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lalunanymph · 7 months ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 (part 2)

✧˚ · . three minutes past his 27th birthday, the mass serial killer known as 'dawnbreaker' finally meets the girl from his dreams

✧˚ · . part 1

✧˚ · . warnings:- dawnbreaker!zayne x fem!reader, HEAVY ANGST, mentions of food, mentions of illnesses, mentions of injuries, spoilers for zayne's lore, alternative timeline, mentions of babies, mentions of pregnancies, pet names (darling, my love, beloved), nightmares, mentions of smoking, MCD, brief mentions of su_cide, nightmares, a not so happy happy ending, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. i am not responsible for your media consumption

✧˚ · . dawn says: i had to split the last part into 2 because it was literally so long tumblr said nope sorry girlie this ain't making it into the tags lol

✧˚ · . playlist

“You may know me as Zayne, but I go by another name…”

He exhales it into the suffocating silence:

“Dawnbreaker.”

Your eyes bulge wider, mouth falling open in horror. Of course, you were aware of that name; you knew who he was.

Serina Callaghan, daughter of Detective Callaghan, had told you numerous stories about the elusive serial killer. How no one could find a trace of him.

Yet, here he was—standing in your kitchen with remorse etched onto every pore of his body.

You feel a sick sense of nausea bubbling from your stomach to your chest, threatening to spill onto the floor.

You had taken him in… made love to him… held him in your arms every night… when he had killed all those innocent people…

As if reading your mind, Zayne shakes his head. “These people—the ones who had passed on—I never killed them for fun. They wanted me to end their lives because they were overtaken by the disease… by the Abomination.”

His words shock you out of your reverie; tames your urge to grab the phone and call the police. For a split second, you wonder what Zayne would do to you if you were to lunge for the cordless phone; would he escape?

Kill you?

Forcing yourself to be far braver than you felt, you clutched your trembling hands together, taking in a deep breath.

“So, m-mercy killing,” your voice shook, but your deduction was spot on.

“Yes.” He shrugs off his coat, and you eye the wad of cash he takes out and sets on your kitchen counter. “I will never kill someone unless they pay me to do it. I do not like taking lives, but as one of the last Evolvers in this generation… it is my duty to help.”

Evolver?

The layers of truth were starting to make your head spin. You could barely unravel your spiraling thoughts.

“I thought Evolvers were extinct.”

Zayne shakes his head. “We are rare, but we are still here.”

As if to solidify the truth, he holds out his hand. On his palm, the air condenses, and the temperature in the kitchen drops a few celsius. You watch, gobsmack in silence, as bits of snow appear, coalescing right into a singular teardrop-shaped crystal that unfurls into a shimmery flower with five petals.

“Ice,” Zayne explains, and slowly approaches you. He gently places the flower on the table, right where you were standing.

He backs away, giving you some space to work out your emotions. You stare at the jasmine flower, in silent contemplation.

It’s intricate and beautiful, but ice in itself was deadly.

While it looked harmless falling from the sky, it had the power to bury people under its weight; causing hypothermia, avalanches, and skin burns.

You glance at Zayne, wondering which category he belonged in—if he was a chilly breeze or an entire fucking snowstorm.

His weary gaze spoke volumes, though he let you reach your own conclusions. Zayne was giving you a choice: one many people in your life didn’t.

Stay or leave.

Be with him or turn him away.

Two forks of an outcome; you had no idea what to choose.

Your silence stretches on and Zayne hangs his head forward. He’s about to turn and leave, when you slowly reach out to touch the jasmine flower. It’s cool on your palm, tougher and durable. Not wet and cold like real ice.

“Crystals?”

Your voice comes off low, hoarse. There’s a dazed look in your eyes, one which tugs on the sorrow lining his soul.

He hates to do this to you; hates how conflicted you look.

“This is what you use to kill people, don’t you?”

Astute, again. Zayne would honestly be impressed by your wits if he wasn’t painfully aware of how you were holding him accountable for his horrendous mistakes.

“I know you think awfully of me—”

“Why kill them?” You’re breathing heavily now, anguish coating your every word. “What if you could save them, instead? Can’t that be done?”

Zayne shakes his head, unable to meet your eye. “I have spoken to a few scientists about this… but many of them were taken by the Abomination. It’s caused by constant exposure to Protocores and is incurable. The only thing I can do is make sure those infected have a swift end.”

Your silence strikes him heavier than a hit.

“Infected?" you murmur hoarsely. "Constant exposure? A swift end? Do you even hear yourself?”

You simmer and bubble, cheeks flushed with anger. “Zayne—these are human beings! People with love, dreams and hopes. People with families. They’re not jobs or ledgers. They deserve a bit more dignity than that.”

Suddenly, the despair in his eyes turns ice cold. You’re hopeless to stop him from approaching you, and scramble back until you bump the kitchen counter, eyes wide and fearful. But, he stops just shy of your feet touching, an unfathomable expression on his face.

“I would never hurt anyone. Ever. You of all people should know. Didn’t you say you weren’t afraid of me the first time we were intimate together?” He fights hard to not let his tone turn accusatory, eyes shining with frustration and unshed tears. “What made you change your mind this time?”

“You killed them… you killed them all,” you’re close to tears, trembling from head to toe. Zayne looks like he’s about to cry as well, begging you to see beyond the murderer you thought he was; to embrace him and hold him and share his burden, even though he knows it’s unfair to put all this weight on you.

He was so tired of pretending that everything was alright. And deep down, he knew you were, too.

This world wasn’t kind to anyone, and he only had you to soothe the ache—to be the light he looks forward to every morning.

Please, don’t go, he wants to scream, hands balled into fists at his side. Don’t leave me alone… you are the only one I have left.

A sob bubbles past your lips, and you wrap your arms around you; willing yourself to stand upright and be brave.

“Do you regret it?” your voice is thick, and he longs to staunch the tears falling from your cheeks, but the words are lost in his throat.

“All of them? Did you ever regret killing them?”

Zayne tightens his fists, clenching down hard enough for his nails to leave pale moon crescent indents on his palms.

“There was a boy I had to kill once. Georgie. He would’ve been thirteen…” he closes his eyes, hoping to find some strength to push on. Zayne was so incredibly tired from constantly fighting.

“We celebrated his birthday at a cafe, too. He loved macarons. And chocolate. But, his mother gave him the disease. I had to be the one to put him down. I still think about him every time I hear ‘happy birthday’.”

His words are simple, but they make you bleed, staring at the floor with tears blurring your vision.

You fall into a thick disquiet, and so did he. Zayne stands upright, like a prisoner about to be read his final judgment; willing you to forgive him—god he hopes you find it in your heart to forgive him.

He wasn’t a good man—a fiend of the night people were afraid of. But, Zayne would never forgive himself if you didn’t take him back. He would dig his knees to the ground, beg for you to change your mind.

In the throes of his own self-loathing, he almost flinches when he feels your arms wrap around his torso. Your head thumps onto his chest, and he realizes you’re fully crying now. He embraces you fiercely, quickly. Holding you fast to him as if you both could fuse together and become one.

You leave tear stains across his blood speckled shirt, fingers digging into his shoulders as violent sobs rip through you.

“Do you hate me?” He forces himself to ask through numb lips. Zayne doesn’t know what answer you would give—if you would even reply to him.

But, you shake your head, hiccuping his name.

“Are you afraid?”

There’s a slight pause, and you shudder, shaking your head again.

Zayne nuzzles your hair, rocking you from side to side like he was comforting a hysterical child.

Your sobs eventually stop and you’re both swaying in each other’s arms now.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. Zayne hums in confusion, and you continue. “I’m sorry for being so quick to misjudge you. You’re not the bad guy, Zayne. You were forced into this horror… our world is so fucked up and you were just trying to make it better any way you could.”

You peel your face from his chest, eyes red-rimmed and nose runny. He gently dabs at your tears and snot with the sleeve of his dress shirt, careful not to press down too hard.

He doesn’t say anything else, and you both let the silence scatter and fall where it may. Somehow, your fingers end up in his hair and he’s nudging you back against the hard counter.

Zayne lifts you up effortlessly, parting your legs wide to slot himself in between them, hands gently squeezing and groping your thighs and hips.

The need to reclaim you claws through him, searing his every coherent thought with nothing but the cry of your name.

He looks down the line of his nose, tilting your face up to the light so you meet his eyes. What he finds in your expression makes his heart ache in misery—your sadness and despondency hitting him right in the soul.

“Would you rather I stop killing people?”

It’s a loaded question, one that has your mind reeling. You eye the blood on his shirt, now soaked through with your tears.

“Only if you promise me you will never find pleasure from it.”

He shakes his head, firm in his conviction. “Never. Not once, or ever. I can promise you that.”

“Do the police know?”

A good question, indeed. Zayne nods, catching you off guard.

“Callaghan’s colleague. Detective Ivan. He was the one who scrubbed my records clean. He knows not to seek me out because… it means he’s next.”

Zayne lets the words hang in the air. He hears your mind whirring, thoughts piecing together.

“Detective Ivan found out and agrees with what you’re doing? So, the police are turning a blind eye?”

“Yes,” Zayne murmurs, trying hard not to fall into the gravity of your lips; forcing attention to this distressing topic.

“He was with me when Georgie died. He saw the extent of how the Abomination takes over people. Dark as it is, he agrees with my ethics and now, I only focus on people who come to me through word of mouth. Rarely do I ever hunt them anymore. They choose this end because it is far less painful than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

He steadies himself with a short breath. “Living as a rotting corpse with no control over your body.”

You suck in a sharp inhale. Your smaller fingers fist the front of his shirt, your mind a million miles away.

Zayne nudges your face towards him, fingers cold on your skin. He swallows hard, and you follow the motion—his throat moving, Adam’s apple bobbing. Impulsively, you lean forward, catching him off guard with a chaste kiss.

He musters a low groan when you begin to tug on his hair; sliding your tongue into his mouth.

Frantically, he grips your thighs, hips—fisting your hair to pull you closer.

Hot breaths clash. Moans echo around the kitchen. You lean back, far enough for silvery strands of spit to connect your lips to his.

Zayne devours the dark look in your eyes, and he thinks loving someone shouldn’t hurt this much, but for you, he would go through the agony all over again.

The tormented man wants to swallow you down, break his rib cage open and tuck you safely close to his heart. Your sighs and gasps fuel him to be better—change his ways so he could have you in his life forever.

“Zayne,” you sigh, all syrupy and love-struck. You play with his shirt’s button, and before he can stop you, you start to unravel all of him.

“—No." He grabs your hands in a panic, stopping your intentions in loosening his buttons. Those scars on his skin flash behind his mind, marking him as a lost soul and unworthy of you.

You shake your head, determination lining your pretty features. “Don’t hide from me anymore, Zayne. I want to see you—all of you.”

He’s helpless to stop you from unfastening his armor, greeting those silvery scars with a soft gasp.

There was a reason he never fucked you with the lights on—those lacerations on his body caused him shame.

But, you don't recoil out of disgust like he expects. Instead, your pretty fingers topped with pink nail polish trace the milky white divots; those signs of pain and abuse he had to endure for his entire life.

Peering at you pass thick lashes, he sees you lick your lips, the desire on your face as clear as day.

“You’re so beautiful, Zayne.”

Not giving him a chance to speak, you dip your head forward, pressing your soft lips reverently to the scar just above his heart.

Zayne feels like something seismic has just happened—an internal earthquake which rocks him apart.

Outwardly, the world doesn’t change; the flickering light he keeps on forgetting to fix over your sink still casts intermittent shadows across your face; the outside world whirs with sounds of robots and automated deliveries.

Nothing has changed and yet, everything inside of him has fundamentally been shifted.

A strangled sound emanates from his chest, and you look up quickly, afraid that you might have hurt him.

But, Zayne’s not in pain—not in the least. His green eyes shine verdantly like a forest after a storm, locked right onto your flushed face. You think that out of all the realities in this messed up world, you might find the real meaning of adoration in them.

He cups your face, smoothes your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I love you.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said this out loud. His breathing stutters, caught off guard. And you’re staring at him, too. All wide eyes, and parted, perfect lips.

Slowly, you defrost, bringing your hands up to your face, pressing your palms to the back of his hands.

The silence is deafening—a pin could roll off the counter and fall to the ground, sounding like an explosion. Zayne swears he can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

“I love you, too.”

Your voice is soft. Fragile. It echoes with shades of fear, but never uncertainty.

For if there was one thing you were certain in this life, it was that you were completely, sincerely and stupidly in love with Zayne.

His eyes ripple close, and so do yours. Foreheads gently touch, breaths shared as one. The two of you stay like this for a long time, savoring this quiet, beautiful connection you had both created in such a short time.

Zayne has never known love in this lifetime.

Slowly—surely—he was starting to warm himself up to the idea; falling deeper and deeper into a head on collision with your devotion.

None of it scares him; how could it when it’s the stuff of his dreams? Of a forever stretching into the tiniest moments: languid mornings over shitty cereal and sappy medical romcoms on your beaten up couch and nights spent warming your sheets.

He can’t fight it; this feeling of always wanting to be by your side.

And so, he openly and fervently welcomes it.

“You’re glowing.”

Serina’s offhand comment brings you up short, and you fight back the creeping flush threatening to overtake your cheeks; preferring to bite your lower lip and turn you face away so she couldn’t see your growing smile.

Her silence isn’t judgmental this time. Rather, it’s tainted with a cynical curiosity.

“I guess Zayne really does make you happy.”

You hum, going back to your supplies of flour and sheets of freshly roasted nuts.

“He’s staying with me now.”

“Oh.”

You don’t turn to face; don’t have to because you know she’s making a face behind your back.

“Is he coming to pick you up later?”

You think about him astride his motorcycle, dark locks whipping in the wind; fitted black trench coat, pristine suit and tie clinging right onto his frame and feel your stomach twist with nerves.

“Mhm hmm.”

Serina pauses, and you could tell she was struggling with something to say.

“I’m happy for you.”

Whatever it was you expected to drop from her mouth, it wasn’t this.

You turn around, and the incredulity must've been transparent on your face because she bursts into laughter, doubling forward to cackle with glee.

“Your face! You look like I just came out and told you I sold children’s blood by the bag.”

She snorts and straightens, wheezing slightly. “I am happy for you, you idiot. I’m glad you’re not fish food yet and you’re glowing and you have a stupid amount of hickeys you try to cover up every day with that shitty concealer I got for you five fucking years ago. Point is: I’m happy for you.”

Serina emphasizes the last word, and you shyly lace your fingers together, feeling both sheepish and incredibly exasperated.

“I… Thank you.” Not knowing what else to say, you flash her a small smile, one which she returns instantly.

Scoffing, she runs a hand through her platinum blonde hair and tosses the rag she was holding across her shoulder, gesturing to the door.

“Go. I can handle closing time. I know you’re dying to see Zayne tonight.”

You perk up, in disbelief. “Serina—”

“Leave those nuts in the fridge. They should be easy to chop up and temper with our chocolate bark tomorrow.” Hustling you out of the kitchen, you squeal at the feel of her cold fingers prodding your lower back. “Now, go. Call Zayne up and let him take you home. I’m sick of your love struck puppy expression.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, and unlace your apron. “Are you sure you can handle it? I can stay with you and help.”

Serina makes a face, though you could tell she was joking. “Ugh, and have to be around you for another hour while you pine for and miss him? Yuck. Get out of here.”

She jokingly swats you with her towel and you get her message loud and clear.

“Okay, okay. Goodnight, you ass.”

“Goodnight, simp,” she drawls, and you scoff, rolling your eyes while you pick up your phone to call Zayne.

Serina waits together with you, smoking a cigarette and filling you in on the latest online celebrity gossip.

When Zayne arrives, sharp on time and sharply dressed as ever, she shoots you a smirk and a wave. You wave back, and slip on the helmet he passes you, stradling behind him to speed off into the night.

They look happy together.

The young woman chuckles tiredly, scrubbing a hand down her face. She trudges back into the cafe, cleans up the remaining plates and cups, humming under her breath. As she fills up the dishwasher for its final load of the night, she hears the front doorbell tinkling.

Frowning, Serina wonders if you had left something behind when the sound of heavy footfalls resounds in the quiet space.

Thinking nothing of it, she straightens, a scowl on her blush rose lips.

“We’re closed,” she calls out in her most polite voice.

The presence in the dining space does not remove itself. From her stance inside the kitchen, she could just make out the silhouette of a tall man partially hidden behind the pillar separating the main hall from where she stood.

Fuelled with distaste and annoyance, she rounds the corner, fully prepared to fight off this stranger and tell them to piss off.

“I said, we’re closed—”

Her words are cut off when she notices a faint glow of purple surrounding him. His eyes which were once blue were now soulless and drained, clapping onto hers, their pupils widening slightly.

