearly surprised. “Lieutenant Riley?”

Does she—do they—

Oh. Oh, shit.

You nearly choke. “What—what about Lieutenant Riley?”

“He escorted you here.”

“And?” you prompt, not understanding what she’s insinuating.

That time at the military base comes rushing back, submerging you in memory. As if he’s in the room with you, his scent invades, twisting around you until your heart thuds with anticipation.

She shrugs, her smile soft. “I can see the appeal. Broody. Mysterious.”

“Tall,” adds Charles. “Muscular.”

Joann nods with appreciation. “He also claimed you at processing. And you spend a great deal of time alone with him. One can only assume—”

“There’s nothing happening between us,” you snap, shutting the idea down immediately.

This is ground you will not tread. You and Lieutenant Riley have had your moments, but he is not an option. No one is an option. You plan on going home—of leaving this place and returning to what you know.

Joann and Charles exchange a look. With a slow sweep of her arm, Joann tries to aim for calmness. “I understand that this is a delicate conversation. I have no wish to alarm you. I only want to gauge your interest.”

“I have no interest.”

“In giving birth?”

“In any of it.”

Her expression remains passive, as if your refusal doesn’t fluster. “There are lots of options.

“What if I like women?” you ask.

“That’s not an issue,” answers Joann. “There are plenty of children you can foster or adopt. We can also discuss the possibility of insemination. IVF isn’t possible since some of that knowledge was destroyed. But you and your partner can select a sperm donor together and we’ll…”

“Turkey baster their sperm into me?” you deadpan.

Charles face goes bright red. He coughs—chokes. “Excuse me,” he mumbles, pounding on his chest. Joann places a hand on his shoulder as he grabs a tissue.

“And what if I don’t want to marry at all? Or date?”

“As I said, family looks different for everyone. We can work around your needs.”

This conversation is a circle. Joann has a fucking explanation for everything. Even insisting that you don’t want a partner—that you aren’t interested in any of it—and yet there is a solution given instead of respecting your wishes. Joann might be pleasant in her demeanor, but the messaging is fucking clear.

You lick your lips, agitation buzzing in the tips of your fingers. “Is this something we can discuss at a later time? It’s…a lot. To take in.”

Joann’s features soften into maternal worry. “Of course. This is just a preliminary meeting. I’m here to introduce myself. To meet you. Provide any reading materials to help you understand all your options.” She closes the folder in front of her and sets it aside. “The main responsibility of every citizen is to help fulfill the pillars of the mandate.”

Pillars. Testaments. Sanctions. Laws. They can call it whatever they like but it’s all the same. A trap. A cage. The informational pamphlet that Commander Graves gave you about the mandate and the “pillars” is still on the coffee table. Untouched. Likely with a thin layer of dust over the top. You couldn’t bring yourself to open it at all this week.

A question forms out of resentment. “Even you?”

Joann doesn’t faulter. “Even me. Even Charles. Even Lieutenant Riley. Even Commander Graves. They all must contribute.”

“But they’re military,” you argue. “They have different duties.”

Joann inclines her head. “They have military duties. We do not. But they also have to fulfill their duties as civilians of the world. When the mandate become law during the Peace Accords, it dictated this. Everyone follows them. Including those that oversee the well-being and functionality of each safe zone. Even those elected to office. Even those at the very top. They all contribute.”

Belief and truth are fickle when the narrative is controlled. You don’t entirely believe the words leaving Joann’s mouth. Does everyone contribute? Probably. At least, in some capacity. But certainly not to the extent that she perpetuates. People at the top like to hold on to power. They like to control the means of production, of ordering others around. They might follow what the pillars state, but only to the extent that it benefits them. Humans are only human after all.

Yet this is also information you’ve been seeking, a window into this new world, but also whether or not you’ll have full autonomy of yourself. It appears that you will not. They aren’t going to force you. No one will drag you from your apartment, tie you up, and hand you over for someone to breed. But they are expecting you to reproduce. They are expecting which means they will push just as Commander Graves said they would.

How much control will you really have? And what will become of you when they finally tire of your reluctance.

“The apartment is lonely,” you muse.

“The probationary period always is,” agrees Joann.

You give her a cordial smile “The reading material will be nice.”

She beams. “That’s good to hear. After the probationary period is up, and you move to civilian housing, we can speak on this further.”

You hold that smile, hating every second. “No reason to rush into things.”

“I agree. Making big discissions like this requires a lot of thought and certainty.” Joann stands and holds out a folder to you. “But that’s why I’m here.”

“Not going to scream at me?”

“No.”

“Tell me to leave?”

“No,” you repeat, staring out your apartment window. Below, a military Jeep rumbles by. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

Ghost lingers near the kitchen, a stoic entity cloaked in shadow. You sit on the worn sofa, your legs tucked under you, arms resting on the back as you watch two soldiers on the street below playfully push at one another.

A floorboard creaks as Ghost steps toward you. “What did they talk about?” he asks, tone neutral.

You snort as a third soldier runs up and dunks on them, the trio tumbling into a heap on the pavement. “You don’t know?”

“It’s different for everyone,” he replies.

Interesting. Maybe Lieutenant Riley has had similar conversations before. Joann did mention that even he had to contribute to the pillars, and that includes repopulation.

You sigh heavily, not wanting to say it out loud but knowing that you can say something to Ghost. “They want me to have a baby.” You glance over your shoulder and find Ghost next to the coffee table, staring so intensely at you it sends a shiver of anxiety up your spine.

“What?” you prompt, suddenly nervous.

Why the fuck is he looking at you like that?

His question comes out a growl. “Did they assign someone to you?”

Your voice cracks—goes high. “They can assign someone?”

Lightening quick, Ghost snatches up the folders. He opens the first one, flipping through the pages erratically, dropping it onto the table and moving to the next. Like the first, he tears through it, the middle of his brow a deep v. That folder lands on the coffee table, the contents spreading everywhere.

“Who did they assign to you?”

His voice is still a growl. Still…territorial.

“No one?”

He steps toward you. “You don’t know?”

You swing your arm wide. “They didn’t say!” you exclaim. “It was just an introduction. No one said outright that they assigned someone to me. She only handed me that.” You gesture toward the folders and their scattered contents.

Ghost’s shoulders heave, clear agitation in the way he carries himself. “The family planner didn’t say anything else?”

You roll your eyes. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” he snarls.

“You know what,” you mutter. “Now that you mention it.” Turning away from the window, you give Lieutenant Riley your full attention. “She specifically said I shouldn’t engage in any…activity.”

Ghost’s gaze narrows. “What sort of activity?”

You shrug. Give a little wave of your hand. “You know.”

“I don’t.”

Shit.

You inhale deeply. “She told me not to have sex. To not do anything that might result in a potential conception. And then she very directly mentioned you.”

Lieutenant Riley’s shoulders soften. That irritation melts away, a sultry swagger entering his body. “Did she?” he purrs.

“Absolutely not,” you say, holding up a hand in a “stop” gesture.

Ghost takes a step forward. Another. “She only said the kind that could result in,” his gaze scans your body slowly, “conception.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur as your clit pulses with need.

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair how your body reacts to him. It’s only loneliness. Isolation. You’re craving human companionship. That’s all.

Ghost comes to a stop in front of you. Bending forward, he places one hand on the sofa beside your arm, balancing himself as he traps you against the couch.

“Like what?” he croons.

“I can tell you to leave,” you reply.

“Thought you didn’t want to be alone, love?”

“I don’t,” you snap. Lieutenant Riley leans in further like he’s going to kiss you through the balaclava. “But I don’t want…that.” You wave your hand in front of his face to ward him off. “So, if you could control yourself, Lieutenant. That would be great.”

He pushes off from the sofa. “You want to sit in silence?”

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, glancing away. “No,” you admit. “I—I have questions.”

Ghost nods, easing himself down on the sofa beside you. “And you want answers.”

“Is that okay?” you ask.

Lieutenant Riley settles, resting his head on the back of the sofa. He turns his head toward you, eyelids soft. “What will you give me in return?”

You scoff. “This again? I can’t believe you. I thought we were past this.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Information is valuable.”

You run your tongue over your teeth. It’s not like you exactly hate this back-and-forth. “Fine,” you lament. “What do you want?”

“What are you willing to give?”

“A slap in the face,” you retort, regretting playing into this.

Lieutenant Riley chuckles. “Think that might do the opposite of what you’re expecting it will.”

“You know what,” you blurt, shifting onto your knees. “Fuck it. Fine.”

Ghost cocks his head in curiosity as you lean forward, pushing up from where you’ve been seated. Maybe he expects you to walk away, to storm off into the bedroom, and slam the door. It’s what you’ve done all week.

But that curiosity morphs into surprise when you drop into his lap, straddling him.

“You want me?” you breathe, fisting the top of his balaclava. You give it a yank. “You can have me.”

Grasping the side of Lieutenant Riley’s neck, you dive in. There is no hesitation from him. He accepts you, hungrily, hips grinding upward into you, pressing his erection against your sex. The bulge in his pants bumps against your clit through the fabric, eliciting a little gasp from you. That pulsing heat from earlier intensifies—becomes scorching.

Ghost is the only one you can release all this pent-up energy on. He eagerly takes it all, even the anger, even your fists and teeth and claws. It’s cathartic. Freeing. And while you’ve hated what has happened to you, and what he’s done to put you into this situation, Ghost has never judged you for any of it.

Not once.

Fingers moving upward, they thread through the wisps of hair at the base of Ghost’s skull. You cling on, seeking more—wanting to consume more. Lieutenant Riley’s hands stroke up and down your thighs, sliding back to squeeze your ass.

It’s like before, that morning on the military base. The connection is a sizzling pan full of oil that’s close to smoking. Ghost groans against your lips, his arms encircling, drawing you close to him. You surrender, seeking that bit of comfort, rocking your hips with the intent of grinding down on that growing hardness.

Ghost pulls back suddenly, grasping the front of your throat when you try to continue kissing him.

“You said you can’t fuck.”

“I—I don’t want to.”

His thumb presses against your pulse point. “You nearly did. Once.”

No. No. You’ve fucked up. Again, you’ve fucked up.

“I want out of your lap,” you whisper.

“Thought you had questions?”

“I do.”

Ghost’s gaze drops to your lips, admiring the puffy swell. “How about I have a taste between your thighs.”

“Lieutenant,” you gasp as his lips brush against your cheekbone.

“And in between licks, I’ll answer your questions.”

“Let me go,” you say, still sounding breathy.

Ghost tuts. “Pity. I’d really enjoy a taste.”

Your fingers drop away from his neck, moving toward the front of his black fatigues. “Why were you so upset when you asked me if they had assigned someone to me?”