Strange bulges appear on his body, and in the limited light, they seem to move up and down his arms.

Crawling like they were filled with life.

She takes a step back, a sharp scream piercing the air.

The man falls back, putting his hands over his ears. He yanks on his graying hair, teeth bared and spittle splattering onto the ground.

“Shut… up…”

His moans rattle and thump, filled with pain. He looks at her, and in the briefest of moments when they make eye contact, Serina could plainly see the anguish in them—the desperation for someone to end it all.

“Please,” his hoarse voice makes her skin crawl, her hairs stand on end. “Someone�� Help me… kill me…”

The stranger falls to his knees, back arching like a cat poised to throw up all over the polished, hardwood floors.

He heaves, and spittle drips from between his clenched teeth. Serina can’t move; completely frozen to one spot, locked on the sight of his pale hands curling into claws.

Those choked sounds he made would haunt her for the rest of her life. But, nothing could prepare her for when he lifts his head and the bulge under his right eye bursts, revealing a dark, tentacle appendage dangling from his cheek.

“Please,” he begs her with what was left of his humanity.

“You have to help me… you have to save me.”

Zayne’s arms wrap around your waist as you’re stirring a pot, his hum of adoration and contentment rumbling against your back.

“What?” you tease, picking up some bay leaves and tossing them into the fresh marinara sauce. “Are you excited to make me cook even after I slaved for a whole night in the kitchen?”

He clicks his tongue, kisses you right on your pulse point.

“Feisty. And here I was, about to fully offer you my assistance.”

He drops his arms, and you turn back to him with a pout.

“I was joking,” you backtrack, fluttering your lashes. “I could really use your help,” and add, “Please,” when the beginning of a smirk plays on the corners of his mouth.

“Alright,” he hums, grabbing a handful of sweet basil and a knife, chopping them up finely to be added to the pasta sauce once it was done.

It was comfortable working alongside him. Zayne didn’t need endless chatter to fill in the void, and neither did you feel obliged to talk his ear off.

You start to hum, and he tunes in, admiring the rise and fall of the melody; how clear and bright your voice is.

“Would you like to put on some music?” He suggests, pointing to the old radio sitting atop your kitchen counter, a fine layer of dust on its smeared screen.

You take him up on the offer, nodding.

Zayne pushes a button and the last recording you had on plays in the room. A voice from long ago vibrates with nostalgia, reminding him of days passed and a comfort only found from warm sheets on a Sunday morning.

“Why don’t you ever let me into your home?”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Pardon?”

You exhale a laugh, and a teasing quality takes over your smile. “Your apartment. How come I never see it? Do you have piles of bodies you’re hiding from me?”

A slender, calloused finger materializes by your hip, poking into your side. You flinch and giggle, locking eyes with his amused expression.

“Careful. Do not go around unnecessarily exposing me.”

“So, you do have them under your floorboards.”

He decides to challenge you back. “Are you afraid?”

You scoff, picking up a wooden ladle to stir the sauce. “You must be mistaken, Zayne. For it isn’t me who should be afraid of you, but you of me.”

He resists the urge to pick you up and spin you in his arms for being so damn adorable. Reigning in the cute aggression, he titters a laugh. “And why is that so?”

“Because,” you turn to him, your teasing smile growing wider. “I know things you don’t know. I have a certain set of skills not many have knowledge of and I can and will use them to my advantage.”

“Oh, really?” He drawls, raising a brow. The expression draws his handsome face into a comical curiosity; it nearly breaks your resolve not to laugh. “Enlighten me on these skills.”

You clear your throat, setting the ladle down. “For example, I can bet you that I am a better dancer.”

Unexpectedly, he sweeps you into his arms, grabbing your left hand with his right and encircling the other one around your waist; you had no choice but to place your other hand on his broad shoulder to keep your balance.

He was close—much too close—and it makes your face burn hot, your mischievous quips dying in the back of your throat.

Zayne holds you fast, sure—swaying you from side to side as you both slowly circle the room, one gliding footstep at a time. He makes sure to lead you properly, careful to keep you two in an orbit far from mishap.

You feel safe enough to lay your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat and breathing alongside the sweet, romantic music. Eyes falling close, you lavish in this sense of serenity and comfort you had never felt in your life.

Zayne, too, takes a second to savor this moment. He gazes at the peace suffusing across your face and feels his heart growing lighter.

I want this for the rest of my life.

The thought jolts him from his reverie; scares him enough to convince himself to take it back.

But, as much as Zayne wants to delude himself, he can’t run away from the truth.

He wants this for as long he breathes on this godforsaken planet. As long as the seas ebb and flow and the sun turns on its fucking axis—he wants you. Zayne doesn’t care what others might think; how they would make a mockery of your connection to him. He would kill anyone who tries to get between you both.

And he hopes that deep down, you feel the same way, too.

He wakes up in the early morning to his phone vibrating on the dresser.

Zayne groans, feels a sinking weight on his chest and realizes you had fallen asleep sprawled on top of him.

His instincts override his fuzzy mind to not wake you up, nimbly grabbing his phone and answering the call without looking at the screen.

“Zayne.”

The voice on the other end jerks him fully awake, and he resists the urge to jolt upright, remembering you were still fast asleep.

“One second,” he murmurs into the receiver. The other man hums.

Zayne puts the phone back down, gently scooping you up and rolling you to the side, tucking the covers under your chin.

He sits upright, turning to plant his feet to the ground and picks the phone back up.

“Detective Ivan?”

“We have an emergency.”

Zayne stops scratching his bare chest, tired green eyes sharpening from the urgency in the older man’s tone. Ivan would never call him unless it was serious and usually there was only one reason why he would.

“An Abomination has attacked a young woman in a cafe. Nightstar Cafe. One of those oldy diners that open till early morning.”

Ivan doesn’t hear Zayne’s sharp breath, nor is he there to see how terrified the younger man looks, turning his gaze to the sleeping woman next to him.

“A young woman? Was she blonde?”

He can feel Ivan frowning on the other end. “How did you know?”

Zayne concocts a lie. “I saw the cafe in passing. Is it serious?”

“We have no visual on the Abomination and neither on the girl. We’re stuck and we need your help. Only you can track her down.”

Zayne racks his brain, thinking of his apartment that’s almost an hour away from yours. If he could get to his tracking systems quickly, maybe there was still time to solve this case…

“Alright,” he made up his mind. “Give me half an hour to find her. I’ll alert you to her whereabouts.”

Ivan breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Zayne.”

“Do not mention it.” He clicks off the call, turns to find you still fully asleep. As quietly as he could, he stands and gets ready, dressing in a nondescript black t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, bundling up with his trench coat to keep the autumn chill at bay.

Just as he’s about to grab his bike keys, he hears you stirring.

“Zayne?”

Your voice is fringed with exhausted curiosity, bleary eyes blinking and trying to pin onto his figure in the total darkness.

He’s next to you in a heartbeat, bending down to place a kiss on your forehead. “I have an emergency. You stay here and rest, alright? Wait for me. I’ll be home for you soon.”

You could only nod obediently, watching him rush out of the room; the front door closing behind him with a loud thud.

Wondering what could’ve spurred Zayne into such a frantic mode, you close your eyes, about to drift off when you hear a knock.

Woozily, you get to your feet, stifling a yawn. The hem of his too big shirt brushes your thighs, and you rub your eyes, frowning when the knocks get more insistent.

“Coming,” you call out, and trudge to the front door.

Peering through the security monitor, your heart skips a beat when you notice your best friend on the other side, her expression wild; eyes darting down the hallway and jaw strained.

“Serina? What’re you doing here at this time?”

Your voice carries out to the front, and you hear her over the security intercom.

“Babe, please. Let me in. Something terrible has happened. I can’t explain it, but I need your help.”

She sounds afraid and terrified, and your heart squeezes in fear when she glances down the hallway again, as if she were being chased.

Without another thought, you unlatch the door for her, and she comes barreling in, sinking to the floor the second you shut the door closed.

You fall to your knees next to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Squinting in the darkness, you faintly make out splotches of darkness on her tank top, and it’s not until you switch on the lights that you notice it’s blood.

“Serina!” you gasp, and in the brightness, her irises have completely pin pricked, only a thin ring of blue surrounding them.

She grabs your hands, tugs you closer to her face. Your heart is about to fly out of your chest, and you fight back, trying to break free from her grasp.

But, she’s fueled by fear and something else—something which ramps her paranoia up to concerning levels.

“Man. Wanderer. He hurt me. Tried to kill me. I ran… I ran here. I had no idea where else to go.”

Her words slur and clash in a cacophony of confusion. You can’t make heads or tails what she’s trying to say, but you attempt to piece it together for her sake.

“Hold on, hold on. Breathe.” You grab her thin shoulders in your white-knuckled grip, trying to shake the fear out of her. There was no time for confusion; you needed to know exactly what happened to her. “Start from the beginning, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand.”

Without warning, tears fill her eyes and she pitches her head forward, breaking into silent sobs.

Your arms automatically wrap around her, pulling her into your embrace. She cries, screams and wails, breaking down in total fear.

“It’s okay,” you soothe her, like how you had soothed Zayne many, many times in the aftermath of his nightmares. “You’re fine. You’ll be safe.”

She shakes her head, hiccuping incoherently. “He hurt me. He cut me with his teeth. I—” A full body shudder goes through her.

Alarmed, you rock back on your haunches, eyes wide and locked on her pinched expression. “Serina, are you okay—?”

The words die on the tip of your tongue, and you instinctively stand up, backing towards the wall when you notice her eyes starting to glow a bright purple.

“Serina—!”

She curls onto the ground, crying out in pain. Her body starts to writhe, and a gruesome crunching sound cracks through the air.

Too late to escape, you watch in horror as her body convulses, the bones of her spine breaking and twisting. Her skin turns a revolting shade of purple, and spittle froths down her mouth.

Before the petrifying purple light entirely consumes her body, she manages to hoarsely cry out two words which shakes you to your core:

“Save me.”

SOBS im sorry to have to cut it here but it was too long </3 last part coming soon !! reblogs and feedback are sincerely appreciated 🩷

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy my concept, repost my stories or translate and post them to other platforms

#🦢 writes #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne angst #love and deepspace angst #dawnbreaker

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kayhi808 · 5 months ago

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Hi! I absolutely love your writing! I was wondering if I was able to request a Bucky Barnes x Reader Idea?

The reader was best friends with Bucky and Steve in the 40s. Before Buckys fall the reader was kidnapped by HYDRA and was never seen again. Bucky and the reader have always had feelings for each other but they had never made it official back then. Fast forward, "during C.A. civil war" Tony Stark finds a HYDRA base and finds the reader inside a cryo chamber. (The rest is up to you)

I'll let you make this however you please 🙏

Thank you so much if you choose to write this!

Hi @armystrong980 !! This was such a good idea! I hope you like it. Im making this a 2 part story because there just so much to cover lol. Thank you so much for the request!! 🥰

Then & Now

Your mom & Steve's mom were nurses in the same hospital. Steve was a sickly kid so you'd keep him company a lot of the time. You'd create fantastical stories & he'd illustrate pictures for it. Other times you both would re-enact parts of your story, losing yourselves in the fantasy world you created. You two were the best of friends.

One sunny summer afternoon, lost in your fantasy world you were twirling around the sidewalk, caught up in an imaginary cyclone like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, when you crashed into a group of boys coming down the walk. "I...I'm so s...sorry!" The boy you crashed into did not accept your apology, shoving you out of the way, making you fall, hitting your chin against the stoop. You saw Steve's eyes grow wide in horror and then anger. You look down & the front of your dress is covered in blood. You start to cry mostly in fear, adrenaline making you numb to the pain.

Steve flies off the stairs ready to avenge you, but you're so worried they'd hurt him too. "Stevie, no!" Everything happened so fast. The bully is flat on his back & a dark haired boy is punching away on him. Steve is off to the side trying to catch his breath. You make your way to Steve grabbing his arm. The dark-haired boy finally lets the bully up and him & his friends scatter like cockroaches.

"What did ya think you were doin'? He woulda clobbered ya!" Your hero gives Steve a gentle shove and turns his attention to you. He frowns, "Damn!" Taking off his button down, he wads it up to hold it against your chin. You start crying again, because now you feel the pain. "C'mon, lets go find your mom." Steve's hand slips into yours and you walk letting the dark-haired boy hold his shirt to your chin.

*****

You ended up needing a couple stitches which was devastating to you. You hadn't left the house in a few days so Steve's been coming around asking if you could come outside & play. You'd tell your mom "no", but one day she calls out "Sweetheart, you've got visitors." You look up from coloring on your bed to see Steve & the dark-haired boy in your doorway. "Mom, no!!" You hide your face behind a pillow, but you feel the bed dip.

Steve and the new boy climb up on the bed, "Why don't you want to come out & play? Don't you want to be my friend anymore?"

Quickly looking at Steve, "You're my best friend! Forever, r'member?"

Steve smiles, "Forever." Turning to the other boy, "Remember him? He's Bucky."

You shyly nod, "Thank you for helping me & beating that bad boy up." You notice both of them staring at the stitches on your chin & you hide it with your hands.

"Why are you hiding that? It's so cool!" Steve says in awe.

"No, it isn't! It's ugly,'" you pout.

"Are you kidding me? When you get your stitches out, you'll look like me!" Bucky thrusts his chin out so you can see his dimple. "Cool, right? Not everyone has one of these." Nudges Steve beside him, "He ain't got one. It's just me & you." That makes you giggle.

*****

You in fact, did not get a dimple in your chin when your stitches came out, but that day cemented your friendships. You grew up in the same neighborhood, went to school together. Bucky was a year older so he did have his own classmates he hung out with, but he'd always make time for you & Steve.

You eventually followed in your mother's footsteps and became a nurse. Steve was in Art School & Bucky was floating around in Sales. Whether it was cars, insurance, his charisma makes sales an obvious profession choice. He didn't take work too serious though, he was too busy hanging out with the fellas, flirting with a different girl every week.

Not that you were keeping track. Not that it bothered you seeing him flash that crooked grin at the pretty girl on his arm. Sigh. You couldn't really blame the women falling over themselves for Bucky's attention. Any time Bucky paid you attention, your heart would do flip flops in your chest. You've known him since you were 6yrs old and your crush on him started soon after.

You did some soul searching and you realized all you were doing was waiting around for Bucky to notice you as more than a friend. You didn't see that happening in the near future and you wanted to do something with your life. You wanted it to have meaning. To have purpose.

"I've got something to tell you." Bucky is walking you home from the diner where you had met up for dinner with Steve. Steve left early because he wasn't feeling well, so it left just the two of you. "But you can't tell Steve. I need to tell him on my own."

"This sounds serious," Bucky teases, tossing his arm across your shoulder.

"It...it kinda is." Taking a deep breath, "I've enlisted."

"Enlisted what?"

"I've joined the Army Nurse Corp." Bucky grabs your arm jerking you to a halt. "OW! Jamie!!"

"What the hell did you just say?!" His piercing blue eyes burns into you.

Prying his fingers off your arm, "I joined the Army Nurse..."

"Are you stupid?!" You've never seen Bucky this angry, but how dare he!

"Don't call me that! I'm smarter than you James Buchanan Barnes!"

"Are you? Coulda fooled me! You're going down to that office tomorrow & withdraw your papers!"

"I will not!"

"Doll, there's a God damn war going on!"

"That's why they need someone like me! Where ever they choose to send me, I can help! I can make a difference."

Raking his fingers through his hair, "People are DYING!"

"Well, maybe less people will die if I'm there!"

Bucky starts pacing in front of you. "Jesus! Why didn't you talk to us before you did something like this??"

"Look at you! This is exactly why."

Bucky stops pacing and cradles your face within his hands, "Please, doll." Leaning down so his forehead touches yours. "Don't go. Tell me what I have to do to make you stay? You can't leave me."

Never in all your dreams did you think Bucky would utter those words to you.

"Us...I mean us. This will do Steve in. You have to withdraw your paperwork."

Disappointed, you pull away from him. "I've signed it. I'm committed to this, Bucky. It's what I want to do."

"You're gonna get yourself fucking killed!!"

You storm away home. Heartbroken that he has so little faith in your capabilities. He called you stupid. That's not how you imagined that talk going. Maybe you expected too much from them because your talk with Steve only went a little better. He didn't call you stupid and he understood how you wanted to make difference and help but he didn't want you to leave, worried you'd get yourself killed, too.

When the time came for you to leave it was so much more painful than you thought. Steve was there to see you off. It felt like you were leaving your twin behind. Already you feel the loss of not having your best friend by your side.

Bucky was there too, standing off to the side. You were afraid he wasn't going to show up at all. When the time came, Bucky gave you a rib crushing hug but refused to make eye contact with you. He refused to say anything to you. But you felt his lips on your forehead before he stalked off.