The subject change is abrupt but on purpose. You need to reevaluate. To shift your focus away from the throbbing need between your thighs.

“I was offended they didn’t make me an offer.”

“You—” you stammer, blinking rapidly. “So, I really am just an object to you? A thing to possess?”

Ghost shakes his head. “No.”

With a growl, you shove at him, slamming your fists into his chest. Ghost holds tight, allowing you no space. “You’re staying right here.”

“Bastard,” you sneer. You go for a slap this time but without the space to bring your hand back, it’s a feeble attempt. “Let me go.”

“If I touched you between your legs, what would I find?”

“A desert,” you retort, wiggling in his lap with the hope his grip might slip.

“Doubt that,” croons Ghost.

“You’re fucking infuriating.”

Lieutenant Riley places a ghost of a kiss against your cheek before retreating. “You want me. Don’t deny it.”

You stare him down, pushing all your sorrow and venom into your voice. “I won’t deny that I’m lonely,” you admit, because it’s true. Solitude clings to you. “And you’re…someone.”

Someone. A person. Meaningless.

That sultry intensity in Lieutenant Riley’s gaze vanishes. Like a tap turned off, it’s an instant shift. In its place is an unreadable neutrality that paralyzes you. All this time, you’ve wanted your words to cut—to draw blood.

He lifts you off his lap and dumps you onto the sofa without ceremony.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, pushing up onto your hands and knees. Ghost is already walking away, heading for the door. At his rank, he does not stir. “Ghost,” you try, and he freezes.

The balaclava dangles from his fist. “I’m no longer in the mood.”

You flinch as the door slams shut.

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[princesssmars]

thinking some more on this idea of caitvi x high femme reader <3

nsfw. fxfxf relationship + smut. reader is ofc high femme, portrayed as wearing feminine clothes, wearing makeup, etc. switch reader, normally tops but switches caitvi. oral and fingering (cait receiving), mentions of reader and vi receiving.

wc : 2.262

"darling i really don't think we should be- oh, oh..."

"come on, caity, i cant help it, you looked so pretty."

you knew you would be in big trouble for this later, but you knew it would be so worth it.

you loved your girlfriends, truly, you did. there was an unbreakable bond between the three of you after these few years spent loving and crying and laughing together, and each day you woke up feeling like the luckiest woman on the planet.

but sometimes you just loved to push them.

your previous partners had been rather... uncompromising, when it came to your dramatic style. they didn't understand how you managed to wear makeup nearly every day, why you bothered wearing such bright and girly outfits, not to mention the maintenance costs just for your hair.

but when you met caitlyn and violet it just seemed to click. caitlyn had grown up around the upper echelon, already accustomed to the intense grooming and pampering that went into your looks.

vi had seen it done, was used to living around and with people who had to get crafty to upkeep with the latest trends, but she hadn't seen it done to your scale. you could still remember the first time you slept over and the bewildered but curious expression she wore when witnessing your extensive skincare routine and the process of wrapping up your hair for the night.

"you're not exhausted after all that?"

"why, are your propositioning me?"

"well i wasn't but now i am-"

yet no matter what, they remained completely supportive of your lifestyle. they helped move in all of your pink and pastel furniture and knick-knacks into their shared apartment, caitlyn routinely buying you your favorite flowers to decorate the space. you even somehow managed to rope the two of them into attending a pilates class with you, barely holding in your amusement when you returned home, only for the both of them to flop onto the couch.

but as selfish as it sounded, you really loved when they paid for your stuff.

vi had more of a hands-off off at first when it came to your beauty and upkeep, sending you a quick cash-app payment every other week and telling you to 'do whatever it is that makes you always look so pretty, and send me a few photos after'.

you had attempted to include her in the process of it all more, showing her a lost of nail shapes and styles and asking which she thought would look best on you.

"soooo, what do you think?"

"uhhhh...whichever you like best."

"cmon, vi!" you groan, nudging her shoulder with yours.

"alright, alright! then how about...these ones?" her finger points to the screen, hovering above the first shape.

"vi, that's 'natural', that's what my nails already look like!" you groan.

"and they're pretty, just like you are." she presses a comedic and sloppy fat kiss to your cheek, giggling when you squeal about her messing up your makeup.

you decide on your own, hiding your nails after your appointment until you drag her into your bedroom, laying her down on the bed and gently commanding her to stay in place. she's excited at first, cocky smile gracing her face as she watches you remove your clothes, until she spots them.

she never thought of herself as the most possessive person, but seeing your fuschia colored fingers tugging down your panties and dragging them up and down your cunt, your wetness visible even from the other side of the bed.

you wore that nail color often after that, always with the knowledge that it'd end up with vi's face buried in your pussy as your hands gripped onto her hair, begging and thrashing as she kept begging for you to cum just one more time. if you were lucky she'd even let you rub her clit until it was nearly unbearable, the sight of your bright pink nails bringing her to a hot release making it all that more intense.

caitlyn, on the other hand, understood your beauty practices quite well. she had been born and raised in a world where appearances were everything, so she wasn't at all surprised by your constantbeauty and fashion regimens. she would even participate on occasion, both of you helping each other with your daily makeup looks and planning spa days so you could relax together.

and, when she was feeling extra indulgent, she sponsored your extravagant shopping sprees. you could confidently say a fourth of your closet was paid for by your girlfriend, the blue haired woman dismissing your unserious insistence that you could pay for your own things with a wave of her hand, a kiss to your cheek and a firm 'get in the car, love." before you were both off.

but just because she had control over the spending didn't mean she had control over you.

when it came to your sex life, you were definitely a bit of a princess. it wasn't like you didn't enjoy watching your butch and femme fall apart underneath or above you, but when they constantly insisted on bringing you to your peaks first it wad hard to flip the tide over the two of them.

but you had noticed the shift in caitlyn as soon as you woke up, how her long limbs held tighter to you to silently persuade you to stay in bed just a little bit longer, how she stayed shoulder to shoulder with you in the kitchen while she prepared some morning tea for the both of you, and how her face seemed to flush when you asked her to come into the first dressing room with you.

caitlyn was feeling needy, you were feeling horny, and there was a victoria's secret just down the way of the mall. was there a better combination?

"let's go in here, cait. i still need some new bras after a certain someone we know tore some of mine off too roughly."

caitlyn giggled at the memory of your girlfriend ruining your underwear, but you could feel her arm tense under the hold of your hands.

"if you say so, my love. you know i'll buy you whatever you need or want."

"awww you're too sweet to me. but i think i'm gonna need you to come try them on with me."

"you cant be serious."

"please, caity? for me?"

and when your hands came up to either side of her face and brought it down just the slightest bit, standing on your toes so you could press a slow kiss to her lips, you already knew she wouldn't be able to say no.

"well, i suppose if it's what you need..."

it was just too easy. just as easy as it was to pick out some matching bras that you knew would look great on the both of you, and just as easy as it was to sneak caitlyn into your dressing room and get her like this.

"darling please, i don't think i can, f-fuck-"

your response is muffled by your mouth being buried into her cunt, tongue wiggling around inside her hole until her hand is coming down to your head and digging into your hair. for a second, you think about how cute it is that she's having a miniature dilemma about her pleasure, at one moment yanking you away before pushing you right back into her.

you decide to test her by lifting your face away from her pussy, already yearning for her taste to be back in your mouth but settling for licking off the remnants of it that sit around your lips.

"c'mon, caity. aren't you and vi always telling be to 'be good and take it'? what, can dish it but you cant take it?"

a high-pitched whine bubbles out of the brit before she's raising one hand to brush her hair out of her face and the other hand up to her mouth, one knuckle between her teeth as she helplessly tries to muffle her moans lest you both get caught and banned from the store.

your teasing wasn't pulled out of thin air, though. you'd need multiple hands to count the amount of times cait had brushed off your pleads and mewls when she insisted on bringing you to come just five one more time, to be a good girl for her and vi and listen without crying.

it was completly empowering and sent a rush of heat to your head and your cunt to see just how badly she took the roles being reversed.

cait's never been the quickest to bring over the edge, requiring a bit more finesse and care before she had a lengthy and powerful release. neither you nor vi minded it, always delighted to see her shake and bite her lip as she gradually felt the pleasure you'd brought her increase over the span of a beautifully drawn-out minute. but right now, you genuinely needed her to come, because yeah, you really weren't trying to get kicked out of this store before you got to buy your cute new sets.

so you start to work her even harder, gently adding your fingers to the mix as your manicured nails curled and prodded inside of her tight heat. you immediately noticed the shift, how her long legs start to tremble and her breath starts to stutter while still in her chest. in desperation her hand that's not muffling her sounds comes back down to your hair and digs in, pushing you back and forth as she downright fucks your face.

and oh, do you take all of it, tongue sticking out for her to grind into as your eyes look up at her, because if one person loves to lock eyes during sex, it's caitlyn kiramman. you make eye contact as her eyebrows scrunch up and she mindlessly starts nodding since she's unable to whisper out any pleas for you to keep going, like you'd even think of stopping now.

your fingers crook and push against that spot deep inside her, thrusting in and out as your other hand circles at her clit, happy little giggles ringing from your throat when she finally comes in your mouth. she fucks into your mouth harder, eyes squeezing shut as her hand that was in your hair slaps on the door to hold herself up and her orgasm absolutely wrecks her.

it's a beautiful and delightful minute of having your gorgeous girlfriend release and shake as she tries her hardest to be as quiet as possible, ending when she un-gracefully plops down onto the dressing room seat.

you peacefully lick her release off of your fingers, making sure to clean off whatever is left on your face before fixing up your clothes and hair. by the time you finish, you turn to cait, only to see her still looking downright shell-shocked. you giggle when she wistfully blinks up at you as you carefully move some streaks of her navy hair from her face, pressing a lingering kiss to her bitten lips and smiling when she follows your mouth after you pull away.

"you look so pretty all fucked out for me, caity."

she groans, resting her head in your shoulder. "please don't rub it in. you're so...tempting, do you know that? i swear one day you'll be the death of me."

"well i sure hope not, that means i wouldn't get to make you tremble like a leaf for me again."

after a few more teases and helping make sure caitlyn looks and walks presentable enough to leave, you gleefully wrap your hands around her arm and head to the checkout counter, placing the items on the counter and perkily swiping caits card over the reader.

when you return home you feel like you're floating on air, skipping through the doorway before squealing and jumping into vi's arms when you see her standing in the kitchen.

"woah there, muffin. looks like someone had a good day, huh?"

you nod up at her, taking a glance back at cait who totally not suspiciously rushes into the bedroom with your bags still in her hands.

vi raises an eyebrow, looking at your girlfriend's retreating body before turning back to you, waiting for your answer.

and yeah, you could play coy, spare caitlyn the embarrassment, and pretend she was just feeling tired from a long day out shopping. but when the memory of her pretty face looking down at you buried in her cunt runs across your mind again, you decide you'll take your chances.