******

"Bucky! Buck!!" Out of breath and flushed, Steve barrels into Bucky's office.

"Whoa! Take it easy, kid. What's wrong?"

Steve smashes a crumpled up paper into his chest. "She's gone. She's gone, Buck." Bucky takes the paper and sees it's a telegram. The unit you were assigned to was taken in an ambush. No. No. No. No. Bucky had to read it multiple times before it sunk in.

All the things he left unsaid. All the things he was going to tell you once you came back home. It's too late.

No survivors.

#bucky barnes #1940 bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers

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oneforthemunny · 10 months ago

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hot blooded |boxer!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie's boxing at underground fight clubs to make money. after a victory match, he meets you at the bar. or the beginning of you and boxer!eddie.

contains: mean reader and mean eddie lol. mainly fluff. eddie munson au. happy one year!

Bloodied knuckles raised in the dim light of the bar, a triumphant yell mixed with a grunting of disappointment of those who bet against him when Eddie’s hand was raised, declared the winner. Henry Harrington fisted a wad of cash into Eddie’s hand; six thousand dollars, enough for the entry fee for the middleweight match at the end of the month.

Mr. Harrington snickered, clapping Eddie on the back. “Help yourself to anything at the bar, alright? On me tonight, Champ, you earned it.” And for a fleeting moment Eddie pictured busting his nose, knocking the smug man clean onto the concrete of the bar, letting his blood pool at his feet.

Instead, he shoved on the robe they gave, covered up his sticky, sweat soaked skin, blossoming with bruises and cuts he’d still hadn’t gotten to tend to. Maybe Max would still be up when he got back home, she could patch up the ones he couldn’t reach.

“Double Blanton’s on the rocks.” Eddie grumbled to the cocktail waitress in front of him, not bothering to meet her gaze as he unwrapped his tape from his knuckles.

She didn’t move. Electric red nails on her hip, the others drumming against the mahogany of the bar. Eddie lifted his gaze, lids throbbing with dull pain that was just beginning to set in. “What?”

“You’re bleeding.” Your eyes rolled over his frame, stopping at the cut on his jaw, dripping onto his robe, crimson droplets on the bar.

“Yeah.” Eddie clicked with annoyance. “No shit. Double Blanton’s-”

“-You’re bleeding all over my bar.” Your nail jabbed onto the counter, next to the splotches of blood dripping there.

Eddie blinked, unimpressed, annoyed. “Can you make me my fuckin’ drink or not?” You don’t move, staring at him still, nails still clicking against the counter.

“For fucksake,” Eddie huffs, teeth gritting, reaching over the edge of the bar to swipe the napkins off from your station. Palm slapping on the counter, wiping up the small spot. “There. Happy? Good? Can I get my fuckin’ drink now?”

Pushing up from your stance, you swiped the glass from the clean stack, setting it on the counter. Eddie huffed, slumping back in his chair. He should’ve just gone home, he bristled, familiar agitating heat rising in his chest, clenching his fists.

“Harrington’s tab?” You lifted your gaze to his, yanking the cork out of the bottle by the brass horse.

Eddie’s steely gaze met yours. “What?”

“Harrington’s tab?” You repeated, slower, tone teetering on an edge. “You’re on Harrington’s tab, correct?” You huffed, nodding down towards the man at the end of the bar.

“Yeah.” Eddie grunted.

You rolled your eyes, a heavy pour of the bourbon you didn’t bother to measure. “The fuck is your problem?” Eddie’s palm slapped the bar, an echoing of a hit that the people next to him scurrying away. “Are you just a bitch for fun or do you have something against me?”

“You came bleeding all over my bar,” You scoffed, brow raised in a dangerously demanding way. “Don’t bother to ask for a napkin, or even acknowledge me, really. And I’m a bitch?”

Eddie’s tongue rolled over the front of his teeth, knee bouncing furiously under him. “Sorry, I’m not feeling up to small talk. I just got done gettin’ the shit knocked outta me for six rounds. Did you miss that, sweetheart? Not see all the fuckin’ people in the middle of the room?”

“No, I was a little busy.” You were quick, response rolling off your tongue in a fiery whip of an answer easily. “Busy working.”

“Yeah? What the fuck do you think I was doin’?” Eddie scoffed. “Holding a fuckin’ tea party for the Sunday Social over there? I was working too.”

“Working?” You snort, rolling your eyes again. Eddie’s teeth clench. “You call that working?”

“I got paid.” Eddie hissed. “What would you call it? Since you seem to know everything?”

“Not enough money in the world to make me do that for them.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Hardly call that working, it’s so demeaning.”

“Demeaning,” Eddie repeated, rolling his eyes. “I provide entertainment, sweetheart. Same as you do, I’m sure.” He nodded down towards your tiny dress of a uniform.

“Entertainment? That’s entertaining?” You nodded towards the ring.

“Yeah, it is. Boxing? A lot of people find it entertaining. Thought you would know that.” Eddie snapped, viscous, defensive.

“Watching two grown men beat the shit out of each other, so these other grown men can bet on you like horses?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a sneer. “No, can’t say that’s very entertaining to me.”

“So why are you here then, huh?” Eddie scoffed, jaw clenching in irritation. “Just here for your wonderful personality?”

Your lips twitched, the fainting of a smile, surprising Eddie. “Something like that.” Your lips rolled, twisting back to their resting snarl. “Here for the same reason you are, I guess.” You set the glass on a black napkin, sliding it over to Eddie.

“Yeah, why’s that?”

You cut your eyes towards Mr. Harrington, loudly talking and howling in laughter at the other end of the bar. “Money’s good. Right?” Your eyes squint, nearly in challenge.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” You purred, throwing a wink in his direction. Eddie’s head was spinning, and not only from all the punches he’d taken.

He blamed it on his spinning head clouding his thoughts when he waved you over again, ordered another. And another. And a final one. When his head was swimming, mind a little clouded, nerves a lot calmer, he called you over again.

“Another?” Your brow raised, snagging his empty glass off the counter.

“No.” Eddie shook his head, the ache in his knuckles starting to set in. “What if it wasn’t here that I was fighting?”

“What?” You scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

“You said it was demeaning in here.” Eddie’s finger jabbed the counter for emphasis. “What if it wasn’t here?”

You squinted at him, lips pulling in a line that had his heart skipping. “Are you drunk?” Your voice fell flat, unamused. “Do you need me to call you a ride home-”

“-If it was at a real place.” Eddie continued, eyes never leaving yours, an intensity in them that started and intrigued you. “A real match at a real rink with real people. Nobody betting, just two guys fighting for a title. Would it be demeaning then?”

You paused, watching him carefully, studying him nearly. “I guess not.” You answered cooly, level and calmly.

“So you’d watch that then?”

“What?” You snarled. “Are you alright? Do you need me to call someone, or-”

“-Would you come watch me fight if it was at a real place?” Eddie asked, eyes narrowed in the same way they were before, burning you right to your very core. “In Bloomington in a few weeks.”

Your fingers pressed into your hip, willing yourself to stay composed, not falter though your heart skipped at his ask. “Maybe.” You sighed sharply. “I still don’t get the whole beating each other for fun thing-”

“-You don’t have to.” Eddie rolled his eyes, lighter this time, more playful. “Thanks for the drink.” Eddie pushed his chair back, groaning lowly when he pulled himself out of the bar stool, body stiff and tight. “Sorry for bleeding all over your bar.”

You bit back a smile, fighting the way your lips twitched, tracking him with your eyes. “No problem, Champ.” You quipped, eyes flashing in a daring way that had Eddie smirking, shaking his head.

“See you around.” Eddie waved, one last look over his shoulder that had you burning, turning to empty his glass, hoping to hide your fluster.

You were shocked the next day when two tickets in an envelope were waiting for you in the office, Mr. Harrington’s exaggerated tone about how much Eddie liked you. And he must have, you decided, looking at the small note that had his phone number scribbled at the bottom.

Eddie never heard back from you, let it slip his mind in the next weeks of training. Of course you hadn’t come, why would you have? You made your opinions abundantly clear to him that night.

Still, he was shocked to see you, in the sea of the crowd, sitting in the row by his corner, arms wrapped around your torso, looking a little more than unsure. You even waved at him, small and shy, and Eddie was sure his cheeks were going to split with how wide he smiled.

He invited you back to his locker room after he won, a victory Camel hanging from his busted lip, torso still covered in a sheen of sweat. You had no issues this time when the blood from his busted lip dripped on your sneakers, when it smeared over your own lips when he kissed you, pressed against the cement walls, bruised knuckles and fingers in your hair.

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miguelhugger2099 · 9 months ago

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OMG HIIIII I HAVE A REQUESTTTTT

I LOVE UR STORIES

So imagine Fem reader just going through her closet throwing out old things along with miguel and she finds an old shoebox of hers opens it and its her retired vibrator and pink dildo that she hasn’t used since she started dating Miguel and she’s looking at him awkwardly since she said that she totally threw them away so miguel gets back at her by taking the toys and making her use them

ANYWHO BYYEE THANKKZZZ

Pretty in Pink

me when you appear in my inbox, throw a smut prompt in my face and dip: ∑(; °Д°) i genuinely had fun with this request i made him speak more spanish than usual idk why lol but as always, if you don't like it, i'd be more than happy to make another one <3

Miguel x Reader, Smut, Word Count: 2,777

You stare up into your messy closet; old clothes, old photos and yearbooks and maybe some plastic shopping bags you forgot about were all scattered inside. Hands on your hips, you blink at the cluttered mess while Miguel is behind you and crosses his arms with an unamused look. “You really let it get this bad?” He asks, looking down at you. Miguel had called to say he wanted to see you but you told him it was cleaning day for you and you decided to deep clean. He assured you he still wanted to come over and even help you but when he arrived he wasn’t expecting to see how even the smallest places needed organizing. Life got in the way, you told him. You shrug and let out a deep sigh. “Just help me.” You grunt with a roll of your eyes and go on your tiptoes to reach the top shelf in your closet. There was a big heavy box filled with god-knows-what and you huffed as you slammed it down on your bed. Miguel takes a peek through it while your hands empty out the contents. A two year old angel halloween costume, childhood belongings for sentimental value and a local shopping bag that held your graduation gown. “How do you even still have these?” Miguel scoffs a laugh while he digs through with you, picking up a stack of old movie tickets you used to collect. You snatch the wad of crumbled tickets back with a pout on your face. “They have sentimental value.” Miguel chuckles and teasingly pinches the tip of your nose. “I know but stop being a hoarder. C’mon. Pick what you wanna keep and pick what you don’t. I’ll get a trash bag for the stuff you don’t want.” Miguel then steps out of the room, leaving you alone to set up two piles. You huffed out a big sigh and got to work. Carefully, you picked things one by one to decide if you really needed it.

Some old shirts that didn't fit you were tossed in the don't want pile and the cute headband you thought you lost was placed in the keep pile. Any other things like some old bags or trinkets you grew out of were placed in a different pile on the floor for trash. When the top shelf was fairly cleaned out, Miguel came back with two large black trash bags and began helping you stuff the things away for donation, trash or something along those lines. You then sat on your knees to start on the floor area of the closet, picking out shoes that were too small now and tossing them to Miguel. You reached for a small shoe box in the corner and opened it up to see if any shoes inside were still usable. You didn’t expect to see a matching set of your old baby pink vibrator and hot pink dildo catching dust inside. You gagged on your own spit in surprise, feeling the color drain from your face. You were sure you threw it out. You didn’t need them anymore, not since your first time with Miguel just a little over a year and a half ago. “What’s that?” You hear Miguel peek over you, curious since you stopped handing him things. You slam the shoebox shut. “Nothing!” But he had already seen it. “It’s nothing–haha.” You strained, standing up to open the trash bag Miguel brought to throw it in there but he stops your wrist. With his other hand he takes the box and you screech, trying to take it back. He lifts it open and inside are the familiar toys he’d seen before.

He remembered assuring you that you didn’t need them anymore–not with him around. So he made you promise something to him that day. He made you promise to throw it away after you both had sex; that while you had him, no flimsy toy could ever satisfy you like he could. You kept most of that promise. You really hadn’t picked them up since, you just forgot to actually throw them out. “I thought I told you to trash these.” He glared down at you. You pause reaching for the box, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you try to excuse yourself. “I-I did—I was!” You stutter and feel yourself get smaller and panic when he cocks an eyebrow up. “I haven’t used them!” “At all?” “At all.” You grip around his forearm, hoping he wouldn’t be pissed you broke your promise. He glances back down into the box, the sight of it pissing him off. “Sit.” And so you sat on your bed, looking up at Miguel. Miguel picks up the small baby pink bullet vibrator in his hand. He turns it around to find the button and playfully clicks through the different settings. The buzz of the bullet makes your face burn, slightly angry and embarrassed how he’s just fucking around. “Okay, I get it! I’m sorry–just throw it out.” You groan and reach for it again but he snaps his head to glare down at you and you freeze. His eyes narrowed. “How’d you like it?” He asks, turning to face you, your eyes meeting his stomach before you look up.

“Huh?” You ask. He presses through the settings again as if guessing. “Did you like it slow?” He clicks to the first vibration. “Or maybe fast?” He hums as he clicks to the fifth vibration. He guesses you like it faster. You’re stumped. You weren’t sure where he was going with this. You don’t think he’s angry but he’s quiet–there’s something about him that’s changing the shift in your conversation. You cross your legs together when you hear the small buzz increasing. “Fast,” You mutter. “Start at one or two then to three or four.” You look away from him playing with your old toys, your heart speeding up at the sight of the two things that gave you pleasure these past few years. Miguel tosses the box on the bed. You yelp when Miguel pushes you down onto the bed, his knee already forcing your legs apart. You gape up at him, open mouthed in shock when the look on his face is more sinister, head full of ideas of what he’s planning to do. It makes you gulp nervously. “How ‘bout I try them out? You let me know if they’re just as good as me, yeah?”

“Huh?” You squeak out and before you know it, Miguel crashes his lips onto yours. Your eyes flutter close and your hands find purchase in his hair, a dance the two of you knew like the back of your hand. His tongue easily slips through to the inside of your mouth, entangling itself with your own tongue. You moan and roll your eyes back, kissing his back with equal fervor. You buck your hips up to grind yourself on his knee, you can already feel yourself getting wet. He helps alleviate that pressure by rubbing his knee to your aching pussy and you sigh in relief. His left hand holds your waist then moves up your body to cup a tit in his hand that makes you moan his name between kisses. Miguel then slides that hand under your shirt, lifting it up to show your bra. His kisses don't relent up, instead pushing your bra up to reveal your breasts to him and freeing them from confinement. He massages your breast in one hand and ghosts his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden from the soft touch. Miguel moves his hand to tug your pants down and you lift your hips up to help him rip them off. He clicks the button of the vibrator and ever so gently presses it against your clothed cunt, the small wet patch making it easier to feel through the fabric. You jolt from the buzz, gasping and holding onto Miguel’s wrist. He rips your hand off and collects both of them to pin them above your head. Just one hand from him is enough to render you helpless. He then pushes your panties aside to slip the vibrator right on your clit. You choked on a gasp and tried to pry your hands away from him but he wouldn’t lend up. Your hips squirmed around to try and get away from the sudden stimulation. “I bet you missed this feeling, huh? Is it better than my cock?” He hums against your neck. You shake your head, your face burning up with desire. “N-no…” You whined, nothing was as good as Miguel but he tsks under his breath.

“No? But look at you making a mess on it already. I barely even started.” He whispers, leaning up to bite your earlobe and you moan. His voice had gotten deeper, more husky–just how you liked it. He rubs it gently, applying pressure a few times to find the spot that hits your nerves. You moaned his name when he found the exact point and he began circling around your swollen nub. His action made you jump from pleasure, the shock of it hitting your chest and down to your pussy. “Un poco de vibración y ya estás mojadita en mi mano.” He murmurs, clicking the bullet to a faster pace. You writhe and struggle between deciding to close or open your legs. Miguel struggles to keep the small bullet in his hand, the toy being incredibly tiny compared to his large fingers especially when it was wet from your cunt. Growing frustrated, Miguel pulls the vibrator off your clit making you whimper. He lugs your nimble body up and he moves to lay back against the headboard laying you to rest against his chest. You can feel his strained cock behind you but you barely have time to properly register it before he places your familiar hot pink dildo in front of you. “Muestrame cómo lo usaste antes.” He brushes his lips behind your ear. He helps you hold onto the base of it and you weakly look up at him with a lustful and dazed hum. “Miggy…” You whimper.