"caitlyn took me shopping so i ate her out in the dressing room."

vi's staring at you with her mouth agape, at first unbelieving, before she hears a loud accented groan from deeper in the apartment that only confirms your statement. she begins trailing after you when you start to head into the bedroom to take a relaxing bath after such a long day.

"oh, so this is what i miss after passing on your bra shopping? you two better invite me next time, and i mean it. i'll cram all of us in a dressing room if I have to."

[babydoll372]

stalker!wanda maximoff x governor!reader

but but make wanda have a fling she fucks here & there when she can’t get her hands on the governor & have her be cold when/ any time she’s around the gov, and could she be a femme ? If not it’s ok:)!!! I love ur writing so much

Rumor Has It

Pairings: intersex!Wanda Maximoff x governor!reader

Word count: 1080

Warnings: smut, Wanda is established as a stalker but there’s no stalking (I apologize), breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, some angst, mentions of cheating (not really cheating tho), arguing, jealousy, obsessed!wanda, daddy kink, intersex!wanda

Wanda groaned as the pounding on her door continued, her feet quickening in speed to open it. She was met with the sight of an angry you. She raised a brow.

“Uh, you need something?” You pushed past her, storming into the house and ignoring how your boots left rain-padded footprints on the floor. You turned to face her, a scowl marking your expression as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, I do, actually. Who the fuck is Lindy?” Wanda looked at you in confusion before realizing who it was you were speaking of, making you scoff.

“Oh, Lindy! Yeah, her…what about her?” Your eyes were wide, as if she had just asked the most unreal question, and to you, she did.

“What about her?! I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re fucking her behind my back! You didn’t think to tell me about that?!” She chuckles, taking a step closer and putting her hands on your arms, making you quickly push them off to which she rolled her eyes at your dramatics.

“Okay, relax, you’re pissing me off. Lindy is just a fuck buddy, I don’t give a shit about her. I didn’t even remember who she was!”

“It doesn’t matter! You still shouldn’t be sleeping with someone else when you’re with me-“

“Woah, woah, woah, I’m not with you, Y/N. You’re the one who said it, you don’t do the whole dating thing.” Your mouth opened and closed again, your voice box suddenly being unequipped and your throat feeling dry.

“Well- you don’t do the whole dating thing either!”

“No, no, I said I’d date you and only you. I don’t date anyone else, I don’t give two shits about anyone else other than you and I’m real fucking tired of you acting like I do, you got me? Lindy-“

“Stop talking about her, please…” Wanda slowly formed a grin, her hand falling to your hip as she pulled you in closer. She glanced down at your lips, knowing you were staring at hers, but she didn’t lean in. Her warm, soft breath fell on your face.

“Lindy is just some girl I screw when I’m bored, when you’re in your conference meetings, or when you like to deny how much you want me. She asked me on a date before, you know what I said? I said no, Y/N. You know why? Because you’re mine, and I’m yours. Whether you want to date me or not, I can’t get enough of you and this fucking body of yours…” She groaned out, swallowing thickly as your breath slowly began to quicken in pace the more she spoke. You glanced down in shame and in desire, but her hand on your chin redirected you quickly.

“She has a stupid name anyway.” You scoffed, and Wanda formed a smirk and a chuckle, shaking her head yet she agreed. She agreed with anything you said.

“But, uhm…I- I’m sorry. For, you know…not, uh, being good with feelings, I guess.” You struggled to get out, and the brunette's sly look only made it worse.

“Yeah, you better be sorry, baby, you put me through so much these past few months…why don’t you formally apologize?”

—

Your loud moans filled the room as her cock thrusted deep inside of you, her balls slapping against your ass, a groan escaping her with each breath. The bed frame was slapping against the wall, your hair in a tight ponytail held by her hand.

“You like that, hm? This all you came here for, you dirty slut?” She chuckled, pulling your face back and leaning forward so her lips were near your ear. “That look on your face when you realized you weren’t the only needy pussy I fucked, oh, it was hysterical.” She slapped your ass, making you whine out and grip the bed sheets tighter.

“Don’t you worry, baby, yours will always be my favorite.” She moaned at the end of her sentence, your warm walls trapping her inside as your jaw fell slack, your eyes squeezing shut. She had reached it before plenty of times, yet it never failed to amaze you when she hit your G-spot.

“D-don’t stop! Please don’t stop, Daddy!” A sly smirk fell on her face at the name, and if it wasn’t for the coil building further and further inside of her she would’ve kept you on edge for as long as she could. But instead, her pace somehow grew quicker, and your desperation enhanced.

“You’re Daddy’s only cock-whore, no one will ever fucking compare to you. No one. Fuck, I need you so bad.” You nodded quickly, tears brimming your eyes at the immense satisfaction.

“I- I’m gonna cum! Please- I wanna cum for you, Daddy,” You meekly begged, feeling her lips on your neck. “A-and I want you to cum inside me. I wan’ everyone to know I-I’m your slut, and I want that bitch to know you’re mine.” Her kisses paused, her eyes looking into yours to see if you were lying, but there was a genuine look in them.

“Yeah? You’re gonna let Daddy fill you to the brim with her cum? Oh, you’ll be the prettiest Mommy for me, Princess…” It didn’t take long for the two of you to release at the same time, coordinated by the woman on top of you. She smiled to herself, realizing she had finally got what she wanted. The next morning you were still in her bed, a rare occasion. And she quickly grabbed her phone to text Lindy, ‘Don’t come by, this is over.’ Without explanation. She didn’t feel bad for blocking her and deleting her contact, she only felt instant relief at what she had now.

The months on you still had your conferences, meetings, and so forth, everything Wanda didn’t understand but still supported. She was finally invited, sitting front row as she cheered whenever your section ended. She’d give you a warm smile to look upon, and it only grew the more she noticed your evolving bump. Eventually, the rumors would come out, and you were seen walking with the woman on multiple occasions. Some were you two holding hands as you ventured to a destination, in one you two even wore matching sundresses from her selection. People were shocked to see you with a woman, and even more so seeing the obvious pregnancy belly you wore with pride. But Wanda couldn’t be happier, and neither could you.

[onlyheluvsme]

⇢ ˗ˏˋshe's got a boyfriend anyway࿐ྂ

˗ˏˋellie angst!!´ˎ˗in which ellie is in love with her best friend — mdni, lowercase intend, f!reader, slight angst, mentions of: comphet, b*yfriends, m*n, sad pining ellie*ೃ༄ pls leave reqs!!

ellie had met you when she joined her school’s astronomy club. with the group only having two girls, her and you being both of them becoming friends was quick.

soon enough she was bringing you by after school, first stopping by for five minutes, then it became ten, then twenty, until you had stayed for dinner completely. her dad absolutely adored you, finding your constant care and worry for her adorable.

what you never realized in your quickly blossoming friendship was that ellie didn’t see you as a friend. from the moment you walked in late to that astronomy meeting with rain soaked hair and a complaint of a careless driver and a puddle, she was hooked.

you sat next to her that day, introducing yourself with the brightest and sweetest smile she had ever seen. she stammered and almost forgot to introduce herself back to you, getting caught in the movement of your soft lips.

you were the drug she needed to fall asleep every night; not being able to close her eyes till your “gnite <3” came through. ellie went through her day wondering what you were thinking, what you were seeing, how you felt. it was impossible to keep you from the forefront of her mind.

yet it didn’t matter, you weren’t and would never be hers.

“so, wheres this kid takin’ you again?” joel asked you, passing the mashed potatoes to ellie who had deflated at the words. jesse, your boyfriend, was taking you away for the weekend.

ellie kept her eyes down onto her plate, suddenly with a lost appetite.

“oh! jesses taking me to santa barbara” you smile at joel, ellie cant help but roll her eyes into her dish.

dinner continued, you and joel carrying most of the conversation, ellie only chiming in when addressed. she was first to stand and grab the plates, chair screeching against the wood,

“should probably get you home soon” she said shortly, your eyebrows raised as you helped her pick up the leftover food from the table.

joel caught the change in ellie long before you did, the way her entire being almost shut down at the sound of his name. he kept quiet though, knowing that asking her if she was alright would only lead to red cheeks and an annoyed, ‘yes! shut up!’.

therefore he stayed quiet, letting the two of you work it out yourselves, watching you both from the sink.

after clearing off the table with ellie, where she did not look at you once, you grabbed your school bag and she took her keys,

“bye joel! see you soon! thanks for dinner!” you call from the door, ellie on your feet.

“bye kiddo! be safe!” he calls, ellie grumbles under her breath, lightly pushing you out the door, locking it behind her.

the two of you walk to her pick up, slight tension evident in the air. you throw a quick glance in her direction, seeing her face in a slight frown.

she opens the passenger door, stepping back to give you room. with your bag slung over your shoulder you slip past her and plop into the seat.

before she closes the door you stick your hand out,

“wait” you say, making her pause her movements on hand on the door, the other by her side. she stares up at you slightly shocked, slightly apprehensive.

“have i-have i done something?” you ask nervously, eyes slowly starting to glisten. the slight crack in your voice, the light tears beginning to form on your waterline, the sweet face you give her, ellie breaks.

“fuck” she says to herself, all sense of anger leaving her body at the sight of your anxiety. it was so fucking impossible to stay mad at you. ellie steps into the passenger side, hands finding yours,

“no! fuck- sorry! you didn’t do anything” she brushes her fingers against your cheek, quickly pulling them away when she remembers herself. that you’re not hers to touch.

“i’m just tired from today,” she settles on, not revealing the true reason for her behavior. you just stared at her, knowing her well enough to know she was lying.

“i promise” she says, close to a whisper as she stares back at you, capturing every inch of your face knowing she would be aching to see it all weekend and won’t be able to.

“okay” you relent, knowing she won’t tell you, and hoping she feels better by the time your back. you give her a reassuring smile and she nods, pulling back but pausing to give you an odd look before buckling your seatbelt and closing your door.

you huff out a breath as she rounds the car and enters from the drivers side. ellie throws you a glance as she settles into her seat, sticking the key in the ignition.

even though she knew she wouldn’t have you this weekend, she felt grateful for these moments. you in her car, currently wearing her sweater, sneakered feet on her dash. she liked to pretend during moments like these that you were a couple, casually and proudly living side by side.

she put the car in drive, pulling out of her driveway and started to your house. ellie debated at first, if she should bring your trip up. she knew the topic would bother her but she couldn’t help her curiosity, she always wanted to know what you were doing.

the drive was silent for a few minutes, the only sound coming from the low playing music on the radio until she finally gained the courage to break the silence,

“so uh, is he picking you up tonight or tomorrow” ellie asks. you look over at her, the sight almost too much for a second. ellie’s thighs spread comfortably, tattooed hand casually holding the wheel, a loose t-shirt with the sleeves and most of the sides cut off with only a sports bra underneath. you look away quickly, you shouldn’t be having these thoughts.

“uh.. tonight actually” you get out, staring at the road ahead of you. ellie flicks her eyes over to you and back to the road multiple times, she was hoping it was tomorrow, needing one more night of knowing you’re near.

theres a split second where ellie debates making a u-turn back to her house, debating if she should just take off from jackson with you. fuck this is making me crazy.

“great” she says between gritted teeth and holds a angry shake of her head back. ellie has no reason to be angry, you had him had been together long before she met you. she had no right to stake any claim on you, and yet from the moment she woke up to the second she went to sleep you were the most precious person in her life.

“yeah, yeah” you utter, frowning as you watch your block approach. you didn’t want to leave yet, still wanting to spend time with her.

ellie slowed onto your block and pulled in front of your house. neither of you moved, just wanting a few more minutes. you broke the silence together,

“i should probably get inside”

“don’t go”

you let out sad sigh, eyes squeezing shut. ellie looked over nervously,

“what- uh- what if something happens and he-” ellie stammers out, turning in her seat to face you. your tense shoulders stay foward, scared you might cave if you looked at her. you have a boyfriend goddamit.

your parents would kill you, maybe throw you to the curb if you walked in with her. so you kept your eyes forward,

“i’ll see you on monday el” you rasp, finally turning to look at her and almost breaking at the sight of her crushed face.

you lean in and place a kiss on her cheek, it shouldn’t be special since you did it every time you said bye to her. this time however felt different as you pulled back and found her eyes closed, a blissful look on her face.

“yeah i’ll see you…” ellie says forcing her voice not to shake from disappointment. from the fear she may never get to kiss and hold and love the one person who makes her heart fucking stop. her eyes remain closed as she soaks in the feel of where your lips were pressed.

that is until she feels soft fingers gliding against her lips and she is more fearful to open her eyes than sad. you only allow yourself a second, a millisecond to gloss your pointer and middle finger against the plush of her pink lips. just one touch and you jumped out of the car like a mad woman. feet quickly taking you up the front porch stairs and through the door before ellie could fully open her eyes again.

ellie’s eyes open to find an empty car, barely having registered the slam of the passenger door and your hasty departure. her fingers found her lips, attempting to mimic the feel of your fingers but hers felt more calloused where yours were soft. not enough.

her head turns to your closed front door, fingers still lightly against her lips,

“be safe, my girl” she says to the door, knowing shes still going to text you later to be safe. ellie put the car back into park after a minute of watching your pacing silhouette through the curtain.

she turns the music off completely, not in the mood for anything for the rest of the weekend. an ugly pit settled into her stomach and she knew it wouldn’t relent till you were back on monday.

ellie drove home that night quickly swiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall. all she could think about was that you would be back, that she would go back to her pretend moments with you tucked into her side. he couldn’t take those from her too.

[ellie masterlist]

[akindaflora]

Unhealthy Morning

Pairing: Chan x Female Reader

Genre: Pure fluff, with slight suggestive; established relationship

Quick Sum: After a crazy night out with the girls, Chan can't help but worry for you over your unhealthy breakfast.

Warning: mention of drinking, like I said some suggestive but nothing described just the idea of jumping someone. Cheating is mentioned but not between them.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

“Baby, that’s incredibly unhealthy,” Chan said, looking at your frying pan full of butter potatoes browned to a crisp and two sunny eggs browning around the edges as they cooked. “You’re gonna clog your arteries,” he said quietly as you cooked your breakfast.

He may have been right, but today, you woke up incredibly late due to a hangover from a particularly intense night out with the girls. And when you were this hungover, all your brain even asked for was grease and to lie until the pounding sounds of your head settled.

“Yeah, but it’s what the doctor ordered,” you said, mixing the potatoes more to keep them from burning. “Will you put toast in the toaster and get me the tomatoes?” you asked, watching the grease sizzle in the pan. Doing your best to pull back whenever the grease pops back. Chan hesitantly watched you as you cooked. He knew at times like this there was no convincing you to not eat the pile of grease and trust he’d tried before, but was stopped by the piercing glare that settled on your face.

So all he could do was do exactly as you asked, slicing the tomatoes thickly for your meal. You quickly took the pan off the heat when the eggs were just right, putting the pan on a rack to keep the table from burning. Chan brought over the toast and tomatoes with a fork and watched as you gobbled away at the meal.

After watching you slowly eat away, he shook his head and started making his own lunch. Something simple with a bit of protein and a lot of veggies. The exact opposite of what you were eating, hoping to set a better example, he knew you'd ignore. When he sat down, you were already dipping the toast into the sunny-side-up egg. Happily moving slowly at the meal.

He took a napkin, softly dabbing at the corners of your mouth. You smiled at him as you went back to eating.

And as he watch, he couldn’t help but think of this early morning when you called for him to pick you up.

You sounded tired and so giggle, “CHANNNNIIIIIEEEEE I NEEEEEED YOU,” you yelled into the receiver, giggling.

He pulled the phone from his ear and put it on speaker. “Are you okay baby what’s up,” He asked slightly concern.

“I’m so drunk and my feet hurt and I just wanna cuddle,” you said with a pout. “Come get me pleaseeeeee,” you said, dragging out each syllable.

Chan only shook his head with a slight smile, already looking for your location and picking up his keys. “Stay on the line baby, I’ll come get you,” he said pulling out of the driveway.

You both talked or more like Chan listened as you told your story of your wild night. From one of the girls flirting with a random guy, to how you were too drunk to even dance properly, tripping over your heels. While waiting in line for the bathroom, you saw a dramatic moment of a couple arguing because his girlfriend was making out with another girl. How the DJ was okay, but you wish CB97 was the head of the mixing table. Something he would smile at as he drove closer to you.

And while sometimes he didn’t know what you were saying, he listened, happily humming every now and then at the right moments. And before he knew it. He saw you outside with your friends. Some of their boyfriends are outside waiting for the other girls' rides to get here. You were still talking into the phone, playing with the ends of your hair, smiling so sweetly, he couldn't help but coo. And then he took an even closer look, he knew what you wore before leaving, but you still took his breath away, even if now you were probably a little sweaty and your makeup was beginning to fade, you were and always will be the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

You spotted him and started to jump away, phone still in hand. Your hair bouncing in the air, the tight dress you wore sliding up slightly. “Careful baby ill come get you,” he said taking in every moment of you. He got out still allowing the phone to remain on the call because he knew you pout if he hung up even if he was standing right in front of you.

At the sight of him, you tried running towards him but tripped over your heels, landing right on your knees and hands. Your phone, dropping in favor of catching yourself. He quickly ran over picking you up as you sheepishly looked at him.

Your friends, all suddenly surrounding you to check up on you as Chan held you up by your waist. You slurred out your okays as you held onto his shoulder.

Chan quickly said goodbye to everyone, a grateful thanks to those who stayed to supervise the drunken group. After you waved goodbye, he quickly picked you up, bridal style, you with a mix of giggles and shrieks as he brought you to the passenger seat.

He set you down quickly, taking your heels off and rubbing your legs at the pain. He didn’t have the proper disinfectant but he could do that at home. He buckled you in with a small kiss to your head whipping the remaining debris from your hands.

“Let’s get you home, okay,” he said, softly closing the door and running to the driver's side. Chan often looked to your side, his hand holding yours as you told him more stories or random thoughts that would flood your drunken mind.

When you both finally arrived home, he picked you up from the car, not setting you down until he brought you to the bathroom. Carefully placing you on the bathroom counter, where he spent his time cleaning your sores and helping you shower. You giggled and kissed him at every chance you could get, which would deepen the red in his ears.

When he finally had you dressed and bandaged, he brought you back to the bedroom and cuddled the night away. After, of course, when he had to stop you from jumping him because he was simply too cute not to.

And now here he was with a slightly less chipper version of you, but his love growing nonetheless.

“Baby will you please just bite this vegetable,” he said poking a carrot in your direction. You glared at it like it had disrespected your morning, but at the look of Chan's soft eyes you quickly bit at the carrot, slowly munching away. He hummed with happiness and let you remain to finishing your meal.

When you were done, you kissed his head as you retreated back to bed in dire need to rot away into dreamland.

Chris followed, abandoning whatever was left of his lunch in favor of checking in on your wounds. “Let me message your feet,” he said as you peeked your head from the covers, at the sound of the bedroom door opening.

Before you could answer, he was already lifting part of the covers, rubbing away the pain the heels and applying pressure to your calves. You sighed in relief, nearly forgetting the pain entirely as everything seemed to hurt.

“Don’t you have work?” you asked quietly, not really wanting him to stop, but also not wanting to be the reason he had to postpone anything.

“Nope, today’s my day off, and I’m currently at the highlight of the day,” he said, applying pressure to the arch of your foot. You quietly moaned, not in a sexual way of desire but in a quiet contentment. He smiled deeply at the sound of your relief. Relief that he gave.

“You’re such a dork,” you said softly with a giggle.

“Mmm, but I’m your dork and I'm okay with that,” he said quietly.

You looked at him, watching his hands caressing your foot, the veins that decorated his hands tensing in the sunlight. You'd jump him if it wasn't for your head and the burning pain in your knees.

“If only stays knew their marriage material bias was rubbing my feet, they freak,” you said softly. He giggled at your comment, bending down to kiss your bandaged knees as he climbed back in bed, wrapping you in his arms.

“Too bad that’s for your eyes only,” he said, kissing your neck, then your check. Having some energy left you turn in his hold to kiss his lips softly, “sucks for them,” you sighed laying in his chest as your leg wrapped around his waist with the energy of possessiveness. Ignoring the pain because as any pain was worth being close to him.

A beat of silence was met as he hummed a song not quite released and rubbed circles into your back.

“So you think I’m marriage material, huh,” he said after a while. You only blushed, not quite asleep, as a soft hand smacked at his chest as you snuggled in more. Not ready to share how deeply obsessed you are with this man. Unbeknownst to you he was far worse for you, his hand caressing your back, as his mind traveled to the ideas of seeing you walk towards him in a white dress.

“I’m not hearing a denial,” he said, quietly kissing your head.

“Go to sleep, my pretty dork,” you said as your head buried into his neck, taking in the relaxing smell of him. And hiding the blush on your cheeks at the idea of being married to this man.