“Hazlo.” He growls as he places the silicon tip at your weeping entrance. He rubs the girth of it between your folds to lube it up, especially at its tip. He then lets go of your hand to move up to your breast and starts fondling the round flesh in his palm, using his fingers to roll and flick the nub. It sparks pleasure to your stomach and you bite your lip. You take a firm grip around the dildo and slide it inside your folds, your pussy sucking up the toy into its walls slowly. You moan and lean your head on Miguel’s shoulder. He leans down to nibble on your neck, his canines catching your flesh in between them as he suckles gently while playing with your perky tits. Miguel’s left hand holds the baby pink vibrator and he sets it at its lowest setting before placing it over your clit again. You gasp and arch your back off of Miguel’s chest, bucking your hips to meet the vibrator which makes you also shove the dildo further inside your cunt. “Hnngh! Mig–uel!” You mewled, closing your eyes as you submit to ecstasy. Miguel chuckles, kissing your jaw. “Que te pasa? I’m barely doing a thing. That’s all you, mami.” He rubs the toy around your swollen clit while you pump the dildo in and out of you. Your hips thrust in time with your hand with the vibrator slipping and even smearing your juices from around your labia. Miguel turns up the speed of the buzzing and you let out a high-pitched moan. “No–no, please–” You squeal. “Wait–wait…” You pleaded and grabbed his wrist but Miguel didn't budge. “I thought you liked it fast.” He teased.

“‘s..’s too much…” You mutter, slowing down the dildo into soft long strokes, fucking it up into yourself to hit that sweet spot Miguel always hits. Even with a toy, you’re thinking of him. Miguel pulls on your hardened nipple and you cry out, clenching on the dildo. “Too much?” He scoffs. “You’ve taken a lot more, nena. C’mon, make it faster just how you like it, yeah?” He mutters, moving your hand off the silicon to replace it with his. With your hand now free, you reach up and behind you to grab onto Miguel’s locks. Miguel then pumps the dildo deeper inside you causing you to scream and pull on his hair, bucking your hips against the toy. “Miggy, Miggy–!” You whined, looking down at the sight of his hands using the pretty pink set of adult toys filling and playing with your wet pussy. “Oh, fuck…” You groan, thrusting yourself wildly onto the silicon. “More…” He smirks. “There she is.” He groans and clicks the vibrator to a higher setting, the buzz becoming louder as it surrounds your sensitive clit and folds, the dildo pounding into your cunt at a fast yet hard pace. It was like Miguel was fucking you with his cock himself. “Is it better than me, mami? Did you miss stuffing these inside you?” He murmurs against your ear as he continues to thrust it inside you, slipping the vibrator in circles and pressing it against your puffy entrance.

You shake your head while sweat beads down your forehead. “No…” You whined. Miguel doesn’t believe you. “No? Should I stop?” He slowed his hand down and was about to turn off the buzzing bullet when you squealed and grabbed his wrist tightly to stop him. “Don’t stop.” You pleaded, panting since you finally got the chance to regulate your breathing. Miguel tuts in disapproval. “It’s only good when you do it…” You murmured and his smirk grew back on his lips. “Oh yeah?” He kisses your cheek, slowly starting up his pace again, staring at the way your slick glistens against the hot pink color. You relax on his back again, stuttering your hips as they thrust up. “Mhm..” You moan and gasp when he pounds the toy into you, its soft balls slapping against you. In the middle of fucking you with your own toy, Miguel’s hand gets drenched with the overwhelming amount of juices that you leaked out of your wet pussy. He resists the urge to rip the dildo out from you and dive between your legs for a taste. He settles for licking his chapped lips instead and fucks it into you faster. Your body begins sweating profusely, squirming about as you try to reach your high as fast as you could. Miguel presses the vibrator at a faster pace and you screech, your nails digging into his skin. Your face scrunches up in pleasure and your breathing becomes uneven, panting heavy breaths as your mind gets clouded with the goal of cumming.

“Already close, mama? Go ahead.” He urged you further to your release. He watched as he hands made quick work to fuck and please you, bewitched with how perky your nipples got and how your body bounced and grinded on some plastic dick. “Miguel, harder…” You whined, spreading your legs further apart. With a kiss to your neck, he thrusts the dildo into you and clicks the vibrator to its highest setting, shocking your nerves and getting the breath knocked out of you as it makes you see stars. You screech out a high pitched moan, stilling and shaking your legs while your pussy clamps on the toy and drenches it in your cum. Miguel slips it out with a wet shlick and sets the vibrator to a lower setting to ease out your orgasm. With now one hand free, he wraps his arm around you and cups your left breast, giving it a small squeeze before pushing your bra back down over them. He kisses along your neck and jaw, murmuring praises to you. “Así es, hiciste bien…” He whispers as you slowly come out from the haze. You pant softly and twitch when the vibrator buzzes on your now sensitive clit. Miguel turns it off quickly and sets it to the side with the dildo and rubs your inner thighs comfortingly. You hum and lean back against him, catching your breath as your cheeks slowly stop burning as well. “Do you still wanna keep them?” He kisses along your neck, feeling your blood pump through your veins. You gaze over at the box and to the abandoned toys to the side. “Maybe the vibrator. The dildo wasn’t big enough.”

A/N: how r we feeling ? ┗(･ω･;)┛

#nonie requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut

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serialkilluh1996 · 3 months ago

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Cod smut prompts; based on names.

I don't write or read smut (anymore lol idk), but this idea has crossed my mind a couple times, so if there are any smut writers out there who wanna use it, well, pop off, my dudes.

Soap; shower sex.

Why? Because he's "Soap", obviously. Lock in, dear child. If you wanna have extra fluff, have him help wash reader. Make it slow, romantic, sensual, cute. Or not. This is just my concept.

Price; sex for money.

Prostitution, sugar daddy, whatever you feel like. Sex with financial benefits. Let him spoil reader. Give him a wad of cash and let him flail it in their face for a chance to get with the best of the best. If you have a little taste, make him desperate. Make him beg. Haggle him. Ask for MORE money.

Ghost; one night stand.

A quick hookup or a spur of the moment typa thing. Then he decides to ghost you. If ya wanna spice things up, have him come back a few months later for a little more ☻.

Gaz; foggy.

Gaz is just too close too gas. Gas can emit fog and gas goes in a car. you get the idea. Fuck in a car. Fog up the windows. Leave hand prints. Do something with it. Come on, get creative. Make him a HEAVY breather.

Horangi; Furries.

Considering it's the Korean word for tiger, we have MANY possibilities.

Make him a cat boy (or tiger boy).

Make him go into heat.

Do it in a forest. Just make sure it's associated with the name.

König; worship/praise.

Most would think highly of who rules their kingdom, or simply are taught to. You worship kings, don't you? Why not worship this one?

Call him a good boy. You know, for the plot. The higher the praise, the better the performance.

Might write more later

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girlboybug · 2 years ago

Text

Shades of Cool

“my baby lives in shades of cool, cold heart and hands of aptitude.”

or the one where joel can’t seem to stay away from you despite his efforts to. but it’s not like he tried very hard to begin with.

what’s playing 🎧 : shades of cool by lana del rey

pairing : joel miller x female!reader

word count : 9k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, creampie, breeding kink if u squint, oral f receiving, fingering, loss of virginity, virginity kink if u squint yet again, tummy bulge, unspecified age gap and joel kind of has a thing for it, unprotected sex, (pls wear a condom guys im just a mf on tumblr) multiple orgasms, a tad of overstimulation, allusions to male masturbation, dirty talk, pet names, mating press, prone bone, light dom/sub dynamics, reader def has some unresolved daddy issues mean!joel but theres some soft joel

TRIGGER WARNINGS : minor character death/reference to his death but he literally doesn't exist in the show i promise, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of guns, implied/references to sexual harassment

a/n : this is my first time uploading to tumblr, forgive me if my layout is funky lol, anyways pls enjoy <3 read the second part here

you swallowed hard when you saw joel making his way towards the alleyway you two routinely met up in. watching as he did his typical side to side glance, casual in presence but it was muscle memory for him to ensure the safety of his environment no matter it’s location or the mundaneness of it.

you quite disliked the feeling that pricked your chest and quickly spread inside the cavity, overflowing up into your throat and drowning out any coherent thoughts in your mind whenever you saw joel.

it was annoying. pathetic even. just a silly schoolgirl crush you hoped would go away in time.

you put aside the fluttering feelings for later, and waved, catching his attention. he sent a curt nod, rubbing his palms together before pushing them into his denim pockets. “hey.” he greeted you, if you could really call it that.

you took whatever you could get from him, so you smiled, parroting it back with a nervous politeness.

“do you have the uh…” you trailed off, feeling embarrassed that you struggled to even verbalize what you were trading.

he raised a brow, folding his arms over his chest, looking at you expectingly. “i got it. you got the rations?” he finished speaking for you and you nodded enthusiastically, hurriedly pulling out the thick wad of rations you worked your ass off for.

he shut his eyes with exasperation for a few seconds before hovering his larger hand over the wad, miraculously dwarfing your own hand. “don’t wave it around kid, jesus,” he sighed, shaking his head while palming it and sliding it away into his back pocket.

“sorry…” you muttered embarrassedly.

he didn’t reply, and instead handed you a box, bright purple and pink and your gaze slowly rose up to his face with a slightly ajar mouth. “uh. joel.” you started, voice leading into an upward trail of confusion.

“if i wanted tampons i could have easily gotten this myself.” you wanted to hide the slight irritation in your tone but he caught on to it, unfolding his arms to jab the top of the box with his index finger. “how about you open it smartass.” he instructed dryly, moving backward and refolding his arms.

your eyes lingered on him tryingly for a few more seconds, huffing quietly to yourself before flipping the cardboard flap up.

again. tampons.

you tilted it towards him and he dragged his hand down his face tiredly. he dug his hand into the box, the tampons shoved to the sides, revealing a small pistol.

your mouth fell open into a comical O shape, laughing in awe. “oh!” you giggled and joel stared at you blankly, already feeling a hankering for a straight shot of whiskey at the bright and early hour of 8:30am.

“very creative.” you beamed and it seemed as though joel fought back a smile behind a glare. at least, you told yourself that.

“just enough for gullible people.” he pushed at a button of yours, just a little, and you paused for a second, shooting him a playful glare. “whatever,” you exhaled through a quiet chuckle.

“thank you joel, i appreciate the um. tampons, i was running low.” you played along with the bit and he rolled his eyes, nodding, already ready to go back home.

“sure thing.” he was about to turn and walk out of the alleyway but something held him in his spot.

he took in a deep inhale before making eye contact with you, rendering you back into your nervous state from when he first arrived.

“why do you need a pistol? we’ve only ever traded for small things. why the sudden big order?” he has absolutely no clue why he’s asking you this, or rather, he has no idea why he’s letting himself ask this.

he shouldn’t care. he doesn’t.

you stiffened, straightening your back and holding the box to your stomach, hands cupping the bottom of it. “just to keep at my place. thought i’d feel safer with it.” you answered truthfully, making sure to not go further into detail.

his squinted eyes stay on you for awhile, unsure of what you needed to feel safe from. “are you uh…in any trouble?” he asks and you feel a little excitement ignite in your lower belly.

is he worried about you?

“no! no not at all, i just…i don’t know,” you try to laugh it off but the silence between you two just feels heavy instead. “why do you ask?” you question and he shrugged.

“if you’re in trouble, i don’t need it somehow coming back to me. i got enough shit i need to worry about.” he answered and the bubble inside you popped and deflated almost immediately.

“oh, well no need to worry about that. it’s nothing like that, you’ll be fine.” you decided to end the conversation there, a cold feeling of humiliation that prods at your shoulders and throat alerting you that it’s best to just walk away before you can say anything else that might make the situation more unbearable.

“thanks joel.” you added, quickly making your way out the alleyway. “be careful with that thing.” he called out after you, and you feel the bubble slowly start to shamelessly inflate itself once more.

maybe he does care. even if it’s just a little.

—

you hid the box in the shoddy nightstand you had lugged up into your apartment from off the street one night, and exhaled lowly, pursing your lips. “this is good.” you stated to yourself.

the whole reason why you wanted a gun, was kind of useless if you really put some actual thought into it.

it really was just for the comfort of your mind, putting the nerves you had at ease. like a security blanket of sorts.

fedra soldiers occasionally conduct inspections, making a mess of people’s homes to look for any contraband, firefly propaganda, weapons, anything that so much acts as an eyesore to them is grounds for permanent confiscation.

there’s a specific solider that just makes you uncomfortable, makes your skin prickle up into sharp goosebumps and makes your stomach churn like dry gears rubbing up against each other.

the way his eyes follow you around, rejoicing in his power over you and how you cowered away from him.

they come in as pairs to inspect and even if they didn’t, he was still taller, stronger, heavily armed and trained and could kill you in front of a crowd of people and still face no consequences. so a singular witness wouldn't stop him from breaking the rules.

if anything, you’ve probably just put yourself in more danger carrying a weapon. but you felt that if you had it, you maybe had a fighting chance in case push came to shove.

you collected yourself into your very depressing excuse of a bed, lifting the fraying crotched blanket over your body, pretending you were anything less than semi uncomfortable.

the next morning, you woke up with a slightly sore feeling that resided in just about every crevice of your body but you ignore it, as it’s a common thing to wake up to if you’ve got what basically feels like laying on a napkin as a bed, and using what feels like an even thinner napkin as a blanket.

you readied yourself to participate in street clean up, since you had to take on more shifts than usual to make up for the hefty chunk of rations you gave to joel.

—

a bandana resided around your nose, neatly but tightly tied behind your head, doing…definitely not enough to cover the stench of cleaning the sludge off the streets.

"the fuck would i need coffee beans for asshole? hit me up when you’ve actually got good shit to trade.” you overheard two guys a few feet away from you bickering, your ears perking up at the mention of coffee beans.

you remembered joel vaguely mentioning how he’d kill for a cup of coffee, and you agreed on that sentiment, even though you’ve never once had coffee. the point being, he’d been out of coffee for awhile, unable to find anyone who has it, and you figured maybe scoring him a bag would be a nice sign of gratitude for the pistol.

you pulled down your bandana, walking over to the guy once the other one walked off. “hi, um i didn’t mean to eavesdrop but i heard you have coffee beans? i’d be willing to trade for them.”

“i don’t take kindly to nosy—“ he cut himself off mid sentence once he turned to look at you, his eyes dragging up and down your body and you wondered in that moment if it was worth the hassle of talking to this. thing.

but then you thought of joel, and how maybe he’d smile at you, thank you with a tight bear hug and suddenly, it did all seem worth it.

“yeah, yeah i’d definitely be happy to trade with you,” he grinned and you laughed, trying to hide your disgust with fake excitement. “great! what would you want for it? i have some spare shampoo bars, a pair of wool socks i was saving for winter, or—“

he cut you off this time, leaning into your space closer and you instinctively backed away. “i was thinking maybe something different.” he alluded to something that made cleaning up literal shit off the street seem a lot more pleasant.

your face fell and you lifted up your bandana. “yeah, nevermind. thanks anyway.”

you turned on your heel and he groaned, calling after you. “the socks…” he huffed, rubbing the side of his chin. “are they soft?” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

you tugged down the bandana again, smiling brightly. “very!”

—

you scheduled another meet up with joel, excited to gift him the bag of coffee beans.

you were slightly sad to let go of the socks, your feet always got so cold in the winter and the nights were already starting to increase in frigidness, but it’s okay, you could always find another pair of socks again, but you didn’t know if you’d have another chance to pleasantly surprise joel like this.

against joel’s typical judgment, he said to just stop by his apartment, feeling too tired to lug himself down into the alleyway again.

but all you heard from that was he trusted you enough into his personal space. which, as much as joel would deny it, is true.

he could clearly envision you apologizing to a fly for so much as being in its way, so inviting you over posed as nowhere near a threat.

you knocked at his door, hiding the bag behind your back before he opened it. the wind got knocked out of you once more at the sight of him. he was very much older than you, easily the age of a man who could be your father, but that didn’t erase any of his attractiveness.

in the deepest part of your subconscious, you knew that that’s what added onto it.

“hi!” you chirped and he stepped to the side, widening his door to let you in. “hi.” he repeated, drier but, not unhappily.

“what’d you wanna trade for again?” he asked, his hand rubbing the side of his stubbly jaw, and you had to look away, knowing you’d just watch him in silence if you didn’t.

“actually,” you hummed, nearly bursting at the seems with glee. he watched you curiously, unaware of the slight smile on his face as he watched you tip toe closer with your hand still behind your back.

“i didn’t come by to trade. i got you a gift!” he rested his palms behind him on the small table, his broad shoulders seeming even broader now and you wanted to run your hands across the expanse of them.

“a gift?” he asked, breaking you out of your trance. he sounded genuinely shocked, almost unable to believe you. “mhm!” you nodded, a smile still etched on your features.