And at the soft sounds of his giggles, you finally fell asleep in the safest and warmest arms of the entire universe.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

AN// Hi this is that Chan fluff I was talking about earlier. While I like the idea of writing weddings I don't think I ever will. Soz but that's a delusional step I wont take LOL. I got pretty drunk not to long ago and was totally wrecked so I ended up making this disaster of a greasy breakfast and I couldn't help but to remember Chan eating straight lettuce and just knew he would disapprove at this meal lol. Hope you enjoyed!

Y❀Y✿

[baskinbucky]

come back, be here.

pairing: avenger!bucky x fem!avenger reader

blurb: a mission failed, and a broken heart returned back at the headquarters, and despite having to save almost everyone, Bucky blames himself for it.

wc: 1.1k

a/n: i wrote this when i suddenly felt gloomy on a random thursday. this might be narrative heavy.

warnings: angst no comfort. mentions of death. reader left bucky some mementos to remember by. pre-established relationship between reader and bucky! oh, and reader is an honorary sister to bruce and tony.

The crisp walls, silence of the hospital wing, and a heartbeat monitor was home to Bucky for a while now. His features even more ragged and exhaustion evident in his physique. If one were to ask how was his sleep, he’d say he did not have one, not even a blink.

Every time that the doctors walked in to check your vitals, Bucky’s had that particular glimmer in his eyes, hope, that seems to be fading at every visit and at his every breath. It had been at least two birthdays that you’ve missed, and everyone still celebrated it within the hospital wing you’re confined on, and not back at the Avengers Tower.

As much as Clint, Steve, and Nat visited you so often, Bucky never left. It was as if he’d only bathe himself in sunlight if he goes out to buy a can of coke when the vending machines run out of them. Tony and Bruce, on the other hand, finds another way to bring you back home at the tower. They’ve completed a portion of the monitor, but it dramatically fails at any demonstration—yet they never gave up to bring it closer to perfection, so they can bring you back home.

There came a time when Bucky finally caved in and let Bruce, Natasha, and Tony stay by your side—pleading promises to them that even a slightest twitch of your finger, they must call him. There was a heavy, deafening silence within the room that none of the three decided to speak, and they knew how much you mean to Bucky and how Bucky meant to you—and seeing you both struggle so much after everything you both have been through, it aches them in such a way that even the slightest whisper of your name hurts their heart in ways imaginable.

The severe injuries you sustained upon saving civilians from ground zero has placed you in a position that made you choose between your life or theirs, and for you, it’s better to try and save everyone than sleep a wink knowing you did not even try, and that terrified you, because you know what its like to live a life that’s been in imminent danger and have no idea how to seek help.

Bruce moved closer to your bed and so did Tony, they were the closest to you simply because you three were tech geniuses and often times bonded through a game of golf and charity works when time allows. Tony felt like it was partly his fault because he was not able to find you under the rubble, but Bruce blames himself because he was not able to catch you from falling after one of your suits failed to operate, and Nat? Nat could only think of her sadness in the confinements of her room and ask herself why didn’t she just took the fall instead of you.

Yet no one dared to speak just yet.

because in their head, they knew they had to do something, but they knew in their heart, you wouldn’t blame them for it and coax them that whatever happened to you, is your choice alone and none of it reflects them.

“please, sweetheart, come home to us.”

was the words Tony could only muster, taking a seat at the edge of your bed while his hand holds yours.

“pepper misses you so much, you know? she asked me to tell you that as soon as you wake up, you both are going to Bali.” Tony pauses.

“I know you can hear me, sweetheart, I know you’re in there, just–just let us know you’re still here with us too.”

nothing—not even a twitch of finger gives them a sign that you’re there.

and it broke their hearts to see you all tangled up with a multitude of wires, replenishing of IV bags, and hell, even drawing out your blood for testing again and again just to make sure you have not suffered internal damage.

The three were pulled out of the reverie when Bucky returns with cups of coffee and sandwiches for them, he shaved and had his hair trimmed after Clint and Steve successfully convinced him. Sam came with him to visit and much to his surprise, he watches how Bruce and Tony took care of you like you’re their younger sister—their eyes bore into you with such longing.

“Tony, do you think she’ll wake up?”

“I don’t know anymore. All I could do is hope and wish that she will.”

Bucky stood silent, quietly placing down the paper bags on the table as he watches Bruce and Tony look at you ever so gently, Tony’s hands gently cup your cheeks, while Bruce’s gently threads his fingers through your hair.

All Natasha could do was watch and smile sadly as she watches the pair, not noticing the a bead of tear falling down to her cheeks. Sam notices how Natasha tries to keep her composure and moves towards her, handing her his handkerchief while Bucky stood idle—trying not to burst into tears as well.

and until now, Bucky blames himself for it.

He blames himself because he did not make it on time—he was already too late when he got to you. You were all bloodied up and to brink of unconsciousness, the only thing that’s keeping him to believe that you’re still with him during that time was your breathing slowing down, taking in air felt such a huge pain in your chest.

“I can’t breathe, it hurts.”

Everyone turned around to face Bucky, their expressions looked like they’ve seen a ghost—because they knew that he was the last person that held you and was able to talk to you before ultimately passing out.

“t-that’s what she said before she went into coma, she.. I.. we planned on making dinner for everyone that day,” Bucky says, his breathing hitch like everything that had happened that day two years ago come back haunting him like a ghost of time.

and on that day, he could recall the ghosts of his past and his future haunting him for something he never expected to happen, and that scared him.

Every memory with you aches his heart with yearning for your warmth, your smile, your kisses, that he believes he doesn’t deserve yet he got to feel with you anyway, it felt like it’s his karmic residues coming to take everything away from him, and that includes you, slipping away from his grasp the longer you laid on the hospital bed—slowly being wilted in time that stopped two years ago.

“If… If I could turn back time, I’d rather have me in that bed than she.”

and with that, Bucky burst to tears, and everyone in the room engulfed themselves in a hug that could only be mended with time, hoping that whoever is up there that is listening, could grant them even a short period of time to be with you.

and until then, it’s through wet pillow cases and eventual hugs from the people you love could help them hold each other this time, even in uncertainties of what the future holds for them, and for you.

end of part one! :)

[starshipsofstarlord]

claimed | daryl dixon

summary. whilst in the company of the claimers, they take notice of you being the only woman upon them. you hadn’t felt safe prior to the prison being turned into a cascade of ruins, and their company only encompassed the paranoia that you felt. luckily, you weren’t alone, you had daryl. but will he help keep the claimers from arguing over of whom you belong to? (6.7k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), angst, mentions of death and violence, swearing, claiming a person, toxic men (the claimers, not daryl), harassment, some fluff and angst

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

A bed was something to be grateful for, there was no question about it. The firm yet malleable mattress felt like a cloud as you laid upon it, it was far better than the ground that you had been resting your head upon since the fall of the prison. “Claimed.” You barked to the claimers that you and Daryl had joined since losing Beth, ensuring that the bed was yours, and stupidly you felt prepared to fight for it.

“So it is.” Joe, the grey haired leader of the scavenging pack analysed, allowing his selfish eyes to scour over your splayed body for a second, until he trudged away, him and his miscreant followers going off to find their own sleeping arrangements for the eve. They were sick sons of bitches, and that one that went by the name of Len was a sleazy scoundrel, more so than the rest. Any chance that became opportune to begrudge you or Daryl with a punishment from the man in charge to him, he was willing to stick his neck out for it.

You hoped he died. Never had you wished the unkind deterrence of life of a person that wasn’t already infected and walking through the bloodthirsty vision of the afterlife since the Governor had struck against your people, and with wishful thinking and a whole lot of loss, including the emancipated prison that you had called your home for some time, that grubby, power hungry atrocity of a man was no longer alive. These claimers were no better, if they had charge of a citizenship likened to that of Woodbury, they would be stained with the same greedy fingers.

They wanted to take, rather than simply survive by any means necessary, as you had done, looting run down grocery shops and anywhere else that’d feed you for the day. It was pointless in mentioning Beth to them, it wasn’t in their souls to feel pity for her having disappeared, less aid you in locating her. And so you were stuck with the guilt and despair of being a witness to that car with the unknown driver whisk her to a destination that was incomprehensible.

You would find her, you tapped your temple with your knuckles in attempt to attain your attention span towards rest, which was difficult enough since most of the men that you were currently surrounded by were not trustworthy. The only one that was was Daryl. He had found you and brought you to the camp with the dormant rv in a time that felt long ago; the two of you had been hunting the same deer in the thick of the forest.

It ran before either one of you could shoot it down, at first you’d been pissed that he’d culled your walking menu, however he had found it in himself to offer to bring you back with him. Of course you were cautious of following a stranger in the woods, however you soon relaxed when you’d seen the residents that made up the makeshift community. There were families, mothers that were rightly protective of their children, a young boy and girl, one with a father and the other without. Daryl couldn’t have been so bad if his intentions were to bring the four legged herbivore back for them.

And he wasn’t, he could certainly been distant during his blistering moments, but you were glad that you weren’t by yourself in the aftermath of the prison’s attacked descent. A hand leant against the door frame you had yet to close to get some kind of privacy away from the grotesque excuses for humans, but as you stared straight ahead, you offered a small smile, it was all that you could muster up given everything that you had gone through and all that you had lost. It wasn’t a claimer, it was just Daryl who’d like you, put on the disguise of being one of them.

He looked disheveled, more so than usual, you could see it in his eyes that he was tired. His legs were probably aching too, you were experiencing the same sensation in your calves, and so you softly patted the mattress beside you, inviting your friend to join you. “Ain’t no beds left.” Daryl muttered, being quiet as he closed the door, stalking towards you with a weight of many things that put pressure on his shoulders. Of course you weren’t surprised, these men you were travelling with were selfish, and absolute jackasses, they’d offer him the floor to lay his head and that was it.

“There’s this one.” You offered, knowing that it couldn’t be that strange to share the bed considering you had previously slept side by side in the woods as an extra precaution due to the claimers. If you hadn’t, you dreaded that Len or one of the other greedy cronies would have tried something with you. And as a peace of mind for himself, Daryl had to make sure that you were safe, he couldn’t lose you too. That would be the last straw for him, your company and the diminishing hope that you would one day find the other members of your peculiarly arranged family was the only thing that was keeping him going.

“Thanks.” In your time living side by side, from the first camp to the prison, and then now in the middle of nowhere, somewhere along the way he had picked up on manners. And those manners were much appreciated as you drifted closer to your side of his bed so that he would have enough room to lay down with there still being some space between the both of you. The duvet was no doubt a little dusty, however you had each been covered in worse, such as walker guts and the insistent grime that living outdoors dawned on you. "Been tryna keep those creeps away from ya."