“close your eyes, and open your hands.” you instructed, and he tilted the side of his head to you, wordlessly saying really?

you nudged your chin, motioning for him to listen, your way of replying with yes, really.

he eyed you before shaking his head, standing up straight and closing his eyes, his palms bared out for you, muttering a quiet, i have no idea why i’m listenin’ to you.

you plopped the bag of coffee into his hands, sing songing a soft “now open!”

he opened his eyes, his lips parting in awe. he laughed out of disbelief, and your heart soared with joy as you saw him smile, and widely at that.

“kid…you…why? i mean, god, thank you, but why?” he asked and you shrugged, rocking back and forth on your heel to your toes. “take it as a thanks for my pist-i mean tampons.” you joked and he chuckled, shaking his head and putting the beans down onto the table.

“well, thank you, that’s mighty kind of you.” he looked downward at you, and you looked back up at him, trying to memorize the way his lips were curled, the sweet lines by his eyes and the way he just seemed so happy by such a small act of kindness.

“no biggie!” you replied, and he darted his eyes away for a moment before turning back to you. “do you know how to use your gun?” he asked and you felt your face grow hot with slight embarrassment.

“uh. i mean you just aim and pull the trigger right?” you asked honestly and he blinked a few times before shaking his head. “okay so you don’t.” and you squinted at him. “i could teach you. get you some extra bullets too.” he remedied the half joking comment with his offer and you perked up.

“yeah? you would?” you asked excitedly and he nodded. “‘course. you just went from tolerated, to slightly more tolerated in my book. so i’m gonna help you not accidentally shoot yourself in the foot.”

you didn’t like how you actually felt a twinge of sadness at his obvious joke about only tolerating you. he was kidding, but sometimes it was hard to tell because he had the same monotone, slightly annoyed at everything everyone has to say, kind of voice.

and you were a sensitive person, and even the most harmless jokes could manage to sting you.

“well jeez aren’t you sweet.” you complimented with sarcasm. joel threw on his flannel, ignoring your comment. you stepped aside while he made his way to the door.

“you comin?” he looked at you, opening the door behind him, waiting for you to follow. you turned around to look behind you stupidly, then back to him. “what?” you asked confusedly and he fought the urge to roll his eyes and take back his offer.

“we’re gonna start now.” he inclined his head out the door, motioning for you to come along. and who were you to decline doing anything with joel.

—

joel was here. in your apartment. in your space, in your air. he was sitting on your bed, the place where you’d occasionally, frequently shove your fingers into places you just knew joel would be able to reach with no effort.

he ran his fingers over the barrel of the gun, drumming against its ridges and for a moment you felt a bit envious over the literal inanimate object.

“cmere,” he patted the space next to him, waiting for you to be seated so he could get started.

with wobbly legs you made your way to him, smoothing over your jeans in an attempt to secretly wipe away your clammy palms.

“show me how you hold it.” he placed it in your hands and it felt foreign to the touch. it was heavier than you expected it to be but you tried to conceal your inexperience by holding it the way you’ve seen others handle their firearms.

you pointed it at the door, pretending that soldier was in front of you, finger on the trigger and hands at the bottom of it, supporting your grasp.

he observed your hold, a low hmm coming from the back of his throat. “not terrible.” he adjusted your hands, your skin latching onto his heat, claiming it as yours as his body hovered around your side.

“how’s that feel?” he asked and you cleared your throat, blinking a few times and avoiding his close stare. “it uh, it feels better.” you answered and he clicked his tongue, nodding curtly to himself.

“alright. now, when you run out of bullets, the magazine at the bottom might drop out but if it doesn’t, you’re gonna take it out and reload, you wanna be fast if you’re in the middle of, well whatever situations got you needing to pull out a gun.” there was a slight cadence of a joke in his gun lesson 101, and it made a giddy feeling return to your tummy.

he reached in his back pocket, pulling out what you assumed he meant by magazine.

he explained the logistics of your newly owned weapon, trying to use terms you’d be able to follow along with, not unaware of how you were watching and listening intently, hanging on to every word he spoke.

you were too damn obvious.

—

you saw more of joel after that, bumping into him in places you usually didn’t see him, yet seemingly excited every time you met.

his aloof stare slowly turned softer when it landed on you, maybe it never changed at all but to you it definitely felt different.

he swore it was you that had been following him, an air of playfulness in his accusations of you stalking him, but really it was him.

he unable to admit to himself that he wandered around the areas he knew you were usually found in, wanting to scold you for having such an easy routine to follow but he kept it to himself.

he watched you walk beside him, taking in the sights of the town, wondering how you could possibly appreciate the hellhole that surrounded you all.

“so how’s the coffee? any good?” you asked, turning back to look at him, feeling a hushed breath pause in your throat once you saw he was already looking at you.

a peek of a smile ghosted over his face. “it’s good. i, i appreciate that you did that. i hope you didn’t have to trade too much for it.” guilt resided in him at the thought of you having to give more than you had just for coffee beans. he felt he wasn’t worth all that effort.

you shook your head, laughing lightly at the memory of the trade. “no no don’t worry, just a pair of socks. they were these brown wool socks that were so soft, so i’d say it was a pretty fair trade.”

“i’ll be on the look out for a pair like that then.” he was already figuring out who he could trade with to get you another pair of socks. “no it’s okay you don’t have to it’s-“

“hey,” his voice felt rich, calling your attention back to him. your chest went tight. “yeah?” you whispered back.

“shut up. i’m gettin’ the socks.” there was a backbone of sternness in his lighthearted promise.

you sucked on your bottom lip through a grin before you spoke again.

“i have a confession.” you exhaled, feigning dramatics and he tilted his head towards you, watching you with worried eyes. “yeah?”

“i lied. i’ve never had coffee before.” you lowered your head with faux shame and he gasped, shaking his head with disapproval. he paused for a moment, then turned around.

you caught up with him, holding onto his arm, feeling hot at the taut feeling of his limb, and how he didn’t push you off. he just peered down at you, keeping you there with him. “jeez i didn’t think you’d take such offense to that,” you breathed out through a chuckle.

“inexcusable. you’re tryin it when we get home.” the twang in his accent was something so attractive, and it only had you feeling more and more willing to do whatever he wanted. you’d drink acid if he asked of it from you in that deep southern drawl.

you two walked back to his place, shedding a layer out of many, holding onto it as you trailed in behind him.

he glanced over at you, then your coat. “set it down somewhere, you can have a seat.” he pointed at the round table and you quietly thanked him, hanging your coat over the back of the chair before sliding it out and sitting in it.

“i remember you have a sweet tooth. damn near talked my head off about trading for a bag of hard candies a few months ago, so i reckon you’d like it sweet.” he mostly talked to himself when he said that, fondly remembering the way you rattled on about how you were craving for caramel drops.

“you remember that?” you were just about swooning, unable to hide it even when joel walked back over to you, two mugs in each hand of his. “how could i not? you never let me forget it.” he set the mug down in front of you, sipping at his as he leaned back into the chair in front of you.

you picked it up, hugging the warmth of it with your palm. you took a light sip, your eye shutting, a low quiet moan leaving your lips from around the mug once the taste landed on your tongue.

joel stirred in his seat at the sound, busying himself with drinking from his cup to avoid making any kind of facial expressions.

“joel,” you crooned and he felt weak. “you like it?” he asked, his lips still curled over the rim of his mug. “it’s so good, i understand why you like it so much.”

“well, i don’t make it as sweet as that, but yeah, coffees good. not a lot of people agree.” he shrugged and you set your mug down in front of you. “can i taste yours?”

he slid it to you and you lifted it, tasting it and almost immediately wanting to spit it out. you quickly gave it back to him, sipping the sweeter coffee to cleanse your offended palette.

“yeah, that tastes like shit, i don’t know how you drink that.” you smacked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, the burnt taste not quite leaving you just yet.

he rolled his eyes, taking a loud obnoxious slurp. “my tastebuds are just mature.”

“mature for what? shit? once you hit a certain age do just you grow accustomed to crappy tasting things?” you were dipping into a more casual way of speaking to joel, causing his gaze that rested on you to turn into a view of amusement.

“rich comin’ from the kid who still eats like she’s 5.” he rested his arm against the back of his chair, and you expired, feeling a bit defensive of being called a child.

“i’m not a kid.” you muttered and he chuckled. “alright.” he agreed in sentiments but not in actuality.

breaking the comfortable silence that filled the room you and joel shared, a loud bang rang from against the door. joel slid from out his chair, hurriedly pacing towards the door.

before he could even open it, you already knew it was one of fedra’s soldiers. things were starting to feel a little too lax, it was only a matter of time until they came knocking down doors again.

your throat went dry, stomach cinching with anxiety once he stepped inside, the same soldier that had you saving up your rations week after week to be able to afford the pistol from joel.

his eyes flickered between you and joel, scoffing to himself. “what’s this?” he asked you, ignoring joel who stood right in front of him.

“nothing.” you answered, intimidation and fear already prickling at your skin and racing down your spine.

joel stood in front of you, shielding you away from him, and slowly, the fear lifted itself itself away from you, but not fully. not while he’s still here.

“aren’t there usually two of you who do these searches?” joel questioned, watching as the solider jabbed at various things of joel’s with the tip of his rifle.

“partners out sick. so y’all get the pleasure of havin just me.” he flashed an ugly grin at you, bending to the side to see your uncomfortable face behind joel’s back.

he walked around, haphazardly lifting and tossing things about.

“oh?” he bent down, squatting by joel’s bed. “what’s this?” he waved around a baggy full of white powder. joel stiffened, his nostrils flaring in anger.

“that’s not mine and you know it.” and surprisingly it actually wasn’t.

joel had just sold the last of his pills to a sad sap unable to sleep without them, and that was a month ago. the asshole was planting drugs on him.

“this is not only grounds for confiscation but imprisonment. tough spot you’re in miller.” joel exhaled angrily from a quiet ragged breath.

“unless,” he came up to you, pushing past joel to cup your chin. “she wants to, convince me why i shouldn’t take you down for this contraband.” you flinched from his touch but it only made him hold on tighter.

joel snatched his wrist away, stepping back in front of you. “you don’t have to involve her. what do you want? rations, half of my next haul? what?” he gritted and the solider just laughed.

“you think i don’t have easy access to all that? i want something you can’t easily trade for.” he leaned to the side, waving at you.

joel pushed him backward, triggering the response of a rifle being shoved in his face. joel didn’t so much as waver, grabbing the neck of the firearm, pointing it away from him while his foot came and rammed down onto the front of his shin, successfully knocking him down with a loud wail of pain.

it happened so fast all you could do was sit and watch, frozen in place as joel lost himself on top of the solider, pounding and pounding and pounding his fists in relentlessly, not stopping despite the ache trickling over across his knuckles.

you heard a sick squelch followed by cracking noises and you knew that should’ve made you fear joel. it should’ve made you run out the door and never look back. but it did the opposite. you never wanted to stay more.

you watched with wide pupils as he rose up from the beaten and bloodied solider, breathing hard and loud, stumbling upward to a leant stance, staring at the lifeless solider on his wood floors.

he wiped his nose with the clean, unbloodied slate of his forearm, before dropping it back to his side to lean forward and spit over the body.

he turned back to you, scanning your face for any hurt, fear or disgust.

but there was none.

before you could say anything, he spoke aloud his thoughts. “i gotta get rid of the body.”

“do you need help?” you extended a hand willing to assist and joel shook his head a hard no. “you saw enough, you don’t need to see more. i’ll be back.”

you stood up, pressing a hand to his chest, looking at him with watery eyes. he wanted to wipe them away from you, but he couldn’t. not with the blood that was already starting to cake under his nails.

“joel i want to help.” you admitted, soft voice trembling and joel leaned forward, his face close to yours. “you should probably go sweetheart, you don’t need to get wrapped up further in this.” his words traveled along the coast of a gentle but solid whisper.

“i don’t want to go.” your voice barely carrying itself loud enough as a reply, eyes following joel’s actions of walking away from you to roll up the soldier in a thin fraying carpet.

“you should.” is all he said, walking out the door with a body dragging behind him.

—

you went against any logical thought process whatsoever and stayed. you decided you’d make yourself useful, feeling as though the events that continually replayed in your head felt like your fault.

you sat on your knees, scrubbing at the blood that had already set in the floors.

you scrubbed until it hurt, and you kept going despite the fact. you dunked the scrubber into the bucket of soapy water turned brown, squeezing the excess onto the floor before rubbing it in.

the door clicked open and your head whipped towards it, heart leaping in your chest once you saw joel stumble in.

“hi.” you breathed and he looked at you with surprise. he saw the work you busied yourself with, locking the door before making his way to you. “what’re you doin’?” he asked gently, yet again in shock at how unabashedly kind you were to him.

“didn’t want the blood just sitting here on your floors. ‘least i could do since it’s my fault that all happened.” you sniffled, feeling guilty at what had transpired. though the guilt was there, a sense of gratitude was even larger.

he did that, for you.

he bent down to catch your watery gaze. “no, no that was not your fault. just got a little carried away. ‘don’t want you thinkin’ that you had anything to do with my choices, okay?” he leaned to the side, catching your eyes that were avoiding his. “okay?” he repeated, waiting for you to say it back to him.

“okay.” you mouthed just below a whisper. he took the bucket and the scrubber, walking to the sink. you of course, trailed behind him.

he lifted his sleeves, turning on the faucet to rinse off the dried blood on his hands.

he picked at under his nails, scraping the blood off wherever he saw it. which was, every inch of his hands.

his body faced back to you, his now cleaned hands picking up yours, seeing specks of blood and dirt splattered on your hands from cleaning his floor.

he washed you clean, and all you could do was admire him. how gentle he was taking care of you. he rinsed your skin clear of blood, drying you up and letting your hands rest back to your sides.

“i’m sorry you had to see that.” he apologized, feeling ashamed of how little he was in control of his anger in that moment.

you shook your head, hands shakily resting on his chest. “no, i don’t want you to be sorry.” you murmured, eyes landing on his lips. you swallowed back any fears that held you back from showing your affections any longer.

you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. with a pleasant surprise, he kissed back, no hesitation in his actions. his hold fell to your waist, squeezing, pulling you into him.

he took in your air, and you gave it to him, happily, willing to offer it in all its abundance. your hand rose to his cheek, palm resting over his beard. his thumb rested on your chin, rubbing it softly.

he forced himself to pull away, his hands selfishly unable to remove themselves from your waist. “sweetheart this isn’t a good idea. you’re too young, and i’m not a good man. i think i just showed you that.” he tried to warn you, hushed and gently, with honest intentions of keeping you away from something you’d regret being involved with.

but the only thing you’d regret is never being with him.

“i’m not, and i don’t care what you do joel, i want you, all of you, want you so bad,” you all but whimpered, trying to press yourself against him more.

he was a greedy man at heart, pulling you back up for a harder kiss. there was a hot hunger that was electric between you two, a burning ignition that pulled you two in, tying an in separable twine amidst your bodies. but neither of you ever had any intentions of undoing it anyways.

he held the side of your cheek, the other traveling from your lower back to your ass, squeezing it hard, using his grip to pull you in closer, grinding up against you right there.

you were so needy for him that it rattled your bones. a wet clicking noise elicited from your mouths, tongues brushing up together messily. your chin dribbling with saliva.

you moaned in his mouth, feeling the hand that was on your cheek move to hold you by the back of your head, his tilting to kiss you deeper.

he untangled your lips, keeping himself not even an inch away, just to share the breath between you two. your tongue flicked over his lips, biting down on the bottom one before lurching forward for him once more.

he groaned in your mouth, lifting his hand to come down and spank your ass. you whined, back arching and crotch brushing up against his.

you two stumbled towards his bed, your back falling into the mattress. he crawled on top of you, ridding himself of his boots and you of yours.

his knee rested on one side of your hip, the other coming between your thighs. your chest rose up into his, your back lifting off the sheets and hands coming up to paw at his chest.

without any reservations, you rubbed against his knee, struggling to kiss him back. “feel good little girl?” he sounded gruff, strained voice trying it’s best to not moan at the way your wet little cunt managed to create a wet spot on his knee.

“so good joel,” you gaped, kissing his neck desperately.

“shouldn’t be touchin’ you like this, sweet little thing like you gettin handled by someone like me,” he breathed through a series of heavy pants, his hands wandering all along your sides, your hips, your thighs.

“don’t want anyone else but you.” you whimpered truthfully, holding his wrist and guiding his hand to your chest, right above your heart. you let it drift to the left, shuddering when he squeezed your breast.

he kissed your pulse, teeth baring out against it. he rested his hand on your lower belly, rubbing the skin under your tank top. “can i touch you?” he whispered, his beard tickling the space just below your ear.

you nodded, running your hands all along his strong back. “please,” you bucked your hips upward, begging with not only your words but your body.

he exhaled out a quiet chuckle, fingers working to undo your jeans, tugging them down until they were forgotten on the floor.

he dipped down beneath your underwear, his cock throbbing in his boxers at how wet you were. so soaked it was pathetic. he hadn’t let his hand drift down to the sweet place between those thighs of yours til then, and yet you were as wet as if he had his tongue pressed up against you.

actually, that’s not a bad idea.

he circled around your clit, watching as you revealed in it, his fingers being thicker than yours, making the sensation all the more intense.

“joel,” you repeated his name, voice wavering in breathy gasps, his fingers rolling the sensitive button of yours. he slipped a finger inside you, eyes peering up and watching as your back rose just a little, hips pressuring downward and further onto his finger, taking him all in.

“so soft,” he murmured, lowering himself to press a kiss to your hip. he rolled his hips into the mattress, trying ease the pressure building up beneath his jeans.

he was too turned on, this young pretty girl he’s had his eye on for a year was sprawled in his bed, soft and soaked cunt all ready and pliable just for him and him alone.

he could die a happy man.

his lips encircled your clit, tongue drawing around it while he pressed into a familiar spongy spot within you.

you sucked in a sharp gasp, the sweet sound turning into a high pitched whine. “please,” you sobbed, hands flying down to keep his head in place.

he fucked you with his fingers, curling right up against the spot that was making you dizzy, his tongue and lips working perfectly on your little clit.

tears flowed down your face and on his pillow, your hand coming up to your mouth trying to lessen the volume of your cries.

“j-joel, please i,” unable to formulate any sentences, you just gave up, giving in to your moans.

the way you squeezed around his fingers, sucking him with greed and need, made him wonder how that’d feel around his cock when he’d get to finally shove it in you.

he growled at the thought, sucking hard around your clit. you whimpered, pushing down onto his tongue more.

“s’too much, i cant, i,” your head rolled around his pillow, his scent, his touch, his tongue suffocating you in the most heavenly way possible.

you squirmed in his hold, unable to escape his grip, unable to escape the way his tongue pressed flat and hard up on your clit. his beard brushed up against your thighs, pulling a giggly moan from you.

“perfect little pussy,” he grunted, kissing your clit before dragging his tongue slowly, up and down languidly.

he rested his forearm over your lower tummy, pressing hard and feeling the corner of his lips perk at the way you gasped, shuddering loudly and trembling in his mouth at the action.

“joel, i think i’m—ooh,” you spoke tearfully, poor little throat already getting hoarse from crying out his name.

“feels good huh baby,” that little twang in his deep voice curled off his words just right. all you could do was whimper a shaky sogood joel s’good.

his finger pressed up against that spot inside you, his tongue on your clit being the sweetest cherry on top of the tooth rotting sundae.

you were cumming, hiccuping his name unashamedly. your plush thighs coming around to cage him in, to which he paid no mind to, if anything it excited him, his rough hands gripping your ass and pulling you deeper into his mouth.

the wind up deep inside you finally released, flickering flashes of burning hot lights spread across your limbs, slowly fizzling out as you went limp in his bed.

he didn’t let up however, his tongue grown addicted to the way your perfect clit felt on the wet muscle.

you whimpered, struggling to push him away from your cunt. it was just too good and he hadn’t had enough yet.

“joel n-no more s’too much,” you pleaded weakly, and he took slight pity, pressing one last kiss before rising back up to you.

he pressed his fingers to your lips, groaning quietly with approval at the way you took them in with no verbal orders needed.

you were so good for him, his sweet little girl.

he pulled them out, resting on your plump bottom lip before moving it out the way to kiss you. you moaned deeply into his mouth, bringing your arms around him, hands traveling up to his hair.

his salt and peppered hair felt soft, weaved through your gentle fingers. you lightly tugged on it, feeling mischief in your veins at the ministration. he growled, biting down on your lip and laughing as you yelped.

he held your jaw, pressing hard kisses all along your face, speaking stilly, his inflection so deep, so masculine, so old and wise, had you hypnotized, his words that were reserved for your ears only, were something you’d cradle to yourself forever.

“told myself i wouldn’t crack, i wouldn’t have you like this, you’re too young, you don’t know what you want, but fuck,” he dragged his fingers up your folds, chuckling to himself at the way you whimpered, curling into his touch immediately.

“now that i got you, ‘fraid i can’t let you go sweetheart. i’m a selfish man at heart.” he admitted, kissing your jaw. you just about exploded in that moment. you had no idea he felt the same for you as you did him, and it was the most powerful, enlightening feeling you’ve ever felt.

“i’m selfish too,” you whispered back, puckering your lips to kiss him. “didn’t let anyone else touch me but you. just wanted you,” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes, unaware to how that little admission made the precum collecting at his tip leak out even more.

his grasp on your hip tightened, squeezing it as he buried his face in your neck. “fuck baby, gonna give this old man a heart attack sayin’ things like that.”

your shaky hands went for his belt, tugging on it with need. “want you joel, please?” you begged, lips pressed to his ear. he didn’t need to be begged any more, he undid his belt with one hand, pulling it off his waist, letting it join the pile of your discarded jeans and boots.

before he could take himself out, your hands found themselves under his flannel, desperate and anxious to see what he’s been concealing away from you. “off, please,” and he wanted to say no, feeling not as proud in his physique as he once was about 20 years ago.

“nothin special to see baby,” he countered and you shook your head. “it’s you. it’s special to me.” you suspired airily, already feeling your tummy get tight at the thought of him hovering above you, shirtless.

he took in a deep breath, letting you unbutton his flannel.

you undid each button, trying your best to not rip them clean off despite your rushing efforts. you slid it off his body, exhaling in awe at the sight in front of you.

you sucked on your bottom lip, hands traveling across his broad shoulders, fingers tracing his collarbones, dragging around the scarred areas from past wounds, admiring the few freckles on his chest that trail up to his shoulders.

he watched you, never having felt so admired before. “enjoyin’ yourself baby?” he teased, his thumb rubbing over your chin.

“mhm,” you nodded, not caring how it looked to be gawking at him.

you could feel the muscle from the layer of life and age over his stomach, your eyes then falling to the bulge of his biceps, instantly growing obsessed, squeezing at the muscles.

“you’re so beautiful joel.” you spoke with such true sincerity and he tittered quietly, shaking his head. “thank you baby,”

your wandering hands finally fell to his jeans, undoing the button and zipper, eager to see what else he’d been keeping away from you.

he let you, more than ready to feel your touch in the place he craved the most. he was tired of having to fuck his calloused fist, trying hard to pretend it was your cute hand touching him.

you pulled him out, feeling your jaw go slack at the length of it all. “jesus joel,” you swallowed hard, steadily jerking him off, feeling slightly unsure if you’re doing it right. you were telling the truth, when you said you’d never let anyone touch you, too hopelessly in love with joel to even imagine allowing anyone to see you in the way he’s got you.

he grunted, unintentionally bucking his hips into the tunnel of your hand. he was thick, heavy in your clutch, veins running along the side of it, his tip round and fat, almost red with droplets of precum leaking out.

“gonna show you what those little boys could never give you,” he promised, and you believed him, gazing at the way he reluctantly pulled away from your hold, knowing if he let you stroke him any longer he’d cum all over your hand.

he circled your clit with the head of his cock, shuddering a semblance of a breathy moan at the sensation. “gonna be a bit of a stretch baby, tell me if it’s too much okay? i’ll try to go slow.” he kissed his promises of gentleness into your temple.

he inched in, hands around either side of your head, foreheads pushed together while your mouth fell open, sucking in all the air in the room. the stretch was very unfamiliar, but not unwelcomed.

you held onto his shoulders for support, grasping onto them tightly, pretty plump trembling lips crying out moans that would replay in joel’s head on lonely nights. you felt fuller than you ever have before joel was even fully inside you.

he was nudging up against spots in you that you had no idea could feel so good, and if he angled his hips any higher, the fat head of his cock would be kissing your cervix.

“can barely fit myself in ya’ baby,” he groaned, head falling from your forehead to bury itself in your neck, kissing your hot skin to try to calm him down before he lost control and rammed himself inside you.

your calves rested on his hips, whimpering while trying to lift yourself up in an attempt to get him to push himself further in.

“more joel, please?” your pleas were accompanied by sponged kisses just below his ear. “gonna take it all for me baby?” he questioned you, inching in just that much deeper, and you shut your eyes, nails already beginning to crescent themselves in his back. “mhm, gonna take it all,” you swore, more than eager to have him fully within you, as close as could be.

he jutted his hips in, knocking the wind out of you. you bit down on his shoulder, whining a drool filled mess with the way he started to fuck you, rough hardened hands molding softly around the curves of your waist.

he was bathing in the way your little cunt took him in, squeezing around him so good just like he knew you would. he took his time, rocking into you in and out, holding your shaking body close to him.

you could feel every ridge and vein in you, hooked onto the way he filled you up, stretching you beyond belief, making you bounce upward with every movement.

his hands slid down over the smooth skin of your thighs, widening them further open before pushing them up, growing impatient, achingly hungry to be deeper in you. you struggled for air at his fast actions, eyes immediately rolling back at the way he began to fuck into you.

“can’t help myself, m’sorry baby, pussy’s too good, shit,” a gruff sigh of relief leaving his mouth at the way you took him in. you didn’t care, you were thrilled to take whatever he gave you, and however hard he saw fit.

“feels s’good, feel so full,” you cried, translucent tears free falling, the aggressive pistons of his hips causing your swollen clit to ache, begging to be touched.

“feel me right here huh baby?” he rubbed over the bulge in your tummy and you squealed, wriggling away from the overwhelming stimulation. “ha,” you strung out, arching up into him.

“yeah, you do,” he taunted breathlessly, loving how you were a wreck beneath him. “in so deep joel,” you mumbled against his shoulder and he kissed your hair, nodding knowingly. “i know babygirl but you’re takin me so well,” he praised, feeling so proud of his sweet girl taking his cock like a pro.

“never gonna let anyone see you like this?” he pressed deep there, corners of his lips curling when you weep, squeezing at his biceps. “never gonna let anyone have you like this?” you shook your head, sobbing a string of no joel no, never, just you.

“perfect, tight fuckin’ cunt is all for me, aint sharin’ with no one,” he held you by the back of your thighs even further, stressing how serious he was, set on fucking himself into your soaked hole until there was a permanent shape of him within you. a shape no man could ever fit into.

sobs of uncontrollable pleasure were the only thing you could feel in your veins, pumping your blood full of dopamine. his balls tightened, hitting the fullness of your ass, and he let himself grow sporadic, let himself take you. his fingers found your desperate clit, chuckling to himself when you croon tearfully, thanking him pathetically for touching you.

“can i cum, please?” your requests only made him twitch inside you, his sweet girl was so polite. “go ahead baby, let it out,” he leaned down to kiss you, swallowing up your moans and cries.

your body jerked under him, the tight vice of your cunt gripping onto him while he rubbed over your clit, pulling out the second wave of an orgasm from you.

you broke apart from his lips, still just a breadth of a gasp away from them, brushing up against the ghost of a kiss as you pressed your forehead to his, sobbing his name while your body trembled from how hard you were cumming.

“shit,” he slammed a hand against the wall above your head, shoving himself impossibly further in you, your legs shaking on either side of him. “good fuckin’ girl, squeezing me so goddamn good,” he fucked you through your orgasm, kneading over your breasts, groping at them and pinching at your pebbling nipples.

you fell limp, letting yourself drown in the unraveling lengths of your climax.

“gonna cum baby, where d’you want it?” he asked, feeling his lower stomach start to tighten up. “inside, wanna feel all of you,” you whined, kissing all along his shoulder and collarbones, messy and ravenous.

his face fell to the crook of your neck, biting down on your soft flesh when he came, impaling you once, twice, ending it with one last hard thrust as he came in you, pumping you full of his cum.

he didn't feel himself soften inside you, but with each of the passing minutes he decided he’d better pull out then or else he’d never leave. you winced from the removal, arms coming around to hold him with a clinginess.

he collapsed on top of you, and you sighed contently, the full weight of him resting on you could’ve honestly sent you into the deepest nap you’d ever have.

you felt his cock, still hardened on your thigh. with sleepy eyes you looked up at him, lips on his stubbly jaw when you spoke. "you're still hard," you murmured. his fingers drew up and down your spine, and you shivered, arching yourself into him.

"that's okay, it'll go down soon." his throat got tight when he felt you wrap your hand around him once more. "we don't...have to ignore it." you trailed off, bitten lips pressing delicate kisses laced with ulterior motives into his tanned skin.

you wanted joel to use you as many times as he wanted to, a new compulsion flowing rampantly in your veins. now that you had finally gotten a taste of joel, you wanted to gorge yourself on him.

"you sure you can take it?" he asked through a hushed breath of arousal. you nodded, kissing at his lips with need.

he didn't need to be told twice, he repositioned you, letting you fall back onto his pillow with him hovering above you. he rolled you onto your stomach, holding you by your hip to lift you just enough for him to shove his flannel right against your cunt.

his rough palms encased your ass, groping at the thick flesh. he dipped down, spreading your ass and watching as his cum poured out of you. he groaned quietly to himself. you whimpered, turning to look over your shoulder as joel pushed his fingers inside, shoving his cum back into you. your chin dropped, face falling back into his pillow when he pumped his fingers inside you, chuckling darkly to himself at the way your ass squirmed against him.

every little swivel your hips made was met with friction from his flannel on your clit. the hem of it just so happened to be pressed right there. he slapped his cock over on your ass, exhaling loudly at the way it jiggled from his actions.

he aligned himself once more with your little hole, pushing himself in with ease due to the slick left from a mixture of his cum and yours. you whined, hands flying backward, desperate for any solace from his hands in yours. he held your wrists at the small of your back with one hand, the other supporting his weight to lean forward when he pushed himself all the way inside you. you cried out, his name falling out of your mouth like a mantra, your legs trembling beneath him.

he was in you so much deeper this way, stretching you out more than you thought he already could. his hips snapped up against your ass, fully within you and hitting every single tingly spot inside you along the way.

you were already out of breath, your lungs and brain vacant of anything except for him, for joel. "feel you in my tummy," you hiccuped, tilting your head to look at him through teary eyes. he breathed out a lazy, cocky laugh, moving forward to kiss your forehead, unintentionally shoving his cock in even deeper, feeling a sense of pride at the way you gasped and whimpered at the deep intrusion.

"i know huh baby?" he chuckled in your ear, and you shivered, feeling your face grow warm from how flustered he made you feel. he was so dirty, any filters he once had were gone, the tight grip your cunt had on his cock made him downright ruthless.

he pressed his hands at your lower back, letting yours fall free to cling onto his sheets. he held you down that way, fucking into you with a newfound source of energy, his grey hairs falling over his forehead, sweat glistening over the ripples of muscles along his biceps and abdomen, his whole being going into pounding himself into you.

he wanted you to be so full of him that everyone would know it just by looking at you. the possessiveness he tried to suppress for so long had come out, and he wasn't sure if he could go back to hiding it again. but that wasn't on his mind, not when you were clenching around him, sobbing his name loud enough for everyone outside to hear.

his grunting fell to your ears, it was near pornographic, including the way you bounced with each and every thrust of his, just watching it made his chest get tight.

he needed you closer.

he pulled you back up from under your arms, keeping you flush against his chest while he continued fucking you. you were growing limp, body worn out from the rigor he put you through. but he held onto you, keeping you in his arms. his arm went under your tits, a sneaky hand coming up and groping at one, pinching at the nipple.

he buried his face in your neck, filling your ear with the low growl of his groans. "such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this, but i think you like it, and you know what else?," he drew in a heavy breath, "i think you like being fucked like a little ragdoll," you couldn't answer, he was right, but you could hardly focus on any words, his cock rendering you a teary eyed moaning mess.

"can't even respond when spoken to," he slowed the roll of his hips, hitting you in deep and slow, letting you hear him instead of the loud wet rhythm of your cunt being fucked into. "that's okay, i'll still take care of you," he chuckled, returning back to his rough pace.