"They're quite persistent." You agreed with the nature of the claimers, turning to face him so that you were laid on your side and Daryl mirrored your actions, his large fingers digging into the pillow from the topic of conversation. It always riled him that Joe and his mindless cronies that acted like magpies eyed you as though you were a piece of meat. Sure, there had certainly been men at the prison that had cast attraction in your direction, however they would nevertheless treat you with the respect that you were a human being whom was surviving the tasking aftermath of the outbreak. "I'm scared D, I don't trust them."

Your voice was small, with fright hanging off of each syllable that you pronounced. Daryl had witnessed your fear in the past, such as in the imprisonment of the CDC when the impending self destruction was looming the large risk of death over your entire group. It was a no brainer that you had no intentions to die, albeit the likeness of some that had hopes to given the walking dead that had presumed certain demise over the planet and it’s inhabitants, you however were a fighter. You’d fight to your death if it gave you a chance, Daryl even had to drag you away from the falling prison.

When the Governor had attacked you had been adamant to protect the place that had become your home until the last breath, but the archer would not allow it. Now you could see that if you had remained at the sight of the carnage where the undead had earned free pass to roam through, you would be another victim of the cruel hand that the Governor had dealt the lot of you. It hadn't mattered to Phillip that those that had once been his people were consumed in the deadly result of his vengeful and violent actions, he never cared for any one of them; it was his fault and bloody hands that had lead to Andrea's faint hearted death.

"Me either." Daryl admitted, although it was an easy concept to realise considering that you had witnessed his distaste prominently since you had banded with him since the start of the apocalypse. You gulped, stupidly afraid of involving him in some of the details that you had heard whilst being in the company of the claimers. He would go ballistic from the truth that had weaselled its way around his peripheral, but the only route in which you could disintegrate the possibility of the plans that the crude men held in your direction was for you to confide in your overly protective friend.

"They were speaking the other day, when they thought we were chasing after that nest of rabbits." It was short of nothing new when it came to the brash men, they had their opinions and had enjoyment in sharing them to each of their own. The archer's eyes became awake and full of concentration as you spoke, shuffling closer to you as he reached for you hand. Daryl wasn't stupid, you wouldn't bring up anything that lacked importance, and the waver that staggered in your voice brought paranoia to his ears. "I'm the only woman here... And the topic of conversation was regarding who will claim me... I can't - I won't-"

A hand rushed to grasp your own, his avid temper rising as he realised what sick fucks they really were. They weren't considered gentleman, but at the end of the world their priorities sure were twisted. Tears slipped from your eyes as you attempted to continue, however there was no reason for you to, Daryl was already prepared to do whatever it took to keep you as safe as possible in the ragged state of the world. His form shot up, as his eyes darted around the room, before they landed upon your feeble frame again, his gaze softening at the sight of you.

"We can go. Get up an' leave. I ain't lettin' none of that shit happen to ya. I'll kill 'em before they even hav' a chance ter try." His tone was dangerous, laced with convicted agitation that bespoke that his threats were completely full of spite. Your head raised gently, as you ogled up at him with glossy eyes; nobody had dared to go to such lengths for you before, they’d never have ran from the bad in the old world with you, let alone be prepared to murder somebody for their triumphant disgrace. Your lips murmured the voice of nothing, wobbling uncomfortably as you attempted to verbalise your thoughts.

With conflict drawn knuckles, you grasped at your own knees that you had raised to be against your chest, rocking lightly as you let out a sigh of relief as Daryl refrained from pacing around the room - he knew that that stressed you out, he was assertive when it came to his realisations, and currently you were his priority, and it would kill him to bring you further distress. “I have an idea.” You croaked out, however you were quickly shut down. There was no need to be impulsive, Daryl thought, as he nervously raised his hand to your face to pat your strewn teardrops away with his thumb.

“Nah.” The tracker input his opinion, wishing to cocoon you in his protection. “We have ta go y/n/n, we hav’ ta.” He’d have to convince you, however you brushed his hand away, holding it between both of your palms, feeling every scar and crease that were sewn onto his fingers. “I can’t let anything’ happen to you, ya need to understan’ that peach.” With a piercing gaze of azure defiance, he shook his brunette head, still standing against your unspoken resolute.

“We can’t Daryl, we’ve experienced what it’s like out there.” A pang shot directly into your chest as inducing flashes of those that didn’t make it and the unknown destiny of others that had inhabited the prison shot in your vision. “I can’t lose you too, Beth’s already gone.” The lump in your throat felt unbearably heavy, the stern conjunction of terror and apprehension making it almost suffocating. “But the claimers can’t claim me… if you already have.”

“Y/n.” He had to talk some sense into you, to convert you away from this path that would only be a mistake. The scheme that you had conformed of the purpose of self preservation may have been to suffice the leering consumption of the claimers, and it angered him. You were no piece of fruit ripe for the picking, and if you were to call yourself his, then it would be of complete free will. You would want him for something more than to avoid being a trophy to one of those scoundrels, and it would mean more than your conveying control over your life.

"Daryl." His name left your lips, as you stared like a deer in headlights up at him, hand caressing the bare skin of his exposed arm which made pangs of electrical pulse fly through his stomach. "It's the smartest option that we have, unless we stumble across our friends. And I trust you more than anyone that I have ever met, please just do this for me. So that we can both breathe through this turmoil shit whilst we figure out a plan to get Beth back. We have nothing to go off to find her at the moment, but something might appear, and we have to be united for that, and if one of them claim me, they will never let me go... unless we kill them. And right now is not the time to have any more blood on our hands."

Even if you tried, the both of you would be severely outnumbered, and you had already escaped death one too many times. "Okay, okay." His tone was grave, full of surrender and failure, he had a habit to folding to you eventually, you were his weakness, and although he would have to traipse carefully, your stubborn streak repeatedly overpowered his. "Jus'- I um, I ain't jus' willin' to do this before I tell ya something." The time was now or never to reveal his feelings that he had hunkered down privately inside of himself, there never was a perfect moment to do so before, except maybe the prison. And when you thought you were safe and professed with security there, Daryl had convinced himself that you would reject him, and it would ruin any connection you shared.

There was no reason to hold back his emotions any longer, if it were to be his place to ‘claim’ you, his head ached as he built his mind up to one of the largest vindications of his life, that had the chance to have dire consequences. The implications could be hurtful, if you did not reciprocate the feelings that he was going to share with you, then the air would be unceasingly tense, and the last thing he wished for was to make you uncomfortable. He didn’t want you to see him as one of the men that were stalking you like a rabbit hopping from lurking danger, he was your friend, and if you recoiled from his love, then he hoped that you would still see him as your ally and comrade.

"You can tell me anything in the world Dar." With feathery touches that lingered in his heart, you wound your hand down his arm until you were holding his hand, with sweet tenderness. "I don't want to put any pressure on you, ever, so if you don't want to claim me that's okay too." Logically he was aware that your fail safe plan was the smartest, and he held in a complicated groan, he felt torn between running away from all of these problems or dealing with them, it was like a stand still that he was holding with himself. Daryl squeezed your hand, bringing the back of it to his lips so he could pledge a nervous skin on the thin flesh.

"Love yer, tha's wha' I wanted to say for so long." It was easier to rip the band aid off quick so that the mountainous sadness could wash over him as fast, his healing hopefully being a speedier process. But your reaction was not what he had anticipated, your gaze did not make him feel nauseous, rather it was contempt with a bright hue in your irises that sparkled with comfortability. Your lips twitched into a small yet powerful smile, which took his breath away for a few seconds, and he felt suddenly stupid for his expectation.

"I've been waiting to hear those words for a long time Dixon." You admitted aloud, rustling across the sheets until your body was brought closer to his own, your onyx pupils running across his mournful and tired face. "And I love you as well, how could I not?" He could think of a lot of ways, but it would burst the moment like a bubble if he were to begin listing them, and so he refrained, allowing you to continue on with your voice that was hushed so that the claimers couldn't listen in, but audible enough so that he could understand you. "I think I first realised it at the farm, I was in shock when Andrea shot you; I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kill her or kiss you. Obviously I did neither, but I wish I d-"

Your voice was drowned out from the pressure that Daryl placed on your lips with his own, he leant his head over, moving his mouth with languid motions, moaning lightly as you nibbled on his lower lip. You drove him crazy, and as calm as your company made him feel, he was getting worked up, and so he pulled away, raking a large hand through your locks as he kept his eyes closed for a moment until he slowly opened them, your face being the focus of his peripheral vision. To him you were a ray of all the things he had strove for in the events proceeding from the outbreak, you were the sun that scorched his skin during the day, and the whistling breeze that soothed said inflictions of the sun after it had rose beneath the moon.

He was the victim of love, he realised that now. And although you said those words back, he still felt like he was punching above his weight, as though he were reaching for the stars. "Don' wan' yer to think that's the only reason I sai' I love ya." You required no validation, if you had the will to go through with lovemaking with him, it would be your own choice, he didn’t want your decision to be swayed by the plight of feelings. “Need ya to want me like tha’ in yer own mind, we don’ have ta do nothin’.” He was perfectly fine with resting his head on the pillow and going to sleep beside you in the bed that you had offered to share with him, he had said his part and taken enough action to appease his internal instincts.

“I know it isn’t Daryl.” You admitted, and he knew that you never uttered around anything that was bothering you in the slightest, your straightforward attitude had at first intimidated him, hence the copious waiting time that it had taken him to confess. If you didn't love him, then you wouldn't have said it back. "And I do want all of you in every way, it doesn't have to be in that way, I could wait forever for you. I would if it came to it, I'd die for you if worse comes to worst." At the end of your heartfelt rant, Daryl winced, hating to hear those words leave your mouth. He had ensured your utmost survival from keeping an eye on you, even from afar, and he would not allow any living soul, or even a dead one to rid you from the earth.

Death was not in the books for you, unless the prospect of such a sentence was after you grew withered and old, full of wisdom and fond memories. “Don’ say tha’.” It was a command, albeit one that he wouldn’t physically force you to follow, however it was simultaneously a promise. He would not allow anything to happen to you, not in a million years, and if the only way to prevent any violence from condemning your life upon a noosed risk was by claiming you, then he simply could not reject the compromise. “Ya ain’ dying’ girl, not on my watch.” His eyes traced your the sweet harmony that your facial features composed, brushing the rough edge of his palm across your jawline, causing a wispy breath to escape your more than kissable lips.

It still felt surreal that his body had built up the courageous nerves to kiss you, and he was almost kicking himself for never having done it sooner. “Okay.” You agreed, all too aware that the fluid expense of death could not be decided by the mere human race, but you would try your best to live as many days as you could realistically manage just for him. Daryl was worth attempting the impossible for, he had proven as much through his countless loyal acts, and the fact that he never landed blame upon anybody with moments that could not be reversed. He’d never even been slightly pissed that Andrea had whisked a bullet across his temple, leaving a dangerous graze onto the vulnerable flesh. He still had a faint mark from the bullet engrained gash, and you ran the pads of your fingers across the light skinned line, realising how lucky you remained to still have him beside you.