"so good, make me feel so good joel," you managed to finally cry out in a series of strewn moans. his fingers trailed themselves down to your clit, rubbing in tight little circles. " i know baby, cum for me, show me how good i make you feel."

you wriggled around in his hold, your third orgasm of the night was thick in heft, a heavy wave of intense stimulation clearing your vision and leaving a white glittering hue instead. you felt joel everywhere, from the way he was buried in your cunt, to the way his hips were clasped over the curve of your ass, fitting into you like a puzzle piece.

the fervent circles being drawn over your clit was the thing that pushed you over, your head falling backward onto his shoulder, his turn to be serenaded by a string of your pretty moans. "good babygirl, did so good for me." he cooed in your ear, pressing a kiss behind it. "thank you," you meekly replied in a breathless voice.

you were the weakest you've ever felt, your poor spent body still being held upright as joel chased down his own orgasm. "gonna let me cum in you again baby? want more of it?" he panted in your ears. "please, want it joel, please,"

he gripped onto your hips, feeling his own stutter, before he pushed in deeply, stilling inside as he came in thick ropes. he finally softened, slowly pulling out of you. you winced again at the loss, feeling suddenly cold and empty. you collapsed on his bed, reaching out for him.

he laid beside you, pulling your leg up and over his waist, running a hand up the expanse of your thigh. your eyes fell shut tiredly, enjoying the comfortable sound of the two of you trying to catch your breaths.

a part of you was worried he was going to break the silence, afraid he'd call the whole thing a mistake, and lecture you on how he isn't the type of man who does relationships. you knew all of that, you just hoped he wouldn't say it and just let you soak in the moment.

almost nervously, his hand came to dance across your cheekbone softly, wanting to memorize the way your skin felt to his. "do you regret that?" he murmured and you opened your eyes, shocked at the question.

you leaned into his hand, curling your own over his. "no, never joel, why would you ask that?"

he sighed, scooting closer to you. "I'm not a good man, sweetheart, i'm giving you a chance to leave." he spoke above an octave of silence. you frowned, shaking your head. "i don't care about anything that you've done in the past or what you'll do in the future. i just...want to be here, with you, in any way you'll let me." you admitted, wishing you could say the one thing you've been harboring for a year, but you knew you needed to keep that to yourself just a little longer.

"if i had a bigger conscious i wouldn't let you," his hands pulled you into the hold of his arm that came over your waist. "lucky for me then that you're not the good man you claim to be." you whispered, the scent of coffee on your breath enveloping his senses, and in that moment, he had a realization.

he thought about how nice, how domestic it would be to wake up and share a cup of coffee with you every morning, before you had to face the day, at least you could share a moment of peace together.

"yeah," a trace of a smile grew over his lips. "you're right. i'm not." he rolled on top of you, cupping your cheeks in his large palms. "you're makin' an unwise choice little girl," a quiet rumble rested on your lips.

your arms came around his shoulders and you sighed a half laugh. "i know. i don't care."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us smut

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doctorbitchcrxft · 7 months ago

Text

Bugs | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: BUGS lol, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 7012

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You and Dean decided that after your last job, you deserved a break. You went to a bar to play that eight-ball game you’d talked about back in Ankeny. The two of you were pretty evenly matched; you had to admit. He would win a game, then you would win a game, and that pattern continued for quite a bit. Then you’d swapped to nine-ball. The two of you walked away from the pool tables and found a table when you’d grown tired of playing with each other.

“I’ll admit, you’re pretty good, Winchester,” you told him.

“You too, sweetheart,” he responded, chuckling.

“You’re never gonna stop calling me that, are you?” you asked.

“Nope.”

You pretended to be annoyed and rolled your eyes. “You suck.”

“You, too.”

You playfully glared at him.

“You hustle?” he asked you.

“Duh,” you responded, taking a swig of your beer.

He chuckled. “How ‘bout it? I’m low on cash after I paid off that morgue tech.”

“Hey, you did that on your own volition,” you joked back. “Nobody forced you to pay him off. And maybe you lost even more cash after you lost that poker game to me yesterday.”

He glared back at you. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Sure. So who’re you hustlin’?” you asked.

He scanned the room for a moment. “Them.” He subtly nodded in the direction of a group of guys who looked around your and Dean’s age. They seemed kind of douchey, and you’d love to watch Dean kick their asses if you were being honest.

“Eight or nine ball?” you asked him.

“Nine.”

“Ooh, good luck,” you told him.

“I won’t need it,” he answered arrogantly and began heading over to the group.

Your newfound friendship with Dean was slightly difficult for you due to your unbelievable attraction to him. The more you got to know him the more you began to like him for more than just his beautiful face. But you knew neither of you had the time for anything more than friendship, especially considering you knew you’d be hitting the road as soon as they found their dad. You chose not to focus on the finite amount of time you had with the Winchester boys and just enjoy it while it lasted.

As much as you tried to push the thought away, you couldn’t deny that watching him hustle pool made you even more attracted to him.

“Cute,” you told Dean sarcastically when he walked back over to your table waving a wad of cash in the air. “But I betcha I can get us double the money.” You snatched his money out of his hands.

“Hey!” he said. “I earned that.”

“And I’ll earn it back,” you smirked over your shoulder.

He quirked a brow at you as you “drunkenly” walked away, watching you head over to a pool table surrounded by another group of young guys.

You wore a black tank top that showed off your cleavage, and stuck Dean’s money in the top of your bra while you sauntered over to the pool table. A tall blonde guy holding a cue stick was surrounded by his frat-boy posse hollering about how good the blonde guy played.

“Fifty dollars to play!” One of the boys yelled.

“I’ll play,” you piped up, looking down at the table set for nine-ball.

You pulled some cash out of the top of your bra and placed it on the rim of the pool table.

“Uh, sweetheart,” the blond began, “That’s only twenty.”

“Oh, sorry,” you snorted out a laugh, putting thirty dollars on the table.

“She’s hammered, dude,” one of the blond’s friends told him.

The blond waved him off, still looking over you. He handed you a pool cue with a smirk.

“You break.”

You fumbled with the cue before lining up your shot. After you hit the cue ball, you allowed the wooden stick to slip clumsily out of your hands. The balls flew all over the table in different directions because you had struck them so hard. However, you had not managed to pocket a single one.

The blond lined up his shot. Managing to keep the dopey look on your face, you mentally smirked at his amateur hand bridge. This guy would be easy to beat. With his friends cheering him on, he pocketed the yellow one-ball but missed the shot he took at the nine-ball. The nine-ball was in the perfect position for you to win on your next two shots, but you were not going for the big bucks just yet.

“Your turn, baby,” the blond told you.

You resisted the urge to cringe at the nickname. You had never liked being called “baby.”

Instead, you gave him a wide smile, walking up to the cue ball. You went to aim for the four-ball, but the blond stopped you.

“What are you doing?”

“Aiming for the pretty purple ball,” you replied innocently. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“You have to aim for the two-ball. You ever even played before?” he asked jokingly.

“No,” you smiled.

He was not expecting that answer to his jest, his face dropping out of the smile. “Then why are you playing for money?”

“I thought you were cute and wanted to play with you.”

The blond smirked down at you.

Before he could respond, you said, “C’mon! I wanna keep playing. This is fun.” You lined up and hit the two ball, knocking it only a little bit closer to the pocket than the blond had gotten it.

He ended up sinking the two-ball and then the nine-ball after that, his friends cheering for him. He took the money off the table. “Maybe next time.”

“Ooh, can we play again? Please?” you whined.

He looked around at his friends. They all shrugged.

You took all of the money out of your bra, including fifty dollars of your own to compensate for the fifty you just lost. You did promise Dean you would double the amount he had earned, after all.

The blond laughed nervously. “Uh, that’s a lot more than fifty dollars.”

“Is it?” you pretended you were surprised. “Oh, well. We’ll just play for whatever this is, then.”

One of the blond’s friends, a brunet, was already counting the money. “This is three-hundred dollars, man.”

“Look, you’re really drunk. That’s a lot of money,” the blond said. “Let’s just stop.”

“No,” you begged, “please? It’ll be fine!”

He finally conceded, collecting a total of three hundred dollars between himself and his friends.

On the break, he hit the one-ball and the five-ball ended up falling into the left side pocket. However, on the shot he took at the nine-ball, he missed.

You hit the two-ball, sank it, and clapped excitedly. You aimed for the three-ball next, hitting it between the right side and back pockets. The ball hit the wall and stopped only two inches off of it, giving the blond no shot at sinking it on his next turn.

He ended up pushing the three-ball and the cue ball into the perfect position for you to hit the red ball into the hole. Once you sank the three-ball, you lined up the cue behind the cue ball and hit the nine-ball into one of the pockets. Blondie and his friends stood there slack-jawed.

“I won!” you cheered, giggling. You gave Blondie a kiss on the cheek when you took your money.

You walked back over to Dean with your hips swishing confidently. Smirking, you held up your winnings.

He took them from your hands, counting the money. “Damn. I’m impressed.”

You feigned shock. “Dean Winchester? Impressed by something I did?”

“Can it, (Y/N).”

You walked outside of the bar with Dean at your side. You waved the money in your hand back and forth triumphantly as you approached the Impala that Sam sat atop flipping through newspapers. He looked disapproving. “Y’know, we could get day jobs once in a while.”

"Hunting's our day job,” you countered.

“Yeah, and the pay is crap,” Dean added.

“Amen.”

“Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams? It's not the most honest thing in the world, guys,” the younger brother argued.

“Well, let's see, honest—” Dean began, and you held out one hand palm-up for “honest,” “—Fun and easy,” he finished.

You held out the other hand, representing a scale, tipping it to the side of “fun and easy.”

“It's no contest,” you shrugged.

“Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do,” Dean added.

Sam was still not convinced. “Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked.”

“Yeah, says you,” sassed Dean. “We got a new gig or what?”

“Maybe. Oasis Plains, Oklahoma— not far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.”

“Gesundheit,” you commented.

“Human mad cow disease.” Sam shot you a playful glare.

“Mad cow. Wasn't that on Oprah?” Dean asked.

“You watch Oprah?” you responded.

The older brother looked embarrassed and couldn’t think of anything to say. He decided to change the subject. “So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?”

“Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less,” Sam stated.

You nodded slowly. “Oh-kay, that is weird.”

“Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be somethin' much nastier,” Sam told you.

“Alright. Oklahoma,” Dean said, beginning to get in the car. You and Sam followed suit. “Man. Work, work, work,” the older Winchester sighed. “No time to spend my money.”

“You mean our money,” you said, handing him three hundred. You kept the other three.

“Right.” He put the money in his wallet and began driving off.

***

Dean had driven you to the gas and power company the deceased had worked at. You approached a man with shaggy hair and a scruffy chin who you had learned from another employee was the man who discovered Dustin’s dead body.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam called.

“Yeah, that's right.” The man turned to you.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?” Dean asked.

“Dustin never mentioned nephews. Or a niece,” he responded.

“Really? Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest.”

You nodded, affirming Dean’s lie.

Travis smiled sadly. “Oh, he did? Huh.”

“I hate to ask you, but… what exactly happened out there?” you asked.

“I'm not sure. He fell in a sinkhole, I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh... by the time I got back…” he trailed off, face contorting in discomfort.

“What did you see?” Dean questioned.

Travis shook his head. “Nothin'. Just Dustin.”

“No wounds or anything?” Sam chimed in.

“Well, he was bleeding... from his eyes and his ears, his nose. But that's it.”

“So you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?” Dean asked.

“I don't know. That's what the doctors are sayin'.”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me,” you added. “Uncle Dusty just never acted like that to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it was, he would’ve acted like he had dementia, a loss of motor control, you ever notice anything like that?” you asked.

“No. No way. But then again, if it wasn't some disease, what the hell was it?”

“That's a good question,” Dean responded.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam asked.

Travis nodded. He instructed Dean the path to follow in order to find the scene of the incident. Surrounding the sinkhole he had fallen in was police tape, but the neighborhood it was in seemed mostly uninhabited except for a few construction workers milling about.

“Huh.” Dean looked down into the hole. “What do you think?”

“I don't know. But if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast,” Sam responded.

You ducked under the tape and looked down into the hole with a flashlight.

“So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?” Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion.

You shook your head. “No, there'd be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside.”

“Looks like there's only room for one,” Dean commented. “Hate to say it, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to get down there.”

You flinched back. “What? No. We have no idea what’s down there.”

He picked up a nearby coil of rope. “Alright, I'll go if you're scared. You scared?”

“No. Dick.” Your stubbornness would not let you back down despite the genuine fear clawing at your throat. When you were younger, your father would often starve you to ensure you could fit into small spaces such as the hole you were about to journey down. You had no doubt you would’ve grown taller than 5’6” had he not done this. Even still, you mustered your courage. “I'm going.”

“I said I'd go,” Dean argued.

“I'm going,” you pressed, taking the end of the rope from him. You tied it around your waist. “Don’t drop me.”

“I won’t.”

“Sam, don’t let him drop me.”

Sam chuckled.

“What?” Dean sounded offended. “You don’t trust me?”

“Nope,” you smiled, clambering down into the hole. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they did, you were surprised by what you’d found.

Dean drove, and Sam was examining the dead beetle you’d found in the sinkhole. Some bugs you could handle, but beetles were not one you could spend prolonged periods of time looking at.

“So you found some beetles. In a hole, in the ground. That's shocking, (Y/N),” Dean quipped.

You shook your head. “Dude, no. There were no tunnels, no tracks, nothing. No evidence of any other creature down there.”

“You know,” Sam added, “some beetles do eat meat. Now, it's usually dead meat, but…”

“How many did you find down there?” Dean asked you.

“Ten.”

“It'd take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude's brain, Sam.”

“Well, maybe there were more,” his brother argued.

“I don't know, it sounds like a stretch to me,” Dean responded.

“Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before,” you added. A sign advertising an open house decorated with red balloons caught your eye.

Sam was looking back at you. “What?”

“There.” You pointed to the sign.

You passed another that read, “Models Open. New Buyers' BBQ Today!"

“I'm kinda hungry for a little barbeque, how 'bout you?” Dean remarked.

Sam gave him a look.

“What, we can't talk to the locals?”

You snickered. “And the free food's got nothin' to do with it?”

“Of course not. I'm a professional.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Right.”

Dean pulled over and the three of you got out of the car to walk toward the open house.

“Growin' up in a place like this would freak me out,” Dean remarked.

“Ditto,” you said.

“Why?” Sam looked at the two of you like you were crazy.

“Manicured lawns, ‘How was your day, honey?’ I'd blow my brains out,” Dean chuckled.

“White picket fence,” you sing-songed, “private school, stay-at-home moms with three snotty children— no thanks.”

“There's nothing wrong with ‘normal,’ “ Sam rebutted.

“I'd take our family over normal any day,” the older Winchester said. He approached the house and knocked on the door.

A man in a steamed collared shirt opened the door. “Welcome,” he said.

“This the barbeque?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, not the best weather,” he replied, referencing the gray sky, “but... I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are... ?”

“Dean. This is Sam and (Y/N).” He shook Larry’s hand.

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N), good to meet you. So, you three are interested in Oasis Plains?”

“Yes, sir,” the older brother responded.

“Let me just say—” You had no idea where Larry was going with this— “we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

You realized what he was trying to say. “They’re brothers. I’m just a friend.”

Larry nodded and seemed slightly embarrassed.

“Our father is getting on in years,” Sam explained, “and we're just lookin' for a place for him.”

Larry laughed awkwardly “Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome, too. Come on in.” He guided you to the backyard where dozens of people were chatting and eating. “Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We're the first family in Oasis Plains.” He brought you over to a woman around his age. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi there,” she smiled.

Larry introduced the three of you to her before saying, “Tell them how much you love the place, honey. And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses.”

She laughed. “Right.”

This painfully fake interaction you were having reeked of Middle America. It was making you sick.

Larry left you alone with Joanie who said, “Don't let his salesman routine scare you. This really is a great place to live.”

A very energetic woman with bright, Ariel-red hair pulled back in a tight bun approached your group. “Hi, I'm Lynda Bloome, head of sales,” she grinned.

“And Lynda was second to move in,” Joanie went on. “She's a very noisy neighbor, though.”

Even Lynda’s laugh was obnoxious. “She's kidding, of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners.”

Before any of you could answer, she said, “Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

Dean chuckled. “Right. Um... I'm gonna go talk to Larry.” Dean began walking away. “Okay, honeys?” He smacked you on your ass as he left.

You nearly yelped in surprise. The rest of your interaction with Lynda became very awkward. You were barely interested in what she was saying about the various features of the home. “Who can say "no" to a steam shower? I use mine everyday.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Sounds great.”

Sam noticed something just beyond her, saying, “Excuse me,” and pushing her out of the way. What he had picked up off the picnic table was a large tarantula. You noticed a snickering boy with shaggy brown hair a few feet behind where Lynda had been standing.

Sam walked over to the boy. “Is this yours?”

The boy took the spider from him. “You gonna tell my dad?”

“I don't know. Who's your dad?”

The teen scoffed. “Yeah, Larry usually skips me in the family introductions.”

You sucked air in through your teeth. “Ouch. First name basis with your dad— sounds pretty grim.”

“Well, I'm not exactly brochure material,” the kid remarked.