“An’ don’ worry ‘bout the claimers,” it was difficult not to you thought in a solitary mental notes, cautious of how they would leer in whichever direction you surpassed, “I’ll do it. I’ll claim ya. Jus’ wanna ask yer to be mine first…” His way of asking you to be his partner was not traditional in the slightest, it was very Daryl like, and that made you smile. Your eyes were glazed with the reflection of love, claimed by the contortion of in the moment simply being a woman that felt for a man, and he was the suspect in question for being the thief that had silently stolen your heart and the arteries connected to it. You were like a love strung puppet, your arms noosed around his neck as you held the fixated archer closer, the tip of your noses crossing heartfelt paths in an affectionate notion.

“I already am Dar.” The simple yet confirming statement was the truth, you had reserved your amorous emotions for him alone, and there was nobody else who could capture your attention in such a way like he had. “I think I knew deep down that I did prior to me having the realisation of it.” As you spoke in a sultry tone that was hushed to give more definition to your words, your lips impulsively brushed against his own, until you licked inside of his mouth to explore it again. “So take me, claim me, anything. I just want to be close to you Dar.” To feel his lips coincide against the pressure of your own was still not enough, you rotated so that you were sprawled on your back, Daryl instinctively climbing upon you like a wolf that had began to feast on a vulnerable sheep that had already accepted its fate.

Hearing that you were his was a chronically inducing statement, it felt like he had injected a strong dose of adrenaline into his cordial veins, refracting an affect to take a masculine toll over his body. He had grown endearingly hard for you in his slack trousers, confined by the material that tightly hugged his aroused bulge, his balls felt as though they were being squeezed, driving him to impractical insanity. His torso rotated above you as he devoured your lips, his scuffed palm claiming it’s placement around your face. You had to breathe through your nose, as your eyes were screwed shut, your brows inclined in a distance closer together as your mouth attempted to keep up with the pace that Daryl had installed.

You felt strangely complete, having found a purpose to keep moving forwards in the hardships that were hurled sullenly in your direction. The two of you were alive, and almost strangely you had never felt so alive in your life beforehand, until those amorous words had left Daryl’s lips. No, not that he would claim you, but he loved you. It coiled your heart in tendrils of tender affection, to know that not only were your emotions most definitely reciprocated, but that he would do anything that was required to protect you. In the past, prior to the falling of the world, men had always sought power and held a regarded possessiveness upon anything that they wished, there were some profusely sick bastards out there.

And the pack of claimers were no exception, they’d seen you handle yourself and kill the walking dead with finesse and they still saw you as some sort of object. But you were a person, with shattered feelings and a stubbornness motivation to keep on striding onwards despite all that you had lost. There was a small inkling of a chance that not all of them had possibly have been such atrocious people in advance to the outbreak, though that was a heavy doubt. They acted depraved, and whilst they could physically take anything they saw fit without laws obstructing their greed, that did not mean that you were ripe for the picking. If they had been good men once, they certainly weren’t any more, not like Daryl.

“Ya alrigh’?” The question startled you from your trickling thoughts, grounding you in reality where you were overshadowed in the best way by Daryl’s body, and you reached your hands out, bringing them to his cheeks. You would be fine, his face told you as much without saying anything in regard to your troubles at all. He would be fine. Instead of replying in a verbal manner, you pulled him back down, causing his body to melt into one organism within your own. He sunk into your grip, loving how you tousled his messy locks between your fingers, wrapping your legs around his waist only with the intent to pull him closer.

He could practically quiver, you were both a weakness and a strength to him, there was not a single thing that he would not do in order to keep you alive, and rather than just keeping you breathing, he was making you feel impossibly safe, despite the masses of threats that you faced on the daily; there were obviously the saviours whose eyes roamed despicably over your silhouette, there was the threat of being parched and starved on the road, and of course the walkers that had stalked you both day and night.

All of that was forgotten for a moment of relaxation, as you began unbuttoning Daryl’s shirt, having already discarded the vest that bore angel wings on the back. Daryl almost wanted to object, for the significant scars that were forever painted on his flesh distorted his frame, though that impulse was swallowed down. Time was of the essence as it always was, and he wished not to waste a singular second of it that he had with you. It would be a sin, and whilst he usually did not care for the religious shit, he had to admit that this was rising to be a holy event in his life.

With him helping you, his shirt was tossed carelessly across the room, your own following soon after. There was no dignity held in your need to have your bare flesh entangled with Daryl’s, the hunger to be with him was too strong to restrain yourself. The kiss was messy, a furious sliding of tongues alongside each other, but you couldn’t care, you needed him in ways that you had never needed anything else. His hands scathed the flesh of your back, reaching for the clasp of your bra, though he staggered upon some difficulty in undoing it, so you granted him aid, easily releasing the fabric from its embrace around your form, slipping the straps from your arms and discarding it also.

“Fuck.” Daryl cursed aloud, pulling away from your lips to take in the sight of you half bare to his naked eyes. His hands grasped your waist in a gentle manner, as he regarded you with both admiration and loving lust that reigned his gaze. He was definitely in love. “Yer so beaut’ful.” His head dipped, littering a smattering of kisses along your bare chest, his chapped lips contrasting against the softness of your skin, until he finally got to your left nipple, taking the peak into his mouth, suckling gently causing you to arch your back. This instance had been long awaited, and it had been worth every agonising second of being without his touch. It was more sensual than you had ever expected, exceeding each dream that had occurred in your resting mind.

Your hands braced against the back of his head, gently combing through his hair, as you become wantonly lost in him… something that you had always wanted. “D.” There was an insistent impatience within your voice that made him look up. You were ready to surpass the foreplay and get straight to the main course, but Daryl knew that you deserved better than that. He had acknowledged you, though you refrained from reminding him of the urgency that was boiling in your veins as he began to kiss his way down your stomach, licking at your flesh as he descended.

He made your legs shake in their own spiral of suspense as he slowly dragged down the layers that conformed your lower half from your sights, deadly slow in fact. He was teasing you, leaving you on a jagged edge of screaming from the perilous waiting to be touched, although you couldn’t. You had to remain quiet to sustain a lack of suspicion from the saviours, the last thing you wanted was a singular one of the depraved men walking in, they’d most likely enjoy watching, which was a foul truth that tainted your mouth with disgust. “So pretty.” The scruff that outlined Daryl’s jaw scuffed at your thighs as his hands spread your legs, leaving you intimately vulnerable to his eyes.

This felt like this was the weakest that the man that you loved had ever seen you, despite the gruelling circumstances that you had faced in union, and the injuries that you had each endured that lathered you with the fear of death. You were exposed, and you whimpered at his sentimental statement, pressing your lips together as you watched him lean closer to your cunt. His breathing was laboured, he too needing this as much as you did. He inhaled your womanly scent, memorising it for a second before he leaned in to taste you, a light, restricted groan tumbling from his lips. A sharp inhale of air penetrated your lungs as you held it in, your hands still in his hair as he kissed your lower lips affectionately, spreading them so that he could suckle at your bud.

As he did, you felt his wide fingertips tracing your entrance, and then he slipped one inside of you, both his fingers and mouth bringing you to ecstasy. You just needed a little more and then you could reach that peak that ascended you into bliss, and Daryl seemed aware of that fact to, adding another digit within your walls as he reached inside of you deeper, angling his fingers so that they toyed with that heavenly spot that made you see stars. Daryl rode you through your orgasm, his pace slowed until he pulled away, bringing his cum coated fingers to his own lips, tasting your essence as though he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Ya taste so good.” Daryl confirmed your suspicions, leaning over you so that he could kiss you again, and you tasted yourself on his lips, making you hum in delight against his mouth. There was so much you wanted to say to him, so many thoughts you needed to share, but you dared not think about speaking them - if the claimers heard, then it would endanger your people if they were still out there, having survive the ruin that your home had succumbed to. As you leant away from the kiss, you reached your hand up to trace every line on his face, each warping of his skin that had battled the world long before it had ended. If he was the last thing that you would ever see, then you would die as happy as you could.

“I love you.” You reminded him, knowing that he hadn’t been told that enough in his life, and he repeated your words with a delicate softness that contrasted heavily with the subjected hardness that was pressing against your thigh. He kissed you again as, leaning down as he stood, removing his pants and undergarments to shed himself into full exposure, making you gasp as he clambered atop of you, his body weight pressing into you. It was almost serene, and it would have been if you knew that this blanket of safety would last, however you doubted it considering the companions that had taken you into their midsts. This was the solace that you had sought prior to the outbreak - Daryl. You weren’t willing to let him go any time soon.

Your fingernails dug with a bite into the flesh of his scarred shoulders as he sank into you, his length slowly sliding within your walls until you felt almost unbearable full. He grunted in his own abyss of pleasure, staring at you with eyes filled with love that you had long awaited to be the bearer of, and he leant back, only to thrust back between the apex of your thighs again. He was heaven and bliss rolled into the contrasting, angelic frame of the handsome archer. His movements claimed you with a reverent passion, your flesh pressing tightly against one another as you had the impulse to call out his name, but rather than uttering it loudly for everyone in the house to hear, you whispered it into his ear, like a mantra that you never wanted to stop repeating.

Their eyes continued to fixate upon you, as if you were prey, an animal for the killing and skinning. Len was the worst of them, he licked his disgusting lips with a feverish hunger, like an addict concentrating upon his next hit. It wouldn’t be you, you were secure in that as he traipsed towards you, his toxic demeanour making you wrinkle your nose in dismay. You didn’t like him one bit, any of them in fact. But you had to do what it took to survive, and for the time being it was forcing yourself to be in their presence until you could find a safe locale far away from their greedy hands, hopefully by then having found your friends, or at least the ones that were still living.

“Y/N.” Your name sounded like poison as it left his lips, and you held in your grimace, wishing not to cause more trouble than the group already inebriated like air, pausing your footfalls as you turned your stiff attention towards him. Joe stopped too, watching intently as his follower stalked towards you, grabbing your arm. His grip was too firm to pull away from without causing a fight, and the last thing you wanted was to provoke further bloodshed, despite your feral side wishing to kill him for simply laying a hand upon you. You clenched your jaw, nostrils flaring, as the air around you wafted a breeze.