“Well, hang in there. It gets better, all right? I promise,” Sam said.

The kid didn’t seem convinced. “When?”

You heard Larry call the name, “Matthew!” You turned to see the older man and Dean walking toward you.

“I am so sorry about my son and his... pet.”

‘Clearly there’s some issues there.’

You shook your head. “No big.”

“Excuse us.” Larry’s face was set and hardened, pulling his son away from you and the boys.

“Remind you of somebody?” Sam asked his brother. He was gesturing toward the arguing father and son. “Dad?”

“Dad never treated us like that,” Dean argued.

“Well, Dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?”

“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line.”

Sam scoffed. “Right. Right, like when I said I'd rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.”

“Bowhunting's an important skill,” Dean replied. You agreed with him, but chose to say out of the brotherly debate.

“Whatever. How was your tour?” Sam asked.

Dean turned on the sarcasm. “Oh, it was excellent. I'm ready to buy. So you might be onto somethin'. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here.”

“What happened?” you questioned.

“About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this severe allergic reaction to bee stings.”

You nodded. “More bugs.”

***

Later that evening, Sam was driving you and Dean through the neighborhood. You put your head on Dean’s shoulder over the back of the front seat as he flipped through his father’s journal. He had looked at you strangely and tensed up when you’d first rested your head on him, but you just shrugged in response. To your surprise, he allowed you to stay there.

“You know, I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles?” Dean shook his head. “What is it that could make different bugs attack?”

“Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations,” Sam replied.

“Yeah, but I didn't see any evidence of ghost activity,” the older brother said, referring to his house tour.

“Me neither,” you added.

“Maybe they're being controlled somehow. You know, by something or someone,” Dean stated.

“You mean, like Willard?” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, bugs instead of rats.”

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals - elementals, telepaths,” Sam continued.

“Yeah, that whole Lassie thing,” you commented. You were thoughtful for a moment. “Larry's kid— he's got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam seemed unconvinced. “He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula.”

“You think he's our Willard?”

“I don't know. Anything's possible, I guess.”

Something caught Dean’s attention. “Ooh, hey. Pull over here.”

Your head perked up.

Sam pulled into the empty driveway of one of the Oasis Plains homes. “What are we doing here?”

Dean got out of the car and began pulling the garage door up and open. “It's too late to talk to anybody else.”

Sam scoffed. “We're gonna squat in an empty house?”

“I wanna try the steam shower. Come on,” his brother responded simply.

Sam didn’t move.

“Come on!” Dean urged.

Sam rolled his eyes but complied and pulled into the driveway. Dean closed it behind him.

To your surprise, the home was fully furnished. You assumed it was for staging house tours. You and the boys were thankful to find three beds within the home, avoiding the awkward task of deciding who was going to have to sleep with who. And for the first time in quite a while, you slept incredibly well on the soft mattress and plush pillows.

***

The next morning, you found Sam remaking the bed he had slept in down the hall from yours. He had the police scanner quietly droning on in the background.

“How’d you sleep?” you asked, yawning.

“How do you think,” he replied dryly.

“That’s what I was worried about.”

Sam sighed.

“Dude, we gotta get you right,” you told him. “You’re gonna end up really hurt.”

Before he could respond, the static of the police scanner coming alight with conversation caught your attention. Male voices spoke back and forth about a death that happened in what you recognized as the Oasis Plains area.

“You finish cleaning up; I’ll get Dean,” you told Sam, who nodded. Dean had been serious about indulging in the steam shower. He’d been in the guest bathroom since you woke up that morning.

“You ever comin' out of there?” you called through the door.

“What?” he responded.

You could still hear the water running. “A call came in on the scanner.”

“Hold on.”

“Someone was found dead three blocks from here. Come on.”

The door opened a bit to reveal Dean and his towel-wrapped head. Steam poured out into the hallway. “This shower is awesome,” he smiled.

You laughed in response. “Come on.” You walked away to finish helping Sam gather your things and hide the fact that someone had been here.

When you arrived at the crime scene, a body bag was being wheeled out on a stretcher. You found out from a visibly upset Larry that the realtor, Lynda Bloome, had been the one to pass away. The three of you discovered about a dozen dead spiders underneath a towel near where the outline of her body had been mapped out, and decided to pay Matt a visit.

It took a few hours, but you discovered where Matt went to school and followed his bus route. You watched when he got off the bus.

“Isn't his house that way?” Dean pointed in the opposite direction of where Matt was walking.

You nodded. “Yup. So where’s he goin’?”

The three of you began following the teenager from a bit of a distance. Unfortunately for you, he headed into the woods.

“Seriously, kid?” you muttered. “Always the fucking woods.”

Dean chuckled at your discomfort.

“Shut up, asshole,” you quipped.

Sam approached Matt first. “Hey, Matt. Remember me?”

“What are you doin' out here?” he asked, surprised.

“Well, we wanna talk to you,” Dean responded.

“You're not here to buy a house, are you?”

You shook your head.

“W-wait. You're not serial killers?” Matt began backing away from you.

“No. I think you’re safe,” you smiled.

“So, Matt... you sure know a lot about insects,” Sam began.

“So?” he shrugged.

“Did you hear what happened to Lynda, the realtor?” Dean asked.

“I hear she died this morning,” Matt responded.

“Mm, that's right. Spider bites.”

“Matt... you tried to scare her with a spider.” Sam’s tone was accusatory without being harsh.

“Wait. You think I had something to do with that?”

“You tell us,” you responded.

Matt scoffed humorlessly. “That tarantula was a joke. Anyway, that wouldn't explain the bee attack or the gas company guy.”

“You know about those?” Now you were the one being accusatory.

“There is somethin' going on here. I don't know what... but something's happening with the insects. Let me show you something.” Matt shouldered his bag and led you deeper into the woods. You hoped he knew where the hell he was going and how the hell to get back.

“So, if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out,” Sam suggested.

“Believe me, I've tried. But, uh, Larry doesn't listen to me.”

“Why not?”

“Mostly? He's too disappointed in his freak son.”

Sam scoffed. “I hear you.”

Dean seemed surprised. “You do?”

Sam gave him a look before turning back to Matt. “Matt, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Well, don't sweat it, because in two years, something great's gonna happen.”

“What?”

“College. You'll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.”

Dean was upset. “What kind of advice is that? Kid should stick with his family.”

Sam sighed and glared at his brother.

You tried to break the tension. “How much further, Matt?”

You knew Matt felt awkward, too. “We're close.”

Sam glared at Dean once more before continuing walking. Moments later, you reached a large clearing. As you’d been approaching, the sound of insects buzzing had gotten louder and louder. Hundreds of them flew about the clearing.

“I've been keeping track of insect populations. It's, um, part of an AP science class,” the teen explained.

“You two are like peas in a pod,” Dean remarked.

Sam ignored him. “What's been happening?”

“A lot. I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles... you name it. It's like they're congregating here,” Matt went on.

“Why?” Dean’s brows knitted together.

“I don't know,” he responded.

You caught sight of a dark, bumpy patch of grass a few feet away. “What’s that?”

Matt looked at you and seemed curious as well. He led you once more over to the pile. Your skin began to crawl at the sight of hundreds of wriggling earthworms. Dean accidently stepped on a pile of them and it sank into the ground. You pulled him back by the arm to avoid him falling, too. You let him go, and he crouched to the ground. He used a stick to poke around. He then dropped the stick and stuck his hand straight into the hole. When his hand came back up, he was holding a human skull covered in dirt and worms.

“Gnarley,” you said.

***

Sam suggested bringing the remains to the department of anthropology at a local university. “So, a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave,” he said as you approached the building.

“Maybe it is a haunting,” you added. “Pissed off spirits? Unfinished business?”

“Yeah, maybe. Question is, why bugs? And why now?”

The older brother quipped, “That's two questions.”

Sam ignored him.

Dean continued. “Yeah, so with that kid back there... why'd you tell him to just ditch his family like that?”

“Just, uh... I know what the kid's goin' through,” his brother shrugged.

“How 'bout tellin' him to respect his old man, how's that for advice?” Dean’s tone was sharp.

“Dean, come on.” Sam stopped walking, and you and Dean followed suit. “This isn't about his old man. You think I didn't respect Dad. That's what this is about.”

“Just forget it, all right? Sorry I brought it up.” Dean shook his head.

“I respected him. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.”

“So what are you sayin'? That Dad was disappointed in you?”

“Was? Is. Always has been,” Sam bit back.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I didn't wanna bowhunt or hustle pool— because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.”

“Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud. Most dads don't toss their kids out of the house.”

You were accustomed to their normal sibling spats, but this was different.

Dean kept pushing. “I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin' out of your mouth.”

“You know, truth is, when we finally do find Dad... I don't know if he's even gonna wanna see me.” The brunet sounded sad.

“Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.”

“What are you talkin' about?”

“He was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around. But even when you two weren't talkin'... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could.”

Sam’s smirk faded.

“Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe,” Dean finished.

“What?” Sam’s puppy dog eyes were back.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell me any of that?” the younger brother asked.

“Well, it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone.”

Sam stared at him sadly.

“Come on, we're gonna be late for our appointment,” Dean grumbled.

***

The professor you’d gone to see at the college informed you of a Euchee tribe outside of Sapulpa that the bones Dean had found might have belonged to. The three of you now headed over to a diner one of the local Native Americans had directed you to. He had told you how to find Joe White tree, a bit of a patriarch of their group.

You found him playing cards at his table in the diner.

“Joe White Tree?” Sam asked.

The man nodded.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right.”

Dean continued for his brother, saying, “We're students from the university—”

The man cut him off. “No, you're not. You're lying.”

Dean seemed taken aback. “Well, truth is—”

“You know who starts sentence with ‘truth is’? Liars,” Joe responded.

Dean looked at you and Sam strangely.

“Have you heard of Oasis Plains?” you asked. “It's a housing development near the Atoka Valley.”

“I like her,” Joe told Dean. “She's not a liar.”

You smiled.

Joe turned back to you. “I know the area.”

“What can you tell us about the history there?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

You considered for a moment. “Something bad is happening in Oasis Plains. I think it may have something to do with a Native American grave we found there.”

“I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him,” Joe began. “Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.”

“Insects. Sounds like nature to me. Six days,” Dean stated.

“And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive,” Joe finished his story.

Sam and Dean exchanged a worried look with you.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

Joe nodded at you before you and the boys headed off.

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam asked after you had made it outside.

“Uh, let's see, we got here Tuesday, so, Friday the twentieth,” Dean responded.

“March twentieth?” You thought for a moment. “That's the spring equinox.”

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals,” Sam finished. “So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land.”

“And on the sixth night— that's tonight,” Dean finished.

“If we don't do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?”

“You don't break a curse. You get out of its way. We've gotta get those people out now,” Dean said sharply.

The three of you got in the car and sped away.

***

Dean drove while he spoke with Larry on the phone. “Yes, Mr. Pike, there's a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood… Well, it's fairly extensive. I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe… Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power… Uh…” He panicked and quickly hung up.

Sam gestured for the phone. He learned from Matt that his backyard was crawling with cockroaches. He urged him to get his family out of the house, and Dean told him he needed to, under no circumstances, tell his father the truth about what was happening.

When you arrived at the Pike residence, Larry rushed out of the house. “Get off my property before I call the cops.”

“Mr. Pike, listen,” Sam urged.

“Dad, they're just tryin' to help,” Matt pleaded from the doorway.

“Get in the house!” Larry ordered.

Matt addressed you and the boys. “I'm sorry. I told him the truth.”

“We had a plan, Matt, what happened to the plan?” Dean grunted through his teeth.

“Look, it's 12:00 AM. They are coming any minute now. You need to leave now, before it's too late,” you told Larry.

“Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm,” he replied humorlessly.

“Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy? You don't think somethin' weird's goin' on here?” Dean questioned.

“Look, I don't know who you are, but you're crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, and we're gonna have a problem,” Larry told you.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we've got a problem right now,” the older brother responded.

“Dad, they're right, okay? We're in danger.”

“Matt, get inside! Now!”

Matt stepped further out onto the porch. “No! Why won't you listen to me?!”

“Because this is crazy! It doesn't make any sense!” Larry yelled back.

“Look, this land is cursed! People have died here. Now, are you gonna really take that risk with your family?”

“Wait!” you shushed the group.

Everyone went silent.

“You hear it?”

From a distance away, there was a faint buzzing that got louder and louder rapidly.

“What the hell?” Larry muttered.

The fluorescent bug light on the porch began overheating; killing several bugs at a time. The buzzing got even louder. Millions of bugs blanketed the sky, heading straight to you.

“Oh my God.” Your breath quickened. “Everybody in the house, now!”

You and Dean held up the rear of the group, and you felt his hand on your back guiding you inside. You locked the door behind Dean.

“Okay, is there anybody else in the neighborhood?” Sam asked Larry.

“No, it's just us.”

Joanie entered the room. “Honey, what's happening? What's that noise?”

“Call 911,” Larry instructed her. “Joanie!”

She seemed caught off-guard. “Okay.” She picked up the phone and began to dial.

“I need towels,” Dean told Larry.

“Uh, in the closet.”

Sam and Matt went upstairs while you and Dean packed the base of the front door with the towels you found.

“Phones are dead,” Joanie informed you.

“They must have chewed through the phone lines.” Dean shook his head as the lights went out.

“And the power lines,” you grumbled.

Larry tried his cell phone only to get no signal.

“You won't get one. They're blanketing the house.” Dean looked towards the windows that were beginning to darken from the thousands of bugs collecting on them.

“So what do we do now?” Larry asked.

Sam had come back downstairs with Matt. “We try to outlast it. Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise.”

“Hopefully?” Larry’s eyebrows raised in shock.

You looked to Dean. “You have your zippo lighter?”

He seemed to catch on to what you were suggesting and nodded. The two of you broke off to the kitchen and found bug spray under one of the cabinets.

Joanie seemed unimpressed when you returned with the can.

“Just trust us,” you told her.

A creaking sound from the fireplace caught your attention.

“What is that?” Matt’s voice was higher pitched than normal.

“The flue,” Sam answered.

“Alright, I think everybody needs to get upstairs,” Dean ordered.

Suddenly, thousands of bugs poured into the living room from the fireplace, swarming all around you. Dean used his zippo to light the can of bug spray. “Alright, everybody upstairs! Now! Go, go, go!”

You covered your ears and ran upstairs to the attic with Sam and Dean close by you. You could hear bugs thumping against the attic hatch door; trying desperately to get in. There was only a few moments reprieve before you heard gnawing above you.

“Oh, God, what's that?” Joanie cried.

“Something's eating through the wood,” Dean replied.

“Termites,” Matt added.

Dean ordered the family to get back from the spot where sawdust was beginning to descend and bits of moonlight were coming through. Moments later, bugs began to fill the room through the chewed in spot. You and the boys frantically tried to patch the hole, swatting bugs away from you like a madwoman. You were able to shove a board of wood with another under it to hold it up, but that only worked for a second. Two other holes were chewed through the roof, raining bugs down on you. You covered your ear with one hand and swatted bugs away with the other. You and the boys backed up into the Pikes, who were huddled in the corner. Dean tried his best to light the bugs up, but nothing was working. Then, miraculously, the sun began to rise. Thankfully, all of the bugs began to fly out of the holes they’d chewed through the roof. You watched through the same holes as they flew up toward the sun. You breathed a sigh of relief.

***

The next morning, you and the boys were about to head out of town but stopped by the Pike residence on the way. You approached the moving van that Larry was loading boxes into.

“What, no goodbye?” Dean joked.

“Good timing. Another hour and we'd have been gone,” Larry answered. He shook your hand.

“For good?” you asked.

“Yeah. The development's been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I'm gonna make damn sure no one lives here again,” Larry explained.

“You don't seem too upset about it.”

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…” He looked over to Matt, who was carrying a box in the garage. “...somehow, I really don't care.”

You smiled at him.

Sam walked over to Matt, who was throwing away all of his insect paraphernalia. You looked on fondly as the two smiled and laughed. You bid Larry goodbye and went over to the car with Dean. Seconds later, Sam joined you.

“I wanna find Dad,” the brunet said.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean nodded.

“Yeah, but I just... I want to apologize to him.”

“For what?”

“All the things I said to him. He was just doin' the best he could.”

“Well, don't worry, we'll find him. And then you'll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats.”

You laughed. “I wanna find him, too.”

The boys looked at you strangely.

“I wanna kick his ass to hell and back for leaving you two alone.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Well, whatever they are, they aren’t good enough,” you quipped. “And I wanna thank him. If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve met you two.”

Sam smiled at you fondly at y0u. Dean had a look on his face you couldn’t quite read.

“I thought we agreed on no chick flick moments, (Y/N),” Dean remarked. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian

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