The trees danced as in applause for the sickly balls that Len had grown since your presence within the claimers, and you resented nature for conforming to the scene. “Let me go.” It was an order, one that fell deafeningly short on the man’s ear, as his putrid grip only tightened, and you were sure that there would be fingertip bruises looming beyond the sleeves of your jacket. You tried to pull back, but it only made you strangle out a small cry of pain, Len selfishly not relenting. Joe cleared his cigarette smoked throat, as if telling him to back off without voicing the threatening tone that billowed in his eyes, clearly wanting to see where this went. Without much else to do, you kicked at his legs, foot landing upon his shin causing him to curse.

“I’m already claimed you fucking bastard.” Joe seemed unsurprised by your words, having witnessed Daryl to slink into the room that you had claimed for yourself. He was gladdened by the fact that Daryl was within the tree line, seeking out a rabbit or some other animal that would contend as supper, otherwise there would be another event to fuel the clear hatred that Daryl and Len regarded one another with. The leader was amused, watching you kick once more at Len until he finally backed off, the bone on his leg no doubt being sensitive from the feel of your boots pummelling it. He knew there’d be trouble allowing a woman within their ranks, and as much as he had the impulse to swoop in and proclaim that he had claimed you, he was far too entertained, and rules were rules, set by his example.

“Yeah?” Len’s teeth were on show as if he were prepared to growl at you from the tenderness and pain you had reigned onto his left limb. “By who?” He retorted, his eyes having gone wild and crazed from the retaliation that you had openly handed him. His gaze seared against your form, trailing down your body as if he were trying to find a name etched into your flesh. The bristle of bushes made his head dart to the side, ready to see a walker stumbling out from the shrouded clearing, but it was only Daryl. There was a rabbit attained to its holding at his waist, the animal helpless and dead, having been struck by a bolt that ended its life and creating a patch of blood upon its fawn brindled side.

“I claimed her. She’s mine.” Daryl had heard most of the interaction, unaware when Len had grabbed you, otherwise he would have revealed himself sooner, the last thing he wanted was for you to be harmed. He stalked closer, pulling you into his side, noticing how tense you were, and that you had your arm held out in flatulent pain. “She’s mine. I claim her.” He repeated, glad that you had fought back. He hadn’t initially wanted to leave you to hunt, but Joe had told him to do exactly that, he spat on the ground towards Len, physically showing his distaste for the man. You were not something to be claimed, you were a human being, one that he cared about, one that he loved. But he and you both would keep the charade up until you could get away, and hopefully return to the people that you belonged with.

It was going to be a gruelling journey onwards with these folks, with Len hissing in jealous spite, but you had each other; that would get you through this, you reminded yourself. You could still feel Daryl’s amorous kisses upon your skin, and it brought you a wave of comfort. Joe cleared his throat, diverting the attention of his men and you and Daryl towards him. “You heard that.” The grey haired man stated with control bordering his voice. “She is claimed.” They all knew what that meant, and they would have to respect the procedure that had you claimed as they would with any other object. Daryl’s hand touched your waist, and that look that he gave you alone was enough to give you something to fight for.

[never-rxne]

─── all the quiet nights you bear

content warning(s): hurt/comfort, sickfic (mentions of fever dreams), fluff, light angst, no defined or established relationship, hint of yearning, gn reader (cishet men dni...obviously) 

wc: 1.6k

note: this is just shameless fluff i wrote because i’m sick and miserable and why not project that onto sevika ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

"and all the quiet nights you bear seal them up with care no one needs to know they're there for i will hold them for you." —Mitski, “I Will”

At first, the symptoms don't show in normal ways. In fact, they barely show at all. 

She’ll smother her coughs in the folds of her cloak, wave it off as a speck of dust in her throat, cigar ash. She was always good at that. Feigning strength. Covering up weaknesses. Like second nature. 

The fever that was ripping through the Lanes, a new virus of some sort, was on the radar of everyone who called Zaun home. But it was next to impossible to imagine Sevika falling victim to it. She had an immune system like steel. In all the years you had known her, you had never seen her catch so much as a passing cold. 

This time it’s different. Something is wrong. She’ll try her best to conceal it, but you know her too well to let even the smallest of hints escape you. The way she stumbles over her feet, catching herself on the doorframe, pausing briefly to catch her breath before she goes on with her work. The thin sheen of sweat along her hairline. Her labored breathing as the two of you walk up the steps into an airship. 

You know the worst way to confront her is to tell her point-blank to take a break. She’ll just scoff, mutter something about you overreacting, walk away before you can get another word out. 

Even worse would be to call her out within the earshot of any of the lackeys. They weren’t exactly devoted to each other, and certainly weren’t on friendly terms with Silco’s closest enforcer. They remembered their little “meetings” with her whenever they tried to sneak themselves a higher cut of the profits. A hint of a weak spot—the smallest of openings—they’d be on her like hounds. 

So you wait until you have her alone in Silco’s empty office. He’s out for the day on a business trip down the other districts of Zaun. As Sevika goes through the shipment records, you can see her hand trembling with exhaustion. 

Slowly, you walk over to where she stands hunched over the desk. You set a glass of water down on the table. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t give a word or a nod of thanks. But she puts down the papers and drains the water like she’s been parched for days. 

“What’re you trying to do—infect the whole company?” You ask, keeping your tone casual. 

She snaps her gaze at you. “The hell are you talking about?” 

There it is. The tell-tale rasp in her voice. 

You reach up to press the back of your hand against her forehead. Irritably, she swats your hand away. You slap her back, reaching up again to feel her skin. She’s burning up. 

“How long have you been walking around like a living corpse?” 

Sevika turns away. “It’s not that bad. I can handle it.”

“‘Handle it’, my ass. You just marked all these shipment records as fulfilled.” 

Sevika looks down at the faulty manifests. She lets out a heavy sigh of frustration, swearing under her breath. 

“Go home, Sevika.” 

She tries to scoff, but it catches in her throat and turns into a coughing fit. 

“I’ll put it this way,” you say, laying a hand on her arm, “you stay, and you'll double the work by messing everything up. Best thing you could do for anybody right now is rest.” 

She opens her mouth to argue. You know exactly what she’s about to say, so you beat her to the punch. Gathering the papers into your arms, you push her toward the door. “I’ll cover for you. I’ll fix these forms up. You just try to stay upright on the walk home.” 

She snorts. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Sevika.” 

She ignores you, reaches for the papers in your hands. You shake your head. If she thinks she’s the only  stubborn ass in this room, she’s forgetting who she’s standing in front of. 

Standing. Well. Barely. The woman’s ready to topple over any second.

“Right,” you say. You march over to the corner of the room, shoving the papers into your satchel. “Then I’m taking you home myself.” 

“What?” 

You hook your arm through hers, shepherding her toward the door. You can feel the heat radiating through her sleeve. “You’re in no damn condition to be working up here.” 

꩜

Once you’ve wrestled her into bed, she falls asleep almost immediately. Brows creased with the remnants of her resistance to the limitations of her own body. 

She’s out cold for seventeen straight hours. 

In the meantime, you straighten things up. Clean the bottles off the floor of her dimly lit apartment. Open the windows in the kitchen to let some of the stale air out, the smell of cigarette smoke hanging thick. For all the time you’ve known her, it’s been ages since you’ve last seen her place. It’s just the same as you remember. Minus the deck of cards that always used to sit at the corner of the kitchen table. It’s been replaced by several used-up lighters, which you throw away. 

She wakes up at intervals, blinking slowly at you as if she’s only half-processing you’re there. You have the papers laid out in front of you on the table, signing off all the reports of Shimmer shipments. 

You don’t notice her watching you at first. 

“Need something?” You’re already getting up, reaching for the jug of water nearby. “What is it?” 

Sevika parts her dry lips. In a voice scraped raw, so weak you need to lean in to hear her, she says, “you don’t…you don’t have to do this.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You don’t have to…look after me like this.” 

You huff impatiently. “Don’t waste your strength talking nonsense.” You feel her forehead again, pull the blanket closer to her chin. “Want me to make you tea?” 

Sevika searches your face, her grey eyes darting, before her lids close again. She turns over, pulling the blanket around her. “It’s fuckin’ cold,” she mutters, and drifts off again. 

꩜

The illness stays for days. 

You’ve moved in temporarily, your clothes hang haphazardly from the furniture, and dirty bowls and cups litter the kitchen. You’ve bribed everyone you knew at the Last Drop to keep things hushed about Sevika’s condition. As far as you know, only Silco knows the truth. 

You do everything you can to quell the fever. Bathe her face and body with cold compresses, stripping off her clothes and drawing the cloth over her skin to bring down the temperature. Murmuring softly to her as she flinched from the cold, muttering indecipherable things in her sleep. You wrap her in every blanket you can find in the apartment. You wake her up intermittently to get her to drink some water, feed her some soup, but nothing stays down for long. 

It’s worse late at night, when she has the fever dreams, when she thrashes in bed and drenches the sheets with sweat, crying out names of people you’ve never heard of before. When she wakes up and stares at you but doesn’t seem to recognize you, grey eyes glassy and bloodshot. 

“You here to finish me off?” She asks you in a wild, hoarse voice, over and over. “Huh? You here to watch me go?” 

You don’t know who she thinks you are. You wipe the sweat from her face. You climb into bed and press your body to her burning skin, holding her close until she stops tossing and turning, until you can feel her fall back into troubled sleep.  

You try not to let yourself get scared. Try to keep the fears at bay, try to keep your wits about you. By now you’ve heard the rumors of the spreading fever taking the lives of the weaker ones—a new infection, cross-contamination—something to do with the waste waters from Topside. People are dropping like flies. Rumors of new symptoms start to circulate. 

Not Sevika. It won’t happen to Sevika. 

She’s too strong. She’s fought for too long. 

You don’t let yourself think about the worst that could happen. Sevika had always been in your life, an unstoppable force…you’re realizing now you had taken her strength for granted. Never, never for a moment would you have dreamed of a possibility that you might lose her. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about a life where she isn’t there. 

You don’t think you could handle it. 

꩜

Around midnight at the end of a long, hellish week, her fever breaks. You could have cried out of relief. Her pulse finally drops to a normal rate. She wakes up briefly to drink some water and for the first time, her eyes are lucid when she looks at you. 

“Hey,” she says. “You look like hell.” 

“You look worse,” you retort, wiping a trickle of water that runs down her chin.

A small smile. The sight feels better than the high of any drug. 

You don’t need to watch over her that night. You watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest for several minutes, and feel a strange twist in your heart. Like the softest of wounds has opened up in your soul. Then you go back out to the living room, and promptly pass out on the couch.  

When you check on her in the morning, she’s already sitting up in bed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. 

“Hey, you,” you say softly, brushing the sweaty strands of hair out of her face. “Welcome back.” 

“I feel like shit,” she grumbles. Her peevish tone makes you smile. 

“As long as you’re alive.”